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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

Please could I get poly Nanami and Gojo working together to overstimulation their fem s/o? Thank you nat!!! 🥵

do not look at me

teamwork - nanami x fem reader x gojo (5.4k)

it’s not surprising that satoru gojo wants to turn everything into a competition. even this. still - you’re not exactly complaining.

(warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, use of toys, deep-throating, threesome, coming inside)

Every time you end up with either one of these men, you wonder how it happened. But this time . . . with both of them beside you, hungrily eyeing you, your bedroom feeling very small and warm . . . this time, you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Gojo’s fingers brush across your cheek, turning your face so you can’t look anywhere but into his crystalline blue eyes. You know what they look like under his blindfold, of course – but every time you see them feels like a surprise, like the wind is being knocked out of your sails. He’s too handsome for his own good, and the worst part about it is that he absolutely knows that.

From the other side of you on the bed is a long-suffering, world-weary sigh.

“It’s not a fair competition if you monopolise her,” comes Nanami’s voice.

“Aww,” Gojo complains, not breaking the eye contact with you. “Come on. You’re around way more often than I am, you get more of a chance to monopolise--”

“If we had to see even more of you,” Nanami says drily, “I’m not sure we’d survive.”

“C-competition?” You breathe, even as you feel Nanami’s hand feather light on your leg. “I didn’t realise that was what happening--”

Maybe you had been too breathlessly caught off-guard by the suggestion that the two sorcerers take you home. Too distracted by how handsome they both were when they had kissed you in turn, by how you’d opened the door and tumbled into your bedroom.

You’ve only ever had them one at a time before, their schedules never quite lining up, their various duties calling them away and depositing them back in your bed at a whim. Having both of them on your bed, touching you, looking at you – that feels like a novelty, despite how long these trysts have been going on.

“Satoru’s nature makes him want to turn everything into a competition,” Nanami murmurs, leaning in – you start as you feel his lips on your calf, gently drawing a path higher and higher, feather-light and reverent.

Gojo huffs out a laugh.

“I just know I’ll win,” he tells you. His face comes very close to yours and you feel like you could drown in the starlight of his eyes, his lips curving into a smirk. “Nanamin’s acting like this because he knows it, too--”

He kisses you even as Nanami snorts against the back of your knee. Gojo’s lips press against yours hungrily, as good at kissing as he is at everything else – suckling your lower lip into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth, a taste that’s unmistakably sugary sweet flooding your senses. You’ve learnt from much experience that Gojo always tastes like sweets. The hand on your cheek strokes across your face to grip your hair, tugging it hard enough that a gasp escapes from your mouth to be caught in Gojo’s in turn. Nanami’s kisses have not stopped a moment, higher and higher, on the soft flesh of your inner thigh now--

Gojo pauses to pull back, drinking in your widened eyes and the swollen jut of your lower lip. He’s far too pleased with himself. You manage to put some of your thoughts in order, as strong fingers stroke up the thigh that isn’t being lavished with Nanami’s kisses, to say;

“W-what’s the competition?”

“Aww,” Gojo’s hands are at your shirt, pulling the fabric up over your breasts. He whistles when he sees them; it’s been so many times, and you’re still not over Satoru Gojo being impressed by the way you look. Your cheeks flame at the appreciation raw in his gaze. “It’s way more fun if you don’t know, princess.”

You’ve almost forgotten Nanami is there until you feel lips firmly press against the fabric of your underwear, hot breath obvious even through the cotton. You whimper, your back arching up to seek out more sensation and friction. Gojo sighs, tugging off the fabric of your shirt and throwing it off the bed (possibly to never be seen again).

“You’re wet,” Nanami murmurs, through a mouthful of fabric, at once sinfully close to your slit and too far away from it. Gojo raises his eyebrows.

“Of course she is,” he says, “hot guy like me here, and everything--”

Yes. Too handsome for his own good, and far, far too smug about it--

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Nanami asks, raising one eyebrow, pulling back from between your thighs. You make a soft mewl of displeasure at the movement, and he turns his stern gaze to you. “Be good, sweetheart. I had to take these off, didn’t I?” Big, calloused fingers slide under the waistband of your underwear to tug them down your legs. For a moment, the cloth clings uncomfortably to the slickness of your folds – and then, you’re bare to Nanami’s hungry eyes (and Gojo’s, though he seems far more interested in your upper half right now. You guess Nanami is having his turn at whatever this competition is first--).

“Look at you,” he murmurs, soft and low, admiring. He’s not the kind of man who throws out compliments willy-nilly, but you can still hear it in his tone, and it makes you go all over hot and needy.

“You’re gorgeous,” Gojo says, not to be outdone – and there’s a man who does throw out compliments. Nanami is right in that he really doesn’t shut up; but when the things spilling out of his mouth are about how good you are around him, how nice you feel, how pretty your face looks when you’re about to come – you’re much less bothered by Gojo’s habit of running his mouth. “I’m going to make you feel so good – you’re not going to be able to walk for a week after I’m done with you, doll--”

“We’re going to,” Nanami corrects. His hands land on your inner thigh, thumbs gently teasing the outer lips of your sex apart so that the slick folds are exposed to the cool air and the eyes of the two men in your bedroom. You shift, both uncomfortable and aroused by being so open and revealed to them – but both of them are looking at you hungrily, like two predators who are about to pounce.

You forget how dangerous they are, sometimes. You are so used to them as colleagues and friends – Gojo’s occasional childish whims, his laughter, his schemes, and Nanami’s sternness, the surprisingly caring heart beneath all of it – that you forget that their bodies are all raw power, their minds sharply trained weapons.

“Is that a promise?” You breathe, and for that you win a bright laugh from Gojo and a tilt of the lips from Nanami, a huff that would pass as laughter in a court of law.

The latter settles himself between your legs and you can’t help the rush of electricity that goes through you seeing him there, a fizzling spark that settles low in your stomach. His shirtsleeves are pushed up to reveal corded muscle in his forearm, his tired eyes still hungry as they drink in every inch of you like you’re a meal that he’s about to very much enjoy.

(Coincidentally, you’ve seen Nanami before he tucks into a meal he’s looking forward to, and it’s very much the same appreciative air – you, food, a piece of art . . . his gaze is equally appreciative).

“You’re very slow,” Gojo says, a lilt of laughter in the back of his voice. Nanami doesn’t rise to the bait as his face comes very close to your sex – you twitch under the gaze, the hot wash of his breath over your sensitive folds.

When Nanami’s tongue darts out to taste you, it sends a spiralling shock wave that you feel from your shoulders to the tips of your toes. You exhale softly – and, clearly spurred on by the soft little noise, Nanami’s tongue darts out again for a longer lick.

Gojo sighs, but when your unfocused eyes stray to him, his own gaze is locked upon where Nanami is bent with his mouth against your sex.

The tip of the latter’s tongue flickers over your clit and you mewl, heart skipping a beat. He’s being so slow – teasing you, making you incredibly aware of every wash of his breath and slight flick of his tongue. Your stomach ties itself into knots at just how good it feels – Nanami is always good at this, but having Gojo watching is clearly making him want to impress even more. This is far slower and more teasing that he usually is with you.

It’s not bad, by any stretch of the imagination – you’d argue it’s better than usual – but that doesn’t absolve the fact that you want more. You move your thighs so they’re over Nanami’s shoulder, intending to try and pull him against you – but big strong hands come to rest on them, Nanami’s grip stopping you from doing anything so rash.

He pulls back from between your legs for a moment, the glimmer of your slick on his lips, as he says;

“I told you to be good. Let me be in charge.”

There’s authority in his words that you can’t argue with – so instead, you let out a frustrated little moan. Nanami’s smirk is obvious as he presses a kiss to your clit.

He teases you for a few minutes, his tongue slowly lapping at you with nowhere near enough pressure for you to be satisfied, until you’re flushed and squirming under every brief twitch of his tongue. Only then does he pull you in a little closer and let the broad flat of his tongue slide across your sex entirely, making your toes curl and your thighs twitch and your eyes flutter closed at just how good it feels to finally have his full attention.

You’re surprised that Gojo isn’t complaining more about having nothing to do – from your experience with the man, he likes to always have himself occupied. He’s not usually prone to sitting still – at least, not without much complaint. When you do manage to look at him through the hazy veil of ‘oh, fuck, Nanami’s mouth feels amazing’, though, he’s watching Nanami with eyes of a hawk.

Right.

They’re having some kind of competition, and you know that Gojo hates to lose--

Nanami does something with his tongue, a flourish over your clit like he’s painting calligraphy, and your eyes snap shut as your hips stroke up to meet him and you come for the first time, a pleasant wash of heat and snapping pressure making your entire being feel light and floaty for a moment.

Nanami’s mouth does not stop for an instant. You know he must feel the wetness coat his chin and the twitch and flutter of your sex, but your peak does not stop him – his tongue just moves lower, pushing inside of your quivering entrance--

“Fuck,” you whimper aloud. Your toes are curling. Your hands fly up to Nanami’s hair, twisting within the strands, dishevelling him. “K-Kento, I’m-- I already--”

He pulls his tongue out of your channel only long enough to murmur;

“I know,” and then he is continuing the onslaught, the tip of his tongue imitating the action that you wish his cock were taking, thrusting in and out of your sex. Your walls try and tighten around it to suck him further in, but his tongue does not act in the same way as a cock and it’s not enough--

He alternates between the two, moving from clit to entrance to clit again, flickering his tongue and thrusting it until you’re wondering how he can even manage to keep moving it, he must be aching . . . Occasionally, he wraps his lips about your clit and sucks and you just about lose your damn mind from how it feels.

You lose track of how many times you come, weakly pulsing around him. The glide of Nanami’s face against your sex is so wet that you think it will be a miracle if you don’t have to change your sheets after this. You must be a puddle between them, every flicker of his tongue and puff of his breath against your overstimulated slit making you whine and whimper and moan.

Tears bead in the corner of your eyes as Nanami finally – finally – surfaces for air. His face is soaking wet, the aftermath of your various orgasms also staining the collar of his shirt dark with damp. You don’t know if Nanami is really done, even then – but Gojo takes the opportunity to bounce, unrestrained energy, and push Nanami away so your thighs fall from his shoulders.

“Come on,” Gojo urges. “It’s my turn--”

“Satoru,” you say, weakly. “I’m—I need a minute-- I don’t think I can--”

But his fingers are already on you. He swipes them through the mess of your sex (half with Nanami’s saliva, half with your own slick, both of them so mixed together you can’t tell what’s you and what’s not), delighting in the way your form twitches under the onslaught of sensation.

“Sure you can,” he says. “You’re so good for us--”

His fingers are cool against your heated skin. The hand that isn’t resting over your sex moves over your breast, squeezing the curve of your skin – you sigh, arching into the touch, letting him pinch your nipple between thumb and forefinger at the same time as he gently slides one of his fingers inside you.

It’s still not enough. He fits inside you without a single ounce of resistance, knuckle deep – more solid than Nanami’s tongue, reaching further and deeper, but still not filling you up as much as you want to be filled. You thrust your hips to make sure that he’s buried in as deep as he can go and he chuckles, giving the pinched nipple a good-natured tug that sends an electric surge to the pit of your stomach where another orgasm is already building.

You didn’t know you could come again. You thought that Nanami had pulled every ounce of pleasure you were capable of from your body already, but here is Gojo Satoru to prove you wrong once again--

“You want another?” He murmurs. “I thought you couldn’t . . .?”

The last words are said mocking and smug, and if you didn’t want even more of his fingers inside of you you would slap him. Instead, you simply moan and hope that he takes it as the permission that it is. Gojo knows you too well to misunderstand, and can see that you’re enjoying yourself too much to withhold (not to mention Nanami, watching him – he can’t help but want to assert his dominance even more when the junior sorcerer is around), so with the next thrust of his fingers he scissors you open with a second.

You whimper, but your body greedily welcomes them inside of you. They’re long and good, rubbing against all of the patches of your inner walls that have you seeing stars. You’re incapable of real thought right now, with Gojo’s fingers buried so deep inside of you. All you can think of is the stretch of him, the feel of him, his knuckles. With every thrust of his fingers your sex makes wet, slick noises that would be shaming if you weren’t so far gone.

You’re not ashamed of how good you feel right now. You’re not ashamed of the rocking of your hips as you help him along, fucking yourself on his fingers just as much as he’s fucking you with them. He bends his head and wraps his lips about your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive little bud, at the same time as his thumb strokes across the swollen pearl of your clit and the string inside of you snaps.

You don’t know what number orgasm this is, but it feels like the first one all over again as you cry out Gojo’s name into the ceiling. His lips leave your nipple with an audible pop, turning to where Nanami is sitting on the bed. At some point, he lost his ruined shirt, and your eyes blearily fixate on the scars on his side and the muscles in his shoulders. God, it’s unfair that he hides his body like that--

“She never said your name,” Gojo says, smugly. You want to reprimand him, but you can’t speak – your throat feels dry and sore, your heart beating loudly in your ears. Gojo must be able to feel it, too, where he’s still deep inside you; the heartbeat feels like it’s reverberating all through you until you can’t think of anything else. Gojo lets you ride out the final pulses of your orgasm with his fingers buried inside you.

If you think that he’s going to pull his fingers out of you, though, you’re deeply mistaken. He lets your body stop weakly pulsating around him, and then his thumb is back to drawing circles around your clit. He knows better than to touch it straight off – but the feeling is still half-good and half-ache, more than you can handle so soon after coming so hard. Your hips wriggle beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps. He slides his fingers half-out, and then pushes them back in, already halfway to establishing a rhythm.

Oh, oh, oh. It’s so much. Gojo leans his head to kiss your neck, teeth scraping across the sensitive hollows of your throat, spending a moment to suck a lovebite into your skin that you know you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. Three fingers are inside you, and Gojo is just getting faster.

His thumb stops being so delicate and drags across your clit, leaving a trail of fiery hot pleasure. Tension coils in your gut all over again.

Too much, it’s too much, all of your body is on fire – you can’t, you can’t, you can’t--

You want him to stop. You don’t want him to stop? You’re trembling all over like a tautly pulled violin string, ready to snap. How is he going so fast? How are you taking it? Three fingers stuffed inside you and you’re ready to fall into pieces--

Nanami moves, pulling your head onto his knee as Gojo continues to fuck you open with every pump of his hand.

“C-can’t,” you whimper, arching up into Gojo’s fingers. You’re soaking wet everywhere – your brow is beading with sweat, your sex so slick that it’s a wonder those fingers don’t slip out of you with every hungry flex of Gojo’s hand. “I can’t come again, Satoru, please--”

You don’t want him to stop despite the protestation, hips still hopelessly pumping up in greedy search of friction. His thumb has not ceased the assault over your swollen clit, every brush of the digit sending shocks throughout your body. Your mouth is open to take great hungry, gasping breaths – it’s a wonder you managed to form any syllables. Nanami is bent over you with a hand stroking your hair, but there’s a hungry frustration in his gaze as he watches Gojo fuck you with his fingers.

You know that the other man wants another turn – but you’re honestly not sure if you can take it.

“Aww, don’t be like that!” Gojo chirps, and his hand gets faster, which you didn’t even realise was possible. Your fingers fist into the bedsheets below you throwing your head back, panting. “Of course you can come again, princess! You’re just about to, actually--”

You hate him for being right. The ball of tension in your stomach is so tight it’s almost painful, pulling at you from all angles ready to unravel once more. One little mean grind of Gojo’s thumb against your clit has you falling again, slick walls of your sex clamping about the three fingers buried inside you, a gush of wetness soaking him even further and making Gojo exclaim in delight.

Your chest heaves with effort. Gojo pulls his fingers out of you with a weak pop, followed by a little pour of your slick that he was plugging inside you. The white-haired man brings his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you – he tilts his head back, savouring the taste.

“Sweet,” he tells you, with a grin. “I could get drunk on you.” He turns to Nanami with a challenge in his face. “Did I win?”

As competitive as Nanami can be sometimes, you also know that he’s willing to admit when he’s beaten. You’re expecting the younger sorcerer to sigh but ultimately agree with Gojo’s words – you’re not expecting, above you, Nanami’s face to become something that’s all fervent ruthlessness.

Nanami moves to your bedside drawer and opens the second one down. Your face grows heated. He knows what’s in there, because you’ve experimented with using them in the bedroom before – but still! Having him go in there of your own accord!

Despite the panting and the sweating and the fact that you feel like you’ve been pushed to your limit already, seeing Nanami holding the bulbous headed magic wand toy sends a jolt of arousal right to your poor swollen sex.

“That’s cheating,” Gojo says hotly, pouting as Nanami gently pushes him out of the way to settle between your thighs instead. “I win by default!”

“If you want,” Nanami says, measured. You gasp as he presses the smooth head against your clit without turning it on, the cool, smooth sensation making you squirm even without the vibrations that you know are coming. “Perhaps it would be more fun if we worked together.”

A flash goes over Gojo’s face, as he tips his head to one side in consideration.

Nanami moves the toy again, still turned off – sliding it along the wet slit of your sex, to where your opening is pulsing and fluttering to be filled by something more substantial than Gojo or Nanami’s fingers and tongues. You shudder at the bolts of heat that it sends all through you. You’ve come – what, four times? Five? Almost too many to count – but you still feel so achingly empty, you still feel as though you need to be properly held down and fucked. You’re at once overstimulated and nowhere near stimulated enough, and your hips jerk with every slow measured rub of the toy against your slit.

“You admitted it,” Gojo crows, but he watches Nanami’s slow teasing of your heated body nonetheless. “I’ll remember that. But . . . if you really think we should work together . . .”

“Alright,” Nanami says agreeably, far more entranced by you and unwilling to be pulled into Gojo’s games.

Gojo moves onto the bed, over your head. You watch him undo his pants with hazy, unfocused eyes – still too far gone to make sense of anything that’s happening around you except how good the cool head of the wand feels on all of your slick, hot folds and how your entire body is still fizzling with pleasure.

When he pulls out his cock, it’s clear to see that you’ve had an effect on him – the swollen head, all pink and slick, the pulsing shaft.

“Is that for me?” You ask, and Gojo laughs at just how out of it you still sound. He supposes that the best way to describe it is ‘cockdrunk, only you haven’t taken any cock yet’ – pleasure soaked, unreal, all satisfaction and greedy arousal.

“Do you want it?” He asks, teasingly. “I’d like to give you it, but I’ll wait until you use your words, pretty girl--”

You open your mouth to speak at the same time as Nanami flicks the switch on the toy, and whatever affirmation is about to spill out of your slack mouth is lost in the wail.

It’s too fast, too soon, against your poor clit that’s had enough stimulation for a year – and you can feel your orgasm hovering at the edge of your vision in moments. You try to clamp your legs shut to stop it being so overwhelming, but Nanami is too settled in between them.

Gojo uses the open-mouthed moan to slide the head of his cock into your open mouth, groaning as if in relief when your lips seal around it. Anything to distract you from the persistent buzzing of the toy between your thighs. Anything to stop you coming again, embarrassingly quickly--

Gojo’s hand strokes through your hair tenderly as he murmurs softly;

“Good, fuck, you feel amazing--”

Your body and heart do a flip at the praise. From the glint in Gojo’s eye, he’s remembered how well you respond to praise – and your sex clenches hungrily around nothing in response. You drag your eyes from Gojo to look at Nanami, still between your legs, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he studies your sex and how it’s clenching and pulsing and dripping even with the toy pressed against your clit.

You can see the thick outline of his cock pressing against his slacks – but Nanami is far more focussed on your pleasure than his own right now. He’s always been better at holding himself off than Gojo is.

“Hey,” Gojo says. “Keep your eyes on me, let him do whatever he wants . . . I deserve that, for winning, huh?”

You drag your eyes back to Gojo as you keep sucking at his cock. You whine around it – and there’s Nanami again, flicking up the intensity the barest notch. You whine around the shaft, making his cock vibrate with your hums, your tongue sloppily sliding along the salty slit. “Oh, fuck – you’re gonna come again? Ha-a, guess both of us is . . . a bit much--”

You do. You come again, your back arching – Nanami grabs your waist with one hand to keep you anchored against the bed, your thighs still unable to close as a pleasure-painful orgasm is wrung out of you. You’re not going to be able to walk for a week, Gojo was right.

Somehow, there is still enough liquid in your body to soak the bed beneath you again, though you feel like after the amount that the two have brought forth from your body you ought to be a dry husk where you lay.

“Good girl,” Nanami purrs, and you’re helpless under the onslaught of him turning the toy up one more time. You can’t come again, you can’t you can’t you can’t--

And moments after the last orgasm you do, your legs shaking wildly. Nanami has the sense to pull the toy off you this time and he’s treated to the full view of your empty hole clenching around nothing. The scream of pleasure is lost to Gojo’s cock – his hips thrusting against you, the head bumping against your throat. You wish you could concentrate on anything but the fire between your legs. You’re in pieces, feeling like you’re floating through stars, not properly anchored down anywhere--

Maybe you pass out for a moment, but your tongue is still moving against the meat of Gojo’s shaft and your heart is still beating a frantic rhythm and aftershocks are still ricocheting through you when your eyes manage to refocus and you remember where you are.

“I need to--” Nanami murmurs softly, and you hear the zipper and button of his trousers. He’s almost apologetic as his cock rests at your entrance. You make a soft noise of encouragement around Gojo’s cock and Nanami seizes upon it with relief, your entrance welcoming him inside its wet, tight embrace without a fraction of resistance.

You’re still utterly overwhelmed in the best possible way, sore from coming over and over again, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to leave the two of them high and dry. You redouble your efforts on Gojo’s cock, tongue tracing line where his cock head and shaft meet and winning a groan from him. You hollow your cheeks and suck as Nanami begins to establish an even pace, the slick glide of his cock inside of you sending pleasant shivers all through your body.

Gojo’s hips chase every suck, his breath beginning to sound unsteady in his chest. His mouth is moving and you know he must be talking to you, but all you can hear is the slick wet sound of Nanami’s cock driving in and out of you and the pound of your own heart in your ears.

Gojo’s cock twitches in your mouth as the only warning before he’s coming, thick spurts down your throat. You swallow reflexively, practically sucking him dry and making Gojo groan and whisper your name like a prayer. Part of you feels smug about the heated way his voice sounds as you suck the very final shivers of his orgasm out of him, wondering if he feels even half as drunk on it as you did after all the times he’s made you come tonight.

He pulls out of your mouth in time for Nanami to grab your face and kiss you, seemingly uncaring about the fact you must still taste like Gojo. Nanami always likes to have his mouth pressed somewhere against you when he comes, almost as if he’s embarrassed of the breathy groans he makes as you push him over the edge. His hips stutter, his even strokes turning into ragged plunges of his cock into you, and you use your energy to give his lip a nip as you feel him come inside of you with weak pulses. The way that his pelvis grinds against your clit with his final thrust is enough to push you over the edge one last time, your channel throbbing feebly against his as the final, quieter orgasm washes over you like waves lapping at a seashore.

He stays there for a moment, gasping against your lips. You suppose he did wait longer than Gojo did to finally be touched, even after touching you first, and you wonder just how much he was aching to be inside of you by the time he finally got there.

You’d be willing to let him lay there forever, if he wanted to – unfortunately, that feeling is not mutual on the part of everyone in the bedroom.

Gojo clicks his tongue.

“You can’t stay there forever.” He says. “I want to cuddle.”

Of course he does. Nanami groans as he rolls off you, his softening cock popping out of you with a wet noise. You should clean up – the bed beneath you is already soaking wet, your thighs soaking and uncomfortably sticky, Nanami’s come oozing from your hole as press your thighs together. But . . . if you do stand up, you think you will just fall over. And Nanami’s chest looks inviting, perfectly positioned for you to just shift an inch or two and rest upon it . . .

Cleaning up can wait. You stifle a yawn, the bed dipping as Gojo chases the way you move towards Nanami, as if he cannot bear for there to be space between any of you.

“Do I get to decide who won?” You ask, sleepily, resting your head on Nanami’s chest as he sighs and allows it, running his fingers through your hair. Gojo grumbles, locking his arms about your waist and pressing his cheek against your bare back despite the fact you know you must be sticky with sweat. Despite the sigh, Nanami’s hand is fond, his posture all relaxed, a quiet kind of satisfaction in every line of his body.

“You’re probably the best judge,” he says.

“I thought we already decided,” Gojo whines. “Nanamin cheated--”

“I think,” you say, ignoring what Gojo is saying (which you have long learned is one of the best ways to deal with him when he gets prideful and arrogant). “You both won. Teamwork was definitely superior.”

“Hmm,” Nanami says. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

Gojo shifts, hugging you tighter, his body pressed as close to you as is humanly possible. Your bed isn’t really comfortable for all three of you to embrace like this, but in between them you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Say whatever you want to make yourself feel better,” he says, all dignity. “I definitely won.”

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yanderemommabean · 3 years

Note

A Yiga attacks you, drawing blood. A mighty roar sounds in the distance, and not even a minute later, a feral Sidon emerges from the water, enraged and ready to kill. With a few well-placed snaps of his powerful jaws, Sidon has ripped the Yiga to shreds. When you get back to the Domain, Sidon is livid with you, berating you for trying to run away.

Tears run down your face uncontrollably as the Zora prince begins screaming at you, angry and ballistic as his stance makes you feel small and pathetic. You honestly weren’t trying to do anything! All of this started because of a misunderstanding and he won’t even take a second to listen to you!

Words are stuck in your throat as he sighs and turns around, too angry to look at you. You’re always starting trouble! Always ignoring his warnings! Why is it so hard for you to listen?!

“Sidon please I wasn’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“If you would just listen to me-“

“I SAID I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT!” He snaps, eyes turned to slits as he glared at you, mouth formed into a snarl “I don’t want to hear another word from you. You’ve deliberately disobeyed me and nearly gotten yourself killed! Unless the next words from you are an apology you can keep quiet for the rest of the day”.

You clench your fists, his words hurting and making you feel like a child being scolded. “If I knew you would treat me like a fucking child I would’ve let the Yiga kill me. I’m so tired of you acting like I can’t take care of myself. Fine. You want silence? Have it”.

Dramatic theatrics always pissed you off, and Sidon having the gall and audacity to act like he was scolding you out of love was asinine and grating on your nerves. Perhaps you should have been the one shredded by his teeth, at least then he’d actually do you a favor.

Not being allowed to go anywhere, be allowed to do anything, or even be allowed to speak your mind was absolute hell! You’re so fucking tired of it! If he wants to play games and be emotional then you can too.

Childish? Yeah but nothing about this situation was mature or on a level of calm and collected.

Hours go by, and you’re examining the bruises left by the attack as you sit by the waterfall. Another Zora guard is by your side, and he seems to want to say something but only nervously rocks on his feet as you stare down at the waters below.

“...He’s just looking out for you...you know?”.

You make a noise, looking up at the pale green Zora as he clears his throat and looks away. “The prince. He’s not doing it in the best way but...he just really cares about you and your well-being”.

You shake your head, not believing a word the fish said. “He’s got a funny way of showing it. That’s for fuckin’ sure” you bite out, looking up where the prince was pacing back and forth in the throne room. He still seemed livid and feral, but there was a hint of remorse behind those usually kind eyes.

With a sigh, the guard nods his head, toying with the shaft of his spear “The prince has had many hardships that he had no control over. You’re the closest person he’s been able to have in centuries. He doesn’t want to lose someone important again. I know he goes about it in a strange way, but you must know it comes from a good place”.

Sure. A good place. Right.

What’s so good about being treated like an incompetent child? Or being blamed for something you had zero control over? No, Sidon is just being cruel and controlling. Nothing sweet about it.

The Zora could tell you were hard set on brooding and frowing. Understandable given your circumstances. However he felt the need to try and cheer you up, even if just a little.

“Perhaps now that things have calmed down...you two could try to talk again? I’m sure even if you have choice words to say, it’s better than giving him the silent treatment”.

“HE’S THE ONE WHO WANTED ONE!” You spit, splashing the water slightly with the gesture you made with your hands. You huff, seeing the look on the guards face and turning to face the waterfalls again. “He won’t listen anyway. He’s mad at me and I’m tired of him. He only cares about how he feels, not about how I feel”.

“That’s not true, my pearl” a familiar, deep voice replied. You stiffen, turning to face the larger, more colorful Zora. Even now his eyes still held anger, but not for you. No he was angry with himself for letting his emotions take over, allowing instinct to muddle what he was truly trying to say.

He hurt you, and he can’t forgive himself. He swore to protect you and all he has done is smother the light you used to shine.

“...” you say nothing, turning back around and trying your best to stay silent. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shrug your shoulders as the only attempt at communication. Sidon nibbles his lips as he plays with his fingers nervously, debating on how to apologize and approach you.

He too stayed silent, giving a head tilt towards the guard to leave his post. Once the other left, he sat down in the waters beside you, drumming his fingers on the floor as his lips pout in thought. The sky was turning into a beautiful twilight, and the moons light casting upon you only made you look even more stunning. He could see the bruises made on you, and his chest ached knowing you were hurt.

You had defensive signs all over you. Signs that you didn’t go with the Yiga warrior willingly. Marks that proved you were scared and needing his protection and all he offered in return was anger and blame.

“...I’m sorry...” he said softly, eyes lowered “I...I thought you and the yiga...I...well-“

You cut him off, not looking in his direction as you finish what he was struggling to say “You assumed I was teaming with the enemy. I know” you bitterly state, fingers clenching your elbows as your arms were folded over, cradling yourself as a form of comfort. “Shows how much you trust me....”you weakly added, voice cracking.

Guilt was bubbling inside of him. He’s known you for so long yet he let his insecurities taint his image of you. And look where that’s gotten him! Your warmth was dying out because he can’t seem to realize that you aren’t like the others. Sidon knows you aren’t fragile and that you’ll always be by his side, but time and time again he ignores these facts over his emotion.

It goes silent again, the crickets chirping in the distance being the only noise for a while as he watches your face glimmer in the starlight. Amazing and breath taking as ever. His hand reaches over towards you, gently laying ontop of your own, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“I can’t take back what I did. But I can say that it’s eating me alive and that I hate how it even left my mouth. And...I want you to know I do care about you. I know I’m controlling and intense and unreasonable...and the fact you haven’t tried to kill me yet is amazing “ he jokes, smiling when he sees the little bit of amusement etched into your face.

You squeeze his hand and give half a smirk “well...you make up for it when you let me get away with stealing snacks from the store...so I’d say it’s even”.

Both of you share a soft laugh, and you swing your feet over the falls as you clear your throat. “I-I know you’re just worried about me but...Sidon, I’m not some fragile toy. I’m not some bad guy either. I wouldn’t ever do anything dangerous and despicable like join the Yiga...or leave you”.

Sidon lowers his head, pressing it against Yours as he holds your clasped hands to his chest. “I know...I know and I’m such a fool for thinking otherwise. I’ll make this up to you darling, anyway you want! Just say the word and it’s yours!”.

You gently kiss his cheek, and give a soft breath in thought. “Anything?”.

He nods in affirmation “Anything.”

You grunt, standing up to maneuver onto his lap “Well...for now just hold me. I’ll think of something extravagant later. Deal?”.

He laughs, holding you closer and nodding his head “Deal”.

-Mommabean (was this ok???)

#yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #Yandere prince Sidon #Yandere fluff #Yandere breath of the wild #Yandere legend of Zelda #yandere exophilia #technically #Yandere botw #Yandere princes are pretty great #Mommabean #Zora bean #Yandere Liz

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hotfrost · 3 years

Text

i hated brambleclaw’s nine lives ceremony so i fixed it at 4am please don’t kill me if this is badly written

also major spoilers for the first four arcs, and there’s some violence in here. (this is also what would have happened if brambleclaw wasn’t an asshole)

Brambleclaw shivered.

The night was clear and bright- Silverpelt shone high above the two of them. A single star twinkled brighter than the rest, its glow more warm than any other in the sky. Firestar, is that you?, Brambleclaw wondered, feeling the familiar pang of grief for his mentor. It had been only one moonrise since the former leader’s death, yet Brambleclaw missed him like he hadn’t seen him in seasons.

“Drink the water.” Jayfeather prodded him and Brambleclaw snapped back to reality. He glanced at his son for a moment. It was hard to think that once the ThunderClan medicine cat had been just a tiny kit in the nursery, mewling for his mother. Brambleclaw felt a rush of affection for the blind tom. I was wrong to abandon you, he thought, regret surging through him.

Then he obeyed and bent down to the Moonpool. The water was crystal clear and the closer Brambleclaw’s nose got to the water, the colder he felt, a harsh freezing sensation that carried from his face to his tail-tip. Still, he drank from the pool and the water rushed through him, filling his body with memories. He felt his eyes began to droop.

“You’re sleepy. Let it take over.” Jayfeather sounded different, unlike himself. Drowsily, Brambleclaw realized he hadn’t ever taken the time to speak to either of his children after Hollyleaf had died. His heart ached for the black she-cat; he missed her the most. The briefest thought of her made Brambleclaw want to wail like a newborn kit calling out for his mother.

Then he closed his eyes, and sleep crashed over him like a wave on the lake.

When Brambleclaw opened them, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t standing on the ground anymore. He looked down to see he was floating in midair, his feet dangling helplessly below him. Everywhere he looked, he saw stars.

“You can put your feet down, Brambleclaw.”

Brambleclaw turned, eyes widening in shock. Bluestar stood in front of him; he had not seen the ThunderClan leader in many moons before the Great Battle. She looked young and strong and happy, the opposite of how she had been when Brambleclaw had been just a kit in the nursery. She walked towards him, tail swishing happily. Starlight dotted her blue-gray pelt and her eyes shone.

“Welcome to StarClan, Brambleclaw,” she said softly, but her voice carried through the void that they stood in. As Bluestar spoke, eight other cats appeared on her sides. Brambleclaw was sure his heart must have stopped.

He recognized most of them, but before he had a chance to call out to them, Bluestar dipped her head to him. “It is an honor to be giving you your first life,” Bluestar mewed solemnly. “With this life, I give you clear sight in hopes that you may use it to lead your Clan fairly.”

She placed her nose on Brambleclaw’s head and he was thrown off balance by the force of his first life. It roared through him like a blazing fire, and he could have sworn he felt like he was drowning. This must have been what Bluestar had felt as she died, he thought.

Bluestar pulled away. Then she added, “I am sorry I was not able to do this during time with you.”

“That’s not true,” Brambleclaw said quickly. It was true, but he had too much respect for the old leader to say so.

Bluestar said nothing. She stepped back and another she-cat took her place. Her pelt was as black as night and she purred as she approached Brambleclaw. “Hollyleaf!” he breathed, his mew just barely audible.

“Brambleclaw,” she said serenely. She seemed calmer, more collected, in StarClan. More like the kit Brambleclaw remembered, before the tunnels. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I miss you,” Brambleclaw said. He wanted to speak to her, but he knew Hollyleaf only had one job tonight.

“With this life I give you justice.” Hollyleaf raised her head, and Brambleclaw thought she looked more like a leader than he would ever look. “Use it to punish those who deserve it, and look after those who look after others. Be fair in all your judgements and never be cruel,” she finished, and touched her nose to his head.

Another burning life flowed through him, although this one felt good. Brambleclaw felt himself punishing the wrongdoers and looking out for his Clan. It burned like white-hot rocks did, or as if he were looking straight into the sun. He staggered backwards, caught off guard by the force of the life.

When Hollyleaf looked at him again, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Is she thinking of Ashfur?

His daughter left. “Hollyleaf, wait!” he cried, trying to go after her. But something was keeping him in that spot, rooting him in place.

“She’ll be waiting for you.” The next voice was one Brambleclaw knew well; it was the same voice that had soothed him in the nursery and defended him against the Clan. Goldenflower padded up to him, her long body shimmering with the stars.

“With this life I give you compassion,” Goldenflower whispered. “Use it not only for your own children, but for your Clan. They are all your kin now. Love them as a parent, as a brother, as a mentor. They are your family.”

Her head came to rest on Brambleclaw’s. This life was much less painful than the last two. It felt like a fire as well, but instead of a blazing hot one, this one smoldered and burned quietly inside him. Brambleclaw knew he was feeling Goldenflower’s love- for him, for Tawnypelt, for his father, and for her Clanmates. As the fire inside him died, he stumbled and stared at Goldenflower, a cat that had risked so much for him, a cat that had held so much love inside of her.

His mother walked back to her place among the starry warriors. Brambleclaw wanted to call out to her too, but he held his tongue, and gasped as the next cat walked up.

“Sorreltail?”

The tortoiseshell molly gave him a wistful stare. “I know what you’re going to say-”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Brambleclaw blurted out, fur bristling in shock. “What- why are you here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brambleclaw.” Sorreltail purred, and her gaze turned sad. “It was my time. I’m okay with that.”

“I’m not!” Brambleclaw said indignantly. “What in the name of StarClan happened?”

“It’s not important.” Sorreltail seemed very focused on giving Brambleclaw his life. “With this life, Brambleclaw, I give you patience. As a leader, it is your job to understand your Clanmates, and to never become frustrated with them. They are your family and your responsibility.”

With that, Sorreltail put her head on top of Brambleclaw’s; he had to duck for her to do so. The life that went through him this time was calm, and soothing. This must be what patience is, Brambleclaw thought. He would do his best to watch after his Clanmates. For Sorreltail, and all the others they had lost.

The next cat to step up was one Brambleclaw admitted he had been expecting. Mousefur dipped her head to him, looking younger and livelier than he had ever remembered her in life. She was like a kit again, looking as if she were about to burst with excitement. “Mousefur,” he said warmly, coming up to the molly.

“Brambleclaw.” Even her voice was different. “Welcome.”

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Purdy misses you, you know.”

Mousefur sighed. “I know,” she said, her mew distant. “But we will meet again, in this life or the next.”

“I’m sure he would be happy to hear that.”

Mousefur shook her head. “Never mind that, I’m here to give you your life!” Her yellow eyes glowed, and Brambleclaw recognized the cat he had known since he was a little kit. “Brambleclaw, a give you a life for listening to your elders. We may be retired, but that doesn’t erase our importance. Elders carry the stories of the Clans, and without them we would never know our own history.”

Brambleclaw took a shuddering breath as Mousefur touched noses with him, and the life that passed through him left his knees shaking. His mind flashed, and he knew he was seeing the elders. There was a fire, a raging fire, and a little brown kit. That’s me. This is Patchpelt, he thought. The elder who had died in the fire that had killed Yellowfang so long ago.

Then he saw a rabbit, and his stomach growled. In the distance, he heard the muffled sounds of his Clanmates. But he was so hungry... if he just... ate it. This is Dappletail’s memory.

Then it was Longtail, the cat who had become an elder far to soon, and here he saw nothing. The world was black and voices beat down on him from every side; they were so overwhelming that Brambleclaw wanted to curl up and mewl like a kit.

Last he saw Purdy, and Brambleclaw realized he was fighting. He was battling against a big dark tom, and with a sudden jerk he was picked up and thrown across the camp, and then-

The memory faded. Brambleclaw stared at Mousefur, dazed. The brown molly just gazed back calmly, nodded, and went back to join the ranks of her starry Clanmates. Goodbye, Mousefur, Brambleclaw thought sadly. He didn’t know when he would see her again.

If hearts could break, he was sure his did as he saw the next cat walk up. “Ferncloud.” He wanted to run to her, the cat he had known since he was a kit, one he had grown up with.

The gray molly padded up to him, her eyes bright. “Brambleclaw,” she purred. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you to,” Brambleclaw breathed, wishing that he didn’t have to watch her leave. “Dustpelt misses you.”

“I miss him too.” Ferncloud dipped her head. “I miss him, and my kits. But I have a life to give you!” she purred. “The life I give you is for understanding that it is not just warriors who have a part to play in the Clan. Even though we may not add food to the fresh-kill pile, we raise each apprentice, each little kit, as our own. Honor the queens, Brambleclaw, for we are the ones who give you life.”

Brambleclaw let out a shuddering breath as Ferncloud’s life hit him. He had expected this one to be gentle as well, but he was surprised with the ferocity that it hit him with. He saw Ferncloud, battling for her life against Brokenstar, and Sorreltail, defeating Darkstripe. Then he saw his own mother, defending a young Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt from the Clan. You’ve all done so much for us, he thought.

But Ferncloud’s memories didn’t stop. He saw every kit that his friend had ever raised. Brambleclaw had thought it would only show her own kits, but no- he saw Spiderleg and Shrewpaw, and Squirrelflight and Leafpool, Whitewing, and then Hollykit and Larchkit who had died so young, and then Birchfall, the only surviving kit from her second litter. He saw his own kits, Jayfeather, Lionblaze, and Hollyleaf along with Foxleap and Icecloud and Cinderheart and Honeyfern and Poppyfrost and Molepaw. He saw Blossomfall and Bumblestripe and Briarlight, and Cherrypaw and Molepaw and Amberkit, Snowkit, and Dewkit and Lilykit and Seedkit, and Brambleclaw thought he might collapse if he had to see any more.

But there was more. He felt Ferncloud’s fierce loyalty to the nursery, he felt how bravely she had defended the nursery. Brambleclaw felt her pain as she saw Hollyleaf’s unmoving body lying in the camp, her pain as the Clan had found Ashfur, her pain as they had buried Brindleface. She’s been through so much.

The memory cut to black and Brambleclaw jumped back in shock. That’s where she died, he thought.

Ferncloud said nothing, but her eyes glimmered like stars. Brambleclaw didn’t even know what to say. What could he say?

As Ferncloud padded back to her new Clanmates, another cat came up. “Feathertail.” His long-departed friend approached, starlight dappling her beautiful gray pelt. “It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, my friend,” Feathertail agreed. “With this life I give you courage. Use it to guard not only your own Clan, but also all the cats who need it.” As she touched noses with him, Brambleclaw knew Feathertail was thinking about how she had given her own life for the Tribe of Rushing Water. You were the bravest of us all, he thought.

This life was a roaring, raging storm that ripped through him like claws and Brambleclaw stumbled. He knew what courage was- yes, he saw it in his Clanmates and in his leader, and in Squirrelflight and Hollyleaf. He knew it well.

As Feathertail began to walk away, he cleared his throat. “Where will you go now?” Brambleclaw’s voice faltered. He didn’t want her to leave yet.

“I walk two skies now, my friend,” Feathertail replied, turning her head. “We will see each other again.”

Brambleclaw found that a vague and rather frustrating answer, but he nodded silently and stepped back, waiting for his next life. There were only two more to go, if he was counting right. He couldn’t help but wonder who would give his last lives to him.

He couldn’t have been more surprised by who came up. The small black and white cat looked up at him, and Brambleclaw was surprised. He had never been this small in life. He always remembered looking up at the apprentice. “Swiftpaw,” he whispered, taking in the sight of his brother who had died so long ago.

“Brambleclaw,” he purred. “Clan leader. Who would have thought?” His voice was young and high, but Swiftpaw sounded so much wiser.

“I certainly wouldn’t have.” He kneaded at the starry ground, still feeling awkward. It was as if there was no floor; it was unnatural. “I wish you’d been here.”

Swiftpaw said nothing, but moved forward to touch noses with him. “With this life I give you mentoring,” he said. “Raise each apprentice to be the best warriors they can be.” Then he paused. “I gave this life to another leader, a long time ago.”

Brambleclaw gasped. Firestar? he thought, and looked around for the leader.

But he had forgotten about the life Swiftpaw was about to give him in his shock, and he was pushed back by the force of it.

His vision blurred and suddenly Brambleclaw was standing in his brother’s paws, snarling at a huge, vicious dog. Through the corner of his eye he saw Brightheart, a much younger Brightheart, standing next to him.

There was a growl and a clamp of jaws and it was over.

Brambleclaw stumbled, reeling from the force of the life. “Brother...” he panted, at a loss for words. Swiftpaw’s death had been so terrible, so brutal. But the apprentice didn’t respond.

“One more life to go,” was all he said before joining StarClan once more. Brambleclaw didn’t even get a reply.

Only one to go! And Brambleclaw was sure he knew it would be.

He had expected it, of course, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised when a familiar flame-colored tom weaved his way through the warriors of StarClan. He was much bigger and stronger than he had been in the moons leading up to his death. The ginger tom looked like Brambleclaw remembered him as an apprentice.

“My apprentice,” said Firestar warmly. “My deputy.”

“Firestar.” Brambleclaw’s voice was thick with emotion. He had missed his mentor more than he could say. He saw Jayfeather raise his head at the edge of the starry clearing, staring straight at them. “Are you here to give me my last life.”

“Yes, I am,” Firestar said, his forest-green eyes glistening. “My life is a life for nobility.”

Nobility. Brambleclaw exhaled softly, watching Firestar continue.

“Long ago, I had an apprentice,” Brambleclaw’s former leader began. He had no idea who Firestar was talking about. “She was a bright, energetic cat, and I trusted her with my life, even after she was no longer my apprentice.”

He’s talking about Cinderpelt. Brambleclaw leaned forward, intrigued. A storm of emotions raged inside him, making him shake at the feet.

“Afterwards, I mentored my own kin. And despite his shortcomings as an apprentice, he is one of the finest warriors I’ve ever had the honor of knowing.” Firestar was talking about his nephew, Cloudtail. Brambleclaw frowned. What was the point of his speech?

“As I mentored Cloudtail, I met a young cat who looked far too much like someone I knew.” Brambleclaw held his breath. He’s talking about me.

Firestar’s eyes rose to meet his, expression stony. “And I held that against him. Yes... I did. I held that against him for a long time, until he was faced with a choice. A choice to join his father, who looked so much like him, or to stay and fight for his Clan. And he chose the second one.”

“I should have seen it then.” Firestar’s mew was hollow. “But I didn’t, not fully. It wasn’t until I had gone on my quest, named him after his father. I didn’t realize until he brought us to our new home. And I realized that what a good leader he was.” Firestar paused. “And I couldn’t blame him for hesitating to kill me on the lake that sunset. I would have killed a cat who had never trusted me.”

Brambleclaw was shaking. How could he tell Firestar that he blamed himself for that day, for that life Hawkfrost’s fox trap had taken from him? How his hesitation was the reason Firestar wasn’t with them anymore.

“What are you saying?” Brambleclaw asked thickly.

“I’m sorry, Brambleclaw. I’m so, so sorry.”

Brambleclaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“For never trusting you. For being so foolish. You’re one of the noblest cats I’ve ever known.” Firestar’s voice was shaking.

“No.” It was so sudden that Brambleclaw hadn’t even known he had said it. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“What?” Firestar didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“I’m not noble,” Brambleclaw hung his head. “I spent most of the past few seasons avoiding my responsibilities, as a father, as a deputy, as a mate. And I’m sorry.”

Firestar didn’t say anything, just listened.

“You’re the noblest warrior I’ve ever known, Firestar,” Brambleclaw murmured. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t be half the cat you were.”

Firestar still said nothing, just touched his nose to his former apprentice’s.

The life that rushed through him was Firestar’s. It was all his.

First Brambleclaw was a little kit, sitting on the fence of a Twoleg nest. He was looking out at the forest, his paws itching to jump into the trees. Then he was fighting a younger Longtail, one that could see and he beat him. And there was Bluestar, and with a shudder Brambleclaw recognized his own father. As he followed Firestar’s life, he saw Silverstream, Feathertail’s mother, dying. And Cinderpelt in the medicine den with Yellowfang, who he had only known for a few moons. And then Cloudtail, and Sandstorm and Firestar rushing to rescue him.

And with a startle, Brambleclaw saw himself, a tiny, mewling kit hanging from a tree, with flames rising up around them. He jumped out to grab Bramblekit and carried him out of the camp. The scene changed, and Brambleclaw was watching his own apprentice ceremony, and Sandstorm’s anger. Then there was Stonefur’s terrible death, and now Tawnypaw had gone to ShadowClan with Tigerstar.

Brambleclaw watched as Scourge ripped every single life from Tigerstar, and felt Firestar’s shock. He watched in horror as Bone crushed Whitestorm, the most loyal of Firestar’s warriors, and saw Graystripe’s appointment to deputy. Then there was a long pause, and Firestar was leader of the Clan, finding out that Squirrelpaw and Brambleclaw had disappeared. He watched as ThunderClan had fallen apart- Brambleclaw saw Dappletail die, and then Hollykit and Larchkit and Shrewpaw. He felt Firestar’s agony as Graystripe was captured, his sadness as the Clans left the forest and Ravenpaw, Firestar’s other closest friend.

But there was also happiness. Brambleclaw was still in Firestar’s body, giving Squirrelpaw her warrior name and making Birchpaw an apprentice.

But the sadness came again, as Cinderpelt died and Graystripe was declared dead and he was bleeding out on the beach... bleeding, bleeding... and Brambleclaw saw a dark brown shape standing over him. Two of them. Panic rose up in him as the throbbing in his throat worsened. I’m going to die here, he thought.

But he didn’t die.

Brambleclaw, still in Firestar’s paws, watched three little kits stumble into camp, golden, gray, and black. He felt Firestar’s pride as he watched his kin, but also his hesitation. There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws. Then his body broke out into a coughing fit. This is the greencough. And then Sol appeared, his menacing eyes staring right into Brambleclaw.

And there was a long time of peace and happiness after that, until a shadow fell over the lake and Brambleclaw turned fearfully to see Tigerstar standing behind him.

There was a flash of lightning and Brambleclaw was released from the memory.

And it had pretty much confirmed it for him, that Firestar was the noblest cat he had ever known.

But Firestar seemed to make no comment about what Brambleclaw had said before. The flame-pelted tom stood up tall. “I hail you by your new name, Bramblestar. Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

Bramblestar! The rest of the cats broke into cheers of his new name. Bramblestar turned to his leader.

“Go well, Bramblestar,” Firestar murmured. “I will be with you, always.”

#brambleclaw #bramblestar #firestar #jayfeather #hollyleaf #goldenflower #tigerstar #feathertail #ferncloud #sorreltail #mousefur #bluestar #somewhat of a fix-it #fic**#warriors #warrior cats #i wrote this in ten minutes forgive me

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imaginethiswithcoffee · 3 years

Note

Hey ;)) about coping thru mentally transporting myself to other universes, i felt that. I wanna request if youre into that - 10 x usual type of reader u write but a bit cockier with her romantic history. Slightly based on lyrics to wicked game - chris isaak, she's never felt genuine love before (and tells that to him bery nonchalantly), and he believes shes not genuine abt it, not in actuality bcz of her history, but because .. that dude hates himself. Good hurt comfort ending though. So yeah!! no issue if you dont want to tho, tysm either way ❤️

Hey! Thank you so much for this request – it’s my first one so I was incredibly excited! Hope this matches your expectations (also, loving the song choice!). I really really really hope you like this!

(Title from ‘Wicked game’ by Chris Isaak)

No one could save me but you.

Words: 887

You hung your legs off the edge of the Tardis, watching nebulas swirl in front of you with grand tones of blues and purples. It was stunningly beautiful, and you could only imagine the years these stars must have lived through. Seen others blink out, explode and die, seen planets swirl and stars shine brighter than anything. The Doctor was sat next to you, watching the nebula with a deep look in his eyes. It was like the world – no, the universe – was on fire, illuminated with cold blue flames. You could stare at it till the end of time.

You didn’t know exactly when your gaze shifted from the nebula to the Doctor, but after some time you started tracing the same nebula in his warm brown eyes. He was still staring out at it, and the thoughts whirring around in his ever-restless brain were practically tangible, radiating off him in pulsing waves.

The Doctor wasn’t like the usual men you’d been with. He was… softer. Stranger. Different in every nature but in a blindingly good way. He was him. It was the only way you could think of to describe him, indescribably him. A hundreds of years old alien with enemies everywhere, and a Tardis that could take them anywhere in the world. The man who took you on adventures, who took care of you when you needed it, who you held back when he needed it. She’d been with people before, different people. Some she’d liked, some she’d desired, some she even thought she loved. But there was a galaxy between think and know, between might love and did.

“What?”

The Doctor’s confused voice pulled her from her musings, and she found him staring back at her, brow furrowed. You tilted your head softly, tasting the words on your tongue before you dared say them. But you’d never held back before. Said what you felt, talked about love, exes, futures. You weren’t going to start now. “I’ve never been in love before,” You started nonchalantly, accompanied by a vague shrug of your shoulders. The Doctor looked startled by the subject, but you continued on. “Not truly. I’ve been with people, people who I’ve liked, but not loved. Not really loved. Not like this”

The Doctor paused. He’d gone still and there was something whirring behind his eyes, something he wouldn’t let bubble to the surface. “This?” He repeated slowly, and you gave him a soft smile.

“This. Never loved someone like this before.” You murmured, watching him carefully. You couldn’t decode whatever was going on in that head of his, buzzing through his thoughts. “You – you love me?” He murmured in a voice that was almost unrecognisable as his. It was… nervous? You’d never heard him sound nervous before. “Yes.” You said, and you, you were confident. Because looking at him, right here, right now, in the glimmering starlight, you’d never been more confident about anything in your life.

And then he smiled, softly, sadly. “You don’t love me,” He said quietly, shaking his head. There was something breaking behind his eyes, and your heart broke with it. “Not how you think. You can’t?”

“Why?” You challenged, leaning forward. He rubbed a hand against his eye, fingers brushing back to comb through spikey hair. “Because you can’t. I’m not right for you,” He looked at you earnestly with deep eyes. For a moment, he held your gaze. When he broke it you watched him turn to the stars again, little lights illuminating his face, the circles reflected in molten brown. “I’m not-“ His shoulders deflated. “You can’t love me,”

“Doctor,” You said softly, trying to tilt your head to meet his eyes. “Look at me,”

Delicately, you reached a hand out and brushed your fingers against his cheek. Finally, finally, he looked back at you and his eyes glistened. “I love you,” You repeated, and now you’d said it you couldn’t get enough of the feel of it on your tongue. The way the words fell so naturally. “You are the only person I’ve ever loved. Truly, truly loved. And I know you think you’re not worth it but you are. I love you and nothing is going to change that,” You said firmly, not looking away from him, not even for a second. “And I think, even if you don’t want to admit it, you love me to,”

The Doctor reached up and gently covered her hand with his. “Of course, I do,” He whispered. “But you – you and me – I could get you hurt. And we can’t last forever, one day…” His voice trailed off and you smiled tenderly at him. “I know. But that doesn’t mean that we can have the most wonderful time, while we have it.” You whispered back, breaths mixing with his in the starry air. “Because I’m right here, right now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You leant forward, softly reaching up to press your lips to his. He melted into you, deepening the kiss like it was something he’d been waiting to do for centuries. You fit together perfectly, finally, lips moving softly and eyes fluttered shut. The stars shone down on you, and you may not have forever, but it was going to be a wonderful time. You just knew it (and he did too).

#10 x reader #10th doctor x reader #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #tenth doctor x reader #doctor who x you #the doctor #dw #tenth doctor #tenth doctor x y/n #tenth doctor imagine #imagine #doctor who imagine #dw imagine #tenth doctor fluff #tenth doctor h/c #reader insert

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nonbinarychaoticstupid · 3 years

Note

What petnames do catra and adora use??

okay KJHSKJXSMN i've forgotten if this is for the prompt thing or not but if it is. here you go :D it's pretty rambly and unedited and kind of abrupt, but i quite like it!

tl;dr/miles what the fuck: catra calls adora babe ironically and 'starlight' when she's tired and soft and probably falling asleep. adora calls catra moonlight/sunshine/anything like that pretty much constantly but also to embarrass her in public. the both call each other 'baby' in like. extreme times of crisis and more specifically when one of them needs comforting, mostly after a nightmare or panic attack. also i think they occasionally call each other 'love' but very rarely and where no-one can hear them.

Catra hates it when Adora cries.

(It reminds her too much of being a kid, of the times when Shadow Weaver would punish her or take away her food, and Adora would curl around her on the narrow bottom bunk and cry into her shirt until they both fell asleep and she'd have to scramble out of her grip before someone would come in and catch them. It reminds her of the war, and every single time she'd catch sight of Adora gazing at her with tears in her eyes from the opposite side of the battlefield.

It reminds her of Prime's flagship, of endless empty space yawning behind her, of Adora crying as she reached across infinite light years and then of her mind buzzing blank, falling, falling -)

Well, she hates seeing her upset in general, but - but seeing her like this - it's worse. It's worse than anything else, worse than waking up next to her and knowing she's having a nightmare, worse than hearing her call out for her in her sleep, worse than seeing her broken body in her own dreams.

"What happened?" she whispers, and Adora buries her face in her shoulder and sobs.

"Don't die," is what comes out. "Please don't ever leave me like that. Please - please don't go anywhere."

Oh.

Shit.

Catra starts stroking her hair gently, easing it out of the ponytail they still haven't progressed to letting down at night, rocking her back and forth in her arms, because - because it's the first thing she can think to do, and because it's the safest thing can do, and because - because -

"Please," she says - sobs - again, hands tightening in the back of her shirt.

Catra presses a small kiss to the top of her head. "You won't get rid of me that easily," she murmurs, and it feels like a promise. "You're stuck with me now."

Another muffled sob.

Oh no.

"Um," she begins, and Adora shifts deeper into her arms, burying her face in the crook of her neck like they're little kids again and she wants to be hugged until she dozes off. Come on, think like Perfuma. "Hey, deep breaths. Focus on me, okay? I'm right here."

"Right here," she repeats in a small voice.

(Is that a good sign?)

"Right here," Catra echoes. "Will you - will you try taking some deep breaths?" I'm fucking it up already -

Adora lets out a tiny, breathless noise, somewhere in the back of her throat, and she feels it against her collarbone. "I - I don't - I c- Catra, I -"

Shit shit shit shit -

"I know," she says instead. "I know, baby, I know. I know it's hard, but I promise you'll start to feel more in control if you try it. Will you do it with me?"

A moment passes, and Catra can still feel Adora trembling against her, and then she lets out another choked noise and heaves a deep, unsteady breath.

Another, rattling out of her lungs.

Another, steadier this time, and Catra joins in with her.

"Good," she murmurs. "Good - great. You're doing better than me. Which isn't hard, admittedly."

Adora laughs. The soft, broken kind of laugh, the kind of laugh she's used to dreading, because it almost always comes with a breakdown of some kind. And the breath she takes comes out slower, more stable. Catra smiles into her shoulder.

"Y- you - you sound like - like, uh - Perfuma."

"Well, I sure hope so. I don't spend all that time around her for nothing."

Another laugh. Adora wipes her eyes on her elbow and shifts slightly, resting her cheek against Catra's collarbone. "'S s'posed to be free therapy, baby."

"Girlfriend training, you mean."

"Mmrgh."

Catra is the one who laughs, this time. "Your Melog impression is coming along nicely."

"Mmf."

"I love you. D'you want to talk about it, or...?"

Adora makes another non-committal noise, tucking herself securely into Catra's arms. "Got to or I won't stop thinking about it. I think you already know what I was dreaming about."

"Mm."

"It was - it was really - it was terrifying. It's always terrifying. I hate - I hate this, I hate feeling - stars -"

Catra presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I know, love."

"Please don't die. Like, ever."

"I think I'm legally obliged not to. Glimmer would murder me."

A moment flickers by. Adora laughs, hollowly, and falls into silence. Something prickles at the back of Catra's mind and she adds, "I doubt you'd let me, anyway. With the whole She-Ra healing thing. Which, by the way, you've done twice before."

Adora sighs. "I know, it's just - I - what if - what if you get hurt, and you're dying, and I can't call her and I can't control it and I - I just have to sit there and I can't fix it and you -"

Oh, no.

"Hey," she says gently, and the girl in her arms starts to shake again, and she's definitely fucking everything up this time - "Hey, can you look at me? Or around me, or something? Just - focus on me right now, okay? And do the breathing thing - yeah, definitely do the breathing thing - uh -"

Adora heaves another shuddering breath, burying her face back in Catra's neck. "J-just - I - I only just got you back, I can't - I can't lose you again -"

"I know," she tries. "Believe me, I know. I promise I'm not going anywhere." She fumbles for Adora's hand, laces their fingers together. "See? I'm right here. With you. Nothing's going to happen to me - to either of us. I won't let it. Melog won't let it. Glimmer and Bow and your weird obnoxious talking horse won't let it."

Adora huffs against her collarbone. "Obnoxious talking horse."

"Obnoxious talking horse. Still don't know his name."

They both laugh a little at that. And then - "You think you're not helping," Adora mumbles, smiling into her shirt. "But you are. You're helping. By being here, you're helping, I swear."

"I don't feel like I am -"

"I love you." She reaches up to tap Catra's nose, like she used to when they were little kids. "You're helping. You're talking to me and doing the big cuddle thing you know I like and you're purring and it's nice and you're nice and I love you."

"'M not purring," she mumbles, decidedly not purring, and Adora giggles and pokes her nose again.

"You're adorable."

"You sound like you're drunk. Are you drunk?"

"'M exhausted," she sighs, slumping down in Catra's arms. "And thank you. For talking me down from that."

"I didn't do anything." (I felt - I felt helpless. I just sat there and tried to make you laugh and then you started crying again and I didn't know what to do so I just started saying stuff and now you're -)

"You did," Adora says softly, and she's still tired and broken and crying, still curled up against her like she's the only thing left in the world, and when Catra starts stroking her hair and rocking her gently in her arms she breathes out, long and slow, and murmurs, "I just - wanna - I just wanna cry for a little bit. I'm so -"

"Stressed and tired and tense. I know. You can do that. I'm here."

Adora gives her a small, relieved look, and folds into her arms.

(Catra tries not to stiffen, to react visibly when she starts crying properly, taking deep, shuddering breaths that sound like she's dying in her arms all over again. Stars, she hates it when she cries, and she hates it when she cries like this - like the world is ending, like she's in pain, like -)

"I know," she says instead. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know."

(Adora holds her tighter, buries her head in her shoulder again, and she hopes it's enough.)

They stay like this for a while, curled around each other in a shaft of moonlight, and she listens to the fucking love of her life cry in her arms, and feels completely, utterly useless.

And when Adora falls silent - when Adora falls silent -

"You okay?" she says, breathlessly, awkwardly.

"Mm." Adora lifts her head, settling it against her collarbone again. "'M fine now. Thank you."

"For what?"

She shrugs. "For being here. For being you."

Oh. Huh.

Catra hesitates, and then kisses the top of her head in response. Ugh. Fuck.

"Can... can we lie down? I'm so - I just - I don't want to think anymore. I just - I want to sleep. So badly." She laughs, a little brokenly, and when she glances up at her, her eyes are full of some indescribable emotion that tugs at the base of Catra's ribcage.

"Yeah," she whispers back. "Yeah, we can do that. We can sleep in tomorrow as well if you want."

Adora smiles. "We can?"

Catra smiles back. She really is cute. "We can. I can get us the day off."

"Without resorting to violence?"

"No promises."

Catra kisses her awake.

It's almost midday when she finally opens her eyes, more caught up in the feeling of Catra's lips ghosting over her forehead than anything else, and laughs.

"Good morning."

Catra grins down at her. Her hair is hanging in her eyes and curling at the nape of her neck, and Adora thinks that, lit by the early morning light like this, she's never looked more beautiful. "Morning, starlight."

"Starlight?"

"Starlight." She leans over and kisses the bridge of her nose gently, still smiling, and Adora smirks at her as she pulls away.

"Careful. People might actually think you like me." (Starlight, her mind sings.)

Catra sticks her tongue out at her. "It's a good thing I love you, then."

"Mm." She leans up to kiss her this time, to meet her halfway and pull her gently down next to her. She's unbelievably soft and small and delicate in her arms, and it's odd to think that this is the same person who used to be in charge of a planet-wide war, who could (and still can) very easily knock her out. This is the same person who, just a few hours ago, was rocking her and whispering whatever soft nonsense she could think of into her ear, and Adora is hopelessly, ridiculously in love with her.

Catra pulls away first, slowly, softly, and grins again at her expression. "You're staring. And doing the weird thing, With your face."

"Sure am. And I'm gonna do it every day."

"You're the strangest person in the universe."

Adora kisses her again, feels her laugh against her smile. "And you're in love with me."

"Mmf. Maybe."

She pokes her shoulder, laughing too. "It's too late to take it back now."

Catra kisses her a third time, stroking and running her fingers through her hair, soft and gentle and slow. When she pulls back, her eyes are glowing from deep within in the dim light, and she's stunning, and Adora loves her. "No comment."

#sep texxt #sep's writing #ask #elk-sedge

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aqua-the-smiter · 3 years

Text

Wind Guide You

Chapter 1 - Carry me Fast and Far The night’s breeze brushed Starscream with gentle fingers as he looked over the edge of the Nemesis, his spark in his throat. This was it. Now or never. Either he flew away from Megtron tonight, or he stayed and remained his whipping bot forever.

It was such a small, normal thing that had pushed him to this point, his breaking point. A small scuffle with the Autobots and a few lost Energon cubes had landed him a one way ticket to the medbay courtesy of Megatron’s fist. He recalled staring at his broken, battered chassis in the semi-reflective wall, wondering what he’d done to deserve it. He had pledged his true loyalty in that damn mine, broke his back to bring Shockwave to them, hadn’t tried a scheme since, and yet…

He couldn’t take it any longer. Lying on that berth, he vowed right then and there to leave as soon as he was at full strength again. Things couldn’t continue like this, he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t know where he’d go, but anywhere was better than this.

So here he was, standing on the uppermost deck of the Nemesis, battling himself. In the deepest recesses of his wounded spark, he knew he wanted to leave, but he still agonized over the decision. Was he making the right choice? What if leaving caused more problems than it solved? Where would he get Energon? How would he survive? Would he even survive? Was he better off dying alone on his own terms than at Megatron’s clenched servos?

He didn’t know.

Starscream looked up at the abyssal blue sky, scattered with the millions, maybe billions of tiny, silvery-white glints of stars cast over the night like a glittering net. The breeze had strengthened into real wind, and it called to him, beckoning him to just transform and fly already, fly away, far far away. He reached out a servo to let the wind brush against the tips of his claws. If nothing else, he could follow it, let it take him wherever. He readied himself to spring...

“Starscream? What are you doing up at this time of night? I thought you’d be recharging.” came a voice from behind him. He whipped around, nearly slipping on his heel struts.

In front of him stood Shockwave’s pet project, a hybrid of normal Cybertronian (an Autobot named Coldburn to be precise) and Predacon CNA named Razorfang. His scorpion-esq tail slithered on the metal deck behind him, the neon blue point curled neatly away from it, and his talons clicked against it as he walked.

“Oh, Razorfang, it’s just you.” Starscream said, internally letting out a sigh of relief. He’d formed something of a parental bond with the young hybrid after helping (AKA being roped into) assisting Shockwave with him, and if there was anyone who trusted him enough to not question him being out here, it was Razor.

The Predahybrid fluttered his large wings. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just coming up here to look at the sky before I turned in for the night with Predaking and the others. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, turning to Starscream with wide neon blue optics and a nearly spark-wrenchingly innocent smile.

Starscream returned it. Razor didn’t deserve his ire. “It is. One of the only good things on this miserable shell Unicorn accidentally built around himself.”

“Ah, it’s not that bad. And you’re dodging my question.” Razorfang said, nudging him with his tail.

“Am I? Apologies. I couldn’t settle into recharge. Processor too full and all that, you know how it is.” he replied.

“I know how that feels, yeah. I hope you’ve been holding up alright. This is the first time we’ve talked since the...incident.” the hybrid said sheepishly, servos behind his back.

“Indeed.” the seeker hissed. “I’ve seen better solar cycles, and I’ve seen worse ones.”

Would they improve if I left or not?

Razorfang stretched. “I should probably turn in for the night so I’m not dead on my peds tomorrow. Uh...good luck, Starscream.”

“You have no idea how badly I need it.” he replied.

The Predahybrid nodded before jumping forward and wrapping his wings around the older seeker in a tight embrace.

“W-what’s all this Razor?!” Starscream sputtered out.

“L-look, just...you mean a lot to me, and I hate sitting by while Megatron breaks you over his knee. I-I just want you to know I’d stop it if I could.” Razor said earnestly, letting him go. “A-and I’ll still try and help you now, if I can.”

Starscream was slightly floored, guilt prickling his insides. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, don’t worry. I’ll live.”

“T-that’s good. I’m sorry, that was really weird. G’night.” he said with a nervous wave of his wing, before disappearing below deck.

He felt another pinch in his spark. He genuinely liked the hybrid, strange as he was, and if there was anyone he was willing to waste the time missing, it would be him. Maybe Knockout too. But things couldn’t stay this way. He couldn’t stay here. At the very least, it was a hazard to his health, and at worst? A hazard to his very sanity. He waited until the talon clicks could no longer be heard.

Walking back to the edge of the deck, he looked down at the glimmering, mirror-like lake surface underneath the warship. It really was time for him to go, and talking to Razorfang had confirmed that. It had been the universe letting him say goodbye. Calm as the water was, the wind had picked up even more now up here, blowing in the direction he planned to fly. Good. He’d have it at his back, helping him forward.

Carry me fast and far away from this accursed place. Thundercracker, Skywarp. If you’re still watching me...please, guide me if you can. He beseeched his dead trinemates, his brothers, if their sparks were even still out there.

Taking a deep intake, he turned around, crossed his servos over his chest, and let himself fall overboard, keeping his optics wide open.

The wind howled past his audials as he fell, the glass sheet of the lake drew nearer with every moment. He emerged under the cloud cover, dull silver chassis streaked with water droplets, and looking up he could still see the stars through the ragged holes in the dove-grey blanket of wispy cirrus. The farther away the Nemesis grew, the lighter the weight on his shoulders began to feel.

Primus, but this was fun . Hurtling through the open sky at who-knows-how-many miles an hour, being granted more and more freedom with every inch he got away from Megatron, the wind screaming like his namesake...he hadn’t felt like this in longer than he could remember, and it felt like something deep in his spark was waking up after being dormant for lightyears. All this galloped through his processor unreigned as he counted the ticks until he’d have to transform…

I’m flying away and I’m never coming back, Megatron! Starscream thought with venomous glee, imaging the bucket headed warlord's fury the next dawn.

He began his shift, hanging suspended as it by some invisible thread about a meter above the reflective water before his T-cog finished it’s work, and a second later he was soaring back up the way he’d fallen, towards the starlight and broken shackles.

Wherever the wind took him, it didn’t matter. He was free.

#fanfic #fanfiction #transformers prime #tfp #tfp starscream #starscream

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autumnslance · 4 years

Text

FFXIVWrite2020 #16: Lucubration

A rapping at his window startled Thancred, sending his pen scratching across the parchment and ruining the line. He growled in annoyance and looked to see just who the bloody hells was interrupting his work.

It was Yda, shifting nervously from one foot to the other on the balcony. She must have hopped up the same way he often did, with help from the grand old tree in the Leveilleur yard.

“Can I help you?” He asked as he opened the window. When last he had looked out, the sun was still just above the western hills; now night had fallen on Sharlayan, the moons and stars wheeling overhead.

“Have you seen Lyse?” She asked, trying--and failing--to keep panic from her tone.

“I haven’t seen anyone since—” he glanced at the chronometer finally and rubbed his eyes. “Since dinner at least. Bells ago.” He gestured at his desk (and the page he was going to have to rewrite, godsdammit). “I’ve an essay due to Master Fraeskoef in the morning.”

“What you get for taking advanced literary analysis as an elective.”

“It’s actually part of my main curriculum now,” he replied with a yawn.

She looked skeptical. “Still not sure what stories and songs have to do with your particular skill studies.”

“That’s why they’re mine, while yours are rather more straightforward. Anyroad, why are you looking for Lyse this time of night? Shouldn’t the little rapscallion be tucked in her bed?”

“If she was, I wouldn’t be here,” Yda replied, exasperated. “I know she’s been bothering you lately, so I’d hoped she came here to show off what she swiped.”

“Swiped? Since when is Lyse a thief?” Thancred asked.

“I assumed you’ve been feeding her stories again,” Yda said darkly, then shook her head. “Also, Mister Perception, haven’t you noticed something missing?”

He blinked, then realized just what did seem so wrong.

“Your mask,” he answered. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen Yda without her turban and the mask worn either on its front or down over her eyes. A couple times had been summer days of swimming and silliness in the Thaliak, the others rare festival days where she instead wore her traditional Ala Mhigan dress.

“If she’s taken it in a fit I—” Yda shook her head. “I need to find her. But now I don’t know where to look, if she isn’t pestering you.”

Thancred thought for a moment. Sharlayan was a large city, sprawling on either side of the river. There were plenty of places a nine year old girl might hide.

Assuming, of course, the girl stayed in the city.

“I have an idea,” Thancred said, turning to grab his shoes. “She mentioned something, the last time she was…” he paused.

Lyse had come running up to him earlier that day as he had been on his way home from a particularly strenuous cat-and-mouse session with Master Enfel Hopfel. Thancred recalled being short with the child, wanting to get home to clean up, eat, and get to work on his other assignments before crashing to sleep and doing it all again tomorrow. The road to becoming an Archon--particularly if one was attempting to speed down it, having had to already play catch up at basic academia with his peers--was a busy one, not leaving much time for playing with energetic little girls.

“Last time she what?” Yda asked.

He really looked at Yda. Like him, she had dark circles under her eyes, and more than a few bruises and scrapes from her own rigorous training. Yda had long since determined that she would become an Archon to best take care of her little sister in their adopted homeland, and to repay Papalymo and the others for their aid. Hells, her immigrant status and more physically based studies had been a large chunk of Thancred’s inspiration for his own scholastic pursuits.

But it didn’t leave Yda much spare time, either.

“I may have blown Lyse off this afternoon,” Thancred said, pulling on his shoes as he hopped out the window to join Yda. “She was mentioning something about the hills beyond the Arboretum. Between the two of us we should be able to track her down.”

Yda looked a little pale at the thought. “You’re better at that than me. Gods, I hope she didn’t go out there; there’s bears in those hills.”

“Then let’s hurry,” he said, using the balcony’s railing to swing down to the ground. Waiting the brief moment it took Yda to join him, he noted Master Louisoix’s study window also still had a light on; not unusual for the old man.

The pair padded through the streets. Others wandered by, visions passing between the glow of streetlamps and shadows, moving to and from libraries, laboratories, and homes. A few still-open cafes glowed warm and inviting, hosting late night study groups and silent social readers, sipping their beverages while taking in the ambience with their books.

As they crossed the courtyard of the Arboretum, Thancred glanced at Yda. “You know, I’ve never asked just why you always wear that old mask.”

“I guess I’ve never said,” she replied, frowning slightly. “I...well, I don’t know how to say it without...sounding callous.”

“Callous?” As if that word could ever describe a Hext.

“Father gave it to me.”

Ah. Family things. No wonder Yda hadn’t mentioned it.

“He wanted to keep me safe,” Yda continued. “So it was to hide my identity while in the Rebellion. We were fighting our own people at first--the Corpse Brigade could be damned nasty, and they didn’t care much that I was just a kid.”

She wasn’t that much older, honestly, but a few years at their respective ages could make drastic differences--more so when one fought in war.

“Then there were the Garleans...And they were worse.” Yda’s eyes scanned the brush line as they passed the edge of town and the ground began to slope up. “Our father was a leader, and he had made a lot of enemies.”

“I can imagine.” It seemed polite to say something, at least. Thancred began to look for signs of a little girl’s passage, while still listening to Yda.

“When he was gone...I don’t know. We weren’t able to take much with us, you know. I worried more about getting Lyse somewhere safe than any of our possessions, even Mother’s heirlooms...So the mask is what I have.”

“And she knows how important it is to you.”

“Sort of,” Yda said. “I...I’m really not sure how well she remembers him. Or any of what happened before we came here; she was so little. I know she doesn’t remember Mother.”

I can’t remember anyone, he thought. Out loud, he said, “Well, you do all right. We just have to find her.” He pointed to a narrow little trail. “This way.”

“You’re sure?”

Thancred nodded. “Stay quiet.”

Yda nodded, and they continued on. It was only a few more yalms and around a bend in the hill before they found the child, sitting on a log that had fallen across a deep ditch, forming a natural bridge. Her legs swung as she sang a little song to herself, the mask on her face.

“Lyse!” Yda called, running forward.

Lyse jumped, nearly rolling off the log in surprise. “Yda! Thancred!”

“I was so worried about you!” Yda exclaimed, stopping just at the edge of the ditch. “You could have been hurt and we wouldn’t have known!”

“You found me anyway.” She sounded petulant.

“I found you,” Thancred said, walking up to the tree trunk, pulling himself up, and then flipping into a handstand, hoping to amuse her. “You were trying to tell me about this earlier, weren’t you?”

Lyse glowered, her expression visible behind the too-big mask. “Yeah, but you were a jerk and now I don’t want you here.”

Ouch. He flipped back down to land on the trunk a good fulm from her. He didn’t bother to hide his hurt; Lyse had never spoken to him that way before.

“Lyse!” Yda admonished. “Don’t be rude! Thancred’s—”

“Busy!” Lyse shouted, the words echoing off the nearby hills. “Just like you! Always busy, all the time, studying and taking tests and doing homework and I hate it and I hate this place and I ha—” she hiccuped into tears before she could get out the rest.

Thancred looked helplessly at Yda, remembering to shut his jaw after a moment. Younger sibling tantrums were well outside his wheelhouse.

Yda closed her eyes, counting silently, before making her own way onto the fallen tree. Lyse was now between them, arms crossed tight against her chest as she tried to remain angry, though silent tears slid from under the mask and glimmered on her cheeks in the starlight.

“I’m sorry,” Yda said. “I have been really busy lately. We all have.” She glanced over at Thancred.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I did snap earlier,” he said finally. “I wasn’t actually mad at you, though; just tired.”

Lyse tried to speak, but it came out as a whine and she clamped her jaw tight again.

“We’re always tired,” Yda said, voice cracking. “And always busy, and always doing something...except spending time with you. That’s my fault. I can do better. Will you let me?”

Lyse breathed heavily for a short time, thinking. It didn’t take long; she turned and flung herself into her sister’s waiting arms, almost sending them both tumbling backwards off the log. Thancred let out a sigh of relief as Yda’s strong legs remained hooked under the wood, holding them both as she cradled Lyse, stroking the girl’s back.

Thancred looked up at the night sky, not wanting to intrude more than he already was. It was hard to know what to say or do in such a situation.

So he sang.

Quietly, at first, starting with the song Lyse had been singing when they had found her. He figured out a way to transition it into an Ala Mhigan folk tale he had stumbled across in his studies. Lyse leaned on Yda, her ragged breath slowly evening out, both of them listening. By the time the last note faded into the clear night air, Lyse had quietly pulled the mask off and offered it back to Yda.

“I just...wanted to have something of you with me,” she said quietly.

Yda chuckled. “Whenever you like--just maybe ask next time.” She kissed Lyse’s forehead.

There was a strange, lonely ache in Thancred’s chest as he watched them, but he couldn’t help a smile, either. “It’s a bit chilly, and rather late for both students and little girls,” he said. Then he held up a finger. “But! A night this nice shouldn’t be wasted, don’t you think?”

Yda raised a brow as she affixed her mask to her turban again. “Don’t you have an essay due in the morning?”

He shrugged, propping a foot on the tree trunk. “Honestly I was writing myself in circles; a break will do me good. I can come up with something to tell Master Fraeskoef, not to worry,” he waved a hand dismissively.

Yda shook her head, smirking. Lyse looked down thoughtfully, then at Thancred. “I don’t actually hate you, you know. I’m sorry for what I said.”

He reached over to give her blond ponytail a tug, presenting a little white flower for her before she could scold. “I know,” he said with a wink, tucking the bloom behind her ear. “But thank you. I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth.”

He hadn’t known for sure, actually, and it was nice to hear. He could keep that to himself, though.

The trio watched the moons and stars wheel over Dravania for another bell, worries of studies put off until the morrow.

#FFXIVWrite2020 #Final Fantasy XIV #Thancred Waters #Yda Hext #Lyse Hext #Sharlayan #Dravania #Lyn Writing #Friendship #pre-canon

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crusherthedoctor · 3 years

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Rarity and Starlight Glimmer (if you're still doing the character ask thing, that is)

How I feel about this character:

Rarity is my second favourite of the Mane Six, beaten only by Fluttershy. She's quirky enough to be entertaining, but pleasant enough to be able to root for.

And Starlight? This might start a riot, but yes, I do like her. It's to my understanding that Starlight is the single most divisive character in MLP, in the same way that Shadow is probably the single most divisive Sonic character. And I think I can understand why... but I still like her, so oh well.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

None for either.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

The rest of the Mane Six (Seven?), I guess.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

You thought simply liking Starlight was heinous enough? Let me say something even more sacrilige: I prefer Starlight over Twilight. :o

Don't interpret that as me saying that I hate Twilight, because I don't. I just think post-reformation Starlight is more endearing, despite whatever legitimate criticisms that could be made about her and/or her usage.

As for Rarity, I've seen some complaints about her being flanderized. Never agreed with this personally, as I don't recall any instances of flanderization that lasted for more than a single episode at worst. (Note that I don't pay much attention to the comics, I'm talking purely about the cartoon.)

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

Can't think of much for either of them.

#Crusher's Asks #Opinion #Rarity #Starlight Glimmer

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saltiestgempearl · 3 years

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I get but still don’t agree with the people who wanted the diamonds to be “soulless villains monsters” cause it’s easy to think and label them as solely villains and the people who doesn’t like them may have had experience situations like abuse and trauma, so whichever they feel about them is valid, it’s just that,

Condemnation and punishment were never the themes of Steven Universe, we are so used to “good guys kill bad guys without second thought and everything is better now” that Steven’s narrative is inovative and refreshing,

But because of popular media like Undertale and mlp, people think is a “overused” narrative when it really is not, as a form of media we are just beginning to explore this storyline compared to all the more abundant “traditional” storylines in which they just kill the bad guys without thinking about the systematic factors that led to that unfair system or how it affected it’s individuals.

Steven explored all of this and gave it a fresh twist to it, I wonder if this is why so many people become negative towards the show.

See, I agree with you, but I think Steven Universe actually took it a step further than even those other two pieces of media you mentioned.

Undertale’s big thing was taking all your basic assumptions about video games, from “big bad boss, time to kill” to “oh it’s a shop keeper, they will surely want to buy all this junk in my inventory,” and forced the player to look at it a new way. The way you win the “pacifist” route in Undertale is ultimately by trying to find any other solution than killing your enemy, even if you have to get really creative to do it. It’s a wonderful game that subverts a ton of different tropes and showcases how powerful love, kindness, and forgiveness can be in its purest form. However, the narrative still tells us that some people are “too far gone” to be helped, like Chara and the player themselves if they pass a certain number of kills. It’s literally a “too far gone” threshold that changes your opportunities in the game.

MLP isn’t quite as extreme on either of these fronts; the main (or mane) six ponies don’t always explore every other possible option. Queen Chrysalis, King Sombra, Lord Tirek, the Storm King and Cozy Glow were all straight up killed (more or less; being turned to stone forever counts as killed in my book). But it also doesn’t give a literal threshold of redemption, a point of no return. That is to say, several of the villains who did get redemption arcs actually did some pretty awful things. And a few, like Starlight Glimmer, even had a somewhat non-linear redemption arc, which was really cool to see in a kids show. Though it should be noted that, in pretty much all cases, it was very much the power of friendship that helped redeem the “redeemable” characters (granted, the show is called friendship is magic, so that’s not really unexpected).

Steven Universe, in my opinion, combined the best of both of these concepts, and added an additional layer: what if “do they deserve a second chance” or “have they earned a second chance” aren’t even the right questions? Did the Diamonds deserve to be redeemed? Maybe yes, maybe no, but that’s not the point. The point was that Steven saw a solve-able problem, even when the solution wasn’t The Power Of Friendship™

And his solution was more creative and effective than any “kill the bad guy” one would have ever been.

Steven Universe, as a narrative, said “fuck the moral event horizon, we’re going to talk about universal welfare.” It also explored a concept I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, certainly not in children’s media: toxic selflessness. And I mean completely toxic, hurting everyone involved, not just the person being selfless.

This show doesn’t coddle the viewer, it doesn’t give you a character to safely and comfortably project onto without also being shown your own flaws. By extension, it doesn’t give you a Bad Guy to safely project the people who hurt you in your life onto in a way you can hate them in peace.

I think it’s the combination of these pretty revolutionary concepts combined with its refusal to give you a perfect character to project onto (which both Undertale and MLP very much still do) that make some people so uncomfortable with the show. And that’s fine. But it irks me when people mistake their discomfort with the material itself being poorly written.

#got kinda rambly but yes I agree completely #just wanted to add my own thoughts

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vake-hunter · 4 years

Text

Light Fingers Lore Post

Moon-Misers

Normal Moon-Milk is a poison they use to make their prey walk right into their mouth. It’s not meant to last for long.

Babies are rare, only born about once a decade! “A Moon-Miser can only be born when the stars align. It must also be coaxed from the womb with a Song of Birthing.” Once born it must be fed special nectar extracted from stalactites. Who knows what that’s made of! “At birth, Moon-Misers are wrapped in their mother's silk, forming a protective membrane while their carapaces develop.”

Here, have some NEAT Red Science quotes: “You are forging a new link of a great chain. This is the most impossible and unforgiving of occasions: the creation of something new. In this tent, you usher a brand new species from the vaults of possibility. You are spitting in the face of the gods. You are violating laws written in starlight before the world began.”

This is VERY important Lore: the baby has your eyes.

(If Baby is more human) As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. As you listen, a thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up in the song, you experience a vision: in your mind's eye, a blazing-bright king unites the tribes of the Starved Men under one banner, and harnesses the Moon-Misers as steeds. He leads his subjects on a crusade against the city below - a city that is no longer London, but that still harbours the Moon-King's greatest nemesis, now much embittered at the failure of its schemes. The resulting war will prove its final undoing.

Mr Fires

Is trying to bankrupt the Bazaar in a way.

If it makes a bunch of fake love stories, that can trick Wines and Spices and the Bazaar, eventually the Bazaar won’t know what love is real and what isn’t, thus, hopefully, discouraging the Bazaar and the other Masters.

“A bitter edge creeps into its sibilant voice. "Once a suitable love story is found, it’ll be the end of London. Can you imagine?" The lamp trembles in its hand. Its voice rises an octave. "The end of London! I couldn't bear it! I love this city. It's my sole comfort, the greatest joy I have discovered in all my centuries. I'd do anything to preserve it."

“In the longer term, the Hybrid's milk is the only thing that can save the city. Once seeded across the populace, all love stories will be rendered suspect. Any love, no matter how pure or moving, could simply be the symptoms of an aberration's venom. Love will be robbed of its allure. The Bazaar will not know which stories it can truly believe in."

"If my plan succeeds, the other Masters will abandon London as a failed venture." Mr Fires holds up its lamp; here at the bottom, the shelves are lined with leather-bound volumes. "They shall depart, and I shall make arrangements to preserve the city."

It is very defensive of what it did at the Orphanage, in a way that almost makes it sound like it's guilty. It does insist it would do it again, and it doesn’t care about the people, just London as a city.

Confirmation Fires likes science.

More evidence Masters can shapeshift to change their sizes and when they are upset, they have trouble staying small.

Its very fucking excited to burn things down and upset Wines.

(Giving the baby to Fires) "One day, London will be a city glutted with love," says Mr Fires, returning its gaze to the Hybrid. "Or at least, reliably-replicable facsimiles of it. The effect will be subtle. A modest adjustment, year on year. Wines won't suspect a thing until it is too late." It glances at you. "You and I, [Addressed As], have saved London today."

Boil of Calamities

Possibly the first Fingerking or at least a very very old and strong one.

Seven Heads like the statue at Irem.

The Sun and the Spire that connects it are sacred places to the Fingerkings and the Boil protects them. “They may allow your kind to trespass across the rest of their kingdom, you slumbering oafs, you mortal morsels, but not here, not the hallowed spire. Insolence! Blasphemy!”

Huge coils that appear in the sky. Black scales, a knot of snakes or just one massive one. Like storm clouds with huge fangs. Tongues flicker like lightning.

It once took tributes and accepted people as servants but the the door to its Chamber seems long abandoned.

The Chamber is found in the shadow of the Dome of Scales. “Inside is a cavern that smells faintly of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamon. Heavy silk banners hang from the walls, depicting battles between cats and serpents. Seven braziers burn merrily with viric fire. Plates of delicious-looking food have been set out: pomegranates, bloody steak, bunches of plump indigo grapes. At the centre sits a majestic basalt altar, carved with dozens of runes and symbols, a silver bowl waiting atop.”

If you make a Pact with the Boil, you must shed your skin. Don’t worry, there’s more skin under there. Better skin, you’re told. You peel yourself with a Ravenglass knife and it uses the same wording as in my Kingdom for A Pig and the Third City Deal :)

“There is indeed new skin underneath. It is tender and dry, with the faintest silver sheen. The effect is subtle. Only a lover or a doctor would notice.”

“You look up to the Boil, your skin flashing silver, and bow deeply. The overbearing tangle of coils slips apart, separating, loosening. You find yourself breathing more easily.”

Court of Cats

The Duchess is capable of calling a meeting with the Court.

They slew the seven daughters of the Boil.

They have a spear made from a Fingerking’s fang that is capable of piercing the Skin of the Sun. However only cats are allowed to wield it. So if you want it you must become an Honorary Cat.

“The Lord High Seneschal pronounces you the 'Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary,' officially a cat, and thus entitled to take possession of one of the cats' greatest trophies.”

“As they fall quiet, you ask why they have never wielded this spear against their enemies in the past? "Because cats do not have thumbs," says the Knight Marshall, with a haughty look.”

“Hephaesta draws back her Herculean arm and hurls the spear of the Sleeping King, putting every hard-wrung ounce of her strength behind the throw. It flies, like a shell from a cannon, cracking the Skin of the Sun and sinking a foot deep. At the point of impact, the glass buckles and twists and shrieks. Hephaesta and the tiger roar in triumph.”

“A great, hollow crack rings across Parabola. A shadow mars the cosmogone sunlight passes over the sun.”

Parabolan Sun (Not strictly Lore just from Light Fingers but Important)

Parabola was not always bright. It seemed to be in perpetual twilight before the Second City Sisters rose the Sun.

“This is a place that is not. It was not always light, though once it was brighter. The sisters found it in twilight and in dreams. The night was thus sacred to the Second City. They would not be pursued here. The ushabti were created to help in the construction of the Palace. The Second City could have lived here forever.”

This also seems to imply there was no moon either, as the moon is a cat. It probably came with the Second City as well. "Look, there are patterns there, just like the surface's moon. Only... these don't resemble a man, or anything else so much as a cat, curled up asleep."

The Sisters of the Pharaoh (minus the Duchess) fled to Parabola when the Third City fell to avoid being killed. “We four survivors fled. One remained with the City, while I retreated here.”

"The Palace of the Rising was to be a refuge from the Masters and the Bazaar. A new sun was raised in the sky so the citizens might walk in light again.”

The thing is. The Sun was built with the help of what appears to be the God of the Fingerkings. "the Boil of Calamities, Lord of the Seething Sky, wept a drop of shining glass..."

The Boil protects the Sun and the Cats hate the Fingerkings. It seems the Four Sisters betrayed the Cats and their other sister, the Duchess, in order to make the Sun. "It also is the mother-father of the egg that is the Parabolan sun," adds a dark-faced tabby. Its reflection is that of a snarling puma. "Though others played a part in that, too." The Duchess' lips tighten.”

Physically: A huge glass dome held to the land by a stone pillar. Even the sky around the dome appears to be glass. (Interesting given how the Second City imprisoned the Masters was to cover the Neath in glass. From The Mind Of A Long Dead God: “Glass Walls Everywhere! They surround me. They reflect one realm inwards and keep me from the other. These barriers should be fluid!” Note that the Neath IS Storm’s corpse.)

NORTH

Rubbery Men plan to fly north. “They take off again in an instant, heading North, waving you farewell. Where do they ultimately hope to go? Again, it's impossible to tell. Perhaps they hope to find their way home.”

If baby is more Moon-Miser: As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. A thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up by the song, you experience a vision: a blazing-bright king of Moon-Misers leading its glimmering subjects on a pilgrimage across the roof and through a door far to the North. Below, in a city that is not London, the citizens point and murmur in fear as their false-stars crawl into the distance and blink out one by one, leaving only darkness behind.

Item Rewards

Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary: For the purposes of having legal custody of a famous war trophy, you have been made an honorary cat, with the associated title, privileges, and dignities. [Affiliation; Shadowy +3, Persuasive +6, Dangerous +2, Respectable +1]

Tatterskin Shawl: Once, you offending the Boil of Calamities. To make amends you offered up your own skin as a gift. The Boil was thoughtful enough to return your old skin to you, though it no longer fits as snugly as it once did. [Clothing; Shadowy +6, Persuasive -2, Dreaded +1, Bizarre +1, Mithridacy +1]

A Loyal Nightmare of Poor Edward: You married what remained of Poor Edward. Now he is a nightmare, bound by the miser-milk to the dreams of the Orphanage. Sometimes, you visit him there. [Affiliation; Shadowy +2, Persuasive +1, Dreaded +1]

A Kitten-Sized Diamond, Liberated from the Mountain: It was torn from the Mountain that looms on the Elder Continent. If set near wounds, they heal. If left in one place for too long, flowers bloom around it. If left near lesser diamonds, they will hatch. [Home Comfort; Persuasive +10, Respectable +2, Artisan of the Red Science +1]

A False-Star of your Own: Above London, false-stars shine. One is your bastard child, a Hybrid, a diamond the size of a cow. It is a hundred times brighter than its fellows, a blazing pinpoint; every month or two, for just a few days, it passes directly over the city. For that brief period, London's gloom eases into a velvety twilight. (In addition to the stat advantages, this Companion allows you a unique opportunity while zailing.) [Companion; Watchful +6, Shadowy +12, Shapeling Arts +1, Bizarre +2]

#fallen london #mr fires #parabola #light fingers spoilers #lore

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samrosemodblog · 4 years

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Hello, l'm a big Starlight Glimmer fan and Seasons 6 and 7. I enjoy her character because I relate to her a lot and watching her episodes helps me believe that I can improve myself. But I keep hearing from bronies (especially more popular and with higher following) complaining on how terrible she is and how terrible the later seasons are. Now as a result I can't get rid of the feeling that I should feel bad for liking something that my past idols don't.

Okay, let me see if I can explain this in a way that let’s you understand where we are coming from without you necessarily feeling bad or like you CAN’T be a better person.

There’s a couple of reasons why I, and others, tend to not like Starlight’s redemption. I also have the personal reason on top of those reasons which is simply I loved her AS a villain, as a threat to Twilight. I loved seeing Twilight fight her and I would’ve loved to see her CONTINUE to fight Twilight.

But the reason we don’t like Starlight tends to be, for the crimes she committed, she got off INCREDIBLY light. So light it’s unrealistic, unbelievable, and genuinely immersion breaking for the show itself.

Of course, with any show or cartoon you have to suspend some disbelief in order to follow the narrative. But when the characters or plot do something that either breaks their characters, breaks the plot, or feels so forced into the plot, you can’t even relate to what’s going on and you feel this instant disconnect. You hate the feeling you get from what the show is doing.

Starlight brainwashed an entire village into following a cult. She ripped them of their special talents, and told them they were better of being worthless and living a miserable life.

If you DEFIED Starlight, she locked you into solitary confinement, where you only had food and water. You didn’t have a bathroom, or bed, or anywhere comfortable to sit or sleep, and then she blared her manifesto loudly 24/7 so you couldn’t even properly sleep. She did this until you broke MENTALLY. So you’d be her slave when you came out, or risk being thrown in there again.

Then she proceeded to repeatedly destroy the universe with time travel, destroy Twilight’s friendships, and brought about ruin to Equestria repeatedly. Even when she wasn’t completely aware of her crimes, we have ‘Ignorance of the law is not an excuse for breaking it’, which means if you murder someone not knowing murder was illegal, you STILL committed murder.

And for all of this, her backstory was a friend moved away to go to school.

Which is just an atrocious backstory on its own and I don’t know a SINGLE person who likes that this is all we got of her backstory.

But then she simply apologizes for literally YEARS of torturing a village, nearly destroying all of Equestria, and they sing a song of friendship. The next time we see her, she’s getting her first friendship lesson as part of Twilight’s personal friend group and being treated the same as any of the mane 6.

She never actually DID anything to apologize for what she did. She never actually did anything WORTH forgiving her for. She never EARNED her redemption. There was no punishment, and that’s what we all hate.

She committed a crime, and she was never punished for it.

And not a crime like shoplifting, or getting into a single fight with an easy resolution.

She HURT people.

BADLY.

The most shocking part is that Our Town not only continued to exist after Starlight left, but no one was permanently and psychologically damaged from Starlight’s brainwashing. That Twilight didn’t see what Starlight was doing and locked her away so she couldn’t hurt anyone else in society ever again. The fact that Starlight is still walking free is so counter to how we know even the society of EQUESTRIA to work.

And this hurts even more, because we SAW Sunset Shimmer get redeemed correctly.

The comparison ALWAYS has to be made, because Sunset and Starlight DO have parallels, but Sunset did them right.

Because all she was was a High School bully. Yeah, it hurts to have a bully, and she needed to be punished for that, and she WAS. But when she turned into a Demon, no one actually got hurt from what she did.

She brainwashed the student body, but that lasted for all of 2 minutes, and she DID try to kill Twilight and her friends, but they were unharmed.

She then spend the equivalent of THREE WHOLE EPISODES of the show being kicked down for what she did, and having to actually WORK for her redemption. Even the people who were overseeing her redemption were keeping her an arms length away.

As a result, Sunset had to PROVE to the girls, and to the student body, that she had changed. The mane 7 got to the point of no return, and Sunset was the one who turned everything around, and was the key to saving everyone from the Dazzlings.

She EARNED her redemption BECAUSE she went through her punishment, and proved that she was a good person by coming out better for it.

Starlight never did that.

That’s why we don’t like Starlight.

And that’s why it’s a good thing that you recognize you need to be better if you’ve done something wrong in your past. You can’t just expect to be forgiven for doing something wrong, you actually have to EARN forgiveness.

I hope this explained it in a way you can understand without it detracting from your enjoyment of Starlight as a character, because there ARE things about Starlight even I enjoy. I just don’t like HOW she was redeemed.

#Wall of Text #Anonymous

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pintofteaforthesoul · 5 years

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven- Jurdan fluff

Hey guys, just a short thing that was stuck in my head. Hope you like it. Since it’s not part of a series, just thought I would tag some people from my other Jurdan content. Hope you don’t mind.

@highqueenofelfhame @starseternalnighttriumphant @andromeddea, @landofpetrichor, @ladyof-starlight, @cute898, @cardans-tail, @nitrot150, @outofstyles13, @wickedqueenoffantasy, @afexiss, @gently-say-aha, @ashlightgrayson, @gamer670

~~~

Jude was surprised to receive the text message inviting her to the party- from Nicasia of all people.

The two didn’t get along on the best of days, with Jude being the captain of the fencing team and Nicasia the head cheerleader the two hardly ever spoke, but when they did it never ended well.

Jude walked into her sister’s room holding up her phone. “Did you get the invite?”

Taryn glanced up from some craft she was making a mess of on her bed. The twin face to Jude, her delicate eyebrow rose. “What invite?”

Jude slumped into Taryn’s desk chair, spinning in it to seem nonchalant. “Nicasia is having some party at her house and she invited me.”

Taryn’s mouth popped open. “But she hates you after what happened with Cardan.”

Jude sighed. “How many times do I have to say that nothing happened with Cardan! We’re friends now, that’s all.” It was a small fib, one that had led Cardan to break it off with Nicasia several months ago, but Jude was sticking to it. She and Cardan weren’t healthy together, an explosion waiting to happen.

Taryn merely rolled her eyes. “Whatever. So why do you think she invited you? Are you going to go?”

Jude shrugged one shoulder, non-committal. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’d be worth it to make things better with her.” She gnawed on her lip. The not knowing didn’t sit well with Jude at all. She liked being in control.

Taryn sat up on her knees. “Well I think you should go.” Jude shot her a look that Taryn waved away. “You’re always so on edge, maybe this will relax you.”

Jude sighed, standing back up. “You’re right, as usual. Fine, I’ll go. But only if you go with me.” At that, Taryn grinned. She was more than willing to party.

~~~

Nicasia lived on an estate outside town that was within spitting distance of the ocean. When Jude and Taryn arrived, they spent a solid three minutes just taking in the monstrosity. Three floors, bulky columns, balconies, windows, it was all endless- and white.

They strolled up the long brick drive to the door and knocked. Only a moment passed before it opened, revealing a handsomely dressed man with a stern face. Jude shot a glance at Taryn before saying, “We were invited by Nicasia…”

The man’s back straightened and he began to speak in posh voice, “Yes, of course, the party.” He said the word as if he were unfamiliar with the term. He stepped aside, allowing them in. When the door was shut behind them, he continued, “If you’d follow me, please.” Jude shook out of the reverie she’d found herself in at the downright grandiose foyer they’d walked into. Taryn, who’d been paying attention, pulled her along after the butler- whose nose curled at the sight of awe on Jude’s face.

They were led through rooms, each displaying a staggering show of wealth, until finally they heard music and laughter. Jude found herself wanting to stop, to turn back. A wrench in her gut told her that something… was going to happen tonight that we she wasn’t going to be prepared for.

The light was dim in the sitting room they came to, but that was the only thing dim about it. There was a stereo off to the side blasting a song with heavy bass and not much else going for it. Draped around the room were people- Nicasia’s friends to be more exact.

The laughter halted when they were spotted, the lithe girl with pale skin and blue hair jumping up to greet them. She had a bottle of raspberry vodka in one hand and Whipped Cream vodka in the other. “Jude! You made it!” Nicasia’s words were lightly slurred and her eyes widened a smidge as she took in Taryn, obviously at war with herself on if she were seeing double. But then a smile sprung over her face and she said, “This must be Taryn!”

Taryn gave a small awkward nod in response, eyeing both of the bottles of liquor that were nearly empty. Jude was studying one figure on the other side of the room, not paying attention to the conversation at all.

Cardan, Her heart dropped to her toes. What was he doing there? Jude had to fight from groaning. This would complicate things. Cardan’s eyes were sharp though his posture was anything but- except Jude knew him well enough to notice every muscle in his body tense. He hadn’t expected to see her hear either.

And that’s when it hit her, Jude glanced to Nicasia whose smile was glittered with gold and eyes sparkling with deceit. She’d been set up.

“Come on over!” Nicasia dragged their arms, giving no choice of defense. They had pillows laid out against the floor, and thankfully both spots next to Cardan were occupied. Jude tried to ease the tension in her body in order to sit down, and gladly took the vodka bottle Nicasia shoved into her hands. Smile still there, she continued. “We were just playing Cards Against Humanity.”

Jude remained mute, taking a long swig, but thankfully Taryn jumped in to say, “Sounds fun! We’ll join in.”

Jude watched the sparkle glimmer in Nicasia’s eye as the girl didn’t look away. “Actually, I was hoping to start another game. Now that we have more girls.”

Jude gnawed her inner lip. “Like what?”

That grin only grew. “Seven minutes in Heaven.”

The energy in the room chilled several degrees. Locke, who looked positively wasted in the corner, cocked one eye open. “Why that game?”

Nicasia shrugged in nonchalance, finally taking her eyes off Jude. “It’s a fun game.”

Valerian, a real asshole, piped up, “And how do we choose partners for this little game, Nicki?” Jude raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but no one else batted an eye.

Nicasia bit her lip as if she had to think about it. “Why don’t we draw lots? Or spin the bottle?”

Cardan snorted. “Spin the bottle is for children, Nicasia.”

Her grin turned feral. “Then you pick an idea if you’re so clever, Cardan.” But he merely shrugged and repositioned himself on the pillow. A half-empty whisky bottle was in his lap, the top off.

Taryn, ever the people-pleaser, suggested, “We could do rock paper scissors? Whoever does the same move is paired together.”

Nicasia grinned. “A brilliant idea! Come on, let’s do it.” They all groaned but scooched closer. “On three, okay?” They murmured ascent and Jude’s heart began to beat faster. She begged whatever higher power that existed not to put her with Cardan. Even being stuck in a closet with Valerian would be better than that.

Locke looked dubious as he asked, “What if two girls get matched together?”

Nicasia rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll do it again! Okay. One. Two. THREE!” They all smacked their palms and drew, Jude so frightened she was holding her breath.

When the room had quieted, she glanced around the circle with eager eyes.

Valerian. Rock.

Locke. Scissors.

Taryn. Scissors.

Nicasia. Paper.

Cardan. Paper.

Jude almost breathed a sigh of relief, until she heard the small gasp and looked down at her hands. She’d actually forgotten which one she’d picked.

Jude. Paper.

Valerian immediately burst out, “Well that’s not fair! I didn’t get anyone!”

Nicasia looked between Jude and Cardan with a frown, but Jude was too busy looking at her own traitorous hand. She tried to play it off, smoothing back her hair. “Well that’s fine, I’ll just-”

“No.” Cardan started, the first words he’d said in a while. “I pick Jude. Nicasia, you go with Valerian.” Jude’s head whipped up, her eyes wide as she regarded him.

Nicasia turned purple. “But that’s not the rules!”

Cardan barely flicked her a glance as he stood, opening his hand out to Jude. Feeling utterly numb, she took it. Cardan helped her stand and as they walked away- Jude not quite sure where they’re going- he called over his shoulder, “Turn on the timer, will you?” After a beat, he smiled and murmured, “Or don’t.”

Cardan leads her through another set of rooms until he reaches a door and holds it open. Jude’s feet freeze in place, seeing the small coat closet- that was still too large to be a regular closet but much smaller than any room Jude wanted to be stuck in with Cardan.

“After you.” He said, voice deadpan, as he looked at something under his nails. Jude shuffled into the closet, cheeks burning. She squeezed into a corner, making sure they didn’t touch as Cardan followed her. The door shut and they were thrust into darkness.

After a tense minute of silence, Cardan purred. “You know, this is more fun if we touch each other.”

Jude squirmed, staring at the floor despite not being able to see anything. “I don’t wanna start anything, Cardan, what happened with us was a one-time thing.” She heard Cardan move closer, every hair on her skin standing up straight as the heat from his skin surrounded her.

Jude felt him lean closer until his soft voice was in her ear, “Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy it?” There was an edge to the words that Jude would label as concern if it were anyone else. But this is Cardan. He didn’t do concern.

“No! I mean…” Jude fidgeted, not with much less space than before. “You and Nicasia-”

“-are over.” Cardan finished for her. His fingers brushed her chin and made her look up. “I chose you, Jude. Not Nicasia. You’ve known this for months yet you still don’t believe me. Why?”

Jude bit her cheek. “I don’t want to start drama. Nicasia has a lot of influence at school, she’s friends with practically everyone. She could make life difficult for me. It’s not worth it. We’re not worth it.”

There was a whisper of Cardan’s lips against Jude’s cheek that made her tremble. “You don’t believe that.” Jude didn’t know how to reply, her breath stolen as Cardan ran a pointed nail down her bare arm. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and Jude couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth. She could feel Cardan’s grin against her skin. “I think you’re scared.”

He drew back a breath and Jude felt immediately cold. Her chest was rising and falling at the speed of light and she had to fight her voice from trembling to say, “I’m not scared.”

Cardan leaned in just enough for their noses to barely touch. “Then admit it.”

Jude caught her breath, evening her tone. “Admit what?”

Cardan chuckled, a low rumble of his chest. “That you love me.”

Jude cringed back. “I- I- I don’t!”

Cardan sighed, relaxing his forearms against the wall on either side of Jude’s head. With her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, she could see the dark gleam of his eyes. His voice was rough when he spoke. “I’ve known you for years Jude.” He let the silence hang between them. “I know how much you love animals- that your biggest dream is to be vet. I know how much you were bullied as a child because you were new and different. I remember the fierce look on your face when you punched someone for the first time and learned just how strong you really are. I know the passion that drives you, Jude, because the same passion drives me.” Jude felt her heart bursting in her chest as part of Cardan’s weight leaned into her. He buried his face in her neck, hot breath against her skin. “And most of all. I know when you’re lying.”

“Cardan…” Jude breathed.

Cardan rested his forehead on hers, eyes on Jude’s. “Please.”

The moment stretched endlessly as Jude’s mind tumbled over itself, at war with what to do- what to admit. But Cardan was right- he did know her, better than anyone else. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to say, “O-”

Suddenly the door opened and light flooded the space between them, making Cardan jump back in a recoil. Jude furiously blinked. “Your time’s up.” Nicasia’s irritated voice broke the silence. Jude opened her eyes to see an equally as irritated expression and flushed crimson. Thankfully, Nicasia’s murderous gaze was trained on Cardan. Nicasia sneered, “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Cardan growled. “Yes, actually, you did.”

Nicasia half-attempted an innocent and shocked expression. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.” She lilted the words an octave above her usual tone.

“You’re such a bitch, Nicasia.” Cardan said, hands curled at his sides.

Nicasia crossed her arms, head tilted mockingly to the side. “Is that right? At least I’m not a cheater.”

Cardan grimaced but held his ground. “We were taking a break, something you requested.”

Nicasia gasped. “I would never have done that if I’d known you’d run off with this wannabe-jock slut!” She shouted the words and Jude felt them each as a blow.

Without another word, Jude pushed past Nicasia. She hurried to the other room, her eyes searching until they found Taryn- lounging up to Locke. Jude crossed the room in two steps. “Come on, we’re leaving.” Her voice was hard to keep the tears at bay.

Taryn looked up at her with eyes that were half-focused. She gave a pout. “But I haven’t gotten to take my round with Locke!”

Jude grabbed her arm and hauled her up. “I said we’re leaving. Let’s go.” Jude could vaguely hear Cardan and Nicasia still shouting in the other room and she knew she couldn’t stay for another moment.

Taryn’s pout turned to a frown. “Alright, I’m coming.” Jude barely waited for her to finish the sentence before pulling her back through the labyrinth of rooms to the front door. Ever attentive, the Butler awaited to open the door for them. Jude rushed through it, lugging Taryn behind her.

They’d nearly made it to the car when Jude heard Cardan shout, “Jude! Wait!”

But Jude didn’t wait. She shoved Taryn into the passenger seat before jumping into the driver’s side. Jude spotted Cardan hauling ass, but the driveway was long. She turned the car over, and as quickly as they had arrived- they were gone.

~~~

Sneaking back in with a drunk Taryn proved an issue, but ultimately Jude was able to return her sister to her rightful bed and crawl into her own.

When the nighttime silence descended on her once more, Jude couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. She curled around her pillow, trying to keep as silent as possible as the sobs wracked her body. She’d been a fool. A goddamn fool. Never again.

#jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #jurdan #fluff #fanfic #tfota #twk #tcp #highschool au

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notapaladin · 4 years

Text

now i don’t take pleasure in a man’s pain

hi....did you know....regicide can actually be SO romantic and is a great way to confess your feelings to your crush? now you do! i had a fucking galaxy-brain idea based around the fact that uh...historically, we do not KNOW how tizoc died, but most historians blame his brother ahuizotl. me looking at the obsblood universe: It's Free Real Estate.

you do NOT know how hard it was to resist titling this “is this talk of love or regicide?”

on ao3

It had been so easy to make it look like an accident. Acatl thought he should probably be concerned about that—after all, if he could exploit this smallest crack in the Revered Speaker’s magical protections others surely could as well, and that would be a risk for Teomitl—but such feelings had fallen by the wayside long ago. Even if he hadn’t despised Tizoc-tzin beyond words for his own personal reasons (that peasant’s daughter burned in his heart like a coal), there was simply no other path left but this. Tizoc’s crimes had piled up like stones, and someone had to bury him under their weight before they broke the Empire’s back. There was only as much justice as he could make.

(One: the clergy of Tlaloc.)

(Two: the ghosts.)

(Three: the Great Temple, cracked open like a ribcage with—with things pouring out of it—)

The Empire wouldn’t hold. Not with a Revered Speaker barely able to channel a glimmer of Huitzilpochtli’s light, a man so callow and craven he was unable to even meet his god face-to-face and beg for his favor. Not with their enemies baying for blood, not with the stars still glinting in the sky at dawn. The boundaries slipped a little further every day, and when the Great Temple’s latest construction had begun to fill with blood and starlight Acatl had known what he had to do to keep them steady.

It was a small spell, a tiny drop of poison. Something barely noticeable. Something that greater and more powerful men, used to magic that lit up the sky, would never think to look for.

(Something that would grant Teomitl the crown he deserved.)

Tizoc’s long-overdue death was approaching fast—a matter of days, the healers said—and Acatl was free to make concerned noises at the right times, to pat Mihmatini’s shoulder when he saw her after another long shift of trying to halt the Revered Speaker’s slow decline (to feel a little bad about how much work it was making for her, but not much), to stand in front of Quenami and Acamapichtli with his face like stone. Yes, of course it was a shame. No, he couldn’t help, there was certainly nothing Mictlantecuhtli could do except hasten the Emperor’s end—oh, Acamapichtli’s spells weren’t having an effect either? How terribly unfortunate.

(Acamapichtli didn’t smile. He didn’t meet his eyes. But in the set of his jaw and the incline of his head, Acatl read Thank you.)

It would be soon. Acatl knew he’d feel it when it happened, and so he didn’t worry himself overmuch with keeping track. So long as he showed a placid face to the world, there was nothing to fear. An unworthy Revered Speaker would be dead and gone, and a far better one would take his place. He knew deep in his bones that Teomitl would be glorious, the radiance of Huitzilpochtli’s favor pulsing under his skin like a bright heartbeat. Time had polished his arrogance into calm authority and honed his edges like a Tarascan bronze knife; when he ascended the throne, the sun would shine brighter than it had even for his grandfather Itzcoatl. The Turquoise-and-Gold Crown would fit perfectly on his head, and Acatl would kneel with his heart full of joy.

(Full of—other emotions, too, which he would not name in daylight. Teomitl didn’t need to be burdened with that knowledge.)

And yet, for all that, the sound of his footsteps hurrying up the temple steps was the same as it had always been. Acatl took a breath and set his reed pen aside; he’d been noting down the names and clans of those lost to Tizoc’s latest folly, a mismanaged attempt at expanding the Great Temple that had come perilously close to cracking a set of very important wards. He could come back to it after he saw what Teomitl wanted. Maybe he misses me, breathed a hopeful part of his mind—it had been a few days since they’d had time to talk—but he quashed that line of thought before it could do any serious damage. He and his former student were friends, nothing else. Friends. If the merest touch settled on his skin like a brand, if he dreamed of something more, that was his own problem.

“Acatl-tzin.”

The entrance curtain shifted, less forcefully than it usually did, and Teomitl stood in the doorway. Backlit, he gleamed with the signs of his rank; his red cloak and loincloth shone like blood, his armbands like the sun, and he’d pulled his hair into a noble’s topknot with a headdress of quetzal feathers. It struck Acatl to the core. For a long moment all he could do was stare, but then he registered Teomitl’s serious expression and recalled himself. He hadn’t been Acatl-tzin in private for ages, unless matters were very important indeed. I should have known this wouldn’t be a social call. “What’s the matter?”

Teomitl let the curtain fall behind him. As he stepped inside, Acatl reflected that it really was a small room. “I…” His gaze flickered to the floor, briefly, and a muscle worked in his jaw as he met Acatl’s eyes again. “I have a question I hope you’d answer for me. Truthfully.”

Acatl swallowed. Something in his chest tightened nearly to the point of pain. Memories—a clasped hand, the heavy heat of a feverish body in his arms, the brush of fingers at a shared meal—zipped through his mind like thrown daggers. For years he’d barely even dared to look at Teomitl for too long, lest his thoughts show on his face. True, Teomitl was smart and observant, but he’d been careful. He forced words out past the hard knot of fear in his throat. “I’ll not lie to you, Teomitl. You know that.”

Teomitl took another step forward. The room was really too small. He made a motion as though to reach for Acatl before visibly drawing himself back, straightening his spine. “I do. But...you understand why I have to ask.”

Acatl held his ground. “I do.” I love you. I love you, and you’ll scorn me for it.

There was a long, slow breath and another flicker of averted eyes before Teomitl looked him in the face again. “Are you doing...all this...for the sake of the Fifth World?”

He had to make himself breathe. “I’m...not sure what you mean.”

Teomitl gestured, an angry, stabbing motion. “Tizoc.”

Oh. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. But it was all feeling very, very far away. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to draw blood; the pain grounded him enough to speak, though the words felt like they were being torn from his lungs. Don’t. Teomitl, please. “I.” Through supreme effort of will, he managed to keep his gaze focused in the general area of Teomitl’s face. “I don’t believe I ought to answer that. Why do you think I’m involved?”

“Oh, come on! You think I don’t know what even a trace of your magic feels like?!” It came out in an impatient huff. “You’ve taught me too well for that, Acatl-tzin. Quenami even asked me if I was doing it, and had the nerve to remind me that I wouldn’t gain the Southern Hummingbird’s favor that way, as though I’m not well aware of it! But of course, you wouldn’t have to worry about that. I only want to know—is this for the Fifth World, or not?”

He couldn’t speak. I promised never to lie to you. I promised you that. But for this… He could picture Teomitl’s reaction to the truth all too easily—the shock, the avoidance, the way their easy camaraderie would dissolve like mist.

Teomitl’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his cloak by his shoulder; Acatl was too stunned to react as he stepped into his personal space, eyes dark and furious. “Is it, Acatl?!”

He closed his eyes, hating himself for it. Teomitl deserved Mihmatini, who spat in the face of fear; Acatl was too weak even to look at him while he held out his heart to be torn to shreds. My parents were right, after all. I’m a coward. But Teomitl had asked for the truth, and so he would give it to him. “Not—not only for the Fifth World, but for you.”

Silence descended, punctuated only by Teomitl’s harsh breathing and Acatl’s shaky ones. He felt more than heard his heart beat a frenetic tattoo in his chest.

He opened his mouth again—he knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anything was better than this deadly void, and in any case Teomitl was between him and the nearest escape route. “He is a cruel, paranoid coward, and not fit to be Emperor. But you—you are. I know you; you’re brave and intelligent and your heart is so wide when you—when you love, and you’d lead the Empire to greatness. I’d—I would be so proud to serve you in any way you’d have me. I know it doesn’t excuse—“

“Acatl.”

Teomitl’s voice cracked halfway through his name, sounding more than a little desperate; he opened his eyes, and therefore he had a moment to brace himself as Teomitl breathed, “Shut up,” and pulled him into a hard, messy kiss.

The world stopped. There was Teomitl’s mouth on his—hot and wet and definitely with more teeth than Acatl had really imagined would be involved in kissing—and the faint shimmer of Huitzilpochtli’s magic that always accompanied him felt like sunlight on Acatl’s skin. Sunlight through the water, green as jade, some dizzy part of him thought with half a memory of Chalchiuhtlicue, but then Teomitl slid his tongue into his mouth and he forgot how to think entirely. If Teomitl hadn’t still had a deathgrip on his cloak, he might have reeled.

(He hadn’t dreamed about that.)

And then, very suddenly, Teomitl wrenched himself away. His mouth was very red, the working part of Acatl’s brain noted, and his eyes were wide as a deer’s. “I—I’m so sorry. Acatl-tzin, I wasn’t thinking…”

He should probably say something (Gods, I love you), or move (pull him into his arms, never let him go), but he couldn’t make himself do either one. He lived in a new world, one where Teomitl had just kissed him, and it needed some time to settle on its foundations. Teomitl. Life returned to his fingers first, twitching at his sides—then his arms, and he managed to lift a disbelieving hand and trace his own lips, marveling at the way they still tingled, the way he could still feel the impression of that mouth against his own—

Only to realize that Teomitl was stiffly drawing himself up and turning away, turning to leave. Acatl’s voice came back to him in a rush. “Wait!”

“So you can reject me kindly, is that it?” Teomitl’s voice shook, fists clenching as he fixed his gaze on the wall. Acatl watched as he flushed a deep red. “Scold me about how I shouldn’t have done that, how you have your vows and I have a loving wife and I’m breaking her heart? I’m not, you know. Your sister’s too smart and too relentless for that—she’s been telling me for years I should do something about it.” He snorted bitterly, shaking his head. “Well, I did something about it, and now I get to tell her how badly I’ve misjudged.”

He was walking away. Acatl couldn’t let him; there would never be another chance for him to say this. Shakily, he took what felt like his first breath in a thousand years. “No. That’s—that’s not it at all!”

Teomitl turned in the doorway, one hand at the curtain, and stared at him. The expression on his face shifted slowly from stubborn self-hatred to a sort of wary hope. “...What is it, then?”

He’d always been bad with words. People took what he said poorly, or just ignored him when he said something they disliked. So, in this instance, he decided not to rely on them. Duality, let me not be making a mistake, he prayed. His palms still stung where his nails had cut them, and he dedicated the pain of it to the gods.

(He’d never prayed or sacrificed to Xochipilli in his life. He resolved to start immediately.)

Carefully, he stepped forward. Just as carefully, he reached out and took Teomitl’s unresisting hand in both of his own. It was easiest to meet his eyes if he didn’t look away, and thus he saw them widen at the first touch. It made his heart flip over in his chest; he had to pause for a moment, drawing in another breath, to drink in the sight of Teomitl slowly softening and turning towards him. Oh, I love you. Let me show you.

He’d never kissed anyone in his life, but they were nearly of a height (Teomitl had gotten slightly taller than him since they’d met, which he probably shouldn’t have found appealing—but it had brought some rather interesting thoughts in the night) and so it was easy to lean in, tilt his head a bit so they didn’t bump noses, and brush his lips softly against Teomitl’s own. He kept it light and chaste, but it still sent shockwaves through him. This is what it’s like to kiss Teomitl. This is his mouth, this the shape of his lips and the line of his nose. This is what it feels like when he melts against me.

Because Teomitl was melting, gently tugging his hand free of Acatl’s to slide both arms around him and hold him like something precious and fragile. Fingers tangled lightly in the ends of his hair, weaving through the strands, and it sent a shiver through him. Acatl had had some vague idea of keeping the kiss brief—a way to make certain Teomitl knew of his feelings, nothing more—but Teomitl seemed inclined to linger over it. This one was soft and delicate and as unlike the previous attempt as it was possible to be, but the magic limning Teomitl’s skin still warmed him down to his bones. Helpless, all he could do was hold him close; it seemed the most natural thing in the world to cradle the base of his skull in one hand, burying his fingers in thick, soft hair. Teomitl sighed against his mouth, and he hummed in response.

When they finally parted, Teomitl’s voice was soft with wonder. “All this, for me?”

He thought of Tizoc slowly dying, his bones flaking to ash in the funeral pyre. He thought of his own hands red with the blood of an emperor. He thought of Teomitl crowned in turquoise and gold, with jade and precious feathers at his feet.

(For the first time, he allowed himself a place in the dream. In any way you’d have me, he’d blurted out, and meant it.)

“Always.”

Teomitl kissed him again. It was more careful and yet more passionate than the first time, with the sharp pressure of teeth turned to a simmering promise that lit his blood on fire. And this time, with Acatl knowing it was coming, he could adjust accordingly. His lips parted easily for Teomitl’s tongue, and he surprised himself with the soft, hungry sound that rose up from his throat. A shock ran up his spine when Teomitl’s grip tightened on his hair, and he realized in a rush that he wanted more, wanted to see how strong Teomitl really was.

Teomitl nipped lightly at his lower lip—oh, he liked that too—and pulled away, eyes dark and heated. “...Acatl.” His voice was rough around the edges. “You’ve no idea how much I want you, but...I won’t ask you to break your vows for me.”

My what? It took him a shamefully long time to realize what Teomitl was talking about; when it struck him, he had to smile even as a rush of embarrassed heat pulsed through his veins. “Teomitl.” Feeling suddenly bold, he settled his hands at Teomitl’s hips, pulling him closer. Like this, there was no possible way of hiding his desire. “If I planned to keep my vow of chastity, I would not be doing this.” Looking back, it had probably been a lost cause since the first time Teomitl had smiled at him, but when he’d begun to wake hard and trembling with lust he’d known that if Teomitl were to ask...well.

(He’d sworn his obedience to Tizoc, and look how well he was keeping to that. What was one more oath shattered on the ground so that he could dance amidst the shards?)

Teomitl surged forward to meet him, pressing their bodies together. Their cloaks were no obstacle at all; he could feel the heat of his skin through them, and when the fabric shifted, the bare skin on his own felt like Tlaloc’s lightning in his veins. He made a desperate noise that might have been pleading for a kiss, but Teomitl ignored him and lowered his head to mouth at his throat instead and his knees almost buckled. He was achingly hard already; when Teomitl dug his nails into his shoulderblades, he had to bite his lip to stifle a cry. Anyone could come in. It wasn’t safe here. He kept thinking that—they wouldn’t have much time, it wasn’t safe—but then Teomitl’s teeth scraped lightly over the juncture of neck and collarbone and his ability to think anything flew out the window.

Then he lifted his head—not by much, Acatl could still feel his breath on his skin—and murmured, “Gods, Acatl, can I…?“

It was enough to jar his brain into functioning again. “Not here,” he breathed. “Go change out of all that—“ he wouldn’t mind Teomitl keeping it on, actually, but all the gold and quetzal feathers were the farthest thing from discreet, “—and meet me at home. I’ll—I’ll be waiting for you.”

Teomitl took a shuddering breath and stepped away, passing a hand over his hair. “Gods. Gods. Alright.” The edge of his smile was shy, but radiant as the dawn of the Fifth Sun. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

This time, when he left, Acatl didn’t stop him. He knew they’d see each other again soon.

(Later—much, much later, when they were sweaty and sticky and spent—Teomitl twined a lock of Acatl’s hair through his fingers and grinned wickedly as he asked, “So, how are you dealing with Tizoc, anyway?” Acatl, smiling in return, told him.)

(Teomitl all but tackled him back onto the mat.)

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #paladin writes stuff

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