Story: Sailor Moon Rivals

 

There is a common misunderstanding about passion, particularly anger: the belief that it can be dispelled simply by expressing it. Vent it. Let it out. Hit something that won’t hit back. Squeeze a stress ball. Yell, scream, shout. The assumption is that emotion is like steam in a boiler—release the pressure and the problem disappears. But that idea is wrong.

Anger does not dissolve when it is merely expressed. At best, it thins for a moment. At worst, it entrenches itself. Expressing it in this way is like popping a zit: there is an immediate sense of relief, a visible release of pressure, but all that has really happened is that some of the infection has been forced outward while the rest is driven deeper into the flesh. The source remains, irritated and inflamed.

The reason this kind of venting fails is that it treats anger as excess energy rather than as information. Anger is not just something to be expelled; it is something to be understood. When we lash out—physically or verbally—we rehearse the very patterns that produced the anger in the first place. We strengthen the neural pathways of outrage, resentment, and blame. The body learns not how to calm itself, but how to arrive at anger more quickly the next time.

True relief does not come from amplifying the emotion under the banner of “letting it out.” It comes from slowing it down, examining it, and addressing its cause. That may mean naming a boundary that was crossed, confronting a fear beneath the rage, or accepting a reality that cannot be changed. These processes are quieter and less satisfying in the moment than a shout or a punch—but they actually reduce the pressure instead of redistributing it.

In short, expression without understanding is not release. It is circulation. And an anger that merely circulates never truly leaves the system.

Now, dear reader, one might be pondering what, if anything, this has to do with our current situation. The answer is as simple as it is obvious: Lust is a kind of passion. Sexual desire yearns to be expressed, but it is much akin to popping a zit. You express it in a single glorious outburst, but the passion buries itself deeper within your soul. You enjoyed that, right? Do it again later. Go ahead, let the memory sit and stew inside your mind.

Let us mix our metaphors to make the point clearer. Passion can also function like a Pythagorean cup—the so-called greedy cup. Fill it carefully and it holds; pour too much, and it empties itself entirely. The trick of the cup is that excess does not lead to abundance, but to loss.

Venting your passion resembles overfilling that cup. The act feels justified, even necessary: there is so much here, it must come out. But the moment the emotion is indulged beyond restraint, the structure collapses. Whatever relief seemed to be gained drains away immediately, leaving nothing behind but the urge to refill it again. The cup teaches the wrong lesson: that more intensity will finally be enough.

This is why expressive release so often fails to satisfy. It is not measured, deliberate engagement with the emotion; it is overflow. And overflow does not preserve what it releases—it discards it. Like the popped zit, the surface clears while the underlying irritation remains, ready to swell again. Like the greedy cup, the moment of excess guarantees emptiness.

Passion, then, is not relieved by pouring it out indiscriminately. It requires containment, proportion, and understanding. When held at the right level—examined rather than indulged—it can inform, motivate, and then subside. But when overfilled, it punishes the very attempt to be rid of it.

The mistake is assuming passion obeys the laws of pressure alone. In truth, it obeys the laws of structure. Break the structure, and nothing is released—everything is lost.

Such is the case, at this very moment, between Red and Mars. Two very attractive girls by any measure, both with a distinctly red theming about them. One wearing the pretty sailor suit with the red pleated skirt. The other, a red cheerleader uniform. The two of them, due to the unique natures of their powers, had induced a feedback loop inside one another that, much like the greedy cup, had reached a tipping point. It was now full enough that the chamber in the middle had reached the apex - and now, it was being drained out through a kind of surface tension. Neither of them wanted to let the other take the lead. THey weren't the kind of girls who let others march ahead easier.

And they were also both leggy bitches. God, their legs really were a gift. And those legs were, at this very moment, hooked around each other as the two girls scissored like their lives depended on it.

"J-Just so we're clear," Mars grunted as her pussy ground up against the other girl's. "I'm not actually into girls. I like boys."

"Same with me!" Red moaned, clearly enjoying herself tremendously. "This is just... it's just our magic going awry! Mixing in a way it wasn't - oh, fuck me!"

Mars reacted as if that was a command rather than a proclamation of pleasure. While she was not nearly as clever as Ami (who is?), she was still a rather rapid learner when given the right motivation. She is no fool. Passionate certainly. Empathetic, oh my yes. But she was also learning, right here, right now, she had a talent for fucking girls that was hard to match.

Despite that, one must not discount Red either. Apologies for the fourth wall poking, dear reader, but to direct your attention to the title of this tale - these girls are meant to be rivals for the Sailor Scouts, are they not? Then does it not make sense for Red to be able to meet Mars at her strongest points head on? Perhaps they come at it from different angles, but -

Oh, speaking of different angles, it seems as though Mars is figuring out ways to maximise her own pleasure by twisting the angle of her body, allowing her to rut and rub more furiously, expressing more of that passion, and in turn pushing more of it out - and also deeper into the recesses of her soul. Though she was not aware of it on a rational level, her subconscious had already categorised this rutting as enjoyable, especially since- 

Ah, now Red was twisting her form in turn, and she was proving to be a bit better at it. Well, why not? Who do you think has a more flexible physique? The hot priestess or the scorching cheerleader? Either way, their passions were building up to a crescendo. The cup was filling, reaching the brim. Their hands were caressing the other's leg as much as holding onto it, as the two girls lost themselves in the throes of passion. The central column is filling up, reaching the edge - 

And now, the two of them reach a mutual climax, and collapse where they lay. Unconsciously, they roll into one another and begin to cuddle while they catch their breath, basking in the afterglow, and causing that passion to bury itself still deeper into their soul. They do not know it yet - but soon, very soon, they will want to do this again. And again. And again...

Red catches her breath first and climbs to her feet,dusting off her clothes.

"That was a one time deal," she unknowingly lies. "We do not talk about this."

"Agreed!" Mars grumbled. "I'm embarrassed enough thinking about it already."

Which was really not doing much to help with the 'this is a one time deal' thing they had assured of themselves. And by 'thing' we mean 'blatant lie'. You don't have sex that good with a person just the once in your life, not if you can help it.

"So, uh, what exactly is it you guys do anyway?" Red asked.

"Huh?" Mars grunted. "Oh, we're the Guardians of the Solar System reincarnated into the modern era. Each of us is the Princess of a Celestial Body. I'm the Princess of Mars."

"Is there a Princess of Earth?" Red asked.

"Prince, actually, and he's banging Sailor Moon," Mars said. "I used to have a thing for him, but -"

"The fourth planet has a thing for the third, but the third's moon is getting in the way?" Red asked. "I could read a whole bunch of things into that! So, what, you see monsters attacking people and jump in to set them on fire, or what?"

"Same question right back at you!" Mars replied. A bit more passion in her tone than she'd intended. "Cheerleaders, huh? Colour coded, emotion based powers..."

"Yeah, and it's more consistent than whatever's going on with you guys," Red replied. "I mean, come on. Like, Mars, the Roman God of War, with fire superpowers? Jupiter makes sense with lightning, but Mercury? The closest planet to the sun? Or is a reference to the element? Or the Roman messenger of the Gods? What do any of them have to do with bubbles?"

"Your point is made," Mars grumbled. Mars folded her arms, the faint glow of her charm flickering as her irritation simmered. "Look,” she said, more measured now, “we protect people. That’s the job. Monsters show up, reality starts cracking, ancient evil crawls out of some metaphysical oubliette—boom. Sailor Guardians on site. Sometimes with fire.”

Red grinned. “So… very reactive.”

“And you’re not?” Mars shot back.

“Oh, totally reactive,” Red said cheerfully. “But with branding. We show up before panic turns into despair. We stabilize crowds. Boost morale. Redirect emotional energy. Then we fight, sure—but half the battle’s already won.”

Mars blinked. “You fight with… cheering.”

“With synchronized emotional reinforcement,” Red corrected, tapping the red bow on her uniform. “Cheer is focus. Rhythm. Unity. You ever notice how monsters get stronger when people are afraid?”

“…Yes,” Mars admitted, reluctantly.

“Same principle,” Red said. “Fear feeds them. So does rage, despair, isolation. We cut off the supply line.”

Mars frowned, thinking. “So your powers are… what, hope-based?”

“More like enthusiasm with discipline,” Red said. “Uncontrolled passion is fuel. Directed passion is a weapon.”

Mars snorted despite herself. “You realize how ironic that sounds coming from someone dressed like a varsity mascot.”

Red laughed. “And you realize how ironic you sound lecturing me about symbolism while wearing heels into combat?”

“…Touché.”

There was a brief silence as a breeze rustled through the shrine grounds. Mars glanced sideways at Red.

"Wanna make out?" Red asked.

"... Yeah, sure, you talked me into it," Mars replied. Needless to say, but neither of them was going anywhere in a hurry.