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After the two unlikely heroines had gotten all this weird, burgeoning sexuality they had been storing up for each others’ women, all consenting and wanting of it, a catharsis like no other orgasm they had had in some time, they woke up in the wrong beds, but oh so right for once and decided to clean up and not make much mention of it until after this war was after. They could kiss and tell for now, and brag a bit, but the sordid escapades that were sure to easily fill up another fanfic would have to wait for just that: after, for they much would prefer a little death than they would prefer a real full one. Things are much sexier when the participants are alive to reproduce what they had done, and perhaps improve on it, unless you’re still one of those sick fucks still sticking around this story and hoping for something more vile than you could ever imagine. If you need sex that bad, either visit your local brothel, your local right hand, or a glory hole, or write your own damn fanfic. It’s not my job to clean up after you all, no matter what I may do in my off time. I make messes. Glorious ones. No longer a janitor, but the one who makes the undeniably gross and amazing pile that puts a look of shock and awe on your face as you look past the adult magazine rack at 3 am instead of the nausea that should be there. You should be so honored that I keep things clean and that I keep it smelling good. And that’s the closest to any admission any of you are getting out of this you sick fucks. Now get out of here and go play around with a dullahan or something. I hear they give great head.

To get Atma and Katsuragi to work together like this, they’d have to do far more than just fuck. It’s something they’d already done a lot, done so long and hearty, with the other women involved, with other women watching, in front of the school, in front of Ayame just to give her a hard time in more ways than one, with Ayame to calm her down for about a week as she reeled from the delight of her mentors giving in and having their wily, dominant, hungry, she-wolf like ways with them, slurping and drooling on her and leaving marks on her that no amount of clothing or makeup could cover up, not that she wanted them to; she wore them as badges of immense pride. There’s a difference between that and getting another person off, regardless of your preferred configurations and orientations, and actually laying with the other, naked, physically and having your soul stripped bare too, your heart at its full intent, lingering with every touch and word in a way that just any random body you could pick up couldn’t do. It was that one person that made you heave and pant and sweat just by walking near you, and it was the combined willful dumbassery and thick-skulled heart-rending romantic lust that was born between the Kings that would have to save the state and the nation now. The only way to pull off the final technique was to have themselves as one, for as the song doth sayeth:

From ascension to the sky and stars above shining bright
Protecting us and the sunrise beyond our darkest night
Shared between you shall you become from two to one whole
And from darkest depths, entwined shining as one soul

It didn’t take a philosopher or a theologist or even a pornographer to figure out it was a thinly veiled metaphor for making love on the deepest depths of the definition of it. Sure, even if Katsuragi and Hikage were destined to get married and Katsuragi somehow conjured up an old ninja scroll that enabled her to somehow knock up the snake and let them having darling shinobi babies and give them the childhood that they never were able to have themselves and Atma and Koshka would invite them as their best family friends, raising a brat of their own in the combined arts of Russian espionage and Japanese swordsmanship, with the heart and soul of a Scottish-Okinawan, so they could tour the world as the Kings and more, as Atma had promised Koshka, her own girl, she would take her around the world and see sites she hadn’t seen in ages or been allowed near when she was doing her own shinobi work, such as the dreaded and diseased grounds of Chernobyl, and the two families could sit, watching from a hill as their children played in the Russian wilderness or around rural Japan and they would sit hand in hand, heads on each others’ shoulders, raising kids in a world of peace they had brought upon themselves. But it’d be a vacation and a marriage of the massess, a polyamorous love pile, all cuddled up and the kids would have four moms (or calling Katsuragi and Atma Papa Kat or Dadma now and again), but this was all so far flung in the futures of all of them and they still hadn’t settled on the one thing needed to make it happen.

Katsuragi and Atma had to properly lay together and confess their feelings for each other and recite words that would make even Sappho and the other old poets and the Fates and the Muses across beliefs and religions turn a deeper crimson than the blood that flowed through their honest hearts, bursting with an unrequited feeling so buried in deep, they knew if they didn’t get something out before this final battle, their ghosts would never forgive each other in the afterlife, for those living would not be able to bear witness to it or their words or the greatest kisses known to man or womankind, forever inspiring for generations to come after to write more of romance and love not lost yet.

Besides, it’s not like Hikage or Koshka were big on the whole traditional flavor of chivalry. They just wanted companionship, a warm body, a mind eager to talk to and listen, someone to binge watch Netflix with and share junk food and inebriated weekends and holidays with. Someone they knew that despite their own betrayals they had experienced in life, that these two were a bit too honest. A bit too stubborn, a bit too bone-headed to go through with those kinds of actions. They were the least subtle, and least forward thinking women, possibly people of any gender configuration, that could get away with it. They’d at least never forgive themselves and the last thing they desired in life too was loneliness, and they knew if they lost Koshka and Hikage, they might not find another like them, even if they had each other still, they’d always have that lingering regret and shame between them for letting such amazing goddamn women go. Amazons. Goddesses. Real femme fatales. The kind you see in Playboy and then on war posters and then actually in war and taking heads. Queens of blood and sinew, teeth clenching their daggers with the strength of diamonds, their tenacity making Katsuragi and Atma’s hearts soar and giving them a renewed vigor for existing and continuing the cause of the Kings and making freedom ring again in this great nation. Goddamn what fools they be, and with them being shinobi all, there was a very good chance if they lost them, they might stay lost forever, and that is something both knew the sting of far too well. Katsuragi’s parents were still renegades and she wasn’t quite at the level of prestige she wanted yet to get her parents pardoned, but perhaps with this win she could manage it, and Atma herself had two moms, one she preferred to not be in contact with and the other she kept in good company if only because she was the one who taught her everything about growing and using a certain herb she was fond of. So them having missing or estranged loves ones and family was nothing new to them, or was it new to many other shinobi.

So to Katsuragi and Atma, Koshka and Hikage were the most precious jeweles they could never lose, and would stop at nothing to make sure they stayed intact. But they were not the women for whom this mission was for. Perhaps Amaterasu had a sense of humor. After all, it was through the dance of another goddess, naked as could be, with tits as great as Amaterasu’s own sunrises, that lured her out and made the sun rise again every day since. It would become the dance known as the Kagura; the very dance that the war like, seductive movements of the lady shinobi in history became infamous for. The name of their very first leader and the highest rank, named after the title of the dance where one goddess seduced another. And now it was their turn to enact this dance upon each other and make their own suns rise again. Besides, what’s a lesbian Shintoist swear by? The tit-crack of dawn.

But what’s the tit-crack of dawn swear by? The naked, glistening, sun drenched bodies of those lesbian Shintoists. You can’t have one without the other. And so it was into the history of this dance and the stories surrounding it did the Kings find the inspiration to go on and perhaps learn a bit on how to put these moves on each other. They had just been given permission to fuck around with each other by the others’ fucking woman, for fuck’s sake. Not every day do you hear your girlfriend tell you to go fuck another woman in the gayest possible way to save the Golden State, so named because the golden rays of the sun goddess lay bare on it for anyone to bathe in and absorb their mortal bodies around in and free themselves of the sins they had cast upon this world. There was one cache of scrolls they hadn’t yet studied, locked far beneath their war table, where they usually kept the best of the drugs and the best of their porn, along with any scroll much too powerful that even they probably shouldn’t be handling it without more adult supervision. But desperate times came to desperate measures, and with the song in their head and with what their women had told each other and what the Captain and the main Envoy had sung to them, it was all leading back to the one scroll they had assumed was just some kind of perverted joke.

Deep within the confines of the legendary scrolls they had taken from New Hanzo, lay one of the most amazing and immense private collections of power and glory one had ever saw writ on paper. Kanji danced down the sides of the parchment written in old blood of the shinobi women that had come before them, with gold embossed on the edges and strings and tassels made of finest silk coated in emeralds and rubies, opals and topaz. If they could sell even one just for the materials in it, they’d all have enough money to fund a decadent lifestyle for the rest of their well being, and indeed, some people did just that. This usually meant you got some scrolls winding up in the very wrong hands, like some women winding up lining their walls with the legendary ‘squirrel techniques’ only shinobi born physically male could use. An embarrassing piece of dinner table conversation, no doubt, she just thought it was pretty. But that’s how easy it was for these things to switch hands. There’s so many scumbag art dealers and weapons merchants out there, bandits as old as time, dabbling in things stolen not just food or art but the martial arts as well, trading hands to some never being seen again, sunken on the ocean floor, or eaten by lips and teeth not meant to consume it. Some of the greatest Nazi art thieves in history were shinobi hired to smuggle it out. Why do you think so much of it and all the Nazi gold has gone missing and is still unaccounted for? Well, it certainly wasn’t me.

One of the scrolls was indeed what they were looking for. One referring to a creature of immense womanly power, one of the few scrolls intended for women, written by them, preserved by them, despite the fact that the Yoma hunting shinobi had started with a woman and she had always been the same damn one, you would think they could earn a bit more respect, but you get a few dudes flinging their nuts around and this is what you get. They should have told them to beware the squirrels. They always, always manage to find the nuts, after all. And once they did, all hell would turn loose. The strongest and most lethal and evil and great and legendary and powerful of the shinobi techniques had always actually belonged to them women, something the men often forget until it was too late, Kagura herself had woken up again, and she had blown up the area of a small metropolis wiping out the evil demons that had been running afoot. And nobody even bothered to say thank you to her! How rude. Maybe that’s why she blows herself up is just for attention. Maybe she just needed the tender love of another woman. Maybe this was entering Katsuragi’s bad fanfiction territory. We all knew what her account name was, and that she had one on both AO3 and FurAffinity. Dildo drama is hilarious and transcends sexuality and preferences.

The scroll that was so revered and holy was known as one called Her Highness. Of course one would be named such, and be aimed at being used by two women named the Kings of a Golden State. It described unto them a being known as The Boobhisattva, a warrior goddess that would be summoned and descend upon the heavens once the kings bared their hearts and made truest love and proved this world worth saving. So just like the Kagura did originally to save Amaterasu and bring her back to her senses, as much as seeing a perfect pair of tits can do that for someone, they would awaken this being with all of their love and all of their hearts and purify the lands of California and bring them back to the Golden prosperity that everyone was originally driven to them for. Okay so, if they were just honest with each other like they were going to the prom or some such, they could possibly make it out alive, summon this immense being, and bring California back to where it belonged? It’s not like they had much else to lose. The news was growing more and more wary of the two Kings, more so their behavior immediately upon finding all of this out was to duck and run and hide, and not confront them or do damage control, at least, not in the eyes of what the popular citizens and the votes that handed them the throne thought was appropriate behavior. But in reality, you’d want to minimize things and end it before it blew up and you had a hot mess to handle. California’s governor's tend to have a pattern of doing that, and if Reagen was indeed one of them, then it was up to these Kings to end the trend and see fit that the state got a proper rule for once. It was either that, or give it back to the Mexicans, but not before cleaning up the unholy mess it was becoming. It was one thing to take it from then and the Native Americans, but to give them a dump in return was uncalled for. Especially by a white chick and someone from far the fuck off in Japan. Even though she was a damn blonde like the rest of them.

Blonde, huh, just how Atma liked it. Her eyes looked over her cohort and she felt a small shiver go down her as she watched Katsuragi study the kanji. Such amazing handwriting, done in red and gold and blue tones, reflecting the day’s sky in its radiance and gradients. The sun shone in from a small crack in one of the windows and it was almost like Atma was seeing her for the first time. Hikage and Koshka nodded, sitting in a corner, approving of this scene. They’d make out if they thought it’d help, but this was supposed to be a tender moment between the two, and they’d probably be more seen as a distraction than any kind of support, even if their heart (and hands, and elsewhere) were in the right place. Again, they left the chivalry up to the professionals, and though it had been years since Atma called what she did that and never since Katsuragi ever had that word escape her lips, all the words she used to describe how she felt about other women being ones of immense lust but genuine adoration and respect and wanting nothing more than to protect them all in her paradise, it was the same kind of feeling the knights and samurai they read about in stories growing up felt for the errant women they wooed, and while Koshka and Hikage tolerated it now and again, they needed a genuine outlet for it.

That was then that Katsuragi, by impulse, blushed and put Atma’s hand on her heart and had her fingers trace the words with her, looking her in the eyes without a word shared between them. They knew that this is what they had to do. The two Envoys looked on, curious, with Captain Rose playing a small, romantic tune on her harmonica, the only sound filling the room as everyone looked in with bated breath, but the Kings felt like they were the only ones in the whole room. The world was theirs, and as their fingers danced across the drawings of this magnificent goddess’ breasts, so did they begin to lead their hands up to the real deal. Katsuragi was one wary of touch, she wanted to give it, but her cool attitude and strong demeanor meant she couldn’t be weak and give in to what she craved. Not that Hikage minded, she herself wanting mostly to be touched, to be affirmed she existed and was worthy of love, and same with Koshka to Atma, both creatures of want and not more, and their women okay to just give, but something about the way Atma felt her flesh was new, exciting. They had done this dozens of times before, more wildly, more passionately, but without the new, heart pounding romance that danced between them.

In an instant, the two locked lips and closed eyes, kissing deep, kissing long, fingers stringing through each others’ hair as the women looked on, a few gripping each others’ mouths shut as not to cat call nor cheer them on. This had to be natural. Their love had to be so pure in this moment that no evil, no tainting dare cross its path lest it be vaporized by the slow and sweet golden aura now enveloping them. They only stopped when they ran out of breath, looking in each others’ eyes and flushing crimson.

“K-Katsuragi….My queen...” Atma gasped, wanting to continue right away.

“Calm now, my sweet, royal guard. My strongest soldier. My samurai. Take your time. Take it easy. We must do this right, for the fate of our land. For the fate of...of us. Do you, Atma, take me as your queen, to hold and to protect from this day forth?” Katsuragi shushed the girl, placing a finger on her lips to quiet her before letting her continue.

“I...Yes. I take thee, my queen, into my arms, my bosom, my lips. For may you be kissed by a woman who knows all about how to kiss a woman, and let me be the woman who trains ten thousand generations more to do so, to perfect the kiss that would fell any other maiden, but be what uplifts my queen. I shall serve thee openly until the day we perish, and forevermore in your rightful paradise of the Heavens above.” Atma smiled, stroking her girls’ hair and nuzzling her.

Hikage gagged, echoing Koshka’s sentiment. Sure, she couldn’t hear it, but the fact they were literally glowing with the righteous shinobi energy born only of true love meant it had to be some incredibly sappy bullshit. The Envoys merely clapped for joy, knowing that they were about to unleash something fantastic.

“If I take thee, dost thou take me, my queen?” Atma asked.

“For what it’s worth in this life and our next, let it be so that---”

The two lovebirds were interrupted. The roof of the school was torn off, and midst the backdrop of a sunset sat the Magistrate, the Lieutenant, and the Communicator, all riding atop undead birds of prey, squawking and hungering as winds howled and thunder roared and the bodies of faceless, Confederate and Nazi mooks swirled on lesser cavalry beasts, shinobi weapons drawn. The Communicator cackled in immense delight.

“You fools lead us right to you! What with your blossoming love and whatnot. You should have done it a bit more privately, eh?” It was not a man’s voice that came from the Communicator’s robe, their hood still drawn down. They snapped their fingers and off went Koshka and Hikage into the clutches of the enemy’s birds, the Magistrate and the Lieutenant to one apiece.

Before the Kings could do anything about it, their bodyguards and the Envoys jumped up and readied to fight, only to be pushed by by an intense maelstrom born of their evil energy. They were covered in robes painted with newfound markings of demons and devils done in the blood of their sacrifices.

“Bah, you think two women envoys sent to disrupt history and what we know could stop another? Fools, you had no idea my plans all along now did you? Bwahaha, the time is nigh! I have the ultimate sacrifices in my hand as we so speak now!” That’s when the wind pushed the Communicator’s hood back and revealed someone far more sinister, far more evil, far more an instrument to this nation’s destruction than anyone elses, who had planted the seeds necessary for people like Trump and Reagen and such to come to power.

The ugly visage of Ayn Rand looked back at them. Atma nearly vomited, but she kept herself about her, as she roared and drew her sword, being knocked back as easily as the Envoys and her guards had been. Katsuragi caught her, as they looked up in fear. The enemy began to fly away, but not before issuing an ultimatum.

“If you want to see your two women alive again, you will show your frightened faces at Wolf House at Jack London Park at sundown tomorrow. Bring anything and everything you got, you’re going to need it. That is, if you two lovebirds can still think you can summon your ultimate queen before then! Or will you be too nervous to perform and watch your true loves die? It’s either fuck for your lives and theirs, or remain chaste and you all go!” Rand cackled as she flew off, the storm around her and her army following suit. “Ye Whores of Babylon!”

“So...So this is what the Heavens meant by a great disturbance in the Embers...” Captain Rose gasped.

“Well, there’s no use in dawdling. When times get tough, the tough get going. What will it be, oh Kings?” asked The Colonel, making no waste of time to get them ready. This was truly their final war now.

Katsuragi went first. “So shine forth of blues and reds and of greatest golds...”

Atma went in turn. “Come forth from the peasants to the kings in actions bold...”

“From thrones ascended do the twin peaks do our rulers watch...”

“Protecting us and our lives, for all the riches we sought”

“Shared freely ‘mongst the crowds they always did give...”

“And from darkest depths did they pull us out to yet live...”

Then the two shout out in unison and sang their mightiest and most hale of breaths to the Heavens.

“Let no devil from below take what belongs to you and me...
Let no devil from below take our lands and our seas...
Take ye not from me the spirit of California so free!”

And finally at their loudest, they pointed upwards, standing forthright and angry, their rage fueling their crusade, justification for the rampage of freedom they were about to bring upon their lands.


Katsuragi and Atma hugged hard, with The Colonel joining in from behind.

“Shall we go, girls? Gather your allies, here, and let’s not make a moment’s waste, if an’ when yer ready!” The Envoy smiled.

“You ready, my queen? I love you. With all my heart that belongs not to Koshka, it is for you, and forever shall I serve with my sword by my side to protect all that would try to fell you from your throne.” Atma smiled.

“Ready as you are, my brave guard and knight. With the part of me not promised to Hikage, it is for the captain of my soldiers, and forever shall I have you lead our fight as I rule form my throne, the true power behind it.” Katsuragi smiled back.

The two began to set off towards the sunset, gathering up what was left of the guards and the Crimson Squad. Even Ryobi dusted herself off and cackled.

“I haven’t been able to have a good fucking fight in ages! Hey, don’t off them all before I get a few of them Nazi types! I ain’t had one of those shot between the eyes yet! Would make for a fucking great trophy!” Ryobi cackled.

Undefeated in spirit, the group, lead by the Kings, marched north as the sun turned golds and reds from the blues it was.


As everyone shouted, the two Envoys sat behind, bringing up the rear. “You know, I’m beginning to think why I like these gals!” laughed Captain Rose, playing the miner’s song for the small but strong and singing army as they lead their way into the wolf’s den.
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The Hall of Heroes | Atma's Writing Dump

December 2016

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