#her gender is strictly vengeance

[galamalion]

⚔︎. 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 (𝐢)

summary. you join mizu on her quest for vengeance, discovering more about yourselves on the way towards her ultimate goal.

⤷ contents. mizu x fem!reader, blue eye samurai spoilers, violence, mention of suicide, themes of racism + misogyny, slight slow burn, slight enemies to lovers // wc. 10.6k

⤷ notes. i don't have name for this series yet, i just really wanted to write something for mizu lol idk if i want it to be reverse harem? probably won't see any taigen or akemi x reader, or x mizu for that matter (mizu only has eyes for you <3) anyways i hope you enjoy this story and what's to come!

chapters. [i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v] [vi] [vii] [viii]

Pure, untouched snow crunched beneath your worn-out sandals as you trudged behind Mizu, choosing each step carefully to avoid shoving your foot deep inside a snowbank and ruining your shoes further than they already had.

The weather hadn’t been great, all things considered. The wind was a tad too harsh, nipping bitterly at your cheeks and nose, letting the falling snow melt into your kimono and dampen the fabric slightly.

Despite your light-hearted complaints, Mizu insisted that you keep walking. Mizu was nothing if not determined to reach your destination in a day, not wanting to waste any more time than you already had. And so you trekked across the white frosted forest, following the hidden path that was completely buried in snow.

“You really think the man you’re looking for will be here?” you asked, side-stepping a thick layer of snow.

Mizu hummed in response.

“And if he’s not here?” you pried.

“Then I’ll find out where he went from here,” she answered curtly, not bothering to turn around.

You sighed, pulling your hanten tight over your chest. In addition to shelter, you’d also like to stop by a town, a busy one, if you were able. Clothes weren’t a necessity—you could walk a couple more miles in your sandals, and your kimono was at least still fairly new. But on account of Mizu’s proclivities, you were in desperate need of more bandages. You still had a few bundles of herbs and plants you picked before the snow fell, but you were fearful those would eventually rot or decay inside your inro.

“Just try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,” you sighed, “or at the very least, your bloodshed.”

“I make no promises,” she stated plainly.

You just rolled your eyes.

After a few more minutes of walking, your thin trail ended, leaving you in the midst of a ramshackled town. Mizu continued walking through it, not sparing a glance to anything except for the building that lay straight ahead. A noodle shop, or so the sign said.

You walked ahead of Mizu to get a closer look at the dilapidated building, dodging more snowbanks to reach your goal. As you got closer to the shop, you noticed Mizu had stopped in her tracks, standing still behind you. 

Spinning around to see why she paused, you immediately saw three children, the leader holding a small rock and preparing to throw it at Mizu. She turned her head slightly, not quite looking at the children, only just enough for them to catch a glimpse of her unamused expression.

The children quickly ran back to their homes, dropping their stones as they fled. Mizu resumed her stride, stepping up beside you in front of the store.

You lightly poked Mizu’s shoulder, “Are we here strictly on business, or can I get something to eat?”

Mizu grumbled, fishing some coins out as she slid the door open and stepped through the loose fabric that hung above the entryway.

The two of you made your way to a table in the corner, Mizu obscuring her face with her hat and you keeping your head down. As a woman should, or at least in public. Mizu wanted to keep a fairly low profile, and so you were willing to make at least some sacrifices on her behalf. The slight jabs and insults you received on account of your gender, after all, were nothing compared to the ones Mizu received. 

“Welcome, sir and madam,” a portly young man said, sitting down beside your table, “I'll bring you some tea. It's not good tea, but it's hot, and you're frozen, and I'll bring you a rag because when I'm frozen, my snot drips. Then a nice big soba. We make the best soba. Honest. Bad tea, great soba. Okay?”

Mizu gave a polite nod in response, while you just stared bewildered at the talkative man. You managed to muster out a ‘thank you’, doing your best to put a kind smile on your face.

The man smiled back and rose to his feet, marching jovially back to the kitchen to prepare your tea and noodles. He was stopped at the next table, however, as the scrawny man sitting there jutted his leg out to stop him.

“Stumpy!” the harsh voice crowed, “more noodles, fast.”

The lanky man sneered as the waiter-cook obliged, returning to his station in the back. His upper lip curled as he turned to the two young women next to him.

“I paid your fathers good money for you,” he snidely remarked. “The brоthеls will pay me even more once you get some curve on, you skinny country nothings. Eat!”

Your nose wrinkled at his loathsome behavior. It was the one thing you were never able to stomach, the gross maltreatment of women, like meat being prepared for eating. Mizu’s perceived appearance as a man earned your envy, knowing that she wouldn’t be viewed in the same way you were. But you knew that you both weren’t accepted in the circles you wanted to join, and that just because Mizu looked like a man, didn’t mean she would be accepted with open arms.

The bald young man returned with two bowls of noodles and tea, setting it down gingerly before you. Mizu, suspicious as ever, sniffed before diving into her meal, while you greedily downed the bowl entirely, placing the empty container down before Mizu could finish her last bite.

“It’s good, right?” he grinned, swiping your dirty bowl away from you while you took your cup of tea.

He left your table momentarily to deliver the tray of noodles to the old man, standing before him with the fresh steaming bowls.

“Finally!” he barked, snagging the face of the poor girl sitting closest to him. “Eat up, girls. Eat it all!”

The fearful girl swatted his hand away, causing it to crash and spill one of the bowls of hot noodles across the lap of the old man, who angrily stood up and slapped the poor man.

“What are you, a dog?” he growled, turning to point a finger at the cook who had just run out. “You let a dog serve food!”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, keeping your head down to avoid exploding. If only by his boisterous attitude, you assumed this was the man Mizu had been looking for. All the men Mizu searched for were similar, fitting into two categories: loud and overconfident. There was often overlap between the two.

“F-Forgive my son,” the man laughed nervously, bowing to the furious customer. “Can’t go a day without breaking dishes.”

The cook turned to his son, anger in his voice, “Ringo, clean him!”

“I’m sorry,” Ringo said, attempting to walk towards the man, only to slip on the noodles he had just dropped, causing the tray to drop the other bowl of noodles onto the man’s lap.

You wished you were anywhere else right now.

“Agh!” the old man cried out, reaching for his chest. You were unable to see his movements as his back was towards you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ringo repeated, desperately trying to salvage the situation by picking up the mess below.

The old man’s hand retracted from his chest, pointing straight towards Ringo. The gasps around the room told you what you couldn’t see. And as the room swiftly grew quiet, you could barely make out the weapon grasped in his hand when he shrugged.

“Ah…I should put down this lame dog,” he growled, bringing the gun back up to point at Ringo.

Ringo stared unflinchingly, as if confused by the man’s words, “I’m not a dog,” he said confidently, yet with a twinge of fear present in his voice.

“Did you just bark?” he chuckled darkly. “Do you know who I am? I am Hachiman the Flesh-Trader, and no one messes with Hachi!”

Ah. So it was him. You turned to take in Mizu’s reaction, only to see her staring straight down at the table beneath you. And, in a moment that made you wish you were deaf, Mizu pushed the table forwards, causing a shrill squeak to echo throughout the room as it scraped against the floor., earning the attention of Hachiman.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you hissed under your breath, praying that Mizu wouldn’t be dumb enough to goad the man with a gun. She’d threatened and bribed men for information in the past, some merchants, and some fellow samurai. They could be dangerous, and they often were, refusing to give up the necessary information without a fight. But they hand knives, swords. Not guns.

Mizu stood from the table and slowly strode over to Hachiman, keeping her eyes trained on his gun as she moved to stand in front of him.

“Impressive,” she hummed, taking small steps towards him, “I’ve never seen a gun like it.”

You grabbed the tea kettle and poured some into your cup, taking a deep breath in an attempt to cool your nerves. Mizu had gotten into worse situations before—none involving a gun, of course, but equally as dangerous. Those samurai that refused to give up, those merchants who feared for their lives, they all died like dogs beneath Mizu’s blade. 

‘He’ll be no different,’ you thought, bringing the cup up to your lips. Looking down at your hands, you realized they were shaking ever so slightly. 

She placed her hand on her chin, tilting her head to gaze down the barrel of the gun, “Front loading, not a Japanese pistol,” she remarked, grazing her finger across the weapon. “A European design, isn’t it?”

Remaining silent, you sent a sharp glare towards Mizu, who had not yet disobeyed your one request of her, but was getting real damn close to it. Her eyes flickered towards yours in acknowledgement, although whether it was her trying to tell you that she understood your concerns or her telling you that she had it under control was a mystery. You just assumed the latter.

The other customers fled the building, leaving you as the only patron still inside, although you weren’t exactly eager to stay, not wanting to get caught up in the ensuing firefight. Your eyes darted to Mizu’s hand, noticing her middle and index finger were pointing straight down, which was Mizu’s signal for you to leave.

You rose from the table and quickly walked outside the store, not bothering to look back at the standoff behind you. Mizu could handle herself, especially against a crotchety old pervert like that man. All that was left for you to do was wait, and hope that your patient didn’t get herself killed.

It was spring—not early, though. All the snow had melted and it was beginning to pour into summer, the sun becoming hotter with each passing day. You were out in the woods, a couple paces away from your small town, but not far enough away as to have to worry about bandits. 

You were on a mission to fetch medicinal supplies, both for your own collection as well as for your fellow villagers who had paid you for your efforts. Mixing and making salves and herbal blends was your specialty, and it had earned you a pretty penny. 

On account of being an orphan and lacking family to support, you had to become resourceful. Your former village lacked a structured orphanage, leaving you to wander the underdeveloped streets as a scavenging rat. It was hardly a life, but you made do. Learning that people would pity a poor, starving girl was the greatest weapon in your arsenal, though you knew it could easily lead to your downfall.

Joining a wealthy household would be effortless, but it would come with dreadful and unpredictable consequences. A daughter would only be accepted if there were a son, one you would have to marry once you came of age. Or at least, that was your thought process. Perhaps a family could, would take you in and expect nothing of you. But you were a talentless orphan, one who could give nothing even if nothing was needed of you. 

And so, you left your village, moving in the dead of night along the dirt path in search of a new home.

Your travels brought you to a new, ever so slightly smaller village, and yet there seemed to be more people, more faces. At first you simply watched, trying to get a feel before sinking your teeth into anyone here.

And your patience was rewarded, finding your long-awaited prize.

You’d discovered an old man, a doctor, judging by his customers and conversation you’d picked up. One night you knocked on his door, begging on your knees for a place to stay and promising everything you could give. And so, under the guise of being his doting attendant, you began keeping an eye on his carefully guarded work. Over the years you began assembling your own guide, making improvements upon his recipes and even crafting a few of your own. Once he died—natural causes, of course—you lacked any competition. 

You weren’t allowed to practice medicine, at least not directly, but you were easily able to play into the role of a concerned woman with old recipes generously shared by your master when you were ill. 

And nobody was any wiser, praising you for your teas and ointments and whatever the hell else you managed to conjure up. You could heal sore throats, rejuvenate women’s skin for the pleasure of their suitors and husbands. Who wouldn’t buy from you? 

In the end, you were alive, happily unmarried, and had a stable income. It was the dream of so many young girls, and you were living it.

You’d already collected enough to meet your quota, but you were after your own batch of herbs. It was important to start prepping medicine early, as once the first frost struck, everything would wither and die. But as you discovered a rich cluster beneath a tree, you heard an anguished groan nearby, causing you to whip around.

The sliver of an arm poked out from behind the tree, clearly not wide enough to hide whoever was sitting before it. You took a deep breath and carefully circled around to the other side of the tree, keeping a fair amount of distance between as you looked upon the unknown being.

Lying beneath the tree was a man, one you hadn’t recognized. Most, if not all, of the men in your current village were rather hairy and brutish, whereas the stranger was lithe and clean, a pair of shaded glasses covering their eyes. But what really caught your attention were his obvious wounds, clearly injured from some sort of weapon, though you’d need a closer look to really assess any kind of damage.

“You’re bleeding,” you noted, marching up to the injured man sitting before you.

If he was startled by your presence, he didn’t show it, but perhaps his injuries were making him delirious. His side had a small cut, light bleeding and probably didn’t require stitches. The shoulder, however, was in far worse shape, blood seeping out through his shirt and down to his forearm. You couldn’t know how bad it was until you looked at it, but the man seemed apprehensive.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, pressing a thin piece of torn fabric to his shoulder.

Your head nudged towards the sword at his waist, “You’re a samurai, not a doctor. Let me see it.”

“You’re not a doctor either,” he said, pressing his back further against the tree, and  away from you.

“Well, I’m the closest thing you’re going to get,” you glared at the stubborn man. “Unless you want to let the old bastards in my town drain your blood.”

The stranger glared back, clenching his fists and chewing his cheek in thought. It was a bluff on your end, knowing that not a soul in your village had any kind of medical knowledge. You could feel in your heart that he was a stubborn soul, and he’d certainly bleed out if you tried to bring him back to your town. Or maybe he’d just be chased out, on account of his strange and mysterious getup. 

“Please,” you implored, “I can help.”

He grunted, looking down at the wound on his shoulder, moving a shaking hand up to it before turning his eyes back to you.

“Fine,” he mumbled, gritting his teeth as he pressed on his shoulder. “Just make it quick.”

A deafening shot rang through your ears, bringing you out of your thoughts, but the strident cry that followed it eased your on-edge nerves. It was a garish noise, one that Mizu would never make, especially not in combat. She was more of a grunter.

It was fairly quiet until Mizu came out, another scream echoing behind her as she slammed the door closed.

“Successful?” you asked, trying to gauge her reaction at what had transpired.

“A name,” she responded, walking ahead.

You followed her, a pout forming on your lips, “It’s always another name.”

“This one has a direct connection.”

“So did the last one.”

Mizu didn’t respond, only continuing her determined walk out of the village.

The wind hadn’t let up at all, still blowing snow across your face and freezing the tips of your fingers. But gradually, as you followed Mizu on the path, the wind began to die down, only the snow falling from the sky was left to land on your skin, leaving a tingling feeling as they melted away.

And cold weather aside, the environment that surrounded you was beautiful, from the cliffside view of the water below to the towering bamboo that stood proudly, if only slightly disturbed by the snow and frost that covered it. You took time to marvel at these sights, while Mizu continued to keep her head down, head covered by her conical hat, keeping the snow away without any effort on her part. Perhaps there was more you envied about her than you thought.

Your peaceful journey was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps, though they were still some ways away. Both you and Mizu had turned around, seeing no one in the immediate distance behind you, either. She put a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you behind her as she drew her sword, walking on the path of which you came.

“Stay here,” she whispered, prowling towards the sound.

You shrugged and grasped the knife that was tucked inside of your kimono, watching as Mizu left you alone, though she wasn’t gone for long. Returning with her sword sheathed, Mizu continued walking right past out, resuming the journey.

“Did you find anyone?’ you asked, ever so slightly curious.

“Yes.”

“...Did you kill them?”

“No.”

The lack of explanation in her single word responses clued you in to stop asking questions.

Slowly the bamboo grotto you found yourself in transitioned into small trees, crowded around one another in entangled root systems and branches above. The trees grew sparser and sparser with each step on the path, though they were growing larger, thicker. Soon the trees towered far, far above you, holding up heavy batches of snow with their needles, branches bowing down under the weight of the thick white blanket that coated them.

After another ten-or-so minutes of walking, the two of you encounter a small, decaying temple. It was in better condition than any of the buildings in the village you had come from, standing out among the lonesome path and soaring trees. but it seemed to grab Mizu’s attention, as she began walking up the broad stone steps.

You stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at her, “Would you like some privacy, Mizu?”

Mizu stopped amidst the stairs, looking down at you below with an expression of pleasant surprise.

“That…would be nice,” she took a few more steps up to the entrance, turning back to you one last time. “Thanks.”

Brushing some snow off your self proclaimed seat, you leaned against one of the short stone pillars, doing your best to find comfort against the rough and uncomfortable material. Mizu shouldn’t be too long, unless she was planning on spending the rest of the day praying for her vengeance. In the past you’d believe that, but you were more in tune with her personality now. 

You’d been traveling without a lead for so long, passing through rain, wind, and snow for days without rest. Name after name after name perpetuated the eternal journey you found yourself on, leading you on a wild, unending chase to find a single man. This was the guidance she needed, a direct path to the man in question, creating a new opening for her to walk upon in search of her goal.

Mizu had finally found the spark to reignite her self-righteous fury, and she was going to let it burn for as long as possible.

“You need to be still, moving can lead to the wound opening,” you hissed, tying off the last bandage.

“It’s my arm that’s injured, not my legs. I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, samurai,” you reached for his hand, “you can’t just—”

Before you could get close to even touching his palm, your wrist was caught tightly within his hand, squeezed uncomfortable as he stared deep into your eyes, past them, into your soul.

His free hand, the injured one, shakily went to his tinted glasses, tilting them down to the tip of his nose, giving you the first real glimpse of what laid behind them.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but no noise would exit your parted lips.

They were blue—not like the sky, they were brighter than that. And yet there was still so much darkness within. He had distinct eyelids, different from everyone you had ever known or seen. And there was beauty in that, but it was a shameful beauty. A beauty that screamed his difference to the world, proclaiming for all to see that he was not like the rest. That a white man had aided in his creation. But to blame a creation for the faults of its creator was a cruel decision, wasn't it?

And yet you could not conceal your shock at his mere existence.

His straightened mouth briefly twitched into a frown before returning back to his cool facade, releasing your wrist and walking away, a hand clutching his shoulder.

“That wound is bound to get infected,” you called out, stomping after the samurai. “And those stitches in your side will need to be removed, not to mention those bandages will need to be changed out with the amount of blood already seeping through them.”

He continued his gait, not bothering to look at you, “I can take care of it.”

“You need me,” you insisted, pacing right behind him. “If you wanted that wound fixed up, you wouldn’t be lying against a tree like you were.”

“I need no maid nor nurse.”

“I have money.”

Although he tried to keep it contained, you could see the way his shoulders tensed up at your words. Or perhaps his injuries were worse than even he thought.

“Let me care for your wounds; I’ll pay for any medicine and accommodations until you’re fixed up. Then we can part ways.”

“Have you nothing better to do?” he pried, a mixture of annoyance and genuine curiosity within his question.

“The only people that require my services here,” you gestured behind you, “are old people knocking on death's door, and women who are constantly pregnant. You are the freshest breath of air I have ever had in my years of living in this shitty village.”

You took a deep inhale before continuing, “Like I said, once we’re done and you’re fully healed, I’ll leave you be. You get a free, temporary doctor, and I get a nice story to tell my future children.”

He stared through you once again, piercing eyes contemplating your offer. From your perspective, at least, it seemed flawless. Doctors were expensive, and as a samurai he clearly lacked any stable income. A free, mobile doctor guaranteed him at least some financial security, although having a companion could potentially lead to unfortunate situations if he were to land himself in danger. Which begged the question: did he have reservations about your safety, or his?

“Fine,” he sighed, head falling in resignation. “But I make the rules, and you’ll stay out of my way.”

He moved to sit on a nearby rock, carefully moving the lower half of his shirt out of the way, giving you access to the injury on his side.

“I can take care of my shoulder later,” he muttered.

You shrugged, moving to inspect and apply your salves.

“Does the samurai have a name?” you questions, dabbing an ointment into his cut.

He growled as it entered his wound, “Mizu,” he hissed, clawing at the boulder beneath him.

“I’m ____,” you said, carefully wrapping bandages around his side. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, master Mizu.”

“...Don’t call me that.”

“Let’s go,” Mizu announced as she hiked down the stairs, joining you at the bottom and continuing the path before you.

“Any specific destination in mind?” you probed, leaning forward to see Mizu’s expression.

“Kyoto,” she answered, face unchanging. Truly an envy to statues everywhere.

“You said you got a name from that old geezer, so what are we looking for? A place, a person, a thing…”

“I’m looking for a man.”

“So, nothing new,” you sighed, tucking your icy hands inside your hanten.

The walk wasn’t much longer, the constant crunching of snow beneath your feet filling the void of silence between you two, though its calming effect soon dissipated, leaving you annoyed with each step until you reached Kyoto.

Soon enough you were standing in line before the towering gate, guards standing in front and above the entrance. You’d never been to any kind of central hub before you met Mizu, only knowing less than a hundred people, and that’s after combing from the two villages you’ve lived in. One thing you did know, however, was that women weren’t allowed to enter without an escort. Women in your village would complain about it whenever they had to go out and sell their goods and products, though you never had to leave for your business. Perks of being a monopolist, you supposed.

“Don’t speak,” Mizu leaned into your ear, voice a hush whisper. “Stay behind me, and stay close.”

“Not my first city entering with you, Mizu,” you shot back, folding your hands in your sleeves. 

“Next!” the front guard called out, beckoning the next person forward.

A woman and her child stepped forward, showing their travel pass to the guard who sneered at it.

“This travel pass is invalid,” he declared.

You peeked over Mizu’s shoulder to get a better view at the situation taking place.

“My husband is dead. I made the baskets, he only sold them,” the woman begged, “please, or I can’t feed my children.”

The guard rolled his eyes, “You know the rules. Women can’t travel without a chaperone.”

‘Barbaric,’ you thought, sinking your nails into your forearms. Stupid rules written by stupid men. How lucky you were to have a chaperone on this trip.

“Next!” he shouted, not giving the sobbing woman another glance.

Mizu stepped forward and you followed closely behind, keeping your head down to conceal your rage.

“Travel pass,” he said boredly, his eyes briefly flickering to your form before looking back at Mizu.

Reaching into her clothing, Mizu withdrew a couple of coins, flashing the glimmering pieces to the guard who eagerly swiped them up, looking at the next people in line.

You shared a quick look with the daughter who was comforting her distraught mother, wishing there was something you could do to help. Looking up at Mizu, you saw her also gazing at the child with far less emotion on her face. Only a second had passed before Mizu looked away, marching her way past the gate and into the city, leaving you to catch up.

“Are we really not going to help her?” you blurted out as you followed Mizu through the busy streets.

If Mizu heard you, she didn’t respond, just looking at the tall snow-covered buildings lining the streets, colorful banners adorning detailed walls.

“Mizu—”

“There was nothing I could do, ____,” she scolded, turning back to look at you. “It would have caused more trouble than it was worth. I can’t afford to bring two more girls into the city, and there was no way anyone there would have left me.”

You exhaled shakily, clenching your fists and taking deep breaths in order to calm down.

“It’s just not fair,” you muttered, looking down at your feet.

Mizu sighed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, “I promise I will try to do something for them.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing your head up to look at her face, those kind and thoughtful eyes hiding behind her glasses.

She stepped away briefly, attempting to approach strangers for directions with little results. It almost caused you to feel embarrassed for her unfruitful efforts, if not for the three horses barreling straight towards her.

“Mizu, watch out!” you shouted as Mizu caught sight of the incoming horses, shooting backwards in response.

“Watch it, asshole!” the lead rider yelled, pulling on the reins of his horse.

You ran up beside Mizu, glaring at the pompous man. Mizu stuck and arm out in front of you, a silent message to contain your anger, lest you get the both of you in trouble.

“Apologies,” Mizu said, mouth pressed into a straight line, “I’m looking for something, but Kyoto is quite large. Do you know where I could find the Shindo Dojo?”

“Shindo?” the man to his left scoffed, peering down at the two of you. “That’s our dojo, and you think you’re going to apply?”

The man to his right laughed, “You look like a blind beggar!” He took his riding crop and slapped Mizu’s glasses off.

All three chuckled, pleased with their actions, one nodding his head at you.

“Are you really traveling with this guy, lady?” He extended his hand to you. “Hop on and I’ll take you for a real ride.”

Your lip curled in thinly veiled disgust, “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m quite pleased with my current situation.”

Mizu let out a long sigh, putting on a smile, “If you would please show me how to find your dojo, I would be grateful.”

“Sure,” the left man said, “follow the road to the shrine. Once you go around the gates, you'll see the sign across the puppet show.”

“Good luck!” they called back, laughing as they rode. You spit on the ground they had been as their horses galloped away.

Wiping off the snow that had been kicked up onto her shoulder, Mizu began to follow the directions given to her, leaving you to do most of the talking, as per usual.

“Bastards,” you growled, “pissants, the lot of them.”

“Calm down,” Mizu ordered, searching for your destination.

“Calm down? Calm down? Those cocky dickheads deserve every misfortune they come across.”

“Keep your eye out for a puppet show.”

“And the way he thought I’d just crumple to my knees and get on his stupid horse! Can you believe that?”

“Around the gates…”

“Not even mentioning the way they treated you, as if you couldn’t kick their asses with one arm tied behind your back. Shindo Dojo my ass.”

“There are consequences for attacking without consent of a duel first, and the last thing I want to do is be sent to prison for something as foolish as defending my honor,” Mizu said, turning the corner.

“Would you defend my honor?” you smiled, waiting for an answer.

“No.”

Well, it was an answer, at least.

The bustling city around you left no room for conversation, only the need to dodge passersby and merchants attempting to sell you goods that you had no use for. As you walked further and further into the city, the traders trickled away, only peeping men lined the streets now, peering inside the countless brothels.

“Why would a dojo be in a red light district?” you pondered aloud, trying your best to not make eye contact.

“For once,” Mizu answered, nose scrunched up, “we’re having similar thoughts…”

Your destination was only a few buildings down, and judging by the lewd ongoings within, was certainly not the Shindo Dojo.

“You two look lost,” a sultry voice cooed, arms stretching out to grab you and Mizu.

Standing in front of the brothel were two very dressed up women, crimson dusting their cheeks, matching the vibrant red that decorated their lips and eyes.

“We were just leaving,” you asserted, shaking out of their hold.

The woman laughed, going over to hug Mizu’s arm, “Why don’t you come inside, lost boy? Rest a while…with us.”

You found it difficult to conceal your revulsion, not eager to picture Mizu having relations while you had to wait in the other room. Though judging from Mizu’s shocked face, she didn’t seem too fond of the idea either.

“I’m looking for the Shindo Dojo—” she began, quickly interrupted by an old man being thrown out of the brothel. A naked, old man.

“Which, I can see…” Mizu grimaced, “this is not.”

“You think?” you snorted, earning a dirty look from Mizu.

“It’s better,” the shorter prostitute said, smiling. “It's the Shindo House. If it’s sword skills you’re wanting to show off, you can do it here.”

The taller prostitute grinned, “We can polish up the tip for you…”

A shudder went down your spine at the sight of their flirtations, giving you the strength needed to put an end to this conversation.

“We’re terribly busy, and have urgent business at the Shindo Dojo,” you insisted, trying to pull Mizu away from the women.

“Oh, are you sure, little pearl? If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask. Jealousy is a painful vice,” the tall one purred, snaking her arm around your shoulder. “And there’s no fee for adding a third…unpaid party.”

You could feel the heat flooding to your face, unable to even sputter in response to her offer.

A hand suddenly struck out between you and the woman, grabbing her wrist and gently removing it from your shoulder. Mizu glared at the woman, watching coldly as she shrunk away from you.

“You’re serious, huh?” the short woman smirked, nudging her coworker to step away from you. “Alright, love birds. Walk east to the Kamo River. Take the bridge to the temple with the thousand creepy statues. It's on the hill just past.”

Mizu’s head swiftly dipped into a bow, not looking up at you.

“I wish you a successful day of business,” she muttered, covering her face with her hand as she began raising her head up.

Interrupting her bow, however, was a loud crash from the puppet stand behind you. Looking at the show, or rather, what remained of it, revealed a portly young man standing above the wreckage. The same young man from the noodle shop.

“Hey, Mizu, isn’t that—”

“How much for one night?” she quickly asked, noting the price given to her.

“...How much for three.”

.

.

.

“Mizu,” you began, “would that man, by chance, be the person following us on our way here?”

“I didn’t think he’d get out of those ropes,” she groaned, walking across the expansive bridge.

“You tied him up?” you gawked, staring in shock at her nonchalant attitude.

“I could have killed him,” she pointed out, bringing a hand up to crack her neck. “I was merciful; he would have disrupted my quest.”

“And I don’t?”

“You provide a service.”

“Don’t make me sound like your pocket prostitute,” you half-heartedly teased.

Mizu sputtered, her collected facade briefly crumbling after hearing your words.

“I—ahm, hadn’t meant to imply—”

“Make way for Princess Akemi!” a voice rang out some distance behind you.

Traveling down the bridge from where you had just come was a gold accented palanquin being carried by an assortment of attendants. Those walking alongside you quickly made their way to the sides of the bridge, bowing before the royalty before them.

A tug on your sleeve by Mizu pulled you out of the way, standing beside her as the palanquin passed by you. Through the bars of the carrier you could see its passenger, the Princess Akemi, or so they announced. Perhaps you could have quipped about her status, the fact that she probably looked down on everyone around her. Or maybe her vanity, refusing to use her own feet to walk anywhere, relying on servants to carry her to and fro.

But a single glimpse of her face left you wordless—breathless. The makeup she wore only enhanced her best features, though it looked like all her features were her best. One look at Mizu confirmed you felt the same, her lips parting slightly as the palanquin continued down the bridge.

“She’s awfully pretty,” you sighed wistfully, watching the palanquin disappear into the city.

Mizu cleared her throat, regaining her wits, “Beautiful women can be found everywhere. It is our status that defines our beauty to the world.”

“It’s alright, Mizu,” you shrugged, “jealousy is a normal emotion, even for samurai.”

“I am not jealous,” she swiftly defended herself.

“Denial is an even worse look,” you sang, following her along the final stretch of bridge as you made your way up to the dojo.

It stood atop a hill just above the city, a single lone temple amidst a barren field it was laid upon. A lonely dojo, in your opinion, although the path to it was rather serene.

“If I have to walk up any more stairs, Mizu,” you groaned, approaching the temple, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Air your grievances now, then.” she curtly replied, moving to hit the door knockers. “Walking is only a small part of this journey.”

“Then why is it all we do?” you muttered, crossing your arms.

A small slit opened after a couple seconds, revealing the judgemental eyes of a man.

“No new students, find another school,” he barked, shutting the opening.

“Pretentious, aren’t they?” you snickered.

Mizu rolled her eyes and banged on the door again, the man appearing quickly.

“I’m not a student,” she said, annoyed, “but I do bring a message for the master of this place.”

The opening shut, only for one at the bottom to reveal itself, a hand sticking out expectantly.

“I must deliver it personally,” Mizu muttered, eyes narrowing.

The man vanished from the slit, shutting it behind him. Only a few moments passed between you and Mizu before the grand entrance began to slowly open, revealing the incredibly vast courtyard to you.

Mizu began walking forward to join the sentry, only for him to raise a hand towards you.

“Women are forbidden from entering the dojo,” he said solemnly, taking up a cold expression as he refused you entry.

You tightened your shoulders, standing straight and giving the man your best smile, tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Oh, sir, I must beseech you,” you pleaded, running up and clinging to his robes. “For he is my husband, and I would loathe to separate from him even for a single second! I fear what may happen to me if he were to disappear from my sight, for he is my protector, and I his perfect blossom. That is why I beg you, do not allow us to be apart!”

The sentry turned to Mizu for a response, raising an eyebrow.

She cleared her throat and you could immediately tell she would be giving you a dirty look if she had not been so surprised by your improvisation.

“...Yes, I would be most pleased if my wife were to accompany me. She is rather…frail and weak, and it would break my heart if anything were to happen to my…wife…” she said, her less than convincing acting leaning heavily on your own performance.

“Fine,” he grimaced, peeling you off. “But you are not permitted to speak in this place, keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

You smiled in response, walking over to join your ‘husband,’ looping your arm into his beneath his shawl, smirking internally at her pink-dusted face.

Arm in arm you walked up to the main room of the dojo, passing by different groups of men training. You could tell that Mizu was alert, noting each and every person you passed on your way to meet the head.

Upon entering the sweeping room, you kneeled beside Mizu, keeping your head bowed so as to not cause any disturbance during her negotiations. Though the man in front of you seemed unconcerned with your behavior, if interested in you at all.

“You may leave any message with me,” he spoke, not pausing his calligraphy.

“What must be said must be said to the master directly,” Mizu pressed.

“I assure you, what is for the master is for me,” he continued, “as I assure you the master does not meet with messengers.”

“He will for me.”

Her blatant disrespect caused the man to pause, setting his brush down and looking directly at her.

“​​You stand before the Shindo School.” He stood from his table. “For 200 years, we have taught here the Shindo-Ryu, secret methods passed down from Priest Soto, taught to him on the peak of Mount Kurama by the mystic Tengu themselves,” he snarled. “Show your respect!”

Mizu continued to stare at the floor, unaffected by the man’s long speech.

 “I must insist,” she said.

The man’s mouth pressed into a thin line, looking at the samurai standing behind you both.

“Escort them anywhere you please that is far from here,” he ordered.

One man, a part of the group that harassed you when you arrived in Kyoto, stepped forward and reached an arm out, “Come on, you blind beggar.”

“You are bound by hospitality to feed a traveler within your gate,” Mizu said hurriedly. “My wife and I came very far, and we’re very hungry. Or has the Shindo Dojo done away with etiquette?”

His lip curled in annoyance at Mizu’s demands, “Feed them,” he sneered, “then throw them out.

The samurai surged for your arms, dragging you down hallways and into a cramped storage room with a single barred window.

“Eat,” one said, chucking a bowl of rice (if you could even call it that) onto the small table, “then take your whore and get out.”

They laughed heartily at their insults, taking their leave and slamming the door shut behind them, leaving you and Mizu alone.

You chose to sit on top of a barrel while you waited, observing Mizu’s face as she watched the training going on outside, a tiny smile finding its way on her lips.

“Daydream all you want,” you spoke up, “but you’re the one who’s gonna have to come up with a plan.”

She broke away from her view, turning to look at you with a glint in her eye.

“I already have one.”

.

.

.

“Move it, you two,” the samurai ushered, pushing you forward as you walked through the turning halls.

Mizu stopped in her tracks, remaining still despite their threats.

“This will be much simpler if you allow me to speak with your master,” she said slowly, not bothering to look at them.

“Mizu,” you hissed, “don’t make this any more difficult.”

“You heard your wife, beggar boy. No one sees the master, least of all you.”

One stretched their hand out, aiming to grab your shoulder, only for Mizu to step in between the two of you.

“I cannot leave here until I speak to the master of this dojo,” she pressed as he attempted to dislodge her, unable to do so.

“Oh, good,” the men chuckled, drawing their swords. “We get to kill you.”

Mizu’s fingers extended, pointing her middle and index downwards. You smiled, giving a polite bow before continuing the path out of the dojo, arriving at the entrance to the main room. Stepping out into the thin snow and leaning against a pillar, you removed your inro, unpacking the supplies you might need after Mizu’s activities.

You could hear the events going on inside, a mixture of yelling and screaming, of rage and pain brewing within the fighters. Not a peep from Mizu, however. Soon enough, the old samurai from earlier—perhaps he was second in command, though you didn’t exactly care—came running outside, nose bleeding and with a nasty mark spanning diagonally across his face. It seemed that Mizu was getting excited.

“See you later, samurai,” you cooed as he sprinted out of the dojo and through the gates, leaving you alone to laugh at his cowardice.

You hadn’t expected him to return, however.

Entering through the wide open gates, followed by the older man, was a much younger one. He wore a green kimono decorated with the symbol of the dojo, hair tied back into a tall bun with stray pieces framing his face.

“You come to fight, pretty boy?” you teased as he approached, still fiddling with your supplies.

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow at your words, “You? I was told—”

“Inside, dumbass. Does it look like I’m a warrior?” you sneered, rejoining your inro to your obi.

The old man’s eyes widened at your disrespect, “How dare you, a woman—!”

“You got your ass kicked by some country boy. Come back and correct my attitude after you’ve killed him, you shitty old man.”

It seemed impossible for his eyes to get even bigger, but after your words they seemed to be the size of plates.

He attempted to march up to you, only to be stopped by the young man.

“We can deal with this after the samurai is dealt with,” he reasoned, giving you a dirty look.

You laughed to yourself as they entered the dojo, leaving you alone outside once again.

The familiar sounds of fighting broke out shortly after the man’s entrance, joined in harmony by the harsh sounds of breaking wood, undoubtedly caused by Mizu’s quirk of using the environment around her to fight. It was fun to watch, until you had to pay the bill for a duel inside an inn. 

Eventually, the noises began to grow louder—no, closer. You caught a glimpse of the chaotic symphony as Mizu and her enemy, the young man from before, fought their way into the main room. Before you could even blink, Mizu had been thrown across the room, a wooden sword hurled right at her. 

“With a naked blade,” he scoffed, “you’d be dead.”

You immediately stood up and ran towards her, picking up her fallen glasses as you made your way over. She brushed you aside, however, turning her neck to look at the young man, not bothering to shield her eyes. 

A small gasp left him, his cocky demeanor quickly vanishing the moment he laid saw her.

“You had a name for me,” she stated, rising to her feet.

“Taigen, you cannot allow that to dishonor us or you,” the old man commanded, fuming at Mizu. “Kill him.”

The battle quickly changed to a formal duel as the two young samurai made their way outside to take the other’s life. You followed Mizu, standing a fair distance behind her to give her space to butcher the man. Taigen, or so he was called.

He drew his weapon first, discarding the sheath onto the fresh snow below and pointing it directly at Mizu.

“Are you afraid to fight with steel?” he asked, brows furrowed in determination.

You snorted at his comment.

Mizu just chuckled softly, “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “No one has yet deserved my blade.”

She slowly removed her sword from her sheath, drawing the magnificently crafted blade and wielding it with two hands, taking a stance before Taigen.

“You have a blade by Master Eiji?” he gawked, only serving to change Mizu’s smile to a snide grin.

A tense moment was shared between the two, and all you could do was stand by and watch. You knew Mizu was smart, least of all capable. She wouldn’t throw her life away in some stupid duel, not when she still hadn’t gotten her revenge. This was just a simple stop on the way, something to remind her of what was at stake.

Mizu wouldn’t lose, not here.

Taigen was first to act, running up to Mizu with his sword at his side, prepared to strike. She reacted unusually, however, breaking in a crouch and swinging her sword at the ground, kicking up a flurry of snow. Taigen hardly faltered, only spinning around to avoid blinding himself and swung his sword across to hit Mizu. His maneuver was a short-lived victory, as Mizu ran her sword beneath him, the blades moving across one another and letting sparks fly. 

Mizu had made the first wound, slicing a shallow cut into Taigen’s neck, crimson drops of blood blotting the pure white snow beneath them.

The next strikes were harsh, as Taigen hadn’t so much as flinched at his injury, striking with the same vigor he had before. Despite Mizu’s skills, Taigen found a hole in her defense, using his strength to his advantage to press his sword into her shoulder and throw her to the ground, knocking her blade away.

You felt your body grow cold as Taigen stomped over to Mizu, angling his sword to her neck. Was it really going to end like this? All that traveling, killing, and plotting, just for Mizu to die at the hand of some low life samurai?

“Death comes for everyone,” Taigen spat, bringing the blade closer to her. “For you, today.”

He turned around and gave a nod to his fellow samurai behind him, giving Mizu one final look before sending a hard kick into her chest as a final blow to her and her ego.

You attempted to rush to her side, only to receive a scowl from Mizu, stopping you in your tracks. From your current viewpoint, she looked relatively uninjured, at least nothing terribly deep. She was clutching her shoulder, but the cut looked shallow. The doctor inside begged you to ignore her scornful face and help her, to put your work to good use, though you knew her anger would be twofold what it was if you were to intervene.

You watched intently as she brushed a fistful of snow across her face and swept her lingering strand of hair out of the way, those sapphire eyes shining with anger as they shot open.

She reached for her arms, pulling a string and releasing the weights that had been wrapped around her forearms. Repeating the action to the other arm, as well as her ankles, Mizu made eye contact with Taigen who turned around to witness her revitalization.

Reaching for her sword with lightning fast reflexes, she charged towards Taigen and side-stepped his attack, disarming him without a second thought and dealing a brutal slice to his calf. Disoriented and in pain, Taigen was easily lifted and tossed, skidding across the snow and meeting the edge of Mizu’s blade.

The two were panting heavily from exhaustion, whereas you were releasing a breath you’d been holding for the past minute. Mizu had bested her opponent and lived, earning you another day of employment.

“Stop!” a strong voice bellowed, their cry echoing across the courtyard of the dojo.

Your eyes darted to the new figure, one dressed more elegantly than his fellow samurai, a dark kataginu worn over top of his burnt orange kimono.

Mizu joined you in gazing at the man, still out of breath, “You, are the master of this school?” she panted.

He gave an affirmative hum.

“Your students need better training,” she quipped, withdrawing her blade from Taigen’s throat.

“You have a message for me,” he said, the command of a leader in his voice.

“A question,” she corrected, putting strong emphasis on her next words. “Where may I find your brother, the black market merchant Heiji Shindo?”

You felt your eyes go wide at her words, unknowing of her plan during your travels to Kyoto. All this? Just for the name of another man? You had to clench your teeth in order to stop yourself from interrupting their conversation.

The man was just as shocked as you, a myriad of expressions moving across his face all at once, finally arriving to dwell in his voice as he spoke, “You did all this to find my brother? Why?”

Mizu’s blade returned to Taigen’s throat, a silent threat to prevent any more prying questions.

Clearing his throat, he answered with an air of mustered strength, “Heiji Shindo is in the fortress on Tanabe Island, protected by the Genken Clan,” he said, beginning to narrow his eyes. “Whatever business you have with him, you will never reach him.”

Without another word, Mizu sheathed her sword and gave a mockingly polite bow to the head before walking to your side. 

“You're still…a dog.” Taigen groaned, attempting to gain his bearings from the ground.

Helpless and unwilling to stop Mizu’s righteous anger, you simply watched as she whipped around and slid across the ground, not even bothering to unsheath her sword for an unworthy opponent such as Taigen. The blade made its purchase, swinging just inches above his head and decapitating his top knot with the talent and skill of an unrivaled barber.

His golden hairpiece clattered to the earth, softened by the lingering snow it landed upon. Mizu scooped it up and tucked it into her shirt, continuing her pace without sparing a look towards the countless wounded samurai behind her.

The glimmering hairpiece was tossed into your hands as Mizu walked past you, stepping past the towering gates with you in tow, finally making your exit from the dojo she had undoubtedly made a fool of.

.

.

.

“Heiji Shindo, huh?” you said, breaking the silence as you both descended the path down the hill. “Can we buy horses this time around?”

“No,” she immediately responded, “we need to be careful, at least while leaving this city. I have made enemies of many men here.”

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve fully removed their ability to ride a horse, though I don’t really care to hear how you did it…” you trailed off, trying your best to not imagine the horrors Mizu inflicted on those pitiable samurai. “Could we buy horses in the next city? We’ll be farther by then, putting more distance if there are people after us.”

“If you can afford it, then we can buy two. Until then, we walk.”

“Two? Why, my dear husband, we only need to buy one!” you sang, reveling in the way Mizu’s body briefly froze up at the intimate word. “Unless you want your useless, obedient wife to ride alone.”

“...I have no comment for your unending teasing,” she finally replied, crossing her arms.

“If you want to see teasing, you should turn around.” You finished securing her conical hat to your head, tying the last knot just as Mizu turned around to see you, letting you see the newly-formed pout on her rosy face as she saw you in her hat.

“Enough,” she ordered, stopping in front of you to reclaim her headgear, standing at least two heads above you.

“I think it suits me,” you whined while copying her pout, unable to stop her from reclaiming her hat.

She adjusted her hat and quickly tied it beneath her chin, continuing the walk through the cold, empty streets of Kyoto. The wind had kicked up since your time at the dojo, blowing harshly through the streets and depositing snow onto the roofs above. It made you wish you held onto Mizu’s hat for just a little longer, if only to escape the snow falling into your hair.

The gates at the front of the city opened for your exit, letting you step out onto the path leading into the forest. You stopped, however, noticing the mother and daughter from earlier, from when you first arrived in Kyoto. They were freezing, icy puffs of air pulled from their lips as they huddled close together for warmth. Your heart tugged towards them, clenching your fists in a moment of helplessness. The hairpiece gently pricked the walm of your hand as you squeezed, and you reopened it, looking at the expensive decoration and dropping it near their huddled forms.

You did your best to remain quiet as you walked away and down the path, into the sparse woods alongside Mizu. The trees did not grow in number as you walked, only growing in age, becoming thicker and taller, framing the night sky above. Mizu stopped in the middle of a clearing, causing you to stop behind her, trying to give her some space. You could tell she was looking up to the cloudy sky, and although you could hear her mumbling, you couldn’t catch the words in full.

You were, however, able to catch the familiar red droplets of blood that landed and melted into the snow below, reminding you of Mizu’s forgotten shoulder wound.

“You couldn’t have reminded me?” you hissed, stomping over and throwing her arm across your shoulder, which she brushed off.

“It’s my arm, not my leg,” she reasoned.

“If you didn’t want me to play doctor, you shouldn’t have brought me.”

“You brought yourself,” she snorted, turning her head in a different direction. “There’s a hot spring that way, you can ‘play doctor’ when we get there.”

You rolled your eyes, following her as you made your way to the hot spring. It was more impressive than you thought, multiple spouts of water differing in intensity spilling into the warm pool below, life barely blooming amidst the freezing conditions surrounding it.

Mizu began removing her accessories while you removed your inro, gathering your needed supplies to care for her wound.

“You need help with your bandages?” you asked, gesturing to her chest.

“I’ve got it,” she said, giving one last look around before letting her hair down.

She slowly removed her clothes, unwinding the bandages that bound her chest tightly. You did your best not to look, giving her much needed privacy as you began to undress yourself, folding your kimono nicely and resting your inro on top.

“Mind if I take a look at it, Mizu?” you politely requested, sinking your body into the warm spring. 

Mizu hummed, joining you into the water. Her body wasn’t entirely covered by the water from where she was standing—as well as her height, leaving her to stand awkwardly as you inspected her wound. It was both worse than you thought and better than you expected, long but not deep. The wrapping would be awkward, but infection wouldn’t be a worry, especially after this short bath.

It took all the strength you had to keep your eyes trained on her upper chest, though, luckily, her lower chest was being covered by her arms. Her very strong arms, that is. Her whole body was a surprising wonder, no doubt in part due to her constant wearing of those weights. She was able to throw Taigen a fair distance, she could probably pick you up with no problem. No problem at all…

“...You alright down there?” Mizu interrupted your thoughts, and immediately you could feel your face heating up.

“Yeah, ah—I can take care of it afterwards, just try and clean it out a little bit,” you stammered, moving further into the water.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment more before she moved closer to one of the low water falls, climbing atop the stone beneath for some brief meditation.

You spent your alone time cleaning up, rubbing off any dirt and deep cleaning your hair, the buildup of grease and who knows what else disappearing into the water below, leaving you to grab your needle and thread from your inro.

“I’m ready when you are, Mizu,” you called out, waving your needle for her to see.

She begrudgingly moved to the side by you, biting her lip as you gently applied the stinging ointment to her wound. You’d done this song and dance with her before, and as time went on Mizu had grown used to the bite of your medicine, her howls and cries dying with each new injury.

“Need something to bite on?” you asked before continuing your work.

“I’ll be fine,” she exhaled, shutting her eyes tight.

And so you began, weaving the needle in and out of her wound, carefully pulling it closed and tying the string off.

“Alright, good as new” you muttered, cutting the string. “Don’t touch, don’t scratch, don’t—”

“Not our first time, I know the drill,” she chuckled.

“Well, feel free to relax now,” you sighed, slouching down into the water and shutting your eyes in bliss. 

You enjoyed the time you had in the spring before leaving, reveling in the brief relaxation. Your eyes remained shut while you laid down, hearing her eventually join you in laying down. 

Loud footsteps caused your eyes to shoot open, and you saw that Mizu had already risen from the water, rushing to the ground and grabbing her sword. You scrambled for your kimono, searching for the small dagger tucked on the inside, planning to defend yourself, or worse if the situation called for it.

The figure stumbled through the shadows and into the clearing, meeting Mizu head on and shrieking loudly. You peaked from the spring, seeing Mizu pointing her blade and Ringo, the noodle maker’s son from long ago. He tilted his head, staring with wide eyes at Mizu and finally landing on your frightened expression.

“...Peaches?”

The dojo master prostrated himself before the man seated in the opulent chair, the dimly lit room illuminated only by the moonlit and roaring fireplace.

“Forgive me for giving your location, my brother. He was unstoppable,” he apologized, slowly rising into an upward kneel as his voice began to trail off. “He defeated my every student…” 

The man released a displeased hum, “Your students need better training,” he sneered, turning his head to the old face that walked in.

“The samurai, he's not human,” the old man—Hachiman—said, a mix of fury and bewilderment crossing his face as he recollected. “I saw its eyes.”

“A lone samurai, then?” the man asked, flickering his gaze between the two men before him.

“He had a companion,” the brother spoke, raising his head. “She had no weapon nor joined his fighting.”

The man scoffed, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, “So, a lone samurai with a useless woman.”

“The Four Fangs,” a rich, yet rough, accented voice spoke up, clearly bored by the conversation taking place right next to him. “Send the Four Fangs after this samurai and his girl.”

He grabbed an apple and twirled in between his fingers, “Double their price and be done with it.”

A sickening grin formed on the man’s face as he took in his companion’s words, rising from his chair as he left to distribute orders.

Alone in the room, the Irishman stared at his reflection in the apple, tilting his head as he questioned aloud.

“I wonder, lonesome samurai,” he cooed, taking a bite of the fruit, “why carry a whore ‘round with you when you have so much to lose?”

He tossed the unfinished remains of the apple behind him, turning his head to the window beside him.

“Ah, who gives a shit,” he laughed, snatching another apple. “They’ll both die anyways.”

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #taigen blue eye samurai #akemi blue eye samurai #ringo blue eye samurai #heiji shindo blue eye samurai #abijah fowler blue eye samurai #bes mizu #mizu #reader insert #series

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #8 – The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham James

This has been on my tbr for long enough that I entirely forget what originally put it there – the only thing I actually knew going in was that the author was ‘the My Heart is a Chainsaw guy’ (I have not read My Heart is a Chainsaw yet either). Given the genre, that was honestly probably ideal. As was the fact that a blizzard hit a couple days after I started it and I’ve been reading it looking out on a frozen snowscape – it’s very much a winter sort of story.

The story’s told in five parts of wildly varying lengths, each with it’s own endearingly cheesy b-horror movie title and each following a different protagonist. The first four each follow one of a friend group who, as a bunch of fuckup teenagers, trespassed on hunting grounds that were really supposed to be reserved for elders and shot a bunch of elk they had no right to – including a pregnant young cow who was for one reason or another special. Ten years later, the Elk-Headed Woman drags herself back into the world, and begins getting her vengeance for the death of her and her child on each of them (and everyone they care about) in turn.

I have a longstanding opinion that a full-length novel is just too long to sustain a real horror story – by 300 pages things have fairly reliably collapse into urban fantasy or action or farce. The breakup into different parts solves this very well – they’re all very much connected and interwoven, but each feels like its own distinct narrative unit with its own tension and rising action.

And this is very much a horror story in the classic, just barely short of shlocky sense. A trespass against vague but understood sacred laws that leads to horrific and bloody retribution against everyone involved is as close to archtypal horror as you can possibly get, after all. The last section is even focused on a Final Girl! Specifically, it’s a subgenre that I can’t really name but feels very familiar to me – and one I’ve always been a huge fan of, anyway. It’s somewhere downstream of The Count of Monte Cristo, a story where the agent of supernatural doom spends the majority of the story consciously working in the background, manipulating events and exacerbating the protagonist/victim’s flaws to lead them to a contrived but tragic end? Think the netflix Fall of the House of Usher, but like about the exact opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum.

Class is very much something the book cares about. All four protagonists grew up poor on a reservation with little in the way of wealth or opportunity, and by the time they’d turned eighteen all four of them were the kind of young asshole who made life just a little bit worse for everyone around them dealing with the same shit. Ten years latter the three of them who’ve survived that long have gotten over themselves and matured in their own way (and to their own degree), but none of them are exactly flush with cash or living lives of bourgeois respectability (though Lewis comes close). The precarity and only tenuous connections to the society around them just make them better prey for what’s hunting them, of course – in every case, death comes after the (either metaphorical or very viscerally literal) destruction of the few close ties they have, and the only one to survive is also the only one who could really expect people to come rushing to their rescue.

Speaking of close ties the protagonists have – the book’s conception of gender is fascinatingly weird, or at least fascinating in the sense that I’m not at all sure how intentional it is. Of the four main victims, one dies alone at eighteen, and the other three who survive the next ten years are all pretty much explicitly saved (or at least improved and uplifted) by a relationship with a woman who, if not flawless, is basically strictly his moral and practical better. Even the most consistent fuckup of the group has a redeeming feature of being willing to do just about anything for his daughter (despite having lost the chance to really be a big part of her life several times over). With one exception, these women all then die, messily, entirely and explicitly to fuck with and ruin the lives of their men. It’s like someone read Women in Refrigerators and went ‘well there’s an idea...’. It’s blatant enough that I feel like it’s got to be making a deliberate point, but (unless it’s just genre emulation) what the point is does escape me slightly.

Also on the note of stuff I’m quite sure is going over my head at least a bit – basketball! It’s a pretty vital thread running through the entire book, to the point that one of the big set pieces of the final act is literally a basketball game with the monster. Which, like, I watched enough bad anime as a small child to find contrived game-playing under unclear mythic rules with things that really want to kill you instinctively endearing, but I can’t really do anything with this except just point at it.

So as the title might imply, this is a novel that’s concerned with race – all but I believe exactly one character is either is either Blackfeet or Crow, more than half the book takes place on a reservation, and a chunk of the rest is spent having to deal with racist assholes of varying severity. Now, I admit that I have at this point a probably overly cynical view of books that end up on breathless ‘socially conscious horror’ or ‘s/ff from diverse creators you NEED to read’ lists online, but I was still rather pleasantly by how matter-of-factly this was handled? I suppose the best way to put it is that culture, upbringing and racialization deeply inform everyone’s characters, but it never feels like the book is preoccupied with providing some assumed naive and impressionable audience any Important Lessons or provide Good Representation to valourize or emulate? Which is probably just a sign I need to raise and re calibrate my expectations, but.

The monster doesn’t exactly work as, like, a coherent character in terms of her skills and abilities, but as a monster the Elk-Headed Woman is great. But then I love contrived fucked up tragedies and am a longstanding partisan of Spooky Deer Horror, so I suppose I would say that.

So yeah, fun read!

#book review #sff #horror #the only good indians #stephen graham jones

[centrumlumina]

I didn’t want to have to say this, but: anyone who thinks that the Boathouse Scene was a “Girlboss moment” has completely missed the point of Katya’s character arc and, frankly, the movie as a whole.

Katya’s arc is about the ways that her life is defined by the men around her. Goncharov, Andrey, Valery - they all have their own ideas of how she should act, who she should be. She doesn’t want to be a housewife, but in the strictly gendered society she lives in, she isn’t allowed to seek fulfilment beyond that.

The subtext of the conversation in the market is pretty blatant - Katya wants to be allowed to discover who she really is away from the obligations of her family, lovers, and husband. Sofia giving her the apple represents the offer of that freedom. Some people have interpreted this as a temptation - the serpent with Eve, and all the pseudosexual tension that implies - but I view it as an intentional subversion of that image, given the way Sofia is haloed in light throughout the scene. (The homoeroticism is real, though!)

I can see where some people get confused by the ending, because Katya does successfully escape her domestic life - but she doesn’t achieve that through the spiritual offer of self-knowledge Sofia represents! Her love for Goncharov and Andrey won’t allow that. Instead she betrays Sofia and winds up in the boathouse, holding the gun; the men around her have finally dragged her into their life of violence. She might survive the end of the movie, but she has lost everything she cared about, and instead of pursuing the independence she initially wanted, it’s implied (I heard confirmed in a cast interview? if anyone has a source for that let me know!) that she returns to Russia to pursue further vengeance.

Katya’s story arc is not about her being a Girlboss - she isn’t beating the men at their own game, or if she is it’s not a game worth playing. Katya is a tragedy, and a warning about the way the violence of men damages the women around them. Killing is never something to aspire to - it is only, as Valery says, “a clock ticking down to midnight.”

#goncharov #katya goncharov #katya goncharova #katya michailov #katya x sofia #goncharov meta #my thoughts #things i made

[lily-orchard]

If Alie's Empire itself had a trope list, what would it be?

Oh I love doing these, they're so much fun.

All Elections Are Serious Business - Voting is compulsory in the Empire

Applicability - The Y-Wing Party uses patriarchal rhetoric to get Imperial citizens who come from formerly patriarchal planets onto their side. Many of them are aliens, who would naturally be the next ones oppressed under the Party's philosophy of Human High Culture. This mimics many similar right-wing movements that stoke the bigotry of one group with the intent of oppressing them later, such as class reductionist socialism (fascism that uses socialist language) and trans exclusionary radical feminism (misogyny that uses radical feminist language).

Authority in Name Only - The Imperial Council became this in 41 ABY after Amorosa massacred the Third Imperial Council. Coming out of her paradigm shift, politicians were viewed as disposable, replaceable, and untrustworthy and the Empress, previously only able to veto minority council votes, could now veto anything and only approval from the Dark Lady could override it.

Clark Kenting - Darth Amorosa, despite being the most recognizable person in the Empire, is able to avoid recognition extremely easily if she goes out in anything other than her Sith robes, Caida makeup and cornrows.

Democracy is Flawed - The Imperial Council demonstrated itself to be just as susceptible to corruption as the Republic Senate, leading to extremely strict and harsh oversight after Amorosa restructured it.

Elective Monarchy - The Empress is elected by the council. After 41 ABY the Empress was only nominated by the Council, voted on by the people, and ratified by the Dark Lady.

Fantastic Slurs - The words "schutta" and "kinta" are considered hate speech and banned.

Good Capitalism, Evil Capitalism - The Empire practices a system of government owned corporations for larger industries (food, mining, infrastructure, etc) while allowing local private businesses to flourish. This is in contrast to the laissez faire capitalism of the Republic, which has been growing increasingly unsustainable without an Outer Rim to exploit.

Illegal Religion - Human High Culture, a humanocentric and chauvinistic philosophy that defined the Galactic Empire, was banned in the Sith Empire. After the Y-Wing Crisis, it's ban was more strictly enforced with harsh penalties.

Matriarchy: Original

The Sith Empire is predominately run by the Empress and the Dark Lady, whose positions are always held by women, imitating the founding Beniko family's matrilineal nature. Furthermore certain member states (such as Ryloth) are restricted to only having women serve as their representatives on the Imperial Council. Attempts have been made in the past by old Galactic Empire remnant and the Republic to subvert this, but have always been failures.

This is especially true for the Sith Order, the only Force Using sect with authority in the Empire. Only cis and trans women are allowed to join and the only way any other gender joins their ranks is if a Sith Lady's identity changes while they are a part of the Sith, at which point they are allowed to stay.

Military Coup - The Night of Vengeance led to Amorosa taking autocratic rule of the Empire for a year and a half as she enshrined the rights of the Empire's people into law and gave herself carte blanche to remove any politician who threatened those rights before restoring the council.

No Police Option - The vast majority of police in the Empire are unarmed security couriers whose entire job is to settle verbal disputes and take messages for citizens who want to press charges on someone. Security couriers are civil servants, and their only real power is issuing summons to appear in court. Armed security are small in number and can't do anything unless the Sith approve their deployment, usually to deal with active violent crimes. There are extremely steep punishments if the security forces hurt people unreasonably, demonstrated when Amorosa responded to a security officer bruising a little girl's arm by taking his.

No Woman's Land: Some member states before joining.

Ryloth, the Twi'lek homeworld, made most of it's money and power selling Twi'lek women into slavery. This was banned once they joined the Empire, though Ryloth's government frequently complained about it.

The Y-Wing Party tried to turn the entire Empire into this as the stepping stone to a broader Human High Culture coup. They were put down when Darth Amorosa massacred the Imperial Council at the eleventh hour.

Permanent Elected Official - The Empress is elected by the Council and approved by the Dark Lady, and serves until her resignation or death.

Politically-Active Princess - The Dark Lady of the Sith is the second most powerful individual in the Empire, and has the authority to dismiss Councillors at her whim.

The Revolution Will Not Be Bureaucratized - The early days of the Sith Empire were extremely rocky. Due to not having political experience, Amorosa trusted the day to day administration to Naboo's politicians. However, this proved a double edged sword as the politicians, biased and self-serving as they usually are, often ignored what Amorosa considered to be important issues like the rights of the people and protections for the vulnerable. This left huge gaps in the civil rights of the people as political corruption started to take hold. This culminated in the Y-Wing Crisis, where old Galactic Empire Remnant sought to take control of the Empire and reinstate Human High Culture. At the eleventh hour, Amorosa massacred the Imperial Council and took autocratic control. Her restructuring of the Council made her far more involved than before, and kept the new Council under a perpetual Sword of Damocles, believing she was wrong to trust an elected council to not immediately eat itself.

Sketchy Successor

Na'sara, the Empress after Tahraya resigned in 95 ABY, was generally unpopular especially after she disrespected Darth Amorosa at her own funeral.

To a lesser extent, Darth Estrela, Amorosa's eldest daughter and successor as Dark Lady. Taking the mantle in 75 ABY, she had very large shoes to fill and the Empire had grown so accustomed to a Dark Lady they knew they could trust that a successor made them uneasy for a long time. Her victory against the Yuuzhan Vong ultimately secured her place as the Dark Lady.

Slavery Is A Special Kind of Evil - Slavery is the most heinous crime in the Empire, one it enforces even on those outside its borders. The Empire's position in the galaxy means Hutt slave ships often have to cross its territory or risk running out of fuel. The Imperial Military always seizes these ships and gives the enslaved people either passage home or Imperial citizenship while the crew is usually killed on the spot unless they could prove they were coerced or mislead, like what happened to Darth Mayrik. Official Imperial policy whenever the Hutts complain is "Count yourself lucky we're too busy to wipe you out."

Ungovernable Galaxy - The primary policy of the Sith Empire is to shape the galaxy in such a way that no one state can ever control the entire galaxy, hence allowing the Hutts to still exist as a shadow of their former selves, and brokering positive relationships with the freed Hutt worlds that didn't want to join the Empire.

This ultimately failed as the Empire gained enough soft power that it completely dominated the Republic by 300ABY

Universally Beloved Leader - Darth Amorosa, the first Dark Lady of the Sith, was so beloved by the time of her death that she was often called "the Empire's Queen" much to her chagrin.

Unproblematic Prostitution - Sex workers have strictly enforced legal protections in the Empire thanks to Darth Amorosa's insistence on it at the Empire's earliest stages.

[crystal-moon-101]

Name: Eldrigma Nickname: Shadow Man, The Mystery, Forgotten One, The Last Tacenscous Age: 4598 Gender: Male Birthday: ??? Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual Ethnicity/Specie: Tacenscous Personality: Cold, Quiet, Stern, Focused, Intelligent, Direct, Loyal, Protective, Private, Vindictive, Resourceful, Alert, Empathic. Hobbies: He’s not seen to have a lot of hobbies outside of his mission of revenge, mostly spending his free time training, reading spells and upgrading his tools, weapons and armour. However, he does seem to be into stargazing, and enjoys reading a book or two here. Family: 

??? - (Wife*Deceased*/While very little is known about him and his species, it is discovered that he did once have a family, with a loving wife that’s name has yet to be revealed. But it’s clear he loved her, as the metal bands around his horns are actually his species version of wedding rings. He has not taken them off since the day his family died, and has no urge to find another lover.)

??? - (Son *Deceased*/Similar to his wife, it’s been found he once had a son, who was a young child by the time he died. While still being rather private about his past, Eldrigma has mentioned to Vesper that his son suffered from a birth defect, and he always despised how people looked down on his own child. So it’s clear he was a loving and protective father.)

Friends: 

Vesper - (Ally/Friend?/Eldrigma came across Vesper after she had a brief fight with the Omni Squad kids, almost dying due to her condition. He ended up taking petty on her, sharing his own mana/magic to save her, and in return she now assists him on his path of revenge, as no one has shown her this kind of kindness with the state she was in. Their dynamic is rather complicated, starting off as strictly professional, planning to part ways once they achieved what they wanted. But as time passes, there’s signs they’re starting to care for each other, being two lost souls that might find peace in each other. But with Eldrigma always being so distant, and Vesper untrusting of people, it’s hard to say where it might go.)

Enemies: 

Jay Tennyson - (Enemies/Admitly, out of anyone in the Omni Squad, Eldrigma seems to not like fighting Jay the most. He sees the boy as a good person, one with ideals that wants people to follow, and appreciates the kind and forgiving person he is. But sadly they are always bound to fight, with Jay always wanting to get in the way, trying to learn more about Eldrigma, believing he can help. It’s a complicated villain vs hero dynamic, but not even Jay can make Eldrigma stop his path of vengeance.)

Thea Levin - (Enemies/While he doesn’t like fighting Thea, like the rest of the crew, he’s not particularly fond of her either. She’s loud, brash, and clearly doesn’t understand that things she says can sound more rude or hateful than she realises. Given Thea seems to have an issue of seeing things black and white, it sets Eldrigma off, reminding him too much of certain incidents in his past. Also doesn’t help that she is an anodite, another creature from his grim past.)

Malax Shard - (Enemies/He is rather conflicted with Malax, because on one hand her two alien sides he hates, having connections to his past. But on the other hand he knows she is not to be planned for what happened to him, and does take into account how good she is as a leader and person, respecting her choice to fight and protect. So he often stays quiet around her, unsure what to say to her.)

Rook Rilla - (Enemies/He interacts with her the least out of the team, but they still have their opinions on each other. While she can be standoffish, he can tell she is a caring person, given she is the team’s medic. He’s seen her throw herself in danger to protect people, often innocents around them, and that sometimes makes him hesitate. Unlike the others on the team, she can’t really fight him, so he never feels fair to get her involved. But if she chooses to, he can’t really stop her, as she too will get in his way.)

Vanessa - (Enemies/Like Thea, he doesn’t seem too fond of her. Both because of her heratidy and because of her actions and personality. She’s flighty, unsure, and sometimes pushes her luck, with him finding her childish at times. He can respect that she is willing to help out the group when they need it, but highly doubts she has what it takes to be the ruler of Ledgerdomain one day, not unless she cleans up her act.)

Many Alien Species - (Enemies/Whatever happened in his past seems to be connected to many alien species across the galaxy. Such as anodites, galvans, necrofriggins and so on. It’s unknown as to how many he has issues with, or what connects them, but it’s clear he’s out for revenge, and that they did something to him a long time ago. Something that seems to have been erased by history somehow, and it looks like he wants to put them through the same treatment. He sometimes loses his cool around these people, especially those in leadership positions, or old enough to know what might be going on.)

Representing Song: Conquest of Spaces - Woodkid

Skills: Natural Magic/Spell Casting, Enhanced Intelligence, Flight, Natural Strength/Endurance, Knowledgeable On Technology (Even from other races), Crafting/Creating, Minor Regeneration, Represents/Has Powers in Biology, Magic and Technology, Multilinguist, Marksmanship, The gems that grow in between his horns can be harvested to make talismans and runes, Prehensile Tail, Anti-Magic Cloak. Weakness/Flaws/Fears: He does seem to suffer from a form of PTSD and Depression, still dealing with grief and anger from his past. He can sometimes lose his cool around certain people, making him briefly lose control over himself. While he can regrow the gems in between his horns, if he loses them all his magic will struggle to work properly. He’s not good with connecting with people, even someone like Vesper, preferring to suffer silently, and never wants to choose another option that isn’t revenge.

#ben 10 #b10 #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 omniverse #ben 10 original series #oc #creature design #character design #Ben 10 next Gen #Gen 10 #Next Gen #Next Generation #Ben 10 OC #My Art

[wiltingwoes]

fuck it here’s the alternative universe one too

this one goes by bethanne/beth/bethany. does not goes by betty. strictly dnd/cos. I can always write her here, but unlike betty’s lore which jumps around timelines, hers is strictly cos based. mainly because once you enter barovia, good fucking luck getting out at that point GDHCBVB

- despite her appearance and strength, she’s the most watered down version of betty. a lot more rational, gentle, and empathetic. a gentle giant.

- looks like she’ll kill you. is actually a cinnamon bun. takes after her late mama andréa. very mama bear oriented. tries to reconcile with words over violence first. usually just tired all the damn time. has her feral moments.

- not to say she’s a pushover though oh my god no she’s the party’s tank and has done INSANE shit to people who fuck with her ‘pack’. her strength is 24 and intimidation has a +4. zealot barbarian as myrkul’s (god of necromancy and the undead) death knight, oathbreaker because she told kelemvor to go fuck himself and he killed her for that. this one has told MULTIPLE gods to go fuck themselves. she and betty share the same distinct hatred toward authority, anyone who disrespects the undead, and the gods. this one is the true advocate for the undead as she walks as not entirely myrkul’s vengeance toward the disrespect, but as his patience and gentleness toward death. our myrkul is homebrewed to be a shepherd of souls as opposed to his early days where he was a downright menace lmao dude just wants to not be forgotten as a god and she walks in his footsteps in order to keep him in existence.

- this bitch. looks like a tank. her arms are GUNS. it takes the ENTIRE PARTY to pull her away. if you get punched by her, you’re going to the ER. she’s so scared of holding tiny creatures because she doesn’t want to accidentally hurt them. think of striga from castlevania, same build and accent, just deeper.

- she often hides in the shadows. not to be shady, she’s just ashamed of her appearance. she doesn’t want to scare people. it’s just how the Nosferatu strand works. betty can cast illusionary spells — beth knows no magic. her faith and weaponry are the closest to magical ties.

- heavy female lean. basically a lesbian. she will occasionally flirt and bed other people, but she’s very committed to trying win cassandra’s heart. since our campaign is entirely homebrewed cause the og cos is pretty fUCKING BAD LOL it’s now LGBT friendly without all the racism and sexism and strahd being a degenerate. still extremely dark. our strahd was gender bent — cassandra strahd von zarovich. it’s my favorite trope ever because not only are these two hot vampire lesbians but it’s beauty and the beast. cass is an extremely attractive noble and baroness who committed herself to vampirism as a young vistani in order to save her family. the court murdered her wife and her daughter’s status is unknown. she’s lost in grief and madness after the curse and her intentions are unknown atm. beth is a nosferatu barbarian who wears her enemies’ skulls on her attire who was forced into vampirism when a nosferatu beast slaughtered her entire vistani vardo and bit her. she could’ve went down cass’ path of hatred for the world, but instead she fights out of love. seeks to redeem cass and break her curse. she’s only met cass once after she saved our party and knows she’s been watching the party and has so many questions for the vampiress. beth has been collecting info on her and trying to track her down for a month and a half now because she’s that dedicated in making sure she doesn’t suffer any further as someone who’s in constant suffering herself. they’re two sides of the same coin tbh. I could go on and on about them I’m SO soft for this ship

#🐀 MUSE: BETTY. 🐀

[swordofazrael1992]

🏳️‍🌈 jean paul valley!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH I AMM. BITING i will talk abt this topic FOREVER

jpv’s gender is truly girlfag to me. and imo her breaking away from the order of st dumas and her + azrael deciding to use their abilities to protect and save can be a trans narrative—EVERY prior azrael in their lineage was male, and every prior azrael was a weapon used by the order to deliver vengeance. and of course there’s the obvious gendered implications of those two paths (being merciful and protective as “feminine” and then aggressive and vengeful as “masculine”) that i think are SO interesting to explore. at the same time though i don’t think her gender identity lacks masculine facets, or is completely separate (or even separate at all) from masculinity. and this of course adds nuance to the prior conversation: azrael is now the angel of mercy, but that doesn’t mean they’ve completely divorced themselves from the concept of vengeance. that long ass ramble is to say: i see jpv as bigender, preferring a more gender nonconforming presentation and also identifying with transfeminine identity. i do also tend to say that i think she uses she/he pronouns, but most of the time im talking about her i end up using she/her

and for sexual identity: girlfag also, obviously, applies here. i’ve never been able to recognize her on-panel attraction to women as genuine or even present. it really feels like how i (boydyke) would look at men as a “i want to be them” and everyone around me interpreted as “i want to be with them” to the point that i assumed that’s what it was as well. admittedly, this is probably influenced by the fact that the first thing i ever read of her WAY before i became obsessed with her was tynion’s TEC comics, and she and luke are very 🏳️‍🌈 in that, but i also should mention that her and luke’s relationship is the only one of hers i’ve ever been able to interpret as romantic.

and thus i have recently been toying around with her being somewhere on the ace/aro spectrum, although im not 100% sure where. the majority of her expressed attraction has, as previously mentioned, felt very surface level to me, while SO MANY of her most important relationships have been platonic. i’ve also been thinking about the idea of her and luke as platonic/queerplatonic, and i think exploring some of her other relationships as queerplatonic could be SO interesting. like qpr jpv and babs???? i need to eat them

in summary: girlfag, transfeminine, aspec

and then there’s ALSO azrael ofc. i see him as genderless but not in an identifying as agender way more of like a. never occurred to him to have a gender and he’s so genderless that identifying with a gender identity term doesn’t fit for him. like “what’s your gender” “i am the angel of vengeance” “okay but what’s in your pants” “i have a flaming sword” “is that a euphemism” “*pulls out actual flaming sword* no”. i mostly use he/him for azrael because i genuinely just think it doesn’t occur to him to use other pronouns, and if someone were to bring it up he’d just see no reason to try and change. not in a denial way i just think he’s genuinely like. transcended the need for pronoun changes. although i do occasionally fuck with the idea of him using hy/hym pronouns. his gender makes sense to me but i cannot explain it. and then similarly i can’t explain his sexual/romantic orientations he is just. i think he’s similar to jpv in that the majority of his meaningful connections and relationships are platonic but i think (for example, if jpv was with luke romantically) he could end up building a connection with a partner that wasn’t strictly platonic. whether that would become romantic i can’t currently say because i haven’t fleshed out my jpv and azzy ace/aro spec headcanons. although at the end of the day i just don’t really think labels are super important to az? like he’s just kinda *waves hand* there. although i DO think identity is important to him. that might seem contradictory to what i’ve said previously in this ramble but i think that while he doesn’t identify with labels i do think he identifies as like. being other than what the order of st dumas would force him into being and being other than what the world would force him into being. azrael as a character, especially recently, is about forging your own path and that you are more than what people might force you to be and i think he would find comfort (or at least vindication) in the fact that there are these core parts of himself that are so incongruous with what would be expected of him, yknow? like as previously discussed with the concept of azrael being forcibly masculine, and him (not just jpv) being able to move past that and both define what being azrael means to him and define what gender means to him. overall i have a lot of thoughts on azzy but i haven’t been able to solidify them and Decide on them the way i have jpv which is something i must change immediately

in (outer world) presentation i’d say that azzy is also gender non-conforming but in a far more fashionable way than jean paul. azrael would be coordinating like runway ready looks while jpv has the worst fashion sense imaginable which is so funny to me. also i think azrael would be absolutely CRACKED at makeup don’t ask me why i just think he’s very good at it

LONG ASS POST OVER. i’m less insane now

#jpv #lex i am biting you in an affectionate way or perhaps a violent one whichever you prefer

[clawbehavior]

really getting into a TDJ au idea loosely based on mon mothma's storyline from andor:

kim gaon is an up and coming judge well loved by the public. he's also secretly funding resistance to the SRF, having watched their influence grow into a full out takeover of government.

after a surprise attack on one of their strongholds, the SRF starts cracking down on the resistance. they pass legislation that grants them sweeping powers, including investigating large financial transactions and auditing public figures.

recognizing that his popularity will make him a target, gaon acts quickly to make up the missing bank funds. he turns to kang yohan for help, the notoriously ruthless loan shark with a murky past that includes rumors of fratricide. the death of kang yohan's family has conveniently left him as the sole executor of his niece's inheritance. he's the devil gaon doesn't know but gaon is cornered. at least kang yohan is known to strictly abide by the terms of his contracts, unlike the unpredictable jukchang, a money lender with ties to organized violence.

so he meets kang yohan. their meeting is attacked. gaon shields yohan with his own body and they escape alive but injured. yohan brings gaon to his secluded fortress to recuperate where gaon also meets kang elijah.

cue suspicious gaon falling into bed with a maddeningly elusive yohan, figuratively at first and literally later on. in the interim, they continue to support the resistance independently of each other, not recognizing that the help they're getting is other acting anonymously.

things become complicated. gaon is drawn to yohan's unique brand of ethics and its capacity for justice but is ultimately conflicted over yohan's motivations and the hold his past has on him. yohan is intrigued by the contradiction between gaon's stubborn conviction in doing the right thing and his impulsive personality. they reach an emotional stalemate: gaon pleads with yohan to reveal his motivations and the truth behind the fire, but protecting elijah is more important to yohan than whatever he feels for gaon. so he does what he does best and redirects, misrepresents, and manipulates until gaon leaves of his own accord.

when yohan finally puts two and two together about gaon's role in the resistance and decides to trust him, he's ambushed by the SRF. he escapes only to find the fortress destroyed with elijah inside. gaon cannot be reached. inconsolable with rage and grief, yohan returns to the resistance with a renewed vow for vengeance.

months later, yohan is attending a public charity event intending to capture and interrogate the assistant to the minister of justice when he's suddenly pulled out of the hallway and into a dark room. it's gaon, eyes bright, holding onto yohan's jacket like a lifeline, hale and unharmed.

after he'd lost elijah, yohan couldn't find it in himself to establish contact with gaon again when the latter reemerged in the public eye. the chances of being reminded of elijah by being in the presence of someone who cared for her was too abhorrent. so yohan had stayed away.

except, gaon is at the event with his new ward, a teenage boy who looks...familar. it's elijah, incandescent in her disguise and very much whole and alive.

it turns out gaon had received word of the ambush against yohan and had raced to the fortress. he'd barely managed to get elijah out before the mansion was attacked, running through the forest with her in his arms until he reached the car that would transport them to a safehouse. they had laid low for a few days to evade the SRF's notice. by the time they could make contact, yohan was gone. none of gaon's contacts in the resistance could tell him where, yohan having gone deep into their folds where gaon's influence couldn't reach. afraid of compromising elijah's safety with a message, the two decided to wait for yohan to show up again. in the meantime, gaon had fashioned a disguise for her as his male ward.

cue gender bending shenanigans, family reunions, a team up to take down the SRF once and for all, and romantic revelations.

---

this au idea was brought to you by my watching 'the last of us' and imagining gaon fiercely protecting elijah in yohan's absence, lying beside her at night with one eye on the door and a hand on his gun, the two of them looking out for each other until yohan reunites with them and sees gaon for the protector he is.

#the devil judge #tdj imagine #kim gaon #kang yohan #kang elijah #lawful family #lawful husbands #tdj fanfic #the devil judge fanfiction #my au ideas

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: Promising Young Woman

Your reaction to the opening scene of Promising Young Woman might say a lot about you. A trio of finance ‘bros at a strip club talk about a female colleague in unflattering terms. One of them notices a woman who is drunk, by herself and who might be suggestive if she were sober. Two of the men don’t much care whether she’s sober or not, but the third seems concerned, and tries to help.

Have you seen the film? If not, I’d suggest you stop reading. You want to go in blind, not because the story has any fantastically inventive or original twists, but because of the fresh way it presents otherwise tired revenge-fantasy tropes.

If you have seen it, I’d like to quiz you on your reaction to the opening scene. Did you think:

A: “It’s good one of these guys is decent and wants to help.”

Or

B: “Something about this whole thing seems off to me.”

The very-much-not-drunk woman’s name is Cassie, played by the perennially underrated Carey Mulligan, and she makes a habit of this. The “nice guy” of course attempts to take advantage of her, and she leaves his apartment the next morning with blood on her, not hers. She does this not for herself, but for a friend who was sexually assaulted in college.

If you knew anything about the film going in, you expected that. What’s refreshing is where the story goes from there. Cassie returns home to her parent’s house. Her “lair” is her room, an ordinary, if upper-class, quarters. She works at a coffee house, drives an ordinary car, and eventually acquires an ordinary boyfriend (Bo Burnham) who is cute enough but not Hollywood Hot.

Most revenge-fantasy films strictly avoid questions of where a character lives, how they earn money, who their family and friends are, and what they do when they aren’t revenging. That’s even more true of movies starring women. We seem unable to imagine them as both hardened action stars and having a regular life. In movies like Atomic Blonde or Ocean’s 8, the heroes operate out of temporary digs, and if we do catch a glimpse of an apartment, it’s not the kind of place humans actually live---there are never any messes, and nobody spends even a single night on a Netflix binge. One recent film simply titled Revenge gave our heroine absolutely no background or story at all.

This often works, on a sleek, superficial level. What elevates PYW is that it eschews that sleekness for messy reality, so that when Cassie takes revenge on one of the many people she blames for what happened, she still has to walk out onto an ordinary street, drive to a real house in a real car, and so forth. Most avenging angels are simply transported from one setpiece location to another by editing. You cannot picture one of Liam Neeson’s retribution-obsessed action heroes actually driving somewhere---he simply teleports.

The movie later suggests she does not kill her targets, but instead terrorizes them and sometimes tortures them. You may well wonder how she gets away with this---how she fools assholes into taking her home despite leaving them alive to spread the story. The movie never says, but if you’ve been around this particular type of guy, you already know. Men such as Cassie’s victims never see a woman as being their equal, and thus cannot perceive one as a threat to them. And if a woman does get the best of them, they’d never tell the authorities. Both things would threaten their sense of dominance. When they tell their friends the story, you better believe they re-write it to make themselves look good.

All of which naturally begs the question: what is Cassie achieving? A lesser film in this vein might be content to say that revenge is enough. Emerald Fennell clearly found that approach lacking. Cassie is not a mindless, emotion-free robot of automatic vengeance, but a broken person driven to break people who deserve it. One of my favorite comics, 100 Bullets, is built around the ability to get away with justified murder, and ranges widely in terms of the fates of those who take that chance.

Cassie would fit right in as a character there. The men she targets deserve their fate. Yet her crusade is destroying whatever was left of her as her ends justify more and more extreme means. She eventually confronts the Dean of her former med school (Connie Britton), a woman who has a history of allowing abusers to walk free because she places her social class above both her gender and justice. The Dean deserves to squirm, but however correct Cassie is in what she says, what she does to torture the women would make any parent hate our protagonist.

There is no way this is not deliberate on Fennell’s part; you cannot write a hero such as this one and expect us to agree with everything she does. She is not out to ruin the lives of merely abusers, but of those who looked the other way. The moral dilemma is that Cassie does not care who else she hurts to make those people hurt. Anyone is fair game for her schemes if it accomplishes her ends. There’s no way for a person with a soul to be that focused on getting the job done without internalizing some of it, taking that darkness on themselves.

The pivotal moment showing the damage Cassie is personally incurring is not very dramatic. She visits a woman who was a friend when they were kids, and talks about the friend who is gone. This is simply an ordinary woman---we have not seen her before this scene, and we do not see her after, because Cassie has isolated herself from her life. She lives on an ordinary street, and the two talk like you or I might talk, not like a screenwriter would. You could quite easily walk down this street and past them talking, and not know anything important was being discussed.

Could this be a comment by Fennell: “Sexual assault doesn’t appear dramatic, and is all around you”? It works on that level. I chose to see it as a means to ground Cassie in a life like ours, to elevate her above the killing machines we see in many movies. Real survivors don’t become superheroes; they have to go on with life. Cassie is a great hero because she has to do that, too. Our satisfaction at seeing assholes punished is muted somewhat by how much of her soul it costs her. Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts. 

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

You can follow me on Twitter here, if you want more posts about film and video games and sometimes about manscaping:

https://twitter.com/RyanmEft

All images are property of the people what own the movie.

#carey mulligan #bo burnham #promising young woman #movies #alfred molina #connie britton #emerald fennell

[deepjams4]

Do Deities really Curse the human-beings?

I got a WhatsApp message, today morning, which shook me, as I then only, could realise, the extent to what low levels one could think and sadly about a primitive or medieval mindset or the thinking too, of that particular person, whom I thought to be a very seasoned one and well educated (by education I only mean university degrees).

Though, the contents of message didn’t surprise me, which are only an outcome, based on some religious beliefs, because of which women in our patriarchal society are considered second grade, inferior and impure, despite worshiping the Deity of Power-Maa Durga or Maa Kali or Maa Chandi, Deity of Wealth & Prosperity- Maa Lakshmi and Deity of Wisdom & knowledge- Maa Saraswati or Maa Sharda.

Why we blame any other religion or a society, when our own backyard is rotting with such illogical mindsets and thinking!

The WhatsApp message read as:

“Why corana is more in Kerala.

It is the curse 🤬 of Lord Ayyappa.

If allowing ladies into sabarimala is stopped corana will vanish”.

My reply to him was:

“Please stop developing such wrong notions and stop spreading such rumours!

No deity is human so no deity has the nature and behaviour of a human-being of jealousy, hatred, or vengeance.

Therefore no deity including Lord Aayappa would curse anyone!”

Ultimately, with an illogical and unscientific thinking or mindset, our thought process gets corrupted and we end up discriminating against people on the basis of caste, skin colour, creed, religion or region and in this case on the basis of gender.

Here I am reminded of the preachings of Sikh Guru Amar Dass ji, who preached for community langar (kitchen) without any discrimination about the caste and creed, the liberation of women from the practices of purdah (wearing a veil) as well as strongly preached against the practice of sati (Hindu wife burning on her husband's funeral pyre).

Guru Amar Das also disapproved of a widow remaining unmarried for the rest of her life.

The Sikh Gurus preached and banned this custom of purdah and Sikhs are strictly prohibited from practising this custom.

In fact the advent of Sikhism appeared a liberating force in Indian society. Affirmation of the dignity of the human being, male as well as female, was central to Guru Nanak’s teaching. He had for women especially, many words of gratitude to say.

In this respect, verses from Asa ki Var, when roughly translated in English, read as:

“Of woman are we born,

of woman conceived;

to woman engaged,

to woman married.

Women are befriended,

by woman is the civilization continued.

When woman dies, woman is sought for.

It is by woman that the entire social order is maintained.

Then why call her evil of whom are great men born?”

So why call her bad? From her, kings are born.

From woman, woman is born; without woman, there would be no one at all.

— Guru Nanak, Raag Aasaa Mehal 1, Panna 473

While many faiths abhor menstruating women, the only saving grace comes in the form of Sikhism. According to Guru Nanak Dev, a mother’s blood is necessary for human life and is therefore sacred, rather than impure.

In Hindu religion or Indian mindsets women are regarded as impure during periods and immediately after childbirth .

In Sikh religion /Gurbani these female bodily functions are viewed as natural body functions and no restriction is imposed .

Rough translation of the hymn on page no. 472 of Shri Guru Granth Sahib is as below :

“If one accepts the concept of women being impure in those days ( when she goes through life giving cycle) then there is impurity in everything”,

“O Brahmin you use cow dung and wood to make your kitchen clean they are also impure as they have worms”

“So are the grains of corn , as none of these is without life”

“Even in the basic ingredient of life, water, there is life, from which everything is made green”

“How can you protect yourself /your kitchen from the (so called) impurity as all the things containing life enter into your kitchen”

“O Nanak , impurity cant be removed in this way It is washed away only by spiritual wisdom.”

For this fact alone, Sikhism is the most woman-friendly of all the world’s patriarchal religions.

That we still believe in such regressive beliefs, as nursed and displayed by not only my friend who sent me the above referred message, but also many other people of orthodox mindset, is a sign that humans haven't evolved much from their medieval and troglodytic past.

——

#writerscreed #writers creed #writers on tumblr #new poets on tumblr #writers corner #urdu poetry #poets corner #hindipoetry #कविता #hindi poetry #writersofinstagramcommunity #spilledthoughts

[astra-and-atlas]

the origins of medusa

The myth of Medusa is a well known one, with many different interpretations and theories that have changed over the years. There are multiple sources that all offer different accounts of her myths and ancestry, and as I am quite interested in her, I thought I’d start by exploring different accounts of her origins. 

Medusa, daughter of the Gorgo Aix

During the Titan Wars,  Zeus slayed the the Gorgo Aix, the daughter of Helios. Aix, similar to the meanings of Medusa, Stethnno, and Euryale, was heavily associated with the strength and violence of storms. It is said in  Pseudo-Hyginus, Astronomica 2. 13 that Aix became Zeus’ shield, the aegis. 

But when Jupiter [Zeus], confident in his youth, was preparing for war against the Titans, oracular reply was given to him that if he wished to win, he should carry on the war protected with the skin of a goat, aigos, and the head of the Gorgon. The Greeks call this the aegis. When this was done, as we have shown above, Jupiter [Zeus], overcoming the Titans, gained possession of the kingdom. Covering the remaining bones of the goat with a skin, he gave life to them and memorialised them, picturing them with stars. Afterwards he gave to Minerva [Athena] the aegis with which he had been protected when he won."

We can see this also in Medusa’s most common myth, where her slain head is turned into Athene’s shield. Because the gender of Aix is widely debated, as the gorgons were originally described as grotesque, it was difficult to determine if they were bearded women, or feminine men. Aix is conflated with the parentage of Medusa, because they are the Elder Gorgon. 

Hesoid’s description of Medusa

Hesoid describes Medusa as the daughter of Phorkys (Phorcys) and Keto (Ceto). Phorkys is an ancient sea-god, who supposedly represented the danger of the sea.In the Odessy he is described as “the lord of the barren brine”.  Keto most often described as his wife, her name translated to “sea monster”. We see this most cleary in her offspring- the children of the two are monsters of the sea, including Skylla, the Graeae, and the Gorgones. 

Hesoid also notes that Medusa is a mortal, unlike her sisters. She is already destined to die. 

and the Gorgones (Gorgons) who, beyond the famous stream of Okeanos (Oceanus) ... they are Sthenno, Euryale, and Medousa (Medusa), whose fate is a sad one, for she was mortal, but the other two immortal and ageless both alike.

Medusa as a sea daimon makes quite a bit of sense considering both her connection with storms, her dwelling place on a rocky island Okeanos, and the warning that the Gorgons are “to whom no one of mortal kind shall look upon and still draw breath”. Theoi.com notes that:

The poet Hesiod seems to have envisaged the Gorgones (Gorgons) as reef-creating sea-daemones, personifications of the deadly submerged rocks which posed such a danger to ancient mariners.

I think that this also relates to Medusa’s power to turn men to stone- both the idea that hidden dangers in the ocean, such as jagged rocks, will kill a man, but also ships sinking like a stone in the ocean. 

Medusa, snakes, and hurricanes

As noted above, Medusa is commonly noted as a daughter of Aix, who is a child of Helios. However, we can also see the Elder gorgon being born of Typhon, titan of Hurricanes, and Echidna, a woman serpent-monster. This is I line with Medusa and her sisters being a) related to the sea and b) heavily associated with a snake like appearance. (the most common description of Medusa in the current eye is a woman with hair made of snakes). In Pseudo-Hyginus, Fabulae 151 it is said that:

"From Typhon the giant and Echidna were born Gorgon . . . From Medusa, daughter of Gorgon, and Neptunus [Poseidon], were born Chrysaor and horse Pegasus.

I find it quite interesting how much of Medusa’s origins is based in the ocean, especially considering the role Poseidon plays in her myth. 

Medusa in later literature

In later stories, Medusa is not a monster with monstrous lineage but a beautiful maiden who was transformed into a monster due to Athene's wrath. This will be discussed more later when I write about the variations fo her myth. Ovid says in Metamorphosis:

‘What you ask is worth the telling; listen and I'll tell the tale. Her beauty was far-famed, the jealous hope of many a suitor, and of all her charms her hair was loveliest; so I was told by one who claimed to have seen her.

I could not find any sources that state Medusa was ever immortal- even when she is first mentioned she is already doomed to her myth and eventual death. However it is strange to think of her as strictly mortal - unlike other deities (which Medusa is not) that are confused with mortals, there are no sources saying she was ever strictly “human”, at least not that I could find. 

Final Notes

Medusa is, first and foremost, a symbol of terror. Both in her myth and origin, she is tied to fear, death, vengeance, and storms. The ocean in Ancient Greece was not only important but also a great danger- storms could easily kill, and the temper of the ocean was unpredictable. (We see this in Poseidon). I’m go to explore on these ideas more when I discuss the various ideas and elements in Medusa’s myth. Thank you for listening!

Sources are taken from Theoi.com. If anyone has any further resources on the subject and would be willing to share, please let me know. Rest well. 

#medusa #hellenic polytheism #hellenism #ancient greece

[nataliaxortega]

(DIANE GUERRERO, 190, SHE/HER) We have been waiting for a while, but NATALIA ORTEGA was finally spotted in the village today. People heard whispers that they are a FAE that is hellbent on [ destroying ] the veils. Will they succeed? Only time can tell. Until then we will keep a close eye on them as they listen to MISS NOTHING BY THE PRETTY RECKLESS

statistics

full name: natalia luna ortega

hometown: san antonio, texas

age & DOB: 190. april 6th

gender: cisfemale

pronouns: she/her

species: fae (unseelie)

occupation: tattoo artist

relationship status: single

sexual orientation: pansexual

appearance

fc: diane guerrero

hair color: black

eye color: brown

height: 5'1"

build: fit, hourglass

piercings: hoop in right nostril, septum, both ears, tongue, belly button, both nipples

tattoos: full sleeve on both arms,

personality

positives: hardworking, flirtatious, honest, creative, quick-witted

negatives: manipulative, vengeful, callous, dogmatic, sardonic,

background (death tw, war tw):

Natalia, or Nat as she often prefers to be called, was born and raised in San Antonio, Texas. Her parents, Colombian natives, fled from hunters in their home country in the 1820s.

They were sure that their new home was safe until the area was infiltrated by hunters around 1835. When Texas was annexed by the US a year later, the family fled once more -- this time overseas to London.

For the majority of her young life, Natalia and her family were always on the move. By the age of thirty, she had lived in twenty different countries. Despite the negatives of constantly moving, this allotted the young fae to learn a myriad of cultures and customs, making her a very knowledgeable young woman.

At almost 100 years old, she fell madly in love with a young human she had met in Paris, France. Her parents strictly forbid it as they personally felt interspecies relationships were unclean and beneath the fae due to the rise in the number of hunters. Still, she cared for him more than any living being she had met in her long life. During their whirlwind romance, she found herself softening towards humans and other species -- perhaps there was a kind heart beneath her stony façade.

Unfortunately, her beloved Rupert was slain in the Battle of Normandy in 1944. Upon hearing the news, everything Natalia loved and held dear crashed around her. Gone was her soft heart, and the vicious and cruel girl that she once was returned with a vengeance.

Faced with unbearable grief, the fae decided to move back to the United States to travel once more. She settled in southern California in the 1960s where she found herself intertwined with some of the greatest actors and musicians of the era. It was during this time period that she developed a love for body art.

Over the next fifteen years, she worked hard at her chosen trade, becoming one of the best tattoo artists in the area.

In the mid eighties, Natalia made the decision to move back to Europe and settled upon Wildemount where she still resides to this day, continuing her work.

additional personality information

Natalia is known for being quite cruel at times - particularly to those that cross her. She takes advantage of her inability to lie and often says exactly what she feels about people, taking digs at their most sensitive of faults.

Ever the sadist, she gets enjoyment out of people's pain, which is most likely the reason she chose to become a tattoo artists. Humans are particularly her favorite to tattoo as they tend to have a lower pain tolerance.

It's extremely hard to get into Natalia's good graces. However, once someone breaks through to her, she's loyal to the end. There's nothing she wouldn't do to protect a person she cares for.

She personally believes in the legend that states faeries come from the union of demons and angels. It's this reason alone that she herself prefers the company of other unseelie and demons to that of humans and angels.

There's not much that Natalia loves more than a good party. She often blames it on the instinct to lure humans -- there's no weaker prey than that of someone that has vices involving drugs or alcohol.

#veils:intro #about. #death tw #war tw

[centrumlumina]

I posted 6,803 times in 2022

That's 2,308 more posts than 2021!

47 posts created (1%)

6,756 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@astercrash

@cynassa

@scienceandstarlight

@floralprintshark

@voyaging-too

I tagged 6,799 of my posts in 2022

#batfam - 1,505 posts

#random - 783 posts

#pretty things - 777 posts

#jason todd - 504 posts

#the locked tomb - 437 posts

#writing - 422 posts

#cuties - 397 posts

#capitalism - 340 posts

#dick grayson - 295 posts

#sci fi - 293 posts

Longest Tag: 125 characters

#but also immediate headcanon that cass also felt betrayed when sheldon and amy's relationship got forced into allonormativity

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I didn’t want to have to say this, but: anyone who thinks that the Boathouse Scene was a “Girlboss moment” has completely missed the point of Katya’s character arc and, frankly, the movie as a whole.

Katya’s arc is about the ways that her life is defined by the men around her. Goncharov, Andrey, Valery - they all have their own ideas of how she should act, who she should be. She doesn’t want to be a housewife, but in the strictly gendered society she lives in, she isn’t allowed to seek fulfilment beyond that.

The subtext of the conversation in the market is pretty blatant - Katya wants to be allowed to discover who she really is away from the obligations of her family, lovers, and husband. Sofia giving her the apple represents the offer of that freedom. Some people have interpreted this as a temptation - the serpent with Eve, and all the pseudosexual tension that implies - but I view it as an intentional subversion of that image, given the way Sofia is haloed in light throughout the scene. (The homoeroticism is real, though!)

I can see where some people get confused by the ending, because Katya does successfully escape her domestic life - but she doesn’t achieve that through the spiritual offer of self-knowledge Sofia represents! Her love for Goncharov and Andrey won’t allow that. Instead she betrays Sofia and winds up in the boathouse, holding the gun; the men around her have finally dragged her into their life of violence. She might survive the end of the movie, but she has lost everything she cared about, and instead of pursuing the independence she initially wanted, it’s implied (I heard confirmed in a cast interview? if anyone has a source for that let me know!) that she returns to Russia to pursue further vengeance.

Katya’s story arc is not about her being a Girlboss - she isn’t beating the men at their own game, or if she is it’s not a game worth playing. Katya is a tragedy, and a warning about the way the violence of men damages the women around them. Killing is never something to aspire to - it is only, as Valery says, “a clock ticking down to midnight.”

260 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

#4

Did your ship make the top 5?

View the full list now on my AO3, along with the Top 100 Overall and the Top 100 Femslash pairings.

539 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

#3

What fanfic was the world writing in 2021? (AO3 Year In Review)

Click through to AO3 to read the full top 100 list of the most popular relationship tags of 2021!

637 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

#2

pre-resurrection gang is like: every friend group should include

a bimbo (cristabel)

two mean bisexuals (augustine & mercymorn)

an even meaner lesbian (cassiopeia)

she/theys (pyrrha)

he/theys (gideon)

a token straight that’s on thin ice (alfred)

two preserved corpses you puppeteer around with you (ulysses & titania)

an astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth chart memorized (nigella)

and a short king (john)

708 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Here is my Hot Tridentarii take: Babs is not Ianthe’s cavalier. Coronabeth is, and always has been, Ianthe’s cavalier. The reason Ianthe ate Babs had nothing to do with who he was, and everything to do with him not being Corona.

Ianthe and Coronabeth represent a model of the Lyctor/cav relationship to parallel Harrow & Gideon, just like Pal & Cam do. But where Pal & Cam loved each other so much they became one person, Ianthe’s choice was that she loved Coronabeth so much that she could not stand to consume her, and as a result pushed her away.

...which is exactly what Harrow did to Gideon with her home-grown lobotomy in HtN. I gave you my whole life and you didn’t even want it.

741 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[windwardstar]

Death in the warring lands would have two words for it and two genders. There would be the active sense of death as a force, of something more akin to a verb. And the passive that would be a state of existence and then include the use that is strictly a noun.

And that corpses and dying of old age would be the second. But murder and war would be the first.

And that the genders in northern are also associated with female/male

So war+death in the abstract would be read as feminine and an active thing. While a slain corpse would be read as a passive male thing. (And then add in the layer that wars are led by women and fought by men in the warring lands so).

But anyway, by gendering death as female in the thing with morose aille it automatically tells aille's relationship towards it even without naming vengeance and conquering the seven thrones (at least within the universe it would). And by turning it into something that happens to her enemies, it places her enemies on a lower status.

If that makes any sense?

Aka theoretically literary analysis for literary works within my made up world.

#star verse: northern #star verse: warring lands #star verse: worldbuilding #morose aille

[livvywrites]

GENERAL

Because Eldora’s gods have taken such an active role in shaping their world, most every country believes in them—even if they’re not the primary focus of worship. There are, of course, exceptions that I may talk about one day. Also may not.

The main divines are:

Death. Primarily presents in a male form. His element is spirit, and his domain is that of souls. His celestial beings are the Reapers, who are referred to as his children. Reapers deliver souls—both to the afterlives, and in the case of new souls, to Eldora. Death also oversees the Forgotten Realms, though how he cam into possession of it varies by the telling.

Most notable minor gods:

Elaena, Death’s eldest daughter and the first Reaper. Capable of shapeshifting into a crow. While she no longer escorts souls (at least not often) she is something of a champion in the celestial realms. Most of her days are spent in the Forgotten Realms, though, though what she does there no one knows.

Life. Primarily presents in a female form. Her element is earth, especially plants. Her domain is life—motherhood, agriculture, animal raising, and of course, the living of it. Her celestial beings are the souls of departed nymphs, or nymphs who were born in her domain.

Most notable minor gods:

Vitala, the spirit of the World Tree and the first nymph, is often celebrated as Life’s first creation. Some say she can access Life’s domain in the celestial realms.

Hope. Primarily presents in a female form. Her element is air, while her domain is that of wishes, the future, children, and dreams. Her celestials are the virtues, most notably Hope’s Vanguard.

Most notable minor gods:

Love, leader of Hope’s Vanguard. Unlike the other members of the Vanguard, Love carries no weapons, but she is their most celebrated and revered member. Often called the glue that holds them together.

Faith is Love’s beloved, and rather than a weapon, he carries a shield. Most of the time it stays on his arm, but it can grow to encompass all of the Vanguard if need be. He’s their protector, and their most stalwart believer.

Courage carries a spear, and is the patron of Eldora’s Knights. While most Knights pick a member of the Vanguard to act as a patron, Courage is the one who watches over all of them—according to the doctrine. His spear is their symbol, and they honor him after every battle—whether it be success or fail.

Wisdom is the final most famed member of the Vanguard. While there are plenty other members in the tale, they’re not nearly as famous. Wisdom is said to know many secrets of the world and the celestial realms, and to have a library which holds a copy of every work Eldora has ever produced, including some that have been lost to time.

Fear. Primarily presents in a female form. Her element is fire, while her domain is nightmares, battle/war, regrets, and survival. Her celestials are primarily the souls of departed monsters, but she has a sole being created by herself—known as Apathy.

Most notable minor gods:

Apathy is Fear’s Champion, and she is rarely ever without them at her side. Apathy is efficient and deadly, and presents as a shadow being encased in twisted armor. They hardly ever speak, if they do so at all. Instead they watch, at all times.

Chaos. Ever switching forms, though he is most often represented in a male form. His element is water, while his domains are weather, government, sexuality/gender, vengeance, and change. His celestials are the Infernalis, which you could say resemble demons.

Most notable minor gods:

The Seven Champions of the Infernalis are the closest thing to a ruling body they have, outside of Chaos. The champions names are Hedonia, Arrogni, Envidious, Ingrog, Seleedeous, Lazothia, and Asmodeous.

Then there is Chaos’s Mouth, who takes news to his servants and also communicates his desires and wishes to the other divines if Chaos can’t make it. Her name is Eris.

Order. Presents as male. His element is time, though he has also been represented by stone. His domains are justice, balance, government, and time. His celestials are the Ethereal, which could be said to resemble angels.

Most notable minor gods:

Syni is the leader of the Justicars, holy warriors who help keep the Celestial Realms safe. They also root out practitioners of time magic on Eldora—and the consequences of such are not ones anyone wants to face.

Fate. Presents as female. Everyone is born with a thread, and that thread is woven into Fate’s loom. Your decisions influence the tapestry, but there are some things that were always meant to happen. Fate records them all, and ensures that Eldora is ever marching onward.

[The rest of this is under a cut, as it got long!]

MYNERA

Mynera primarily worships Hope and Life. 

Mynera also has a space for Death in their temples, and the priests and priestesses there are in charge of running funerals and tending to bodies. They also watch over and run the mausoleums and graveyards.

The Sage is believed to have a connection to Fate. Despite this, your average Myneran doesn’t typically worship Fate any more than your average Eldoran.

In general, while Mynerans are open about their faith, their version of devout isn’t often the same as others. To them, worship is a very personal thing, and done more in the act of little rituals then it does elaborate ones. As such, they don’t typically hold services outside of major holidays, and visit the temples as they need. Most rites are done within their own home.

Hope

People keep candles in their bedrooms in honor of Hope, which is blown out before bed each night, alongside a wish for good dreams.

Those in the guard typically choose one of the Vanguard as a patron, just as the Knights do outside of Eldora. Courage, Mercy, and Justice are chosen most often, but you’ll see Faith, Generosity, or Confidence chosen every now and again. No one ever chooses Love, but mostly because it’s considered taboo.

Birthdays are a time to honor Hope in Mynera—to celebrate the passing of one year and in hopes for the future.

Life

Children are given a plant to take care of when they turn 10. It’s an important responsibility. Some will cultivate more plants, while others (usually those who are quite busy) only have one. 

At 12, children head to ranches to pick out their first da’lia. This can take years, as da’lia and rider form a bond that increases the da’lia’s lifespan. The bond cannot be forced.

Farmers make offerings to Life at the beginning and the end of each harvest season. The first as a wish for the season to go well, and the last as thanks for whatever was grown.

ILLUMINARA

Illuminara primarily worships the minor goddess, Wisdom. There is also a large presence of those who worship Order, as well. Though, where Order goes, Chaos follows—and vice versa. Chaos worshippers are mostly underground, however.

Order has a towering cathedral that looms above the city state. It is outshone only by the sprawling Magus College and the seat of the Viscount. Wisdom’s halls are in the College, while Chaos’s worshippers have secret temples out and about, mostly hidden inside people’s houses.

There is a place for Death in Illuminara, though it is outside the city proper. Death’s temple is small, barely recognizable as such. It sits outside an entrance into the caves, which is where Illuminaran dead are entombed. (Save for the Archmagus and Viscounts families, which are entombed beneath the Keep.)

Wisdom

Many of those studying at the college wear amulets in Wisdom’s honor. The Archmagus has an amulet, as well as a highly prized artifact called ‘Wisdom’s Crown.’ This has been passed down since the first Archmagus—Talinth Lumina, who founded the college.

Few services as such are held, but you’ll often find students sitting in the pews, clutching amulets and praying for help on upcoming tests or trials they might be facing.

Wisdom’s followers also often drink from ‘blessed water’ which flows out of a fountain in her service hall. The fountain is a pretty thing—a statue of Wisdom standing in a basin, the water lapping about her calves. She wears a mimicry of the crown the Archmagus wears, and large feathered wings.

Some people also kiss the statue of Wisdom, though this is frowned upon by the teachers and Archmagus.

Order

The guards wear Order’s symbol on their shields. Most of the citizens wear an amulet with the symbol of the Ethereal around their necks. 

The city is very tough on crime, with ‘justice’ the strongest value among the guard. As such, Illuminara has a court system like no other, with long legal processes that give the average folk headaches.

Depending on the crime, the person most wronged will be given the chance to mete out the sentence themselves (wielding the headsman’s axe if murder is the verdict, for instance). This goes on for the top three people, and if all of them refuse, the headsman or other sentencer will carry it out themselves.

Services are held every Thursday and Sunday. For a brief period of years, not long after Kai’os made his bid for Mynera, services were actually required. After Illuminara’s Liberation (led by famous figure Talitha Jade, before she disappeared again), however, things went back to normal.

Chaos

While worship of Chaos isn’t strictly forbidden in Illuminara, it is highly frowned upon everywhere outside of the college. As such people who worship him tend to keep such a thing to themselves.

Chaos worshippers are most often picked out of a crowd by their bracelets—a set of five golden bangles, the middle of which is a snake. Chaos worshippers are also often found out in thunderstorms, usually in the gardens or outside of the city, dancing.

SLAEYR

Slaeyr don’t really worship any of the divines, to tell the truth, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own ways to honor them. These ways vary often from tribe to tribe and even Slaeyr to Slaeyr, but a few are as follows.

Most Slaeyrs consider the god their element comes from their ‘patron’ of sorts. This is generally confirmed when their patron will visit them in dreams, or send a messenger to speak with them. Usually to ask them to carry out a task, to protect the people of Eldora or just their specific faithful. 

Some Slaeyrs will wear a holy symbol, but some don’t.

Some Slaeyr toss a bit of their meal into the fire at night, as an offering. Others might toss bits of twine, something interesting they found in their travels, or even something they made that day.

Some connect to their elements in some way. Someone connected to Life might bury an offering for her in the earth. Someone connected to Chaos will toss something in running water. So on and so forth.

Some Slaeyr pray, in the morning or at night. Usually within the privacy of their own tents or out in the wilderness.

Many Slaeyr meditate, and some make it more of a religious thing.

Some light a candle for their god, or even just create a small fire for them.

Others consider using their element in service of Eldora to be their patronage, and still yet others do not believe the gods need their patronage at all.

taglist: @quartzses; @idreamonpaper; @runningonrain; @witchywrite; @queenofsquirrelsstuff; @margaretcroftwrites; @purpleshadows1989; @klywrites; @she-writes-love; @sixstepsaway; @neptune-nereid; @firesidefantasy; @joshuaorrizonte; @waterfallwritings; @languageisbae; @lady-redshield-writes; @luciellesgarden; @dogwrites; @quilloftheclouds

#writeblr #writelr #writers of tumblr #fantasy #fantasy fiction #worldbuilding #world building june #wbj #tmq #the martyr queen #eldora

[jayne-hecate-writer]

Super Hamlet 64, a theatre piece

If I am honest, I was uncertain about attending this show this evening for two very good reasons. 

Firstly, I was lucky enough to see a fabulous Royal Shakespeare Company Production of Hamlet a few years ago and secondly, I absolute adore the Tom Stoppard play Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead. I did not want those fond memories damaged by a short and silly play. However, my fears quickly proved unfounded and this play actually increased my enjoyment of Shakespeare’s longest play.

Super Hamlet 64 is a retelling of the tale of the Dane, through the medium of computer game analogies, similes and songs, performed by the artist Edward Day. The first introduction of Edward the performer was when they entered the stage, looking vaguely uncomfortable, if a little shy and then engaged with the front row of the audience in Clevedon’s wonderful Theatre Shop with the graceful poise of a seasoned performer. Edward’s performance has a sincere fragility to it, a soft humour and then almost from nowhere came sudden barbed threats of extreme violence! All of which was entirely enjoyable and it made us feel a kinship with the artist, who stood, spiritually exposed and barefoot on the dark stage.

Slipping into the world of Edwood was remarkably comfortable, even for a jaded old has-been gamer like me. In truth, the last game I played was a Linux clone of Lemmings, called Pingus and before that it was the zombie holocaust horror game,  Resident Evil, back when it was released at the end of the nineties for the original Playstation. However, even as out of date as I was, I was still able to identify many of the games used in this evenings narrative.

Edwood’s performance is an earnest  mixed bag of emotions, starting from the innocent vulnerability of their first steps on the stage, then slipping into the role of the wistful minstrel playing the ukulele, before suddenly dropping into the raging monster seeking vengeance for the death of their father. Each aspect of the character was entirely believable and richly played, even on such a sparse stage.

The stage is a character in itself, what at first appears to be a simply lit empty space, before rapidly turning into another world with a projector showing rapidly evolving graphics, interspersed with pre-recorded music videos. It is here that Edward shows themselves to be an accomplished multi instrumentalist, playing almost all of the instruments seen in the footage. For some people this might have been a little unusual, because Edward also played many of the characters in the band, even those who appeared strongly male or strongly female. This is not a throwback to the androgyny of the seventies that was made popular by the likes of David Bowie, but rather a strong statement of a modern gender fluid dynamic and Edward played each role with conviction. It is for this reason that I am not using the usual male or female pronouns, so you can imagine my disappointment when the lighting director/stage manager who spoke to the audience during the intermission and was unable to refer to Edward as anything other than in a male role. Maybe my own gender variance made this more of an issue for me, but to my mind it did seem a little disrespectful.

The play sticks fairly strictly to the story of Hamlet, with King Hamlet depicted as Super Mario and Claudius the dead King’s brother as Luigi, Mario’s Brother. This simple change was wonderfully played and again raised a laugh from the audience. Later in the story, my two favourite characters (when given life in Stoppard’s play), Rosencrantz & Guildenstern came split as four equally compelling computer game characters, which to my mind was inspired. This was quickly followed by a complicated and clever use of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device (ASHPD) from the game Portal, which dispatched them with great, if rather painful  velocity! Even though this is a joke that I have seen used else where a few times now, such as on the TV show Rick and Morty, I was very impressed to see it used so effectively live on stage, even with such hilarious violence!

One aspect I really did enjoy was Edward taking Ophelia, more usually depicted as the tragic weeping maiden and turning her into a super heroine, wielding the BFG from Doom (For those of you who do not know this reference, the BFG is a big err… gun.) to slay the Mecha form of Luigi, who had set out to kill everyone in the whole world!

This retelling of Hamlet using the simple if shorter terminology used in computer games is an engaging way of breaking into a more profound and complex world. For the purist Shakespeare fan, I suspect that this was an intolerable bastardisation of a beloved script. But for the more open minded theatre goer, or the casually interested and well read gamer, this was outstanding and would likely see them take the first steps of a long journey into the Shakespearean world. Be warned though the original play is a dark and often depressing tragedy and lacks the jokes, the songs and most of all the BFG of this production!

I was not alone in enjoying the evening, everyone else around me also seemed to really enjoy the show too and those lucky enough to interact with Edward were given the chance to perform a few tiny if short lived roles too. This play which before seeing appears frivolous or even a little silly, is at heart still a complex piece of theatre, it retains much of the darkness of the original and it is propelled beautifully by the fragile and powerfully athletic Edward. The truth is that Edward is a complicated and intriguing performer and I would love to see more of their work. With only one night of Super Hamlet 64 left, I do believe that they are worthy of seeing again in the other shows that they are touring with. The next show, Too Pretty to Punch, looks to be a powerful piece of social commentary and I truly hope that it comes to the Theatre shop in Clevedon.

One small tip to those who visit the theatre shop, take a cushion with you. The seats are uncomfortably hard after the first half of a performance and it takes a really good show to block out the pain for the second half!

#shakespeare #hamlet #Edwood Day #Theatre shop #Clevedon #LGBT