#which we all know left handed link is superior

[gerudospiriit]

[I HATE how they used the inverted, Wii map for the HD remake. Not just because I played Twilight Princess on the Gamecube and my muscle memory STILL takes me the wrong way sometimes, but also because it's INHERENTLY wrong. The DESERT goes in the WEST and KAKARIKO and DEATH MOUNTAIN go in the EAST.

BWAAH]

[esamastation]

Part thirty-two of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one

-

The first few hours in the forward camp go by quickly, for Angeal. Mostly in putting down brushfires and smoothing down ruffled feathers.

"That was Sephiroth, right - Sephiroth is in our camp!"

"Where is he then? I want to meet him!"

"Think he would shake my hand?"

"Does anyone have a camera - I want to send a picture to my Ma!"

Most of the troopers are excited - and they have every reason to be. More SOLDIER means less dangerous work for them while the SOLDIER members take care of the more dangerous missions.

But you can't please everyone.

"Well?" the infantry Colonel in charge of the town demands when Angeal presents himself to the man. "Isn't he even going to come to introduce himself?"

"I'm very sorry, sir," Angeal says awkwardly, with the Turks' warnings still in his ear. No one is to know that Sephiroth isn't at hundred percent right now. And Angeal agreed. "It was a very busy time in Midgar just before we left, and the plane wasn't exactly comfortable - he's resting before we start tackling missions tomorrow."

"Couldn't he sleep on the plane? Isn't he supposed to be a veteran - doesn't he know you're supposed to catch all the sleep you can get, when you can get it?" The Colonel huffs, offended and superior. He's an older man, in his fifties, and though Angeal doesn't know him, he recognizes the type. 

A lot of older military types didn't really… believe that SOLDIERs were worth the hype.

"What if we were in an emergency situation here and the camp was under attack?" The Colonel asks. "Would he have sauntered off then, just willy-nilly?" 

"I'm sure in that case Sephiroth would've fought, but as that wasn't the case," Angeal says slowly, "I'm sorry sir, in favour of the missions ahead, he's getting all the rest he can, now."

It takes more than that to placate the camp commander, and Sephiroth would need to present himself first thing in the morning, but at least Angeal manages to keep people from trying to bother Sephiroth. Who… really didn't look too good, before.

Angeal had got him two folding screens and a table from the loot storage - he'd even found a nice tea set, and some tea in a tin  - and if he didn't know better, he would've said Sephiroth almost… cried.

He's never seen the man look so lost.

Which sends him here, to the mess hall set up by the infantry in one of the larger buildings of the town. It's impossible to miss, and he had to wonder how the pompous Colonel didn't claim the building for the command - it's easily the grandest in the village, with spacious interiors and the inner courtyard with a mossy garden.

All the plastic folding tables probably would have made Sephiroth sick, though.

Angeal approaches the field kitchen with his proverbial hat in hand, asking, "Hey, do you have any chocolate here?"

"We do - for a price," the cook says, apologetically. "Sorry, sir, it's protocol - the company provides you grub and meds, but all luxury goods are Gil only."

And the prices are, of course, through the roof.

"... And if it's for Sephiroth?" Angeal asks hopefully, because the poor kid in him can't stomach paying fifty Gil for a candy bar.

The cook hesitates and then narrows his eyes. "... Sephiroth eats chocolate?"

"It's his favourite," Angeal lies shamelessly.

There's a moment of painful hesitation between protocol and idol worship. "... Fine, but just this once, okay?" the cook mutters and quickly shoves two bars towards him. "I can get away marking these out as damaged in transit, but after that they'll start taking it out of my pay! And don't go spreading this around either, sir, or else everyone will be begging for charity!"

"I won't tell a soul," Angeal promises and adds two chocolate bars to his tray. "Thank you so much."

He fills the tray with enough food for him and Sephiroth and offers an apologetic smile to the group of SOLDIER Seconds before heading out.

He doesn't quite make it to his and Sephiroth's quarters.

"So, the big guy is not doing so hot, after all."

It's Reno, accosting him along the way, lounging back against a bit of painted wall. He's not quite hidden - except that coming from the direction he did, Angeal couldn't see him.

"Mood seems to go up and down; he's practically swinging from side to side, that man," Reno continues, watching the street idly. "You got it handled?"

Angeal stops and takes a steadying breath, staring down the street. It's getting late and dark, and the green-tinted electrical lights by the Shinra troops clash with the red paint of the buildings. "Sephiroth is meditating."

"Yeah, because that's totally something he does," the Turk snorts, folding his arms. "I've read his file, man. A homebody he is not. If this was your usual mission, he'd already be out there, fighting."

Angeal hesitates, looking down at the tray. "He's going to be fine," he says. "Now excuse me, the food will get cold -"

"Hey, man, I'm on your side here," the Turk says. "I'm just asking. We just want the best for him!"

Sure. "The Turks are very invested in this," Angeal comments pointedly and gives the redhead a look. They are - hell, they'd sent not just one, but two Turks to the front lines! That's more than investment.

The camp had been excited to see Sephiroth and Angeal there - they'd been less excited to find out that they came with Turk company. Turks don't generally take part in anything to do with Wutai, the war front isn't exactly their area of expertise, and that's how the military likes it. Though they're technically all part of the same department, there's no love lost there. The Turks very much aren't welcome.

That's probably why Reno is here - in the shadows, out of view. The Turks hadn't been seen much since their landing, really. And probably for a good reason.

"We're invested in damage control," Reno says, peering up at the sky lazily, leaning against the wall with all the grace of a cat. "Whatever's going on with Sephiroth isn't normal, and it's in the company's best interest that it doesn't come to head in Midgar."

"Right. Far better if he loses his cool here," Angeal mutters, watching as a curious firefly investigates a flood light. "Less collateral damage."

"That's it," Reno agrees lazily. "Personally, I'd prefer that whatever is going on with him is resolved quickly, so that we can all go home. But we will be here as long as it takes. As long as he needs."

Great, that's just wonderful. But… that also means that they're not in a hurry. Even the dozen or so missions pressing in on them aren't that high priority. They don't have the forces or the resources to make another try at Fort Tamblin, and most of the fighting out there has been fought into a standstill.

The war is essentially in a stalemate until further notice. The point of Sephiroth being here - before his incident, anyway - is more about morale than anything else. It always looks good when they send in the big guns, after all.

"As long as he needs," Angeal repeats. "Really?"

"The President approved it and everything," Reno agrees and looks at him. "Whatever Sephiroth needs."

Well. He knows that's probably bullshit, but in case it isn't… "Sephiroth needs time," Angeal says after a while, following the firefly with his eyes as it flies away. "And I think more than anything he needs privacy."

Reno narrows his eyes. Then his expression clears. "Alright, privacy we can arrange," he says flippantly. "Never much cared for military camps anyway. Right then. Good night, Hewley."

Angeal watches him go suspiciously, but it appears that was that. "Right," he mutters and hopes it wouldn't come back to bite them in the ass later.

Shaking his head, he returns to the house, to find that Sephiroth had finished rearranging the furniture to his liking - he's also made tea, and is holding a steaming cup in his hand as he stares into nothing.

His hands, Angeal notes with relief, are no longer shaking.

"Here, food," he calls. "Also found you something special."

Sephiroth blinks and looks up as Angeal puts the tray down, handing him both of the chocolate bars. "Oh," he says. He looks guilty. "Angeal, I…"

"Special gift from the commissary, free of charge - next one we will have to pay for, and they charge through the nose here," Angeal says cheerfully and sits across from him, divvying up the plates and utensils. "So you better enjoy it."

"... I will. Thank you," Sephiroth murmurs, closing his long fingers delicately over the treat.

"Good. Now come on, let's eat," Angeal says, pushing the plates closer to him. "We have a lot of work tomorrow. Better stock up."

"... Monster hunting, right?"

"Yes," Angeal agrees. "Just you and me and a bunch of wild beasts. It should be great."

Sephiroth looks at him for a long moment and then, finally, nods slowly. "Alright."

They eat, and the tightly wound coil of anxiety in Angeal's gut unwinds, if only a little.

[goodmorgan]

Perfect Strangers

Chapter 2: A Debt To Repay

(Chapter 1)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Series Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead. What follows is a reckless relationship with potentially dangerous outcomes.

Chapter Summary: When Arthur keeps his promise and returns, he's determined to repay his debt to you in more than one way.

Word Count: 5.4K

Tags: NSFW. MDNI. 18+. Smut, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex (f! receiving), Fingering, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Infidelity, Arthur gives reader a pet name

AO3 Link

A/N: The chapter has spoilers for the first one obvs. For the sake of the story, I have given reader a last name. However, Arthur decides to give her a pet name all of his own...

"To my dearest wife, Mrs. Brooks,

I hope my letter finds you in agreeable health and blithe spirit. I am fortunate to write this in the same state of body and mind.

I am writing to inform you that my return home from Annesburg has been regrettably delayed again. Mr. Jameson has instructed me to remain as bookkeeper for the upcoming months, expressing modest satisfaction with my employment. I do not know yet when I’ll be able to visit you.

I hear whispers that the head bookkeeper, Mr. Muller, my superior, might be retiring by the end of this year, which would make me a potential candidate for his position. I plan on proving my worth in the meantime so that I might be given preferential treatment when the time comes for his replacement. I would like to discuss this in greater detail with you on our next meeting.

Business is flourishing despite minor mishaps at the mine hindering our profit. The papers have callously depicted the pristine working conditions of our miners, whom I assure you are treated and provided for in the most respectable manner. Please refrain from reading such worthless gossip and know I am secure from bodily or spiritual harm.

Mr. Jameson has generously provided compensation for postponing my visit. I trust that you will able to retrieve it at the Valentine Savings Bank, like on previous occasions. Please be mindful to spend it wisely and sparingly.

I bid you farewell with the optimism that we will see each other very soon. In the meantime, I'll see you in my most tender dreams.

Be well and let bygones be just that.

Your doting husband,

Stanley Oliver Brooks"

It has always struck you as appropriate that your husband's initials are S.O.B.

You can't think of a more fitting term for him, even after the last letter he sent, his words leaving you again sick to your stomach as you reread them. While you sigh of relief for his foreseeable absence in the next few months, you're disgusted by his artificial affection and concern for you. If only the man of his letters were real.

You close shut the drawer containing his correspondence with a thud, hearing your wedding ring clang inside. You haven't worn it in months, preferring to not wear a constant reminder of him on you.

You go into the kitchen to find something useful you can do, keeping your mind and hands busy with toil usually helps forget him. You decide to bake a pie with the rest of the apples you have left.

You reach for the flour in your cupboard when you hear the distant sound of horses approaching, making you turn around sharply, grabbing the shotgun by the door. It's now a mechanical instinct for you, having done it hundreds of times since you've lived out here alone. Nothing has passed during that time to upset the peaceful life you lead, so you mostly do it out of precaution. The only major cause of concern happened a few days back when you saw a strange man wander into your front yard, picking one of your apples. Luckily, he was the best thing that happened to you in a long time.

You don't dare risk your luck again so you step out onto the porch quickly, getting ready to ward off any intruder. It's only when you have him in your line of sight that you see the approaching target.

It's Arthur Morgan. At last.

It has been five whole days since he left with your mare Amber. His promise to return hanged in the air since like the sun rays that get you up in the morning, sweet and inviting. You would have never imagined you'd miss someone this much, let alone someone you only knew for a few spellbinding hours.

The man you met intimately last week is now riding a powerful brown stallion, an adequate choice for him, both of them equally imposing to the eye. Amber gallops by their side appearing smaller but just as graceful and well-kept, her golden coat shining in the morning sun. Arthur slows down both horses to a trot as he enters your front yard, letting out an "Easy now" as he pulls on the reins. The closer he gets to you, the better you can see the quiet tender smile on his lips, one too unseemly for such a big man riding such a big horse.

Arthur looks much improved since the last and only time you saw him, now wearing clean clothes that highlight his threatening physique. A polished, perhaps new, slightly too tight, blue shirt brings out his eyes as they shimmer under the shadow of his familiar hat. The bruises on his face have almost healed and you can see the scar on his chin more clearly now that he has trimmed his beard. The satchel you gave him is still draping the same shoulder he hung it on and an impressive gun belt sits on his hips, two heavy weapons anchoring him. Your eyes can barely register all of this as you keep ogling his scene-stealing smile.

"You greet everyone with that shotgun of yours or just me?" he quips from atop his horse as he prepares to dismount. Hearing the soothing lilt of his voice again fills you with unabashed joy.

"Just men I have over for dinner. Or men who take my horse. Or both."

Arthur lets out a few chuckles as he stomps on the ground, heading towards the rails of your porch to hitch his horse. You head toward Amber, petting her forehead to say hello and she neighs back, saying she missed you too. You give her some more attention before you feel Arthur standing behind you, waiting his turn to get your sweet attention too.

"Was she a good girl?" you ask him when you finally turn around and meet his enigmatic gaze, his face barely a few inches from yours. His smile seems to be stuck in place.

"Yeah, she's a swell ride. Didn't work her too hard, I promise."

"And who's that?" You nod towards the brown stallion now grazing your lawn.

"That's Titus. He's new. Still a little jumpy."

"Well, I'm sure you'll tame him in no time."

"Yeah, I'll get him there."

When your spoken conversation halts, your unspoken one continues as you keep eyeing each other. There's a magnetic push forcing you together, an invisible pull holding you apart. Small wrinkles appear and dissolve on your faces as fleeting hints of your nervousness. Your heartbeats are a little faster than their resting rates. Your eyelashes suddenly work overtime. The breeze cools your sweaty temples as you both sway in place, waiting to see who will make the first move, who will be the one to break off the impasse. Make or break. Push and pull. A seductive stalemate.

"How’ve you been?" Like a hesitant player with a winning hand, you fold.

"Just fine. Better. Alive, thanks to you."

"I'm glad." You feel your cheeks move to form an unstoppable smile.

"I've come to repay my debt, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, really?" You pretend to have forgotten all about it, like it hasn't occupied your mind every single waking hour for the past few days. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I have something in mind. But first I'm gonna need your help with something.”

You watch as he moves back to his horse and you follow him, hitching Amber next to Titus. Arthur removes a brown bag from one of his saddlebags. "Here, hold this." It's heavier than you expected. He moves to the other side of the horse to retrieve a smaller bag. "Grab this one too.” You steady yourself as he hands it to you and you start to struggle with the weight of both bags. "Get those inside, would ya?"

“Mr. Morgan, what is this?"

"Just get them inside. I'll show ya."

You're already climbing the stairs to head inside when Arthur finally unropes the big package that was stowed on the back of his horse. By the way he holds it, it seems even heavier.

When you finally place the two bags down on your kitchen counter, Arthur's already right behind you, setting down the package next to the bags. He opens one of them and reaches inside, handing you a potato the size of his fist.

"Thought I'd bring back some things you might need. To replace all the food I ate the other day."

You watch as he starts to empty the bag on the counter, first reaching for potatoes, carrots and onions and then for handfuls of green beans and peas. He retrieves a few shucked corncobs, some turnips. You peek inside the other bag to see that it has a few loaves of bread.

"Now, the only thing I didn't get you was apples, but I figured you might still have a few of those."

"This is too much." You finally express your surprise.

"Well, I did eat too much."

"Not this much, no!"

"It's nothing, really. Why don't you open up the rest for me and I'll get the game I hunted?"

You watch him leave before you finally open the big boxed package. Laying on top you find a few red tins of biscuits and half a dozen chocolate bars. You lift them to find cans of coffee, beans, peaches and salmon. You spot the neck of a bottle of whiskey, an expensive kind by the look of it. A small wheel of cheese is stuck in a corner.

You're still deep in astonishment when you see him walk back in, a couple of rabbits hanging from one hand and a duck from the other. You can't help but laugh at the image. "You steal a grocer on the way over here or something? How much do you think I eat?"

"Just trying to make sure I do right by you, miss. Don't want you thinking I'm so kind of grifter."

"But I didn't give you any chocolate. Or biscuits!" You raise one of the tins in incredulity.

"Oh, that's something I thought you deserved."

Your heart flutters at his words. "Well, you better be staying for dinner because there's no way I can eat this all by myself!" It's only when the words are out of your mouth that you realize how eager you are to replicate the other night.

"I'd be happy to." He accepts your invitation without a fuss. There’s a certain easefulness in your conversation now that you're better acquainted and you both know your attraction is mutual. It doesn’t surprise you that he says yes.

You look back to the goods now cluttering your counter and wonder if you have space in your cupboards to keep it all.

"I was actually hoping you'd let me borrow some of your tools, so I can settle my debt like I promised."

You turn around surprised once again. "Isn't this the repayment you had in mind?" You gesture toward the supplies on the counter.

"No, ma'am. I was thinking I could help you fix your stable. I went to get Amber the other day and I saw that some of the walls need mending and the roof needs fixing. I'd be happy to do it if you let me."

You've been meaning to hire someone to do that for months. It's touching that Arthur noticed and wants to help you out. You don't see a reason not to let him.

"That would be fine, Mr. Morgan. I have some tools here." You reach for your toolbox under the kitchen sink. "There's more of them somewhere in the stable. I'm sure you can find them. Are you sure you don't mind? I don't want to impose."

He takes the toolbox as you hand it to him. "I'm more than happy to help, miss." He gives you a reassuring smile. "I'll get started right away if you don't mind."

“Sure. I'll fix us some lunch later. I'll come to get you when it's ready."

"Thank you." He nods politely before he excuses himself and you watch through the kitchen window as he stops to pat Titus before heading to the stable out back.

You are now stuck with the ordeal of putting away all of the food Arthur brought, rearranging the cupboards to fit it all. You smile as you store the biscuits and the bars on a shelf, wondering what kind of man brings so much chocolate to repay a lady. Something I thought you deserved, he said. But it's not just chocolate, it's a whole array of goods, including meats he took time to hunt and skin to purposely bring to you. You realize he's been thinking of you as much as you've been thinking about him, even though a week ago you were just complete strangers. Your thoughts are interrupted once you hear sudden loud rhythmic hammering outside, the continuing of Arthur's restitution.

Everything is in its place once you remember you were going to bake an apple pie before you were so delightfully interrupted. You think it's an even better idea now that Arthur is staying over for dinner. And lunch. Somehow you've captivated him enough to spend the whole day here with you. You hope he'll be spending the night too.

It gets harder to focus on the pie as you recall the night of intimacy the two of you spent the other day. Your chest rises and your breath hisses at the thought that you might be repeating it tonight. As you mix and mold the dough on your steady hands, you think of his large ones caressing you once again, first through your clothes and then on your skin, leaving his mark again on your faltering hips as he gives into you for the second time. You'll be sure to ask him to let you finish around him first this time, the idea having plagued you since then.

The oven is already hot once you absentmindedly finish assembling the pie, the apples now carefully stuffed inside the crust. As it bakes, you get working on lunch, made with some of the ingredients Arthur brought, a simple soup with plenty of potatoes and some sandwiches. You remove the pie from the oven and leave it to cool on the window sill before you go call Arthur for your meal.

When you reach the stable you find him crouched on top of the roof, nailing down some pieces of wood to cover a hole. He’s working shirtless and the late morning sun is making him sweat profusely, deepening his permanent tan. He’s so focused on his task he doesn’t see you approach. “Mr. Morgan, lunch is ready!”

Your voice is loud enough to make him turn to see you. “I’ll be right in, miss.”

When you’re nearly back at the house, you watch from afar as he climbs down the ladder, reaching for a bucket of water to refresh himself, scrubbing off the sweat with a damp rag. You leave when you see him buttoning his shirt, tucking it into his pants, priming himself for another meal with you.

By the time he gets inside, you’re already serving two bowls of steaming hot soup. “This looks mighty fine, miss.” He gives you a satisfied grin before he stops in his tracks and turns around to peek inside the kitchen, having caught the smell of your freshly baked treat. “Is that pie?”

“Yes, it’s cooling so you’re going to have to wait for dinner, I’m afraid.”

“I look forward to it.” He sits down on the same chair he did last time, just as anxious to dig in as five days ago. But this time he’s not as hungry, so he engages in lively conversation with you.

He mostly tells you what’s new in Valentine, curious happenings that have gone down in the past few weeks, things he’s heard around town and seen in the papers. He even gossips with you about a well-known cattle rancher caught having an affair with the butcher’s wife. The story seems to delight him immensely since apparently they ended up slimed in the rancher’s own pigpen in the middle of the town.

You would find the story amusing if it didn’t remind you that you too are a wife with your own infidelity now. The idea of ending up in a pigpen after being exposed for your transgression seems incredibly bleak. You busy yourself with the dishes to dispel the thought from your mind.

But when Arthur raises from his chair, letting out a long sustained breath, stretching out his enormous body inside your small cottage, you are reacquainted with the lust you have for the man. As you recall the intimate actions that make up your infidelity, your first thought is to wonder how soon you will be able repeat them. The hope that it will be tonight makes you weak with excitement. Maybe ending up in a pigpen isn’t so bad.

“Well, I best get back to it if I’m gonna finish today.” He stops before he crosses the threshold, returning his hat to his place. “The food was very tasty, miss. Thank you.” You both smile briefly at each other.

While he resumes fixing the stable, you return to your chores until you are suddenly left drowsy by the afternoon heat, deciding to rest your eyes for a moment in the comfort of your sofa, the sound of Arthur’s hammer lulling you to sleep.

It's late afternoon when you wake from your nap and you notice how quiet it is, the hammering having stopped. You figure it’s best to go see if Arthur needs any help, bringing with you a pitcher of lemonade to refresh him from a sunny day’s hard labor.

You find him still working inside the stable, his shirt, hat and gun belt hanging on the hooks where you keep some ropes. This time he hears you approach with the pitcher and two glasses in hand.

“Thought you might be thirsty, Mr. Morgan. Got you something to drink.”

“That’s very kind of you, miss. Just give me a second.”

You watch as he picks up a few bales of hay on the other side of the stable and he places them on top of the others, finishing setting them up in a neat pyramid by where you’re standing.

"I think that about does it,” he says.

You survey the small stable as you notice the impressive result of his craftsmanship, every hole now covered and every wooden board now in its place. He even went to the trouble of tidying up the space, neatly arranging everything to make it more functional. It looks like a brand new stable.

You serve him a glass of lemonade as he joins you. “The stable looks wonderful, Mr. Morgan. I’ve never seen it so tidy!”

“I’m glad you like it.” He sits down on a bale as he finally rests for the day, sipping half a glass in just a few gulps.

You serve yourself and put down the pitcher, sitting on a nearby stool, continuing to admire his handiwork. Amber will surely enjoy living here again, you think. It takes only a few seconds before your eyes circle back to where Arthur is and you notice he’s staring at you. You stare right back.

There’s a slight breeze coming in from the windows but neither of you is swaying in place now, sitting perfectly still as you observe the other. You are once again victims of a push and pull, a make or break. That goddamn seductive stalemate.

Except this time, it’s him that breaks. “Come here.” Arthur’s voice suddenly sounds deeper as he sets his glass on the floor, his other hand reaching out for you. You leave your own glass on the stool as you hold out to touch his palm.

When he finally holds you in his hand, you feel yourself being pulled closer to him, forcefully landing on his lap. Your faces remain somber as you’re now close enough to inspect each other’s irises, continuing that wordless exchange you’ve been having all day. The standoff ends when Arthur chases your lips with his, finally free to crash into each other like you’ve been so hungry to do. Nothing about it is tender as the kisses you share turn ravenous, no longer restricted by the pretense of propriety. You have slept together, after all.

It takes a while until both of you are satisfied, decreasing the intensity of each kiss as you pause to look at each other’s eyes, basking in the glow of being wanted so deeply by the other. Soon his warm lips rub against yours more softly, delicately even, and his tongue stops chasing yours. He settles down by placing short pecks on your chin and jaw, as you gently caress his back and neck. You remain in his embrace as you lean your forehead onto his and he gently removes loose strands of hair from your cheeks.

"I'm sorry I was selfish the other night,” he murmurs. You respond to his apology by lifting your head in confusion. “I was in such a hurry I didn't let you finish first." The fact that he cares about it makes you ache with renewed desire.

"That's ok. It looked like you needed it more than I did.” You pause as he reaches quickly for your lips again. “And, boy, did I need it!” He lets out a few soft chuckles in that drawl of his.

His gaze is suddenly serious. "Let me make it up to you."

“Now?”

He nods. “Now.”

He reaches for the warmth of your thighs underneath your skirt, the ones he’s been fondling this whole time. He squeezes them tightly a few times before he suddenly pulls at your drawers and slides a hand inside, reaching your core with a couple of fingers. You feel them slide between your folds and rub the spot where your slick is. “Good, you’re already wet.” You feel a jolt of ecstasy through your entire body at the brief maneuver so when he removes his hands from you it feels physically devastating and you let out a small whimper.

“I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry. Just take off your clothes for me, would ya?” Arthur suddenly reaches for his glass of lemonade.

“Here?”

He nods. “Here.”

It’s a rather odd moment when you realize that somehow you trust this semi-stranger, barely-acquaintance drifter completely. He’s asking you to get naked for him in the middle of your stable, in broad daylight, and yet you don’t even bat an eye. You’re quick to grant his wish as you start unbuttoning your simple blouse, soon exposing your chemise to him as he takes a few sips of his drink. You drop your top on the floor as you get up from Arthur’s lap to remove your skirt and throw your drawers to the side, with only one piece of clothing left to remove.

Arthur rises from his seat and soon hovers over you to plant another kiss, this one more forceful as he parts your lips with his, slippery from the lemonade. He lingers a while before retreating, forcing himself apart from you to swoop up your chemise as it passes between your bodies. He takes a moment to look down at you and you’re very aware that you are now standing there naked and barefoot. “You’re so beautiful.” He sees you wince at his compliment. “Really, you are.” He softly caresses the side of your arms before leaning in for another demanding kiss and you feel your bare breasts touching his bare chest, his warmth enveloping you as you shiver from his touch and the light breeze entering the stable.

He lets go of your mouth to plant sensual kisses on your jaw, slithering steadily down your neck, quickly reaching your collarbone. He then trails further down as he reaches one of your breasts, lingering his tongue on your nipple, making you steady yourself on his shoulders. He slides further down to your belly, then to your navel, stopping just as he hits your mound, planting soft kisses there. His last one is right above your parting of the folds, making your whole body shudder. He gets up again to look you in the eyes. “So beautiful.” A final kiss lands on your upper lips.

He pauses before he asks his next question. “You have any neighbors, miss?”

You are completely surrounded by the woods. There isn’t another soul for miles. “No, why?"

"In case you get loud."

You watch in place as he goes to retrieve his shirt and for a moment you think he’s going to get dressed. Then he heads to the bales of hay he had been sitting on, unfurling his shirt on top. He grabs your hand and beckons you: “Sit.” You’re confused by his intentions and it shows. “Sit here, come on.” He pats the fabric of his shirt, tugging your hand with his other one. You slowly do so, still not understanding what he wants.

Once you sit down, your bare ass lying on top of Arthur’s shirt, you follow his lead and he grabs both your knees gently, making you turn to the side. You watch as he suddenly kneels himself down in front of you, moving his hands down to your calfs, lifting your legs up. Without any warning he starts pecking one of your knees, placing the other on his shoulder. “You gonna be loud for me, beautiful?” His beard lightly scratches you as he switches legs. “You gonna be loud while you come around my mouth?”

His words make you inhale sharply as you realize what he’s going to do to you.

“Is that a yes, miss?”

You nod, shaking with anticipation. “Yes.”

He pulls your body closer to him, positioning your hips at the edge of the bale, making you lean on your elbows, fully lying on the comfort of his shirt.

His light kissing on your legs starts out feeling like gentle tickling but soon becomes sensual smears as he starts working on your inner thighs. The kisses then get longer and bolder as he closes in on the meeting of your thighs, forcing you to breathe more heavily. He starts using more tongue too, which increases the feeling wildly. By the time he reaches the apex of your thigh, you’re completely dizzy with his teasing, involuntarily closing your eyes as your breath hitches.

“Christ, darling, I haven’t even sucked you yet.”

You watch as Arthur lowers his face once more, a smirk disappearing behind the shape of your mound. He kisses the bridge between your thigh and your slit, which distracts you from his other hand as it sneakily reaches the meeting of your folds. He parts them slowly with a single finger, starting at the top of the clit and only stopping at the bottom of your entrance. You let out a prolonged loud moan, which makes him raise his head, watching your face as he then slides the same finger all the way back up, smearing your slick along its path. You get louder as he pauses directly on your clit, swirling it a few times. After so much teasing, having direct contact is so intense that your head finally hits the hay.

The reaction suddenly feels premature once you finally feel him start what he’s set out to do. Arthur lowers his head again, only this time his lips land right on yours, circling your clit in the gentlest kiss of the afternoon. Your whole body shakes at his subdued but blinding touch.

The coil inside your lower abdomen starts to wind as you feel the tip of his tongue make direct contact with your bud, its surface now angled perfectly to drive you wild. He continues the motion even as you writhe under him, now clutching his hair to ground yourself, your legs pressing his body down onto you as your back begins to curve. Rather than pull away from your tight embrace, he sinks deeper into you, holding your hips steady from their bucking as he continues to lap you lewdly, the sound only muffled by your own salacious moaning. His tongue is relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure and you think you won’t last very long.

The obscenity of the moment is not lost on you, as you lift your head momentarily to see what is happening. There is a tall handsome cowboy down on his knees for you, using his whole mouth to draw from you the most perverted noises, on the verge of making you crumble to the most erotic thing anyone has ever done for you. In the middle of your stable, of all places. You thank the heavens you don’t have any neighbors. You thank the devil for keeping your husband away.

And then you feel two of his fingers enter you.

You settle your head down again as you become a complete mess under him, too far gone to care about keeping it together, especially now that he rubs the sweet spot inside you. You’re barely able to discern that his free hand has now reached his pants but you hear the sound of his buckle opening. Finally free from his constraints, he strokes himself a few times and you feel him vibrate on top of you as he finds some needed relief. Despite this, his tongue and his fingers never let up, working you mercilessly. You soon feel moans of pleasure leave his mouth, reverberating directly on your core, a feeling too lascivious for you. That’s when you finally come undone.

Your whole body convulses as you experience the greatest climax you’ve ever had, feeling the waves of pleasure reach every inch of your body, maybe your soul. As you come, your core pushes upward against Arthur’s face, telling him to stop, but he does not relent, continuing his lapping, wringing every ounce of ecstasy out of you. You’re beyond overwhelmed as you moan uncontrollably, your hips sinking and rising erratically, your hands still pulling his hair. After a few moments, he begins to slow his licking, removing his fingers from you, placing his hands on your forearms, giving you smooth caresses as he helps you come down from your high. When you’re a little more tamed, he removes his mouth completely.

“That sure was loud, miss.”

You’re so wrung out by the orgasm you barely hear him, nor do you feel when one of his hands leaves your arm. When you’re more grounded, still reeling from the aftershocks, you’re delighted to hear he has resumed touching himself. By the increasingly loud panting, he sounds to be close already. You don’t lift your spinning head until your curiosity finally defeats your exhaustion. You watch as he pumps his cock with his mouth open, eyes closed, on the verge of toppling over. His beard still glistens with some of your wetness.

When you’re strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows he hears you stir, prompting his eyes open. The gaze he gives is one riddled with lust, accompanied by a brief licking of his lips as he sets a faster pace. You continue to gawk at him, which is all it takes for him to unravel, making him grunt deeply as his spend begins to land on the ground by his knees.

You wait for him to finish his release before you tease him. “You know, you’re not so quiet yourself, mister.”

He laughs lightheartedly as he rises from his knees, tucking his cock inside his underpants, pulling his pants up before he sits down next to you by your hips, still catching his breath. He softly caresses the side of your belly with one of his thumbs. “How was that, miss?”

"I think you’ve repaid your debt in full, Mr. Morgan.”

He bends down to kiss your lips lightly as you both giggle, shining in your shared postcoital bliss. “The name’s Arthur, miss.”

"Well, the name’s Y/N, Arthur.”

“I like ‘miss’ better. It suits you.” He lowers his lips again, this time reaching for your neck.

“You ever heard a ‘miss’ scream like that for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might’ve heard louder than you.” He moves his thumb to teasingly play with one of your nipples.

“I very much doubt that.”

“Well, you can always prove me wrong.” Arthur hovers over your lips threateningly. “Besides, the day ain’t over yet, missy.”

You smile at his new pet name for you. It's certainly better than being called Mrs.

-

A/N: I already have most of the remaining chapters planned out, so hopefully the rest will be published a little faster. Chapter 3 coming soon with the rest of the day!

[redthefortuneteller]

Chapter 209

Chapter 209 was… well I think it provided a lot more questions than one would expect.

So, first off, my theory of Snake being originally a snake was proven wrong by the mention of a human mother. However the experimental facility held by someone akin to a dr Moreau having made Snake the was he is, still stands. As I'd already mentioned on this post, it's been officially confirmed that he did stay and eavesdrop on their conversation. And it's also been confirmed he'd been suspicious when they said they'd leave on that morning when he said "going out again?" and finally he was indeed flip flopping between believing our Ciel and being against him, which was one of the points I made in the dr. Moreau's theory post. He says he always felt suspicious. I believe either from intuition or because Sebastian right from the get go tried sneaking into the first tier side by pretending to be lost, before he even became a member of the circus.

As a small side-note to this @abybweisse's post, Snake didn't know Smile was the earl Phantomhive. He followed the scent of their circus clothes and it led him to the town house. Once there, he was confronted by Agni and Soma, he asked if a small lad and a man dressed all in black lived there. But until then we're led to believe that he didn't know of their identity. It's been so long, I too don't remember all the details about every single thing! Also, I believe he delayed reporting to Joker because he knew Doll knew Smile was in the first tier side and did nothing. So he didn't know if he should take it into his own hands to report to Joker if Doll, who is one of his superiors in a sense, already knew of this and was keeping quiet. I spoke of this more in depth here if anyone's interested. It's the same link as the one I linked in the begining.

Right, then we have a whole rewash of things that had already been known for years, with perhaps the exception of him being taught mathematics. We'd already known that he had been taught how to read. All of this in quite a fleeting, vague way. Nothing even close to the flashbacks Baldroy got. And Baldroy didn't die so, with all humbleness, I don't think he needed so much put in about him because he shall still have time to "talk" about it. In comparison, that is. Of course it's interesting know Baldroy's backstory and know more about his time with the Phantomhives. I simply feel Snake should be rightfully owed much more in comparison, since his time is now over... I will post more of my feelings on this later. Finally, we get information about a human mother, which of course confirms my theory about his origins is not to be! At least not in it's main point which is him being a snake originally. He could still have been in a experimental facility of the sort, of course.

Now, the information we were left with is simply these three points which weren't touched on or explained in any way before he died:

he was at some point in an orphanage (but was illiterate)

he was in a cage since he can remember

he and the snakes came from somewhere far away

his mother was an actress by the name of Sarah Kemble

he not only has snake attributes like snake skin, slit pupils and a split tongue, he also understands what they say and talks to them

I've been thinking hard and am having a little bit of a hard time trying to tie these three things together in a flowing, graceful manner that would fit the story and not sound like a very twisted pretzel of a backstory. Haha! Of course given more time I hope to conjure something of sense up! I'm looking forward to reading everyone's ideas on this! Everything that I was going to say about Sarah Siddons (born, Sarah Kemble) was already said by @abybweisse on this post which is quite aptly named, given that the woman that brought Snake into the world, brought out of her womb a personified epitome of tragedy, which is him.

I'd only like to add that she was born in Wales. Although Wales doesn't really count as a place far away, I just feel like mentioning this as it could become relevant later on, or someone might think of something that might add to the story. It's hard to know exactly how much Yana intends to keep in the manga of the real Sarah Kemble and how much is made up for the story. So, how much we can stretch what we know for theories is limited. We could for example say Sarah went to one of the British colonies, gave birth to her bastard child (Snake) there and left him.

Now the orphanage and the cage are a little hard to put together for me, but alas… also him not knowing how to read is odd as he was in an orphanage. Of course, we should consider too, the possibility that he could've been living there at a time when he was very little and still unfit to learn such skills. Then some organization got him and experimented on him?

Or Was he given away in England to an orphanage and later picked up by an organization that was using "free" orphaned children to experiment on them and thus taken to somewhere far away? And that's when he was introduced to the all snakes? And then they all came together back to England again? You see how it quickly becomes a little messy? But he did say that since when he can remember he was always in a cage… was he in a cage in the orphanage? That's very peculiar. Unless, the orphanage was the experimenting facility, as in my theory (minus him being originally a snake, of course).

Could he have been born as he is of some sort of socialite demonic ritual and the mother was a sacrifice? I mean, I suppose I had already thought of this hypothesis but it just sounded so inorganic that I didn't further consider it… That's simply my opinion of course, maybe with a few little details added, it could become more palatable!

That's it for now! Thank you for reading!

[xxavengingangelxx]

Long Way From Home 2/?

TRIGGERS: Implied attempted suicide/self-harm, torture, threatened rape. Dark fic! OC is POW and Graves is a war criminal. Link to part 1 below! This is DARK so I'm still not sure how it'll do but it seized my mind and has to come out. Let me know what ya'll think!

When you woke up your body was hurting everywhere. Your head continued pounding. Your ribs protested when you sat up. It was hard with your hands still ziptied behind you. You realized you were against a concrete wall. But that was all you knew. It was pitch black besides a large air conditioning control screen on the wall adjacent to you. It read 60 degrees Fahrenheit. You shivered because your clothes were still drenched. They were probably doing it on purpose to keep you uncomfortable.

You didn’t even know how much time had passed. Your mouth was still taped shut and you found that especially frustrating. You wanted to holler and curse out the bastard who next stepped through that door.

A heavy door swung open and the dim lighting from the hallway made your headache worse.

Graves. Piece of shit. Piece of traitorous shit.

He was holding something.

A video camera?

“We got somethin’ Shepherd.”

“Better be good.” The voice from the other end said. Shit, Shepherd was in on this too? He approved of this shit?

Lights clicked on and you squinted although your eyes adjusted fast than you expected. The bastard was filming you.

You heard Shepherd laugh as Graves pointed the camera at you. “You got 141’s puppy?” He asked, dark humor in his tone. “The one who follows them everywhere? That cute little thing?”

“She bites, though,” Graves chuckled.

“Teach ‘er not to,” Shepherd responded. “She could be useful.”

“Now see that’s what I told her. She doesn’t wanna believe me.”

“Listen young lady,” Shepherd spoke to you directly. You couldn’t see him but he could clearly see you. “Oh,” he paused. “Jesus, Graves you did a number on ‘er.”

“She won’t talk.”

“She will,” Shepherd said, so sure of himself.

You shook your head. And with your defiance you leaned forward off the wall, brought your ziptied hands to the side of your hips and gave them both the middle finger.

Shepherd and Graves laughed. It wasn’t a laugh of humor.

“Spitfire,” Shepherd said.

“Yeah, I gotta teach her some manners,” Graves responded.

“Do what you have to. I want her working for us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep her alive. She’s gonna be our bargaining chip.”

-

Graves closed the video camera, giving you a cold, unforgiving glare. “That was your superior you flipped off,” he snapped.

You shook your head. Fuck no he wasn’t your superior.

“Let’s knock you down a few pegs, huh?” Graves walked towards you, knife in hand.

You tried to scoot back but the cold cement wall behind you stopped you.

He knelt in front of you, grabbed your shirt and pulled you off the wall. He left small cuts on your forearms as he sliced through the zipties binding your wrists.

That was all you needed. The adrenaline from earlier was making a comeback and you immediately brought your hands in front of you. You launched a punch, which he blocked easily.

He stood up and so did you. You wasted no time in peeling the heavy tape off your mouth and off your face. The rest of it was still tangled in a sticky mess in your hair. You were sure you had red marks on your face from where the tape had probably peeled the top layer of your skin off.

“You filmed me like a fucking terrorist would film a hostage,” you snapped.

“There’s that mouth again,” he sneered. “Why don’t you put it to better use?”

You gritted your teeth at his sexual advance and lunged at him. He launched a punch but you blocked it, sidestepped him and delivered a round house kick to his stomach. He felt the impact through his vest.

“Still got some fight in ya,” he said, “That’s okay. I like it.”

And with that he stepped towards you, swept his foot under you, and knocked you flat on your back.

You mouth opened in a silent scream as you rolled over onto your side, unable to breathe. Your ribs were definitely either cracked, bruised, or broken from the bullet your vest absorbed earlier.

Graves approached you and used his boot to nudge you onto your back. He then descended on you, placed his knees on either side of you, straddling you. He easily reached up and pinned your wrists above your head before leaning over you. He still had the sickening smell of blood, sweat, and gunpowder.

“Get off!” You kicked and flailed but it was no use. He was too strong. You were hurt. And you were about half his size.

“This is gonna go a whole lot easier if you cooperate,” he said simply, not loosening his grip.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“You’re gonna be useful one way or another,” he explained. “You can be a hostage or you can work with us.”

“Never,” you wanted to spit in his face but was afraid he would hurt you more if you did.

“You’ll be a lot more comfortable if you just give us updates on your team and work with us,”

“I’m not a traitor,” you snapped.

With that he got up, forced you onto your stomach and pulled your tattered uniform shirt off leaving just your bloody tank top. You immediately thought the worst: that you were going to be raped.

So you instantly arched your back and neck, feeling the back of your head come into contact with his mouth before you heard him full on growl like a wild animal. When he forced you onto your back again and straddled you, you could see your strike had made him cut the inside of his mouth on his teeth. He was bleeding.

You laughed when you saw him bleeding and it seemed as if something clicked in his eyes. You thought he was going to kill you. He wrapped his gloved hands around your throat and squeezed. You gasped, fighting for breath, scratching at his hands in wild abandon. You tried to buck and kick him off but he was too heavy. You felt yourself losing consciousness and in your mind you thought that at least they wouldn’t be torturing you anymore, that they wouldn’t be brainwashing you to work for them just to deal a blow to 141.

He suddenly released you and then he did the oddest, crassest, cruelest thing he could’ve done. He leaned forward and kissed you, his lips and tongue forcing your mouth open. Your hands went to his Kevlar vest and gripped it, trying to push him off. You closed your teeth around his bottom lip and he stopped, pulling away.

“If you bite anyone again, I’m gonna break your fucking jaw,” he stated.

With that he got up and off of you, leaving you to curl up on the floor in pain and humiliation.

“Next time I won’t stop there,” he again threatened you with sexual assault. “So you better be ready to talk when I come back in here.”

The lights were out and you were in total darkness save for the air conditioning panel. The cement floor was cold and you shivered, curling in more to try and keep warm. You promised yourself that no matter what they did to you, you wouldn’t talk and you sure as hell wouldn’t work for them.

-

You woke up with a gasp. You had no idea if it was day or night or how long you’d been out. The air conditioning panel read 55 degrees. You couldn’t change you could just watch as the temperature got lower. They were purposely making you as uncomfortable as possible. Your teeth nearly chattered.

In your almost delirious state you wondered if what Graves had said earlier was true. Did 141 hear you scream for help and not come? You shook your head. He had already started trying to brainwash you without you even knowing it.

You passed out again.

-

You woke up and felt yourself being dragged somewhere. One man on each side held your arms as your boots scraped on the ground. You were trying to stay awake but there were periods of blackness.

You woke up on your knees. You weren’t restrained in any way, which you found odd.

“This is probably one of the more brutal ways to try and get information out of someone,”

That voice: Graves.

You met his gaze and glared although even you felt like your glare was losing its power, it’s intensity.

“Show ‘er,” Graves stated.

Rough hands…not Graves’s…grabbed you and before you could register what was happening your face and head was underwater. The water was freezing and you had to effectively stop yourself from taking a breath. They kept you under until you saw black edges in your vision.

Then you were pulled out and shoved backwards, landing on your back, gasping and coughing, and fighting for air.

Graves stepped into view. “Where were you and your team planning on going after this?”

You couldn’t answer on account of you gasping for air.

You shook your head even when you could talk. Catching your breath, you said, “They don’t…they don’t tell me that shit.”

“Really now?” Graves inquired.

You saw he was wearing different clothes so that told you it had been a last a day or at least 12 hours since you were taken. He looked refreshed, rested.

“I’m a translator,” you added. “I’m just on for the Mexico stuff.”

“Bull,” Graves snapped.

“I’m bilingual, you moron,” you snapped. “I don’t know other languages.”

“You’re clearly not understanding the severity of the situation here and how badly I want that intel,” Graves responded calmly.

“I don’t have it!”

Graves signaled and although you tried to push those coarse hands away from you, you were unable to. You were too tired, too injured, and you were honestly losing your will power.

You found yourself submerged again and while you couldn’t really tell time anymore, you could’ve sworn that they kept you under longer.

They kept it up and you eventually lost count of how many times they submerged you in the cold water. You could tell it was a while because the water was getting warmer and warmer.

“Jesus Christ, Val” you heard Graves’s voice but it sounded far away. He called you by your nickname (Val from Valdez). He knelt in front of you, making his voice sound clearer.

You wanted nothing more than to lash out and hurt him but there was no way you could. You were weak and dizzy.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Graves added. He reached out, creepily pushing your soaked hair out of your face.

Your gasps for air were the only answer you could give him. You gave up on trying to stay conscious and let the darkness claim you. It was the first time you started thinking about finding a way to take your own life.

-

Graves and his demons came at unpredictable intervals. Several times they brought a Taser. Another time they’d just try and drown you either with actual water or waterboarding. You stopped counting how many different ways they inflicted pain.

Other times they just kept you awake for what seemed like forever.

Graves hadn’t touched you despite his threats of rape. At least not that you remembered. But who knew?

-

You woke up back in the same room you’d been in since you were taken. It was still cold or so you thought. Semiconsciousness was keeping you kind of warm. You didn’t feel pain, at least not much. You still had no idea how long you’d been held hostage.

You forced yourself to sit up and look around. With your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, you could see the room wasn’t large but your brain wasn’t able to come close to calculating the dimensions. A glint of light caught your eye. It was something under the air conditioning control panel.

You walked over to it, stepping quietly to prevent your boots from making noise and attracting unwanted attention. You found yourself unsteady on your feet as you knelt next to the item. It was glass.

A piece of glass big enough to…

You grasped it. You gripped it tightly and it cut into your right hand. The shrill pain was welcome only because you were inflicting it on yourself. Your hand became warm and sticky with blood. It was definitely sharp enough.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to go through with it now that the situation was right in front of you. Maybe just cut deep enough to force them to bring you to the emergency room? Were there even any emergency rooms around here? You had no idea if you were still even in Mexico.

The horizontal cut to your wrist oozed blood. You almost instantly regretted your decision. But then again did you really? You could only take so much more of this. You were terrified that you’d break and reveal something. Even if it was trivial you still considered it treasonous. And the last thing you wanted to do was be like Graves: a traitor.

You lowered yourself to the ground and dropped the piece of glass next to you. You sat in a corner. The corner faced the door diagonally so no one would be able to sneak up on you. You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your head on your knees.

You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or death gripped you but you allowed it.

-

You woke up and you weren’t sure if you were dead and in hell or whether you were alive, right back where you started.

Someone was kneeling over you and you instantly knew who it was. He made your skin crawl. You felt him grip your left wrist in a tight grip. Blood still seeped through his fingers.

“Fucking hell,” you heard him whisper. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

That last word echoed in your head for what seemed like forever.

-

“That was an insane thing to do,” Graves’s voice cut through the comfortable cocoon you were in.

You felt different. You were lying on cold concrete like you had been for who knew how many days and nights.

You were in…a bed? Had you been rescued? Maybe you’d only imagined Graves’s voice.

“Hey,” Graves’s voice again.

You tried to push him away from you but found your right wrist cuffed to something.

“I’m in hell, aren’t I?��� you croaked.

“A version of it,” Graves replied. “You don’t have to be though.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groaned.

“You needed stitches,” he said.

Everything came into focus and you were on a bed with a thin mattress. Your brain still couldn’t comprehend what you cuffed to.

“Can’t have you doing that,” he then paused before sadistically adding, “if you wanted to finish yourself off you should’ve cut vertical.”

You remained silent and simply let that same darkness consume you again.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 31 - GENDERBEND

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: isozyme

In the sphere of genderbent Stony, isozyme is the absolute master. All of their fics are incredible, and I've probably read their entire AO3 catalogue upwards of twenty times. Their characterizations are spot on, and the intricacies of a lesbian lifestyle and relationship are front and center, which I love. So yeah, I could just link their profile here and tell you to read all of it, but I want to gush about some in specific, so here we go.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

Two Hands and a Map

Pairing: fem!Steve/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 31,064 Tags: Female Orgasm, Exploration, Internalized Homophobia

Summary: Tonia sighed and leaned back with a clang of armor on galvanized steel railing. “I’m ready to go home, take a bath, and relieve some stress, if you know what I mean.” Eve did not know what Tonia meant. She frowned, trying not to be annoyed that she’d missed another joke. Tonia raised one eyebrow and made a filthy gesture, jerking her fist up and down over her crotch. Someone across the aisle whistled, and Tonia responded by exaggerating the pantomime, rolling her hips into it and licking her lips. “Don’t make fun of me,” Eve said, reaching out and grabbing Tonia’s armor-less bicep so she’d stop being gross. “I know women don’t do that.” -- The sexual education of Eve “The Female Orgasm Is a Myth” Rogers, courtesy of Tonia Stark.

Reasons why I love it: Okay, so here's the thing. Toni Stark acting as a mentor in the sexual awakening of Eve Rogers? Just about the hottest thing I've ever read. I love how this fic explores the difficulties of female sexuality, and Eve just tears at my heartstrings during certain parts of it. This fic is incredible, and I highly encourage you to read it!

girls can't play guitar

Pairing: fem!Steve/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 4,209 Tags: Internalized Misogyny, Under-negotiated Kink, Rough Oral Sex

Summary: On nights when Tonia fucked Eve, Eve left her bed sated and woke up with a guilty desire to walk into Tonia’s room, strip off her kevlar uniform, and surrender herself to whatever Tonia wanted to do next.Captain Eve Rogers has a complicated relationship with sex and masculinity. Tonia Stark has a really big strap.

Reasons why I love it: Eve's internal war against her desires is so raw. I love the exploration of how her being Captain America might have shaped her view of femininity as something that isn't allowed for her. And I especially love how desperate she is to break out of it under Toni's not-so-tender care. This fic is incredible, and I hope you give it a shot!

shoot like a cannonball

Pairing: fem!Steve/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 10,271 Tags: Bad Ex Sunset, BDSM, PWP

Summary: “I want to -- “ Eve said, her breath hot in Tonia’s ear, and then paused, tantalizing. The elevator could stop and open at any moment to let someone in, but Tonia didn’t care, she was riding high on the thrill of hearing Eve lose her cool and get possessive in public, all over Tonia. This would solve everything. “Please,” Tonia whined. “Eve, anything, what do you want?” “I want to fuck you through a wall,” Eve growled.

Reasons why I love it: Jealous, possessive Eve is now my new favorite thing. The smut in this is so fucking hot, and Toni's underlying insecurity is like a bittersweet garnish. There's also some breathtakingly beautiful art by elimymoons that you don't want to miss out on. I love this fic more than I can say, so I hope you go and experience it for yourself!

Hardly Perfect, Barely Good

Pairing: fem!Steve/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 2,525 Tags: Superior Iron Woman, De-serumed Eve Rogers, Voyeurism

Summary: “I have so much to show you,” Tonia had beamed on the video call. “You can check out the new me! I throw excellent parties now, none of that dull teetotaler shit. C’mon, Evie, live a little, let me give you back your beach bod. Enjoy ogling the ten sluttiest men I could find wearing nothing but sun screen and a smile while they fawn over your every whim.” Eve’s stomach had turned as Tonia’s eyes flashed foxfire-silver. “I’m not coming while you’re like this,” she’d said. Tonia’s mood had flashed from delighted to poisonous. “You will.” Old lady Captain America pays Superior Iron Woman a visit and gets an eyeful.

Reasons why I love it: This fic puts on a steel boot and stomps all over my heart every time I read it. Toni is so fucking awful in this (perfectly characterized, holy shit), and Eve just - I don't even know how to describe how her inner monologue makes me feel. And Toni's moment of realization at the end feels like a swift kick to the teeth. This fic is a goddamn experience, and I hope you go and read it so you can share my pain.

Fire Drills

Pairing: fem!Steve/fem!Tony Rating: E Words: 19,506 Tags: Internalized Homophobia, Identity Porn, Iron Man 2 Canon Divergance

Summary: Tonia Stark is the Iron Mantle. She's also dying of cadmium poisoning, fending off competition from HammerTech, dealing with the nasty leftovers of her father's legacy, and taking care of Eve Rollins, one of Rhodey's Air Force friends who needs a place to stay. An Iron Man 2 Genderswap AU where Nick Fury sends Eve Rogers to spy on Tonia Stark instead of Natasha Romanov.

Reasons why I love it: Fucking hell, this fic is good. I love the relationship between Toni and Eve, and Toni's emotional arc is heartbreaking, especially in the context of the Iron Man 2 plot. Eve is incredibly well-written too. Honestly, I couldn't find a flaw with this fic if someone paid me to, it's that good. I love this fic, and I hope you give it a shot!

[fanonical]

As someone who has only played portal

Instead of lore from half life expanding on portal what portal lore expands half life's story?

ooh great question!

so first of all, Portal 1 establishes that Aperture Science is the industry rival to Black Mesa, the weapons/research company that the protagonist of Half-Life works for. we know this because some time after Chell breaks free from the test rooms, she comes across an office room with a projector that has a bunch of slides about how poorly they're performing against Black Mesa

so, Black Mesa isn't the only super-mega scifi technology company operating in the US right now -- and actually, one of the things Black Mesa was researching was teleportation and portal technology! their study into this, in fact, part of what caused the "Black Mesa Incident" which let a bunch of nasty extradimensional fauna & eventually an invading alien empire into our world through portals.

interestingly, it seems Aperture Science mastered safe portal technology far before the Black Mesa Incident (which happened in the late 90s/early 2000s), because the old Aperture section in Portal 2 (after "The Fall") shows their tests using portals all the way back to the 50s. so whilst Aperture was terribly managed & performed horribly against their lead competitor, some of the tech was actually really impressive and especially far ahead of their time.

secondly, Half-Life 2 Episode Two alludes to an Aperture Science project -- a mysterious research ship called The Borealis, supposedly carrying some kind of technology and/or super-weapon that could totally turn the tide in the revolution against the Combine occupation of Earth. The ship went missing suddenly years ago, maybe because this technology went wrong, and nobody knew what happened to it other than it fully disappeared taking part of the dry dock with it. It is seemingly found in Episode Two by the resistance -- in the middle of the fucking arctic.

so we know a couple things from this: one, the Combine even with their vastly superior power & technology are afraid of whatever is on this ship getting into the hands of the resistance, and two, that they ALSO want the technology for themselves, and it could turn the war in THEIR favour too -- from this we can deduce it's some kind of long range portal/teleportation technology, possibly between dimensions, which would enable a full force scale attack from the Combine (who, so far, have invaded opportunistically through the Black Mesa Incident's portal storm).

i know all of this is from Half-Life and you asked the reverse, bear with me, it links back around here: you can VISIT this dry dock that supposedly held the Borealis, in Portal 2! like it's a hidden room in one of the old Aperture levels, look!

the ship is gone, but a lifering reading BOREALIS remains to let us know what was going on here.

another thing is that in the boss battle in Portal 1, if you listen carefully to all of GLaDOS' bonus dialogue, she actually makes a couple of references to what's going on in the world outside Aperture:

transcript:

Are you trying to escape? [manic electronic giggle] Things have changed since the last time you left the building. What's going on out there will make you wish you were back in here. I have an infinite capacity for knowledge, and even I'm not sure what's going on outside. All I know is I'm the only thing standing between us and them. Well, I was. Unless you have a plan for building some supercomputer parts in a big hurry, this place isn't going to be safe much longer.

transcript end.

this is interesting, because whilst she could be lying, we do know there's a lot of truth to some of the things she's describing. there HAS been a lot of change, there IS a terribly terrifying force out there, and they ARE interested in Aperture Science, so, she's actually probably telling the truth here. we never see any headcrab zombies or fascist militia in Portal or Portal 2, so it seems like GLaDOS is doing a damn good job keeping them out. that being said, it seems that by Half-Life 2 (which is probably set between Portal 1 and 2) there might not be many people in America left, seemingly they were all moved from there to repurposed eastern european cities after some kind of cataclysm in the seven hour war. so maybe the Combine don't have much of a presence in america by Portal 2, because they no longer have any people (that they know of) to control in north america. but Half-Life Alyx implies there might not even be an America left so??? who knows.

the other things we learn are mostly that, for a while, Aperture Science was performing second best after Black Mesa but that dropped off closer and closer to the 80s & 90s as Cave Johnson lost control of his goddamn shitty company. he also has an incredibly low opinion of them, probably because they are much better respected than him.

interestingly, in the Portal 2 DLC (the community-made levels one, not the art therapy one) we get to see a bunch of alternate universe versions of Aperture Science (the premise is Aperture is stealing test chambers from alternate versions of themselves, and thus you hear narration from alternate Cave Johnsons who didn't die and kept running Aperture for many years. it's very fun). one of these alternate Caves mentions buying out Black Mesa, merging it with Aperture Science, and immediately ending their testing into exotic materials because he thinks it's just begging to cause a resonance cascade. and he's right! that's exactly what does happen in Half-Life 1, so interestingly, he actually is the sole person to prevent the Combine invasion in that universe.

that's basically all i got! that's all the ways Portal and Portal 2 makes commentary & reference to Half-Life i think???

[mmkin]

The Siren's Shark (that sharkman can be a real piece of work)

Fans of my Arlong writing, rejoice. New chapter of the Siren's Shark is now up, link on AO3 here.

I didn't expect to have the next chapter up so soon but I'm on a roll and I'm sure my fellow Arlong fans are happy for it. Content/trigger warnings - a touch of smut and a bit of violence

IV

o0o0o0o

The captain’s bed was built to comfortably accommodate an average-sized human, but not one of Arlong’s height. If he stretched out even a bit, his feet hung over the side of the bed. He knew he was going to get rid of this ship soon, but without the tribute money that Arlong Park once collected, their funds were distressingly low. Which left them with the option of stealing a ship – or the funds – for an upgrade unless they met some windfall.

He stirred and looked down at the form he was spooned against. Yolande lay between him and the wall, curled up in his embrace. It certainly was nice having a warm body to wake up next to after a cold night. Most of her head was covered by the blankets that were tucked around them, and he gently ran his fingers across the top of her head, feeling the thick, dark locks and twirling a lock between his fingers. It looked black, but when the light hit it, he saw flashes of dark red and copper.

She stirred and pulled down the blanket a few inches. Mumbling something, she opened her eyes, shifting her gaze around for a couple of moments before settling on his face. He looked down at her with a grin, and saw a flash of fear and confusion on her face before recognition settled in.

“Hello,” she whispered.

“How did you sleep?”

“Surprisingly well.”

"Mmm." His fingers trailed along her forehead and down the side of her face. It'd been the best sleep he had had in… months… even a year or more? Even before the demise of his beloved park. There had been nights when he could not fall asleep without a substantial amount of alcohol. Not that he hadn't drunk a fair amount the night before with his fellow fishmen, but he was certain that the fucking and snuggling had done far more for him than a few bottles of alcohol.

She started to pull herself up, and he took the opportunity to look over the bites he’d placed on her shoulders. The first couple had been lighter, but still left their mark on her. She shivered as he moved his hand to her other shoulder. Though the puncture wounds were deeper, he was relieved to see that there was minimal inflammation.

“Do you like seeing what you did to me?” she asked dryly.

“These are claiming bites.”

“The last one really hurt,” she said quietly.

“It was not my intention to harm you, but yes, it happens as part of the claiming,” he replied lowly. “Does it still hurt?”

She lifted her hand, touching it. “Some.”

“It will heal. In the meantime, if you still feel pain, we now have drugs in the infirmary, thanks to you. Or I can give you more drink.” He ran his fingers down her arm as he re-tucked the blankets around them, letting her remain in a seated position with her back against his chest.

"I don't regret helping the sick members of your crew or finding the best deals in the market. But this still feels so surreal to me. Why did this happen to me?"

Arlong could ask that of many things. Why did he lose his parents? Why did Fisher Tiger die? Why was Arlong Park destroyed? Why end up with a siren who was half-human, when he’d spent pretty much his whole life hating humans and looking down at them?

He'd consistently told himself and his crewmates, and even the young ones in the Fishman District that Heaven made fishmen superior to humans. After all, they were faster and stronger, even out of the water. Fishmen fetched more than humans on the slave market, so even as humans looked down on them, they were still valuable. Just not in a way that benefited the fishman race.

“Who the hell knows, but we’re here now,” he growled as he stared off into space, listening to her breathe as he wrapped his arm around her.

o0o0o0o

Hatchan watched as several fishmen brought potted plants onto the ship. Last night’s delivery of Yolande’s note went without incident, fortunately, but the young woman who answered the door seemed determined to hold her suspicions against fishmen even though Hatchan had never done her any harm. Now that woman’s stepmother was disappearing, sailing off with the fishmen!

He did feel sorry for Lena after hearing her story. She’d lost her mother at a young age, and then her father in her late teens, and her older brother worked abroad for years. Yolande had been a rock for her, helping her navigate the last few years of her teenagehood, a far cry from the evil stepmother one often came across in fairy tales. Regarding Lena’s baby, there was no father in the picture and Hatchan did not pry.

All he could do was accompany Yolande and carry the things she needed. Her personal possessions were relatively modest – the biggest portion of what she was taking to the ship was her plants and other things she needed for her work.

“Hey, careful with that,” Yolande said as a fishman struggled with a crate. “That has glass in it!”

Hatchan rushed to help with the crate, making sure it was situated before he returned to her side, seeing the distant expression on her face. "I'm sorry for any trouble that my friendship caused you," he said gently as he placed a hand on her shoulder. She was being taken from a home she'd known for years and what little family she had because of Arlong. And none of that would have happened if Hatchan hadn't appealed to her for help for his crewmates. He'd already apologized before but felt the need to do so again as he witnessed the upheaval Arlong caused in her life.

Although if a siren really was chosen by the gods or fate, then they’d have made her and Arlong cross paths some other way.

She let out a small sigh before she looked up at him. “I know. And if nothing else, I’m glad to have a friend here on the ship.” She placed her hand on top of his.

If Arlong had attempted to enslave or mistreat Yolande, Hatchan would have stepped in. After what happened with Nami, and standing back while the poor girl suffered, he wasn't going to do that again. He hadn't expected to run into Arlong after his takoyaki ship was destroyed, but perhaps that was another twist of fate. Who knew? He'd learned much in his time with the Straw Hats and was truly happy for the chance to make it up to them and be their friend. Arlong didn't know about all that, of course.

He hoped that one day, he might be able to tell Arlong. But not now. The sharkman still carried a lot of bitterness and pain.

"Has everything been… okay with Arlong?" he asked. He'd noticed his captain get handsy sometimes. Taking hold of Yolande's arm, or her chin, or picking her up. He knew that a siren was supposed to be irresistible to her partner, but none of the partners he heard about in the stories were like Arlong. A prince, farmer, warrior, and artist among others. But certainly not a pirate or villain.

“I think so,” she said with a dry chuckle. “He has… quite a few rough edges, doesn’t he?”

“I guess you could say that.” Oh, all the rough edges. Many of them, Arlong had been carrying around since childhood. Looking for a quick change of subject, he pointed to one of the plants. “What’s that one?” he asked, noticing fruit among the leaves, some green, others taking on a hint of red.

“Tomato. You can do so many things with it and it’s so good for you!” The distant look disappeared from her eyes as she discussed cooking with him.

o0o0o0o

The mess hall was quiet as Yolande knelt by one of her plants, touching the leaves. She’d been thrust into a new environment, but it was nice to have something familiar with her, and she cupped one of the tomatoes in her palm, feeling its cool weight. The windows in the mess hall made a good spot to place most of her plants when the weather was cold. She tried to arrange them in such a way as to take up as little space as possible. Though no one had said it, she knew some of the fishmen bristled at the idea of having a half-human on their ship.

She was determined to do the best she could here, and navigate the turbulent seas of life – literally and figuratively – as she’d done in the past when thrust into unexpected situations. But this was the first time she’d had a mate. Nothing could have prepared her for being claimed by a sharkman. She sighed and looked out the window, seeing the twinkle of a few lights along the interior of the harbor. In the reflection of the window, she saw Arlong slide up behind her, silhouetted against the sole lamp that still burnt in the quiet room.

“It’s getting late. Come to bed,” he said with a purr. She turned to face him, putting her hands on his chest. Like many of his crewmates, he wore a crewneck shirt, albeit one that had been modified for his fin. She couldn’t imagine it was easy shopping for clothes when one had a dorsal fin. Or pectoral fins, or extra arms. Or maybe it’d be easier if they went to Fishman Island. She’d heard of that place quite a few times and had considered visiting there.

The fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, chest, and biceps, offering her an appealing sight of his physique.

“I’m happy to come to bed. But I’ve been doing some thinking in between all the running around I’ve been doing today.”

He let out a short, inquisitive growl.

“There’s no denying the bond between us. On a physical level, you and I are all too aware of it.”

An amorous chuckle was Arlong’s response as his hands slid to her sides, and she shivered at the contact even though she was wearing a thick flannel shirt.

“But there’s supposed to be more, isn’t there?”

“What’s your point?” His hands rubbed her sides, large thumbs trailing along the underside of her breasts. She took a deep breath as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks and elsewhere.

“Aren’t you the person I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with? And vice versa?”

“Which means even more sex,” Arlong purred as he leaned down, breathing hotly against her ear.

“You really have a one-track mind!” she said, unable to bite back a moan as her body responded to the sharkman’s attentions. She tried to pull herself free, but he wrapped an arm around her before she could. “Please, Arlong.”

“Listen to your body,” he urged as he hugged her close, his hand sliding down to her ass, cupping it.

“Will you listen to my mind, too?” she asked firmly. He stilled for a moment.

“After I’m sated with your body.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he replied heatedly, and she felt his teeth against her ear and just below it. Fuck it, she’d let the heat run the course… and then cooler minds should – no, would – prevail. So she let him paw at her before he dragged her back to his cabin.

o0o0o0o

Arlong glanced over at her as she quickly carded her fingers through her hair before pulling it in a ponytail. Sharing his bed took a bit of getting used to, especially with a too-small bed. Still, it’d been enjoyable to feel that warmth against his – or around him, when he chose to make use of it. And he’d had time to think about putting the practical talents of his siren to use. She might say she was no doctor, but she was better than nothing in the meantime and there was no denying that she knew what she was doing in the infirmary. She could cook a bit. Her plants looked healthy as far as he could tell. She knew some chemistry. He’d protect and treat her well, but it didn’t mean he’d coddle her like some spoiled pet.

However heated he might get, he refused to lose his mind over it. Yes, it’d been overwhelming at first, but now he’d had some time to orient himself to this, and the pull that existed between them. He’d enjoy the sweetness of her, and make good use of that spice.

Glancing back at the table, he looked at the compass. Right now, they were drifting westward, Eventually, they'd hit the Red Line unless they went north. And then what? Going back to the East Blue was out of the question.

Why had he chosen the East Blue? It was the calmest, easiest of the Blues, and he figured it would be a good place to establish himself. And it was almost too easy. For years, they'd terrorized humans into compliance, milking them for tribute every month and using it to enrich themselves. The mild weather and relatively backwoods location made the Conomi Islands an ideal haven for fishmen, on or offshore.

Now it was all gone. Yes, he had most of his nakama, but what future awaited them? He looked at Yolande again as she stood up before coming to the desk, glancing down at the notes. Some of them bore the hand of the former captain of this ship, others bore his distinctive scrawl.

“Where are you headed?” she asked. It was a casual question, and in her position, a reasonable one. Yet he bristled because he did not know the answer. He heard her take a deep breath.

“I ask these questions because I need to know what I am dealing with… or what to expect. Like, this ship is stolen… which makes me wonder if I have to fear reprisal simply by being with you. I think that’s a fair thing for me to be concerned about.”

Arlong stared at her for several long moments before acknowledging her statement with a begrudging nod.

-Protect-

"Remember what I said last night about our bond and how it is more than physical? I'm sure there are things you don't want to talk about, but we do need to get to know one another better. Like… hmm… what's your favorite food?"

He expected a much harder question and almost smiled in relief. "Beef."

“Beef? See, there’s something I can work with. Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“Ask me a question.”

He looked up from one of the maps, seeing her bat her eyes at him. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “Favorite color?”

“I can never settle on indigo or green. Right now I’m more inclined toward green.”

"Huh." Such a trivial bit of information. But she seemed happy to share it, just as she seemed happy to hear his favorite food. He'd humored previous lovers with a bit of small talk but had the feeling he'd have an easier time remembering what Yolande liked. Green and indigo. Not bad colors.

“Where were you from?”

“The Fishman District.” He glanced up at her. “Heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of Fishman Island. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

“You have much to learn about fishmen, don’t you?” he asked with a sneer.

“I was raised by humans. I’m an orphan.”

He stared at her for a moment as the sneer faded, and she quickly looked down at the table as if she were ashamed.

“So am I,” Arlong commented. She looked back up at him. “And many of the crew members are orphans, too.”

She stared at him musingly. “I was hoping to find things in common with you, but I didn’t expect that.”

He laughed ruefully at that. “I’m certain we will find other things to share. In the meantime, we’ll be leaving soon.” She looked like she wanted to say something, and he gave her a brief nod.

"I've gotten most of what I need, but I am owed a debt that its owner is reluctant to pay, especially after seeing me help your crew."

“Who owes you?”

"The doctor. He owes me a fair bit of money for the work I produced and claims he can't come up with it right now because he's short on cash, but I don't think he's telling me the truth. He hates that he owes me anything but he still likes to be a pain in the ass about it. I suppose this is his last act of spite towards me for rejecting him," she muttered the last sentence to herself as she looked down at the papers again.

"What?" he growled. She blinked and looked back at him.

“After my husband died, Flen tried to court me. I turned him down. He’s never quite gotten over that. So he still likes to give me a hard time sometimes when it comes to paying me for what I produce for the pharmacy. He’s feeling especially bitter about that because he’s a racist piece of shit who didn’t like the fact that I stepped in to help your men when he refused to, and now I’m going off with said fishmen.”

Arlong grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

It was almost like the good old days. So far, the fishmen had given the island folk no trouble, which had lulled these stupid humans into complacency. So it was all too easy to march up to the doctor's office and shake the money from him and his neighbors when the fishmen threatened them after they attempted to intervene.

Arlong the Saw ended up with more money than Yolande said she was owed, but instead of returning it to the villagers, he pocketed it for himself. The doctor thought he would scorn fishmen who had simply been seeking aid, and try to screw someone out of the money she was owed as well. Filthy humans.

He was, however, cautious enough to not tell the doctor who he really was, or the name of his crew. If that stupid asshole thought to complain to anybody, all he would have to go by was the Jolly Roger and ship identification that belonged to a man who was now dead.

He walked up the gangplank, an impressive sight with his shoulders squared, a prideful expression on his face. With a smirk, he handed a stack of Beli to his mate, who blinked at the paper in her hands before staring up at him with shocked but grateful eyes. Then her eyebrows creased and he could see the question on her face.

“Tempting as it was to do worse, he is fine. Or will be. He’ll have a few bruises.”

She tilted her head to one side, deep in thought for a couple of moments before giving him a simple. "Thank you." Despite. her calm expression, he was certain he saw a glimmer of approval in her eyes like she was secretly pleased that he was willing to shake a man down for her.

Wasn’t it his duty to protect and provide for his siren? And if he had a bit of fun and profit doing it, all the better.

With full provisions, healthy fishmen, and his siren, Arlong set off from the island in search of a better future for himself and his crew.

[thegodthief]

If you could relive any of your memories, which would it be?

Memories that have come unbidden today:

The time my 6yo daughter went to the sushi bar with me on a Friday night and we sat at the sushi bar and the businessman she sat next to audibly groaned as she climbed into her chair. Only for him to apologize to her when she politely asked him to pass the soy sauce because he assumed she would not have any manners because she was a child. We were sat at the border of two different chefs so the entire night they competed with each other to make the best sushi art for her. I had asked for small portions so she could pace herself and they took full advantage of the steady flow of plates.

The first time that I made a drum sing. It wasn't a true talking drum where the player is able to adjust the pitch on the fly by squeezing the drumhead ties with their body as the play. This was a bog-standard kettle (style) drum that was supposed to just go boom-boom-boom, but once my hands knew the drumhead's surface, I got into the rhythm of it and it made sounds that others were surprised to hear.

I will assume that by "reliving" a memory, you mean to "experience the scenario again as if for the first time". First-time joys that I wouldn't mind forgetting if it meant I got to live them over again:

When I tried the internet ice-cream cake recipe with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and the resulting bread was so good that I devoured half of the loaf on the day I made it. (I lost the link but it was to mix 1 pint of melted ice cream with flour in a small bread pan and bake as a normal loaf. But I don't remember if it was 1 cup of flour or 2, but it was a big meme on Tumblr for a hot minute.)

Making biscuits for my daughter for the first time and taking the most ugliest, pitiful, visually decrepit, eldritch horror-adjacent lumps of steaming something ever to be ejected from an oven and placing the tray on the trivet in front of her. To call the drop biscuits piss-ugly would be an insult to a regular body function. When I left the kitchen to mope about it, she waited for the biscuits to cool off enough to handle, got the butter, and promptly erased the evidence of two of them before I realized that it was too damn quiet in the kitchen. She later told me that she thought that I had made them ugly on purpose to make her laugh (which it did), but regardless of what they looked like, they were very yummy and she took a third to share with a friend at school. "The lumps hold the love."

Marching band competition in my youth. I managed to score a critical spot for a combined-school band that was to make an entrance into a particular stadium. Front row. The lead player for my instrument section. That moment when the rear gates were opened and the drums were marking the time and our feet were marking the distance. "Ready to play!" Instrument at the ready. The drum major's whistle giving the signal to begin play. A deep breath as the drums counted the cadence and then.

No. That's all nice and nostalgic, but you know what... if we're gonna replay a day, let's replay the day that my band nemesis and I ditched class to go behind the gym to settle once and for all, who was the better player. Except we weren't exactly subtle nor quiet about it, and almost all the band members joined us to bear witness. And our instruments weren't exactly quiet ones either, so it didn't take long for the principal to find us. He wanted to bust us, but the band teacher, who was supposed to have gone home for the day, had found us first and held him back because some things can't wait.

We had chosen a competitive marching band piece for our personal challenge. The better player could play it from memory, on proper timing, without slowing down for the difficult parts, and nail the superior solo. At first we were going to flip a coin to see who went first, but ultimately we decided that since we had an audience, that we would play tandem, and let our peers judge us.

We played. I knew every missed note and timing fumble on my part. Each time I did, I could only hear his perfect rendition smothering me. The short piece was over. We looked at each other. And to both our surprise, we both stuck out our hand to surrender to each other at the same time. He nailed the solo perfectly. He said that I had kept to the cadence far better than he could, even if it meant missing a difficult note to do so. We actually started to argue about how the other was a better player.

And then the band teacher and principal came around the corner. Welp. Busted.

We were told to face the wall and the band teacher took a show of hands from the audience about who was the better player without getting (or receiving) stink eye.

Our peers said I was the better player, this time. So I got first chair for our section, this week.

We all got detention, but if we spent the rest of the ditched class hour helping food services clean up the multi-purpose room, the detention would be scrubbed and our parents wouldn't be called.

My nemesis, my friend. We were ruthless to each other for competition, but we also supported each other and our section. We both learned very quickly that the way to be a better player was not to tear the other down, but to literally play to each other's strengths. I would never find such steel against which to sharpen my ambition again.

[saltwukong]

Regarding Ironwood the Fascist,

I am abundantly sure this point has already been made in the past three years and I already know full well this is not going to sway anyone who had the combo of unparalleled brass balls and complete media illiteracy to label James Ironwood a fascist to begin with. This is mostly here so other people have something to link instead of having to make the exhaustive arguments themselves.

Read this paragraph:

Fascism (/ˈfæʃɪzəm/ FASH-iz-əm) is a far-right, authoritarian, ultranationalist political ideology and movement,[1][2][3] characterized by a dictatorial leader, centralized autocracy, militarism, forcible suppression of opposition, belief in a natural social hierarchy, subordination of individual interests for the perceived good of the nation or race, and strong regimentation of society and the economy.[2][3]

And see how many bullets Ironwood checks off.

Authoritarian and dictatorial leadership: established in Volume 8 as Ironwood eliminates what appears to be the only rule of law aside from himself and no ruling bodies are left to oppose him. This also covers forcible suppression of opposition.

Militarism: established via Ironwood's position as leader of the Atlesian military.

Political ideology or movement? No. This one can't be true if Miles' and Kerry's insistence as to the fallen hero angle is taken as true. According to them, Ironwood fell from grace due to a spiral of fear and paranoia--Ironwood has no long-term political goals as of Volume 8. In fact, his turn as a villain comes with direct abandonment of the only thing he wanted that could have been called a long-term political goal, which was the uniting of the kingdoms against Salem.

Far Right? No. The left/right dichotomy was cleanly established in Volume 7, and Ironwood stood firmly opposed to right-wing Jacques Schnee and eventually allied with left-wing Robyn Hill.

Belief in a natural social heirarchy? No. Again, despite the presence of consistent virtue-signaling and buzzword usage on the part of RWBY standom, Ironwood does not at any point demonstrate his belief in such a heirarchy. If Mantle were the city-state floating in the air where all his military power were concentrated, it would be the focus of his 'go into orbit' plan. Not once, even in Volume 8 where he is at his worst, does he express even the remotest interest in the people of Atlas' social standing. He does not care about their money or class.

Subordination of individual interests for perceived good of the nation? No. A lot of people would argue that 'we have to let Mantle die for the good of Atlas' would qualify, but they'd be wrong because Mantle is not an individual. There is no evidence that individual interests have ever been sacrificed at Ironwood's instruction. Team FNKI are comprised abundantly of people who, in a true fascist dictatorship, would be immediately labeled disturbers of the peace, yet they're permitted to wear what they like and do their jobs how they see fit.

Strong regimentation of society and the economy? Also no. Ironwood's diversion of funds to support the Amity project was a matter of global security and there's no evidence that peacetime economy or the larger economy as a whole was something he had any hand in at all. Regimentation of society doesn't factor in either, again because Ironwood expresses no interest in individuals either way.

Most importantly, of course, since it's one of the core components of fascism, is ultranationalism. This one falls flat immediately. "Abandon Mantle and save Atlas" doesn't qualify for ultranationalism because Mantle is part of the nation Ironwood is in charge of. If Ironwood were ultranationalist, he would be promoting the superiority of Atlas-Mantle against that of the other kingdoms (Vale, Mistral, Vacuo). Ironwood's plan to run away to space while leaving half his civilian populace behind doesn't make him ultranationalist, just a huge idiot.

Like I said, I'm already aware that once a fan of RWBY is braindead enough to let "fascist" slip out of their mouths to begin with, there's no hope left. A lot of these people, Troche included, already know Ironwood isn't fascist--they know the difference between fascist government and what RWBY showed them. They just don't care. They worship the show and will follow its every pointed narrative no matter how ill-constructed or poorly motivated.

With this knowledge in mind though, I do feel clear to call them titanic shitheads for it.

[misszura]

Belch Huggins

I don’t know, here is a kindergarten Belch story, enjoy.

Reginald Huggins has always been nice.

Deeply and sincerely kind.

As a child, he was polite, he helped his mom, he shared his toys in kindergarten and never fought. His teachers described him as calm and quiet, and they all had fond memories of him, although they would surely have been surprised at what he had become once in high school.

All except George Ellis.

George Ellis was a substitute kindergarten teacher in 1977, when Reginald was 6, and he was terrified of this child. So terrified that he ended up quitting teaching and becoming a florist.

But don’t get me wrong. Reginald had been perfectly polite to him. He had welcomed him, in a shy voice, before returning to play. George had seen him share his toys, and even though he was a little aloof, the other children liked him.

George had immediately noticed that the boy was taller and wider than the others, not fat, just bigger. As if the other kids were further away when they were next to him, but he also noticed that he wasn't using his superior strength to get what he wanted.

He had witnessed cordial exchanges between the child and the other students in his class, he had seen Reginald accept refusals in a moderate way without throwing any tantrum, a common thing for a five-year-old or so child, and if it wasn’t for that famous event of February 1977, George Ellis would have told you that Reginald was an angel.

In January 1977, a Lilian Griffith had entered the kindergarten class for which George was responsible during his colleague's maternity leave.

George had never believed there were bullies in kindergarten. For him, bullies were born with adolescence and the insecurities that this period of life created.

As a gay man -without being out he had a behavior that disturbed the others- he had been bullied by several bullies during his adolescence, and they had always had the same profile: boys, often middle class and always badly in their skin.

That's why he refused to believe it when Lilian Griffith entered the classroom. This almost five-year-old little girl didn't look like a troublemaker. A petite blonde, with a big, innocent smile.

“Now that I mention it,” he said when he told the story one night in a bar, “Lilian Griffith, if you merge him, it makes Lilith, like that demon. It must have been an omen…” he then finished his pint and ordered another.

It had started slowly. At first she had begun by laying down her law. Rallying the children to his side by promising them things. Then she had decided that it was necessary to put aside those who did not want to be on her side. Finally, as soon as a child upset her, she hit him. Sometimes she hit them for no reason. George had watched her without knowing what to do, he had seen Lilian kicking little Rony Gibson, who hadn't asked for anything. He had seen Lilian create a dictatorship in kindergarten, until it all ended.

You could wonder what is the link between the little dictator Lilian and the terror inspired by Reginald, called Belch nowday, Huggins to George Ellis.

Reginald never sided with Lilian, he never left anyone out, and the other students refused to be mean to him. That's why she started picking on him. George was afraid that if Reginald retaliated to the blows the little one gave him, she would end up hurting herself. Lilian snatched the toys from Reginald's hands, but he simply replied "yes, we must share" and went to take other toys. When she kicked him, he simply moved away a little further. One day she took his favorite red truck and broke it. Reginald just picked up the pieces saying his daddy could fix it. George was impressed with Reginald's reaction and thought a lot of people should take a cue from him.

Over time, Lilian had created a real army and no one knew how to fix the problem. She acted behind adults' backs and always denied the facts, she took revenge on children who reported what she was doing and often attacked children who did nothing wrong. She terrorized kindergarten. She was a real bully.

One day, while supervising recess and watching the children have fun sharing the pedal cars available to them, George witnessed a terrifying scene. He noticed the young -little would have been incorrect- boy, sitting at the wheel of one of the cars, pedaling as fast as possible. George didn't think one of those toys could go that fast. He watched, helpless, as the car passed in front of him and violently crashed into Lilian, crushing the little girl against the wall of the courtyard. George was certain that if he had been closer that day, he would have heard the girl's bones shatter on impact. He rushed over to her and waited for what seemed like hours before he finally saw her take a deep breath. The children were guided inside and an ambulance was called.

When George finally got the chance to do it, he asked Reginald what made him do it.

“I solved the school problem. »

That's all the boy answered. Not a trace of fear or remorse in his eyes, still his calm expression. He had seen a problem and fixed it before returning to play with his comrades. George had been forced to see that the school was much better off without this girl, but he knew he could never forget the blank stare of the boy who had "just fixed the problem". A blank stare after an attempted murder.

Reginald Huggins was an angel. He had his own way of solving problems.

Later, five or six years later, he had tried to fix the school problem again by becoming friends with the college terror.

[nerdnag]

The time has come for me to finish my philosophy bachelor's.

...Lots of ramble below. I mostly just need to get my thoughts out, but there is a plan by the end!

For those of you who were around in May, you may recall that I struggled a lot to get a sort-of-presentable draft ready for my supervisor, hoping to be able to hand the thing in before the end of the semester, and was then completely slammed down into the dirt by said supervisor when he returned the draft a few days later with... pretty strong words about it. Few of which were positive. I couldn't bring myself to read the comments he'd left in the actual document at the time, because the email was enough to bring me to tears.

Yeah.

I mean, he wasn't wrong, it was just a bit shocking to have him go from "hey, how's it going for you, the thesis treating you well? oh and here's a link to a fun video i found on the internet" one day to almost-kinda-petty critique the next. And also, I am wholly unused to disappointing teachers, supervisors, mentors or superiors of any kind. That may sound strange considering my ADHD, which should in theory have gotten me in lots of situations like that, but my entire life, I've usually managed to make use of three things that have helped immensely to get things done well and on time: 1) special interests/obsessions/hyperfocus, 2) perfectionism and performance anxiety, and 3) high IQ. Number one has helped with motivation and creative flow; number 2 has helped motivate me through shame; and number 3 has helped me "bullshit" my way through assignments/relatively easily create a coherent and acceptable final product without doing all of the actual work I should have done (...and also making the actual work I do put in a pretty good quality).

But for some reason, these tactics didn't quite work out this time. I could come up with many different ideas about why this was, but one really important part of it was probably the fact that I've been heavily overloaded with work at my job and still haven't fully recovered from the immense stress I was under from March 2022-June 2023. I might not be able to recover from that period of my life without doing some pretty extreme changes in how I live my life, and although I've been working on trying to make some of those changes over the course of the first half of this year, it hasn't been impactful enough yet.

And so in the middle of this, of trying to recover from a backlog of both work and stress, while still being under quite a lot of stress at work (although not even remotely compared to how it was a year ago), I was also trying to write a bachelor's thesis in my spare time.

Oh, and did I mention I also took on a volunteer position in my spare time from April onwards that has demanded quite a lot of time?

(Jfc why do I do this to myself. ...Because it's fun and I am bad at saying no. That's why.)

Anyway, enough rambling about what's happened and the reasons for it - long story short, I realised I wouldn't be able to finish the thesis in time, and so I told my supervisor I'd hand it in by the end of the summer instead. And wouldn't you know it, the end of summer is closing in. :)

So with the help of my partner, I managed to finally open the document containing my supervisor's comments, and rather than lose myself in complete and utter anxiety and horror over the words, we could sort of laugh over how unnecessarily harsh he was being. (I guess my supervisor actually was a bit disappointed, since he'd seen before that I was more capable than that. I don't blame him.) I also realised that it wasn't quite as bad as I had imagined, and that my life isn't actually over and done for. So yeah. (He even had a couple of positive comments for me, actually.)

Then we made a plan for how to tackle this thing. I'm going away on the 22nd of July, so the goal right now is to have a finished draft to send to my supervisor on the 21st. Then he can read it, give comments, tell me whether he gives his approval or not, and after I've made any necessary adjustments, I can hand in an opposition version by the middle of August. Since I am currently on vacation, and I do need to actually try to wind down from work as well, I've settled on working on my thesis for 3 hours each day, starting tomorrow (the 13th), and my deadline each day is noon. If I realise after this Sunday that I need more time, I'll increase it to 4 hours every day.

It should work. I know what I need to do, and my supervisor's comments are clear. I enjoy writing and doing research and I will finish this in a way that I'm proud and happy about.

So there. That's my promise to myself. I'll climb out of this hole, fill it in with new dirt, and then start building the collapsed tower of blocks up again.

[blackautmedia]

So I found your post on ToTK insightful, but one thing I didn’t see you cover is how according to the narrative, when Zelda went back 10,000 years she went to her distant relatives. It was still her kingdom, just very early. What do you think of how this ties in to the themes you were talking about?

Sure thing! Hope I can address this well.

For those not in the know, this is the post we're discussing--the Orientalism of the Mummy in Dehydrated Ganon.

I also want to qualify this with two things:

I'm not Native. I'm a Black person speaking as someone who also has a heritage closely related to colonial violence and white supremacy, but not someone who can speak for Native people. I can only go by what more experienced people have said and books and readings from them.

I'm using the word "Native" which itself encompasses several different people. I don't use this to imply they are the same or interchangeable with the cultural practices and ideas the Zelda franchise is drawing from.

To your question, I feel it doesn't really change much thematically because neither Zelda nor any of the Hylians in the present day have any cultural features, practices, or attitudes that codify her as a Native person except as a costume or set of resources and knowledge associated with her.

It's not portrayed as if it's her heritage she's been disconnected with, but is effectively portrayed as a white person being introduced to an entirely new culture in how exoticized it is.

With the Zonai, their coded status comes in the form of their way of dressing, the Geoglyphs being Nazca lines, the designs of the shrines, the Zonaite outfit Link has, etc. It also narratively shows up in how it's framed as "archaic" in-game as referenced by the naming of the armor related to the Zonai versus the white rule the land has in the present day and how they're portrayed and characterized around extinction.

It's almost point for point the exact narratives and ideas about Native people colonizers use in real life. Native people imagined as a people who no longer exist but still had worthwhile resources better suited in civilized (white) hands.

A big part of why the myth of Native extinction gets pushed so hard in real life (and in turn is repeated and propagandized in media about Native or Native-coded characters) is because it reframes how we talk about recompense for them.

If you imagine a world and buy into the repeat narrative of Native people all being extinct, there's nobody left to do right by. It helps shape the conversations around policies and decisions by people in power.

Things like environmental justice, land back initiatives, reparations, healthcare access, and many other things Native people advocate for are pushed aside by erasing the people fighting for it. It's a form of colonial erasure meant to justify inaction.

So while Zelda technically is a descendant of the Zonai, the story doesn't really do anything with that to challenge the way it's recreating a colonial narrative about Native people. We've historically seen her as a pure white woman, one whose purity is contrasted with the toxicity and dangerous wickedness of Ganon.

The few times we do get characters with features or a heritage that deviate from eurocentrism (ex. Nabooru, Urbosa, Demise, Princess Hilda, Tetra, Midna, Ganon, Sonia, Telma, etc.) they're either the villain, sympathetic only in how they directly align and submit to Hyrule's power as one of the "good ones" or they're just murdered or erased from the story entirely.

The Gerudo are out looking for boyfriends, but we overwhelmingly see this in relation to white men in-game despite there being numerous dark-skinned Zelda characters in their partners and even in who is spying on them or trying to sneak into Gerudo town as a bunch of creeps.

Zelda as a franchise is very dedicated to positioning whiteness as inherently superior and more desirable.

The (white) Hylians have a god-given right to control and rule, and all of the non-white races of people are better off for it. While Zelda is technically a descendant of a Zonai, we still see her effectively as an innocent and almost holy white woman.

The franchise operates on the idea that some people are born with magic abilities and are essentially destined to rule over others and that any challenge to that superiority is inherently evil. The characters who ever challenge that are either villains or are antagonized and cut down for it.

[toaarcan]

Which Krana-Kal do you think each of the Bohrok-Kal used?

We see several of their Krana physically during various events in the story, for example, we know that Tahnok-Kal was using a Za-Kal at the time Onua and Pohatu defeated it, and Kohrak-Kal and Nuhvok-Kal had the Su-Kal and Xa-Kal respectively during their attempt to free the Bahrag.

While they likely started switching Krana based on the situation at hand once they had the support of the Bohrok-Va (honestly, I’d love to see the Bohrok-Kal being accompanied by a whole squad of Va carrying their alternate Krana-Kal so they can switch out as necessary), I do think it’s possible to determine which carried what.

Tahnok-Kal, being the leader, likely used a Za-Kal most of the time. Za-Kal’s power was Telepathy, the same as its non-Kal counterpart, though it gains the added ability to sense strong emotion.

Among normal Bohrok, Krana Za was used by squad leaders (which is probably why it was the one used to control high-value targets like Matau and Lewa), while Xa commanded entire swarms, but Xa-Kal is now the key to awakening the Bahrag, so Za being promoted to the “Overseer” rank makes sense, and it’s probably thus the leader’s Krana of choice.

Maybe Tahnok-Kal lost access to this Krana after Onua and Pohatu took it, I’m not really sure if there were multiple copies of each Krana-Kal made.

Kohrak-Kal having Su-Kal makes sense too. Su-Kal is another Krana-Kal that shares its power with the default Krana version, adding endurance and temperature-resistance to the extant super-strength. Kohrak-Kal had to operate in Ko-Wahi (though either Greg messed up the powers or the Kal were together when they took Kopaka’s symbol, because Matoro is defeated by Gravity, not Sonics), and, like its counterpart among the Toa Nuva, it was also the lone wolf of the Kal. 

Unlike Kopaka, of course, this was less by choice, and more because its teammates legitimately couldn’t stand it. Kohrak-Kal was so powerful that its sonic abilities were actually dangerous for the other Kal to be around.

With that in mind, it makes sense that Kohrak-Kal would usually have Su-Kal as its choice, it would need superior physical might if it was to operate alone.

Nuhvok-Kal is the bearer of Xa-Kal. Xa-Kal is the most important of the bunch, being vitally necessary for their mission, though it wouldn’t surprise me if multiple Bohrok-Kal used Xa-Kal during their attempt to free the Bahrag, just in case one or more of them were disabled.

Still, Nuhvok-Kal is one of the more powerful Bohrok-Kal, and using it as the vessel for the key would be a smart choice.

So that’s half of them, but can we work out the others? In my opinion, yes, at least partially.

Pahrak-Kal is the easiest one. Pahrak-Kal was the member of the team that found the Bahrag, and hey, look, they had a Krana-Kal for exactly that. Ca-Kal is the “Seeker” Krana-Kal, trading out its counterparts shielding power in favour of a new one that links it mentally to the Bahrag and allows it to track them. And it doesn’t give the user headaches to tell them they’re getting closer, sucks to be you, Hahli.

Greg is inconsistent on how great the range of the Krana’s power is, but given that Pahrak-Kal specifically was the one to do the exact job that the Ca-Kal was made for, I’d say that it did so by using Ca-Kal.

From here, it’s more vague, but there’s some conjecture that could suggest an answer for Gahlok-Kal.

During the theft of the symbols, it was Gahlok-Kal and Nuhvok-Kal who took Lewa’s symbol. They both escaped very quickly, and Gahlok-Kal in particular went all the way from the southern reaches of Le-Wahi to Po-Koro in the north, to take Pohatu’s symbol and cover him in goats.

With that in mind, I’d suggest that Gahlok-Kal used the Vu-Kal, which grants the user super-speed, both on the ground and through the air, to get from one location to the other at such a pace.

That leaves only Lehvak-Kal, and while normally the answer would just be “Whichever one’s left,” unfortunately we have eight Krana shapes, and there are actually three remaining unclaimed Krana-Kal.

So what does Lehvak-Kal do in the story? It’s described as relying on ambush tactics, disappearing into the jungle to evade its opponents, and is the one that took Onua’s symbol. And frustratingly, all three of the remaining options fit at least part of that role. Bo-Kal gave it night vision and x-ray vision, Yo-Kal allowed it to actually tunnel through the ground at an accelerated rate, and Ja-Kal gave it radar and enhanced senses.

Fortunately, there’s an answer for this, because Lehvak-Kal was one of the three that fused into their Kaita form. Kaita for all three forms of Bohrok are named for the Krana that controls them, and in this case, the Kaita is named “Ja”, and as Lehvak-Kal is the only one without a confirmed or speculated Krana-Kal, and as it also forms the head of the Kaita, I think it’s safe to say that Lehvak-Kal had the Ja-Kal. The same is true of the opposite Kaita, having Tahnok-Kal form the head, and being named “Za.”

I’ve typed -Kal so often that it’s lost all meaning.

[alexsiple]

I just read through In Terms of Rain and I found it exceedingly beautiful in illustration AND writing (tf how do you do that). It really captured what I like in a lot of Death Note fan creations, which is some abstractness and ideas left up for interpretation. That being said, I would really love some insight and analysis on your end of certain choices you made while creating it. Just any meanings from certain pages or your general thoughts would be incredible for my plebeian mind <3

ohhhh anon thank you so much. this is so kind of you- thank you for reading it and enjoying it. and thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk at length about this thing i've made HAHAHAHA i'm rubbing my hands together like a little creature (i'm putting this under a cut)

listen i think about death note too much. like, too much for what it is. it's one of my favorite things ever but i'm hyper-aware of its flaws. that said, i think a lot about L and light and how the creators managed to make this really crazy story about being known and what we hide from others. it's so romantically tragic to me. it's so romantically violent to me. i wrote about this more on my substack but i'll keep going with some more specific death-note-lore sort of analysis (i guess i'm a person who links their substack unprompted. great).

L is like, one of my favorite characters of all time? i read a lot of death note fanfiction (i know ok) and my favorite hobby is analyzing people's interpretations of him. literally a year or so ago i was reading so much fanfic and it was kind of rotting my brain and i had this sudden wave of inspiration/wrote the whole script of this comic in one sitting. i kept starting this comic since then and the visual style never felt right until i managed to land on this one.

L makes me very sad. i both relate to him and watch him from afar as an omniscient observer. i wanted to capture all these feelings he gives me at once; it's a really L-centric comic. the tragedy of living a life in so much isolation. the tragedy of living life not exactly for beliefs or morals or justice, really, but because it's your job, and all you have, and you're good at it, so you do it. whatever. shrug, shrug. you do it. if you die, you die. apparently i also for some reason fixated on the thing about L being adopted by wammy and being raised to be this child prodigy. a gifted kid narrative, etc. that makes me sad. i think L and light have this parallel going on where they both feel misunderstood by most people because of their own making, maybe, but also because of how they were raised and because of their ""intellect"" and their superiority complexes. light's complex coming more from privilege, of course, and being more analyzed in the source material. both of them jaded by and cynical of the world and its extreme violence.

i wanted to hone in on that loneliness. L and light are very lonely characters. they are very internal and thoughtful and weird and express this in opposite ways (but they're the same! of course!) hm. i like thinking that L was raised in a church. dropped off in that movie-orphan way as a baby during a snowstorm or something. how did wammy find him at eight years old and adopt him like that. what does a child have to see and do to become a "detective prodigy" at age eight. canonically, the whole wammy's house thing is fucked up. canonically, L is the first and best. what does a child have to see and do to become the First and Best. does intelligence make a child more mature, more able to "handle" anything thrown in their line of view? some people seem to think so. i think it's creating a sort of ghost that haunts you when you're old enough to look back and see it behind you.

also i wanted to explore religious [catholic] imagery. albeit in a more earnest way than the source material but yeah- i imagine L grew up around catholicism. wammy's house with its big cross on it! i think sometimes when you've been lonely for a long time, or your whole life, and you have never felt truly seen, there's this euphoria that arrives with the person who finally Sees you. you know? sometimes that feels like religion. sometimes being known feels holy. sometimes it feels like being loved. shrug, shrug. sometimes it feels like dying.

i've always really loved that L likes that light could be kira. is. i think it's so insane and endearing and personal to me. light hates that L knows him, has never been known before, translates this feeling into violence. L is like, i get this guy completely, he's a mirror, but somehow he's like no one else i've met before and it's still exciting! i'm laughing at him (i'm crying.) i like that light hides all strong emotions deep within and that L occasionally releases strong emotions with, like, a detached acceptance. he's not exactly afraid to be vulnerable but more picks and chooses what to let people see. plays off of something real, sometimes. is willing to play a character for fun. light just doesn't show anything real at all. is very uncomfortable with any vulnerability. is also very afraid of death. in some ways i feel that L seems to halfway accept his death. he's like, yeah, i'm dying now. this is where my life has led me. i lost but it's out of my control anyway. with in terms of rain i wanted it to feel like this foggy reflection on a life from a ghost, i guess? hence all the references to specific years or cases/the opening part. lol. won't explain the one hundred years of solitude reference but i feel as if the stars aligned with that one.

hopefully this is interesting to SOMEONE? LMAO?

and as for certain pages, the only ones i think i want to point out are these two, which are references to B and A respectively because i actually love the los angeles bb murder case novel with like. a fervor. even though i don't think it's actually good but i also think they really nail something with it. i just think about beyond birthday a lot. ugh. DEATH NOTE. I USED TO LAUGH AT BEYOND BIRTHDAY AND NOW IT'S SERIOUS TO ME

thx bye.

[empressofthesunwriter]

Maiden of the Moon

What if Kokushibo had a pupil, whom he taught the original Moon Breathing before he deserted the Demon Slayer Corps?

Mochizuki Yua was born only for these reasons: To become a Hashira and make her family a respected one in the Demon Slayer Corps.

But if you only live for the expectations of others, who are YOU truly?

What will it take to find yourself?

A long, hard journey awaits.

On my DeviantART, I posted how Yua looks. Currently, she wears a ponytail, which is also the first of her hairstyles in my pic.

Hope you enjoy it.

Here is the link: https://www.deviantart.com/empressofthesun/art/Mochizuki-Yua-971961805

Chapter 2: Moonlight Beauty

Yawing Yua stretched her arms in the air closing her eyes.

Currently, she was walking on a village street between farmland. Her trusty crow Kaguya flew over her head, showing her the way to her next mission.

She had finished off today already a demon, who had terrorized the farmers in this prefecture. Destroying their farmland and eating anyone who at night left their homes.

It had been a challenging fight, the demon had been crafty, but her Moon Breathing once again was superior.

Maybe she should go to a Wisteria House or even home, but she needed to keep going.

She couldn’t show up again home without raising in Rank.

Yua was only a bit tired. She would manage.

Just keep going.

You can only go forward.

That’s when her ears reached a loud ruckus. Confused she opened her eyes.

A drop appeared on her forehead as she saw the scene before her.

There were two boys.

One with a green checker haori, the other in a yellow with white triangles.

Yellow haori was on his knee, clinging to checker haori, screaming about he would die soon and more nonsense.

Normally Yua would ignore that, but she saw that both wore the Demon Slayer Corps Uniform.

These were fellow swordsmen.

Her father had taught her that she had to help her brother and sisters in arms. The Demon Slayer Corps was or should be one big family that should be there for each other.

Also, she couldn’t just walk around them. If it came out that she didn’t help her brothers-in-arms, it could lower her chance to become a Hashira.

She couldn’t make any mistakes.

So with a forced smile on her pink lips, she called out to them: “Anything all right with you guys?”

Yua regretted already talking to them as the yellow haori formally zeroed in on her, pointing.

“AAH, a beautiful Demon Slayer girl! I must be dreaming! You look like the famous Moonlight Beauty of the Corps.”

Oh no!

Another one who had heard this stupid nickname some slayer had giving her as a joke to rill her up.

“Moonlight Beauty?”, repeated green haori confused, which only angered yellow haori: “Do you live under a rock Tanjiro?! There is said to be a beautiful girl with long midnight blue hair like the night sky, eyes as grey as moonlight, and a figure to die for in the Demon Slayer Corps! Also, she is pretty strong.”

Of course that she was strong was an afterthought. If she ever again stumbled over this worm Katsumi Tomita, she would kick his ass. Rules be damned!

“I have a name, you know!”, she called over, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m Mochizuki Yua, proud Demon Slayer for four years, Rank Hinoto. I won’t let you reduce me to only my looks, crybaby Mizunoto!”

Yellow Haori screamed with ugly tears crybaby Mizunoto, till he seemed to register what else she said.

“Mochizuki Yua?! You are really the Moonlight Beauty-“

“-And your senpai!”, she added with a growl.

Yua couldn’t look that fast as green haori, gripped yellow haori by his neck, making him and himself bow to her.

“I’m sorry for my friend, senpai.”, apologized green haori. “We didn’t mean no disrespect.”

At least someone had manners.

“What’s your name, Mizunoto?”, she asked green haori.

He looked up and Yua had to blink for a second.

Oh, he was a handsome boy.

He had lovely dark red eyes, just like his hair, and was a bit smaller than her. Well, she was 170 cm and surely older than him, so no wonder.

“I’m Kamado Tanjiro and he is Agatsuma Zenitsu, we really meant no disrespect.”

Again Tanjiro made them bow, while Zenitsu sniffled.

“If Agatsuma-San stops calling me Moonlight Beauty and acting that shameless, I will.”

Tanjiro promised as Zenitsu wailed that he wasn’t shameless if he was dying soon.

Who in the name of Tsukuyomi did Yua just meet?

A while later Yua and her new acquaintances Tanjiro and Zenitsu were walking together.

Apparently, they all headed in the same direction.

The good thing was Zenitsu had finally calmed down because Yua was this close away to gag the blond boy with a cloth, so he would stop crying and bitching about how he would die soon.

Nuisance!

Tanjiro didn’t share her sentiment, since he asked in calming and reassuring voice if Zenitsu was okay.

“Yeah.”, sniffled Zenitsu his last tears away. “Now that I’m calmer, I’m getting hungry.”

Yua couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Naturally, there was something new with the Nuisance.

She didn’t get how Tanjiro could give him his Onigiri, if he only had one. At least Zenitsu had enough manners to share the Onigiri with Tanjiro.

“Aren’t you hungry, Yua-Senpai?”, asked Tanjiro worried.

The midnight blue-haired girl just deadpanned.

“No, don’t worry. I eat before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Kamado-San, I am.”

“Oh, all right.”

That boy was way too sweet and caring. He would get eaten alive in this world. Yua wonder what had pushed him to become a Demon Slayer.

Her grey eyes wander over the box the red-haired boy carried.

“I know what you mean when you say you’re scared of demons, but you can’t make trouble for your sparrow.”, told Tanjiro, Zenitsu.

“Huh? Was it distressed?”, wonder the blond. “The sparrow? How can you tell?”

“Well, he says that you’re always whining about not wanting to go to work, and you’re always hitting on girls and that you snore so loud, he’s had it! So he says.”

“You are a pathetic skirt chaser also? Tzz.”, grumbled Yua under her breath, crossing her arms.

“He’s saying that?! You can understand bird language?”, asked Zenitsu, the red-haired boy in utter confusion.

Yua answered for him: “Any kasugai crow or in your case, sparrow can talk. You didn’t notice?”

“You’re lying, senpai, right?! You’re just trying to trick me!”

That’s when Kaguya and another crow, probably Tanjiro one, called down to them: “Start running! Start running! Yua, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, run! The three of you head over to your next destination! Run! Run, Yua, Tanjiro, Zenitsu!”

This shocked Zenitsu so much that he screamed in fright and started to roll around on the ground.

Tanjiro looked worried at him, while Yua just deadpanned.

A Nuisance, trough, and trough.

Having enough Yua gripped Zenitsu by the collar of his yellow haori dragging him in the direction their crows lead them, ignoring his screams of letting go and he didn’t want to go.

Tanjiro caught up to her.

“Senpai?”

“Kamado-San, we don’t have time for Agatsuma-San’s little crisis. We need to go. Anytime we waste, another human life could be taken.”

“If you say so, Yua-Senpai.”

So Yua dragged Zenitsu behind her, while Tanjiro followed.

The young woman wonder what would await them on this joint mission.

After walking through a forest and ignoring pointedly Zenitsu’s cries that he wouldn’t be much help to them, the three Demon Slayers found themselves before a mansion.

Yua let go of Zenitsu, so he could stand up.

The three looked at the mansion in caution.

“I can smell blood.”, told Tanjiro “But this particular scent…”

“Huh? You smell something?”, wonder Zenitsu.

“Something I’ve never smelled before.”

“I don’t know about that, but do you hear that sound? Also, are we three gonna work together, after all?”

The only female crossed her arms, fixing the mansion with sharp eyes, concentration on it. Demonic and human presence, that much was clear.

That’s when all three saw two children, hugging each other, between bushes and trees.

It was a young boy and a little girl.

“K-Kids…”, stutter Zenitsu.

“They are scarred.”, added Yua.

“I wonder what’s wrong.”, wonder Tanjiro, walking up to them. “Hey, guys, what are you doing here?”

But the children are so terrified they can’t manage to talk, only after Tanjiro shows them Zenitsu cute little sparrow, the boy tells them what’s going on.

All the alarm bell ring in Yua’s head as she hears their story.

“The monster only took you brother?”, she repeats and the young boy nods shyly. “This is not good.  There is only one explanation if a demon takes only one specific human and doesn’t care for others.”

“What is it senpai?”, asks Tanjiro.

Yua explains: “Their older brother must be a marechi. This is the rarest blood type that exists and is particularly appetizing for demons. They forget anything and just want that person’s blood, so tasteful it is to them.”

The freaked-out look on Zenitsu’s face was a bit funny while seeing the siblings scarred made Yua’s heart hurt. They remind her of Kaito and Hikari.

So she kneels down to them and pats their heads.

“Don’t worry. He is still alive, I can feel it.”

Brother and sister just stare with big eyes at her. Secretly Tanjiro wonders what the older girl means by she feels that he is still alive, but this was not important right now.

He turns back to the kids.

“We’re going to defeat the bad guy and rescue your brother!”, promises Tanjiro them.

“Really? You really will?”, asked the little girl to be sure.

“Yeah. For sure!”

Yua nods in agreement.

“Just wait, soon you will have your brother back.”

“Tanjiro…Yua-Senpai…”, calls Zenitsu for them, still holding his hands on his ears. “Hey, what is this sound? This creepy sound never stops. Is it a tsuzumi?”

Tanjiro and Yua both don’t hear anything.

Suddenly a tsuzumi drum can be heard in the area.

All look around to find the source, till on the final drum beat, a boy’s body flies out from the door on the second floor.

Shocked shouts turn to screams as the body hits the ground.

On instinct Yua hugs the children to herself, shushing them: “Don’t look, don’t look, okay, sweeties?”

Meanwhile, Tanjiro holds the poor dying boy in his arms, hugging him to himself in his last moments.

“Hey, is this man your…”, he calls over.

The young boy shaking in Yua’s arms tells him that this is not their older brother since he wears a persimmon-colored kimono.

Careful Tanjiro lays the dead boy on the ground, promising him in his thoughts to give him a proper burial after he saved the older brother of the kids.

“All right. Zenitsu, Yua-Senpai come on!”

“Right!”, agrees Yua, slowly letting go of the still-scarred kids.

Zenitsu so doesn’t want to enter the mansion and come with them, till Tanjiro just turns away from him, showing Zenitsu he will leave him behind. Of course, the blond boy doesn’t want that, agreeing to come with them.

Then Tanjiro kneels again before the kids, while Yua gives them some last pats to calm them down.

He puts his box down on the ground before them.

“In case of an emergency, I’m leaving this box behind. Even if something happens, you two will be protected.”, Tanjiro promises the siblings.

Calmy Yua stares at the box, it seems like her eyes twinkle with light, saying nothing.

“Kamado-San, Agatsuma-San, let’s enter the mansion.”, orders Yua, walking up to it. “Since I have the higher Rank, I will lead this mission. You are both under my command now.”

“Of course, Yua-Senpai.”, acknowledge Tanjiro, Zenitsu reluctantly follows them while sobbing.

The trio enters the mansion.

It’s eerie and quiet.

Yua feels her nose tickle from the dust that flies around.

Demon doesn’t care for housekeeping it seems.

Tanjiro and Yua walk further into it, as Zenitsu cries out behind them: “Tanjiro! Hey, Tanjiro! Senpai! Yua-Senpai! You’ll protect me, right? You’ll protect me, right?”

Together the three stop.

“Zenitsu, I hate to put you on the spot, but… I’ve got a broken rib and leg from my previous battle.”, admins Tanjiro. “And neither is fully healed yet. So –“

You could have told me sooner from Yua gets drowned out by Zenitsu totally losing his nerves. The blond-haired boy again rolls around the ground crying about how he is going to die.

Annoyed Yua picks him up by his collar and gives him a hard slap in the face. She ignores Tanjiro’s shocked gasp since Zenitsu stopped freacking out and hangs like a cloth from her hand.

“Listen to me Agatsuma! No one die’s on my watch!”, she growls pissed off. “I’m not a Hinoto for nothing. I won’t let die any of my men, but for that get yourself at least together and stop being a crybaby or I will personally give you something to really cry over!”

Zenitsu squeaks quietly in fright, while Tanjiro means: “Senpai…please don’t be so hard on him. Demons can be scary, his fear isn’t without reason.”

“He will never woman-up if he shit his pants because of anything slightly scary.”

“Woman-up?”

“The future is female, Kamado-San.”

Before Tanjiro can say something both he and Yua see how the two siblings enter the mansion.

“Goddammit, kids!”, grumbles Yua and lets Zenitsu fall on the floor.

The boy lets out a tiny shriek.

“You shouldn’t be here!”, scolds Tanjiro the kids.

“M-Mister, we heard scratching sounds from inside that box!”, tells the boy.

“E-Even still, it pains me that you left it behind! I mean, it’s more precious to me than my own life!”

A wild and chaotic tremor occurs throughout the mansion. The group looks cautious and fearful around.

Zenitsu covers his ears and falls to his knees, accidentally bumping Tanjirou and the little girl into a room.

“Ah, sorry! My butt…”

A drum is played, and Tanjiro and the little girl vanish before their eyes!

Yua gets a determined look on her face, drawing her Katana, while Zenitsu screams in fear and shock and the little boy is frozen.

“Stay calm!”, she orders.

“HOW CAN I BE CALM?! TANJIRO VANISH!”, shouts Zenitsu.

Many things happen at the same time.

Zenitsu wants to throw himself at Yua, but she backs away from him, into the room behind her, the drums play again and suddenly she is in another room, no Zenitsu and the little boy to see. Or Tanjiro and the little girl for that matter.

The drums play a few times, Yua holding her Katana before her, ready for anything, till it stops.

She is now in a room that seems like a normal bedroom.

Analyzing her surroundings her eyes wander from one corner to another.

Nothing she sees and nothing she feels out of place.

“The room changed as the drum played.”, she thoughts. “This must be the Blood Demon Art of the demon who took the older brother of the kids. Now the question is…shall I stay in the room and wait till it changes again…or follow my gut in hopes it leads me in the right direction.”

Next

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