CW: Perhaps maybe like, one suggestive sentence or implication. Nothing much beyond that.
Pst pst- come get your Moon hehe-
@zemonkeartistog @sugarhog05 (Figured you might like this one)
What did it mean to be devoted? Moon thought he knew, having been devoted to his brothers his whole life. Caring for them, helping them, looking after them- despite his…search for solitude. Picking up his little brother and dusting him off after a fall. Helping Sun when things got busy or too strenuous. Making sure everyone was alright. He knew what devotion was.
Until you came along, and changed the whole meaning of the word.
Devotion to you was not like devotion to his brothers. It was ranged. One moment wilder, another calmer, tempting in ways he didn’t know he could be tempted. Enticing like taboo but pure like something holy. You were tainting him yet cleansing him at the very same time and it left his mind reeling.
Was it devotion that urged his teeth along your skin in the dead of night where only the sound of the Starling birds cooing up at the cosmos could be heard outside? Was it what made his eyes stay trained to your form when you danced in the light of the stars and the moons, or enticed him to answer your call whenever you asked for him? Was it that very reverence he held for you that urged him to be everything you needed? A home, a protector, a listener, a friend, partner, lover…
Was it devotion, the way he vied for your love and care, to hold him and cradle him as he did oh so carefully to you. Was it what made him tuck in those claws that he had so carefully honed so that no one would harm his family, not wanting to see the heavenly liquid running in your veins spill from your flesh and taint his hands? Was it what drew him back from the wilds- back to home, his brothers? Back to you?
You made him want to be soft. Soft for you, to hold and caress and utter silken words of worship at your feet, kissing every inch that he could- no, what you allowed him to reach. Shaken with such utter emotion, struck with the overwhelming sensation of value of your presence and attention. Of a simple glimpse of that wonderful and utterly beautiful glint in your eyes when you smiled, or laughed. Down deep to his core, hands shaking and mouth dry- oh you made him nervous.
Moon. The ever picture of calm tranquility- the still water in a pond, a single ripple, smoothed and practiced.
But so enraptured. Captured by your soul and light that seemed to fill you from your feet to the tip top of your head and through your arms to your sweet fingertips. You seemed to shine brighter than any light he had counted in the sky.
He wanted to keep you, hoist you up into his arms close to his heart and carry you to his favorite views where he might whisper all these things into your ears, seeing that lovely shade of color bloom onto your face like a flower opening to greet the light. He wanted to tell you everything, truth leaking from his lips like riverflow over smoothed rocks, trusting you with his heart.
He wanted to kiss you. Hold you close.
He wanted to love you, no, he did love you.
Yes, this devotion, while just as strong, was different.
Since it’s the first one to be posted, figured I’d ping you <3
@zemonkeartistog
Sun was always so patient. A gentle calm wind that stirred soothing sensations, the reassurance, and kindness. Whether it was with you, his brothers, neighbors, the kids he looked after, didn't matter. It seemed he always had boundless amounts of the gift to give.
The people who didn’t know him very well personally, would comment things about how he never seemed to get angry, to which he would wave off with a playful remark about practice. "Oh everyone gets angry! It's just practice to not get angry at others in the moment." Usually a kid or two was nearby listening, and he’d wink at them causing them to giggle. Parents would laugh, and take their kids along their merry way, seeming to agree with Sun. Ever the role model, ever the representative.
But you knew better.
Sun was one to artfully mask his anger, turning to different methods of approach to a situation, handling things logically. "Anger clouds judgement," he'd told you once, "it fuels actions and words with little consideration for how far that leap is- and you forget to look. That isn't to say getting angry is wrong- no I believe getting angry can show the depths of how much a person cares. But I myself personally, would rather diffuse a situation. No need for tears!"
But you’ve seen him snap. Granted, it wasn’t targeted at you, or his brothers for that matter, but that didn’t make it all the less jarring. For a Mation with such a sunny disposition and loving and gentle demeanor it was as if a switch was flicked. The string had snapped, the transition, a mere blink of a T'yrip's many eyes.
Old Wicker had made a comment, he always does, when you had passed by one day. He never liked you, from the very second you were introduced he greatly disliked you. He was older, more set in his ways, believed the younger adults too naïve to understand the clear danger you posed. Claimed you were a 'bad influence' on the Celestial family line within the roots of the Cliffedge system. To your credit, you ignored him for the most part, the little huffs and jabs he sent your way were not strong or sharp enough to pierce you. Most of his choices of words against you were to more like-minded Mations, granted, most of the time you were near Old Wicker, you were with one of the boys.
He tended to be very quiet when Moon was around. And never stuck around long with Eclipse in the same room.
But that day, when walking back home with Sun after a long day of caring for the children at the nursery, the old Mation muttered something in the in his language. Just loud enough for you to hear. A language you grown familiar with, but couldn’t speak very well due to your vocal cords. You had heard the word muttered, recognizing it vaguely as an insult but didn’t remember the meaning- or maybe you weren't told the meaning.
Sun knew though. He knew exactly what it meant. Heard it too, rather crystal clear had that old Mations voice been ringing like a poisoned bell in the golden rayed head of your love. Having stopped dead in his tracks, sentence cutting off mid-word.
“Excuse me, could you repeat that friend?”
You’d never heard his voice hit that low of an octave before, the normal soft warmth of sunlit stones and gentle leaves in the wind turned to hot metal and rough gravel. Almost like getting burned on a seatbelt left too long in the sun, the sting and venom sinking into the flesh of a burn. His head had spun around unnaturally- or well, unnaturally to you, eyes narrowed and honed in on Wicker. His pupils might be as milky white as the rest of his eyes but, for once, you could tell exactly where Sun was staring.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you had called them a-”
Your understanding of the language cut off there, hearing the word again this time from Sun, an alarming amount of wrath wound around his tongue like silken barbwire and shrapnel, anger coating his teeth that dripped with almost the scent of blood. You weren’t sure if this was your Sun anymore.
He’d stepped towards Old Wicker, extending to his full height and glaring down at your neighbor, who seemed to be regretting his choice of actions quite rapidly.
“If I hear that word from you again, referring to them,” Suns head jutted towards you, eyes still trained on Wicker- at least you believe them to be, “I’ll tell your oh so sweet Markayl that you’ve been slinking around doing-, oh what was it again? Ah right-”
Sun leaned down, getting right in Wicker's strained face, “I’ll let it slip that you’ve been delving with the H’bitytes again, doing some very naughty things…” Sun hissed, the end of his sentence trailing off into a whisper of toxic fog.
“Are we clear?”
Wicker had nodded repeatedly, murmuring a brief apology to you before scampering off to who knows where. Probably back home to his partner- and hide for the rest of the day.
“Now then, sorry about that little light, let’s head home,” Sun stood up straight and walked back to you, offering his hand as he always did. Any sign of anger gone. As if what you witnessed was merely a dream, or fleeting memory.
“What did it mean?” You ask.
Sun paused, hesitating. He never lied to you, he made an effort to never ever lie to you, but you could tell from his face that he didn’t want to answer.
“…Something very cruel little light, something I wish you never had to hear.”
He squeezed your hand, familiar warmth seeping into your skin before quickly pulling you close and scooping you up into his chest off the ground, “But don’t worry about it, or Ol’ Wicker. He won’t bother you again. But if he does-”
Sun reached up and cupped your face in his large hand, white tipped fingers running through your hair and cradling your head with just enough pressure to keep you looking at him, white eyes staring into yours with such raw intensity you’d think you ought to be in a more private area, “you come tell me, yes?”
You nod. Sun was the Fis'p of the home. His duty was to protect and care for his family, and in turn you. He only wanted you happy, you knew this wholeheartedly.
At your agreement, he pecked your forehead with soft gentle lips, before continuing to walk to your shared home in the cliffs, the light skip back into your Sunny’s steps and his arms wrapped snugly around you.
Word Translator!
T’yrip: A large snake-like creature with many near sighted eyes
Fis’p: Eldest of house, usually the first born and is the rule setter/representative for gatherings
