#fickery — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #fickery, aggregated by home.social.
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Wulian week prompts have me thinking about body swaps so. Minific!
It didn’t take long to adjust.
The red eyed sword flashed with even greater enthusiasm.
The silk demon lashed out around them, clearing the space of all who wished them harm.
The one in red had wrapped an arm around the other figure’s waist.
The one in white called and held and kissed the sword.
The dust settled. The ribbon came to wrap around the sword, sliding between the lips and it, proprietary and protective, the end whipping out to push that face away.Xie Lian couldn’t speak, not because he didn’t want to reprimand Ruoye, but because it was the only one not joining in to make this little farce worse. And also his current body did not have a mouth. He gave his best scowl through his one red eye, and hoped Hua Cheng would get the message before he had to use his husband’s array password.
He wasn’t surprised that E’Ming, in his body, would want to repay all the affection he had ever given to it. He also wasn’t surprised about his husband’s response. No matter how much he enjoyed *being a sword* he thought they should resolve the situation before Ruoye did something that embarrassed him as much as E’Ming embarrassed Hua Cheng.
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Wulian week prompts have me thinking about body swaps so. Minific!
It didn’t take long to adjust.
The red eyed sword flashed with even greater enthusiasm.
The silk demon lashed out around them, clearing the space of all who wished them harm.
The one in red had wrapped an arm around the other figure’s waist.
The one in white called and held and kissed the sword.
The dust settled. The ribbon came to wrap around the sword, sliding between the lips and it, proprietary and protective, the end whipping out to push that face away.Xie Lian couldn’t speak, not because he didn’t want to reprimand Ruoye, but because it was the only one not joining in to make this little farce worse. And also his current body did not have a mouth. He gave his best scowl through his one red eye, and hoped Hua Cheng would get the message before he had to use his husband’s array password.
He wasn’t surprised that E’Ming, in his body, would want to repay all the affection he had ever given to it. He also wasn’t surprised about his husband’s response. No matter how much he enjoyed *being a sword* he thought they should resolve the situation before Ruoye did something that embarrassed him as much as E’Ming embarrassed Hua Cheng.
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Wulian week prompts have me thinking about body swaps so. Minific!
It didn’t take long to adjust.
The red eyed sword flashed with even greater enthusiasm.
The silk demon lashed out around them, clearing the space of all who wished them harm.
The one in red had wrapped an arm around the other figure’s waist.
The one in white called and held and kissed the sword.
The dust settled. The ribbon came to wrap around the sword, sliding between the lips and it, proprietary and protective, the end whipping out to push that face away.Xie Lian couldn’t speak, not because he didn’t want to reprimand Ruoye, but because it was the only one not joining in to make this little farce worse. And also his current body did not have a mouth. He gave his best scowl through his one red eye, and hoped Hua Cheng would get the message before he had to use his husband’s array password.
He wasn’t surprised that E’Ming, in his body, would want to repay all the affection he had ever given to it. He also wasn’t surprised about his husband’s response. No matter how much he enjoyed *being a sword* he thought they should resolve the situation before Ruoye did something that embarrassed him as much as E’Ming embarrassed Hua Cheng.
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CW: nonsexual hand worship, I guess?
Shen Qingqiu rolls away with a huff. He may be want to give Binghe all the honesty and intimacy the boy deserves, but that hasn't magically thickened his face. He can still let Binghe creep close and practically hug him.
The words are whispered into his hair. "Shizun, this disciple apologizes."
His face flames red. That address is half of the problem Binghe! He could kill Shang Qinghua over that stupid, invasive, worthless "survey".
Closer again, nearly in his ear. "Shizun..."
Shen Qingqiu says "Goodnight Binghe." With as much finality as he can manage, though in the same breath he takes Binghe's arm wrapped around his chest and laces their fingers together. He tucks his face deeper into the pillow as he gives a little squeeze.
Luo Binghe curls even closer around him. At least Shen Qingqiu doesn't need to worry about getting cold. The embarrassment fades with his wakefulness. Luo Binghe tries so hard, always reaches out. Shen Qingqiu should do more of the same.
Forhead, fingers, lips, everywhere.
He brings Binghe's hand up and plays with the joints, gentle flexure. Luo Binghe's breath deepens behind him. He traces palm lines and knuckles. Shaky exhales tickle the back of his neck. He holds Luo Binghe's hand loosely, hooked over his like he's helping a maiden from a carriage. Shen Qingqiu kisses Luo Binghe's knuckles. Every part of Luo Binghe draws tight, except for the hand in his grasp.
It's weird how much he likes something so specific. Luo Binghe's hands cook and clean and do incredible violence. Luo Binghe's hands hold him. Luo Binghe's hands are strong and capable and have touched him inside and out and if it was practical he might want them on him all the time.
It's not practical.
Shen Qingqiu kisses the pad of Luo Binghe's pinky finger and waits for the gasp to fall into an exhale before he moves to the next finger. He works his way back and forth across Binghe's hand, kissing every pad and joint in quickening rhythm until he reaches the palm. There, he pauses. Binghe already kept his mark there. He places a long kiss over the scar of old misunderstandings. They can't change the past, the pain that's already been written, only move forward with what they have now. He curls Binghe's hand loosely shut and presses one more kiss the the backs of his sheep's fingers.
Shen Qingqiu awkwardly rolls over, staying in Binghe's arms, and gather his sticky bun, sopping with tears, into his own embrace.
What's inside him is too much for words to hold. Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes and kisses very center of Luo Binghe's forehead.
"Goodnight Binghe."
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CW: nonsexual hand worship, I guess?
Shen Qingqiu rolls away with a huff. He may be want to give Binghe all the honesty and intimacy the boy deserves, but that hasn't magically thickened his face. He can still let Binghe creep close and practically hug him.
The words are whispered into his hair. "Shizun, this disciple apologizes."
His face flames red. That address is half of the problem Binghe! He could kill Shang Qinghua over that stupid, invasive, worthless "survey".
Closer again, nearly in his ear. "Shizun..."
Shen Qingqiu says "Goodnight Binghe." With as much finality as he can manage, though in the same breath he takes Binghe's arm wrapped around his chest and laces their fingers together. He tucks his face deeper into the pillow as he gives a little squeeze.
Luo Binghe curls even closer around him. At least Shen Qingqiu doesn't need to worry about getting cold. The embarrassment fades with his wakefulness. Luo Binghe tries so hard, always reaches out. Shen Qingqiu should do more of the same.
Forhead, fingers, lips, everywhere.
He brings Binghe's hand up and plays with the joints, gentle flexure. Luo Binghe's breath deepens behind him. He traces palm lines and knuckles. Shaky exhales tickle the back of his neck. He holds Luo Binghe's hand loosely, hooked over his like he's helping a maiden from a carriage. Shen Qingqiu kisses Luo Binghe's knuckles. Every part of Luo Binghe draws tight, except for the hand in his grasp.
It's weird how much he likes something so specific. Luo Binghe's hands cook and clean and do incredible violence. Luo Binghe's hands hold him. Luo Binghe's hands are strong and capable and have touched him inside and out and if it was practical he might want them on him all the time.
It's not practical.
Shen Qingqiu kisses the pad of Luo Binghe's pinky finger and waits for the gasp to fall into an exhale before he moves to the next finger. He works his way back and forth across Binghe's hand, kissing every pad and joint in quickening rhythm until he reaches the palm. There, he pauses. Binghe already kept his mark there. He places a long kiss over the scar of old misunderstandings. They can't change the past, the pain that's already been written, only move forward with what they have now. He curls Binghe's hand loosely shut and presses one more kiss the the backs of his sheep's fingers.
Shen Qingqiu awkwardly rolls over, staying in Binghe's arms, and gather his sticky bun, sopping with tears, into his own embrace.
What's inside him is too much for words to hold. Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes and kisses very center of Luo Binghe's forehead.
"Goodnight Binghe."
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Shen Qingqiu wakes on Qing Jing peak, just like he has most days since he came here. The light is low and dim and it's still strange to him how effortless the waking is. He never chose to get up this early before, and never could have managed it without at least 6 alarms to prod him along.
Honestly, if he thinks about it for too long it annoys him how easy it is to wake up here in this excessively capable body, in this exceedingly tranquil place.
Shen Qingqiu wakes on Qing Jing peak and his eyes slide open near effortlessly. Slow and easy he wakes.
He blames it on the lack of blue light from all his lost lovely screen time.
Shen Qingqiu is here though, and he doesn't even need to stretch. He hardly aches at all. Without-a-cure subsiding over the restful nights in /their/ peaceful home. It's been worse, of course, since the—
/No. This is a nice morning at home on Qing Jing and nothing has gone wrong yet./
Shen Qingqiu blinks.
He sits and reaches up as his spine lengthens into what really feels like a lovely arch. It still feels good even if he doesn't need it. The lord of Qing Jing peak sits in his peaceful domain and /all is right with his world/.
He can't remember what he meant to do today.
A few confident chirps sound out in the rising twilight. The smell of green and growing things drifts in through the window. The silk sleep clothes slide across his collarbones.
Interruption.
A sound that shouldn't be there. /Just his faithful disciple bringing breakfast!/ The soft scrape of a tray being set on a table.
An embarrassing moment later, he finally realizes what's wrong. He doesn't notice at first, he doesn't realize until—
Any of his disciples might have brought him a breakfast. /His faithful disciple/—
The scent hits him.
He remembers in the next moment, he didn't realize he knew to recognize, the particular gentle clink of tray on table and the soft friction as it's nudged one iota more perfectly into place.
Luo Binghe is the only one who ever did that for him.
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Shen Qingqiu wakes on Qing Jing peak, just like he has most days since he came here. The light is low and dim and it's still strange to him how effortless the waking is. He never chose to get up this early before, and never could have managed it without at least 6 alarms to prod him along.
Honestly, if he thinks about it for too long it annoys him how easy it is to wake up here in this excessively capable body, in this exceedingly tranquil place.
Shen Qingqiu wakes on Qing Jing peak and his eyes slide open near effortlessly. Slow and easy he wakes.
He blames it on the lack of blue light from all his lost lovely screen time.
Shen Qingqiu is here though, and he doesn't even need to stretch. He hardly aches at all. Without-a-cure subsiding over the restful nights in /their/ peaceful home. It's been worse, of course, since the—
/No. This is a nice morning at home on Qing Jing and nothing has gone wrong yet./
Shen Qingqiu blinks.
He sits and reaches up as his spine lengthens into what really feels like a lovely arch. It still feels good even if he doesn't need it. The lord of Qing Jing peak sits in his peaceful domain and /all is right with his world/.
He can't remember what he meant to do today.
A few confident chirps sound out in the rising twilight. The smell of green and growing things drifts in through the window. The silk sleep clothes slide across his collarbones.
Interruption.
A sound that shouldn't be there. /Just his faithful disciple bringing breakfast!/ The soft scrape of a tray being set on a table.
An embarrassing moment later, he finally realizes what's wrong. He doesn't notice at first, he doesn't realize until—
Any of his disciples might have brought him a breakfast. /His faithful disciple/—
The scent hits him.
He remembers in the next moment, he didn't realize he knew to recognize, the particular gentle clink of tray on table and the soft friction as it's nudged one iota more perfectly into place.
Luo Binghe is the only one who ever did that for him.