whatawaytoburn: ([Misc] Question)Screaming loud enough to turn back the wind. ([personal profile] whatawaytoburn) wrote,
@ 2012-04-08 06:54 am UTC
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Entry tags:writing: fic (in comments or otherwise), writing: fic fests, writing: other people's
Crossposts:http://itsonlyburning.livejournal.com/31565.html

Imgame, I believe, by [personal profile] avia I hope she does not mind me using it.

Welcome to the otherkin comment fic fest! Pull up a chair, grab a notebook and start writing! In case yo9u're wondering how this works, it's pretty simple!

1. Post your otherkin related prompt here. They can be anything from 'Person 9is actually a blank' to 'I just want something with Person x as a otherkin'. Both fandom and original prompts are welcome here!
2. Look at the prompts and see if you can fill one.
3. Be excited that there is otherkin fic out there.

We ask that you use warns as you see needed and if you can, pleasepleaseplease spread this around, as we wo9uld love to see the post filled with wonderful prompts and fic.

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whatawaytoburn: ([Angels] Or is she a ghost)


[personal profile] whatawaytoburn
2012-04-08 11:19 am UTC (link)
Sherlock:
John identifies as something other than human
Mycroft identifies as something other than human and is also on the autistic spectrum.

Cabin Pressure:
The reason for Douglas' failed marriages is that his wives fail to understand his true nature.

Slings And Arrows:
Anna is an extremely efficient bird.

And I will come back with others, I should just get some sleep.

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magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Earth in darkness)

Sherlock: John as nonhuman-identified


[personal profile] magistrate
2012-04-11 08:12 am UTC (link)
They were in the Chistlehurst Caves, which had been a pleasant surprise. Not so pleasant from the entire, you know, dead body perspective, but as venues went, all other concerns dispensed with? Being deep in an old mine was the highlight of this case.

Sherlock was prodding about the body, managing (as per usual) to be mercurial and obsidian-sharp at the same time, and he'd narrowed the cause of death down to three possibilities (only two of them murdered) by the time he looked up and noted, "You're not exhibiting any of the physiological indicators of stress, either eustress or distress. Why is that?"

John set his jaw, determined not to reveal that he'd taken that as a compliment. It didn't matter. Sherlock could probably tell anyway. "And you've deduced my corticosteroid levels and read my heartrate out of the echoes amplified off the walls, or something?"

"I won't bore you with the details," Sherlock said, with the tone that suggested he just might. "But–"

"Caves make me sleepy." A quick lie, a necessary lie. "Always have. So. What have you gathered?"

Sherlock went on to explain, with characteristic aloofness, and John listened with half an ear and just half a mind for amazement.

It wasn't that the spectacle was getting old. Well. It was, but in the sense of a classic, turned over and over and still worthwhile at each iteration. But the stone around John was so there and quiet and observing and being that John wanted to sink into it; maybe feel a common amusement running through himself and the walls like a vein of ore.

Home, was the truth knocked out of the lie. Caves made him feel home, in a way his home never had. It was a small, comforting thing – one of those flights of fancy which had struck him as a boy and which, try as he might, he hadn't been able to get rid of as he advanced to a more respectable age.

Which, he thought, but only secretly, might have been a good thing. All his life, he'd been stone – with the occasional tectonic uproar, yes, the occasional eruption – but given the life he'd had? He wouldn't have survived if he hadn't been a stone.

Not that surviving was all that easy as one.

What was that damn idiom again?–the one about getting tears from a stone? Not so hard, when he had to admit it. Or maybe it was blood from a stone, and that hadn't been so hard either. Almost disappointing. No; always disappointing, to be breakable and afterwards healable, to be trapped in convalescence instead of being melted, burned, and shaped new.

He didn't tend to tell people, and was always half-afraid (and with a niggling one-sixteenth-part hopeful) that Sherlock would glance it under his skin, and he'd have to explain to someone whose tolerance for flights of fancy hovered somewhere around his tolerance for Mycroft. (And he would have to explain, again; no, no, I know I'm not a mineral, I did study biology, you know, in that whole learning-to-be-a-doctor thing, I do own a mirror, yes, it's a useful way of thinking, I know it's not rational, but it is effective, and – look, can we talk about anything else? The sport? And of course not, he didn't watch the bloody sport, and John had only ever found explanations that played badly. His therapist thought it was a metaphor, and the other last important person he'd tried to tell had been his father, who'd humored him through one half of his childhood and come damn near to beating the nonsense out of him through the other. Easier not to explain.)

"We'll take samples back to Barth's to confirm," Sherlock said, and John felt a settling resignation. Back up to the surface, then; back to the sun and the bustle and to where he could feel the Earth's irritation about the constant itching on his skin.

(His skin. Everyone called the Earth female, and no disrespect to them, as sex didn't much matter to a stone or even a vast conglomeration of stone boiling away in the middle, but the solidity of the rock buried under his feet had always felt to John like the brother and the father he should have had, should have had. Mother Nature could stay, though, as she seemed eminently female – enticing and strange and familiar and never seeming to like him back.)

"You don't need to take another look before we go?" John asked.

Sherlock turned with a piercing stare, and John tried to look blank. Harmless. Human. "Have you seen something?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Just wondering."

Sherlock studied him, then, not the room, and after a moment seemed to file it in the category Pedestrian concerns, and therefore uninteresting. Small mercy. "I have everything I need," he said, and walked to the police line, holding it up with a certain demand in his gesture. Come on. Work to do, and you're slowing me down.

He'd once described John's thought processes as geologic. John had been offended at the arrogance – being offended at Sherlock's arrogance should have paid; he'd be rich – but he found he liked the metaphor.

That was another thing not to tell.

"Right," he said, and ducked under the ribbon. Sherlock turned and led him back out of the caves, mind already disassembling mysteries far more immediately interesting than his blogger/replacement skull.

While his back was turned – in that small measure of safety – John reached out and knocked his knuckles against the rock wall. Sentimental nonsense, in a man not overly given to sentiment – he knew this. Never searched out or run into another explanation. But it felt good, and right, and he felt a pang of leaving home as they exited into the air.

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(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-12 09:53 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-12 09:59 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] magistrate, 2012-04-13 10:59 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] magistrate, 2012-04-13 10:59 pm UTC (Expand)
avia: A cute cygnet with a happy and blushing expression, drawn in a dramatic cartoon style. (happy cygnet)

[tw: mention of self harm]


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-08 09:46 pm UTC (link)
I definitely don't mind that you use this!


Original prompts:

A phoenix who is thought by others to "self-harm", because zie is fascinated with being burned.

A pearl diver who discovers zir true self when ze comes face to face with a shark.

Children who have been put in a mental health institution, find out that a number of them are otherkin and they form a community together.


Hmm, I don't have many "fandoms", but I would like to see...

Animorphs:
A fic where any character gets trapped in their animal form on purpose, because they really want to become that.

Nobuta wo Produce (haha I bet no one knows this one but!):
Nobuta is actually otherkin, that's why she's so withdrawn from the people around her.

New World of Darkness:
A fic about the Soaring Uplift ritual, where the person who is captured to be in the ritual is otherkin. Described below if you don't know it:

The Distant Ones claim they know who deserves the gift and who deserves to be hunted and killed for invading their territory. Few of the werefalcons seem able to make clear what it is that separates one from the others — a look in the eye? A lofty air? A heart that beats so strongly the birds can hear it from a distance?

When they decide whether the interloper is a potential god or a mere mortal, they make their move. Mortals, the werefalcons either scare away by nipping and clawing at them till they leave, and if that doesn’t work, the werefalcons hunt and kill the poor bastards. Those with potential, however, the werefalcons kidnap. They perform a ritual upon the captured called the Soaring Uplift; this ritual can transform a human into one of these avian lycanthropes.

The ritual lasts for a few hours, and so the victim must remain restrained. During this time, the birds perform several actions upon the bound human. They paint upon his naked flesh with their own plucked feathers, decorating his body in windlike whorls drawn in blood and the egg yolk from lesser birds such as pigeons, crows or sparrows. They screech and shriek over his body as they do so, piercing the air with their bird-like cries. All the werefalcons (three are necessary to complete this ritual) all expend one Essence point and one Willpower point apiece. At the end of the ritual, when his entire body is covered in these spiraling sigils, they blindfold him, gag him and throw him from the highest point of the aerie (at least 100 feet above the ground).

Some don’t make it. They weren’t ready to transform, or maybe the Distant Ones’ instincts were wrong. Those who fail to transform hit the ground or street and die on impact.

Those who do transform do so by spending a full dot of their own Willpower, which gains them a point of Primal Urge. They change immediately in mid-air, usually to the animal form (though occasionally to the hybrid if they’re particularly ferocious or spirited individuals). At this point, they fly.

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whatawaytoburn: ([Words] It was a pleasure to burn)


[personal profile] whatawaytoburn
2012-04-08 10:04 pm UTC (link)
Ohhhhh, I want to write the phoenix and the children at the mental institution (though, if someone else wants to take a crack at it too, I* am not territorial over prompts AT ALL).

<3 Your brain is a lovely place, my dear.

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whatawaytoburn: ([Words] It was a pleasure to burn)

[TW: SI]


[personal profile] whatawaytoburn
2012-04-09 01:08 am UTC (link)
You've always felt right burning, always felt like it's what you were meant to be doing. Your fingers automatically reach for flames, your body relaxes the hotter it gets. Heat and fire and flame is what you want, what you crave.

But you seem to be the only one, the only person who wants this, who needs it.

Your parents fear for you, they always have. They say, "Don't play with fire." They say "You're going to get burned."

And you say, in your childhood innocence. "But I want to get burned."

Later you learn to be quiet, learn about long sleeves and burning on your thighs instead. It's a process, a trial and error game and you still get caught sometimes. They take away your lighters and your matches and anything else you could use to catch yourself on fire. They strip you of what you need and, the longer you gow ithout the burn, the more hollow and empty you feel.

It's not an addiction, you try and explain to a therapist one day. "It's just waht I need.

But they still loo9k at you wrong, still blame you for the things that you see as necessary as breathing. Burning, breathing, it's all the same really. It's just a part of what you need to survive.

And you try and try to tell them, to explain, to show them that it's not self harm but self love, it's joy and release and euphoria.

But they never understand.

And then you grow up, you move out, you are allowed to keep your own hours, your own house, your own scars.

One of your friends, the few that you have, takes you to a fetish club, takes you to the demonstration o9n fireplay.

It's fascinating and strange and wonderful and breathtaking. Your eyes go wide, your jaw goes slack. Someone beside you laughs but you can't even begin to explain how this makes you feel, how wonderful it is.

You reach out, you beg to be burned, to be set aflame, even if it's only for a few seconds. you want the flames on you, you want them up and down your body, and even though you've been shy about your scars, your parents making you so, you shed your clothes in an instant and all but run up to the person who is doing the demonstration.

You smile wide, and you look at her, look at her confidence, look at her radiance.

And you say, in an almost quivering voice. "Are you a phoenix, too?"

She smiles, looking down at your scars and, with a knowing expression strikes her lighter and holds it between her fingers.

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(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-09 02:13 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] whatawaytoburn, 2012-04-09 02:20 am UTC (Expand)
Re: [TW: SI] - [personal profile] karashoo, 2012-04-09 03:46 pm UTC (Expand)
Re: [TW: SI] - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-10 01:04 am UTC (Expand)
Re: [TW: SI] - [personal profile] karashoo, 2012-04-10 03:06 pm UTC (Expand)
Re: [TW: SI] - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-11 12:02 am UTC (Expand)
Re: [TW: SI] - [personal profile] karashoo, 2012-04-12 03:12 pm UTC (Expand)
Re: [TW: SI] - [personal profile] lynnoconnacht, 2012-04-10 06:09 pm UTC (Expand)


(Anonymous)
2012-04-08 10:06 pm UTC (link)
How about a Skin Deep fanfic?
I'd love to see a character that's otherkin and unturned that finds their medallion.

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avia: A cute cygnet with a happy and blushing expression, drawn in a dramatic cartoon style. (happy cygnet)


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-08 11:34 pm UTC (link)
Oh, seconding this!

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somethingfeline: Illistration of a black jaguar happily holding a book in her mouth (book, jaguar)


[personal profile] somethingfeline
2012-04-09 02:47 am UTC (link)
Third-ing this!

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citrakayah: (look to your left)


[personal profile] citrakayah
2012-04-09 04:35 pm UTC (link)
That would be brilliant.

(Reply to this)  (Thread from start)  (Parent) 


Hope this is okay! - [personal profile] fox_witch, 2012-07-05 09:33 pm UTC (Expand)
avia: Text: "feel infinite with me". (feel infinite with me)


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-08 11:35 pm UTC (link)
Oh, one more original fic prompt:

Watching vultures circling over your head, and feeling happy that they will eat you, because then you will be one.

(Reply to this)  (Thread)  (Expand)


TW: Death, mention of some gore-ish things


[personal profile] ghostwings
2012-04-09 02:08 am UTC (link)
Well. You had a good run of it, all told. You got more years than some humans do.

(Not that you're human, exactly. Your body is human, and you've been able to fake it well enough to fit in with humanity, but your heart has always belonged to the desert sky.)

But you're going to die, soon. You've accepted this. It was your choice to travel out here alone, where your cell phone gets no service and there's nobody near enough to reach by foot, even if you could get very far with a broken ankle.

(One slip was all it took. A single careless step onto a faulty foothold; a moment hovering in the air, arms wheeling like a bird's wings; a crash onto the ground beneath; a brilliant burst of agony. You wonder if this was somehow meant to be--if this was always going to be your fate.)

Your mouth is dry, your skin is burnt, and it seems like all the moisture in and around you has been sucked out, but that's an illusion. You know that your body is full of liquids, just waiting to burst forth in a red spring to slake the thirst of a curved beak.

(You'd admired them as you drove up here, the great black-feathered birds riding the hot air above the desert. You daydreamed about suddenly becoming light as air, drifting up, up, until you hovered in the center of their circling, surrounded by the rush of wind and wingbeats.)

You're not alone, here. The vultures soar above you, watching. Waiting. When your end comes, they'll surround you and perform your funerary rites. They will devour you, strip you of the body that was never more than a convincing lie, and, stomachs full, they will take to the sky once more. They will carry you, flesh and spirit, up with them. You will be their new-grown plumage. You will be the blood in their veins. You will be the yolk that nourishes the chicks inside the eggs they lay. You will be a chick, bursting forth, from cramped darkness into unyielding sunlight, and the desert air will dry your downy feathers. You will be a fledgling that unfurls new-feathered wings and leaps, fluttering, from the nest, discovering that the air will rise to catch you. You will be a vulture who circles, circles, in a great dark cloud of your flockmates, seeking food and the chance to free a soul from a body that no longer functions.

Come down, you want to say. Surround me. Tear at my flesh. Let me see you, face to face, before you pluck out my eyes. You are welcome to them. You are welcome to me. The feast has been prepared--come and eat.

Come and carry me home.

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(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-09 02:21 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] whatawaytoburn, 2012-04-09 02:26 am UTC (Expand)
Something itty bitty. - (Anonymous), 2012-04-09 03:03 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-09 03:07 am UTC (Expand)


(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 02:34 am UTC (link)
I would really, really appreciate it if someone could write something about an otherkin feeling ashamed or something similar because they aren't a "cool" animal. (Preferably a pigeon, but anything similar would be okay!)

(Reply to this)  (Thread) 



(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 03:07 am UTC (link)
She cooed quietly on the wall, scratching at brickwork with blunt fingertips.

Even if her nails were longer, they would not curve as those of a true bird would. When brought close into her body, they did not curl inward to grasp tighter onto her perch. Her arms could never be wings. These existed as grievances of the bird-kind. She accepted them even as they gnawed at her like all the pinfeathers she had never grown.

It was not the lack of plumage that grieved her now, nor the faint anger that occurred at the thought of a wolf therian, or a dragon, with legs that worked more akin to those of a human than her own (unscaled, toes unsplit, overgrown, tendons wrong and talons thin). It was not the feeling that chased her always, of needing to respond to instincts that shouldn't be there: the need to always look and see everything about her, the instinct to fly away, the coiled fear when without wings the need to beak-bite came around.

What plagued her every breath as she swayed on the wall, was the feeling of alienation and solitude. As a social bird, this was unnatural on multiple levels. First, the lack of human understanding when faced with her reality, then the (expected) dismissal by the birds through which she identified, but last and most painful of all, the attitudes of otherkin towards her. How...

there could never be a group of birds in her area without there being a predator, how the sites she had tried were populated by wolves, lions, leopards. How no matter where she turned there was another person cursing their popularity and in the same breath denying her existence. "Where am I?" she asked, "If I cannot go there, where can I? Where can I be seen?"

Like always, she had no answer.

She cooed quietly on the wall, and the seagulls cawed back.

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(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-09 03:34 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-09 03:42 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-09 03:52 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-09 05:43 am UTC (Expand)
rein: (hana)


[personal profile] rein
2012-04-09 05:01 am UTC (link)
Dat second image.

I.../might/ be able to drudge something out for this. I feel muse-bunnies forming something. I'm not quite sure what it'll be yet.

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(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-09 05:04 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] rein, 2012-04-09 08:46 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-10 01:03 am UTC (Expand)
for the first one - [personal profile] finch, 2012-04-09 05:38 am UTC (Expand)
Re: for the first one - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-09 05:41 am UTC (Expand)
avia: A cute cygnet with a happy and blushing expression, drawn in a dramatic cartoon style. (happy cygnet)


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-09 02:38 am UTC (link)
Oh, and, because I'm trying to give a lot of prompts for people to use if they want:

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic! A fic where one of the ponies is otherkin. Maybe Fluttershy?

(Reply to this)  (Thread)  (Expand)



[personal profile] thegingerbreadcoffin
2012-04-10 01:40 am UTC (link)
oooooh.... i'd really really like to try writing this! <3

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(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-12 02:20 pm UTC (Expand)
somethingfeline: Illistration of a black jaguar happily holding a book in her mouth (book, jaguar)

Finally made an acount here just for this....


[personal profile] somethingfeline
2012-04-09 02:44 am UTC (link)
Animorphs:
-One of them gets stuck mid morphs forever, either neatly in some anthro form or as something monstrous. Run with it.

-The reactions of therians and otherkin when news of morphing goes public.

Original Prompts:
-Virtual Reality has become nearly indistinguishable from 'reality' only non-human forms have become very common 'in game', for a price. What happens when otherkin, and possibly everyone else, get addicted to the idea of a perfect body? (Was thinking people steal, cheat and lie etc. like a drug addict might so they can afford their next 'fix')

-One day every one wakes up in their ideal body, chaos soon follows.

-One day people start to slowly change into their ideal bodies.

-Day in the life of an insect 'kin


Hunger Games:
-Katniss is/becomes a mockingjay therian.

(will try and write some of my own at some point as well.)

(Reply to this)  (Thread) 


avia: A drawing of a cartoon duck with the text "aw yiss". For good food and things that are exciting! (aw yiss)

Re: Finally made an acount here just for this....


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-09 03:08 am UTC (link)
Ohhh, I really want to see that second Animorphs fic. How people in the therian and otherkin communities, in the Animorphs would, world react to that!

And the Hunger Games idea makes me smile. I would be very curious to see what could come of that.



(Reply to this)  (Thread from start)  (Parent) 



(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 03:41 am UTC (link)
An otherkin falls in love with another otherkin.

Variations:
- one fears the other will not understand and does not know
- the one who falls in love is a predator, the other their would-be prey. How do they reconcile this?
- both are already open about it and interact primally as well as humanely. How do their interactions change?

(Reply to this)  (Thread) 


I apologize in advance for being a rubbish writer. ^^;


(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 05:12 pm UTC (link)
Humans weren't likely to tolerate his eccentricities, more than they already did. He was a strange fellow, who had long decided that since his species was so good at mimicry, perhaps in a past life, he'd mimicked humans well enough to fool his DNA or maybe this was reality's way of having a laugh at his expense, by forcing him to live life as a human.

Well, he wasn't going to let that bother him much, although he sorely missed his wings. So he decided to keep playing at being human, out of spite. When he had to be, he could make a fairly convincing human, when he tired of it, he played it up to the level of parody. If he had to wear clothes, why not wear every colour, bright and bold? If he had to have good manners, why not pick and choose a new set of manners to abide by each day? No, no, that wasn't rude, why it's a compliment in some countries~! If he had to have hair, then why not dye it and style it as he pleases, sometimes up, sometimes down, sometimes flat, sometimes spiked?

He didn't expect humans to want to have anything to do with him. And quite frankly, even if he found them amusing for a day or two, he never wanted very much to do with other humans himself.

It was all well and good, until one day, he decided to pop into a library. To this day, he's not quite sure what dragged him there (maybe it was fate?), as it wasn't a place he normally went, for he was considered too loud and boisterous for such places. He peered around curiously, taking an interest in the colourful books on display. He could tell his current spiked-up do was distracting some of the people reading at the table, as they put down their books to stare in mixtures of surprise and fascination.

He reacted as he always did, taking a theatrical bow and tipping his non-existant hat.

They soon returned to their reading, no doubt remembering it was impolite to stare. He smiled and turned around, wondering how long it would take before he'd be kicked out for looking too wild. He's done a good job of keeping quiet for now, but it wouldn't be long before he'd remember a song or catch an interesting snippet of conversation from the other readers that he'd like the sound of and feel the need to test it on his tongue, maybe in different voices— he can't help it, really, some words just flow so nicely, he can't help repeating them, over and over. Maybe with a different intonation, expressions to match— he must look mad to onlookers, when he does it loud enough for others to hear.

Oh, but instead of anyone wanting to chase him out, the eyes he felt from behind the front desk, only looked interested. A bit shy, judging by how they peeked over a book. The rest of the body, he couldn't really see, as the woman curled tight, drawing her limbs in.

"Hello!" he smiled.

"... hi."

"I was just going to have a look, so if you think I ought to leave, I understand—"

"No, that's alright!" she brought down the book, looking more surprised than he was about her little outburst.

"... sure."

She tried to keep quiet, then, but she did say something about liking how different he looked.

He had a look around and found some books to read, even if no one else seemed willing to sit anywhere near him. He thought it made things easier, like he had his own little barrier to keep uninteresting people away. More room for his wings to stretch!

The only person who ever came anywhere near him, on this and the following visits, and tried to helped him understand how the books were organized was the odd librarian who complimented him.

It started out simply, but he was surprised to find he never got bored of or felt stifled by her company with the passing of days. She never judged him when they were alone, although she did try to keep him under control when he got too noisy in the library. But that was her job, so he never held it against her. At first, he thought that maybe she, too, was putting on an act for the humans.

After all, when they were alone, he was free to be himself. He never felt quite this free in the prescence of anyone but other birds and hard as it was to believe, he really was a social creature, even if human society wasn't one he wanted anything to do with. It was different from what he was used to, so much so, it was almost magical.

But, he was surprised to discover that she was just as quiet outside of the library as she was in it. Very timid. Always wrapped up in plain, subdued shades (she was very fond of scarves, he noticed, and had a habit of wrapping them high enough to hide her mouth and nose when it was even mildly chilly). He liked to feel the breeze against his back and the wings he could've sworn he still had, but she avoided the cold and holed herself up. He didn't mind it much when she snuggled up against him for warmth.

He loved life and he didn't mind having a human body much. He never felt badly about his body, even if it wasn't quite right, except when he stood on a high place or on days when the wind blew so hard he could hear nothing else, when he almost felt like he was being lifted off his feet and if the wings he had were only real enough to support him, he'd spread them out and take flight. Only then, was he filled with the most unbearable heartache and longing.

Only then.

Which is a bit masochistic, when he also felt happiest in high places, so he sought them out, knowing that no sooner would he be overwhelmed with joy at the sight, than be crushed by the realization that he could not take wing.

Now, he could add grimly a new competitor to that painful ache for the best-worst he's ever felt in a single moment, the times when she drew close and he could only draw thin arms around her in an insufficient hug, knowing he could never wrap her in the stronger, warmer and more complete embrace of his wings.

One day, he found out, entirely by accident, that she wore a wig. He was a bit confused, but he didn't question her. She looked somewhat embarrassed, but he was hardly one to judge people by their appearances.

"You're not ill, I hope?"
"No... don't worry."

She didn't sound like she was lying, so he smiled in relief; maybe it was just genetics, he thought. "Right, right, 'don't worry.' Won't worry!"

She put the wig back on. "Do you think I'm ugly?"

"Er."
Odd question to ask someone who dressed like a carnival, but he certainly didn't think so: "of course not! It's a good look on you. Honest! I'm always honest."

She smiled, although she still looked a bit uncertain.

The next time she saw him, he decided to shave his hair, which was something he'd never done before. Hair was a sad compensation for his missing feathers and wasn't spread quite as nicely, nor was it as varied, but he could always colour it and style it different ways. Blow-dry it for a cute, fluffy, downy hatchling look, spike it high for a cockatiel look (he could use blush to finish off the look!). He had a lot of fun with it, so shaving it all off was never something he ever thought of doing.

He couldn't handle leaving it completely bare, so he decided to stick some feathers to his head.

Now, she never reacted badly to the dramatic ways his appearance changed from meeting to meeting... until now.

When he walked in with his shaved, feathered head, she stared at him in shock and hid behind her earthy brown scarf like she'd seen some terrible monster. He had to look behind him to make sure there wasn't some axe murderer or a burglar with a gun standing behind him, politely waiting for him to walk through the door so they'd be trapped in her apartment.

Nothing but air.

He turned back to look at her. He couldn't understand why she looked so terrified, so he shut the door. He thought (perhaps a bit too hopefully) that she wouldn't be offended, because he mimicked everyone and never meant any harm by it. "... well, I thought that since you wore the bald look so nicely, I'd try it too. But I quickly realized I couldn't go without a bit of fluff on top, so I thought the feathers would be a good idea. Oh-- are you allergic? Your eyes are tearing up! Tell me, tell me, what's wrong?"

She caught the corners of the scarf, pulling it higher up over her face, trying to hide her tears, elbows digging it into her sides as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

"I knew it... I knew..."

She didn't talk very much, so he made a point of paying very close attention to anything she said, since it had to be important. But she didn't continue. "You knew, you knew what?"

"A bird! You're a bird."

He felt his shoulders tense up and his wings flap anxiously. His eyes darted to the window and he briefly contemplated diving out of it. But he couldn't fly, he knew he couldn't, and her apartment was on the second floor. Still, he felt exposed and like he should be the one hiding.

"And if I am?" he asked, a bit defensively.

Was that it? Was that all the weirdness she could take? Was this going to cost him her company...?

"I'm an earthworm. I've been scared of birds all my life. My grandmother's birds even nipped my finger when I was a child!"

Oh.

Fate really did love tugging on his tail feathers, didn't it? First, by having him reborn as a strange and noisy earth-bound human, then by drawing him to some quiet library where he would meet and fall in love with the only other person he knew who was not what she seemed to be. And she had to be what his past self would be less inclined to taking out to dinner than to have for dinner. Was that what drew him to her, some sort of leftover hunting instincts that told him she was food? No, no, it couldn't have been.

"... wonder if that's why we've been given the wrong bodies!" he suggested with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "If you knew right from the start, you wouldn't have come anywhere near me, and maybe burrowed into one of your books instead of peeking over it, right?"

She finally seemed to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes.

He came closer, putting an arm around her shoulders and nuzzling her.

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

"'Do you really think so?' Sure! Why not? It's a lot nicer than thinking we're being punished for something. And you know I'd never hurt you... never did before and don't plan on starting."

Knowing that to be true, she pressed closer to him, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent, feeling safe and secure again, worries easily fading away.

"... m-maybe you're right. Maybe that's the reason why."

"Right, right 'maybe that's the reason why.' 'Maybe that's the reason why!' I think so too, never been a romantic, ever, never, never-ever, but I like that! That's the reason why, definitely. Oh, and one more thing," he leaned forward to whisper cheerily into her ear. "I'm a parrot, dear! We're herbivores. Never had a taste for worms, in this life or the one before it. If I'm lucky, I never will! Would you pass the cashews, dear?"

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(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-10 01:01 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-10 04:20 am UTC (Expand)


(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 05:49 am UTC (link)
I want me some crocodile otherkin. Doesn't matter what species of crocodile.

Also dinosaurs. Perhaps velociraptor!kin, but based on the more true-to-life half-feathered large chickenish-sized raptors, rather than the 6ft killers from Jurassic Park?

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redsixwing: Picture shows a red-winged angel staring at a distant blue star. (sixwing)

Crocodile


[personal profile] redsixwing
2012-04-09 09:05 pm UTC (link)
Slow as the river's flow, she slid into the water. Long legs broke the surface and she sank down, instead of running ahead with the rest. They splashed and played in the thigh-deep edge of the current; she went to her belly in the reedy shallows, arms tucked to balance on her fingertips, legs out behind like a rudder, like a tail.

Silent, she glided through the mud and reeds, feeling a scuttling thing dart from her touch. She exhaled, so she would sink, and held her breath until her ears rang before popping just her head up again. Water soothed her back, cooled skin that ached from too much touch, rippled over her in shallow sheets and painted her in patterns of light. She crept closer to the others, moving on just her hands with her eyes barely above the river's surface, wet hair gliding back like weeds, until a splash and a squeal betrayed that she'd been spotted.

"You scared me! Sneaking up like that, you're like an alligator."

Under the water, she smiled, because they were so close.

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Re: Crocodile - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-10 12:58 am UTC (Expand)
Re: Crocodile - (Anonymous), 2012-04-10 10:08 am UTC (Expand)
Re: Crocodile - [personal profile] lynnoconnacht, 2012-04-10 06:05 pm UTC (Expand)
karashoo: (pic#3060182)


[personal profile] karashoo
2012-04-09 03:49 pm UTC (link)
Cool! I'm gonna read this for entertainment and to kind of help me with writing. I'm not so good at writing :s

Can someone write something about a rare therian like a thylacine or some extinct animal and there's not many other therians like them?

I'm gonna post something I wrote, but later.

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Hunting


(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 05:51 pm UTC (link)
Here's the little story-type-thing I said I was going to write. I just now wrote it and posted it, so it's probably not going to be all that good.

The alpha male ran forward in the snow, leaving a path for everyone else to walk in. The pack started off slow, yipping and howling in excitement. The alpha sniffed the ground and continued his fast walk onward. The other wolves sniffed the ground until the beta female caught a scent and yipped aloud. The other wolves' heads came up and their ears perked up. The alpha walked over as the pack stopped and sniffed the yellow snow.
The alpha sniffed the air and growled in excitement. He lunged forward in the snow, fast but silent. The pack copied him and tried their best to be silent, but a young pup yipped. One of the wolves nipped him on the muzzle, and he stayed silent.
They found the herd of deer, and the alpha quickly spotted the injured one. It had a broken back leg. The wolves crouched low and sneaked forward slowly and silently until they were only a few yards away. The pup made small noises, careful not to yip. He had trouble holding it in, but managed to.
The alpha leaped forward and scared the herd, causing them to run. The injured one lagged behind. The pack nipped at its hooves to scare it and make it run faster. They wanted a good chase.
Finally the injured deer slowed too much because he was so exausted. He knew it was his time to leave the herd. He knew when he broke his leg, and he knows now. The pack nipped at him until he fell over, and the alpha stepped forward and howled the last howl the deer would hear in this life, the ancient wolf song the alpha sings to his prey to thank him for feeding his pack. Then he ripped the deer's throat out and began the feast.
One by one, all the wolves stepped up to taste the delicious flesh. Blood dripping from their muzzles, they all curled up by what's left of the deer's body so other predators or scavengers wouldn't eat their prize. They all howled one more song to the Gods above to thank them for their meal. Then they all fell asleep.

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karashoo: (pic#3060182)

Re: Hunting


[personal profile] karashoo
2012-04-09 05:53 pm UTC (link)
I didn't realize I wasn't logged in. Fail. XD And I should've double entered since the spaces won't show x.=.x

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redsixwing: Picture shows a red-winged angel staring at a distant blue star. (sixwing)

Prompts


[personal profile] redsixwing
2012-04-09 09:14 pm UTC (link)
Twilight
I'm more of a hatedom person than a fan (what is the word for that?) but I'd love a fic in which Bella is a vampire, and that's why she so badly wants to be turned. (inspiration: the deconstructions at anamardoll.com.)

Toby Daye (Rosemary and Rue, etc)
Toby is a human, in every way that matters.

The Coldfire Trilogy
Someone is an Iezu. (Doesn't have to be a canonical character, just using that world.)

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avia: A cute cygnet with a happy and blushing expression, drawn in a dramatic cartoon style. (happy cygnet)


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-10 12:54 am UTC (link)
Oh gosh, Bella as a vampire kin would be wonderful, even though I don't like the story, it might make it better for me. ^v^

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(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 10:03 pm UTC (link)
If anyone is willing to write it, how about a swamp person? :)

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magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Earth in darkness)


[personal profile] magistrate
2012-04-11 07:25 am UTC (link)
She moves to the city. The inner city in a city that's been decaying for a long time, because the humidity in the wetlands was killing her, and she had too many ties to this imperfect world to let it.

The place she's in has been charitably described as a "shithole". She's warned not to walk alone, exhorted to get out of there, offered rooms with friends and family who have never made more than a passing effort to understand. She's careful, of course, as you're always careful in a new habitat, a new territory, after a storm, but she can still feel on her skin that the place is a good enough substitute: she's there in the decay where things are broken down, where they can recombine and recreate everything.

-

A week and a half in and she's talking to an old man by the mouth of a smashed-up storm drain that spits up water every time it rains. He's complaining about vegetation clogging the sewers and she's explaining about properly managed wetlands, and how they shouldn't have this problem, any of these problems. The city can't handle the rain and the tapwater's no good to drink. They can't afford cars alongside their food and the air's still no good to breathe. The sun comes down and pounds the pavement like a cop just waiting to mess you up. Sure, the man says, it's dry here more days out of the year, but it'll kill you just as dead.

She says, not if I can help it.

She points out an abandoned lot. She draws up a plan.

She gets her first convert.

-

It's all messy, at first: just how she likes it. They catch the rain as it rushes toward the gutters, and green life rushes up in boxes at the edges of buildings. The people with busted toilets, they teach to make botanical cells. They drag out the junk of empty lots and get plants in there, and the water that seeps out of that soil isn't clear and human-pure, but it's got the right dirt in it, not the bad stuff. They let the filth of the city get gobbled up by that which feeds on it, and the air gets cleaner, and the sun gets caught and held back by the greedy leaves. Sometimes her feet squelch when she walks barefoot in the tuckedaway gardens, and even when she knows her skin will crack and itch for it later, it's worth it for the tiny taste of home.

And in the mean time, she keeps talking with these humans, and more, from other cities, about how the earth replenishes itself. How in all the muck and shade there's an organ of the planet, breathing out air in exchange for all your sins. And she imagines waking up one day, after her body's worn itself out, and trading the sins of her own human life at the altar of the swimming reeds, and becoming part in body of that which she's belonged to her whole life.

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(no subject) - [personal profile] avia, 2012-04-12 09:50 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-12 09:53 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] magistrate, 2012-04-13 11:01 pm UTC (Expand)


(Anonymous)
2012-04-09 10:10 pm UTC (link)
A human and a non-human (whatever you want it to be) fall in love. Usually in stories like this, the non-human becomes a human to be with their love. I would like if instead, the human becomes a non-human so they can be together.

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avia: A hand holding a heart made of snow/ice. (ice heart)


[personal profile] avia
2012-04-10 12:55 am UTC (link)
Ahhh, I would love to see this tooooooo ♥

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(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-10 01:08 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] lynnoconnacht, 2012-04-10 05:58 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-10 07:44 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] lynnoconnacht, 2012-04-14 09:17 pm UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] lynnoconnacht, 2012-06-20 05:57 pm UTC (Expand)


(Anonymous)
2012-04-10 01:32 am UTC (link)
Here, I finished it.
my tumblr is http://www.wewillblossom.tumblr.com/
I'll be posting it there too.

Her eyes didn't use to notice what I was becoming.
She never noticed the way I would preen her feather ruff with my fingers, as if everyone could see them,
Or the way that I would talk to her birds,
not in words, but with melodies she had taught them to sing.
Maybe she started to see when I would follow her into the woods.
She pretended to not hear me, but she would glance back once in a while.
She would climb the trees and stretch her wings,
While I sat on the ground, picking at my cast
From when I was so drunk on happiness
That I was beyond positive that I could fly
She laughed when I came back from the hospital
And so did the birds, although they chortled at my senselessness.
She was beyond thankful that I was alright
But I could see in her eyes, that she was disappointed that she may never make it off the ground.
But I knew she could see my feathers as soon as I returned from the tattoo parlor,
And on my skin was the image of two birds
Frolicking in the air, radiantly in love.
A parakeet, the color of her sapphire eyes
And a crow.
She moved my ebony hair out of my eyes, chirped,
And didn't ask a question more.

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(Anonymous)
2012-04-10 04:24 am UTC (link)
;_;

That's really beautiful!

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(no subject) - (Anonymous), 2012-04-10 04:25 am UTC (Expand)
(no subject) - [personal profile] lynnoconnacht, 2012-04-10 06:02 pm UTC (Expand)


[personal profile] thegingerbreadcoffin
2012-04-10 01:45 am UTC (link)
Homestuck time, ehehe. I'd love to see a pre-SBURB story of Jade being a dog therian. Shyly she talks about it to Rose, her best friend and personal therapist, because she thinks there's something wrong with her. Bonus points if Rose admits to being a cat, and extra bonus if you can somehow make it shippy. c:

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the_flow: fae (or some other kind of winged being) on a swing white wings legs crossed head down (wings)


[personal profile] the_flow
2012-04-13 05:48 am UTC (link)
A couple of prompts:

Disney Beauty and the Beast:
Belle actually doesn't mind Beast being a beast, and prefers him that way. In fact, sometimes she finds herself wishing she were a beast herself...

Final Fantasy X-2:
One of the girls [Yuna, Rikku or Paine] enjoys dressing in their mascot sphere because they secretly identify as nonhuman [preferably as the creature their mascot outfit is, but any works, I guess].

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(Anonymous)
2012-09-27 01:50 pm UTC (link)
Wow is this place dead?

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fox_witch: (pic#5409451)


[personal profile] fox_witch
2012-10-14 08:26 pm UTC (link)
I hope not, but it seems to be?

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