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yurishippingolympics2024-07-16 11:56 pm
a1c0bb) wrote in yurishippingolympics2024-07-16 11:56 pm
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They lock eyes across the room, and this is the start of the trouble, Cinder thinks. They lock eyes across the room, somehow, in the middle of all this — light and sound and someone yelling, some kind of soccer match in the background, hands on her back as someone scoots by, tables sticky with beer and g-d knows what else — and there’s something about her, something familiar —
She ducks her head, stares at her drink. All of the people she came with have since ditched her for other, more fun people they know; the event they came here for has been pushed back at least three times by now because they keep losing track of the organiser, and the girl by the bar she’s just found herself staring at has the clearest blue eyes she’s ever seen. Cinder worries at her lip and tries not to look too desperate, too lonely.
And this is how it begins, really: a hand knocks against her shoulder and she startles, the girl from the bar looks down at her and says, “Winter.”
Cinder blinks. She has to practically shout to be heard, but she looks patient, looks still. Somehow, in the sea of movement around them, she’s leaning easily against the side of Cinder’s table with one hand shoved in her pockets, and she’s so striking that the only word Cinder can manage is, “Huh?”
The girl points to herself. “Winter,” she repeats, “I saw one of your friends going out back.” She winces. “I assume she was feeling sick.”
“Oh,” Cinder says, “pretty name.”
Winter’s eyebrows shoot up. “Thank you?”
She points to herself, leaning closer over the noise to be heard. It’s stupid, she thinks; the organiser kept getting fucking lost and now they’ve got to wait for the match to finish and she probably won’t get home until midnight — “I’m Cinder.”
“Cinder,” Winter echoes. “You’re not here for the match?”
Cinder shakes her head, laughing. “Can you imagine? No, I’m backing up my friend. Pub quiz.”
Her eyes light up. “That is almost exactly what I’m doing.” She gestures back to the bar, to where a younger girl with similarly striking white hair is pretending not to watch the two of them over the top of her drink. “My sister needed a teammate.”
Cinder looks her up and down, finding her footing. “I’ll buy you a drink if you wind up beating me, how about that,” she says.
“I don’t drink,” Winter says — off Cinder’s surprised look, “parents.” She glances around the room — and now she’s remembered how to talk to pretty girls, Cinder finds herself admiring the slope of her jaw, the way her hair frames her face, “There’s a diner opposite. Should be pretty empty. I’ll owe you a dance.”
“A dance,” Cinder echoes, “just what century where you born in, exactly?”
Winter grins. It looks awkward on her, fumbling. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to smile a lot. “Don’t act like you aren’t charmed.”
And she is, Cinder thinks; she’s very charmed. “Well, you’re on,” she says. “I hope you’re good at trivia, darling.”
Winter flushes. She gets up, slinking out of her seat, brushing past her, and heads out to the back to go and find Emerald.
Teammates in a high school/university quiz bowl
word count: 745
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall
fandom: RWBY
// “Another red bill,” Winter says, looking over the top of her glasses at Cinder. It’s less intimidating and more cute, but she doesn’t point that out. “Do you know why?”
Cinder shrugs, lifting her coffee mug to her mouth. She waits for Winter’s eyebrows to vanish into her hairline before making a show of swallowing and saying, “Dunno. I’m a very good girl. I turn all my lights off before I go to bed.”
Winter looks to the left, to where the sun is rising over the top of the skyline of apartment blocks opposite their window. She looks very pretty like this, Cinder thinks, all gold and silver edges. “Well, this had to come from somewhere,” she says eventually — good mood effectively ruined — “and I don’t feel like trying to figure it out.”
Her hands twitch impatiently around the paper. Sensing a rant coming on, Cinder puts down her coffee mug and removes the bill from Winter’s grip. She doesn’t bother reading it, just begins folding as Winter’s eyes find something else to latch onto and nods along when she starts rambling. This is how she is supportive: sitting and listening, feeling out Winter’s edges. It’s a perfectly effective method, thank you very much.
“I don’t even know what they think they’re doing,” she’s saying, “you know, the, the —”
“The fuckass government.”
“ — yes, exactly. Energy bills and water bills and all that shit. I don’t know how they expect us to be able to — I mean, I’m twenty-five and since my father cut me off I’ve only ever lived in apartments, and that’s something else, what kind of country lets people like Jacques fucking Schnee hoard their wealth while Mantle — what are you doing?”
Cinder looks down at the paper airplane in her hands, then back at Winter. “What?”
She scrunches up her nose, which Cinder graciously avoids calling adorable. “Are you folding our bills into paper airplanes?”
Cinder sets the completed one down and starts rifling through the papers on their kitchen table for more bills. “Yes,” she says pleasantly, “why, my love?”
“I don’t think you can do that,” Winter points out, but the corners of her mouth are tugging up, seemingly against her will. Coming from her, it’s practically hysterical laughter. Cinder also graciously avoids calling this cute.
“I do whatever I want, love. I’ll make two and we’ll throw them out of the window.”
“I don’t think you can —”
“I do whatever I want,” Cinder repeats, reaching over the table to press a finger against her lips. Winter goes cross-eyed trying to look at it, then glares at her, and it’s really not that intimidating at all. “Bet you I can go further.”
Winter snatches her finger away from her mouth, glowering. “You’re shit at throwing things.”
“I’m great at throwing things. Watch me,” Cinder says, and starts folding a third bill just to prove a point.
“Besides, you’re already bringing me breakfast as repayment for the laundry incident, anyway.”
Cinder glances up from her hands, quirking an eyebrow. “What?”
Winter has never been particularly good at looking mischevious, but she manages it now. She settles back into her seat with her arms folded, eyeing Cinder up and down. “I’m assuming the stakes would be breakfast-related. And you’d probably lose, is what I’m saying.”
Cinder snorts. “Wow, that’s bold. I was going to say you’d have to let me whisk you away from work for a charming afternoon date, but if you don’t want that I can just aim low.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Winter picks up an airplane from the table and starts towards the window, halting only to watch Cinder send her third creation in loops around the kitchen and duck when it sails past her. “If we’re doing this —”
“You’d better have a great idea in mind, if you’re planning on winning,” Cinder grins.
“I have fantastic ideas all the time. I have never had a bad idea in my life.” She opens the kitchen window with one hand, curls Cinder into her side with the other when she approaches. Unfair, Cinder thinks, since Winter is a good four inches shorter than her, but it’s not like she doesn’t mind being held by butches who speak like they were born in 1820.
“You sure about that?” she says, and then, just to psyche her out, “You’re gonna lose anyway, so.”
“Want to bet?” Winter asks, all too smugly.
Cinder bumps their shoulders together, taking aim. “You’re on, sweetheart.”
Pet show competition! (your choice of pet)
word count:385
pairing: miorine rembran/suletta mercury
fandom: mobile suit gundam: the witch from mercury
//
“There you are,” Miorine says, propping her hands on her hips, “I was starting to think I’d lost track of you.”
Suletta grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. Her other hand rests on the hilt of her sword, which doesn’t go unnoticed — she watches Miorine’s eyes flick down, then up again, like she’s cataloguing, calculating — “Sorry. I was busy.”
“I bet you were,” Miorine hums. She crosses her arms over her chest, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Are we gonna do this or what?”
Right. She’s always been very down to business Suletta swallows and tries not to look nervous, which generally tends to be a futile endeavour. “Do we have to?”
“We do,” she confirms. And that’s it, isn’t it? They do. It’s a cycle, a pattern: as long as there are Rembrans and Samayas on the face of the Earth they’ll always have to do this. There isn’t any peace for them, any future.
Suletta tilts her head up, taking Miorine in as best as she can: her eyes, her smirk, the way her hair pools from where it’s been shoved into her collar. Why she doesn’t just tie it up, she’ll never know — she thinks about saying the same thing to Miorine when they were ten and twelve and eighteen and twenty and learning how to spar, feeling each other out. “Alright,” she says, “but I don’t want to hurt you.”
Miorine’s lips press into a thin line. She uncurls her arms, settles her fingers on the hilt of her own sword. Anesidoria, Suletta remembers. Naming her weapons always made her feel stronger, safer. “We have to,” she says, and, “I’m sorry. I think in another life, I would have liked to marry you.”
“I would have too,” Suletta says quietly. “I would have offered.”
“Not if I offered first,” Miorine grins. She draws her sword, silver fluid in the cool afternoon light, and takes up a fighting stance. “Maybe it would have made our parents come to their senses.”
Suletta draws her sword too, just so they’re on even ground. “Probably,” she agrees — although it’s hard to imagine Prospera and Delling getting along at all. “Or maybe they’d just be the peaceful kind of spiteful.”
“The peaceful kind of spiteful,” Miorine echoes, smiling wistfully, “that sounds nice.”
Professional wrestling!!!
“How on Earth did she do that,” Cinder says to no one in particular. Winter’s gaze on the computer screen stays fixed decidedly forward, head tilted up to capture the sunlight, hand on the sword at her hip — and it feels all too much like a taunt, a challenge, even though they haven’t seen each other in years and they certainly weren’t hitting each other with swords for a while before they lost contact. “How on — how the fuck?”
Mercury snorts from where he’s fidgeting with some circuitry, lips curling up into a smirk. And he has a distinctly annoying smirk. “Sheer talent, probably.”
“Sheer talent,” Cinder echoes, narrowing her eyes at the screen so hard she’s surprised when it doesn’t burst into flames. “Miss I Don’t Want To Touch A Sword In Your Presence Because What If We Both Trip And Fall And Stab My Baby Sister won a world record in hitting things with swords based on sheer talent?”
She grits her teeth, curls her fingers into fists. It’s a dumb thing to be upset about, probably. She must look like a petulant child missing her friend, fed up that she’s gone on and succeeded and all without her there. But the thing is, they were never really friends in the first place, so that accusation is mostly baseless.
Mercury snorts again, because of course he does. “What, you think you can beat her? I know you don’t pay attention to the news, but she’s like, the most famous swordsman in the world.”
“No she’s fucking not,” Cinder says. It doesn’t come out quite as smooth as she’d hoped. “She gave up when she was twenty because she wanted to be a politician.”
(‘Wanted’ isn’t quite the right word, but she doesn’t make a habit of explaining herself to Mercury.)
“And then she picked it up again,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining the concept to a small child. Smirking again, crouching low over his work table, he adds, “and no, I’m not helping you with practicing to beat her.”
“I’m going to do it anyway,” Cinder says hotly, getting up from her seat. “Stupid fucker. All she wanted to talk about was dreams and hope and the future and now she’s —” her hands clench around themselves, her fingernails dig into her palms. “Now she’s here.”
“Now she’s here,” Mercury echoes, and then yelps when something on his table sparks.
america’s got talent or any similar shows!!! :3 bonus points for being rival acts
Ema Skye x Kay Faraday (Ace Attorney)
Disclaimer: Any and all similarities between my girlfriend and me playing MarioKart are completely coincidental.
Ema grumbled, glaring at the screen. She practiced, she practiced every day for two weeks. She knew Kay would suggest they play Mario Kart, Kay loved Mario Kart, and Ema had a nostalgic fondness for the game too. Back when she was younger, she would beg Lana to play with her. Back when she was younger, she would also always win. Now though, she never saw the gold trophy when playing with Kay. At first Ema decided it was because of the different levels, she loved Double Dash for the GameCube and very few were ported from that game to the MarioKart 8. Which was fine, she would practice and learn the courses. She would figure out the perfect combo of character and cart. She would show Kay that she’s a worthy opponent. For the last two weeks, she tasted victory. First place after first place, she was ready to face her. So when Kay suggested they play together, Ema was ready.
Or so she thought. Somehow instead of tasting victory, she was currently in 6th place. The last race she barely squeaked by getting fourth. These are flukes right? Ema had been getting first, maybe she wasn’t good enough to beat Kay yet, but she should at least be in second or maybe even third. How was she currently on the last lap and in 6th place.
“Woo!” Kay exclaimed as she passed the finish line and her character, Rosalina, celebrated winning.
Ema gritted her teeth and concentrated harder. Come on, she could do it. Just pass Donkey Kong and…she got 6th. Throwing her controller on the couch, Ema crossed her arms and leaned back. How? She practiced and yet she was still…Kay had to be cheating.
“You’re cheating” Ema huffed.
“Of course not!” Kay said defensively as she clicked to start the next race. “You just had really bad luck at the end of the second lap with all those red shells.”
Ema pouted but shook it off and held down the A button to rev up the engine before the countdown ended. Taking a calming breath she focused as the countdown ended and she flew into fourth place. Okay okay, not too bad. Taking a corner, she was able to get into third place, rushing into an item box and getting a red shell. Lucky, second place, Toad, had a jump coming up and Ema was able to time the red shell throw so it hit Toad while he was in the air. Finishing the first lap, she was in second place. Not bad, not bad. Maybe it was just bad luck on the first two races, now she could redeem herself. Leaning forward, Ema focused just as a red shell hit her character and caused her to spin. Back to fourth place. Seriously how! Panicked, she tried to catch up and ran into a banana peel. Pushing her back to eighth place. No! Glaring at Kay's side of the screen, she saw she was still in first. It was unfair, why did Ema get all the bad luck? Ema kept glaring at Kay’s screen, Kay was almost done! No, Ema could accept defeat but she couldn’t let Kay win, not again, not when Ema had to fight so hard to stay in eighth and Kay seemed to be gliding without any obstacles in first. It was time Ema gave Kay an obstacle.
Without think Ema grabbed Kay’s scarf and pulled. She only meant to startle her focus, but the force led Kay to fall towards Ema and lock her in a kiss. Not intended, but Ema would not complain, especially once she realized Kay was actually kissing her and not just limply letting their lips touch. Ema kissed back, closing her eyes. This distraction was much better than anticipated.
“Haha! Winner!” Rosalina’s voice broke the silence. Ema whipped her head from Kays and towards the TV to Rosalina celebrating first place yet again. Kay had still won. Standing up, Ema glared at Kay as Ema’s character cried about getting 12th place, aka last.
“HOW” was all Ema could get out.
Kay looked sheepish and shrugged. “Muscle memory?”
Ema crossed her arms at that response. Yeah right. Turning around, she was ready to leave when Kay grabbed her hand.
“If you want, we could call it quits and not do the last race,” Ema turned around and looked at their linked hands.
“I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing more of…” Kay trailed off but her grin spoke volumes on what she meant. Relaxing back into the couch, Ema leaned forward to kiss Kay again.
“Maybe I could be convinced” Ema whispered as the two forgot the game and instead focused on each other.
“I was going to win anyways,” Kay said between kisses. Ema pulled back at that and grabbed a controller. Getting out of the current set of races she was doing she flung Kay’s controller at her.
“Rematch now” Ema declared. Kay pouted but complained. After all, how could she ever say no to the one she loved?
Disclaimer: Any and all similarities between my girlfriend and me playing MarioKart are completely coincidental.
Ema grumbled, glaring at the screen. She practiced, she practiced every day for two weeks. She knew Kay would suggest they play Mario Kart, Kay loved Mario Kart, and Ema had a nostalgic fondness for the game too. Back when she was younger, she would beg Lana to play with her. Back when she was younger, she would also always win. Now though, she never saw the gold trophy when playing with Kay. At first Ema decided it was because of the different levels, she loved Double Dash for the GameCube and very few were ported from that game to the MarioKart 8. Which was fine, she would practice and learn the courses. She would figure out the perfect combo of character and cart. She would show Kay that she’s a worthy opponent. For the last two weeks, she tasted victory. First place after first place, she was ready to face her. So when Kay suggested they play together, Ema was ready.
Or so she thought. Somehow instead of tasting victory, she was currently in 6th place. The last race she barely squeaked by getting fourth. These are flukes right? Ema had been getting first, maybe she wasn’t good enough to beat Kay yet, but she should at least be in second or maybe even third. How was she currently on the last lap and in 6th place.
“Woo!” Kay exclaimed as she passed the finish line and her character, Rosalina, celebrated winning.
Ema gritted her teeth and concentrated harder. Come on, she could do it. Just pass Donkey Kong and…she got 6th. Throwing her controller on the couch, Ema crossed her arms and leaned back. How? She practiced and yet she was still…Kay had to be cheating.
“You’re cheating” Ema huffed.
“Of course not!” Kay said defensively as she clicked to start the next race. “You just had really bad luck at the end of the second lap with all those red shells.”
Ema pouted but shook it off and held down the A button to rev up the engine before the countdown ended. Taking a calming breath she focused as the countdown ended and she flew into fourth place. Okay okay, not too bad. Taking a corner, she was able to get into third place, rushing into an item box and getting a red shell. Lucky, second place, Toad, had a jump coming up and Ema was able to time the red shell throw so it hit Toad while he was in the air. Finishing the first lap, she was in second place. Not bad, not bad. Maybe it was just bad luck on the first two races, now she could redeem herself. Leaning forward, Ema focused just as a red shell hit her character and caused her to spin. Back to fourth place. Seriously how! Panicked, she tried to catch up and ran into a banana peel. Pushing her back to eighth place. No! Glaring at Kay's side of the screen, she saw she was still in first. It was unfair, why did Ema get all the bad luck? Ema kept glaring at Kay’s screen, Kay was almost done! No, Ema could accept defeat but she couldn’t let Kay win, not again, not when Ema had to fight so hard to stay in eighth and Kay seemed to be gliding without any obstacles in first. It was time Ema gave Kay an obstacle.
Without think Ema grabbed Kay’s scarf and pulled. She only meant to startle her focus, but the force led Kay to fall towards Ema and lock her in a kiss. Not intended, but Ema would not complain, especially once she realized Kay was actually kissing her and not just limply letting their lips touch. Ema kissed back, closing her eyes. This distraction was much better than anticipated.
“Haha! Winner!” Rosalina’s voice broke the silence. Ema whipped her head from Kays and towards the TV to Rosalina celebrating first place yet again. Kay had still won. Standing up, Ema glared at Kay as Ema’s character cried about getting 12th place, aka last.
“HOW” was all Ema could get out.
Kay looked sheepish and shrugged. “Muscle memory?”
Ema crossed her arms at that response. Yeah right. Turning around, she was ready to leave when Kay grabbed her hand.
“If you want, we could call it quits and not do the last race,” Ema turned around and looked at their linked hands.
“I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing more of…” Kay trailed off but her grin spoke volumes on what she meant. Relaxing back into the couch, Ema leaned forward to kiss Kay again.
“Maybe I could be convinced” Ema whispered as the two forgot the game and instead focused on each other.
“I was going to win anyways,” Kay said between kisses. Ema pulled back at that and grabbed a controller. Getting out of the current set of races she was doing she flung Kay’s controller at her.
“Rematch now” Ema declared. Kay pouted but complained. After all, how could she ever say no to the one she loved?
Vampires vs. Werewolves
[NOTE: I’m not going to make this a habit because I do want to focus on canonically female characters whether cis or trans, but in this fic both Light & L are transfem!]
“I have a question for Light-chan,” L says, chewing on her fingernail.
They’re in their bedroom — this is not a sentence Light ever expected to say about L of all people, but nevertheless — and L is peering at her with those bottomless black eyes, waiting for her answer.
Light hates her. Light hates her so much. She isn’t Kira, no matter what she might have said in what surely was a moment of madness all those weeks ago, and nothing L can say will change that. She recites these mantras to herself in the mirror sometimes, as though the more times she thinks it the more true it will become.
— Because it is true. Obviously. Light Yagami is a good person.
“What is it, Ryuzaki?” she answers anyway, most congenial smile on.
“Do you prefer vampires or werewolves?”
Light freezes.
Shit. What the hell is L getting at? What’s her strategy here? There’s always something under that still, deceptively open face. Some tripwire Light can feel but not see, coiling under her feet.
What’s the correct answer here?
If I say vampires, my percentage will definitely go up. Vampires are creatures of the night and feed off other people’s misery and pain, but they keep up a facade of propriety and well-meaning, just like Kira does. They also epitomize the ‘femme fatale’ archetype, though, which is definitely not Kira’s style… no, but it’s not Light Yagami’s style either! That’ll just look suspicious! But answering werewolves would look even MORE suspicious — they’re savage and animalistic for just one day per month. Kira acts on all days, sure, but it’s just too out of character for Light Yagami the straight-A’s student to say! L would either think I’m lying or that I’m hiding some big secret if I told her that. But that doesn’t leave me with any good options—
“Light-chan?”
“Yes?” Light says, having thought all of that in approximately 0.2 seconds.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” L says, eyes never leaving her face. “I’m just curious about your honest answer.”
………
What is her honest answer?
In all these stupid thought exercises L’s made her do, favorite My Little Pony character or favorite color or favorite fast food joint, Light’s never actually considered that. It didn’t seem relevant.
Not for the first time recently, Light’s mind wanders back to the moment she’d come out in front of the task force. In retrospect it’d seemed obvious; Light had always hated the words son and man and Mr Yagami, beautiful robes of compliments that scratched into her like thorns. She’d quit sports in junior high because the way tennis was making her look, the comments she’d gotten from teammates, had made her feel like throwing herself into the sea. But when had she realized herself? When had she ever actually figured it out?
Light can’t remember. It bothers her more than she can say.
I’m just curious about your honest answer.
Light, right now, in a room alone with the woman she hates, feels more honest than she’s ever been in her life, and doesn’t know why.
“Neither,” she says.
L blinks. For a second Light panics, because Ryuzaki never blinks. Then: “Interesting. Would Light-chan care to elaborate?”
“I just never got all that into those books,” Light says. Why does she feel like she’s on the edge of a precipice? “I think I felt more like a zombie, back then.”
“And what about now?”
“…I don’t know.”
L leans back in her chair and stares at Light for a beat. Then another.
“If you’re considering raising my Kira percentage I’ll strangle you,” Light says, in complete honesty, her heart jackrabbiting in her chest.
“I might have to after that comment,” L muses. “But never mind that. I’ve been reading a novel recently known as Twilight—”
Light punches her again.
transfem light yagami started out as a joke and is now one of my dearest death note headcanons. whoops! someone save this girl
Fighting for one's freedom
Contestants in a survival game, à la Kamisama no Iutoori, Real Account and Squid Game. Could be lethal or non-lethal, an actual reality TV gameshow in-universe or whatever you please.
Ship: Kurama Neon/Sakurai Sara
Canon: Kamen Rider Geats
Words: 437
----------
Somehow, somewhere, the Desire Grand Prix starts again.
How, Neon can sort of deduce a clue. The future is vast, with endless possibilities and abilities. It should come to no surprise that somehow, somewhere, the world will fall to interference yet again.
At least this time, Tsumuri is dressed the same, she notes dryly, as she looks at the skyscraper in front of her.
“Your objective is to run to the finish line at the top of the building. Don’t hit any obstacles,” Tsumuri says.
“Of course there’s obstacles,” Neon hears, the dramatic but defeated tone of the speaker apparent.
She turns her head. To her left stands her most valued — and yet, most worrisome — opponent. Sara, ever the stars in her sky, has seemed to be dragged into this mess as well. While her hair is neatly straight against her shoulder, there is almost certainly a definite frown on her face.
Of course. Of course everything would go wrong, and Neon’s happiness in particular would get targeted.
“Yes, Sara- Sakurai Sara-sama,” Tsumuri says, “Be sure to move carefully, for there are hidden traps in the walls and the floor.”
This too is a robbed aspect of Neon’s happiness. The Desire Grand Prix had ended, damn it! No longer had she needed to fear the effects of some random strangers from the future; she had finally found the love of her life, gotten away with her parents, and built a family around the friendships she had made.
Tsumuri’s excessive formality, once torn down, only serves as a reminder.
“The loser of this round will be, unfortunately, eliminated.”
Neon’s time is short. She knows this all too well.
Her gaze continues to stay locked on Sara. Dear, sweet Sara — beloved Princess Charming, occasional camerawoman of Neon TV, and overall sunshine that a stray cat would gladly take naps in. Surely, the non-participating members of her friend group must have come up with some plan by now, to end this charade once again.
After a few stormy seconds, Sara finally looks at her.
“Good luck,” Neon says, internally chastising herself for the curt tone.
Sara, seemingly, pays no heed. Her eyes grow wide, and water laces her lash lines, quivering — fitting for her tone as she replies.
“We’ll beat them again, right, Neon?”
To this, Neon is uncertain. But she nods anyway.
“Right,” she says, “Please don’t die.”
“I won’t!” Sara responds.
Oh, Sara. How assured she sounds. How much of it, Neon wonders, is false bravado? And how much of it is the belief in the world — the belief that no matter what, the world will always set itself a happy ending sometime or another?
That they too can return to their happy ending, one way or another?
Tsumuri’s voice, grave as it is, is a correction; today can serve as a negative trajectory for Neon’s life, if everything gets worse.
“Game... start.”
Canon: Kamen Rider Geats
Words: 437
----------
Somehow, somewhere, the Desire Grand Prix starts again.
How, Neon can sort of deduce a clue. The future is vast, with endless possibilities and abilities. It should come to no surprise that somehow, somewhere, the world will fall to interference yet again.
At least this time, Tsumuri is dressed the same, she notes dryly, as she looks at the skyscraper in front of her.
“Your objective is to run to the finish line at the top of the building. Don’t hit any obstacles,” Tsumuri says.
“Of course there’s obstacles,” Neon hears, the dramatic but defeated tone of the speaker apparent.
She turns her head. To her left stands her most valued — and yet, most worrisome — opponent. Sara, ever the stars in her sky, has seemed to be dragged into this mess as well. While her hair is neatly straight against her shoulder, there is almost certainly a definite frown on her face.
Of course. Of course everything would go wrong, and Neon’s happiness in particular would get targeted.
“Yes, Sara- Sakurai Sara-sama,” Tsumuri says, “Be sure to move carefully, for there are hidden traps in the walls and the floor.”
This too is a robbed aspect of Neon’s happiness. The Desire Grand Prix had ended, damn it! No longer had she needed to fear the effects of some random strangers from the future; she had finally found the love of her life, gotten away with her parents, and built a family around the friendships she had made.
Tsumuri’s excessive formality, once torn down, only serves as a reminder.
“The loser of this round will be, unfortunately, eliminated.”
Neon’s time is short. She knows this all too well.
Her gaze continues to stay locked on Sara. Dear, sweet Sara — beloved Princess Charming, occasional camerawoman of Neon TV, and overall sunshine that a stray cat would gladly take naps in. Surely, the non-participating members of her friend group must have come up with some plan by now, to end this charade once again.
After a few stormy seconds, Sara finally looks at her.
“Good luck,” Neon says, internally chastising herself for the curt tone.
Sara, seemingly, pays no heed. Her eyes grow wide, and water laces her lash lines, quivering — fitting for her tone as she replies.
“We’ll beat them again, right, Neon?”
To this, Neon is uncertain. But she nods anyway.
“Right,” she says, “Please don’t die.”
“I won’t!” Sara responds.
Oh, Sara. How assured she sounds. How much of it, Neon wonders, is false bravado? And how much of it is the belief in the world — the belief that no matter what, the world will always set itself a happy ending sometime or another?
That they too can return to their happy ending, one way or another?
Tsumuri’s voice, grave as it is, is a correction; today can serve as a negative trajectory for Neon’s life, if everything gets worse.
“Game... start.”
Edited 2024-07-28 02:01 (UTC)
Cinder has never been one to hesitate before. First District girls with flashy white hair and swords generally don’t elicit her sympathy; she’s pounced on two or three kids just like her before, dyed hair and bright eyes and weapons that seem ill-fitting for a competition like this — and she’s killed them all quickly, so why —
“Stop,” the girl underneath her repeats, hands raised, “stop, wait. Please.”
Okay, yep, there it is. Cinder raises her axe again, angling for the kill, and nearly drops it when the girl kicks her leg and sends her sprawling sideways into the grass.
“I told you to stop,” the girl says over the sound of her ears ringing, rising to her feet. Her hands are still raised, her sword still in its sheath at her side. She doesn’t seem like a threat, which is good. It gives Cinder time to come back to her senses. “I was trying to say — I have food, and you seem hungry.”
Cinder has never not known how to be hungry. She spits out a mouthful of dirt and lifts her head off the ground, clenching her fist around the hilt of her axe. “That’s the point, Schnee.”
The girl startles a little, blue eyes widening in the dim light of the undergrowth. “You know who I am?”
“Oh, come on, it’s obvious,” Cinder mutters. “How many white-haired sword users are there in the whole of Remnant?”
She looks at her strangely, stiffly. “Quite a few, if I had to guess. Everyone in the First District is trained in swordplay.”
Cinder glares at her. “Everyone?”
“Everyone,” she echoes. “My younger sister was drawn, I volunteered. I’m the eldest. My name is Winter. People keep sending me food, and I have more than I know what to do with. If I leave it it’ll rot before it can be of use to anyone. Stick with me?”
She eyes her, rubs at the spot on her jaw where it hit the ground. “How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?”
“How do I know you won’t?” Winter challenges. She’s still looking at her weirdly; it makes Cinder want to squirm uncomfortably in the mud and grass, makes her want to blind her so she’ll never look at her that way again.
They regard each other for a moment. Cinder thinks, and then realises that she doesn’t need to — or rather, that she isn’t in the first place; that she’s letting the break from all the fighting and the desperation to live wash over her.
“Fine,” she spits out, when it’s dragged on long enough. “Fine. Food for protection.”
Winter smiles, pats the sword at her hip. “I don’t need protecting, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
//
“What will you do if you win?”
Cinder looks at her over the campfire, finds her patient, expectant. There’s a clearly rehearsed response there, a ploy for attention from the Capitol. She must have been coached in what to do, what to say.
Cinder has never really thought about surviving beyond the first few days.
“Uh,” she says eloquently, “live?”
Winter’s lips quirk up, like that was the response she was expecting. “Yes, I suppose.”
They look at each other over the campfire for a little while longer before Cinder realises she’s supposed to ask the question back. “So. What about you, Atlas?”
Winter hums (rehearsed), turns her head up to the stars (rehearsed), sighs. “I don’t actually know, but I’d like to figure it out.” She pauses, fingers lingering on the hilt of her sword. “Sacrificing myself was always the plan. If either of my siblings were chosen, I’d take their place. And I couldn’t —” genuine emotion leaks through, drips through the cracks. She pauses a second time, breath hitching. “I can’t leave them alone. So that’s — what I’m doing, when I win. I’m going back and I’m keeping them safe.”
“How old are they?” Cinder asks without thinking.
Winter looks down, looks away. “Twelve and eight. Kids.”
“We’re kids,” she says.
“We are.”
They don’t talk for the rest of the night after that.
They meet for the third time outside Vacuo, in the shade of a dune rising high enough to blot out the sunset. Winter waits patiently, as though she’s ever had the patience for anything, and Cinder arrives burning through the sand as the sky dulls to purple, leaking fire.
“You called me,” she says. Not much of a greeting, but it’s enough.
Winter tilts her chin up. “I’m ending this now. Think of me when you die.”
Cinder laughs disbelievingly. “You’re — what? You think you can just — call me out here for a duel and it’ll all be over? That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.”
She squares her shoulders, sets her jaw. “Well, it is now. This is the choice I’m giving you: fight me now or run away.”
“Whatever happened to good old-fashioned battle?” Cinder sneers, all teeth. “What do you want me to do, lay down and die? Wait for this —” she gestures with her Grimm arm, fire blooming in her palm, “to finish the job?”
“I won’t play fair if you won’t,” Winter says, and sends a spear of ice towards Cinder’s throat.
rival bands!! bonus points for celeb elements
fake dating, competing at being the better partner <3
They’d been briefed about the outlines of their relationship, of course. Fed a first meeting story, acceptable pet names, appropriate levels of affection, all that. This was a risk for their bosses, after all, and they wouldn’t want a scandal on the pretty duo that was the face for NHN’s acquirement of seven main idol agencies and also Misa-Misa.
The official story, by the way, held that Kiyomi had been the one to ask Misa out, “charmed utterly by her beauty,” which Misa thought was sweet. Kiyomi disagreed. “As if I’d ever be so shallow,” she muttered while they stepped out of the limo.
“Oh, babe,” Misa said — quiet enough for the reporters to miss, but not for Kiyomi. “You’re plenty shallow.”
Kiyomi almost, almost glowered at her. Then she apparently remembered herself and pasted on her blandest smile.
Boring, Misa thought. They really shouldn’t have gotten Kiyomi Takada for this. She was good at keeping calm, sure, but she wasn’t an actor. Not like Misa.
Still, something about that crack in the mask made her stomach flutter.
The reporters had already been briefed to wait inside, but Misa spotted a few crouching in the bushes anyway. Creeps. She turned to Kiyomi—
And Kiyomi grabbed her hand.
This was entirely expected. Hand-holding was outlined within the acceptable codes of conduct; even a kiss on the cheek was okay. But Misa startled. Kiyomi’s bloodred nails dug almost-but-not-quite painfully into her palm.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Kiyomi whispered.
Oh. Ohhh. Oh, it was on.
“Yes, of course,” Misa whispered back, and stroked the flat of her thumb over Kiyomi’s knuckles. Reassuring, kind. “It’s just… been a while since any press events.”
“Well, we’ll be in it together,” Kiyomi said. Misa was quite sure she was the only one who could see the spark of cold, calculated brilliance in those brown eyes. “So don’t worry, love. Alright?”
And now I smile up at her, vulnerable but sincere…
“…Alright,” Misa said, and raised on her tiptoes to plant a kiss directly on Kiyomi’s forehead. Thankfully for their managers, she’d worn stain-free lipstick; Misa kind of wished she hadn’t, now. She’d love to see what Kiyomi’s face would look like with the imprints of Misa’s kisses all over her.
And there was the glower. Just for a split-second, before it was coolly tucked back into the facade of the professional yet devoted girlfriend.
Misa didn’t grin, but it was a close thing.
“Now let’s go in,” Kiyomi said softly.
Finally, Misa thought. Let the games begin.
Competition for a hand in marriage
Suletta settles her head on Miorine’s shoulder, watching her work. Her fingers skim idly over her wrists, follow the movement of her hands — it could be almost domestic, if it weren’t for the world falling apart around them.
“When you fought Guel that time,” she says, turning her head into Miorine’s neck, “were you trying to win your own hand in marriage?” She pauses, drums her fingers on Miorine’s wrists. “How would that work?”
It’s such a random question that Miorine laughs, giving up on trying to cut the sandwiches properly. “Touchy today, are we?”
Suletta pouts. “Nooo. I just missed you.”
“I’m not seventeen yet,” Miorine says, nodding towards the calendar. “Ask me again when we’re married.”
Her pout melts away into something like bliss. “Married,” she echoes, soft, “and I’m going to beat Shaddiq so good he’ll never challenge me again.”
“Correct,” Miorine says idly, thinking of signatures on legal documents and the cold Grassley House halls.
“But, um. Why?”
“Why what?”
“About the duel with Guel.” Her fingers pick up their drumming against Miorine’s wrists again. “You fought him so you could have control over your future, right? But how would that work? Wouldn’t you just become the Holder?”
“That was the point.” Miorine picks up her knife again, gets back to work. If Suletta wants to risk a few fingers, so be it. (Still, she finds herself moving gentler.)
“And then you’d be engaged to yourself.”
“Technically.”
“I don’t think that’s — entirely how engagement works,” Suletta says slowly, like she’s trying to work out the logistics of it in her brain.
“It would have forced my father’s hand, which was the point,” Miorine explains, counting the sandwiches on the countertop. “Having no Holder means that I’d be free to do what I want. I was banking on the defeat being humiliating enough for Guel that he backed down.”
“And if Guel backs down, it’s a sign,” Suletta finishes the thought.
“Yeah. Pass me the boxes, will you?”
Suletta straightens up like she’s been given the most important task in the world and lets go of her to rifle through Miorine’s cabinets. She misses her warmth immediately.
“Winter?”
Winter recognises that voice. She turns around, breath caught in her throat, and there she is: Cinder Fall, eyes wide with disbelief and amusement, propped against the wall in the corridor like she belongs there.
“Cinder,” she says feebly, “you’re here too?”
Cinder rolls her shoulders, stepping forward. “Of course I’m here. I’m a courtier.” She narrows her eyes, blazing gold, “You’re a courtier too?”
“Of course,” Winter echoes, finding her footing. “I’m — I’m here for —”
She throws her hands up suddenly, exploding into motion. “I don’t care who you’re here for, I care that you’re here! What happened to the army, huh? What happened to staying the hell out of my way?”
Now, that, she knows how to respond to. Winter draws herself up, feeling for the familiar hilt of her sword. It’s always been an anchor, a guide, her future on the edge of a blade. “I’m doing my duty for my country,” she parrots, “and General Ironwood believes I’ll serve him best at Lady Marigold’s side.”
Cinder snorts. “So, what? You’re giving up the dream you gave up everything else for?”
“I’m not giving anything up,” Winter says defensively. “I knew what I was getting into and I accepted the job. Why are you here? Aren’t you doing the same thing?”
Cinder halts, then draws herself up too. It’s hard to forget they’ve had the same training in moments like these; hard to forget that they were spat out of the same academy not that long ago. “I’m seeking a greater foothold for my Lady,” she says haughtily, “because unlike you, I never bothered to delude myself with dreams of becoming a knight.”
“Hold on,” Winter says, hardly noticing the barb, “hold on, I am a knight. You forget — you come here and you think you can just — I am a knight. I’ve been a knight for years. I don’t have to dream because I’ve already —”
Cinder steps forward into her space, crosses half the corridor before Winter can even finish her sentence. Her eyes burn bright up close, warm and amber and deep. She used to love those eyes. Still does, maybe.
“And what good is a knight,” she says, voice low, “up here in this palace?”
There’s something there behind her words; a memory she’s trying to draw out, and it hits Winter all at once.
(Her body will always carry the memory of it, she thinks. You never forget how to hold a sword.)
//
Lady Marigold asks to see Winter in her rooms the day before the last ball of the season. She keeps her distance, as she has always done, standing shadowed against the light streaming in from the balcony, and her voice is soft as she tells Winter to leave.
“What?” Winter says hoarsely. “Why?”
May looks down her nose at her, arms folded over her chest. She looks every inch the girl Winter grew up with, every inch a stranger. “You don’t want to be here.”
She fumbles for the sword at her waist, draws it as she kneels, holds it out. It’s a clumsy display of loyalty, but it’s loyalty nonetheless. And loyalty is what May — Lady Marigold — needs to see, loyalty is what will keep here here —
“Don’t,” May says softly. “I’m not stupid, Winter. You’d do the General more good on the battlefield.”
It stings. Winter blinks, sure the ache in her chest is only the momentary pain of a blow. “I — if the Fall Maiden —”
“Cinder hasn’t said anything to me. I have eyes.”
That’s that, then.
//
Cinder shoulder-checks Winter as she passes by, as she always does, and then falters when Winter doesn’t push back. She spares her a glance that lingers, a glance that Winter feels through the back of her shirt, and when she opens her mouth to say something Winter heads her off.
“You won,” she says flatly, “I’m going home. Have fun at the ball.”
Cinder falters. Winter doesn’t turn to see her expression change. “Aw, but I was counting on you saving me a dance.”
“Counting on me for what?” she mutters.
A body presses up behind her. Winter stumbles forward as Cinder’s arms snake around her waist, pulling them together. Heat flushes up her spine, sends her spinning. “You’ve never gone down without a fight, have you?” Cinder murmurs in her ear. “You’ll have to show me what makes you so eligible.”
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