alrighty, i know i was only asked about supercorp fics but this quickly turned into my end all be all list of recs. this got long and i’m not even sorry. disclaimer that i am Soft and don’t like Angst or smut
HAPPY FRIDAY SURPRISE! This is one of my original writings, unrequested, just me. You may also notice it’s a 13 Reasons Why character……That’s because, when I open my request box…
13 Reasons Why character requests will be taken!
(once I open my requests again)
The reader is kind of an outcast so fair warning : much self-loathing and dramatic loneliness. Gender neutral reader as well.
The music seemed to echo through the crowded house as you pushed your way through the crowd. You decided, on a whim really, that you should at least attend one party during your High School career. It didn’t help that everyone of your friends was begging you to tag along. It was really just one friend, one of the few one you had made at Liberty High.
“L/N!” You turned your head and smiled at Jeff, who was walking into the kitchen when he saw you. His bright eyes were wide with excitement and the high of social interaction. His extroverted lifestyle made your friendship even more outlandish. You were awkward, shy, and above all else, totally unworthy of Jeff’s attention. Let alone his friendship. As pointed out by almost everyone at school, you were odd to say the least. When people saw you and Jeff exchange, they’d stare at you for minutes after; as if trying to reason through what they saw.
“Atkins,” you shouted back, trying to sound as enthused as he had. His blue-green eyes flickered from your eyes to your apparel, making you slightly self-conscious. As he walked closer to you, you felt your heartbeat start to increase.
“You look great, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, “really good.” Your cheek enflamed at his words and you were left with no idea how to respond. The effect he had on you was overwhelming at times, but you down played it with joking in return. Though sometimes, like this moment for instance, it was hard to dish it out. He pulled away from you, just enough to met your gaze while still remaining close to you.
“T-Thanks, Jeff,” you stuttered out. He grinned at you brightly, his deep dimples showing on his slender cheeks. With his familiar smile, a sense of ease washed over you. You were no longer at a noisy party, you were just with Jeff in that moment.
“I’m glad I was able to convince you to come,” he said over the loud music. “I was worried you weren’t going to show.” Now it was your turn to grin.
“How could I say no to Jeff Atkins?” A light pink blush rose to his face, bringing out the color of his eyes even more. You were gaining your edge back. Your relationship with Jeff always consisted of teasing flirtations and jokes, and trying to help out Clay. The two boys became your closest friends at school, despite the shock of Jeff’s teammates. You often found yourself thinking about how strange it was to be, someone like you, but be so close to someone like Jeff.
You didn’t have a set label at school, despite the gossip you’d pick up on sometimes. People would try to figure you out; maybe you were gay and felt isolated? Perhaps they’re an outcast? Or the emo loner? These titles would loom over your head like rain clouds at school. It didn’t help that you hardly spoke up in class, or spoke to anyone at all. Hanging out in the library with Clay was your only social outlet. Later on, through Clay’s tutoring of him, you met Jeff. Jeff didn’t care about the things whispered by the others, he saw you as you; unique.
A warm hand on your fore arm shook you from your thoughts of darker days turned bright. You looked up at met Jeff’s eyes once more. His face was full of concern.
“You alright? You spaced out a little.” You nodded quickly, breaking the eye contact between the two of you.
“I’m fine,” you said trying to play it off. Jeff was having none of it, he knew you too well. He leaned closer to you, making you meet his eyes again.
“What’s wrong?” You placed a careful hand on his broad chest and pushed him away a little. He looked at your hand and back to you face, still waiting for a real answer.
“Really, I’m fine, Jeff. Go off with your friends and play beer pong or whatever cliche high school party game of choice.” A soft smile crept onto both of your faces at your sarcasm, but Jeff’s faded soon after it’s appearance.
“You’re my friend too,” he whispered. You just shook your head and gave him a shy smile.
“Go have fun,” you said brightly, “I’ll be fine.” Jeff gave you a hesitant look until your pushed a little ways away. You let out a small chuckle.
“Go,” you said once more. He smiled and let out a sigh.
“You leave me with no choice,” he said walking backwards towards the living room. “But I will come back for you!” With that, Jeff disappeared into the crowd behind him. You watched until you could no longer see his brown hair above the crowd. You turned back to the counter full of food before you. More people were starting to file into the kitchen so you quickly grabbed a cup of some drink and left. As you walked out, your ran into the one and only Bryce Walker.
“Y/N, who pegged you as a party person?” You swallowed hard as his question. You knew better than to become friendly with Bryce. Anyone who did tended to fall head-first into trouble.
“Yeah, Jeff wanted me to come,” you tried to push past him as you answered his question. He was quick as he blocked your way with one of his arms.
“How do you and Jeff know each other again? It just seems like an unlikely pairing, the two of you?” You raised your eyebrows at him and tried to escape him once more; to no avail.
“We met through a mutual friend,” you hissed, but Bryce didn’t take the hint.
“How does someone like you keep Jeff Atkins around?” He grew closer to you as he spoke. “You’re just…and he’s the star-member of the baseball team. You must do favors, right? Would you mind doing one for me?” You tensed as he grew closer, his almost predatory eyes watching you like a hawk. The couple that had been standing behind you moved, freeing up space so you could back away from Bryce. You turned away from him and darted out of the kitchen the other way. Tears were forming in your eyes as you rounded the corner into the living room. When you glanced up, your eyes met with Jeff’s. The smile on his face faded when he saw you and he walked away from his conversation with Sheri. He headed towards you, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Y/N, what happened?” His hands went to your upper arms, but you shook them free. Jeff watched worriedly as you struggled to find the right words.
“I’m leaving Jeff. I’ll see you around.” You pushed past him, despite his protests, and out of the door. The outside air was cold against your skin, but you needed to go home. Get away from everything; but Bryce’s words echoed in your skull like the music through the house. Why would Jeff want to hang out with you? The favors Bryce referenced never happened, but to be around someone like you without such ‘favors’ must be horrendous.
You shook your head at the thought, trying to focus on walking home. You watched as your shoes hit the sidewalk over and over again; not even hearing the car driving alongside the path. When you did hear it, you didn’t look up, just ignored it. Until the driver spoke up.
“Y/N! Please get in the car,” Jeff shouted, “it’s cold.” You looked over and met his eyes. His face was filled with concern and you wondered why he even looked at you at all. You looked back down at your feet and continued walking. The car stopped, causing you to look up as Jeff opened the door. He ran towards you, catching up to you in a matter of seconds. His hands grabbed your shoulders, stopping your walk. You turned to face him and his gaze softened when he noticed the tears.
“Y/N,” his voice was quiet when he addressed you now. Instead of waiting for an explanation, Jeff just pulled you to him and wrapped his arms over your shoulders. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, until you felt the need for affection. Your arms snaked around Jeff’s waist, trying to hold him as tightly as he was holding you.
“You’re too good for me,” you choked out through tears. Jeff remained quiet, waiting for you to tell him more.
“I’m so unlikeable, I’m not even close to how friendly you are. People stare at me, wondering how a loser like me can be friends with someone like you. They just stare, judging and it’s just…” You trailed off, burying your face into Jeff’s chest.
“Are you nuts? You’re too good for me,” he whispered and you pulled away from him. “You’re beyond any label anyone could put on you and that’s amazing. People see me, they think ‘jock’ but when they stare at you,” his hand traveled up to your cheek.
“They see someone so complex they don’t even know what to say. Now that’s amazing.” His thumb traced over your cheekbone as he stared into your eyes. “I love that about you.”
Jeff’s eyes glanced from your eyes to your lips, as if thinking about the impossible. Your feelings rushed towards the surface, feelings you didn’t even realized you had. You stepped closer to him, hands resting on his chest softly.
“You gonna push me away again?” His voice carried a soft, teasing tone to it when he spoke. You smiled up at him shyly, your whole body fluttering with anticipation.
“No,” you whispered as your heart sped up in your chest. His hand still caressed your cheek, while his other moved to your waist to pull you closer. It felt like it was all happening in slow motion. The noise of the party drowned out as you became immersed in the feeling of Jeff’s lips on yours. The loathing thoughts in your head melted away, leaving you with a warmth you felt only with him. His hands pulled you closer, closing any gap between the two of you. Your hands curled in the soft material of his shirt, causing a grin to spread on his pink lips.
“Ya know what the shirt is made of?” Jeff asked as he pulled his lips away from yours. You caught your breath and hummed when you felt his lips land on your cheek. He kissed his way all over your face until your finally replied.
“I don’t know, what is it made of?” Jeff pulled away, a smug grin on his lips.
“Boyfriend material.” You stared at him for a long moment until finally giving into the laughter. You slumped your head against his shoulder, trying to stop your fit of giggles. If anyone could turn a horrible night around, it had to be Jeff.
“That was a really dumb, well timed joke, Atkins.” You lifted your head and met his eyes, which held pure amusement within them.
“If it made you smile it was far from dumb.” You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and smiled at Jeff.
“Now what do you say we get out of the cold and away from the prying eyes of half the student body?” You nodded at his offer, causing yet another grin to spread across his lips. He let go of your briefly, only to wrap a strong arm over your shoulders to lead you to his car.
“So where to?” You smiled and shrugged; for it didn’t matter where you went. As long as your were with Jeff, nothing seemed to matter at all. Not even a label.
Request: Anon said: “Could you do a Thranduil x reader, where they are married, and she is usually always in fancy clothes. One day she tries to get into the throne room in more plain clothing, and the guard doesnt recognize her, so they end up throwing her in the dungeon, and when Thranduil finds out hes enraged, and shes irritated.”
Pairing/Characters: Thranduil x Reader
Notes: This ended differently than how I had originally planned, but it turned out!!
You had the entire day off. For once. No responsibilities were nagging at you to be completed. No handmaidens were knocking the doors down at the break of dawn to have a moment of your time, trying to get you prim and proper for the day’s meetings.
Today was one of those days, you laughed to yourself as you settled lower into the fluffy pillows of the bed you shared with your husband, Thranduil. Raising your arms, you stretched under the thick furs of the bed, relishing in the comfortable mattress.
Can you write akeshu where during the end of the game when you're saving your team mates from the velvet room Akira finds akechi in a cell too
The door refuses to open. “You don’t have everyone yet,” Morgana insists, but he refuses to speak anymore on the subject. He’s always stubborn but this is the worst time for it; they may be safe here but Akira keeps thinking of after, of what lies beyond that door.
He keeps looking. He checks the cells again, running past his friends who stand uncharacteristically solemn and still outside the doors; unsurprisingly, he finds nothing, and there’s an added frustration of not knowing who he’s supposed to be looking for on top of where he’s supposed to be looking. Is Mishima in a cell somewhere? Sojiro? It’s a long shot, but maybe it’s Sae?
He’s in the main hall when he realizes the area where his “rehabilitation” occurred had more cells than just his. He spins around and heads back to the main room and checks the cell- empty, empty, and then-
Goro Akechi sits against the wall, his legs drawn to his chest. His head is bowed, fingers interlaced over his head and weaved between strands of hair. No wonder Akira had missed him the first time. For someone who made such a big entrance into his life, and had such a dramatic exit, Akechi is oddly small here.
Akechi is also oddly alive. But then, so Akira, and the others, and he knows better than anyone that dying in the Metaverse does not necessarily mean one dies in real life.
He looks up when Akira approaches, his hands slowly sliding down and folding neatly in his lap instead, his legs straightening into something of a forced casualness. He attempts a smile but this, too, is forced. He looks tired.
“Joker.” There’s a weary amusement here. “I should have known.”
“You’re alive,” Akira responds.
Akechi looks down at his hands. The smile is more present now, as sad as it is small. “Am I? I suppose there’s some truth to that.”
Akira waits, as he did with the others. Despite the urgency of the situation he knows not to push Akechi to talk, instinctively knowing he’ll express his apprehensions and doubts.
“Do you think the Phantom Thieves made a difference?” Akechi asks, and it could be taken as a taunt were it not for how tired he sounds, as though he may fade away the same way the rest of the Phantom Thieves had. “A group of high schoolers, going up against the world. And for what? Do you think society can be so easily swayed by a few confessions of wrong-doing? The system is in place for a reason, is it not?”
“Are you giving up?” Akira asks.
“I’m just trying to figure you out,” Akechi explains. “We all fit into our roles. It seems I was always meant to be used for an adult’s convenience and thrown away when I am no longer of assistance. That’s what happened to you, is it not? You were handed off to a stranger the first time you got in trouble. Your own parents abandoned you.”
Akira breathes and shoves the thought down.
“There’s no room in society for troublemakers,” Akechi continues. “Society craves compliance and order. Do you truly think you made a difference?”
“Why were you fighting?” Akira asks.
Akechi’s eyes widen at that. “I…” He laughs quietly. “That’s right. I was fighting for one person to acknowledge me. I didn’t care about the others so long as Shido recognized me as his son. And you didn’t care about the others- not directly, anyway. It’s like the story of the starfish, isn’t it? Saving one person may not make much of a difference to society at large, but saving one at a time can incite a change.” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “You’ve saved me as well, haven’t you? Indirectly and inadvertently, you opened my eyes to other possibilities. For once, I yearned for something other than revenge…”
He stands, dusting his palms on his pants. “I’d like to return the favor. Let me expose you to other possibilities as well. Let me be there for you, as you have been for me.”
There’s a flash of light. When it fades, Akechi is in his Phantom outfit. The bars around the cell glow blue and disappear, allowing Akechi to step out into the main room.
“Let me help you,” he says, “as you’ve helped me. Allow me to stand at your side.”
Akira nods, not speaking so he can prolong this moment. Just this brief period of respite. He nods again.
“We should get moving,” he says. He knows now the door is open.
The chitchat amongst the people of Woodbury blended softly with the music playing in the background. The Governor only dared to arrange these parties once a month, he didn’t want to attract too many biters and despite everyone’s effort to keep the noise down, you could still hear them outside the fence. You knew the people working the gate would have a handful, killing all of them tomorrow.
The sun was slowly descending behind the forest beneath the town and a chill breeze grasped the hem of your white dress, letting it softly flow in the wind. You were just about to put your shawl around your shoulders, when a couple of strong arms looped around your neck, hugging you from behind.
“You know, if you’re cold, I can keep you warm.” You smiled at Caesar’s voice in your ear and laughed softly.
“And how do you plan to keep me warm, Caesar?” you teased in a seductive tone and turned around to face him when his arms slid off of you.
so. after the new syw update, my phone person interest was piqued even more and i decided to go scouring. i listened to phone person’s entire playlist, analyzed the lyrics, took notes, scrolled through the phone person tag on kira’s oc blog, harassed my kind friend throughout all of this (im so sorry auggie i love you), and i have a sound theory.
For the AFTG Exchange, I had thepalmtoptiger, who didn’t ask for much in the way of prompts but definitely wanted Andrew/Neil! I looked through your tag a bit to get an idea of what you liked, and I hope this is worth the four-day wait (I’m so sorry)
When they first moved into the apartment, Neil hadn’t really thought about the concept of furniture. Sure, he knew they needed it – a bed, a table, probably some chairs. Beyond that, though, nothing really occurred to him. In the end it was Andrew who dragged him by the ear to Ikea in search of plates and lamps and bookcases.
“My sister Susan,” answered Peter shortly and gravely, “is no longer a friend of Narnia.”
The others elaborated on his statement, defining Susan’s loss in terms of favored objects and silliness, disdain in their voices. Lucy, lost in the new world, and Edmund, hardened against Susan’s indifference, did not rise to defend their absent sister.
Peter also remained silent. Not out of pity or disdain or anger, but out of an abject sense of failure. He had always been a man of action, even when he was a boy. Quick to anger, yes, but also quick to resolution. Bright flares of temper that faded quickly. If he could just have it out, he could usually figure it out.
But Susan had grown apart slowly. He had noticed, during their last adventure in Narnia. But then Aslan had split the girls and the boys up, and a few days later, after the exile, a train had taken them even further apart. Susan had written him once during that term, even though Peter had sent hastily-scribbled missives weekly, written under the sheets with a flashlight after lights-out.
(A girlfriend, the other boys had teased him. He didn’t respond. Rescuing a queen and a sister was too important for teasing, and too sensitive to tell.)
Then there were the holidays - a blur of activities and noise and friends and relatives and Susan was always busy, too busy to talk to Peter. Lucy and Edmund were older now, and there was no early bedtime for them and a quiet hour of conversation for the two eldest afterward.
There was one time that holiday, when the four of them were together, but Susan left the room first, after a quarter-hour. Lucy was hurt and Edmund frowned, but only Peter saw the glimmer of tears as Susan walked out, head high, a queen even in exile.
Lucy promised to talk to her. But how could she, when that next term was Susan’s last at the same school with Lucy? Their schedules were completely different, only a small portion of the evening free, and that time taken by extracurriculars and studying.
In any case, Peter was the eldest. It was his job to lead and protect. It had always been, even before Narnia. Susan was his responsibility, not Lucy’s.
It wasn’t that night or the next when Peter finally cornered Susan and demanded the truth out of her. He tried to understand. He tried to hold his temper. But it’s one thing to be a king, and another to be a boy and a brother. At the end, he was yelling and she was crying. He apologized, and she promised to try and do better. She was just horribly, horribly hurt, and talking and thinking about Narnia with no way to go back was painful. She was thirteen and it was her first real loss. He was fourteen, and even fifteen extra years of experience in Narnia had not prepared him to manage a crisis of faith.
Kill a giant? Sure.
Manage a sister’s emotional devastation through scraps of paper and hurried conversations in a back hallway? Not so much.
They wrote diligently for a term, chatting about commonplaces, with a sentence or two that seemed banal and slightly out-of-place to an outsider, but made perfect sense to the eldest Pevensies.
Then Edmund, Lucy, and that bugger Eustace had sailed to the end of the world.
Susan listened politely to their stories, laughed in the right spots, but only Peter was tall enough to see the hurt and rejection and a small spark of anger in her eyes. Later, she had exploded at him. Susan, the gentle. Yelling. At him. Of all people, Eustace had gotten to go. Yes, he was much improved for the experience, but Eustace? Why did he get to go, while they could not return?
Eustace needed it, he said, trying to remain calm. He knew it wasn’t fair, he knew Aslan was right and had a plan, but…he wanted to sail the last seas and see the end of the world, too. Hurt and anger bubbled in his chest.
I need it too, Susan shouted at him, and stormed out.
Peter did not follow.
He was almost sixteen.
The letters stopped.
Later that year, Eustace and Jill rescued a Prince. Susan sat across the table and smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
Afterword, she cornered Peter. He said we could find him in this world, she said. Eustace and Jill called him. He opened a door here. Let’s try that.
I don’t think that’s how it works, he had replied. She waved away his concern. They called to him because He was calling to them. He said He was here. It’s worth a try, she pleaded.
They didn’t quite lie to their parents and their siblings – Harry Bowlings was throwing a small birthday party, they just left right after the cake. They went to an empty cricket pitch – the only green patch within walking distance – and they called. Spoke. Shouted. Whispered.
In the end, they both sat on the grass. House lights twinkled through the sparse greenery. Cars coughed down the roads. A tabby cat slept on a bench nearby.
Let’s go home, said Susan dejectedly.
Peter sighed, and flopped onto his back. Let’s just watch the stars for a bit, he said. Look, the moon’s just rising over the rooftops.
There’s no point, said Susan. And you’re getting green stains on your shirt. How will we explain that? Let’s go.
Peter got up, and they left the park. On the way, Peter reached out to the almost-sleeping tabby, who had started to purr as soon as they were within earshot.
Don’t touch him, Susan snapped. He’s probably got fleas.
Peter withdrew his hand, hurt more than the simple comment warranted. The cat stopped purring, looked at Susan with dark eyes, then leapt off the bench and ran into the dark.
Peter turned to Susan, and she rolled her eyes at him. Don’t be ridiculous, she said. It’s only a cat. It doesn’t mean anything.
She never brought finding Aslan up again.
Six long years passed. Six years of unanswered letters and hushed shouting matches twice a year at holidays. Lucy was Valiant, but she was hurt by her sister’s curtness. Edmund was Just, but his arguments fell short against her indifference.
Peter was Magnificent, and he was failing.
There were flashes of hope. The first time they had all gotten together and met Miss Plummer, and heard about Jadis’s origins. When the girls had gone off together to the shops, and come back with an old tapestry they had found at a boot sale. It was faded burgundy with a border of greenery, and a golden lion in the middle, holding a sword and wearing a crown. The Professor hung it in his spare bedroom. When Edmund had gotten Susan a golden ring with a red stone for her eighteenth birthday. (Took me four weeks allowance, he grumbled to Peter. Peter promptly paid him half.)
But Susan was busy, always busy. She arrived late, and left early. Eventually, she started declining their invitations altogether. Later, she said.
Miss Plummer called her a social butterfly, in tones that were not a compliment. The Professor sighed, and said everyone deals with grief their own way. Give her time, he said. Later is good enough.
But then there was no time, and there was no later. Just another train, separating them again.
And Peter was back in Narnia, the real Narnia, and his sister was not standing beside him.
Regan was present at the Temple of Sacred Ashes as a representative of her family’s interests, along with other distant relatives in the Chantry. She was the only survivor at the temple after the explosion. Rumors that the mysterious mark on her hand is a sign of the Maker’s favor were spread by those who claim they saw the divine prophet, Andraste herself, lead Lady Regan out of the Fade.
“Look, Sixer– Ford. Ford, I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. It was just– it was stupid. I shouldn’t have drank. I know it fucks with my head but I did it anyway like the moron I am. I swear…if you just open your stupid, dork eyes that don’t even work, I’ll never drink again. I swear to whoever the hell is up there. Paul Bunyan. I don’t care. Whoever. Just wake up…please.”
Stanley Pines sighed and stared dismally at his unconscious brother when the man only responded to his heartfelt words with the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest. Then again, the machines and the tube down Stanford’s were the only things keeping his brother going. He wasn’t breathing on his own and it was all Stanley’s fault.
Stan gripped his hair and leaned his forehead against his brother’s arm. The hospital bed’s blanket was scratchy and thin and Ford’s skin felt so cold. Stanford’s complex was pallid, and his matted gray hair had lost its spike and fluff. It drooped into his face, making Ford look younger and more frail than he ever had before.
As one of Vale’s fastest rising professional tournament fighters, Pyrrha attracts sponsors from all across Mistral. Cinder’s methods of persuading new clients just happen to be more effective than most.
Pyrrha’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “What could you possibly hope to gain from this?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Having such a remarkable young woman…” Cinder paused, fixing her with an appraising look that only darkened Pyrrha’s blush, “in my employ is a delight in itself.”
I'd like to start off by saying that I am not a kin. Personally, I don't agree with certain kins, but won't get into what my viewpoint is as I don't want to defend my beliefs. Frankly, I am interested in understanding a few things that kins do/experience. So I wanted to ask a few questions. 1) How would you describe the feeling of having astral limbs? 2) How do most people find out they are kin? 3) Is your kinship a different personality? Or is kin and human combined into one personality?
1) Astral limbs can vary from kin to kin. Some feel a “weight” but not an actual limb. Some feel like something should be there but isn’t and the absence is what is noticed. Some feel as though the limb is there and usable but invisible. Like, if I stretch out my arms I feel like there is a thin membranous wing attached to my arm. It’s faint often and not always there. Sometimes it can be very strong. I’m sure there are other ways they could be experienced, but these are the most common.
2) I don’t think there’s a “universal” kin-discovery story except people feeling kinda different based upon their sensations and thoughts and then finding out there’s a word for it. There are definitely stories that I know other therians have that I can recall myself doing or feeling the same, but I don’t know if it’s a common enough thing to be considered universal, especially since for instance my incredible need to dig isn’t going to be shared by a shark therian. Most kin identities develop over time of realizing “other people don’t do this or feel this” and one begins to consider themselves as not quite human due to various reasons. I think there are more universal stories between closely related kintypes, like elves would probably identify with the feelings of hobbits, mermaids, or other somwhat humanoid kintypes compared to animal kintypes.
3) I think by kinship you mean kintype. No, my kintype is me. I am my kintype. it’s not like a furry’s fursona character. (My fursona and I are different in many ways.) There are shifts to a more “animalian” mindset, but I am still me, both human and other.
Hm…. I suppose a good way to explain it is think of a filter for a photograph. You take a photograph and that’s the way a “normal” human perceives the world. But if I take the photo and put a blue overlay on it, it changes the way things look. Some things will pop out, others will fade into the background, colors become more uniform in hue, etc. That’s kinda what it’s like to be an otherkin and go through a shift. Normally, my mind is “human” with tiny bits of animal influence. But during a shift to a more badgery mindset, the filter is applied and my brain perceives things the way a badger would, in terms closer to what a badger understands. Things that a human would be concerned with fade in favor of what a badger is more concerned with. We all experience shifts to a degree; a bad mood applies a filter much the same way a shift does. But we aren’t a different person when in a bad mood; we’re just acting and perceiving things differently from our “normal” mode. Same thing with otherkin. We are our kintypes to some extent in some way and sometimes we experience things more “animalian” than others. The animal is usually there in the background, but the intensity varies. (I know we aren’t all animals but… I can’t think of a better term so I apologize. Words aren’t always my strong suit.)
Now, the above is the standard. Not all otherkin experience shifts. Some otherkin are basically always kind of “set” into a blend of nonhuman and human. For therians, I think this is what contherian is meant to be. (forgive me if I am wrong; I always get the definitions of suntherians and contherians muddled.)
Most kin are both human and nonhuman. We still have human desires, needs, wants, etc. We just have another creature’s mindset mixed in and overlaying the human. Some kin believe themselves to be completely nonhuman, so their experiences would be different from this. I can’t speak for them on how they experience the world as it would differ from individual to individual and kintype by kintype.
“They say a spirit dwells in a small lake south of the highway. The girls of the village bring it daises and ask for love. But rarely does it listen… For ‘tis a spirit of valor, not love, and it favors blood lotus flowers.”
Valor spirits exist to seek out the perfect expression of combat in the pursuit of valor. Some mages tell stories of encountering valor spirits in the Fade during their Harrowings. These mages speak of being challenged to combat. If deemed worthy, a valor spirit would support a mage in their final test of the Harrowing, battle with a demon.
When Karai swims her way back to full consciousness, Raphael is staring down at her. He might think he’s constructed a careful blank out of his features, but his eyes give everything away.
“Are you waiting around to finish the job?” she asks. Her voice is slurred. It’s a challenge to talk around a broken cheekbone, but she’ll manage. Already the pain is just a whisper, fading to a suggestion. “Going to kill me as a favor to your big brother?”
Raphael’s fists tighten, but other than that, he makes no reply. Just keeps watching, eyes glittering. He wants to kill her, no mistaking that, but he’s holding back.
Karai would wonder why, but the evening has exhausted her. Carrying the warhounds and keeping them alive long enough for them to be useful is challenge enough, but it was the confrontation with Leo that drained the last of her reserves. She felt again, something besides fear or loathing, and it has eaten her empty.
So since it seems like you guys really like my Rehab AU, here’s a little drabble of it! It’s kinda fluffyish. And to the anon in my inbox about it, I will be making more art for this AU too as soon as I can, your patience and support is awesome! Just wanted to write a little drabble for this AU tho~
It was painful. Beyond painful. And it
made absolutely no sense whatsoever. That just made it worse. Rhys had told him, over and
over, it was just a phantom pain, that it’d go away over time, but
how long did that imply? A year? Two years? More? Jack wasn’t sure he
could take it much more. No one had ever told him it would get this
bad. Not even Rhys, who was supposedly an expert in this area. Some
physical therapist he’d been.
“I want it gone,” Jack demanded
angrily, most of that anger being fueled by his pain. “Now! Fucking
taking it off!”
Let’s Set The World on Fire(We Can Burn Brighter Than The Sun)
I know the song was around for over a year or two, but I heard an acoustic version and couldn’t let this though die. So it’s a college AU one-shot inspired by “We Are Young” by Fun. (Roughly 2K words and even more roughly edited).
It’s a typical Saturday night for the ‘newly’ single Killian Jones, if you can still say ‘newly’ after a few months(seventy-nine days if we’re counting, but who ever is), and his friends just snuck off to the bathroom with their own party favors while he’s talking up some 'trollop’ as Liam would say.
I sent you to school to get an education Killian, not a series of notches in your belt.
She’s flirty, sprite-like but no matter how much he fingers her blonde waves, they’ll never turn to gold quite like hers.
And alas, at the exact moment the thought flashes through his mind, silky gold flashes through his peripheral. He turns abruptly, letting the lackluster blonde tendril fall from his hands as his jaw falls open.
She’s sitting just across the bar, alone, a drink in her hand almost too quickly. She’s barely slid off her coat.
She’s a beautiful disaster, with tired eyes and a slouch in her shoulders and he did that to her. He let her down. Let her shoulders fall and her smile fade and that’s when it claims him; this miraculous thought that may or may not be alcohol induced.
Change that, even if just for tonight. Dammit Jones bring back the light in her eyes even if just for tonight.
So he strolls across the bar without a word to his companion.
Summary: “As Bellamy walked back to the camp yard to find a new task for the day, he turned the officer pin over and over in his hand, smiling, surprised that for being something he had wanted for so long, it was only the second-best thing he had received that day." || Small favors born out of sheer necessity (part I, part II) forge a unique intimacy (part III, part IV, part V, part VI) that brings forth intense chemistry (part VII, part VIII).
Bellamy hacked at the log in front of him, violently stripping the bark from it. He was unintentionally taking chunks of wood out too, which the engineer in charge of building would reprimand him for later, but right now he didn’t particularly care. He needed a physical outlet for his frustration, hence the sharp, sloppy slashes. Twice already Bellamy had almost missed slicing his knee with his messy strokes. Though he knew he should make his cuts more slowly, he was pissed off, so damn caution. If he ended up in the medbay, the worst he would get is a few painful stitches and lecture from Clarke or Abby about being more careful, which he could handle.
What he couldn’t handle was the changes going on in the Guard. He knew this day had been coming, the one where his unofficial status would come of notice. Still, he hadn’t guessed being overlooked would hurt this much. Guards younger them him were getting promotions, moved up to the quarters where he was temporarily located, and it was only a matter of time before they kicked him out. He had held out hope until two days ago when he had stopped by the medbay looking for Clarke. She hadn’t been there, but Chancellor Griffin had accidentally left her tablet out, and on it was a list of names for room reassignments. ‘Blake, Bellamy’ had been at the top of the list that included all the new guard recruits. They were going to make him go through training again, at twenty-four friggin’ years old, like the other adults hadn’t been looking to him for guidance since landing on the ground. So, he was pissed off, and taking it out on the log seemed like a better idea than taking it out on Kane, or the Chancellor, or anyone who happened to look at him the wrong way.
When the knife finally connected with his knee, he cried out, too frustrated to care about people noticing.
“Damn it,” he grunted, flinging the bloody blade to the ground. Aside from the throbbing pain, he was pissed that he’d have to find someone else to patch his pants again. Octavia had warned him she wasn’t going to be his seamstress if he kept being ‘so goddamn irresponsible’, as she had fondly but firmly put it. Ironic, really, for her to call him irresponsible, even in jest.