#fantroll fic

[sillytrollsandfun]

A Snowy Night

It was cold and had even started snowing. You look out at the falling snow with distaste. The cold weather really bothered you. You wondered if being easily susceptible to the cold is due to your bold. Sighing you had for your closet, grabbing the fluffiest sweater you have, and some fluffy socks. Coincidentally your sweater was a light pink, almost like it was calling you out for your mutation. You tug it on and run a hand through your hair.

It had been a long time since anyone had tried to call you out on your blood color. The porn industry had an agreement with you, that if you kept doing porn for them, they would say that your bulge and whatnot had been artificially colored for the mutant category of pailing. You mostly pailed with other mutants in the porn industry, but occasionally someone would suggest that you pair up with someone from an approved caste color. They usually had to sign extensive paperwork, and you had to agree of course. You got paid well, and it seemed trolls actually liked your videos so you agreed. You didn’t have to worry about being hunted down, at least in that perspective of your life.

No, the part of your life that you had to worry about were your quadrants. You sat down in the fluffy armchair by the window and stared aimlessly out of it. The last and first time you’d had a matesprite hadn’t ended well. You had started working at Sweet Dreams, after one of your usual pail buddies, from an old video line, told that there was an opening for a dancer there. That’s when you met him.

“🎵 Juilen..” He had been the founder and owner of Sweet Dreams. He swept you off of your feet. You hadn’t been expecting to meet someone like him, so charming and handsome. And he had been so kind, and romantic towards you. You fell hard for him, had trusted him. And on one fateful night, you told him your secret. He hadn’t seemed fazed and had mentioned that he’d figured something of the like.

You had thought he was fine with it, he had always seemed fine with it. But you had noticed that he was sulking around more, and had grown a bit distant with you. One night you noticed him talking to a strange troll in the club, and one of the waitresses had mentioned to you that that troll was an Empire bounty hunter, that hunted mutant bloods. You knew then that he had ratted you out.

The next night after that, you went to his hive, all smiles, and darling’s. He didn’t even suspect a thing, that you knew of his treachery. You had always known that he fancied money, but you had never thought that he would turn you in so coldly for a few caegars. You really had loved him. He had tried to apologize and pleaded with you. He said that you were mistaken and that he would never do something so horrible. You didn’t even blink when you shot him. You had hidden his body in the forest to be eaten by the beasts that roamed it.

You then moved to his husktop, and read the messages between him and the Bounty Hunter. He hadn’t given your name or appearance over the messages, but you couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t told the hunter in person at the club. You sent the bounty hunter a message that the troll in question had fled the area. You got a message back asking where the troll had gone and you then typed that he had run to the desert, The hunter had seemed to believe you, but just in case you had fled to Shylar’s place in the forest. She had been sad to hear that this had happened to you, and had supported you for a few lunar cycles.

You had then gone back to the club, with the proof of ownership. That night the club was yours, and you’d had a new beginning. You still think about Juilen a lot. He’d been your first and only flush. You had yet to trust anyone that much again. You hear a ding come from your phone and walk over to it, curious. It was a message from Lucien, it said that he was coming over to talk some shop with you. You smile briefly and type back that you guessed he could just invite himself over. It held no bite, though. The boy had come to hold a piece of your heart. You wondered if it was because he had reminded you of a younger you. You decided to get some cocoa brewing, that way when he got here he could warm himself up.

You could say that your past had been a darker one, with passion and mystery. But you were happy with the way things were now. You hear another ping and read it with a smile.

“Haha, Old man. I hOpE yOu arE happy, that rEally hurt my fEElings. :p”

“Just kidding. I’ll bE thErE sOOn, yOu gOt any cOffEE Or cOcOa? I’m frEEzing my ass off.”

You stir the cocoa, not answering him. You really were happy with how things were now. You couldn’t ask for more right now.

[thisangstriddenschoollifetragedy]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[kirstin-chan]

OH GUYS I dreamed about this fantroll ball this morning. I first dreamed dave was an asshole who drew dumb robot porn comics then was embarrassed and sent them back in time to Jesus, who found them and decided to not tell his father about it.

now the real dream: I was this troll stumbling out of the woods and into the path where jesus had been: but this troll was missing an arm and was hurt and tired, thirsty, hungry and missing his steed. Looking for help, he was drawn to the left and up the path was a walk way and some steps. Halfway up was this sea troll dressed like an Inca. He was very fierce and scared looking. I was low to him, even though he was clearly a guard to this estate, so I bowed low, kneeled, head down, and felt him circle me with his bow drawn. I tensed up so hard my body shook and I knew this man could kill me.

But he went back to his post and nodded. I was invited to the party. 

I went up the rest of the steps. The ground cover was well kept, but some black tree branches crossed the stone work and couldn't be helped. The path was narrow and winding and had steps in sets of three every ten feet or so: the rocky hill was very steep but seemed to be shady enough: pale white-gray light shown through the branches and leaves.

When I got to the front door, a highclass man in just a floor-length, flowing black and white skirt ushered me inside. He was average height and clearly had time to work out. I took him to be the master of the house. Everyone was wearing black and white and promiscuousness seemed to be the theme:  this party was all sexed up. 

I stood in the entrance way, paved with red tile, and changed into the nicest thing I had. It was made from the same olive and gold pattern as my normal robes, but showed off more leg and was one solid piece starting tight against my neck and ending mid-thigh. It looked like a dick costume, but no one seemed to notice or care.

"This appropriate atire for this affair, I hope?" I asked the shirtless gentleman, trying not to stutter. He looked me up and down and subtly rolled his eyes. I was very worried I would be culled on the spot for my presumptuousness. 

"No," he crossed his arms, holding one hand crooked out, "Your .. eastern-lilly vibe is exactly the exotic flare this party needs." He smirked to himself and turned away, mingling with several very stately, reserved persons behind a decorative railing. When he turned, I think I saw his back had six piercings by which he'd hung rings strung through with matching black and white floor-length scarves. 

The area he'd gone in to intimidated me, so I made my way to the right and down a hall. I kept expecting the architecture to retreat and truncate, but instead it's girth only expanded the deeper I went. Everywhere I turned were throngs of men and women talking in important-sounding, soft tones.

I made it to some stairs, still red tile stones matching the front entry way, and heard some hyperbole spoken loud, jubilantly enough to echo up what I found out was two or three wide flights of stairs. I made my way down them, happy to meet a less-serious crowd of party goers. 

In a meeting area was a large, dark red couch or two, long rectangles of upholstery. My injuries forgotten, I integrated myself into the group. A young man with a strong chin and round build was telling a story about a sister of his: a funny story he was growing increasingly more defensive in telling. 

It went something like this: "So we were trying to hook my sis up with this guy, right? And she says 'well, he's seems nice, but he's just not my type.' And we were like 'What do you mean, 'you're type?'"

And here everyone snickered like they knew where this was going. "'you know..' 'No, tell us, sis: you mean GREEN BLOODED?'" Everyone made sounds of playful incrimination. "'no, no, it's just that. He talks like..' 'A green blood, sis?' 

'No, he's like-..'" And here the wide-jawed young man made a series of flamboyant, fae sounds and everyone bawled with laughter. A man doing an impression of a woman doing an impression of a man who spoke like a woman; and it was charming. 

Just then, a shorter man ran in from another room past yet more stairs headed back up. "Who's making fun of me up in here?" or some low class jargon. Everyone shut themselves up immediately: this was the man the strong-jawed man had tried to set up with his sister. Half his face was painted white and the other half black. His outfit was befitting the black-and-white dress code and his hair was tied back: thick with dreadlocks. He was beautiful and his jaw was sharp where the other foot-ball-player's had been round, and I wanted him dearly. His tone and manor was playful but you could tell he was hurt from having his colleagues talk about him behind his back. I found myself thinking this woman who had rejected him was very in the wrong and made up my mind that, if she was at this party, I would give her a piece of it.