coprime_recs (
coprime_recs) wrote2021-03-19 10:23 pm
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Goblin Emperor: But I will hold as long as you like by roachpatrol
But I will hold as long as you like (Csethiro/Maia | PG13 | 1,726 words): Maia and Csethiro have their first fight. This is a serious look at what form strife between Maia and Csethiro might take, and it's such a good potential extension of the canon.
Excerpt:
"We are not a child," Csethiro bites out. "We refuse to be treated as one."
"Yes, we know," Maia snaps back, tired, angry, drawing to his full Drazhada height to stand over her, "and so we wonder as to why you are acting like one—"
Csethiro slaps him. The step forward, the open palm, the ringing crack of it: she has seen the maneuver performed countless times, by countless women, for countless reasons. Even in this does the court have a tradition, a proper way, even in this is her disapproval circumscribed. An openhand slap shocks, it humiliates, it draws the attention. It does not injure.
Maia, however, is not of the court. He does not step back. He does not touch his white fingers to the livid red bloom— the strife-blossom, as bad poets liked to call the thing, discord's rose— laid high on his pale cheek, he does not turn on his heel to recover his dignity in private.
Excerpt:
"We are not a child," Csethiro bites out. "We refuse to be treated as one."
"Yes, we know," Maia snaps back, tired, angry, drawing to his full Drazhada height to stand over her, "and so we wonder as to why you are acting like one—"
Csethiro slaps him. The step forward, the open palm, the ringing crack of it: she has seen the maneuver performed countless times, by countless women, for countless reasons. Even in this does the court have a tradition, a proper way, even in this is her disapproval circumscribed. An openhand slap shocks, it humiliates, it draws the attention. It does not injure.
Maia, however, is not of the court. He does not step back. He does not touch his white fingers to the livid red bloom— the strife-blossom, as bad poets liked to call the thing, discord's rose— laid high on his pale cheek, he does not turn on his heel to recover his dignity in private.