Another balmy summer evening. The city rolls these nights like loaded dice.
It’s tough for a flatfoot to make it in a town like this. Some towns are built loose and a stiff breeze of upset blows through, but these bricks are tight-knit. Built like a damn Chippewa birchbark canoe. Not much daylight seeps through, see? A gumshoe asks questions and questions upset. It’s like some shawlless dame frostbit in winter, too proud to take your coat for some damn reason. You know how dames are. The city turns her cold shoulder to a type a fella and that’s all there is to it.
But a steak dinner don’t pay for itself if you catch my drift.
[ I’ve been running on slow reblogs, but it’d be totally great if people could submit original material! I’m filling up the queue with a few reblogs, but after that I’m not sure what to do. Does anyone have any good ideas? Or at least just suggestions of things to draw or write? ]
I would also like to apologize for the lack of movements. The Church is in dire need of it’s follower’s help. We would not wish to inconvenience you, but if you may head over to submissions, that would be quite lovely.
This is a re-post from my main blog. I’m posting it here for convenience’s sake.
So yeah, I’ve been super excited about the newest Homestuck updates about the Ancestors, especially the whole SuffererxDesciple thing. So here’s some of my head canon.
My lusus died when I very young. Being orphaned at that age is practically a death sentence. I would have been culled if it hadn’t been for the kindness of a blue-blood: a hulking youth who spirited me away into the woods.
I was forced to live away from the rest of society and fend for myself. I consider this a good thing because I grew up without the prejudices against blood color. My yellow-green blood may have made me a ‘blue-blood’, though I was still quite low on the hemo-spectrum, but because of my wild upbringing, this meant nothing to me.
My days were mostly the same, but always eventful: Hunt, flee, eat, hide, and then finally retire to my cave for the day. It went on like this for the majority of my formative years. I was wild, I was free, and I was content with living out the rest of my years like this.
But then one day, I found myself in a bit of trouble.
I have been near to death before, but some how I’d always managed to pull myself together and make a run for it. This time was different.
At 8 sweeps old, I had gotten cocky. I had over estimated my abilities and under-estimated my opponent’s. A cholerbear cub, all alone on his lonesome, had been my target. I couldn’t believe my luck that such a creature was on its own. Unfortunately, my glee at finding such a rare kill blinded me. I didn’t see the mother until she got me from behind and slammed me into a tree.
I remember feeling the cold chill of dread as I watched her descend upon me. I couldn’t move my legs.
My life up until then hadn’t really been much. I was still so young. The only thing I had ever accomplished was becoming a self proclaimed mistress of hunting. It was my belief until then that it would be an honor to die at the hands of an opponent. I would go to my death with pride.
But I felt no pride at that moment. I was a scared little grub looking death straight in the face, yet clinging desperately to my life. I remember thinking as those knife-sharp claws drew closer, ‘No! Please! Not yet!’.
Someone or something must have heard my desperate plea. A cry rang out through the trees and the next moment, the cholerbear and her cub had fled. A young man had taken the mother’s place over me. I can’t say what exactly my first impression of the man was, only that his blood ran thick over one arm. I had never seen anything like it. It was brighter than the blood of the animals I had slain. It was the burning, blazing color of the Alternian sun.
My only thought at that moment was, ‘My, what a beautiful color.’.
My savior looked down upon me, his face straining to keep itself composed, though I knew he must have been in agony. His fiery gaze upon me, he spoke. And I don’t think I will ever forget the words the Sufferer said then.
SHIRTS ARE FOR FUCKASSES, MOM! GOD LET ME LIVE MY LIFE
Sufferer I Swear To You That If You Do Not Put On A Shirt I Will Make You A Pair Of Pants So High That They Will Function Like A Shirt And You Will Have To Wear It Around And Feel The Stinging Humiliation Of Terrible Fashion
DO IT, THEN. FUCK, THAT ACTUALLY SOUNDS PRETTY SWEET.
Fine I Will
Prepare To Feel The Shame Of A Thousand Slime Contaminating Wrigglers
OH MY GOD YOU ACTUALLY MADE THEM.
FUCK I FEEL GOOD. THIS SHIT IS ALMOST MAGICAL. THANKS, MOM.
This Was Not My Intention At All
Get Back Here Please Take That Off You Look Terrible
What Have I Done
It appears the Dolorosa may have faced some difficulties with the upbringing of the Sufferer.