#moonogre

[moonogre]

early 30s F; 🇹🇹 in 🇨🇦. ⚢

18+ 💞 safe space; tw for abuse/dark/MH/sexual topics at times

ao3 • dj soundcloud

[alectoperdita]

🦃 🦚 🐤

From wip game of birds

🦃 a big, meaty quote (JUST A BIG OL PARAGRAPH YOU WANNA SHARE)

Jounouchi collapsed into his seat again, crossed his arms across his chest, and stared at the envelope for several long moments. Then after heaving a loud sigh, he finally picked it up and turned it over, half expecting a wax seal to accompany the great Kaiba Seto's "personal stationary." There wasn't. The flap was sealed tight, though, forcing Jounouchi to wrestle with the paper for several moments. When he finally peeled it open, a sharp edge sliced down the center of his thumb pad.

🐤a mystery quote (take out the context, even censor the names if you want! let em guess!)

He understood now. Getting caught up in a moment, drawn in by the tidal pull of Jounouchi's eyes, riding out the wave of desire to be close. To touch.

Still, he asked. "May I?"

Jounouchi's eyes rounded. Even his mouth parted in a soft exhale. But, more important than anything, he nodded.

Seto's heart skipped a beat. Or two.

🦚 a sexy quote (spicy, outright nsfw, etc--if you're not comfortable with this one specify in the tags!)

some Duelist's Pride for you under the cut 😈

"You're nothing but a bully," he snarled.

Jounouchi's cock head popped inside him audibly and with humiliating ease.

"Can't deny I get a kick outta bullying this hole of yours. But you love it too. You love getting your ass pussy split open. You can't wait to be wrapped around my dick."

"In your dreams," he snapped, trying desperately to steady his breath as Jounouchi edged into him, centimeter by excruciating centimeter. He almost wished it didn't happen so easily.

"Only every night," quipped Jounouchi with laughter in his voice. When he finally sheathed himself completely inside Kaiba, he groaned, "Shit, you are criminally tight."

"As opposed to you, who's merely a criminal. A good-for-nothing thug. A rapi—"

His insults were cut short with a hissed inhale as Jounouchi wrenched his head sharply to the side. The man's feral gaze drilled into him as he thrusted even deeper. Heat bloomed in Kaiba's face as he remembered exactly how deep Jounouchi carved into him last encounter. His groin couldn't help but tighten with traitorous pleasure.

Meanwhile, Jounouchi's other hand trailed up the length of his neck and across his chin, before hooking over his lower row of teeth and catching his tongue between index and middle fingers. "If you're looking to get mouthy, I got better things you can do with it."

[moonogre]

My bestie @samovilas drew Jonouchi for this story and she just absolutely killed it. Love you babe!

[moonogre]

@unfriendlyamazon, got inspired to write this after chatting with you about The Substance and Nosferatu! @alectoperdita, thank you as ever for babysitting my unhinged nonsense.

🩸

SEEKING MALE 18-25 - FIT, DISCRETE & IN GOOD HEALTH FOR LUCRATIVE OPPORTUNITY. INTERESTED PARTIES TEXT 454.637.0505 WITH YOUR NAME, DOB AND A FULL BODY PHOTO.  

And so came this bizarre screening appointment in the diner out near the airport. The joint’s thick windows were dingy with dust, daybreak beyond the glass blurry and dull as dishwater. A pilot, wilted from fatigue, nursed a coffee, its burnt smell reaching Jounouchi seated two booths back. Nearby, a baggage handler tucked into a plate of sticky pancakes, bogged with syrup. Jounouchi’s head throbbed against the rising sickishness of a hangover. He wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop– scuffed formica, its once cheery pink dimmed with wear and time. Bleached blush and anemic now– it reminded Jounouchi of the pallid, thin skin of a worm. Gross. His belly shuddered with queasiness. Why did this all feel so… skeezy? He scowled and checked his phone: four percent, five fifty-six in the morning, Saturday April 12th. Thank you for your application, Katsuya. We would like to conduct a preliminary assessment. Are you available tomorrow at six a.m.? He’d gotten the message late last night at Honda’s party, well into a mickey, a cute girl from Honda’s engineering class smiling against his throat, her soft hands creeping coy under the hem of his shirt, near his belt buckle. Sure, where at? It hadn’t proved hard to pass the time, until the mystery meeting: cocooned from the racket of the get together in Honda’s spare bedroom, the only thing aside their coupling in the muted dark a slice of light beneath the closed door, harsh as a brand. He’d had her mouth on her for half an hour before the raucous calmed and the light went out, and darkness swallowed the room. She was wet enough to take him now, and then they spent a few hours against each others flesh. Easy until the five a.m. alarm, and he peeled himself from her. Where was he off too, so early, she’d murmured from her sleep. 7112 Airport Drive. A diner before the exit for the International terminal. 

It was six now. Jounouchi's ill-placed impatience tended him: jitters, clenched jaw, he picked at a scabbed hangnail on his pointer finger. A headache steady in its slow, wounding bloom. Maybe he could go outside for a quick smoke… but then the door opened with a delicate chime, and in brisked an old man in a ritzy suit, jet-black. Dark browline sunglasses, lenses a strange matte that utterly hid his eyes. Clean shaven save a chevron mustache, neat atop his lips. They quirked in a smile for a moment– friendly, but something else too– and he strode straight for Jounouchi and sat across from him. 

“Katsuya, I hope I haven’t kept you long. Can I get you anything?” He raised his hand to signal the waitress, who looked over before heaving a sigh and trekking slowly towards them. 

Jounouchi’s brow furrowed a moment. What did he want? An answer to why the fuck I’m here. “Coffee’s fine, thanks.” 

“Any way you take your coffee?” 

The pilot stood and dumped a few crumpled yen on the counter before bidding the waitress goodbye with a tired wave, wheeling his carry-on behind him as he breezed out. Jounouchi thought back to the acrid sour of the man’s coffee. His stomach curdled. “Lots of sugar. And creamer.” The stranger cocked an eyebrow and then a sudden strange silence chasmed between them. Near its bottom seemed judgment. Jounouchi bristled. “I-Is that okay, or…?”  

The waitress had reached them now, bored with a dog-eared notepad. The stranger spoke: “One coffee, with cream and sugar for my friend here. And I’ll take warm water with lemon, and one boiled egg.” The waitress waited for a moment, and when it became obvious no other requests were forthcoming, she grimaced in scornful confusion. “That’s everything?” 

“Yes,” the man spoke, before adding a chilly “Thank you.” She shrugged and went on her way. His attention returned to Jonouchi. “Katsuya, thank you for making time so early in the day. I wanted to go over some rudimentary questions to progress your application–” 

“Sure,” Jounouchi blurted, and the man’s brows rose, again, unnervingly. He felt shame rushing to ruddy his face but continued. “That’s fine. I’ll answer whatever but it’s just… what’s your name?” 

The man laughed. “You’re right. Pardon my rudeness. My name is Isono.” Jounouchi’s hands suddenly felt clammy. He was definitely going to be sick. The waitress chose just then to return: his coffee, dun brown and filled to the brim, cream curdled apart and drifting in small, white clots across its surface. Isono’s water steamed slightly, and he brandished a knife– pewter unlustred with tarnish– in a swift TAP against his boiled egg, nestled in a porcelain eggcup. The shell cracked clean across on contact, and he plucked the wet, smooth flesh from its casing and fed it whole into his mouth. Jounouchi’s stomach roiled and for some reason, he took to his coffee as though it would help. 

“As I was saying, Katsuya, I wanted to ask you some questions to expedite your application. Let’s start with confirming some basic details. You’re eighteen?” Jounouchi nodded, bitter coffee flooding his mouth. The cream hadn’t cut the harsh taste and instead made the whole brew feel oily. It silked down his throat. “Can I see some identification please?” 

The fuck. “Are you some kinda fucking cop? Or–” 

“No, just thorough.” Isono smiled. “My employer was quite pleased with your submission. He asked that I be rigorous in my assessment and remove as many barriers as possible.” Jounouchi glared at Isono before fishing his wallet out of his pants and handing over his driver’s licence. The man glanced it over– maybe, it was hard to tell with his eyes obscured with sunglasses– and nodded, before taking out his phone to photograph it. “Hey–” Jounouchi started, hotly, but Isono pushed the tiny plastic with his tiny little picture back to him, and interrupted: “Thank you, Katsuya. We have very secure servers and your information will be deleted once your application is confirmed and the interview complete.” Jounouchi frowned, migraine drawn taught between his temples. He tensed his hand around his coffee mug, now half full. “I only have a few follow ups. Please answer as honestly as you can–”

“What the fuck is this for?” Jounouchi ground out, but Isono ignored him to continue his questioning.

“Do you own a microwave? How often do you use it?” Jounouchi was taken aback, lost suddenly in a memory, from a year ago: Honda, check this out, he’d said, slipping an old American DVD they’d gawked at in middle school– Girls Gone Wild: Sweet Eighteen– onto the grease-splattered turntable in his kitchen microwave, bottom side up, easing the door shut with minute timer. Dim tungsten lit the slowspinning disc and then SHARP BRIGHT CRACKLING, sparks arcing wildly around the iridescent surface, before bursting into a ring of fire. The room stank of burning plastic. Jou dude what the FUCK– Honda had yelled, and Jounouchi had laughed. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on this old thing, there’s better porn out now– but Honda had shoved Jounouchi out of the way to extinguish the tiny spluttering flames. The microwave wouldn’t turn on afterwards, and it took nearly two months to rid the kitchenette of the horrible burning smell. 

“Uh… nah,” Jounouchi answered, staring into his coffee. More questions followed: How many generations of your family have had natural births with no medical intervention? Would you say you bruise easily? Have you ever had a nosebleed without provocation? Are you a naturally cold person or are you quick to sweat? What colour is your urine in the morning, usually? “Dude, look–” Jounouchi balked, but Isono wouldn’t entertain his squeamishness: “Just answer the question.” 

Jounouchi scowled. “I dunno, Isono, it looks like piss.” This failed to elicit anything other than silence from the man, his expression obscured by his large aviators. Who the fuck wears sunglasses inside?! “What?” Jounouchi continued, cross. “What colour is your fucking piss in the morning?” 

“Clear,” Isono answered calmly, without hesitation. “Would you be so kind as to share the colour?” 

Jounouchi’s head was throbbing. You know what? Fuck this weird ass fucking shit. He leaned back in his vinyl booth chair: the seat was cracked in some places, old dirt speckled foam peeping through the hard plastic. He smirked. “Clear. It’s clear.” An arched eyebrow appeared over Isono’s dark visors and the man turned ever so slightly– Jounouchi didn’t have to see the man’s eyes to know he was looking at his mug of coffee, down to a few grounds that swilled at the bottom of the cup. 

Just then, Isono’s phone rang. Jounouchi crossed his arms, and the man answered after the second trill: “Good morning, sir… yes, I am with Katsuya now. We’re in the final portion of the interview… I’m not sure, but I will ask and let you know… Yes, of course sir. Thank you… See you soon.” He hung up. 

Jounouchi’s irritability would not allow an interlude: “What’s that all about?” 

Isono reached into his pocket and delicately placed a black credit card on the table and signalled for the bill. “Can you accompany me now, to meet my employer? He’d like to conduct the next phase himself, in person.” 

He heard Honda’s voice in his head: Don’t go to a second location, dude! Honda had, of course, been talking about girls then, because what else did they talk about: this was his wise counsel on how to dodge the pushy ones, once the beer goggles had worn off. Jounouchi supposed Isono could count as a but-her-face, for now, and he scowled. “Listen, I didn’t sign up for all this shit–”

“You will be compensated for your time today: ¥1,500,000.” 

Jounouchi's headache gripped his mind like a vise. “…What?” 

“There will be some paperwork for you to sign, of course, about confidentiality, but we can make the transfer as early as this afternoon. Are you available? He’s eager to meet.” 

“Sure. I mean… sure.” Jounouchi could see himself, warped and far away, in the dark shine of Isono’s glasses. He looked quite small. 

“Excellent. I’ll let him know. And one last thing: if we told you that you were a perfect candidate, would you sign away any legal recourse, effective immediately?”

Jounouchi’s mouth was bitter and dry from the coffee. He screwed up his face. “…What?” It was the second time he’d asked, but the question sounded softer, even more incredulous, now. The waitress had arrived and made a face at the dark card on the table. 

“Never seen one like this before.” She turned it over in her hands. “No name or anything on it–” 

“It works,” Isono said, looking expectantly at her. She cleaved the plastic through reader at the side of the payment terminal, eyebrows lifting in surprise when a receipt spluttered out. “Well, would you look at that. Thanks for coming, boys.” 

“No, thank you.” Isono rose smoothly from the booth and turned to Jounouchi. “Katsuya, if you’ll follow me.”

[moonogre]

“I will not let your lack of curiosity deter my charity. I sought you out to relieve you of your regret, for once in your miserable life.” Yes! Miserable! He was miserable! His life was miserable. And in that moment he felt like he would die, for the chance to make Kaiba miserable, too: maybe he could abandon himself to the fast-festering violence inside him, and inflict a hurt that was finally worthwhile. Kaiba smirked as though he could read his every thought. Go on, he seemed to dare. And then the words echoed from the day before: I know you don’t have it in you. 

Instability Theory

Kaiba’s declining mental state is jeopordising KaibaCorp’s most ambitious project yet. Jonouchi hasn’t seen his dad for weeks now and is starting to worry. They can probably help each other out, if they can get their issues out of the way first. A violet fairytale. Sci-Fi; Hurt/Comfort.

Read Chapter Three on Archive of Our Own.

Pairings: Jonouchi Katsuya & Kaiba Seto

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: This story is a dark one, so please beware. Future chapters will revolve around distressing subject matter concerning child abuse and CSA. This chapter is tagged for neglect, alcoholism and physical abuse.

Status: Chapter 3/?; 33,032 words.

Tags: daddy issues, rampant paranoia, sad boy saviour complex, malfunctioning virtual reality, hallucinations, enemies to lovers, fairytale allegories, strange dream sequences, bizarre dissociative internal monologues, marathon sex (eventually), canon inspired, character study

Playlist

New mix! As is custom, this is DJ mixed as a continuous set on Soundcloud and runs 104 minutes. Also indexed on Spotify for easier listening or folks that prefer that platform!

For lovers of: dark folk, darkwave, dreampop, electronica, post-punk, shoegaze, synthwave.

[moonogre]

[moonogre]

[moonogre]

Snippet 3

Business | Technology 

KaibaCorp Dreams of Another World

May 28 

“It’s not a question of what’s next. It’s what’s happening right now. Right in front of you.”

These are the words from the seventeen-year old visionary Seto Kaiba, known worldwide as the reigning Duel Monsters champion and CEO of KaibaCorp (TSE:KBA). His advice seems perfect for this moment: he is standing right in front of a gigantic dragon. It is screaming and ready to attack and he is fearless. 

The creature in question is one of three in the world that belong to the young CEO: Blue Eyes White Dragon, a rare Duel Monsters card and the star of KaibaCorp’s impromptu demonstration of its latest project: Scheherazade.

Named after the fabled storyteller of “One Thousand and One Nights,” Scheherazade is as much a technological marvel as it is a philosophical leap forward. The platform creates immersive worlds drawn from both written stories and players’ own memories, merging fiction and reality into a seamless experience. A combination of machine learning, memory recall, and advanced simulation technology allows the system to respond and adapt for real-time, constant immersion. While virtual reality has been evolving steadily over the past decade, Scheherazade’s memory integration takes it to another level, with unprecedented possibilities for storytelling, education, and, of course, gaming. 

Its most immediate application will be for duelists, offering fully interactive Duel Monsters matches in an arena where the creatures seem to step out of the cards and into life. Industry insiders speculate that this move could put KaibaCorp at the forefront of both gaming and virtual reality, potentially outpacing rivals like Industrial Illusions (NYSE:ILL) and Meta (NASDAQ: META).

This is the latest in the bold new direction forged under young Kaiba’s leadership, which transformed KaibaCorp from an arms contractor to a tech powerhouse, pioneering innovations at the intersection of telecommunications, augmented reality and entertainment. KaibaCorp’s origins date back to the post-World War II era when it rose to prominence as a leading arms manufacturer, standing just behind global defence giants like Lockheed Martin (NYSE: LMT) and Northrop Grumman Corp (NYSE: NOC). The company’s previous success in the defence sector is often credited to the founding family’s deeply personal experience with war: Ryu Kaiba, KaibaCorp’s founder, served in Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service during Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbour. The war also impacted his son, the late Gozaburo Kaiba, who was one of the 650,000 survivors of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. 

The latter half of the twentieth-century saw KaibaCorp as a bastion of military technology, supplying weapons to governments around the world. Yet the company was perpetually mired in controversy, and a frequent target of political outcry for its contributions to war and conflict. Protests frequently accompanied its business dealings, which placed it at the centre of public debate about the ethics of arms dealership. It is speculated that mounting pressure and dwindling public support factored into the shocking suicide of Gozaburo Kaiba, who jumped to his death from the KaibaCorp headquarters during a meeting with the company’s board of directors. 

This tragedy would make it the third time Seto Kaiba had lost a parent. Gozaburo Kaiba adopted both the current KaibaCorp CEO and his younger brother, KaibaCorp’s Senior Manager of Technology Operations, Mokuba Kaiba, following the deaths of their parents. Their mother died of eclampsia while giving birth to Mokuba, and their father was killed in a car accident in the infamous Izumo Earthquake Disaster.

Seto Kaiba succeeded Gozaburo as CEO of KaibaCorp at fifteen, making him the youngest person to ever lead a billion-dollar company. His youth left him no shortage of ideas, and he set the company on course for a seismic shift in focus. He went on a buying spree, absorbing a staggering number of promising computer technology companies in his first quarter as CEO. He also terminated operations at KaibaCorp’s global weapons testing centres and completely divested the company from projects supporting armed conflict. These actions led KaibaCorp to several high-profile lawsuits for defaulting on its contracts and sales agreements. These disputes were settled out of court for an undisclosed amount.     

Between the payouts, acquisitions and lack of customers, KaibaCorp was teetering on financial ruin. The company was saved with Kaiba’s most notable innovation: SolidVision, the holographic projection technology that brought Duel Monsters to life. This was followed by the Duel Disk, a revolutionary p2p interface that allowed duelists to compete in real-time holographic battles, becoming a staple for competitive players across the world. These commercial successes catapulted KaibaCorp into global fame and made Duel Monsters a cultural phenomenon, while signalling KaibaCorp’s new mission: to create, not destroy.

This pursuit has now brought KaibaCorp to the verge of another groundbreaking moment. Scheherazade, set to roll out this summer, will first be available at stadiums and theme parks before making its way into homes through a specialised hardware release. Duelists and VR enthusiasts alike are eagerly awaiting the chance to immerse themselves in the fully realised worlds this technology promises to deliver.

In many ways, KaibaCorp’s evolution is as poetic as it is fascinating. What was once a company defined by its contribution to destruction is now positioned to offer the world a new way of seeing itself, through stories, memories, and duels. 

“This is just the beginning. Scheherazade isn’t just a virtual space—it’s a new frontier for human imagination. It’s the bridge between what we can dream and what we can live.”

And in that, perhaps, lies Kaiba’s greatest victory: transforming a company of war into one that makes dreams reality.

______

The article featured two captioned pictures. Duel Monster Blue Eyes White Dragon, rendered in Scheherazade: a still of him pulled from the testing zone broadcast, looking up at Blue Eyes White Dragon. He was surprised at the lack of fear on his face– the light from the White Lightning Attack had washed every emotion into brightness. He was just vacant, ready, waiting.  He was more expressive in the second photograph: Father and son. One of the last before Gozaburo’s death. The man had a hand on his shoulder and was sneering down at him. Kaiba, fifteen, slanted his face to return his contempt, the corner of his mouth barely lifted in a matching, cruel smirk.