#writing challenge day 10

[noa-de-cajou]

Day 10 : Furniture shopping

Jaako belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

_____

It’s been a while since this happened, but I hadn't missed it.

“When exactly did we lose them??”

“Here… More dangerous than forest.”

Maybe I should contextualize my predicament for the sake of clarity.

My name is Noelle J. Vincent. I am accompanied by Mao Aozora and Jaako.

And for the third time this month, I have lost my spouses at Ikea.

We’ve been in the process of moving in together to the Manor, and finding a bed big enough for Jaako’s giant frame has been quite the challenge. Mao is here for emotional support, meaning he complains out loud so I don’t have to.

“Noelle, have you tried calling them?” he asks.

“Both of their phones are on silent.”

“Shit. Should we make an announcement? Like for lost kids?”

“Sora is deaf and Mika will kill all of us if we embarass them like this.”

“Mika… won't kill. They’re… kind,” Jaako attempts in his poor english.

“Yeah, to you, maybe,” Mao mumbles before turning to me. “Is it always like this?”

“Yes. Sora gets distracted, doesn’t notice we're still walking ahead, Mika is the first to notice they're gone and goes back without telling anyone.”

“Jaako, can’t you sniff them?”

“He's not an animal, Mao.”

“Too… many… weird smells.”

Figures. This kind of outing is hard on Jaako too. I should be as efficient as possible to find them. Last time, Sora got lost because he was looking at bedsheets and lava lamps. The time before that, it was the LEDs. Is he like a magpie? Attracted to shiny things?

“Maybe we should separate.”

Mao groans, massaging his knee.

“Yeah, and get all of us lost? I don’t think so. If Ema’s stomach-turning horror movies taught me one thing, it's that if you get separated, you die.”

Right. His chronic pains might get in the way, too. This might be more complicated than I thought.

“I would argue that separating is usually the best course of action to ensure that at least one person will survive the threat. But since there is no life-threatening emergency, we should stay together.”

“I knew coming with you guys was a mistake.”

“Helpful.”

“Noelle… Your… box, is making noise.”

Jaako still calls cellphones “boxes”. It’s kind of endearing. But he's right, mine is vibrating. I look at the screen.

It's Mika. I immediately pick up.

“Yes.”

“Hey! Sorry I left without telling you guys. I found Sora.”

I breathe out a small sigh of relief.

“Good. Where are you?”

“Uh, in the hangar with all the furniture pieces. Sora’s rambling about how he found the best bedframe for Jaako but I don’t understand half of what they’re saying.”

“Okay. Stay right where you are. We're coming.”

“Yeah, will do- Oh shit she’s speeding ahead. I’ll try to at least keep her in the hangar but uuuuh gotta go love you bye.”

The call ends. I stare at my screen for a minute.

Gotta go love you bye.

Love you.

“... I love you too.”

“So?” Mao asks impatiently.

“They’re together. We’re going to join them.”

“Thank god.”

“... They… okay?”

“Yes, Jaako. They’re fine.”

The giant smiles at me, looking a lot less nervous. Being with Mika really did wonders for him. I guess it did for me too.

Anyways.

I have found my spouses at Ikea.

[matrixsss]

Can we keep her? Pretty please?

A/N: So it is feb 1st and the start of the little challenge and I just came up with this today. It's not very long just a little under 600 words, but still at least I did something, so that is good! Also this is unedited so excuse any and every mistake pls. Summary: How Tamlin convinces his husband Lucien to add another pet to their ever-growing family. There is no such thing as having too many pets, is there?  

Tamlin had always had a knack for understanding all types of animals and insects, it is why most people that do know him, call him the High Lord of Animals instead of Spring. He never minded that title, it seemed far more fitting than that of Spring, since he left most of the paperwork for his loving husband to do. Lucien was always better with that, than he was. Even when he actually took his job as High lord of Spring seriously, he had Lucien help him with various correspondences.  

The ginger was always good with words and to be completely honest (by Tamlins’ standards) his handwriting was far more legible than Tamlins. His handwriting was, well in layman terms, a messy scribble of illegible words that only he himself understood. Which made replying to letters a time-consuming task, since he had to focus and take his time to write the words so that people would be able to read them.  

That was until he got married to his longtime lover, who gracefully took over the task of responding to letters and other important things from time to time when Tamlin got overwhelmed with his lordly duties. While Lucien was in charge, Tamlin had a habit of bringing various animals home with him. They all came willingly and stayed there enjoying being pampered by everyone around. So far their pets were 2 bears, 5 ducks, 3 hares, 5 raccoons and one lone fox. This does not count the high amount of horses they already have. 

The fox was brought home by Lucien and not Tamlin in one shocking turn of events, although most of their pets were brought home by none other than the blonde lord. He couldn’t help himself and neither could the animals when they saw him. So in conclusion the amount of pets they had this far was not all his fault, the animals wanted to be with him. That is how he excused the growing numbers of pets he brought home.  

The two lovers worked in tandem to make Spring work the way it was meant to, Tamlin could not do it alone and was ever so grateful for the help he got. Their rhythm was very simple, one week Lucien would take over the duties, the next week would be Tamlin. So far, they had no issues with this arrangement. As much as Lucien loved the little family they have built over the years, he does think the number of animals roaming around is far too much. Yet, whenever Tamlin came home from one of his many walks through the Spring forests with a new animal to add to their family, he could never make himself say no to the blonde.  

This time around, was no different. Lucien had finally taken a break from being hunched over the desk, a pen in hand, scribbling thousands of words. He walked outside stretching his arms above his head, cracking his spine. The fresh Spring air filled his lungs and he couldn’t help but smile. The ginger looked forward and was not surprised to see Tamlin walking towards him. A sigh escaped him, when the blonde neared, and he could see a tiny gray fluff ball nestled in his muscular arms.   

“Can we keep her? Pretty please?” Tamlin asked with a sheepish smile on his face, eyes sparkling with joy that the small bundle of fluff brought him, how could Lucien ever say no to that face?  

Tagging everyone that is participating in this challenge: @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @chunkypossum @theshadowsingersraven

[savage-rhi]

...some other pink variant but within the magenta category

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Ten: Ellie Williams (TLOUP2) + Licks

It's the first time that Ellie and you have had a single day off in weeks. Between patrols and always being signed up for shit around Jackson neither one of you has gotten the chance to have your hands on each other.

The night is cool, so Ellie opens the window. The farms is higher up in the moutains and allow the winds the flow through the valley. The running water does wonderful for your aching back, suds falling down your legs to the bottom of the tub.

The large almost over-sized t-shirt from the donation bin hangs to the sides of the thighs. Pulling a pair of freshly washed panites from your pile it. They slide up with ease, and with that you complete your nightly routine before landing in bed.

Ellie is there reading her own book. Something about space and the stars. Underneath the covers it's warm, and soft. You cuddle into Ellies side. "You smell good." Ellie mutters as she turns a page in her book. You only hum.

The warmth of Ellie and your bed sheets causing you to be lulled to sleep. The lamp on Ellie's bedside is the only light coming into the room. Your eyes flutter open and close as you resist the urge to fall asleep. When you do finally fall asleep its to Ellie's smooth quiet mutters of scientific terms.

You are woken up to warm kisses being placed on your inner thighs. You hum as you shift, reaching out your arm out in search of Ellie. Finding nothing but missing warmth from the sheets. A nibble on your inner thighs as you moaning at the sensation.

A little laugh ripples through your thighs and it causes you to pull the covers. An outstrecthed Ellie is what you find between your legs. Her hair tosses about from removing the covers, but her eyes shine with a level of michiouviousness that you haven't seen in a few days.

A smirk that tells you that she's about to either rock your world, or tease you to the point where you'll be a crying mess in front of her. "I see I woke my sleeping beauty." Ellie mutters rubbing your outer thighs. Tossing your head over to the side. The alarm clock reads near tweleve in the afternoon, but neither one of you are requested to go anywhere so who cares what time it is.

"I don't mind being woken up this way." You mutter looking back over at Ellie. Her smirk grows, and she rests her head on your thighs.

It's all sweet nothings, gentle rubs to your soft skin, until Ellie become imptatient and can'thandle the fact that she can feel how wet you are. She shifts allowing for her shoudlers to force your legs open wider for her. Your cunt glistens in the afternoon sun, and theres something so hot and demanding as Ellie give your cunt the first kiss while never once breaking eye contact with you.

She hums and her eyes flutter shut at the taste of you on her lips. Swipping her tongue across her lips and moans. "Fuck babe you taste like sweet honey." Your cheeks flare red from her compliments, but the embrassment can still sink in sometimes.

You try to shut your legs ever so slightly trying to hide how the cold air is making you feel just how wet you are for Ellie. Ellie isn't having any of that though. Her hands land on both your inner thighs pushing you further then before. "Keep these pretty little thighs open for me baby. I wanna taste you again." She says before diving back down between your thighs starting a slow and mean torture of simply licking your wet cunt.

With ever lick she nibbles at your clit, and slips into your wet cunt. She's slow and delibrate with her pace never staying in one spot for to long and always leaving you wanting for more. You search for something to hold onto. Knuckles going white from the hold you have on them as Ellie tortures your cunt with her tongue. You're right on the verge.

The verge of tears falls from your lashes at how senstive you've become. The verge of your ograsms sit there taunting you, and Ellie knows it. She can feel you pulse around her slender tongue as she explores your cunt like it's a new planet that astornaturs have just landed on.

Ellie pulls back, letting you first catch your breath and then letting that ever so close orgasms fall away in to the dark. Your lips are tight between your teeth as you try to breath. "Take a few slow breaths for me baby." She says, brushing your stoamch with pads of her fingers. Leaving goosebumps behind in their wake.

"Come on baby take a few breaths for me, and then I'll give you what you want, baby doll." She says softly. You give her a few deep breaths before she smiles and leans down press a kiss to your redden lips.

"Don't hold back baby, I wanna hear how good you feel when I'm between your legs licking this sweet pussy to death." Her words make you laugh before a moan is thrown from your mouth as Ellie starts to devour your cunt.

There's no turning back now because Ellie has got her hands wrapped around your hips pulling you impossibly close to her chest. Your moans falls and bounce around your bedroom. Your breathing picks up, and everhting falls into place as your orgasms creeps up from the shadows.

"Oh… Ellie please!!" You moans as she sucks your clit. "Oh fuck please don't stop." Ellie hums into your cunt. Your legs shake over Ellies shoudlers, and she knows she has you. It's something as simple as pressing a sweet wet kiss to your clit that has you fall over the edge. The edge of euphoria.

You decide right then and there that you two need to find a few more days where neither one of you are working, or patrolling. Just simply lying in bed seems like a much better choice in your eyes.

Completed on 10/09/24

Posted on 10/14/24 (For 10/10/24)

Kinkotber 24'-

[theshadowsingersraven]

I SWEAR I've been writing but I keep forgetting to post it. Now I gotta make up for the past two days lol:

Snippet from Chapter two of my Bodhi/OC fanfic that I've been chipping away at for days 2 & 3

Tagging everyone participating in the challenge

@matrixsss @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @chunkypossum

“You needed something?” Kestra asks, straightening up to her full height. She’s only a few inches shorter than Bodhi, but he knows for a fact that wouldn’t stop her from knocking him flat on his ass. And for some reason, he isn’t sure he’d mind. Not that he’ll give her a reason to, of course. He's supposed to be the most reasonable of his section, after all.

“Yes. Well, technically, the Assembly needs something from you. They asked me to bring you so you and the Professors can sort out teaching all the cadets here.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “They're asking me to teach? I'm still only a cadet. And what would I teach anyway?”

“Dragonkind. You're Kaori's daughter--if there's anyone they expect to know enough about dragons to help the first years keep their seats and maneuver in flight, it's you.”

Kestra frowns, a sight that Bodhi couldn't have anticipated disliking so much. He watches her raise her hand to her face and pinch the bridge of her nose. Her sigh is sharp. “This is why Dad and I kept that little bit of information a secret.”

Bodhi grimaces. He’d technically volunteered her even though his main goal was just to get the Assembly off of Xaden’s back. He hadn't thought about the pressure that might put on her, and he suddenly felt guilt knotting his stomach.

“They think you're capable, at least,” he offers, his voice a tad softer.

“They want me to be his replacement,” she says, her voice slightly clipped. “I mean, I get why on some level. I practically learned to read off of his Field Guide to Dragonkind, but I'm not him. I can't be him. Not without at least another ten years of experience and study.” Her hand lowered from her face

Bodhi shrugs. The smile he offers Kestra is hesitant, but genuine. As if he could try and nudge her forward with a mere expression alone. “Maybe they don't need you to be him, Bishop. Maybe they just need you to be you.”

The tightness of stress and agitation loosens from Kestra's expression like a curtain billowing from an open window. His words seem to make her pause, something like appreciation dancing in those forest green eyes of hers. “You think?” she asks, sounding surprisingly unsure of herself.

[wowbright]

Chapter 14: Shatter

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

Kurt missed Blaine. He missed his smile and his voice and the way he bashfully batted his eyelashes and his smell—oh, he smelled wonderful, like fresh air and ice and perfectly ripe raspberries with a dash of cloves and sandalwood, everything melding together into a distinctive blend that Kurt just wanted to bask in. Kurt could just be going along innocently minding his own business, and suddenly he would get a sweet whiff of something that reminded him of Blaine, blindsiding him, and he was left there, pining and desperate to touch Blaine, or at least to feel his presence.

Like just now, as Kurt guided a seam through the sewing machine, and a bit of Blaine’s scent wafted up from the fabric he had donned and doffed a dozen times now, each time imbuing the fibers with a little bit more of his heat and himself. It struck Kurt right in the center of the brain where the on-off switch for longing was located.

Kurt's mind flooded with images: Outside at the Garden of the Gods, Blaine’s body outlined against the pink rock, his eyes dancing, those nonsensical and beautiful words bubbling out of his mouth (You make me feel like I'm new) and everything inside Kurt that had ever yearned to be close to another person, and even parts of him that had never yearned for it, seemed to well up within him like a wave tumbling toward the shore. In the tea room, everything disappearing but Blaine’s face and his smile and his warmth—a warmth so strong it radiated out across the table and the silverware and the bergamot-scented air and nestled right around Kurt’s heart. And those eyes, once again, earlier this morning in the studio, watching with rapt attention as Kurt worked, as if there was something beautiful and exquisite in the way that Kurt thought and the way his hands moved.

This morning. It hadn't even been a full four hours since Kurt had seen Blaine, and he ached for him. They hadn't been able to have lunch together, that was all. Everyone was getting ready to leave for Sochi, and on top of that there were interviews and prerecorded television spots and photo shoots to contend with. If Kurt thought this was bad, it was going to be much worse in Sochi. But at least in Sochi he would have a dizzying array of landmarks and languages and street signs he was completely incapable of deciphering to busy his mind.

The door swung open. Kurt did not have to look up to know it was not Blaine. Blaine approached doors more cautiously, and he did not stomp his feet when entering a room. “Another package for you,” said the familiar voice,  world-weary and cantankerous. “What's with all these packages? You didn’t have enough fabric in that trousseau of yours? I needed two strong men to carry that in when you first got here. Gay Blaine is strong, but he can’t skate in all that.”

“Hello Becky.” Kurt looked up at Sue’s assistant. “You seemed to enjoy watching those two strong men carry in my ‘trousseau’ very much. So I don't see what you’re complaining about.”

“They were okay. My boyfriend’s hotter.” Becky threw a large envelope onto the table next to his sewing machine.

“Hey, careful! You never know what's in those envelopes. What if it was a package of custom-made glass sequins?”

“They would shatter,” Becky said drolly. “Duh.”

“Exactly. And it's not like I would have time to order new ones at this point.”

Becky huffed. “But it’s not sequins. It's fabric. See?” She grabbed the package, wriggling and scrunching it to demonstrate its malleability. “Also, one side of the envelope is clear. I can see what's in it.”

Kurt snatched the package away from her. He hadn't noticed that. “Well, it's the principle.” He opened the envelope and out slid three sheer yards of perfection. He didn’t realize he was audibly cooing until Becky asked him if he had eaten a pigeon for breakfast.

~~~

The rink was chaos. Cameras and reporters and complicated sound and lighting rigs were joined by sundry aides and assistants and managers and publicists zipping about, chattering, and making lots of racket. Stepping in from the outer corridor, Kurt felt like a mole who had been forced out of his underground burrow. The lights, the clashing colors, the noise—everything was so loud and blindingly busy.

He scanned the arena, hoping to find Blaine’s reassuring presence in all this mess. That's why he was here, after all. Becky’s package was potentially the final puzzle piece in Blaine’s free skate costume, and Kurt wanted to get Blaine’s thoughts on it before he started ripping apart the most recent iteration of the ever-evolving ensemble in order to incorporate the new fabric this into the back and arms. Well, technically, he was supposed to get Sebastian’s thoughts, too, and Sue always had an opinion, and if Mike and Kitty or the McCarthy twins were nearby, they would certainly wander over with their thoughts—

Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he couldn't shut out the noise, at least he could make the room go dark and give himself a few seconds to adapt and gain his bearings.

“See, here's what's gonna go down, Mr. Ben Israel. Two choices: you stay here and I crack one of your nuts, right or left—that's your choice—or you walk away and live to be a douchebag another day.”

Kurt blinked his eyes open and turned toward the voice. Not even ten yards to his left, the McCarthy twins were sitting across from a bushy-haired reporter. He, in turn, was staring fearfully at a skinny, stiletto-heeled woman in a white Hugo Boss business suit who loomed over all of them.

“It’s a fair question!” the reporter squealed. “I was just giving them the opportunity to respond to the very real cultural phenomenon of McCarthy twincest fanfic and its implications for—”

“Out.” Santana Lopez said it calmly, quietly, pointing toward the door that Kurt had just walked in. It was the most terrifying he had ever seen her.

Kurt did a quick two-step to the side as the panicked reporter bolted past him. “Well hello, Satan!” he exclaimed cheerfully as he regained his footing. He would have said ‘hail Satan’ if he hadn’t been in such shock.

Santana's jaw dropped. “Lady Hummel! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Though as he said it, he recalled her drunkenly going on about ‘putting clients on ice’ more than once. He’d always assumed it was her way of wishing she could dispose of them like a mafia boss disposes anyone who inconveniences him, or at least shoving them in cryostorage with a note not to revive them until long after she was gone.

“You know Berry’s not my only star, right? If I had to spend 24-7 at her beck and call, one of us would end up dead, and it wouldn’t be me.” Santana eyed him suspiciously. “She didn't send you here after me, did she? Because she can’t stand me being away from her side for more than two minutes?”

“I’m not her errand boy,” Kurt said. “Besides, I haven’t talked to her in weeks.”

“How will you keep your spot as Rachel Berry's gay bestie with that attitude?”

“Oh, I resigned from that position long ago after all my workers comp claims for trauma on the job went unfulfilled. I'm here on my own. Working. Like you.”

Santana's eyes lit up. He could never trust that expression. It meant mischief more often than joy. “Come to think of it,” she said, her eyes wandering around the rink, “I do remember something about you being Blaine Anderson's sloppy seconds.”

“Oh no, Kurt’s not sloppy at all!” Mason popped up from his seat, bouncing on his toes and clasping his hands together in the tell-tale pose of someone wanting to dish. “Blaine adores him, and with good reason. Kurt is an amazing designer. I know you’ve been in talks with Johnny Weir to design our costumes next season, but we’ve been having second thoughts about that.”

“We have!” Madison jumped up beside her brother, her feet actually leaving the floor. “Kurt’s way more original.”

“What the hell, Hummel? Have you been blowing pixie dust up my clients’ asses when I wasn't around?”

“I know nothing about this pixie dust of which you speak,” Kurt answered smugly. “They simply recognize talent when they see it.

Santana huffed. “Next thing I know, they're going to tell me they want to defect to Sebastian Smythe like Chang and Wilde did.”

The twins wrinkled their noses in unison. “No, we need you,” said Madison, turning to her brother to continue the sentiment.

“The way you deal with all those creepy reporters, Santana. You’re perfect,” said Mason. “I mean, I'm sure Sebastian would do his best to defend us, but let’s face it—he’s aggressive, but you’re terrifying.”

 “And we’re neither, which is why you complement us so well,” added Madison.

Her brother looked at her. “You’re a little terrifying, Madison.”

“Only to you.”

~~~

When Kurt finally found Blaine, he was sitting next to Sebastian and talking to a reporter in a Sochi 2014 baseball cap. Blaine had his public face on—cheerful, but not in the unreserved way Kurt had become familiar with since his arrival in Colorado Springs. Sebastian, on the other hand, was scowling.

Kurt understood why as he got closer and caught the gist of what the reporter was asking. “As the first and only male figure skater to come out as gay during his career, how do you feel about the current Russian government’s new restrictions on public discussion of homosexuality and the environment that might create for you at the Sochi Olympics?”

“I—” was all Blaine got out before Sebastian reached across and pushed the microphone out of his face.

“You know you can’t ask him that, Cooper.”

Holy shit. Were they talking to Anderson Cooper? Kurt stepped a little closer to peer at the reporter's face. No. The reporter was a devastatingly handsome middle-aged man, but he was not Anderson Cooper.

“Rule 50 says ‘no kind of demonstration or political, religious or racial propaganda is permitted in any Olympic sites or venues,” Not-Anderson-Cooper said. “He’s not in Sochi yet.”

“We’re at the Olympic Training Center, you dumbass.”

“‘Olympic sites or venues’ means those operated by the International Olympic Committee. This is run by the US organization.”

“Which also discourages athletes from engaging in political speech while acting as Olympians. Seriously, Cooper, how many concussions have you had?”

Blaine's eyes moved back and forth between his manager and Not-Anderson-Cooper like he was watching a ping-pong match. The annoyance on his face melted away and was replaced by a no-holds-barred smile when he saw Kurt. He looked like someone who had just walked into Museum of Modern Art and seen Van Gogh’s Starry Night for the first time. Kurt’s heart flipped over in his chest.

Blaine jumped up from his chair and waved Kurt over. “Guys, the interview is done. Cooper, I want to introduce you to Kurt, the designer I've been telling you about. Kurt, this is my brother, Cooper Anderson.”

“Oh! I’ve heard so much about you!” Cooper reached out and shook Kurt's hand vigorously. “But not as much as you’ve certainly heard about me. Would you like an autograph? Or maybe a selfie with me?”

“I, um …” Kurt looked to Blaine in hopes of receiving a clue to what was going on, but Blaine was too busy shaking his head at his … brother … to notice Kurt’s need of rescue. “I'm sorry. Are you a … um, were you a competitive figure skater, too?”

“You're joking, right?” Cooper said, but his grin was fading. “Blaine said you were funny. That’s not funny.”

“Actually, it kind of is,” Blaine said with a quiet chuckle. He stepped closer to Kurt and put his hand on his shoulder, leaning close to whisper, “He was a seven-time MVP in the National Hockey League, and now he’s a sports commentator”—and it took all of Kurt’s concentration to focus on the meaning of the words and not the warm breath that puffed tantalizingly against his ear.

“Oh. That Cooper Anderson,” Kurt said, not because any of it rang a bell for him, but because it seemed wise not to get off on the wrong foot with the first member of Blaine’s family he'd had the chance to meet. “Sorry. I didn't recognize you. Maybe it was the hat?”

~~~

“You really didn't know about my brother, did you?” Blaine said later when they were standing alone—well, as alone as they could be in that chaos—at the edge of the rink, checking out how the fabric looked under its lights while cocky young Sam Evans showed off his tricks for the cameras as Santana watched on, frowning. (She was apparently his manager, too.)

“Well, I remember you mentioning that you started to learn skating because your family was really into hockey, and I think there was a mention of a brother in there somewhere? But I didn't make the connection because … well, I didn’t know there were any famous Andersons who played in the NHL. The whole ‘let's injure each other for an hour and call it a game’ genre of athletics has never really been my thing.”

“So, what is your thing?” Blaine said, scooching a bit closer so that their shoulders touched.

You, Kurt wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Athletics wise? I was a kicker on my high school football team.”

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. “Isn't that one of those ‘injure each other for an hour’ sports?”

“I guess, but I was literally just the kicker, and I didn't even watch the games. They recruited me out of drama club after the quarterback saw my audition for the fall musical. Apparently my high kicks were more impressive than anything any of the actual football players could do. So I’d sit on the sidelines doing my homework, and if they needed me, I’d come out there with earphones on under my helmet and “Rose’s Turn” on my Walkman, and when Barbra Streisand sang, ‘Everything’s coming up Rose!’, I’d wind up and kick the ball right over the post.”

Blaine’s face squinched up from smiling so hard. “That is the most adorable thing I have ever heard. You never cease to amaze me, Kurt.”

“I was a cheerleader, too,” Kurt said with more pride than was probably warranted, considering he was talking to a world-class athlete with the skills to make a much better cheerleader than he ever had. But Blaine was looking at him like he was the most amazing human who had ever walked the earth. He couldn't help preening a little.

Blaine brushed the back of his fingers against Kurt’s bicep. “With those arms, you could probably toss girls in the air like they were confetti.”

Kurt’s heart sped up. Blaine was touching his arm. In admiration. As if it were … sexy, or something. And sure, Kurt had shown up to the studio twice this week in extremely fitted, extremely short sleeves that showed his arms at their best in hopes of Blaine appreciating them. But somehow, he hadn't anticipated it might actually work.

Bang! They both jumped back as something slammed into the side of the rink just beneath them.

“Sam? Sam!” Blaine bolted over the wall onto the ice.

“I’m okay. I’m okay!” Kurt heard Sam protesting as Santana forcibly pushed camera operators away and threatened their tender body parts with violence if any of this aired.

“If Yuzuru Hanyu hears a word of this, I will Yakuza your asses!”

Blaine began to go through a list of questions he had clearly asked and been asked before about whether this spot hurt or this spot or this spot, and did Sam know where he was and the date and the time and the President and the canonical order of the Star Wars movies (okay, that last one did not sound standard, but Sam answered it without hesitation), meanwhile pressing the pads of his fingers to Sam’s knees and ankles to test for tenderness.

“Ugh, you’re not my mom,” Sam whined.

“Yeah, but I’m your grandpa. Close enough. And if you think this is too much attention, I’ve got worse news for you. The paramedics have arrived.”

Sam turned out to be okay in the end, with only his pride wounded—especially when he found out Blaine hadn't even seen the back flip that preceded the crash. “There's a reason they don't score those in competition, Sam,” Blaine said gently. “It's to prevent people from killing themselves.”

“I can't believe you didn't see it! You were supposed to watch and learn!”

Kurt thought Blaine showed remarkable restraint in not asking, Learn what? How to crash into the wall? Perhaps it didn't even occur to him, Blaine was that good of a person. Instead, he patted Sam's back and said, “I'm sure it was impressive. But maybe save those for the off-season. You can't afford an injury right now. We’re all depending on you to be in top form for the team event.”

Sam looked doubtfully at Blaine. “Figured you’d want me out of the team event.”

“No. We need the best. And you’re the best.”

“Better than you, gramps?”

Blaine smiled. “Guess we’ll find out in Sochi.”

“Oh, God, what is this?” Santana's voice interrupted the comfortable silence. “Why don't you two just go sit around a fire and sing kumbaya? Wait, no. There's no time! We've got too much shit to do before we leave for Sochi! Also, Sam, if you ever try a stunt like that again before a competition, you can find a new manager.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned toward Kurt and thrust a business card at him. “For you, Lady Hummel. Have your people call my people when this whole Sochi mess is done. Maybe we can work something out.”

“Or we could just talk it over at our gal’s next drunken brunch.”

“No, she’ll think I’m stealing her best gay—yeah, I know you reject the title—and I’ll never hear the end of it. Later, okay? Trouty Mouth and I gotta go.”

Sam stood up to leave with her. “Wait, Sam,” Blaine put a hand on Sam’s sleeve. “Did she just call you—”

“Yes,” Sam huffed.

“You don't sound okay with that.”

Sam shrugged.

Blaine stood up. “Santana, he’s a teenager. And he’s paying you. It’s not okay to talk to him like that.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “I have nicknames for everyone. And he's got to toughen up if he's going to survive a career as a senior.”

“Sam’s plenty tough. He’s made it this far, hasn’t he? I’m sure you have the capacity to come up with a nickname that doesn't sound like an insult and the ability to ask Sam first if he’s okay with it.”

Sam looked at Blaine with wide eyes. Clearly he hadn't expected this kind of defense or these kinds of accolades from the guy he spent his free time finding ways to annoy. But it didn’t surprise Kurt. It was completely consistent with Blaine’s character: generous, kind, noble, sympathetic. Blaine was such a good person, through and through. The affection Kurt felt crowded around his heart and made it deliciously hard to breathe.

Santana rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your choices are Blue Eyes, Kentucky Derby, White Chocolate, and Blonde Chameleon.”

“Blonde Chameleon, definitely!” Sam grinned.

“Okay, done with that. Let’s move. Good day, Lady Hummel. And Mr. Lady Hummel.” She nodded at Blaine as she turned away. A hint of pink flushed across Blaine’s cheekbones. He looked inordinately pleased.

~~~

“So,” Blaine said a few minutes later when they were back in the costume studio—just the two of them and Roxy Music playing in the background, Blaine swaying his hips to the beat as he ran his fingers over a piece of velveteen. There wasn’t even a pretense of them working on the costume together. They were past that stage in the design. Kurt’s work was solitary now, except for the fittings and the occasional consulting on a swatch. “I take it you and Santana Lopez go back a bit?”

“Sure. She manages one of my friends from high school. A singer named Rachel Berry.”

Blaine practically guffawed. “Wait. You’re friends with Rachel Berry?” And then his eyes went wider. “She’s the one who’s declared you her best gay?”

“Well, I did let her be the hag to my fag when we were younger. But I got tired of being called her ‘gay friend’ and her ‘best gay friend’ and basically a supporting character in the production of her life and … Well, I set some boundaries. We’re still friends, but more … with some healthy distance. Anyway—you’ve heard of her?”

“Oh, have I ever.”

Kurt tilted his head. There was some undercurrent in Blaine’s voice he couldn’t quite decode. “You’ve seen her in Funny Girl maybe?”

“Not Funny Girl. Though it was nice to see she got the Tony for it.” This seemed an honest statement, even if Blaine pressed his lips together in a way that almost looked like a grimace.

“The Hello Dolly revival then? Or maybe Spring Awakening?”

Blaine leaned forward against the table and shook his head, chortling. “Spring-Fucking-Awakening. You could call it that.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Sorry. It’s her boyfriend. Partner. You know her partner, right? Jesse St. James?”

“Of course I know Jesse.”

“Well, so do I.”

A lightbulb went off in Kurt’s head. Jesse used to live in L.A. Blaine lived in L.A.—well, at least when he wasn’t zipping around the globe for competitions. And Kurt had always known that Jesse was bisexual, or heteroflexible, or … something. But what were the chances of this? L.A. was enormous. “Wait. Are you one of the guys that Jesse …?”

“Dated? Yeah. Before he figured out he was straight. Or … I’m actually kind of the precipitating factor in him realizing he was straight.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

Blaine winced. “Crap! Did I just out him to you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean … I didn't know he was straight per se, but I guess I figured he might be—what’re the kids calling it these days?—heteroromantic? But you know him. He’s an open book. We’ve just never discussed it. I’m not sure I’ve ever told him I’m gay. But I was more concerned about you. Because I brought up Rachel and then I dredged up all this stuff from your past and … Oh my God, that must have been so traumatic.”

“Honestly, I think it was more traumatic for him than it was for me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I wasn’t in love with him, so that helped. Infatuated, a little, yes, but I wasn’t in love with him.”

“No. I mean, how can he date you and not fall in love with you? It doesn’t compute.”

Blaine looked down at his hands, the blush from earlier returning to cheekbones, and shrugged. “It's fine. He wasn't the right guy for me. And I always knew there was something kind of off. We just never really had a spark. And I thought maybe that was kind of normal because honestly, I’m not sure I’ve had a spark with any of the guys I've been with—I mean, where you have sex and it’s like ‘oh my god I’m so in love with this person,’ and it’s overwhelming and wonderful and all the things you imagined it would be when you were younger and—Well. I'd started to wonder if I was just bad at romance. But with Jesse, at least I knew the problem wasn’t me. He was just constitutionally incapable of feeling that way about me. It was kind of a relief. And also … maybe this is weird, but it also kind of felt like an honor, in a way—to have someone be so open and vulnerable with you about who they are, and for them to let you accompany them as they come into their own. Maybe it's not normal to see things like that. I mean, Sebastian definitely thought I should be more bitter and angry about the whole thing. But for me, it was like a gift. I think it might be the best break up I’ve ever had. We couldn’t be lovers in a true sense. But being able to just be there as he embraced who he was—that’s another kind of love.  I don't think I'll ever forget how precious that felt to me.”

Blaine was sitting down now, his chair turned toward Kurt’s, their knees touching. His expression was open and unreserved and brimming with generosity, and he was so, so beautiful.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, swallowing hard to keep his heart from rising up into his throat. He put his hand on the back of Blaine’s and, just like that, Blaine’s palm turned to meet his. Their fingers intertwined.  “You’re not bad at romance.”

“I'm not so sure. I'm sitting across from this gorgeous, intelligent, artistic, kind, breathtaking guy who makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in … maybe ever … and instead of telling him all the ways he’s already become so special to me even though it really shouldn't be possible because we’ve technically known each other for less than two weeks but also somehow it feels like I've known him for lifetimes—or that I want to know him for the rest of this lifetime, at least … Instead of telling him all that, I'm sitting here and telling him about my breakup with a straight guy.”

“Oh, Blaine. You really are the opposite of bad at romance.”

Kurt held both of Blaine’s hands, and he watched Blaine’s face, and Blaine’s eyes flickering to his lips, and he felt himself falling, falling, falling in the most delicious way possible.

Kurt had never been so scared to kiss anyone. He had never felt so sure of it, either. He leaned toward Blaine, heard Blaine’s breath hitch, saw his eyelids flutter slowly.

Blaine leaned toward him.

The door swung open. “There you are, my handsome young half-Filipino mustacheless Tom Selleck. Have you forgotten we have a meeting to go over the logistics for the teams event?”

Blaine blinked. “Um, yeah. Actually, I did. Sorry, Sue.” He touched Kurt’s knee as he stood up. “I'm sorry, Kurt. I'll connect with you later, okay?”

The door closed behind then. Kurt didn't know whether to scream in frustration or giggle like a schoolboy. He picked up the piece of velveteen that Blaine had been petting earlier and buried his face in its soft nap. “Oh, Blaine Anderson. You are so very much not bad at romance.”

[radioregine]

what if december is for editing ...

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 05: Sunburn

Healing Salve + "If my pain will stretch that far"

2385 Words; Raised by Serpentine, sometime before "Can of Worms"

TW for mentions of past attempted indirect genocide (the serpentine entombment)

AO3 ver

“I wonder if we should go down to the lake later.” Lou mused.

Skalidor turned his attention to Lou, “You hate the lake.” It was true—the lake was a deep half-flooded underground cavern that seemed to stretch on forever, the other end unlit and unreachable. Lou did not consider himself a strong swimmer, and rarely went down there if he could help it.

Lou shrugged. “I was thinking we might have fish for dinner.” He stepped to the side as an overexcited hatchling barreled between them, a harried parent chasing after them.

Skalidor hmmed. “That does sound good. Perhapss Cole and I can go down there to surprisse you with one.” The tunnel they were in opened up as they reached the central chamber, torches and patches of growing moss illuminating a spiral up to the ceiling high above. Chanting filled the area—there was an active Slitherpit in progress towards the center.

“You and I can what?” Cole arrived before them, the same hatchling tucked under his arm and squirming furiously. He turned his attention to the hatchling—ah, Skalidor recognized this one. Little Pebbline, the youngest in the entire tomb. “You can’t just run around recklessly,” Cole was chiding, as Pebbline struggled valiantly to return to the ground. “You’re going to break your face on a wall.”

“Will not!” Pebbline protested, hanging upside-down in Cole’s arms at this point.

“Pebbline!” And there was Bytar, her father. “Thank you for catching her, Cole.” He smiled, taking Pebbline in his arms, and she hissed her displeasure before subsiding.

Cole grinned. “Of course!”

Bytar turned back into the tunnel, then, heading off with Pebbline in tow. Skalidor could faintly hear her begging to go back so she could see the Slitherpit.

“It’s a good thing you don’t run around like that anymore.” Lou commented, as Cole fell into step with them. “I could barely catch you back then, I wouldn’t want to imagine having to catch you now!”

Cole opened his mouth to respond—

A terrible grinding sound filled the central chamber, the sound of stone against stone harsh and loud. Screams broke out as everyone looked for the source of the noise, and Skalidor clutched his staff and pulled Lou against his side. Cole leapt forwards, arms outstretched as though he might prevent the inevitable cave-in—as though he was yet capable of moving more than small pebbles.

“It’s coming from above!” Someone shouted.

“The ceiling will crush usss!” Another voice realized.

“EVERYONE OUT OF THE CHAMBER!” Skalidor commanded, watching as Dweller and Constrictai alike dashed for the tunnel entrances lining the wall. He started to slither back, Lou still close at hand, once it seemed as though almost everyone was out—Cole!

“Cole, what are you—” Skalidor started, almost ready to go back in just to drag him out. This reckless boy—!

“It’s not caving in.” Cole’s arms had fallen to his sides, and he was gazing up into the shadows of the ceiling with an unreadable expression. “It’s—”

He stumbled back at the same time that the grinding stopped, arm raised above his head as he stared up towards the ceiling.

“Cole.” Skalidor hissed. The whole chamber was clearly unstable, after a noise like that—or worse, it had been one of the tunnels, and Skalidor’s order had seen several of his people buried—

“Skal,” Lou stepped forwards, pointing up towards the ceiling, “dear, look up.”

Skalidor looked up.

His staff clattered to the ground from a suddenly boneless hand—Skalidor ducked down to pick it up, keeping his eyes up on the ceiling—at the top of the stairs that wound around and up, a remnant of when their community had first been entombed generations ago—

Eyes locked on the bright circle of light where before there were shadows.

The light shooting down the stairs was brighter than any torchlight Skalidor had seen before, brighter than any glowing moss. It almost didn’t seem real—never, in all of his decades, had Skalidor conceived of the tomb being opened. But that was what the light had to be, right? Surely, it couldn’t mean anything else.

Faces were peeking into the central chamber from the tunnels scattered about, curious mutterings filling the air as everyone present took in the new development.

“Open?”

“That light!”

“Impossible! Nothing can break the barrier!”

“It’ss ssso bright…”

“How did it open?”

“A monster! A monster iss coming down to kill uss all!”

There was a shape casting a shadow upon the steps. Skalidor gripped his staff, and slithered forwards. Cole fell into step beside him, and Skalidor held his staff in front of the boy to stop him.

“Wh—lemme help!” Cole protested, voice close to a whisper.

“Sstay here.” Skalidor hissed. “I will invesstigate. You will protect.” Cole made a face, but backed off, standing beside Lou as Skalidor ascended the ancient steps.

That the stairs were completely out of use wasn’t actually true—though the tomb was magically sealed, the stairs allowed access to the upper walls of the central chamber—Skalidor passed by murals and carvings that had existed long before him without a second glance. He slowed down as he reached the top, squinting against the light.

The form that cast the shadow stood at the entrance, backlit by light so bright that Skalidor couldn’t make out any features. But their shape was vaguely serpentine—they would likely be strong, if it came to blows. They might even have some of the strange adaptations Skalidor had heard the supposed other tribes of Serpentine possessed.

“Who goesss there?” Skalidor asked, when the figure remained still. After a moment, they moved, slithering forwards and ducking their head. Their neck was very long—a potential handhold for grappling, then.

“Greetingss, my Constrictai cohort.” Their voice was smooth and even, and they moved to the side of Skalidor. They were scaled, just as he expected—but where Skalidor bore the blacks and oranges of a Constrictai, they were violet.

“An Anacondrai?” Skalidor asked. He’d heard the tales—they were the strongest of the Serpentine, the fastest and most resilient. They outmatched every other tribe, and lead the charge in the ancient war—but even they, too, had fallen, or so every tale assumed.

The Anacondrai nodded his head. “Oh, where are my manners?” They offered a hand, “Pythor P. Chumsworth, at your service.” He smiled, then, pleasant and disarming.

“How did you open the tomb?” Not even an Earth Master could break the barrier, nor could they tunnel around it—though there had been plenty of attempts. The tomb was meant to be permanent—a resting place, where those entombed were to die and never return.

“Curious, no?’ Pythor inclined his head towards the entrance. “Far as I can tell, for all the effort they put into making the tombs inescapable from within, that same effort wasn’t given to prevent them being opened from the outside.”

Skalidor balked. “That easy? But why?” There were no intentions to let the entombed out—or else they wouldn’t have been trapped down there for generations. Right?

Pythor shrugged. “Well, the rock was rather heavy. But yes, I could feel the magic breaking as I moved it. The seal didn’t wear off.”

Skalidor hissed. The light seemed to beckon him, and he tore forwards, needing to see for himself that the tomb has well and truly been breached—

Skalidor recoiled as the light from outside the tomb hit him in full. After a moment, he reopened his eyes, slowly enough that, though the light still burned, it did not sear quite as bright as before. His eyes adjusted, to a light level they had never experienced before—

Skalidor gasped.

Pythor slithered up beside him. “Well?” He prompted, staring out at the sights he had already seen.

“It’s…” Skalidor searched for the words. He had thought nothing could dwarf the underground lake in terms of sheer size—and yet. The light bearing down was hot, far hotter than any torchlight, and brighter as well. It reminded him of a festival years past when they had set up a bonfire in the central chamber. Back when Lilly… back when she had still been alive, standing at his side and making sure the smoke didn’t flood the caverns.

But not even the bonfire had anything on this. Skalidor turned his head towards the sky, eyes squinting against the light raining down. It was so bright. He could hardly see—and yet it was still better than when he had first emerged, and couldn’t see at all.

Pythor watched as Skalidor breathed in the outside air—it was hot, bone dry, so different from the caverns—patiently allowing the general to adjust. “Incredible, is it not?” He asked.

Skalidor breathed slowly, just trying to take in the enormity of the sky above him. Brilliant blue—he wasn’t sure he had seen blues so deep—cascading from horizon to horizon like the roof of a cavern—and yet the sky seemed to go on forever in a way that stone did not.

“It’ss something.” Skalidor breathed, dizzy from the magnitude of it. “I never imagined…”

Pythor chuckled. “I think we’ve all felt like this.” He swept an arm out, “I can’t believe this was kept from us—and for what?” his expression darkened. “Because of some trifle like a war that ended long before you and I were born? For generations, we’ve suffered beneath the surface, locked away from all of this world that they’re not even using—!” He paused, taking a breath. “My apologies,” He bowed his head. “I lost control of myself. But the knowledge of all that we’ve been denied—” He cut himself off with a hiss, shaking his head.

“No, I think I get it.” Skalidor spoke. “There’s just. Sso much.” From this perch atop—a mountain, was that the word? Skalidor had to think back to the stories of the surface passed down through generations—but from up so high, Skalidor could see so much. And yet he couldn’t make out anything living—that he recognized. All this space…

The tomb was never really cramped, in Skalidor’s memory—there simply weren’t enough Constrictai or Dwellers in it. Maybe it had been cramped when the original community had first been sealed away—but that had been long before Skalidor’s time. But he had heard the stories, of what could grow up here, of animals much bigger than cave newts. The vast distance laid out before him suddenly seemed so ideal—and yet he couldn’t spot a single surface human, nor any sign of their communities. He absently noticed his tail buzzing. He didn’t quite care to stop it.

“They have all this space that they’re not even ussing.” Skalidor hissed. “We have had to sscrape together what little we could find—”

“They don’t deserve this.” Pythor agreed, “Not one bit. Not after locking us away like vermin!”

Skalidor’s grip on his staff tightened.

“Skal, you ok—OWWW—” Skalidor turned around to see Cole poking his head out the entrance—well, no, the boy had stumbled back into the shadows of the entrance, what little of his face wasn’t hidden behind his arm scrunched against the light.

Skalidor chuckled. “Bright, isn’t it?” Beside him, Pythor’s eyes narrowed.

Cole tentatively reached his hand out into the light. “It feels like I’m sticking my hand in fire.” He muttered, before pulling back. Slowly, he lowered his arm, eyes blinking open—and immediately squinting against the light.

Pythor grimaced. “There are humans in your tomb?” He sounded put out by the very idea.

Skalidor regarded him curiously. “Sssurface humanss were willing to entomb their own kind.” He spat. “But now the dwellers are simply more of our kind—our community—” He looked at Cole with fondness— “Cole is our Elemental Master. Earth, in fact.” There was uncontained pride in his voice, for all that Cole had yet to fully inherit Lilly’s mantle and powers.

Pythor hmmed. “I had heard that a Master of Earth took up arms on the side of the Serpentine.” He stared at Cole curiously. “I had thought it just a tale to tell hatchlings, to give them false hope.”

“Well, I’m real.” Cole replied. He glared at Pythor for a moment more before schooling his expression. “Thanks for opening the tomb.” He said, in tones of quiet disbelief.

Skalidor could hardly believe it himself. “We can leave the tomb.” He murmured. “We wouldn’t be trapped anymore—what you’ve given us access to, I—I don’t know how we could ever repay you.”

Pythor waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, no no! I don’t need anything in return! I just abhorred the thought of any of my fellow Serpentine continuing to suffer in their tombs.” His mouth curled in distaste, “It really was cruel of the humans to entomb us all. They don’t deserve this pristine surface of theirs.” He hissed. “Not one bit.”

Skalidor nodded. “You have my agreement on that.”

Cole leaned against the side of the entrance, arms crossed. When Skalidor glanced back, he could see others had climbed up the stairs—even if most of the watching faces were sticking to the shadows, eyes squinted against the light.

Pythor’s head tilted as he regarded them all. “Well, while I did say that I didn’t need anything in return…” He mulled over his words before continuing, “I was hoping you might join me in my endeavor to reunite the Serpentine once again. It would be so wonderful to take the surface back from the humans, don’t you think?”

Skalidor wanted to. Just looking at the open space spilling out before him, and knowing that there was yet more that had been denied to his people by the sealing of the tomb—he wanted the surface humans to pay for their crimes. To deliver the grievances of hundreds of Constrictai and Dwellers from generations of suffering unto them, and make them pay.

There was one problem, though. “We barely number two hundred.” Skalidor pointed out. “And many of our number are not built for war.” There were the elderly, the young, the sick and those disinclined to fight. Nobody was at full strength—especially not with the current blight. “How will we ever defeat the surface humans, when our ancestors could not?”

Pythor chuckled. “Oh, my practical friend, I have just the plan for that!” He looked to Cole, and then to the cautious faces peeking out of the tomb’s entrance, and spoke.

“Have any of you heard of the legend of the Great Devourer?”

[that-dreaming-dragon]

Shifts

I want to talk about something I seen again and again, and I myself also have a hard time getting away from, language.

In specific, I’m talking about shifting terms and definitions.

A lot of the times, it’s basically kinshift.

“What’s wrong with kinshift?”

No no, nothing’s wrong. Just that it being strictly otherkin/fictionkin/therian shift is the issue—it’s too limiting and exclusive. Nothing wrong tacking on it being a kin/therio shift. But we are the alterhuman community. There are more than just identify-as shift.

There is the term cameo shift for anything not kinshift, but there is the implication of its impermanence. Perhaps it’s not that important a distinction, and people would be fine using it, but I find that shifting language should be automatically vague. “Getting closer or the fluctuation of one’s alterhuman state”. It’s a workshop item, I’m not good with exact wording of things.

Well, that’s a community discussion topic.

Let me talk a bit about my own experience, that’s easier to talk about.

I have a good number of shifts that I experiences. Not all of them I know the respective terminologies off the top of my head.

== Phantom Shift ==

I’m most constantly experiencing phantom shift, and can probably call it being perma shifted. Just fluctuate in intensity. It’s why I attempt to word a definition that covers this sort of situation where it isn’t “getting close to the state of being one’s ‘type from typical human” (that ending part regarding what to put as the “starting” state gave me a lot of pauses, because how can I cover human fictionfolk or orthohuman but otherhuman?) My type of shifting is not uncommon, with a baseline which one is already their alterhuman ‘type, and just the intensity that changes.

Anyways, phantom shift. I mostly feel my own wings, tail, body parts and what have you. The change comes from the shapeshifter shenanigan, which, amongst the shapeshifter of otherconnect discord, we talked about a possible couple of terms for basically a “shapeshifter’s changing form shift”. Shapeshifter shift is a mouthful.

Gosh I kept getting side tracked.

Beyond my kintype shift, I’d once felt a near full body phantom shift of my three-tailed enfield hearttype. And it’s a linktype born out of paratype feelings!! You know how excited I was? To feel something, to have a confirmation of its success (of the linking process), and to just get to feel something that is unusual in a way.

I don’t think I feel other sort of phantom shift. If I do, it’s so far too hard to tell with the amount of draconic type I have, as for the humanoids…

== Mental Shift ==

I don’t really get this as much anymore. Which, I think it is a good thing, because the times I feel closer to my Naruto hearttype is usually when I’m feeling close to the negative part of his situation—when he was a isolated boy, seen as a freak, maybe bullied by other kids, it’s fuzzy now, what is the exact scenario that would trigger this sort of empathetic mental shift. I think I prefer it that way. I don’t think I could ever embody the positive or even neutral part of Naruto himself, considering my hearttype is of a AU version. But hey, my alterhumanity likes to surprise me, I’ll be sure to yell about it if it happens.

Mental shift with my other ‘type are all rather vague. When am I not a creature? I flip on the dime depending on who I am with, so “mischivious chirpy creeture dragon thing” is a constant state of mind. I did have the beastly Berserk shift, though that needs me to be in a certain state, like a set of requirement has to be met first in order to let the Beast out (ha, the pun, Beast is my inner beast in a lot of ways, so the double entendre is very intentional). So far, rage is one, but not always since anger is a constant emotion I deal with. The other is lust, with good dose of dominant personality. I’m not sure if the Berserk shift caused the dominant nature or if it is the other way around.

I’m trying to recall if I get any mental shift from my kardiatype or our Aurelion Sol vaguetype, but with Sol, star is a unbound version instead of the hauty, self-sured, egoistical version within the game. I’m guessing my kardiatype would be a sort of wise, eldery guardian, caring and proper, sophisticate? I’d felt a little like that when I’m in my eastern tatsu form.

And yes, my personality can have shifts here and there depending on the form I’m in. A lot of the times, I can’t control how the form will influence me, sometimes I almost think it’s my personality shift that trigger the shapeshift shift (see what I meant about it being a mouthful?).

Feels like if I keep saying shift, it will start to lose meaning. Why are words so limiting? Maybe it’s a English thing too.

== Astral Shift ==

This is a weird one. I can never tell the line where it’s considered phantom and where it’s astral.

I think the one time I would more firmly categorize this is when I was doing a meditative session, and as I visualize, my “body” (possibly astral body) grew, and grew, and grew until I’m a two or three stories tall eastern dragon. From that point, I guessed that my eastern dragon form can grow indefinite in length. But now I think that can apply to any that’s not strict in form “condition”.

== Dream Shift ==

Save the best for last. Well, kinda. Since I plan to talk a little bit about my miscellaneous shifts that I don’t remember the term or don’t know how to categorize later.

Lucid dreaming, one of my favorite activity. Word contradiction aside, I have a lot of dream shifts. Frustratingly enough, I’ve only get to feel my orange fur and fluffy white wings like, twice, as far as I can recall. One was your typical european western form, another time is vague, but I know it happened. I will need to check back on my notes.

I’d jotted all of them down, the ones I can recall.

Here is where I will actually use cameo shift, and sort of ties into my whole grumpiness about shifts being always tied to one’s kin/theriotype. Because here, my cameo shifts are shift into things that are none of my alterhuman identitype.

I have become a sort of water spirit, humanoid and blue liquid body, circling around a low hanging new moon as if I’m enacting the Dream Work iconic opening.

I have shifted into a number of draconic creatures, once with cheek fins (that actually hurts when I touch them, inside a dream!!), once with pitch black scaled tail and batty wings (isn’t it bats?), once with ranbow scale down my body into a tail that has a tufted tail. I was a tiny dragon once, probably rivaling my fae dragon form, just a whisp of a whelpling. I also was a strange blue dragon, no scale, no fur, the skin texture almost leathery, and wings you’d seen more on Pixiv. Kind of sci-fi fantasy mixture but it’s fully organic. Alien.

I also had once took on a form of somewhat anthro, red scaled, webbed winged, and it felt like a fire-breathing dragoness, with breasts and all. I rarely call my dreams nightmare but that one, that was truly a nightmare scneario, I had echo of combo dysphoria both in species AND gender, that I hope to never feel like that again. Y’all that are that sort of dragon, you’re fine, but me? I can’t. That is everything I am not.

*Shivers*

I also have dream shifted into this hulking black mess of anti-matter, man-made dragon—dark, chaos, the sense of wrongness pervasive to my whole being. I think I looked a little like if ender dragon meet digimon. That was a level of bad only rivaled by the red scaled, webbed winged, and fire-breathing, anthro dragoness.

I think one of my favorite dream shifts though, is shifting into my kardiatype.

There is a sort of preciousness tied to that life, whenever I get to have a glimpse of it. Treasured and held dear. The plot of the dream wasn’t a happy one, edged with despair and desperation, but important nonetheless.

It was a small Japanese village, almost like a scene from a anime.

I was with my family and my partner, it was all joy and happiness. But then suddenly, there was panic.

The whole town had to escape and run towards the really high mountain where was this sacred temple of some sort at the top.

Running was too slow. Whatever was making everyone panic was too fast. Dark and all-encompassing, approaching fast, black fog at the edge of my vision. So I turn into a white serpetine dragon, white jade colored mane and tail fading out of existence, grabed my people and putting them on my back along the way, theb just start flying towards the mountain while having everyone else grabbing each other and climb on.

When we reach the mountain base and started flying up almost vertically, I saw the mountain wall depicting various scenaries and of strange rune of history and legend and myth. The answer was at the very top of the mountain when we reached it. But I can’t remember what was it.

Let’s not end this section with too big of a cliff-hanger that even I don’t know the ending to. Here is a list I keep on the sort of dragons I turn into within my dreams. I’m a little awed by the amount and variety myself.

List of Dragons I turned/dream shifted into

white colored jade maned eastern dragon (my past life/kardiatype)

small teal-blue colored chubby dragon

tiny wyrm dragon

tiny hatchling dragon

my core form (kintype)

my large formme (kintype)

human made pitch black mess of bio dragon

human form with water dragon scale tail and ear fins (touching the fins hurt for some reason)

human form with black scale bat wings and tail

human form with rainbow scale and black marking, furred tail with mane, two pairs of feathered wings

just ram horn on human form

(a photo of) me with red scales as anthro, webbed wings, feminine shaped (dysphoria)

Colossal size webbed wing dark colored body with beak like snout

bipedal spiky, webbed wing big scales large horn

chimeric sludge/goo hydra

Salamence shaped wings

White red pink hues scaled european. Spikey tail and spine, several spikey behind head

== Unknown and Vague Shift ==

I really like grey area terms or the idgaf terms, like vaguetype or quoiluntary, I also learn a term called quoiian. Not sure if I will use that one yet since I’m pretty happy with the ones I have.

There are the possibility of shifts I don’t know how to categorize because of their vagueness. But I definitely felt some that I can’t easily put them into one of the other ones I can give name to.

Things that are maybe sensory shift, how do people even capture them in the first place? And do you categorize them as the ‘tism? Hypersensory. Aura shift seems confusing, and potentially the same blurriness that maybe-astral shift provides. I can’t be sure if I’d ever gotten envisage or shadow shift, but in the back of my mind, I know to put a pin on them.

So with all that, we could perhaps talk about shift not just as a kin/therian sort of thing. I have seen many ask of “can I have [non-kin/theriotype] shift?” enough that I just want to scream “YES”. Because you absolutely can, and the term definition can use a slight update to reflect that inclusion. If not a community wide acknowledgement at the very least.

[nidstiniens]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 10

Prompt: Stable Rating: G. Genre: Domestic fluff. Pairing: Estinien x WoL

Preview:

The scent of brown sugar and melted chocolate was what drew Estinien into the kitchen, but the sight of Nara sitting on the counter, waiting impatiently for whatever she'd put into the oven, was what kept him lingering in the doorway.

read on ao3 | ffxivwrite2024 masterpost

[bunnyscar]

Intersecting Worlds

comfy-vember day 10 prompt : overcoming fear

If you had told Cade a week ago that he was about to be employed in the royal palace, in one of the most important positions possible, he would have scoffed. It was impossible for a commoner, a mere carpenter’s son, to get into the castle. And yet here he was, inside the palace, standing in the royal family’s private library and staring outside at the beautiful hydrangeas the royal garden was famous for. Personally, he would have preferred magnolias. Still, the flowers were beautiful, and it wasn’t every day a peasant got to see so many in one place. 

Cade glanced to his side where the prince sat in a window seat. He had his nose in a book as usual, his legs curled up under him like a young child, his eyes hidden beneath a curtain of bangs. When Cade had been appointed as the prince’s personal attendant, he had expected the prince to be a handsome young man, arrogant and demanding as all nobles must be.

To his surprise, Eric was nothing like the image in his mind. Quiet, shy, unassuming, Prince Eric acted very little like a 17-year-old prince and more like a child in fear of being punished. Even towards his servants, Prince Eric used an apologetic tone whenever he gave them an order. Not that he gave them many orders. Cade himself hadn’t been given so much as a yes or no from the prince, and sometimes he wondered if the prince even knew he was there.

But perhaps the silence was for the best. Cade had agreed to become the prince’s assistant because he couldn’t just refuse a royal summons and the job would support his family, but he had no real desire to help the prince. As far as Cade knew, the royalty were all selfish and proud. They benefited from the hard work of common people, but only gave little back. They lived in an entirely different world, one full of luxury and beauty that they would never share with the poor. Despite Prince Eric’s strange attitude to his servants, he probably wasn’t that different.

The prince suddenly looked up from his book, and Cade involuntarily tensed. Usually the prince only stopped reading when it was dinnertime, but that was still a few hours away….

“Cade, what do you like to do?” Prince Eric said slowly, his eyes trained on a butterfly that was passing by the window.

“What—do you mean, Your Highness?” Cade stammered, completely taken back by the question. Why would a prince want to know what a commoner enjoyed?

“Well,” Prince Eric said hesitantly, “we spend all day in the library. I like it; but you don’t read any books while we’re here, and I thought maybe you were bored. So…what do you like to do?”

Cade stood speechless for a moment. “Your highness, I doubt it matters what I like. You can do whatever you wish, my duty is just to accompany you.”

The prince turned his eyes on Cade, and he realized this was actually the first time he’d seen the prince’s eyes. They were a deep blue-green, like the sea. The more he looked at them, the more Cade felt like he was looking at waves tossing turbulently on the sea. They were beautiful in a way. But they were also anxious.

“Are you sure you aren’t bored?” Prince Eric worried. “Isn’t there something you’d rather be doing? What did you do before you became my attendant?"

“Err—I was a carpenter, your highness.”

“I see, a carpenter. And Cade, please don’t call me ‘Your Highness.’ Just Eric is fine.”

“But— I’m only a servant—“

“It would make me much more comfortable. Please,” the prince urged. “I…have bad associations with the term ‘Highness.’”

Bad associations? Just what could make you not like being called royalty? Cade finally shrugged, however, and said, “Well, if you insist.” 

Eric relaxed slightly, and Cade attempted to do the same. “Hmm, let’s see, something I like to do….Oh, I know!” he exclaimed, and he dug in his pocket a moment. At last, he pulled out a small carved bird and held it out to Eric.

The prince’s eyes widened. The bird was small, fitting easily in the palm, but its wings were carved so delicately it almost looked real. Even the eyes and feet had been given careful attention to detail.

“Most of the time, I make furniture or tools with my father, but when I have time I like to make small knick-knacks like this. Go ahead, take it,” Cade encouraged.

Gingerly, Eric picked the bird up and held it carefully in his hands as if it were glass. With awe-struck eyes, he stared at it and turned his head to look at it from different angles. Cade had to stop himself from chuckling. Eric looked just like one of his younger siblings when they would watch him carving, their eyes wide with fascination. 

“You made this? How?” Eric asked breathlessly.

“Well,” Cade started to say, then paused. “Would you like to see? I could carve something for you. I’d need a knife and some wood, but I could ask the gardener….” he trailed off, seeing the fear in Eric’s eyes.

“You…use a knife?” Eric asked in a very quiet voice.

“Yes,” Cade replied slowly, and then he remembered. He’d been warned when he first became the prince’s personal attendant that he must not use, carry, or even mention knives or swords or any other sort of weapon in the prince’s presence. Well, now he was in trouble.

“Your Highness, I apologize. I won’t mention such a thing ever again,” he said quickly, bowing to the prince.

Eric lowered his head for a moment, his bangs hiding his face. Then he took a shaky breath and said, “No, it’s not your fault. It’s just that I can’t stand seeing anyone getting hurt. Even little cuts and scratches terrify me. Because I’m—I’m scared of pain. I would really like to see you carve, but I….”

Cade thought a moment. “Well, I can’t promise I won’t nick myself at all. But I’ve been doing this for a while, and I don't get that many injuries anymore. Besides, most of them aren’t serious.”

“But don’t they hurt?”

“Sure they might hurt a bit, but not for long. They’re just scratches, and they close up pretty quickly.”

“They do?” Eric asked, eyes wide again.

“Err, yes?” Cade replied in confusion. Had the prince never gotten small cuts before? Royalty really did live in another world, one with no injuries apparently.

Eric hesitated a moment more, then turned determined eyes on Cade. “Please show me how you carve. I want to see your world, what it’s like to be normal. I want to overcome this fear.”

Normal? Cade chuckled. He didn’t know if his own life was very normal anymore, not after meeting such a strange prince who was interested in his servant and terrified of seeing anyone in pain. But perhaps their worlds could intersect, if only a bit. And who knew? Perhaps the prince himself could become a bit more “normal.” 

[matrixsss]

Fake Dating Tamcien Where Lucien begs his University Rommate Tamlin to pretend to be his date for a family event ( could be a wedding etc ) to spite his asshole of a father and they pretend to be a couple and when the night ends they realise they want each other for real and confess. I hope this is okay and if you don't wanna write it I completely understand <3

Thank you for sending this, I had so much fun writing this you do not understand. Thank you so much for helping me out with this and I hope you like it 👉👈

Read below or on AO3

Lucien was in panic mode, pure panic as he tightly gripped the brown invitation from none other than his brute of a father. Berons’ neatly scribbled signature at the bottom of the paper, egging him, daring him to decline it. One thing that Lucien knew is that if the invitation is directly from his bastard of a father, you never decline it. Not to mention this was an invitation for an event where his father could show their elite buddies how great of a family he has. An event where Beron could shower in the praise that he only ever got from the other elite assholes.  

He despised these events with his whole being, but there would be harsh consequences to pay if he dared step out of line and not attend. That much he knew, it happened before, not only to him but his brothers as well. The invitation also included an order (in his mind) to bring a date. God forbid his children came to the event solo or even worse a man.  

A man? Lucien smirked, he wants him to bring a date and a date he would bring. Malicious compliance at its finest if you ask him. Just then the door to his shared apartment opened to reveal his roommate and best friend, Tamlin Evergreen. When the blonde saw the large smirk full of mischief on his friends’ face, he immediately knew that the ginger had something planned. Something that would get them or Lucien in trouble.  

“What is it now?” Tamlin sighed as he dropped the heavy backpack on the floor besides the door before taking off his coat and hanging it. Lucien only watched as Tamlin took of his shoes, admiring the way his muscles tensed and relaxed by the simple movements he was making. He shook his head as a way to shoo the thoughts away.     “We are best friends, right?” The words tasted weird as he uttered them, he did not know why his heart ached. He liked that they were best friends, did he not?  

“Yes.” Tamlins’ answer was cautious as he walked further inside the apartment, taking his backpack with him to the living room.     “How well can you act?” Lucien plopped down into the black leather armchair opposite of the couch where Tamlin took a seat, entirely confused with the red-heads line of questioning.  

“You know I was in the drama club during high school, so well enough, I guess.” Tamlin answered, his eyes focused on Luciens lazy, relaxed pose. He looks so pretty like this – Tamlin coughed, a blush spreading across his face at the impromptu thought.  

“I need a date for my fathers’ event and what better way to maliciously comply than to bring you as my date.” Lucien explained, looking relaxed on the outside, but inside? Inside his heart was doing somersaults, beating erratically, hoping his answer would be yes.  

“No.” Luciens’ heart dropped and his relaxed facade crumbling in front of the blonde. The panicked look he had when he read the invitation came back. For a few moments he watched as Tamlin rose from the pink couch making his way towards their small kitchenette.  

“Tam, please.” His voice was no longer mischevious, but small, smaller than before, ready to beg his handsome as all hell friend for his help. Lucien stood from the armchair following Tamlin around the apartment as the blonde continued to reject the proposal.  

Tamlin knew of Beron, how cruel and how bad of a father he was to Lucien, even after the divorce from his mother, who thankfully is now very happily married to a better man. He remembers Lucien coming to school with bruises on his arms, nobody did anything because of the power that Beron held in the town. If anything, he feared the consequences that would befall Lucien if he went along with his ludicrous plan. 

But when he saw the look on Luciens’ face his resolve quickly crumbled, as it always did. That was the sole reason he avoided looking at him as he pleaded with the blonde to change his mind.  

“Fine, fine, just--” Tamlin threw his hands up in the air.”-- stop looking at me like a kicked puppy. I’ll be your date.” A triumphant grin spread across Luciens’ beautiful face as he pulled the blonde into a tight hug, thanking him over and over. It took Tamlin a moment to recover from the sudden hug, before his arms softly wrapped themselves around Luciens waist.  

Time stood still for the two, as Lucien felt the warmth that radiated from Tamlins large chest and big palms, that were snugly holding on either side of his waist. He felt his heart pace quicken. Tamlin was doing no better as he held gently onto the smaller man, he could feel his entire body tingle and his face becoming abnormally heated.  

“I guess we should practice and get our stories straight.” Amber eyes stared up into the beautiful emerald ones, one of his hands coming up to cradle the very red cheek.  

Lucien realised this charade was going to be harder to pull off than he initially thought.  

******* 

 Lucien straightened his impeccable alloy coloured suit for the umpteenth time in the last 10 minutes that he had it on. Going as far to straighten his already straightened tie along with it. His father expected perfection when it came to looks, but he did not know why he cared so much as he was about to bring and act all lovey dovey with a man. The ginger knew his father would hate that so what does it matter if his suit was not up to par for Berons’ standards.   

His hands stopped in their tracks when Tamlin walked out of his room in a gorgeous emerald coloured suit, his chest bare, visible even though the suit jacked was buttoned together. Adorned with golden jewellery on his large fingers. The blonde man looked ethereal, gorgeous and absolutely delectable in Luciens’ eyes.  

Tamlin smiled at Lucien which shook the man out of his stupor and ogling session. Lucien could feel the blush on his cheeks as he looked the other way, nerves dancing all over his body. Not only because of the damned event that he did not even want to attend, but because Tamlin made him feel things that he hadn’t felt before.  

The two went over the story of their relationship, met when they were children and later reconnected in college where their relationship blossomed. Easy story to remember, especially for Lucien, he was prone to forget if the story was more complicated. His nerves for the event a sure sign of that.  

They even practiced (that is what Lucien called it) kissing to make it look as natural as possible. That was the hardest part for Lucien, because as soon as Tamlins plump soft lips touched his, he had to fight back the urge to completely devour him. Not to mention his other bodily functions came alive whenever they did practice, so much so that he had to get creative in hiding it. Although he was sure Tamlin noticed on more than one occasion but was gentlemanly enough to not mention it or point it out. 

“Relax, I’ll be right there with you.” Tamlin embraced him from behind, bending down to rest his chin on his shoulder. His hands loosely holding onto Luciens tense stomach. Lucien thought he was sick with the images that flashed in his head at the innocent embrace. Them naked, panting, sweat dripping down their bodies as Tamlin had him bent... He had to stop before he did something foolish, something he couldn’t take back. As if they hadn’t already crossed the line. 

Lucien only nodded, a deep breath escaping him before he moved away from the blonde, grabbing his wallet before walking to the door, his friend following him. His father hadn’t bothered sending a chaperone for him, not like he ever did, so Lucien ordered an uber for the two of them. One that was now 3 minutes away.  

The drive to his childhood mansion was filled with silence and tension that even the driver gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than normal. Tamlin kept glancing at Lucien in worry, he hated seeing him like this. So, he did the one thing that came to mind, he grabbed a hold of his hand that was resting on his lap, giving it a reassuring squeeze. That seemed to work as Lucien relaxed a little, swiping his thumb over Tamlins fingers. The blonde couldn’t help but smile.  

The mansion was bustling with life, guests chatting everywhere, a chute of champagne in their hands at all times. Grand decorations were everywhere, to speak for their (Berons’) wealth. Speaking of Beron, he stood talking with some other elites, that Lucien couldn’t be bothered to remember, with a large smile on his face and a young woman on his arm. One that he for sure paid for to be there.  

Tamlin took lead and started walking, dragging Lucien along towards his father. Having the blonde with him awakened some sort of courage inside him as they marched up the steps to greet the man of the house.  

“Father.” Lucien spoke evenly, a small smile playing on his lips as he extended a hand towards the handsome blonde besides him. “This is Tamlin, my date and lover.”  

The look on Berons’ face was nothing short of comedic. His elite friends gasping at the proclamation, assuming he would be bringing a woman with him, probably something his father had lied about. One thing he remembers is that the elites that his father so adores to spend time with, fully support the lgbtq community. Something his father, well, finds absolutely disgusting, but appearances matter more than his opinion.  

“Pleasure to meet you, sir Vanserra.” Tamlin smiled gently at the man whose relaxed features turned tense the moment Lucien opened his mouth.  

“Ah, welcome, do enjoy the party.” Berons words were curt and left no opening to continue the conversation. A relief for Lucien in the fullest, the two walked away hand in hand towards the gardens, where the party was truly being held. The soft soothing tunes of the violin and piano encompassed the garden, the pool ripples shimmering around it, reflected against everything that allowed it. This was not a party for fun, oh no, it was a show of wealth and pride.  

There never were any parties here for fun, even if their father was away on a business trip, none of the brothers dared to even utter a word of hosting a party. The whole mansion was filled with cameras, outside and inside, Beron always had an eye on them. Not a moment of freedom until they all grew up and left the hellish place.  

The two walked deeper into the garden, finding a secluded swinging bench to sit at. Once sat, Lucien released a deep sigh, giddy as he remembered the face his father had made when they arrived. It was the best thing that could have happened. Their peace and quiet was soon disturbed by the appearance of his uncles, Rufus and Magnus. They had been married for around a decade now, usually not invited to these parties, but it seems his father had made an exception, probably because of his elite ‘friends’.  

“Lucien! You have grown so much and oh!” Magnus exclaimed, always being the loudest one in the room, as he noticed the large blonde besides him. Tamlin and Lucien stood from the bench to greet them. “Why hello there handsome. Did not expect to see our small fox with you.” Ever the flirt, Magnus winked at Tamlin, who only blushed in response.  

Lucien hated it, hated the blush that dusted Tamlins’ cheeks over the words that his uncle spoke to him. The hold he had on the larger hand tightened in ire, a subconscious movement on his part. Magnus of course noticed, the growing smile on his face showing exactly that.  

“Lucien, it has been nice to see you, we’ll leave you two to enjoy.” Before Magnus could continue talking, his more level-headed uncle Rufus stepped in. Rufus guided Magnus away from the two, nodding to his nephew and the blonde with a light smile. Only once they were out of sight did the tightened hold he had on Tamlins’ hand loosen.  

The red head felt like the party was dragging on and on and he couldn’t wait to get home and get out of this stuffy stupid suit and just lounge in his sweats. The loud incessant tinkling of spoon against glass, did his head perk up. Usually this meant the party was ending for most of the guests, him and Tamlin included, at least that is how Beron worked.  

And he was right, Beron made a grand speech thanking everyone for coming to this party and wishing them a safe departure home. Lucien had already ordered an uber for them to get back to their apartment the moment his father made the announcement. He took hold of Tamlins hand and quickly led him outside where their uber waited for them.  

“What was that before?” Tamlin questioned once they sat in the car, questioning Luciens’ possessive action in the presence of Magnus.  

“Huh? I don’t know what you are talking about.” He replied as he tried to untie his tie, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white dress shirt. Tamlin made the decision to wait until they were home, the driver was no part of this and he would rather handle this, whatever this was, privately.  

The breath of pure relief that Lucien released as soon as they stepped inside their home was unlike any other. He was so overjoyed to be finally home, able to relax, maybe watch a movie, but Tamlin wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.  

“What was that when those two talked to us?” Tamlin questioned again, standing behind Lucien, following him wherever he went, showing the smaller man, he demanded an answer.  

“Like I told you before, I don’t know what you are talking about.” He quickly deflected the question taking off his suit jacket and throwing it over the couch. Tamlin clenched his jaw before he grabbed a hold of Lucien, turning him around and quickly pressing his lips to the frozen in place ginger.  

“Will that make you answer me?” Tamlin asked once they parted with a light pant, holding onto the now blushed cheek.  

“Igotjealous” Lucien mumbled quickly, the blush on his cheeks deepening with every second that passed between them.  

“And why is that?” The blonde was not going to let him off the hook as easily as Lucien had hoped. The glare he threw at Tamlin only got him a chuckle and a smile in return.  

“Because I like you more than a friend.” Said the red head, looking away, the blush that was once on his cheeks spreading across his entire face and neck.  

“I think I like you more than a friend as well.” Tamlin smiled, his face in no better condition as he moved Lucien to face him, leaning in to kiss him again.

Tagging everyone that is doing this challenge: @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @theshadowsingersraven @chunkypossum

[more-better-words]

Day 10!

Can I just answer yes? 😅

I tend to hew pretty close to canon myself - there may be things I gloss over or choose to ignore (lookin' at you, T'Pol's trellium addiction) - but for the most part I'm a canon monogamist, and don't really stray.

That being said, I do enjoy a good AU. One of my favorite writing adventures ever was when I got to play in a Baldur's Gate space opera AU a friend had created. We co-wrote a couple novels worth of stories that never saw the light of day, but it was awfully fun. I am picky about AUs, though - they need to actually suit the characters you're plonking down in some other 'verse, which is why a lot fall flat for me. There's degrees of separation, like color matching. You either want to go for something close on the color wheel, or on the opposite end, but be careful, or it'll clash!

(Does that metaphor make any sense? It does in my head)

[docescene]

July Ten Day Challenge

A short challenge for the rest of July, but you can join whenever you want!

Each day has a specific word that you should try to reach. The story type (original/fanfic) and word count are up to you.

The important thing is to try writing and have fun!

More challenges!

Day 1: Stargazing

Day 2: Hobbies

Day 3: Campfire

Day 4: Popcorn

Day 5: Aquarium

Day 6: Sports

Day 7: Serenade

Day 8: Holiday

Day 9: Picnic

Day 10: Trip

[theshadowsingersraven]

Update to A Court of Ash and Shadow!

It's been six months but I finally managed to haul in my inspiration to update my Azriel/Kallias' Sister!OC.

Snippet below ❄️✨️:

The words landed like a blow. I knew Kal wasn't angry at me—far from it. He was angry at Azriel, angry that I cared so much for his feelings, and yet I hadn't heard anything from him since the bond snapped.

“So, what? I should just hurt him on purpose to get him back? Is that what you truly think is wise?” I asked, only just stopping myself from throwing my hands up in defeat.

“No, Kat, I just—” Kallias cut himself off and took a breath. “...It is your decision, ultimately. It's just…frustrating seeing you give him so much care and consideration despite how he devastated you. And where is he to fix things? Hm? If you're prioritizing him in this way, I'd rather he actually earn it.”

Tagging everyone participating in the 10 Day Writing Challenge!

@matrixsss @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @chunkypossum

[tobi-the-minnow]

10.) Briar - any of a number of prickly scrambling shrubs, especially the sweetbrier and other wild roses.

Tw: animal death, not sure what else to put, be careful ;-;

The thudding of hooves, the snarling of dogs..

My legs are sore from running.

My stomach hurts from lack of food.

I bearly have any fight left in me yet i keep running.

I slip into a briar; 'im safe' i think to myself but just as i think i can catch my breath its stuck in my throat.

T h e y s e t i t o n f i r e .

Im done for.

This is it.

Either i crawl out and get torn to shreds by dogs or i burn to ashes in this briar.

I wish this was a good story.

I wish this is where i beat the odds.

But...

This is where i lay down to die.

Turned to ash.

I burn in a briar...