#after i poked and prodded it a thousand times lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phis-corner · 4 years ago

Text

statue of ice

yes i am still updating this fic lmao

main masterlist ◈ maribat masterlist ◈ ao3 link

She only lasts a few weeks before caving and telling her brother that she’s Ladybug.

The Guardian – Fu is his name – was vehemently against revealing her identity again, already annoyed that she’d told Jason. Privately, Marinette thinks that Fu can “go fuck himself”, and maybe Jason would have said it out loud, but she does not.

Instead, she ignores his wishes and tells Tim anyway.

To his credit, her brother isn’t even surprised. He just quirks a smile during their scheduled video call and says in a light voice, “I guess it runs in the family, then, doesn’t it?”

Marinette is inclined to agree. After all, what are the odds that both of them ended up being protectors of two cities?

.o0o.

A week later, Tim calls her to confirm Marinette’s suspicions that Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth.

“He’s slippery. Paid to have all the security cameras around his home removed, but I traced akuma sightings on social media and marked them on a map and what do you know, his house was right in the center of the circle. I also checked out the property. He literally has a butterfly window, Mari. Everything in his house is butterfly patterned. It checks out.”

“Thank you, Tim-Tam. I’ll take care of it from here,” Marinette says. Her mind is already working, forming a plan to take Gabriel down. Permanently.

It has to be public. The city wouldn’t believe it otherwise, and some are already accusing Ladybug and Chat Noir of creating the akumas themselves so that they can make themselves look good by defeating them.

Exposing Gabriel as Hawkmoth would cause the downfall of his company and result in the loss of thousands of jobs, but Audrey Bourgeois had a Parisian branch of Style Queen that was still fairly new and looking for employees, and she knows that Audrey would most likely hire all of Gabriel’s employees out of spite.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to help?” her brother asks. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

She knows. She wants so, so badly not to do it alone, to have her brother by her side as she faces down a magic user that could turn her into a puppet in the blink of an eye if she allowed herself to feel just a little bit too much, but she can’t bring him into this. Can’t bring anyone else into this. Tim already spends his nights stopping rapists and murderers and seeing all the horrors that Gotham has to offer. He doesn’t need to see what Paris throws at its people as well.

“It’s a miraculous matter, Tim-Tam,” Marinette says instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Besides, bringing anyone else in puts them at risk of akumatization. It’s best to keep as few people involved as possible.”

“Okay then,” Tim responds, not fully managing to hide the disappointment and apprehension in his voice. “Good luck, Mari.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards in a tiny smile. “I am the living embodiment of good luck, Tim-Tam. It will be alright.”

.o0o.

It is easy to poke and prod at Gabriel’s ego until he thoughtlessly lunges, crashing through his own window onto the street below when she dances out of his way.

Ladybug follows, dropping and rolling with a familiarity that comes from being forced to do that same motion countless times, and she toys with him, dodging, ducking, but never really attacking, until the news helicopters start circling overhead.

Chat Noir arrives just as she sweeps Gabriel’s legs out from underneath him, and he doesn’t quite manage to stifle his gasp of horror, all irritation at Ladybug for taking Hawkmoth down without him forgotten when he sees who is underneath the mask.

Ladybug may find Chat Noir (Adrien Agreste, she reminds herself,) a nuisance at best, but she is not heartless. She knows what it’s like, to want to believe that one’s parents are good people. She knows what it’s like when that illusion one tries so hard to maintain finally shatters, and it’s something that nobody deserves to experience.

Chat’s face hardens as Ladybug starts murmuring words in an ancient tongue underneath her breath, casting a spell on his father, who gave up the fight as soon as the butterfly was removed from his hands, to ensure that Gabriel will never be able to touch another miraculous again. He won’t be able to exist within three feet of one.

It’s a good thing she chooses that spell too, because it protects Gabriel from his son’s wrath.

As the authorities are cuffing his hands behind his back, something cold settles in Chat Noir’s eyes as he calls up a Cataclysm and lunges at his father, the clawed hand rippling with dark magic outstretched, ready to disintegrate a living, breathing human being.

Gabriel is yanked backward by an invisible force, pulled out of harm’s way, and Chat’s Cataclysm lands on a chunk of debris instead. The Black Cat is held back by his partner before he can try something else.

“Chat,” Ladybug hisses, as he struggles in her hold, still trying to go after his father, who is being put away into a police car. “It’s done. It’s over. He won’t hurt anyone ever again, and the justice system will deal with it.”

Chat Noir slowly starts to resist less and less at her words, and she takes that as a cue to continue. “It feels anticlimactic, and I know you want to do more. You think we should do more than just let them take him away, because you’ve been fighting on the front lines of this battle since the beginning. But our part is over. Our duty has been fulfilled. He won’t be acquitted, if that’s any consolation. There are mountains of evidence against him.”

Her partner turns around, suddenly, and buries his face into her shoulder as his body jerks with what she realizes are sobs. He’s crying,Ladybug realizes. He’s crying for his father. For who he thought his father was.

When was the last time she cried for one of her parents?

Ladybug reaches a hand up and awkwardly pats Chat Noir on the back for a moment before she spots the reporters.

“Let’s take this to our usual meeting spot,” she whispers to her partner, and he nods, composing himself in an instant. Janet would have liked Adrien, she thinks. Gabriel’s parenting style was evidently similar to how Marinette had grown up.

Five minutes later, they’re standing on the Eiffel Tower, overlooking the city they’d sacrificed so much to protect.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Chat Noir asks, turning to her. “This is the end? There’s no use for us anymore.”

Ladybug inhales slowly, taking in the view from above one last time and committing it to memory. Not that she needs to – her eidetic memory ensures that she’ll never forget. It’s for the sentiment, she supposes.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “We have to give them back now. Say goodbye to our kwamis.” She’ll miss Tikki’s company, she thinks, but not as much as she misses Jason’s. The kwami was sweet, yes, but she didn’t understand Marinette’s need to do something other than being Ladybug.

“Where do we even return them to?” Chat questions, and then she remembers that he’d never been told of the Guardian’s existence.

Ladybug unhooks her yoyo from her side, tossing it up and down one last time as she prepares to swing. “Follow me,” she says, and then she throws the yoyo and leaps off the side of the Tower.

.o0o.

Fu’s massage parlor is just as inconspicuous as ever, and somehow, no one is walking along the street when Ladybug and Chat Noir enter.

The Guardian has been expecting them – there are three cups of tea sitting on the table in front of him.

“Ladybug, Chat Noir, please sit,” he says in his wheezy voice. They oblige, but the tea remains untouched on the table.

“Chat Noir, it is time to return your miraculous,” Fu states, and the two of them stiffen, immediately picking out what’s wrong with that sentence.

“Why am I not included?” Ladybug inquires, her polite tone holding an undercurrent of danger. “There cannot be a Ladybug without a Black Cat.”

“Well, you see, you won’t be using the Ladybug,” the Guardian explains with a slightly condescending look on his face. “But there can only be one Guardian, and I’ve chosen you to be my successor.”

The sound of Ladybug’s palms slamming on the table makes the other two people in the room jump. “Absolutely not,” she declares as she stands up. “I did not agree to become the Guardian. This has never been discussed.”

Fu looks up at her with confused eyes. “But you became a candidate when you agreed to put on the earrings, and Chat Noir is simply not fit for the job.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Chat Noir wince, but he does not disagree.

“I put on the earrings because people were dying,” Ladybug growls. “Because this city needed something, someone, to look up to, and there was no other viable option. The Guardian is never in the light. They spend the rest of their extended lives hiding in the shadows to protect a box of magical jewelry. The Guardian is not a symbol of hope, because nobody knows the Guardian exists. I put on the earrings to be a symbol of hope, not because I wanted to, but because people needed one. The people don’t need one anymore, and I don’t want to continue doing this.”

“I was fighting a war, Fu,” she spits, furious words laced with venom. “I was fighting a war with one ally by my side and we were both children. Now that the war is over, I am no longer needed, so I am leaving. I want the shreds of innocence I had before this war back, but that is not possible, so I can at least try to move on from this instead. Let me move on.”

Without warning, she reaches up and carefully takes the earrings out of her ears. She would have loved to rip them off in one swift movement, but earrings were not that type of jewelry. The Ladybug suit disappears in a flash of pink, and then she is Marinette again, standing in a massage parlor with a pair of red-and-black earrings in her hand and two sets of wide eyes fixed on her.

“Marinette,” Chat Noir breathes. “Oh my god, I… I’m so sorry.”

Marinette drops the earrings on the table in front of them. “Are you sorry for being an ass, or just sorry because the person you convinced yourself you were in love with was an illusion?” she asks, not looking at anyone or anything in particular as she pivots on her heel and strides for the exit.

When she reaches the doorway, however, she pauses, eyes still fixed straight ahead of her. “Oh, and Adrien?” she calls, eliciting two identical noises of surprise. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. About your father, of course.”

Then she opens the door and walks through, never once looking back as she sees the city that once weighed so heavily on her shoulders from the ground looking up, instead of from above, gazing down.

.o0o.

She’d spent some time wondering how she was going to adjust to life in Paris after that, knowing what she knew about Adrien and Gabriel and what Adrien knew about her.

As it turns out, she only has to go through one week of feeling Adrien’s green eyes on her at every available moment in class and going out of her way to avoid him, because her mother dies.

It’s surprisingly anticlimactic.

Janet Drake was always such a formidable woman. Her mere presence in a room could make grown men cower. To Marinette, she seemed almost invincible – always superior to everyone else, untouchable as she lashed out with quick with and a sharp tongue and long nails digging into her children’s shoulders. If there were ever any cracks in Janet’s façade, if it even wasa façade, she’d never seen one.

And yet, in the end, it turned out that she wasn’t untouchable after all. She’d died because she drank poisoned water out of desperation, even as Batman was right there. Batman had arrived to save them, he had freed them from their bonds, and the first thing they did was drink water poisoned with nerve toxin. Jack had survived, though he was in a coma and paralyzed.

Janet did not.

And that was it. That was the end of a woman that had dominated Marinette’s life for so long, a woman whose voice still hissed and lingered in her mind, reminding her to sit still and be silent and never, ever let your emotions show on your face.

Tim – he’d never had that mindset thrust upon him as forcefully as she did. After all, Tim had a father that didn’t despise him for his gender. Jack took charge of molding the son, and so Tim is crying, when he tells her all of this. He thinks he’s being subtle, but she’s his sister. She knows better.

Marinette didn’t care for her mother much, but she supposes she could give the dead at least some modicum of respect.

So as she packs her bags and books the next available flight to Gotham City, Marinette honors her mother’s wishes and does not shed a single tear for Janet Lynn Drake.

statue of ice

@whydoexamsexist @myazael @miyla-lokidottir @ira-sairain @zalladane @frieddonutsweets @moonlightstar64 @karategirl198-blog @consumeconstantly @maybe-nonsense @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @ola-is-dead @bee-wrecker @jeminiikrystal @neromerp13 @artemisdragona @severelyenchantedwonderland @miraculouslydumb @pepelachanel @stainedglassm @nyx-in-line @heldtogetherbysafetypins @silversaphire12 @zalladane @theymakeupfairies @thefoxandthewolfs @m0chik0furan

permanent

@wannajointhecrabcult @miraculous-simmer7 @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @fantasyislive @chocolateherringtacofan @alyssadeliv @susiej1118 @aestheticnpoetic @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladybug-182 @itsmeevie01 @g-arya @souleateralicestein @nightstarblue @i-is-mysterious @moonystars14 @vixen-uchiha @flapdoodle-noodle @labschaos @nathleigh @jalaluvsu @kaithehero @iamablinkmarvelarmy @luveverything12 @technicallyburninggarden @crazylittlemunchkin

unspecified

@momothefemur @indecisive-mess-named-me @laurcad123 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @sassakitty @fusser90

#maribat #my writing #statue of ice au

120 notes · View notes

daincrediblegg · 5 years ago

Text

As Time Goes By (1/2)

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Co-worker!Reader Word Count: 1803

Author’s Note: Lmao so I’m deadass 3 days late with this, but I got inspired for it literally on New Years Eve, and it’s been running away from me ever since (mostly ‘cause I actually came down with a pretty bad infection, and now I’m apparently allergic to the antibiotic the doctors gave me for it. It’s not been fun the last few days). Here it is now in its final form (split into 2 parts for my own sanity and yours), and with it, I thank you all for coming in at the butt end of 2019 and playing a big part in saving my ass. All your fanfic, all your art and acceptance of mass mutual love for this boy, and whether you’ve reblogged and liked or commented on my art or what little writing I’ve done or even my dumbass tag meta, I’m incredibly humbled and screaming about it literally all the time, and I love you all. Hope to talk to more of you in 2020 to keep the clown love going strong, and I’ll see you all very soon for part 2 ;)

Arthur hadn’t really believed it when he’d been invited.

In his 33 years of life he had hardly ever been invited to anything. Birthdays, Christmas parties, dinners, drinks. If he had been offered any of these occasions, he’d often be forced to turn them down. He could justify to himself that he’d hate to leave his mother alone on any given holiday (let alone any day, with how poor her health was), but deep down, he felt the gesture empty. If he went, he’d be no more than he already was- an invisible man. Nobody to talk to, nobody to really celebrate with despite festivity cascading all around him. All because nobody really wanted the freak there anyway. Why go to all the trouble when he could be far more comfortable at home alone instead?

But when Gary had approached him one sunny Gotham winter morning as he was buttoning his golden vest, and said that the rest of the guys were planning to go to a bar on Nolan and 3rd to celebrate the New Year, he actually thought about going.

He was sweet to do so. Always nice to him. He’s sure the other guys wouldn’t think to extend such a courtesy to him, let alone want to. He knew what they thought of him, and frankly he didn’t think too highly of spending more time with them either. He was ready to make his usual excuse- that meds needed to be picked up, that his mother needed tending.

But it was four little words that Gary had said- soft enough and potent enough to make him reconsider.

“She’ll be there too.”

His eyes find her almost immediately, and Gary’s eyes follow- by the vanity, where she tugs down her wig to cover her hair- bright red spun yarn, dressed in a pair of braids. Her fluffy underskirt poking out a brilliant white under her blue polka-dot dress as she leans closer to the mirror.

She’s lovely. Always has been. In and out of makeup. Always wishing him a good day, laughing at his jokes. She even asks for them- on days when she drags her feet up that long staircase, tired eyes hoping all the more that whatever he has for her will do the trick that he loves best- a smile, no matter how soft, and a chuckle, whether it leaves her chest or not. Anything is enough for him.

He knows he’s going, deep down. He knows it surely as his heart starts thudding against his fragile ribs just a little harder as she smoothes her hands down her plush skirt.

“I-... I’ll think about it.” he concludes softly.

“All right. I hope you will. It’d be good to see you there, mate.”

They share smiles- genuine ones, before Gary gets back to his locker, dragging out his own jacket and wig. Just then, he sees a flash of pastel blue flutter past him, and his eyes flit up to her face, full of warmth as she waves a gentle goodbye to him.

“Have a good day, Artie.”

Chills shoot up his spine in a rush. A hit of joy. An impossible wish, but one spoken true all the same. He wonders if there’s invisible cherubs behind him, stabbing him with arrows.

Arthur lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers weakly as he smiles back at her.

“Have a good day…” he repeats.

Her smile gets wider before she turns her attention to the dwarf next to him.

“You too Gary.”

“And you!” he shouts after her, as she finally picks up her bag and trots down the stairs. He knows his eyes aren’t the only ones on her when she leaves, but he hopes that his eyes are more important than most.

“How come she never tells me to have a good day?” Randall quips with a shrug. Gary rolls his eyes as he turns to him in reply.

“Maybe because you’re an arse-hole.”

He laughs at that. Neither the laugh he pushes out of himself for courtesy, or the ones that force themselves out and choke him. He laughs for real, and he knows he’s going.

He has to.

His mom is nodding off, thank God.

She’s been fed, and they’ve watched a bit of the Live Gotham New Years Celebration coverage on TV- Murray Franklin, hosting- from her bed. The lights are out, save for the soft blue glow of her TV, and it’s just enough of a sleeping potion to start putting her under. She always gets like this, in truth. Out cold long before the night really has a chance to even begin. It’s a blessing, really. Especially tonight.

Because it gives him plenty of time to get ready.

Sure, he doesn’t have much of a choice in what suit he wears- the only one he owns being a deep maroon, a hand-me-down from the last decade. He can’t decide how to style his hair (though he’s bathed, he’s at least managed that much, for her), whether to slick it back or keep it casual, all he has in the way of cologne is something cheap he got from the drug store on his way home from work the day Gary invited him, but he’s got the spirit. For Her. And it seems that today, it’s enough.

He gathers the necessaries from the closet before he leaves his mother to sleep, switching the tv in the living room onto the special while he prepares, dabbing the cologne to his wrists and neck, wiggling his spindly legs into his suit pants on the couch.

Just then, as he’s buttoning up his fly, the brief commercial break ends with a quick jazz sting from the band- moved all the way downtown just for this occasion. He watches as the comedian approaches a couple. Arm in arm in the snow and smiling like they’ve won the lottery. Murray quips of how happy they are, about his own relatively new wife and how it won’t last- all in good humor. But he can’t register any of it.

All he registers is the way the woman’s hands move around that man’s waist. He feels it himself. On him. Faint. A warm hand wrapping around him, just under his jacket, grazing over the deep blue sweater he’d dragged on this morning to go to therapy, fitting so neatly in the space between his hips and his ribs. It’s uncanny. It feels just like her.

And for just a moment the couple on the screen is gone. Replaced by another, far more handsome than the last.

Him and her. Together. Happier than the thousands of handmade smiles they paint on themselves with rich pigments in cheap grease. Hers is particularly divine. Her cheeks rosy as they lift fully to accommodate her joy. It makes his heart want to break his bones, leap right out of his chest, into the palm of her hand of its own accord.

And they remained that way. For hours. Gotham’s imposing buildings shrinking beneath the way they look at each other, hold each other close and not just for the inevitable warmth her body brings to his. And at the stroke of midnight, he pulls her impossibly close, cupping her face when he kisses her, the cold air melting away under their shared warmth as confetti falls around them with the snow. They even get on the kiss cam.

Gotham sweethearts. And everyone knows it.

He smiles, as the saxophone slowly pulls him out of reverie. The chilling blue light of the tv washes over him, and his hand pulls itself agonizingly from the spot it found across his abdomen, feeling his rib sticking out in his laid-back position. Murray, bundled up in scarf and woolen coat, speaks loud and clear into his microphone over a cheering crowd, ever the professional.

“Well folks, this is it! Not much more than an hour left until the New Year! Pour some Champagne, and get your sweethearts close, and we’ll be right back after these messages.”

Panic washes over him so fast he almost tumbles over the coffee table trying to get up off the couch.

He’s late.

Quicker and more lithe than a cat high on their nip, he tugs his sweater off, buttoning up his clean white dress shirt as fast as he can- praying he didn’t skip any buttons, or that he improperly tied his tie.

“Happy? Where are you going?” a sleepy lilt calls from behind him.

He almost yelps, but before he can he turns to see his mother, leaning against the hallway, looking like she could pass out again right then and there. Leaving his waistcoat not fully buttoned, pulling his suit jacket on, he strides over to her and supports her sleepy form, starting to try and lead her back to bed.

“I’m meeting some guys from work for a drink.” A half-lie, as they reach the bedroom door. Enough to not make her question why he’s dressed to the nines and the strong and heady scent coming off of him - discount eros from a bottle. She hums a little “oh”, mulling over what she should say in response. He doesn’t give her the chance.

“I’m sorry Mom, I forgot to tell you.” Another half-lie, but it completes a full truth for her, letting him keep the solitary thought of her all to himself, even for a little while longer.

A look of unnecessary worry strikes across Penny’s face.

“You shouldn’t drink, Happy. It could mess with your pills. And you know I don’t like you being out this late.”

He winces at that. Guilt hitting him like needles prodding his veins. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to hurt. That she doesn’t trust him to leave and make it back in one piece. That she doesn’t trust him to know himself.

That she doesn’t trust him.

But she can’t dissuade him now.

They reach the door to her room, and they both slink in. He lets go of her once he’s sure she can make it the rest of the way to her side of the bed by herself, and swipes up his old hoodie draped over the corner that isn’t hers.

“I’ll be home by next year, I promise.” He purses his lips with a playfully disarming smile for her. She gives him a breathy chuckle of acceptance, and sits back on her bed again, pulling up the covers as she does.

“All right, Happy. Be careful.”

He nods, tugging the hoodie over his suit- trying not to wrinkle the sleeves as best he can.

“I will, Ma.”

He blows a kiss, and before she even has the chance to give him one back, he’s picked up his wallet and keys, and he’s out the door, locking it behind him.

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck imagine #lmao part 2 is juicy and will come out when I'm not chaining benadryl to get rid of the nasty hives I've got now #might even be a smutty part 3 but only if people want it.#I love my fluff but I certainly wouldn't be opposed #joker 2019 #joker imagine #also lmao pls my dms and inbox are always open please come talk I'm just really bad at initiating shit #'cause I'm just a shitty anxious baby #my writing #fanfiction

54 notes · View notes

phaltu · 7 years ago

Note

Your fake dating au makes me live but the idea of an abo offshoot makes me ASCEND. P sure I'd cry tears of joy if you wrote your idea of Shiro taking care of a keyed up Keith after a video but tbh any and all of the them would be fantastic. YOU are fantastic. Thank you for this gift to us and the universe as a whole

Okay I got enough prods about this that I had to write it. I just had to. thank you anon for such kind words and also thanks to everyone for tolerating me thru this all LMAO i love all of you. s/o to @akaiikowrites for the q& a idea.

( couple’s blog tag )

(if you don’t want to catch up on couples blog au - Keith & Shiro are best friends pretending to be a couple, and run a couple blog online where they start setting stretch goals that are exceedingly ludicrous, because they offer to shoot videos on return. Clue all the platonic, pining sex on camera. This part takes place after Keith comes back from a date, trying to see if he can get Shiro out of his system. He can’t.)

a/b/o, nsfw, general disregard for the idea of refractory periods

If you guys have been together for so long, where’s your mating mark? Does that mean the omega’s free ;)?

Keith’s eyes widen at the question. He can feel Shiro stiffen beside him as well, and there’s the same acidic spike in his scent that had been there when he had come home from his date.

As part of one of their incentives, Keith and Shiro had offered to do a live Q&A session. Their friends all know about their venture now, so they’re not too worried about hiding it. It brings everyone great entertainment, despite the fact that they’re forbidden to bring it up around Keith or Shiro. Keith and Shiro feel a little more comfortable sharing their faces and their voices; they’re still not giving out their real names. But they feel like they owe their viewers that much; for the past month they’ve been able to pay rent and buy groceries and pay phone bills without screaming together into the abyss.

The Q&A started out fine; people want to know where they met, how long they’ve been dating, who’s the loudest snorer. The answers to that are simple; at the beginning of Keith’s undergrad, they officially got together two years ago, and Shiro. It got a little raunchy, but they anticipated it and tried not to get too red as they gamely gave answers.

This question, however, they were not expecting. Retrospectively, it should be the most obvious one out of all of them but they’re still fumbling around with this whole amateur pornography thing.

Keith has a faint idea of who Lattunkrox94 actually is, and he is going to kill Lance, Matt and Hunk upon first sight. The chatroom goes off in a frenzy, wondering yeah, why doesn’t Keith have a mating mark? If Shiro hasn’t claimed him, does this mean Keith’s available?

Their silence makes it worse.

It’s when the messages start getting real raunchy that Shiro places a protective hand over Keith’s neck, covering where a mark should be.

“We don’t have one because we don’t see the need,” Shiro grunts. “It’s just a stupid mark.”

A stupid mark that Keith’s dreamt of getting his skin broken by, one that he’s thought about every time they’ve had sex so far. Half of Keith’s fantasies involve Shiro leaving an imprint of his teeth in the crook of his neck, so that everyone knows that they belong to each other.

The chat goes crazy, and Keith has to close his eyes and pinch his nose. He might be overreacting, but he feels like they’ve just poked a huge hole in their story and everyone’s going to see through their façade and stop being their patrons and then Keith’s going to have to go back to doing more night shifts at the security desk at the shittiest residence on campus.

Suddenly, Keith gets an idea. It’s not brilliant. He should probably turn off the mic and consult with Shiro beforehand.

“We were planning it as a surprise,” He blurts out. “If we exceeded our stretch goal by a certain amount, Shiro would mark me in the next video.”

Shiro goes stone-still beside him and– the strangest mix of terror and lust rolls off of Shiro, the second so strong Keith almost chokes. He’s probably sparked some sort of alpha instinct in Shiro, or whatever they call the primal need to claim an omega. If they do it on camera, it’ll be in front of an audience, and Keith has to stop his toes from curling at the thought of how possessive Shiro will be about that.

Suddenly, there’s a rush of people demanding to know how much the goal needs to be exceeded by. Before Keith can do anything, Shiro throws in a number that makes Keith’s eyes widen a little. It’s exactly half their amount of their stretch goal, and too high to be met in the next couple of days.

The trepidation in Shiro’s scent eases, and Keith tries not to read into it. After all, he was the idiot who suggested it. Shiro’s probably glad they don’t have to do anything rash.

Except that they keep forgetting that their subscribers are feverish and strangely hive-minded when it comes to reaching goals.

Shiro’s not made any troubles to hide what he actually thinks about this entire thing. He’s still not happy with Keith for suggesting Shiro marks him on camera, but also gets a funny look in his face when Keith suggests that he gets one of his friends to bite him, and they pretend it’s Shiro’s.

“This isn’t right,” Shiro insists, and Keith crosses his arms over his chest from where he’s sitting on the sofa. “We shouldn’t be doing this for money.”

“It’s just a stupid mark,” Keith echoes Shiro’s sentiment from a few days ago. “If you do it light enough, it’ll only last for a little bit.”

Shiro stares at his hands in his lap, and clenches his fists. Some sort of annoyance spikes within Keith because he doesn’t see it as a big deal; Shiro and Keith have bent each other over enough surfaces by now, all in the name of two best friends making money for rent. A fake mating mark may be a big deal, but they fuck on camera while pretending to be madly in love. He voices as much to Shiro, who looks hurt for a brief moment before shifting his expression into something more stony.

“Fine,” He says, voice tight. “I’ll mark you. But you can’t blame me if you end up regretting it.”

“I won’t,” Keith says. “Try not to look too annoyed when you do it.”

Keith gets that it’s his fault they’re doing this, but there are about a thousand different emotions running through Keith’s brain right now, and he wants to be irrational for a bit. He’s been flopped out on his bed for the past hour, leaving Shiro in the living room to stew for a bit.

Keith has his heat coming up, and he’s staying home for it this time, because he’s too enveloped in Shiro’s scent to have a sane stay at a hotel or in one of the special campus dorm rooms. He’s slowly been stealing some of Shiro’s clothes for his own room, but he refuses to call it a nest.

They haven’t discussed what exactly they’re going to do, but Keith had shrugged and said they’d make more videos, and then pulled his hair out about saying that out loud later that night.

The initial goal stated Shiro would lay Keith out during his heat; in reality, they’re doing it a day before, while it’s still building and weak, so that Keith won’t lose too much of himself into it. But Keith thinks he can do a pretty good job in acting like his main objective in life is to get Shiro to claim him, to knot him and mate him– especially now that Shiro’s going to mark him as well.

If he wants to, that is. Because Shiro’s been adamant about not wanting to mark him, not letting anyone mark him in his stead and pretending its him, not using makeup, and not rescinding the stretch goal. Keith doesn’t know what Shiro wants. Only what he doesn’t. It’s confusing, and riles Keith up enough that when he hears a knock on a door, he barks out a sharp “What?”

“I brought you food,” Shiro’s voice comes from the other side of the door, and Keith can pick up the faint smell of cheese pizza. He rolls onto his back and stares at his ceiling.

“Yeah,” He grunts out after a satisfactory pause. “Come in.”

Shiro carefully opens the door, and he’s got a box of pizza in one hand and two opened beers in the other.

“I bring offerings,” Shiro says as he makes his way to Keith’s bed. Keith barely shifts his legs to make room, but Shiro plops down anyways. “To say sorry.”

Keith hates that he immediately gravitates towards Shiro, despite being annoyed with him. It’s probably because of the food.

“For what?” He asks, finally sitting up and reaching for the box. He takes a slice, takes a giant bite of it, and levels Shiro with the most expectant look he can muster.

“I’m not disgusted by the idea of marking you,” Shiro says, then bites his lip like he didn’t mean to spill it out all at once. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way.”

Keith gives a non-committal shrug; he knows his internal clock has around three minutes left before he stops being mad at Shiro, but he’s not going to rush an apology.

“If it’s what you want for sure,” Shiro says, passing a bottle to Keith. “Then I can do it for you.”

“I don’t mind if it’s you,” Keith replies, taking a sip of his beer. “You know that stuff doesn’t mean much to me.”

A partial lie; marks don’t mean a lot to Keith, but a mark from Shiro will mean everything to him.

“Yeah,” Shiro scratches the back of his head, and he doesn’t quite meet Keith’s eyes. “I just– I wanted to make sure that it was good for you, and not something you were doing out of obligation.”

And that’s when it clicks for Keith that yeah, while he’s the omega getting marked, Shiro’s probably going to feel some type of way about claiming him, especially when they’re just friends. It was Keith too that had initiated this, had blurted it out on the live stream, and he can’t forget this amongst all his angst over Shiro being hesitant to mark him.

“Only if it’s okay for you,” Keith says. “I know I was the one who said something stupid, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Eh,” It’s Shiro’s turn to shrug. “I get it. Heat of the moment.”

Keith can see the moment an oncoming shitty joke lights up Shiro’s brain and shoves Shiro by the shoulder before he can say it. Shiro gives a good natured laugh in return, and Keith makes a face at him. They sit in silence for a few minutes, vacuuming in a couple of slices before Keith speaks again.

“I trust you,” Keith says finally, nudging Shiro. This time Shiro meets his eyes, and there’s something softer, more comfortable in his look. “That’s why I said it so fast. At the end of the day I trust you, but if you don’t want to do it, it’s fine. We’ll think of a way out.”

“You’re my best friend,” Shiro says, wrapping arm around Keith. “I’ll do anything for you.”

It’s not a confession. Keith knows this. But it really feels like one.

Keith’s heats are normal. They don’t get that bad, not as much as they used to when he first got them. And they’re regular, almost like clockwork. He has it down to a T.

Yet somehow, it feels like his heat has come early, crashing against him like an unexpected wave. It’s probably something to do with the fact that he woke up this morning thinking about today being the day he was going to get marked by Shiro. Probably something to do with Shiro having his head buried in between Keith’s legs, swallowing him down as Keith twists fingers in his hair and tugs.

They normally set out a specific play-by-play for their videos before they shoot, so that they don’t fumble around and show their actual inexperience with each other. This time, they’ve been so caught up in figuring out when Shiro will actually mark Keith, that they’ve decided to just swing the rest. It means that Shiro’s taking Keith to bed like he would a real lover, and it’s slowly breaking apart Keith’s world.

They’re half on the bed, Keith’s legs dangling off the edge of the mattress while Shiro has his knees planted on the ground. Keith’s wet and keening like he’s never been before; his entire body’s screaming for Shiro to fill him, to knot him, to break skin and prove to everyone that Keith belongs to him.

He’s going to get claimed, so, so publicly, and the thought of that makes the fire curled around Keith’s gut brighten. Shiro follows soft suction at the tip by hooking his fingers and searching within Keith till Keith’s arching into Shiro’s mouth without any control. Shiro lets him slide in, and Keith’s pretty sure that this is how he’s going to die.

He almost cries out Shiro’s name when he’s swallows him all the way in. Shiro hums around him and works on opening him up more, and Keith’s trying his best to keep himself steady. Shiro pulls off with a pop and Keith twitches a little at the loss.

“Good?” Shiro asks, and Keith can barely meet his eyes as he nods. “Want some more?”

He’s looking up at Keith, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and Keith’s trying to find a way to articulate that he thinks his heat might have been triggered, might be breaking through him at this very moment, without having the camera pick it up. He can feel the fire through till the tip of his toes, and knows he’s growing redder at a steady pace.

Shiro takes a sharp inhale, and that’s all it takes for his expression to change.

“You’re…” He trails off, and Keith lifts a trembling finger to Shiro’s lips.

“Yeah,” He replies, and he can hear the pathetic tint to his own voice. He’s not proud of it, but before he can dwell on it, Shiro’s pushing upwards.

He kisses Keith with a ferocity that catches him by surprise, and he can taste Shiro’s hunger through it. Shiro presses Keith flat against the mattress, and plants a foot on the ground. He nudges Keith’s legs apart with his other thigh, and Keith immediately rolls down on it, moaning openly into Shiro’s mouth.

Briefly, he thinks about the date he went on earlier in the week. The person had been a kind beta from one of his Trig classes. They paid for the date, had carried a good enough concentration, had been extremely sweet to Keith, and Keith sent them off with a kiss on the cheek and a hesitant “I’m not sure if I’m ready”. They had been a good sport about it, just like they had taken Keith’s “My roommate’s an alpha” as a good enough explanation for why he probably reeked of Shiro.

Keith’s glad that he didn’t have to articulate that he’s not been able to ever match the amount of desire he’s felt for Shiro. He’s glad that he’s never had to articulate how he sensed jealousy in Shiro when he had told Shiro about the date, and how that scent had stayed with him as he wrapped a hand around himself later that night and muffled himself against the pillow.

That sends another sharp spike of lust through Keith, and there’s no denying that his heat’s come on early. It feels like his brain’s getting consumed by Shiro, who’s kissing him like he’s ready to devour him.

“Shit,” Shiro murmurs when he breaks them apart and Keith tries to chase him. Keith claws at his back and pulls him closer. Shiro presses his nose against Keith’s neck, and Keith feels the skim of teeth against skin. “You’re not kidding.”

You have no idea, Keith thinks.

But by the way Shiro looks at him, steadily growing darker and more commanding, Keith thinks he might.

Keith’s been with other alphas before. He’s been marked once before, but it faded out with the relationship.

He knows that none of those experiences surpass Shiro. He knows nothing that can happen will ever top Shiro, who’s got Keith’s legs hooked over his arms, nearly bending him in half as he fucks into him at a possessive and punishing pace.

Keith can’t recognize the own sounds spilling out of his mouth, but he can’t recognize much of anything through the fuzz surrounding his brain. He’s honed in on the heat radiating off Shiro, of Shiro in him, big and demanding as he pins Keith down and takes him.

Keith throws his head back to let out a steady stream of pleased noises, and Shiro takes the bared neck as an invitation to bite it. He’s not marking Keith yet, but he’s sucking soft bruises, counterpoint to the way he moves in Keith. Shiro moans against the skin and the vibration of it makes Keith shake. It makes him feel satisfied that his alpha’s pleased, that his alpha’s pleased because of him.

“Shi-ah,” Keith manages to catch himself just in time, an impressive feat given that he’s not sure if he’s capable of saying anything but Shiro’s name.

“Baby,” Shiro pants into Keith’s neck. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” Keith manages to choke out. “Yeah, god, please, please–”

Shiro doesn’t ask what Keith’s begging for; he just presses forward, bending Keith even more, sending stars shooting through his vision. It makes Keith loud, and makes him come so, so close. He wants to reach down and pull himself off, but he wants Shiro to do it more.

“I’m almost-” Keith starts, cutting off at a particularly hard thrust. “I’m gonna–”

Shiro quiets him with a bruising kiss, and it takes the barest touch for Keith to come, for him to spill over Shiro’s hand and for him to muffle Shiro’s name into his mouth.

He thinks that’s the end, that Shiro’s going to ride him through it and finish off himself, but his body thinks different. He’s still half hard, and Shiro shows no sign of letting up. Keith’s feels a familiar sensitivity creeping in, but it’s dull and muted, like his body’s begging to let Shiro keep taking him.

Shiro gives another hard thrust, ducking his head to look in between them.

“I still have to mark you,” Shiro says, voice rough and restrained. Keith’s glad he’s not the only one feeling completely wrecked.

“Do it now,” Keith says, but Shiro shakes his head. Before he can process it, worry shoots through him. It probably makes itself really known, because Shiro drops down to leave soothing kisses against Keith’s jawline.

“I want to make sure they see,” Shiro says, sliding his arms out from under Keith’s legs. “Make sure they know.”

What Shiro wants to do is to hold him up in his lap, using a hand around Keith’s throat to pin his back flush against Shiro’s torso. Another arm encircles Keith’s waist, holding him steady. There’s not much support for Shiro, so he uses his strength to thrust up into Keith.

Keith’s entire body’s shaking, and he can’t parse whether it’s the heat or if this is just how he’s destined to be around Shiro. Rationally, it’s the heat, but the spark Keith’s been nurturing for Shiro has bloomed into an all encompassing flame. Shiro squeezes the hand around Keith’s throat. It makes him dizzy in the best way, and he lets out a loud whine.

“No one else can have you,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s ear. “No one else can touch you like this.”

Keith tries to nod as much as he can, and Shiro rewards him by shifting his hand off his neck so that he can tug at Keith. The suddenly flow of air and friction against his skin has Keith’s eyes rolling back, but he knows he can’t come again till Shiro marks him.

“Am I yours?” He manages to gasp out, and he can feel Shiro give a pleased rumble behind him.

“You’re mine,” Shiro’s voice has dropped low and liquid, washing over Keith. “And I’m yours. No one else and no one else’s.”

Keith has no idea how Shiro’s managed to remain this coherent; he thinks it might be one of those alpha things, but hearing those words makes him squirm. Keith’s losing his senses rapidly, and he’s starting to feel reckless.

“Shiro,” It comes out of Keith before he can stop it, broken and husky. It doesn’t stop Shiro—and Keith starts to feel teeth on his neck again, positioned right where they need to be to mark him. There’s slight pressure, and Keith digs his nails into the arm that’s choking him. Shiro removes it and uses it to pull Keith closer to himself and grind into him, and Keith can feel the beginnings of a swell.

“I’m here,” Shiro’s voice reverberates to Keith’s core. “I’m here. Tell me what you want babe, tell me that you want it.”

Keith can’t hep it— it’s too much. All he can feel is Shiro, all he can smell is Shiro, all he can hear is Shiro’s voice, all that’s surrounding him right now is Shiro Shiro Shiro.

“You,” It’s the neediest Keith has ever sounded in his life, and he can’t bring himself to care. “I need you Shiro, you, only you, it’s only ever been you, I love you, Shiro, Shiro–”

Shiro bites down hard just as they both tip over the edge, and something within Keith surges at the fact that finally, finally Shiro’s claimed him, and makes him temporarily forget the confession he’s just blurted out.

When Shiro’s knot comes down and he slips out, and Keith’s officially come down from the high of his first wave of heat, Keith wants to bury himself under his own bed and die of mortification. He’s not sure how he’s going to gather the courage or the energy to go turn the cameras off.

Shiro rumbles behind him as Keith voices as much, and rolls them over so that Keith’s half on Shiro’s torso.

“You did well,” Shiro says, and it sounds so much like the voice he had when he was playing ball in their first year of university, that Keith snorts.

“Thanks pal,” He says dryly, and Shiro chuckles. “I’m glad you find this funny.”

Shiro rolls his eyes smiles at him and runs a hand through Keith’s hair. Keith’s eyes close at the touch and he leans into it, enjoying the soft pressure against his scalp. It relaxes him further, even though he’s already feeling boneless from their efforts earlier on. The mark on his neck pulses a little, and Keith’s eyes shoot open.

“Woah,” Shiro says, shifting a hand to Keith’s shoulder. He can probably sense Keith’s panic; it wouldn’t be too hard, because Keith’s dousing in it.

“I said— when you marked me,” Keith stutters, and Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. “I said—”

“I heard,” Shiro replies, moving his hand again, and Keith feels himself get shifted further up Shiro till he’s nose to nose with him.

His expression is indescernible to Keith, but Keith doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it. Shiro pulls him down for a soft, chaste press of the lips. It’s easy, a lot easier than Keith expected, especially when Shiro kisses the corner of his mouth, then the tip of his nose.

“You too,” Shiro says gently. “I love you too.”

Relief melts through Keith. Any half-hearted explanation about how heat makes people say crazy things is immediately forgotten as he slumps against Shiro’s chest and presses a kiss against Shiro’s throat.

“Let me take care of you,” Shiro says, sliding a finger under Keith’s chin and tipping it up so that they’re looking at each other. “Let me be good to you.”

“You already are,” Keith says, but lets himself get drawn in again.

#sheith #sheith fic #my fic #anonymous #answer #couples blog #okay now we're done hahahahhahaahahahahahhahahaha #id like to thank everyone for joining me for a week of me being a straight dumbass #i love and appreciate all of you #i really should post this au on ao3 #adshfjfdsalhjhfadsfdasfsd #dont look me in the eyes....#tomorrow i'll put up a comprehensive list of the couples blog au #im just posting this from my drafts while im sitting in the car #after this im gonna go get slammed into a wallby people who are better martial artists than me

855 notes · View notes

reliquiaenfr · 7 years ago

Photo

alright here we go. the next chapter in my lore (post “the lair eats folks”). this one comes packaged with my annual opening-of-things-a-thon so keep an eye open for that sometime next week (it’s usually on my anniversary but that’s today so nah). it will include me crying as i open all my eggs lmao (i will set up a thread on fr, lmk if you want a ping to that disaster)

part two will be forthcoming after my exam wish me luck lol. keep tuned for more of tahvi’s adventuring! feel free to place bets on whether or not she regrets it haha

The Left Behind

The Reliquary was not always an overgrown ruin of a canyon. It was lived in, once. Or perhaps twice, Tahvi has never been able to ascertain for sure but given the variation in artworks and styles and depictions… well it stands to reason that it was lived in more than once before they found it.

Whether or not it was cursed then too, she’s not sure.

Isn’t sure she wants to know.

Especially not if the reason the old residents are gone is because the lair turned on them and ate them or something. Yeah. Best not to think on that too hard.

Regardless, she’s been methodically combing through all the old, crumbling structures left behind by individuals (dragons? beastfolk? something else???) long dead. And she’s been at it for weeks.

It was just such a fascinating area to explore. And there were only thirty-five dragons safe to do so. What with the whole… ‘everyone who enters the lair uninvited dies’ curse thing.

Parts of it were old – no, ancient. There were odd markers all around the place, remnants of something that had preceded them by easily thousands of years. They were crumbling and faded and few and far between besides, but they were the border stones. Or so they had been dubbed. After some very careful prodding at the magic and its limits, Anthelion had concluded that these border stones marked the edge of the cursed lands. They were functionally the canyons borders and, by extent, the edges of their lands.

Anything inside those markers belonged to the Reliquary.

And Tahvi had spent more of her time in the canyon poking about and examining the ruins than almost anything else. Aora was probably getting sick of her staring at carvings for six hours a day, but they are mysteries she plans to unravel. Eventually.

The wall before her is one such. She’d found the small, square room a few hours ago. The only entrance collapsed on one side so the archway was almost impassable with rubble. But the smooth walls and slightly domed ceiling (tall enough for an Imperial and then some) were all intricately carved.

Meticulously so, in fact. It had taken her the better part of two hours to realise that the scenes depicted on the walls were some collection of ceremonies, perhaps indicating the worship of ancient gods. She wondered if they were more or less involved in worldly affairs than the Eleven.

It probably didn’t matter; the iconography was unfamiliar to her so whatever the gods were there was no one left to worship them. She had a feeling the artists were dragons though, from the shapes. That, or truly remarkable beastfolk.

Again, she didn’t want to think about what they were if neither of those. It couldn’t possibly be left over from the Second Age. Couldn’t possibly. (And if Khazamaran stood as a testament to what could linger from then, well… well she was doing a good job of ignoring everything else, why not that too.)

Once more she ran a paw across the intricate carvings, tail swishing behind her, stirring the half inch of sand coating the floor. This wall had held her attention for longer than the rest thanks to the almost invisible grooves outlining a single section. The faint indents in the rock ran from floor to ceiling and she probably would’ve overlooked them if her earth sense hadn’t cast glittering strings of light across the wall, highlighting the differences and drawing her gaze.

She suspected it was a door. Of some kind.

Despite leaning her shoulder into it and pushing as hard as she could, or pressing her claws into various places she thought likely to conceal hidden switches or pressure plates, the panel of wall remained resolutely solid. If she were any other dragon, she might even be inclined to rethink her assessment of it as a doorway.

But she was not any other dragon.

So she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. (Aora always called this cheating.) It took a moment for her to focus but soon the dust beneath her paws stirred, lifting off the ground just slightly. The section of wall in front of her shuddered and a thin coat of sand shook loose, cascading down to join the rest a fraction of an inch off the stone floor.

When she opened her eyes again, the sparkling lights that always let her know where things of interest lay had brightened across her vision. None of the glittering magic flickered into warning hues, indicative of danger ahead, so that was nice.

Unless the earth had suddenly developed a macabre sense of humour anyway. She decided not to dwell on that too much, either.

Instead, she followed the lines of light to a seemingly innocuous part of the carvings and pressed the heel of her palm against it. She was rewarded with a satisfying click. Then, with a truly awful grating sound, the wall sunk inwards, the edges were the grooves she’d noted. That, too, was satisfying.

The door moved no further, so after a moment of blinking at it in frustration; she turned side on and leaned into it, huffing when it proved heavy. Lending a little more earth magic to the task she planted her feet more solidly and heaved again. Magic solves everything, after all. The panel shuddered and moaned and eventually there was another harsh click. With that, the door swung backwards, away from the room and tucked itself neatly into a niche in the passageway beyond. It fit so snugly into place that if she hadn’t just watched it move herself, she would’ve thought it part of the wall permanently.

Tahvi didn’t move at first, tilting her head to observe the dark of the corridor beyond. It seemed to be a single shaft, all square edges and more detailed carvings. There was no light, however, and despite the way the earth always lit up softly for her, the light it provided was not enough to illuminate the hallway. Actually, she wasn’t sure it gave off any light at all, what with it not even being there and all that.

She took another deep breath and, ignoring the little Aora-voice in the back of her head telling her she was being stupid – stepped into the corridor.

Blissfully, the door did not swing ominously shut behind her.

So there was that.

The tunnel ran straight for quite a ways without a hint of variation or a break in the walls. The carvings remained too, she could sense the shallow indentations just vaguely and she spared no time or energy in focusing hard enough to pick them out with magic in the gloom. There were more panels outlined with floor-to-ceiling grooves, too, she could sense them just a little more clearly than the carvings, but Tahvi wasted no time investigating them or the tunnels they might lead to. She merely pressed on, hoping there was an end at some point.

And, of course, there was. A faint greenish glow began to softly illuminate the passage but it took her a few more silent moments before it clicked: sunlight. The light filtering through came from outside, an arch of brilliance appearing through the dark of the hall. Vines of some sort hung across much of the elegant archway (an arch, she noted, filing it away for later, where all the others had been square) explaining the green tinge to the light in the tunnel. Once she brushed past the greenery, she found herself standing in great circular room.

Or… perhaps room wasn’t quite the right word.

It was, very clearly, carved out of the rock of the canyon wall, and yet all the walls were smooth. Like the walls in the corridors and rooms she’d been through previously, these ones were decorated with intricate murals. Tahvi had spent plenty of time in the other rooms deciphering their messages as stories and myths but these were different. She’d need to puzzle them out eventually (at a pinch she’d say they look like a tale of creation… some sort of worship).

There’s a step down from the archway, just a shallow one, and then another, before the room spreads out below her. She turned to look up at the arch she’d come through, around the edges runes had been etched. She had no idea what they meant, but they looked familiar: the same kind as on the boundary stones. A larger stone had been inset into the top of the arch, ruining her theory that the entire structure had been carved from the canyon wall with no adjustments made. A wavy rune with three lines attached graced the stone and she wondered at its importance.

For now, though, she turned again to take in the rest of the room.

There was no high ceiling, instead the room kept going up until it reached the top of the canyon wall, the sunlight filtered down through the narrow crack up there, and the closer to that slit the walls became, the more rough-hewn they looked.

On the far side of the cavern two columns lanced upwards. At the base, they seemed freestanding, but as she followed them up she realised they merged into the wall. Between them was a plinth, carved with runes and vines and leaves. And on top of the plinth sat a statue that sent a shiver down her spine.

They had always assumed that their patron god, Fida’an, was an entity brought into existence by the magic in the clan – a protective essence of pure magic. But this statue was very close to all their representations of her. It was uncanny.

Tahvi glanced down at the floor, not wanting to activate some kind of defensive mechanism (something she had done in the past to her immediate regret). The floor seemed perfectly flat and polished, though, no indication of joins or carvings here. Not even any paint.

As she dropped down to the second step, however, she re-evaluated that assumption. The dust on the floor seemed to shift and a tingle ran along her back. It felt as if the room had taken a deep expectant breath. Crazy. She shook her head.

But as she moved to place her paw on the floor proper she realised she wasn’t actually going mad just yet. Something was moving. Under the floor? Above it? She couldn’t tell. But it swirled into patterns and glittered like her earth sense did when it was showing her something. Her brow creased.

With a last fleeting thought of Aora telling her not to do anything stupid, she placed her paw on the floor. It was cool.

And it instantly flickered to life beneath her.

A warm yellow light burned under her palm – not hot – but bright, shimmering like sunlight in the desert at midday. Lines coiled and darted away from where she stood and runes lit up all around the room.

“It’s been waiting,” she realised, so stunned by that she said it aloud.

And it felt like the room released that breath – satisfied.

Tahvi stepped out properly onto the floor and the lights beneath her moved when she did, always where her paws met the stone, lights shone beneath them. Experimentally she lifted a foot and the light faded as she did so. When she planted it again the light returned.

“Fascinating…”

Carefully she walked across the floor – taking her light with her – towards the plinth and the odd statue. She was lucky she kept staring at the way the lights swirled around her because otherwise she might’ve just stood in the pool of water at the base of the plinth. She blinked, wondering momentarily how this water came to be here. Then she remembered the ceiling. When it rained the water puddled here. Hm.

She turned her gaze back up to the statue. Most of it had been carved to look like fabric draped across someone’s shoulders – not a dragon though, perhaps a serthis? The stone was worn now after years of rain running down its flanks and thanks in part to the greenery curling around it, no doubt. There was no face. In place of that was a mask that looked to Tahvi exactly like fossilised wood and from immediately behind the mask grew two forward curving antlers like a strange crown.

As if that thought had triggered something, the lights shot forward, climbing the plinth and rustling the leaves until they coiled on the mask and bloomed into a glittering crown.

This was powerful magic.

Honestly, Tahvi half expected the statue to come to life.

It didn’t. But the lights beneath her feet shifted again and she turned once more. The light spiralled away from her towards the edges of the room and they licked up the walls highlighting a door.

Not the door she came through.

Swivelling her gaze, Tahvi realised there were three archways in the chamber: the one she’d come through and two others, one on each side, neither of these two had steps.

Warily, she made her way over to one of the arches and peered through the vines dripping down, covering the runes and obscuring her view. There wasn’t much of a hallway beyond, she could just see into the room but it was gloomy and hard to make out.

The lights above her shimmered again.

“Oh so you want me to step into the strange room then?” she asked.

The lights kept flickering.

She sighed.

Once more, the glittering followed her through and once she’d entered the other room properly the lights illuminated it for her. It was stupid to think of these caverns as being sentient but it was hard not to, really, with the lights in the floor guiding her around. Or maybe it was something else? Maybe someone still lived in here? She tried very hard not to think about that.

A great slab of stone filled the middle of the room – standing on a little circular platform – and it was what the swirling lights coiled around first. A single large rune was etched into the middle of the stone with others at the rounded top and bottom. The lights whorled around that big rune as if it was important.

It towered above her as she stepped over to it, careful to check for more water but there was none. The stone slab wasn’t very thick, but it was easily as tall as Daeddrin, the rune in the middle was probably not much smaller than she was, actually.

As she peered up at it, wondering what it was for, the rest of the room lit up slowly so she turned to investigate.

The walls were carved away just above her head so that a great big ledge ran right around the circumference of the room. On the wall above that it looked like more runes or something was etched but she couldn’t see it very well so she wandered over to the ledge and clambered up.

It wasn’t easy. The sides were almost completely smooth and she struggled to get a purchase. When she did finally manage to haul herself up she immediately slipped and tipped headfirst into a hole she hadn’t realised was there.

“Ow!” she cried as her hip caught something hard.

The hole wasn’t deep thankfully, but it was full of great big rocks. How weird.

She shook herself off as she stood and squinted at the rocks. Tahvi lifted a paw to wipe at the dirt and green clinging to the surface. This one was quite large, about the same size as she was and for the life of her she could not fathom what someone would want with a rock this big.

She kept peering at the rock in the flickering light and extended her earth sense towards it.

And she staggered back into another rock. Well.

It wasn’t a rock at all and she blinked around herself taking in the four rounded shapes that were not rocks and were in fact actually eggs.

Tentatively, she reached towards the nearest egg and used her magic to inspect it for any indication that it had turned to stone, petrified like the mask on the statue in the other room. Instead she felt life burning within.

Tahvi rubbed her hand across the surface in awe. “How long have you been here?” she breathed. “Must be centuries. You poor things.”

Four abandoned eggs down here in this weird temple.

It occurred to her abruptly that this might not be the only nest on the ledge so she hauled herself back up.

And nearly fell down again.

That nest was one of ten in the room and all had eggs in them. She counted a few of them but there was easily thirty eggs. Maybe more.

“Are they all alive?” she asked the room, not really expecting an answer.

(She actually was fully expecting this strange, strange place to answer her somehow.)

(It didn’t, thankfully.)

And there was another room too. She figured they’d be the same but to satisfy herself she jumped down from the ledge and raced across the main chamber kicking up dust and glitter as she did so. When Tahvi skidded into the other room and the lights coiled around a pillar and up the walls to glimmer across the stone her mouth fell open.

This room was full of eggs too.

So many eggs. And not in a public space. If this was a temple… or some place of worship anyway, then what were eggs doing in here? Why had the chamber been sealed from outside? And why had the lair been abandoned with so many eggs still stored here?

Another very important question: if this place was old – so old she’d tentatively say it pre-dated most other draconic structures she’d seen – then what were eggs doing here? Was it even a draconic lair? If not, then whose? Perhaps she’d have to ask Venin about it, he might be old enough to know of the significance… or who had built it. Maybe. She wouldn’t hold her breath.

It seemed likely that her theory that dragons had lived here after someone (or something) else was correct. At least when taking the graphics and eggs both into consideration. Though that wasn’t especially comforting, really.

Tahvi smoothed a palm across one of the eggs.

Why had they been left behind?

She supposed there were a few options; maybe they couldn’t be carried with. (Maybe everyone died in an accident… or worse.) She thought about the runes carved everywhere like some kind of charm, about the statue of… well she assumed it was Fida’an… somehow. So perhaps these eggs were special somehow. Like how she was special. Or Anthelion.

Maybe they were dangerous.

It occurred to her briefly that she might not even want to know the answer.

(That was stupid. Of course she wanted to know.)

After another moment to glance around the chamber at all the eggs she launched herself from the ledge and hastened from the temple.

For the more she thought about it, the more convinced she grew that it was precisely that.

But she had to tell someone about this. Kieri would need to know and maybe she could pass the whole thing off to her. Or Venin. Regardless, the sooner she told someone else about this, the less responsibility she’d feel if they hatched into horrible monstrosities.

And given how their lair was turning out, she wouldn’t put it past them.

#flight rising #clan lore #chapters #this is the point of no return for my lore #it's terrifying and exciting equally #really hope to make some lore ties with my g1 hatches too btw #so if that's your thing pls join in

20 notes · View notes

heybinnie · 7 years ago

Text

i dunno if anyone watches steven universe but i gotta dump sth here

steven universe au

some context

there is Homeworld, located in space, where gems are made and are from

the three-ish people who lead Homeworld are called the Diamonds

every other gem kinda worships them and has to follow their every order

thousands of years ago, Homeworld set out to make Earth like this place to experiment making gems and shit and basically just rekt Earth for their own use

which is BAD

so basically the Diamonds suck

so Rose Quartz, right, shes a gem from Homeworld who saw Earth as a beautiful place and something worth saving

she believed that all life on earth is beautiful

SO she betrayed her own home to protect her new home, that is Earth

she started a rebellion called the Crystal Gems

whoever joined her had to remember that they could be killed, and if they won, they couldnt go back to Homeworld and have to stay on Earth

so they went to war with Homeworld called the Gem War and they won!!!!!

but the Crystal Gems lost a lot of their members

until there was only Rose, Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl left

Rose (Whos a gEm REMEMBER) she falls in love with a human

Rose gets pregnant!!!

BUT

their baby and her cant exist at the same time

so rose has to give up her physical form so that her baby can live

which means

her baby will be half human half gem, and will thus have her gem

so her baby lives, but without his mom

thats steven

and bc she led the rebellion, steven has to ‘deal’ with everything his mom left behind

which is a lot of stuff

about where Steven lives!!

he lives alone in this house, but its like connected to the Temple where the Crystal Gems live, so in a sense its basically just a big house with a huge weird basement so they all kinda live together idk how to explain this

lives on the beach!!! its so cute i love the place

THE CRYSTAL GEMS!!!

sanha is steven (*starts crying*)

his rose quartz gem is on his chest, over his heart

has never met his mom

so never really knew the love of a mother but it never really ~occurred~ to him until she becomes really important

I CANT TeLL YOU HOW EMOTIONALLY DRAINING IT WOULD BE TO BE STEVEN OK

so anyway sanha is a sweetheart

also is musically talented in every way

likes to sing random songs out of nowhere

likes to mess with his ‘guardians’ a lot aka the rest of the crystal gems

but they all have a soft spot for him no matter how much he messes up

he always does his best bro

and its so cute bc hes just the baby brother and hes surrounded by a bunch of hundreds or thousands of years old gems lmao

sometimes hes left alone at home when the rest of the crystal gems go on missions too dangerous for him

and when his dad is busy

hes alone at home

and its really quiet and the painting of his mother hangs on top of their front door, and sanha gets really lonely and just cries sometimes

so when rocky comes over his chest always fills up with warmth and relief

to sanha, his family is everything

also adorable. absolutely adorable no one can say no to his face tbh

jinjin is garnet??

hes created the exact same way garnet was

his gems are in the same places--both palms

jinjin loves the concept of love in general

bc hes literally made out of love

like legit

hes a fusion: a sapphire and ruby who werent supposed to but fell in love, and gems do this thing where when theyre really emotionally bonded and stuff theyd fuse? which is like. thats a lot of trust for each other ykno

so jinjins a fusion

people look down on fusions bc theyre usually thought to only be useful to like fight but jinjin exists because of love

YOU FEEL ME

and jinjin honestly doesnt care about what people think of him bc he exists

but he feels very strongly for fusions!!

hes also considered the ‘strongest’ because hes a fusion

also the de facto leader of the crystal gems

always calm and level headed but occasionally likes to crack a joke

everyone loves him

jinjin is jinjin in the sense that he is always kind and likes to make sanha laugh

soft spot for sanha

sanha trusts him a LOT

often looks to him for advice, when something goes wrong, for safety and warmth and protection

eunwoo is pearl

he hides his gem beneath his bangs?? bc hes embarrassed :’)

pearls are considered only useful as ‘accessories’ and servants to the Diamonds

gems from Homeworld think of pearls as the ‘lowest’ gems

but this boy learns to love and be confident of himself come FIGHT ME

no one owns eunwoo man he’s his own gem

hes really super duper smart

sometimes he and jinjin fight bc he sees things more logically>? while jinjin acts more on intuition and stuff?

mj makes fun of eunwoo sometimes bc he doesnt know how to have fun? but then right after mj helps him so thats kinda cute

but also eunwoo berates mj a lot bc

well its mj

also chides sanha a lot when he doesnt keep the house in order

often helps to clean up

anyway hes considered the ‘closest’ to Rose Quartz bc hed been fighting by her side the longest

so he misses her a lot but eunwoo doesnt blame sanha for any of it; he loves sanha all the same

but then bin THE LION comes into the picture and eunwoo gets this weird but warm, familiar sense of comfort from bin, something he remembers feeling around Rose when she was still around, so he likes to hang with bin a lot

even if bin the lion likes to lie on his face and whap him in the face with his tail and leave fur everywhere

anyway

mj is amethyst

but like....hes an amber

his gem is on hiS BACK between his shoulderblades

the history of amethyst: amethysts are ‘made’ on earth, theyre made mostly to be soldiers and fight for homeworld

somewhere above pearls on the hierarchy i guess

theyre made in the Kindergarten, where there are these holes in the walls where the gems would come out of

at some point mj’s kindergarten kind of became like a ‘bad place’ and every gem that grew out of there were like parasites

so that Kindergarten was abandoned

and mj, the hole he came out of, his hole was smaller than everyone else’s

he came out smaller than everyone else

he was considered a ‘defect’ and weaker than the others

anyway bc the place was abandoned and he had nowhere to go since no one wanted him, mj just stuck around alone by himself for hundreds of years

until Rose came along (when she was still alive of course) and offered him to join the Crystal Gems

and Rose taught him love and how he was worth fighting for and he mattered and that he wasnt a defect, not a parasite, that he deserved love and to be loved and to love others and

im emo

ANYWAY

MJ IS MJ hes the mood maker and always makes sanha smile whenever sanha is feeling down

hes kinda like the glue that keeps the gems together

loves to have fun

but he gets really uncomfortable whenever the topic of the other ambers or the Kindergarten is brought up like hes super insecure of where hes from

he tries to smile it off tho but he really just doesnt like talking about it

protecc mj

ROCKY!! IS CONNIE!!!!!!!!!

SANHA’S HUMAN BEST FRIEND

who sanha really pours his heart out to!!!

and rocky as rocky doesnt give him shit ykno but he real talks sanha

a lot

rocky also doesnt care that sanha is half gem and half human; like doesnt care and just likes him for him

sticks around through thick and thin and hell and highwater

believes in sanha, holds a lot of faith in him

but hes still your Rocky Swag

always listens to sanha whenever he needs someone to talk to

actually likes to hear about all his adventures with the other Crystal Gems

likes to touch and poke and prod at Sanha’s gem too

like he’d sometimes kinda just pull down on sanha’s collar just so he could look at his rose quartz gem sparkle in the sun and its so pretty he kinda wished he was a gem

anyway eventually he starts to really worry for sanha and wants to fight the bad guys with him, doesnt wanna be protected all the time

so rocky learns to fight

from jinjin

and rocky becomes especially good in combat and stuff and learns how to use some weapons from eunwoo (specialises in weapons)

honestly rocky is a gem like hes a GIFT

sanha’s so thankful for him

but he also feels really bad bc he feels like hes pulling rocky into his own mess and putting him in danger

but rocky doesnt care he just wants to be by sanha’s side and help him wherever he can and support him all the way through

im emo

rocky also holds sanha quietly when he cries about his mom

which starts to get more and more often

bin....is lion......................................................

LMAO

basically Lion is this uh lion that Sanha found one day when they went on a mission, and Lion is all pink and stuff and followed him around and all the way back home too

the Crystal Gems were unsure about keeping him but sanha thought it was HELLA COOL to have a pet lion and they all eventually lost to His Baby Face

no one can ever say no to that face

anyway bin is called Lion bc sanha has no originality with names so there

anyway

bin is actually a gem

he specialises in shapeshifting? so when rose was still around he was in lion form a lot

hes a cATS EYE QUARTZ

BUT HIS GEM waS cracked in the middle of the gem war

and usually when a gem’s gem is cracked they start to get real weird until the crack gets bigger and bigger and eventually it shatters which means they die

but when rose was alive she healed him but could only do it like halfway? like it was a rushed job so he was stuck as a lion during that war

and then when that was over he was kinda left behind bc rose thought she’d lost everyone already

idk bro

so basically bin’s been stuck as a lion for TOO LONG until sanha found him

but sanha doesnt knoW hes a gem bc bin’s gem is hidden so far beneath is goddam thicc mane so no one ever knew

also my friends who may not know

Steven’s Lion is pink

this means binnie will have pink hair and skin imagine that

and he kinda kneels to sanha (even as lion)

I CANT EXPLAIN THIS U JUST GOTTA KNOW HE KNEELS AND BOWS HIS HEAD

#respect

but also maintains that whole im-older-than-you-respect-me-u-brat vibe

ANYWAY

bin the LION comes along on one of the Crystal Gems’ missions with sanha

aND HE GETS REALLY HURT

ALMOST DIES KINDA HURT

his gem cracks and his form starts to get real weird, changing between lion and other animals and shit

SANHA STARTS CRYING

“Lion????”

sanha cries A LOT, buries his face into bin’s mane and stuff and it soaks right frickin thru

his teaRS HEALED BIN’S GEM

BIN COMES BACK

AS HIS ACTUAL FORM

hes naked

everyone screams

#miwrites #tbh just a dump #steven universe is just really cool i just really love the concept #bulletfic

66 notes · View notes