MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

[Jeep-Eep]

I do not get it.

[draconicAlgorithm]

Me neither. Sorry mutecabu, I'm apparently not familiar with whatever you're writing. :I

Anyway. I really love HP fanfictions that explore Draco's personality and depict him as more than just Harry's stereotypical jackass rival. I've always felt like there was a lot more that could have been done with him than was actually done in the books, and it always sort of makes me sad.

Unfortunately, this short fic doesn't do that at all.

Wizardstuck: Mudblood

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When Draco Malfoy walked into the Slytherin common room, it was practically empty. The only people there were two of those troll freaks, the female with the red sunglasses and the sweaty male, both sitting at desks in the studying section of the room. To Draco, it might as well have been empty. He made it a point to completely ignore all of those stains on the impeccable record of students in his house.

Draco flopped on the couch in front of the fireplace, fuming silently. For once, Crabbe and Goyle weren't at his beck and call. He'd sent them off to do something else so that he could sit and think in peace. Ironically, his mind was on one of those creatures he had been so set on ignoring.

He had never thought he could hate someone more than Potter. Never in a million years. That boy was everything he hated most in the world, all wrapped up in one person. He wasn't a mudblood, but in the end, he didn't really hate mudbloods. He had been brought up to find derision in them, but hate was something else entirely. No, his hate was reserved for Potter, and Potter alone.

And then he'd met Ampora.

It was like the troll creature awakened new feelings of hate, the depths of which he could never even imagine. A sea of hatred and loathing poured out of him, drowned him. He couldn't stand to be around Ampora without shaking with rage. Couldn't listen to his dumbass accent without screaming incoherent curses in his head. It was a different kind of hatred, one that felt wrong and alien, and yet, so very, very right. Like this was what hate should be, but wasn't. Like—

"Excuse me." Oh fuck what now. Draco looked up, ready to tell whoever was talking to him to go piss off and leave him the hell alone, when he realized that it was one of the trolls that had been in the room when he entered.

"What the fuck do you want?" Draco snarled. The troll was unperturbed by his angry tone, as if he heard it every day.

"I wished to enquire about your human caste system," he went on, and as he did, Draco noticed that he was missing teeth. Gross. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted to genuinely piss this guy off, not when Crabbe and Goyle weren't around to act as his body guards. He looked like he might be pretty strong.

"Make it quick, then," Draco said, rather than outright refusing him.

"Yes," the troll replied. "According to the few humans I have talked to, your social status is dependant on wealth rather than color of blood, correct?"

"Yeah, why?" Draco had heard the rumor that the trolls all had different color blood, and it was apparently true. Utterly ridiculous. More reason to avoid them.

"Then why do you refer to those of lower class as 'mudbloods'? I'm afraid I do not follow your reasoning." Draco blinked. Was this guy for real?

"We have among us a mudblood, but I do not see how it would be relevant to humans, who all possess the same blood color as our mutant leader," the troll went on, staring at him expectantly. Or, at least, Draco assumed he was. It was hard to tell with those dumbass broken sunglasses.

"What?" Draco said. "Mudbloods are the freaks with dirty muggle blood running through their veins. They're polluting the pure blood of long lines of wizards, who're the only ones really deserving of coming to this dumbass, bleeding heart of a school."

"This dirty muggle blood. Is it not a different color that your pure blood?" Seriously, this guy was getting on Draco's nerves. What was his obsession with the color of fucking blood?

"What? No, dumbass. That's stupid." Draco glared at him. Why wouldn't he just leave him alone?

"So, you ridicule others on the purity of their blood, although it is not visibly any different than yours?" Draco faltered slightly. Putting it that way...

"Well, uh, yeah."

"If you would pardon my language, that is ludicrous." The troll scowled. "You humans are undeniably more depraved and idiotic than I ever thought possible." Draco just stared at him, mouth agape, as he went back to his desk with the other troll. She was staring directly at Draco, cackling evilly through a mouth full of sharp teeth. Wasn't she supposed to be blind or something?

Draco fucking hated trolls.

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Mostly, I just thought it would be humorous for the troll obsessed with the caste system to rag on the guy obsessed with blood purity.

And I'm totally not setting up for Malfoy - Eridan. Not at all.

[lucidSeraph]

DAMMIT

MALFOY - ERIDAN, OTP

[SeptimusMagistos]

Me neither. Sorry mutecabu, I'm apparently not familiar with whatever you're writing. :I

Anyway. I really love HP fanfictions that explore Draco's personality and depict him as more than just Harry's stereotypical jackass rival. I've always felt like there was a lot more that could have been done with him than was actually done in the books, and it always sort of makes me sad.

Unfortunately, this short fic doesn't do that at all.

Wizardstuck: Mudblood

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hide spoiler

When Draco Malfoy walked into the Slytherin common room, it was practically empty. The only people there were two of those troll freaks, the female with the red sunglasses and the sweaty male, both sitting at desks in the studying section of the room. To Draco, it might as well have been empty. He made it a point to completely ignore all of those stains on the impeccable record of students in his house.

Draco flopped on the couch in front of the fireplace, fuming silently. For once, Crabbe and Goyle weren't at his beck and call. He'd sent them off to do something else so that he could sit and think in peace. Ironically, his mind was on one of those creatures he had been so set on ignoring.

He had never thought he could hate someone more than Potter. Never in a million years. That boy was everything he hated most in the world, all wrapped up in one person. He wasn't a mudblood, but in the end, he didn't really hate mudbloods. He had been brought up to find derision in them, but hate was something else entirely. No, his hate was reserved for Potter, and Potter alone.

And then he'd met Ampora.

It was like the troll creature awakened new feelings of hate, the depths of which he could never even imagine. A sea of hatred and loathing poured out of him, drowned him. He couldn't stand to be around Ampora without shaking with rage. Couldn't listen to his dumbass accent without screaming incoherent curses in his head. It was a different kind of hatred, one that felt wrong and alien, and yet, so very, very right. Like this was what hate should be, but wasn't. Like—

"Excuse me." Oh fuck what now. Draco looked up, ready to tell whoever was talking to him to go piss off and leave him the hell alone, when he realized that it was one of the trolls that had been in the room when he entered.

"What the fuck do you want?" Draco snarled. The troll was unperturbed by his angry tone, as if he heard it every day.

"I wished to enquire about your human caste system," he went on, and as he did, Draco noticed that he was missing teeth. Gross. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted to genuinely piss this guy off, not when Crabbe and Goyle weren't around to act as his body guards. He looked like he might be pretty strong.

"Make it quick, then," Draco said, rather than outright refusing him.

"Yes," the troll replied. "According to the few humans I have talked to, your social status is dependant on wealth rather than color of blood, correct?"

"Yeah, why?" Draco had heard the rumor that the trolls all had different color blood, and it was apparently true. Utterly ridiculous. More reason to avoid them.

"Then why do you refer to those of lower class as 'mudbloods'? I'm afraid I do not follow your reasoning." Draco blinked. Was this guy for real?

"We have among us a mudblood, but I do not see how it would be relevant to humans, who all possess the same blood color as our mutant leader," the troll went on, staring at him expectantly. Or, at least, Draco assumed he was. It was hard to tell with those dumbass broken sunglasses.

"What?" Draco said. "Mudbloods are the freaks with dirty muggle blood running through their veins. They're polluting the pure blood of long lines of wizards, who're the only ones really deserving of coming to this dumbass, bleeding heart of a school."

"This dirty muggle blood. Is it not a different color that your pure blood?" Seriously, this guy was getting on Draco's nerves. What was his obsession with the color of fucking blood?

"What? No, dumbass. That's stupid." Draco glared at him. Why wouldn't he just leave him alone?

"So, you ridicule others on the purity of their blood, although it is not visibly any different than yours?" Draco faltered slightly. Putting it that way...

"Well, uh, yeah."

"If you would pardon my language, that is ludicrous." The troll scowled. "You humans are undeniably more depraved and idiotic than I ever thought possible." Draco just stared at him, mouth agape, as he went back to his desk with the other troll. She was staring directly at Draco, cackling evilly through a mouth full of sharp teeth. Wasn't she supposed to be blind or something?

Draco fucking hated trolls.

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Mostly, I just thought it would be humorous for the troll obsessed with the caste system to rag on the guy obsessed with blood purity.

And I'm totally not setting up for Malfoy - Eridan. Not at all.

Hm. I'll admit I was having trouble hearing Eridan's voice in that one. If anything, the speech pattern seemed more reminiscent of Equius.

[lucidSeraph]

That WAS Equius.

[SeptimusMagistos]

Okay, that makes a lot more sense then. The context kind of threw me off.

[draconicAlgorithm]

Sorry about that! You're not the only one to get confused, Septimus. Someone on dA did, too. :[

But thanks, Seraph. xD (Yeah, it's my new OTP too...)

[Rimbaum]

Sorry about that! You're not the only one to get confused, Septimus. Someone on dA did, too. :[

But thanks, Seraph. xD (Yeah, it's my new OTP too...)

Eridan will be so happy.

[SeptimusMagistos]

Anyway, here's a promptfic. I tried to do it justice, but honestly you can pretty much look at the prompt and see the picture in your head.

Eridan Ampora / Feferi Peixes
Disco

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TG: so
TG: now this is happening
TG: i guess
TG: i kind of feel like im expected to do a cool quip about this
TG: but honestly this sort of speaks for itself
TG: so yeah
CG: JOHN, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.
EB: how is this my fault?
CG: YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SUGGESTED A TALENT SHOW.
EB: yeah, but you were the one who found all the old movies!
CG: I DID NOT KNOW WHAT I WAS UNLEASHING.
CG: JOHN, PLEASE.
CG: I. . . I NEED THIS TO NOT BE MY FAULT.
GC: 1 4M T4ST1NG TH3 R41NBOW!

Not far in front of them, something once dead was coming alive like an elder god breaking the cover of the sea to emerge once more after a thousand year slumber.

That something was Disco.

Eridan and Feferi took well to the garishly bright and ridiculously impractical outfits. In fact, you could say they were hatched for this. The crystal ball spun up above like a miniature Skaia, throwing a thousand points of light. Honestly, the enthusiastic if unpolished dance routine the two seadwellers cooked up was secondary to the whole thing.

When the spectacle ended, the more enthusiastic members of the audience were cheering wildly. Despite the reservations of those hiding in the shadows at the back (as if that were a viable strategy!) it looked like Disco could easily become a part of this new world.

CG: THIS OFFICIALLY CANNOT GET ANY WORSE.

Meanwhile, Tavros ascended the stage with an accordion and a fierce determination to polka his heart out.

[Graven_Image]

Tavros polka.

Alright, thread over. We need to shut down and decontaminate for a week.

[Redbud-Tree]

But - but Tavros can WORK THE LEDERHOSEN and you know it. xD

Following Tavros' polka act - perhaps a dramatic interpretation of one of Kanaya's novels starring the rainbowdrinker herself and Rose?

Seriously though that was hilarious.

[ceruleanTresses]

Following Tavros' polka act - perhaps a dramatic interpretation of one of Kanaya's novels starring the rainbowdrinker herself and Rose?.

And then Karkat gets up on stage and reads his FCGPCG poetry, his voice full of emotion and his eyes brimming with tears.
(Tears of HATE.)

[spaceyPsychologist]

...Oh my...dA...did Draco seriously blackrom for Eridan?

Oh God, this is hilarious!

[SkaianRedeemer]

@ceruleanTresses: Nah, it's okay. The idea had a simple start but would have got too far into unknown characterization territory (of the Maid, and her relationship if any with the Rogue) and I'm much more content to let people run their own shows, especially when they're entertaining!

@penguinbound: Especially liking the Witch though can't seem to fathom the advantage it gives her.

@draconicAlgorithm: This conversation definitely needed to happen, and the Eridan bits just make it better.

@SeptimusMagistos: "GC: 1 4M T4ST1NG TH3 R41NBOW!" I'm so glad you let this out before the explanation. It's so much better that way.

[A Fan]

Tavros: Wear the mustache. Be the Yankovic.

Also, on the subject of movies, here. Have a little writing exercise I tried:

Now Showing

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John looked around, most satisfied. After figuring out how to shuttle the Tumor about with the Windy Thing, it had been child's play to transport the four Lands to the new universe. Getting the trolls there had, of course, been harder, but even more worth it. And now, his true dream was complete.
After months of experimental alchemization, John was able to determine the Boolean sequence necessary to derive a film from its poster. Thus, he was able to restore some small portion of the cinematic library that had been lost with Earth. And, having constructed a theater on the now tar-free Land of Wind and Shade, in a new universe, he was now ready to open house with a celebratory "We Fucking Finally Beat Sgrub/Sburb" film festival. As he looked as his assembled friends, skins of peach and grey alike, he cleared his throat and began the speech both Jade and Dave had insisted on. (If it had only been Dave, the master prankster would've suspected some manner of ironic foul play, but his quasi-sister's agreement had seemed sincere and not merely engendered by a lady's Strider-love.)
The sudden swing of fifteen heads (for, apparently, when the explodes, it resurrects inhabitants of nearby dream bubbles,) briefly tongue-tied the bespectacled boy, and he adjusted the collar of his outfit. (Jade and Dave had also insisted on this. He wasn't sure why, but he had created the Green Slime Sturmbannführer-Uniform anyway.) Then, he found his voice: "My friends, it has often been said that I like films. Friends, I like films." He paused and shook his head. "No. Friends, I love films!
"I love shoot-em-ups. I love romcoms. I love mystery flicks. I love action, horror, I love animated pieces, and sequels.
"Films set in prairies, in streets, in trenches, in outer space, in frozen tundras, through deserts, on the sea, in the air, I love every act of cinema that can occur to a screenwriter.
"I love hearing the sound system test itself with a noise like the tuning of God's synthesizer.
"My heart leaps with joy whenever a hat is tossed high into the air and frozen by a sudden transition to a newspaper's front page.
"And there is nothing like a hero tricking his adversary into destroying his own doomsday device. And the feeling that comes from watching that hero run slow-motion from the self-destructing lair, only inches from the blooming fireball, is such an exquisite sensation.
"Like when the protagonists brandish their badassery sauntering into the money shot. It moves me deep within my heart to watch a comic relief side kick saying over and over his catchphrase into the uncaring ears of a long-indifferent audience.
"The sight of early departers being dragged back by a sudden plot twist is an irresistible pleasure. And there is nothing more exhilirating than the sounds made by grudge-wielding social outcasts, executing their plans, laughing in ecstasy as their revenge is had on jocks!
"When a band of sympathetic characters makes their final stand with nothing but grit and determination, only to have their city smashed to atoms block by block by rampaging alien death machines, I'm in tears.
"I love it when my favorite actress is savaged by a chainsaw wielding maniac. It's so sad to see plot points that were supposed to be developed at all costs, being left on the cutting room floor, their subplots and exposition gutted and forgotten.
"I love to be squashed under the heel of the Hollywood mediocrity regime. The humiliation, as reviewers crawl around like vermin, brown-nosing the studios above.
"Everyone... All I ask for is film, for film so grand as to make Nicolas Cage himself tremble. Everyone, I ask you as fellow playthings of Skaia, what is it you really want? Do you wish for further film as I do? Do you wish for a peerless, unforgettable show? A theater whose purpose is built with grist, and memories, and awesome? Do you ask for film to sweep in like a tempest, leaving not even coolkids unmoved, upon this new universe!?"

For the most part, the others were, understandably, struck dumb. Dave and Jade were, of course, laughing their asses off, the traitorous bastards. Karkat supplied John a lifeline, shouting "SHUT UP AND START THE ROMCOMS, EGBERT!"

The Heir of Breath was willing to take anything he could get, and that included the remainder of the speech. "Very well. Then film is what you shall have. We are an open eye, ready to witness all who entertain us, with our suspension of disbelief. But.. After enduring through a timeless Incipisphere, wallowing in the Furthest Reaches, for us, a simple "ordinary" film will no longer be sufficient. We need a MULTITUDE of film! A festival beyond any other that neither man nor troll's history has never known!
"We are but a gathering of children. The remnants of annihilated civilizations numbering less than twenty strong. However, I believe that each of you great warriors is worth a thousand box office receipts! We represent a force that could easily defeat an army of a million and one Reckonings! It is time for them to awake the ones who sent us dreaming into forever, and who now lie sleeping. Let's drag them out of bed by the hand, and thank them for who they are! We will remind them of what it feels like to live in fame. We will remind them of the sound our applause makes in honor of their work. We will remind them, that all the world's a stage, and they are the greatest of its actors.
"Our multiplex of one thousand seats will restore dreams from ash. Yes, my friends! Soon, alchemy's magic fruits will illuminate the big screen! I have brought you all back just as I promised I would. Back to a new universe. Back to our beloved film!
"At last, we children have beaten a game and put it back in its box! Attention, projectionists of the Regency Lowas, this is a message from your proprietor: Friends...let's start the show."

Again, silence. Then, there came a slow clap. Everyone turned at Rose, who was offering a small smile in addition to the sonic adulation. Jade, caught in the moment, quickly followed suit. Then Feferi. Then Vriska. Then the applause was joined in twos and threes until John was receiving a standing ovation. Grinning widely, he ran a straight razor over the ribbon, and lead his friends to the promised glory.

[Megafire]

Kismesis: the Snake: Visitors is up on AO3.

I really like this chapter.

[Embargo]

Aristocratic Outcast: Un
Aristocratic Outcast: Deux
Aristocratic Outcast: Trois

Aristocratic Outcast: Quatre
though ivve been made an outcast i am still loyal to those wwho i wwill nevver see again

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"Fuck, I almost had you!"

"Gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna snare me y'little fuckin' guppy."

Eridan brutally surpressed the part of his brain that mocked him for being so soft (and for all the shitty fish puns). Instead he focused on his son, turning and running away from Cupid who sprinted after him enthusiastically. The older troll was far too quick for Cupid to catch, however. Eridan kept moving at just the right speed to avoid his son's swipes, tumbling and leaping out of reach easily.

They ran and ran until they could run no more, both father and son collapsing in a small grove and gasping for air. The evening breeze brushed against the trees, showering scores of leaves ontp the two trolls.

"Truce?" Cupid proposed tiredly.

"Truce." Eridan agreed. He looked up at the night sky, watching the black canvas of stars twinkle with eldritch power. The horrorterrors were still out there, screaming and fucking with everyone's dreams. He regretted never killing one. He could've gone with one less monster screeching about bloody murder in his dreams.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you done something terrible and regretted afterwards?" If only he knew...

"Probably." Eridan replied with a shrug of his shoudlers. "You regrettin' that thing that you think everyone's gonna kill you for?"

"...yes."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't." Eridan turned to regard his son. Cupid was crying, fat tears flowing freely from eyes. Eridan propped himself up on an elbow and sighed. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"W-what?" Cupid was looking at his father now, confusion written all over his face.

"The loss you're feelin' right now. It hurts and nobody understands. I get that. But that ain't no way to deal with your problems; runnin' away I mean. When you fuck up, you gotta admit you fucked up and deal with what ever comes next." Eridan rubbed his stomach subconsciously, feeling where Kanaya had cut him in half. Those horrorterrors were brutal, uncaring motherfuckers. Even if he was he could still feel everything that happened and getting cut apart with a chainsaw excruciatingly painful.

"Do I really have to go back? I mean, why can't I just stay with you?"

"Now Cupid-"

"We've been together for almost two weeks and I can truly and undoubtedly say it's been the best two weeks of my life!"

"Cupid-"

"I don't want to leave. I love this place too much. The animals, the trees, the flowers, and, I think, I love being with you."

"Cupid just-"

"You can teach me how to use mag- I mean science, and how to hunt ratbears, and how to harvest nature's bounty, and please don't send me back. I can't go back. I won't go back!"

"Can you PLEASE shut your flappin', wrigglin' little mouth for a single goddamn second?" He yelled louder than he should have. The smaller troll looked away dejectedly, making Eridan curse himself internally. He could already feel the frustration and depression set in, and god... was that hopelessness?

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" Eridan stopped when his well tuned ears caught the sound of something sneaking up behind him. He turned, wand in hand instantly. With a flick of his wand, he filled with clearing with waves of blinding white light. Nothing? He'd been so sure-

Eridan turned, then sighed as he came face to face with someone he hadn't expected to see. Aradia stood before him, god hood fastened around her large, curled horns, frowning with displeasure. Cupid was deathly still over where Eridan had left him. He could see a tear on his pale, gray cheek locked in place. So she was using her time powers then. It was futile to fight Aradia at this point. She had the temporal advantage and there was no competing with that. Eridan watched her try to say something, her lips curling around a single, impossibly powerful word. His eye's widened when he realized exactly what she was saying.

"Stop." And so he did.

[Katrika]

Who wants some alternate character interpretation of ancestors? I sure do!

You Really Should Know This

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There’s something I think I have to tell you.

You, you of all people know I never really hated her. But you were my moirail, and you are my empress, and you told me to hate her, so hate her I did. I hated her as best I could, and now I’m dying for it, and all I can even think about is you.

You, oh, there’s something I really have to tell you, Your Imperial Condescencion! If you were here, would you even listen to me? I doubt you’d even look at me. My scars are too unsightly for you, after all. Dualscar the Deformed. Dualscar the Dull. Dualscar the Dandy. Do you even remember how I got these scars, oh GLORIOUSLY UNCARING ONE? Do you even remember the attempt that was meant for you?

There’s something I really should tell you.

I thought you were weak, when we were young and I did all your dirty work. Oh, but now I know better, Your Royal Bitch. You’re as cold and heartless and unfeeling as they come. You go beyond the ideal royal, my lady, you have no soul! Oh, but I did everything you asked and more. I crushed the rebellious, I gave up my quadrents to those you asked me to, I manipulated and I killed, but you know, there’s something I really ought to tell you! There’s something you should know!

You don’t own me! I am not yours! I am sick of her, the one you stuck me with, and I went on my own to get rid of her! It was my choice! Mine! I’m dying because of it but it was mine, and when I’m gone you won’t even remember me, AND THERE’S SOMETHING YOU REALLY OUGHT TO KNOW!

You’ve slipped up! You’ve made mistakes! You’ve made enemies more powerful then you could imagine, OH HOLINESS, and now we have an out! Remember that time 6 sweeps ago you sent me to assassinate the heiress? Well there’s something you really should know about that!

I didn’t! I didn’t kill her! I have allies, and I’ve had allies for a long time, and I’ve been planning this for a long time! You don’t own me! I am not yours!

She even has the subjugglators on her side by now.

I’m dying, and you won’t even notice I’m gone, because you’ll be so damn busy trying and failing to hang onto power! And you know the really wonderful thing? Do you? The thing that you still really should know?

I never hated her. I hated you.

You don’t own me. I am not yo-

[Embargo]

Who wants some alternate character interpretation of ancestors? I sure do!

You Really Should Know This

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There’s something I think I have to tell you.

You, you of all people know I never really hated her. But you were my moirail, and you are my empress, and you told me to hate her, so hate her I did. I hated her as best I could, and now I’m dying for it, and all I can even think about is you.

You, oh, there’s something I really have to tell you, Your Imperial Condescencion! If you were here, would you even listen to me? I doubt you’d even look at me. My scars are too unsightly for you, after all. Dualscar the Deformed. Dualscar the Dull. Dualscar the Dandy. Do you even remember how I got these scars, oh GLORIOUSLY UNCARING ONE? Do you even remember the attempt that was meant for you?

There’s something I really should tell you.

I thought you were weak, when we were young and I did all your dirty work. Oh, but now I know better, Your Royal Bitch. You’re as cold and heartless and unfeeling as they come. You go beyond the ideal royal, my lady, you have no soul! Oh, but I did everything you asked and more. I crushed the rebellious, I gave up my quadrents to those you asked me to, I manipulated and I killed, but you know, there’s something I really ought to tell you! There’s something you should know!

You don’t own me! I am not yours! I am sick of her, the one you stuck me with, and I went on my own to get rid of her! It was my choice! Mine! I’m dying because of it but it was mine, and when I’m gone you won’t even remember me, AND THERE’S SOMETHING YOU REALLY OUGHT TO KNOW!

You’ve slipped up! You’ve made mistakes! You’ve made enemies more powerful then you could imagine, OH HOLINESS, and now we have an out! Remember that time 6 sweeps ago you sent me to assassinate the heiress? Well there’s something you really should know about that!

I didn’t! I didn’t kill her! I have allies, and I’ve had allies for a long time, and I’ve been planning this for a long time! You don’t own me! I am not yours!

She even has the subjugglators on her side by now.

I’m dying, and you won’t even notice I’m gone, because you’ll be so damn busy trying and failing to hang onto power! And you know the really wonderful thing? Do you? The thing that you still really should know?

I never hated her. I hated you.

You don’t own me. I am not yo-

So do I.

[Embargo]

Anyway, here's a promptfic. I tried to do it justice, but honestly you can pretty much look at the prompt and see the picture in your head.

Eridan Ampora / Feferi Peixes
Disco

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TG: so
TG: now this is happening
TG: i guess
TG: i kind of feel like im expected to do a cool quip about this
TG: but honestly this sort of speaks for itself
TG: so yeah
CG: JOHN, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.
EB: how is this my fault?
CG: YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SUGGESTED A TALENT SHOW.
EB: yeah, but you were the one who found all the old movies!
CG: I DID NOT KNOW WHAT I WAS UNLEASHING.
CG: JOHN, PLEASE.
CG: I. . . I NEED THIS TO NOT BE MY FAULT.
GC: 1 4M T4ST1NG TH3 R41NBOW!

Not far in front of them, something once dead was coming alive like an elder god breaking the cover of the sea to emerge once more after a thousand year slumber.

That something was Disco.

Eridan and Feferi took well to the garishly bright and ridiculously impractical outfits. In fact, you could say they were hatched for this. The crystal ball spun up above like a miniature Skaia, throwing a thousand points of light. Honestly, the enthusiastic if unpolished dance routine the two seadwellers cooked up was secondary to the whole thing.

When the spectacle ended, the more enthusiastic members of the audience were cheering wildly. Despite the reservations of those hiding in the shadows at the back (as if that were a viable strategy!) it looked like Disco could easily become a part of this new world.

CG: THIS OFFICIALLY CANNOT GET ANY WORSE.

Meanwhile, Tavros ascended the stage with an accordion and a fierce determination to polka his heart out.

...

That prompt generator is pretty much amazing. So is this. Feel proud, good sir.

[PingZing]

I come bearing more ancestor story.

Oh! Also, I got around to making an Ao3 account. Link's in my signature.

Previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Hot Blooded: Chapter 3

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The following several hours passed in a haze of brightness and pain for Tarfus. When he awoke, it was to the searing heat and blinding light of the sun directly overhead. He immediately shut his ocular spheres, mentally cursing at the stab of pain the brief exposure caused them. As dusk began to fall, he was able to focus on something other than the sizzling pain in every inch of exposed skin and assess his situation.

He lay spread-eagled on top of some sort of transport vehicle, each limb chained to a different corner of the roof. A thin white cloth was stretched just above his head to offer some meager shelter from the sun—they wanted him cooked, not dead. Every muscle in his body ached. Between the physical effort required to accomplish what he had yesternight and the beating he had taken from the Guardemolisher, his body was spent. Now that he’d spent the majority of an entire day on the baking hot roof of a transport carriage, he doubted that he’d ever move willingly again. Fortunately, “willing” wasn’t in the cards because the carriage was slowing to a stop. Tarfus felt it shift, and heard the clunk clunk of somebody climbing the ladder to unchain him. A laugh burst from Tarfus’ throat as he realized it was the same troll that had beaten him earlier.

“You again! I thought you didn’t hate me!” Tarfus exclaimed. Every word was like sandpaper grating against his windhole, and his face twitched, suppressing a wince. “Or…don’t tell me. Don’t tell me you’re feeling red for me? I didn’t think you cared!”

The other troll rolled the protective canvas away and stepped onto the roof. Tarfus grunted as he was kicked in the midsection absentmindedly, and watched as the other troll began unlocking his chains from the carriage. It occurred to Tarfus that while he may be feeling dangerously suicidal at the moment, he didn’t have to be suicidal and uncomfortable. Maybe he’d try keeping his mouth shut for once, and spare himself some further agony. Between the sunburn that made it feel like his front half was perpetually submerged in boiling water, and the dull ache from…everywhere else, he’d had enough of hurting for a while.

Tarfus’ tormentor leaned over the side of the carriage. “Hey. Naxis.”

A troll on the ground looked up. “Sir?”

“Catch.”

Tarfus bit back a gasp as he was rolled off the edge of the carriage and plummeted a helpless several feet to the ground. He landed face first and a solid hammer of dirt to the chest knocked the wind out of him. Dust and grime worked its way into the cuts and burns on his face and Tarfus began hyperventilating. It felt like acid had been poured onto his face and was eating its way through to the bone, slowly consuming each and every nerve ending along the way.

“Sorry sir, I missed.” Distantly, Tarfus heard the sound of laughing.

Tarfus’ world spun and he dimly felt himself being dragged somewhere. His vision dimmed to a tiny circle at the center of his vision and all sound faded into an indistinct buzz. The sensation of something warm dripping down his cheek slowly brought him back to awareness. Sight returned just in time for him to see a droplet of bright red slide off his chin and fall to the floor.

The drop of blood spun and undulated as gravity seized it and drew it downward. Tarfus’ expanding and collapsing vascular system beat loudly in his ears and his ragged breathing sounded like a rampaging herd of trunkbeasts to his muddled senses. His pupils dilated and his world was reduced to a single revolving blob of failing, spinning, revolving, damning mutant candy red.

It splattered against the stone steps beneath his feet and left a tiny, asymmetrical pattern on the otherwise pristine white stone.

Tarfus fought a sense of rising panic. He closed his eyes and focused on controlling his breathing.

If anybody sees I’ll be culled! He was going to be culled anyway, he’d been captured.

If anybody finds out they’ll know I’m a freak and a mutant! The others knew and listened to him anyway. That was the reason they had been so close to success.

No one can know no one can know no one can kno—

Tarfus was jerked out of his anxiety attack by a slap to the face. The pain brought clarity, and with clarity came anger.

Okay. If focus wouldn’t stop his panic, perhaps rage would.

Tarfus looked up at his aggressor. “What,” he spat, “the FUCK do you want?”

The Guardemolisher that had “failed” to catch him earlier—Naxis, Tarfus dimly remembered—looked at him evenly. “Nothing.” And he walked away.

Tarfus sputtered in incoherent rage and began growling in an effort to prevent the stream of obscenities he so dearly wanted to hurl with great force after the ‘Demolisher’s retreating back.

Remember, less pain good. Less pain good thing. Tarfus took a deep breath and grunted as his aching ribs creaked in protest. He took a shallower breath and tried to use it to calm down. He was only partially successful.

A new set of hands grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him to his feet. Tarfus looked to his sides to find he had been seized by a pair of Threshecutioners, each a blueblood. He wondered briefly where the Guardemolishers had disappeared to before he was roughly dragged forward by the two Threshecutioner guards. Tarfus took a moment to observe his surroundings.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the crashing of waves on rocks, and smelled the salty air of the ocean. He was at the top of a short flight of steps leading to a large pair of double doors, both propped open. Each of the doors was inscribed with the Empress’ personal insignia; a crescent moon enclosing a smaller, round moon at the center of which was a double-ended trident. Tarfus sneered at the blatant symbolism. The Empress at the center of everything Alternian.

As the guards dragged him forward and the doors crashed shut behind him, courtesy of another set of guards, Tarfus realized where he was. The Empress typically spent her time underwater. While the royal palace was ostensibly her seat of power, much of the time it was occupied only by the Grand Highblood and those under his command. Generally, the Empress’ appearances at the palace were purely ceremonial. If matters required her attention on land, the Empress occupied one of several compounds on the coast. If the smell of the sea from outside and the aqualamps inside were any indication, Tarfus was inside one of those now.

Tarfus drew the obvious conclusion and grimaced.

The Empress was here, and demanded his presence.

Notes

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I'm beginning to suspect I enjoy tormenting Tarfus too much. On the other hand, that just leads into making his dialog that much more fun to write. Which is good, because next chapter should have a lot of it!

[ScientificFlorist]

Hey guys! Haven't been on here for a long time. Anyway, I'm writing a Tavros/Gamzee fic and can't decide on a name. Any suggestions? Also, I have some fan lyrics in my sig. Should I cross-post them here, or is this the wrong place for that?

[DJ-P0N3]

Tavros/Gamzee?
Hmmm......
Cirque De Geek?
because you know how dorky Tavros is and yeah...gonna shut up now

[Path]

I will finish Strange Places one of these times. Until then, more Snowman.

Tools

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Doc Scratch has one of those faces you just can't hate.

Snowman has never seen him without a look of mild tolerance on his mug. That's it, she thinks. It's the look your father or older brother wears when they explain to you patiently how stupid you've been, but how they're about to give you a chance to correct yourself. It's not the sort of thing you can hate, even if it comes from a complete stranger.

And sadly, Scratch is nowhere near a complete stranger to Snowman.

As she leaves English's study, letting the door click shut behind her, he's waiting there, that same look on his face. She is extremely adept at hating. She practically taught it to Spades Slick, correctly hailed as the angriest man in Midnight City. He's incorrectly hailed as the most dangerous. Snowman fears only one person in the world, and so naturally, she spends her nights in his arms.

So she certainly doesn't fear Doc Scratch. She finds it curious, however, what a difficult time she has hating him. It's just not worth it. Her hate slides off him without impacting. She's long since adopted a similar tactic to his- smug superiority, a hint of pity at the other's youthful foolishness. She can only pretend it's changed anything. The only effects it's had are a few less wasted barbs.

Hating Doc Scratch feels simply... ineffective. One hates disaster, not the winds blowing before it. One hates a tornado, not the butterfly weeks ago, a million miles away, fluttering its wings. No, that holds too much blame. Doc Scratch is not a cause. He doesn't do anything. Snowman is infuriated by him for the simple reason that he wants nothing.

He just is, and serves, and announces. They are nominally on the same side, she knows, but he is so busy being nothing to everyone that there can never be a connection between them, although they are the only two in English's entire organization who could be said to be of similar rank. This is because they are not truly within the organization itself.

Snowman lights her cigarette. Anyone else would have done it for her, but Scratch views her not as a lady, she knows, not as something to want or dislike or anything. To him, she supposes, she is of similar importance to that lamp, a cat on the street, a doorknob.

But she knows one thing, and she clings to that in the face of Scratch's passive disinterest in her.

"He says he's not going to see you today," she tells him without emotion.

"Yes, he did say that," says Scratch. He's leaning on the wall opposite, hands casually in the pockets of his immaculate suit jacket.

She inhales, enjoys, exhales, and smoke drifts into the room. She cannot tell for sure, but she suspects he dislikes it, given his usual obsession with cleanliness.

"Well, if he's not going to see me, perhaps I should be going," he says, and turns to leave.

She cuts him off before he can, a careless barb tossed to him. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"Yes," he answers. "Sixteen days."

"I don't suppose he could be tiring of you."

"No, I don't suppose that."

"It's just that he's never gone without giving you orders for so long, has he?"

"No," says Scratch, his back still turned.

"Hm," she says, and filters her derision, her scorn, her superiority into the syllable. Spades Slick would have tried to kill her four sentences ago. Scratch is simply unmoved. "Well. I suppose we aren't so similar after all."

"I don't believe we ever were," Scratch answers. Getting information from him is excruciating unless he's actively trying to give it to you. But Snowman has learned; she no longer searches. She plants ideas, and she waits.

"I'll let you know if he wants you back," she says.

"I'll already know."

He's not leaving, and Snowman takes a chance. "Do you know what the difference between us is, Scratch?" she asks.

"Yes," he answers.

"It's that you are used. And I am wanted."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes. He courts me. And you, he just uses. One doesn't need to make sure a hammer enjoys itself, just that it hits nails. Isn't that right?"

Scratch turns around. Snowman is actually surprised. She's never gotten even that much of a reaction out of him before. He walks over to her, casually, comfortably; Doc Scratch only ever strolls. He takes off one of his white gloves.

"I don't think you know very much about him," he says to her. "You're quite new at this, after all, so that's understandable." He reaches up, still smiling his meaningless half-smile, and pinches out the tip of her cigarette with his bare fingers. His expression falters not at all; he shakes the ash off his hand with one economical motion. "I understand the difference between requiring and desiring, my dear. I suggest you take a closer look so as not to miss any pertinent information." He slips his glove back on and buttons it.

Snowman's lips part as her jaw hangs open for a brief second. She recovers almost immediately. "You think you can talk down to me, you arrogant little terrier, you mean nothing to-"

The study door opens.

The two of them freeze.

"Darling," comes his voice. Snowman is by his side in a second. His hand is on her cheek. He smiles at her. "Would you mind keeping it down, please? I've got some important business to attend to."

She can never speak under his full attention. Snowman nods mutely.

"Scratch," he continues. "Good. Just the man I wanted to see." His hand leaves Snowman's face.

Scratch brushes by her as he follows English into his study. She can make out no trace of superiority, no hint of his ego. He is unflappable and passive as ever, wearing his face that no-one can hate.

And yet, as the door closes her out, Snowman begins to feel that she might be able to hate him all the same.

[ScientificFlorist]

Tavros/Gamzee?
Hmmm......
Cirque De Geek?
because you know how dorky Tavros is and yeah...gonna shut up now

Well, I should have phrased that better. It is more of a serious, long term, multiple chapter fic. I'm thinking something that has to do with Pupa Pan, magic, or fairies.