Kcatscribbles

 The bed is all white; the white of fresh paper, of new clouds, of bleached cotton. He is sprawled across it, blankets covering him up to his waist, though one long leg, in its stubborn refusal to be concealed, shows up to mid-thigh. The white pillows have taupe trim: a single line, where the casing meets the hem. It's a warm color, but still greyer than the walls, which are most certainly butter. The bed frame is black ebony, a sharp contrast against the walls and rumpled bed covers. His hair is splayed against a trio of pillows, mashed together and held beneath his head with one bony arm. The spikes are, as always, bright red--red like

”Sing.” Voice rose into the air, clear and strong, throaty and deep, light and airy. They soared with the breeze, winding paths of their own across the sky, leaving trails of sparkling magic behind. ”Play.” The note was unanimous, but the harmonics as diverse as life. Long and sweet, short and saucy, rhythmic and firm, they raced along the earth, resonating in muscles and blood and bones and souls. ”Dance.” Bodies stretched and whirled, testing limits and physics in the limbo between sensical and impossible. Legs split and torsos soared, feet thudded and arms wove, creating balance and asymmetry that wa

 She was screaming, flailing, trying to do something, anything. Something was holding her back, crying in her ear, pressing against her, ordering her. No, Laiute, stop, stop… Neque, neque, Laiute, causte! Laiute… LAIUTE! She had broken free, she was running. The air was hot and heavy, burning her skin, her eyes, and she couldn't breathe. But she was running, fighting, racing toward the fire, and there were screams behind her. Laiute! Casuste! LAIUTE! And then she was in the fire, and it was torture, and she was burning… And then she was out, and there was fire all around her, and it wasn't on her, but that didn't matter,

 Roxas knew exactly how it had all started. He had been sitting in the glaringly white living room, reading a book Luxord had lent him (For once, it wasn't about gambling or hot sex between two muscular, square-jawed, intense-eyed men with heaving chests and deep, throaty cries of passion). Demyx had trotted into the room, sitar in tow, and plopped down on the couch beside him. “Mind if I play?” he had asked. Roxas, who was used to this, shrugged. “Go ahead,” he'd replied, and turned the page. And that is how it all started. Demyx beamed and settled his sitar on his lap, pausing for a second before letting his

 “Gah!” Kaiure hit the boulder with a painful crack. Her shoulder screamed in protest, and she bit down on her lip to keep herself from echoing it as her body thumped to the ground. “Fuckk....” Her hand grabbed the joint, fingers digging into her rapidly swelling flesh as she willed out enough chakra to numb the worst of the pain. The searing, ripping sensation faded to an extremely painful throbbing, and she shoved one of her knees under her torso, using it as leverage to get herself off the ground. “Stupid.” Her foe taunted her, weaving in the air like an obnoxious, fat, purple hummingbird. She glared at h

 Her feet could not stop. Aislinn tore down the corridor, panting as she ran, feeling her heart pound in her ears. It was the dream all over again. That dream, the premonition, the death and blood and fire-red eyes. She felt it pulse in her veins, the fear that had ripped through her when she slept. Now, her feet hit the stone beneath her with almost-painful smacks, the echo reverberating to the sound of her breathing. She knew that it was behind her; that ever-present fear that had been simmering in her stomach. It was behind her, and was approaching quickly. It would not let her be. She stumbled, found her balance, and  continued, h

There are two granite beasts guarding the gate into Royaume. One is a chimera, by the name of Cameth, with a Christian lion's head, a gravely wise goat's head, and a sardonic, knowledgeable, perceptive serpent coming out of her ass. All three heads hold a semi-separate consciousness, and it is the lion's head that holds the name, and therefore the duty of acting as spokesperson for the other two. The other guardian is a sphinx, named Tarel, who, unlike Cameth, is not fused into her molding. She enjoys rising onto her back legs and scratching her ribs just to scare the freshmen who are forced to stop at the gate, waiting for the rest of the