#sailor moon fan fic

[lasoldier]

La Soldier takes elements, mythos, and lores from the various incarnations of Sailor Moon to re-invent and recreate our favorite characters and stories in new, rich, and complex ways!

“Never recreate places from your memories, always imagine new places. Only use details. A street lamp or a phone booth…”

- Leonardo DiCaprio (Inception)

Learn more at LaSoldier.net

[usagisbanexd]

+ SUPER SOLDIER SAILOR STARS #02 * _) _) >>C===3 :-* Kawaii Slash Lovers Collide Cosmic Paradise // Sailor Moon/Pokémon/Potterverse Altfic Crossover, CHAPTER 1.0.002

Fic. he/him!Rei, questioning,ace!Mina

1.0.002 BIG-DICKED REI / LOVES /ACE&lt;3 MINAKO <33!, MINA HOPES

“She’s gone,” says Mina, and in her eye a dart hits its target from afar. The ribbon at the crown of her head unwinds and falls, then brushes forward, a little kanji in the dirt, carried with the wind, petals granted by the jungle of different understanding. She assumes the title of the moonless decoy, red and white chalk lips, Moctezuma the Emperor’s Mongol warbride, kidnapped and ransomed in an ox-drawn wagon, home over a gray dirt steppe, Utah, the birthplace of her fathers the suns, Arizona, the distant red clay of unbought Play Doh, Sister Columbine, father’s reassurance, sing-alongs, ice cream men, fountains oily with cartoon glossy waters: ‘ZAMZAM! VENUS ZAMZAM MAKE-UP!’ Her niqab swirls. She thinks with the wind and the ocean, Michiru’s golden semina. She knows her Mars is the lesser shrine maiden, that she, Emperor Mars, shadow of past nations, is the greater music. She knows Haruka lies in wait, her plastic lip no make-up look the hook in Michiru’s gilded cramping muscular wretching no-womb decoy mazey organ thigh. Mamoru sees Michiru’s eye. A minotaur in a labyrinth on her bonemilk skin. Mamoru’s eyes, gorgeous, tender, Usagi’s bane, Minako’s heaven, the only child, muse-borne. Nowombwomban, no-womb man, the emperor borne from the water passes Mina’s eye like the procession of a distant plaster glaized elephant, and her heart worships the stone inside, and Michiru worships the stone in the water, and together Venus and Mercury swim goddess-born, but Neptune knows no mother and Mercury abandons Venus for the stone, and Venus eternal daughtersister holds her arms and limps her ankle against the cold, and all at once everyone is encompassed by a golden hoop with a single ray shining outward beneath, a film played by the sun the god American-born protector projector from the anus of Apollo risen hoarily into Michiru’s turquoise prison in the gape. Manga. Multi-colored. Pixels. Beauty. Peace sign, ~ Venus &Mars

          Mars with a middle finger, dirt under her nail. Combat boots. Goth make-up. Mina writing feverishly. Her dad holding her crumpled fanfic in a triumphant limp upturned right hand, outward like a cocktail, in the crux like a teddy bear, his wrist bent back, scolding, happy, cocktail hour, bermuda shorts, little ones, muscular thighs, swollen bird’s scimitar scabcalves, Michiru vomiting out from herself in holy meditation, always in Neptune’s raiment, Haruka as Michiru, pathetic Haruka, evil Michiru, the mother’s shackles in Rei’s eye, Rei weeping, Rei devised, Haruka thrashing, Mamoru crying, Haruka weeping, Michiru laughing, Haruka dying, Mamo holding the sword, Venus puking a single tear from the corner of her eye, wiping it, hiding it, Father’s buried secret. Her dad speaks. “Hi,” he says. “No,” says Venus the sun blazing through his mask. “Fuck you, Father. VENUS MAKE-UP!” She preens sadly in front of the mirror in whoreclown make-up. Nothing happens. The towel falls off Shingo’s head. A fetus rests inside the hoop of a rainbow, Mew, the closed door. “You little perv,” says tiny Usagi, her hands clutching evilly at her mother’s womb. Venus prostrate, a little girl in the arms of her white-haired muscular svelte vuluptuous rippling manly-assed father. Venus crying. Venus in chains, then rolling down a hill, Mamo loosing his grasp on Usa’s star-crowned plastic dime store scepter, beautiful Michiru fixing her lip, Mamo taking over the world, Mina weeping, Usagi entranced, the sun behind a cloud, a man triforcated by three circles, a faceless man with gorgeous long hair, equivalent to Hotaru’s tentacles, Kakyuu’s hair, Seiya plucking an acoustic guitar by the light of an Are You Afraid of the Dark campfire, Minako little eight years old in front of the television, her little brother pinching her. Rei-chan laughing, Hotaru in her womb, penis in her hand, in front of the television. Mina open-fisted, a huge-nosed Fagin in rags like an inflated twisted Eurasian troll pinching pennies from her palm. Mamo laughing, futile, empty eyes, crying tears. Empty tears. Mina before the king, her baby rent in half, Rei overseeing from her balcony, opera-gloved, in a cut-off short-sleeve tuxedo, Kamen-masked, two emperors, Mina drawing the sword from the stone and splitting the Gordian knot, Mamo drawing the sword from the stone, the two of them dancing in an Elizabethan chamber, gorgeous music playing, courtly motions, Venus masked in aristocratic Glinda leaning up to his crook, her hand partitioning her mouth and his ear from mouthless gorgeous-faced onlookers fellow dancing. “Meet me in South Hall, behind the tapestry where the ladies pee, Your Majesty,” she whispers. Usagi watches from a table, shoulders slumped, chin tucked into her shoulder, huge languid eyes more beautiful than Venus’s by candlelight. “Yes, m’lady,” comes Mamoru from out of frame. Together the three of them dance through heather in peasants’ gowns, little children living by the clean clear light of a village’s spring.

          “Yeah,” say Mars, Rei-chan, Mina P’s true love. Mercury lives damning a frenzy, her ugliness shown before the sun. Mercury in retrograde, the spirits haunt the latter days. The sun is chilly. “Hi,” says the baby in Mina’s womb, little Kousagi, and the emperor penguin crowns Mars’ feet with lotuses.

          Mina feels sick.

          I know Mina feels sick, thinks Mars. Little Ami’s holes make staples like trainers in her arms, but Mars cares. She doesn’t care. Her eye is a sparrow made

          ‘holeywhollyholy,’ Mina worships.

          Mars prostrates before the fire. The ancient mist spills red ink from a fountain. She believes. In her eye. Venus the man, her Heracles, seven-breasted, abs dry, encircles the Nemean lion with a vitiligo velificatio, the empty crook of his arm encircling a discus, baroque lion poised on its haunches, snarling like heraldry. Mina winces. Mars sleeps. The earth shudders the sun. The earth conquers Mars. Mars sees all. Time elapses eternal. Mamo-‘s heart sickens. Goddesses are stripped of their robes, mocked by cold hearts in ghost forums. Mina’s eye enlarges, her lip movelessly quickers. The song creeps, music notes played a loop threaded through her ears. Pigeon-toed, she floats. Mars lies. He always lies. Wicked love songs, confusions, clang, Mr. Muse, Mr. Apollo, Mrs. Sunshine, married to her own breast, hail sun, fairer than Mars, hail earth, bearing fruit, hail children, baring all, hail mothers, the lesser, hail Mamoru, rescuing Mars, hail Mars, the fairest son, the gravest voice, the true nation, war between earth and Mars, war at mars and earth, eternal emperors waddling toward the foot of their thrones, kings anointed by godly Beryl, penis tucked, talons quivering. Rei vomits on Mamoru’s head, Mamoru vomits on Rei’s head. They laugh. They take over the world. They can do this. Venus drags her sword against the earth. Mamoru laughs.

          Venus’s eyelids shutter, tears below. Mars’s arms outstretched. Venus runs to them, Mina in a long skirt and a sailor’s blouse, bow outsized like Butterfree’s limbs. Sailorbutterfree holds a pistol, squinting an eye through the hole burrowed in Rei’s skull, third eye, penis, unhidden, unbidden, Sailorbutterfree flashes a peace sign.

          Sailormetapod slinks. Eaten. Mamoru heaves his guts. Haruka in gorgeous sensh attire wipes his mouth with a little white kerchief. Kyrie eleison, says Michiru’s body, her hands on her thighs, her thighs on her calves, her feet tucked like a Muslim maiden ready for prayer.

          Venus the maid stumbles on her sword.

          Mars the maid cleans Minako’s apartment.

          Venus the lover rubs her eyes with thumb and index fingers, laughing from a couch. “Last night, my love, the nightmare ceased. Sometimes that which should go with Ares goes with Mars.”

          “Teehee,” says Mars, says Neptune, says the Doom Phantom. He clutches in his hand a chalice in which swim chunks of ambrosia like ice through which a boy is skiing. Mamoru assuming the throne, walking up the backs of prostrate naked senshi, their penises tucked between their thighs, the white cocooned reflexive silhouette of penisless Usagi offering him prostrations like an American-Korean peasant worshipping the newly crowned divinity, naked faced, the fallout after Mina drops the bomb on God. Mars smiles, sick, sad, scared, eternal, an emperor’s eye, anointed, three people, Mirror Elon, giving birth to god through an acorn at the nippleless breast of Ephesian Artemis.

          Venus swims in amber.

          Mars plunges for her.

          Venus holds up a phallus, Galaxia-made. On it, close-up, written, beautiful English legible graffiti: ‘He one-nights ‘em.’ SMILEY FACE, Joker smile, on the low-hanging left nut. Mars grabs the phallus, black onyx bindi on her forehead, and vomits bubbles through the water, groping for them.

          Michiru, robed as senshi, gorgeous, watercolor, maroon, turquoise, marooned, turquoise, smiling a Beryl Michiru smile, holds out enormous hands like a marionette, and the cold sun behind her left elbow casts a shadow and *coughs*.

          The riddle sickens Mars’s hope, and the emperor closes his eyes and cocks back his head in prayer. The emperor becoming.

          The riddle sickens Mina’s hope.

          Mars weeps, walking from the wheel.

          Venus’s mouth waters. Father me.

          I will.

          Mercury loves the emperor.

          “Do you love me?” asks shackled Venus, and a shiver like a tomcat’s spine rises in her right shoulder. The sun weeps a ray upon the blade of her cheek, and through stillness she turns to time and says ‘No,’ and the tears poison her heart and weigh the wink chain beneath her beltloops. Does Rei ever weaken? Does Rei ever bleed? The sun her mother asks her questions, spurning the sickness Mercury feeds her. Mina hates this life, Mina hates her burden. Her fathers bear her beneath the concrete with their grasping hands. She walks on toward the water’s edge, her fathers’ semina. Pasty Mercury with her heaving ugliness and her wicked eye bleeds poison into the sky. Mina’s pupils dilate, a pallor ransoms her beautiful face to hell, the untrue Satan’s bounty. Sailorsatan beautiful in red wakes stirring, a woman in the body of a man, a man in the body of a male woman, cute little horns on her head. She’s masturbating her inflated penis on a couch in the depths of hell. Sailormoviejesus her lover stares on with perfectly symmetrical blue eyes like a superimposed eagle male model’s face all in his irises beyond the silhouette of her body the sofa her body the everything. The flames of hell are the wets of the corners of his unseen mouth. Beautiful daughters bleed.

          Beautiful sons make love.

          ‘Not in front of Mercury,’ says Venus. ‘Galaxia makes love to you.’

          “I’ve lost everything,” says Venus, “and the worm in my stomach twists my power into evil. Is this the world your fathers envision?”

          “She’s here,” says unfaithful Mars.

          Little faithful Venus says no. “My husband has made me a promise of moons,” says the Mina-P inside of her twinkling eye. “You know I’m not Japanese.”

          “Nipon is a beautiful city,” says Rei.

          “I asked you if you loved me,” says Supersailorvenus, her beauty concealed beneath a sweater and denim. The wink chain like beauty’s crooked pinky ensnares her hip like a man who saunters loving her, and she thanks her father.

          Mars stares, no orgasm gurgling inside him.

          “Speak not for Hotaru your metal god,” says Venus. “We’ll get to that.”

          The wind speaks for Venus to Mars, his hair his crown her loving arms reach toward the wind which ties their pasts into love, and Venus weeps knowing. “I asked if you loved me.”

          “I said I never loved anyone,” says Mars. He thinks he’s a savior to men. His vagina throbs. He tries to think.

          Do they the emperors and their hentai-loving concubines forget the starry womb of Venus their big sister? The sun their mother weeps tongueless from the cushion of her quicksilver-reactive transitioning raiment, a bony earth. Venus’s private temple sacked, she and her fathers know better, but she is regressing, they have given her the knife, said ‘Hera, go into the tomb,’ and fearless she has lowered herself into Saturn’s throat and discovered her ugly brothers.

          Vulcan eyes himself, his breasts like twin torpedoes at the verge of ignition. Beryl’s wicked dick wipes the lips off her teeth and is shredded into the trash can by quaking Mercury.

          She wakes. She wonders, in Mercury’s womb a twisting knife. “We tremble,” say her children, and hungry emperors engorge them in their brazen stomach like the lovesick bull.

          Pink sunset greets Mina in the face, bleeding out cinema orange over the flat gray canvas of the God-given oval of her visage. Candy-coated rain spills down the front of her corn white tendrils, whipping them to butter in the melting light of dozy day dying quick like the plunge of a woman’s knife into the hearts of more beautiful girls. The sun the senshi’s father squats his womb against the water. Stillness like Crystal Tokyo before the bomb precedes proceeding, and mothers prostrate before their strollers’ shadows against the sidewalk, all knowing the danger. Empty oceans bear their young, and their young bare their young, and senshi are born from the beauty in boys’ hearts, like razorwire pricked outward, making girls from soldiers but soldiers from girls, and soldiers from girls dance in their wombs and call to boys from soldiers, and all the senshi steal their hearts against the Shadow Destroyer, knowing in their hearts and heads and in the mind of Venus their sister that death will come, and she tells them with the tongue of her father that stars are reborn with men who love them. And planets are born with mercuries in retrograde, their cripple-loving hearts scheming how to infect men with sick and enslave them to her crown the ugly mold, the pretension and the privilege.

          ‘Reject thy mother, Sailorstar,’ says the sun through Venus’ tongue, and Venus in her vacuum womb says ‘Woman, rise,’ and the ancient goddess with her marble mystery and the systemic swell of her breasts gives way to her priests her keepers, and through the lineage of her tears and the tears of her infinite children a love for girls so other from herself blooms like stone bulbs from the cracks of womens’ shields, knitted with Amazons’ false valor, the mists of Mercury descend upon the mind of Venus and unmother her children, unfather her procession, and their weeping will redound upon Mercury with swords, and Venus knows her task to kill, and her hand shakes spasming, and should she call her father? How to tell him all her madness is the stuff of Mab, and Sailormercutio in his restless fever split from his thigh the bloody goddess whose mission is shitcaked vengeance. Does Daddy know? Sailoronestar the little fool in Ami’s womb twists like a rat against its noose umbilical, and Venus’s longing womb cries out to Anna the painted actress, and all women know. And Cat Stevens plays on the radio from a delivered future. A is for Allah. B is for Bilal. Venus weeps for her mother, her mother prostrate, her mother’s wreckage womb. Shadow Destroyer like the hand of a black god points fingers to Mars’s impotent penis, and Venus feels within her head a rattling ghost without bones.

          Mars waits, an evil emperor. Does his penis know its barrenness? Has she sought in her consort Galactica, crown of emperors, bane of love? She speaks in tongues of devils, ifrits shuddering with manly fire, the chauvinist’s lies the concrete boxing his feet. He moves not, not to comfort, not to repent, never to know his princely kingdom is a pauper’s jest played against a losing gambler. Venus the sun’s omniscience breaks rainwater against the placid pond, and Sailorlittleonestar in her eye and Ami’s womb twists wreckless as an acrobat and whispers umbilica, ‘Mother, conquer.’ Fool. Venus feels her starseed. Mercury knows nothing. She holds her arm to it, shielding herself, and the evil girl from across the sea crumples into sickness and subsides. Shadowmercury, Shadowlove.

          Tokyo disrobes her head and breast. The cyberslave glitters blood-red, black over their shoulders’ eye, and the city’s pyramidal eons are an offering to the distant eyes of the newly empty, now-new-dead starlight. Shes sleep in a gray-red dream, and Mars’s eye is on the sparrow.

          Mina the senshi feels herself alone again, and that wind like her daddy runs fingers through her hair, braces her back against his bloodhot chest. Call him Zephyr and the seasons cannot fade him. Call him Zephyr for the lords who re’rrange him. From the sun Sailorzephyr brings a bounty of flowers, beautiful dying sakura-hime, sleeping senshi Venus dies for, and the cornacopic Venus enjoys her sacrifice. Blood thickens at her loin, Achilles’ daughter, Penthesilea’s bright bane, the orphan Amazon in her chest says ‘Daughter,’ says ‘Father, I love you,’ and a blue tear dies blue in the blue of her blue iris. Ami’s visor waits like glass monster Marios.

          “What do you want?” says Mars, and his hair is like a timeswept pupil unfurling into rind.

          “Loose your arrow, love,” says Venus. She swallows air for Rei-chan. Her throat an overburdened elevator, her eyes dead Xs. “Rei-chan,” she turns, and tears become ships bearing riches from the deep blue of her eye, rescuing her history for a nobler shore. “I love you, Rei-chan,” said with a lion’s heart, in a mouse’s voice, the muse quaking in her throat.

          “You don’t, or you’d show me your dick,” he hymns.

          Silence as the dust settles back to quid pro quo. Mina’s ribbon skates along the concrete before her feet, a dance for the new Moon Queen, imposter though she is, making the wind another slave in red velvet shackles.

          Mina watches the sky, ever virgin Venus now a mirror of the moon. “Galaxia moves slowly,” she says, and the twin musics of tears and terror die in her mouth before reaching fully out from the loamy secrets of her mind, frogging her up at the larynx and making her choke on gurgled noise. The words carried out next are like waves without water, salting the beach of her dried mouth and making the air a welcome substitute: “We don’t know where she is.”

          “You’re getting better,” says Rei from in front of the open car door, and in his hand an iris plays with itself in the air.

          “Pretty make-up,” says Venus, forgetting to shut up. Galaxia hears from far-off Planet Star Destroyer, and the wind howls into a vortex from inside a primordial vacuum, reaching its hoary black arm all the way from death beyond the black hole to the heart of Earth. She bites her lip against a shiver; so does Galaxia. “I think you left your fuku in the car, Hino-sama,” Venus says, tucking her chin into the limped synthetic lip of her turtleneck, Sailorsailorvenus’sfavoriteturtleneck, still breathing.

          “I like to change you,” says Rei.

          “Use my henshin stick,” says Venus, and through her father in the ground the wink chain sword winks a chain at her hip, ready to spasm. The starseed in her heart spins like a dradle dowsing Zamzam from its opposite pole. The fossil Venus encased in amber wood beneath the armored slab of concrete at her feet beats its eyelid and the muscles in Mina’s right leg tremble like a dog awaiting its cannibal gruel. Mm, cannibal gruel. Yum, cannibal gruel. Yes, cannibal gruel, yes! And she's a shampoo commercial getting slimed by Campbell's beef stew or something worse. And for Rei she's a depository. And for Rei she's everything. And for Rei she twitches, blinks, twitches and then blinks to play it cool, the scepter of Galaxia unthreading the fabric of her brainstuff and twisting it into a little spool sharp against its sisters. Bubbles in her brain. Speak of bubbles. The god of suns obliges.

          “MERCURY AQUA MAKE-UP!1!” Venus hears, and her eyes sting with vapor, the sun her mother wailing with torn hair and a bleeding scalp at the crook of the girl’s neck. America’s war rages on, Galaxia her mistress on the cusp of Gemini and Latin, enthroned in the might of her majesty. The distant sleeping Tuxedo Kamen wakes to sleep again, loving the barren planet in his ball, and loving the silver cooling his blood. Pallas is born a bastardess, robed in glamor stolen as an apple from the garden of the sun. The pirate princess gold in her nakedness, Sailorarethusa, loses her seed at Mamoru’s V, and Venus of the V quakes soft at blond profundity; all worship the emperor. All but Ami, in whose dark heart a starseed pumps ice and dances as the sun’s towers fall.

          “I’ll use mine,” says Mars to Venus. To Venus. To Venus.

          “Sometimes that fuku which should go with Mars..,”she touches her lip with a wobbling index finger, “isn’t there, babe.” A smile. Then a blank. A profound blank. Wiped blank. “You don’t love her anymore.”

          Galaxia shudders, someone's glee. Shadow Destroyer flicks, switches, a mare's tail emphasizing. Mina flushes hot, then lifts off the ground, arms ascending backwards, and the wind brings her toward the water’s edge. The emperor’s icy hand calls her toward the guillotine, and all is emptied and laid bare. Her clothes, beautiful 90s supermodel fabrics, loose into webs around her body. Her penis enlarges, flesh-plated, arcing at the sun. Her traveling vulva like sails ensnare an empty acrid acre of Antony’s tomb, and the eye of the sun goes white cold. Ghosts fuck to the fore from behind her in wraithe-like procession, beyond her shoulders, burdening her shoulders, countless beautiful billions, stars, beautiful children, people, a Tokyo crowd, each of them surging a walking blitz march behind her.

          Then past her, through her, piercing her like an arrow. From her hands limpid lamplights like Mary Mother of Graces, that wrong-wombed Mother of Graces, Mary on the water, and now she is floating above the pond like a foot skating limp like Barbie’s lost loved cherished worshipped limb, the ice blade of her toe on the ice-blade of the water, and Adonis Mamoru True Man races past her on a jet ski on the water, too, but with the water, and the procession explodes the womb in at her bellybutton into tentacles blood pink like a flytrap and terrible in her her mother sun’s sick male female girlhood soft loving gorgeous sad DEAD DEAD DEAD fury. A harvester, a tomb, a channel, a crownless queen, the sun her king heavy-head-hung, brokenhearted, both of them barren, buried, carrying their ancestors. Her face ugly, her face fat, her body an empty suit, her body a loosed tomb, plundered, given to emperors. Adonis is smiling. Minako’s eyes are turned toward the god in the hell her children bear through her, and her stomach is a nothing. A light dazzles a nimbus at the tip of her penis, an electric shock, presidential, motherhood, mothering, queenless, Hillary-haired, a new god born, Shingo’s eye in a mask, Shingo’s profile, a smile on Minako’s face, one tear, anime tear, streaking down the whole of her face from a smash-breaked beaten battered wincing swollen right eye. Rei’s face: “Gouge,” she says. “I am Eurydice.”

          Minako loves horses. Loves them and needs them to rescue her. Loves Elios, wild unthrowable Pegasus, wile and unbred thing consuming champions at her heel and from her incisor springing a heavily-headed steam treat trained from go to forever entangle. The horse the shrine, the wicked thing. Horses can be evil. This pond is evil. This pond an evil horse does away with me, never moves. I love a good horse, a beautiful horse named Sally. I miss my home in Connecticut, before the war, before the names, before Daddy became Mommy and Daddy became Sir Ansel. I miss Sir Ansel. I miss the horses. Look up there, a woman, a child, a little horse, and my husband Mars all the while playing in his purple iris the strychnine of an evil xylophone. Mars is jealous of Mars.

          Hotaru in the tomb of the cold hard sun. Hotaru’s purple eye. Rei’s child. Rei’s knife. Rei the hunting predator, Minako the hobbled foot-corded wounded limping terrified unhorned dappled soft supple deer, and her father the sun trapped behind his eye with his arms splayed over his visage, presaging magic, unbirth, unwomb, presaging terror, the children of Nagasaki, the women of Taiwan, the carved out penises of Iranian sex-traitors, the sun in terror, Mamoru prince jet ski smiling, grinning, smiling, unblanked, a gun, his jet ski hot pink, Barbie’s whip, Minako’s forfeit womb, and then a rapper beside him black, beautiful, wearing pink and blue tiny board shorts. Mamoru prince Adonis looks at him, his grin the dazzling sunlight off a knife, and checks him out. Hotaru’s womb the tentacled beast extends from the cold blazing sun and threatens Venus’s glass womb upon the water, and Steve Adonis Mamoru Prince turns tears to smiles, and becomes one with the ravenous wolf emperor in his breast. His empty hollow canyon a brass belt like the god he covets and makes covenant, that god Hotaru’s shadow glides upon the water motionless, a kanji, a hidden dagger, child, be armed, child, put down thy weapon, and Mina’s tear freezes on her face, and she gives her womb to the black boy passing, and his stomach grows full, and his breasts heave with muscle, and he too is lifted, and then drowned, and the water thrashes, and Hotaru’s monster tentacles move clasping the water and lifting it like children unworshipped at the sandbox. Mina’s eye opens, her left eye, her right eye still bearing young, and her left eye has become a blank yellow blue iris howling into an abyss, and Galaxia weeps above her with a sword at her breast, gorgeous Roman woman becoming hero, becoming man, and Venus moves slowly through the earth like the void upon the shadow and the water upon the void, the stolen egg, and her fathers’ hands clasp for the egg, trembling, fumbling, strong rippling arms, muscled, unbeautiful, hard palms, and Lil Wayne sings ‘Go DJ,’ and a black kid in a white body spins in a flat-brimmed baseball cap over a tennis ball which inflates into the tail of Pallas’s hair. He and Pallas swallow each other, and a Venus in the boy’s eye assumes her fuku and her heavy sword and chain and pivots toward her father the sun.

          “DAUGHTER!!” cries the sun, and Hotaru stumbles on her heel and plummets in the air, her snapped shoe crying out beneath her little Cynthia Candy heel, and the sun blinks rapidly, the sun becomes a shutterstock, a shuttering light at a nightclub light’s up bar close 3AM impotent, and the black boy stops dancing, and Venus’s sword grows Japanese, and the sword and the water kiss lovelessly, and no children are born, and Rei’s eyes grow wide, and Venus points her sword toward the sun, body arcing, and Hotaru stands above her an eclipse without retrograde in the air over Venus’s head, her arms out like a proud Japanese Jesus, and Venus’s chain shoots from the hoop beneath her sword like loose bowel movement, and Venus’s father reaches his hand from the water and holds her heel, and her ankle swells, bone trembling, and tears drowning undrowning fill her eyes, born star from her father’s scraped womb, and Hotaru reaches down with an evil cold tentacle and they caress hands, and then Venus in retrograde supraintraposed vomits a ribbon from the corner of her eye on her father’s head, into his closed open mouth, and with his teeth he’s bitten it off umbilical, Neanderthal woman, and from his ass bubbles break the water, beautiful as Michiru’s ocean kiss, and say ‘Neptune’ and ‘Poseidon’ and ‘Whisper’ and ‘Future’ and all kanji which means faggot, boiling, and the water beneath her naked father form is boiling, and Vulcan in her gorgeous torpedo-titted lithe form hammers her shackles at the depths of the pond, and Sailorironmouse smiles to the camera, peace sign, so pretty, and Venus’s face is tense in intrapose, and in interpose, in one movement, unknowing, certain, certain of her womb, certain of Rei’s potency, knowing gods, and she twirls slowly like the rotation of gorgeous family romance nighttime twilight kisses to Christmas carols, and a single snowflake dawns from around her body like the most mathematically complex fractral given to God the monkey typewriter megasystem computer to produce, and at the edges where it grows dumb and ugly for lack of honesty lack of effort it becomes Hotaru’s black squid ink metal tentacles. Hotaru’s eyes shoot open. Her breasts take form, bouncing into fruition, nippled, large and small, real flesh, plastic, and from the stolen womb between her legs a metal god Arachne Sailorarachne pretty privileged princess descends on a curling wire, and appears to Venus as a transvestitic dancer.

          “You are not my father!!” yells Venus to the dancer, and in her head a splitting womb gives birth to a god stolen by evil sickly pale woman Mamoru, and in woman Mamoru’s emperor’s eye he sees Venus entangled by his throne.

          “SAILORNEWMOON TWINKLE!!” says the dancer, becoming a Hathor-crowned black crescented gorgeous little princess Usagi, and Venus’s wrist limps clutching a ladder, the Batladder, descending from a helicopter, and the black boy now bespectacled is flying it, and Venus’s lip does nothing in anger and pain, and she falls limp, and the helicopter whips her against a building, and it shatters into asteroids, and the newborn false senshi dance with white light hearts, and the sun Elios reaches for them from space, and they fall from his fingers like saddening sand, and Venus sheathes her wink chain sword between his fleshy pixeled pornographic male asscheeks, Hanyu Yuzuru, and Mamoru feels Hotaru’s shock at the prostrate anus, and the anus lives, and the anus is unprostrate, and Mamoru and Helios dance inside the air once romantic, hands losing one another, tectonic shifts, loosed on opposite sides of their two married pages, Mamoru poised, posed, meaning to, Helios grasping impotently, not barrenly, manned and masked and then bound too by the ropes of the helicopter. And the gladius pierces Galaxia’s oblique, and the blood blossoms under her opaque gold bodysuit, and Lady Gaga somewhere dies alone, and a man’s eye rescues her from his sofa, and it’s all in Galaxia’s crying eye, her lying smile, the blade sickens, the blade is a female appendage turned inward, the blade has tentacles, Hotaru’s mouth bends downward, her soul so far within her inside barriers grows fearful of the howling god, the stupid emperor, Mamoru’s forgotten past, his blank, and Mamoru sheathes his blade and bends toward the prone dead corpse of coldfish Usagi, so beautiful in her untouchable glass skin, and Helios looks on with an empty woman’s smile, and Galaxia’s blade pierces the page.

          An empty left page. Venus to its right, dressed as Minako in a spring day in Philadelphia, red checkered shirt tied like Dorothy Britney, warm little smile for the child behind the camera, peace sign: “JUST KIDDING. HEHE! XOXO SLOW DOWN, BABE. GO TOUCH GRASS. ALL THE GODS LOVE YOU ESPECIALLY, AND THAT'S BECAUSE YOU’RE SPECIAL. HUG YOUR SISTER. HUG YOUR BROTHER. FOR GOD'S SAKE, LOVE YOUR LOVER. LOVE LASTS ETERNAL. VENUS… MAKE UP!!”

[whatsername94]

@myshallweplay based on your comment about that fanfic someone wrote. I began playing around with sailor guardian poses and slowly this started happening.

[sailoreuterpe]

Ship: Makoami Prompt: Coffee 😳👉👈

"If you drink any more of that, you'll never get to sleep tonight," Makoto murmurs into Ami's hair.

Ami ignores her wife and takes another giant, noisy gulp of coffee.

Makoto sighs in affectionate defeat. "At least let me make you a new pot."

Ami smiles and lifts her face for her victor's kiss.

[pixelatedq]

I feel like Joker would be friends with Tuxedo Mask

Send post.

[sorakazeno]

NaNoWriMo 2023

Is done!!!! I have never finished so early.

I wrote acts 61-64 and 10 pages of act 65. I still have five more pages of notes that have not been turned into the story yet. I should also probably finish mapping the rest of this arc out.

But for now... I'm walking away from the story until Friday for the first round of edits.

[random-mailbox]

I saw posts by @daikon1 , @lilliebellfanfics and @kaleidodreams for this meme and thought I would go through my bookmarks for AO3 and see what stories would fit into each one of these categories (since I don't write and all).

Fic Meme

Fic stats meme! 💌 rules: give us the links to your (bookmarked in my case) fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.

Most Hits: The Unintentional Seduction of Chiba Mamoru - @floraone

Most Kudos: i'll tell you my sins (and you can sharpen your knife) - @hedgewitches

Most Comments: The Boy Next Door - @idesofnovember

Most Bookmarks: Ikigai - @floraone

Most Words: Finding Love - @wildriverinthesky

Least Words: Light a Light - Kitsune_Moonstar

Tagging @master-ray5 @wishwars @smokingbomber @kasienda @areptiledysfunction1107

[crawlspacefics]

Tangled Web (Chapter 8) - Throwback Thursday edition

My favorite Reinako scene, dipping our toes into the Pluto/Saturn lore, and probably the worst cliffhanger I ever left people dangling on. I did consider posting chapter 9, but nah. We'll save that for next week. 😁

Note: Old Libreoffice displays fine in Google Docs but does not copy well from there to Ao3. I had parking lots of space between paragraphs. I think I got it all fixed, though.

Setsuna wondered if they honestly believed they were keeping Hotaru’s behavior a secret from her.  It would have to be discussed, perhaps should have already been.  Though it was a conversation she and Hotaru needed to have alone.  Regardless of that, she did love them for trying to protect her feelings and give her some momentary normalcy.

The quiet of her room stood in stark contrast to the excitement outside.  The peace was welcome, though, giving her a chance to better think things through.  A suitcase, already packed with the things she no longer needed, was laid open on the bed.  She looked around for a moment.  There had to be a few more things ready to go, just to keep her excuse from becoming a lie.

Setsuna reached for the top drawer of the dresser.  Her fingers touched the brash pull, but paused as a glint in silver caught her eyes.  She stood motionless for a moment, then brought her fingers up to lightly trace over the silver hand mirror that matched the decorative brush and comb on top of the dresser.

To see.

The voice of the first Lunar queen echoed in her memories.  Until that moment, she had heard only love in that voice.  Always strong and confident, always gentle even in rebuke.  All those things had been stripped away, that voice now cold with fear and grief as blue eyes that seemed a shade dimmer fell upon her.

And the orb.  So that we may never forget.

[sailormoonandme]

Summary: Mamoru is packing his suitcase in preparation for studying in America. However, he has a little help from his younger buddy Asanuma. Manga canon. Written for Sailor Moon’s 30th Anniversary and in celebration of Asanuma’s character.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43463559

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13853665/157/Sailor-Moon-Anniversaries-Anthology

This is part of an anthology series I’m working on. 2021-2022 are significant years for the world of Sailor Moon, marking the anniversaries of both the series as a whole as well as specific characters, stories and aspects of the SM universe. it. This series of stories is intended to celebrate those anniversaries one fic at a time! This series also includes fics for the birthdays of specific characters.

Author: AlEvans26

Beta(s): Random-mailbox

Rating: Teen

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/M, Gen

Fandom(s): Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)

Relationships: Asanuma Itto & Chiba Mamoru, Chiba Mamoru/Tsukino Usagi

Characters: Asanuma Itto, Chiba Mamoru, Tsukino Usagi, Kino Makoto, Three Lights

Genre/Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon - Manga, Manga & Anime, Sailor Moon Sailor Stars, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Death, Friendship, Senpai Notice Me, Marriage Proposal, Travel, Short, Short One Shot, Short & Sweet, One Shot

Words: 1343

Ao3 Series/Collection(s): https://archiveofourown.org/series/2240628

Just to let you know I am involved in a discord called 'Moonlight Legends' which is dedicated to sharing all sorts of Sailor Moon fanworks, including other fanfics. If you would like to join so you can share your own work, get help with your current projects or just connect to other fan creators shoot me a PM and I'll send you an invite. All are welcome!

[emily-mooon]

If you used Corroded Coffin as the Gems with Samantha in place of the guy who doesn't have a name (who is hard to use considering the lack of name lol) then their modern day personas could be that they're posing as a super popular band who plays music that Jonathan likes (due to The Destiny). Maybe Barb likes them too so Chrissy uses her Sailor V connections (was Sailor V a pop star?) to help Barb meet the band and that's where Barb meets Samantha? And then everything goes down & Chrissy comforts Barb after Samantha is killed and then Chrissy & Barb get closer.

Hello anon!

That’s kinda what I was thinking!

I was thinking about using the other members of corroded coffin along with Eddie and Samantha as the gem boys. Them being a band too is super cool to my music nerd heart (the bands genre will have to change in order for Jonathan to be a fan since he’s not a metal head. Name will have to be changed too)

I do think the unnamed corroded coffin member has been called his actors name by fans (I might wanna chuck him in somewhere as I don’t wanna separate the corroded coffin boys! It doesn’t feel right)

To answer your question on if sailor v was a pop star, I own both volumes of the sailor v manga and decided to go back and reread them as it has been awhile since I last done so and I wanted to look at the main source material for her instead of trying to Google it

So from the reread, Sailor V was never a pop star BUT Minako did once have a dream of being one and some of the early bad guys she fought were idols (also big bad guy was an idol actor too and Mina almost became an actor but it was for a mission)

There are definitely some other ways we could make your amazing idea work. I believe Chrissy’s family is rich so maybe her dad knows someone in the music industry who could get them to meet? That’s one idea

Thank you for the ask anon! This ask got me reading sailor v again so once again, thank you!

[lasoldier]

What is La Soldier? Learn more at LaSoldier.net

[usagisbanexd]

+ SUPER SOLDIER SAILOR STARS #10 * _) _) >>C===3 :-* Kawaii Slash Lovers Collide Cosmic Paradise // Sailormoon/Pokémon/Potterverse Altfic Crossover, CHAPTER 1.0.010

1.0.010 MOTOKI SHOPS FOR A NEW GIRL, GUESS MONSTER OF THE WEEK ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM </3

Motoki got his eyes crossed thinking about a muse. He thinks he’s going to be stupid. He thinks he’s got the right. He thinks she’s no good at moving. She thinks with her heart and never wants woman wise. She has a hard time knowing what to think about herself. She wants to die all the time. No, that’s the only one. He wants her to take her panties off, and doesn’t know why we waste our time writing with wax. They only have six days before the planet ends. We all want it to happen, we all want those little girls to stop dancing, all of Nipon hangs in the balance, all Indian magic was wrong. We haven’t even said goodbye to yesterday. Yeah, yesteryear. He never will. Don't get your hopes up, Ami-chan. Love will come to you like a too-tight fuku and rip your legs asunder. Kawaii, frownyface, love thunders on. Mako knows how to water a flower, Ami-chan, your mist is toxic force, Farfetch'd in the pigpen. Stop trying. Bleep, goes Ami's visor, and all the world inside her perverted eye. Itching to touch herself, itching to husk. Throbbing. Made male. Pale-mooned. Sleep-soaked. Refrigerator, open! Refrigerator, hit Ami in the fucking forehead! The boy is GANY'S, baby.

            “We can do this, Motoki Kamen,” says Sailorchibiganymede, appearing at his dashboard with her legs splayed, rubbing a rose against her labia. “We can kill the evil Sailorjupiter and collect his starseed! Bane of all the gods, he wanders heaven thinking he’s the greatest, but we know in his heart of hearts, he’s womb-born. Womb-born like woman, womb-born like that bitch Hotaru trapped down the cellar with a rope and two pairs of binoculars. I can bleed for you if you’re getting bored. I can see your incision. Do brains proffer explanation? Tickle me with a rose!”

            “Slow down,” says Motoki. “You’re too good for me. I’ve unleashed you and now I need to play catch-up. I need to go back to my la and fink phu. You’re too good to write better. You know it’s ‘baby.’ Baby, think for me, I’ll think for you.”

            “I think eternal stars,” says Fuku, turning around and showing her twat from a different angle. She knows he’s dancing all the way to the bank, tank on empty, does she know how to read a speedometer? What’s a speedometer?  Where’s the gas gauge? Sailorhotstudofmercury, fix my car!! I “love you,” Moto-chan. For Mako she sheds a tear, tissue from the stoli of her eye. Does her puss look good from this angle? He’s going to puke. I’ll resuscitate him. IRONS! NURSE, I SAID IRONS!

            “Slow down,” he says cooly to the mirror. “Slow.” She thinks he lives to breathe, but actually he thinks to live unencumbered. He’s a mystery, a divine one, and soon in her pussy she’ll clutch his jewel like the empress clam obtaining the pearl from the hand of God! And all the riches will be hers, and the plumber lives, and we’re glad he’s talking about this, and he works at an arcade, and that’s all right by me, I’ll fuck Mario later, I’ll fuck Mario good, but first I get this boy out of my head until he soils my fuku. Soil is the wrong word, operative shit, operative esther, operative sing-along, stat! I have two babies, two whole babies from my womb, and still a sealed hymen like a curse on women. Am I thinking too slow? Strike the mirror, check.

            I want to know when you’ll be okay. If you’re having a problem reading this, you’re not. Everybody belongs to the Empreors. Everybody is imp-bound. Every fossil uncovered des deez nutang Asia Palace pseudonym harukami. Knifeblade Maru-chan, every beautiful word taken by breasted female, and you and I alone my Moki-chan to harbor against a rock and cling to villages in fantasy where women go to war. Why am I alone in this? Women go to war. Baby, relax, I’m thinking slowly. He tells the whole thing to his head and feels it wash away.

            Moki at the throne of an Impala. Moki driving, staff assisted. Moki at the arcade. Moki fielding deadly cinema, Mokley with a gun in hand. Do we know why Mokley knows Mokley? Can we tell? Does Matoko know that God is watching? And dear Makoto, dead on the floor, time out of time predatress kneeling by her wingside, thinking she’s her mistress, that’s okay – THAT’S NOT OKAAY. BABY, THAT’S NOT OKAY. SAY MATOKI. I’LL REASON WITH TIME ON BEHALF OF MOON FLYING TOWARD FAVOR IN THE MILKY WAY. WHERE ARE WE? YOU KNOW, SO TELL ME.

            Makoto lies alone. Mako has his girl. Ami-chan sleeps with a knife in her pocket, knowing the wisdom through which she sees the world is nothing but an empty doom torn outside like a glove into heaven. And I burst. And I’m done. And I tried to help but I’m Ami and I’m evil. And I’ll never take the visor off. And I’ll never be a real girl. And I love Matoki, big and small, but all people are the same and some have similar names, and you’ll never achieve lift-off typing like that, Ami-chan, so type short sentences and I’ll assist you by buying you a Macintosh. A brand new Macintosh?! Mommy, you shouldn’t have! And Sailortrannyjupito sings songs about Kreyayshawn, white-nosed, presagething a flood, never getting her due, bleeding semina somewhere in the backseat of a rideshare, counting her million. Sailorchibiganymede lives past and present, but Moto is so tired and so ashamed. Do I flash him the beatstick? The lips? The beautiful pink wonderland betwixt that ugly bone at the bereft of my thigh? I worked hard for that bone; I stole it from the corpse of Zeus descended. Teehee, he had thought to misremember his iniquity, but all fingers point to troubled Ganymede. My beloved soldiers me through fields toward the great pink and gold city planet in the sky, untouched by man, throwing up illusions, a nom casino flung like coins like rainwater out of buckets all across the streets, Ami cannot reach it, if Ami dares to go, she dies, and fair-faced Ganymede, the never morninged raver, is the city liberated from Yahweh’s twisted curses. Sailorgamorrah ascended, Sailorgamorrah my mother, Sailorgamorrah perfect star, live to rise again!

            “Come to Ganymede, Moto, baby,” sings Sailorchibiganymede, making air traffic controller acrobatics with her arms, legs doing nothing but holding the wheel where his hands are. His hands on her legs. Her legs. She’s never been a rose. Ami has pricked herself. Ami has died. Ami is monster of the week, moss-headed, mudded, entangled. Ami’s next. “TURN RIGHT! KILL MAKO-CHAN! FOREVER BLOSSOM! NINETY FOUR SISTERS, AWAKEN!”

            Mako thinks. Mako wants to know. Mako believes Ami doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but Sailorunderprivilegeddtennesseangirl sleeps with her head tucked to her cleavage and her ugly dagger’s chin alert for plunging, plunging medal modesty into the hearts of miscellaneous penised people, the golden nymphs beyond her reason blooming outward from her head like a greater beauty seeking a greater light, leaving her eyes, leaving her ears, leaving her hair behind. And Sailorhermaphroditus her bastard child lives like a leaf, losing little, losing limpids, crawling through nature, unwinding, out of time, never afeared, always becoming greater through the metric of building, and that’s her partition, and Ganymede holds her at the tip of her womb, her whole body’s her womb, but a little star pix brightly shining collapses into everything at the basketball’s spinning point upon her fingertip, and Ganymede holds all the cards, what ugliness does Ami harbor, what black blood in a trash can, a weapon, Eve’s curse, Gany pukes. Gany doesn’t care. Gany is man-born, stolen to heaven by Jupiter. Last night he did remember. In the secret trove of his apartment he the only man reigns and rains, see how it is? Rains and reigns over ninety four flowers, all of them women, and never leaves. Kill him with us, Ami-chan, his evil knows no bounds. Don’t you see how all this comes to be?

            “Who are you talking to, Mako?”

            “I am Sailorganymede, mother of the orphan tree! Fear not my name which settles thee upon the branch of inconvee! Teehee, wheehee, ouioui.”

            “Baby, you offered Mercury a spot,” says Motoki.

            “Honey, I called to her through time. Her evil womb encases you for fear of manly women. I spoke to my father the sun this day and he told me to sacrifice you like Isaac upon the mountain, the iron-barked mountain, Ami threatens me, she ties my tongue, she knows no God, she is computer-born. Avaunt! I said ‘Soon, I die!’ Why bring that on? I thought you loved me, grew this vagina for you, plucked me from my garden in Jupiter’s thigh and gave myself to a vestige of you iron-born. Get this silly haggot from me hence! Or soon I embark upon a war of recompense! Peace sign! Kawaii! Teehee! Dark Kool Aid Prism Power, Poverty Make-Up!”

            “I am a spirit,” says Ami.

            “Then speak bravely of where you are.”

            “I am in chains,” she says.

            “A simulation, as you have ever been. You gave your heart to Galaxia, baby, you did it to drink beer. Figure that out for yourself and we’ll find ourselves a man through the mask of your personage. We are all, we drink the earth and sun and dawn and moon and sky and ground and eternity of sex and love! Sex and love! Moon-chan, that’s something to fight for. Does she hear me from beyond the grave? I tire of never talking. Ami, call his phone.”

            “No,” he says.

            “Okay, but I’m a dead girl in a flower astral projecting myself on his dashboard. What’s a poor lass to do but roll over and die? YOUR WORDS, AMI. WHY? WHY? WHY? CRY. CRY, FLY, OR DIE. BUT NOT THROUGH MY TONGUE WILL I EVER LET YOU LIE.”

            “I’m poor,” says Ami. “And grave.”

            “Since Moon has died, my dear friend Ami, who has played the knave?”

            “You can do this all day,” says Ami, firing a missile hence. “But no one will read it. It’s too grave.”

            “There are starseeds thrown to good earth waiting to blossom, penised flowers in the garden of a goddess greater than your understanding, Ami P, who shall take up all mantles like fair Atlas the rippling assus and give to the earth a bounty of young Romuli incarnate eternum? Don’t shackle me and do NOT conspire! Rupaul watches you from a future vantage, A batch of young is your doing, Ami P, your future, and you curse yourself in so choosing. I shall have infinite children. The sun is in my throat and her song is fecundity. Soon. . . I DIE! AVAUNT!!”

            “Hold on,” says Motoki, fixing the rear view. “I’m almost there.”

            “Who sleeps waiting for the phallus?” says Chibiganymede, her eyes three crystals torn from tsundere, stepped on, trampled on, stomped on, STOMP. Tsundere break. Tsundere build. Tsundere crash. “Await me, God! Baseball Jersey Kamen, I come!”

[regicidal-optimism]

You've been reblogging more stuff about female characters getting ignored by fandoms recently and I would be really curious to hear your full views on the topic.

The thing is that... look. I get it. Many fandoms do not have very many women in their canon, many of those women are treated pretty poorly by the canon or aren't given as much depth as their male peers, and if you're at all picky the pickings are kind of slim (I would love to be a fan of c!Niki, if I were able to watch six-hour vods, which I am not). It is not wrong that most works with large fandoms are really, really sexist, and the problem is not just in the fanbase!

But come the fuck on. It is not an accident that the DSMP and the MCU and BNHA, all of which are vast-majority male and the female characters are treated terribly, are megafandoms, and Revolutionary Girl Utena is eligible for yuletide. It is not wrong that if you want to see more female-character-focused fanwork you should go to Sailor Moon and not The Untamed, but it is also kind of missing the point to say that and not look at the difference in size between those fandoms. People can say "it's because the male characters are so often more interesting and have more meaningful interactions," and like, sometimes that's even true, I will be the first to tell you that quackbur has more to it than tinarose, but please compare the Clint/Coulson tag to the Utena/Anthy tag and look me in the eye and tell me that's the only thing driving the trend. With a straight face.

And even more there's a thing where— so, I was a mod in the @ao3topshipsbracket bracket. And femslash ships, once they were in the bracket, did really well. Like, absurdly well, like 80% of the f/f ships entered got to the top 16, and the last one was against blackbonnet which was never gonna lose in round 1. You might notice something about that number, though, which is that there were only five of them entered total, because people love to vote for femslash but they absolutely will not write it. And they won't say anything about it either! I was watching the activity feed the entire tournament, and I can tell you, for all of the "let's go lesbians" that populated our notes, nobody would say anything that was actually about the specific characters who made up their ship. I learned a lot about Naruto fandom, modding that bracket; I still know nothing about CW Supergirl, because the only thing anyone would say about it is "it has women in it". Because women are interchangeable. Because women are avatars of Being A Good Feminist. Because clicking a button is easy, and actually thinking about any specific woman and her traits and her internality is hard.

The thing is that guilt over misogyny does not actually fix misogyny. It gets you a lot of people who vote for women in polls, and who say "he's like a woman to me" about their male faves but notably don't have any canonically female characters they talk about, and who say that the only thing they care about in a fic is if it has women in it but will not ever actually say anything about any specific woman, and who never shut up about yuri but apparently yuri is everything and anything except women who have feelings about one another.

I'm tired! I'm very tired. I want people to actually give a shit about specific women and their specific traits, which do not begin and end with "woman". And, also, to stop treating women exclusively as the wingmen, advice-givers, mom figures, and accessories of men.

[sailoreuterpe]

First Line Ask Game! Rules: List the first lines of the last ten stories you published (or works in progress if you’re feeling brave lol). See if you or others notice any patterns!

(For this game, I included the first paragraph of each fanfiction. I skipped any fandom ship week stories or else more than half of my list would have been just those. I also completely missed “A Commit-y of Marriers” on my first rundown so I’ve included that work as a bonus. ACoM the only fanfiction on my list that’s still ongoing, so it can be its own little category.)

Billy carries the dog off into the field, fully intending to take care of the problem. Fast and kindly. Free Miss Longabaugh of the worry. She has enough on her plate without the others complaining. - The Guy Who Got Flustered

Now what should we do?” Mamoru asks the other brunette as the crystal door silently slides shut behind Usagi. Seiya looks over at him, zer eyes narrowed. The grin on zer face is positively ecstatic and a little manic. Mamoru groans softly. “Seiya, no.” - When Usagi’s Not Home

The next time that Teddy sees his navy buddies, Bob and Linda do hold his hands. In fact, Linda is the one to grab Teddy’s hand first, deliberately and with a smile that glints a little feral. Bob is less showy–of course; it’s Bob–but his grip is no less tight. - I Wanna (Cargo) Hold Your Hand

Jimmy isn’t Linda. Even if he wasn’t such a fucking asshole and an egotistical shithead, he wouldn’t be Linda. Linda is–was…was– - He Isn’t You and that Cuts Me Through

Teddy knows that the Belchers love him. He’s known since before Bob and Linda even started dating him; even when Teddy could have never dreamed that they might love him romantically, he still knew that the whole family cared about him as their friend. They’re all so awesome that they can smash through Teddy’s significant insecurities...most days. - Unforgettable, Too

Louise notices the change first. She’s had Chloe in a headlock for long enough that the redhead should be passed out. Chloe, for her part, is still too angry to care that her perfectly-painted talons aren’t doing shit to Louise. Not any more. And they aren't even breaking on Louise's skin like usual. - Fate and Sole-Mates

The feel of Linda’s calloused hands on Teddy’s bare back isn’t sexy. Sure, he’s had a very minor, very tiny crush on his friend for some time. But right now, there’s nothing titillating about Linda’s hands on his skin as she stabilizes herself against him to draw a bad tattoo design to show to his mother. - Your Hands on My Back (They Give Me a Heart Attack)

Tina assumes that her first date with Zeke will be pretty similar to her first–official–date with Jimmy Junior. And every subsequent first date in Tina’s life. - Let’s Give ‘em Something to Taco ‘Bout

Louise sends Logan a selfie, spread out on the bed, in nothing but her shorts and beanie. There’s a bottle of beer in her hand and various snacks conspicuously placed. Specifically things that Logan hates (like her weird Japanese candy that costs an arm and a leg at the import store). - Girl'z Staycation

Jimmy Junior is awkward and weird. So is Tina. He dances out his emotions. Tina writes out hers. Jimmy Junior can be blunt and kind of mean. Tina gets called out for saying stuff out loud that apparently she’s not even supposed to think. - Quirky Turkey and Peculiar Pig

They woke up as if it were any other day. Linda’s eyes popped open and she grinned, but none of that was special. Most dawns saw Linda Belcher grinning and greeting the sun, her ability to see the best in every moment only occasionally dampened by too much alcohol or life-threatening emergencies. - A Commit-y of Marriers

Alright, here are some general observations. I’m glad to see the spread of fandoms, including one of my oldest, one of my newest, and one that I’m not really in but the material called to me. I only wish that I had a "Pacific Rim" story more recently. I’m pleased to see a range of “Bob’s Burgers” ships (two each for Bob, Tina, and Louise) although I need to write more Gene ship-work. The poor guy doesn’t get enough love in my writing. Many of these pieces are gifts, which makes me smile. I really do love my polyamory, lol. I need to finish the next chapter of ACoM, but I’m having minor writer’s block about a specific scene. Once I’m over that hurdle, the chapter will flow fine. Finally, I enjoy writing in the first-person present tense.

[dsaf-confessions]

I've been in the dsaf fandom for a year or two by now lol. but like I've only been lurking and...some fans take dsaf TOO seriously. Like, no hate. none at all. but,, I wish people acknowledged more often that Dayshift at freddy's at it's core, is silly. like, all three games are full of jokes (some less than others) and that's the original premise. Yeah, there's the serious lore bits and all.. but what about the SILLY bits? Can we have the silly bits appreciated? Jack can piss for 15 minutes straight, Dave ate an entire ashtray of lit cigarette butts and lost his sense of taste after, ALL the phone guys were programmed to say "darn" and "heckin'!" as a substitute for swearing, and Dee is a tickler (not ticklish, a TICKLER she tickled Dave til his springlocks went off in the premature ending, and she can tickle Jack when in the suit to set it off if you don't wind the box). Henry is the reason why they have cameras in the fazbender's bathrooms.

I love seeing the serious bits too, but I wish people spent as much time with the silly bits as the serious ones. Even when it comes to making your own silly bits!!! Like, yess!!!! Go write that Undertale!DSAF AU. Go write about Dave and Jack as kitchen appliances. Go write about what you headcannon Dee's favorite songs and movies are. Go write about Jack having magical princess half wolf demon powers. EVEN WITH THE PAINTINGS!!! I saw a drawing of Dave and Jack in sailor moon get up and they killed it. absolutely. I know the dsaf artists out here are killing it with their art, it's all amazing and I have lovingly gazed at all of them before. and yes!!!!! Go RP as Peter Kennedy having a deep carnal desire for bird watching, go RP as Harry Fitzergald enjoying himself at an aquarium, go RP as Dave Miller spending hours trying to figure out how air fryers work so he can give it a shot at building one at home.

Please do anything your heart desires!!!!! You can look out the car window with your headphones in and listen to music while imagining sad sfms of the characters and keep it to yourself. But if you wish to share, just now that there's people out there that have been wishing someone would create what they've been imagining too!!! Make your funky spotify character playlists!! Even your youtube music ones!! Because there will be someone out there who thinks the same as you and enjoys them the same as you !!

I live for the serious ones too. Please, go write that heartfelt fic about Dave yearning for his soulless friend's presence in the afterlife. Please, go write about Jack despairing that he doesn't just stop existing after death, and is stuck in a void. Please, go write about Dee speaking to the gang in afterlife about how she wishes she had a longer childhood, and how she is sad that the very few things that made her childhood a childhood is gone and that she can never truly have it back( jack, and all the friends and lovely gifts and animals and all the joy). Please, go write about DaveTrap surviving the fire in the good ending and being miserable because no matter how much he was angry and hateful, he missed Jack, he missed having a quarrel with him, he missed asking just one more time, if Jack wanted to kill kiddins' with him, and then him having to visit Jack's grave and despairing that Jack had never lied when he told him his name. And then DaveTrap sees the other graves, all the other ones, of the kids that died at fazbender's because of fazbender's. And he also sees a grave bearing his own name. His real name. And it was right next to four other graves, of people who's names rang bells in his ears, of people with a last name he recognized, of people he remembered betting on whether or not they'll die with Henry.

AHHH I think this might be too long. i just love ranting about my ideas because as much as i have a love for writing, i can never execute the ideas. they are cursed to forever be just an idea i can share to my friends who don't like dsaf but like hearing my rambles.

So, whoever is reading this, please go enjoy the games as much as you wish!! enjoy the silly AND the serious side !!!!!

.

[sorakazeno]

Chaos Theory Update

It is that time again! Between editing parts for Rebirth I am mapping out the next arc for Chaos Theory! I am so excited to get back to this story. It has been on hold since my plane ride in December 2022. Lots of Seiya and Usagi parts to write. If they thought they had some challenges with their relationship before, they haven't seen anything yet!

Story will continue exactly where Act 60: Together we'll fight to the End left off. It will not be very action packed at the beginning while the storyline is being set up. First new arc is more drama than action for most of the arc which will set up the second arc, tons of action.

I can't wait to go back to writing this later in the year after I have a more concrete road map! Too many pages of scattered notes and half thought out scenes.