#lunar corps

[yuuugay]

Greatsword kid Caine Tavadon and Unbrella/Lance hybrid user Shery lineart :)))))

[radimus-co-uk]

Republic Apollo LEM proposal model 1962

[peachdues]

Dad Sanemi finding out you're expecting again!

done and done! Also requested by @lisa-257

FINDING OUT YOU’RE PREGNANT AGAIN

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA X LUNAR PILLAR!READER!

A/N: a continuation of my Bundle of Joy series, in celebration of one year since its publication!

CW: 1.9k • MDNI • fluff • pregnancy mention • Sanemi and Reader are married • slightly suggestive in parts/references to sex

READ BUNDLE OF JOY HERE

It had been a normal day. You’d awoken well before dawn and departed Sanemi’s estate with a quick kiss for both him and your daughter before returning to your own to prepare your training yard from the group of new Juniors being sent for defensive training — your speciality as the Lunar Pillar.

That training had gone about as well as you’d been warned it would — which was to say, absolutely dreadful. Nearly all lower-ranked Slayers were close to passing out not even an hour into their defensive drills.

The only one who’d stood out was the young, eager Kamado boy, who’d offered to partner with to test his footwork.

“Excellent!” You praised as Kamado manage to parry another one of your attacks with a training blade. “The best I’ve seen today!” You whirled around his attempt at an offensive jab with ease. “In fact, I think —“

A sudden, splitting pain ripped across your head, whiting out your vision. There was a sharp, keening ring in your ears, and all at once, the familiar training yard of your estate faded away with a distant, worried call of your surname.

You did not realize you’d fainted until your eyes flittered open, and you found yourself blearily staring at the blue of the sky above.

In your periphery, you saw the clustered, worried faces of your subordinates, anxiously peering down at you.

Before you could ponder exactly how you’d ended up on your back on the ground, your mouth welled with saliva, hot and bitter, and your stomach lurched.

You’d barely managed to flip over to your knees before you began wretching. Between the great, shudderkng gasps of air you managed to gulp down, you did not see your crow take off from its nearby perch with a hurried beat of its wings.

You’re fighting to rise to your feet when the tension in the air noticeably shifts. A sudden electricity settles over the juniors, a hushed murmur snaking its way through the throng.

The crowd of Slayers swiftly parts around as the Wind Pillar furiously makes his way toward you.

You’re still crouched on one knee, hand pressed to your mouth in some futile effort to keep the contents of your breakfast from making a reappearance splattered across the dirt.

Your husband kneels down next to you, his warm, comforting hand resting between your shoulder blades. You fight the urge to lean into him; the morale of the greater Corps is just as important as their training, and it would only be undermined by the sight of a vulnerable Hashira.

But Sanemi knows how to read you better than anyone, and he must sense your hesitation. “Whoever hasn’t resumed training by the time I stand is being sent to my estate for obedience lessons.” He barks.

There’s a pause before he adds, “And I don’t use training swords.”

Though you’re fighting to keep from dry heaving into the dirt, you can’t help the small smile that forms on the corners of your lips at the flurry of anxious movement and the telltale sound of practice weapons colliding in choreographed defensive maneuvers.

Sanemi’s tone is much softer as he murmurs your name. “Can you stand?”

You manage a stiff nod. The white-knuckled grip on his hand as you rise on shaky legs would crush the fingers of anyone else that wasn’t him.

Sanemi’s hold on you remains steady as you stand, and he is right there when your knees buckle, his body pushed against yours to keep you upright.

Gently, Sanemi eases you back down to your knees. He squats beside you, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist for extra support.

Your eyes lift to his, and with a groan, you know his orders before he speaks them.

“Kocho’s. Now.”

You shake your head. “I have to finish their training —“

The Wind Pillar stands then, and though you cannot see his face, you can imagine the twist of his mouth; the hard look in his eyes.

“All of you!” His raised voice startles several of the junior Corps members, some dropping their training swords as they stand at attention. “Defensive training is finished for the day. Fuck off to the Love Pillar’s estate.“

You flick your eyes up to see the gaggle of young slayers staring wide-eyed and anxious at your husband.

“Now!”

The younger Corps members jolt into action, quickly putting away the tools and props you’d organized for the day and gathering their things.

Sanemi turns his attention back to you. He waits until the last of the trainees departs your Estate with a respectful but hasty bow, before he gathers you up in his arms.

“You must really feel bad if you’re not bitchin’ me out about carrying you.” Sanemi frowns as you loop your arm over his shoulder.

Your eyes remain squeezed shut against your nausea, and you managed nothing more than a grumbled shut up as Sanemi hastily makes his way toward the Butterfly Mansion.

You try and focus on Sanemi’s steady warmth as it bleeds into you; the familiar and comforting scent of sweet matcha that lingers on his skin, a welcome distraction from the way your head spins and aches.

The soothing hallmarks of your husband almost lull you to sleep, when the image of the other half of your heart — of cherub cheeks and a mop of white hair just like her father’s flashes through your mind.

Your eyes suddenly fly open, wide and anxious.

Your daughter. Because you’d been dealing with the bulk of junior slayers, Sanemi had been tasked with keeping your daughter occupied for the day. You’d last seen her earlier that morning at his estate, happily stumbling after a butterfly in her father’s garden.

You stiffen in Sanemi’s arms. “Where is —?”

“She’s with Uzui’s girls,” he’s quick to reassure, and he twists his head to press a soothing kiss to your temple. “I’d brought her with me to discuss training plans when your crow arrived. Hinatsuru offered to take her so I could check on you.”

It does little to soothe the pit in your stomach. “I don’t wish to burden them —“

“They insisted,” Sanemi says simply. “They all jump at the chance to watch her — Uzui, too.”

He wasn’t wrong; your daughter had the entire Uzui family wrapped around her tiny fist.

Sanemi squeezes your waist. “She’s fine — and she’ll be more than happy to see her Mama later. Let’s focus on getting you checked out for now.”

—

You arrive at the Butterfly Mansion in record time. You have to fight the Wind Pillar before he’ll put you down and allow you to walk into the Manor on your own legs.

Sanemi acquiesces, but his arm does not leave its stabling place on your waist.

The Insect Pillar, thankfully, is home and able promptly guide you into a private examination room she reserves for your peers. A quick draw of blood into a glass vial later, and Kocho whisks back to her office to analyze it.

Sanemi sits with you the whole time, chatting with Kocho, his arm around your shoulders, his thumb turning soothing circles into your skin.

But the longer the two of you wait after the petite doctor leaves to run her tests, the more your anxiety mounts.

Your nerves must have begun to sink beneath Sanemi’s skin, for he’d left the examination room a few minutes prior in search of the Insect Pillar, nearly as desperate as you to know what she’d found.

He hadn’t yet returned, leaving you to chew anxiously on your thumbnail, your foot jiggling where it hung over the edge of the table where you sat.

Another minute or two passes, and then the door to the examination room flings open with a start. Faster than you can blink, the Wind Pillar is striding toward you with a broad smile on his face.

“What is —?” Sanemi’s hands — battle-worn and rough — are gentle as they cradle your cheeks, and he silences your question with a sweet but deep kiss.

“You’re pregnant,” he breathes excitedly against your lips, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “You’re pregnant. Kocho confirmed it.”

His eyelashes tickle your cheeks as he kisses you again and again, Sanemi beaming between each eager touch of your lips.

“That didn’t take long, did it?” You tease. “I mentioned wanting another child not even two months ago

“Who am I to deny my wife what she desires?” he grins with equal smugness and elation. “Especially when she asks so sweetly, all bent over for me —“

You clamp your hand over his mouth. “Shush,” you hiss, though you can’t fight your own smile. “Kocho can hear everything —“

“I knew it.” Sanemi boasts, stepping back to bring your knuckles to his lips, his eyes shining. “I knew when you asked for yudofu twice this week that you were pregnant —“

“I’ve always liked yudofu.”

“It was all you ate last time,” and his grin is broad. “Couldn’t get you to choke down anythin’ else for a solid month at one point. Drove me fuckin’ nuts.”

Sanemi’s lips press to your ear as he leans in close, his voice quieting to a sultry whisper. “And you’ve been asking me to take care of those pretty breasts of yours more frequently, haven’t you?”

Your cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson. It was true — they’d been aching and sore. So tender that you’d even contemplated foregoing the sarashi bindings you wore beneath your uniform shirt.

So you had; once, a few weeks earlier.

You hadn’t made it out of your bedroom before you’d been caught by your husband, bug-eyed and blushing as he gaped at your partially-exposed chest. Your uniform shirt had closely resembled his own without the security of your bindings, and yet you’d known, thanks to your skirt, that your attire likely bore a resemblance to that of the Love Pillar’s.

You’d both ended up late to training that day.

Since that day, Sanemi had been more than eager to continue helping after you’d insisted his hot mouth and expert tongue were capable of alleviating some of that tender ache.

You want to groan at yourself. It should have been obvious, once it was clear that your sore chest had not been heralding in your monthly cycle.

But before you can, Sanemi resumes lavishing you with his joyful kisses.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He murmurs against your lips, nuzzling your nose with his. “You’re a goddamn goddess, you know that? So fuckin’ beautiful.“

This time, Sanemi tilts your head so he can deepen his next kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth the moment you open for him.

“Thank you,” he breathes, thumb stroking your cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You did just as much work as I did,” you chuckle between his slow, sensual kisses. “Arguably more.”

He pulls away with a light huff, the hand on your cheek sliding to cup the back of your head and bring you in tight against him.

“I ain’t ever gonna stop thanking you,” Sanemi whispers reverently against your hair, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “‘M never not gonna worship the ground you walk on for makin’ me a father. Not in a hundred years.”

Whether it’s because your emotions are already high out of elation over your news, or because Sanemi’s words — so earnest and full of love — strike that soft part of your heart reserved for him and him alone, your eyes burn with tears.

And even Sanemi’s voice cracks as he whispers, “Thank you. Thank you for choosing me.”

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[apathmakerstale]

I enjoy that in ffxiv that Primals aren't really a threat anymore almost solely due to the Warrior of Light. Like there aren't any in Tural or were introduced in Dawntrail, (partially for lore reasons if I remember right, something about less aether than Eorzea) and they're kinda replaced by Vidraal.

Like yeah, it's died out since the Grand Company of Eorzea is working to improve relations with the Allied Tribes and the Ascians are mostly dead, but like, most people know by now that if you summon a Primal then the WoL's gonna hunt them down. Like they still do get summoned, and the Summoner corps of Ul'dah and people like Fordola and other Scions take care of some of the weaker ones, but it can't be on a grand scale otherwise it'd bring down the WoL on top of them an no one wants that.

We are literally the natural predator to them by now.

Ifrit, Titan, Garuda, Leviathan, Ramuh, Odin, Shiva, Belias (From the Summoner questline), Phoenix, Bahamut, GOOD KING MOGGLE MOG XII, Enkidu, Ravana, Bismarck, Knights of the Round, Alexander, The Warring Triad, Susano, Lakshmi, Shinryu, Tsukiyomi, The Eden Primals, Elidibus' Warrior of Light, The Lunar Primals, Queen Gunnhildr, Daivadipa, The Magus Sisters, Anima, Asura (From Hildebrand questline), Hydaelyn, and Zodiark.

That's like three dozen, and what's more is that most of them we canonically solo'd and slayed multiple times. Plus we can even summon them ourselves too, and even fuse them together like with Solar Bahamut.

We are the Maker's Ruin after all, making a World Without Gods.

[sanemistar]

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 fate — sanemi shinazugawa

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: sanemi x fem!reader ᡣ𐭩 genre: fluff, soulmate au ᡣ𐭩 warnings: none ! ᡣ𐭩 wc: 897 ᡣ𐭩 note: this is my first post in 3 years so i’m not exactly sure if it’s good or not but i hope u enjoy reading nonetheless !! pt.2

you stare at the initials on your wrist that read ‘s.s’. these are supposedly the initials of your soulmate according to what your mom told you. in a world where you are born with the initials of your soulmate tattooed on your wrist and disappear the moment you meet them.

today marks your first day at the demon slayer corps as the lunar hashira, being recruited by oyakata-sama himself after he had witnessed your determination and talent. you nervously head to where the hashira meeting is being held in order to introduce yourself to the rest of the hashira members, who will be your comrades from now on.

with an anxious heart you knock on the door lightly as you set foot in the room, and in front of you are all the infamous hashira members. intensely staring at you, their gazes on you are so intense that you want to disappear from their sight.

“h-hello everyone, my name is (y/n) and i’m the new lunar hashira. looking forward to working with you all.” you bow after your small introduction. your voice came out so shaky due to nervousness and you felt disappointed in yourself because you wanted to sound as confident as possible.

you feel one of them staring a little too intensely than the others, a man with a silver hair and lilac eyes that were angry yet so charming and alluring for some reason. his face and body were all covered in scars. you can’t help but solely focus on him. it was none other than the wind hashira, shinazugawa sanemi, you heard about him when you were still a rookie. everyone fears him because of how aggressive he is.

you subconsciously gulp as you feel his eyes being practically glued on you. your tongue is tied and words don’t seem to come out of your mouth.

“oyakata-sama, allow me to say that i don’t think she has what it takes to be a hashira.” a guy with a snake around his neck and bandages covering his mouth speaks, breaking the dead awkward silence, who happens to be the serpent hashira iguro obanai.

the rest don’t speak but they somewhat nod in agreement with obanai. your heart aches upon hearing his words, you trained so hard. put your heart, sweat and tears to become a respectable hashira and beat muzan.

“oyakata-sama, i have a suggestion,” sanemi says out of nowhere and you nervously look at him, anticipating what he’s going to say next.

“how about letting her show us her abilities in a duel? and i volunteer to be her opponent.” you freeze there for a minute, not believing what you just heard. fighting against the second strongest hashira? on your first day? you are put on a tough spot indeed.

however, you decide to not quit, to face everything head-on. you want to show them that you are here because you worked hard, you earned your right to be here with your own talent, you deserve to be here.

“fair enough, sanemi. what about you, (y/n)?” oyakata-sama asks you in his usual soft voice.

“i don’t mind. i’ll do my best to show everyone that i’m determined to become a hashira and defeat muzan.” you finally gather some courage to speak up and you can see sanemi riling up upon hearing your words as your demeanor changes to a more serious one.

you’re given a wooden sword as you stand there, in front of you is the wind hashira with his own wooden sword, waiting for the beginning signal. you get ready and take your usual pose as the fight begins.

the first two minutes were so exhausting, his attacks were so fierce and fast that you couldn’t see him and before you knew it you’re down.

“oi oi, tired already?” sanemi smirks, obviously looking down on you. and in that moment you feel your blood boil, you hate being looked down on just because you’re a girl. you gather your strength and get up, refusing to give up.

as the fight continues, you start catching up with him. his attacks becoming clearer to see as you successfully start to dodge them, you even manage to land some attacks on him. which impressed everyone, including sanemi. it’s been a while since he had a good fight.

he is about to deal the final blow when you manage to see an opening and use one of your strongest lunar breathing techniques, and as a result both sanemi and his wooden sword fall on the ground. announcing your miraculous victory.

everyone is just standing there in utter and complete shock, not only you managed to keep up with sanemi who’s known for his insane stamina and endurance ability but you beat him.

you immediately collapse on the ground as you hopelessly try to catch your breath after having the most difficult fight in your life.

you suddenly see a familiar hand being extended to help you get up, you look up and you’re greeted by sanemi’s lilac eyes. you take his hand as you slowly gain some strength to stand up.

“don’t get ahead of yourself just because you beat me today. i won’t go easy on you next time, got it?” he huffs, too stubborn to admit his defeat. he doesn’t say anything else and walks away. you look at your wrist and your eyes widen as you notice that the initials disappeared. you put two and two together and realize that your destined soulmate is none other than THE one and only shinazugawa sanemi. you feel your heart beating so fast upon knowing that you finally meet your soulmate, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re also his soulmate. it’s clearly love at first sight, love at first ���fight’ to be more accurate. and you look forward to seeing what happens next from here on.

should i write a part 2 of this but from sanemi’s pov ?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

[demonslayedher]

Determining Ages and Birth Years

Kimetsu no Yaiba’s first official fanbook gave us ages for the many of the main characters, but in a manga where calculating age can be crucial, why are these numbers not so straightforward? Because the Japanese calendar is a mess, and the Taisho period was an in-between stage in many ways. Many new changes were established in the Meiji period but not broadly enforced until the Showa period, including how to count one’s age.

This subject can be terribly complicated, but please follow me below for:

--Historical context for how methods of counting age could differ --Which method I choose to apply to Kimetsu no Yaiba and why --Based on that, a list of my calculations for dates of birth, zodiac signs (Chinese and Western), and because it’s handy, the date each of these characters would have turned 25

In the Taisho period, there are two methods of counting age in play:

Kazoedoshi (“counting years”): Counting the years one has been in alive in, with that year having started on the agricultural new year and counting a new year to one’s age each New Year’s Day after that, like how it is still practiced in South Korea.

Which is to say, you are born at age 1, counting the first calendar year you lived in, and on the following New Year’s Day, you are age 2, even if you have only been out of the womb a very short time.

Mannenrei (“full year age”): Counting only each full 12-month period since your birth as part of your age, like how it is practiced in the United States of America.

Which is to say, you are born at age 0, and after twelve full months have passed, you are age 1.

Kazoedoshi was practiced through most of the Demon Slayer Corp’s history, but the Meiji government enforced a switch to Mannenrei in 1902. However, most people still practiced Kazoedoshi throughout the Meiji, Taisho, and early Showa periods, and it wasn’t until 1950 that the government reinforced the switch to Mannenrei. This is also when, with the influx of American culture due to the post-war occupation, individual birthdays started to be marked with cake and presents. Until that time, people did not pay much attention to their date of birthday besides, perhaps, a passing notion and maybe a shrine or temple visit and a nice dinner (see more on this post). Many people continued to count their own age in Kazoedoshi until 1950, and although some people liked the “oh, actually I’m younger than I thought I was!” surprise (because Manrenrei really was outside of their usual way of thinking), it made centenarians a little sad that they hadn’t actually reached 100.

Similarly, even though the Meiji government enforced a switch to the Gregorian calendar which put New Years on January 1, many people still celebrated a sliding date according to a lunar-based agricultural calendar, like is still done in China. It was likewise later reinforced.

In modern Japan, New Years on Gregorian January 1 and counting age by the Mannenrei system are the norm and standard, however, some customs (especially but not limited to religious customs) are still celebrated according to the agricultural calendar and Kazoedoshi ages. It’s annoying to keep track of and if I had a 5-yen coin for every time I say the Japanese calendar is a mess, I’d have a lot more yen.

The canon of Kimetsu no Yaiba does not specify any of the following: 1. What year most of KnY takes place (but based on clues from the Hand Demon, we can extrapolate that most of it takes place in 1915) 2. Whether the characters’ given ages are according to Kazoedoshi or Mannenrei, and whether the characters’ given birthdates are according to the Gregorian or agricultural calendars 3. Which method the characters use to count New Years and their own age 4. If there are any differences among the cast and how they count these things (like if the city-slickers were with the times and the country bumpkins were not) 5. Whether or not Amane accounted for Mannenrei or Kazoedoshi when stating that all the marked swordsmen of the Sengoku period died by the age of 25

So what are fanfic writers who are preoccupied with canon accuracy to do? How much should the fans of characters who got the mark fret?

After tying my brain in knots (for years, since I attempted tackling this issue years ago and this is my better post addressing the issue(s)), here are the ways that I approach it.

First: I firmly treat most of the events of canon as firmly taking place in Gregorian 1915, with the Final Selection taking place that winter and Muzan’s defeat coming sometime around the very end of 1915 or start of 1916. (See here for how I calculated all the time frames indicated in canon. You’re welcome.)

Second, we have to treat the official fanbook material in the context of how it was published. I think the ages in the fanbook are given in Mannenrei for the benefit of Heisei/Reiwa period readers, but if you really want to dig into it, the characters might interpret their own age differently based on Kazoedoshi, since it was such a prevalent way to count one’s age even for people born in the Taisho period. For example, Tanjirou’s given canon age is 15 (Mannenrei), but if you ask him in-universe, he might say he is 17 (Kazoedoshi).

Even if we assume many of the characters use the agricultural calendar and Kazoedoshi, there is a chance that characters who actively used western technology—for example, Shinobu, who uses textbooks in English microscopes and thermometers that likely came from Germany—had switched to Mannenrei for the sake of more accuracy on an individual basis. It is also possible that the Corp enacted their own standardization to Mannenrei around the time they standardized uniforms and updated the payment structure. If this is the case, it might have required country bumpkins to rethink the systems they had always been used to. Tanjirou, if asked in-universe once he is a Corp member, would therefore say he is 15 (Mannenrei).

The places the Kazoedoshi/Mannenrei difference has more implications is where characters have stated their own age. For example, Himejima seems to use a Mannenrei system (he states that he became a Hashira at age 19, and now is clearly over the age of 25, with his canonical age being recorded as 27. The numbers check out). This makes me more curious about Muichirou, who has a canonical given age of 14, but says in his own recollection that he was 10 when he was orphaned, and 11 when Yuichirou died.

If Mannenrei: It was four years or more ago that his parents died, and then sometime after he and Yuichirou turned 11 on Gregorian August 8, the demon attacked on a hot summer night. If Kazoedoshi: It was four years or more ago that his parents died. New Years passed that winter and he and Yuichirou turned 11. Many more months passed before the demon attacked on a hot summer night. However, if the Corp enforces his Mannenrei age of 14, but being a country bumpkin with a fuzzy memory, Muichirou still thinks of himself in Kazoedoshi, thereby making him think of himself as 16: It was six years or more ago that his parents died. New Years passed that winter and he and Yuichirou turned 11. Many more months passed before the demon attacked on a hot summer night. He nonetheless became a Hashira relatively recently (according to aligning Kyojuro-related flashback material and the second fanbook making passing mention that he hasn’t been a Hashira that long so his impression of the others isn’t that deep). This implies he spent a very, very, very, very long time incapacitated before he could so much as hold a sword, let alone join the Final Selection.

So what if we consider the opposite, that every given age is in Kazoedoshi? That would mean that when the fanbook and Tanjirou say he is 15, we would translate that back to a Mannenrei age of 13. And, dear readers, do you really want to imagine the entire cast being one or two years younger than their given age? I didn’t think so.

It is already very, very difficult to determine the order of Kimetsu no Yaiba canon both due to incomplete histories and canonical errors introduced by outside material (Ufotable animating Kanao’s May 19 encounter with the Kochou sisters with a winter setting, or Hirano-sensei drawing a spread of all nine Hashira in a 1913 setting) or timeline errors introduced in the original manga likely due to oversight (Gotouge drawing Aoi in uniform shortly after Kanae’s death when Aoi is later stated to have attended the same Final Selection as Muichirou, who at the time Kanae died is likely still living with his parents). That is why I assume the following rule of thumb:

When ages are given in-universe or in supplementary material, assume it is Mannenrei, because this is a shounen manga and not a math textbook. (As another case in point, the heights of the characters would have made most of the characters giants in Taisho society, though they get away with just being a bit on the tall side in Reiwa society. Some things are simplified for the benefit of modern readers.)

Assume the characters do not pay much attention to their age, or their birthday, because this is a shounen manga with a lot of dedication to historical settings and folk traditions (and those folks didn’t pay much attention to their birthdays).

Ergo: If the Corp tells its members “this is your Mannenrei age, use it. When we say 25, we have already done the math from our Sengoku period records and we mean 25 in Mannenrei,” the Corp members probably accept that. However, the Corp members might think of it as having two ages for two different purposes. Given the prevalence of Kazoedoshi, in their heart, they might still think of New Years as the time when you collectively celebrate everyone’s birthday.

Since I’m assuming Mannenrei, I’m also assuming Gregorian birthdates, and assuming everyone’s given canon age to be the age they were during the Infinity Fortress battle that took place roughly around New Year’s Day 1916.

Why am I picking this date? Because this is when the first fanbook was published, and it treated canon as it was occurring at that time in publication, so Akaza, Douma, and Kokushibou were not yet given the “eliminated” status (also, Rengoku was given already called “former” Flame Hashira. Shinobu’s demise had not yet been published in the serialization).

I also say “roughly New Year” because of the agricultural/Gregorian calendar issues. The agricultural New Year’s Day in 1916 would have fallen on Gregorian February 4, but because I’m treating this as the Corp having adopted Mannenrei, I’m also having them treat Gregorian January 1 as New Years. Because Ubuyashiki Nichika and Hinaki were singing a New Years song when Muzan strolled in to visit, that leans credence toward it happening around then. More crucially, cherry blossoms are in full bloom “three months later,” which aligns it best with Gregorian January 1, since late March/early April is when you are most likely to get the full bloom of the most common somei-yoshino cherry trees.

It’s also a convenient date and time in the plot to measure by because all their birthdays would have passed for that year, barely including Nezuko’s. (But if Mugen Ressha took place prior to May, like I have calculated before… does this mean Rengoku would have been part of Team 21? My gosh, I’m crying. For this list, I’m treating it as the age he would have been relative to the others on that date.)

Tl;dr: I’m assuming you can treat every canon age as Mannenrei, and totally ignore Kazoedoshi in the first place (unless if it will help you be crafty in your fic, because there’s still a good case to be made for the characters using it).

Now here is the fanfic reference list I promised, including: 1. Their date of birth according to the Gregorian calendar, calculated based their canon age being their Mannenrei age as of December 31, 1915. 2. Their birth year according to the Japanese period 3. The year they would have turned 25 4. Their Chinese zodiac sign (yes, I know there is argument about whether or not you can say “zodiac” here, but this isn’t the place to start a new topic. Anyway, I’ve also included the elements for each year for the deep nerds who anticipate it) (also I’m really sorry, Inosuke is not born in the Year of the Boar, nor is Iguro born in the Year of the Snake) 5. Their Western zodiac sign (yes, I know there was a recalculation of sun signs some years back, but no, I’m not bothering to take that into account, this post is complicated enough as it is) Important caveat: I'm bad at math.

Kamado Tanjirou: July 14, 1900/Meiji 33 (1925/Taisho 14), Metal Rat, Cancer Kamado Nezuko: December 28, 1901/Meiji 34 (1926/Taisho 15), Metal Ox, Capricorn Agatsuma Zenitsu: September 3, 1899/Meiji 32 (1924/Taisho 13), Earth Boar, Virgo Hashibira Inosuke: April 22 (as was written on his fundoshi along with his name), 1900/Meiji 33 (1925/Taisho 14), Metal Rat, Taurus Tsuyuri Kanao: May 19 (chosen for the day she encountered the Kochou sisters), 1899/Meiji 32 (sometime in 1924??/Taisho 13??), Earth Boar(?), Taurus (???) Shinazugawa Genya: January 7, 1899/Meiji 32  (1924/Taisho 13) – by Gregorian/modern Japanese system he is an Earth Boar, but the agricultural New Year wasn’t until February 10 that year, so he might instead be considered an Earth Dog, Capricorn Tomioka Giyuu: February 8, 1894/Meiji 27 (1919/Taisho 8), Wood Horse, Aquarius Kochou Shinobu: February 24, 1897/Meiji 30 (1822/Taisho 11), Fire Rooster, Pisces Rengoku Kyoujurou: May 10, 1895/Meiji 28 (1920/Taisho 9), Wood Sheep, Taurus Uzui Tengen: October 31, 1892/Meiji 25 (1917/Taisho 6), Water Dragon, Scorpio Kanroji Mitsuri: June 1, 1896/Meiji 29 (1921/Taisho 10), Fire Monkey, Gemini Tokitou Muichirou: August 8, 1901/Meiji 34 (1926/Taisho 15), Metal Ox, Leo Himejima Gyoumei: August 23, 1888/Meiji 21 (1913/Taisho 2), Earth Rat, Virgo Shinazugawa Sanemi: November 29, 1894/Meiji 27 (1919/Taisho 8), Wood Horse, Sagittarius Iguro Obanai: September 15,1894/Meiji 27 (1919/Taisho 8), Wood Horse, Virgo

Afterword:

Suppose Amane didn’t do the math to state the Sengoku swordsmans’ ages in Mannenrei terms? What if their records were spotty, or she took Kazoedoshi and applied it to swordsmen who now use Mannenrei?

Well, in that case, Tanjirou would probably die sometime in 1923, and Giyuu & Sanemi sometime in 1917. Ergo, I think I will stick with Amane having done the math and converted Sengoku ages to Mannennei if she was going to tell them all something so important.

Also, using Kazoedoshi would totally mess with the Kimetsu Gakuen AU.

[peachdies]

The Wind and His Moon (Sanemi x Reader)

A/N: hello! Part 1 of an ongoing story I wanted to write as I procrastinate studying for the Bar. I posted an earlier Drabble of something from later in this series, but I wanted to get the beginning out now.

Sanemi is drawn to the reader from the start.

Massive CW: canon typical violence, graphic violence, gore, child death, and implied sexual assault. Swearing and later smut. MDNI.

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Sanemi was there that day; the day she became part of the Corps.

The day her world had ended.

It had been fucking freezing that morning. The sky had been a muted gray as snow drifted down from the heavens in wet, fat flakes. The snow had started sometime the previous night, already having blanketed the village in its thick blanket.

The carnage, however, was fresh, and so the snow was not white.

It had only been an hour since the watery gray light of dawn had begun to bleed from the east, when his crow had swooped down over his head, tugging frantically at his hair. Rengoku ducked as his own crow collided with his head.

“Northeast! Northeast! Right at the base of the mountain! A horde of demons attacked the village!” They had cried.

Not just one. A horde. A horde of demons had descended upon a decently populated merchant village and had torn it and its people to shreds.

As he and Rengoku had furiously made their way towards the village (having learned that Tengen and Iguro were also en route), the crows screeched as much information as they could about the village and what had prompted the attack.

It had been her.

Or rather, her family.

The head of the village was a merchant known for his imports from the West; his success had meant the village was a success, with many small shops and tea houses lining the streets, always crowded with locals and tourists.

Demons have no use for money or exotic baubles; but Muzan Kibutsuji had a keen interest in obliterating Lunar Breathing from the world. And so he had.

The very same merchant whose business success had bolstered the local economy with his imports was also directly connected to the Clan that had created Lunar Breathing, the powerful, dark twin to Sun breathing. The merchant was the youngest and only living relative of the aging head of the Lunar Clan. The head of the Clan had never taken a wife after he had retired from life as a Pillar for the Corp some fifty years prior and had no heirs to continue on the family legacy. That burden, instead, was placed on the surviving eldest child of the Merchant in the village that the Flame and Wind Pillars now rushed to.

There had been an elder son, the crow panted, but he had passed a few years prior from illness. And so, the next surviving eldest had been tasked with the mission of becoming a demon slayer so that she could continue on the Lunar Breathing tradition. Her.

The crows did not know whether she had been present for the attack. Final Selection had only ended a few days prior, and it was entirely possible that she had either been killed on the Mountain, or was still making her way back to the village, unaware that no one would be there to greet her home.

The village had been eerily silent as Sanemi and Rengoku arrived. Dawn had given way to a dark gray sky, and visibility had not been ideal.

But it hadn’t taken much effort to see the blood and gore that littered the village’s once lively streets.

“What on earth,” Tengen’s voice broke the silence, as he and Iguro approached their comrades from the Eastern gate of the village. Behind them trailed a group of nearly thirty Kakushi. The Hashira silently took in the nightmare around them, unable to find the words for the level of destruction which had befallen the village just hours before.

“Kakushi. Spread out. Look for any survivors. They may be buried or hiding.” Rengoku’s voice was steady but uncharacteristically grave, his face stony and hard.

“Shinuzagawa, let’s make our way to the Lunar Merchant’s estate. We need to send word to the Clan head right away if-“

“You didn’t hear?” Iguro interjected, “the head of the Lunar House is dead.” Though the lower half of his face was covered, the anguish on Iguro’s face was evident. “That’s where Tengen and I just came from. He was ripped to shreds.”

“Fuck,” Sanemi hissed, a toxic mixture of anger, guilt, and despair roiling in his gut. An entire clan — and entire village— had been decimated in a matter of hours, and no one — they — had not been able to protect them.

“Have we word on the Lunar heir?” Rengoku asked quietly. Iguro and Tengen shook their heads. “Then she likely is lost, too.” The Flame Pillar turned back to Sanemi, his face a mirror of his own. “Let’s go.”

The snow and wind had picked up just as the Wind and Flame Pillars approached the Lunar Merchant’s Manor, obscuring some of the wreckage before them. Out of the corner of his eye, Sanemi thought he could see movement from the side of the Estate, but when he turned to examine it, all was still.

Before he could inquire further, Rengoku drew in a sharp breath, snapping Sanemi’s attention back to the Flame Pillar. But Rengoku was not looking at him; rather, he was staring straight ahead into the courtyard of the manor.

“Dear god,” Rengoku whispered.

Sanemi followed his gaze, through what had been once-proud iron gates, though only one side of the gate remained hinged. The other had been ripped from its stone setting, twisted by some unfathomable strength and thrown carelessly to the side. Just past the gate, Sanemi beheld a single, bloodied arm. But his stomach clenched at what lay beyond it.

There was not an inch of ground not covered in blood and bits of gore.

Body parts were strewn about, having clearly been ravaged by multiple demons. Broken glass and wood from the manor littered the ground, and the walls that were left standing had been showered in a thick coat of blood.

Most sickening were the pieces of bodies that were stuck to the sloped roofing of the Manor, as though some demon had plucked fleeing humans from the yard and feasted on them mid-air, allowing a shower of human entrails to paint the estate in gore.

A group of ten Kakushi had arrived at the Manor, gasping and crying out at the horror. Behind him, Sanemi heard one or two begin to retch, unable to stomach the carnage before them.

“Move!” Sanemi barked, his voice scratchy over the lump forming in his throat. “Fucking look for survivors! Anyone!”

Rengoku, a few paces ahead, called up to the crows circling over head. “Do you have a description of the heir?”

“She is around 16, Lord Rengoku!” It cawed back. Not helpful, given that most of the bodies here were unrecognizable.

Rengoku turned back to Sanemi. “I will check inside the house. You!” Rengoku called to a small group of three Kakushi nearby, “come with me!”

Sanemi continued to make his way through the debris and body parts outside, lifting stone and wood in hope that he might find someone — anyone — who had managed to hide.

He came across a large chunk of curved, chiseled stone that had become half-embedded into the soft ground below. Grunting, Sanemi heaved the rock aside, thinking it was perhaps some part of a fountain or statue.

But when he beheld what lay beneath, Sanemi’s stomach lurched. Crushed beneath the weight of the rock was the small body of a child, severed completely at the torso. Her two halves lay next to one another, a ragged seam torn between the two as though she had been pulled apart by force.

Sanemi felt the bile rise in his throat as his gaze fell upon the child’s face, utterly frozen in fear. Though death had snuffed any life that had once illuminated her eyes, it had not concealed the terror she had felt in her last moments, her mouth fixed in a scream.

She could not yet have been ten.

He could not help it. Sanemi turned away from the grisly sight and vomited into the snow, every inch of him trembling.

Sanemi wretched until his stomach was empty, and his throat burned from the acid and strain of his dry-heaving. With great effort, he forced his legs to carry him forward, any hope that they would find the Lunar Heir or any survivor growing dimmer by the second.

Even as Hashira, Sanemi doubted any of them had quite seen wreckage like this.

Sanemi neared the center of the courtyard, and halted before a large, circular stone inset that had been smashed to gravel. A large piece of rounded stone wall was all that remained standing.

Found the fountain, Sanemi thought bitterly. Another sharp, icy gust of wind whipped its way through the courtyard, disturbing the little bit of snow that wasn’t packed down with blood and gore. But the wind had also stirred up something else, something dark and wispy. Had the Wind Pillar’s lilac gaze been focused anywhere but that piece of stone fountain, he would have missed it softly fluttering up before disappearing beneath the lip of the fountain.

Sanemi moved to examine the other side of the broken stone. As he did so, Rengoku reappeared on the outer steps of the of the engawa surrounding the Manor, a frown etched deeply on his face.

“Shinazugawa, something is off. Demons were clearly here, but the house looks like it was ransacked— jewels, silks, valuables, all strewn about. Some things are clearly missing, like-“

“I found her.” Sanemi bit out, gruffly. “The heir.”

It was her hair, Sanemi realized, that had been disturbed by the wind, a few strands having drifted up before settling back down upon the bloodied shoulder of the lifeless girl collapsed before the fountain.

Had there not been a thick spread of red-stained snow and earth beneath her, Sanemi almost would have thought her to be asleep. Her face had been almost devoid of any injury, save for a few fresh scratches along her jaw and temple. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes tickling a soft, and unblemished cheek, as pale and smooth as the Moon. Her expression was almost serene, in stark contrast to the chaos and horror around her.

The rest of her had not been left untouched. Sanemi noted that while she appeared to have maintained her limbs, her back was soaked in blood — no doubt the source of the large stain beneath her, and he saw that some of it still oozing from some sort of wound between her shoulders. Her the wrist on her left arm, stretched out before her, was bent at an unnatural angle, skin mottled from a mixture of the cold and an attempt to bruise before her blood had ceased flowing.

Beneath the torn and bloodied haori around her shoulders, were a pair of pants and a fitted, long sleeved top that had clearly seen better days. They hosted various tears and stains, and were caked in blood and what looked like mud.

The crows had said the Lunar Heir was around 16 years of age, but as Sanemi stared at her lifeless form, all he could think about was how small she looked; how young she had been, when she lost her life to the brutality of demons.

The thought made his blood run cold.

“No doubt this is her,” Rengoku said heavily, nodding at wounds Sanemi had not noticed on her hands. Squinting, Sanemi saw bruises and cuts in various stages of healing dotting her knuckles and fingers. He suspected more lay beneath her soiled clothing, though Sanemi ventured he could guess where they had come from.

“Final selection wounds,” Rengoku confirmed. “She must have just returned from the mountain when the attack began. Perhaps she even stumbled into the middle of it.” Rengoku shook his head. “She didn’t stand a chance.”

It was well known that even if one survived final selection, it was unlikely they would descend the mountain without injury. Seven nights with no access to shelter, food, or water was tough enough, but the added danger of starving demons almost guaranteed that one would not emerge unscathed.

She must have been injured, enough to slow her return home by a few days. Even if she had the skill to hold her own against the swarm of demons that had attacked her village, whatever injuries she sustained during final selection had likely sealed her fate.

Sanemi swore, looking over the last of the Lunar Breathing Clan, feeling the acrid bite of guilt and pity seep into his veins. The poor girl had survived the controlled horrors of final selection only to meet an even more grisly end at her home — where she was supposed to be safe. It was cruel, but so was a world in which demons lived, unchecked.

“She will get a Slayer’s burial, in the Master’s garden.” Rengoku declared firmly, raising his voice so the nearby Kakushi would hear. “She passed final selection; she’s one of us.”

“No,” Sanemi said, voice hoarse. “Bury her here with her family.” Sanemi’s eyes returned to the girl’s face, an inexplicable bitterness coating his tongue. “She fought to return to them; let her be with them.”

Sanemi lifted his eyes back up to the crimson gaze of the Fire Pillar. Rengoku stared at him for a long moment, before nodding, turning back to the Kakushi. “You heard Shinazugawa. Let’s give them a proper burial.”

The Kakushi began to move, thorough and efficient even among the horror around them. Sanemi readied himself to assist, moving to stand when his eyes snagged on the girl’s torso, his gaze drawn to the sizeable swath of smooth skin that was exposed to the icy bite of the snow. Sanemi’s frown deepened as he took note of the odd way that her clothes sat around her exposed abdomen. The girl was half laid on her side, but the front of her shirt had been bunched and twisted together, like it had been gathered and shoved out of the way. Sanemi’s eyes lowered a fraction to the front of the girl’s pants. At first glance, they seemed to be fitted around her hips normally, but that was precisely what caught his eye. The waistband on the girl’s pants slotted across her lower hips, not higher up on her waist as it should have been. One side was noticeably lower than the other, almost as though they had nearly been tugged off.

Almost as if-

Sanemi felt the hairs on his body rise. Looking over the girl once more, he noticed the suspicious lack of claw marks and bite marks to her body. The way that she seemed intact, compared to the bodies of her friends and family scattered in pieces around her.

The way that her blood seemed even more fresh than what caked the snow around them, as though she had been attacked right before they had arrived to the manor.

“Rengoku,” Sanemi said sharply. The Flame Hashira was back over to where the girl laid in an instant, though he maintained a respectful distance.

Sanemi jutted his chin toward the girl’s body and Rengoku followed his gaze. Sanemi could see the gears turning in his comrade’s head, as he too took note of the odd skew of her clothes, the lack of demon-like injuries despite her having stumbled onto a veritable feast on her family.

“How many demons do you know that try to-,” Sanemi ground his teeth at the word that came to mind, his blood beginning to boil and rage. “Have their way with victims before eating them?”

“Not many,” Rengoku conceded darkly, a similar anger simmering in his eyes. “Though not unheard of. It is… rare. Most can’t resist their hunger.” Rengoku fell silent, thinking for a moment.

“Didn’t you say the house had looked ransacked?” Sanemi turned his gaze away from the girl and towards the broken doors of the manor.

Rengoku’s eyes widened. “Yes. As if someone came in and grabbed anything they could.”

Sanemi nodded. “Bandits. Probably heard about the attack and got excited to loot. Found a body that wasn’t completely torn apart by demons and tried to take advantage.” Rather than bile, Sanemi felt anger, hot and lethal, threatening to spill out of him. He loathed men who sought to abuse women, but a girl who had just been attacked by a demon? There was no mercy he could give them.

Rengoku exhaled sharply through his nose, a weariness clouding over his features. “Though I don’t suppose we can really know for sure. There isn’t enough left of anyone else to compare.”

Rengoku clasped his hands in front of himself, and closed his eyes. Sanemi heard him mutter a small prayer for the girl’s soul, one that he had heard from Himejima.

“Whatever happened to her, she’s gone now. Let us ensure she can rest.” And with that, Rengoku turned to head back to where the Kakushi had begun digging graves for the deceased.

Sanemi watched the spot where the girl’s body had lain long after a pair of Kakushi had gently removed her to ready her for her burial. Sanemi watched with hollow eyes and a hollow heart as the Kakushi — female — tenderly brushed the girl’s hair from her face and straightened her haori. They crossed her arms over her middle and lifted her gingerly, carrying her over to join her family’s remains.

Hers was the last of the graves to be prepared. The Kakushi were just beginning to pack the mud and snow over her body, when one of them collapsed from exhaustion both physical and mental. The group had resolved to take a small water break before finishing, and neither Shinazugawa not Rengoku had objected.

After all, digging eighteen graves was no easy task.

Both Hashira had assisted, and their combined strength and stamina had streamlined the task considerably. While Kakushi rested, Rengoku had gone to the front gates to update Tengen and Iguro, who had been dealing with the wreckage within the village. Reinforcements of both Kakushi and lower rank slayers had been called in to assist with the clean up and burial.

In total, over sixty-three graves had been dug.

And not a single survivor had been found.

It was a heavy day — perhaps one of the darkest in the Corp’s history, and its crowning poisoned jewel was the eradication of one of the oldest breathing styles.

The news that there was one less defense against the demons was not a welcome one.

Sanemi had gone to the other side of the courtyard, away from the voices and graves and rising stink of death. Out of sight from any prying eyes, he found a tree and shoved his fist through it, clear to the other side. Pieces of bark and wood flew and splinters bit into the skin around his knuckles and palm. Sanemi could not find it in himself to care; he sought only to break through the silent numbness threatening to consume him.

Because he had taken refuge on the other side of the courtyard, away from the new gravesite, Sanemi did not see the hand and arm that shoved through the pile of earth resting atop the last grave. He did not see clawed fingers sinking into the mud and snow, desperately seeking purchase as the body attached to the arm hauled itself — herself — from beneath the earth, the remnants of her grave skittering to the side as she heaved her body out.

Sanemi did hear the terrified shriek of the Kakushi, and immediately drew his sword. In the distance, he could see Rengoku racing towards them, hand on the hilt of his blade.

Sanemi came into view of the gravesite right as the girl spilled out from the hole in the ground, using her bare hands to pull herself forward as the rest of her body remained limp.

Sanemi Shinazugawa was not a pious man; in fact, he frequently ignored Himejima’s prayers. If there were any gods out there, then Sanemi wanted nothing to do with them. They chose to let chaos and devastation run rampant. They chose to let demons exists.

But hell had apparently frozen over, and Sanemi found himself offering a prayer for the girl’s forgiveness as he prepared to behead her demonized form. He hoped she would understand; after all, she had joined the Corps intending to rid of the world of demons.

It was what he hoped one his his fellow Hashira would do for him, if he ever found himself in that situation.

As Sanemi cocked his blade, ready to strike the crawling demon from behind, Rengoku cried out.

“Shinazugawa, NO!”

Sanemi stuttered, his arm in mid-swing as he neared the demon’s neck. A flash of violet and white shot towards him, and a piercing shriek of metal tore through the sky as Tengen’s blade parried Sanemi’s, the force of the clash knocking him out of the air. A frustrated grunt tore from his chest, and with great effort, Sanemi twisted mid-air to avoid falling flat on his ass, managing just in time to swiftly land on the balls of his feet.

“What the fuck,-“ Sanemi had begun to growl, but his voice faltered at the look on the Flame Hashira’s face as he gawked at the girl sprawled on the ground.

In that moment, Sanemi’s sharp ears picked up on the weak heart beating rapidly and unevenly below him. At the same time, he caught a whiff of fresh blood, rising from the dark stain on the girl’s back. No doubt the product of a re-opened wound.

Ears ringing, Sanemi stalked around to where Rengoku and Tengen both stared unabashedly at the sight below them. Only when he was face to face with her did Sanemi finally understand what had caused Rengoku to desperately move to stop Sanemi sword from hitting its mark.

The three Hashira were not looking at a newly turned and bloodthirsty demon, but at a sweaty, pale, and trembling girl. The girl whose death they had feared doomed the Lunar Pillar House had just clawed her way out from her grave with nothing but her hands and sheer will.

She had not been dead, after all.

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes lifted to glare up at the person standing directly before her. Though she clearly strained to raise her head more than half an inch, her silver eyes met Sanemi’s lilac ones, and goosebumps erupted all over his skin as he beheld what lay within them.

Defiance. Pain. Rage.

So, so much rage, relentless and raw.

And so, so human.

She reached another trembling hand out before her to further drag herself away from her tomb. A thin sheen of sweat coated her pallid skin, and fresh blood was beginning to stain the snow beneath her.

She was panting, clearly fighting every urge in her body to give in, to let death beckon her back into its sweet embrace.

“I-I’m not d-dead!” She grit out in between shallow, uneven breaths, her jaw clenched so tightly that Sanemi wondered how her teeth didn’t crumble.

The three Hashira remained dumb and silent for half a heartbeat before-

“WHAT ARE YOU ALL STANDING THERE FOR? HELP HER!” Tengen bellowed, startling birds in nearby trees into flight.

The Kakushi sputtered into action, several of them moving to assist the girl, to help her when she exploded.

“DON’T TOUCH ME.” She screamed, eyes screwed shut and head bowed defensively over her hands as she clenched her fists into the earth. When she finally opened her eyes again, her gaze clashed with Sanemi, and his heart tightened as he recognized the emotion threatening to overcome her.

Fear.

Whatever this girl had experienced over the last few hours had overtaken all other senses. She had no logic, no ability to rationalize that she was among other humans, among comrades. Instead, all that drove her now was the primal instinct to survive.

And to her, they were another threat.

The girl continued to try and crawl away from them, but her movements became even more shaky, more uneven as the blood loss combined with her physical exhaustion. Rengoku caught both Sanemi’s and Tengen’s eyes, waiting to confirm their next move. All nodded, and Sanemi, having the advantage of being in the girl’s blind spot, struck the pressure point on the girl’s neck with his his hand.

She collapsed against the ground, unconscious and still. Gingerly, Sanemi lifted her into his arms, mindful of the open wound on her back, and of her head.

Once she was secured, the Hashira began their frantic sprint towards the Butterfly Mansion.

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[moosekateer13]

But Daddy I Love Him!

Jared Padalecki x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Friends to Enemies. Enemies to Lovers, Alcohol, Mention of Self Neglect

Summary: Masks are meant to hide identities but sometimes they can have unintended consequences. Y/N and Jared are former best friends turned enemies.  Both come from high-society families that have invitations to certain events. They end up at a masquerade in England, leading to something unexpected.

Inspired by Taylor Swift's But Daddy I Love Him!

I forget how the West was won. I forget if this was ever fun

I just learned these people only raise you to cage you. Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best. Clutching their pearls, sighing "What a mess" I just learned these people try and save you

... cause they hate you

"Seven billion people, and I got put in a room with you." I said.

“Well, I don't want to be in a room with you either, you are such an itchy sweater.” Jared replied.

“Well, you are a cold bowl of soup.” I retorted.

Holy drags me away before I end up clawing his eyes out.

“Careful Y/N your family has a reputation to uphold. You and Jared are having a shouting match and could end up online. You know what damage it could do to your lawyer career, too.” Holy said.

“Yeah, you are right. Thank you for reining me in.” I replied.

“That's what friends are for. We look out for each other.” Holy said.

“We are all dolled up in these gowns, so let's forget about him for tonight,” I said as I put on my masquerade mask. 

My parents usually attend the annual Lunar Luminescence Ball. This time they gave their invitations to me. They said I spend way too many hours in the office and need to get out more. 

Karma Corp personal injury and law. I opened the firm with the money from a trust I got when I was 25. After, a knee injury that ruined my dance career when I was 16. Even if with my parents' lawyers the person who hit me got away. From that point on, I vowed to help people who suffered life-altering injuries like mine. It leaves hardly any time to travel for vacations, which I don't mind. My parents see it differently, though. They felt like I needed a break so here I am.

I take a flute of champagne from the server's tray. I downed the glass pretty quickly. Then grab another.

A guy in a white tuxedo and maroon mask holds his hand out to me. 

I find it ironic that his mask matches my dress.

May I have this dance miss?

 “You may” I replied

We effortlessly glided across the dancefloor.  We are perfectly in sync. 

I miss dancing. I haven't done this in ages.

So graceful like a swan. You must do this professionally.

“ At one point it was my path but life had other plans.” I replied.

“That's a shame”

Whoever this masked man is, he makes me feel at ease and peace. 

I've never felt like this with anyone I've been with.

Princess, may I take you to the room upstairs? I'd like to take this further.

“You may Prince Charming,” I replied.

He carefully swoops me up off the floor and carries me upstairs.

We methodically remove each other's clothes. 

Raw, passionate, euphoric. I never felt this good. No names are exchanged but why would we need to it's only one night.

Princess, those sounds from your lips are like music to my ears.

“Charming, you know how to play my instrument well.” I replied

He sends me to a crescendo over and over. I do the same with him.

I wake up to the sun hitting my face. I don't remember when I fell asleep. My companion from last night is sleeping on his stomach.

I quickly get dressed and leave the room.

Weeks later….

Back in Y/N's New York Y/N's apartment 

A loud pounding on my door. Pulls away from my work.

I yank the door open.

“Jared, what the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

“I figured out that I spent the night with you at the ball,” Jared replies.

I feel the colour drain from my face.

“What? That is impossible. The man I spent the night with was kind, and caring to me. Everything you are not to me.” I retorted.

Jared waves a mask in front of me. I recognize it as the one I wore that night.

“You left this on the floor of the room we shared. I saw pictures online from the event with you and Holy. That's how I figured it out.” Jared said.

I take a step back not wanting him to be so close.

Jared kicks my door with his foot before closing the gap between us.

“You should go, Jared. I shouldn't have let you in.” I replied.

“Can't leave Y/N I've got a taste of you and now I'm addicted. I want more of you.” Jared said.

At just his words I feel myself growing slick and I'm sweating.

Jared smirks at my reaction. I let out a squeal as he picked me up.

He pulls off my flimsy nightgown, followed by my undergarments.

I reciprocate and pull off his clothes. Pulling off his jeans took some extra effort because of the bulge formed beneath them.

Jared pushes me onto the bed.

He fills me with one go. 

  “Damn princess I'll never tire of the way this feels being with you. The way you squeeze me is something else.” Jared said.

I feel myself grow slicker at his words.

“Same prince I'll never tire of the way you fill me and make my body sing.” replied

Hours later and thoroughly marked. We finally pull apart and collapse from exhaustion.

His cum is leaking out of me and onto the bedsheets. I'm going to have to clean that up later.

“What are we going to do now?” I asked.

“I don’t know Y/N but we will figure it out. I can't remember why we went from being close to hating each other.” Jared replied.

“I don't know either,” I said

Jared kissed the top of my head before we slowly drifted off to sleep.

3 months later…

Tart Moment Café

I'm getting glares from Sarah and Hannah Occiden. 

They are so loud I can hear them from where I'm sitting.

“What a mess. She lets Jared use her whenever he sees fit without a commitment.” Hannah said.

“Don't worry, he will tire of her soon.” Sarah replied.

These girls dressed in their Sunday best. They saved me once from bullies, but they only saved me to hate me. It's jealousy, that's for sure. Hannah wanted to be Jared's at one time. He wouldn't give her the time of day.

They look over and realize I hear them. They lower their voices and Hannah goes back to twirling her bleached blond hair around her finger.

Holy sets down the cinnamon roll and tea she got for me.

“The Occiden twins being catty again?” Holy asked.

“Yup. I'm a lawyer so I'm used to dealing with shitty people.” I replied.

I take a sip of my tea before eating my cinnamon roll.

“Well, let's get you away from these bitches as fast as possible. Jared is supposed to be coming over right? You don't want to keep him waiting.” Holy said.

“Yeah, you are right on both accounts,” I replied.

I quickly finish my food which earns a chuckle from Holy. I say goodbye to her before I head home.

Jared is there sitting by the door and greets me with a kiss.

“Mmm, you taste like cinnamon. Eating those cinnamon rolls you love so much from Tart Moment again?” Jared said.

“Yup and let's not waste another moment. You've had a long week at the hospital. I think the paramedic needs some taking care of.” I replied as tug him towards my room.

Jared unbuttons my dress, but we get interrupted.

We hear someone letting themselves in. Jared goes to investigate it.

Jared, what are you doing here? Where's my daughter? You shouldn't be here. All those competitions between you two for grades and awards did a number on her. She focused on getting them instead of self-care at one point.

I ran in to stop the argument.

“Stop, Daddy, things have changed. I love him and I'm carrying his baby.” I said.

My dad's eyes go wide in response to what I just said.

He goes to the couch to sit down.

“Is that true Y/N or did you just say that to stop me from talking?” my dad asked.

“It's all true.” I replied. 

Jared takes my hand in his.

“Sir, I promise I'll take care of her and our baby. After Y/N is my lady.” Jared interjected.

“If you are so sure Jared, and it's Y/D/N. I know when you are both ready. You will make things official. I'd like you and Y/N to have dinner with her mom and me tonight. I know it's short notice but I won't be able to keep the secret of Y/N's pregnancy from my wife.” my dad said.

“We'll be there Dad.” I replied.

He says nothing else and takes his leave. 

 Jared stands in front of me and runs his hands through my Y/H/C. He knows the gesture calms me.

“Well, that was a less chaotic result than I expected. I guess we should go back to my place after we finish up here. So I'm ready for dinner.” Jared said.

“No need. I ordered some clothes for you last week and put them in the walk-in closet in the main bedroom. Now let's get back to what we were doing.” I replied as I tugged him back to the bedroom.

[whencyclopedia]

Lewis and Clark Expedition

The Lewis and Clark Expedition (1804-1806) was a US military expedition of exploration, led by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, whose goal was to explore the newly acquired western lands that comprised the Louisiana Purchase and to reach the Pacific Ocean. The journey, which covered about 8,000 miles (13,000 km), was a major step toward the westward expansion of the United States.

Lewis, Clark, and their men – known as the Corps of Discovery – embarked on their journey on 14 May 1804. They moved up the Missouri River, crossed over the Rocky Mountains, and paddled down the Columbia River to the Pacific Ocean. After spending the winter of 1805-06 in present-day Oregon, the expedition began its return journey, arriving back in St. Louis on 23 September 1806, two years and four months after having first set out. The expedition succeeded in exploring the newly acquired western lands and giving the United States a better claim to the Oregon Country. They made around 140 detailed maps, marking out significant mountain ranges, rivers, and plains. The expedition also identified 178 types of plants and 122 animal species and subspecies that had previously been unknown to Euro-Americans.

Additionally, the Corps of Discovery encountered over two dozen Native American nations, some of whom had never encountered White people before. Most of the nations proved hospitable, some of them providing invaluable aid without which the expedition likely never would have succeeded. Sacagawea, a teenage Shoshone woman who had joined the expedition with her husband, acted as an interpreter between the explorers and native peoples they encountered, with her presence helping to assure the Native Americans that the expedition was not a threat. Lewis and Clark learned much about the languages and customs of the Native Americans they met, bringing many artifacts back with them.

Origins & Preparation

President Thomas Jefferson had long been fascinated with the American West. Though he would never travel further west than the Blue Ridge Mountains himself, he had always visualized this region as a land of vast untamed wilderness, where liberty and republicanism could thrive in spite of the corruption in the urbanizing East. Like many Americans before and after him, Jefferson believed the United States was destined to expand westward, to forge a so-called 'empire of liberty' that would one day encompass the entirety of the continent. As the American Revolutionary War was won in 1783, Jefferson was already trying to persuade famed war hero George Rogers Clark to lead a privately funded expedition into the West. Though Clark declined, Jefferson never gave up on his dream of a westward expedition.

After his election to the presidency in 1801, Jefferson finally had the opportunity to realize this ambition. By 1802, he had begun to plan the venture and appointed his private secretary, Meriwether Lewis, to lead it. Lewis was a 28-year-old Virginian, who had served in the militia during the suppression of the 1794 Whiskey Rebellion. He was just as enthusiastic as Jefferson about the West, and although Lewis lacked much formal education, Jefferson was confident in his abilities, writing that "Capt. Lewis is brave, prudent, habituated to the woods & familiar with Indian manners & customs" (Wood, 377). To better prepare the young man for leadership, Jefferson sent Lewis off to Philadelphia to study astronomy, medicine, cartography, ethnology, botany, lunar navigation, and other relevant subjects under the tutelage of some of the most renowned scientific experts in the country. While in Pennsylvania, Lewis purchased a Newfoundland dog named Seaman, who would remain his constant companion for the expedition.

Meriwether Lewis

Charles Willson Peale (Public Domain)

Initially, Jefferson presented the expedition as a merely scientific endeavor, to avoid arousing the suspicions of France, Spain, and Britain, who controlled the western lands that the president hoped to explore. This would change after the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, when France sold the entirety of the Louisiana Territory – some 828,000 square miles (2,145,000 km²) – to the United States. Now, Jefferson could be more open about his exploratory intentions, instructing Lewis to detail and map out as much of the newly acquired western lands as possible, and establish a viable route of travel across the continent. Still, the president hoped the expedition could continue across the Louisiana Territory to the Pacific Northwest, thereby establishing an American presence in the region before the European nations could settle it in earnest. Jefferson also hoped that they could find the fabled Northwest Passage, that was supposed to cut across the continent and link to the Pacific. The expedition still had scientific and anthropological purposes, of course, but the goal of laying claim to the entire northwest came first and foremost.

In the months leading up to the expedition, Lewis decided that he needed a co-commander, someone more experienced with military leadership. In July 1803, he invited William Clark, a 33-year-old army veteran and the younger brother of George Rogers Clark, to share the command. The US secretary of war denied Lewis' request to elevate Clark to the rank of captain and instead commissioned him as a lieutenant, since the concept of joint leadership violated the army's ideas of chain of command. Lewis nevertheless treated Clark as his equal during the expedition, and always referred to him as 'captain' to keep his lower rank a secret from the men. This proved to be a prudent decision. As historian Gordon Wood describes their joint command:

Lewis and Clark seem never to have quarreled and only rarely disagreed with one another. They complimented each other beautifully. Clark had been a company commander and had explored the Mississippi. He knew how to handle enlisted men and was a better surveyor, map-maker, and waterman than Lewis. Where Lewis was apt to be moody and sometimes wander off alone, Clark was always tough, steady, and reliable. Best of all, the two captains were writers: they wrote continually, describing in often vivid and sharp prose much of what they encountered – plants, animals, people, weather, geography, and unusual experiences.

(378)

So, with Clark onboard, Lewis went to the federal arsenal at Harper's Ferry, Virginia, to procure weapons while Clark went to Kentucky to enlist men for the expedition, which was now referred to as the Corps of Discovery. By December, the Corps consisted of 45 men, including officers, enlisted men, civilian volunteers, and York, an enslaved African American man owned by Clark. The Corps established Camp Dubois at the mouth of the Missouri River, 18 miles (29 km) away from St. Louis, where they spent the winter gathering supplies and training.

William Clark

Charles Willson Peale (Public Domain)

Continue reading...

[thesecondlight-luna]

Maybe a new Au?

you know I have had an AU in my head for a long time and it mostly just a spin on my first and current one but if something a little different ended up happening I don’t know if I will do much with it and I’m not going to go into to much detail as it would spoil a few things in my normal au but here it goes

so I don’t have a definite name but I’ve been thinking about calling it the Lunar Business au

Basically in this au after Vic gets out of the void and starts rocket corp eventually so does my Oc Luna and then she finds Vic due to a lot of the inventions and such had been things they had talked about making in the void, because well, what do you do when your trapped in a void with little to do? you make designs for weapons and stuff. Because of this Luna already has a lot of knowledge on things the company does and because Vic trust them, as they are “like” family, she ends up being his assistant and also works in making things to help the company. Vic is also quite protective of her due to both of their past but I definitely doesn’t stop her form getting into trouble. She also has plans to find the rest of her family and friends from before being put in the void and the ones that she made when she was able to leave the void. Like normal she’s a good fighter and is into many of the arts. She is also pretty close to the workers of Rocket corp and this includes the mercenary’s. This au is really meant to be a more up beat one than normal with a lot of silly shenanigans but still has some not so cheerful things as well because it still shares a lot in common with the my normal au but with a spin on it.

In all honesty I really like this au but didn’t really know whether or not to share it but I am now. If anyone wants to ask about it please do I would love to talk about it some when I can. I might even eventually make an ask blog for it because I think it would be really neat for this au if anyone is interested.

[potatoyiart]

Lunar Defense Corps 'training'

bribed by @Amuys6

[peachdues]

THE WIND AND MOON

PROLOGUE ♢ SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA X LUNAR PILLAR!READER

A/N: oh boy! The fic that started it all is back in progress (with a slight title change).

This will be a slightly canon-divergent AU, wherein Lunar Breathing is inherited and there's actually some power involved with the breathing techniques as a whole (as opposed to the styles just being nice sword movements with illustrations lmao).

Reader will be Sanemi's tsuguko for a time, and she will eventually become a Hashira. This is their story.

This will be a multi-part fic. Be warned: the Reader is a very morally gray character (but we love her for it).

@ghost-1-y thank you for reminding me of my love for this fic.

Massive CW: 18+, canon-typical violence, graphic violence, gore, child death, and implied S/A. Smut to come. MDNI.

Sanemi was there that day; the day she became part of the Corps.

The day her world ended.

It was fucking freezing that morning. The sky was a muted gray as snow drifted down from the heavens in wet, fat clumps. It had started sometime the previous night, and by the morning, the village had been covered in its thick blanket.

The carnage, however, was fresh, and so the snow was not white.

Only an hour had passed since the watery gray light of dawn bled into the sky from the east, when Sanemi’s crow swooped low over his head, tugging frantically at his hair. Beside him, the Flame Pillar ducked as his own crow joined the panic.

“Northeast! Northeast! Right at the base of the mountain! A horde of demons attacked the village!” They cried in tandem.

Not just one. A horde. A swarm of demons had descended upon a moderately populated merchant village, tearing it and its people to shreds. 

Both the Wind and Flame Pillars furiously made their way northeast, one of the crows bleating that Tengen and Iguro were also en route. As they ran, the birds alternated in snaring what little information they had of the village, and what had prompted the attack. 

It was because of her; or rather, her family.

The head of the village was a merchant known for his imports from the West. His success meant the village prospered as a whole, and it was popular for its numerous small shops and tea houses which lined the streets, always crowded with locals and travelers alike. 

Demons had no use for money or exotic baubles; but Muzan Kibutsuji had a keen interest in obliterating Lunar Breathing from the world.

So he had. 

The very merchant whose business prowess bolstered the local economy with his imports was directly descended from the clan which had created Lunar Breathing, Breath of Sun’s powerful, dark twin. The merchant was the youngest and only living relative of the aging head of the Lunar Clan, a retired Hashira who’d never taken a wife. But unlike the other breathing techniques, Lunar Breathing was an inherited talent, and without an heir, there would be no one to continue the great family’s legacy. 

That burden was thus placed on the surviving eldest child of the merchant whose village both Sanemi and his comrade now rushed to.

There had been an elder son, Rengoku’s crow revealed, but he had died a few years prior from illness. And so, the merchant’s middle child was made the new heir, tasked with the mission of becoming a demon slayer so that she could continue on the Lunar Breathing tradition. 

Her.

There was no word as to whether she had been present for the attack. Final Selection ended only a few days prior, and it was entirely possible that she either had been killed on the Mountain, or that she was still making her way back to the village, unaware that no one would be there to welcome her home.

There was certainly no greeting for the Pillars when they finally arrived at the mountain’s base. The village was eerily silent as Sanemi and Rengoku crossed over the small bridge abutting its ravine; still. Dawn had given way to a dark gray sky, and visibility was not ideal.

Not that it would’ve taken much effort to see the blood and gore that littered the village’s once lively streets.

“What on earth?” The Sound Pillar’s familiar voice broke the silence, as he and Iguro approached their comrades from the Eastern gate of the village. Behind them, trailed a group of nearly thirty Kakushi. 

The Hashira slowly took in the nightmare around them, stunned into horrified silence as they beheld the level of destruction which had befallen the village just hours before.

“Kakushi. Spread out. Look for any survivors. They may be buried or hiding.” Rengoku’s voice was steady but uncharacteristically grave, his face stony and hard. “Shinuzagawa, we should make our way to the Lunar Merchant’s estate. We need to send word to the Clan head right away if-“

“You didn’t hear?” Iguro interjected. “The head of the Lunar House is dead.” Though the lower half of his face was covered, the anguish on the Serpent Pillar’s face was evident. “That’s where Uzui and I just came from. He was ripped to shreds.”

“Fuck,” Sanemi hissed, a toxic mixture of anger, guilt  roiling in his gut. An entire clan — and entire village— had been decimated in a matter of hours, and no one had been able to protect them.

They hadn’t been able to protect them. 

“Have we any word on the Lunar heir?” Rengoku asked quietly. Iguro and Uzui shook their heads. “Then she likely is lost, too.” The Flame Pillar turned back to Sanemi, his face a mirror of his own. “Let’s go.”

The snow and wind picked up just as the two swordsmen approached the Lunar Merchant’s manor, obscuring part of the wreckage before them. From the corner of his eye, Sanemi swore he spied movement out of the back corner of the estate, but when he turned to examine it, all was still.

Beflre he could inquire further, a sharp gasp to his right snapped his attention back to the Pillar at his side. But Rengoku was not looking at him; rather, he was staring directly ahead, right to the courtyard of the manor.

“Heavens above,” the Flame Hashira whispered. 

Sanemi followed his gaze through what had been once-proud iron gates, though only half of it remained hinged. The other had been ripped from its stone setting, twisted by some unfathomable strength and thrown carelessly to the side. Just past the gate, Sanemi beheld a single, bloodied arm. 

His heart dropped sickeningly to his stomach at what lay beyond it; for there was not an inch of ground that hadn’t been saturated with blood and bits of gore.  

Chunks of flesh and torn limbs bearing harsh jagged teeth marks were strewn across the snowy garden. Broken glass and wood from the manor littered the ground, and the few walls that remained standing had been showered in a thick coat of crimson.

But the carnage did not end with the massacre on the courtyard. Sanemi forced himself to look upon the half-severed bodies of those who’d been stuck to the sloped roofing  of the Manor, as though some demon had plucked fleeing humans from the yard to feast on them mid-air, adorning the handsome estate with a shower of bloodied entrails. 

He did not notice the small group of Kakushi that had arrived at the Manor until he heard their gasps and cries of horror. Behind him, Sanemi heard one or two begin to retch, unable to stomach the carnage before them.

“Move!” Sanemi barked, his voice scratchy over the lump forming in his throat. “Fucking look for survivors! Anyone!”

A few paces ahead, Rengoku called up to the crows checking above. “Do you have a description of the heir?”

“She is around eighteen, Lord Rengoku!”

Not helpful, given that most of the bodies around them were unrecognizable. But it was something. 

Rengoku turned back to Sanemi. “I will check inside the house. You!” Rengoku called to a small group of three Kakushi nearby, “With me!”

Sanemi continued to make his way through the debris and body parts in the courtyard, lifting stone and wood in hope that he might find someone — anyone — who had managed to hide. Yet that hope dimmed with every stone he turned, as he found only the scraps of the people who’d once called the Manor home.

He came across a large chunk of curved, chiseled stone that was half-embedded into the soft ground below. Grunting, Sanemi heaved the rock aside, thinking it was perhaps part of some fountain or statue.

His stomach lurched as the stone toppled heavily over. For there, crushed beneath the weight of the rock, was the small body of a child, severed completely at the torso. Her two halves lay next to one another, a ragged seam torn between the two as though pulled apart by force.

Sanemi felt the bile rise in his throat as his gaze fell upon the child’s face, utterly frozen in fear. Though death had snuffed out the light of life from her eyes, it had done nothing to conceal the terror she’d felt in her last moments, the girl’s mouth stretched wide, fixed in her final scream. 

She was no older than ten. 

He could not help it. Sanemi turned away from the grisly sight and vomited into the snow, every inch of him trembling. He wretched until his stomach was empty and his throat burned from the acid and strain of his dry-heaving. 

With great effort, he managed to straighten, his breath short and choppy. But he forced his legs to carry him forward, though any hope that they would find the Lunar Heir or any survivor grew dimmer by the second.

Even as Hashira, Sanemi knew he’d never seen wreckage quite like this.

He neared the center of the courtyard, and halted before a large, circular stone inset that had been smashed to gravel, leaving only a single, large piece of rounded stone wall standing.

Found the fountain, Sanemi thought bitterly. Another sharp, icy gust of wind whipped its way through the courtyard, disturbing the little bit of snow that wasn’t packed down with the carnage. But the wind also stirred up something else, something dark and wispy. 

Had the Wind Pillar’s lilac gaze been focused anywhere but that piece of stone, he would have missed it softly fluttering up before disappearing beneath the lip of the fountain. 

Lips mashed into a tight line, Sanemi moved to examine the other side of the broken stone. As he did so, Rengoku reappeared on the outer steps of the engawa surrounding the Manor, a frown etched deeply on his face.

“Shinazugawa, something is off. The demons’ presence is obvious, but the house looks like it was ransacked— jewels, silks, valuables, all strewn about. Some of it seems to be missing —“

“I found her.” Sanemi bit out, gruffly. “The heir.”

It was her hair, Sanemi realized. Her hair was what had been disturbed by the wind, a few strands having drifted up before settling back down upon the bloodied shoulder of the lifeless girl collapsed before the fountain.

Had there not been a thick spread of red-stained snow and earth beneath her, Sanemi almost would have thought she’d been sleeping. Her face was almost devoid of any injury, save for a few fresh scratches along her jaw and temple. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes tickling a soft, and unblemished cheek, as pale and smooth as the Moon. And there was a serenity to her expression, a calmness that posed a stark contrast to the chaos and horror which surrounded her.

The rest of her had not been left untouched. Sanemi noted that while she appeared to have maintained her limbs, her back was soaked in blood, no doubt the source of the large stain beneath her. Grimly, he noted that her blood still oozed from an unknown wound between her shoulders. Her left arm was stretched out before her, wrist bent at an unnatural angle, its skin mottled from a mixture of the cold and an attempt to bruise before her blood had ceased flowing in her veins. 

Beneath the torn and bloodied haori around her shoulders, were a pair of pants and a fitted, long sleeved top which had clearly seen better days. Her clothes hosted various tears and stains, and she was so caked in blood and mud that it was difficult to further discern her body’s condition.

The crows had said the Lunar Heir was around eighteen years of age, but as Sanemi stared at her lifeless form, all he could think about was how small she looked; how young she’d been, when she lost her life to the brutality of demons.

The thought made his blood run cold.

“No doubt this is her,” Rengoku said heavily, nodding at wounds Sanemi had not noticed on her hands. Squinting, the Wind Pillar spied bruises and cuts in various stages of healing dotting her knuckles and fingers. 

He suspected more lay beneath her soiled clothing.

“Final selection wounds,” the Flame Pillar confirmed. “She must have just returned from the mountain when the attack began. Perhaps she even stumbled into the middle of it.” Rengoku shook his head. “She didn’t stand a chance.”

It was well known that even if one survived final selection, they would likely descend the mountain with some degree of injury. Seven nights without access to shelter, food, or water was difficult enough, but the added danger of starving demons almost guaranteed that one would not emerge unscathed.

She must have been wounded, and severely enough to slow her return home by a few days. Even if she had the skill to hold her own against the swarm of demons that had attacked her village, whatever injuries she sustained during final selection likely sealed her fate.

Sanemi swore, looking over the last of the Lunar Breathing Clan, the acrid bite of guilt and pity seeping hotly into his veins. The poor girl survived the controlled horrors of final selection only to meet an even more grisly end at her home — where she was supposed to be safe. 

Cruelty; utter cruelty, and a damn tragedy.

“She will get a Slayer’s burial, in the Master’s garden.” Rengoku declared firmly, raising his voice so the nearby Kakushi would hear. “She passed Final Selection; she’s one of us.”

“No,” Sanemi said, voice hoarse. “Bury her here with her family.” His eyes returned to the girl’s face, an inexplicable bitterness coating his tongue. “She fought to return to them; let her be with them.”

He lifted his eyes back up to the ochre gaze of the Flame Pillar. Rengoku stared at him for a long moment, before nodding, turning back to the Kakushi. “You heard Shinazugawa. Let’s give them all a proper burial.”

The Kakushi began to move, thorough and efficient even among the horror around them. Sanemi readied himself to assist, moving to stand when his eyes snagged on the girl’s torso, his gaze drawn to the sizeable swath of smooth skin that was exposed to the icy bite of the snow. His frown deepened as he took note of the odd way that her clothes sat around her exposed abdomen. The girl was half laid on her side, but the front of her shirt was bunched and twisted together, like it had been gathered and shoved out of the way. 

His eyes lowered a fraction to the front of the girl’s pants. At first glance, all seemend normal, her trousers fitted at her hips, but that was precisely what caught his eye. The waistband on the girl’s pants slotted across her lower hips, not higher up on her waist as it should have been. One side was noticeably lower than the other, almost as though they’d nearly been tugged off.

Almost as if-

Sanemi felt the hairs on his body rise. Looking over the girl once more, he noted the suspicious lack of claw marks and bite marks to her body; the way that she seemed intact, compared to the bodies of her friends and family scattered in pieces around her.

And her blood — her blood appeared more fresh than what was caked in the snow around them, as though she’d been attacked right before the Corps arrived at the manor’s gate.

“Rengoku,” Sanemi said sharply, and the Flame Hashira was back at his side in an instant. Sanemi jutted his chin toward the girl’s body and Rengoku followed his gaze. He could see the gears turning in his comrade’s head, the owlish Slayer steadily taking note of the odd skew of her clothes and her lack of demon-like injuries.

“How many demons do you know that try to-,” Sanemi ground his teeth at the word that came to mind, his blood boiling hot. “Have their way with victims before eating them?”

“Not many,” Rengoku conceded darkly, a similar anger simmering in his eyes. “Though not unheard of. It is… rare. Most can’t resist their hunger.” 

He fell silent for a moment, contemplating.

“Didn’t you say the house had looked ransacked?” Sanemi turned his gaze away from the girl and towards the broken doors of the manor.

Rengoku’s eyes widened. “Yes. As if someone came in and grabbed anything they could.”

Sanemi nodded. “Bandits. Probably heard about the attack and got excited to loot. Found a body that wasn’t completely torn apart by demons and tried to take advantage.” 

Rather than bile, Sanemi felt anger, hot and lethal, threatening to spill out of him. 

If he found them, they would receive no mercy, human or not.

Rengoku exhaled sharply through his nose, a weariness clouding over his features.  “Though I don’t suppose we can really know for sure. There isn’t enough left of anyone else to compare.”

Rengoku clasped his hands in front of himself, and he closed his eyes, offering a small prayer for the girl. “Whatever happened to her, she’s gone now. Let us ensure she can rest.” 

He turned to head back to where the Kakushi had begun digging graves for the deceased, leaving Sanemi alone once more.

He’d stared the spot where the girl’s body had lain long after a pair of Kakushi gently removed her to ready her for her burial, watching with hollow eyes and a hollow heart as the one of them — a female — tenderly brushed the girl’s hair from her face and straightened her haori. They’d crossed her arms over her middle and gingerly carried her to join the remains of her family.

Hers was the last of the graves to be prepared. The Kakushi were just beginning to pack the mud and snow over her body when one of them collapsed from exhaustion. The group resolved to take a small water break before finishing, and neither Shinazugawa nor Rengoku had the desire to object. 

After all, digging nearly twenty graves was no easy task.

Both Hashira assisted with the effort, and their combined strength and stamina had streamlined the task considerably. While the Kakushi rested, Rengoku departed for the front gates to update Uzui and Iguro, who’d been dealing with the wreckage within the village, assisted by reinforcements of both Kakushi and lower rank slayers called in to assist with the clean up and burial.

In total, over two hundred graves were dug, and not a single survivor had been found.

It was a heavy day — perhaps one of the darkest in the Corp’s history, and its crowning poisoned jewel was the eradication of one of the oldest breathing styles.The news that there was one less defense against the demons was not a welcome one. 

Sanemi had gone to the other side of the courtyard, away from the voices and graves and rising stink of death. Out of sight from any prying eyes, he found a tree and shoved his fist through it, clear to the other side. Splinters of bark exploded around his arm and bit into the skin around his knuckles and palm, but Sanemi could not find it in himself to care; he sought only to break through the silent numbness threatening to consume him.

Because he’d taken refuge on the other side of the courtyard, away from the new burial site, Sanemi did not see the hand and arm that shoved through the pile of earth resting atop the last grave. He did not see clawed fingers sinking into the mud and snow, desperately seeking purchase as the body attached to the arm hauled itself — herself — from beneath the earth, the remnants of her grave skittering to the side as she heaved her body out.

Sanemi did hear the terrified shriek of the Kakushi, and immediately he drew his sword. In the distance, he could hear Rengoku roaring orders at the terrified attendants, though he could not discern the specifics. 

The Wind Pillar came into view of the gravesite right as the girl spilled out from the hole in the ground, using her bare hands to pull herself forward as the rest of her body remained limp.

Sanemi Shinazugawa was not a pious man; in fact, he considered himself rather skeptical of the idea of faith. If there were truly any gods out there, then Sanemi wanted nothing to do with them. They chose to let chaos and devastation run rampant. They chose to let demons exists.

But hell apparently had frozen over, and Sanemi found himself offering a prayer for the girl’s forgiveness as he prepared to behead her demonized form. He hoped she would understand; after all, she’d  joined the Corps intending to rid of the world of the very thing she’d now become.

It was what he hoped one his his fellow Hashira would do for him, if he ever found himself in that situation.

As the Swordsman cocked his blade, ready to strike the crawling demon from behind, Rengoku cried out. “Shinazugawa, NO!”

Sanemi stuttered,  his arm in mid-swing as he neared the demon’s neck. A flash of violet and white shot towards him, and a piercing shriek of metal tore through the sky as Uzui’s blade parried his, the force of the clash knocking him out of the air. A frustrated grunt echoed from his chest, and with great effort, Sanemi twisted mid-air to avoid falling flat on his ass, just barely managing to land swiftly on the balls of his feet.

“What the fuck,-“ His vicious snarl faltered at the expression on the Flame Hashira’s face, frozen and gaping. In that moment, Sanemi’s ears picked up on the faint thumping of a heart beating rapidly and unevenly below him. His nose suddenly burned with the strong scent of iron. The stench of blood so metallic that it could not have been anything but fresh. 

Ears ringing, the Wind Pillar shoved past his stupefied comrades. Only when he was face to face with her did Sanemi finally understand why the Flame Pillar had been so desperate to stop his sword from hitting its mark. 

The three Hashira were not looking at a newly turned and bloodthirsty demon. Instead, dragging her way across the bloodstained, muddied snow, was the Lunar Heir, deathly pale and trembling.. 

The girl whose death they feared doomed the Lunar Breathing House had clawed her way out from her grave with nothing but her hands and sheer will. She’d not been dead, after all.

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes lifted to glare up at the one standing directly before her. Though she strained to raise her head more than half an inch, her silver eyes met Sanemi’s lavender gaze, and a violent chill shot up his spine as he beheld what simmered within them.

Defiance. 

Pain. 

Rage. So, so much rage, relentless and raw. And so very human.

She reached another quivering hand out before her to further drag herself away from her tomb. A thin sheen of sweat coated her pallid skin, and fresh crimson began to seep into the snow beneath her. 

Sanemi’s eyes flit to the stain on her back, where fresh blood oozed from the deep wound.

She was panting, clearly fighting every urge in her body to give in, to let death beckon her back into its sweet embrace.

“I-I’m not dead!” She grit out in between shallow, uneven breaths, her jaw clenched tightly enough to crack her teeth. 

The three Hashira remained dumb and silent for half a heartbeat before-

“What are you all standing there for?” Uzui bellowed. “Help her!” 

The Kakushi sputtered into action, several of them crouching down around the girl to aid her. 

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, eyes screwed shut and her head bowed defensively over her hands as she clenched her fists into the earth. The Kakushi fell back, looking anxiously to the Pillars to await further orders, but even they were at a loss. After several, harsh breaths through her nose, the Lunar Heir turned her face up, her gaze clashing with Sanemi’s once more.

He recognized the fear in her eyes, visceral and deep. Whatever she’d experienced over the last few hours had overtaken all her senses. She had no logic, no ability to rationalize that she was among other humans, among comrades. 

Instead, all that drove her now was the primal instinct to survive.

And to her, they were another threat.

She continued to try and crawl away from them, but her movements grew even shakier, more unstable, as the blood loss combined with her physical exhaustion. Rengoku caught his comrades’ eyes, waiting to confirm their next move. 

A quick shared nod sent Sanemi stepping quietly into her blindspot. Swiftly, the Wind Pillar struck the pressure point on the back of the woman’s neck with his hand, and she crumpled against the ground, unconscious and still. Gingerly, Sanemi lifted her over his shoulder, mindful of the open wound on her back. 

Once she was secured, the Hashira and their Kakushi began their frantic sprint toward the Butterfly Mansion.

COMMENTS/LIKES/REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[lonestarflight]

One of the Ascent Stage of the Apollo Lunar Module under construction at the Grumman Aircraft Engineering Corp. facility at Bethpage, Long Island, New York.

Date: May 16, 1968

NASA ID: S68-36267

[sanemistar]

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 destiny — sanemi shinazugawa

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: sanemi x fem!reader ᡣ𐭩 genre: fluff, soulmate au ᡣ𐭩 wc: 1.1k+ ᡣ𐭩 warnings: not proofread oops ᡣ𐭩 note: this is pt.2 of fate (from sanemi’s pov) which was requested and is long due my bad 😭 anyways pls enjoy !!

sanemi has never believed in things like having a soulmate, he has always thought they only existed in fairytales. but he’d be a liar if he said that the thought has never crossed his mind every once in a while whenever he looks at his wrist and sees those mysterious initials that read 'y/n'. which he's had no clue about whom they belong to. truth be told, he has thought that something like that was simply too good to be true, he thinks he doesn't deserve one. he's filled with curiosity just thinking about meeting his ‘destined’ person for the very first time, if he gets the chance to, that is. he's wondered who are they and how do they look like, he's been simply eager to know more.

then one day, the news of a new hashira’s arrival reaches his ears. it's been already the talk of the corps, everyone was so curious about the new hashira, sanemi included of course. he's looking forward to seeing who's this person joining them, and most importantly, he's been looking for someone new to spar with for quite some time now, so this adds even more to his eagerness.

he heads to where hashira meetings are usually held, with feelings of anticipation and curiosity overtaking him. he arrives just as the meeting is about to start, he sits down before kagaya enters the room. shortly after, a soft knock on the door is heard, signaling the arrival of that mysterious hashira that everyone's been talking about nonstop.

"h-hello everyone, my name is y/n and i'm the new lunar hashira, looking forward to working with you all." he's instantly met with a woman that happens to be around his age, her voice is so shaky due to nervousness as she formally introduces herself in front of the hashiras. to be honest, he doesn't understand how someone like her has been appointed as a hashira by none other than kagaya himself. he usually trusts kagaya's decisions without even thinking, but he can't say the same about this one.

sanemi is unaware of the fact that his eyes have been practically glued on her this whole time as he's staring so intensely at her, a little too intensely. for some reason, there's something about her that's forcing him to look at her as if she's the only person in the room. this feeling leaves him quite irritated.

there's a heavy layer of awkward silence, before obanai decides to break it as he starts speaking.

"oyakata-sama, allow me to say that i don't think she has what it takes to be a hashira." he politely announces his disagreement. the rest don't speak, everyone except sanemi nod in agreement with what obanai said. he decides to wait and think further before he says any opinions on her.

"oyakata-sama, i have a suggestion." sanemi's mouth moves on its own, surprising everyone, including himself. now everyone shifts their gaze onto sanemi, anticipating what he's going to say next.

"how about letting her show us her abilities in a duel? and i volunteer to be her opponent." he can see shock expressed all over her face, he's not aware of the amount of pressure this puts on her, he just has an urge to spar with her.

he notices a sudden look of determination, despite being scared and nervous only moments ago. as if she has something to prove to everyone, and she's not backing off until she makes everyone recognizes her. he likes the change of attitude and finds it amusing.

"fair enough, sanemi." kagaya announces his approval of sanemi's suggestion, surprising the rest of the hashiras.

"what about you, y/n?" he then turns around and asks the woman softly.

"i don't mind, i'll do my best to show everyone that i'm determined to become a hashira and defeat muzan." the courage in her voice as her demeanor changes to a more serious one rails sanemi up even more, he can't wait to see what kind of person she is on the battlefield.

both of them are given wooden swords, facing each other while waiting for the beginning signal. the moment the fight begins, sanemi attacks in full force right away, not wasting a single second.

for two full minutes, he continues to launch a series of fierce and fast attacks at her, not allowing her to attack him for once. the only thing she can do is defense.

"oi oi, tired already?" sanemi smirks, obviously looking down on her. and in that moment, he notices an enraged look in her eyes. looks like he successfully provoked her. he watches her as she gathers her strength and get up, refusing to give up easily.

as the fight continues, he can tell that her moves are getting better, she's catching up to him and successfully dodges his attacks. she even manages to land some attacks on him, which fires him up even more. it's the first time in a while since he's had this much fun sparring against someone, it's exactly what he's been looking for. everyone else is watching the two of you in admiration.

just when the fight begins to reach its peak and sanemi is about to deal the final blow, y/n sees an opening and uses one of her strongest lunar breathing techniques. as a result, both sanemi and his wooden sword fall on the ground, announcing her miraculous victory.

the rest of the hashiras stand there in utter and complete silence, not only y/n managed to keep up with the second strongest hashira, who's known for his insane stamina and endurance ability, but she beat him.

for the first time in so long sanemi experiences the feeling of defeat, and it's very unpleasant for him to say the least. he's never seen this coming, he's thought the fight would end in his obvious victory. he hates to admit his defeat, but she was stronger than him. she won fair and square, and she managed to prove herself worthy of being one of the hashiras.

he slowly approaches her collapsed figure and extends an arm out, helping her get up from the ground.

"don't get ahead of yourself just because you beat me today, i won't go easy on you next time, got it?" he huffs and walks away, not even waiting to hear her response.

sanemi then checks his wrist and he smirks when he finds out that the initials that were previously there disappeared. so this woman is his 'destined' soulmate, he's finally brought together with the one person who's meant for him. crazy how destiny works, he has never expected to meet his soulmate like this, but sanemi doesn't mind it. because to him, having someone as amazing and strong as y/n as his soulmate is more than enough, and more than what he deserves. he can't wait to see what fate has for them next.

tagging: @browneyedgirl22 because you asked me to tag you in part 2 <33