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Post by June Scarlet on Oct 5, 2019 15:40:54 GMT -5
Blueysicle (Concerning Nature Story) That was really clever to have the Engineer make gills for half the population. One could almost wonder if she was doing them a favor, protecting them from an eventual flood. But if she were really interested in saving them, she would have put gills on all of them. So that was a clever fix.
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Post by Blueysicle on Oct 5, 2019 17:23:00 GMT -5
Blueysicle (Concerning Nature Story) That was really clever to have the Engineer make gills for half the population. One could almost wonder if she was doing them a favor, protecting them from an eventual flood. But if she were really interested in saving them, she would have put gills on all of them. So that was a clever fix. Haha yeah, exactly. The Engineer is definitely not the sort of person that sets out to do good deeds. She was more or less just using the Scamanders to make a point and amuse herself, and it ultimately made no difference to her whether they survived or not. This kind of pointless, magnifying-glass-over-an-anthill sort of cruelty is what makes her so infamous in the story at large, after all. And thank you!  |
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Post by June Scarlet on Oct 5, 2019 22:03:41 GMT -5
Alvideria is my Zombie Buzz. Her introduction is really in my latest series, A Story of the Haunted Woods. Also known as Ally, she's a bit of a mystery. You can see her here: fav.me/db0vwv0Saskori is introduced in the same story. She's a young aspiring monster tamer, and my Cybunny. She's here: fav.me/d9dhojpLost
Saskori navigated the path back to her treehouse in the Haunted Woods, munching on a crumpet she'd gotten from Neovia. As she got closer, she could hear a booming voice. "Only those who prove themselves worthy may enter here!"
That would be the tree that her treehouse was located in. Like the braintree, it could talk and move its branches. It also asked riddles to those who would want to enter the treehouse.
Saskori clutched her bag closer. Who was trying to enter her home? The Woods were full of danger, after all. Or maybe it was someone else, someone looking for a monster tamer like herself. She quickened her pace.
As she reached the crest of the final hill, she could see that it was a Buzz. A Zombie Buzz.
Saskori had read her monster-taming books, and knew that Zombies come in all different types. Some could more or less act as they did when they were alive, while others could barely move. So it was still possible that this one could be a customer.
Saskori walked up to the Zombie and said, "Can I help you?"
The Buzz turned to look at her, but said nothing.
"Are you okay?" asked Saskori.
The Buzz said nothing.
Saskori tried again. "Are you lost?"
The Buzz slowly turned to face the treehouse again, slowly shuffling forward.
"Wait, no, you can't-"
The Buzz ignored her.
Saskori shook her head. "Figures. Just another lost, soulless zombie. As least it seems harmless, right tree?"
The tree replied in a booming voice, "The Woods hold many secrets."
"Yeah, yeah," said Saskori dismissively. "Glad you agree."
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Post by Blueysicle on Oct 5, 2019 23:36:38 GMT -5
I didn't think I'd be able to get anything done today, but I somehow managed. And I kept the length (barely) under a page long! XP Honestly, Dimitri in this one is basically me on most days when I tell myself I'm going to write something.  Day 5: Lost
Today's going to be the day, Dimitri thought to himself. That was to say, it was finally going to be the day that he stopped moping over the Dal's destruction and begin plans for its successor.
As much as the company of Flicker and Wingen livened up his days and warded off the tedium, Dimitri was glad to have solitude for the time being. He was no stranger to peace and quiet – the latter more so than the former – but it wasn't often that he got the chance to utilize it towards his pet projects. And with the scale of his ambitions, he needed to grab the opportunity for concentration whenever possible.
The Dal wasn't much more than a prototype – he knew that right from the start. The silver-lining in the robot's unfortunate fate was that he could now start over, patch up all its weaknesses and flaws, and remake it even better than before. Dimitri doubted there was much he could do to monster-proof it, but he could figure out a way to make it more energy-efficient. Smaller, perhaps.
His work table cleared off of any clutter, the parchment laid out straight with nary a crease, and his drawing tools organized nice and neat, he was ready to start. Dimitri sat firmly in his chair with the best posture he could manage. He seized a stick of graphite in one hand and a ruler in the other, and stared at the parchment.
And stared.
And stared some more.
His hands were at the ready to jot down any idea that came to mind, but they could hardly do so when there were no ideas to begin with. Eventually, his arms relaxed and rested on each side of the parchment. He drummed his claws against the table.
Dimitri glanced over to his side, and noticed the shelf of tools and blueprints against the wall. They were all crammed into the space with no rhyme or reason to their placement. He couldn't remember the last time he tidied it up.
So he went to work on cleaning up the shelf. An hour later, with the trash thrown away and the tools and blueprints put in order, he returned to the table with a fresh mind.
His eyes were fixed on the blank parchment once again. He leaned back in his chair and blew through his lips. Still nothing.
Over the course of the next hour, the table became littered with the contents of an old pocket watch that Frazer had given Dimitri a few months back. The professor said it had been inoperable for a while and that Dimitri was free to experiment with it to see if he could get it working again. It turned out that it only needed some parts replaced.
Again, he tried to start on the blueprints. And again, he still couldn't figure out a launching point. Dimitri rested his elbows on the table as he massaged his temple, then his eyes.
It was no use. Try as he might, Dimitri was at a complete loss and didn't have a clue what to do next.
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Post by Thorn on Oct 6, 2019 0:56:47 GMT -5
Day 5: LostWrote this yesterday, but put off posting until now because of mild spoilers for a D&D adventure we were finishing up! The same adventure Celes' fic relates to, in fact. =O I used this character because it's been a while and I wanted to remind myself of what he was like/get into his headspace before the session itself. Character is a sorcerer with an Odd Aquatic Bloodline. When he was young, Dylan had imagined he was a fish, burbling and splashing freely in the surf. For decades after he’d stopped playing pretend, he still thought of himself as largely fish-like. He felt entirely at home in the ocean, with its surging waves above and whirling air bubbles further down. He’d been comfortable with this image.
It was only much later that it dawned on him he wasn’t like this at all. He wasn’t something that thrived in the ocean. He was part of it.
This scared him.
Dylan floated on his back, eyes closed, feeling the sea lick at his flesh. It was still simple flesh, heart pumping and lungs expanding; there was still that, and so his thoughts started to wander. He wondered about his relatives, and what they were doing right then. He wondered what was happening in the port, who was there right now, and if the gleam of sunset would be as beautiful there tonight as it was every other evening.
The sun hovered hazily above the horizon, glinting off the water and warming it subtly, until the waves churned and drew that warmer layer underneath. Warm just as he was, with the ebb-and-flow like the rush and return of blood through arteries and veins. It flowed around and through him as he drifted: a thought bobbing in a current, all too fleeting.
Little more than a dream of the ocean.
Dylan lurched upright, gasping. It wasn’t a lack of oxygen- he could breathe just as well underwater as above- but the shock brought back the sense of his lungs convulsing and he swam to shore with shaking limbs.
There were few others around. It was getting on towards sunset, and not many could bear the winter sea so well even at midday. Dylan touched his face and clutched at his arms- skin and muscle and bone. He stared at his hands. For a moment he thought there was a tinge of translucency, but then it was gone, and he was just gazing at his own ashy-pale flesh.
Eventually he would lose himself forever.
Dylan covered his face with his hands.
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Post by Moni on Oct 6, 2019 2:31:23 GMT -5
october for day 4 was also spoilery, didn't feel particularly inspired by "lost" HOWEVER COMMA october day 6: bitter is back baby, featuring your old pal... cepith??? i never say his name, but this is "edgyfriend" who started out as the edgiest and worst possible person ever and ended up being... less horrible, but also with a backstory and feelings and stuff, and he has a lot of negative feelings, mostly anger. but also sometimes he's sad. it's okay usually he deals with it by a) crushing his enemies b) hanging out with birds or c) hanging out with khamet. don't feel bad for him. The notebook stubbornly gathered dust. No matter how many times it had been picked up or leafed through, it managed to accumulate more dust than all the other objects next to it that were never even looked at.
Cepith blew the fine layer of dust away. The notebook was plain, one-of-a-kind, and when he opened it, he couldn't understand a word or equation it contained. But it was profound, he remembered. It was profound somehow. Beyond the shoddy handwriting and terrible sense of presentation, it said something important.
Once upon a time, an ingenious person wrote these byzantine series of numbers and symbols, and once upon a time, he even understood it, and one day, one moment forthcoming, he still could have, he hoped.
After two hours spent solemnly reading, the moment did not come. He grabbed a scrappy piece of parchment and some inks, copied one of the most basic equations and explanations onto it, and stared at it. No realization came. He read it aloud to himself in the mirror, hoping to thus conjure the person who had written this back to life, pull him out from a parallel world. Nonsense.
He was gone, Cepith thought. He was no necromancer; it was useless to try bringing back the dead; useless to try to extend a hand to this self who was illustrious and brilliant. He wouldn't come back. Not to him.
Wax from the candle slowly dripped onto his hand, just as it once had done when he sat hunched over, finishing one last thought which would spawn thousands of other ones that just had to be finished. Like sand from an hourglass, it let him know when he was done.
He clenched his fists. Why do you keep trying? he asked himself. Then came the muddled answer: I have to try. It's no use. I know. I lost it, and I'll lose everything else too. Someday I'll grow old and I will lose my strength just as I lost what was supposed to be mine forever, nothing lasts, nothing lasts. If all efforts were useless, what was the harm in adding one more,
he thought bitterly. Where was the harm? |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 6, 2019 4:00:00 GMT -5
Day 6: BitterTicked off two more from my Recommended NPC list today! Rauliso (from Gelquie), and Rinn (from Celes) These are both wood elf NPCs from EuroAtlantis. One is a student, one's kinda a headmaster type/archmage dude. The student is also another sorcerer. Wow! Two days in a row! I used to spell his title 'Grand Master' but everyone else wrote 'Grandmaster' and I don't even know anymore, it's whatever! “I’m not bitter.”
“You are, and that’s okay.”
“I’m really not.”
“Are you certain?”
“I promise I’m not.”
Grandmaster Rauliso scrutinised her over the rim of that mug.
“Rinn. We can talk about this. You want to visit Cai Shaan with the others. I understand that, it’s a wonderful place to explore.”
She sighed. “Yeah, well. Ur’rel Anzi told me so many nice things.”
“It helps at these times to think of all the nice things people visiting Zaihar might say. Everyone’s missing out on something.”
“I bet you’ve been to Shaan,” she said.
His tone remained even. “Rinn, I’m 612 years old. You haven’t even seen out your first century.”
“I suppose,” she sighed again, gaze drifting to a knot in the wall.
“You’re disappointed. I understand that.”
“It’s just...you know. In Cai Shaan, they have so many different kinds of fruits and nuts and herbs and flowers I’d never even heard of. Do you know what a watermelon is?”
“I do.”
“It sounds like the best thing ever, all juicy and sweet.”
“It’s really not.”
She dipped her head. “Okay, right. And some of the people in Shaan, they like to wear these floaty dresses. There are so many different patterns. And some of them- some of them-”
She dropped her tone. “Some of them barely reach your knees.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You act like I should be scandalised.”
“Are you not?”
“Again, I’m over 600 years old,” he pushed a mug of tea towards her.
“I don't want it.”
“Well, just in case.”
Rauliso clasped his hands and dipped his gaze. Rinn absently bit her nails. When she said nothing, he retrieved his tea and gestured for her to speak up.
“Please tell me why you’re bitter.”
“I’m not bitter,” Rinn sighed. “I just...Grandmaster?”
“How can I help?”
“Do you have any of the little biscuits with the colorful seeds?”
He stood. “I might. You can continue, I’ll still be listening.”
“I don’t want to be here. And you know that, and you can’t help me, and I understand this. I just feel like I’m trapped sometimes, right. And Dyventain’s not all bad. I love the gardens, there’s a lot of good stuff in the library but I want to...you know.”
“You want to be an herbalist,” he offered.
“Exactly. It just sounds so silly when you say it aloud. And I can’t be one here, where I’m surrounded by mages and people who just don’t get anything which isn’t all sparkle and flash and pretty words-of-power. I want a little house with a little garden, and I want to explore the world for myself and learn how to be the best herbalist I can."
She wrung her hands. Rauliso passed her one of the little biscuits.
“It’s not silly to have dreams, Rinn. You’ve been put in a difficult situation with your sorcery. It’s important to learn to understand and manage it safely and, if you are so called upon, to harness it in a healthy fashion. Remember that you’re not even past your first century. With time, you’ll gain much greater control, and you won’t need so much instruction. Then you can visit Cai Shaan and, if you still desire, be a herbalist. You can do whatever you want with your life. You’re still so young.”
“I want to be a herbalist now though,” she sighed. “You know how it is. Did you want to be an archmage when you were my age?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Mmm,” she cradled the tea to her chest. “Thanks for the drink, Grandmaster Rauliso. I should get going.”
She rose to leave. He stood with her.
“You can keep the mug, Rinn. And...maybe I can find you some space. For a little garden.”
Rinn turned. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course,” he nodded. “I will do what I can. You’re as bound to Dyventain as I, and you weren’t given a choice in the matter. It’s only fair.”
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Post by Celestial on Oct 6, 2019 11:51:53 GMT -5
With the end of Underworld one-shot yesterday, Vran and Ysha's reaction to the aftermath after all the players had dispersed. And hey, look, I made it tie into the theme of the day! Day 6: BitterAfter the last of the champions had been sent home, Ysha turned to Vran with an enormous grin on her face. “Say it.”
“Say what?” Vran’s face remained as unreadable as always.
“Oh, don’t play dumb, darling. You know exactly what you are supposed to say now,” with a few strides on her long stork legs, she was by his side. One hand rested on her hip. “Say it.”
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “You win.”
Ysha’s eyes closed with pleasure. “Say it again.”
His jaw twitched. “You. Win. You proved your point: mortals will go through anything to cheat death,” the raven god adjusted his wings. “Can we go now? I have things to do.”
“Ooh, is someone bitter?” Ysha leaned down to him, holding his chin up with one finger. A grin stretched her red lips. “Is someone not liking the fact that I was right, and you were wrong?”
“Hardly, Ysha. I would never be so immature,” his single bright, gold eye met her gaze. “You won. The bet is done. It is over.”
“Hardly. I want to savour this. I want to enjoy the fact that I proved the god of wisdom himself wrong,” her arms drifted around his shoulders.
He tensed. “Please leave me alone right now.”
“Oh, poor Vran, all bitter and sad about the fact that his clever challenges were defeated by a handful of my champions, champions who I selected myself for their skills. He has to be upset about the fact that I chose so well,” she pressed herself against him, her face a mere inch from his, her breath tickling his ear. “Admit it: even you were impressed with them.”
“So what if I was? I can be impressed by mortals and still be thoroughly irritated at you.”
“So you were impressed!” she purred in his ear, smiling broadly. “Which one was your favourite? I personally liked that sneaky little kobold- or perhaps sweet, shy Nitya- or maybe even Anwen. That one had enough fire and sass in her to be so refreshing. Of course, I would be doing a disservice to good, loyal Vid, or Dylan. He may be a grumpy boy but he thinks quickly on his feet.”
Vran’s eye flickered towards her. “Unlike you, Ysha, I am not one to pick favourites. Each of them had skills and personal qualities which were worthy of merit.”
“Who was your favourite?”
“I refuse to pick favourites from your champions, Ysha.”
The goddess pouted. “You’re no fun,” she looked back towards the entrance to the chamber, the tunnel which led to the lava traps. “You know, if you really did not want them to win, you could have made those challenges impossible, or require even greater sacrifices.”
“What makes you think I did not?”
“Just my champions conquered some of them especially easily. Especially that dragon,” Ysha grinned broadly. “Were you annoyed that they killed that beast so quickly without it even dealing a single blow? After all, you had specifically asked for that one from the Raven Queen personally.”
One of Vran’s eyebrows rose just a little. “And why would I be annoyed at a clever play? Do not forget that I gave them the globe too, to even the odds. Same goes for the other challenges I devised. Everything was made to test them, and they passed the tests. Some were easier than others, but they passed them.”
“Hmm…” she raised a finger to her lips. “Did you secretly want them to win?”
Vran stiffened. “That is a loaded question. I am not answering that.”
“Oh, come on,” Ysha cuddled up, once again pressing herself against him. “You had to enjoy those sweet reunions as much as I did,” she poked his cheek. “I saw that unmoving mouth of yours start to smile. Especially when dear, sweet Esta recognised her master.”
Vran pulled his head away. “Contrary to popular belief, Ysha, I do feel things. And I do care for mortals as much as you do. It is why I do my job.”
“So you have to be happy that I won, just a little.”
“I am not happy that you won. But I am happy that they have their well-earned reward. It is bittersweet,” he turned to look back at her, fluttering his wings a little. “Now may I leave? As I said, I have things to do.”
“Ooh, not so fast. What about me?” her fingers brushed against his jawline. “I deserve my reward for winning our bet, don’t I?”
His single eye rolled upwards in its socket. “I would think that getting to one-up me and rubbing this in my face until the end of eternity is enough for you. What else do you want, Ysha?”
“Something I am always happy to get,” she purred, her arms curled around his neck. She shifted her body to lean in perfect parallel against his. “Something I know you don’t like giving me freely, which makes it even more tantalising.”
He sighed and brought his wings up around her, returning her hug, before closing the gap between them, kissing her with a deep, unexpected passion. Ysha did not hesitate in returning the kiss, closing her eyes with pleasure as she savoured it.
When they finally pulled away, her eyes glinted with mischief. “Does that help with the bittersweetness?”
“That’s all you want?”
“Oh yes,” she touched her forehead to his. “I am a simple goddess.”
“Then it helps,” a hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You are still going to hold this victory over me for eternity.”
“Of course! Where would the fun be otherwise?”
“Then I shall find a way to live with it.” |
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Post by June Scarlet on Oct 6, 2019 22:01:43 GMT -5
This is Yibit. She's about six. fav.me/db954yvAnd this is Dorothy. She's Yibit's sister, about twelve. fav.me/d9dholwBitter "Want some candy, Yibit?" "Sure!" Yibit went up to the offering Pink Kacheek. The Speckled Zafara loved sweets, it was so nice of Dorothy to offer some. Yibit took a piece and stuck it in her mouth, only to spit it out right away. "It's bitter!" Dorothy looked at Yibit with shock on her face. "Really? Well, it must be defective candy, then. I was being so nice to let you have some first, but I guess it was no good. Oh well." Yibit watched Dorothy merrily skip away with a confused look before shrugging and returning to her toys. *** This comic is a pretty good introduction of Dorothy the Pink Kacheek: fav.me/d9dho0r Yeah, I actually painted Yibit now for a while and everything. See, Jill and Yibit were sisters first, and then Dorothy came later. Jill and Dorothy are both 12 and best friends, but still, Dorothy is jealous of Yibit for being there first. So Dorothy torments Yibit whenever she gets the chance, though Yibit's so kind and pure she doesn't even really catch on most of the time. |
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Post by Blueysicle on Oct 7, 2019 0:05:19 GMT -5
Welp, so much for me taking a break this weekend. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I originally had another idea for this prompt, but I changed my mind at the last second and decided to go with something else. I might use my first idea and expand it for a short story or put it into a larger series somewhere down the line. Either way, when I saw the word "bitter" for this prompt, I immediately knew which character to focus on for it. (Incidentally, I can now say I've done at least one prompt for each of the six main characters!)
Day 6: Bitter There were times when Wingen was much more aware of the infinity symbol branded onto his arm than usual. Though it could come about from a variety of reasons, he seemed to feel it most when he was in public and saw happy families go about their business.
From the edge of the large structure that Lumin's light shop and apartment rested on, Wingen glanced down and saw a couple with a small child between them. The child held tightly onto their parents' hands as they were lifted off the ground and joyously swung through the laughter-filled air. While those three Neopets wore bright smiles, Wingen's frown deepened.
Sometimes, Wingen swore that fate deliberately directed such families in front of him as a way to say to him, “Look at this. Look at what you don't have.” As if it wasn't enough for other Neopets to mock him, it felt like the universe needed to get in on it as well.
Long ago, he'd watch the cheerfulness of others and badly yearn for even a scrap of it for himself. He'd beg and plead to be taken in by the families that looked the most willing to share their love. And for a brief – ever so brief – while, he'd be able to bask in the warmth and feel wanted...
But inevitably, they'd all learn about his curse, and notice that they and their own children aged while Wingen remained more or less the same. Then it would all turn on its head. Their warms auras chipped away and revealed the frigid core underneath, and would call him a “bad omen” or a “demon.” Wingen quickly learned at that point to make a run for it, otherwise he'd find himself ambushed with knives or swords while he slept.
So eventually, Wingen stopped trying to seek others out and built up a wall that would need to be chipped away at before he'd allow anyone to get close to him. Though his life was much better now than it had been for years, that wall still had yet to fully disappear. And from time to time, he'd still peek over it and feel a spark of jealously when witnessing the merry lives of everyone else...
Wingen swiftly shook his head. Was this really what he was doing now? Getting upset at other people for daring to be happy in his presence? He mentally shouted at himself to put an immediate end to that miserable sort of thinking.
Once his intrusive thoughts submerged back under the surface where they belonged, Wingen gave a sigh and rubbed his left arm. What would the him of twenty – or even just ten – years ago think of himself now, so angry and bitter that he felt envy more often than joy?
Though he admonished himself for brooding about it, he still had to admit that it wasn't that long ago that he was more than willing to allow himself to be totally consumed by bitterness. Those years in Obsidian Quarry nearly pushed him over the edge – past feeling any sort of hope or goodwill towards his fellow Neopets. He came so close to giving up and hating the world. If it wasn't for-
“Hey! Big Brother!”
Wingen started to turn around to meet the voice, but Flicker had run up to his side within a couple seconds. Never the one to be short on supply of enthusiasm, Flicker practically bounced on the spot as he grinned and said, “I'm all set! You ready?”
“Y-Yeah,” Wingen faltered as he pulled himself away from his musing. He knew how much Flicker was looking forward to taking another tour of Central Cavern after their first one ended on such a sour note. But it wasn't at all easy to jump straight from moping over decades of mistreatment to trying to mirror Flicker's unbound excitement.
The hesitation in Wingen's voice didn't go unnoticed, and Flicker stilled as a result. “Are you okay?”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah! I'm fine!” Wingen assured Flicker. Whether or not his statement was actually true, he wasn't about to spoil the day for his brother. “Remember, we're taking our time today. No rushing around, okay?”
“Yup. Hey, Dimitri told me about this place on the other side of the city that makes rock candy. Can we go there first?” Flicker replied all in one breath.
Wingen sighed at first, but it soon turned into a chuckle. He should have known that his message of going slow and steady wasn't liable to actually sink in. “Alright. I think I know where it is.”
“Great! I'm right behind you!”
With Flicker eagerly following his lead, Wingen was sure that he didn't notice the smile on his face that cracked through his low spirits. Soon enough, the gloom fell apart entirely and allowed Wingen to genuinely enjoy the day, and finish his earlier thought: If it wasn't for Flicker, he might never have remembered what happiness felt like. |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 7, 2019 6:33:04 GMT -5
Day 7: TenderNot the best I've ever written with these two, but here ya go! Two werewolves. Uh. I kinda followed the prompt? The word is in there, at least! Worth at least a C-grade. Percy was exhausted. Floren had let him fall asleep on the floor, his head in their lap and their hands in his hair. While this had seemed a peaceful and tender arrangement at first, one leg was by now also asleep. But it would be such a shame to wake him. They rarely saw him so serene- he always hurried around with such urgency in everything he did. It was nice to enjoy just a moment of quiet with Percy. Who knew when they would get another?
Should they move and risk waking him? Floren couldn’t feel their toes.
He snored like their old family cat. Was it weird to compare your boyfriend to a cat? Before they could consider this further, his eyelids flickered and that brilliant blue gaze met their own. So soft, like a summer evening sky. Which was a stupid and poetic thought, but you could still think stupid poetic thoughts in your mid-twenties, Floren reasoned. Those days of being young and foolish and in love weren’t quite behind them yet.
“Florentine?” Percy murmured.
The gentleness of his tone made their heart ache. He never used their full name except when he was being extra sweet and soft.
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you wake me? Jerkface.”
That broke the spell. Floren pushed him away and massaged the feeling back into their left leg.
“Isn’t it much nicer to wake in pleasant surroundings, than to wake covered in mud and who-even-knows-what in a gutter, surrounded by the stench of dog? Which will probably be our next waking, lets be honest. You got a rare chance to awaken in a peaceful manner.”
They didn’t think they could ever own a dog after all this. Werewolves were the worst. Sometimes the smell clung to you for half the following day and, honestly, Floren wondered how people with a functional pair of nostrils hadn’t picked up on the werewolf-thing sooner.
“Yeah but this is the floor, and now my back hurts,” Percy sat up slowly. “Ow. Why does my body hate me so much? How long have we been here?”
“About an hour. I still can’t feel my toes.”
They wriggled them experimentally. Percy folded his arms, but he was having to try so, so hard to look Disapproving and Severe, and they both knew it.
“There’s a perfectly good sofa.”
“Mmm.”
“Let’s at least sleep there.”
“I wasn’t the one sleeping,” they teased, but practically fell onto the sofa anyway.
Percy snuggled up against them. This was definitely much nicer than the floor, Floren decided, as that tingling sensation finally abandoned their toes. Percy wound his arms around theirs and Floren nestled their chin into his newly grown-out hair. Contrary to either of their expectations, the next time they woke was to the glorious reds and golds of sunset and a sense of absolute peace.
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Post by Celestial on Oct 7, 2019 15:55:20 GMT -5
When your previous two OCs who you were hoping to keep a theme with had their tender moment last time so you want to do something new. And you have stalled on another fic that I hoped to introduce these two in. So you decide, hecc, they're cute, why not write something with Meallan's adoptive parents? Well, I did. I am not vomiting rainbows. Day 7: Tender“Wise owl?”
“Mmm?” Osi looked up from the tunic he was repairing towards where Alban was sitting on the skins beside him. His mate had an expression like a tiny puppy begging for food. His eyes were slightly watery, reflecting the candlelight. He could not help but smile at how it contrasted with the firbolg’s enormous frame. “That face tells a story. What is it?”
Alban glanced down at the tunic. “I know that is important but…”
Osi examined the tunic. It had several holes and the embroidery had begun to lose its colour. He had been meaning to repair it but with all the rush of preparing for winter, he barely had time. Now that the year’s first blizzard had come, trapping them inside their home for now, the firbolg had wanted to get these small but necessary tasks done but…
He shoved aside the tunic. “It’s not important at all,” Osi said. Shifting himself, he climbed up onto Alban’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. His mate hugged him closer, snuggling into the crook between his neck and shoulder.
“What is it, Softfluff? What’s bothering you?” Osi murmured. “Is it just the winter?”
“Yes,” Alban’s ears pricked up, catching the howl of the storm outside. “I’ve seen roughly hundred and ten of these and every single time, I feel miserable when it comes.”
His mate gave a sympathetic sigh and stroked his head, slowly moving his hand down to scratch Alban’s ears. “Winter is hard for us all. It’s a dark, hungry, cold time. But it just means we have all the more to look forward to in the spring.”
“Sometimes, when the wind screams like this and the snow piles up while the darkness outside ears everything up, I find myself afraid that spring will never come,” Alban shivered. His arms convulsed around his mate, holding him closer, letting the heat radiating from his body ward off the sudden feeling of cold that had come over him.
To his surprise, Osi laughed softly. “Well, if that ever happens, we’ll just have to stay wrapped up in each other’s arms forever. I personally wouldn’t mind that at all,” he lifted his head and kissed Alban’s lips. His mate gladly returned the kiss. Their eyes shut, blocking out the world, for a moment letting nothing exist but each other.
Eventually, Alban came up for air. “I’ll have to go out to hunt.”
“And I must finish doing repairs and cooking, not to mention I wanted to try making tea with those excess rosehips. Do you think they will mix well with thyme or apples? Or perhaps some mint for a bit of a kick? And do you think it would go with an amaranth and nut honey cake?” Osi’s words flowed like a waterfall. His ears begun to wriggle at a rapid rate.
Alban laughed. “Wise owl, you’re so cute when your thoughts race.”
Osi brought a hand to his ears and gave a soft chuckle. “I cannot help it, Softfluff,” he shut his eyes and snuggled against Alban’s chest. “But you get my point. Lots to do, even in winter.”
“Whereas I am mostly stuck indoors. There’s only so much hunting we can do when the cold and dark close in,” Alban said with a sigh. He brought his hand over Osi’s and stroked it. “It might be why I get so melancholy.”
“Because you cannot be out in nature? I understand that,” his mate said quietly. “I would much rather be out there too, gathering or planting, depending on what is needed of me. I think we all would rather be. It’s where we belong. But when the land falls into its slumber, we need to give it time and heal. After all, we wouldn’t wake each other up if one of us was tired, right?”
“No, I suppose not,” Alban hugged Osi closer. “Why are you so wise? What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“You were your sweet, tender self,” his mate replied, nuzzling into him.
He shut his eyes and sighed. Outside, the sound of the storm had died down. The melancholy in his chest too, had retreated, chased away by the softness and warmth of Osi’s presence. He loved this man. If this was finally to be the winter that never gave way to spring, he would be alright as long as Osi was by his side.
“Mmm,” his mate wriggled a little in his grip. “I should probably get back to sewing before the candle burns down.”
“Alright,” Alban loosened his arms, allowing Osi to get up. He shivered a little at the sudden rush of cool air that replaced his mate’s warm body.
Osi sat down beside him. He began to reach for his sewing but stopped. “Though if you want something to do, Alban…”
“Anything for you.”
“Make some tea to warm us up. And then, if you’re still sad, sing something for me,” the firbolg pulled his bone needle over. “Your voice will shut out the storm outside. Not to mention it’s beautiful” a sly grin spread across his face. “In fact, you were asking what I did to deserve you…”
Alban blushed a little, remembering that day, forty years ago, when he had first seen his mate, staring at awe as he had just finished singing. “Yes, you’re right,” he bustled over to the stove, picking up the kettle. There was still water inside. “Which tea do you want?”
“Something warming. Liquorice, anise and ginger will do nicely. The blend is in the clay jar- no, not that one- the one marked with the little black flame.”
Alban removed the jar from the high shelf on which it rested, setting it by the firepit as he pit the kettle in to boil. Looking up at Osi over the shimmering heat of the coals, he smiled as he watched his mate return to work.
Time to do his own job. A tune rose in his throat and he began to hum a melody. Finding the rhythm, he opened his mouth and let the words free. |
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Post by June Scarlet on Oct 7, 2019 20:39:55 GMT -5
This is James Sparks: fav.me/db9kiko He's a Film Noir Detective, basically. This is Mona Hallow: fav.me/d9feg2xShe's someone from Spark's past. Tender
I knew she was trouble the moment she walked in the door.
Of course I'd know, now. If only I'd known when I first met her...
The Usul interrupted my thoughts. "James, it's been a while."
"As it should be, Hallow."
The dame shook her head, the long curls of her copper hair following suit. "Why you gotta be like that, James? Call me Mona."
"Up to your old tricks, Hallow?"
She leaned forward. "Who's to say I ain't changed, turned over a new leaf?"
I leaned back in my chair. "Kougras don't change their stripes, Hallow."
She put her paws on my desk. "You used to be more tender towards me, you know. So maybe this Kougra took a morphing potion. If you can change, so can I."
I sighed, but I could feel the hint of a smile around my eyes. She was pretty, sharp, and pretty sharp witted, that dame. "If you say so, Mo- Hallow," I quickly corrected myself.
But it was too late. She grinned. "Great, Sparks. Because I could use your help on something..."
Oh, that Usul was trouble, I knew it. I just had no idea just how much trouble she would be.
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Post by Breakingchains on Oct 7, 2019 22:41:40 GMT -5
#2, "Dance." Yes, Jevonte's daughter is a robot.
Matthew blinked as he tried to absorb what Wolf had just told him. He looked at the back of Jevonte’s head across the hall in his cramped office.
“You're sure that’ll break the ice.”
“Positive.”
“Isn’t that game like a hundred years old?”
“Yup. Well... yup.”
“Are you screwing with me?”
Wolf kicked him sharply in the side of his foot. “Get your butt over there,” he said.
Matthew went. Jevonte sat with his hands full of cables, cursing quietly at the mess. Priscilla waited patiently, seated on the table with a sour expression as if getting a shot. A cable appeared to be plugged into a small square socket on the side of her left knee; Matthew decided not to comment. She cocked her head at Matthew as he approached, looking at him expectantly. Jevonte did not look up from his work.
“Uh,” Matthew said. “Hello.”
Jevonte made an almost microscopic gesture of acknowledgment. Matthew fidgeted a little where he stood.
“So, listen, I was wanting to ask you--”
Jevonte looked up and squinted at him for a second, as if trying to be sure he was still standing there. Then he looked back to his work.
“Hold up a second,” he said. He picked up a wad of tangled wiring, and a loose connection tumbled out. With no sense of accomplishment he stretched over to plug the culprit into a terminal on the desk, and a soft tone sounded. Matthew blinked and followed the noise; it appeared to have come from somewhere inside Priscilla’s head.
She pulled the cable loose from the socket in her knee with the force only an irritated grade schooler could muster.
“Can I go now,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Jevonte sighed.
“Yep! You’re free. Get.”
Priscilla liquefied and ran in a single solid puddle to the floor, where she re-materialized curled in a ball to spend a moment sulking theatrically under the table.
“Boy, kids sure do hate check-ups,” Matthew said distractedly. Jevonte looked at him like he was an idiot. “Listen, I wanted to ask--”
Jevonte scowled. He stood on his toes, peering over Matthew’s shoulder.
“Oh for the love of--Did Wolf send you over here?” He said. Matthew’s face burned. “What is it?”
He was pretty sure his cheeks were on fire, but it was too late to back out now.
“I, uh, I was just--” He thought he heard Wolf make a noise of frustration. “I mean--”
“Matthew." Jevonte fixed him with keen gray eyes. Matthew suppressed a full-body shiver. "Spit it out.”
“I’m challenging you to DDR,” he said.
Priscilla craned her neck to peer out from under the table, staring at him without expression. Matthew looked from her, to Jevonte, then back to her. Priscilla disappeared back under the table.
Then she started laughing hysterically. Jevonte did not seem as amused.
“Matt,” he said.
“Uhh... yes?”
“You’re dead.”
Matthew collapsed in exhaustion, Priscilla’s childish laughter ringing in his ears beneath the light of the screen. The final scores on display were separated by an embarrassing number of digits.
“Jesus! The hell was that? That was pathetic,” Jevonte said. He was panting a little, but at least it was attractive panting--Matthew was just gasping for air like a fish. He coughed fitfully for a moment into his inner elbow.
Then he looked up to see Jevonte reaching a hand down. Matthew looked up. Jevonte was smiling.
“When was the last time you even played this game?”
“N... Never.”
At this, Priscilla’s laughter devolved into airless snickering. Jevonte cocked his head as realization dawned.
“Oh.” He looked at the screen. “Oh. Then you’re actually not too bad. I retract my last couple of insults.” Jevonte savagely disconnected a cable. “Now help me clean this stupid stuff up before I get behind on my work.”
“Sure,” Matthew said. He looked at Priscilla, who was slowly getting control of herself, but his mere glance sent her again into fits of giggling. “So, have you ever beaten him?”
“Are you kidding? She destroys me,” Jevonte said. He was still smiling.
By the time the game was packed up, Matthew had neatly organized Jevonte’s mass of spaghetti wires into neat bundles, sorted with zipties. As the world fell asleep around them, the boys chatted on quietly into the night, oblivious to the passing of time.
(This one's much goofier but meh I ship it leave me alone) |
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Post by Blueysicle on Oct 7, 2019 23:12:27 GMT -5
Brace yourselves! Today, I come to you with a piece that would be TOO HOT FOR THE NEOPIAN TIMES. In other words, it contains hand-holding and mild displays of affection between a married couple. This is actually the first time I've written Lumin and Ultraviolet in the same scene together. Mostly due to NT restrictions, but also largely in part because of Ultraviolet coming down with a bad case of dead before the saga even began. :B I would love to do more scenes between them in the future, even if I would have to limit it to platonic interactions if I were to write it for the NT. Day 7: Tender
There were a series of knocks at Lumin's door as he sat at the desk in his study, and he could tell who it was solely by the rhythm. “Come in.” The door opened a minute amount, just enough for Ultraviolet to poke her head in. “Dear... You wouldn't happen to be busy, would you?” Lumin glanced at the pen he held in one hand, then the layer of records laid out on the desktop. He shrugged a single shoulder. “Only reviewing a few documents. Why?” Ultraviolet gave Lumin a sheepish grin. In an instant, Lumin's placid expression became fraught, and his arms dropped to his sides. He knew that kind of smile, and grew distressingly familiar with it over the years. And he knew that it could only mean one thing. “Ultraviolet, what happened?” Slowly, Ultraviolet cracked the door open a bit wider so that she could show Lumin her hand, wrapped in cloth and spotted with blood. Though she didn't show much pain in her face, it wasn't at all devoid of embarrassment. Externally, Lumin remained still and composed as he beckoned Ultraviolet inside. Internally, he resisted his hearts' every urge to force its way up his throat. * * *
Injuries were well in the job description of a Royal Guard, and thus Lumin was forced to accept – however bad it was for his peace of mind – that Ultraviolet could be wounded at any point during her duties. And as the queen and leader of the Royal Guards, Ultraviolet herself was more than willing to accept the risks of her position. So ordinarily, that would be that. The only problem was that Ultraviolet was notoriously reckless and accident-prone. It didn't matter how safe a situation looked, she could always find some way to get hurt. Lumin wished he could say he was used to it by now, but his anxious nature made certain that would never be the case. “Me and Neon were giving a demonstration for some new recruits. I wanted to show them how to use blunt weapons to combat swords. I... know how quick Neon is with his sword, but I thought I'd be able to out-speed him, and... well...” Ultraviolet explained, then made an abashed cough at the end. Lumin give a brief, exasperated glance upwards at her, but refrained on commenting on the cause of the injury. Instead, he continued treating her hand. All things considered, the wound was nothing that warranted serious, long-term concern. The other thing about Ultraviolet was though she was frustratingly blithe when it came to proper caution, she was also extraordinarily lucky. For as much as she had built up her resume of injuries, they were rarely too severe for her to power through. Lumin thanked all the fortune in the world that this time it was only a slice across her palm, and that she didn't need her fingers stitched back on. When it came to those minor injuries, Lumin was always ready to grab the nearest first-aid kit and patch them up. Ultraviolet would go running off into danger, and Lumin would tend her wounds when she returned. It had been like that even since before they were married. But as Lumin started to wrap Ultraviolet's hand, he began to think about the current situation a bit further. He hesitated to say anything at first, but he eventually relented. “Ultraviolet?” “Yes?” “ Both of us learned first-aid.” “We did.” “You... are also aware that the infirmary is much closer to the training grounds than my study?” “Mm.” “And that the people there could do a much better and thorough job than myself?” “I suppose.” Lumin became quiet. Throughout his questioning, Ultraviolet was unable to suppress a coy smile as she looked off to the other side of the room. When she noticed that Lumin was waiting for a response, she turned her head to Lumin and said softly, “What can I say? You have a special touch to it.” Lumin chuckled and mirrored her smile. With her wounded hand wrapped in bandages, Lumin's eyes drifted to her other one. He took his fingers and weaved them through hers and gently squeezed. Ultraviolet responded in kind. She then leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Lumin's. He closed his eyes, and she closed hers. They stayed like that in silence, long enough that Lumin had to question just how much time had passed. But he scarcely minded. When it came to these quiet, tender moments, he was more than glad to allow time's flow to slow to a crawl. But eventually, the moment concluded when he cleared his throat and muttered, “I-I would still much prefer that these accidents don't become a regular occurrence...” Ultraviolet had to laugh. “I'll try.” |
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