i mean what am i supposed to do with pages and bards

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Finding the Words

8k words, G rated

Scorpius is being weird – more weird than normal, that is. He’s spending longer than ever in the library, he hasn’t spoken to Albus in weeks, and he keeps forgetting to do his homework. Albus is determined to find out what’s wrong with him and help. That’s just what you have to do when your best friend is upset. 

Thanks to @abradystrix for being a stellar human being and beta, and thanks to @the-eighth-story for nudging me to add the last scene. <3 

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Victory Garden

From the Drabble Games:  "Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?” requested by @little-red-83 || Also incorporating “Imagine Bard holding your hands in his and his thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands” from @imaginexhobbit || More Bard fics || Drabble games fics || Fanfiction masterlist

Originally posted by mishacolins

The climb up the stairs to your modest Lake-town home is taking more effort with each passing day - and this is only day 160 of carrying your first child, fathered by your first and only love.

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Who Suggested This Again?

My first submission for RvB Reverse Big Bang. Also on Ao3.

Based on art by @goodluckdetective found here.

Here’s a little story: I signed up for the Reverse Big Bang with high hopes for myself. Unfortunately, life has a way of ruining hopes and dreams for everyone. I initially wished for this to be a sprawling fic with multiple stories. Instead, I have a page of character introductions and two mini-adventures. It’s not much, but I owe it to my artist and myself to post what I have. Enjoy, if you can.


Kai had gathered everyone together in the biggest room on the base that they could find. She smiled as she pulled Donut to the head of the table, Donut himself carrying a big cardboard box, which he promptly slammed down with a cheeky grin.

“Everyone ready?” he asked.

There was a collective series of groans and affirmations, punctured by Caboose shouting “We get to finally play a game together!”

“Then let’s get started.” Donut pulled out a stack of paper and started passing them around. “Take your character sheet and please read aloud who you are going to play. And remember: you picked these roles, not me.”

Grif took the first sheet and cleared his throat.

“I am a dwarf who’s a paladin to Rati, the sacred god of rest and relaxation.”

“Why did you let him pick his own god?” Simmons groaned.

“Hey, I let you be a wizard despite the fuss you’ll make about it,” Donut snapped back. “Now read your character sheet.”

Simmons glanced down at his paper. “Hi, I’m an elf wizard, and I’m gonna do cool magic tricks as long as they match my level and I have enough spell slots.”

“Killjoy,” Grif murmured.

Sarge stood up and shot a look at Simmons.

“I don’t need none of that pointy eared nonsense in my game,” he stated. “I’m just as human as any of us. You won’t catch me fraternizing with no aliens!”

“There aren’t any aliens in D&D, Sarge,” Donut gently reminded.

“I’ll still fight em off! That’s why it says I’m a fighter, cuz I’m gonna shoot em all dead with my shotgun!”

“There aren’t any shotguns in D&D either.”

“No shotguns?! Then how am I supposed to kill the Blues – I mean, the aliens?”

“I think you’ll find you’re equipped with a good amount of other weapons.”

Sarge peered at his sheet. His eyes widened.

“A battleaxe? Alright, I can settle for that.”

Donut turned to Doc, who was shifting awkwardly in between Sarge and Kai.

“Um, well, I’m an elven cleric, to Eun, one of the gods of mercy and compassion. Because someone has to heal you guys. Why it always ends up being me I have no idea…”

“Well that’s Red Team,” Donut finished. “How about you, Blue - ”

“Hey!” Kai protested. “I count as a Red!”

Donut waved his hand in Kai’s direction. She sat up taller and smirked.

“I am a glorious Fire Genasi who will wreak havoc with her insane druid powers. Also I can talk to animals – bonus! I can finally flirt with bears like I’ve always wanted!”

“Wait, what?” Grif said, but Donut was already turning towards Blue team.

Carolina took the first sheet, and smiled slightly as she read it out loud.

“I am a half-orc monk.”

Wash and Tucker both giggled. Carolina shot them a glare.

“From what I know about monks, they’re pretty skilled in unarmed combat. Want me to test my skills on you two?”

She flexed her hand into a fist. Wash and Tucker stopped laughing.

Carolina took another page from the pile and held it up to her shoulder. Epsilon flickered to life and cackled.

“I cannot believe Kai roped you all in on this! This is gonna be the best thing that’s ever happened to this place!”

“Church, shut up and read your character,” Tucker snapped.

“Fine, fine. Buzzkill. Ahem. I am a regular old human gunslinger – thank you to Donut for letting me have that particular category of classes.”

“Oh, what, Church’s character gets a sniper rifle too?” Tucker laughed. “Why, so he can miss twice as much this time around?”

“This time, it’s all in the luck of the dice, pal,” Church mused.

Tucker handed the pile to Wash, who narrowed his eyes at his sheet and smiled.

“I’m the rogue. Of course I am.”

“Fuck yes!” Tucker cried. “Please tell me your weapon of choice is a bunch of throwing knives, please.”

Wash’s smile grew. “What else?” he replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Ooh, ooh, can I go next?” Caboose jumped up and down. Tucker handed him his character sheet but he didn’t even look at it.

“I am a ranger, I think,” Caboose recited from memory. “And I am a teddy bear!”

“The technical term is bugbear,” Donut corrected.

“You let him play as a bugbear?!” shouted several people at once.

Tucker rolled his eyes and grabbed the last piece of paper. He grinned and slammed it down on the table.

“I am the best member of this party. I am a smoking hot half-elf. And I am a - ”

“Oh god no.” Grif was staring at Tucker in horror.

“I am a - ”

“Please don’t let it be true,” Grif whispered.

“Fuck yes, Tucker!” Kai shouted.

“I am a BARD!”

Grif fell back, groaning pitifully, as Kai cheered and clapped.

“I think that’s everyone,” Donut said as the room calmed down. “Shall we begin?”


Tucker looked Donut dead in the eyes while holding up his dice.

“Why are you even rolling this?” Donut asked, ignoring Church as he howled with laughter behind Tucker.

“Because someone,” Tucker threw an extremely pointed look at Sarge, “told me that my music doesn’t matter.”

“I told you dirty Blue the truth! A glorified musician has an occupation that’s a waste in this beautiful kingdom founded on the ideals of violence and war!”

“And I want to counter it by proving my worth as the world’s most wondrous bard!” Tucker shouted.

Donut sighed as Church slowed his laughing, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh, just let him roll it, Donut!” he cried. “It’ll be the best roll we’ve seen this whole session.”

“I’d make the argument that Grif’s attempts to appease to his paladin’s god by taking a nap was a close second,” Tex smirked.

“Hey, he’s the god of rest and relaxation for a reason, Tex!” Grif argued.

“Enough!” Donut yelled, and the whole room went silent. “Tucker, just roll your die.”

“If it’s a 1, you have to smash your guitar,” Church whispered in Tucker’s ear. Tucker took a deep breath and tossed the die gently around in his palm. He held it out to Kai, who was focusing intently on the die.

“Wish me good luck?” Tucker schmoozed. Kai winked and blew on the die. Tucker closed his eyes and threw the dice onto the table.

Donut was the first to see it.

“Why did you have to crit on that??” he wailed, while everyone around Tucker cheered. “Fine, I guess you have infinite guitars now or something! Are you happy now, Tucker?”

Through the ruckus around him, Tucker focused on Sarge, who was looking sheepish.

“Wanna take that comment back, Mr. I-just-insulted-the-world’s-best-bard?”

“You’re still a dirty blue,” Sarge muttered, but he cracked a smile.


“Look all I’m saying is infiltrating a fortress with two captives in tow is not very stealthy,” Wash whined. “Let me be a good rogue for once guys, come on.”

“You were never a good rogue, Wash,” Carolina smirked. “The first step to acceptance is admitting the truth.”

“When the hell was I a bad rogue? I’m sneaky!”

Donut stifled a giggle. “If I recall, your last stealth roll ended up with you in a bit of a pickle.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me count the trees as cover!”

“It was a bonsai tree!”

“Whatever, I’m just saying, we can’t go delving in without figuring out our current situation.”

“No,” Carolina said.

“You didn’t even let me - ”

“For the last time, your panther is not a pet, he is a familiar.”

“I’m just saying that if we tied them to the panther and left them out in the woods, we could - ”

“Familiars still get hungry.”

“I’ll order him not to eat them. Both of us are familiar with what happens when we disobey orders, right Wash?”

Kai winked at Wash while Carolina stared between them, dumbfounded.

“Wait, what?” she spluttered, while Donut cackled with glee as Wash blushed bright red.

“We’re taking the prisoners with us,” Wash muttered, trying to hide his face.

Kai pouted as Donut said “Roll for stealth with disadvantage.”

Wash rolled a one.

classpecting as philosophy pt. 3

aka the one with questions and confusion

So here are the questions I’m trying to answer about classpecting:

Why do I say I am an Heir of Mind and not a Page of Heart, a Seer of Rage, a Prince of Time, a Rogue of Life, a Bard of Blood, an Heir of Light, or any of the 144 choices?

Can I say that I’m not those things or that I am without sounding like a little fool? How does this systemization work in practice or in abstract? Why would you or I be one or the other?

Meteors aren’t falling from the sky and I don’t have a lathe in my foyer, so what’s this mean for me as a person facing the challenges that real people face?

Why are classpects interesting? What about them do people relate to such that they try to work out the underpinnings of the comic’s system and type themselves accurately?

How are the title and identity related? Should a person have one exclusive classpect or many? What does a classpect represent about the individual? If classpects represent authority (Sburb) giving a player a mandate and a challenge for their growth, what does it mean when the player resists that classification?

And finally, what is the lineage of the classpect system? What systems does it refer to and reference in its construction?


I think the answers relate to real, not bullshit questions about the nature of identity, ability, and adversity. And a lot of people don’t think about those things (being too busy living), take them for granted, or suppose these are functionally arbitrary decisions.

“I’m a this, I do this! Someone said I should be this so I spent half my life doing this because it didn’t immediately fuck me over like most other pursuits, and now I’m dissatisfied and I can’t put my finger on why!”

“I don’t want to be that, and I built myself on what I thought I knew I didn’t want to be, and now I feel hollow inside!”

“I wanted to be this, so I did this! I can’t understand why I’m not as good at this as I want to be! Am I really this? Should I be? Why is existence confusing and difficult?”

These would probably be more somber questions than the exclamation point suggests, but you get the point: some real fundamental questions about how to live have some real shaky ground. I reject the notion that such choices are arbitrary, just as I firmly reject non-answers that have promulgated out of the necessity to do anything, anything at all with your time, to keep moving and aching.

People decide who they are. How do they become secure in that decision, if not through habituation, presupposition, and convenience?

Like every good story, the conflicts and challenges which the characters face possess figurative significance. We presumably want our lives to be good stories, too. So maybe that’s why storytelling is as important as it is for us, and we should take some cues from the way we construct stories in the practice of living. Perhaps we glom onto or develop personal myths to justify both conflict and challenges. Perhaps success increases investment in the myth. And maybe those myths are what we mistake for personality, type, et cetera, because we actally have very little understanding of what makes essential qualia in a life.

That’s what I mean by this “classpecting as philosophy” nonsense. I know how it sounds, my inner eye is perpetually rolling like a grandpa’s ball at bowling night Wednesdays, but jeez, people do need to lead meaningful lives and I’m open to talking about the less absurd ways people do that.


FAQ  |  pt. 1  |  pt. 2  |  pt. 3  |  pt. 4  |  pt. 5  |  pt. 6  |  pt. 7  |  pt. 8  |  pt. 9  |  pt. 10  |  pt. 11  |  pt. 12  |  pt. 13  |  pt. 14  |  pt. 15  |  pt. 16  |  pt. 17  |  pt. 18  |  pt. 19  |  pt. 20

art, art, art, arrrrrrt.  okay, i’m done.  except.  also.  y’know.  ART!

Lydia’s a study in disinterest.  Gaze stretching out across campus, lips pursed in judgment of the impromptu Frisbee match forming on the quad, position oriented to scarcely acknowledge that she’s standing with Stiles.

Stiles is tempted to tell her to drop the act because once obsession with someone has been coded into his DNA, there’s not so much as a micro-expression that he’s likely to miss.  He’s definitely already caught on to and catalogued the shrewdness that has been attacking her face all day.  She knows something but she doesn’t know what she knows and she’s been hawk-eyed and predatory ever since she figured out that much.

Stiles is not going to encourage any of that, thanks much.  Side note: why is everyone around him comparable to some type of bird?  Not that he’s thinking about hummingbirds, because he isn’t.  He could be, but he’s not, because he’s in control of his brain and he’s decided: no.  Crap.  Firstly, he’s totally thinking about hummingbirds.  Second-of-ly, what kind of bird would that make him?  Oh man, probably some kind of friggin’ goose.

He hates geese.

Now he knows it’s likely because he’s subconsciously recognized a kinship to them.

“If you had to pick a feathered representation for me, it wouldn’t be a goose, right?”

Years of following his bullet-speed trains of thought has led to Lydia taking that completely in stride.  She doesn’t even bother to look up at him, hand fishing in her purse for her phone to check the time.  “A seabird probably,” she offers, lighting up the screen, “they’re clumsy on land.”

“Well that’s a self-esteem boost I didn’t know I needed,” Stiles says dryly.  “You’re a true humanitarian, Lyds.  Also, the correct answer was secret option C) some kind of dinosaur.  I would’ve preferred stegosaurus, for the record.”

She brushes the hair out of her face, glances at him.  “I could have said a hoatzin.”

Stiles has legitimately no idea what that is.  “Th… anks?”  He thinks. Probably.

“More commonly known as stinkbirds.  You’re welcome,” she confirms.  Her gaze is less glancing, more stripping and Stiles pretends not to notice.  “Expert deflection, Stiles, truly.”  She golf claps mockingly and Stiles glares back at her.  “Now what are you deflecting?”

“If I tell you, they’ll revoke my ‘expert’ status,” Stiles points out smartly, “And rip up my ribbon.  I can’t have that, I’ve already put it in the family newsletter.”

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