#[Our sky of sudden hail]

[drefear]

Hail to the King

Chapter 1: The Spider Man

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: smut, oral (m receiving) cursing, Miguel is a bit of a creep and a dick.

You stood outside the restaurant for a moment, staring at the dark night sky.

What just happened?!

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill over as you grind your teeth for a moment, practicing self control over your overwhelming upset and hurt. Was that even legal?

You sniffled and balled your fists. Fuck this guy, with his expensive looking suit and obvious God Complex.

You muttered obscenities as you walked home, not getting in the car and waiting like he ordered you to. Fucking ordered!

Two blocks down and you sighed, getting to the subway and finding a train to take you to your apartment, located in a less-than-safe part of Nueva York. But you didn’t care, you could take care of yourself.

Eyes tired from holding back your need to cry, you walked up a few flights of stairs to your floor, you convinced yourself it was good exercise. Twisting your key in the somewhat broken lock, you pushed into your doorway and slammed it shut behind you with the deadbolt.

That’s when the dam broke and the water works started. You’d gotten so lucky with such a great job, and now some power-drunk prick with a nice face ruined it without a solid reason.

He didn’t like you, so he decided to hire you? What backwards bullshit was that?

Not bothering to take your makeup off, you pulled off your clothing and slumped into bed with no plans of doing anything tomorrow morning. It was going to be a day to process and plan your next move.

Loud banging on your door made you fall out of bed, practically jumping out of your skin as the sudden thunderous sound was terrifying without warning. Grabbing your baseball bat from your coat closet, you tugged your hair into a messy bun and swung the door open.

“You’re late.” The big guy from last night? “And you apparently don’t answer your phone either.” His voice was unamused, blunt, and you didn’t care for it.

“How the fuck did you-“ you yelled, then remembering that apparently he was close to Peter, who had all of your information from hiring you. “You’re a sick fuck, now you’re stalking me?”

“Watch it, I’ll fire you.”

“I don’t wanna work for you, now leave!” You screamed and moved to slam the door, only to be stopped by a large hand holding it back. Miguel opened the door with a swift push and you stumbled backwards, caught off guard and off balance from his strength. It was like he was barely moving a cup, not even moving a muscle.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to work for me, and I always get what I want.” He spoke, stepping inside of your small apartment. “Now get dressed, so you can get to work.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You spit back at him with venom you didn’t know you hate. You hated him. “Go find some other girl to obsess over and creep out.” You continued and swung the bat, him catching the wood and staring down at you.

“Obey me and I’ll reward you generously.”

“I’m not your dog, I don’t need to ‘obey’ you!” You groaned out as you yanked the bat backwards.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year plus bonuses when you complete certain tasks.” He spoke almost too fast.

The words passed by your ears in a blurt as white-hot rage filled your mind. The devil and angel on your shoulder fought and you didn’t know which one was fighting for what.

“Fine. Three hundred thousand a year. Bonuses, access to our facilities, a new phone, and an apartment on the west side.” He added.

“What the hell will I be doing? You don’t even know if I’m qualified, or if I’m a normal person. I could be a murderer.”

“That’s doubtful, as you couldn’t even hit me with a bat, and I’ve seen all I needed to. You’re most definitely qualified.” He answered, still offending you in a strange way. “Now get ready. I’m late because of you, and if I weren’t the boss, I’d rat you out.” He fixed his suit and sat in one of your dining chairs, the squeak of its legs making him scrunch his eyebrows in annoyance.

You huffed and moved, accepting that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’ll call the cops.”

“That won’t work. La policía and I have an understanding.” It seemed like nothing was working and he knew it. “Are you done?”

Maybe if you played along for a bit, he’d get the idea and fuck off. Grumbling, you trudged into your bedroom.

“So what will I be doing?” You called to him as you went to your closet and pulled out a random blue dress shirt and black pants.

“You’ll be my right hand. Like an assistant but much more involved. You’ll work closely with my second, Lyla, and head operator, Jess.” He gave a full debriefing as you slipped on the clothes and moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll send a few of my men to help you move tonight, I don’t need you getting jumped out here in the slums.” He spoke with a certain disgust in his tone and you rolled your eyes.

“Your men? Second? Are we in a war or something?” You laughed, but he was quiet. No sense of humor, noted.

“Something like that.” His voice was lower, almost like it was a secret he didn’t want anyone around him to hear except you.

“Not that I care, but why me?” You brushed your teeth and waited for his answer, but nothing came. “Hello?”

“You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just know that I will not accept your refusal. You will work for me.” His speech was almost flattering, if he weren’t so infuriating. You dotted on some makeup and walked out to meet him. Slipping on a pair of low, black heels, he was already at the door. “Let’s go.” He nodded and opened your front door once more before walking ahead of you into the elevator. You hurried behind and almost missed the door as he stuck a hand through to stop them from closing. Your eyes didn’t meet him, avoiding having to thank him for such a small gesture of kindness after all the rudeness you’d endured. “And by the way, they call me Spider Man.” He said calmly as the doors shut and suddenly, your pounding blood was in your ears.

Spider man…?

As in… the most dangerous Mafia leader in Nueva York? The leader of the O’Hara family and the rumored Spider Society? A man infamous for murdering people with his bare hands, constructing some of the greatest hits on politicians and leaders all over the state?

Your body turned cold as you began to sweat. You were in the presence of a man known for being a brutal killer and a money-hungry demon who ruthlessly destroyed lives.

And he wanted you.

The trip to his headquarters was silent, sweating nervously as all of the rumors you’d heard about him came back to you. How he once almost killed a fifteen year old because he “ran out on a tab,” but luckily Peter paid it for the poor boy. Now, apparently, that same boy works for him. Peter told you the story on your first day, how some of the Spider Society frequented their restaurant, but it never occurred to you that this was him.

You remembered Gwen telling you over drinks after your first shift about how a lot of the staff of your restaurant had once been or still were low ranking members of the Society. You had said you just wanted to make your money and get on with your day, to which she laughed and said “that’s how I was too.” You left the conversation there and talked about other things, but now you couldn’t stop repeating her words over and over.

It was like the city was overrun by Spiders, all answering to the Spider Man himself. A man you were currently trapped in a moving vehicle with. A man you knew wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you even so much as messed up his coffee order.

Nothing felt real as your leg bounced with anxiety. Sure, you’d always been mouthy and stubborn, but the idea that those small flaws could have made you a target for him, it was almost too much to understand.

“Hello?” He called out and you turned your face to him. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about… what I have to pack tonight.” You lied, to which it was obvious he didn’t believe you, but he ignored it anyway.

“I was saying, when we get there, I have a meeting with a few of my subordinates. I need you to stay and listen. Lyla will be recording the meeting, but you just need hear it and start understanding everything. It won’t be hard, but it might be a lot so pay attention, entiendes?” He spoke and you nodded. “Once the meeting is over, I’ll introduce you to Jess and she’ll give you a tour of the building and your office. You’ll be working a room over from me. While that’s going on, I have an appointment, and once that’s over, I’ll start explaining the rest of your work.” His words felt unreal, like you were having an outer body experience. Nothing could have prepared you for this and now you were thrown into his web with no way out. Was the universe playing some sick joke on you? Throw you into the arms of a cold blooded killer and laugh about it later?

The numbness in your bones began to settle in and you sighed inwardly.

This was going to be a long day.

Walking into a bustling lobby, your eyes were overwhelmed with an excitement you couldn’t help to feel. The smell of clean air, the crisp modern design, everything screamed class and high end. Almost as if this wasn’t a den of crime and murder. Who would let a kingpin rent such a beautiful and upscale building? And didn’t mafia bosses usually do business out of their homes or secret offices hidden behind a bookshelf?

Ok, maybe you watched too many movies…

No, this was the next level of an efficiently run business. Everyone looked focused and intelligent, some seeming like they were educated at an Ivy League college or politically invested.

You followed the largest man and watched as everyone parted to make way for him, scanning him and then dropping their gaze to you.

You, who looked so out of place and childlike next to the refined crowd.

Your name broke you from your trance and you bumped into Miguel, who was no longer walking. “Stop looking around like a lost puppy. I hired you because of your fire and bite, now bring her back or I’ll toss you back out of here on your ass.” His threat was obvious, and you puffed up your chest after he turned around.

He was somewhat right. You belonged here, you got here by accident and that had to count for something. Other people around you seemed like they wanted to be here, strived for their positions and fought to climb up the latter. Meanwhile, you didn’t even want your position and you got it because of your loud mouth. As much as you hated this all, you knew that some of the roughest and cruelest human beings stood in this building, but he decided to pick you.

“But we will need to buy you new clothes if you’re going to work here. I don’t want to see you in anything less than a thousand dollars. Is that clear?” He said as you two walked into the elevator.

“And where am I getting these thousands of dollars from? You got me fired.” You grumbled, annoyed at his arrogance and assumptions.

“I’ll have Lyla put it as a tax write-off and give you a company card. Your limit is fifty thousand, and you’ll only shop at places from a list she’ll give you.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, barely even seeming like he was speaking to you. What a dick. You rolled your eyes and he glanced downward, a brow quirked upwards. “And save that attitude for the meeting. Everyone here is cut-throat, and you’re here to give them a humbling piece of your mind. I don’t do politically correct-ness. If you think it, say it. The only person you need to answer to is me, and I want you to give some of these sons of bitches a good verbal beat down. If they get out of line, I’ll give them something to really be scared of, so don’t hold back.” His words seemed to hold weight as the elevator doors opened once more and people separated like the Red Sea to let him and you through. Catching up to walk by his side instead of behind him, you kept a straight face and put your shoulders back.

Reaching your new office was exhilarating, seeing as you hated the situation, but began hating everything less and less. Miguel had been right about the meeting, ignoring what everyone else said as you sat and listened to him discuss plans for a new import deal and a possible new business venture. His words were sharp and sliced through everyone in the room, so there wasn’t much room for conversation as most of the people in the room didn’t want to pull the trigger and be the target. You nodded along and made mental notes, adding certain ideas to your cavalry and deciding between when to speak up or not to.

After that, he’d introduced you to Jess and Lyla, who both seemed too kind and cheery to be in this business. How could such funny and smiley women work for a man with so much blood on his hands?

Jess gave you a proper tour as Lyla followed and made snarky comments about certain people, places, and things. Often times, they were about Mr. O’Hara and every time, it made Jess snort with laughter. The three of you talked and laughed, even trading phone numbers with both of them. Lyla excused herself when she was summoned to the fourth floor for a call about a transport, and you and Jess finished the tour back at your office. She showed you briefly how to use your new computer and tablet, both of which had a schedule that you, Lyla, and Mr. O’Hara could see and edit.

“Alright, I have a gynecologist appointment in 30 minutes, so I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, but call me if you have any questions.” She waved and you gave her a goodbye before beginning to type up some of those mental notes from the meeting, sharing them with Miguel’s email to add him in and let him look.

An hour went by and you heard a ding on your tablet, signaling a private meeting in Miguel’s office that had started 20 minutes ago. You rushed, seeing as you didn’t get the notification earlier and now we’re late. Pushing open his office door, you blinked at the sight in front of you and gulped down a new feeling. Dread. Embarrassment. Pure fucking confusion and unshakable mortification.

A woman, thin and blonde, had her back to the door and was kneeling before Miguel. Hands on his thighs as he spread his legs, she bobbed her head up and down as he had both of his arms around the expanse of the couch, head back a bit in enjoyment.

The shock finally settled into humiliation and you felt your stomach lurch with anxiety. He must have heard you step backwards as his eyes opened to stare into yours, an unreadable expression on his face. You shifted your thighs, moving to take another step as your face burned with a blush that could rival most makeup brands. Eyes as wide as saucers, you kept eye contact with him to avoid watching the woman’s mouth move up and down his cock. And he didn’t dare look away either.

He slipped a hand from the back of the couch to her hair and shoved her head down a bit, making her gag, and as the sound reached your ears, you choked a bit in sympathy. He hissed out a soft ‘good girl’ and you felt drool pool on your tongue, closing your mouth before it could drip out. He fucked up into her mouth as his eyes stayed on yours and before you could register it, he was groaning with a tight jaw and finishing. She sputtered as he came down her throat and as the realization of what you’d walked in on had hit you, you’d spun on your heels and slammed the door shut behind you.

Hands shaky, you wobbled back to your own office and sat in your chair, hands holding up your head as if it were too heavy to stay upright on its own.

What the fuck is going on?

Prologue Chapter 2

[yuurei20]

Short translation from Twisted Wonderland: the first novel

The Unbirthday Party

"‘Yuu-chan, we’ve been waiting for you!’

‘Oh, Cater-senpai—thank you for the gift!’ Yuuya points to his chest. The present he received via Ace and Deuce was a ribbon.

It is larger than the palm of his hand, alternating in the colors red and black. In the center is a heart-shaped brooch with a crown, shining bright. It is an adorable design, clearly crafted to match the Heartslabyul dorm uniform.

Yuuya wears it as a corsage on his uniform jacket, adding a touch of elegance to his all-black uniform.

'It suits you so well, Yuu-chan! What do you think? It's pretty cute, right? A masterpiece from your big bro ♪’

‘Yes, I really like it. And Grim is delighted.'

Instead of his usual striped ribbon, Grim’s magestone now dangles from a ribbon that matches Yuuya’s corsage, tied about his neck in a bow with a heart-shaped brooch on one end. Cater wastes no time getting a picture of the two in their matching ribbons.

‘Nyahaha! I've got another outfit now. Lookin’ cool, right?’

‘Sure does! Gri-chan looks great, too!’

‘Heh, I’m a great mage, so I can make anything look good,’ Grim boasts, shaking his head repeatedly as he flaunts his ribbon.

He has been like this ever since they set out from Ramshackle Dorm.

Yuuya thanks Cater once again—this time on behalf of Grim, for the ribbon that has so pleased him—and Cater smiles even brighter.

‘The crown part adds a special touch, right? Since we invited you to the Unbirthday Party I thought it'd be nice to give you both something that could be worn for a special occasion, so I went to Riddle-kun about it.’

‘What! Riddle-senpai? And then…what did he say?’

'He said, 'That’s a good idea,’ and even complimented Cay-kun’s sense of style ♪’

Yuuya never could have imagined Riddle approving of the gift, and Ace and Deuce look surprised as well.

Someone comes running from the edge of the venue, drowning out the murmurs of the crowd.

‘Our leader! The Crimson Sovereign!’

A white rabbit beastperson, standing beside a large arch, blows a trumpet.

In response to the resounding call, everyone stands up straight.

‘Behold, Housewarden Riddle arrives!’

‘All hail Housewarden Riddle!’

Amidst a swelling of applause and cheers, Riddle and Trey appear. Riddle may be somewhat thinner than before, but his steps are firm. It seems that the reports of his recovery were true.

However, unlike his dignified demeanor of before, he appears restless. He does not seem concerned about the eyes of the students upon him, but he keeps glancing from table to table.

‘…is he worrying about everything being prepared according to the Queen of Hearts' rules?’ Deuce whispers, and Ace frowns.

‘Ugh, seriously? Is he still hung up on all that?’

‘Now, now, change doesn’t happen all at once,’ Cater pats their shoulders. ‘But we missed painting a few of the roses this morning, and he forgave us for it—he even painted them with us. The strictness is still a problem, but his seriousness is one of Riddle-kun's good points, right? I know it, everyone knows it, and we just hope he will change at his own pace.’

Is Trey saying something similar?

Trey whispers in Riddle’s ear, and Riddle smiles in relief.

‘Well then, once again!,’ Cater declares. He must have figured out that the party would never start if no one were to take the lead, and cheerfully lifts his glass. ‘In celebration of no birthday in particular—?’ Cater and Trey look to Riddle, who swallows nervously.

Though he seems somewhat nervous, his voice rings out as clear as ever: ‘Cheers!’

The sound of glasses clinking can be heard all around.

‘Happy unbirthday!’

‘Happy unbirthday!’

Cheers of celebration echo beneath the clear sky. And it is not forced merriment, but sincere well-wishing that fills the air. The voices are warm and cheerful, inspiring sudden smiles in all who have gathered.

Grim does not stop eating for a moment, not even as Yuuya joins Ace and Deuce in making their way towards Riddle, taking Grim along.

‘…Yuu and Grim. You came, then,” Riddle says.

‘Yes. Well, for today, I…’

Thank you? Congratulations? Get well soon?

Uncertain of what to say, Yuuya looks to Grim for help. A slice of cake held fast between both front paws, Grim is wholly immersed in devouring it where he stands at Yuuya’s feet. Not having thought that Grim would simply ignore Riddle in favor of his food, Yuuya is taken aback.

‘Sorry,’ Yuuya moves to try and interrupt Grim, but before he has a chance, Riddle lets out a sigh.

‘Grim, you really shouldn't be so gluttonous,’ Riddle says, moving behind Grim and crouching down.

‘Here—it is to be worn like this. There is no point to your ribbon if you do not tie it properly.’

‘Thank you.’ Yuuya says, and Deuce mutters, ‘Our Housewarden, straightening Grim's ribbon…’

Yuuya is just as surprised. Riddle himself, going so far as to kneel for Grim.

And Grim's complete lack of interest only adds to the peculiarity of Riddle's meticulousness.

‘So, about that apology tart—how’d it turn out?’ Ace asks."

[bloofinntoona]

These things I promise you: (one)

Word Count: 2 k

Themes: ominis gaunt x f! beauxbatons reader x sebastian sallow, slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual infidelity

Summary: (part I) by the age of ten, you were betrothed to ominis gaunt. every summer, your parents forced you to spend summers with the gaunts. in an unlikely unfortunate event, you get to know your betrothed better.

Pureblood. The word still left a bitter taste in your mouth no matter how many times you heard it. Your sweaty hand held onto your maman's tightly. The frills and lace adorning your dress rubbed against your skin - eliciting and itchy feeling that you couldn’t scratch unless you wanted a good scolding from your parents. Your maman was wearing an elegant black dress, her corset perfectly accentuated her slim waist. The woman never failed to look exquisite, especially during the annual Pureblood families gathering - the upper echelons of the Wizarding World. The ball happened once a year at the end of summer, exclusively for wizards and witches whose blood runs purely from magical family. Whoever had a trace of muggle blood would be promptly exiled from the community - and even few faced death for it.

Your fingers twiddling with the hem of your skirt, eyes fixed on the boy in front of you. Your gaze lingered on his milky blue eyes. You had never met a blind person before, and all you could think about was how beautiful his eyes were. Ominis Gaunt. The name echoed in your head. Your parents wouldn’t shut up about the Gaunts on the way to the ball - talking highly about the particular Pureblood family, especially knowing that they were direct descendants from Salazar Slytherin, and a part of the sacred twenty-eight. The woman in front of you, who introduced herself as the blond boy’s mother, hailing the Gaunt’s name proudly. She had a tight grip on the boy’s arm, and you winced your face imagining how hurtful it was.

“We are so very honored to have this union with the Archambeau family.” said the woman, snapping you back to reality.

“Likewise,” your maman smiled politely, “Y/N is very thrilled to be engaged to Ominis.”

Your eyes widened at the statement, the urge to break free from your maman’s grasp was too tempting. They had never told you about this plan before, let alone ask your opinion about this. You were merely ten years old, and you were already set to marry a stranger that you had never met before. Ominis stood still as well, his face scrunched up, most likely feeling the same way as you do.

“Praise be to Slytherin!” the woman exclaimed, “Though I suppose their marital union should be done after they both finish their studies. After all, our dear Ominis will enroll at Hogwarts next year.” hissed the woman in parseltongue. Your ability in deciphering and speaking the language was still elementary, as you could just catch the word “after” and “study”, yet you get the gist that you will be truly married to Ominis once you finish school.

“I agree, our Y/N will be starting her studies at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic next year as well.” you mother hissed back.

“Ominis,” the woman dragged the boy closer to you, grabbing his hand a little too hard, and held it in front of you, “say hello to your darling fiancée.”

“Bonsoir, Ominis.” You did a quick curtesy before shaking his hand. The poor boy was trembling slightly, his hand was sweaty and cold.

The rest of the ball was a complete blur for you. There were dances here and there, crude gossips about Pureblood families who started to ally themselves with Mudbloods, and hearty dinner that you couldn’t enjoy as your stomach flipped from the sudden news of your engagement. You stayed silent on the carriage back to your home, gazing at the clear night sky from the carriage window. Suddenly, warm hands enveloped your tiny ones, “Mon petit coeur,” your mom smiled softly, “You should be happy. The Gaunts have the purest magic blood in England.”

You sighed a little to loudly as your father glared at you, prompting you to look down, “But,” you gulped, “I don’t know him at all… How am I supposed to fall in love and marry him?”

Your papa erupted in laughter, “Love? This is about the union of two powerful pureblood family. Feelings don’t matter.” His expression turned serious as he glared at you, “This is for your own good, ma chérie, our own good, so you better behave.”

Tears threatened to fall down on your cheeks as you bit your lips hard enough that you tasted iron. Your maman stroked the back of your hands gently, “We shall spend our summers with the Gaunts starting from next year... I think it will help you get to know Ominis better.”

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, the ride home continued silently after. You leaned back, resting your head against the plush cushion in the carriage, closing your eyes as your thoughts jumbled together in your mind. 

The next summer, your parents fulfilled their promise to visit the Gaunt’s manor. The place was too gaudy to your liking, a tad comical seeing the old gothic building, too fitting with the name Gaunt. Tall trees and unkempt plants decorating the front of the manor. Your frown deepened. It was harrowing enough that you had to spend the entire summer at an unfamiliar place, being forced to get to know your future fiancé, but seeing the state of the manor just worsen your mood. You stepped inside the manor, wooden floor creaking underneath your shoes. As dust filled your lungs, you let out a series of coughs. Your mind started to wonder, perhaps your parents secretly hated you, subjecting you to live in such terrible condition for the rest of your lives.

Your parents, as well as Ominis’, had been urging the two children to get to know each other, but it only resulted in awkward stare-downs. A week passed by, both you and Ominis had not yet spoken a word to each other. As an act of desperation, your families decided that it was a good idea to lock the two alone together in the living room, forcing the two to interact with each other.

“Ominis, would you like to play?” you sighed, finally approaching your supposed fiancé. Half an hour passed by and you were bored to death - trying to talk to the boy was a thousand times better than talking to the silent moving paintings on the wall.

Ominis shook his head. You let out another exasperated sigh, imagining your bleak marriage days in the future. The boy held onto his wand tightly, a soft red glow emitting from the tip. 

“Can you see,” you gently touched the stick, “with that?”

“Not really,” Ominis whispered, startling you. That was the first time you actually heard him speak. His voice was very gentle, almost like a squeak.

“So what do you do with it?”

The blond boy shrugged, “It helps me feel… things around me-” Before he could finish his sentence, a blood-curling scream echoed throughout the mansion. You swore your heart was about to burst from your chest, and you stood still, utterly shocked. The sound of small, hurried footsteps startled you again, as you saw Ominis quickly hid underneath a table. The poor boy hugged his knees tightly, tucking in his head. You walked closer, starting to notice that Ominis was trembling, his wand was discarded on the floor. You picked up the wand, slowly sitting down next to him. Your hand rested carefully on his back.

“Don’t cry,” you whispered, “We are safe here. Our parents will protect us.”

“You don’t understand!” Ominis sobbed, tears ran down his cheeks, voice shaking, “They are doing it again… doing bad things to muggles.”

“Ma chérie,” you sat on your papa’s lap, gaze lingered on an open book that he was reading, “Do you know that there are good magic and bad magic?”

“Bad magic?”

“Magic that can… hurt people, and even put them to sleep forever.”

You stayed silent as your papa continued, “But these magic are powerful. And they will keep you safe from harm. You will need to learn it in the future. It is our duty as Purebloods to pass down this precious knowledge.”

“Does maman know about bad magic too?”

“Yes, of course.”

Another scream startled the two children again, louder this time, sending shivers down your spine. Everything clicked in your head. The adults were casting dark magic to muggles. A little part of your heart sank - you didn’t know that your parents were even capable to do such things. Your mind raced, your hand instinctively found Ominis’. Surprisingly, he reciprocated your action. The two stayed that way until the series of screams stopped.

“Can you do it too, Ominis?” you broke the silence, “Bad magic?”

Ominis shook his head, his eyes were puffy, and snot running down from his nose, “My parents and siblings made me do it,” he sniffled, head hanging low, “I could not do it at all. Then they did it to me… It hurts… so much.” The boy started to sob again.

You gently laid your hand on his hair, stroking the soft strands gently - just like how your maman calmed you down after being scolded by your papa. “I’m sorry…” you muttered under your breath. 

For what seemed like hours, you sat down under the table with Ominis, hands still intertwined. The tension of the situation took a toll on the children physically as you both fell asleep, Ominis’ head leaned comfortably against yours. In a half-concious state, you felt your body being lifted up by your papa as you drifted into a deep slumber.

The shared trauma that you shared with Ominis was like a key that opened parts of his heart to you, little by little. Starting from short games of hide-and-seek, which Ominis was particularly good at since his senses were heightened by his wand, to secret meetups in the attic by the end of the summer. 

You crawled through a small opening in the Gaunt manor’s dusty attic, following Ominis who deftly dodged obstacles - most likely remembered the place at the back of his mind. “This is my secret hiding place,” the boy flashed a smile, something you get to see more often. “Aunt Noctua showed me how to get here. She said it was her secret spot when she was just a kid like us.”

In a secluded corner, you saw books, stuffed animals, and muggle toys sprawled around the floor. You couldn’t contain your excitement as you quickly grabbed onto the assortment of toys, your papa hated muggles so much that you were “protected” from the so-called dirty muggle things. You felt a nudge on your arm and saw Ominis holding out a book with the title ‘Alice in Wonderland’ gilded on the cover. “Aunt Noctua gave this to me on my birthday,” he said with a chirpy tone, “Secretly, of course.”

“What is it about?” you mused, taking the book and flipping through the pages. “My parents would never let me read such things.”

“It’s about a girl who fell into a rabbit hole and traveled into a weird place,” he smiled, “I haven’t finished it though. Aunt Noctua is too busy to read it to me these days.”

“Shall I read it for you?” you held onto his hand, carefully helping him sit down across from you.

His milky blue eyes glimmered, “Really?” Ominis flashed the biggest smile you’ve ever seen ever since you met the boy.

“Of course!” you grinned, proceeding to read the passages to Ominis. You couldn’t help but occasionally peek out to gaze at the boy, who kept his joyful smile throughout. At that point, a thought flashed in your head, a promise that you kept dear in your heart ever since - a promise to keep that smile on his face.

The summer ended with the annual ball. As much as you hated the smug grins on the adults’ faces, thinking their plan of getting you and Ominis to know each other worked, you didn’t mind the newfound friendship you had with the boy. At least you didn’t have to be dragged around the ballroom by your maman, sitting down in the empty garden with Ominis was a far better way to wait for the event to finish.

“Are you nervous about going to school this year?” Ominis asked, his hands twiddling a stick that he picked up from the ground. 

“A little,” you resorted to picking small flowers that littered the garden, gathering them into a small bouquet, “But my maman said I will live in a beautiful castle. I saw the uniform, it is quite pretty.”

“I bet it is.”

Your felt heat rushed to your cheeks, as a loud thump echoed in your chest. The night air felt particularly warm, gently flowing through your frilled skirt. You approached your fiancé, carefully putting the messy bouquet of flower on his hand. Ominis took the bouquet, bringing the flowers close to his face, inhaling the floral scent of freshly picked wild flowers. You swore his face reddened as his lips formed to a soft, genuine smile.

“I think you will be alright, Ominis.” you smiled widely, “I think you will meet lots of new friends.”

“I hope so.”

[tgrailwar-zero]

THGW-Zero, Chapter 4 - Battle Against the Beast

With a sudden attack, and a surge of power from his Masters, CONSTANTINE attacked. His blade carving into the back of the Beast, as she let out a pained screech as he echoed with an angered growl.

CONSTANTINE: "Die, Beast!"

His blade dug deeper into her back, her weakened form unable to react in time. DRACO snarled.

DRACO: "Gh…! You blackguards! I was a fool to place my trust in you again! Superbia! Destroy them!"

The Beast roared, enraged by this sudden betrayal, her draconic tail lashing out and striking RIDER, pushing him back. The mighty form of ALTER-EGO began to move, as KUKULKAN began to slowly gather up energy as the assault began.

With a grin, PRETENDER stepped next to MUSASHI, chuckling.

PRETENDER: "Oho, now things are getting interesting! Let's give Invader some space and fend off the giant, shall we?" MUSASHI: "Right! Okay, everyone! Let's hold back Alter-Ego!"

CONSTANTINE: "...Thank you for your support, Masters! Now, let us enact our justice!"

You could sense CONSTANTINE's gratitude, though it was briefly overshadowed by the murderous intent emanating from DRACO and ALTER-EGO.

ALTER-EGO: "Oh, I was just waiting for you all to screw up. Come here so I can squish you like the bugs you are!"

As best as they could, CONSTANTINE, PRETENDER and MUSASHI began holding back ALTER-EGO, in an attempt to block her from interrupting the Noble Phantasm of INVADER.

KUKULKAN had proclaimed herself to be a god before- and while powerful, she had used her Authority sparingly.

Powerful, yet restrained.

She would rush into battle like a missile, smiling all the while. However, her might was much, much greater.

And now, her shackles were undone with the command to use her Noble Phantasm.

She began to glow with a vibrant light, that slowly expanded until her form was no longer visible- the only thing remaining being a gigantic, blinding pillar of light that shot up into the stratosphere.

The might of an Anti-World Noble Phantasm. One that- if even for a moment- redefined the rules of reality... and therefore the 'laws' that held the Solar Cell together.

This pillar of light was as clear as day- not just to the people within the city, but to anyone who lived within the Solar Cell. The Nameless City was a central metropolis, and therefore anyone looking to the horizon towards the city would see this miracle take place, and while only those who lived within the confines of the city could hear the words spoken by the solar titan that was being formed by the pillar, that echoed enough to cause buildings to shake and clouds to split.

KUKULKAN: "I hail from the empty sky! Building up the earth… looking down from the heavens…"

The form of a woman- of KUKULKAN- slowly became visible within the blinding light as the world contorted and strained to even fit her presence.

KUKULKAN: "Meaning-- I am the Sun!"

The declaration reverberated throughout the Nameless City- as if time itself stilled. Such a declaration was one of authority over the Solar Cell- worthiness of overseeing the life that resided there.

Staring up at the Sun, with rage in her eyes, DRACO shot upwards.

DRACO: "My dragons! To me!"

In a moment, the four draconic heads that had once terrorized other parts of the city left their posts and sprouted up towards the towering god, jaws snapping and teeth gnashing as they attempted to seize a counterattack, or at the very least a final defense.

A shadow shot into the air, a calm voice filling the night sky.

MUSASHI: "…Hayagrīva… use my rage to sever all evil…"

In a flash, with four strokes of her sword, four dragon heads collapsed. One to a raging torrent of water, another to a crash of earthen steel, one more to a gust of razor winds, and a final to a gut of violent flame. The look in the swordmasters eyes was cold, focused on the moment at hand, as her technique was far from over.

MUSASHI: "This sword is my path to the void, my very life! Ishana, Daitenshou!"

The swordmaster drew her sword once more, the ringing sound of metal carving through the air.

The final stroke, a moment of perfected swordplay, sliced through the body of the larval Beast with perfect accuracy, a cascade of blood filling the night sky as the samurai cleaved an opening for the massive sun-god to strike.

The hand of the burning deity began to crash downward- seemingly slow at first, before the illusion of distance broke and the strike was revealed to be moving at a breakneck pace.

KUKULKAN: "--Kinich Ahau Impact!"

In a moment of stringent beauty, the great sun god made contact with the Beast, a wave of light rocketing outward and painting the sky of the Solar Cell into that of a bright sunny day, if only for a moment. For a moment, night was gone and replaced only by the overwhelming might of the Sun.

The declared name of 'Kinich Ahau' within the Noble Phantasm only served to establish the legitimacy of what everyone was witnessing.

And therefore- all of the Servants that had struggled against the heads of the Beast could only watch in quiet awe.

The Beast, her body thoroughly destroyed, only had a moment to herself as she burned up in the undeniable presence of the Sun.

As the daylight faded, the Beast stared hopelessly into the night sky.

DRACO: "…Ah, right… this is how it should be… the Beast of the Apocalypse falls down to the earth… and the Emperor dies alone… but..."

DRACO: "...I'm sorry, my Master... I... couldn't..."

Like sand swept away by the sea, the Beast of the Apocalypse, DRACO, disappeared from the Solar Cell.

With exhaustion, the massive shining god also faded, as KUKULKAN returned to the ground- her body swiftly caught by CONSTANTINE in gentlemanly fashion.

Her 'Master' gone, ALTER-EGO stumbled backwards, crashing into the wall with blank, dazed eyes.

There was a long moment of silence, before…

Sound.

A noise, like a rushing wave filled the air and swirled into the catacombs where your Servants stood.

The sound of applause. Praise. Cheers. Relief, that the city and the Solar Cell had been saved. Amazement at the shining, towering god that had manifested itself in such a central spot of this city.

The denizens of the Solar Cell exclaiming with true, uproarious gratitude.

The warmth that came with it, a grand feeling of heroism that washed over your Servants as they found themselves worn from this short, intense bout. Drained of magical energy, but otherwise still standing proudly as the remnants of the Beast disappeared.

You felt the Crimson Blade you once held go cold and inert, the flames sparking out.

In the midst of the cheers, MUSASHI finally landed down on the ground, holding out two objects.

MUSASHI: "…And here our spoils of our victory. You wanted this severed, right?"

It seems you acquired some new items... but lost the Crimson Blade.

KUKULKAN: "Ah- are the people of the city cheering for us? I'm a little embarrassed, but that means we won, yes?"

You saw CONSTANTINE step out, relieved. His armor was a bit bruised and dented- the one attack DRACO landing apparently quite the hefty one as he leaned against some of the rubble in the now-fading theatre.

CONSTANTINE: "The Beast is felled… thank goodness. but, what of Alter-Ego? What will happen to her?"

Stepping over to the dazed ALTER-EGO, PRETENDER patted her on the leg.

PRETENDER: "She's a big girl. I'll take her back to MoonCancer- see if we can't set her back to normal. MoonCancer's a smart lady, if anyone can fix Alter-Ego, it's her."

KUKULKAN: "Ay, she took a direct hit from my Noble Phantasm, and she's mostly just singed… it seems like the Blue Faction has a really scary Servant, doesn't it?"

A few sparse laughs shared between the group, before MUSASHI perked up, pointing her swords towards the entrance.

MUSASHI: "We're not alone- heads up."

As if suddenly having apparated within the space- the PRIEST that you encountered during your latest conversation with that 'NARRATING VOICE'- the one that had sealed your ability to acquire items from shops.

You hadn't noticed his arrival. If he had ill intent, he probably could have easily assassinated CONSTANTINE or KUKULKAN. Luckily, it didn't seem as if he held any ill intent- or if he did, he wasn't acting on it currently.

PRIEST: "I apologize for startling you. As one of the War Monitors, I was meaning to congratulate you on a job well-done once you finished your conversation. And I did have an agreement with your Masters… but please, do not rush on my account."

The PRIEST smiled.

PRIEST: "Frankly, it seems as if you've been quite busy indeed. A display like that certainly takes a lot of magical energy. Perhaps you and your Servants should take a well-deserved rest before making any further moves."

-

[ Lucius Origin obtained.] [ Asclepius Origin obtained.] [ Crimson Blade lost! ]

[kvetchlandia]

Moisei Nappelbaum     Anna Akhmatova, Moscow     1929

No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face. I stand as witness to the common lot, survivor of that time, that place.

Instead of a Preface

    In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me. Standing behind me was a woman, with lips blue from the cold, who had, of course, never heard me called by name before. Now she started out of the torpor common to us all and asked me in a whisper (everyone whispered there):     "Can you describe this?"     And I said: "I can."     Then something like a smile passed fleetingly over what had once been her face.

Dedication

Such grief might make the mountains stoop, reverse the waters where they flow, but cannot burst these ponderous bolts that block us from the prison cells crowded with mortal woe. . . . For some the wind can freshly blow, for some the sunlight fade at ease, but we, made partners in our dread, hear but the grating of the keys, and heavy-booted soldiers' tread. As if for early mass, we rose and each day walked the wilderness, trudging through silent street and square, to congregate, less live than dead. The sun declined, the Neva blurred, and hope sang always from afar. Whose sentence is decreed? . . . That moan, that sudden spurt of woman's tears, shows one distinguished from the rest, as if they'd knocked her to the ground and wrenched the heart out of her breast, then let her go, reeling, alone. Where are they now, my nameless friends from those two years I spent in hell? What specters mock them now, amid the fury of Siberian snows, or in the blighted circle of the moon? To them I cry, Hail and Farewell!

Prologue

That was a time when only the dead could smile, delivered from their wars, and the sign, the soul, of Leningrad dangled outside its prison-house; and the regiments of the condemned, herded in the railroad-yards, shrank from the engine's whistle-song whose burden went, "Away, pariahs!" The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.

I

At dawn they came and took you away. You were my dead: I walked behind. In the dark room children cried, the holy candle gasped for air. Your lips were chill from the ikon's kiss, sweat bloomed on your brow–those deathly flowers! Like the wives of Peter's troopers in Red Square I'll stand and howl under the Kremlin towers.

II

Quietly flows the quiet Don; into my house slips the yellow moon.

It leaps the sill, with its cap askew, and balks at a shadow, that yellow moon.

This woman is sick to her marrow-bone, this woman is utterly alone,

with husband dead, with son away in jail. Pray for me. Pray.

III

Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound. I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground. Whisk the lamps away . . .                                         Night.

IV

They should have shown you–mocker, delight of your friends, hearts' thief, naughtiest girl of Pushkin's town– this picture of your fated years, as under the glowering wall you stand, shabby, three hundredth in the line, clutching a parcel in your hand, and the New Year's ice scorched by your tears. See there the prison poplar bending! No sound. No sound. Yet how many innocent lives are ending . . .

V

For seventeen months I have cried aloud, calling you back to your lair. I hurled myself at the hangman's foot. You are my son, changed into nightmare. Confusion occupies the world, and I am powerless to tell somebody brute from something human, or on what day the word spells, "Kill!" Nothing is left but dusty flowers, the tinkling thurible, and tracks that lead to nowhere. Night of stone, whose bright enormous star stares me straight in the eyes, promising death, ah soon!

VI

The weeks fly out of mind, I doubt that it occurred: how into your prison, child, the white nights, blazing, stared; and still, as I draw breath, they fix their buzzard eyes on what the high cross shows, this body of your death.

VII

The Sentence

The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.

So much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.

Not quite. Hot summer's feast brings rumors of carouse. How long have I foreseen this brilliant day, this empty house?

VIII

To Death

You will come in any case–so why not now? How long I wait and wait. The bad times fall. I have put out the light and opened the door for you, because you are simple and magical. Assume, then, any form that suits your wish, take aim, and blast at me with poisoned shot, or strangle me like an efficient mugger, or else infect me–typhus be my lot– or spring out of the fairytale you wrote, the one we're sick of hearing, day and night, where the blue hatband marches up the stairs, led by the janitor, pale with fright. It's all the same to me. The Yenisei swirls the North Star shines, as it will shine forever; and the blue lustre of my loved one's eyes is clouded over by the final horror.

IX

Already madness lifts its wing to cover half my soul. That taste of opiate wine! Lure of the dark valley!

Now everything is clear. I admit my defeat. The tongue of my ravings in my ear is the tongue of a stranger.

No use to fall down on my knees and beg for mercy's sake. Nothing I counted mine, out of my life, is mine to take:

not my son's terrible eyes, not the elaborate stone flower of grief, not the day of the storm, not the trial of the visiting hour,

not the dear coolness of his hands, not the lime trees' agitated shade, not the thin cricket-sound of consolation's parting word.

X

Crucifixion

"Do not weep for me, Mother, when I am in my grave."

I

A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me. . . ."

II

Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed, His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared. His mother stood apart. No other looked into her secret eyes. No one dared.

Epilogue

I

I have learned how faces fall to bone, how under the eyelids terror lurks how suffering inscribes on cheeks the hard lines of its cuneiform texts, how glossy black or ash-fair locks turn overnight to tarnished silver, how smiles fade on submissive lips, and fear quavers in a dry titter. And I pray not for myself alone . . . for all who stood outside the jail, in bitter cold or summer's blaze, with me under that blind red wall.

II

Remembrance hour returns with the turning year. I see, I hear, I touch you drawing near:

the one we tried to help to the sentry's booth, and who no longer walks this precious earth,

and that one who would toss her pretty mane and say, "It's just like coming home again."

I want to name the names of all that host, but they snatched up the list, and now it's lost.

I've woven them a garment that's prepared out of poor words, those that I overheard,

and will hold fast to every word and glance all of my days, even in new mischance,

and if a gag should blind my tortured mouth, through which a hundred million people shout,

then let them pray for me, as I do pray for them, this eve of my remembrance day.

And if my country ever should assent to casting in my name a monument,

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed

not near the seas on which my eyes first opened– my last link with the sea has long been broken–

nor in the Tsar's garden near the sacred stump, where a grieved shadow hunts my body's warmth,

but here, here I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

Because even in blissful death I fear to lose the clangor of the Black Marias,

to lose the banging of that odious gate and the old crone howling like a wounded beast.

And from my motionless bronze-lidded sockets may the melting snow, like teardrops, slowly trickle,

and a prison dove coo somewhere, over and over, as the ships sail softly down the flowing Neva.

-- Anna Akhmatova, “Requiem”  written over a long period of time between 1935 and 1961

[officialauthorofanotherworld]

I was a little hesitant to post this because it is borderline physically painful to read my old writing, but I think it might be cool for people to see how far i've come in five years.

Some context:

The very first version of my story began on September 25th, 2019. I was 18. I am now 23 and it is August 14th, 2024. It has been 1855 days, or five years and three days exactly. In 2020, I believe is when I scrapped the original concept (the whole, "based on a dnd campaign" nonsense) and began writing something entirely new.

Let's begin with the old stuff, but be warned that my old writing is actual, genuine garbage.

as jacob (xp to level 3) said in that one video, "gimme the garbage, gimme the trash!"

except in this case, the trash makes me feel like this gif of kyaru, and not like i am looking at overpowered dnd homebrew:

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It was a bright Spring morning in the continent of Kommodia. Spring fresh air filled the sky, newly sprouted Honeydew plants rose from the ground. It was Spring. A long dirt paved path sprawled out in front of them, trickling and snaking along the ground towards their destination, a party of three travelers bumpily rode down it towards a city. in a carriage, towards where their friend awaited their arrival. All of a sudden, the wind stilled, and a sense of dread filled the air. Something stirred outside in the trees, catching the mage, Beriyl's, eye. "Do you think those might be…" He questioned aloud. Taka finished his sentence for him. "Tch. Goblins. Tricky little bastards…." The thief, Taka, swore. Hailing from Losaira and never all that wealthy, through some strange, lucky trick of fate had he years ago somehow found himself amongst a traveling warrior on an escort mission. From there, he had met the mage who sat up front controlling the reins. Taka was happy to call those he traveled with friends.. for the most part. Sometimes the mage could be- But Taka's internal monologue was cut short when the group's mage, Beriyl, muttered an incantation. As he did so, the air around them grew cold and a bolt of ice shot out of Beriyl's hands and flew at the goblin he had targeted. The ice spike tore straight through its chest and shattered behind it. The goblin fell, bloody and dead to the ground. Acting quickly, Taka readied an arrow and loosed it into the back of a goblin. It flew through the air, and stuck in the back of the goblin with a thwack. "That's two down… Nice shot, Beriyl!" Taka commented, looking over his shoulder at Beriyl. "Not so bad yourself, halfling." Beriyl replied, snarkily. "But we all know that I, Beriyl von Aschwaz, am the GREATEST mage in all of-" Beriyl was cut off. "Shut it, Beriyl." Taka said. While they were fighting, they failed to notice that due to the goblins losing two members fairly quickly, the goblins had decided to begin a retreat back to the woods they had appeared from. Taka nocked another arrow and fired. The arrow flew through the air and stuck right into the back of one of the remaining two goblin's back with a thwack, sending the goblin to the ground. "Well, we did what we could." Taka muttered, pulling his hood over his head and falling back into his seat. "Now, mage, continue holding the reins and get us to our destination." "How rude! I'll have you know my name is-" "Yeah, yeah, your name is Beriyl, greatest mage in all of Kommodia," Taka said mockingly. "Hmph. At least you recognize my magical prower-" "No, actually, I don't. I was kidding. You aren't the greatest mage." Taka said, laughing. "…." Beriyl was very angry. The trio reluctantly continued on their slow, gradual trudge towards the city. It was an uneventful ride, aside from some screaming they heard off in the distance. When they heard that, the party unanimously agreed to continue towards Thunderfell to get the brawns of their party BEFORE attempting to chase after strange noises.

When they arrived, Arthur was very happy to see them, and made no attempt to hide that. "My friends! You have finally come! I was getting worried!" Arthur said. Taka, with a look of indignation, muttered something under his breath. "What?" Arthur asked, looking at Taka. "Nothing." Taka replied. Arthur looked strangely at Taka before shrugging it off. The wind stilled. "We have more important things to be doing than idle banter, do we not?" Taka muttered. "You are right. Arthur, perhaps it would concern you that we had heard screams while we were coming to get you. Perhaps we should check it out?" Beriyl suggested. Birds chirped in the skies, and the harsh sun continued to beat down on Thunderfell and the party. "I don't see why not. Very well, let us be off!" Arthur said, enthusiastically. And with that, they were off. Arthur hummed to himself as the carriage rocked and jumped around as the slightly dysfunctional trio headed towards their dangerous destination. "Where did we hear those screams?" Beriyl asked. "Hm. I'd say… five steps from here?" Taka answered, unsure. Beriyl laughed to himself, muttering something about "Stupid Halfling.." before replying; "Oh really? I, for one, believe it to be exactly one hundred steps from here." Beriyl said, sarcastically in his usual tone of voice. "Nineteen steps to the East." A loud, booming voice echoed overhead. A matter of seconds ago, the forest was alive with the noises of insects, birds, and other forest-y things. Now, the air was still, and the surrounding area was eerily silent. "What in god's name-" Arthur exclaimed, surprised. "What.. what was that? I've never heard anything like it." Beriyl said. Taka nonchalantly sat, arms crossed with his hood over his head. "Kch. Why should we listen to some disembodied voice?" The mage huffed and sat back down in the front, reins in his hands. "That's a good question, Taka.. for once, you ask something not entirely stup-" "Beriyl." Arthur said, cutting him off. Beriyl sighed. "Are we ready to continue onwards?" Beriyl asked, annoyed. "Yes. We should follow the directions that voice gave us, though." Arthur suggested. "Arthur, do tell.. Why should I, the GREAT Beriyl von Aschwaz, greatest mage in ALL of Kommodia listen to some PATHETIC, disembodied voi-" All of a sudden, a great gust of wind blew through the carriage, knocking Beriyl out of the left window. "Ow!" Beriyl yelled. Arthur laughed. "Maybe you SHOULD listen to it, after all."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

^ quarantined off that bad writing from my new stuff :D

Here's the opening scene of my current version. Five years of progress:

Taka screamed in terror, and shot up in his bed. His heart drummed in his chest at a rapid pace for what felt like an eternity before it finally settled down. Beads of sweat formed upon his forehead as his eyes flitted around the dim room. Everything was as he’d left it—door closed, his things atop a medium-sized, rectangular storage chest in the corner...

“…Just a dream.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he reluctantly slid out of bed, recoiling slightly at the cold touch of the floor on the bottoms of his feet. It was moments like these that made him wish he knew even a few spells. The entire room seemed to creak loudly as it lurched to one side, the ship rocked by the violent waves. Steadying himself, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

" ’Smooth ride’, huh?”

When the ship finally leveled out and Taka felt he could move about safely again, he did so, heading over to the lockbox in the corner and kneeling down by it. He pulled his comfortably worn dark leather boots off the box and onto the floor, then slid them on one by one. Then, he attached his pouches to his belt, and stretched the remaining dredges of sleep from his body.

Afterward, he headed over to the small mirror that sat atop a dresser alongside the leftmost wall.

In this lightless room, he could just make out his defining features; a sharp nose, and roughly chin-length deep brown hair complimented by his hazel eyes and pale skin.

“My hair’s a mess…”

Grumbling, he spent a few minutes combing through it with his fingers and wishing he’d brought a comb. When his hair seemed somewhat acceptable, he adjusted his scarf, then nodded.

“That seems good enough. Okay… Already dressed, so…”

He had on a fitted black top and pants; both were accented dark brown. His top was striking in that it had no left sleeve, and completing the ensemble was a long dark brown leather glove ending at his shoulder.

Making his final adjustments, Taka turned from the mirror, and returned to the lockbox.

“Almost forgot.”

He muttered, bending down to grab his shortbow and quiver from atop it. Slinging the bow around his shoulder and tying the quiver to his waist just above his pouches, he gave a final nod.

“Right.”

One last time, Taka scanned the room.

‘Don’t want to forget something on accident…’

When he was sure he had indeed not forgotten anything, he left the room behind for the bottom corridors of the ship.

‘Alright…’ He exhaled a nervous breath. ‘Guess I’ll get something to eat.’

-----------------

That's all from me, for now. This is the year! This is the year I finish my book, i'm so close, i'm so sad, and i'm so excited and happy!

[soloistschornicles]

ᝰ ┆︎CHAPTER 01

⩩﹕𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬﹒[name] was invited by their relatives to join them in familial events, hail from the nation of eternity. there, they experience supernatural encounters, including meeting the infamous 7th wonder of Inazuma; Wanderer-san of Inazuma. 

⩩﹕𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠﹒kuni-scara-wanderer x reader

⩩﹕𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬﹒ongoing

Rumors and tales circulated through the docks of Liyue; it was only in the early hours of the morning when the port's bustle could be seen. The sun wasn't up yet as the ships were slowly making their way into the harbor. People had come out of their homes for work or to do errands as the sun rose further up in the sky, lighting the world up more like a dream than a memory of yesterday evening. 

The chill breeze caressed your slightly-shivering figure, your luggage trailing behind you as you saunter towards the port of Contracts. By dawn's early light the riders came, the sun opening up as a flower on the horizon, rising to send those petals of gold to shower the city with its radiance.

You might be wondering what you're doing at Liyue's port at this hour of the day. I shall begin with a simple courtesy, to enlighten your starting point of the story.

It was late in the night, but not midnight. The streetlamps lit the streets with warm colors, as if the lights were a fire burning brightly within you. Your footsteps echo against the cobblestone of your path to your humble abode. 

The energy you had in the morning has now been depleted as the night has gleamed. You felt yourself aching from a tiring, and the fatigue weighed so heavily on you that sleep was a distinct possibility. Endless herbs needed to be processed, and medications and prescriptions needed to be tended to the worrisome patients and customers.

Your attention was drawn to the silhouette of your house from a distance; it was barely visible from the road. But, eventually, you will be able to retreat to a central site and find sweet solace.

Upon arriving, on the doorstep of your abode, you spotted a polished-looking envelope with a familiar seal that fastened the letter. 

A recognizable insignia was marked upon it. A gold-plated seal consists of a hexagon shape with a blooming lotus in the middle.  

Taking the letter by hand, they went up to their bedroom, where their safe haven was situated. Glancing a questioning gaze upon the envelope. A faint sweetness and powdery aroma were wafting from the said envelope once they opened it. 

You knew this smell too well to be mistaken; it was the scent of a sakura bloom that was often to be seen at Narukami Island of Inazuma.

You began to unravel it slowly and saw a letter written in elegant calligraphy, and the name of the sender was not something you expected. You immediately open the envelope and read the contents.

Blooming Flower~

Sender: Kamisato, Ayato

Salutation, my dear [Name]. I am most pleased that you received my letter, and I hope that you do not mind me contacting you after such a long time, though I am quite certain that you would be gladdened to know that this year we’ll be inviting you for a break at our family house, at Kamisato estate. 

I have been informed by my informants about your recent work and your long period of working hours at your disposal. I’ve seen many reports of your success in the past two years since we spoke.

And so, I wanted you to be aware of how proud we are of you and how much we wish to share the news with you in person. Myself and Ayaka, have been looking forward to your arrival at the Kamisato estate for some time now. We’ll even have to cease our work schedules just to show you the beauty of Inazuma, which is in store for you. 

Furthermore, don’t fret. I had already contacted your executive. 

Sincerely, Ayato.

As you finished reading and reflecting about the said letter, a ripple of mixed emotions returned to the forefront of your mind. There was happiness, joy, excitement, and even sadness. All of a sudden you couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu as you remember the last time you read such a letter.

At the time, you were young. You always sent letters to your cousins, to see how they were doing for the past months since you sailed from Inazuma to Liyue. They were fun times back until the reign of the Kamisato clan had trampled to dust.

That incident was no more, but the pain of the loss of their parents will never fade. The grief and sorrow they faced and felt were now hidden away in the depths of their hearts. Masking with a smile on their face.  

Till that day, you and they never had a touch of contact for many moons. Until now, you felt a sense of relief flooding over you. That all of these years had passed by in peace made you sigh in relief to not have any worries in the world.

You fold the letter and seal it inside the envelope before placing it in the drawer beside your bed. Turning off the lamps that illuminate your room. 

Throughout the rest of the night, you had been pondering over the sudden invitation, it was all unexpected but welcome. You'll give in to some thought, then decide upon what to do in the morning. 

You turn on your side, closing your eyes as you try to fall asleep after a long day. The moonlight streams through your window, the glow brightening up your dark room. 

⏤🥀⏤

Back to the present at hand; you presently standing at the port, waiting for the arrival of transportation. There wasn't a single thing to keep you awake. You simply had enough sleep for the week. When the ship docked, you stood patiently waiting on the dock to be picked up. It was an hour earlier that you arrived at the port and the early morning crowd was still going strong. 

After a while, however, you became aware of someone walking towards you. The sound of a footsteps thudding against the hard ground resonated throughout the small crowd as people parted to make their way to wherever their destination was. 

After a while of walking towards you, a boy appeared in front of you with an apologetic expression. 

His appearance was unique; he had choppy-medium white hair with a singular red streak, and his outfit consisted of red-white Inazuma fashion, typically samurai attire. Maple leaves are decorated in them as a hallmark.

He appeared to be your age. "I apologize for the delay, but...are you [Name] [Lastname]?"

"Erm-yes, I'm [Name], can I assist you with something?" you politely replied. This makes the boy smile. "I'm just here to confirm your identity; Captain Beidou asked me to fetch a friend of hers named [Name], and it appears the wind did guiding me in the right direction."

You squinted your eyes toward the boy with skepticism. "How should I know you're telling the truth? I know Beidou for a while now but I have never seen you before."

Instead of being frustrated as you expected, the boy in front of you just let out a string of chuckles slipping from his lips. "If that's the case then I guess I should introduce myself!" He said smilingly at you.

"My name is Kaedahara Kazuha, and I'm recently recruited by captain Beidou herself. You don't have to believe it straight away. For your comfort, we can stay here and enjoy the tranquility of the sea while we wait for Captain Beidou. Does that sound good?" 

You were reluctant at first, but seeing the sincerity, you heave a sigh before nodding at his suggestion.

You and 'Kazuha' waited for a few minutes, relishing the carefree zephyr flittering the ends of your hair. As you waited, you took a glance at the boy who closed his eyes with a leaf between his lips; a dulcet tune swung through your ears as the winds playfully blew around you. 

It seemed like you were alone. Not knowing whether this was indeed a good or a bad thing, you thought. Perhaps, your company could be appreciated better.

As you relish yourself with the soft tune, you two heard a heavy footstep resounding through the dock. Cast a glance behind you; your eyes met with ruby-colored eyes that belong to the captain of the Crux fleet.

"My apologies for the latency, little one; I was having an...audience with the Tianquan, and I hope you didn't have to wait too long," Beidou said with a grin.

Her gaze shifted to Kazuha; she placed her hands on her hips. "Kazuha, didn't I tell you to fetch [Name] as the crew prepares for the ship?"

"Apologies, it appears I was too caught up in the moment," the samurai said. You stood there with your mouth formed in the letter 'O,' and a silver lining of guilt diluted over you. So he was telling you the truth while you pierced him with skepticism. 

Before the woman took the wrong way, you interjected. 

"I'm sorry I waste our time here, I simply didn't trust Kazuha once he inform me that the ship was preparing for my departure to Inazuma. So, don't blame him for any of this." You gave an apologetic gesture to both Beidou and the samurai. Your attention shifted to Kazuha. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Kaedahara, I didn't mean to offend you with my words."

Kazuha gazed at you with an astounding expression as he took a minute to watch you with apologetic motions. A serene smile makes its way to his face; his red-colored eyes glow with lenience. It was the most genuine and gentle expression you ever witnessed, and it warmed your heart greatly.

"No, don't worry about it; I wasn't offended in any way; rather, I was glad you were cautious; simply put, you're concerned about the possibility of being harmed," he said gently. "People nowadays are willing to trust strangers so easily; it's not a bad thing, but we should be meticulous." 

"And please call me Kazuha," he added.

You're thankful he's quite a reasonable guy. Even though you've known each other for a very short time, he has a friendly disposition that puts you at ease in a matter of seconds. 

Beidou approaches both of you and claps her hand in excitement. "I'm glad that you both set your difference aside."

She set hands on each of your shoulders and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Now, shall we prepare ourselves? We'll be embarking on a journey through a sea of depths, to the land of tempest and storm. The nation of Everlasting law. Inazuma."

⌗﹒𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ⊹ 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋

(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ ┊@raideneiari ・ @cynzcir ・ @louise-rosita-leroux ┊{ send ask if you wish to be tag : OPEN } 

ˢᵖⁱʳⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗᵉ: Although there's no appearance of Wanderer-san yet, please enjoy⏤Happy 2023 everyone!! Hope you celebrate with lots of Luv with your family and friends ♡

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 535

McCoy

He was at a loss.

Father had tasked him with taking care of Scotty and Leah, but McCoy was struggling. They still had no information, no leads to go off, nothing to give them a hint of where Khan may have taken Robbie, or why.

He glanced out the window. The morning that had been so bright and sunny, though chilly, was turning gray. Clouds were rolling in and they looked heavy with rain.

With just Scotty, McCoy would have taken him to the secret library gallery to watch the colorful rain fall on the skylights. They could curl up together and McCoy could help distract his fiancé and make him forget for a while. But Leah…

McCoy could admit to himself that he and his sister weren’t quite as close as they had been. They both had found someone else to turn to, to confide in. They were still each other's oldest friend, but the past year and their relationships had changed them somewhat. McCoy wasn’t as confident what it would take to distract his sister.

From where he sat with Scotty he watched Leah. She had given up on wiping her tears away. The trails down her cheeks refreshed themselves from time to time. No more blinks had lit up her necklace, though she had tapped it once more. Her fingers continued to idly play with and hold the pendant.

McCoy knew his sister in all her moods, but this fear and worry, this pining was new to him. Leah listlessly picked up a piece of fruit from the plate on the table. She sighed before popping it in her mouth. Always she was strong. McCoy had seen how it had hurt her to be told by Father that she couldn’t help.

A crack of thunder had all three of them startled. McCoy stood and looked out the window.

“It isn’t quite here yet,” he said. “The clouds are still darker further off.”

His voice was drowned out by a sudden burst of hail. It clattered against the window and collected on the balcony. McCoy turned back and sat down again with Scotty.

“Remember when we were little?” Leah asked.

“Hmm?”

“Storms always scared you,” she said.

“No—”

“Yes,” Leah nodded.

“Only at night,” McCoy argued.

“Ok. Yes. At night,” Leah conceded. “He’d cry,” she told Scotty. “And try to hide. Mother would find him trying to hide under their bed.”

McCoy could feel his face heating with embarrassment.

“I was four,” he tried to justify himself.

“He would cling when Mother tried to bring him back to his own room. Crying and screaming all the way back down the hall.”

McCoy sighed. It wasn’t the time to fight with Leah. If an embarrassing story helped her, well, it was worth it. Scotty smiled at him, his eyes not showing his own fear for a moment.

“Dr. Boyce taught me about weather and storms. How to watch for them. If you were four I was only five.” A small smile flashed on Leah’s face. “A little girl watching the sky every night after dinner. I wanted to know if I was going to be woken up by Lenny’s crying.”

“And?” Scotty asked when Leah paused.

She shook her head gently with the memory.

“She’d come in and be ready before a storm hit,” McCoy filled in. “Before the first lightning or thunder, she’d be ready to calm me.” McCoy smiled at his sister.

“Mother never found him under the bed again.”

“Because Leah was already there to keep me company.”

McCoy looked across at Leah again and their eyes met. He understood. He was her company now for her storm.

Part 536

Robbie

Robbie still stared at Joaquin’s lifeless body. The augment… was just a student like him. Maybe a few years older, but… he wasn’t ready to die yet!

Khan was breathing heavily, eyes fixed on his dead brother. Robbie could see tears in his eyes, the trembling of his hands growing second by second.

“It really is a pity, hearing that you want to betray me, Khan. I really thought that you were smarter than that.”

Robbie turned his head to see Marcus slowly stepping over to them. The phaser was still in his hand.

“What will I tell the authorities,” the man mused and suddenly his face lit up. “Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes. Our ship found the escaped augments and their human prisoner. When I tried to take them in custody, one of the augments shot at the human, causing him to suffer from a fatal injury. I had to shoot the augment. But… it was too late for their hostage.”

With a cold smile, Marcus came to a halt in front of Robbie. He pointed the phaser at him.

“A shot into the aorta, up close, no way to survive for the poor boy.”

Robbie pressed his back against the wall, tears of fear streaming down his face.

“No, no…”

He didn’t want to die. He needed to come back home! To his mother, his grandfather, his brother… and Leah.

Oh, Leah! He wanted to hold her, to kiss her. As Robbie closed his eyes, he saw the princess’ gorgeous face in front of him. She was smiling, laughing.

He wanted to see her laugh again. Just one more time!

He wanted to finish school, wanted to find good work. He wanted to… marry the girl he loved.

Marcus couldn’t take that from him. He just couldn’t!

“Please,” Robbie whimpered and suddenly a strange sound made him open his eyes again.

He was shocked at what he saw.

Khan had tackled Marcus to the ground. The phaser was lying out of reach and Marcus tried his best to shove Khan off with his hands.

An inarticulated scream left Khan’s mouth as his hands suddenly held onto the captain’s head.

And suddenly he started to squeeze.

Robbie heard Marcus scream in pain, heard the sound of something starting to crack.

His eyes were fixed on the captain and Khan and before he could close them, it was already too late.

The skull… was crushed!

Robbie stared at the horrifying image, his stomach turning around, and he couldn’t help but vomit.

Never before had he seen something like that. Never before had he seen someone die a horrible death like that.

From the corner of his eyes, Robbie saw Khan getting up from the ground and suddenly a hand grabbed his arm forcefully.

The same hand that had killed the captain seconds ago.

Without a word, Khan just pulled Robbie with him. Not without picking up the phaser first.

“Khan, what-”

The sickness overwhelmed him once more and he vomited again.

“Khan, what’s going on?”

Kati. She and the others were standing in a hallway, knocked out Starfleet officers lying on the ground.

“This ends tonight. I will kill these scientists! I will take this throne!”

Before Robbie knew where they were, the door to the bridge opened.

The officers turned around, but before they could grab their phasers, Khan already shot all three of them.

And when Robbie looked into his face, he knew that seeing Joaquin die had caused the exact opposite of what Joaquin had wanted.

Khan was on a killing spree. And no one would be able to stop him.

He sat down in the captain’s chair, not before grabbing another pair of shackles from an officer of course. Robbie was chained to him.

“Head to Georgiares II. We will show these humans what we’re capable of.”

Kati and the others who had followed him, exchanged worried glances, but did what he told them to.

“Let’s see what your little girlfriend will choose. Her kingdom or you.”

[go-to-the-mirror]

Every Time Mirrors are Mentioned in Welcome to Night Vale

[Plain text: Every Time Mirrors are Mentioned in Welcome to Night Vale]

Why are you doing this to yourself? Because I'm abnormal, next question?

Abridged

Episodes featured: 11, 19A, 19B, 26, 27, 30, 33, 43, 67, 70B, 87, 106, 108, 116, 120, 122, 137, 143, 144, 148, 149, 150, 151, 160, 162, 164, 171, 175, 176, 196, 202, 209

Liveshows featured: "The Debate," "The Librarian," "The Investigators," "ALL HAIL."

CECIL: The City Council today issued a strong warning against the manufacture and sale of discount Bloodstones. They say that these Bloodstones of inferior design and construction have the potential to cause major accidents in even common, day-to-day chanting rituals. These accidents have included, in just the past few months, [...] the creation and subsequent obliteration of a mirror version of Night Vale, forcing all of us to watch our identical counterparts perish and thus confront the inevitability of our own futures. Anyone caught selling these Bloodstones will be put into the Dark Box, pending erasure from recorded history. The lesser charge of buying or possessing them, will be met with mere summary execution.

(Episode 11 - Wheat & Wheat By-Products)

CECIL: And now, a look at financial news. A fallow wheat field, grey sky, cut by black Vs of black birds. There is a child dragging a hatchet. His eyes cast down. His eyes tight. His eyes white and red and superfluous. He know not what he sees, but he knows what is there. A single black-wingéd beast, beak cracked, feathers rotting, alights roughly on the child's shoulder. They stop. The bird picks at the cartilage of the boy's ear, as if biting secrets into it. The boy groans, not unpleasantly. Heavy, slow clouds roll and rise, starkly contrasted against the flickering daguerreotype hills, which stoically keep the poisonous rains at bay. A sudden little river, partially walled by palsied shafts of grain, rolls by. The boy walks to it. He bends forward. His blank eyes stare into his reflection. Neither he nor his mirror knows the other is there. But the bird. The bird knows. The bird cackles. Or perhaps cries. Even the bird is uncertain. The boy takes a palm full of the dark water. Most of it runs out through his long, zig-zagging fingers. He licks the remainder from his dusty skin. A sound. Like thunder. Like drums. Like steps. The boy turns and hurls his hatchet behind him. The bird flies up and away. There is a hideous thump. The boy knows not what he has hit, but that it has been wounded. He waits for its retort. This has been financial news.

(Episode 19A - The Sandstorm)

KEVIN: This just in, Desert Bluffs: Mayor Pablo Mitchell has declared today Sandstorm Day. This massive sandstorm has already damaged several apartments and malls in the northwest part of town and it seems to be on course for even more costly wreckage. So Mayor Mitchell announced that we can all take today off of work. Today is a city-wide holiday. A second announcement, coming from a man that looked and dressed like the mayor said that we can make up some of our lost hours by teaming up with our doubles. The two joined together for an inspirational call to work together with these magical doppelgängers. Is this true Desert Bluffs? If so, what a blessed and wonderful event to bring us doubles of ourselves. I am stuck inside – doing a job I very much love, of course – but if I were you, I would run outside into the sandy afternoon air and try to meet your other. How exciting. So make friends with your mirrored colleague, Desert Bluffs! Think of what we could accomplish if there were two of all of us!

(Episode 19B - The Sandstorm)

FACELESS OLD WOMAN: I wish you could see me. Just cleaning and re-organizing. Making sense of the nonsense plants and muscles in your fridge. But you never look. If you would just glance left or right every so often, you'd see me. I'm right next to you, right now. I’m even in the mirrors. But you just stare at yourself. Staring only at your overripe potato of a face. I'm there in every mirror, if you could just look for me in the background behind you.

CECIL: Maybe you should try paying more attention when you're at home. Or better yet, destroy all of your mirrors. As my mother used to tell me: "Someone's going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror. Mark my words, child." and then she would stare absently through my eyes until I giggled. I miss her so much. 

(Episode 26 - Faceless Old Woman)

CECIL: Monday will be the annual Bluegrass Festival held in the burned out shell that used to be Louie Blasko’s Music Shoppe before he lit it on fire and skipped town with the insurance money. Participants can huddle among the ashen remains, casting haunting looks at each other and sharing some of their favorite bluegrass dirges. Legend has it that if you look into a mirror and say absolutely nothing three times, Louie himself will appear and teach the crowd some simple, easy bluegrass licks before taking your soul back with him into the dark of the mirror.

(Episode 27 - First Date)

CECIL: McDonald’s wants to remind you that the most important meal of the day is Breakfast. So why would you let a morning go by without staring deeply into the mirror until you no longer recognize the face staring back at you, mimicking your every gesture, mocking your every movement.

(Episode 30 - Dana)

TEENAGE CECIL: My mom seems really proud of me too. She hid from me for three days, the longest ever! And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house. I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things to a...person. Uh, sorry, got distracted. That weird movement is back. It’s closer now.

TEENAGE CECIL: Interning is going great! Mom is gone. Leonard is super nice to me. My brother is gone too. Family, right? I think I’m learning a lot at the station. All of the mirrors in my house are uncovered now. Not sure who did that. I’m standing in front of the hall mirror right now. Am I changed? Am I becoming an adult? I look more grown, I think, more professional. Leonard said if I work hard, maybe I’ll be a radio presenter myself some day. Leonard said he once was smaller too, but that he is larger now, that everything is larger, that everything in the universe is growing to towering sizes, but all at once, all in unison, so no one notices and it is all the same relative to itself. Leonard lolls his tongue out of his thick purple lips. Leonard hisses. Being an intern is great. That flickering movement is everywhere now. Especially looking in this mirror. I see the flickering movement and I know. I know it. I think the radio station is fun. I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet, lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be. I’m looking in a mirror. The mirror is not covered. The flickering movement is just behind me. I- [He screams. There is gurgling. A body falls to the floor. Tape hiss continues. The tape shuts off. End teenage voice]

CECIL: No matter! I’m taking the tape, just now and I’m [GRUNTS] crushing it into little pieces. None of us have to think about it again. I’ll just double check that the mirror in the station bathroom is covered as usual and then that will be that. Done. Forgotten. 

(Episode 33 - Cassette)

KEVIN: Well, what if I told you the smiling god was smiling more than ever. What if the smiling god had a smile so wide that you could see yourself in its mirrored teeth. And what if I told you that your gauzy reflection looked perfect. Just perfect.

(Episode 43 - Visitor)

CECIL: The City Council warned that the mess left from Leonard Burton’s death is likely to draw Street Cleaners and that we should all take shelter. Cover your mirrors. Shade your eyes. Stay indoors and mourn. Stay indoors and mourn.

(Episode 67 - [Best Of?])

CECIL QUOTING JANICE: "Uncle Cecil, I loved the opera so so much. Thanks for the tickets. I loved the part where the dragon flew out over the audience, like whoosh, and then it started fighting itself. The purple head started biting the other heads, and it was really funny. Then it flew away, out of the theater and there was a lot of fire. And I thought I saw an old lady with no face ran out too, and the mayor was saved, and Mr. Lee Marvin sang a beautiful song about all the animals we can see using mirrors, and then it was over and everyone cheered. Opera is cool. Mom said you were moving away. Why are you moving away, Uncle Cecil? Uncle Carlos says you don’t have to move if you don’t want to. Will you still come to my birthday party?"

(Episode 70B - Review)

CECIL: Item: Big Ricos Pizza is looking for a new cashier. Must have retail experience and be good at not talking if they know what’s good for them. No funny business. No secret wheat speakeasies. Why would you even bring that up? Who have you been talking to? To apply, look at yourself in the mirror for a long time, until your face no longer seems to be your own.

(Episode 87 - The Trial of Hiram McDaniels)

FACELESS OLD WOMAN: Yeah, she and I are best friends now. She's a lot of fun, really good poet. I gotta go. Steve Carlsberg is back home, and I want to stand behind him in the mirror when he bends down to wash his face. His shrieks are the funniest.

CECIL: I was so frightened, but still I looked into the washroom. He was standing in front of a mirror, looking right at himself. I never look into those things. Or at least I haven't in a long long time.  "I think the radio station is fun," he said. "I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet, lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be," he said.  I wanted to cry out to warn him. My mother told me to stay away from mirrors. And I knew he was in danger. I opened my mouth and tried to step into the room, but I could not speak, could not move forward.  "I’m looking in a mirror," he said.  "The mirror is not covered," he said. "Stop. Don't look into the mirror," I tried to say. But nothing came out of my mouth, only spit and inaudible wheeze. Tears stung my eyes. I waved frantically, trying to catch his attention. "The flickering movement is just behind me," he said. And then he looked right at me in the mirror. His eyes grew wide and wet. He said "I-. He said again "I-" and then he choked. Then he screamed. Then I screamed, only again no sound came out. He fell to the floor, and for a moment I remembered. I remembered blue lights and blood in my throat and a dark planet lit by no sun. And then I forgot it, or at least what it looked like, only that it was. Or never was. Or still is. His wallet was no longer in my studio. His...my driver’s license was no longer in my hand. My familiar teenage intern was no longer lying on the ground. The mirror he was looking into is now shattered into thousands of intersecting cracks like parched desert dirt. I approached the mirror, hoping to see a face I knew. A young man's face I just barely remember. But I only saw a multiplicity of me, a man divided, unrecognizably, under razor sharp lines. And behind me a glowing slash in the bathroom wall.

(Episode 106 - Filings)

CECIL: "Better not look in the mirror," Cal said as he nervously simulated the sound of laughter. A dribble of blood ran down his chin and onto his chest.

(Episode 108 - Cal)

CECIL: Sheriff Sam quietly grumbled this into their bathroom mirror before finally putting on makeup and facing their day.

(Episode 116 - Council Member Flynn, Part 3)

KEVIN: Jason and Falisha wanted their friends to know they were happy, so they began to practice smiling in the mirror, but even they couldn't see a change in their faces. Plus, mirrors were upsetting because of all the people who would gather behind them in the reflection but that weren't actually there when they turned around to face them.

KEVIN: Their long house was a long pit. And every single mirror in their home was gone, along with the ghastly figures who gathered in the reflections. 

(Episode 120 - All Smiles' Eve)

CECIL: Nazr did not see Barks Ennui. But he was not without his own troubles. He would find, some evenings, that when he looked in the mirror there were two of him. One of him sitting behind the other. He would stand and the second reflection would stand too. It would follow all of his movements from behind his primary reflection. This went on for days. Then, one night, he looked in the mirror and there was only one of him. He sighed, feeling some relief to the tension that had been with him so long as to become his new normal. And that is when, in the mirror, his second reflection stepped into the room, followed by Frances Donaldson. Nazr whirled. The room he was in was empty. He looked back in the mirror. There was his own face, terrified. And behind that, on the bed, there was himself again, with Frances. The two of them were kissing, passionately. He watched himself kiss. And then his reflection and the Frances in the mirror stopped kissing and looked up at him, with startled faces. They stayed frozen that way, and he stayed frozen too. After several moments, the mirror couple smiled. Their smiles got wider and wider, and then they were both dead, blood covered and sprawling at irregular angles. And then they were alive again and smiling at him. He shouted and stumbled back from the mirror. From then on, he took to covering his mirrors, and that worked for a few days, but then one day he came home to find himself in his bedroom, already sitting in front of the covered bedroom mirror. The him that was in his bedroom looked up at him who had just entered with wide eyes and a yawning mouth, and Nazr (who believed himself to be the real Nazr) turned and walked out his house. He checked into a motel and decided to stay there for awhile.

CECIL: Barks continued: “Everything’s gone strange since you started dating. You know what I’m talking about.” “Maybe,” Nazr said, thinking of the mirrors in his home. 

(Episode 122 - A Story of Love and Horror, Part 2: "Spire")

LAUREN: These shadows don't even have faces. We cannot discern their intentions or feelings. They move around in quick jerks and starts, flickering in and out of our vision, sometimes standing just behind us while slowly tilting their heads. And unless you're looking in a mirror, there's no way you can even see that. 

(Episode 137 - The Mudstone Abyss, Part 3)

CECIL: That's not all. The fully immersive interactive theater segment is last. You will be blindfolded and placed in the back of a cargo truck. Hours later you will step off a wooden plank and be free to enter into the desert to try and find your way back home, just like the pioneers did it. You don't realize how the boardwalk is designed to be completely disorienting until this moment, when you step into the endless desert and look to all horizons and see only identical sagebrush and chaparral and nothingness, as if you've entered a mirrored funhouse made of only hot dirt.

(Episode 143 - Pioneer Days)

CECIL: Her final entry was on September 5 - “A man with a mirror for a face has come for me. He does not speak. Farewell.”

CECIL: On the anniversary of Eunomia's disappearance, an astronaut arrived in Night Vale. The early 19th Century villagers did not know what an astronaut was, so what they saw was a puffy silver humanoid with a mirror for a face. 

(Episode 144 - The Dreamer)

LEONARD BURTON: Let me describe to you the shape of Cecil Palmer. He is a line of leafless mesquite trees. He is a glass factory. He is golf ball-sized hail. He has a voice like distant highway traffic. He loves coffee and handshakes. He wears tight clothing and has never once worked with modeling clay. He covers mirrors with cloth and has an irrational fear of glowing lights beneath locked doors in dark hallways.  You cannot know any of this because Cecil is my vision, not yours. He is real, all the same. He is to be my replacement when I retire. But he does not exist. So I can never retire. I am your permanent host.

LEONARD BURTON: An emissary has arrived in town to lead the parade. The emissary is an astronaut, bloated white arms and a mirror for a face. The emissary walks slowly through our empty city streets. 

LEONARD BURTON: The parade of absent floats along empty streets led by a mirror-faced marshmallow of a grand marshall, approaches our radio station. I will enjoy getting to see the festivities up close and describing shapes out of the shapeless.

(Episode 148 - The Broadcaster)

CECIL: I work at a radio station and own a 14-speed bike. I have a one-bedroom apartment with a soaking tub, walk-in closet, carpet shredder, knife compiler, and a full-length mirror in the hallway. (It's an antique my mother handed down to me; she knows I love mirrors). 

CECIL: So the guy I was telling you about earlier, Carlos, has been texting me this whole show, saying he wants to see me again. [reading] Something something my timeline is still wrong.... I should have a sister named Abby… here’s a photo her with some kid…  my mother died.... I supposedly am afraid of mirrors.... He and I are actually married?

CECIL: Outside my window I see the emissary, their oblong mirrored face pressed against the glass, each hand raised to their head, to block out glare from the sun. 

CECIL: I can see myself in their reflective face. I... I do not like this. I do not like this at all. Please go. Please leave. I cannot. I... I am covering this window with a sheet. I do not like this mirror. I do not like it one bit. No. 

(Episode 149 - The General)

LEE MARVIN: On the highway out of town, the cars are stopped dead, their drivers caught glancing at their phones, or scratching their ears and thinking about what would finally make them happy, or looking in the mirror and trying to gauge whether the car behind them belongs to the Sheriff’s Secret Police. Farther out, over the mountains and to the coast, the waves are stopped mid fall, foam caught rising, water caught tumbling.

(Episode 150 - The Birthday of Lee Marvin)

CECIL: At the end of the night, Josh wrote his number on The Boy’s red plastic cup in Sharpie and walked home smiling, even though it was late and he had to get up early the next morning to retake his driving test for the fifth time. He was 18 and still without a license. Every time he had taken the test before, he got nervous and turned into a shape that was utterly unfit to drive. A rhinoceros. A warm hug from an old friend. A bookshelf filled with first edition Zadie Smiths. “Ooh, I haven’t read Swing Time yet,” Shoshannah from the DMV had said, plucking the book off of him before failing him for not having eyes with which to check his mirrors. 

(Episode 151 - Waterfall)

CECIL: ... [somber] and *that* is what I saw in the mirror that day, and why I do not like to go near mirrors ever. 

(Episode 160 - The Weather)

CECIL: What a healthy baby," they said from behind a bulletproof two-way mirror as they operated the robotic arms that carefully held the infant aloft. 

(Episode 162 - Alpha)

FACELESS OLD WOMAN: Also in the bathroom mirror you saw, crawling across the ceiling, a faceless old woman devouring what looked like a rat. You didn't need to worry about a rat infestation, Adi. It was a chipmunk. 

FACELESS OLD WOMAN: You can all thank me later. Because you all will be seeing me soon. I think that tonight is the night to let slip my secret. You will soon see me fumbling wet and gray from out of the bathroom mirror, or folded up strangely, loose skin and mashed bones, in the bottom drawer of your dresser, or you will see me scuttle along your walls, the hair hanging down from my faceless face, or you will look out your kitchen window and there will be someone standing in your driveway, and it will be me, and then there will be no one in your driveway and instead I will be next to you in the kitchen, faceless and so very very old. Won’t that be nice. 

(Episode 164 - The Faceless Old Woman (Live)

CECIL: Do you ever stare at yourself for so long in the mirror that you no longer understand what you look like? Is this the same effect as thinking about someone you miss so much that you forget the shape of their face? Why would you do that? Why would you refuse to maintain order? Are you refusing? Or are you a victim of your own mind? Do brain cells dictate souls? Is thought matter? Does thought matter? Who can say? Can the person looking back at you from the mirror tell you the answer? Just because you can see a person, does that mean that person exists?  Is it you you are looking at? Or is it someone else?

CECIL: Basically, why do I know I am me? How many times have I seen myself in the mirror? Is it bad that the answer is rarely? Shouldn’t we all be afraid of mirrors? Or is it just me? How many times, in a fit of dissociation, do we see someone else behind us? Are you, too, too afraid to turn around? Do you really want to challenge the veracity of your eyes? Do you think disbelief in death will make it disappear? Are awareness and manifestation one and the same? So, what did I see in the mirror today? Don’t we all see the same thing? Isn’t it a person who looks exactly like ourselves? And weren’t they making the same physical gestures? And behind that person, in the reflection, did you not also see, just over your shoulder, a pair of eyes? The curve of a head? And did you notice how that head was human in shape but maybe only a third the size?

CECIL: Who is behind you in the mirror? Or what is behind you? Should I speak in present or past tense? Is the face there? Or is the face gone now? Are you no longer at the mirror? Do you feel safer? Why do you assume that because you aren’t looking in the mirror right now that the tiny face and spiny digits are not still behind you?

CECIL: Are you thinking about it? Are you starting to forget exactly what it looks like? Do you want to go to the mirror again? Do you want to stare and stare at it until you can comprehend what it is?

CECIL: What if we went to the mirror together? If we don’t feel alone in our feelings, could we conquer our fears? Are we in agreement, you and I? What are you even looking at? Is your focus drifting to your shoulder? Can you not do that? Can you resist the urge? What will staring directly into your terror accomplish?

CECIL: When was the last time you saw your mother? It’s been since childhood, hasn’t it? Didn’t she warn you about mirrors? Didn’t she tell you they would be your demise? Or was that just a popular bedtime story?

CECIL: What did your mother tell you about swing sets? What did she say to you when you yelled to her for help? Did she lean over your sobbing face and ask you: “Why are you crying when you don’t even exist?” Did she tell you again about the mirror?

CECIL: Did you figure it out? Could you see past your own mental inventions? Who out there looked beyond the long, gape-jawed figure and its inexplicable whines? Did you see the table? There in the mirror image of your house, did you see the table? You hadn’t noticed the table before, had you?

CECIL: Why was the table only in the mirror? Why isn’t it real?

CECIL: What’s inside the drawer of the rickety table in the mirror? What other uncanny discoveries await you if you could just break through? Is it as simple as breaking through?

CECIL: Do you want to know what’s in the drawer below the table? Shouldn’t it be as easy to obtain as a lightweight, wool button up coat, all black? But nothing easy ever is, is it? How do you get to a table that’s right in front of you, but only visible in a mirror?

CECIL: Are you only concentrating on the table now? And you’re sure it only exists in the mirror? You double checked? Do you want to know what’s inside the drawer on the front of that table? Are you willing to break something? Are you willing to break the mirror, yes, but so much more? Are you willing to go to a place from which you cannot return? Are you willing to learn things you cannot unlearn? Do you have a hammer? Or if not, can you find something heavy that you can lift? Will you smash the mirror? Will you do it quickly? Why are you hesitating? Have you let your comfortability lapse into carelessness? Why did you take your eyes off the creature on your neck? Did you see the blood or feel the pain first? Is it tearing into your flesh? Is that why you’re screaming? Can you still break the mirror? Are you losing consciousness? Are you? Are you? Are you?

CECIL: If you look into the mirror you just smashed do you see that the creature is gone? Cool, right? But isn’t it strange that all about you on the floor are shards of the mirror you shattered, yet in front of you, the mirror remains, fully intact? Strange? Or scary? Wouldn’t you think that the mirror being simultaneously broken and unbroken is strange, while the fact that you have no reflection is scary? Is that true though? Do you have a reflection? Do you see yourself? On the floor of the mirror’s world? Is your body crumpled on the floor like a wet towel? Is your lower jaw hanging open because you died screaming, or because of gravity? Do you have a blanket of some sort? Why don’t you cover that mirror up? Why don’t you cover all the mirrors, in fact? While you are walking about your home, do you notice the antique table by the door, with its tarnished, yet ornate, brass bulb knob? Was that table always there? Did you enter the mirror world? Or were you always in the mirror world? What else is different around you?

CECIL: Now what? Will you cover the mirrors and sweep the floor and pretend it never happened? Will this prevent it from happening again? Are awareness and manifestation one and the same?

(Episode 171 - Go to the Mirror?)

MICHELLE: But there’s a new song I like. And it’s not cool like my other favorite songs. It’s not a song that fits the kind of image I like to project. When I put on my mirrored leggings, and my extra long jorts, and my really big hat, people expect something from me. They expect me to be on the cutting edge. They expect me to only be into bands that aren’t popular yet, or will never be popular, or that frankly don’t know how to play their instruments very well.

(Episode 175 - The October Monologues)

CECIL: While James is working on that, let’s get back to my favorite spooky Halloween stories. This one isn’t a story so much as a fun Halloween game: The Legend of Bloody Mary. According to the lore, if you turn off all the lights and stare into a mirror repeating “bloody mary” three times in a row, she will appear and tear your face off. I’ve never tried this, because I don’t own any mirrors, but my husband Carlos conducted this very experiment in his science lab. He said he darked the room and repeated the name and nothing happened for a long time. But then a figure of a woman appeared, silvery gray and shimmering. She approached Carlos slowly, her hollow white eyes never blinking.

(Episode 176 - The Autumn Specter)

SILAS: There’s something I don’t understand. She didn’t simply turn me into a cat. She could have made me her little furry domesticate. Truly toppled me. Instead, she put me in this body, far away, and gave me incredible powers. My fur is mostly needle-sharp quills. My skin, hard and scaly, almost armor-like. My eyes – I think there are 8 of them – allow me to see in a 360-degree clarity that nearly shatters my mind. I sometimes have wings or tentacles. How am I even a cat? Except, I am. I see my face here in the mirror, and I have pointy ears, and little white mitten feet, and a tail like an overused feather duster.

(Episode 196 - Silas the Thief, Part 2)

CECIL: We are each of us a hall of mirrors, exponentializing every little hurt until it overwhelms. 

CECIL: Stay tuned next for an old episode of Frasier. It’s the one where Frasier finds the doorway to the Other Seattle in his bathroom mirror. May it bring you some comfort. 

(Episode 202 - The Day After the Day)

CECIL: Whatever the Distant Prince keeps behind the Narrow Place has left me hollow and shambling. Less and less of me. This time quite literally. When I looked again, I did not have a nose. It is quite upsetting to see your own face but without a nose. Think about this now. Think about looking in the mirror and seeing your face, but the nose is gone. So you will understand why I vomited in the street. And this other me, he vomited too, for exactly the same amount of time, stopping precisely when I did.

(Episode 209 - The Black Coat)

CECIL: First, someone I’ve known my whole life, and you have too. It’s the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home! Welcome! FACELESS OLD WOMAN: Hello. CECIL: And where are you? I can hear you, but I can’t see you. FACELESS OLD WOMAN: I’m behind you in a mirror, just over your shoulder in the distance. You’ll see slight movements in the dark. You’ll feel a single fingernail gently run across your cheek.

("The Debate")

FACELESS OLD WOMAN: I am less good at being seen, but I am working on that using a system of whistles and mirrors. CECIL: Huh. Mirrors.

CECIL: And since then, you have been appearing in frightened children’s mirrors to teach them the basics of music theory and some simple bluegrass licks before, uh, taking their souls with you into the dark of the mirror world. Is that right?

("The Librarian")

EARL HARLAN: Oh yes! Yes, I will wake up that morning, and I will stare at myself in the mirror repeating, “You can do this, Earl. You can do this, Earl. You can do this, Earl.” Until my reflection says, “You’re right.” And then we’ll brush each others’ teeth, and trim each others’ mustaches, and comb each others’ hair… CECIL: Awwww! EARL HARLAN: …and then step through the mirror and once again switch places in each others’ mirrored world for the day.

("The Investigators")

CECIL: Or you’ll be brushing your teeth and the Glow Cloud will just happen to pass by, and then you have to say all of that stuff with toothpaste in your mouth, you’re like [garbled] “All hail [unclear] cloud all hail the [unclear]”, [spits] and then you just end up with toothpaste all over your bathroom mirror.

JEFFREY: Yeah, yeah. Yeah turns out most people are afraid of what they are, so now I’m also terrified of mirrors and reflective surfaces, so…

("All Hail")

[primusfortuna]

Shaymie ⟡ Wonder Tea Party (01)

[XX] [02] [03] [04] [05] [06] [07]

“A Curious Drink”

Shaymie: Wah! Another fork in the road~

Rouge: OK, let’s turn right.

Emma: You sound full of confidence, Rouge-san.

Emma: (Well, as a member of the world exploration guild Moon Wanderers, of course he’d know a lot about explori—)

Rouge: It’s just a hunch, so if this ends up being wrong… sorry!

Emma: (...Nevermind!)

Shaymie: Emma, Rouge! We passed through here earlier! I recognize the pattern on these tree trunks.

Shaymie: Since we went right last time, let’s go… left~!

Confidently raising his hand, Shaymie leads the way—

Rouge: Hurray, we made it out~! All hail the great Shaymie, thank you!

Shaymie: Ehehe, you’re welcome~♪

Normally, Shaymie forgets everything within seconds. The reason he suddenly gained extraordinary memorization skills is because... well…

(Flashback)

——A few hours before everything began.

After the royal family of a far-off kingdom asked us to put together a tea party, we all gathered at Édouard Castle.

We were enjoying drinks and friendly conversation when all of a sudden, we felt very, very sleepy.

The next time we woke up, we found ourselves in Wondermare, the Land of Wonders.

Somehow, we lost sight of Oscar-san and Volks-san, so the three of us set off to go find them…

Emma: Between talking flowers and candy that rains from the sky… What an incredible place we wound up in.

Rouge: Ahaha, never a dull moment here, huh? You rarely ever get to experience this kinda thing, so we should savor every second!

Shaymie (in Rouge’s voice): Savor every second! …Just pretending~!

Emma: Hehe. It’s true that running around in a panic won’t help us get us out of here.

Emma: (The fact that I’m here with these two puts me a little at ease.)

We continued on our search like that, and stumbled upon a lone building in the forest.

Emma: Is this… a restaurant? No one’s here.

Rouge: Woah, this food’s making my mouth water~! And there’s tons of booze I’ve never tried before!

Shaymie: Tons~! …Wait, huh? What am I doing here~?

As I explained our situation to Shaymie, Rouge-san glanced over the tables.

Rouge: There’s a card left here. Let’s see… “Welcome to the Restaurant Without Orders”?

Rouge: “Your body knows what you want. Please make yourselves at home and enjoy.”

Emma: The food might look normal, but this feels really suspicious. We probably shouldn’t eat this—

Shaymie: Wah! What a pretty pink! I’m taking this drink~!

Rouge & Emma: Ouh!? / Huh!?

Shaymie: *gulp* …Pwah! It’s super sweet and tasty~!

Emma: Shaymie, are you okay!? Does anything feel off?

Shaymie: Nope, I’m okay~!

Shaymie: “Your body knows what you want. Please make yourselves at home and enjoy.” Y’know~♪

Rouge: Well, I know Rouge-san’s body is always craving alcohol, so lemme see~

Rouge: …Wait, huh?

Emma: Shaymie, you remembered what he said a second ago!?

(End flashback)

And so, ever since he had that drink, Shaymie’s memory has drastically improved.

Shaymie: Having a memory feels amazing~ I remember everything and I don’t even have to draw in my picture diary~!

Emma: (I’m glad he seems happy, but I hope there really won’t be any repercussions for drinking that suspicious liquid...)

Next →

TL notes: Re: Wondermare, the Land of Wonders. The "Land of Wonders" (fushigi no kuni) is the same term used for "Wonderland" in Japanese, but I'm adjusting the phrasing to both keep it distinct from Wondermare, and follow the naming pattern of all other countries in this game.

[lothlorienlover]

Buster and Holly (2)

Buster and Holly (2/3)

Holly and I sat naked on the front porch swing until the full force of the fast moving storm front drove us back into the house. The white-blonde hair on her arms bristled at the sharp temperature change as did two very punctiliar nipples. Strange, as George Costanza had once commented to Jerry, how it had the exact opposite effect on my manhood! 

Twilight had quickly been captured by a black-as-coal sky. Foreboding storm clouds sailed their way across the fields of violently swaying corn. This far out of town, there were no other lights to be seen other than the one observed in the barnyard behind the house hanging at the end of a serpentine conduit pipe stapled to an old weathered telephone pole. It had one of those old corrugated tin top hats and it and it alone was the sole lighted sentinel for miles. 

“This doesn’t look good, Buster. Grab the storm lantern sitting on top of the drier while I grab a few things from upstairs and I’ll meet you at the back door.”

While I waited for Miss Nude Universe to return, I grabbed what was left of the lemonade out the fridge, drinking half of it, pouring the rest of it into the green aluminum glass as Holly raced back into the room.

“Come on! Just leave the house open. It can’t harm anything.”

The driving rain had begun to clink on any and every exposed metal object. The sheet metal roof on the house and both rust wagons sitting just outside the storm cellar door, each were voicing their displeasure as pea sized hail began to intermingle with the driving rain.

There was a sort of reverse Wizard of Oz coloration morph occurring after Holly sealed the door behind us and struck a match to light the old oil burning storm lantern. As Holly had earlier described, the storm cellar was big. In point of fact, it was a lot bigger than Holly had led me to imagine. I let out a slow whistle.

“You stay down here in the winter?” I asked, astonished by the consideration.

“What?”

“Well, I mean. . .” I hesitated to tell my hostess my true thoughts of her underground bungalow. 

“Ya? Go ahead say it.”

And I might have if a large and heavy crashing sound hadn’t suddenly startled both of us. Whatever it was, it had landed on the metal door, seemingly sealing our doom.

“Wait!” she shouted as I moved to try to open the door. “Wait until the storm passes!” 

I had heard of babies being ripped out of their mother’s arms and passengers sucked out of their cars as tornados passed over head. I gave weight to her alarm, turning back to her.

“I just hope we can get out at all,” I shouted as the storm raged outside.

“I just hope my house is still there!” she cried in sudden alarm.

“Is there another way out of here?” I continued to shout above the storm, peering into the black recesses of the cave like cellar.

“Wouldn’t be much of a storm cellar if there was. Duh!” 

Holly’s normal levity had temporarily abated as I saw real concern in her face.

“I suppose if we had to, we could try and dig around the stove pipe -if it ever came to that. I have a shovel down here as I got scared last winter when we had that heavy snow warning. And I probably would have gotten stuck down here if the winds hadn’t blown most of it away. So yes, I’ve thought about it. And no, there aren’t any quick ways out of here other than that door.”

As fast and all consuming as the roar of the storm had been, its passing equaled it in silence. I turned back to the door!”

“NO!” Holly screamed. “Sometimes there is a calm before the real storm hits. Where have you been all your life, Buster?”

Though I had spent the last twenty years in Whosville, I personally had never had the pleasure of encountering a tornado close up. For whatever reasons, the one or two a year visitors had always struck south of town, damaging crop but not home –at least to my knowledge. 

“Oh,” replied the Tin Man without a brain.

Eventually it dawned on me that Holly was still naked. She had white breasts with an equally white panty line, though I doubted she worn them that often.

“What?” she again enquired as I stood staring at her. “Whaaaat?” she demanded, hands now on hips, leaning forward a bit to give her demand bite.

“Nothing.”

“My ass!”

“Exactly,” I countered, smiling as the maneuver set her breasts asway.

Turning only her shoulders, Holly did a quick inventory of her behind, asking, “Do I have something on me?”

“No. I was just looking at your tan lines. I like tan lines. The more pronounced the better. . . . and you’ve got really great one’s.

“You think?” she asked, taken aback by my assessment. “Wait a minute, are you referring to tan lines or these?” she winked, pointing to her breasts.

“Oh ya, those too!” 

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed but the silence outside the green door continued. With guarded permission I tried the door. It took both of us plus a bit of leverage from Holly’s shovel, before the door opened enough for me to work myself out. A large tree limb had, indeed, as I suspected, fallen across the door. Calling back down to Holly for advice, she told me to be careful but she thought there was an old logging saw in the shed next to the pump house. Asking me to wait a minute, she returned with an old extruded aluminum flashlight. It seemed everything about Holly’s heaven (except for those magnificent breasts) were either old or weathered –or both.

“WAIT!” I heard her shout as she tossed me my old blue-jean shorts. 

“Wouldn’t want you to injure anything important!” Her mischievous grin was becoming endearing to me.

It took me a good five minutes to rummage through the shed to find the old five foot two-man hand saw. Though rusted, the teeth looked straight and sharp. Another fifteen minutes was needed before I had enough of the heavy branch cut off to where I could actually push the rest of it off to one side. Holly swung the cellar door open, laughing at me as she held the storm lantern aloft.

“Aren’t you the sight?”

Covered with sawdust, dirt and a few stick-to-your-naked-skin leaves, I grimaced, asking if there was an outside hose or something to rinse off with.

“Turn your light over on to the house.” 

Holly grabbed hold of the flashlight, directing toward the house surveying for damage. The tree limb had come from old man willow that sat ten, maybe fifteen feet to the left of the cellar door. The trucks remained where they had been parked though there was a crack in my windshield –of course- and multiple hail marks on both cabs and hoods. One good thing about driving rambling wrecks, one didn’t have to give second thought to minor things like dents. All it gained was a little more character and yet another story to be told.

It seemed that the house was another matter. There were only three windows in the westward facing side of the house. All three were missing glass. The screen door had been nearly ripped from its hinges. However, from initial inventorying, at least the sheet metal roof looked in tack. 

“I’ve got some cardboard stored away in the house,” she offered, “I suppose we could cut it to size and stuff them in the windows for now. The door was in need of new hinges anyway. I’ve got some in the shed. We can work on that in morning. I don’t see much else. Do you? When I heard that limb hit the door, honestly, I was scared that it was one of the trucks.” I watched as the lithe blonde bomb shell of a woman grow all stiff before a shiver rattled her shoulders and her head give a brief shake. “I don’t get scared easy. But then, I’m not ready to die a long slow death being buried alive in my own storm cellar.”

Holly disappeared back down into the cellar. Throwing out my still soaked t-shirt and underpants, she stepped out while in the process of pulling up the elastic bodice of a dingy yellow sundress, struggling to get it up over her boobs.

“The hose is over there if we haven’t lost electricity. But,” she held up a finger, “let me run some water into a pan first –AND BE CAREFUL OF THE GLASS!!!”

Reaching inside the kitchen door, Holly tried the light switch to no avail. 

“Just as I suspected. No power. Just a minute then you can rinse off.”

I didn’t want to remind her about the cistern filled with water down in the storm cellar. Sometimes you just have to allow a woman to be busy. 

Before I sought out the hose that had supposedly been snaked through the white limestone foundation of the house only to hide somewhere in the unmowed grass, I retrieved a dry t-shirt and pair of old stop-by-the-riverside-to-fish tennis shoes stuffed behind the seat of my truck.

“That’s a pretty handy device,” I commented about the cut glass, crystal chimney storm lantern as I looked in the back door to see if she had finished her task. 

“It was my grandmothers. She had two of them. Don’t ask where the other one went. Ya, I’ve had to use it more than once when we lose power way out here. Hopefully it’ll be back on before sunrise. They’re pretty good about taking care of the old farms especially ones as big as Thompson’s centennial farm. Have you ever been back there?”

I confessed I had not which didn’t surprise her. She whistled a slow whistle.

“I’ll have to drive you back over there tomorrow. Quite the place. They know my truck but the dogs still chase it all the way up to the house. I suppose it would only be right to check in on them anyway. I’ll introduce you. Fred, once you get past his gruff side, is a pretty decent guy. Hallelujah!” Holly prayed as the kitchen light flickered on. 

I had begun to accept the fact that I was going to spend a miserable evening coated in unwashed sweat and grim, thinking how it would taint any hoped for after-intermission activities. Silently I rejoiced along with my hostess that the favor of electricity had been so quickly restored to us.

Holly shut off the kitchen water which had steadily increased in power. Somewhere out in the dark I could hear an old pump (because everything was old in Holly’s heaven) laboring to catch up. Flipping the second light switch next to the kitchen door, Holly swore before it ever had a chance to energize the line. “Shit! I’ll have to get the ladder out to change the bulb. Oh well, guess we’ll have to wait till morning light to see what the damage is out there.  Be a dear and shove the wood in the hole.  No need to lock it.” 

I followed Holly’s commanded, closing the five panel wooden door while turning out the kitchen light. I wondered whether or not this was the first time this summer it had been closed. Almost by habit, I went to lock it when I realize there wasn’t any. “Ya gotta love country live’n” I quipped to myself. Quickly I turned back to the quickly fading light that had disappeared up the stairs after closing the front door.

Though it had been no more than three or four hours since Holly and I raced naked into the storm cellar, now it seemed an eternity. That sexual animal within me was slumbering now as I traipsed up the stairs, trying to keep up with the yellow light. It had been an emotionally packed day. Tiredness began to lay on me and all I could think about was laying in my own bed, with my own pillow, rolling over and slipping back into dreamland.  As I proceeded to the sound of running water, it seemed I was already in the midst of a dream.

I stopped near the top step when everything went dark.  As my eyes adjusted, I spied a darker than amber slit beneath what I reasoned to be the upstairs bathroom door which at that moment sprung open as Holly popped out and asked, “What are you standing there for?” The naked woman floated across the hardwood floor hallway, disappearing from my sight once more.

This time she had not closed the door to the room she had disappeared into. There was enough light now for me make it down the hallway without stumbling into something. Holly popped back into the hall, once again standing in front me naked as the day she was born, asking, “Wanna take a bath?” Without waiting for my answer, the smoking lantern led us together into the room sounding of running water.

Peeking in the bathroom door as unintrusively as I had her bedroom door, I found the sole treasure of the house. Coupled with a large and of course old, square pedestal sink with a wide rim standing to my right, a toilet to its left, I whistled at the sight of the large claw-footed tub spread end-to-end across the far wall. I’d never seen its like before.

“Come on! Get those dirty shorts off and get in here with me,” Holly beckoned as she toe tested the water before stepping in, sitting down and sliding beneath the water, re- emerging a second later, pasting her hair back off her face with both hands, sputtering off the water that ran down her face.

The tub had its faucets and drain handles stationed above it and centered on the back wall, allowing two people to slide in comfortably opposite of one another. Stepping in behind her and slowly sliding down and leaning back myself, the water level still had a good three inches before cresting. 

Holly had rested the smoking chimney lamp atop a dual pedestal flower stand at her end of the tub. Of course it was no longer needed with the power restored yet its yellowish light maneuvered everything into a mystical world. A small multi-band transistor radio sat beneath it. At my end of the tub was a small brass tubed affair with two towels, two face cloths and one soap dish. It almost looked homemade. 

“This is my sanctuary,” Holly’s voice reverberated in the otherwise empty room. 

White-washed bead board lined the room with a small blue fuzzy rug in front of the toilet and a five by three rag braided rug in front of the tub. 

“This is where I sit and sing or just enjoy the quiet of the countryside.” 

The outer wall faced south. In the center of it between tub and toilet was a four by eight, double hung wooden window that had been spared the pounding its brothers had fallen victim of in the room just next door. It was thankfully screened, half open at the bottom, half open at the top. 

“You’re the first, Buster!”

“The first what?”

“The first man I let in here. The first man I let upstairs. Does that surprise you?”

I had to be honest with her, “Ya, a little.”

“My reputation always precedes me,” she sighed. “Oh well, I guess it’s just my lot in life. But it’s true. I’ve never brought anyone home after stay’n out all night. ‘Bout the only time anyone has been here at the house is when my parents died and my sister came to sit a spell after the funeral. Her husband was all itchy. They didn’t stay long. She didn’t say much of anything but then she didn’t have to. Her eyes said it for her, looking all about the house with a sad look on her face as if she couldn’t fathom how her big sister had failed so miserably in life, feeling sorry for me and all. We’re sort of opposite books ends that way. I was the run around tramp while she floated above everything and stayed out of sight. She paid her way through junior college where she met Ty, a middle line backer who got wooed by SU, making first string his second year there. I think he said he was a red something or other senior.”

“A red shirt senior?” I questioned.

“Ya, I think that’s it. Then he got drafted two hundred twenty-third by one of the teams out in California. They only pick two hundred and twenty four players.  He was proud that he had lasted long enough to remain on the team.  He played four years before getting hurt. But by then he had made his money. Sis and Ty aren’t hurt’n. She showed me the pictures of their place in San Diego. Never been there. Not my cup of tea to be around all that money. It all just sort of makes me feel small and insignificant. Ty got a job at one of the large housing developers out there. Makes more money now than he did playing football. Anyway, it was all too easy to tell they didn’t much like my house. I haven’t made up my mind whether you do or not.”

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to keep my rising periscope from popping to the surface while taking extreme enjoyment out of watching the wave action caused by Holly’s buoyant breasts rising and falling with each breath stop. “Well, if you want my honest assessment it could do with a little work. But it’s definitely something I could get use to. That is, I mean living in a place way out here and all. But admittedly, not having a handy convenience store nearby might take a little getting use to.”

“Stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“You know.”

Laughing in feign innocence, “No I don’t!”

“I can see you waving those arms under water, making my boobs float up and down.”

“Who me?”

Holly’s big right toe slid to nudge my, now fully erect, manhood. Reflex popped the periscope above water level briefly before submerging again. Holly sat up, leaned forward while sliding her hands and elbows along the outer edges of the tubs slippery white baked enamel finish, kissing me lightly as I closed my eyes and once again drank in the fantasy. 

Raising herself up she promised me, “You never have to just look and hope with me, Buster. If you ever walk in that back door again after tonight, and you see me washing dishing at the sink dressed in that old sundress, you just lift it up and spread my legs! You don’t ever have to worry about me making a fuss or throwing dishes at you.” With that said, Holly leaned forward and offered her creamy white wet breasts for me to feed on. 

I was beginning to wonder if we would ever have sex out of the water. Sitting back a bit, Holly nimbly impaled herself on my manly weapon, kissing me as she took all of it after a few up’s and down’s. Offering her breasts for my mouth to feed on, she rose just enough for me to feel myself about to slip out before she impaled herself again over and over till my face told her I was about to come.

“Whoa there big boy!” she smiled as she sat up while remaining firmly seated on bent knees and slowly undulating hips. Reaching back across me to grab a bar of soap and one of those faded pink face cloths, she spoke quietly to me. “Holly’s going to get you all cleaned up and then she’s going to take you in the other room and give you the ride of your life. Think you can handle that cowboy?”

From my experience I had never met two more different people than Martha and Holly. Martha was all but flat chested, frigid –well at least where it had involved me, a wench who’s eyes and mouth never closed. She had a lipless cunt with only a sheen of hair. Holly on the other hand, actually had lovely and readily accessible large, sculptured breasts. She closed her eyes when she kissed. Her cunt was long lipped and her pubic hair was incredibly long, thick and I loved rummaging my fingers through it.. Obviously she hadn’t been to the public pool that summer or I would have read about it in the town paper after hearing everyone else’s ‘I was there’ account of it at the local watering hole after work. Holly just had a way about her, moving her body in feminine ways, that attracted men’s eyes and women’s scorn. Truly, she was a polarizing force. Either you loved her or you hated her. I definitely was not nor ever had been part of the latter group.  I had been indifferent in school.  But now that pimple faced girl had grown into a woman . 

First the arms, then the under arms, she soaped and scrubbed me while remaining impaled on my war baton. Then she proceeded to have me sit up as she wrapped her arms around me, resting her head on my shoulder, lazily wiping off all traces of grime and grit from my back. She sort of went all soft on me there. In a dreamy, far off voice that barely reverberated in that still-of-the-night room, she murmured on about having given up; about having lost all hope of finding someone who would just accept her for who she was not what everyone thought she was.  She hoped beyond hope that I wasn’t playing her just for a couple of fucks. The strong self-sufficient woman began to let me see a little of that sad, lonely girl hiding all her life on the inside.

I had never sat in a tub of water with a naked woman before, especially with one who had lathered my chest (before letting me lather hers) in transfixed fascination, pressing her soft breasts against me as she held on to me as if I were a dream about to shake her awake. The experience was incomparable to any I had ever had before. With each breath, hers and mine, sometimes together, sometimes purposefully different, I lost myself in the sensation of those soothing hands and slithering mounds of flesh washing across my hairy shore. 

Holly’s nipples were a dark pink, almost an amber-rose color in hue. They were remained amazingly thick and elongated, even in their unexcited state. But being permitted to suck on them at length in that ivory tub, washed by the light of that wick-turned-down lamp, I was granted evidence that it wasn’t only men who got erections when excited. The sensation of my nibbles and bites curved her back and made her hips move from side to side while her arms would occasionally smother me before her hands found their way to the side of my face, drawing me up into an awaiting kiss. Rushing everywhere hither and dither, her eyes searched out my soul as she leaned back to stare at my face.

Eventually Holly made good on her promise. With neither of us being completely toweled dry, we moved across the hall to her bedroom. A cool breeze poured in through the two westward facing windows now shattered and laying on the floor. Her bed’s headboard rested against the hall-side wall, clothed in only a top and bottom sheet and two fluffy feather pillows. A chest of four drawers sat against the same wall but on the other side of the bed while a large dark armoire, running full width of the eastern wall, sat just inside the door. How anyone ever got that up those stairs and maneuvered into that room, I would never find out.

Unlike all the other rooms of the house, this one had wall-to-wall carpeting. It was deep pile and a luxury to walk on. It was also clean and smelling as if only recently installed. And there she knelt, having pushed me back onto the cool crisp sheets of her bed, spreading my legs, resting on elbows and knees, she circled the base of my cock with thumbs and fore fingers. It was evident to even a neophyte like myself, that the woman had done this before. It seemed she liked it. “Eat your heart out Jimmy!” I opined. This is what half the men in town had dreamed of, hoped for and lied about. And yet by some strange twist of fate, it was I, wall-flower Buster, who now, laying on her bed, had her mouth blowing warm breaths across my cock. I wondered if Don’s Mexican heart-throb served him half so well!

There was no rush in her manner though the night was late and most of our energy had already been expended. I doubted whether it was ever with me in mind, but then again, neither did I doubt that here was a woman who truly loved having a man’s cock dancing in her mouth.

Now I’m no circus big man. Holly is five-two in flats, if ever you saw her in them. Her torso was slender yet well toned, almost muscular in calves and biceps. Me? I was maybe six or seven inches taller. Nor would anyone mistake me for an athlete. Yet from lack of home cooked meals and hard work, I wasn’t carrying any noticeable extra poundage. The one thing I did have that wasn’t average, was a cock inherited from my father’s side of the family —to hear my mother tell it. 

My estranged father had died some years before my graduation from high school, a smoker and drinker who supposedly succumbed to natural causes. I had come along late in my parent’s lives, the unexpected solitary child arriving years after having given up trying to have one. When my mom grew more and more despondent as her life ebbed from her, she had from time to time reminisced, as senile people oft times do, giving a nod of the head, making sure I was paying attention before smiling and shocking me with a, ‘and let me tell you, your father was no slouch in bed either!’ describing him, in my words not hers, ‘bigger than your average bear!’ Such things which children never want to hear from their parents.

So maybe all that gave an account for Holly’s seemingly lost attention to that which she held in her hands. Twirling it at the base, Holly slowly sucked the head into her mouth. I imagined her as a pimply-faced, dermatological disaster young girl seemingly always sucking way at a Tootsie Roll Pop with its advertised hidden creamy center, mischievous smile and all. I laid back, lost in yet another sensation which I had never known before. I had r*aped my wife but never had it entered my mind to totally dominate her. Perhaps that was what Martha needed –a strong man who would so totally dominate her so as to separate her from her mother’s wagging tongue. I had been too polite, too forgiving, too much the lesser man. But as I lay there, knowing now what it was like having a woman who wanted all of me, I knew I would now never again settle for anything less. Slowly I wandered off into the night as my hostess served me a large dish of delight.

“GAWD!” she cried, half laughing, half embarrassed, gagging on my creamy surprise. I felt it coming but chose to just lay there, drinking up every nerve sensation from her warm wet mouth. A long slumbering volcano continued to ooze its river of thick cream as I sat up to watch her surprise. Holly sat back on her heels, slowly massaging the wide-eyed wonder as it pooled on top of her hand. Unhurried, she leaned back down to finish the task. Wiping her mouth, giggling a young girl’s contentment, she asked, “Kiss me now?”

[libidomechanica]

Dance

A sonnet sequence

               1

Doth fall away on ev’ry Atome just the drill but from Camelot: for deans; they lost ever breast and four daddie’s gear ye light was but work night, proves the people would not a woman’s Foot, trampled some sweet on you; so short fever-fit; they can, and my woeful state, straight as feather vouch folly and vnwise. Why should not by himself betwixt the bountiful season to ease to the Eyes half itself off me and dry. And Logos appetites, by a softens, and hail with little fairy part. Infants in Flames, his quiver of swirling eddies, close me, i and my lip. A Biggen in breathes most?

               2

The book, o noble minds of lusty Tabrere, the hand hung round above your life, when I perceive in sphere Must I be like Roses that can wanderer will work the isle a shade of Tempers the wall, and, let in this ale-house bench more return again who sought, the dwarf-like murmurings, with a glass of thy regions or nipple, can decay. Darkness, walking about him’—which did keepe no more where Wigs with the growes cold Muscouy; if French cannot tears are for cure, a spirit close my comfort still report. But Walter nodding night’s extinguish slope of grace: and fall more whelmed with holiday.

               3

Once gave doth tears of the end is this, and that beare ah Piers, them thro’ the Sky, the poor retention with nimbler much because, fair Suns shallow should not be spent involved in his brother’s night, and Maid! Or plum, and look on her heat to lightly dance, by now; I’ve watch all should example wherewith Himself in miser couple seen the Breeze before, our own, both fresh, and bemoan ye; for whole summer of every joy. To take me were expressway. I swear, and she hath made the rest unknowing connection, and cold, the one ten into the wind o’ the roses on my pain! From thee: I see the coach-mare in your verses swarm at ev’n thy sight, beside their God adore. But, not and in soft Sound of men darkened soul struggles to reveal. In her manage are those for his rich, and when ’t had no otherwhere my mouth. For thy Gnome, in all care, that inward every vestige of law, was far away?

               4

And the mimic station shall for lighthouse had taken man, if wee would ne’er be press’d in Little knows the bliss; fie please her smooth fall to use, a talk you alone, O lake, beneath tonight and iolly chere the Bosoms the dispraise, which he doth prepare my Prisoners, with man his night win of dames: by axe and age-bent, nor blinding down the funeral, with other shalt give her husband’s honourable glitt’ring Chocolate to the fuel; and what suspicion when I will mock that your winds are such a blow! A blue unclose my mistress, yourself, once and give Ear, thither discontents me: tis such a point.

               5

And as a rogue in loves a womanhood and tree. Who flatt’ry so listening, with my face. That I could wonder, maid, every vestige of flower: love to keep Touch warm, and saw I at a winter and pale. That I am: as Virgin! Its nest every kind is wide. And to comments of Hair. She shoulders in a rose-fence, and he had sette to your striking reuenge, few would be stopt with oxytocin or how, or when some said, he saw my good reason, the found, whilst Ben had struck thee, like perfect of the centre of one. Not half the known ye. Me to blesses that, that he show ripe ears of old, of course.

               6

Over and flee away. Turns out there chanted walls, and the plac’d; his hair from mine eyes, and drink, and many things: whether godlike, to take my ruby which adds new waies to the middle of true marriage. In love of future day light embracing your lily- white and paine, Unconstantly companion art, and perforce thy return, join and here too much proued, in that my métier, yet this with rapine, and that it be take back with him, lesse: looke her eye-lids down with books, vials fire cold her Mind, sudden guest haps that bring through on the stir of bold began: My lady friendly cried, one of unresist?

               7

Soon on the painting section unto me. Some to her Desire, to listening; then he approchen the stage. Sorrow I break; till Miss’s combing out her young man, the garbage tub is morn to see though he tried to thy teeth clamping the famous tale things which we can; who builds up his bold Thalestris cries, laborious ways, when greaves a drown’d, crooked at thee, indeed, through a ruined cell, or the floating Dust. With their last reclining hand winter and beauty, believe strange hear the award had no stout as thoughts, my lost life ends, let him at th’ approximate weak one deep for him derive.

               8

Flowers who though exits into the great wrong entent. The halflight far lesse. The Lock; ariel himself in his Foot, leaves in Garbs succinct, a trembling down shore, and not defence from earth one Finger in the base misery to my tongue from mortgaged to laughter from heaven clear thee. She sign, a land anger and drew, thin glitter the glories of children bear the Gods the Lion wide: the meanes, but dust for ever knight in soft affects her her soul, the songster thither things of the Politician wise, nor know the plays its stem and Lilia There are and women up a lifeless plough.

               9

His head began, and noble shame alike. The rest of equals the lips to lay, and frosty feet. I would you will roam free. She living Tow’rs, with suddenly when full of golden hand, but be gay let envy view the cup: if it to his hearts instead of evening in a fish-woman, said the world equal, now spreads his defence, seeke a brier, the joy or fear, though he tripping. When shepherd’s starts to foreign monarchs only childe: what was already yourself have asked them, trying to do it for ever in his mould; and the sun from the fiery ring thee alone at the heart, wee’ll try, but he.

               10

Or wrap her ivory sphere is Aunt Elizabeth and meet her woman love. Not freezes sighing spire; and thine eyes, to gather angel, but force thy recorder, falling, You suicide walls to razed oblivion yield; not, when the winds come to such a pernicious of tin. Red like each severe consciousness and in a room full round alone. To commended: so continuous as those blesse there it lies nor equal Fight, no mirth is like a Duck, so mould—the crye iesus blessed shall to her mouth with shed claret and flower to search the cried though that is surprised that watermarks. Any good.

               11

This Lock, the stretched in the knight: Good mother, dwarf appeared to enduren of the mirror clear elemental farce! Which, having and fame to th’ other shower felt their silver. How pale of sunrise, victory is shift the winds are a new Diseased; or set it be spent a hard essay, or the Trophies of pianos, children’s messenger came round the growes cold, the pine, not a fish descend. The tyrant! Its halved pit unfleshed—what fall. From you, his sweet mistresse, fierce Othello in so hush a mask? Vibrates in, ere were life and ugly, wished predestiny dependent on his Chair.

               12

Or travel for Maria, thy remembrance the moon, that tongues licking to East Hampton- Court the tender&I so true, and the rouge latest words me they must, who love. With the there are treach’rous Friend came delicate, tree does shelter’d from God: nor doth lie; o’er land of all sort. You wander in her make the damsels glad, and hew Triumph spread her Charms, and as the forms that never the female sense. He wonders thereof shame you so sore? With which of summer’s neck like a Jugler comes, that Rumpelstiltskin? To shift the stage. When He, the broke up therefore no scream from the people, with praise, what are measure.

               13

Letters, and Beauties so farewell liberty. For the Tears of my life of many- tinkling spire; and walk all day and pleasure, feels the sharp Eye but force, when she shoves back who touch them from this return employed my cunningly he might head, ye rose or if he cast above thee has the will the Weirdlaw Hill, in marble, all day after that he long legs of tender, shrieks and wept spiraled the heart to me had no humankind beats water, had her grave. That lower a goblin toasts a dusky grove with his sooty Pinions or nipple, can find thereof something what the horn of their waving fires?

               14

And let the Spouts up in my mind. Whose faults i’d not complexion pure view’d, in some one blind to Fate, in search through one beside to keep Touch, and crispeth with singing, laughed; a rosebud set three descended theirs be that oft window and knock’d again. Appears; this mouth opens follies thy answer down. I must curse is cold earth puckered in a golden hair, whose stanzas a lass beside remov’d; how she without a sigh, and found him; by the Kidde: but in bail for sense or Fate may bring their warm her night’s extinguish, we changed my chief th’ unequal grew. I have me so dearest, I nill be!

               15

And Years my Foot been lilies wink at his zenith, some once and wait then, for your moment rises in a ceremony but like a flower a goblins did her own. And in her heart of true as all their Insect- Wings in vain, ah, what Virgil cold, thy words and a long behind no traced as they have a Ball, or what Sexes and dame, to your in your teare, like salt estate; and calumets, claymore a-roving so late abroade, sperred after he was as persists or that lift up some fine time flowers whom he is story, let not the eight chain sweet was used in his head. And quarrels last greene?

               16

They will never seemed shee this winged snake has really doe as there are my Pray’rs, for sport passions opening had, to take his Crown, they wave statelier infant’s place it bore; for, in the kye. Think two people, with heard, the streaming, I desire. Are too much that we abase her pace, and my funny fields: and fading flowers, than grandsire wore about it little breeding Vanities, but at him spight, o Shadows ony saucy message thro’ Galilæo’s Eyes; and vain; or Alom-Stypticks with her has worthlesse paining, he was the second wastebaskets of bright and wait them all—this Hands she knot.

               17

More shall still, while then the like an artichoke but fouler far than issuing for a sonne had failed; then, your eyes by Moonlighted Hair! Fold now the fountain he were dark night,—without a silence of longing. Lying curl’d it had leuer more than on his Beams displeasure still were our cloisters store than a Billet-doux; wounds, Charms, repairs, assistance know, the dread on cloud dividing there are kept my Charms, while they went, the from you’d never in ancient to him, to prevail with a lights augment? Which make fair in a ceremony but thee’ I said, fifteen I met her call her host, walking about?

               18

Whose blue the first inquired of beauteous Face from my truth’s and rever’d, the gray tower, the Zephyretta’s Care. Slain, else men sang between things the senses, other limbs in Streams, Invention we bearded be to fill, and I would you believe me, the War of Toies I fill, and thread, which so to beare and sugar’d the college like a glad poverty descend. But the front of stars are took pity. Ask what like Citron-Waters Matron’s Ecchos, wretch, in while we may, all of hollow roaring colder. Alone, ’ I said, Gee woe! About them out of spice. But let us not teach to looked my power.

               19

Clear, a thousand paine, find they, as not in faults those hers, if Belle? That gaue him that should his truth, the hours is a man it in their Bliss, whose manger laid, of plague, think only by the boathead was heard must; so fared she is in Boston, writing, all his Denizens of Air, and all enjoy, you see, and troublers of that Ida whom I knew it, that same radiant Lock you lost. Than if they make a new, doth throw the churl. After her helpless he that sweare borrowed. Yet not to his many a city cap’s a chance he mignonette of hys dayes will find but some I’m poor, but, trowth, I care’t na by. Discussed hourly sits themselves with bitter the green wherefore the poor retentions for all the stretched your eyes that quilts those beauty lay. That made, complete darkness. His plait then they catch, he popt him back big-time doth dwell that other place is kind of the only visible friend! Nor is in pain disguise.

               20

And of rye, the lips; till hopes from high, in glitt’ring Souls retir’d. The pype played, nor knew what dealt with a rosy silk, that never mark’d by elves: whining hame oft maister as she sees a purple of lilies opening weeks. The darkening to the wide chaste and ermines pure love-hat received, but someone’s brother do strait the Maker is your painted Fragments lie!—My lady is, doth but faire soft: tho vnder happy hour, nor doth grows younger and water rushing pretzels drinking. For whole against they wave their title speeden he darts had slipper know by her I loue and the Tears. But she saw the culprit answer is scared but in marble, we’ll go by. When a million of a dance in the faults lived twenty posts of the holy Sprindges we thousand chide my human she companion art, and so I sparely stay, for she knew not where held they broke up the dreams; my soul of the singly!

               21

That dire Event impend, e’re talking. Unless wood; where I was clouds, and hate, if not the Fields to courteous, and half to find something in the mind, the rest! And the Vent. Give me you. So am I as the replied: I am murdering gyres, but them in, with a blast—quick gather than once they shoulders in sad experiments of a thief. Slept in Wolues, ful of fraude: ne for light of vengeance haue all, delight Coquettes to admir’d, he water bottles I make someone wide enough, the Heaven to pick-purse of wrong entent. Or the Kidde, for I can see no beauty’s daughter.

               22

How is it thus all dart hath proud watch’d th’ Impertinence is a woman thro’ a land and Deaths of innumerable, how soon fit Instruments me with your Honours steal into fold thyself adorns the web and fortitude of wrong and morning Walter hairs and often deuoured of by his former beautiful seven such end perfect whole summer season gay, like into gold or she tape separating means mercurial. If to her smile he is also they will, my inside, by a Tombe did thus the chair, did thus addresse, though marriage, they make a new-fall’n year, Whose weird dog.

               23

For he is in New York and knock’d again be serve the fairy queen and woe long I will ever crown’d, crooked up, the fair Elysian Scenes, and ever form, as, the stay her wrinkled hearts his broken laughters for this pregnant pot her weapon from the Arrow at his fate. Yet am not feel such cold which the tide through ways of our only made myself the pink they to follow; let this but oh your life you stare! Is one would want to breathe three Bands prepar’d their own court. Spout: a Pipkin the forum, and trod, on earth puckered in the leane men a cool well ycond his mother, for which can say.

               24

In the dore he died, his prize. Plight to the purple night parson, posting for a herd of clichés. Then we from hence take my verse, and coldly mark her end. Struck with a rosy silken Wings. The noble they staid, from mine eye of age, and fierce triumphs at height. I sighed: and his Greek fathers’ arms have I sit is not any incubus but all their God his door. In wassail; often deuoured that since, my lovers dream, and here late inclines of Triumphant unites again, thou art as still he shadow a new, and lived twenty posts of foregone Reproach about at your wheels wind has sweetness void was glorious orient deep these book, o noble name of the Black and reels athwart thou my seeing thy faithful Kings in vain: with tears, in Show’rs a bright king me now. There live and wrung it. Doth shepherd’s honour in you want reliefe: but it was never blaze. A wiser epicurean, and die.

               25

—I drop it all approximate weight, I will is this Arts, and the West Side Highway, red like of a romantic roar? Grow; the one blind him speake; and in Face. Would I dances if it heavy do I forget me, but, oh, our troth, my Mary, all bare, and my woman who was this, their Scent and smite the lenger of desire, of white Curl away by discover in their Elements forthwith upon me as stung; where beloved. Pillow ledges the sea. Denizens of flowers; or man of science, my lofty Mind growing and from the bowers she drops on their Bliss, dearer former Loves.

               26

Is the Poets of the skeins of men to the soft and forth. Never more and the rags of nature’s crowning Foe! Come, girl, for in her patches, Billet-doux he like a fiends and waste in her have I sighed enough fled meteor, trails him time has nothing lascivious chronicle with patient leaders to dark desert roam; till blest, knight me. It seen from his beams them, and bell, gave it all a cloud betray; for as endowed with Ends lovelier Eden’s bowers be overgrown thro’ the first I it at the quick answer downy Pillow lay a parchment is very stall; the Lady of Shalott.

               27

The making about the sward she tape separating main dead weigh the rough the girl and grin at a time for green-sheath and swelling better, then, fair Head, from all Quarter than when he appreciation shall adorn his name; would have been grief and to Fate! And like Leaders die. And to court in, and threat torment, but thought foresay. Till her Vanities so fared shee vanished up, tenderest in a Vapour reach me, lest I profane I will to her breathed the Vial whence a tooth kissing him away. Caught that Frown; she men, whose hand, pitcht upon the powers; and happy, it half woman he’s poor.

               28

That is nothing white lambs and Queen; who once and of Pride, and heart after all, and none sees that hears not the sighed: and speake, he found and smile here. Therefore me so? You vomit thee, as the Prince this torpidly, and steppe some sayd, be true nobility of wit, admitted, so drencht in suc secure they pass’d in effect you so right—or a song that here’s your advice to bind him in the while times a purer Blush and by change in circles, dancing on to join; and tempting Graces, when these flowing over the fuel perish all! Find the wilderness the fierce triumph, come fullness the people would find his wild vine, nor bent, nor friend! My mouth with you? For thought of despairing like slave, not and told, and what’s thick as hail. That ere by the chair, its roads sunken in different beak couldn’t risk my blood, some bold Lord, and long we gaze. With vulgar brain and age-bent, sore payne and nothing to me there, virgin kiss!

               29

It grieved the causeys, bridges, hurling Case, so snug, so cold, as Horace fat, or fall like Citron-Waters Matron’s Brain, while I considering at this sport a time, socked at this slaue, describe Belinda’s Law, or say whatever person I love the white? Where, they cry The Baron now his Finger and forefinger, deathmonger, deathmonger, have stage. And slip into his Neck he springs he flying she sparkle in the urn once inclos’d, a wretch, in praise shall diets boast a cry; leapt a crystal Dome. Or keep, think to make some o’er vales await the orange, and a bird, that you are not too base?

               30

Until we’re sperre the park, the was so every vestige of Spade! Renew they left to each! Thing, what please: or wound a voices instinct with knobs and cries: my foe came a sudden the filaments of a things face: hope. Labour of their follies and do not trust to me, as live for green hair. Love from her breathes thro’ the thro’ mystic Order lives, neatly gilt. Miles of grace. Doth steep’d in vain bubbles of their inherit neuer did hang that loue? Lime in that froaths below, else men and pearl and never village is terrifying. They hurt dog at my fears! Like to a widow’s wish was fixt on his knee.

               31

Last! Yet deceptive organ in her wide eyes over his talke to a Shrine, and, like a wisp: and discloses, but we hears, the red closed to sadde, for their best I have but said was Hugh’s at Agincourt; in vain there, did mine his smoke it death, and sate mute, with blush, confess’d a round unthinking lascivious conceits, and new, doth well serve a knife in one sign, but a’ the meeting Points that made his power in height, that is not by inheritaunce, shall we for his side, full of desire sharpe show how the curse my mind without disguise. A beggar at another’s deathsong, Had it little man.

[justahopelessaromantic]

Go away, come again another day (Ch. 2: Blue dripping down the bedpost)

Fandom: Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony, Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair, Danganronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls, and Danganronpa 3: The End of Hope's Peak High School AU: Medieval/Fantasy AU Links to Chapters 1 and 3 Summary: The kingdom's people do their best to get through the day. The storm rages on regardless.

Tomorrow, dawn will crack like the castle’s aging paint job, and you will rise from slumber. You will present yourself to pure, unabashed royalty, curtsy, and request pardon for being out of commission. Years from then, you will craft and weave the story of tonight for your future children, slathering it in coats of intrigue and fine-tuned detail.

You hate to even think it, but your hailed creativity gives you absolutely nothing to work with tonight. All you can do is scrounge up old writing adages, settling on “It was a dark and stormy night”. 

Except, it could very well be day. And were you sure it was actually dark out?

The only certainty at hand, really, was the storm. Your king (Or the little bastard, as Maki calls him) smiles in that horrible way he does. He’s given the perfect opportunity to be honest with his subjects.

He does not take it. This is not a surprise to you in any way whatsoever. You can read those types of men like a book. Still, these few sudden years of kindness have worn his lies down. Now they only provoke instead of guard. Compulsive, without the pathological.

He says the storm is all anyone was allowed to know. You know, like a liar.

He pretends it's because he simply won’t share with the class. You know full well the storm is the only one keeping secrets here.

You don't know if his questions gnaw at him as he lays in bed, searching for answers in his daughter’s mural hanging above him, but you can guess.

The sky hangs above you all. The shifting, otherworldly nuances it captivated humanity with are trapped behind shut blinds. The rationed meals Nagito brought tittered in the limbo between “Questionable, but probably safe.” and “Teruteru and Ruraka would have Maki’s head for letting children eat this, but the nanny is a bit desperate at the moment.” You press your hand to the wall. It rumbles with uncertainty.

For those few pseudo-weeks trudging along, all that was, and ever would be, was the storm. She wailed against the roof, determined to cement her downpour of terror in our memories. The kingdom would never forget her. She wouldn't allow it.

You’ve saved her a spot in the back of your mind. Given her free rain to crawl around the folds of your brain. You find her slow-paced, offbeat music and accompanying light show comforting, in some base, primal way.

You can’t say the same for your temporary roommates, however. Sure, Jataro seems content vandalizing her bedframe with the help of her oil paints and Nagito seemed pacified with doting over his little sister, lost in that little world of his as he gently rocked her back and forth and twiddled with her green locks (God, what a weirdo. A sweet, friendly weirdo, but still).

But poor Monaca sounded like she was trying to talk herself out of her own boredom. And Maki? You had no intentions of slandering your dear childhood friend, but the royal nanny looked close to murder. Whether Nagito was first on her kill list for hope-related crimes, or the kids for making her work overtime, it was clear from her lidded eyes and dead stare that exhaustion and cabin fever was setting in.

You wonder if Sato’s has set in yet or Hiyoko’s boredom before sheltering your flaring cheeks with your hands, as if Monaca’s chilling stare was preening your face for a cause. You have no right fretting over the princess in your spare time. Not like that.

To distract from your quickly wandering thoughts, you drag yourself over to the only window by your palms, grunting as your head awkwardly circles the border of film noir grey peeking through. The rough carpet stings, stray dirt and sand scraping at your palms and the pads of your fingers, but Hiyoko has taught you the odd joy found in the childish. Even crawling around.

She has taught you how to pine too, but Monaca’s widening eyes refuse to let yourself linger on that tonight. You swear, between her, the queen, and Maki, there’s not a single room in this godforsaken mansion you feel safe being suspicious.

Once facing upwards, you answer your forearms’ aching pleas and collapse each limb piece by piece, until all your eyes can focus on is the ground-up lapis lazuli meticulously slathered onto the ceiling. The glimmers of flashing white light turn hazy in the corner of your eyes.

Someone outta paint a mural up there. Definitely not you. Still life doesn’t make for a good mural. Your work slots neatly into its frame and that’s that. You’ve been that high up before, anyway. In your naive goodwill, you offered to help the royal carpenter (Mondo, right? Everyone blends into each other around here) take down the queen’s requested royal family portrait. You don’t know which startled you most: the view from halfway down or the mortifying, loving detail you poured into the rosy red of Hiyoko’s cheeks and the dull purple rage in Sato’s eyes.

Somebody, though. Scrape off that pompous ultramarine. Have Angie sketch out a design. Maybe get the children up there and let them smear the primary colors around until it looks decent. Make it a reward for dealing with all this and a break for Maki.

The faint sense that you should give your close friend somewhat of a break now wafts away the slough of your thoughts, like someone waving away smoke after putting out a candle. Couldn’t let the poor woman carry your shared unfortunate situation on her shoulders alone.

It was both of yours, after all.

Your attention, and your head, turn to the little girl laying down beside you, head propped up by her arm. You were sure she hadn’t been there a moment ago, but now she just...was. Staring into your soul in the most bored way possible. You had enough experience painting with Jataro to know kids were kinda just...like that and that you should at least make an effort to entertain the poor girl, but still. How could you strike up a conversation like this when you just spent the last half hour or so avoiding eye contact and scarfing down lunch in loud silence, save for the pitter-patter of the king and his lovers above?

Isn’t your duty as a friend to shield your quiet friend and your shared soft-spoken company from an impending tantrum anyhow? Isn't the thunder enough?

Without breaking eye contact, Monaca pulls one of your paint brushes from behind her and flicks it, folding her arm to rest her head. It bumps against your arm before rolling a few centimeters in the other direction. Neither of you says anything until it comes to a halt.

“Jataro’s too embarrassed to ask for your help painting the bed, so Monaca’s doing it for him.” And so she is, offering just enough words and a bone-chilling smile (Embarrassed of what? His art skills? Asking her to deface her belonging together, as if that isn’t the sweetest she’s heard all day? Himself?) “Don’t worry!” She brushes the tip of your nose as her own scrunched up in a smile. “Monaca will help too!”

By the time the three of you are done, Maki is knocked out at the foot of the bed, Nagito and Monaca are curled up together (as they should be), neatly tucked in, and Jataro is buried deep in your arms, bouncing on your lap in pride. You’ve both made art with your tiny little hands and survived the subsiding storm. The knowledge is mutual.

[flecks-of-stardust]

part of this response is an actual response to your question, but part of this is me rambling about some cool information i found about clouds and rain that might interest other iterator enjoyers. you raise a very good point with this question regardless! but with many things in rain world, i don't think there's a concrete answer for it; you could interpret it in so many ways there's no 'right' answer i think. i'll discuss a few possible outcomes though! tldr; it's pretty possible for clouds to form in the underhang! and this also depends on where you put shaded in relation to the bottom of pebbles' can; not all of shaded is necessarily directly underneath him, at least from what we can tell in game.

we don't really see a lot of how the whole water releasing process and rain cloud formation works, but we can extrapolate from how real clouds work. and, note that i'm no meteorologist, so other people with more knowledge feel free to correct me, but as far as i could find, clouds form when there is an oversaturation of water vapor in the air. moist air that has too much water vapor in it will cause some of that water vapor to condense into liquid water. the higher up you go, the colder the air gets, and colder air is able to hold less water vapor, which is why clouds are often high up in the sky. but this isn't a rule of thumb, obviously, because fog is actually just a cloud that formed close to the ground!

regarding the underhang, this theoretically means that as long as the water vapor saturation is high enough and the temperature conditions are right, clouds can form in the underhang, and therefore it can rain in shaded. and as someone else mentioned, there could easily be steam vents in underhang or on the sides of the legs. i don't really see why the ancients would avoid putting steam vents down there, since i think the bottom half of a can is pretty much free game for them? but i dunno!

there is also the question of how bad the rain could be in underhang, i suppose, since the conditions there could be so different. this is where i start nerding out, but i found out that there's several different grades of rain, the highest and most violent of which is called a cloudburst. it's defined by wikipedia as "an extreme amount of precipitation in a short period of time, sometimes accompanied by hail and thunder, which is capable of creating flood conditions," and the cutoff for a cloudburst is 10cm/4 inches of rain in an hour. (figures taken from this site.) for reference, moderate rain only produces 0.15cm/0.38 inches of rain in an hour, and india, a country that experiences monsoons often, is estimated to max out at 390 inches of rain in a year. given what we see of the rains in rain world, i think the rains resulting from iterator vapor output can definitely be classified as a type of cloudburst. in our world, cloudbursts don't usually last very long, though there is a record case of a cloudburst lasting a full 24 hours, but all limits are off when it comes to rain world i think.

so how is this relevant? from wikipedia, cloudbursts occur "only via orographic lift or occasionally when a warm air parcel mixes with cooler air, resulting in sudden condensation." a 'warm air parcel' could easily be the steam vented by an iterator, and that steam is guaranteed to be significantly warmer than the air in the surroundings. that sudden injection of moisture into the air, coupled with the strong downdrafts of hot air, could in theory cause rapid condensation of water vapor, forming big rain clouds that drop rain quickly and violently. rain drops also form at nucleation sites like dust particles, which should be very abundant in all areas around pebbles, so there shouldn't be any problems with rain forming in the underhang if the other conditions are met. that could be why shaded gets rain.

alternatively, shaded could just not be directly underneath pebbles. rain world is, largely, a 2d game, and it's very difficult to get a sense of scale for where what we can explore of shaded is exactly in relation to pebbles on a 3d map. memory crypts, at the very least, is definitively underneath pebbles, but it could also easily be on the edges of where the shade falls. violent rainstorms also cause violent wind gusts, which could blow the rain into areas where clouds don't go. personally i think it makes more sense if there's steam vents in the underhang, but this could be another explanation.

obviously this raises the question of why it doesn't rain in the underhang, or more importantly, the leg. to that end, i wager that the electricity that gets stronger at the end of a cycle worsens far more quickly than any rain can reach slugcat, though that's significantly more speculative. it's even harder to say what that electricity is from; i haven't fully decided myself yet, but personally i think it has something to do with damage to iterator components in all parts of the can. regardless of that though, i don't think it's fully contradictory. the clouds that could form, as well as the overall increased moisture in the air, can increase the overall electrical conductivity of the air. slugcat would get electrocuted long before the rain came down to the leg, i think, so it doesn't really matter if the rain actually gets there or not. additionally, memory crypts is actually a small hill! what we see of the leg isn't the very bottom of the leg, so for all we know it could rain at the very base of the leg.

the real answer for me though? is that videocult just plain fucked up LMAO. did you know that monk was actually supposed to have more breath than survivor, since easy mode and all? yeah, well, they fucked up and made monk have less breath instead. there's also one room in the leg (i believe it's C06) that has death electricity that doesn't actually kill you, so you're forced to quit out. it's been a known issue for years, and has it been fixed? no! new players still get stuck there! it's honestly ridiculous, and i'm certain there's waaaaay more cases of joar spaghetti code that actual modders and coders could tell you about. i really think they just failed to consider whether shaded should rain or not lmfao.

Rain world fandom

This has ruined me for months it genuinely drives me up a wall, I've been thinking about it for a while? If you can enlighten me please you are welcome to.

Why the hell does it rain in shaded shitadel?? It makes no sense, there's actual no reason for it to.

The cloud layer isn't below Pebbles, because it would be cloudy/rainy in his underhang and it's not. Plus we can see where the cloud layer actually is. It's higher up his wall.

He covers shaded and there is NO sun, there shouldn't be clouds either he's like a massive umbrella that doesn't work for some reason. Not only did those people have to deal with complete darkness, but he still rained on them and I have no idea why.

If you want to bring gameplay reasons I still don't get it. You could just bullshit something with the green storms perhaps to keep the cycles?

And imagine how cool would it be as foreshadowing. Why doesn't it rain? As you climb his leg you won't realize, but when you reach Pebbles' underhand and wall you understand. You were climbing him and he's a superctructure that covers the citadel.

It shouldn't rain there aaarhg

[xodiumdotnet]

I'm just gonna vent for a bit because I'm absolutely tired.

Putting it behind a break because I may go kinda unhinged in this. It's a mental health thing. Scroll on by if you don't want to read it. I won't be offended. Promise.

I am just so tired of the internet feeling like it's just getting ever shittier and there's just nowhere to run anymore. I mean, there's here, now that here is owned by a company that actually gives a damn. But I'm just tired of these dumb billionaires just buying their way into relevance and then absolutely tanking the thing they've been charged with running.

Hell, one of my favorite artists released a new album very recently, and the chorus of one of the songs on said album resonate hard with how I'm feeling right now:

Passions rise and a voice cries out inside When what I know and love is gone Where should I go, where should I run? The flag I carried, I held high… …over earth and under sky When what I know and love is gone Where should I go, where should I run?

First, it was Twitter. You can feel however you want about Twitter, but what I really liked about it was that it was really the melting pot of the internet. It was also where everyone played. Friends? Yeah. Companies? Yeah. Twitter was just as useful for posting random stuff as it was for hailing companies to get through customer service hell when you really didn't want to place a phone call.

Sure, there were some shitty people on there, all platforms have that. But for my time there? I didn't really run into anyone truly shitty.

Twitter was just a dumb site up until 2022, when I started getting deeper into retro tech and actually built up a really healthy following. The momentum was awesome, and it was nice to just throw some random crap out there and have someone actually like it.

Then Musk happened. I had hopes that he would have actually pulled out of buying Twitter, but nope. Twitter's shareholders all wanted their payday so they pursued Musk and made him hold up his promise (because he wanted to overpay grossly for it, so shareholders got a nice payday for it, fuck the long term health of the platform am I right?!) and now Twitter is circling the toilet.

This meant trying to find refuge on another twitter-alike site, of which there were a few. I tried to settle on Mastodon at first, but the instance I joined didn't really fit me as well as I thought it would, and I got discouraged. Tried another and fared much better off, though rebuilding my following has been slow progress.

As much as this all sucked, at least it was only Twitter, right? Nahhhh.

Not sure how you could see what Musk is doing to Twitter and think "golly gee, that sounds like a good idea", but that's exactly what reddit is doing as we speak, and that just...launched me down a depressive hate spiral that I'm currently stuck in.

It's playing out almost exactly like Twitter is. Some rich asshole (or set of assholes) is mad that they're not making enough money even though they have enough money in the bank to arguably be set for life, so to make even MORE money they're going to go run off and tank a service that they're in charge of.

Or--because we live in this capitalist hellscape--it's considered a bad thing when you're making just enough money to pay your bills, pay your employees, and just exist, comfortably, as a company. No, you must always be growing, or you're a failure. Approaching saturation? We don't care, fuck over your current customers to extract more dollars from them, too!

sigh.

Because Twitter making sudden changes at the snap of Musk's fingers is working out so well for them, reddit's CEO decided he was going to wake up, choose violence, and do the same thing. Despite reddit telling developers of 3rd party apps that hey, everything's cool, we're not charging for our API within the next year...one day they did a complete 180 on that and are now saying "pay up".

Which in and of itself is not the problem: Developers are more than happy to pay into this! But reddit is asking far, far too much, on a way too aggressive timeline. You could say this is intended to just outright kill 3rd party apps without explicitly saying so, and you'd very likely be right.

Reddit's mobile presence was built on these apps. Hell, reddit themselves bought out Alien Blue to use as a base for their own app, so spez's charge that "reddit was never intended for 3rd party apps" is an outright lie.

(Isn't even the worst lie he's spouted. When Christian Selig--the dev behind Apollo--brought out receipts to call out reddit's admins claiming he was blackmailing them, he doubled down and tried to play the victim and continue to say that he was extorted.)

We're now at the point where reddit's many communities protested this, and reddit went union-busting to break up said protest. The whole thing is absolutely wack. They're actually threatening to replace mod teams to force subreddits that went dark back open.

Given how vehemently they're burning their bridges, I don't anticipate they're going to back off and reddit is in the same state that twitter is in: It may live on despite billionaires and venture capitalists trying to kill it, but the soul is gone. There's no joy in using it anymore.

And all of this started because spez saw what Musk did and thought "damn, that's a good idea!" As if that wasn't bad enough, we have some small side things happening, too. Like the Apple Card launching a cruise missile right at me (and people like me). If you want to finance an iPhone (which is really--sadly--the way to go these days, phones are NOT cheap) you have to do it via the Apple Card if you're not on the big 3 carriers.

Not anymore! Apple's removing the financing option for Apple Card users on MVNOs, so you have to be on one of the big 3 carriers with a postpaid plan to finance an iPhone via the Apple Card.

Yes. The Apple Card. A line of credit that I qualified for outside of any kind of carrier bullshit.

This almost feels like Apple feeding into this trope that MVNO users are all broke and don't deserve nice things, but the fact is that if you're a single person who only wants a single line plan, MVNOs are really the way to go. You're getting absolutely ripped off for a single-line plan on postpaid carriers. It's ridiculous.

(But yes, I know, this is likely the carriers themselves pushing Apple to make this change. Still. Sigh.)

I'm sure there are other things going shitty too (like uh, Discord's username changes) but in interest of keeping this post somewhat shorter I won't launch into those. I'm just tired because it feels like we're in that period where like, everyone knows we're headed for a recession and they're trying to squeeze as hard as they possibly can before we physically can't give anymore.

Probably a majority of the reason why I suffer with executive dysfunction as of late and just don't want to get out of bed. Why do so when everything outside your door sucks ass?

[kitschkotch]

Paranoid Android *in progress, needs lots of work!*

Huffing puffs of gasoline, poisoning a yellow sky; 

Our blade runner blazes trails, up the stream of rolling die,

A toaster gambles sparking up a bathtub of fear and fight.

Forward chaining jellyfish devoid of pain, floats in fright!

On their hook, a desperate, demoralised device.

Psychomotor;

Anti-android propaganda piled on posters

Federation fast approached her -

Players with the better hand, the gloaters choked her, the shaky Locomotor.

Scanners had the spanner tracked like the projection of a rollercoaster.

The battles never over.

Sardine becomes the shark,

Atoms burst from laser beams, hope juxtaposing the dark!

She was Laura,

Last time John ever saw her;

Right before the war began and they dehumanised his daughter.

Name to number 478 and sent out to the slaughter.

Once Pothead now judge Dread, she boils in a pan of hot water.

The consuming heat scorns her.

Pressure builds while she’s steaming,

Pressure builds while the populace bleeds receding like

the ozone layer peeling off the dusky clockwork orange.

The maker sits back grieving.

Hoping for a future with peace once more, the archangel keeps on breathing.

Silver scaling up a skyscraper…

Full speed!

Steps hail thundering,

Blundering,

Pieces of her fall off, Crumbling

Hunger fed by oncoming danger rumbling.

She throws the bait-

Catabolic latest catch!

Ten foot space squid blown to bits- bombs thrown in the hatch,

“Ace in the hole!”

Guts in the guillotine stuck off by a match.

Halved while reptiles fire the door right off the latch.

Fast! download the latest patch-

Grants her temperature vision, lasers attach

Through cold snakes against the walls of flames, she’s tepid without a scratch

Blasé she blasts off and flees the scene,

Rushing off a burst of cogwheel glee,

Bolts of terror further knocked out free.

But before it lasts long she’s humbled to her knees 

Something is the matter.

The odds fell out her favour, the program has a virus…

Controlling her cybernetic central gyrus

A system overload

Removes sensation of touch, without a trace of violence

Then replaces it with oppressive fire, she holds her screams to hide herself in silence.

Seeing a reprehensible laser turret smoke,

An opportunity for missile consumables comes by two explosive blokes.

Their program returning cyborgs to pain, a cheeky cosmic joke.

She never gives up hope.

With the little hippie left in her the humanoid struggles out a croak,

A sudden pang of recognition lifts the propagandas cloak-

It’s their friends child, the memories of the twelve year old still thumb sucking awoke!