#word of the day writing challenge

[lvrrgirlll]

Valentine’s Day with Mr. Big!Patrick…

~2k words, smut under the cut, mdni

Another February 14th in New York City. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and you were… alone.

You hadn’t talked to Patrick in 3 days, which may not have seemed like a lot, but to you, it was a lot. You worried you two were slipping out of the honeymoon phase already, despite the fact that you’d only been dating for 2 months so far, and didn’t know what to do. You had spent the night with him 3 nights ago, and all was going well. That was until you mentioned Valentine’s Day.

“So… y’know what’s in 3 days,” you asked as you traced little hearts onto his toned bicep, offering him a goofy grin.

He chuckled a bit, his gravely ‘morning voice’ still very apparent and striking a chord somewhere deep within you. “Uhh… Friday?” His eyes crinkled as he grinned. He was like this. So devilishly handsome, so effortlessly adorable, and so painfully clueless. You often couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, because he was, in some ways, a mystery to you even after all this time.

You chose to hope he was only kidding and smiled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Ha ha, very funny. It’s Friday but it’s also…” you attempted to prompt him, looking at him expectantly.

“Friday the 13th? I’ve got nothing sweetheart, why don’t you just tell me…” he replied smoothly, though it was anything but the answer you were hoping for. He pulled you into his arms and onto his chest when he spoke, leaving you unable to avoid his now obvious genuine lack of awareness at what holiday was right around the corner.

“You really don’t know?” He shook his head again. You couldn’t stand this. Sighing and slumping your head down onto his bare chest, you murmured into his skin “it’s Valentine’s Day.”

After you gave it away, he was surprised at how much you seemed to value the holiday and you were, in all honesty, pissed that he hadn’t realized or seemed to care once you told him. He acted like it was… just something silly. But what’s silly about love?

You had kissed him and then left, citing some meeting with your editor, expecting him to call later that night to apologize for being so careless. But when no such apology came, you were left confused and nearing a wallowing state, leaving you alone on Valentine’s Day.

You reached for the phone, hoping to call up your girl friends and see if they were also alone and wanted to get together, but right as you were about to pick it up, it began to rang. Picking it up immediately, you were pleasantly surprised to be met with Patrick’s voice.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” It was smooth. Maybe too smooth. But it was Valentine’s Day, after all. You were just happy to hear his voice.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you practically squealed back, flopping onto your bed as you twirled the phone cord in your finger.

“So I was thinking… you and me, we should spend the day together. I wanna take you out. I thought we’d start with a little walk around the city, I may or may not already have some flowers for you… and then we can go by that new cafe that just opened up for a late breakfast/early lunch-“

You cut him off then with an eager “yes!” “And then this evening I’ve sort of been invited to this Vogue Valentine’s party, it’s supposed to be really chic and classy, if you’d want to be my plus one…”

You can practically hear the smirk when his voice ripples through the phone. “Oh, I’d love to be your plus one.” You wanted to do a happy dance right there in your apartment. You were back in the game! “So I’ll meet you outside your apartment in 30 minutes?”

Your day from there was nothing short wonderful. He showed up at your door with a big bouquet of fresh, red roses, probably at least fifty, maybe a hundred. It was clear he spared no expense. As the two of you strolled through the city, it felt as if those three days hadn’t mattered at all, and maybe you were just overreacting, because here and now, this felt like it. Over brunch at the cafe —which was incredibly chic, by the way— the two of you discussed valentines past and laughed about all of the ridiculousness of your old relationships.

Of course, he mentioned how he didn’t like to celebrate Valentine’s Day normally, even being such a ladies’ man. He took the position of most men in Manhattan in corporate America: that it was “a commercial holiday made to sell chocolate, flowers, jewelry, and stuffed animals to poor saps who had to shower their wives or girlfriends with gifts and to lonely people wanting to drown their sorrows alike.” He was such a businessman. You had to remind him, then, that he had bought into it by buying you such nice roses, to which he only shot you a crooked smile accompanied by a wink, commenting “well you’re worth it.” God, you could just melt.

After brunch the two of you took the long way back to your apartment, walking through the park a bit. You marveled at all the sweet couples while he made cynical, sarcastic comments about how much they probably secretly hated each other. It wasn’t like he had an aversion to love, quite the opposite actually, but again, he was a businessman…

When you finally reached your apartment, you parted ways with a passionate kiss on your front steps. “Pick you up at eight?” He asked, smiling down at you lazily.

“Eight’s perfect,” you hummed.

“Knowing you, you’ll still be doing your hair at eight, but y’know you’re worth the wait,” he joked, kissing you again before starting off. “I’ll be here at eight, hold me to it,” he shouted as you parted ways.

“Oh, I will!”

He was right about what he’d said, dammit. You were obviously running late, per usual. You had picked out a dress, a satiny, red little number that didn’t leave much to the imagination. And actually your hair and makeup was done. It was the shoes you couldn’t decide on!

Patrick sat on your bed as you rummaged through your closet, hoping to find the elusive ‘perfect pair of shoes.’ “So what do these shoes look like exactly,” he called out, looking over the scattered pile of heels and pumps that laid not too far from his feet.

“I don’t know! I’ll know them when I see them… I just need the perfect shoes to go with this dress,” you insisted. At that, he scoffed.

“I think I like the dress better without much else on you…” he attempted to flirt with you, but this was no lighthearted matter. It was the Vogue party and you needed the perfect shoes. You rummaged around a bit more, reaching into the depths of your closet before you found a kitten heeled sandal with a floral detail. It was perfect!

“Ok, we can go now,” you exclaimed, posing in the doorway of your closet for him. His eyes raked over your body, jaw slack. He moved to check his watch, then.

“And only 30 minutes late,” he remarked, quirking an eyebrow as a silent ‘I told ya.’

“Hey, we’re fashionably late…”

The party was nice, with an open bar and goodie bags with Chanel and Dior samples, you couldn’t complain. It was a bit… tame, though. After some schmoozing, introducing Patrick to some writers you knew and basking in the ‘oh, you two make such a hot couple’-s, you both were ready to leave.

“What’s say we get outta here and go back to my place…” he whispered into your ear, dipping down to place a kiss onto your shoulder as he took the empty glass out of your hand, handing it to one of the many waiters patrolling the event. You looked around, mostly to make sure that you had talked to everyone you needed to, before turning to him and smiling.

“I’d like that.”

Back at his apartment, Patrick offered you some wine and even pulled out some chocolate covered strawberries for you two to enjoy. It was lovely, but that didn’t last long, both your burning desires for each other bubbling up like champagne popping from a bottle.

You were making out on his couch, the view of the city from his window underscoring the moment perfectly, as the Empire State Building lit up in a heart. “Oh, Pat, look…” you pulled away to point it out. He only hummed in response, pulling you back in and mumbling into your lips how it was ‘sweet.’

Eventually, you two moved from the couch to his king sized bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets cascading around you as he ravaged you. His lips were all over you like he was a man starved. He tugged at the hem of your dress, pulling it up and off of you in moments, marveling at your beauty.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to me…” he mumbled, more so to himself, sighing. He then freed himself of his finely tailored suit, moving back to you, the feeling of skin on skin so tender and so intimate. He brought his lips to your chest, pressing hot kisses to your skin and tonguing at you teasingly. It made you giggle and your face screw up in pleasure all at the same time.

“Pat…” you whined, looking at him with a needy pout. He only smirked at that.

“Yeah, okay, okay, I know I shouldn’t tease… it is Valentine’s Day after all. Let me show you how much I care…” He tugged his boxers down, pulling your panties to the side and sliding in easily, a breathy groan escaping his lips as his eyes shut. You gasped as he began to move, first at a steady pace, then quickening soon after, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“I missed ‘ya, honey,” he panted as he thrust in and out of you swiftly. “I’m sorry I was a dick about Valentine’s Day. You’ve-“ he hit especially deep, causing you to moan and squeeze tightly around him. “Y- you’ve shown me just how good it can be...” He leaned in to kiss you, stifling you moans as he still moved in and out at an impossible speed. You were overwhelmed by pleasure and adoration. As he shoved into you, you kissed and bit down lightly on his shoulder, trying to contain yourself, knowing he liked to finish together.

He knew you were almost there and he didn’t want to keep you waiting. Moving even quicker, if it was even possible, he felt that familiar heat, knowing then that he was ready. “I’m there baby- fuck… c’mon.” One of his hands was tangled in your hair but the other one came down to rub at your clit, making your hips buck up as you gasped.

“Fuck, Pat, I’m gonna…m’gonna…” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut as your release overtook your body, feeling him come down too. He pulled out, laying next to you and pulling your body close to his and kissing your forehead.

“Can I tell you something,” he asked, voice muffled as he spoke into your hair.

“Sure,” you muse back. He sounded sweet, contemplative, as if he might finally say those three little words… (‘I love you.’)

“I am so glad you’re on the pill…” he chuckled dryly, leaving you to roll your eyes and flick him in the arm. You relationship may have been a bit rough around the edges, but hey, it was yours.

[cameforstuff]

A Calm Night, for Mabel

Mabel was sleeping and Ford was freaking out.

Ford had been simply explaining his improvements to her grappling hook, when he noticed she had nodded off. Mabel's head is at an odd angle and she is hugging herself.

Is she cold? Could she breathe with her head like that? Should Ford move her?

Ford starts pacing, eyes darting back whenever Mabel shifts or snores. Occasionally, Ford would reach out, but stop only an inch away. Every time, Ford looks down at his hands with apprehension. Sure Mabel did not seem to mind his fingers when she is awake, but what if they scare her unconscious mind?

Ford had never been good with kids. He had a similar freak out when Dipper fell asleep during one of their DDMD games. Except Stan had been there, scooping the boy up wordlessly and carrying him to bed. Should Ford do that? Could he?

Moses, would Stan fish faster.

Ford had barely just started getting to know the kids, Dipper more so. Sure Mabel and him had a fun day, but is he close enough to simply snatch Mabel up? She shifts again, now practically laying face down into the couch. Ford feels his panic rise now unbearable.

Ford could not let one of the kids suffocate on his watch. Slowly, he scoops Mabel up. Ford's back aching from just how slowly he does so. Yet it seems to do the trick as she stays asleep. He rises with the same level of care. Ford freezes when she shifts in his arms. Her eyes open a crack, and she mumbles something as she nuzzles deeper into Ford's arms.

When Mabel drifts back into sleep, Ford sighs in relief. He takes several slow steps out of the living room and into the entry way. He looks at the stairs with hesitation. How would Ford get up without shaking her? He would also be risking falling with no arms to catch himself. Ford deems it too risky. He refuses to let any harm come to his niece.

So Ford turns and moves towards his room. Sure his couch is not as comfy as a bed, but it is safe. He lays her down, just as gently as he had picked her up. It is a bit hard to let go, as Mabel is holding tightly onto his sweater. He carefully pries each finger off, making sure to be as gentle as possible. Once free he stood and smiles. Safe; able to breathe; Perfect.

Ford took a breath to calm himself, but then he realizes he had forgotten a blanket for Mabel. He lightly drapes his blanket over her, but is dissatisfied. Mabel always wore sweaters despite the heat, so she must be cold. How dumb of Ford not to notice. He left the room and set about finding the warmest and softest blankets he could.

When Ford checks Mabel and Dipper's room, he notices not only is her pig there, but she also had many stuffed animals on her bed. Ford stacks as many as he could on one arm, and scoops up her pig as well. He crept back into the room and set his collection down. Her pig, Waddles, simply crawls over and lays near her side. Ford hovers, ready to snatch Waddles if he dares to step wrong.

Mabel rolls to accommodate the pig and pulls Waddles into a hug. Thankfully, not blocking her face. The pig did not seem to hinder her breathing, so Ford moves to his next task. He starts layering the blankets. It took several tries to make sure the blankets laid perfectly. No cold would attack Ford's niece.

For the final touch, Ford began tucking the stuffed animals wherever he could. Without putting to much weight on her vitals, of course. One, a stuffed unicorn, starts talking when he had grabs it. Startled, Ford rips out its voice box and crushes it in his hand. Ford looks down at the poor toy in shame. He would have to repair it tomorrow.

He took a few careful steps back. Carefully, he surveys his handy-work. She seems to be breathing fine; the pig did not move; the blankets allow no gaps; the stuffed animals did not dare to shift. Ford smiles, feeling satisfied. He had done it.

Ford moves to leave but became nervous. What if something woke her? What if she woke up and is confused? What if he had not done something right? Ford took a seat at the nearby desk. He uses the light of the moon to sketch out math equations from memory. More to keep himself up rather than for actual practice. Ford glances back at his niece constantly, just to make absolute sure all is well.

Stan came home about midnight, with a tired but happy Dipper. Mabel's idea of "Grunkle Bonding Day" seems to have gone just as she had thought. At least on their end. Stan follows Dipper up to check on Mabel, but found her bed empty. Both of Mabel and her bedding. Both Dipper and Stan share a confused look.

Stan moves around the house searching. Finally he pops his head into Ford's room and held back a laugh.

Ford lay face down in a book at his desk. Yet, both Stan and Dipper were drawn to the mass of blankets and stuffed animals on the couch. Under which, lay a sleeping Mabel, seemingly unbothered. It seems their day had gone well.

Stan takes a left over blanket, seemly unfit for Mabel's cocoon, and tosses it over to Dipper. He crawls onto the couch and forms his own smaller cocoon. Stan walked over and removed his brothers glasses and drapes Ford's trench coat over him. Stan looks down at a stuffed unicorn that had practically been ripped in half. He is curious, but decides to leave that for tomorrow. Stan took his own spot at one end of the couch, and leans back. Nothing and no one moves until morning.

[who-is-page]

Wag Those Tail Feathers: The Wonders of Alterhuman Courtship

Author: Page Type: Essay Words: 1,065 Summary: Page's perspective on alterhuman courtship, as an individual who has been both on the receiving and giving ends of it.

[Part of the Sol System’s Alterhuman Writing Project for 2024. If you don’t want to see these posts, block the tag #inkedclaws]

As a polyamorous alterhuman, I’ve had the wonderful experience of being in relationships with people who have a variety of different courtship instincts— sometimes even all at the same time! Including my own instincts, it’s led up to some interesting realizations about the variety and diversity of expressions of love, and how wonderful it can be to be loved by an alterhuman (and to be an alterhuman in love, too).

My personal experiences, notably, revolve specifically around being nonhuman and this applies to a majority of my partners as well, which influences the flavor of this discussion. It’s been a wonder to be the target of a feathery mating dance, to be wooed with draconic jewelry and treasures, or to have my partner jump out with a meal, as proud as could be at displaying their hunting skills for a mate. It’s not necessarily just a nonhuman thing, either, of course; my orthohuman partner exhibits some similar sort of feelings and actions, too! Something which comes across especially strong in his hunt-and-gather supply-hoarding behavior in video games. But there’s something so especially intimate about having your alterhuman partner court you in a way unique to their species identity. It’s a beyond flattering form of trust, love, and affection.

And as an alterhuman who has targeted my partners, alterhuman and orthohuman alike, with my own affections, it’s also uniquely affirming to have your partners engage with your varieties of courtship for your species. There’s something incredibly special to have them try to learn your rituals and woo you in turn, even if they don’t have the same instincts driving them. It’s love with intention, a conscious effort to learn a language that’s typically foreign to them or which they might otherwise never come across on such a personal level. It may not always be perfectly executed, but the intentions behind them make them perfect regardless.

I’m someone who’s fully public about my alterhumanity. I don’t hide that I’m a dog and (luckily) no one especially seems to care in the day-to-day when I’m meeting up with strangers and acquantinces. But it’s become an important part of my dating life that potential partners need to not only be aware of my alterhumanity and accept it, but they also need to interact with it. You could argue that my spouse set the bar high for any potential future partners with how he took to my canine-ness and plurality like a fish to water, but I’m of the opinion that it’s something that should be the norm, not something so utterly unexpected by many.

Being able to engage in alterhuman courtship with your partner, as serious or as silly as it may fundamentally end up being, shouldn’t be something that you feel is utterly unreachable, that you yearn for but never feel like you’ll be able to reach. Alterhuman courtship is a wonderous experience; something that I think it’s not only important for alterhuman folks to be able to freely do with those they love most, but also to be on the receiving end of, too. It can be easy to default to the status quo in relationships, because of the societal pressure around us. Normativity around romance, sex, and even platonic affections is something that is constantly at play in the backgrounds of our culture and which embeds itself into our conciousnesses in unexpected and often invisible ways; and it’s difficult to dissect these without exposing ourselves to what some might list as “weird” or “unusual” urges and behaviors. But we can’t unpack the shame or embarrassment that might be holding us back from engaging with these urges unless we actually let ourselves acknowledge the collective, confusing feelings abound within them. We shouldn’t allow ourselves to shrug our shoulders and simply say, “I suppose I’ll never find someone who can accept me as my [species] and all that entails,” or to just resign ourselves to having to hide a part of ourselves away forever to maintain relationships.

We should toss these types of negative feelings aside and embrace our alterhuman courtship urges in earnest: that sometimes we’re not fully human, or we’re human a little to the right, and that inevitably makes romance, sex, and platonic interactions a little different for us than it might look for standard folks as displayed on a big screen. It’s not a failure on our part, and it’s not something that needs to be squirreled away due to internalized respectability politics. We can love ourselves and find love in others, for and by being ourselves. We can experience unique forms of love and adore those factors in others. This is, to me, a part of the territory that comes with being alterhuman or knowing alterhumans. It’s a part of what makes life wonderous.

In my partnerships, I love getting to bring my partners gifts. I love to bring them tiny treasures, small things from my system’s hoard, to pebble at them almost like a penguin would (sometimes including a silly little dance, of love!) It goes beyond standard gift-giving in the way that most of the people I’ve met would think of it, where presents that large are often reserved for special occasions like holidays and birthday. But it’s something I do year-round, to show my partners that they’re always on my mind, and that what is mine is their’s, too. I do the same thing with food; while normally incredibly food protective, both due to species identity and past food insecurities, I make the effort to share my favorite foods with my partners for the same fundamental reasons. To share my food, my bed, my life— and to have my partners recognize that as not just general displays of love, but as specifically displays of love intertwined with what I am, is something which displays a deep level of understanding and acceptance for my species. It’s something I’m grateful for beyond words, but it’s also something that I don’t want us as a community to accept as unheard of, or as just a one-off, lucky occurrence. Love like this is achievable and rewarding, both as a recipient of such alterhuman affections and as the giver. And we all deserve to experience it, in whatever form of love that we feel most comfortable with. Don’t tell yourself otherwise; don’t settle for less just because you feel like you have no other choice.

[kcrabb88]

Presenting the QuinObi "Give Men Flowers" Event, which was inspired by wanting to do a Valentine's Day event for Quinlan and Obi-Wan and being encouraged by @catamaranthenonnewtonianfluid, @clearbluewaters, and @lilywhoisapotato. Full credit to Cat for the title! <3

This is very low-key and simple! If you're interested, just write a QuinObi fic of 2,500 words or less centered around the prompt (word count is a loose guideline, feel free to go longer if you like). Feel free to post here and tag me, and also add to the little Ao3 Collection, between February 10th and 14th.

[mbirnsings-71]

Day 1 of writing 400 words Daily in an attempt to finish any of my WIPs before the end of the year- Went way over my goal by writing 1.2k words- Boys this is a hell of a time for me-

[savage-rhi]

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

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 243

WE DID IT LADS

look at all these aradias that didnt exist last month!! u love to see it

thank u everyone who participated!! even if you just did one day i had a fun time checking the tags and seeing all the excellent aradia arts

i tried my best to put all the posts i found in my Aradia August Tag on my homestuck blog so if you would like to browse the other fine artists from this month i recommend checking there B)

[sunlitsorrows]

HOLY COW GUYS I DID IT I POSTED 200 WORDS A DAY FOR JANUARY 2025

22 days on the SAME WIP! I don’t think I’ve ever been able to focus on one project that many days in a row.

*kazoo emoji*

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

I'm so sorry to hear you were in an accident im glad you are alive and feeling okay again <3<3

I'd love to send you a lotura prompt, hopefully it lifts your spirits to be back on that sweet ship.

How about Lotor and Allura talking about weapons? (i.e. Like how Allura prefers a staff and Lotors sword designs (like the one he was first shown with) )

Hey, good to hear from you and thanks for your super kind note!! I'm doing a little better each day and am excited to get back to regular routines! While I was on hold over the phone about paperwork today, I managed to exercise my brain with the prompt you gave me! <3

Staff vs. Sword

Emperor Lotor leans against a wall, crossing his arms and quirking a slim, white eyebrow at the princess before him. “Surely, you jest with me,” he murmurs. “A staff again?”

Princess Allura beams, and she grabs her favorite staff from the blunted practice weapons with a solid grip, fingers tight. With a quick flick of her wrist, she spins it and sets the end solidly on the ground. “My bayard for Blue Lion also turns into a whip,” she says nonchalantly, “but that seems entirely unfair to use against you, as it produces an electric shock.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyes crinkle, his slit pupils dilating with softness. He adds dryly, “Because we do not already create enough sparks on the courts.”

She brushes back her long, thick braid and waggles her eyebrows. “You said it, not me.” And then she pokes his chest plate with the end of her staff. “Do tell me you’re not afraid of a second round after I defeated you.”

“And nearly caused an intergalactic incident,” he says, voice halted. “The training grounds are intended for practicing the art of combat—not the art of catching one’s opponent off-guard with a kiss.”  

With a giggle, Allura pulls the staff back, her Altean markings glowing a bright pink. “Yes, well, we Alteans have a saying that all’s fair in love and war. Now, pick your weapon, dear emperor, so that I may defeat you once more. And do choose something other than a sword this time—at least mix it up for me?”

Lotor eyes her before grabbing a blunted sword from the wall, inspecting its balance. His long fingers grip the hilt tightly. “A sword is the best extension of a warrior’s will,” he declares, raising his chin with a petulant chin. “It is simple. It is efficient. It is my favorite weapon.”

Allura sighs dramatically at him. “It does not have quite the—” she waves her hand—“the impact of a staff, though.”

He raises the silver sword to her. “The staff is an impact weapon,” he says dryly. “You simply seek to showcase your Altean strength to the Galra who prowl these courts, and that is why you prefer it as of late."

“Tish tosh,” she says, planting her feet properly on the training mat and eyeing him with an increased wariness. She knows Lotor likes to strike unexpectedly. “I also happen to like the way training robots crumple to bits beneath a staff. It relieves the stress I feel after a large conference with intergalactic leaders.”

A tick of silence stretches between them.

And then in a blur, Lotor races toward her, slashing down.

She blocks with the staff and swings, and he ducks smoothly before stepping back, flipping the sword in his hand.

He paces the mat, the overhead lights capturing the glow of his eyes like a predator in the dark wilderness. “Poor Princess Allura,” he teases. “All the power in the universe, and yet you fear the peace we have wrought together, instead longing for means of violence. Are you certain you are not of Galran blood somewhere in that long ancestry of yours?”

Alura’s voice strains as she circles him as well, resetting her staff. “I can’t think of a single species that doesn’t enjoy a rough tumble now and again, in a safe, non-war environment. Why, the humans even have something called, um—” Her concentration breaks as she pauses, snapping her fingers. “Um, wrestling. And something called rugby. And then they have a very large, worldwide competition for their various violent sports, called the Olympics.”

Lotor pauses.

His slit pupils widen in curiosity of other cultures. “Olympics? Is that similar to a Kral Zera?”

“Somewhat,” she nods, “but instead of choosing a world leader by, um, killing everyone, these tournaments are for medals that they wear around their necks and then bite in front of cameras. And no one dies generally.”

He lunges again, and in a blur, wrenches the staff away from her hands and presses her up against a wall.

Allura squeaks, eyes wide.

His nose is inches from her own, his breath a hot puff against her face. “How very curious.”  

Her breath stalls as her cheeks heat hard enough to radiate to him. “Um, y-yes.”

Lotor’s wide mouth splits as he whispers against her mouth, “Fortunately for you, princess, I’ve no intent to fight you truly, or you would already be dead with your silly staff. And if it were these Olympics, you would have no medal to bite.”

Face flushed, her eyes narrow to slits, and before Lotor can avoid it, she hooks her ankle against his and unbalances him. Surprised claws protract from his hands, gripping into her practice armor and his eyes widen.

And the two royals fall in a pile of limbs upon the mat, with Allura sprawled on top of a stunned Lotor, his sword clattering to the mat beside them.  

“Oh, no,” she says with a triumphant giggle, hands planted over his chest plate. Her curly flyaways are an angelic halo around her face. “You lowered your weapon but did not fully secure me, so I still win.”

Lotor grumps beneath her, his lavender cheeks flushing as he grips her forearms.

And despite Galra leadership watching the courts and murmuring with gossip in the far distance, Lotor softens. His rough, calloused thumbs stroke a pink marking along her bare forearm. “Best two out of three, then? I promise to secure you fully next time and cause another scandal for it.”

Allura leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Very well, Emperor Lotor. You’re on.”

[madmansmisc]

Suicide risk, a firestorm in a pocket

Razor blades are hammer/star/sickle

A dancing mind races a rocket 

Chokehold fancies are tickled.

[radioregine]

what if december is for editing ...

[kurikaki]

Techno love you and he never gave him any reason to doubt. With him, all he feels is love and contentment.

It was him who loves you. It was him who stayed.

Techno would cradle Dream in his arms, like you were his most precious treasure. That he would live for you.

He would smile, oh so sweetly. What else can you do but melt.

"Oh, Beloved you deserve better than the world has given you." Techno softly muttered, against his forehead.

His warmth against his back and the gentle sunlight on his face. Dream has never more at peace

[that-dreaming-dragon]

Beneath the Same Umbrella: Many Identities, One Community

Directly following yesterday, is this phenomenon prevalent within the alterhuman community, where some define terms too narrowly, or explain and introduce a term in a way that forgets what it actually is about, or completely misinformed about some concept within the alterhuman identification.

I'm talking about the situation where majority of the identity concept is seen only as identify-as nonhuman.

Before I get into the thick of things, a reminder that

Alterhuman is a umbrella term.

Alterhuman does NOT (only) mean otherkin/therian or identify-as.

Alterhuman DOES include human and human adjacent folks.

While we are at it.

-folk suffix is equivalent to ['type] alterhuman. Which means it does NOT just equate to ['type]kin!

Because of how centered the community is on the identify-as nonhuman aspect of alterhumanity, people often talk as if that's all alterhuman is. But just because something is a (arguable) "norm", does not mean it is correct. We are the very antithesis to what is considered “norm”, which the “norm” is not necessary the One Way. Our perspective might make it seem like what's immediately around us to be our personal norm, but we are in a community together.

Like I'd speculated previously, it's potentially hard for some to see beyond the viewing frame where everything is about identifying as nonhuman. And that's okay on a personal level. It's your identity, you can do whatever you want forever. The problem is, there are nuance to these things, and when it comes to terminology which tries to defines experiences that attempts to encompass the whole community, some will fail terribly simply for the fact of this very issue the community face (amongst many others). We, the alterhuman community, are held together by this beyond-the-norm-ness (of this earth's orthohuman society). But each of us vastly differs from one to the other on identification and experience.

Some forgets that alterhuman means "personal identity which encompasses identification that is alternative to the common societal idea of humanity."  - From Orion's reblog of the coining post of alter-human

It doesn't just mean identifying as nonhuman.

It could mean a deep longing for a place you may or may not have ever been to, yet it feels like home.

It could mean feeling as if you the very embodyment of a abstract concept.

It could mean you look and behave and function mostly like any regular orthohuman, yet your very essence screams of wrongness when you walk amongst them on this earth.

It could mean that despite you not being a certain animal, there is still this deep connection with them.

It could mean that the "you" are made up of many splinted selves.

It could mean that you feel all of the above and beyond at the same time, all at once.

Please remember us, remember your fellow funky fella. For we are all experiencing wonders, and the experience is myriad and many.

[gomzdrawfr]

making mood boards as banners reminded me the time I would draw banners for fics

[paradoxical-scribbler]

7 DAY / WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE

WORDS STARTING WITH: I

IDOLOMANIA: obsession or devotion to idols

IKHLAAS: sincerity; great affection

IKIGAI: a reason for being; a reason for getting up in the morning

ILLECEBROUS: alluring; enticing

INAAYAT: kindness; courtesy; favour

INDURATIZE: to resist or harden one's own heart to the idea of love

IRUSU: the act of pretending to not be home when someone knocks at the door

WORDS STARTING WITH: A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I

[lesawrites]

I finished the three day novel contest! I actually think I did really well. I have a decent first draft, especially for being written in just three days. I even had about six hours extra time to edit and rewrite things. Now it’s after midnight and I can’t do any more work on it, and it’s at 23,351 words!

I’m really proud of myself for completing this, especially with how little I prepared for it beforehand. My outline was vague, and I ended up changing a few major things last minute, and somehow I still pulled through. Even if I don’t win the actual contest part of it, which I doubt I will, I’m super happy I did this.