#remember trolls thrive in the light

[balarai]

I really hate callout culture... Like really fuckn hate it.

People seem to take the worst possible take on a post and then drag more people into their little mob through anon and then use trivial fandom bullshit to justify death threats and hazing. And the fact that the mob uses ANON most of the time to spread their claims just rubs me the wrong way...

It's usually people who have been built up on a pedestal in some way... Either for their creative skills/work or for their opinions/ social skills. Idk it honestly feels like people LOOK for reasons to tear someone down, or make false claims to try and build an us vs them mentally.

The target likes a ship with teenagers?? Or with a 5 year age gap?? Obviously a pedophile and pervert. The target likes a character we have deemed problematic? They're an abuse apologist!! (looking at you problematic SU fandom, you know what you did). Target made a post that mentioned some that could be problematic if you squint and shift 5 dimensions to the left, obviously they are dangerously misinformed and actively harmful!!

There is a reason we as a society have the justice system and we don't follow mob mentality. If you don't like someone, block their social media and move on with your life. If they are actually harming someone, like actual abuse not petty fandom drama, then go through the appropriate channels but for fuck sake don't think hazing and cancel culture is the appropriate way to handle things.

[sspiderliliess]

diamond .

⟶ astarion x nervous, soft gn!tav — romance

i hyperfixated on bg3 for a while... i should get back to it. this feels like a bit of a word vomit and im still learning to express right but gosh i love emotional astarion stuff. (astarion and tav have a moment while they tend to his wounds | tav is gender-neutral but takes ideas from a female oc) ❤️‍🩹

⟶ rating — fluff?? suggestive at the end | tw blood, references to astarion's past

A tender flame danced. Outside, beyond the tent’s flimsy walls, rain poured for miles. The thriving forest floors squelched with a sea of puddles, the skies veiled with gray. But the pale crimson of the vampire’s tent was blooming with orange as the light within a lantern flickered across the walls and his belongings. 

Trinkets left and right beckoned my wonder, chiseled figures and crackled books that showed their age placed atop the shelves and the indigo rug. In the dark, the gold gleamed and teased my vision. Against the petrichor and iron from his bleeding gashes, the faintest aroma of wisteria tickled my nose.

Ah, yes! The nighttime florals just nearby. I remember being so delighted that our group’s camping spot was placed so conveniently close to those lovely plants. Purple was a soothing color, and those wisterias could comfort me almost as well as any lavender-based remedy could. 

It reminded me of Astarion, sometimes. My gaze wandered to the deep cuts across his leg, caked with drying blood and shining against the lantern’s light. The sight had been with me since it happened early in the day; a bundle of determined trolls could certainly leave their mark on someone—particularly three right across his calf and thigh. But sitting here, breathing in the smell of his blood that strengthened with every dab of the washrag, my stomach began to stir. 

Either that, or his more notable nature came back to my senses. Had I really forgotten how regal he was after all of this? A magistrate, he said. Different circles, he said… I love you, he said. I’d spent a good time getting to know him and his quick-witted remarks. His irritable nature reared its head often, but something beneath the rough had always twinkled if I squinted just right. He didn’t have to take these hits for me. I knew my heart felt truly for him, but I didn’t know he’d be the type to do that so quickly.

“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but—ack—it’s just that this blood is finding its way all over my bedding. I could tend to this myself, you know?” 

I turned my attention back to Astarion, who had propped himself up and was leaning my way with a hand reached for the stained rag. The gash on his thigh was oozing with blood, a thick trail pooling onto his blanket.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I gasped and crawled forward to continue the cleansing. 

He furrowed his brows, then raised them, and a smile etched onto his lips. “Now, for a vampire to get lost in thought at the sight of blood, I could understand… but what’s making you so bothered?”

“I’m,” I hummed. “I’m unsure.”

I tilted my head and continued to absentmindedly dab at the cuts. He laughed under his breath.

That familiar Astarion in his playful quips and egotistical humor. Those with a demeanor such as that rarely gained my attention for too long; I was always frightened by what judgments they might make, how out of place I felt. In the beginning when our group happened upon him, it’d bothered me quite a bit and I was sure he caught onto that, thus, I did what any mature person would have done when met with some sort of problem.

I ignored it.

The sly fox had taken note of this reaction. Maybe that was what got him to be nicer to me so quickly, less… prickly, especially in the times where I let him feed. But as I’d grown closer to him in our travels and had more meaningful conversations, I found him to be a book I might like to read, and the teasing came back on its own. I wasn’t bothered then. I might’ve enjoyed it. I still find myself thinking of that evening back near the grove, where he nearly choked at the teasing he threw my way when he saw the small and clumsily crafted animal in my hand. I told him how my mother had made those kinds of things with me, back in Baldur’s Gate when I was just a child and felt lonely, and his laughter stopped.

He seemed hurt by that. Regretful, almost. I'd like to think that turned out to be a nice day, though.

I was pulled from my gnawing thoughts once again as a slender finger slipped under my chin. Astarion looked less playful now, eyes glazed with what looked to be concern. He sat there in silence for a moment, staring at me until I felt my skin heat with blood and my heart tremble, and then he sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to go about talking. It’s easy to flirt, to say things you don’t mean. But I would like to know what you’re thinking. Truthfully.”

He continued to hold my chin up with that single finger, his eyes almost pleading to listen and talk. It was the Astarion less familiar to most, and like a timid rabbit spoken to with the softest voice, I found myself being drawn closer right then and there.

“You told me a while back that you were a magistrate, a long time ago,” I began, awaiting his response.

He swallowed slowly and shuffled to make room for me on the bed. “I was, yes. I don’t remember much more than that. That life is so distant now, a pained memory of what was and what could have been, I suppose.”

He didn’t move aside from a mournful wince that I was sure had little to do with the physical state he was in. He laughed bitterly, “It’s funny to think about. I remember that simple fact, but nothing about me.”

It almost shocked me, the way he seemed to care so little about his old role. To be of such importance in Baldur’s Gate, to have such power over just about anyone before you… and yet, have it taken away in an instant. It threatened to sprout an ache in my chest—the thought of such a family and stability gone in the blink of an eye, power replaced with powerlessness. In the quiet and my dwelling, I understood him just a bit more. I could only wonder what happened to make the paths fall as they did. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me today. We might not know who you were back then, or what happened before, or what you looked like, or what you knew… But I know you now. And I’m grateful.”

I’d always been so cautious with him, so much so I could hardly form the words properly. I pushed myself to keep my eyes on him, though, and I watched as he looked to the ground with a smile. Those crimson eyes appeared much glossier.

In that moment, I did what any confident, self-assured individual would do. My heart pounded against my chest the minute I leaned forward to gently wrap my arms around him. He paused briefly and I heard his breath hitch, but he returned the gesture.

“I’m grateful to know you, too,” he sighed into my ear.

His breath and curls tickled my neck, where old bites were planted. I’d forgotten they were there until his nose brushed against it and a dull pain bloomed in their place. He stayed like that for a while. “I know that I’m in no place to have a passionate night,” he said a bit awkwardly. “But I would like to spend what time with you that I can, if you’d like..?”

It took me a second to understand just what he meant, and I couldn’t help but pull away with tensed brows and a muffled giggle. “I don’t know if passion is the best idea, seeing as though you’re still bleeding as is.”

I pointed to the fresh puddle of blood on the blanket, where his leg had pressed into the furs. He scowled and pursed his lips, but his smile soon resurfaced. “Well, perhaps that another night, darling.”

He leaned back to lay down again and I grabbed the rag from the bowl of water, wringing it out as the dark reds faded to pinks again. It was then that I’d notice what sat opposite of me while I crouched on the ground. Tucked away from most prying eyes was a spindly little nick-nack on his shelf, with leaves and vines coiled together to make a deer-like toy that you’d think only a child could love. It was placed within a makeshift forest scene, crafted impressively from grass and sticks. It’d been a while since I’d seen it.

I didn’t think I would again.

[bread-elf]

DWC Nov. '22 - Day 2

Orbit - Illusion The temperature is higher today than the past few days, and the snow is gone for the time being. The soft rays of the sun light a path through the forests of Grizzly Hills, and Zim’bowa nestles so cozy that he almost feels like he’s back home in the Hinterlands. The subtle chill almost feels like the crisp air coming in from the ocean breeze, the Revantusk troll remembering such from his home at the port village. Lounging under a tree much like this, eyes drifting closed as he allows himself to relish in the illusion.

Hunters hunt, and fishermen fish. Women of his tribe taking care of commodities and cooking, and children are raised to thrive. Elders of his tribe giving counsel to the young, and the young persevere to take care of the elderly. A delicate balance that everyone has a part to play. She’s there, somewhere. Probably at her weaving loom, or working on his cards- no, her cards. Her child is here too, her son, lounging with him. Not interested in fighting with spear or axe, but interested in the earth, in the plants and the roots, and how Zim’bowa can make medicine out of them. But together they rest, glancing up at the sky to watch the clouds roll by. He can feel the child resting against his chest, used like a large pillow as they drift to sleep. But Zim’bowa’s conscious rouses instead, the weight on his chest physical and very much real.

A child is there, but not the one he once knew. A daughter of a different friend, Kaldorei with silver hair and brimming eyes of moonlight. Anorah lays on her side, at an angle as she rests the side of her face on the forest troll’s chest. Not asleep, but interested in the moss covering the troll’s fur, a small hand delicately touching a beetle that must have found its way onto him. It doesn’t bother him, the bug nor her, but her eyes are drawn to his face as the large troll starts to shift. “How long ya’ been dere?” Zim’bowa asks of the young night elf, his voice feeling raspy from the sleep he took. “I’unno.” Anorah responds, resting her head back down again. “Ya’ Min’da not gonna be likin’ ya’ runnin’ off. Lemme sit-” He brings a hand over to help guide her up before he himself moves. Leaves fall and shift off of him, tufts of fiery orange hair nearly dipping into his eyes, but he smooths it all back with a hand. Zim’bowa turns his tusked head to check for his belongings, finding his traveling satchel and Rush’kah mask where he left it. His companion, a chicken named Pepito, seems to be nowhere in sight. “Ya’ seen Pepito?” “Yea, with Vaeren.” Mentioning her brother, a twin in fact, who Zim’bowa learned had an affinity towards animals. Though he wishes the boy wasn’t so fond of Pepito in particular. “Anta’nar, can you tell me more stories?” Referring to him as an uncle, the child linguistic at such a young age. “Dat what’chu been layin’ around waitin’ for? I just woke up.” His large encompasses the entirety of the top of her head, mussing up her hair. “Ow! My hair!” He doesn’t believe she’s in genuine pain by the way she giggles and pulls away. Footsteps are heard, like a saber carefully treading through fallen leaves that delicately crush beneath feet, but Zim’bowa is familiar with the prowling that’s coming towards them. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” Jiroki finds her daughter with the troll, sea green hair pulled back as she places her hands on her hips, midnight eyes ever intense even when not meant to be. Despite the physical differences, sometimes Jiroki reminded him of her. “You’ve been loitering here for a week now.” “I can’t help it!” Zim’bowa begins, which causes the woman to immediately roll her eyes as he gets up. “Ya’ just got dis- orbit to ya’, not just joo but ya’ family! I’m just drawn, nowhere else ta go! My only family!” “Oh cut it out.” Jiroki doesn’t buy it, already tired of his theatrics, glancing towards Anorah for a moment as the child gets up too. But the woman sighs, dealing with her vice as she’s unable to truly turn him away. “Tch. Jason should be back soon, hopefully with rabbits. Help me prep them for dinner.”

Zim’bowa successfully succeeded in weaseling his way for a free meal again, but his glee is subdued as a smaller head of sea green hair bounds on over. “Zim!” Vaeren is nearly the spitting image of his mother, besides the orbs of amber he has for eyes. He looks emotionally pained, cradling a chicken in his arms. The creature still, face tucked into the warmth of Vaeren’s chest, and the boy moves closer towards the troll. “I don't think Pepito is feeling good…” “Ooh…” Zim’bowa knew better, slowly going down into a squat as the boy gets closer. Already a long time companion as is, at the end of the day, Pepito has the body of an animal. “He just be tired… Pepito is gettin’ old. I don’t think he gonna be havin’ much time left.” “Time?” The boy is young, but old enough to be able to grasp the concept of death, yet still it pained Zim’bowa to see the boy so moved. “B-But… But what do you mean? Pepito isn’t old! Is she?” Anorah herself the same age, yet she doesn’t seem ready to comprehend such things, a concerned but confused expression on her face as she looks to her mother for guidance.

Oh Zim’bowa can just feel the daggers boring into him from Jiroki. Daring to give a quick glance, only to see those abysmal eyes cast judgment on him, eyes she must have slaughtered with when the anger of her people was fresh. Take responsibility he practically hears her say, or maybe it’s just the softest of whispers from a lingering spirit. He stands again, grabbing his things and letting Vaeren hold the dying chicken as he prepares to walk with the boy back towards the cabin. “Pepito is old for a chicken. Let’s go back home an’ get him warm; I’ll explain dere.” @daily-writing-challenge

[arsenicxarcana]

WANF: Legacy

(questionable canonity, way after all the other tales so far)

***

Lucio peers down into the small black crib in the small dark room in their small dark home in Nevivon.

The figure inside the crib is so small. So fragile.

He thinks he wants to kill it.

He doesn’t know why. Before he was imprisoned in the realms, the idea of children was a baffling but delightful thought, some beautiful fantasy of having a legacy left behind beyond what damage he’d done to Vesuvia. He would have doted on the child, loved it like his own mother never had.

But looking down at this thing, this lump of mortal flesh some swarthy middleground between the blinding pale complexion of one parent and the rich darkness of the other, this thing with a thin coat of dark hair over its body matching a small auburn tuft on its head, this beautiful, horrible, miraculous product of arcane magic he would never understand - he wants to kill it.

Maybe it’s simply because it isn’t his. Like a dog killing the pups to force the bitch back into heat.

But he has no interest in making one of these with either of them, even if Arsenic wasn’t in a state of deep sleep to recuperate their magic from whatever rituals they performed to bring this thing to life.

The Devil thrives on chaos, so it can’t be that part of him that rejects this thing.

Maybe it’s even simpler. Maybe he just doesn’t want them to pay more attention to this thing than him.

It sounds so silly even inside his own head, startling a little chuckle from his throat, like the rattling of bones in the darkness. The figure in the crib begins to stir, shifting like a larva in a cocoon made of blankets.

He reaches for it without thinking, claws first to keep it silent - and he stops cold, all the breath knocked from his lungs, as its tiny eyes open.

Piercing silver stares back at him.

Not green, not gray, not even some weird mix of the two, but silver. Nearly pale enough to be white, cold as the Southern tundra.

His own eyes, and the eyes of his mother before him.

Why does it have his eyes??

The eyes stare at him for a moment longer before they begin to well with tears, its tiny face scrunched up in the kind of anguish only a small child can manage, the thin line of its mouth growing into a gaping maw, emitting a low whine that turns into a sharp wail, its small limbs flailing about, tearing apart its cocoon.

Before he can escape, its tiny hand catches one finger of his gauntlet and doesn’t let go, trapping him in its strong little grip. He doesn’t know if he can move without shredding the little hand into ribbons.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” His husband’s voice murmurs somewhere down the hall, more tired than ever.

A shaft of yellow-orange lamplight proceeds the familiar, haggard countenance of Julian, his wild auburn curls half slicked back by sweat and a new parent’s anxious fidgeting, the plague-tinted eye fully visible, both weary and unfocused and already directed approximately at crib-height.

He staggers into the room, heading straight towards the child - then stops and gawks at Lucio as though he is some sort of apparition or waking dream, scrubbing at his eyes with his free hand and squinting at him more closely.

“Er, Lucio? What are you doing up?” He glances down at his trapped finger. “If you’re going to tickle him, you could at least use the other hand.”

Lucio doesn’t immediately answer, breathing a sigh of relief as the child lets go the moment it spots its father, wails already quelling even before Julian scoops it up into his arms. A brief flash of childish jealousy worms through him.

“Why does the kid have my eyes?”

Julian stops cold, something between guilt and surprise dancing on his face. “I, er, suppose you would eventually notice that.”

“Answer the question, Jules.” His own eyes narrow, tail twitching behind him. “I didn’t participate in your little baby-making ritual. I told you I wanted no part of it, it wasn’t safe, with all the-- y’know. So where’d it get my blood?”

His husband murmurs something unintelligible, looking down at the child instead of him. He has half a mind to snatch it out of his hands.

“What?”

“Listen-- you were very drunk and very distraught we were doing this without you, even though-- you know, you said you wouldn’t.” The taller man shifts his weight uneasily, still not looking at him. “Now that I think of it, I don’t think you really realized that’s what we were doing. You just wanted to be with us.”

He doesn’t remember the night of that ritual. He hates that he doesn’t know.

“You hurt yourself. Pretty badly. I don’t remember how, I just remember taking you to the clinic to sober up.”

“So my blood got in there--”

“By accident, yes.”

“Then why are you hiding it from me like you stole it??”

Julian sighs, gently bouncing the child in lieu of the guilty squirm. He could see it in his body. He could hear it in his voice. The silence in the room is deafening.

“Your blood .. didn’t actually hit the spell circle.” He says, finally. “I smeared some of it in myself.”

He couldn’t understand it. “Why would you DO that?”

“And I may-- please forgive me-- may have goaded you into hurting yourself. For this purpose.” He finally looks at him again, and he’s not sure what expression is on his own face, but the one on Julian’s is pained. “I just wanted to share this with you. This is our baby. All of us, together.”

Lucio feels his hackles raising, something between anger and betrayal coursing through him. “You’ve cursed that fucking thing, you know that, right? Either it’s going to grow horns or it’s going to kill you or both.”

“You’re not inherently a monster. It’s not your nature, and it surely isn’t going to be his.”

“How do you know?”

Julian smiles. “I don’t.”

Another long moment passes.

“Do you want to hold him?”

He wants so badly to kill it, before it kills Jules like he killed his own father before him. Before it begins to make its own mistakes, following in his footsteps.

Before he has the chance to train it into the same sort of ruthless killing machine he had become, following in his mother’s footsteps.

He feels himself slowly nod, as though compelled.

The small, helpless thing is gently placed in his arms, right hand instinctively supporting its tiny head, its quicksilver eyes gazing up at him with the same sort of befuddlement he feels right now, looking at it. It’s too warm, too soft, too fragile.

The child seems at ease now, smiling and babbling. He feels a light smile tugging at his own lips, and he isn’t sure why.

“He’s gonna look just like you.” Lucio says after a moment. “Hairier than an ape.”

His husband chuckles, relaxing as if he hasn’t just handed his only child to a monster. “Alas, that is the Devorak curse. Mazelinka suspects we descended from mountain trolls.”

One long finger gently boops the thing’s little beaky nose, grinning as it grabs for his hand. It’s a bright and gentle grin that makes his heart ache.

The grin falters, an exhausted, pleading look soon taking its place.

“I suppose you’re not going to help me take care of him.”

“Not on your life.”

“We’ll just see about that.”

He still wants to kill it.

[phantomchick]

Naruto Fic Rec Masterpost!

The Last To Know by KuriQuinn Oneshot, Gen, Teen and Up, Team Seven, Sakura and Sasuke, Sakura and Team 7, Canon Compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending, trust, broken trust, forgiveness, hurt/comfort, this fic is fantastic and made me have so many feels for the characters as well as the bonds between them, Character Dynamics,

Summary: As usual, telling her the truth happens as though by afterthought. And this time, she's not taking it.

i'll always be there for you by RecklessWriter Oneshot, Gen, Itachi and Sasuke feels, sibling feels, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Uchiha Sasuke Needs a Hug, Big Brother Uchiha Itachi, a part of me niggles over team 7 failing a mission but I pretend that they ran into the hunter nin afterwards and Kakashi got the scroll back, it do be like that sometimes, Good big brother Itachi, Bad big brother Itachi, it’s complicated, Feels,

Summary:

He’s pressed against something warm. There are fingers carding gently through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Nii-san,” Sasuke whispers.

The hand in his hair freezes.

Sasuke gets thrown into a frozen lake. Itachi doesn't know how to stop being a big brother, even when he's supposed to be pretending he doesn't care.

The Beautiful Orange Thing by zafiro Oneshot, Gen, Naruto and Kurama, Naruto is a very lonely kid and the kyubi is a very lonely bijuu, Pre-Naruto Canon Era, chibi-Naruto, Naruto loves Orange, Kurama tolerates Naruto because he is Cute, sweetness and light, angst and fluff, so cute I wanna physically hug this fic to my chest

Summary: Naruto arrives at a weird place and finds something wonderful there.

Maslow by FriendshipCastle Oneshot, Gen, T for cursing, canonical child neglect, Iruka feels, Naruto feels, implied/referenced child abuse, but nothing worse than what’s in canon, angst, hurt/comfort,

Summary: The first four tiers of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Human Needs applied to Naruto’s depressing childhood. Alternatively: Iruka slowly becomes the best replacement mother a ninja could have.

take the fight from the kid by theformerone Oneshot, Gen, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Team 7, Canon Compliant, but can be read as divergent, Post Wave arc, Pre-Chuunin Exams,  

Summary: Training with his team is different than it was before the mission to Wave. Sasuke notices how things have changed.

A Clean Break by GwendolynStacy Oneshot, Gen, Teen and Up,  Hatake Kakashi and Team 7, Team as Family, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Team Fluff, Kakashi feels, Self-Harm via compulsive hand washing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Happy Ending,

Summary: Every member of Team 7 has their personal set of demons to haunt them. While Kakashi is always prepared to lend his students a listening ear, he still hasn’t quite figured out how to ask for help when he’s the one crumbling.

The Beginning and the End by QuinsValoria Oneshot, short oneshot, gen, THIS HAD ME SOBBING OVER KUSHINA AGAIN EVEN THOUGH IT’S SO SHORT, pre-canon era, angst, Dont worry kushina, Your baby makes it out just fine, cries into laptop screen, Hurt/Comfort,

Summary:

“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.” —Robert Browning

Uzumaki Kushina is an amazing mother, even in the very short time she has left.

OR

Kushina comforts her baby.

The Prince Of Leaves And Deep Water by RayShippouUchiha Ongoing, 3 chapter fic, do you ever read a fic with language that is so pretty and evocative that you just want to lean into it, like a kid listening to a piece of folklore that’s been passed down, it’s just beautiful to read? And the words slice and cut into your feelings in the best of ways, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, Kushina feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Uzumaki Lore, well worth the read even as a stand alone should it never update again, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Neglect, Uzushio feels,

Summary: ‘Protect him,’ Kushina prays in the quiet of her own mind as she leaves; pleading silently to the old spirits from her childhood, to the things that the Uzumaki Elders used to whisper about in hushed tones.

‘Love him,’ Kushina begs of the things she only knows from instinct and half remembered stories, those things filled with the power of salt and sun and deep deep waters.  Those things that live and thrive in the heart and soul of every Uzumaki who has ever breathed and battled and bled.  'Guide him, keep him safe for always.  But love him most of all. My little prince of eddies and leaves.’

Left behind, left alone and cold where before there was only a soft sort of warmth and a steady kind of safety, Naruto wails.

Final Evaluation by Do_the_Cool_Whip Completed, 5 Chapter Fic, Gen, Umino Iruka & The Rookie Nine, Iruka-Sensei, Feels, fluffy, I have so many emotions about Iruka being the best teacher in the elemental nations and this fic brought them all out to play, Excellence, Kakashi is a troll, a huge troll, like, he’s such a troll he’s a mountain troll, Asuma is a lesser troll, like he’s mostly decent but still infuriating so he’s a bridge troll, Kurenai is so cool that even when she’s trolling as is her right and duty as the jounin elite she is, the person she’s trolling still respects her for it, a river troll, the kids are so cute and young here, you can really feel Iruka’s affection for them, please revel in the wonderful that is this entire fic, revel I say

Summary: Progress evaluations are one-on-one consultation meetings between academy students and their teacher. Their purpose is to inform academy students of their strengths and weaknesses and guide them down their ideal path to becoming a strong shinobi. Upon graduating the academy and passing their jounin-sensei test, new genin return to the academy for one final consultation. (Or: The story of what happens when Umino Iruka uses his final meetings with his students as way to send them off to become the best shinobi they can possibly be.)

it takes a village by quillofferings Oneshot, Gen, snapshot series, angst, character insight, konoha 12, rookie 9, team Gai, team 10, team 8, team 7, repeating patterns and revelations, kinda gives a sense of the culture of a childhood in Konoha in a way that’s very quietly tragic, this story was written well before shippuden came out but it still reads mostly true to me, A Classic of the Fandom,

Summary: A Naruto snapshot series in the form of a oneshot.

spirals by nescione Gen, Oneshot, Team Seven, Generations, Team 7, Dai Nana Han, Spirals, Repeating Patterns, things happening the same across generations in repeating patterns is a big theme in the canon and lots of fic delve into it and play with the whole idea as a result, but this fic does it especially well, Team as Family, Angst, Fluff, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, A Classic of the Fandom, Summary: From the sannin to the present- a look at how history repeats itself, and how it doesn't.

this, and love too, will ruin us by RecklessWriter Oneshot, Gen, Itachi and Sasuke feels, Naruto Feels, Short and Sweet, Angst, Whump, Brother Feels, Sibling feels, Uchiha Sasuke Needs a Hug, Naruto Uzumaki Needs a Hug,

Summary: Naruto remembers the first time he saw Sasuke and Itachi.

He remembers looking at them and thinking, I wish I had someone who loved me like that.

Ten Facts About Team Yamato by Lisse Oneshot, Gen, short and sweet, Team 7 feels, Team as Family, Dai Nana Han, Team Seven, Team Yamato, characterisation, short but solid, Ficlet,

Summary: On paper, their team doesn't exist.

Troubling New Developments by SicTransitGloria Oneshot, Teen and Up, hilarious, pre-shippuden, Team as Family, Kakashi pov, Team 7, AHAHAHAHA,  Puberty hits the genin,

Summary: Kakashi takes a moment to wrap his mind around equating Ino’s chest with enemy shinobi while Asuma begins beating his head against the table and groaning about how he didn’t sign up for this. Rated for language and the general horror that is puberty

Of Harrowed Hearts by Sable_Scribe Ongoing and possibly (probably) Abandoned, Gen, Long Fic, we’re at 36 chapters in as of the time I’m posting this, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix It, Families of Choice, Team Seven, Team as Family, Bamf Kakashi, Good Teacher! Kakashi, Angst, Uzushio Lore, Fluff, Uzushio Feels, Uzumaki heritage, Bamf Team 7, BAMF Rookie Nine, Naruto's ability to make friends with giant chakra demons surfaces early, Rookie Nine, Rookie 9, Konoha 12, Naruto and Kurama,

Summary Naruto has been hearing the rumbling growl in the back of his head for as long as he can remember. He’s seven when he tries to talk to it for the first time. He’s the dead last, the failure at everything, so he doesn’t actually expect to succeed. And when he’s suddenly standing, knee deep in murky water and face to face with a demon, he has no idea what to expect. As it turns out, the world could use something unexpected.

Automatic by Dayadhvam Oneshot, Gen, Sand Siblings, Fluff, Team as Family, but also, Family as Family, Short and Sweet, A Classic of The Fandom

Summary: Gaara's shield defense is automatic: he has never had to consciously think about ordering the sand where it is needed. Kankurou and Temari have always known this.

As Is the Sea Marvelous by blackkat Mature, Gen, Eleven Chapter Fic, Warring States Era, Uchiha Madara/Senju Tobirama, Izuna Lives AU, everybody lives nobody dies, Hurt/Comfort, brotherly feels, sibling relationships, Angst With A Happy Ending, Insecurity, Self-Sacrifice, Imprisonment, Fix-It

Summary: Tobirama is willing to give absolutely anything for Hashirama and his dream. Including his life.

A Lesson In Trust by Live Gen, Oneshot, Shikamaru & Naruto friendship, academy days, trust exercise, fluff

Summary: All Iruka wants is for his class to start trusting each other, too bad Shikamaru would rather watch the clouds...

Snow Is Serious Business When Your Business Is Being A Kid by vulcanhighblood Gen, Oneshot, Iruka and Naruto, Umino Iruka is a Good Teacher, Uzumaki Naruto Needs a Hug, Fluff, Snow

Summary: Iruka's trying to teach his class, but the first snowfall of the year makes keeping their attention more difficult than he would have liked.

The Consequences of Winning by tabjoy13 Oneshot, Gen, Team 7, Protective Hatake Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi is a Good Teacher, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Hatake Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi Is Trying, Wave Mission

Summary: Three days. It had been three days since Zabuza’s attack, since Kakashi passed out, and since Team Seven took refuge in the bridge builder’s home. Three days and Kakashi hadn’t shown a sign of stirring. Three young genin are left with the question: now what? Cross posted on FF.net.

discendo docemus by llamallamaduck Mature, Ongoing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Trauma/Ptsd, Uchiha Sasuke-centric, Good Orochimaru, A lot of talk about depression and mental instability, Also Sharingan fuckery and assorted eye-trauma, rarepair, Itachi & Sasuke, eventual Sasuke/Ukitake, Itachi & Tsunade, 

Summary: There are some things a seven-year-old psyche is not ready to endure. An S-ranked torture technique preformed by a traumatized thirteen-year-old is one of those things. Sasuke doesn’t enjoy hallucinating memories of his murdered family day in and day out, but he’s learned to be philosophical about such things. It’s everything else that’s the problem, really.

Nidaime Otokage by DuskBeforeDawn Ongoing, inspired by nukenin, Time Travel, Dimension Travel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Hatake Kakashi, BAMF Hatake Kakashi, BAMF Dai-nana-han,Team 7, Team as Family, Non-Konoha Shinobi Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi is a Troll, Kage level Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi-centric, fluff, adventure, crack, mature, fun read

Summary: No one knew him.His father was still alive.His Sharingan acted like it had always been his.Kakashi was twenty-two years in the past of a different world.

French Kissing, the End of the World, and Other Impossible Ordeals by Tsume_Yuki Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Female Uzumaki Naruto, Time Travel, Uchiha Sasuke Being an Asshole, Protective Uchiha Sasuke, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, Time Travel Fix-It, Smitten Uchiha Sasuke, grumpy asshole/cheerful optimist, this fic is literally just Sasuke being soft for Naruto, Mature but like it’s fiiine the author could’ve left it at teen and up and it would’ve gotten a pass at least from me

Summary: This is it, centuries of excellent genetics, of carefully selected marriages to maximise the potential of future generations and it’s going to be Sasuke who introduces idiocy to the Uchiha bloodline. The ancestors must be rolling in their graves. In which Sasuke is smitten, Naruto is a badass, and time travel happens.

No Tomorrow by Authorship Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Clan, Shisui Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Longfic, Completed, Found Family, Fix It, Mature, Time Travel, Fuck Danzo

Summary: The water was crushing, pummelling Shisui's broken form, even as it swept him further and further from Konoha. 

And then Shisui woke up.

It's two months until the day he died. Two months to change the current of his life, of his Clan, of his village. And Shisui has no intention of letting history run its course.

¦ part 1 ¦ part 2 ¦ part 3 ¦

[wulfrann]

A wingman winged (Palmetto by the Sea part 1)

All for the game

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten & Allison Reynolds, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (side)

Additional Tags: AU - Modern Setting, AU - No Exy, First Meeting, Eden’s Twilight, Neil ‘Best Wingman’ Josten

[Part 1 of the Palmetto by the Sea series - Chapter 1/1 - 3k words - Published 2020-12-10]

Summary :

It's a Saturday night at Eden's, and Allison needs Neil's help to approach the object of her long-suffering crush - that is to say, she needs him to distract the girl's intimidating friend long enough that she's able to approach in the first place.

(TW: alcohol, sexual harassment (short-lived), brief display of violence, smoking)

[Read on Ao3]

*

A wingman winged

The music thumps the ground in rhythm, low and deep like a pulse as it throbs through the club and reverberates into the bodies twisting as one on the dance floor. Eden’s Twilight isn’t really Neil’s scene, but the dark aesthetic and ever-shifting neon lighting make it easy to blend in. The shadows bend and stretch over his scars, reducing them to odd tattoos at first glance - and he makes sure he never gets a second. The clothes he’s wearing are nice enough and all black, but neither form-fitting nor revealing. Standing next to Allison’s brand of tastefully flashy clubwear, he’s no more than a foil. Seduction is her domain, and she thrives on it.

Which is what makes the fact that she’s asking him for help absolutely baffling.

“I’ve seen you wrap more than half this crowd around your little finger like it was nothing. Why can’t you just do the same with her?”

“You don’t understand,” Allison repeats for the third time that night. She has her chin in her hand and is leaning over her drink, swirling the expensive cocktail around with her straw. “I’ve tried everything, and the most I’ve gotten is for her to look at me. She hasn’t even tried to buy me a drink.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

Allison scoffs. “I don’t set myself up for failure. She’s given me no sign that she’s interested. Besides, that little troll of a man she keeps around would probably bite me if I tried.”

Neil snorts at that. He’s seen the man in question glare people away, from both himself and his friend, all evening - on one occasion, he’s almost certain that the man even pulled out a knife. There’s no mistaking the way that the light glinted off of the blade, not even from across a crowded nightclub. Neil would recognise that brief flash anywhere.

His friend though, she looks friendly enough. White hair dyed rainbow at the tips, a silver cross, a few piercings. She’s wearing a black dress that wouldn’t look out of place in daylight and a soft smile that Neil is tempted to believe is fake just because of how earnest it looks. She’s also got the muscle structure of an athlete, a fact which Allison has reminded him of enough times that he’ll probably never be able to forget.

“Couldn’t you just accept your defeat and move on?” Neil tries, but he’s known Allison long enough that his heart isn’t in it. She’s never been one to give up.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen the arms on her? I’m getting her in my bed whether her little bodyguard likes it or not.”

“What if she’s straight?”

Allison shakes her head at him in that way that means he’s failed at some kind of social task and starts to count her points off her fingers. “Neil, the woman is ripped, has an undercut, rainbow hair, and armpit hair.”

“How do you know-”

“I have eyes. Besides, that blond troll she always comes here with is definitely gay, and everyone knows queer people travel in group.”

Neil throws a skeptical glance towards the unlikely duo, but doesn’t argue. None of what Allison listed strikes him as particularly telling, but he’s been told that his ‘gaydar’ is ‘absolutely abysmal’ on numerous occasions by about everyone he knows except Kevin, who's just as bad as him if Allison can be trusted.

Neil might as well accept his fate. “What do you want me to do?”

Allison grins at him. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

*

Locating the two of them isn’t as easy when he’s not sitting on the upper level but standing right here in the crowd, surrounded by people and blinded by the rapidly changing lights. Years of hyper-vigilance end up paying off once he’s gotten his bearings right, however, and he starts making his roundabout way towards the section of wall they’re leaning on. The man is sipping on some kind of drink and staring blankly into the distance while the woman does most of the talking, though she does glance in Allison’s general direction more than once in the amount of time it takes Neil to reach them. He doesn’t blame her - even he has to admit that Allison’s dancing is a thing of beauty.

Neil, on the other hand, only ever pretends to dance. He’s gone out with his friends often enough that he’s picked up a few generic moves and can blend in, but it just - doesn’t appeal to him. Still, what little grasp he has on it is enough to get to his target unnoticed.

One falsely awkward step later and he’s got a glassful of whiskey and coke soaking into the man’s black tank top and dripping down his pants.

The hand wrapped around his arm, steadying him, is an unexpected addition. Neil’s previous drink messed his balance at the last minute and he’s pretty sure he’d have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t been caught. The man’s grip is undeniable strong, but it’s the eyes that really hold Neil down to his spot. He can’t quite tell the color because of the many strobing lights and colored neons flashing around, but he thinks they might be brown.

“Oops,” Neil says, straightening himself up with exaggerated movements. The man’s eyes flicker down his drenched top before sliding back up to Neil’s eyes without so much as a frown. “Sorry for your muscle shirt,” Neil adds as an after-thought, digging the word out of an afternoon spent (unwillingly) shopping with Allison.

The man arcs a single eyebrow. “You’re drunk,” he says, with one of the flattest voices Neil has ever heard.

Neil smiles widely, swaying a little on his feet. He still has the man’s hand wrapped around his bicep. “No,” he retorts, slurring the words a bit, “I’m Neil.”

The eyebrow arcs up even higher. Neil’s smile widens. He’s about to say something else, whatever sentence he can think of that would maintain the man’s attention on him, when someone else’s voice cuts in.

“Andrew, you’re soaked!”

Neil turns towards the woman, spying Allison making her way over from behind her, and raises his now empty glass. “My fault. I wasn’t looking.”

She smiles. From close up, it looks even softer than Neil thought. “That’s okay, it happens,” she says, then glances down where the man’s hands - Andrew’s? - is still holding on to him. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I just tripped,” Neil reassures her, then looks over at Andrew, whose eyes haven’t left his face. He’s… staring, with an intensity that catches Neil off-guard. And then he’s not, because Allison is coming over and calling his name. The hand drops from his arm like it was burned.

“Neil! There you are.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, then turns, falsely confused, towards Andrew and his friend. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” the woman says, looking a little stunned.

“Your friend spilled his drink on me,” Andrew states, throwing a look at his own friend.

“I was just going to ask the barman for paper towels,” the object of Allison's scheming adds, already half-turning away.

Allison doesn’t hesitate one second before following suit, offering her help. When the woman starts to protest, she takes hold of her arm and all but drags her to the bar. Neil watches the interaction without holding back his smile.

When he turns back towards Andrew, the man is staring at him with a frown.

“Sorry again for your shirt,” Neil offers, though he forgets to make himself sound like he means it. “You should probably take it off.”

The arched eyebrow comes back, and Neil realizes what he just said with a choked laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. But it would dry faster,” he adds, feeling stupid. Andrew doesn’t look convinced, though, so he feels compelled to add, “I don’t swing.”

“I don’t watch baseball,” Andrew deadpans.

“I’m not talking about baseball,” Neil says, grimacing in disgust. “It’s not even a real sport.”

The look Andrew gives him is the blankest one yet. Neil looks down into his empty glass, then at Andrew’s tank top.

“You really should rinse it down, at least,” he ends up saying. “Otherwise it’s going to stick.”

Andrew stares at him a little longer, then downs his glass and starts to move in the direction of the bathroom. For some reason, Neil follows.

The bathroom is painted mostly black, like just about everything in Eden’s. Only the large sink is white. Neil leans back against it and watches as Andrew grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser and soaks them with water, then starts to wipe at his shirt. He thinks about helping, but remembers the way Andrew avoided touching anyone on his way to the bathroom and figures that there’s not much he could do, anyway.

“You’re not drunk,” Andrew states after a while.

Neil debates lying as Andrew throws the wet ball of paper away and walks to the dispenser to get more, but decides against it. “No, I’m not. I don’t like it.”

Andrew barely glances at him. “You play drunk well for someone who doesn’t like it.”

“S’not hard,” Neil says, shrugging, then figures he might as well come clean and adds: “Allison needed an excuse to talk to your friend.”

Andrew meets his eyes then, eyebrow arched up. “Did she try buying her a drink?”

“That’s what I said.” Neil smiles, then shrugs again. “Apparently she’s been trying to get your friend’s attention for weeks, but nothing’s worked.”

Andrew lets a sharp breath out of his nose, which Neil guesses is the equivalent of a laugh, if the lack of facial expression he's shown so far is anything to go by. “If that’s what she thinks, then your friend’s blind.”

Neil grins. “I’m glad. I thought I’d caught her staring a few times, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Renee likes to think she’s subtle.”

“Well, at least they’re talking now. I don’t think you’re getting those paper towels though,” Neil adds, watching Andrew wash his hands with a distracted kind of fascination. Somehow, the dark armbands encasing both of Andrew’s forearms make his hands stand out. Broad, and worn, with an odd elegance in the way they move. Neil would bet a lot of money on Andrew having some kind of manual career, at the very least a hobby. Something meticulous.

It’s only after Andrew’s wiped his hands and thrown away one last paper towel that Neil realizes he’s been staring, and he moves his eyes to Andrew’s face instead. He finds him with his head tipped slightly to the side, looking at him with the faintest hint of curiosity on his face.

Neil is about to say something - he's not sure what - when some guy he’d barely registered on his radar suddenly steps into his space.

"Hey there, pretty face,” the guy slurs, exhaling cheap booze right into Neil’s face. “Were you waiting for me?"

Neil looks up at the guy's face and begrudgingly resists the urge to bash an elbow into his nose. "Obviously not," he spits.

Hoping that it's enough for the guy to take his hint and leave, Neil starts to turn back towards Andrew. He is immediately jostled back towards the guy as a large hand grabs his chin and twists. "Hey, I was talking to you, Scarface."

"Wow, I've never heard that one before," Neil retorts, rolling his eyes. "You know, you should really make up your mind, asshole. Either I'm pretty or I'm not. Now get lost," Neil says, and is about to jam his knee into the guy's crotch when something tears the asshole away from him. Neil's balance is shaken by the movement, but he manages to stay upright by gripping the sink.

"You don't touch people without their permission. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?" Andrew says, pressing down upon the hold he has on the guy's arm, which he's twisted behind his back with one hand. He has a knife pressed to the guy's throat with the other. His voice is flat enough to cut. "If I see you again, I'll gut you. Understood?"

The guy nods and Andrew sends him sprawling onto the floor. He scrambles quickly to his feet and promptly runs out the door. Light glints off the small knife’s blade, clutched so tightly Andrew’s knuckles look white.

"Thanks," Neil says in the silence. "But I could have handled it."

"I don't care," Andrew snarls back.

Neil looks at the tension oozing out of Andrew's every cell and decides to keep silent. It's the right decision, judging by the way Andrew closes his eyes and starts packing up the tension, folding it back inside little by little. Neil knows the feeling.

The knife vanishes from his hand (and into one of the sheaths Neil suspects are sewn into the armbands), and Neil follows Andrew out of the bathroom. They stand by the door for a bit while Neil watches Andrew scanning the crowd with a clenched jaw. The tension is still there, even packed up, even pressed down tight under the surface of his skin. It needs more space than that to leave.

"Let's get out of here," Neil offers.

Andrew glances at him, then nods. Neil takes a hold of the hem of Andrew's shirt and leads the way out of the club.

*

The night's chill is a welcome change of pace after the density of the packed club's air. Neil inhales a gallon of it as soon as they've stepped outside, and hears Andrew do the same. It smells of cigarette butts and wet asphalt. He had no idea it'd rained.

A faint click on his right - Andrew lights a cigarette and offers him another one. Neil takes it and watches the smoke spill out of Andrew’s mouth like magic, grabbing hold of the lighter only as an afterthought. The metal is smooth under his touch and slightly warm over the imprint of Andrew’s hand. Neil brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, closing his eyes to focus on the burning air flow rushing down his windpipe. He blows it out smiling, eyes trailing after the faint grey cloud. Andrew’s eyes are on him.

“Thanks,” he tells him, raising his cigarette in the air.

They smoke in silence. Neil lets the little circle of fire eat away at his cigarette without taking another drag, content just to breathe and to watch as the tension coiled so tight in Andrew’s chest unwinds, seeping out, one exhalation at a time, into the quiet night.

The quiet can’t last forever, however, especially not on a Saturday night at Eden’s doorsteps, and so the peace is brutally broken a few minutes later as a group of inebriated twenty-somethings spill out over the sidewalk laughing loudly and singing songs. Andrew adroitly sidesteps one of them as he staggers to the side before getting dragged back by his friend, brushing shoulders with Neil. They got their stuff back from the cloakroom when they stepped out and Andrew’s wearing a leather jacket over his muscle shirt, black as the rest of his clothes.

Andrew looks at the group staggering its way down the street until they’re far enough they can barely hear them. “Are you hungry?”

Neil shrugs. “Kinda. Why? Are you asking me to dinner?” Neil asks, smile tugging at his lips. “I doubt we’ll find anything open.”

Andrew smothers the butt of his cigarette on the wall and tosses it into the trashcan Eden’s staff left by the door, then gestures at Neil to follow. It goes against about every instinct Neil has cultivated along the years, but he does.

He doesn’t know why. Andrew’s back is broad and he walks at a steady pace, with an assurance that doesn’t look learned and yet still probably is. Neil remembers the way Andrew looked when he bent the asshole’s arm behind his back, like what he really wanted was to break it in half but knew that he had to hold back. His voice hadn’t faltered then, either. Neil wonders if it ever does.

They stop in front of a motor bike parked some way off of the club, street lights glinting off of the metal and black bodywork. Andrew gets a helmet from some kind of locked compartment and hands it over to Neil, who takes it by reflex.

“Where are we going?” he asks, turning the helmet around in his hands. He’s starting to wonder whether Andrew’s even aware that there are other colors outside of black.

Andrew grabs a pair of gloves out of the compartment and slips them on. “A kebab joint,” he says without looking at Neil. “It’s open until 3.”

 Neil considers the bike, then the helmet in his hands. “I’ve never ridden on a bike before.”

“Don’t get on before I tell you to. Don’t make me lose my balance. When the bike leans into turns, lean with it,” he drones out. “If you do that and hold on, you’ll be fine.”

Neil considers Andrew. The solid stance of him. Once he climbs on the bike, he’ll have no control until they stop.

“Okay.”

There’s a buzzing beneath his kin.

*

The kebab joint is a tiny square of neon light squeezed in-between two higher-end shops, and the only open place to sell food for miles around. There are no tables and no interior, just a counter with a window display that reminds Neil of ice-cream shops, filled with meat fillings, some kind of fried rolls, and a handful of sad-looking pastries. The items are listed above and to the sides - hamburgers, kebabs, paninis, all with various meats and side dishes and an array of sauces Neil’s never heard of before. He has no idea where to start, and so asks for the same thing Andrew ordered.

They pack the smell of cheap food and fat in plastic bags and leave the shop front to sit by the pier. The kebab is greasy and would have made Kevin scream, but the meat is tasty and the sauce is good, and it’s somehow the perfect thing to eat right now.

Through the cloud of their food wafts the sharp smell of iodine. They claimed a spot of the pier to sit, legs dangling through the railing, and the wood too smells of salt, is so ingrained with it that it sticks slightly to the skin and leaves imprints of tiny crystals on their clothes.

They eat in silence; the wash and backwash of the sea beneath the pier is a rolling whisper, swishing quietly past the piles and back again, a dark rippling sky in movement. There is no agitation around them, yet still it seems as though the sea swallows all sounds, pillows the silence with its mass, shaping a quietude with depth. It’s a quality of peace Neil has never felt before.

He’s just about finished with his food when his phone buzzes.

[From: Allison] where r u??

Neil snorts. Andrew raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head.

[To: Allison] I left 30 minutes ago, but thank you for noticing.

[From: Allison] was busy :-*

[From: Allison] u haven’t been kidnapped right? did u go home?

[To: Allison] No and no. I’m at the pier with Andrew.

[From: Allison] ?????

[From: Allison] was that a joke???

Neil huffs out a laugh, enjoying the confusion, and puts his phone on silent as more texts keep coming in. Andrew’s phone buzzes once, but he doesn’t check it - just grabs a cigarette and his lighter, replacing the smell of their meal with another. The smoke drifts up and disperses, yielding to the handful of stars valiantly fighting against the electrical constellations of city lights. The moon is gibbous amongst them and fractal upon the sea; Neil distractedly notices that it’s waning, as the curve makes a d and Jean’s trick somehow never left his mind, despite his lack of interest in the conversation at the time.

It makes Andrew look even paler, this lighting. His hair is made of silver and the volumes of his face either stand out or cave, stark and almost unreal.

Andrew’s eyes flick to his.

“Staring.”

Neil smiles. He takes the cigarette from Andrew’s hand and takes a drag, blowing memories up, up, up until they’re gone.

“What do you do?” he asks when he hands the cigarette back. “For a living, I mean.”

Andrew doesn't answer. He just looks at Neil and pulls on his cigarette. A bit of wind blows the smoke sideways, across his cheek and back to land.

"If you won't tell me, I'll guess," Neil says when it's clear he's not getting an answer, and pretends to study Andrew's appearance for clues. "You could be an artist. You look like one." He grins at the unimpressed look on Andrew's face. "Bit of a cursed poet vibe, with the piercings and all that black. Strong aesthetic. I guess you could be a musician, too."

The corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Shallow."

Neil shrugs. Appearances tell a lot more than people think, but he's pretty sure he got it wrong. He doesn't actually know how artists are supposed to look like - that's not really the kind of things he learned to watch out for - but it's as good a guess as anything. "It's either that or undertaker."

Andrew blows smoke out through his nose. "Sorry to disappoint, but I just serve drinks."

Neil hums. "Full time?"

"No. I also cook."

"You're a chef, and you still eat food like this?" Neil asks, waving at the plastic bag sitting between them.

"Aide," Andrew corrects. "Anas' is the only decent place still open. I don't see you complaining."

"It was pretty good," Neil grants, then adds, because it's only fair: "I'm a student."

"Late calling?"

Neil smiles. "Something like it."

An eyebrow shaped like a question. Neil ignores it in favor of the sea, but the weight of Andrew's gaze stays fixed on him like an anchor. He wonders if Andrew's trying to guess what something like it may hide; wonders how far away from reality he's wandering, trying to find something reasonable; wonders, even, how he'd react if Neil told him the truth. Whether he'd balk at the scars that prove it or stare at them the same way he's staring at the ones across his face now, blank and unwavering, on the upside of bored.

*

Riding on Andrew's bike the second time is just as exhilarating as the first. The city flies by in a blur - the docks, the bars, the empty streets, they blend together and melt together until there's nothing really left but them, passing. Alone. A figment caught between two worlds.

When Andrew drops him off, the ground still moves beneath his feet. Neil shoves his hand into his pockets and grins, feeling absurdly carefree.

"Thank you. For the ride and for the food - it was amazing."

He means it. Andrew is looking at him like he's trying to figure out if he does. He holds out his hand, and Neil frowns.

He looks to the sky and sighs. "Your phone."

"Oh," Neil says. He puts his phone in Andrew's palm.

Andrew takes one glove off and puts his number in quickly. He tosses his phone back to Neil and brings two fingers up to his temple in salute.

The bike roars to life, the noise filling the street until it's gone. Neil looks down at the brand new contact in his phone, carefully prodding at the little bit of warmth beneath his sternum.

Matt, Dan, Wymack, Allison, Abby, Kevin, his therapist, his dentist and his doctor. Andrew's number brings the staggering total amount of contacts into his phone to a very satisfying 10.

[dnd-vigilante]

Ignatius

General Concept

People usually play druids around the idea that nature is fundamentally opposed humans and civilization. The druid’s role in this dichotomy tends to focus on advocating balance between nature and human activity, which is a flawed, humancentric view because it assumes people are separate from nature.

A more nuanced, contemporary evolutionary view takes a more holistic view of nature by including people and civilization in nature. Civilization is one way humans have adapted to their environments similarly to beavers constructing dams. Obviously, there are many differences, the point being that the civilization versus nature dichotomy is simplistic and doesn’t take into account the more complicated picture. Plenty examples exist in the archaeological record where cities allowed wildlife to thrive by preventing erosion, and it wasn’t until after the city collapsed that the wildlife was no longer able to survive.

Taking this view into account, Ignatius will be a druid that values people and civilization because he sees them as part of the natural world. However, by giving up their objects of beauty and living modest lives, he believes people are not living in their natural state. He takes inspiration from watching animals, creatures of instinct, and believes it is human nature to be instinctual and expressive. He believes peoples’ instinct is to live freely of inhibition and create meaning which is best manifested in art and beauty. To repress human instinct is a sin.

Ideas and Questions to Explore Through Roleplaying

Ignatius believes in individuals should be free to express themselves because otherwise we are not living true to our nature, and therefore not really living and may as well not exist. How will he reconcile that when people's’ real lives are at stake? At what cost will he be willing promote freedom?

Ignatius believes there is nothing unnatural about civilization and human creation. At what point does human action become unnecessary destruction?

It will often be easy to say “your actions should not hinder another’s freedom” but it won’t always be that simple.

What human characteristics if any will he find unnatural in addition to repression?

Would he be okay with destruction if it promotes his ideas of nature? Fire is a force of nature.

Ignatius believes that people have a nature and it must be followed. In reality, it is much harder to define humanity. During his adventure, will he keep the same belief about human nature? Will he even believe there is a human nature? What does he do if he comes to that conclusion?

Is there really any meaning in life for Ignatius? He believes it should be about instinct and expression, but will he find that really gives him meaning?

Appearance and Personality

Ignatius is a creature of instinct who loves to live in the moment. If there is a thrill to be found in front of him, he will do it (he isn’t stupid or evil he won’t do something if it’s likely to get him killed or cause serious damage to someone else). He loves beauty and extravagance and is therefore outgoing and flamboyant. Insults and not fitting in don’t bother him too much since he tends not to be attached to people because he sees it as inhibiting his freedom. Because he sees civilization as modest and repressed, he prefers to spend time in nature where the freedom makes him feel more human. He also sees nature as more human because it follows its instinct. When he can, he loves to visit ruins which he sees as a time when humans followed their nature.

Ignatius has an extravagant appearance that matches his personality. He has a long fire-red mohawk that flops over to the side hanging down near his jawline. He is covered in colorful tattoos mostly of birds like a quetzal, a peacock and various birds of paradise. His ears are adorned in piercings, mostly carved wooden piercings. If he found any jewelry from ruins he would wear those. He is adorned with whatever brightly colored clothing he can find but he keeps a grey cloak on hand if he needs to obscure himself.

He gave himself the name Ignatius because he thinks its flamboyant and it means fiery one which matches his personality.

Backstory

Ignatius was born Aelus to elven parents in the village of Flatmire. His parents’ long lives instilled them with a casual indifference to those around them which Aelus grew to hate as he found them antithetical to his natural love of life. As respected village elders, Aelus was expected to attend to his duties at home and in the village. Instead, Aelus preferred to explore the wilds where he felt he could truly be human. Flatmire held closely to tradition, eschewing art and innovation. Observing animals taught Aelus a better way of living: to be free and follow one’s instinct.

During his extended time in the jungle, he became close to a small family of trappers and befriended Tawny Jack who also held a deep reverence for nature. Together they were able to explore more of the jungle than before. A more reserved personality, Tawny encouraged Aelus’ flamboyant, ostentatious nature and he grew bolder with his philosophy. Aelus took the name Ignatius, a more fitting name to his personality, and began tattooing himself with elaborate, colorful birds. The village elders became increasingly uncomfortable with my presence leading to an explosive confrontation resulting in his exile. Tawny Jack decided to come with me and we headed toward the nearest rumored village of Eastcliff: Town.

One night during their journey, the hair stood up on the backs of their necks as they felt a malevolent presence approach. All the could see was the howling wind violently shake the surrounding trees whose form was obscured by a mirage. An encroaching pitch blackness that sucked in light as it came closer. They still do not know what it was but they swear it was a daemon and all the could do was run. Despite fleeing, the presence gained on them and right as it seemed to catch them, a strange light resembling a large bluish humanoid with elvish ears appeared and led them into a grove.

Upon reaching the grove, the evil presence immediately disappeared. Ignatius never heard the spirit the saved them speak but he could understand it as though it did. He knew the spirit’s name was Lightsong. Then, Lightsong touched him on the forehead and Ignatius saw visions of another place and time. He saw visions of people controlling the forces of nature and transforming into animals. The last vision was of himself surrounded by a small group of allies facing down the same presence that chased them. When the visions were gone the markings of a constellation appeared across his back. The spirit vanished and Ignatius saw a deep pristine pool of water. Behind the pool stood a large rainbow eucalyptus tree. At its base, a set of leather armor, a wooden shield, a scimitar named Tempest and a wood scepter made out of the same tree were spread out for him.

Tawny Jack and Ignatius made it to Eastcliff where they were welcomed. Some people have shown disapproval of Ignatius’ flamboyant appearance, others have been more accepting. Ignatius feels the same satisfaction in Eastcliffe and is eager for more adventure. Meanwhile he uses his skills as an herbalist to provide tonics and other healing remedies to Eastcliff. Ignatius became enamored with a beautiful statue in the center of Eastcliff. He loves to spend hours staring at it, remembering that expression, creativity and ingenuity of the highest forms of humanity.

Relationship with the The Envoy of The Forgotten [Organization]

Ignatius believes that what the Envoy’s holding back the demons is inherently good. He sees the daemons as evil because they feed off beauty and creativity preventing humans from living. He does not enjoy the Envoy’s ritual, but he understands it to be a necessary means to keeping the terror at bay. Were Ignatius to discover a way of keeping the terror at bay during the campaign that didn’t involve sacrificing “items of beauty” to the Envoy, he would do what he could to make that change. Because he believes the ritual is crucial to keeping the terror at bay, he spends time making beautiful carvings out of wood and paints to offer the Envoy which symbolizes offering up a piece of himself to protect people from the terror.

Alchemical Advancements

Story and Mystery

You have decided to follow Rial on a quest that may or may not be beneficial. Knowing full well that this quest may lead absolutely nowhere. Rial leads you south. Heading far past the lands you once ventured alone and with Tawny. Deep into the jungles which you now know are Yuan-ti territory.

Rial Crestling has been carrying around a pack of odd potions. Something seems to be off about all of them and it is unclear how they were made. Rial tells you he is tracking a man he believes to be a connection to the one he originally purchased the potions from.

You travel from small village to minor town, eventually coming upon a merchant who had acquired a similar pack of potions from a man headed for the now risen city of Goblorado. Rial purchased all of the potions from this man and you head towards the ancient city.

Weeks pass before you reach this metropolis of goblin kind. In this time you help Rial with his experiments. You discover through lots of trial and error that the potions Rial has found are made from the blood and essence of differing monsters. The green potions of healing appear to be primarily made of troll blood. Which gives you a full understanding of why you feel awful after drinking it…

Goblorado is nothing like you expected. It is thriving with activity and in the center of town is another one of those strange Obsidian Stones. You and Rial head to a local inn and wait. Rial tells you that you are waiting to hear something of importance. After hours of waiting and probably too many drinks, Rial stands and quickly heads for the door. Slow to follow you find Rial beating a hooded man in a back alley, a pack of potions on the ground next to him.

The merchant tells Rial he is part of a traveling merchant group he simply calls the brotherhood. An organization of seemingly benign merchants. Rial does manage to pilfer a book on potion making from the man. Rial looked at you for a few seconds, grabbed a hold of the man's neck, and snapped it with a satisfyingly quick crack. “That may not have been the way you wanted to handle that. I unfortunately cannot have someone like this knowing I am looking for them.”

He hands you the book and tells you to study it. “You may be able to find replacements for the monster blood and parts. I would start with the native plants and go from there.” With that Rial left the alley and disappeared into the crowd. You spend the following years studying this book. Eventually making your way back north towards home.

[nattikay]

@arcadia-trash @keepin-it-crispy @elizabethemerald yeah idk what the point of this fic even is but it’s got some Jlaire in it so ^^;

It was nice to be back in Arcadia, if only temporarily. New Trollmarket, while still much smaller and less intricate that its centuries-old predecessor, was established and thriving around the New Jersey Heartstone, and to celebrate the success of their quest Jim, Claire, and Blinky had gathered together in the newly-running Gyre station to visit the friends and family they’d left behind in California.

The trio were greeted with a plethora of hugs and shouts for joy as they reunited, Toby in particular talking a mile a minute, excitedly raving about everything they’d missed while on their journey and insisting that they had to come along and properly meet Krel tomorrow. Jim, Claire, and Blinky were already more-or-less familiar of the supernatural goings-on of their hometown over the past few months, of course, thanks to the ever-useful invention of cell phones and texting--but it was special to hear about it face-to-face.

These joyful greetings were short-lived, however, as the time was late--they’d decided to travel at night just to make sure Jim and Blinky would be safe from the sun. And so they all soon found themselves saying goodnight and heading their separate ways--Claire with her family, Jim with his mother, and Blinky with Toby, Aarrrgh, and Dictatious--with promises to come together to hang out for real the next morning with a celebratory breakfast.

“We can do it at my house,”  Jim offered, tusks protruding from his toothy grin. “Food’s on me.”

“Can’t wait!” called Toby, waving over his shoulder as he and Blinky made their way over towards the Domzalski home.

“See you then,” added Claire, pulling Jim down for a quick kiss on the cheek before heading off to her own street.

Jim smiled and waved back, watching a moment as his girlfriend, best friend, and essentially-adopted-father walked off in different directions before turning back into his own house.

“Mom?” he called, not seeing Barbara in the front room where she’d been just minutes before.

“I’m here,” she responded, walking in with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which she promptly handed to Jim with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to sleep on the couch...see, with Walt and I somehow getting roped into looking after all the changeling familiars, well, we needed space to put them all and well, with you not here--”

“It’s ok, Mom, I understand,” said Jim, mildly disappointed but not surprised. As much as he’d miss his old room, he couldn’t really fault her reasoning given the circumstances. Besides, a couch would still be way more comfortable than the forest floors and hard stone caves he’d slept on during the exodus to New Jersey.

“Thank you,” said Barbara with a hint of relief. “It’s getting pretty late, you go on and get some sleep. I love you,” she added, moving in to hug her son one more time, which he gladly returned. 

“Love you too, Mom. Goodnight.” 

Barbara grinned appreciatively as she headed back up the stairs, leaving Jim to set up the pillows and blankets as comfortably as he could on the couch. He drew the blinds (didn’t want to wake up to a burned stone shoulder or something if the sun rose before he woke up, after all), placed the pillows and set the blankets. That doesn’t look too bad, he thought as he examined his handiwork. Satisfied, he went to brush his teeth, change his clothes, and turn out the lights before crawling under the blankets and closing his eyes.

It was decidedly more comfortable than a cold stone cave, and yet...yet...

“Uuugggh. Why can’t I fall asleep?!” Jim growled to himself as he adjusted his position for what felt like the fiftieth time.

It’s not that he wasn’t tired...well, it wasn’t like the Gyre journey had been particularly long or exhausting or anything, but he was the...normal amount of tired, he supposed. The same that he was every night.

Was it maybe his horns getting in the way? ...nah, he’d gotten used to sleeping around those months ago, there’s no reason it should suddenly start bothering him now.

Perhaps it was the strangeness of sleeping on the couch in his own home, now that his childhood room had been taken over by a bunch of babies? Maybe...but somehow he didn’t feel like that was quite the full story.

So what was it?

Groaning, Jim turned over once more and tried again to drift off into sleep.

.oOo.

The sun was shining through the blinds (though not directly enough to cause any harm) when Jim was roused the next morning by a cheerful voice wafting over from the door.

“--morning, Dr. L!”

“Hi, Toby! Come on in...you’re a bit early, I don’t think Jim’s even up yet, let alone making breakfast.”

“That’s ok!” said Toby, bounding into the front room as Jim sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. He’d managed to get a little sleep that night, but none of it had been restful, and he was left feeling even more tired than he’d been before.

“Hey, dude!” Toby greeted his best friend excitedly. “Aarrrgh and Blinky’ll be coming through the sewers; while you were gone Aarrrgh connected that old hole Draal made in your basement to one in our house. But Nana and I are here now, so---oh man,” he broke off, noticing the bags under Jim’s eyes. “You alright dude? You look awful. Did you sleep ok?”

“I mean, not really,” said Jim, stifling a yawn. “But it’s ok. Happens to everyone, yeah? Let’s go get that breakfast party started,” He sat up and stretched before heading towards the kitchen, hair and scruff a mess and still in his pajamas.

“What do you think we should do, pancakes or waffles?” he called back over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m totally feeling waffles!” said Toby.

“Waffles it is,” said Jim, gathering ingredients for the batter.

About five minutes later Blinky and Aarrrgh emerged from the basement, plopping down in the front room to chat amiably with Toby, Nana, Barbara, and Strickler (who, Jim noticed, was holding a babbling infant that he recognized as the changeling’s own former familiar).

In another ten, the food was ready.

“Alright, we got fresh waffles for whoever wants ‘em,” the half-troll called from the kitchen. “Along with whipped cream, syrup, and fruit, or for anyone who wants some more trollish toppings, some old sock bits and tin foil,”

“Alriiiiight!” exclaimed Toby, leaping up and helping himself as the adults followed closely behind.

“Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed the smell of your cooking, kiddo,” said Barbara, to which Jim shrugged, smiling.

Just then another knock sounded at the door. Strickler, being the closest, answered it and let the Nuñezes in.

“Sorry we’re a bit late,” apologized Ophelia, “It was a little hard to drag Claire out of bed this morning...she’s usually so good with mornings, but I guess she’s been busy with that quest...”

“Oh, you’re alright; in fact, you’re right on time,” assured Strickler, ushering them in. “The food has just been put out...”

Upon the invitation, Claire made a beeline for Jim, slipping her arm around her boyfriend in a comfortable side-hug.

“You’re looking professional this morning, Chef Jim,” she teased, eyeing his pajamas and messy mane. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” shrugged Jim. “Honestly, I wasn’t even really up until Toby came over...didn’t sleep all that well last night,”

“You too, huh?” asked Claire, and sure enough when Jim glanced down she also had a bleary look in her eyes and while she had at least put on day clothes her hair, bound by its many clips, was slightly disheveled. 

You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, surprised. “Not even in your own bed?”

“Apparently not. It was weird...it was like something wasn’t quite right, for some reason...but anyways,” Claire continued, shaking off the mystery, “Let’s try some of these waffles, they smell amazing!”

.oOo.

Once everyone had eaten, a few began to disperse. Nana Domzalski retreated to her house to check up on her cats; Ophelia and Javier returned to their daily schedule with little Enrique in tow. Stickler went upstairs to feed the familiars and Barbara insisted on washing the dishes (”You made the food for everyone and you did wonderfully, now you sit back and let me clean it up!” she’d told Jim when he offered to help). That left Jim, Claire, Toby, Blinky, and Aarrrgh in the front room while Toby excitedly showed off some of the new magic tricks he and Aarrrgh had perfected to Blinky.

Jim sat on his little couch-corner, the furnishing still covered in the ruffled blankets he’d slept under (or at least, tried to) last night. Claire was leaned into his side, watching Toby’s magic act as she lazily ran her fingers through Jim’s scruff. Jim wasn’t sure he could remember ever feeling so relaxed before. In fact, he felt like he was just about to drift off to--

“Hey, I think that’s what was missing,” said Claire suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Last night, when I had trouble sleeping. That’s what was missing.”

“...what was it?”

Claire snuggled in closer. 

“Your heartbeat,” she said simply. “I guess I’d gotten so used to sleeping to it in New Trollmarket and on the journey that suddenly not having it was just...off,”

Jim took a moment to absorb this statement, eyes slowly widening. Oh. Oh.

“Ooohhhh,” he said out loud. “...man, that makes so much sense now! You were missing my...my heartbeat and I guess I was missing...your scent...oh man,” he shook his head, followed by a yawn. “That explains a lot.”

“I know we have a lot to do today, or a least a lot Toby wants us to do,” droned Claire contentedly, voice growing drowsier by the word, “but now that we have...what was missing...maybe a quick nap first would be best,”

“...yeah,” Jim managed, smiling warmly as his eyes grew heavy. “Yeah, that’s a good idea...”

And the two drifted off into a very contented snooze.

[gaygent37]

A Little Bit of Fairy Dust - Day 19

No-Set-Prompt-List-tober, October 19: WOODS

JayDick, unicorn king Jason, fairy queen Dick, bottom Dick, anal sex, fairy dust orgasm, slight h/c, 3,456 words

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

“You’ll do just fine, my Queen!” one of Dick’s attendants chirped as he rearranged Dick’s cape on his shoulders. 

Dick sighed softly. “I hope so,” he said with a small smile. 

His attendant flew into his line of sight, putting a tiny hand on Dick’s cheek. “You’ve done so well every year, and you’ve kept the peace with the unicorns for nearly two decades now, your Majesty!” he said. “What will make this year so different?”

Dick gave the little fairy a tight smile, looking at himself in the mirror. “You’re right. I’m just going for an annual treaty discussion with the Unicorn King. Nothing will be any different. Thanks for having confidence in me, Hickory.”

“That’s the spirit, your Majesty!” the attendant cheered, zooming back around to move a few pieces of Dick’s hair into place, leaving a sprinkle of fairy dust behind him. “Hickory shall go get your crown now!”

Dick nodded, watching in the mirror as the fairy zipped through the slightly ajar door. Dick let the smile slip off his face when the attendant was gone. 

Dick frowned at himself in the mirror. He was not looking forward to tonight. In fact, Dick had been dreading it for months now. It had been twenty-five years since the century long war between the fairies of the forest and the unicorns came to an end with a treaty between Dick’s parents and the unicorns’ Queen. And their species thrived under the new treaty and peace finally reigned in the forest. However, the Unicorn Queen died after a jealous lover killed her, leaving her barely of age son to take over. Dick remembered accompanying his parents to one of the annual treaty discussions and meeting the boy. 

The new king was ethereal, but he had a very solemn mien. Dick never saw him smile more than a tight grimace, even though Dick’s parents smiled throughout the night.

A month after that meeting, Dick’s parents were assassinated, and Dick found himself in a similar position.

Dick had been extremely nervous for his first meeting with the Unicorn King. He did not want the other ruler to look down on him. Dick ran through so many possible scenarios for the night, planning exactly what he would say and do in each situation. 

However, the meeting did not go how Dick expected at all. Somehow, he had ended up on the table, his dress hiked up and his legs spread wide for the king. They spoke nothing of the treaty that night. And for twenty years since, the treaty has not once successfully been discussed, but life went on year after year like they did discuss the treaty on those nights each year. 

But this year was going to be different. Dick was going to talk about the treaty. He was not going to do anything else aside form talk about the treaty. And when their discussion was done, Dick was going to walk out with dignity and as poised as he looked when he entered the hollow tree in which their meetings were held. 

The door to his room opened a bit more and three tiny fairies came floating in, Dick’s crown in their hands. 

“Your crown, your Majesty!” said one of the fairies. She and the others carefully settled the ring of closed flower buds onto Dick’s head, and upon touching Dick’s head, the flowers burst into full bloom. 

“Thank you, Amaryllis, Poppy, Hickory,” Dick said sweetly, standing up. He kissed his fingertip and touched each of the fairies on top of their heads. 

Hickory blushed viciously, and the girls laughed at him. Dick smiled. “I’ll be back by midnight,” he promised. 

“We’ll be waiting, my Queen!” Poppy sang.

Dick gave them one last smile before he shrank himself down into a tiny, flying orb of light. In a flash, he was out of the open window and shooting into the forest, heading towards the hollowed out ash tree. 

Dick circled around the circumference of the tree before he found the opening. He transformed back into his human size, taking a shaky breath before stepping into the lit interior of the tree. 

As Dick expected, the King of the Unicorns was there already, lounging in a chair. Somehow, even in the warm candlelight, he glowed. His skin shimmered and sparkled, pale like the moon. The king had the darkest blue eyes Dick had ever seen on a unicorn, a species known for their light colored eyes. And the king wore close to nothing, making Dick feel overdressed, but that was the point. 

“Jason,” Dick said, his voice trembling the slightest. 

The other man kicked his legs off of the table, a smirk on his lips. “You’ve kept me waiting, Dickie,” he murmured, his voice as smooth as cream, making Dick shiver with want.

Dick swallowed and stood up a little straighter as Jason approached him, crowding into his personal space.

As Jason leaned down to kiss him, Dick blurted out, “We should talk about the treaty.”

Jason paused, then laughed. “That can wait, Dickie. C’mon. I haven’t seen you in a year.”

Jason put an arm around Dick’s waist and pulled him in, their hips touching. Dick wanted so badly to reach over and just kiss Jason senseless. It had been a year after all. 

“No,” Dick said, his voice breathier and his pupils blown a little wider. “I... We need to stop this.”

Jason frowned. “Stop this? What this, Dickie?”

“We can’t- We can’t just come here and have... have sex every year, Jay!” Dick finally forced out. “My people think I’m coming here to talk about the treaty, making little amendments and bringing up their issues to discuss, but... I’m not.”

“You’re the queen. You do what you want,” Jason said. 

“Yes, but... I can’t lie to my people anymore, Jay,” Dick said. He put a hand on Jason’s bare chest, touching the soft skin, and Dick could feel the pulses of magic that fizzled across Jason’s skin. Dick closed his eyes, trying not to think of how Jason’s magic practically caressed Dick back. “It’s been twenty years.”

Finally, Jason’s arm dropped from around Dick’s waist. He stepped back - once, twice, three times. Almost immediately, Dick wanted to reach across the gap between them and be able to touch Jason again. But he held back. 

“I see,” Jason said. “Very well. Sit. Let’s get discussing so you can go back to your beloved people sooner.”

Dick could hear the bitterness in Jason’s voice. Still, Dick walked over to the table and sat down across from Jason. 

He took a deep breath. “My people want access to the waterfall,” Dick said softly. 

“No,” Jason said, leveling Dick with a emotionless expression. “That’s our territory.”

“Not the whole lake,” Dick said. “Just the waterfall. There are three other falls on your land while my people only have one. And we have a significantly higher population than unicorns.”

“If the fairies take the waterfall, we get the clover fields,” Jason said. 

Dick was taken aback. “What? That’s the children’s sanctuary!” 

“The clover fields for the waterfall, your Majesty,” Jason said coldly. 

Dick’s expression was hurt. “Jay...”

“Do we have a deal?” Jason asked.

Dick shook his head. “The clover fields are not something you can take. Pick something else.”

“The Gray Oak then,” Jason said. “The fairies can still collect the acorns from the tree, but only the ones that fall to the ground.

Dick gritted his teeth. The Gray Oak was the oldest tree in the forest, and it produced the most acorns in the forest. On top of that, the Gray Oak was planted by Dick’s great-great-great grandfather.

Dick sucked a lip into his mouth, chewing on the tender flesh, wondering if he should take the deal or not. His people had been asking for access to the falls for three years now, and Dick could not let them down. 

He let out a soft sigh. “Fine,” he said. “The tree for the falls.”

Jason nodded. “I’d also like to ask the fairies to stop crossing through our lands to get to the mountains.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “But that’s our only access to the mountains!”

“There’s the gorge. It’s adds a day to the trip, but I’m sure it’s not too bad,” Jason said. 

“The gorge is dangerous!” Dick protested. “It’s the land of the trolls, and in case you forgot, trolls eat fairies!”

Jason shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Dick was positively wounded. “Jason...” he said slowly. “Why are you doing this?”

“You wanted to talk about the treaty, your Majesty. I’m just honoring your wish,” Jason said. 

“You’re being so cold! Jason, this isn’t you!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “And you know me, your Majesty?”

“I- Of course I do,” Dick said, mildly offended.

“No, you don’t,” Jason scoffed. “You know nothing about me.”

“I- I know you’re a kind person at heart,” Dick said. 

“Do you know what my favorite food is? Do you know what my favorite past time is? Do you know who my closest friends are? Do you know how many romantic partners I’ve had? Do you know any of that, Dick?”

Dick blinked. “No...” he said. “You’ve never told me any of that.”

“You’ve never asked,” Jason scoffed.

“Well, you’ve never asked about-” Dick started to accuse. Then, he stopped because he realized that Jason had asked about him. Every year, after they have both satisfied their needs, Jason would wrap Dick up in his arms which were buzzing with magic, and he would listen to Dick ramble about his life. “Oh,” he said softly. Dick looked down in shame. “What is your favorite food?”

Jason looked slightly pissed, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows drawn in. He huffed. “Don’t bother now.”

“No, I want to know!” Dick said, leaning forward. “I really do. I’m sorry I never asked, but... I do want to know. Everything about you, Jay.”

Jason was silent for a few beats. Then, with a slight red touch to his cheeks, he mumbled, “Sugar cubes.”

Dick’s eyes lit up. “You’ve got a sweet tooth?” he asked. “Aww, that’s adorable. We give sugar cubes to the little ones when they cry to make them stop. In fact, I think I have some on me! I always carry a few around...” Dick dug into one of the invisible pockets of his dress, pulling out a small pouch. Then, he poured out three sugar cubes into his hand. 

Dick smiled wider when he realized Jason had been watching him the whole time. Dick reached across the table and held the sugar out to Jason. 

“I don’t want your sugar,” Jason scoffed. 

“Don’t be so high and mighty now, Jay,” Dick teased. “C’mon!”

Finally, Jason reached a hand across the table and plucked a sugar cube from Dick’s palm. He popped it into his mouth and crossed his arms. Dick took this as a sign that Jason was not going to take any more from him. 

“And what does the King of the Unicorns do in his free time?” Dick asked. “Wait, let me guess: You go swimming.”

“I read,” Jason said with a choked noise, like he was biting back a laugh. “My mane cannot suffer being drenched in water like that!”

“You’ve never been swimming?!” Dick asked. “And yet you have three waterfalls and four lakes on your land! Now tell me about your friends.”

Jason’s arms uncrossed. “I’ve only got two. Two close ones anyway,” Jason said. “Their names are Roy and Kori. They’ve been my friends since I was a kid...”

They talked for hours. Jason had more than a handful of stories telling about all the trouble he got in with his friends, and he had Dick laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks and dropped onto the table as a pile of little rainbow jewels - rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and a few diamonds sprinkled in there when he laughed hard enough. 

Sometime during the night, they had both ended up sprawled on the table, lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling of the hollowed tree.

“So... there’s still one question you haven’t asked me yet,” Jason said softly. 

Dick bit his lip. “I know,” he said. “I just... I’m not really sure I want to know the answer to that.”

“Why not?” Jason asked, rolling over and propping himself up on an arm.

Dick sighed and shrugged, silent. 

"Fine, I’ll ask for you,” Jason said. He cleared his throat and put on a higher voice. “Oh, Jason, tell me about your romantic partners! I wanna hear aaaaall about them!”

Dick snorted weakly and shook his head. Then, he turned and looked at Jason. 

Jason’s head turned to look at him too, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Well?” Dick asked. “You going to answer your own question?”

Jason laughed. “I haven’t had any romantic partners,” he said. “I’ve only had one any partner in my life.”

“Oh,” Dick said, not expecting that. “That’s... kinda sad.”

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, well, not everyone wants to be Queen. It’s not an easy job, your Majesty.”

“Hm,” Dick said, humming in agreement. “I haven’t had any partners either.”

“Not even for just sex?” Jason asked. 

“Well, aside from you, no,” Dick said. 

Jason stared up at the ceiling, blinking a few times. “Wait, are you saying we lost our virginities the same night?”

“Did we?” Dick asked. “I thought you had experience!”

“What?! I was going in just as blind as you were!” Jason laughed. He rolled fully onto his side. “But hey, you had me fooled for twenty years.”

Dick met his eyes and smiled. “Yeah. You too.”

They held their gazes for a while, and then Jason sighed, his smile fading. “Well, I suppose you should get going now? You always had to be back before midnight.” Jason started sitting up. 

Dick did not want him to go. “Wait, Jason.”

“Hm?”

“I could... break the rules once, probably,” he said hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t have to go now.”

“Then what should we do?” Jason asked, leaning back into his hands to look down at Dick. 

Dick looked up at the ceiling. “Well,” he said slowly. “I haven’t... I haven’t gotten a kiss this year yet, and I kind of want one,” he said, his eyes flickering to Jason. 

“From me?”

Dick nodded. 

Jason gave him a smiled, then leaned down, pausing just a second before pressing his lips to Dick’s.

“Mmm,” Dick hummed, happy to feel the familiar buzz of Jason’s magic against his lips. Jason shifted into a better position, flipping himself over Dick, his hand moving to Dick’s hip. 

Dick grabbed his hand and pushed it under the skirt of his dress. 

Jason groaned contently, massaging Dick’s legs, working his way higher and higher until Dick’s dress pooled around his waist. Their kiss grew deeper, Jason’s tongue practically fucking Dick’s throat, not that the fairy minded. 

From there, it escalated even quicker. Within a few minutes, Jason’s loincloth was thrown aside, and he lined himself up against Dick’s naturally slick hole. 

Jason pushed his hips in until it met Dick’s, their bodies pressed together tightly, and Jason was buried in the familiar heat he had the chance to relish only once a year. 

“Fuck, Dickie,” he groaned, leaning down and kissing Dick briefly again before starting to snap his hips back and forth, thrusting deep into Dick. 

Dick moaned and licked his lips. “Fuck me good, Jay,” he panted. “Make me feel you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that!”

Jason panted with the effort of pounding Dick, using a bit of magic to amplify his strength. The sturdy table shook with each thrust, and Dick would have slid along the surface of it, if it had not been for Jason holding his hips tightly. 

The small hollow of the tree was soon filled with the smell of their rough mating and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and the breathless moans of both monarchs. 

Dick could tell when Jason was close. The buzzing under Jason’s skin because sharper and more frantic. When it got the point where it almost hurt Dick to be touching him, Jason slammed deep into Dick one last time, spilling his cum deep inside Dick’s body. 

Dick’s vision exploded with fairy dust as he came, the golden mist flew into the air like a bomb detonation. Jason’s name was ripped from his throat and his fingers dug into Jason’s arms, breaking skin. 

When the dust settled, both Dick and Jason were glowing, and Dick could not help but laugh at how ridiculous they must have both looked. 

Dick gently brushed some of Jason’s hair out of his face, making more fairy dust fall down onto him. “It’s a good look on you,” he told the other man. 

Jason chuckled. “I certainly can’t say I was expecting that,” he panted. He groaned as he slowly pulled out of Dick. “Well, that’s a sight,” he said, watching as his cum leaked out of Dick, catching the fairy’s glitter as it went and landed on the flood as a splotch of what looked like molten gold. 

Dick sat up slowly, shaking his head and sending a spray of fairy dust flying everywhere again. “I’ve never done that before,” Dick murmured. “Interesting.”

Jason kissed Dick’s golden lips. “I think it’s a sign you liked it.”

Dick laughed. “Of course I liked it, Jay.” He thumbed away the gold that was left on Jason’s lips after he pulled away. 

Jason took Dick’s hand and transferred the mark onto the back of Dick’s hand, but only succeeding in getting more dust onto his mouth. 

“I don’t know how I’ll explain this when I get back later,” Jason chuckled. 

“Me neither,” Dick grinned.

“Oh, Dickie,” Jason said fondly. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

“You can come see me more often,” Dick joked. “Then I don’t have to wait for one day every year to see you.”

“You know,” Jason said. “What if we share the waterfall area? It can be common ground, a neutral area that belongs to both sides. Both fairies and the unicorns can go there. And maybe... someday I’ll see their Queen there too.”

Dick gave Jason a shy smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I heard he’s beautiful,” Jason murmured. “The most beautiful creature in the forest.”

Dick’s eyes locked with Jason’s. “Really?” he asked softly. “Well, I heard he was second only to the King of the Unicorns.”

“Nah,” Jason whispered. “That can’t possibly be true. I would know.”

“Hm.”

Their lips met again, the kiss gentle and soft. It was not a good-bye like it usually was, it was a see-you-later. 

Just then, there was a soft gasp behind them. 

Both Dick and Jason whipped around to the source of the sound. 

“Hickory!” Dick said. “What are you doing here?”

The tiny fairy was shocked, and Dick was not sure if it was because of the fairy dust and cum or because he caught his Queen kissing the Unicorn King on the sacred meeting table in the tree. 

“Y-Your Majesty didn’t- didn’t come back at midnight, and- and we were worried!” Hickory managed to squeak out. 

Dick winced silently to himself. He should have guessed they would come looking for him. “I’m- I’m fine,” he said. “Um, heh.”

Hickory seemed to realize that Dick was indeed fine, and he had interrupted something. “Oh, Your Majesty! Hickory is very very sorry!” the tiny fairy exclaimed, spinning around immediately, covering his eyes. 

Dick blushed, and glanced at Jason, who was still standing there naked. Jason smirked at him, and Dick grew redder.

“Have some modesty in front of your subjects, your Majesty,” Jason teased, swooping in for another kiss. 

“You!” Dick scoffed, pushing Jason away after he got the kiss. Dick slid off the table and made an attempt of brushing away the incriminating golden fairy dust. “I guess I’ll see you sometime...?”

Jason grinned. “You know where to find me, Dickie,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Dick smiled, adjusting his cape on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon, Jason.”

Jason gave him a smile, gave Dick one last kiss on the lips, and grabbed his loincloth. He tied it back around his waist and started for the exit of the tree, patting Hickory on the head with the tip of a finger. 

Hickory let out an embarrassed squeak. 

Dick laughed quietly, and he waited until the footsteps turned into the cantering of hooves and finally faded into the silence of the forest again. 

Dick cleared his throat then. “Alright, Hickory. Let’s go back home.”

“Yes, your Majesty!”

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

I am so sorry about being so behind on my prompts! I was hoping to make up the ones I missed after October, but I might just not do them anymore honestly.

[princessamericachavez]

I see your "sam and Taliesin are trickster deities" and I raise you: everyone in the CR cast is some sort of ancestral being, but they are all from different points in the timeline and different cultures and only now did they converge here.

Taliesin? Immortal Archfey who got tired of trying to fit every new version of society he's met, so he decided to just be himself and enjoy the shenanigans it causes.

Sam? Trickster Spirit that thrives in chaos and just wants to have a giggle with humans for a few decades.

Matt? The 9th reincarnation of a Norse Storyteller, back from the dawn of time when they understood the power of words. His magic is subtle in the way he threads stories together but has an ethereal aura that pulls in whoever listens to him. He remembers his past lives vaguely and sometimes recognizes them when they take over his body to give a tale an unsuspected twist. His many lives also make him well acquaintanced with the subject of death which he usually waves into his stories.

Marisha? A Greek Demi-God warrior that has been granted eternal life by the gods and used it to keep learning new fighting styles. She's faced minotaurs and gorgons and, yes, more than one troll. Probably the daughter of Atenea.

Laura? A Nymph, nature spirit that has taken human form. Impossible not to love her. Animals are her passion. She has a pure heart but also a terrifying amount of power to destroy anyone who crosses her or those she loves.

Travis? The reincarnation of a Roman Centurion. Favors logic and reason over brawn but is also 200% ready for a fight. His patron, Juno, granted him immortality not due to his bravery but after an act of kindness and selflessness. He remembers his past life and likes being coy about it.

Ashley? Viking warrior. Probably a Valkyrie. She came to Earth to be an actress as an act of reverence to Loki, who has always favored her because of her slightly chaotic trickster side.

Liam? Another nature spirit, much like his soul twin. The calm and quiet side of the woods, the soothing hum of the ocean, sometimes thunder and lighting. He loves humanity with all of his heart but is more often than not exasperated by their ignorance or hateful tendencies.

Brian? An Immortal but like only ever since the 20s or so. Still trying to figure out the whole thing. Tal is helping him. Probably a ridiculously powerful magic user in disguise.

Also, none of them know for sure that the others have a divine side to them. As far as they are concerned, they've just picked their favorite humans to goof around with for a while, but they all have that kind of unearthly energy that's made them drift together. If they all combined their powers they'd be unstoppable, but so far they are just happy chilling and playing D&D together.

[acelucky]

The Missing Hat

Fandom: The Hobbit  I  Characters: Bilbo & Bofur  I  No warning apply 

Summary: One shot regarding Bilbo & Bofur’s friendship years after the battle of the five armies. Bofur visits Bilbo and the two have time to reflect on both the past and the future, finding comfort in one another’s company. 

Bilbo turned the cup in his hands, the silver was gleaming in a fashion that meant he could see his expression in it. How long had he been polishing it for? Too long he thought, it as a nice distraction from the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind. Having Bofur stay had been wonderful, he had become the most attentive host after the events in his earlier years. But with the company of his old friend had also come memories of days long since passed, it was both a blessing and a curse to see such dear friends. 

Bilbo placed the cup back on the side and continued to potter round his home. It was only when he returned to the kitchen and saw the early signs of dusk in the form of a warm orange glow on the walls that he realised how much time had passed and Bofur still wasn’t back. 

Bilbo poked at the fireplace, watching the coal burn bright. He shuddered, a sudden chill running up his spine. He was unsure whether the involuntary motion had been caused by a distant memory or because it was late Autumn and the early signs of Winter were settling in. He looked around his home, at all the things that made him who he was and those before. 

Pulling his dressing gown tight round himself and wrapping a scarf round his neck he head out to find Bofur. The Bilbo of old never would have left home wearing his dressing gown but so much had changed since then and he’d learnt all the little things he used to worry about really were just that - little, inconsequential things. 

When Bilbo found Bofur he was sat by the pond, his feet hanging off the pier staring out at the party tree. Next to him was a fishing rod, the worms in the small container he’d brought with him wriggled over one another. They must have been feeling grateful that he had decided not to participate in that particular hobby on that day. 

Bofur watched the birds in the tree, crows, blackbirds, sparrows and more all living together in perfect harmony. He studied the patterns that formed in the bark, he thought of the simple life that he’d once dreamed he would have but knew after everything they had experienced that it was unlikely to ever come to pass. 

“Hello Bilbo,” he said before Bilbo had opened his mouth. He didn’t look up when he spoke, he would have known the sound of Bilbo’s footsteps anywhere.

 Bilbo heard Bofur sigh as he approached and sat down next to his old friend. Bilbo looked across the water at the party tree and thought of Thorin, he wondered too whether Bofur’s thoughts were in the same place as is own. Come to think of it Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d ever told the others the story of the party tree and where the acorn had come from. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, they looked down at the water where fish swam happily unaware of any pain in the world. Beyond the hills the sun had just started to set, it reminded Bilbo of what happened by the stone-trolls campfire, but in reverse. The first and last light of the day were an equal blessing.

Something was bothering Bilbo and for a moment he couldn’t figure out what it was. He placed his hands behind him and lent on his palms while considering Bofur, it then occurred to him.

“Your hat!” He exclaimed.

Bofur turned to the side and gave a weary but not unkind smile, “Yes Bilbo my hat.”

“It’s gone…” Bilbo said feeling foolish immediately for stating the obvious.

Bofur’s smile widened as he patted his friend on the shoulder, “I placed it somewhere today and you know, I can’t quite remember where, perhaps you could help me look for it old friend?”

Bilbo nodded, “Of course, a little adventure like the old days.”

Bofur chuckled and helped Bilbo to his feet, he looked at the unused fishing rod on the pier, gleaming in the orange light of late afternoon. “I was going to do a spot of fishing you know, but time just seemed to slip away,” he said thoughtfully. “It always does, you think you have all the time in the world to explore and have fun, to spend time with the people you love and the poof, it’s gone.”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say to that, apart from that he agreed, he knew to what Bofur was referring to. The dwarf had become wise in his older age, something that Bilbo thought suited him tremendously. 

“Where do you last remember seeing your hat?” Bilbo asked.

“Well if I could remember that I wouldn’t need your help finding it now would I?” He said and then gave a wink to ensure his friend wasn’t hurt by his words.

Bilbo wrung his hands, “Right…”

The two friends walked to the end of the pier, the sun finally disappearing behind the hills. The evening was cool, blackbirds sung heartily at the turn of day and Bofur and Bilbo walked side by side into the heart of the Shire in search of Bofur’s hat. 

“Do you think about them?” Bofur asked, he didn’t need to inform Bilbo of whom he was speaking.

“Yes, all the time. Their ghosts don’t leave me, so in a way I’m never alone.”

Bofur nodded, “Aye, I know that too well.”

“But now, I mean…at the time their deaths seemed so pointless, I firmly believed they died in vein and now, now I’m not so sure. I see the peace of the world, Smaug long gone, the city of Dale thriving once again. And Mordor’s advances have stopped.”

Bofur smiled sadly, “Life goes on whether we’re ready for it to or not.”

Bilbo considered Bofur’s words for a moment before nodding, “Yes, their deaths were painful but they weren’t in vain. What they fought so hard to protect and what they died for is just,” Bilbo paused and turned back to face the pond, the reflection of the sky caused a beautiful misty pink, blue and purple, colours mixing with the ripples caused by teeming life. “It’s beautiful Bofur, this world really is rather beautiful and full of wonder and kindness.”

Bofur put his arm round Bilbo and the two walked together towards the party tree, “Perhaps I left my hat by this tree and even if I didn’t I think it would be a fine place for two friends to sit and watch the stars come out to play, don’t you?”

Bilbo nodded, “Yes old friend, and the fireplace is warm for when we get home.”

Bilbo felt a sudden surge of sadness as he said the word ‘home’ how nice it would be to have company more often. But then, maybe that’s what Bag End was, it was a home to all those who needed it and to all his old friends who were always welcome. 

“Tell me Bofur, have I ever told you the story of how the party tree came to be?”

[popatochisssp]

Are any of the skeletons into D&D? What classes do you think they'd play? Do any prefer DM-ing to being a player?

Believe it or not, I am prepared for this ask! >:D

…but please forgive any inaccuracies of actual D&D gameplay because I personally have only done two or three sessions because our group was too rowdy and meandering for a DM who couldn’t corral us properly and after awhile we started playing Hearts instead to keep from stressing him out.

So! I definitely don’t feel like D&D would’ve been a thing Underground for anybody, so I’m going to answer this from a lens of somebody looping them into it on the surface and them giving it a try for the first time!

Sans (Undertale): Wizard; any DM’s worst nightmare, all his dice rolls are suspiciously perfect and he always seems to know all the campaign’s carefully hidden secrets but nobody can effectively call him on his cheating. He just keeps saying “a wizard did it,” and everybody in the party has absolutely wanted to kill him at least once. Probably does something to get himself banned, sooner or later, and then he’ll just lurk around eating snacks and being the peanut gallery. He is also preemptively banned from DM-ing, everybody just knows, instinctively, what a shit-show it would be.

Papyrus (Undertale): Paladin; a model player, he follows the rules and sticks to the objective, happy to collaborate with his party members in whatever way they need him to. He goes absolutely hog wild for any battles he gets into, though, and loves describing his heroic action scenes in vibrant detail–to the point that his party members learn the best time for a bathroom break is when he’s waxing poetic about the sing of sword against sword and they can be gone for a few minutes without missing anything important. He’d be a good DM and would probably enjoy running challenging campaigns for his friends, but he personally prefers playing over DM-ing. It’s more exciting being in the thick of it!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Fighter; also a pretty good guy to play with, he’s as skilled as Sans Classic at picking up little hints and tells about secrets and important things, but he also has enough respect for the game and the DM not to spoil everything or purposefully go against the grain. He’s a DM’s dream because he’ll subtly keep the party on track and if there’s any hints the DM is giving off about what they hope the party will do next, Sky may try to play into it so the story runs the way it’s supposed to. He likes the game in small doses, but he’d never DM himself or pick it up as a main hobby, he’s not great at sitting still for long periods and prefers to do more active stuff.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Bard; he’s every terrible stereotype about his class that you’ve ever heard. If it’s sentient, he will try to roll to seduce it, plus a million other silly things that get him and his party into trouble. He thrives on the looks of exasperation, amusement, and sometimes horror that it gets him. The only hope a DM has of reining in his cavorting nonsense a little is by having a compelling storyline– if they can get him invested in where the story’s going, he’ll more or less play by the rules if only so he can find out what’s going to happen next. One thing… he is very stubborn in some cases and is absolutely the type to argue with the DM over things that don’t make sense to him. “what do you mean, he still died? i gave him a bandage, no, he should’ve lived, you’re just killing off some poor npc arbitrarily, that’s dumb.” He might be a pretty decent DM himself, but he’s also probably not passionate enough to run a campaign for more than two or three sessions before getting some combination of bored or frustrated and not wanting to do it anymore.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Rogue; absolutely a dark horse, he is a surprisingly good player and takes it more seriously than you might guess. He won’t go full-on roleplay, but he’ll play the campaign straight aside from picking a pocket or two, stealing random shit here and there and generally be a good asset to his party. Mentally, he treats it the same as a video game: do whatever side-quests are necessary and minimize fucking around in order to complete the objective. As serious as his character may be, though, he himself will be cracking a lot of jokes during sessions, usually making fun of somebody for being a dumbass or failing a roll, and he doesn’t have a lot of respect for the DM. He’ll treat their word as law and all, but there will be a lot of grumbling if he doesn’t agree, plus plenty of eye-light-rolling and passive-aggressive sighing. Would never DM for himself, that’s way too much work for something this nerdy.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Ranger; takes it pretty seriously, too, but depending on how all-in the rest of the party is…maybe too seriously? He’ll definitely do the full-on roleplay thing and have a whole intricate backstory made up for his character that will probably never come up, but he needed it! For his motivation! He’s easily frustrated by bad rolls and things not going the way he wanted, but he’s more bark than bite so once he yells a little about the injustice of it all and gets it out of his system, he’ll settle down and just get back to the game. He’ll get pretty peeved at players who don’t take it even a little bit seriously, though, or ones who do things that don’t fit with what their character would actually do– what’s the point of even playing this game if you’re not going to play it?! He would never actually want to DM because uncooperative players trying to derail his elaborate campaign would really piss him off and he knows it, plus he wouldn’t be able to roleplay and that’s his favorite part.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Warlock; he’s not a great pick for this, honestly, even though he’ll definitely give it his all. He’s very tactical and a great asset to his party in that sense as he’ll always know who needs to have what and the best strategies to use to achieve the objective, personalized from player to player. The only downside is that he’s very impatient and very much of a control freak: he wants to be in charge of the party so they can accomplish this quickly, and any world-building, flower-sniffing, or meandering is going to really tick him off. He sees the campaign as a task that he needs to get done and if he perceives his party to be dragging their heels, they become obstacles in his mind and he’ll start asking the DM if he can just split off on his own. If the Great All Powerful Evil kills him, that’d be fine, the other players can just lower his character’s casket in the ground so they can let him down one last time! You can see how he’d be not too fun to play with if you’re just in it for a good time. He’d make a decent DM with a cooperative group of players, but if there are any trolls in the bunch that won’t play the game right, he’ll definitely get pissy and if it goes on long or far enough, he’s not above a good old-fashioned rage quit. Creative stuff is just…not his thing.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Sorcerer; the first couple of sessions are going to be very awkward. He’s a little nervous in groups and very concerned about doing a Wrong Thing that will make somebody mad at him, so he stays pretty quiet and a common phrase out of him is, “i dunno, what should i do?” But as long as he’s with a good group of players who are willing to help him out and don’t get shouty over little stuff, he’ll get a bit more comfortable and start doing stuff on his own–though he’ll still double-check a lot with whoever seems to be the leader of the party and will be pretty conscious of places he could conceivably be stepping on someone’s toes so he can avoid them altogether. He could very easily come to like the game and if it’s an inspiring enough campaign with characters he likes, he may be a sweetheart and draw some peoples’ characters for them or stuff for the DM to use. Would not DM himself, though, that’s way too much pressure.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Druid; he’ll try but this kinda game is just really not for him. He forgets a ton of stuff between sessions–especially if they’re far apart, and they usually are because schedules suck–and he has to spend more time asking questions about what the hell happened last time or those other times than he spends actually playing. If the DM’s accommodating or he has a buddy in the party who can give him a recap of all the relevant stuff as it comes back around, he might do…okay? But he’s not really going to be having fun, it’s mostly just him alternating between being confused and then frustrated at himself for being confused. He’d definitely pass on DM-ing for the same reason, little details are important in a campaign and if he can’t remember them, it won’t be as good for everyone else. Probably best if he sits this particular hobby out.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Monk; he loves it just about as much as Papyrus Classic does! The only difference is that he tries to avoid battles where he can: his view of conflict isn’t quite as romanticized as it used to be and he thinks of it more as a necessary evil. That said, when there is a fight, he won’t hold back (dice rolls permitting), especially if his inaction might mean something bad for his fellow players! He’s very empathic as a player himself, so if there’s a befriendable enemy or something a party member needs that he can help with, he’s all over it–and if ever a dramatic sacrifice is necessary, he’ll be the one to heroically fall on the sword. Overall a great guy to play with, not the least because he usually takes it upon himself to bring snacks for everybody like a mom. Would like to DM someday, but needs awhile to build up the confidence, and that’s fine! It just means that when he’s ready for it, he’ll have had plenty of time to draft up a killer campaign that his players will love.

[opheliathedreamer-blog]

OKCryptid // Pt. 3 { Ghoul }

You decided to linger over one of your lower percentage matches out of curiosity. It consisted mainly of nighttime stills of the graveyard at the outskirts of the city and sound bites of popular Gothic rock bands. He didn’t post a photo of himself. The only hint you received as to his identity was that he was a male non-human of unspecified age whose name was Grindel. The tone of his profile description (Location: The Void. Occupation: Feasting on corpses overlooked by the machine) would have given you cause for concern if it weren’t for rare glimpses of his sardonic humor (Mood: Wake Me Up Inside).

You debated whether you should message him for a few moments before deciding to take the plunge. If he seemed a bit too off, you could always block him.

         You: Evanescence fan?

         Grindel: Unironically? Never

You snorted.

         You: Given the spooky aesthetic, I thought you would be

         You: Which I like btw

         You: There are a lot of gravestones on your profile

         You: Are you into history?

         Grindel: Of a sort

         You: It a secret?

         Grindel: Yes

         Grindel: I wouldn’t want to have to kill you

Although you rationalized that he must have meant it as a joke, a shiver raced up your spine. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, your neighbor was married to an ogre that was at least twice his size, but, much to your chagrin, you couldn’t help but remember your parents’ stern warnings— Monsters can wear their masks in public but nothing’s changed. Our ancestors made us wary of them for a reason.

         Grindel: Where do you live?

Of course his next question didn’t alleviate your anxiety in the slightest. Icy tendrils slithered around your heart, and you debated following your plan B and blocking him, before your fingers typed a message of their own accord. Curiosity killed the cat, or so they say.

         You: The abyss. It’s right next door to the void. Can’t miss it

         Grindel: Nice

         Grindel: I see you too work in the food industry?

         You: A bartender, yeah

         You: Crappy job but it’s temporary

         You: I’m still looking for an artifact restoration position someplace local that doesn’t call for thousands of years of experience

         Grindel: Are you interested in history then?

         You: Of a sort

Two can play at this game, you thought. After he didn’t respond for five minutes, you pocketed your phone and started to load your washer before you felt it vibrate. He had responded by attaching a photo of a dilapidated mausoleum. A cracked stone family crest displayed a raven holding a chalice in its talons.

Your tension concerning his previous comments gradually melted away. This was an area in which you thrived. The carvings had to have been at least three centuries old, possibly older. It was, however, hard to tell due to the copious amounts of lichen and ivy decorating the tomb.

         Grindel: This belonged to the Korbin family. The last heir, Emelia Korbin, died in 1876. Since then, no one seems to pay attention to it.

         You: That’s a shame. I bet it was stunning in its hay day.

         You: Is this from the cemetery in town?

         You: I never knew it housed anything this old

         Grindel: There’s a lot of things people can overlook

         Grindel: Past things often fade away in the dark

         Grindel: I look after them though

Your ears all but pricked. Was that a clue?

         You: So, you’re a groundskeeper?

         Grindel: Undergroundskeeper

You mentally repeated the word, brow furrowing. Undergroundskeeper. Did he help construct coffins? Did the mausoleum vaults descend that far?

Or did he live underground? You knew some bat people and cave fae who were particularly sensitive to light. That would explain why all his photos were taken well after the sun had gone down.

Before you could offer a possible answer to the mystery, you glanced at your phone’s clock and saw that your shift started in half an hour. Cursing under your breath, you ran towards the door.

         You: Sorry shift starts soon

         You: I’ll text you later

         Grindel: Thank you

Although you hadn’t the time to reply, the odd nature of his statement kept your thoughts turning. Not “okay. Not “all right, ttyl.” He said, “thank you.” A part of you started to feel sympathy for the secretive monster. It seemed that not many took the time to get to know him.

You went through the motions at work, chatting with the regulars and painting on a smile whenever someone outstayed their welcome. The bouncer, a minotaur named Frank, was pretty good at looking out for everyone, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t experienced a few lewd comments and wandering hands.

You normally brushed it off and went about your night, head down and ears closed, but that night one of the patrons, a troll who had one too many, was far too insistent for comfort. You had told him you weren’t interested for the sixth time that evening and politely excused yourself in order to go wave down Frank before the troll’s calloused hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. Your breath caught in your chest as he pulled you forward. The scent of vodka and whatever trollish mead he had been pouring into it stung your nose. You weakly struggled as his tusks scraped against your face in an attempt at a kiss. 

You sent a silent prayer that someone would intervene and, a few seconds later, a few orc bikers that were regulars pulled him off. The troll growled something in his native tongue and threw a few punches. You watched in relief as Frank ran over and got him in a headlock from behind. One of the bikers—Zadok, you thought it was—bellowed at you to call the police.

The troll paled, blurry eyes rapidly blinking. He stopped struggling. “Whateva.’ Ah’ll leave. Jus’ let go o’ me.”

Zadok looked at you. “You want to press charges on this asshole?”

You looked at him, hand over your racing heart, and remembered a news headline from days prior. There was a robbery at a convenience store. Just some teenage kids sneaking around and trying to pilfer some booze. The elf got off scot free. The troll with him was sentenced to five years in prison because the police insisted that the necklace he wore, a collection of claws and fangs from kills starting after his coming-of-age ceremony, was a weapon.

You thickly swallowed and shook your head. “He’s drunk. Just let him go.”

Frank escorted him out, yelling after him that if he saw him in there again, he would call the cops. You glanced down at the counter and realized your splayed hands were faintly trembling. Glaring, you clenched them into fists and wrapped your arms around your middle, breathing deeply, in and out.

“Hey,” Zadok softly began.

You turned your head so sharply that the orc winced. “You okay?” he asked.

You exhaled roughly through your nose, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“It’s almost closing time, and the boys and I ain’t got nowhere to be. Want us to help you home?”

“Nah. I know you have to work tomorrow, and Marnie’ll be worried. I’ll just call an Uber or something.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.

He didn’t look convinced but let any budding arguments die with a sigh. “Kay. Take care of yourself, all right, Y/N?”

“You too, Zadok. Thank you.”

Those who had witnessed the altercation went out of their way to leave extra tips and, when the Lagoon finally closed, Frank volunteered to drive you home himself. However, despite your previous promise to call an Uber, you found that the crisp night air was clearing your head. Your body was also so full of adrenaline that you feared if you were driven home and tried to sleep, you’d stay up all night thinking about it.

You thought back to the old cemetery. A foolish thing, perhaps, but your hobbies had always done wonders in alleviating your stress. You had your phone, and you had pepper spray hidden in your back pocket. And, with how taut your muscles felt, you thought you could outrun anything. Besides, you wanted to see the mausoleum for yourself.

Frank thought it was a terrible idea once you told him but, knowing how stubborn you were, he made you promise to text him once you arrived and once you were safely home. If he didn’t hear from you in twenty minutes, the time it would take for you to walk there, he said he was calling the police. You reassured him that you would and then set out for your walk.

The chilly weather caused you to huddle inside your hoody for warmth, but you appreciated the full moon and the scarce stars that could be seen through the haze of light pollution. The more you walked, the more you relaxed. As you texted Frank updates, you actually felt your eyelids droop. It had been a long night. After a few moments of looking, you’d head back home.

Upon reaching the cemetery, you drank everything in—the languid shadows birthed by the yellowed moonlight, the mournfully swaying weeping willows, the damp grass and time-stained stone, the scent of decaying flowers, incense, and overturned soil. You were surprised to notice how many prominent non-human families were there. You even saw a Baron or two, one an elf and the other a goblin. You silently wished you had brought a notebook so you could jot down dates and try engraving some of the more battered headstones, but you promised yourself you would return in the daylight.

You were leaning downward, poised to take a picture of the late Yera Offley’s stone, featuring her battle-ready relief, when you saw an approaching shadow out of your periphery. Remembering the previous events of the evening, you ducked behind a nearby mausoleum and waited. The quadrupedal creature drew closer. You hid your phone’s bright screen against your chest. No sound heralded its coming, and that somehow frightened you more than its actual presence. 

“You should have known better than to loiter in graveyards at night,” a throaty rasp announced. “Didn’t I warn you? If I found one more of you children defacing the graves, there would be the Underworld to pay.” 

You fumbled with your back pocket. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” 

When you finally retrieved the pepper spray, you struggled with the safety release and dropped the can.

“Shit!” you hissed under your breath. 

You reached for it and saw another hand emerge. Its elongated, emaciated fingers were tipped with ivory claws, and fine hair grew on its knuckles and what you glimpsed of its palm. Your breath caught in your chest, and you reeled back with wide eyes. It was gangly and faintly humanoid, even though it seemed to prefer traveling on all fours, and was clothed in a tattered button-up and trousers. Its ears were large and tapered into points, and its red eyes were a stark contrast to its colorless skin. Its nose, which consisted of two raw slits, flared and its mouth, filled with sharp, yellow teeth, shut with a snap.

You barely registered that you were hyperventilating until your head grew light and black spots danced in your vision. The creature retreated and held out up both its hands placatingly.

“Calm down, Y/N. I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else... I won’t hurt you.” It slowly retrieved the can of pepper spray and offered it to you. “Here. It’s all right.”

Seeing that it wasn’t going to eat you outright, you slowly accepted the proffered can and forced your breathing to slow.

“How do you know my name?”

It canted its head to the side. “The same way you know mine.”

You tried to organize your scrambled thoughts until it hit you. Undergroundskeeper. Cemetery pictures. Past things often fade away in the dark. I look after them, though. Grindel, one of your matches on that ridiculous dating app, was a ghoul.

“You’re not supposed to be real,” you said. Ghouls were a legend, a myth, a creature that humans and monsters alike referenced in scary stories to discourage rebellious teens from disrespecting the dead. 

“And you wonder why I don’t advertise what I am,” he snorted. “There are monsters that even monsters fear.”

You thought back to his listed occupation status: Feasting on corpses overlooked by the machine. You had thought it was a grunge reference, but he meant it literally. You shakily chuckled. A living myth was in front of you, one who killed grave robbers and could supposedly travel to and fro between the mortal realm and the Underworld.

And you had matched with him 65%. The incredulity of it wasn’t lost on you. 

He blinked, seemingly confused. “What?”

“I’m tired, terrified, and in disbelief at the fact that the cryptid among cryptids took the time to install a dating app.”

He glanced downward. “Tch, All the other ones have emerged. I thought…” He waved his skeletal hand vaguely before he shook his head. Thin, cracked lips frowned. “Ah, what was I thinking? If the others face persecution, the guardians of the dead will only face that much more.”

You grew silent at his morose tone, and a part of you felt sympathetic. You remembered how he thanked you when you told him you would talk to him again. 

“Maybe... but I think if there are people brave enough to get to know you, minds will change.” You paused and added, “Like mine. I... I’d like to get to know you.” 

He surveyed your face in disbelief before his eyes landed on your neck. He slowly reached forward a hand. You gasped, more out of surprise than fear, as you registered his cold hands. His claws, which could most likely rend bloated flesh like a scissor could paper, rested on your skin as softly as a breeze.

“Who did this?” he murmured. His breath smelt of carrion. You tried to ignore it, but your stomach still instinctively curled. 

“What?”

“There’s a bruise here.”

“Oh.” You exhaled. “Just some drunk asshole at work. It bad?” 

“It depends on your definition of bad.”

You cracked a smile. “You’re always so damn cryptic.” 

His sharp teeth winked in the shadows as he returned a roguish grin. “Mysteries are no fun if they are solved right away.” His grin faded and he withdrew. “Still, I apologize for that. You weren’t kidding when you said it was a crappy job.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I told you it’s only temporary.” 

You placed the can back in your pocket and slowly rose to your feet. Your legs briefly wobbled. Grindel reached up to help you stabilize.

“Are you all right?”

You nodded, barking a short laugh. “It’s been a ride. My body’s still trying to catch up.” After texting Frank another reassurance that you were all right, you turned to your newfound companion. “Grindel?” 

“Yes, Y/N?”

“The initial reason I came here was to see the Korbin mausoleum. Could you take me to it?”

“Of course.”

Pictures couldn’t do it justice. The Romanesque carvings were breath-taking, and Grindel showed you a secret passage into the tomb, where you were able to read walls of names and observe countless bas reliefs of the harpy family.

“You like it?”

“I love it. I’ll have to come back with some of my notebooks. I’d love to do research on them. They must have so many stories to tell.”

“You’ll come back?”

The fragile hope in his voice tugged at your heart. Before you realized what you were doing, you knelt down and wrapped your arms around his neck. His skin was still as frigid as you remember, and it was disturbing how you could feel every rib and bump in his spine. However, your sympathy outweighed every other thought when Grindel carefully returned your embrace, hands hovering just above your hoody. If you were still a little frightened, then he was terrified of this fragile tie between the two of you.

You mustered up the courage to turn your head and gently press your lips to his sharp cheekbone. He sharply inhaled. His breath still testified to his unorthodox diet, but you found you could grow used to that, too.

“I promise.”

@thetravelerwrites, @ban23

[lyraeon]

Alright yeah we doin this

An incomplete list of current headcanons for Homestuck Classpects of Hermits (a work in progress)

(Updated on Feb 9 after the war's end made me realize a few things)

Joe has been throwing around big Rogue energy the last few weeks. Living in other people’s bases/borrowed spaces around the server, weaponizing stuff that’s frankly not weaponry, casually trying to bend the rules to pass over the moat, sneaking fans onto the server, creating a diss track in a matter of hours and “including” his teammates into it... all from a pacifist standpoint, mind you. I’m currently saying Rogue of Space. Edit: No no no I'm a goddamn fool. Wow. Joe is a Heart player. So I'm going with Rogue of Heart, though this revelation also has me reevaluating the Rogue part a little.

Doc has long obviously been a Doom player - the rules are his plaything. I’m going with Thief of Doom specifically. He has duplicated countless items over the seasons, he will manipulate the truth for his own purposes, and honestly just? Oh we’re gonna casually make a precision creeper cannon, oh and btw we’re gonna shoot ourselves in on llamas while we’re at it.

Grian I haven’t been watching for anywhere near as long so I’m having a hard time pinning down his class (my instincts say Heir, but he’s so ready to cause chaos I can see Bard or Prince), but his aspect for me comes down to Breath or Hope. He got almost the entire rest of the server to play along on three of his games by now simply by saying okay these are happening everyone :D c’mon let’s goooo! For being the diving force behind most the season right now, I dub him an Heir of Hope.

Tango is a Light player - his luck is too extraordinary (how many times has he said “I could use __” and gotten it?), he knows too much, he is happy to use that information for crazy shit. Plus last season he put a giant nether base into the overworld and this season he’s holding up a lake with a force field. I’d previously written him down as Prince of Light, but he’s softened out so other arguments could be made.

Xisuma is a Mage, keeping things organized and level. I had him down as a Space player when I made my original list last season, but part of that was a joke about his volcano. Having multiple “hims” all logged in on the LPMT server to AFK for different things and keep things in line felt more Time player though, and he isn’t someone I’d consider myself an “expert” on, so I’ll write him as “Mage of Time” with a large-ish question mark beside it.

I’ve always enjoyed the joke of Life player Cleo - after all, she’s a zombie! But this season she’s brought in the armor stands, which have a life of their own... Plus she was very, very, very determined to win that Phantom hunt. Between those, and a bit of bias via her long-running Sims series, as of right now I have her as a Witch of Life.

Cub as Lord of Void and Scar as Muse of Breath. I know, I know, pulling out Lord and Muse are fighting words, but explain to me how the heck else they get as much done as they do. Was particularly motivated by last season - Cub creating the Cub Hub, Scar managing 18,000 miles flown, and the sheer scale of their projects. Cub basically magics things into existence (or out of existence - the absurd win on the Phantom Hunt, getting bored and just finishing digging the nether hub), while Scar is the root of all inspiration on that server and so beloved his cat’s now in the game. Doubles as fun because Void and Breath fit Vex Magic both thematically and color-wise.

Rendog is a Page. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, he just is, you know it in your souls, and you know he would be proud of the dang outfit. I unfortunately don’t quite know what kind of Page though - currently my notes say Page of Heart.

Zedaph is a Bard of Life. I thought Page for him initially, too Wormman jokes but the man has to find the most difficult way to do everything and thrives on bases that blend into their surroundings. Also at one point he killed himself repeatedly to opera music just to troll people, so...

Stress’s is already suggested by her name - she’s a Maid of Rage. It makes more sense when you remember Rage is about emotions in general, rather than just actual rage, and see that her content, more than anyone else’s, feels ruled by her emotions in both release schedule and actual content. All of her singing, all of her typing out her accent, all of her actually expressing her frustrations but treating them as just part of life, all fit with that.

From here we start getting into people I’m only clear enough on to have one or the other written down for:

False is a Knight. She has a strong sense of duty and of preserving her self-image. She also can fight like nobody’s business.

Mumbo is a Time player. I thought Space at first as a joke about all his storage systems, but I’ve started to see those as a tool to balance how organized (and scant) his time is. More than any other hermit, he is a creature of habit/routine.

Impulse, as the other ideas guy, feels to me like a Mind player.

I think of Iskall as a Seer, but that may just be because of the imagery of his diamond eye.

Bdubs isn’t really around anymore, but while he was I had him down as a Blood player for his role within the NHO.

Everyone else I either can’t get a good enough read on despite watching them, or don’t watch enough of their content, to really pin anything down. Is Wels actually a Knight? I just don’t know, but I feel like no. Is anyone on this server a Sylph? Who the hell is the Space player so we can finally get a successful session? I just don't know!

But of course all of these are just my thoughts/headcanons, based on my observations and brief talk with a couple friends about it, so they are completely open to debate/interpretation/argument/expansion.

(Please debate me. I am that kind of person. I want to think more about these!)

[noirandchocolate]

Wanted to talk just a little about Gamzee as a Bard of Rage in the Epilogues.

First off, here’s the canon explanation of Rage from the Extended Zodiac website:

Those bound to the aspect of Rage are bringers of chaos. They posses great contempt for lies or false ideas, including the stability that false ideas can impart. To them, the true is far more important than the good; they would tear down a system just to destabilize it if, by their reckoning, it is built on faulty premises. Often the Rage-bound prefer anarchy to any of the alternate forms of civilization, which they believe to be riddled with lies and foolishness and obedient masses. They are bringers of confusion and doubt, and they can be frustratingly difficult to convince otherwise when they have attached themselves to an idea. If they sound dangerous, they are. The Rage-bound tend to be most volatile and unpredictable of the aspects. At their best they are original, revolutionary, and fearless. At their worst they are cruel, uncompromising, and vicious.

I also remember a really good fan-theory post where the Rage/Hope aspect pair was discussed as being about narrowing or broadening choices and possibilities.  The idea was that when someone is hopeful, they can feel like the sky is the limit, that there is endless potential and myriad options for them, while when someone is full of rage they may feel like they have few options or only one choice in a situation--usually a harmful or negative one made in anger.

Then there’s the Bard class, which is paired with Prince as a “destruction/destroyer” class.  Bard is the passive side, while Prince is active.  Passive classes are more about inviting or inspiring things to happen, so we could say that a Bard of Rage is about “inviting/inspiring destruction through rage” or “inviting/inspiring the destruction of rage.”

So here’s a few things I noticed about Gamzee and his role as a Bard of Rage in the Candy side of the Epilogues.  (Note that Gamzee is not really a God Tier despite his outfit--but god imagine if he was, holy shit.)  First of all, after reading both sides I realized that Dirk violently noped out of Candy very shortly after Gamzee was de-fridged.  There are plenty of reasons why Dirk did what he did that will not be discussed here, but in a meta sense it’s possible that there was only a need for one destroyer per Epilogue.  There’s also the fact that both Dirk and Gamzee are “parts of Lord English”: half of Gamzee, and the Autoresponder/Lil Hal/ARquiusprite copy of Dirk, ended up fusing with Caliborn to form LE.  Maybe there was only need for one “sort of part of LE” per Epilogue?  ANYWAY I’m getting off track.

Next, while Dirk actively and very tenaciously influenced events in Meat, Gamzee just sort of existed disgustingly in people’s presence and nudged things certain ways, maybe without even actively having a plan to turn things to chaotic shit (although also maybe with a plan, who knows, the clown is in many ways inscrutable).  Aside from proclaiming the gospel of MoThErFuCkInG rEdEmPtIoN, his influences on the story pretty much just came from him acting like his ridiculous and gross self around everyone.  A Bard versus a Prince, right???

But he did have some pretty big influences nonetheless, and they were pretty Rage-y come to think about it.  For one thing, he insinuated himself into Jane and Jake’s lives pretty damn hard, and was instrumental in ruining any relationship they may have had to the point where Jake was basically abused and the two’s child...well, also abused (also don’t want to go deeply into this, I’m not here to analyze Jane and Jake too hard, I’m doing Gamzee today)!  Without Gamzee around, perhaps Jane would’ve been an overbearing wife or a cold mother, but with Gamzee, holy fuck.  Inviting destruction through Jane’s rage, don’t you think?  Inspiring “confusion and doubt” in people like Jake and Lil Tavros, right?

Keeping on that track with Jane, her political actions in Candy are so much worse than in Meat, and I don’t think that’s only because things progressed through so many more years in Candy (although granted that’s just my speculation).  Gamzee knew how to push her buttons by calling her a xenophobe and declaring she’d be “canceled” over certain remarks about troll reproduction.  Which, if you take the view of Rage being an aspect of narrowing choices...really could be said to be a subtle forcing of Jane’s hand.  If she hadn’t been so pissed off, maybe she could’ve seen more clearly and not thought the only choices on the issue were all-or-nothing and that “do nothing” was such an untenable position that it wasn’t really a choice at all.  I really don’t think it’s a mistake that a Rage player, canonically a chaos-bringer, was instrumental in Jane’s descent into being “Trump-Hitler.”  Although again, it could be argued it would’ve happened anyway, maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad or maybe at some point she would’ve realized what she was doing was evil rather than just “practical” or however she justified it.  Things were peaceful on Earth C, and maybe politics could’ve stayed more or less stabilized.  But definitely not with a Bard of Rage hanging around such a key player.

Keeping on with the narrowing of choices concept, in Candy we saw a lot of characters doing things “because they just thought they should,” even if those things weren’t all in themselves wholly negative and even if some people were later just as happy with their choices.  Right after Gamzee showed up, Roxy just kind of decided then and there that they “should be” with John, and then went through a lengthy period of just kind of doing that and feeling unable to stand up for themself or their own desires, choices, identity, etc.  In contrast, in Meat they felt empowered to explore their gender, for example.  Even though in Candy they much later say they’re happy as a woman with she/her pronouns and  enjoyed being pregnant and a mom and all that (so it’s possible that in the Meat timeline they also might’ve come to that conclusion in time--or not!) the fact that in the timeline where Gamzee existed they felt more pushed into not even considering other options is interesting.  There’s also the Dave/Jade/Karkat mess, and how in Candy Dave felt a lot more pushed into just going along and being with Jade exclusively despite honestly really wanting to be with Karkat.  There’s some other examples too but this post is getting really long.  Again, while obviously not everything is All About Gamzee, or actively his fault (I don’t think he really had anything much to do with any of these people other than declaring his redemption to them), his passive existence in this timeline...hm!

Finally (or finally all I can think of right now) there’s the fact that Gamzee seemed able to extinguish a lot of people’s rage or disgust toward him simply by proclaiming the “truth” of redemption.  Now, we all know that someone just saying sorry and suddenly “being redeemed” is a load of shit and a lame fandom trope used to woobify villains (hell plenty of people did and probably still do this with Gamzee himself--his “apology” speech contained a LOT of stuff very common in the earlier fandom when his shittiness was a little less...obvious and enduring).  Rage players are, according to the above quoted description, supposed to be all about eradicating lies and falsehoods, so what’s going on here?  Well, Gamzee is full of shit!  Maybe he honestly believes he is redeemed and others should try to be redeemed in the same bullshit way--so his proclamations of this as an ultimate, religious Truth make sense.  Or maybe he knows it’s a lie but is just being the manipulative, destructive clown his Class points to: a destroyer.  What better way to insinuate himself into society than by forming some kind of redemption cult, preaching about something he knows is a lie but a useful one?  Ultimately a destructive one, because it destroys chances for real redemption while letting people’s destructive tendencies go by unquestioned because “you can always just say sorry and be redeemed.”  And in doing so he makes many people just sort of accept his gross, unseemly behavior and stop being mad at him.  People believe this nonsense.  Gamzee effectively destroys the rage they might’ve otherwise felt toward him by acting pathetic and contrite when it’s convenient for him, and thus makes himself more able to not only stay alive, but thrive and invite all the destruction mentioned above.

Ultimately it doesn’t work on a few people.  Karkat, Gamzee’s former moirail, sees right through it all.  Jane is an exception to not showing rage to Gamzee because he’s using her in a different way as discussed before: tl;dr baiting her into hating him in a sexy way is part of his chaos-bringing ways.  He tries the same thing with (Vriska) and succeeds for a few minutes but then she just straight up murders him.  Which makes sense, because Vriska.  Why would any Vriska allow herself to be manipul8ted for long?  As a Light player, of course she could see through his bullshit (Light is a knowledge-based aspect) and would want him gone.  She’s a Thief of Light, for goodness’ sake, of course she’d steal his “luck” in being able to influence so many people and  stay alive despite being so contemptible, and his “relevance” in inspiring so much of the Candy storyline.  She’s Vriska, she thinks she should be the only star of the show!

Anyway I’m NOT DOING VRISKA TODAY I was supposed to just be doing Gamzee, and that’s what I have to say about Gamzee, the Bard of Rage, on this particular day!

[captainhannahuniverse]

Trolls and Technology- How to handle trolls on social media platforms

Week 7 - Trolling and Social Media Conflict. 

After reading Danah Boyd’s article of whether social media is amplifying bullying, i believe that it is important to understand that the use of technology and platforms is not the blame for the use of drama that arises between peers, however, to understand and focus on the use of media platforms and technology, that have enhanced personal conflicts and made dynamics of bullying visible. (Boyd 2014) 

Anyone who uses social media platforms throughout their life has most probably either experienced trolling, trolled another individual or witnessed trolling of others. Trolls are full of negativity. So, how do we handle trolls on social media platforms? 

Well first, what is a troll? 

Trolls are individuals who try and put people down. This is seen as a form of bullying as they get pleasure of seeing how many feelings they can hurt by writing negative information towards people or about people to get a response. To keep a reputation online and thrive with positivity. Follow these 5 steps to accomplish just that. 

Step 1 - Establish a Policy 

Establishing a policy will help detail what comments will be allowed on your media platforms. This helps trolls disappear and create a more friendly and engaging environment in the social media world. 

Step 2- Kill them with Kindness

With the use of humour, lightness and kindness, turn the tables around and respond to the troll with a positive comment. This can be seen as a great way to bring in positive attention as well kill the troll with kindness!

Step 3- Choose a path that is positive

It is important to learn to laugh at many trolls. Ignore their nasty comments and do not let them get to you, because the troll will then think they have won. It is important to remember you are the better person as you do not bring people down. 

Step 4- Unmask them 

Many trolls thrive on being anonyms, if you take away that power, it can result in that troll to think twice about what they may post on your platform. 

Step 5- Create your own community

My last and most favourite step is to create your own community. This means deleting negative people, blocking them and having no contact with them at all. By doing this, you are creating a positive community within your social media platforms and you will also see less of trolling of others and even yourself as the use of negative people on your media platforms have now disappeared. 

remember, “ Sometimes you just have to take a step back and realise what’s important in your life, what you can live with, but more importantly what you can’t live without” - Lauren Conrad 

References

arabiangazette.com, ‘ Is Online Identity To The Youth In A Contemporary Society? [image] in Google, viewed 3 January 2019, <https://www.google.com.au/search?hl=en&biw=932&bih=470&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=DlItXNOVIIOA8wXooYP4Cw&q=media+platforms+friendly&oq=media+platforms+friendly&gs_l=img.3...3225.9524..9835...0.0..0.305.4808.0j17j6j1......0....1..gws-wiz-img.....0..0j0i67j0i30j0i5i30j0i24.Gg6hzh6_mG8#imgdii=jftdv6fYFjBgrM:&imgrc=5Ei2kLGnorBAzM:> 

Boyd, D 2014, It’s complicated: the social lives of networked teens

Daily Mail, ‘Cheerleaders sassy expression’ [image] in Google, viewed 3 January 2019, <https://www.google.com/search?q=sassy+face&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=0NLLvkLkKfNxeM%253A%252C2wa-1A9ec1cY2M%252C_&usg=AI4_-kTadicelHOXA37h8BOqNHvwebpoYg&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwixgquKqtDfAhXBgLwKHUNKCgkQ9QEwA3oECAUQCg#imgrc=0NLLvkLkKfNxeM:> 

MIT Sloan School of Management, ‘ Probing the origins of happiness [image] in Google, viewed 3 January 2019, <https://www.google.com/search?tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=cFQtXMK7E8GE8wWtubW4Ag&q=happiness&oq=happiness&gs_l=img.3..0j0i67l4j0l3j0i67j0.1596.3012..3096...0.0..0.295.1833.0j4j4......0....1..gws-wiz-img.....0.HuaICj7lN0E#imgrc=g8qq0_6z8bInGM:> 

Tara Leesher, ‘ 6 Ways Photographers Can Deal With Online Trolls’ [image], in Google, viewed 3 January 2019, <https://www.google.com.au/search?hl=en&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=932&bih=519&ei=flEtXNTZG8f28QWx5K1w&q=online+trolls&oq=online+trolls&gs_l=img.3..0l6j0i30j0i8i30l3.487.2994..3226...2.0..0.257.2428.0j7j5......0....1..gws-wiz-img.....0.CHtaHh0yEpU#imgrc=6_rBpqEbXhvUXM:>