#and surrounded by equally trash places

[baekuras]

Sometimes I just math around w/ my wages and check minimum wage

Anyhow currently I make a whole 3 bucks above minimum wage hourly In october that might drop down to 79cents above minimum wage hourly though

I hope no one is surprised if I am not going above and beyond lmao

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 1)

In which Isekai!Reader becomes a merchant, and unintentionally Link's benefactor.

Even more self-indulgent trash. The usual.

PART: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Nothing worth mentioning.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Being transported into a video game was not as dramatic as the media had led you to believe. For one, there was no bright, all encompassing light nor the feeling of a thousand worlds ripping themselves asunder. Instead, you had taken one step out of your door and crossed the threshold into an endless field of tall grass.

Panic should have taken hold by that point, but it didn't. You'd later learn it was just postponed by the shock of it all. At the time though, you'd simply taken stock of the situation, scanned the horizon for civilization and started in on the first plumes of smoke you found in the distance.

You'd been lucky. So incredibly lucky it had been a village that you'd landed near and not something more sinister. That you had decided against going near the waterfall or towards the forested area where a clear path was etched into the hillside.

You hadn't known that yet though. Instead, you'd taken the most direct route and hiked up the steep grassy slope heading towards the plumes.

Near the top you'd taken a short break beside an apple tree, admiring the perfect shape of the fruit hidden throughout it's low hanging branches. How large they were, and how brightly colored.

You'd taken one, struggling to pull it from it's stem. You were surprised by just how heavy it was when it finally did give way; more akin to holding a watermelon than an apple and as large as a grapefruit.

It was strange, but you figured it was just a variety of apple you were not familiar with, or perhaps you were heading towards a farm that was working on a new type of apple for the market.

You decided to save this one for later, in case the place you were heading didn't have resturants or take card payments. The surrounding land looked pretty rural, so you wouldn't be all that surprised if they didn't.

As soon as you'd thought it though, the apple disappeared. No light or sound or anything to indicate the unnatural occurrence, just popped out of existence.

It should have startled you, and it did, but you didn't panic. Not yet. That would come later. Right then, it was almost like you were dreaming.

In the top left corner of your vision a flicker of red came into existence. A simple line of words ended in an explanation point that pinged at your subconscious.

[New Item!]

And you'd thought, 'What a strange dream.'

---

Four years later, and you knew this was most certainly not a dream. The panic had passed, the initial pain of loss and separation had eased. The confusion of a new language and culture had settled into smooth integration.

The easy acceptance of the Hateno people helped a great deal with that.

Honestly, it helped that the population was as small as it was. While some cultures would shun outsiders upon contact, the scarcity of new blood had made your arrival quite the welcome event. Even if you were a human.

Perhaps even because you were a human. It was hard to tell sometimes. Your round ears were equal parts admired and awkwardly avoided in polite conversation.

You tried not to think about it too much.

The bottom line was that you had been transmigrated into Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Your head now contained the equivalent of the Sheikah slate and the differences in product quality here and your world was, to put it frankly, wacked. The metabolism and durability of the region's residents was even more so.

The apple you had picked up the first day had lasted you two days. Each bite was equivalent to eating two apples. Eating a whole apple was enough to make you sick. You'd watched a hyrulian child munch down three of them with no issues, and then ask for dinner.

Your conclusion; Magic. Hyrule was very similar to your own world, but the addition of magic had fundamentally altered the biological makeup of it's inhabitants.

It wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to. Hell, one of the farmers had even given you a brief rundown on the magic quality in the soil once, explaining the emergence of Hearty foodstuffs. It was an eye opener for sure, though a welcome one.

However, things got complicated in your case. The addition of gamer like attributes seemed to alter the world around you to an alarming degree. Nothing too noticeable thankfully, but still noteworthy.

Things you picked or put in your inventory had a way of coming back within a few days. This, you'd learned, was not the norm. A harvested field stayed harvested until it was replanted. A picked apple stayed gone until a new one grew from another bud.

Things did not just reappear after enough time away from them. Hyrule did not have that type of magic, though it would seem you did. Which, honestly, was fine by you. It helped you make a living at the beginning.

Food, you found, was a precious commodity. The game made it seem easily accessible, but in reality it was a hit or miss depending on the season. Late spring through early fall was bountiful, but the rest of the year was downright miserable.

People here lived on what could be grown locally. When things stopped growing, people started struggling.

Not to say most residents starved, but the cost of a bale of wheat went up drastically in the winter. Nevermind the cost of fresh fruit, meat or anything not pickled or preserved.

The game never showed this side to Hyrule. The part where these magical people with their high metabolisms suffered during the lean winter months. How they worked and saved all year just to break even through the cold season.

Winter might have been the time of hardship, but it was your golden goose. It was how you made a living, how you came out ahead.

Anything stored within your mindslate stayed perfectly preserved, untouched by time nor the effects of decomposition. And added to your unusual effect on the world, it allowed you to amass a literal shit ton of resources.

At first you'd make daily trips around the village gathering enough materials to ensure a place at the inn every night. Anything would do. Wheat, crickets, apples, the occasional fish, even fairies.

(Strange that one, how your mindslate just stored living beings like that. They were the one thing you didn't mess with. Just let them sit in there, as far from your mind as possible.)

You cut grass with your rusty sword, hacked down small trees with your equally cheap and rusted ax, roamed the nearby woods for mushrooms, beetles or lizards. Occasionally, you'd even find a more unusual item. Like a sword or shield just laying in the grass.

You'd try not to think of how it got there.

You gathered resources for a living, and the shop owners came to know you as the Apple Merchant. It was sweet actually, and it seemed to endear you to some of the residents.

Perhaps they appreciated that you were trying to make a life for yourself among them, not just begging for handouts. Or maybe it was pity for the foreign human who didn't know hyrulian common well. Hard to tell.

When winter came that first year, is when you realized the full breath of your situational advantage.

One year. That's all it took. One year to become one of the wealthiest people in the village.

And they didn't even realize it.

A bundle of carrots purchased cheaply during the height of harvest season sold for five times that amount in the winter. A bundle of wheat, nearly seven. And meat was something else entirely. Rare enough during the warm season, it became worth its weight in gold the moment winter set in and creatures ventured to warmer regions.

Winter was a literal Godsent.

And the next winter was even more profitable. Now armed with the foresight of experience, you planned your life around it. Bought overflow harvest in bulk, bought out traveling merchant's wares without a second glance.

You prepared, and you thrived. Your bare threat clothes became wool, your worn shoes became comfortable soft leather. You bought a horse, then three, a wagon. Hired guard detail.

Became a merchant. The Apple Merchant; written in clear hyrulian script across your wagon.

By the third year, you were in Lurelin, Kakariko, and every stable and small settlement in the southern reaches of Hyrule. Damn near made it to Gerudo too, before the logistics of such a trip set you back.

You made it though, on your forth year. Reaped the benefits of being a well stocked merchant in an inhospitable place like Gerudo desert. Never made it to Gerudo town though, but the outlier villages more than made up for that.

Life was good. It was profitable. You could even say you were happy.

Then it happened in the early spring of the fifth year. The Shiekah towers rose.

It was nothing that should have concerned you. Link had finally awoken from his 100 year slumber as he was meant to, and his story would continue on without you. Your paths would probably never cross. You were just one of the thousand's of merchants making a living all across Hyrule.

You were nobody in the grand scheme of things. You were someone completely removed from the big picture.

Until you weren't.

And it started with a missing apple.

---

Now I return to the shadows to rest.

[rosesbxrry]

Cabin fever

Pairing: Boyfriend! Sunghoon X Girlfriend! Fem! Reader

Genre: Smut🔞(Minors DNI), established relationship! AU, 

Warnings: Hard and mean Dom! Sunghoon, unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it), cream pie, temperature play, cabin sex, fellatio (blowjob), throat fucking, ass spanking, slut shaming, degradation, Sunghoon calls you doll so much, reverse cowgirl, lots of teasing in his end, slight orgasm denial, slight nipple play. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else.

Summary: All you wanted was to escape the frigid December and spend more time with your boyfriend, Sunghoon, as the Christmas holiday urged you to do something together only to end up in a Ski Resort— courtesy of his idea. Still, at least the cabin you will be staying in was worth it, but Sunghoon had other plans during your trip. 

"Don't lie to me and say you never thought of us fucking while we're here."

A Holiday Special: ➜ Sunghoon

| ➜ Heeseung | ➜ Jay | ➜ Jake |

Main masterlist

Word count: 4,087 words

a/n: I can’t believe this would be the last one for the holiday special 😱 it has been a month of non-stop writing and I’m proud of myself for finishing this eventhough I’m way past the holiday mood already 🤡 Anyways, thank you to everyone who stuck around until the end 🫶

It had to be said that— Winter is a very perplexing season, and you weren't for nor against the juncture that foreshadows spring. 

When you woke up the following day after a heavy snowfall, your world was stripped of its life. Snow covered the color of nature into a temporary slumber, depriving your surroundings of any signs of existence, minus the people living there. 

Shoveling the driveway and sidewalk was equally annoying as driving on the slippery, damp road. Doing something as simple as throwing the trash out was a hassle as you had to ensure you were dressed appropriately to avoid getting frostbite and wearing layers of clothing just to be outside for five minutes. 

The last straw was when you woke up in the middle of the night, itching to use the toilet, only to scream loudly at how cold the seat was. You didn't own one of those fancy Japanese toilet warmers, so you had to persevere with only what you had. 

The only saving grace to the coldest season was Christmas, the holiday you enjoyed the most in every aspect possible. It was the time of the month when you got to spend some time with your family and loved ones, which was why you were excited to celebrate the occasion with Sunghoon. 

As per tradition, both of you took turns taking responsibility for setting up a game plan for your Christmas dates. Whether it be a fancy candlelit dinner or a stay-at-home watching movies kind of vibe— it didn't really matter as long as you could spend some quality time together as a couple. 

You didn't expect him to book something outside the area, which you didn't mind since it's been so long since you've been to a vacation spot for a date. The problem lies when you find out that the place your boyfriend, who knew that the cold was the bane of your existence, had graciously reserved was a Ski Resort. 

Which alludes that skiing was in the itinerary or even the only entertainment there is within the vicinity. Heck, since when did he even ski in the first place? 

The place was situated on the outskirts of town, surrounded by the outdoor wilderness but more so pine timbers and mountains that seemed as frigid as the cold December. You were worried about altitude sickness at how high up the resort was, but that wasn't the case after sliding through the pistes and utilizing the ski lift multiple times. 

Although, you could get down to the log cabin where you would lodge for the rest of the trip.

It was the epitome of a picturesque accommodation, fitted for the cozy and warm vibes it provided as you lay on the woolly sofa after spending half of the day outside skiing in the snow. 

"I'm so tired." You drawled, stretching your legs and resting your head on the back of the sofa. 

Your face was numb with all the cold wind blowing on your facial skin, wanting nothing more than to stuff yourself on a pile of blankets. Still, you enjoyed the activity more than you anticipated. 

"What happened to Miss this is stupid, I don't even know how to ski and her complaints?" Sunghoon snorted in amusement, feeling the cushion deep as he sat beside you. The high points of his pale face were also flushed from the cold. 

You kick his shin with your foot lightly. "Hush, Sunghoon. That's all in the past now. We need to start living in the future."

Your shameless allude caused him to grin knowingly, and you tried to salvage your remaining dignity to prevent stroking the already big ego that he was right about the trip. 

"Can you add more wood to the fire? It's seriously getting a bit cold here." You ask, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. 

The words you said were to distract and send him away from the subject matter, but now that you were conscious of the drop in temperature, chills went down your spine. 

It was getting cold in the cabin, evident by how your fingers were getting tingles as you held them close to your mouth. The masonry heater that warms up the place had probably started to die out since the morning you left to go skiing. 

That was the drawback of experiencing a multipurpose rental cabin; the one-layer log walls were also built to be used in the summer, which is why the insulation was pretty much crap. 

It didn't help that you were surrounded by a secluded forest, so if you and Sunghoon didn't keep the heater well ignited throughout the day, there was a high chance that both of you would end up freezing to death in this weather. 

"Come here, let me help warm up your hands." Sunghoon said, reaching out to take your left hand in his. 

You didn't think much, guessing that he'll put your hand in the pocket of his winter jacket. So, you instinctively relax your arm and let him guide it near his body— only for him to place it right on his crotch.

"What the— Sunghoon!" You yelled, obviously not amused by his sudden inappropriate behavior as you tried to pull your hands away from his growing bulge. 

He proved to be much more substantial; his grip on your hand didn't falter at your pathetic attempts to free yourself were to no avail. Sunghoon laughed at your annoyed expression, watching you struggle as he adjusted his hands that intertwined with yours to let you grope more of his size. 

"I'm literally freezing to my bones and the only thing you could do is to succumb to your own horny ass?" You protest through gritted teeth. 

Sunghoon shrugged his shoulders. "I told you I'll help you warm up your hand…..never said how though." 

You gave him an unbelievable stare, rolling your eyes while obviously used to his obnoxious antics of railing you up. 

"I'm being serious here." You reminded him, not swayed by his little charade. 

He snorted, giving you one dark look between his bangs. You yelped in surprise when he yanked your hand towards him, causing your upper arm and shoulder to fall flush on his lap. Some of your weight had transferred to your palm as you tried to keep the leverage to stare up at him. 

This action made you realize how hard he was under your hand. 

"I'm being serious too." He whispered an octave lower as he smirked down at you with a hungry glint that made you swallow. 

"Don't lie to me and say you never thought of us fucking while we're here." He raised an eyebrow, watching your cheeks flush as his words hit a home run. 

You can't pretend that it never crossed your mind that this trip would be the perfect setting for a bad plot line of a porno. There was an outdoor jacuzzi and even a fireplace in your shared bedroom— all the proper setup ensues the wild fantasy swimming in your mind, or maybe you were just as horny as he was. 

You grunted in defeat, and he watched you with a smug smile when you began to pull on the front of his pants. 

"Not a word, Park." You grumbled. 

He licks his lower lips, stopping himself from grinning wider as he helps you tug his pants to his thighs and free his hard cock from the confinements of his briefs.

Sunghoon let out a hiss when you began pumping his length; the delicious contact of your cold hands against the hot skin of his head and the underside of his veins got him winching in pleasure at the sensation. 

"I knew you'd come around," He said as you adjusted to lay your chin on his lap, body outstretched on the sofa on your chest and stomach, hands never ceased to jerk him slowly. "My dick is just that good, huh?" 

"You know, you're so much hotter with your mouth shut closed." You said, his words getting on your nerves. 

Sunghoon crackled at your annoyed expression. "While you—" 

He grabs a bunch of your hair behind your head, tugging forward until your face is inches away from his stiff erection. His other hand rested on your ass cheeks, kneading the ample flesh roughly until you whined at the sensation.

"—look so much hotter with your mouth open, full of my cock." 

You caved in to the directing action of his grip on your hair, opening your mouth as he guided you to shove his length past your lips. 

Sunghoon was not only ridiculously long, but his thick girth stretched the corner of your lips beyond its capacity. He was throbbing against the inside of your mouth as you slowly inhaled most of his size; the remaining length left was occupied for you to jerk him off. 

"My girl just wanted something to suck on, huh?" He said, shivering at the juxtaposition sensation of your hot mouth engulfing his cock as opposed to the cold temperature of the surrounding. 

When you withdraw with only his head around your lips, you dart your tongue at his swollen slit, precum dribbling out to coat your taste bud before encasing the majority of his length again in a suckling motion. 

The cold chills you felt before had dissipated, your body warming up as you relentlessly bobbed your head up and down his length more crudely by the second. 

His groans hitched when you ran your warm tongue over the large vein on his length, hollowing your cheeks to suction him back and forth so filthily that he didn't even need to move his hips to thrust into your throat— you were already doing it yourself, and he can't help but found the sight to be pure ecstasy. 

"Such a whore for my cock." He breathed out, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "Could never get enough watching you slut your mouth out for me." 

You would love to look up and gauge his reaction, but it proved to be complicated. 

Every time his swollen tip would press on the soft palate of your mouth and poke at the back of your throat, your eyes squeezed shut as all you could do was suck harder around his cock. 

It drives you crazy at how solid and big he was, filling the cavern of your mouth to the brim and forcing you to breathe through your nostrils at the lack of space. 

Your hands wrap around the base of his cock with whatever you weren't able to fit, feeling yourself rutting on the sofa at the sensation of your aching clit pooled with your own juices. 

Sloppy noises filled the air as you quickened your pace, humming around his cock as waves of vibrations sent signals for him to let out a few low groans.

It didn't help that the movement of your chin was digging into his tight balls. 

"Fuck, that's it." He encouraged you, toes curling as his pending release was on edge. He pulled your hair tighter, melting at how eager you were to fuck your throat with his dick. "Take me deeper, doll." 

You spurred into action, loosening the tension by unhinging your jaw and swallowing him until his cock pressed on your throat incessantly. With tears stinging your eyes, you remain stagnant in your position, diving deep down until you feel like choking. 

The sensation of your hot, gummy throat on his erect head for such a prolonged duration made him lose it— Sunghoon eyes flew to the ceiling, and his head lolled to the side as he released with a loud curse. 

He defiled your opening with ropes of his musky cum. You gulped down his hot seed rapturously and pumped his length to milk out every last drop of him. 

"Fuck, you're unreal." He slurred, leaning on the back of the sofa to watch you with blown-out eyes, thighs feeling sore with the weight of your shoulders on his lap. 

The beautiful sight of you smacking your lips around his length winded him in delight. Despite the drool and white mess dripping down your chin, you lick his cum nice and clean for him to witness. 

"Messy girl, you're drooling everywhere." He cooed, putting a palm on the crown of your head. 

Your jaw was sore from sucking him off, but you opted to swirl his tip around the roof of your mouth like he was fine wine. His taste was so addictive that you couldn't help but play with him for a little longer. 

"What can I say," You mumbled with his cock still in your mouth, looking up at him with a seductive stare. "I'm a slut for your cock, aren't I?"

Letting his head poke the inside of your cheek, you made sure he saw the prominent bulge that formed on your face. 

Sunghoon inhales a deep breath. 

You knew you unleashed the beast within; his eyes turned dark and cold as he roughly held your jaw to yank your mouth away, feeling his nails dig into the skin. You almost moan pathetically at the way he swallowed hard, anticipation sending waves of enticing pleasure to your clit because you knew—

He was gonna ruin you to hell. 

"Enough." His voice tightened, his command being the epitome of dominance. His thick eyebrows furrowed, expression morphed into raw hunger. You rubbed your thighs together, excitement coursing through your veins when he pulled on the waistband of your trousers. 

"That smart mouth of yours needs to stop being fucking greedy." He asserts, manhandling your body until you are straddling on either side of his thighs, giving him a good view of your back as you face away from him. 

The cold air of the frigid cabin made you shudder as your trousers were long thrown on the floor, leaving you vulnerable with your lace panties. Sunghoon pulled the soaked middle to the side, the bundled material wedged between the crack of your ass. 

You sigh when the chilly air hits your exposed and damp folds. 

"I want your pussy to do all the fucking this time" Sunghoon squeezed a handful of the soft flesh, massaging it teasingly until it bulged between his deft fingers, enough to make you whimper in agony.

"So prepare yourself and ride me real good." He urged, hands moving to your sides. 

Still suspended in mid-air above his lap, adrenaline bristled your body as you reached back to grip his cock, positioning his tip against your tender entrance while he lowered you down by your love handles. 

Everything shifts into an upward spiral, feeling him stretch your walls deliciously as you sink down on his hard cock. 

"Ahh—haaahh— fuck." You gasp for air, chest rising and falling erratically as you take him inch by inch until you bottom out and are fully seated on his lap. 

"So fucking deep….." 

You feel winded by the sheer volume of his cock  even though you've had him a million times before. Still, your position allowed him to reach the deepest part of your crevice, already clamping around his length before he could even move. 

Sunghoon seemed delighted with your reaction, leaning forward until his hot breath fanned the nape of your neck and toned chest flushed to your back. 

"You love it when I go deep into you, don't you?" he hummed, licking the outer shell of your ear before nibbling at the wet spot. "Love it when I split your pussy with my big cock, right, doll?" 

"I love it….fuck…I love it so much….." Your voice was slurred with drunkness, head spinning with vertigo overwhelming your consciousness at his words when you finally felt the desperation to move— grinding down on your hips to slowly test the waters.  

After enduring the initial adjustment, you finally move in and out of him, and my god, did you erupt out the most euphoric moan at the sensation of his length dragging against your hot walls. 

"Look at you go, bouncing on my cock like a slut you are." His defiling praises only fueled the knot burning in your stomach, your juices leaking around him as it lubricated the movement of your drop and fall. 

In the moment of delirious high, you didn't realize that he pulled the last article of clothing to keep you away from the biting temperature. It only registered in your mind when he roughly peeled your bra off, exposing your upper body to the cold air of the bleak cabin. 

You were sure the heater had died off at this point, basking your figure in the arctic air.

Sunghoon cupped your bouncing breast from behind; his large cold hands engulfed the pair with a tight grasp. Goosebumps flares on your skin by the coldness, and it gets worse when he kneads the flesh in a circular motion, index fingers flicking your erect nipples back and forth. 

"Wait— stop!" You begged, but the male continued playing with your breast and hardened nipple, ignoring your request with a coy smirk. 

"Why? Don't you like it when I play with your nipples like this?" You could feel the teasing grin plastered on his face at the back of your neck. You buck your hips when he pinches your tits, pulling them away slightly in a torturous manner. 

"Fuck, its too cold, Sunghoon." 

The throbbing pleasure came in waves, from your stuffed pussy to your sensitive breast, and it only intensified at how icy his fingers were.

"Cold? Then if I do this—" 

Nothing in the universe could prepare you for the sensation of his cold finger on your clit, and you almost lurch forward from his lap if he hadn't held you down with a strong arm around your waist. 

The temperature change was too much for your swollen clit to handle, and strings of broken moans escaped your lips that you almost choked on your saliva. The sensation hurts enough to morph oddly into agonizing pleasure that you've never felt before. 

Fuck, this is crazy. 

While you were losing your mind, Sunghoon was enraptured by the feeling of your cunt clenching and contracting around him. You were so tight, so wet that he couldn't help but rub circles around your clit rapidly to elicit more of your sweet spasm. 

"No— stop. Hahhahh— please stop, it's too much." 

You were sobbing in deep torment at this point, trying to clamp your thighs shut to slow his pace down. You lean back on his chest as your body grows dull by the pleasure every second, your thigh burning from riding him for too long.

Sunghoon was dissatisfied with your current state, apparent with how he stopped playing with your tits and clit, baring his fangs to bite between the junction of your neck harshly. 

"Too much?" Sunghoon let out an exasperated laugh punctuated with an edge of rage that you were all too familiar with. "You really are an ungrateful slut." 

With his arms around your waist to haul you up, you were pushed down on the wooden floor on all fours. Sunghoon made sure to realign his cock to nudge you deeper, your position with your ass up and head down made you at his mercy. 

"I gave you all the pleasure you need, yet, it's too much? Don't make me laugh." He spat, pulling you closer by the hips roughly.

The drag of your puffy nipples against the stone-cold floor at his action stings your eyes, droplets of salty tears dripping down your cheeks. The complaint died in your throat— you were afraid of what he'll do beyond if he ever heard another plea from you. 

Sunghoon can be grueling and hard on you, but maybe it was the internal masochist that kept you whining in pleasure at his forceful touch. 

"Move." He commands. 

You lay stagnant on the floor; the lack of proper spatial consciousness made you unable to compute what he meant, causing him to land a firm slap on your tender ass cheek. 

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed throughout the space, leaving a redden splotch behind. You jolt slightly from the impact, curling your toes in anticipation when you feel the wind of a second collision— only it never came. 

Sunghoon loves how your drenched pussy clings onto his cock tighter, finding amusement when he teases for a second slap. Fuck, he found solace that you wanted to be spanked by him, and he'll do it wholeheartedly until you come, but that beats the point of punishing you. 

"Don't let me tell you twice." 

You swallowed down and mustered up the last remaining strength you had in your lower half, snapping back at his cock begrudgingly slowly but enough for him to be content for following his order. 

"See, it wasn't that hard to follow my orders, right?" He rubs on the sore spot of your ass with his thumb comfortingly. "Such a needy little thing."

You cried out in your folded arms, pushing back until the head of his cock kissed the deepest part of your pussy. Persevering that your abused tits would rub the cold floor every time you move, you clench your fist and push back faster and harder to satisfy him. 

Sunghoon was at the edge of coming, tilting his head back and watching your ass jiggle with every movement. His abdomen tensed up with eyebrows furrowed, feeling you milking him dry— until you stopped moving your hips abruptly before he could come undone.

"What the fuck?" He groans, almost offended by the sudden halt. 

You could have let him have his way with you, but instead, you were digging your grave in an attempt to relinquish some sort of control over him. 

"I—I'm not gonna let you come, Sunghoon." You breathe out, feigning bravery to utter those words even with your compromised position. 

There was a pause in the air before Sunghoon outright laughed. 

"Think you're so tough now, doll? Saying I can't cum?" Rather than taking it seriously, he snides in adoration at your attempt of defiance because, in the end, what fun will it be without some challenge? 

"Fuck, you're adorable." Smoothing the curve of your ass to the arch of your back, his chuckle derives from the depth of his chest as he bit his lower lips to control his grin. "You're so cute, baby." 

Your face burned at his genuine remarks. 

The dominant energy he possessed previously dissolved a bit, holding your hips more sensually as he started pistoning his hips. The knot in your stomach rekindled, and his cock slid in and out of your cunt easily at the amount of arousal dripping out.

"My cute girl likes becoming my cum slut, doesn't she?" Sunghoon crooned, sloppily railing you slowly but slamming back once he was deep in you. "Do you want it, baby? Do you want me to fill your hole with my seed? 

"Yes, yes— Sunghoon, I'm gonna cum…." You hiccuped. 

At this point, the buildup of numerous torturous stimulation was clawing you to the brink of insanity, wanting nothing more than to cum around his cock until you could see stars. 

Sunghoon understood the immediate signs of your nearing orgasm, humping the floor and crying his name uncontrollably— he gave all his strength in one last thrust before you burst by the seams.

Your climax blinds you over with euphoric waves that overwhelm your entire being. You were burning up inside but shuddered simultaneously on the cold floor, feeling like a fever taking over your release with sweet respite. 

It didn't take long for Sunghoon to come as well, filling you up with his hot load as he promised. He fuck you through your orgasm, suspending you on cloud nine in the afterglow until you turn limp. 

Huffing and puffing occupied the silence as you lay flat on the floor, exhaustion taking over the muscles of your body. As you clench and unclench when he pulls out, the abundant milky arousal oozes out of your spent hole on your thighs. 

"Are you okay? Did I take it too far?" Sunghoon hovers over your lower body, kissing softly on the bruised spot on your ass guiltily.

"Did you?" You snort sarcastically, obviously perpetuating that it isn't with the way you're utterly numb. Sighing blissfully at the feeling of his soft lips on your stinging flesh, you had only one thing on your mind that made him laugh. 

"I think my nipples are frozen." 

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A Holiday Special: ➜ Sunghoon

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[threepandas]

Bad End, Hidden Heir: Part 2

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A pounding headache and cave air, that's what I woke up too. The air was being choked, though, by familiar scents. All trying desperately to make the cold, wet, and softly echoing quiet, hospitable. It was nauseating in my current state. Weak and... drugged? Had I been drugged? I certainly hadn't been drunk.

So why did my head hurt so much?

Why did every motion, make my stomach want to rebel?

My limbs felt so WEAK. Heavy and useless. Barely budging when I try to lift them. To rub my head? Adjust the blanket? Sit up? I can't tell. Thinking... thinking is so hard past... the pounding in my head. The fog. I struggle to concentrate. God, that SMELL.

Like a perfume store combined with... with... ugh. Everything!

I could pick out individual scents I knew I liked, on their own, added to the nauseating chaos. My favorite potpourri was there. But so was the one I like for winter? Fall? That one I liked as a kid until I found Mrs. Tianna's blend...

And perfumes! Colognes! The clean products and scents I preferred the maids used. God it... it blended together like a trash heap. As though someone drove a carriage through a perfume shop at speed. Cloying and musk and spice and fruity and-!

I sucked air through my teeth, trying not to smell it, hoping to god I wouldn't TASTE it.

Finally I managed to pry my eyes open. Either hunger or thirst giving my the strength to push past the nauseating pain. I NEEDED to move. Find out what was happening. Survive.

My gaze... met the most elaborate embroidery I had ever seen. Tapestries had less art. Almost to the point of gaudiness. Possibly past it. It was...

It was everything I had ever said I liked.

Too anyone.

Puppies and flowers, history and art, books scenes and more. It kept GOING! Hideous and magnificent. Chaos. Unhinged. Flowing down from above me, along the rest of the curtains, for the canopy bed upon which I rest. So I would be surrounded by it all. Even the blanket... it was a sea of my favorite flowers, made eternal through string.

This wasn't something people just DID. Could just FIND. I could feel my panic under the muting pain and exhaustion. This was the work of YEARS. Obsessive, continuous, YEARS. Some of these threads cost more then certain house hold make in WEEKS! And for what? A secret canopy bed?!

I struggled, body barely able to obey me but trying desperately to assist. The blankets were heavy. The curtain around the bed equally so, thanks to all the embroidery. I.. I manage to roll. Squirm. Wriggle my way, undignified, to the edge. Flop over it and out from under the blanket. Too freedom.

The air is cold.

The scents WORSE out here. Now, I can see why.

It is a museum to all that I am. Every like carefully gathered in one place, every preference. Stacked and shoved together, with no regard for if they fit. Hoarded like a collection.

I can not even tell... if I am sitting, flopped down, on my favorite winter bedside carpet or just an exact copy. My entire life is shoved together and suddenly... suddenly I do not like any of these things at all. They feel dirty. Dangerous. Like they have betrayed me. I want to cry.

But I am nauseous. Hurting. Tired and thirsty. So very hungry dispite it all. I just... I just need to know what's going ON! This isn't... this isn't how the Game goes! Not for Protag-chan. Not for me! I know I changed my "character's" behavior... but...

I... I don't understand...

Try not to cry. It's... it's really hard.

I was right. I'm pretty sure this is the Caves of Spring in the northwest of the Duchy. The offical Heir has an estate near them. The stone looks like the cliffs I'd seen in passing.

Crawling is hard. My legs keep getting tangled in my fucking nightgown. My... my f.. favorite.. nightgown! I'm not gonna cry. Damn it. I'm NOT GONNA CRY. How dare he? How DARE he ruin even that? What did he DO to me!? When I was... was...

No, don't think about it!

Move.

A decanter. Needlessly pretty. I probably loved it as a girl, fresh into this world. Everything was so FANCY and I wasn't used to having money yet. Hadn't developed any real class or taste. It looks so fucking gaudy to me now. But God, it has water. Please... PLEASE let that be water!

I drag myself up on badly shaking limbs. Nothing wants to hold. Wrists buckling, knees giving, legs shaking like a new born lamb. My arms are so weak. But thirst... oh thirst is a powerful motivator.

I force myself to move.

The water is not enough. It is everything. Cold and perfect, I force myself to go slow. To not spill a single drop, as I collapse against the dresser it was placed upon. Letting my eyes explore my cage in the way my poor abused body can not.

There are thick bars buried deep into the bedrock, separating the "room" I'm in from the hall that leads away from it. And it IS a "room". Made in cruel mockery to resemble the luxury of the dukes estate. Perhaps even more aggressively decadent in certain aspects, though that isn't a good thing. It makes it border on a storage room, for how crowded with luxury it has become.

It is the reflection of an unwell mind.

And staring up at the portraits of myself I KNOW I never sat for? The countless sketches pinned up beyond the bars? I am in trouble. I... I should have run. Not sent Creep away. I should have been the one to run. Before it was too late.

I think... I think it might be too late.

Footsteps.

I want to escape. But where can I run? I am caged. I feel close and far away. My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything stinks and I am cold. Why? Why did you do this? The foot steps are calm and commanding. Even. They do not break stride.

I do not bother to watch my hunter approach me. The monster I can not escape.

I close my eyes to spare myself the pounding in my head. Drink more water.

He makes a softly dismayed sound, as though he was not the one to drug me, to leave me here. The door to my cage opens. Closes. Ah... such a heavy lock. Should I be flattered?

Crisp steps, the rustle of fabric.

"My lady, the floor is so dirty! You shouldn't be out of bed yet. I was just about to make you tea."

The AUDACITY.

Tea? TEA! Ha ha! After DRUGGING my tea? He actually expects me to accept a cup from him again?! He truely IS insane, isn't he?

I am scooped up without my consent, unable to so much a truely struggle. Placed gently on a plush chair, a tea table moved in front of me. A familiar cup. My favorite blend. Pretty little snacks laid out deftly on lovely little plates. I grit my teeth. Slowly tip my head up to glare.

He pauses when our eye meet... then shudders, some terrible look of pleasure dancing across his face.

"That's right... look at me~" he whispers, leaning entirely too close. "I'm all that you have now. So you'll HAVE too now! No more others. No more distractions. No more sending me away! People trying to get between us. Trying to take you away. I'm all that you need, My Lady. All you'll EVER need."

"Just look at ME, your loyal dog. And I'll take such good care of you. I promise~♡"

[genericpuff]

Why is the art so unappealing in lore Olympus now Persephone looks like a highlighter and maybe it’s just me but the proportions like the fingers in arms are soul over the place I don’t think they used to be this bad. Am I just looking at it with nostalgia or am I crazy ?

Honestly, nostalgia does play a huge part in it, even to this day there are times I look back on old S1 panels and go-

Actually here's a great example that literally just happened yesterday in the ULO Discord that nearly had me on the floor LOL This is from Episode 70:

Like I didn't even believe that that was real until I was told what episode it was from and I was just. Astounded and flabbergasted. The over-shading of the blanket that just makes it look like a really bad edit. Insane.

And yeah, there are a lot of old panels that hit different now that the rose-colored glasses have been removed, crushed, and thrown into the trash compactor.

I think that's why it makes it all the more amusing when people come into my inbox and ask me "wait, why did you like LO to begin with?? It's always been ugly as shit, I think you're just romanticizing it" because like... there's something to be said about art and subjectivity, even if something is ugly to one person doesn't mean it isn't beautiful to someone else. It's why I try not to be too mean towards the fans of this comic for still enjoying it, because while I definitely have strong opinions about how "LO has gotten worse" and what kind of following Rachel has cultivated (cough cough), there are also just as equally valid arguments that LO has never begin good to begin with that I can't necessarily disagree with now that I'm looking back on it with a more critical eye.

That said, there's tons of media that I enjoy that is objectively awful. Like y'all, you don't need to take my opinions about a dumb pink x blue fantasy romance comic seriously, I like Starfox Adventures-

Like yeah it's a badly made rushed piece of shit that was developed right on the ass end of Rare's glory days and was really an original IP (Dinosaur Planet) that got Frankenstein'd into a Starfox game so it could "sell better" for Nintendo, but I don't give a fuck, I love Starfox Adventures and some day I wanna be in the top 10 speedrunner leaderboards for it, which I know doesn't mean much because no one is speedrunning Starfox, but I do and no one can take that away from me dammit-

Anyways. Lore Olympus has, in many regards, always had "bad art". But "bad art" can and should still be enjoyed by those who find joy in it.

And in LO's case, the world it existed in when it launched was a lot smaller than it is now - more specifically, the world of Webtoons. We can look back and see how 'bad' LO looks and reads now because there are genuinely way better comics surrounding it. It was unique and refreshing and experimental back then... now it's just "that stupid blue and pink comic for horny teenagers".

In most cases I would consider that "cringing in hindsight" feeling a good thing because normally it means something has grown and that it seeming "bad" in hindsight would mean that it's outgrown itself and moved onto bigger things. But LO has the more unique problem of "its current stuff is shit and it's making us want the old stuff more, even if the old stuff wasn't good either". In that regard, LO is closer to being like Harry Potter. Remember when The Cursed Child came out at the height of Rowling being exposed for being a TERF and even people who liked Harry Potter didn't like The Cursed Child because it was just objectively worse overall (with or without Rowling's bullshit attached)? It made a lot of people go back and re-read / rewatch Harry Potter with a more objective lens and go "wait a minute guys, I think we only adored these books so much because we were 12 when we read them". Often times it's the good memories we have surrounding certain things that make us have the opinion about them that we do.

Of course, LO is definitely not as politically weaponized as Harry Potter is, so that's where that comparison ends. But my point is that LO is definitely in a situation where it's been riding off the same privileges it had back in 2018 - having an 'experimental' art style while also utilizing tropes and characters that were VERY popular at the time (remember that 2017-18 was when Tumblr was at its height of H x P "Hades was a chill accountant guy who wore socks and sandals and didn't cheat on his wife like Zeus did" fantasizing) - and thinks that those same tricks and tropes will still work today.

Because of this, the art in LO really, really hasn't aged well, even the stuff that we look back on fondly. But I think it's the panels that we specifically think of when remembering "old LO" - the ones that stuck in our memories the most - that are the ones that make us miss or just not care about the panels that don't look good (the panels that make people question why we ever liked it to begin with).

We liked it because of how it made us feel to look at panels like these-

Those genuinely wonderful panels that we think back on the most don't exist separately from the bad panels, they exist in spite of them. Even if we can look back on panels like these and pick out problems in the lineart or the proportions or the color travelling outside of the lines, that can't and shouldn't change how those panels made us feel at some point or another. And that's why when people ask me "why were you even into LO in the first place" I don't have any one answer, because I can't fully explain how something made me feel to justify why it's good to someone who can see from the outside - without rose-colored glasses - that it evidently isn't. It's very much a "you had to be there" type of thing.

Unfortunately, nowadays even the 'best' LO panels in S3 still don't come close to what the S1 panels accomplished - because for many of us, the rose-colored glasses are gone, we can't appreciate the good among the bad because we know now how bad it truly is and so the good just feels like wasted attempts at trying to recreate something it can no longer be. It "came back wrong" so to speak.

LO came back just regular. But our journey to resurrecting it changed us to such a degree that even its closest intimacies are now foreign to us. Sorry dude.

This is still probably one of my favorite panels out of the entirety of S3 for being as close to "old LO" as I've seen since S2, and even it feels like a mistake, an accident, how could a panel like this exist in S3 when so much of it is a dumpster fire? It's like a flower growing in the ruins of an apocalyptic wasteland.

But wasn't that always the case? Isn't that 'always' what LO has been, since the very beginning? A poorly cobbled together mess of writing and panels that, every now and then, manages to leave an impression that makes you feel something? Did we ever truly know LO? Or have we just been relying entirely on an idea of it that we've built up in our heads that when it does do exactly what it's evidently always done (even if not made apparent until looking back on it in hindsight) we think it "came back wrong"?

[lost-in-lamentation]

new feelings

a/n: i want to scratch behind his ears. he’d love it and i’m right about this. also what was supposed to be a short drabble ended in a mini fic. apologies.

content: nightbringer satan is a force to be reckoned with, until he meets you. featuring mammon being a good brother.

warnings: satan is (somewhat) mad.

slight angst, mostly fluff. hurt/comfort. satan x gen!reader (you/your).

word count: 1.5k.

after a long day of errands, you returned to the house of lamentation to drop off some food for the seven lords. even if they weren’t the brothers from your original timeline, you knew they caused just as much trouble as the ones you were already accustomed to living with. so, to no one’s surprise, you walked through the front door only to be greeted by a half destroyed hallway. a grimace blanketed your face as you took in your surroundings. you weren’t taken aback by how much damage was done, but rather by the sight of mammon rushing to get everything clean. “mammon,” you called out, placing the bags you were carrying down at your feet. “what happened?”

the second eldest snapped his head around at the sound of his name. you wondered if it was relief that flickered across his face when he made eye contact with you. “jeez, it’s just you. thought lucifer was home early.” he quickly returned to work, throwing pieces of what you assumed was a broken vase into a nearby trash can. “satan got mad, ended up nearly breaking the place.”

“is he okay?” you picked up your bags again, moving to drop them off in the doorway that led to the kitchen.

mammon shrugged to you from the other side of the hall. “dunno. told him that if he went to his room and calmed down, i wouldn’t tell lucifer what happened.”

the pieces clicked inside your head. “ah, that’s why you got worried when i came in.” mammon shot you a nod while he kept cleaning. “and that’s why you’re working so hard for once.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?!” his golden eyes flashed at the remark angrily. “tch, just don’t want lucifer yellin’ at him again. satan ends up worse than he was if lucifer starts with the lectures. now either help me or scram, you’re distracting me.”

you were glad to see that even in this timeline, mammon was still mammon. “i’m gonna go check on satan then.”

suddenly, mammon appeared directly in front of you. “oi, i don’t need ya making him more angry than he is.” you wondered what sort of thoughts the second born was having. “so… if you go, be careful. don’t say anything dumb, you hear me?!”

“i wouldn’t dare,” you replied with a smile. mammon said nothing in return, but instead gave you a huff before going to throw the broken vase away. quietly, you turned on your heel and started making your way over to the blonde's room. a part of you was worried; this satan hadn't completely warmed up to you the same way the one you knew had. of course, you were working on it, but with the way things were, satan proved to be an even harder challenge the second time around. when you arrived at his room, you debated whether to knock or to call for him through the door. satan ended up making the decision for you.

"lucifer, if that's you out there, i am going to throw every single one of my cursed books at you," satan shouted, his voice threatening.

talking through the door it is, you thought. “it’s just me,” you called, keeping your voice light. “can i come in?” you held your breath for a while, waiting and hoping for permission. satan never responded, but you heard the sound of his door unlocking. relieved, you exhaled softly, opening the door just enough to poke your head inside. “satan?” you internally cursed at the way his room was practically pitch black. his figure was barely visible, and your only guiding lights were his glinting green eyes. you shut the door behind you, locking it again so you didn’t risk the brothers (lucifer) walking in. with equal parts memory and guessing, you made your way across the room without knocking a stack of books over. “hi,” you whispered to him, crouching just a bit in front of him.

“hey,” satan whispered back after a few seconds of silence. you ignored the way his voice wavered at the end.

you waited to see if he would keep talking, but you only saw his irises disappear from sight as he closed his eyes. “can i sit next to you?”

the way his eyes fluttered open reminded you of the way you had seen black cats with green eyes in the dark. it was captivating, if you were going to be honest. distracted by how they looked, you almost missed the way his gaze darted between you and the spot next to him. you obliged happily and settled yourself next to him, making sure there was enough distance between the two of you before leaning back onto the bed frame that propped you up.

after some time, satan shifted in his position next to you. “why are you in here?” his voice was rough, almost akin to a snarl.

“i’m your attendant. i’m supposed to make sure everyone is doing okay.” you answered plainly, but satan wasn’t satisfied. you could hear the way his breath sharpened. “plus, you did agree to let me in.”

the avatar of wrath clicked his tongue, the end of his tail tapping the floor repeatedly, “you could have just asked from outside. you shouldn’t come in when i’m… like this.” satan kept his eyes trained on the ground, refusing to meet yours.

“like what, satan?”

satan stood up abruptly, forcing you to shuffle to the side and fall back onto your hands. “like this, MC,” he growled, his face hovering just in front of yours. “while i’m angry, while i barely have any control over what i’m doing or saying. why would you come here knowing that?!”

it took a moment for you to gain your bearings. his breaths were shallow, rapid, and he bared his teeth at you menacingly. slowly, you reached for your d.d.d., pulling it out of your pocket and tapping the screen awake. “you wanna see the cat i found while walking over here?”

the expression on satan’s face morphed into confusion when you pointedly ignored what he asked. “that… that’s not answering my question,” he started mumbling. the demon stared at you, his wrath slowly being replaced by hesitant curiosity. “you’re not afraid of the fact that i might rampage?”

smiling gently, you shook your head. you were still waiting for the question that the satan in your timeline would have asked. “i took some nice pictures of her. she was a really pretty blue-”

satan grabbed your hand in his, pushing it down so your phone wasn’t blocking his line of sight towards you. “you’re not afraid of me?”

there it is. you shook your head again, your free hand tugging on his to pull him down next to you. “of course not.” your hand opened to free his own, but satan only grasped onto you tighter when you tried to let go.

“why not?”

“why would i be?” you watched as the emotions danced through his eyes. hints of confusion, anger, and wonder all took their turns in his gaze. it- no, he was mesmerising. he always has been to you.

relenting, satan finally slumped into the spot next to you, his hand still holding yours tightly. his head hovered above your shoulder, and his other hand reached out, unsure of where his boundaries lay. “all of them have told you i’m dangerous. that i’m just the angry version of lucifer.” you felt him press into your side tentatively. his shaking breaths did well to betray the enraged expression he wore on his face.

“well, i think that you’re satan.” it was like your heart shattered when you heard the blonde choke up. you placed your d.d.d. on the floor, reaching up to guide his head to finally rest on your shoulder. satan flinched at the contact on his head, but soon relaxed into your touch when he felt your fingertips press into all the right spots. “you’re not so dangerous; they just don’t know how to deal with some things yet.”

satan pressed his face into you, his eyelashes tickling the side of your neck. you couldn’t help but remember why you had fallen for your own satan. “some things being me?” his question was accompanied by a light sniffle.

you pretended not to hear it. “yeah, but they’ll come around. i know they will.” you observed the way satan clenched and unclenched his fist; you remembered it as a nervous habit of his. “call it a gut feeling.” murmuring, you touched your cheek to the top of his head, testing the waters that were his emotions. when satan didn’t pull away, you fully rested your head on top of his, praying that he would accept you.

beside you, satan released a sigh that shuddered through his core. you felt him squeeze your hand one more time before he gave in to you, his entire body falling against yours. there were many things that he was feeling, but satan could only focus on the way you made him feel safe. it was new for him. the fourth born didn’t always deal well with new emotions, but maybe just this once, he’d welcome it with an open heart.

a/n: i love him i love him i lo

[orthopunkfox]

Saint Maria Skobstova was an Orthodox Christian and ardent socialist. Born in Latvia in 1891 to an aristocratic family, she eschewed her birth and allied herself with the radical socialists she met in Saint Petersburg. In 1910 she married a fellow Bolshevik and published a book of socialist poetry. Her marriage quickly disintegrated, her husband renouncing socialism and becoming a Roman Catholic priest. Maria continued to write poetry and pamphlets. In 1918 after the Bolshevik revolution, in which she directly participated, she was sent to Anapa in the south of Russia where she was elected mayor. After the anti communist White Army took control of the town, Maria was arrested and put on trial for her role in the revolution. The judge was Daniil Skobstova, a former teacher of hers. She was acquitted and the two fell in love and soon married.

Due to the ever shifting political tide in Russia, Maria and her husband made their way to France, arriving in Paris in 1923, Maria having given birth to three children along the way. Her husband was a wealthy man and purchased a large home from the family in Paris. When Maria begged him to make use of the house for the mutual aid of the poor, he refused. Maria subsequently divorced him.

After her divorce, her bishop advised her to become nun. She agreed on the condition that she would not be secluded away in an isolated convent but that she would be able to stay in Paris and serve the poor. After her tonsure, now called Mother Maria, she converted her large home into a mutual aid center. The top floors becoming a free medical clinic, and the bottom floors serving as soup kitchen and hostel. Mother Maria, with the help of her two grown children Yuri and Sophia, served over 400 hot meals a day. Maria rented a small house in Paris which became her convent. It was during this time that her eldest daughter, Anastasia, died suddenly of influenza. Her death spurred Maria deeper into theological writing and charitable works. She began to devote every waking hour to the Church and to the poor of Paris.

When the Nazis invaded Paris, Mother Maria worked with her priest to provide baptismal certificates for Parisian Jews. When the Nazis began to round up the Jewish population, Mother Maria visited them thrice daily, bringing them hot meals and spending time with them, treating them as equals and reminding them of their human dignity. As she left, she would always try to sneak Jewish children out in the empty soup pots and trash cans. Once out, she and her priest would arrange travel to the south of France and then out to unoccupied countries.

Her smuggling activities were discovered and she, her two children, and her priest were arrested. Her priest and children were sent to Dora concentration camp where they died. Mother Maria was sent to Ravensbrück, the all-female concentration camp which housed mostly socialists, Christians, and homosexuals.

At Ravensbrück, Mother Maria lead Christian prisoners in prayer and worship, and organised mutual aid for the few children (mostly orphaned Romani) who were at the camp, ensuring the children had food and clothing and even arranging dolls and books to be made for them.

In early March of 1945, the Soviet Red Army continued their advance into Germany, concentration camps were closed and the women who were not shot were sent to Ravensbrück for immediate gassing. One group of women, imprisoned for "asocial behaviour" (homosexuality) arrived in Ravensbrück in early April.

The lesbians were rounded up, forced into a single column, and led to the gas chamber. Amongst them was a 16 year old girl whom Mother Maria had never met. Her heart broke for this child and she immediately volunteered to take her place in line, secretly passing her a piece of paper.

On Saturday April 7th 1945, Holy Saturday according to the Orthodox calendar, Mother Maria was murdered in the gas chambers surrounded by young homosexual women. It is said that she chanted the psalms as she died.

Less than a week later, the Soviet army liberated the camp. On the body of a young girl who had been shot as the Nazis fled, they found a poem in Mother Maria's handwriting:

O Lord, remember, not only the men and women of good will, but also those of ill will.

But do not remember all the suffering they have inflicted on us; remember the fruits we have borne, thanks to this suffering:

our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart which has grown out of all this,

and when they come to judgement, let all the fruits we have borne be their forgiveness.

Mother Maria Skobstova of Paris, pray to God for us.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Broken Wings - Part Two

What's this? A second chapter one year after the first? More fic writing from me in the same week? Idk guys, I'm just riding the motivation wave as far as it'll take me...

Thrawn x pilot!reader | 2.5k words

Content warnings: Cursing, only a little Thrawn/reader interaction (slow burn anyone?), also I gave the reader tattoos for funsies

< Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part >

Hangar 12 was massive. Not even the largest rebel hideout could equal this space you found yourself in. TIE fighters hung from their docks in the ceiling while larger transport ships were lined neatly along the slick floors. And there was still plenty of room to spare. Room to reconfigure the ships in a thousand different formations and never run the risk of them crashing into each other.

Thus, the set up of a little podium and rows of chairs in the middle of the hangar was comical. It looked like furniture for a dollhouse. The pilots milling around the chairs seemed tiny, too, the details of their faces and flight suits barely remarkable when compared to the expanse of metal and space surrounding them.

You stood by one of the entrances to the hangar, having just emerged from a hallway into the location you were instructed to be in this fine morning. Well, a biological morning, anyway. Here there were no suns, no atmospheric skies with clouds or stars, no indications of whether you should be awake or at rest. Here, time did not exist. The viewport at the end of the hangar boasted of a vast outer space, likely deep within the Empire's control, far from the places you were used to. And yet, it still stirred that itch within you, the desire to go into it. To explore. To fly.

"Oh good, you've made it."

A flash of blue and white appeared in your periphery. You quickly closed your eyes, as if by not seeing him, he couldn't see you in return. You'd been dreading this moment, but your damned curiosity compelled you to show up anyway.

"I will introduce you to your squadron," Thrawn spoke to you anyway, not commenting on your lame attempt to hide from the situation. "They are among the Empire's best pilots, though still not close to your level of expertise. For now you will set the standards for their training, help them understand what is required. But I expect to see intensive training within the cockpit soon."

There was a pause before he spoke again, one simple, inquiring word. "Captain?"

You opened your eyes. Everything from before was still there: the ships, the tiny pilots, the viewport into darkness. But now added to the view was the imposing form of the Grand Admiral, looking down at you with those piercing red eyes, waiting for you to agree to being on board.

"I didn't realize titles transferred across war lines," you said in response.

Thrawn did not seem phased by the venom you put behind your words. Or perhaps you hadn't put in enough for him detect. You weren't exactly in pique form at the moment, your body still feeling like it'd been wrung through a trash compactor a few times. The rest and rehab you'd received the day before was far from rejuvenating your fighting spirit.

"The goal is to have you become Flight Commander for the squadron. But we'll retain your title of Captain for now, until you prove yourself. Even if it creates more paperwork for my staff."

He nodded slightly behind you and you turned to find a few officers standing nearby.

"This is Officer Amara Tilde, the fleet's logistics liaison. And Sergeant Lou Mam, from the Chimaera's tactical division. They'll be overseeing the training and provide assistance where needed."

While you were arguing against the small voice in your head that sounded strangely like your mother's, telling you to be polite and smile or nod at the two in acknowledgement, Thrawn continued.

"But for all intents and purposes, the squadron will report to you. As their leader."

"Like it or not," you heard Sergeant Mam mutter under his breath.

If Thrawn also heard, he ignored it, instead turning to indicate he was ready to proceed with this grand plan of his. "If you are ready, Captain, we'll begin."

"And if I'm not ready?" you couldn't help but ask.

One corner of Thrawn's mouth twitched upward. "Then you'll have roughly a hundred meters to gear yourself up, Captain."

And with that, he set off, striding confidently into that dark and massive hangar, his staff members falling in to flank him on either side. You found your feet guiding you to follow along, making you ponder with each step what you were doing here and how you could possibly get free.

"At attention!" called out Sergeant Mam as they approached the group of pilots.

There was a rustle of boots, with a small squeak or two, as the pilots hurried into proper standing positions in front of their chairs. Thrawn and his two officers strode past them toward the podium, but you chose to hang back just behind, out of view. For one, you were still in denial and any little thing you could do to delay the inevitable, be it closing your eyes or pausing in your steps, you would shamelessly do. But for another, that short trek from the door to the middle of the hangar already had you beat. Your body had not fully healed from your crash just a few days ago, and what little rehab you'd done so far to gain mobility back did not prepare you even for a walk. Your body felt flushed, heated, and you were pathetically out of breath.

"At ease," the Sergeant stated as he took his place behind the podium. Thrawn and the other officer stood off to the side, the former giving you a questioning look that you didn't know how to answer from this distance.

The pilots relaxed into their chairs at the command.

"As you all know, you have been selected as the top graduates from the Academy to serve in this special training unit aboard the ISD Chimaera...."

As the Sergeant spoke, you couldn't help but unzip the top of your flight suit and shake at the fabric a bit, trying to get a breeze onto your sweating skin.

"Training?" one of the pilots interrupted, apparently interpreting the at ease command a little too loosely. "We were told Special Forces Unit."

"Indeed, you will become a force to be reckoned with. But first we must train you to get there."

There were grumbles and whispers but you weren't focusing too much on the scene. You still felt too hot. Confined. Trapped. Screw it, you thought, and pulled the zipper all the way down and shimmied out of the sleeves. The top of your suit now hung at your waist, leaving your top half in only a black tank top. Your tattoos would be showing now, as well as the many bruises and barely-scarred wounds you'd recently sustained. Even amongst the rebel forces you'd be considered indecent. But at least you now felt just a little freer.

"With all due respect, sir," another pilot spoke up, "we already received our training, at the Academy."

"Yeah," a third chimed in. "We're enlisted soldiers now. Not cadets."

"And not only that, we're the best," said another. "You said it yourself. Top of our class. What else could we possibly have to learn?"

You couldn't see their faces but you could hear their smirks. Oh, these were cocky SOBs. Something stirred in you at their behavior, very similar to the feeling you got whenever you looked up at the sky or out the viewport into space. In fact, one could argue the two feelings often went hand-in-hand. You had an insatiable desire to fly, yes, but also to prove others wrong. These smug pilots, fresh from the Academy, with their clean suits and fresh haircuts, thought they were on top of the world. But they didn't know what it was like to be in an active war zone. To feel pressure in the cockpit. To be faced with impossible decisions. They had a lot left to learn.

Thrawn chose this moment to step forward, and the murmuring of the crowd quieted down.

"The Academy has prepared you well enough," Thrawn addressed them with that quiet confidence you'd already grown used to. "But we can no longer afford to settle for only enough. The Rebels are growing in their strength and number, and most importantly, in their skill. Do you know who the best fighter pilot is at the moment?"

There was a silence as the pilots looked around to each other. One happened to catch you from the corner of his eye. He frowned in confusion at your presence before turning back around.

"A Captain in the Rebel forces," Thrawn answered his own question, following it up with your name. There was murmuring as some seemed to recognize the name. You weren't sure if you should feel flattered that your reputation preceded you.

"Can any of you confidently say you are better than her?" Thrawn threw out another question but this time didn't wait for a potential response. "No. You are not the best. But, you can be trained by the best. And then there may be hope for the Empire yet."

The pilot who'd noticed you before swung back around to look at you, starting to piece two and two together. You figured this was about as good a time as any to finally push yourself forward.

The whispers returned as you came into view, shuffling amongst seats to get a better look at your disheveled appearance. Or perhaps just your presence in and of itself. They were in as much disbelief as you were over the situation.

One pilot was a little slower than the others and called out, "Who the hell is this?"

Thrawn cooly responded, "The best," before stepping back to give you room.

You took in a deep breath, mostly to get your panting under control, and a little to calm the nerves. You were surrounded by enemies, you reminded yourself. These pilots meant nothing to you. You had nothing to prove to them.

And yet, the itching inside continued.

"Is this a joke?" You recognized the voice as the first pilot who had spoken up. He was a handsome guy, round face and clear skin. His smirk was as mischievous as you'd pictured it earlier.

"I wish it were," you said, hating how your voice betrayed your physical exhaustion.

The pilot didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so the one sitting next to him spoke up instead.

"So you're telling me this Rebel twat knows more about flying than we do?" She seemed to be questioning one of the officers or Thrawn himself, but her eyes were fixed on you.

"There's no need to be vulgar, Heva," the one who'd noticed you earlier spoke up, albeit in a soft tone. "She is the best..."

"For a Rebel," Heva scoffed, settling back in her seat with arms crossed. "Which isn't saying much, now, is it?"

You desperately wanted to scratch the itch, to put these MF-ers in their place, but you'd need to pace yourself. Battles weren't won in a day, as you unfortunately knew firsthand.

"Test me," you said, straightening up a little.

This earned you a mix of snorts and incredulous smirks.

"Alright," Heva sniffed. "How do you reprogram a misaligned targeting system mid-flight? Smoke is coming from the underside of a TIE starfighter cockpit, what has been damaged? Do you use concussion missiles or proton torpedoes against a particle shield?"

You noted her questions were specific to Imperial tech, things you would likely not know about. But even if you did, they were hardly the most important things to be quizzed on, so you didn't feel particularly demeaned like she probably hoped.

You hummed. "I confess, I don't know."

Heva wore a self-satisfied grin while a few snickered around her.

"Now let me ask you something," you continued, not letting them enjoy their petty victory for long. "You're flanked between two enemy crafts and no wiggle room on either side. Ahead is a building, or some other obstacle, where impact would be fatal. What do you do?"

Some of the pilots seemed to be considering the question while others, like Heva and the pretty boy next to her, were more reluctant to play along.

"How far away?" asked the soft-spoken one.

You looked out across the hangar. "Let's say... from here to the viewport. A hundred meters?"

"Wait them out" said the pretty pilot, and it was then you noticed he had some chewing gum in his mouth, further accentuating his blasé attitude. "The enemy craft won't risk a collision either. As soon as they peel off, you follow."

"They're Rebels," you pointed out. "Some of the crazier ones. Flyers who know how to bank last minute and won't let you breathe for an inch. You can wait to bank with them, but if you're even a hair's length out of sync, you'll collide."

"Pull up sooner," someone shouted out.

"Collision," you asserted. "They're flanking, not mirroring. You won't fall far enough back before they do, too."

"Alright then, Best Pilot in the Galaxy," sneered Heva. "What do you do? Or are you trying to use a trick question to make yourself sound smarter?"

You took in a measured breath to maintain your composure. "You drop. Kill the engine, drop a few meters, fire it back up in time to bank."

There were even more scoffs and snorts than before.

"That's not... you can't..." the soft-spoken pilot's face was screwed up in deep thought, trying to make sense of your outlandish idea. "I mean, the physics of it alone... How could you even calculate the timing of it?"

"A situation like that, there's no calculating," you agreed. "There's no recalling a classroom lesson or reciting a manual. There's only feeling."

You hadn't exactly held their respect before, but now you'd really lost them. You were preaching about feelings, to a crowd who didn't think they needed to be taught anything in the first place. The looks on their faces, the not-so-polite words they were sputtering at a not-so-subtle volume, were proof they found you ridiculous.

You risked a glance back at Thrawn, whose expression was deadpan and gave away nothing of how he perceived this whole exchange. Not that you needed his approval. But he'd staked a lot in this plan of having a captured Rebel pilot teach an Imperial squadron; you were nervous about the consequences of failing him.

Your gaze shifted from his apathetic eyes to a starship just behind him. A TIE Interceptor by the looks of it. There wasn't much you envied about the Empire, save for this one vessel. The itching intensified; you were practically chomping at the bit now that the idea popped into your mind. A way to kill two birds with one stone.

You steeled yourself with another breath and turned back to face your disgruntled audience.

"...it's just not possible," someone was saying.

"It is possible." You raised your voice to be heard over their ruckus. Whatever fatigue your body had been suffering was now muted as adrenaline began to ramp up inside you. "I've done it before."

This hushed them up a bit, though skepticism was still written across their features. You couldn't help but grin in response.

"Would you like me to do it again?"

~ ~ ~

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[just-norn-things]

Rhianwen meets the Asura

This is a companion piece born from an ask game. The rest of the answers are here. Contains heavy spoilers for LWS2 and TW for various necromantic shenanigans. NB: Apologies in advance to Asura lovers. Rhian is not a fan, so they get trashed a bit here. No hate intended.

Caithe and Faolain had attempted to keep their rescue plans hidden following the kidnap of the Secondborn, but Rhianwen was no fool.

Faolain was sympathetic to Caderyn, and Caderyn wanted his siblings freed, and Caithe would follow anywhere Faolain led.

Rhianwen had felt the dissent amongst some of the Firstborn as the Pale Tree moulded them to her will, and among the Secondborn who felt so inferior. Caderyn was leading the charge to form a new faction of their people, but personally, she was not certain that following one over another would serve her any better.

What would serve her, was finding Canach.

He owed her money.

And so, on an unseasonably chilly afternoon, the three Sylvari slunk quietly into a facility that Rhianwen found distastefully unnatural.

Metal. Everywhere. Screeching, clanking, the foul stench of oil and grease mixing with the sharp ozone of their manufactured magic. These overgrown rats liked to think they were better than the Charr for all their inventions, but Rhianwen begged to differ. The Charr, at least, did not torture innocents for little discernable gain.

These things? These flimsy little psychopaths that fell like saplings in a storm before her reaper's scythe? This world would be better without them, she was sure of it.

She cast her hand over the carnage, a greenish haze surrounding her long fingers to reveal the dead and the dying.

There.

She had felt it.

One remained, hovering at the precipice, neither in this world nor the next.

"Please," it begged. "It's not my time...the life force...I have too much to accomplish."

"Do you?" She was not one for mercy, as a rule, but this creature was bolder than the rest. It had her attention, for the moment. She reached out, a ghostly extension of her arm drifting towards the Asura, her long fingers wrapping around its throat, holding it back from the mists. For now. "Why? Tell me why you should live."

"My work is vital! The power we can salvage from your kind...it could change how we live!"

"At what cost?"

"Cost?"

"My people's lives pay the price for your convenience, is that it?" she answered smoothly, and its massive eyes widened as it comprehended its peril.

"If we could only study a few more-"

Her ghostly fingers tightened, and the soul of the Asura was gone before its broken corpse hit the ground.

"Your life is forfeit, but you will still assist us," Rhianwen spat, and with a wave of her hand, the Asura rose once more, head lolling, limp feet dragging obscenely on the ground.

One by one, the creature placed it's palm on the control panels of the cages, and one by one, the traumatised Secondborn were released.

"I have heard human children play with puppets in their capital," Faolain mused, as Rhianwen released her minion and watched it fall once more. "Perhaps you could amuse yourself there if the Grove no longer draws you, sister."

"Death is no game."

"I still think Caderyn would have you, Rhianwen."

"And I still find him equally tedious. Liars, him and the Tree both. We are more than they say. They seek to control and stifle us, just like these rats. I only wish to be free."

"Do not let Caithe hear you say such things. She has not yet come around."

"She will not. Her loyalty to our mother knows no bounds, Faolain."

"You do not know my Dearheart as I do."

Rhianwen gave a wry smile.

"And you speak to me of puppets."

Faolain narrowed her eyes and stalked away to find Caithe, long petals swishing as she moved.

Rhianwen's gaze returned to the bodies before her.

Death would be a new beginning for these creatures. They could atone for the sins of their kind, and build a better world when their souls returned. There were opportunities abound in the Mists, if one knew the way.

And Rhianwen knew the way.

[notelasts]

west side story muse headcanons

families

riff’s real name is rolf wilhelm lautmann. he never uses it. the only ones who know it are riff and his parents. he’s the only child of helene and wilhelm lautmann. helene had a difficult time during her pregnancy and giving birth to him nearly killed her. both helene and wilhelm hate riff for nearly killing his mother. wilhelm is physically and emotionally abusive. riff has scars on his torso and waist from his father’s belt, but his most noticeable scar is the one just under his left eye. he broke a vase when he was eight and wilhelm hit him hard enough that he fell into the broken vase. his parents refused to take him to the hospital, so riff was forced to take care of the wound himself. neither helene nor wilhelm are faithful to each other, but neither of them have ever brought anyone home. helene is drunk or high more often than she’s sober, and she constantly berates riff for being a disappointment. wilhelm also tends to be drunk more often than he’s sober.

balkan’s real name is bernard gordon edwards. he is the third and youngest child in the edwards family. his parents, james thomas edwards i and genevieve evelyn edwards (née peterson), are incredibly rich. his siblings, francesca jacqueline edwards and james thomas edwards ii, both loathe him simply because their parents do. balkan wasn’t a planned child, nor was he really wanted. james and genevieve only wanted two children, but balkan was born two years after james and four years after francesca. he met tony and riff when he was fifteen, but he never hung out with them very much until his parents kicked him out. they didn’t want any of their children associating with ruffians and hooligans, and since they’d never wanted balkan in the first place, it was an easy decision to make. balkan was kicked out on his seventeenth birthday and he’s been running with the jets ever since.

tony’s real name is anton wyzek, but everybody just calls him tony. he is elzbieta wyzek’s only child. she got pregnant out of wedlock at eighteen years old and her parents disowned her. tony’s father, casimir bachurski, left her when she got disowned. she never mentions him and she probably never will. tony loves his mother immensely and he refuses to hear a bad word against her. elzbieta works three jobs to keep her and tony (and later, riff) fed and clothed and in a house. she is incredibly proud of her son and tony is equally proud of her, although sometimes he wishes she’d like his friends more. when he goes to jail, he writes to his mother every day. he never receives a response. he’s told that she passed away a month after his arrest. the months after tony returns home are tough, but he keeps his head down and takes the job that valentina offers him.

the jets

the jets were formed when tony and riff were fourteen. it was tony’s idea and riff went along with it because he always went along with tony’s ideas. and it wasn’t a bad idea, either. the gang was small at first, but it eventually grew to include fifteen boys (and eventually, their girlfriends) that would defend each other until their dying breath. the jets’ territory is the docks and the surrounding area that tony and riff fight on during cool. when tony goes to jail, riff steps up as leader. he appoints ice and action as his second and third. there aren’t a lot of rules in the jets, but the biggest two are no hurting women and no hurting children. it doesn’t matter who they are, if one of the jets hurts a girl or a kid, they’re in trouble.

miscellaneous

riff ran away when he was twelve. he was planning to go to the train station to get away from new york, but he had to hide from the police. he hid in the dumpster outside the apartment building the wyzek’s lived in, and tony found him when he took the trash out. when tony asked riff what his name was, he misheard “rolf lautmann” as “riff lorton.” riff didn’t bother correcting him, and he’s been riff lorton ever since.

riff’s favorite brand of cigarettes are whichever’s the cheapest. tony likes camels and balkan likes chesterfield. riff doesn’t smoke too much because the smell reminds him of his parents, but he’s trying to get over that.

riff has three tattoos. one is the word “happy” on his left shoulder that he got because tony dared him to get a tattoo when they were sixteen. the second is the silhouette of a plane on his right shoulder (all the jets have this tattoo somewhere on their upper body. tony’s is on his left shoulder and balkan’s is on his right forearm) and the third is a bouquet of hydrangeas and roses that he got for graziella. he wanted to get it colored in, but it was too expensive.

riff’s bracelet was a sixteenth birthday gift from tony’s mother. he hasn’t taken it off since he got it.

in his modern verse, tony grows up to be a doctor.

riff doesn’t like thunderstorms.

riff can speak german fluently. his parents would only speak german around the house and he learned english from tony and his mother. he knows some conversational polish, but he doesn’t know enough to consider himself fluent in it. he doesn’t speak german much (he hates the language and his heritage) but he still knows how to speak it, much to his dismay.

riff doesn’t like the smell of spray paint.

riff stopped going to school when he was fourteen. mrs wyzek kept trying to make him go, but he kept skipping, so she gave up. he didn’t like school very much, because he couldn’t sit still enough for the teachers and he doesn’t like being told what to do by people that aren’t his friends.

riff’s parents would often demand that he do things (take out the trash, clean his room, etc) immediately, and riff never would, so he’d get punished for it. it was a vicious cycle and riff absolutely hates getting told what to do because of it.

riff, balkan and tony all get fidgety when they’re nervous. riff plays with his bracelet, balkan flips his coin around and tony paces. riff will also fidget with his fingers.

riff didn’t trust elzbieta for years after he moved in with her and tony. she was too nice and he was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. he didn’t understand why she didn’t get mad at him for refusing to take the trash out or clean his room or wash the dishes. he also didn’t understand why she never hit him when he did something wrong. (he knows that hitting kids is wrong, but it had been his normal for so long that he just assumed every parent did it.)

consent is a huge thing for riff, not just with sex related things. he absolutely hates being forced to do things. he needs to have the choice to say no to whatever is happening to him or is being presented to him, and if he doesn’t, he gets angry.

when riff gets angry, he makes himself as big as he can and he gets very loud. it’s what his dad used to do to him, and if riff got scared by it, that means other people will get scared by it. sometimes he’ll shut down if he’s really, incredibly angry. he’ll go quiet and just sort of stare vacantly at the person he’s talking to. tony and balkan tend to get quiet when they get angry.

riff doesn’t like anything that reminds him of his parents. if he gets called rolf, he will freeze up. he doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes or beer (but he’s working on that) and he cannot stand the smell of marijuana. he also doesn’t like sudden movements or sudden loud noises. he’s working on getting used to them, but he will probably flinch if there’s a loud noise or if someone moves too quickly around him. if someone that he doesn’t know goes to touch him, he moves away. he doesn’t like being touched by strangers unless he’s the one doing the touching, because then he can control the interaction.

riff’s cocky jet leader persona is a front that he constructed over the years of him meeting tony and forming the jets. he perfected it when tony went to jail and he always has it up. he doesn’t trust himself to take it down, and it’s less easy to get hurt if no one can get to the real him.

riff doesn’t like seeing blood on his clothes. he’s fine if it’s other people’s blood, but he doesn’t like seeing his own blood on his clothes. if he can wash whatever got blood on it, he will, but otherwise he’s going to throw it away.

when tony gets arrested, riff stops going by mrs wyzek’s place. he stopped living there at fourteen, but he still came by for dinner and to see her. he blames himself for her death. she’d passed in her sleep, but he still thinks if he would’ve been there, he could’ve done something.

riff has lived on the streets for four years (fourteen - eighteen) by the time the events of west side story happen. he sleeps on benches or in alleys. sometimes he’ll crash at valentina’s or mrs wyzek’s, but that’s rare.

riff absolutely hates getting charity from people. his definition of charity is loose, but it boils down to money, food, and a place to sleep. sometimes it also extends to clothes, but he’s very very picky about accepting what he deems to be charity from people. he doesn’t want them pitying him, so most of the time he doesn’t take whatever is they’re offering and he insists he’s fine.

before he went to jail, tony would get loud when he got angry, but after he got out, he went quiet. he doesn’t want to lose control of his temper ever again, and he’s working on making sure he doesn’t and that he knows what to do if or when he does.

balkan is an avid reader and will constantly steal magazines and newspapers from valentina’s store to keep up with the latest news and trends. he’s probably the only jet that actually cares what’s going on in the newspapers and on the news.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Update 221 Review: Epicenter

Story

So, let's keep this summary short. We get Psykos's backstory as a series of flashbacks in which she goes round recruiting others to their cause, expounding on her successes to an unenthusiastic Fubuki. She researches the 'third eye' ability to enable her to see into the future and succeeds. What she sees leaves her so disturbed that she decides that the best thing to do with the verminous mass that is humanity is to eliminate it altogether. The sight of her initial freak out segues into her freaking out as she faces Fubuki in the battlefield, only to collapse... she really was running on fumes. Fubuki catches her and muses what it was that Psykos had seen back there, and an image and words come to her head, unbidden. The vision vanishes nearly as quickly as it comes leaving a shaken Fubuki wondering what she saw. It's God (no ID) but she has no way of knowing that.

One thing is clear to Fubuki: she has to get Pyskos to talk, cost what it may. She barges into the visitation and orders it stopped, saying that with the prisoner list now published, Tatsumaki was sure to come along to kill Psykos and it's in everyone's best interest to leave as quickly as they can.

Right on cue, Tatsumaki breaks into the holding cell and makes a credible show of trying to kill Psykos, and launches the Tsukoyomi rep into the nearest wall. The Tsukoyomi representative isn't phased and gets up. He launches a counter attack and in the melee, Saitama, who has just been standing there, falls into a crevasse that opens up under his feet. Ironic, given that Fubuki had just been praising him for being an ascended one similar to Garou, whose strength she was glad to have.

We end the chapter with Saitama surrounded by demon-level monsters, who, glad of having had their containment fail, are also glad of this free snack before they break out properly and kill all the humans there. Saitama's more glad than worried as it means he can justify keeping pets after all.

Meta

Again that issue of balance

Right from the first chapter when Vaccineman declared humanity a pestilence that was killing the Earth, to Dr Genus talking about God giving every creature a limit so as to maintain its purpose, to even Blast's advice to Tatsumaki, which both nearly got her killed and saved her life in the same night, balance, that idea of all things having their proper place, is something that comes up repeatedly in the story.

Once again, the issue of balance is back. A young Psykos looked at the future and realised that humanity was utterly out of control. By our very natures, we seem bound to commit overreach without considering the future. Normal people encountering this reality go organise. Less-normal ones already committed to subjugating humanity take it one step further.

Given that the vision she saw was divinely inspired, if God (no ID) has been talking to Psykos, why shouldn't we consider Psykos a victim who ought to go scot-free? Very simply: realising that humanity is over-using the Earth's resources and driving ruin is one thing. Deciding that the solution is to kill everyone? That's all her. God (no ID) loves to approach people who want simple, sweeping answers to complex problems. Maybe give them a tool or two. Then sit back and watch the carnage. ONE doesn't let characters who commit atrocities with God's tools go: the best he could do for Garou was a redemption equals death ending. He's not about to let Psykos go either.

Sister Act

I thought I'd be starting with Tatsumaki asking Fubuki for help, but, momentous though that is, it's the second-most important thing I want to talk about. The first is that, whatever Tatsumaki's full reasons for wanting to save Psykos from the clutches of Tsukoyomi, those reasons are important enough for her to deliberately trash her reputation and make the Hero Association believe her to be crazy. There are sure to be severe reprecussions and she's willing to risk them. The story has been at great pains to show us how much the Hero Association relies on Tatsumaki, and how she enjoys that fact, even though she complains about being over-relied on. The last arc has shown us why the HA has such trust in Tatsumaki as we got to see just how capable, considerate, and courageous she is.

It's also shown us that Tatsumaki isn't 100% impulsive. Wringing Psykos's neck is something she'd gladly have done over and over, but she curbed it long enough to literally wring information out of Psykos to ensure that the heroes rescued every last human held at the Monster Association.

For Tatsumaki to throw the trust justifiably invested in her away is non-trivial. It means so much to her and she's trashing it for the sake of a villian she really would rather see dead. Is Tsukoyomi really that great a threat? Some other reason? It will be very interesting to find her reasons.

At the same time, she has arranged things so that Fubuki comes out of the situation well, being the principled hero who warned of the danger and did her best to ward off her crazy sister.

Which brings us to the next most interesting thing: Tatsumaki enlisting Fubuki's help. One thing I had feared (but would have respected) was that Tatsumaki would dismiss the help she had to receive from others -- most notably from Genos -- as a one-off, never-to-be-repeated event. Something seems to have sunk in with her to consider reaching out to her sister. Fantastic.

I say again and again that a central tenet of ONE's writings is that 'when people do more, they get to be more, ' and I'm glad to see that it's once again on the cards. Since the sisters have long been able to build a relationship that is cordial and trusting enough for them to actually hang out, the issue Fubuki had with Tatsumaki was the latter not respecting her as a hero. And to be fair, Fubuki, with her habit of hiding behind others and only looking to punch down whether at monsters or people, was nothing to respect. Once Fubuki earned some measure of respect from her sister by coming out to do the difficult and dangerous of her own free will, the story has been able to move the hell on! Artificial espers and organised evil? Sure, bring it on! In turn, Fubuki doesn't know why her sister is doing what she is, but she trusts her sister sufficiently to work with her.

The manga edition of the Psychic Sisters arc may feature them cooperating for now but how long that cooperation lasts, given that they have different ideas of what to do with Psykos, we'll have to see.

Playing Dumb

It's hard to say how aware Saitama is at any given time as he's both extremely obtuse and extremely insightful, often within the same breath. Nice to see that someone else has been able to piece things together. Fubuki may or may not have seen Saitama take out Garou, but she saw enough of Garou both before and after he ascended into Cosmic Garou to know that he was Something Else. She's seen enough of Saitama to know that if it was going to be anybody, it'd be him, not the much-bandied around theory about it being Blast.

Saitama, is of course, nonplussed. Again with someone insisting that he defeated Garou. Again with someone praising him for just being who he is. And oh, will you look? The ground appears to have opened up. He's very unbothered by it all.

How is Saitama going to fit into all this? Well, first he's going to make some short work of some monsters. Other than that, all I'm sure of is that things are about to go sideways in a big way. Saitama on scene generally means bad news for any other heroes who are around.

Short notes

Feral Tatsumaki who never learned to eat with Western cutlery is too cute for words.

Couldn't have happened to a nicer set of assholes: the one good thing the Tsukoyomi rep has done.

Speaking of acquisitve bastards, I'm so glad Genos isn't here. With his acquisitiveness, the idea of artificial espers would get his attention for all the wrong reasons.

[trivialbob]

Oliver (sitting between Sulley and Ella) had spa day this week. That boy has a very thick coat. No matter how much I brush him, I can’t keep up. The amount of hair I do get out of him nearly equals Sulley in weight. That probably explains why Sulley gets nervous when I throw a huge pile of hair in the trash can.

Once a year Oliver goes to experts with power tools and professional grade brushes. The groomer asked me if I wanted unscented or scented shampoo. Scented, for sure! Last time with that shampoo Oliver smelled fresh for two months. When I picked him up he smelled fantastic and looked like he’d lost 10 pounds. Quite literally the groomer might have removed 10 pounds of undercoat. I told him Oliver was very pretty which made him smile and bark.

Middle picture is at the dog park, close to sunset. Three Wes ties were wearing lighted collars. It was like a dog rave.

My Mpls St Paul magazine arrived today. I love restaurant lists. Of the 50 best for 2022, I’ve been to only10. Definitely I’ll be trying some of the others, at least the ones that are in the near metro area. Two highly regarded restaurants I have no desire to visit. They’re the sort of places I think of where people go just so they say they’ve been there. Places where half the men wear sport coats. Dressing up doesn’t make food taste better. A French dip and crinkle cut fries served in a red plastic basket brings me more joy than nine strands of roasted organic corn silk surrounded by elegantly drizzled drops of unpasteurized blue whale sweat presented in an ostrich egg shell.

Earlier today I went to the Mall of America. There were a fair number of children there. Has winter break started already? I browsed Old Navy for a bit. I haven’t been there in several years. Prices are decent, and that’s before factoring in the numerous sale signs offering 20% to 50% off. I didn’t need any new t-shirts, sweat shirts, or henleys, but next time I do though I’ll go back there.

[ritualofcirice]

This Story Is in Dire Need of a New Title Now It Has Been Revamped. And Tagora Still Needs to Fix His Hive. (Tagora x Reader)

🐑 ♡ Thank you Sycamore for beta'ing this one for me, it's been a big help ♡🐑

Tagora's hive is wrecked, but you're there to help.

Teen and Up Audiences, No Warnings, F/M, M/M, Other/M, Tag(s): Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Chores and Lists, Ambiguous Gender Reader, Ambiguous Species Reader, POV Second Person

Find it on ao3 ♡ WC: 2,210

“We both deserve a little compensation for all of this. *______” Tagora sighed.

He gestured towards the wreckage to exemplify 'this'. 'This' was left by the drone that had been searching for a mutant of some sort, and said mutant had not been hidden in his hive. That much was for certain, but the drone had made sure to check the entirety of the space with their own unchecked destruction.

Simply put, most civilised trolls could operate a door handle. Meanwhile, a drone used any sort of explosive or weapon to remove the door and its surrounding area to get in. Not that it mattered given they would then proceed to obliterate anything else in their way. That included and was not limited to: furniture, crucial parts of the hive’s structure, expensive goods, and much cared for lusii equipment.

One look from a critical eye would have been able to tell that there was no room for a mutant - or otherwise - to hide. Tagora’s whole hive aesthetic touched upon chic chaos after all, and it would not be ideal for a deadly game of hide and seek. Too many things to knock over. Too many things in the places you might have hidden. Again, this did not matter.

It had been three days since you had both started to try and clean the mess, and you had made it nowhere. The only good thing to come of it was the additional time you got to spend with Tagora. Since his place was trashed, you’d offered for him to stay at yours. It took some convincing, but he warmed up to the idea after he had tried to relax in the new, open plan demolition site.

This wasn’t to say you were happy his hive was in such a state, no. It was a mess. A bad one. But you had enjoyed a lot of pamper sessions to help him unwind, and to have him snuggled by your side during your rest… It was safe to say you would be making those arrangements with him once his hive was fixed up.

“What am I doing today then?” you asked. Tagora pursed his lips and pulled out a sheet of folded paper from his pocket. He muttered under his breath as he opened it up and placed a finger against the surface. It traced each day, until he found the right one, then moved to your name. Inside of the box read all of the tasks he had delegated you.

“Let’s see, today you need to brush up the rubble in the other room and throw out anything too broken to be saved,” Tagora said. “And please, if you don’t know, ask me this time.”

You pulled on your gloves and nodded to let him know you’d caught all of it. Then, with a wave, you headed over to one of the broken entryways. "Oh-” you choked, fingers slid around the part of the wall that separated you both. “I'm here to help, so you better remember that too. What are you doing today anyway?”

He looked like someone held him at knife point, his plans disturbed before they had even been put into motion. A harsh breath rasped in his throat, and his jaw hung slack.

“Well,” Tagora managed, “I.” He stopped, and in a blur, the paper was pulled from his pocket again. You had broken him.

“I’m in charge of contacting the proper authorities about repairs, general cleaning, ordering, and any additional redecoration for the previous two rooms we’ve completed. Depending on shipment, we might get them finished before the sunrise. It might mean a trip out, however.” He had chewed on each ‘might’ with equal amounts of venom each time. Given his position right in the centre of the hemospectrum, delivery was always a game of roulette, and he had a flawless prediction rate.

You reassured him once more that you wouldn’t mind tagging along if he needed to go. The paper dropped from his face, and he was a pretty shade of teal.

“There isn’t a need for you to come along,” he huffed, “but I would appreciate an escort. *______” There was a softness to his words that left you with a grin. You gave him another wave and headed to your duties.

Rubble weighed heavy on your shoulders, and after some time, each bent back or lifted object caused pain to shoot up your spine. It seared hot within each bundle of nerves. The odd graze or cut you had sustained stung, and you had taken a break to pull out numerous splinters. Still, the place started to clean up.

Aside from the wall, the damage was minimal. Most of the rubble that had been scattered across the room had dodged the majority of the furniture. That left you with an easier second job once the floor wasn’t a wreck. You even dusted up some of the finer cleaning that needed to be done, even if it wasn’t on your schedule. Tagora could complain all he liked when he found out, but the delegation of chores and tasks list could never comprehend your occasional affectionate gestures.

You knew in the end he appreciated it. Especially in the given circumstances.

Lost in reminiscence, you allowed yourself to stew over images of Tagora’s head on your lap. You stroked his hair whilst he told you how much you made things seem easy. Calm. Relaxed. A pocket of joy in a never ending cycle of anxiety fueled torment.

Alternia was a nightmare, and so you shared your duties with kindness in mind.

The same kindness that called to you to swaddle Tagora in your arms the moment you saw him again. You had picked up a broken lamp, and after a look over you couldn’t decide whether to scrap it or not. It worked, but the shade was in a state of disrepair. The same you found your matesprit.

His features were obscured by a thick tangle of hair which he had woven each of his fingers into. He held it tight, and you could make out the tension from where each strand pulled at his skin. This image wasn't long lived though. At the sound of your entry his head whipped up. Embarrassment crossed his face, and his attention diverted near immediately to the side.

That was the signal. Lamp abandoned beside him, your arms were free to catch him in an embrace. At first, his embarrassment heightened, and you felt him tense within your grasp. A single look from his eye might have betrayed murderous intent, but this soon eased. Usually, you would break away after a second or two when this happened. Tagora had other ideas.

Horns fought for dominance in the tight space between your arms and chest. You had to dip down to his level to embrace him; your arms navigated to his neck to avoid any sharp pokes. Tagora had refused to let you see his face in the transition. Instead, he snuggled tight into your shoulder.

His grip overwhelmed you, and a surge of worry coursed through your veins. He clung to you as if you were the one thing to keep him afloat on a stormy sea. The terrors below circled him on those waters while he fought a losing battle.

A sharp hiss sounded too close to your ear, and you jumped from fright. Tagora let out a ‘hiccup’. A sort of tie between a sob and an irritated exhale of air. The result caused him to force you away, allowing him to fold his arms around himself.

Eye contact still avoided, you took in the state of your matesprit. He chewed on his lip, which bled the same colour as the tears that fell down his cheeks. He passed one sly glance your way. But he didn’t make an effort to clean himself up. No, he continued to hold himself in what became a tight ball of limbs.

“I hate all of this,” Tagora began. You nestled yourself beside the chair, and tapped on his closest leg. He lowered it to a spot where you placed your chin on top. With a reassuring pat from your hand, you opted to maintain the contact he had welcomed.

“I hate all of this,” Tagora repeated, “and by all of this I mean the ridiculous excrement this planet pushes out. I didn’t ask to have my hive destroyed. I didn’t want my hive to be destroyed, but oh no, my hive was destroyed anyway!” He continued to rant in a chorus of heated anguish and rage. He spoke fast, but with all the purpose he needed to project his frustrations. Even if you didn’t catch everything, you knew what he was trying to say.

A hand soon found your head as he lost himself in his exasperation, and he stroked your hair without a single spared thought.

“Five thousand sweeps wouldn’t be enough time to clean up the catastrophic societal mess we live in, and I’ve got to take the next hundred to tidy my hive! Nobody will apologise to me, nobody will make up for it, nobody will give me a single shred of recompense. Neither will I get back the precious time I am wasting when my finances rely on my presentability to potential clients. Nobody will work with someone who is missing half of their hive! What is this?

“Forget that, I know what it is, a mess. That is exactly what it is. A mess. A huge mess. ‘Hello prospective client, ignore the huge hole in the side of my hive, I’m redecorating’. I don’t think I could pull that off. Although…” Tagora trailed off and swiped the blood from his lip. He looked at it with a weary eye, then smudged it between his fingers in an attempt to get rid of it.

After the tears were wiped away, he cradled his chin between his thumb and index finger in that signature GorGor style. He muttered about the potential to up his fees, play on the discomfort of a troll that poured out their heart, or set up his office elsewhere for now. It would be your hive, you were informed, if he did relocate for a time.

You’d love that, but he didn’t need to know. You were both deep in red romance territory without the added fluff. His hand had remained firm on your head, and you lapped up the affection. All the while, you looked up at him as the light returned to his eyes. There was a twinkle of mischievousness that sparked from deep within.

Claws scratched at your scalp. Tagora's attention was focused on you. After so much talk, he had fallen silent. Teal had seeped across his features again, and no amount of empathy could decipher his expression. What he felt was a mystery to you until he smiled.

He leant down. With care he enveloped your head in a nest of arms, hair, soft kisses, and affection. Everything was dark inside of your lover's embrace. It was a darkness you could slip into comfortably. Wallow.

“If you’re going to relocate the office, why don’t you do that next time instead of coming here? I don’t mind tidying up if you want to get yourself sorted. Work might make you feel better,” you said.

Tagora let out a gentle hum to let you know he had heard you. Then he told you he would think about it. He didn’t want to leave you to deal with 'this'. It seemed like an unfair distribution of responsibilities. Besides, who would be there to comfort him if he had a meltdown?

He drew back from you, and he cleared his throat. In no time at all, he returned to his upright position. Tagora, who buised himself with sorting out any wardrobe malfunctions, seemed ready to return to his chores. Meanwhile, you vacated his legs and returned to your feet. One of your hands grasped at the table edge to steady yourself, but it remained there as you leant across and placed a well earned kiss on Tagora’s cheek.

He scrunched up his face in mock disgust, eyes narrowed as he stared you down.

“This is valuable time you’re wasting. It seems one of us might not be pulling their weight in this partnership, *______” Tagora said. You pressed a knuckle into his arm and fixed a strand of hair for him. His hands shot up towards it, and he began to fuss over it up like you had ruined everything.

“Sorry boss, I’ll get back to it,” you teased. “There’s a lamp there for you. You decide if it needs to go.” You placed another kiss on his forehead and admired how Tagora’s smile grew a little wider.

“Maybe you can add a break onto the list too, I want to see if the ablution trap is in working order to give some care to my matesprite.”

The scratch of a pen on newly unfolded paper told you that the break was added in. All you had to do was finish up your jobs, and bit by bit, Tagora would find some normality again.

His lusii too. The poor thing hated your hive.

[sasquapossum]

I know I've beaten this drum before, but here we go again: "everybody move to the city" is not the solution to car-culture and urban-design problems. In fact, I think it's part of the problem. Allow me to explain.

tl;dr it's all about the votes

First, let's figure out what "the city" means. Most large cities consist of two parts: a very dense core, and outlying areas which are practically the same as suburbs. Still vast tracts of single-family detached homes, sliced apart by "stroads" that isolate more than they connect. (For those who don't know the term, it's a portmanteau of "street" which is a place of commerce and "road" which is a way to get from one city/town to another. Stroads combine the worst of both, separating what's on either side with high-speed traffic.) A classic example is Detroit, which is one of the largest US cities geographically. The stroad near us when we lived in Detroit was actually worse than the one near us in an adjoining suburb (Hazel Park), in both we were surrounded by other SFD homes, in both we had major highways nearby, a dearth of stores, and so on.

So, "move to the city" can mean one of two different things: moving to the core, or to the outer areas. If you move from the suburbs to an outer area, that's what we in computing call a "no-op" - an instruction that does nothing. Neither the place you left nor the place you went to has or will change, except for a few exceptions I'll get to later. Most importantly, nothing has changed for you. You're still living in basically the same environment (except maybe a bit dirtier and with fewer trees). On the other hand, if you move to the core - the only version of "move to the city" that really means anything at all - you might have well improved conditions for yourself, at the expense of making that core even less affordable. You will also have added to the infrastructure challenges there. "New urbanists" like to talk about the infrastructure costs of sprawly suburbs, but for electrical power in particular there are equal challenges for dense urban cores. The optimal distribution is actually somewhere in between. This effect is somewhat attenuated for other kinds of infrastructure such as fresh water, food distribution, and waste disposal, but we still have to ask: how many more upstate New York communities have to host New York City's trash? And where do all those garbage trucks go at night? Hint: it's not near the people whose trash they're hauling. Another "externality" imposed on adjacent communities so that the core residents can forget about it.

If everyone tried to move from the suburbs to denser urban cores at once, it would be a disaster even for the cities themselves for all the reasons above, but there are other problems as well. What would happen to all of the abandoned buildings and infrastructure back in the suburbs? To get an idea, take a tour of the "Rust Belt" some time. That will show you quite clearly the human and ecological toll of emigration on such a scale. What a waste. With disasters at both ends, how is that a solution?

This is where we get to the other ill effect of people moving to the city. Everyone who leaves from a suburb to a city is leaving their vote behind. That leaves even fewer voters to do anything about zoning and other policies that make suburbs the way they are. I've seen it over and over; the people who care about creating walkable neighborhoods and reducing car dependence leave, so policy remains in the hands of people who want to keep things the same. That is, quite directly, why most suburbs have town centers that are sterile and useless - if they even exist. Too many suburbs don't even have a real center, just one or more extended strip malls.

What we need is not more 15-minute cities but more 15-minute towns. Thousands of them. Reconfiguring and repurposing existing structures, where people already live and will continue to live, instead of abandoning them and building even more in the cities. Mixed use, mixed income, medium density. The missing middle according to some. To achieve that goal, people need to stay and vote (or, even better, serve on town zoning boards and such). The day when the cities could absorb the nearer suburbs - as Detroit did once, to become so big - are gone. No suburb would submit to such incorporation in the current milieu of property values and school funding and so on. The weight of numbers from city dwellers can't be used to force change anywhere else at anything less than the state level. How well does that work? Again, Detroit - ringed by more prosperous suburbs - tells us the answer: not at all. Detroit has no influence over poor suburbs like Hazel Park or River Rouge, let alone rich ones like Birmingham or Bloomfield Hills.

Every town (or small city) that has succeeded in reversing the process of suburban sprawl, in creating walkable and pleasant but still affordable and ecologically sustainable neighborhoods, has done so through the efforts of residents who stayed and did the work. "Move to the city" is a religion among the privileged few (who must be few for it to work at all), not a solution for the many. As long as it's the mantra among self-styled "new urbanists" we will all get exactly nowhere. Let go of that idea. Embrace strong towns instead.

[wolfverse-stories]

Magneto's Kids

Chapter 7

     Wanda is by far the smartest of Erik's children so, of course, she has all honors classes, which means she has to study a lot. The week before a test she'll lock herself in her room with her notes and books. She refuses to come out for anything, so Erik put a mini fridge in her room so she wouldn't starve. Her brothers are always trying to get her to take a break but of course, she stubbornly refuses.

     "Come on you've been stuck in that room for four days" Pietro started knocking on the door.

     "Go away I'm trying to study" Wanda shouted as she grabbed another book. Pietro started knocking on the door at super speed for about an hour before he got tired and gave up. Peter's eyes shone as he got an idea.

     "You know, I saw this thing where this guy moved his molecules fast he could phase throw walls" Pietro rolled his eyes.

     "Was this in one of your comic books?" Peter nodded walking back from the door. "You realize this is never going to work" but Peter was already darting for the wall in less than the blink of an eye he crashed into the wall leaving a good-sized hole.

     "PETER!!!!!!" Wanda's eyes turned red as her hands balled up into fists. 'That's not a good sign' Peter thought as he was surrounded by red energy.

     "Wanda please just calm down I can explain" A blue streak darted past and in two seconds Pietro had placed the restraint bracelets on Wanda.

     "Okay here's the deal sis, you are getting out of this room, you are going to relax and you are going to have fun," Pietro said grabbing her books and throwing them into a bag "And you can't have this back until you have four hours away from the house" Pietro threw the bag to Peter since he was the expert at hiding things. He hides Magneto's helmet at least once a day.

     "I'll go to the library" Pietro shook his head "Movies?" Pietro nodded. Wanda sighed as she grabbed her coat. "Fine let's just get this over" Both speedsters cheered as they ran to the car.

     "What movie do you want to see," Pietro asked as he pulled out of the driveway. Wanda carefully thought over this before she replied.

     "Now you see me" Peter was happy he had wanted to see 'Now You See Me' ever since it came out Pietro was just glad it wasn't another love story.

     "Okay we can go out for ice cream afterward" Pietro slowly pulled into the parking lot. Peter tried his best not to show how excited he was, this was his first time going anywhere with his older siblings.

Time skip

     "That movie was amazing!" Peter shouted as they walked out of the theater. Wanda giggled at his childish behavior.

     "Now is a pretty good time to go get ice cream," Pietro said dumping an empty mega-size popcorn bag in the trash. Peter nodded with enthusiasm.

     "How can both of you still eat, you had a pack of gummies, two hot dogs, five candy bars, two large sodas, and a mega popcorn each" Wanda stared at them in shock.

     "Super speed equals super metabolism" Peter pointed out as he darted for the car. By the time they got to the ice cream shop Wanda was ready for ice cream,  she didn't get anything other than a drink at the theater to save room.

     "Ok one Twinkie and cream icecream with strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup" Pietro announced as he handed Peter his ice cream "One raspberry cheesecake with chocolate chips and chocolate," he said handing Wanda her ice cream "And one coffee ice cream with chocolate and strawberries," Pietro said before taking a bite of his.

     "Okay, I've got to admit this was a great idea" Wanda smiled as she took a bite of her ice cream.

     "Hey, Peter did I ever tell you about the first time me and Wanda got Dad to eat ice cream?" Peter shook his head "When he first took a bite he loved it and started eating it way too fast, he got a brain freeze and thought he had been poisoned" Wanda nodded giggling.

     "One time I was eating smarties and he thought I had taken drugs so he took me to the emergency room"They each took turns telling stories until about ten then they all went home curled up on the couch and played Go Fish until they fell asleep. Two days later Wanda got a hundred on the test and decided she would start taking more study

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[ferromagnetiic]

♡ + the victoria punk :)

【 ⚙ 】  |  【 always accepting. 】 @akagamiko

                                        So you woke up and chose violence today, huh?

                  The island on which Kid was born and raised was not an officially recognized island by the World Government; rather, it was an island of trash, a junkyard, on which people began to settle once they realized there was money to be made in finding discarded valuables. The sea surrounding this island was treacherous; sailing through vicious storms was almost unavoidable, and the savage waters were unkind to even the sturdiest of ships. It was hardly a tourist attraction, and travel to and from the island was mainly restricted to the ships delivering regular deposits of junk. Occasionally goods for the people were imported, and anything valuable either found or crafted on the island was exported, but due to the difficulties involved in actually reaching the port, few sailors saw the merit in enduring the journey.

                          With no concern for being attacked by passing sailors, Sea Kings began to take residence directly outside the coast of the island. Amongst these water beasts was Morag; an ancient, reptilian-looking ocean dweller with a long neck that would curve under the water's surface like the body of a snake. Her head alone was the size of most decently sized vessels that would venture towards the port, and she found no challenge in biting a ship in half with a single snap of her jaws. She was an old girl; perhaps some two-hundred years, and as grouchy as any old woman who did not want vermin invading her property. She did not take kindly to intruders approaching her land, though she was equally bad tempered towards those attempting to leave it, almost as if she felt she had some possession over the people living in her domain. She would lurk in the darkest shadows of the sea and strike from below, her long neck rigid as an arrow as she lunged directly towards any moving vessel.

              When Kid and his newly established pirate crew were preparing to set sail, he decreed that her demise would be their first endeavor. Avoiding her entirely like a mouse sneaking out of its hole was not his style. He had grown sick of the inconvenience of that old hag. He was energized by the fury resulting from the murder of his childhood friend, Victoria, and his outrage could only be settled by a legendary victory.

               It was during this battle that the first evidence of his Conqueror's Haki was recorded by his men.                He was pissed off.                                              He was really pissed off.                She attempted to strike, and inexplicably, she lost her nerve.                                              She missed.                Instead of hitting the hull of the ship, she inadvertently jumped out of the water and into his line of sight.                From Kid's perspective, the rest was a blur, acting on impulse without ever second guessing his following actions. He saw her rearing her great ugly mug, and suddenly, two humongous metal hands were floating in the air, without arms, without a body.                                               He yanked her out of the water, and he ripped her head off.

        They used her skull to reinforce the front of the Victoria Punk, and some of her ribs to protect the hull. Some of her smaller bones are scattered through the ship, mostly used for reinforcement as pillars, though some are purely decorative. You'll find little pieces of her placed here and there if you know where to look.

         It was the first win the Kid Pirates had landed; it only felt right to carry her on the ship as a warning of what was to come to anyone who dared to oppose them.

                                      ....As a side note, they ate the edible parts of Morag for several weeks after that.                           She was disgusting.                           Dry, tough, and flavorless. They made her into burgers and drowned them in tomato sauce, salt, and oil just to get her to stop tasting like cardboard.                           Her skull made an amazing figurehead, but she kind of killed the celebration party by producing food that tasted like utter shit.