trollxzibit | LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND COCKROACHES MAY I PRESENT TO YOU THE INFAMOUS

lakjdsflkjasdf

""""cute""""

all these air quotes, >:3c

jhdsgsgjskdg djgkfkgjsh oh my god
oh my god
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I love it. :> eeeeeeeee

oh good *^* I'm glad wheezes

Scribtheon!Nikkal and Eighis - "Don't touch that!"

Do pardon me as I re-read it and further eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee at it.

lakjdsflkjasdflkjadsdfj oh gosh o//////o

I'm so happy you like it lksjdf I was super nervous... writing Avispa wow wow wow

You did good oh man; but I think we all feel that panic a bit about writing other characters.
I am horrible for creating Avispa, she's a little too unique, maybe. But man you did good!!
:D

no no Avispa is fantastic wow I just, yeah, get nervous writing other peoples' characters. Especially ocs goodness gracious

But yes thank you *^*

They had been laying there for hours, on the top of her hive, and neither of them had been getting bored. The stars had completely captured Franke, but something else had caught Chi-Rho's eye.

Franke pointed to the sky. "Ah! Chi-Rho! Did you see that one?" It was a shooting star.

"It's pretty," Chi-Rho said. He paused, debating in his mind--should he, shouldn't he, it was probably too corny, oh, what the heck...

"Like you."

Franke giggled and blushed and didn't know what else to do at first. Should she, shouldn't she, oh well, what the heck!

"Thank you," she whispered, and slid over closer to her friend. The night progressed normally--except they were hand in hand for the rest of it.

Cheriour and Chrysi, Eighis and Hirune - Replay Value AU, Ending the conflict

cheri and nik

pointing out constellations

8D

Since they were old enough to, the two of them had been reading together. It was perfect, Franke thought: they didn't have to talk, and it involved her favorite thing--books. Phylus was nice enough company. But sometimes she thought she wanted something a little more.

One day, Phylus was over in her library, poking around. Uncharacteristically, they began to talk.

...and talk, and talk. And talk. And soon they weren't reading at all but having a full-blown conversation about the universe and its workings and all of trollkind and then, well, quadrants...

...And soon she was in his lap.

Ropekind

"Say that again."

She was holding the barbed tip of the arrow beneath his chin. He swallowed once, carefully, still smirking, and a bead of indigo blood welled from where the point dug into his skin. This arrow certainly wasn't sopor-tipped. (The first one had been, though; it's not like there was any other way he would have let her get him tied to one of the narrow tree trunks that were occasionally visible amongst the briars that covered her planet. Clever, he acknowledged with a satisfying spike of fury; she made it easy to forget that her other strife specibus was ropekind.)

"What, about my clear superiority to that purple-blooded dilettante? It's hardly my fault he couldn't back up his own big ta—"

And then she was gripping his chin. "Yes. …That." Her eyes narrowed. "You…should not say such things, and yet you do it anyway. If you persist…" A pause. "When you persist… you make me want to chase that smirk off your face…"

"Neither so lovely nor so temperate, then? What can I say, Elapha? I'm impressed."

"…You bring this out in me."

Almost pensively, she had dropped her hand from where it had been gripping his jaw, and was tracing her finger over the length of one of the thorns: such vicious barbs surrounding them. And, almost pensively, she let it prick her. When she brushed her hand across his face it left a streak of jade behind, highlighting the angle of his cheekbone. The touch was gentle; the arrow was still beneath his chin.

She reached up above his head, and the ropes tightened with a yank, but he only laughed rather than give her the satisfaction of seeing him wince.

She tossed the arrow to the side with a brief yell of frustration and raked her claws across his chest, so slow against his skin (four thin indigo lines), and he arched beneath her against the trunk of the tree, against the scrape of the bark — but still he only looked back, and smirked.

She gripped his shoulders — pressed her face close to his, so that he could see the jade filtering in beneath the grey of her irises. Her claws were digging into his shoulders. And he laughed again, softly.

"Really, Elapha, by all means keep trying: what's the worst you could do?"

She shoved him against the tree; she bit; she pressed her mouth into his: and finally he was no longer smirking.

Descendent is not a concept you understand anymore, but you recognize her bright red hair the moment it appears between the trees. It has been such a long time, though even time is something you do not understand much. You just know she makes you ache, the sight of her strange, delicate skin and the pool her hair makes around her when she collapses in frustration in the grass striking at old, familiar things inside you.

You drop to the ground and crawl towards her, familiar, your face close to hers when you chirp and she startles awake, scrambling away. She’s younger now, younger then you ever saw her, a fleeting and unimportant thought as you follow after her and rub your cheek and forehead against the rise of her hips.

Or try to. She keeps retreating. You keep following, and then she’s flying, a strange frantic anger in her voice when she tells you to stop and to leave her alone. So you do. Stop at least, but the thought of leaving her be when she has been gone so long brings back the ache and you whimper, whistle little birdcalls up to her, the ones you know she liked before. You want to ask her where she’s been but you can’t. You want to hold her in the bowl of your stomach but she’s too high up so you make desperate, lonely noises and curl below her, loose, trying to appear as nonthreatening as you possibly can when all your scars stand in sharp, ugly relief on your skin.

But this little alien is just like she always was and your faint murmuring, your sad eyes, draw her back down to you. She touches your horns with a careful hesitance until you butt into her chest and knock her over, wrapping your long limbs around her smaller shape. Smaller then she was. You don’t mind, really, greeting her unsure questions with fond little chortles, nattering, clicking your teeth, purring way down deep in your chest where you haven’t since she closed her eyes and stopped getting up in the evening all those sweeps ago.

oops this is more cute then sad laksdkf

You do have your calmer moments, moments in which your thoughts aren't tainted by panic and anger and madness. These moments only seem to happen when you're alone. Even if someone were to troll you right in the middle of a calm period, the presence of another would only rile you up once again. Even if that other isn't there in person.

Even if that other is Mandya or Bharal.

It unsettles you when you realize that. Why should the people you supposedly have pale crushes on send you into frenzies of fury and fear whenever they try to talk to you? That's not what pale feelings should feel like, is it? The whole point of moirallegiance is for two people (or, in this case, three) to balance each other out, and keep each other alive and sane and calm. Why does talking to Bharal and Mandya make you feel the exact opposite?

So you do what you do best. You think about it.

What was it about them that made you feel pale feelings? That's an easy question to answer. It was the way Mandya would declare "that'z why you need me" whenever you proved how little you understand people. It was Bharal's constant and unwavering support. It was the way you trusted them both so completely.

But do you really feel pale feelings for them, or do you only like the idea of them sorting out all your problems?

As much as you hate to admit it, the latter is looking more likely. How can you really feel pale for them if all of their attempts at communication and at calming you down only make you feel worse and worse? That's not how moirallegiance should work. You wish and wish and wish that you could really feel pale for them. But you just don't think you do. There's just something so wrong with you that you just can't be helped by moirailling, that you can't feel those feelings at all.

At least they can have each other. You care about Mandya and Bharal enough to feel glad for that. Even without you, they can still be moirails with each other. It's not too late for them.

Even if it is too late for you.

Edited 2012-10-18 22:27 (UTC)

Avispa/Eighis - Stealth teaching

The Grim Prince and The Little Flower Girl

Once upon a time a young prince sold his soul to a terrible monster in order to protect his kingdom, a kingdom forgotten by it’s late king – dependent on the prince alone.

Legend has told for many years that the prince is alive for a thousand years, but his mind is long gone.

No one dares come close to him, he forbids the people to visit him – driving them away by force and a curse.

In the outskirts of the kingdom lived a little flower girl with her grandmother, she has heard the tale of the unfortunate prince since birth and kept day-dreaming everyday of what it would be like to visit him, surely he is alone, anyone should have some company.
So the little flower girl decided she would just do that, go visit the prince disregarding all warnings.

She packed a small basket with apples crimson like blood and the fragrant flowers her gardens provided, she wore her green boots and kissed her grandmother good-bye, not turning back to her pleas to stay.

The way to the palace was long and hard and the people she met along the way more and more hopeless and sad; when asking for directions she was met with tears form her direction-givers, blessings and words of courage to fill her ears, breads, cheese and wine to fill her basket.

‘Go to the prince, send him our love’ People would tell her before quietly retreating to the gloom of their lives once again.

Upon arriving to the palace she felt her heart sink.

The little flower girl felt a strong feeling of devastation and unnatural sadness wrap around her like wet appendages of creatures of the deep sea, she shuddered at every step, feeling sick to her stomach – but keeping her steps as steady as she could to make it to the doors.

‘Go away, small child – you are not welcome here’ The guards warned her, but she stubbornly demanded to see the lonesome prince.

‘It’s not worth it, you’ll become so sad’ They would try reason with her, but she would still keep her ground firm.

The exhausted guards have long since encountered such determination, so they couldn’t deny her the meeting any longer.

‘Before you proceed’ They say in unison – ‘You must leave some blood behind, make a trail to find your way back, for it’s pure and would light your path’ – Without warning they cut her hand and let blood sip to the ground before opening the doors.

The corridors are neatly decorated; colors purple, dark and grim. She would touch this wall and that vase, stain it with blood that nearly glowed, looking back from time to time to see that it’s still there.

When she reached the throne room, it was unlocked – doors wide open, welcoming her in and in the center of it, set on the throne – was the grim prince, watching her every move through eyes long gone.

‘My liege’ She would speak, ‘I bring gifts from the people, words of love to you, our prince!’ – stepping closer to him.

But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t stop her.

‘I have come a long way, my lord’ Another step closer, she is almost there! ‘I request a place to rest, just to sit for a while. May I? By your side?’

He wouldn’t even breathe, just watching her closely, a few steps form him, trembling in both fright and excitement.

‘W͈͈͍͖͂̂̈́̃h̰͋ͯ̐y̱̍̆̋ ̯̺̰͔wͫ̆̏͏̠ȯ͔͛̆͝u͉͔͑͌͘l̨̪̼͉̲̮̫̲͐̂̽̒̏ͧd͔̟ͣͦ̃͊ ̐͋͆̚͏͔̟̗̮̥̼y̔͌̀̅ͫoͪ̊ͭͧͣu̮͓̗̪͛̐͌̃̋̇́ ̺̲͔̋̎̅͗̚͞t̸͈̣͚͖̟̹̂̾ͪͤ̊ṛ̬̟͖̣̬̇̂͒̌a͖͍̘͔̱̭̽̊̈́̋ͬv̗ͯ͒̓ͮͧ̉͒͜e͔͊͆́ͩ͢l̟̤̳̯̽ͩ͠ ̳̮̃ͩ̚͠f̖͇r̵̞͍ͬo̢̭̪̳͎̮ͤ͐͒ͤ̎͂m̛̓̌ͨ̃ͪ̿ ̘̻̟̘͎͉̍ͤ̎͋͐̾̚ṡ͓̪̥̭̼̰͊̍ͮ̋͐̄ŏ̲̬͚̹̲̼͝ ̵̦̰͚͙̜̾̽ͮͦ͒͆͌ͅf͚͚̍͌̑a͖̱̰͇̗͟r̯̔̈̄̊ͩͪͨ ̩̥̘͍̞́͋ͣ͗̎̇͠a̻͟w̛͈̭͎̮̰ͯͧ͒͆a̦̹͔̦̜͢y̲̮ͩͣ,̫̩̈̾ͬ ̀t̸̖̲̬̝̤̅͐̇ͅo̊ͭͧͦ̓ͮ̂҉̻͔ ̙̦̖̺̆ͥͭͦ̉w̨͍̥̉̈̄ͩ̇̅ͬi̺̪̓͌̀̀ͅͅt̮̤͐ͨͪ͊͡n̻͎̗͔̭̠͙ͬ̆̆͌̚͘e͖̜͙ͮs̤̦̠̘̞͡ͅs͉̠͈̥̪̙̜͛́́ ̶͇̫̙̤ͧ̊a̛͌̒̀͗̍ͯ̐ ͑̽̇ͬͬ̊ş͕̤̪̲̺̩͔h͙̞̦̰̦͙͝ͅe̴͋͐̊̓ͧͭl̗̼̼͇ͬ͂̎̌͆l̫͙̫̠̦̑ͥ ̱̳̍ͯ̓̿ͯ̃ͯͅö̸̼̺̝̤́ͧ͋f̵̺ͩͤ̆͂̇̾ ͋͏̮̺̹̞͇̦̝â ͈̩̤̙̲͓̺̀̐̂̀͌p̱̤͊ͯ͆̿r̡͕i͗ͧ̈͡n̺̰̗̯̥ͮ̌͆ce̮̙̺̪̱͉̯̊ ̶͓̰͔̩̺͈̦͆ĺ͙͉̯͙̌̐̉̄̂̚ỏ̘̟͇̜͍̑̋͌̒n̄̓ͧ̋g̃ͬ͗҉͙̦͓͉̯̳ ̘͚̥̪̣̀ͤ̃ͧ̔̂̆͞d̏ͤ͛̿ͤͫ̀ė̻̣ͦ͠ā̳̣͈͖̱͊̍̒͊ͮ͢d̘̐̄̏̃ͧ̓͢ͅ?̤̳̫͍͍̉́̓͠ͅ’ He suddenly asks, voice covered in ichor and crawling with a demon’s whisper.

‘No one deserves to be alone for so long’ She sits by his side, clear of her decision, basket in front of him, apples placed on his lap.

‘I̳̲̓̔̾̈́ ͎̖̞̪͍̤͇͐̒ͬ̄̐c̖͉̠̟̐̉͒á̝̆̊n͈͙ͬ̓͐̉ͣͪ̒ṇ̱̰̖͔͋̽̉̃o̯̼̻̯͍ͩ̀͋̉̕t̜̬̲̟̗̄͠ ̂ͤͤ̊͛̋̚͏͈͍̥͕͚e̷͔̱͚̞͔ͦ̓̎̎ͦ͗ȁ̭̟̣ͦ͂ͬt̢̤̯͉̝ͭ ͚̲̘̱͙ͯ̐̓̉͋́͘t̳̮̺͉͖͐̉̐h̸̳̣̭͖̪̟͇͗͋̈́o͕̹͚̭̩̩̫̕s͈̗̲͎͗ͮ͆͞e̮̟̫̿,̖̌̔̾̽͞ ͫ͆͝I̝̗̰̦͖͙͟ ̧̜̰ͬ̓͑̇͋ͥ̍c͉͚̙̣̺̻̥͘a̔̒̓̍͏̲̗̙͖̘n͍͎ͯ͒ͬ͒̏͛̚'̡̖̥̤̻̝̓̐ͅt̻̭̤̩̲̿ ̛̬͍̹͓̽ͧ͌fͮ̉͑͑̀̕o͙̰̠̩̦̤͉ͫ̈́ͤ̓̂r̪̲͉ͮͅ ̡͎͕̭̦mͨ͏͓͔̲͍ͅa͇͉̻͑̅̈́ͭ̉̍͆ͅn͙͚̗̄̏̎͋ͥy̘̮͙̖̳̞͐͐ ̫̫͙̤͛ͬͮ̕y̡̞͎̘̤̻̅ͯ̆̎ͮ̈e̷͓͙͉̜͓̟̜̒ͬ̎͊ͮ̿̉ă̜̪̒ͩ͡r͇̘̟̓s̙͎͎̳̖̈́ͯ͑̀͌͛ͭ ͦ̃̾́̐ṇ̲̳̥̬͔͡õ͇̏͂͂̊w͍͈̩͔̺̙͑̾̆ͬ̾ͅ’ And just a touch from the prince rots the fruit, reezes it’s core and devours it’s soul.

‘A gift for my prince, the bravest of men’ The little flower girl whispers, placing her head on his lap besides the apple.

For many years since that day people would tell the story of a brave flower girl who stays by the grim prince’s side to this very day, keeping him company, while demons feed on their souls.

The Crusader knows the seadweller is in the room with him. He’s doing his best to ignore this fact, eyes running over the forest map laid out in front of him, trying to find where his defenses are weakest. He’s been pouring over it for hours, for nights, so all the green paint trees and blue rivers blur together into meaningless garble. Frustrated, angry with himself for somehow not predicting where the last wave of soldiers would break through, he sets his pieces out. Here is where intelligence last said the seawitch’s largest forces were. Here and here are smaller groups, infiltrators. He sets a flag in camp for the rumors of a spy sending information to the Condesce. He’ll rip their teeth out when he finds them, make them hurt in ways they never realized they could hurt. In time.

He’s pondering his last handful of pieces, toying with the little tyrian flags, when a pair of purple eyes appear over the edge of the map, watching him, watching the map. Before he can say anything, the damn feral thing has reached out and taken the flag off the camp and when he barks, “Hey!” the seadweller chatters excitedly and ducks under the table.

The Crusader fumes for a moment. Or three. Maybe a little longer. And then he jerks down to grab for the piece, hand hitting cold bare skin. The seadweller hisses defensively and is suddenly on the other side of the room, at the top of a bookcase, the wood creaking under his tremendous highblood weight.

“G… get off! And give it back. Now.” He sets a terrible threat into his voice, but the other only watches him, wide eyed and calm, chewing absentmindedly on the flag. The Crusader’s hands tighten into fists, glare deepening until suddenly the other is nattering quietly, nonsense syllables the way he’s heard him talk to the Gardener. ‘Talk.’ The redblood seems to get more out of it then the Crusader does right now and that’s another frustrating thing on top of all the others.

Deep breaths. “That’s for camp. Give it back.” But he just stares like he doesn’t understand which is annoying only because the Crusader knows he does. “It’s…” Sigh. “It’s for the… spy, people are saying there’s a spy, you idiot, so I need that.”

And off he goes nattering again and the Crusader has to bite his tongue to keep from yelling at him to shut up. He is rewarded for his patience at least, when the seadweller crawls back down, bookcase groaning dangerously for a second, and sets the piece instead in the middle of the forest, off away from everything else.

“What—” But he chirps, interrupts him halfway through his thought, and starts pushing pieces around into this whole new arrangement, eventually running out of flags to work with and tapping the map about a mile to the east of camp. The Crusader is admittedly confused for a moment before setting a flag down where he pointed. “You’re… This is where they are? How do you know?”

The seadweller giggles, this high girly sound, and makes a strange, vague gesture out at the forest. He knows the thing disappears for days at a time sometimes. The Gardener says he runs to burn off energy and to explore, and the Crusader has suspected for a long time that he was a military troll once. The information seems solid enough, especially when he notes the flag to the east is about where the last invasion force came from, and he is so suddenly lost in new plans and a better strategy that he doesn’t notice his guest moving until there’s a head bumping into his shoulder and nuzzling.

He tenses, hard, shoves his hand into the seadweller’s chest and jerks a step away. The other cackles this time, almost mean, and then slips out the window with a last, oddly triumphant crow.

lakjdsf

The adventure had been a long and strenuous one, leading both of the trolls in and out of numerous chambers of death, a multitude of puzzles that risked both life and limb, and overall bringing them to a final chamber where their biggest strength was the bond they'd built by standing shoulder to shoulder. No longer was the cowardice evident in both trolls, in its place was confidence and pride in their ability to persevere and succeed. They'd done it, they'd made it through.

With a wide grin, Franke set a small red flag in the page. The adventure hadn't been fully written, and she was giddy with excitement at just thinking about it. She and Avispa had managed to get their entire quest documented, put into word, and the trip back from their expedition had been more than enough time to read through what they had done. No matter how fresh it had been in her mind, there were things written that she hadn't remembered happening. Things she had missed out on, yet here they were, documented in the book.

"Avispa couldn't simply leave after seeing Franke's chilled form highlighted by the twilight's glow. A blanket, smelling sweet of honey, settled over her form and a small smile, barely visible, settled over the jadeblood's lips. With that, she would be warm; she would be safe."

A slight flush made its way to her cheeks at the care that she hadn't taken notice of. She had seen Avispa putting something away on numerous occasions before she woke, did she deliberately hide it? Did she not want to be found out? There was a piece of the puzzle missing.

A puzzle it was, however, the feelings stirring within Avispa. She'd stood side by side with Franke, fighting off hordes of enemies and seeming to dance her way through fights. She had never seen anyone move in such a manner; graceful and happy. It wasn't a fear of dying, it was enjoying the heat of the battle. Avispa's eyes hadn't only been drawn to Franke's habits while she fought, however, and she'd caught herself staring while she slept, while she read her books, while she did... well, nearly anything.

"Avispa."

She had been lost in her thoughts as they journeyed, figuring Franke to be equally lost in her books. The sound of the star-troll's voice caught her entirely off guard and she flushed green, her usually organized thoughts tumbling down all around her.

"This adventure isn't over."

As she raised the book up, showing the empty pages with a single red heart adorning the first page, Avispa's eyes locked upon it. Before she could flush further or step away, Franke was upon her, sliding her arm around the younger troll's back. If the first kiss was a puzzle, every one that followed brought them one step closer to solving it. The night was young, the solution so far out of reach, but they had all the time they could ever need and hundreds of pages to fill to try to reach it.

Their adventure had only just begun.

EEEEEE I MADE A LITTLE SQUEAL OTP OTP

sfjkgldlg these two. :>

( ' -')b

Oh f- any limitations?
<>? <3?
<3<?

Nope~ And you are free to interpret "stealth teaching" however you want.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND COCKROACHES MAY I PRESENT TO YOU THE INFAMOUS

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Re: Kal<3??Avispa

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Re: CHERIOUR LECLAIR

Re: FRANKE ETOILE

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Birdsong & Chrysi

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gomen for lack of writing skills

Birdsong & Crusader

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