[x] The utensils behind you could be sharp enough...if you were to lean back a bit then perhaps you could grab one and cut your ropes free.

>>2338
Related https://youtube.com/watch?v=MmA2nJHIB_Y&feature=youtu.be

It's about time for me to update.

Expect in an hour or half.

[x] Some time later, the mansion exploded in unbridled rage.

https://youtu.be/_hdvaAdBEPw

Fwooooooooooshhhhh!

…To think I’d hear an sound so similar to the real deal after so long. How long has it been?

Bloodrust Mansion was being nostalgic again, it never knew it could feel this way but live another hundred years and weird things to happen. There was nothing to be annoyed about now at least.

To clarify there was nothing if anything around Mansion’s territory now, no more green grass for bugs to use as an hiding spot in order to enter Mansion’s garden and pilfer it’s succulent cherry juice nor was there a blue sky filled with birds that would usually defecate on and breed on Mansion’s red tiled roofs without a single concern for the defiling and disgusting acts they were committing on a Mansion’s honor. No! Nothing was ever going to disrespect Mansion again…That was made sure off.

You did great, I always knew that deep inside you were just like me
Petals of a iconic flower dropped into one of it's chambers via the window, such a vulgar way to give someone a greeting could have been only be one person: the Rubenesque (think that’s an shade of purple) color of the flower in moonlight was unforgettable and the hypnotic pattern of it falling from the sky even less. Mansion only knew one person with this kind of deadly allure.

Sigh, it’s Nameless Hill again, can’t even watch an abandoned wasteland without it occasionally interrupting. Sure the fact it covered the black spots of ashes that used to be Magic Forest was a factor to that but even if it helped me unleash that that still doesn’t give it the right to act so frisky.

Bloodrust Mansion huffed, if it had an nose it would have been able to smell the sweet poison emanating from the red lilies but it didn’t, it had to remind itself it owed an debt to Nam

I want this in prose now. I want this to be a full series.

Not it

CBT
From MassGeneralHospital

Cognitive behavioral therapy is a talking therapy that can help you manage your problems by changing the way you think and behave. Cognitive behavioral therapy, or CBT, is based on the concept that your thoughts, feelings, physical sensations and actions are interconnected and that negative thoughts and feelings may trap you in a viscous cycle.
CBT aims to help you deal with overwhelming problems in a more positive way by breaking those problems down into smaller parts. You're shown how to change the negative patterns to improve the way you feel. Unlike some other talking treatments, CBT deals with your current problems rather than focusing on issues in the past. It looks for practical ways to improve your state of mind on a daily basis. For people whose depression is more severe, long-term or frequent effective treatment often includes counseling or therapy combined with medicine.

>Be me, high ranking member of the family.
>Human spirits playing with paper again.
>Nerds.
>Almost wish some of them had any backbone so they would try and resist, don't actually wish that though, last time I wished that the boss kicked my ass.
>Literally kicked my ass that is, she was pissed, in both ways, slurring something about smear fees, but still got the point across.
>[b]no wishing for fun stuff.[b/]
>At least this area she sent me to capture has a decent Tea Room.

>>2190
>I know she tried to cheer her up, but that really wasn't the best thing to say to someone who is trying to escape their nature.
As I see it, Suika loves being an oni, but she's not technically an "ideal" one. Part of this was exploration as to why, and I'd say that line was Yuugi trying to remind her that even if she doesn't fit all the ideals, she's still what she thought she wasn't (but nonetheless wanted to be... while also not wanting to be). Girl's conflicted!

As for "exile"... It may be better to interpret her as a simple aberrant oni according to her original Japanese description in her IaMP ending as being, eh, an "outcast". Outcast is an off the mark reading of what she's called, although "異端児" can carry a heavy, but accurate connotation of "heretic" (some sources will tell you it means "maverick", and more readings seem to support that idea https://dictionary.goo.ne.jp/jn/12267/meaning/m0u/ ). For what it's worth I won't be going from a perspective of her being a cast out of society oni (especially given according to Satori, Yuugi is jealous of Suika's freedom to abandon the Former Capital and do as she pleases), but she is undoubtedly unique for better or worse. She was a ruler at one point in her past, as one of the Four Devas, so she probably had the respect of her fellows. That's my interpretation!

And finally, thank you~. I'm happy you really liked it, it was a fun exercise.

>>2183
Tracks used:
https://mega.nz/#F!1BdBzIKZ!bhLzijfM3iyphpueDOKf0g

Title - Album (Circle)

[笛子]東方Project 碎月 (cover of FELT's "CLONE") - (Dizi)
CLONE - Blue Drop (FELT)
And Other - Blue Drop (FELT) [bonus]
華は春に還り - Crystal Stone (ShibayanRecords)
Drunk As I Like - Distant Phantasm 6th (Distant Phantasm)
砕月 - Aoki Touhou Komoriuta (TAMUSIC)
Otherworld - Final Fantasy X
幻想郷への扉 - LUNATIC EASTRONICA (Fluid Stance)
Memory of Forgathering Oriental Dream - Immaterial and Missing Power (NIGHT DISC)

That said, there really is hardly any difference: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822070

I think I added like two ellipses, I changed three words and that was about this. Does make sense--I spent quite a while on this short in the first place.

A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
Well done.

Okazaki Yumemi was missing—or at the very least, that’s how it felt to him.

Yojuu Ryu’s days of preparing lectures were becoming alarmingly more frequent. It was an unfortunate routine: On the days that he’d be heading the classroom, there would be a conspicuous pile of notes scattered across Okazaki’s desk in her office, and Okazaki herself would be nowhere to be found—as if she had disappeared into thin air. Regardless, until she came back, Ryu would wait at the graduate lab every day until the janitors excused him to lock the doors. Some times, it would be days. But other times, it would be weeks. And every time Okazaki came back, her body would be thinner, or her eyes would be wearier—whatever the case, it was normal for her to return with physical afflictions. Each time, however, her rosy eyes would be alight in passion as she spoke wildly about “dimensional barriers” and “the other place.” Frequently, too, would the professor demonstrate with rows and rows of whiteboards—on one particular day, she flooded the entire graduate lab’s boards with equations and abbreviated theorems, only to be later scolded by the head of the department. “Public space! These whiteboards are public space!” he had cried.

Yojuu Ryu worried. Though Okazaki’s increasingly frequent fits of physical intimacy tempered his anxiety, it wasn’t enough—in fact, it was never enough. Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder. Whatever his turbulent feelings, it became obvious to Ryu that he was partial to Okazaki and extremely so. She kept dangling sweet temptations over his head until he realized that she had him under her thumb.

They had moved their acts of indecency to Ryu’s one bedroom apartment. He found it hard to evaluate what was worse: the fact that they previously engaged in physical relations at the graduate lab, or that they had evolved to a more intimate environment. Now there was little in the way to distract Ryu from how she was casually taking off her shoes in his home, how her red blouse revealed bare collarbone, and how a loose strap beneath her top fell dangerously off her shoulder.

Okazaki Yumemi was missing… until she, suddenly and decidedly, wasn’t.

Ryu was effectively moved to full-time professor, complete with more hours and more pay. Of course, it wasn’t by choice. Okazaki Yumemi had extreme bouts of disappearing, so Ryu had no alternative but to fill her shoes. How she had managed tenure, he’d never know.

It was an idle day in his apartment when Yumemi appeared. And it was exactly that: She had appeared. From his peripheral vision, the girl, as if she had always been there, was.

Yumemi, who smelled faintly of ashen fire, shook off the sleeves of her crimson jacket and flung it down to the ground, exposing a black camisole underneath. Beads of sweat dripped down her cheek and to the floor.

Frankly, to the man who was previously considering what to make for lunch, it was all too much. But before Ryu could open his mouth to question her, she spoke first.

“Time, no—another world,” she said, nodding, as if she were continuing a conversation she had with him. As if she had never disappeared for weeks on end. “I’ve found it, Ryu.”

“What?”

“Do you believe in magic?” she said.

His mind slowed. “Not… really?”

“I didn’t either. But then I traversed. To other worlds. Or maybe another time, or another dimension, who knows? One where science alone does not dictate the elements. Say it is insane. Absurd, even. I could have been hallucinating for all I know. But I believe I may have been to where no mortal of our realm has been before.”

“Insane is… certainly the word for it.” But Ryu took a look into Yumemi’s eyes, and, within those ruby pools, there was clarity—an alarming amount of it. The nervous fiddling of her hands, her clear eyes gazing level into his own, her mouth which spoke words faster than her mind could process: Ryu could not make sense of it.

“Then call me ill,” she said, feverishly laughing all the while. It was a rare set of laughs that threatened to expose her age. “And embrace me. I’m giddy,” she ad

The next day, when Yojuu Ryu came to, the first thing that the man saw was Okazaki Yumemi. There in his bed, clad in only a white undershirt and the rest of his bed covers, she was scribbling away furiously on a notepad. The sunlight from outside seeped through the blinds and trickled towards the red-headed woman. Ryu laughed to himself. She was no more radiant than she usually was—and Ryu found himself likening her more to a tumultuous storm than the sun—that is to say, he saw her as she was: Yumemi. Her disheveled hair, her voice deep and cracked in the morning as she muttered to herself, the snort she did at her own notes—they were all Yumemi-like.

Her pen slowed the moment Yumemi noticed Ryu awake. “Hello,” she said gruffly.

“Good morning.”

As good as it was, the morning was quiet.

“I have a lecture to do today,” he said to break the silence. “It’s Monday.”

“Ah,” she said dismissively. “So it’s Monday.”

Perhaps anybody else would have written off the red-headed woman’s words as eccentric. Time moved at different paces for different persons, after all. To Ryu, however, they were words of foreboding.

“Yumemi,” he said.

“Hmm?” Her pen stopped. Yumemi shuffled around the covers to face the man, and as she did, her bare thighs were painfully exposed to the man, temporarily rendering the man silent. The previous night flashed through his mind, though he quickly dismissed it.

I want you to stay, he thought to her.

Ryu, however, was a coward. “It’s nothing. I need to get ready for work.”

And as he showered, and as he made breakfast and prepared coffee, his thoughts swarmed him. Could it be today? No, it couldn’t be, he thought. She’d have the decency to tell me, right?

His distractions gave rise to a missing twenty minutes of his schedule, which had made him decidedly tardy. He’d be five minutes late to the lecture hall, at least. Ryu cursed and left his breakfast unfini

fantasies

Van approves of this thread

♂️ Just lube it up ♂️

>>2289
There's not much context. The first short actually came about totally by coincidence. I saw the image first and wrote the thing for fun, and everything else came because of that.
Reisen is a mysterious bunny.

In centuries past, when Lunar emissaries descended to the Earth, they would bring with them always a cutting from an udonge tree, in order that they should remember their true home on the eternal Moon.

This tree, the udonge, is not a beautiful one, however, which inspires of painture and poetry. It is a cursed tree, with the worthless, ashen soul of a vampire: one which never grows, and never bears fruit, living only to live, and to spite the very passage of time.

But in the presence of impurity, the udonge transforms. Filled with life, true, Earthly life, the kind of life which may only be lived at the cost of another, it blossoms with scintillating jewels, which shine in all the seven colours of sin. And in the presence of the most impure, it blossoms its most brilliantly: all the better to entrap these most unrepentant of hearts. Its shining crystal branches have been the downfall of untold many, sown by the emissaries of the Moon as seeds of discord among the nations of the Earth.

Today, these branches are little more than quaint curiosities to the people of the Moon, and objects of myth and legend to those below. They were either way primitive, unsubtle means for a primitive, unsubtle age, long since obsoleted by the forged banknote, the secret telegram, and the well-timed bullet. But the lies which they embodied live on, sweet, cloying, in the hearts and designs of Earthlings yet, and the work of the emissaries has never truly ceased …

Till now.

Seiran tossed another dart at the portrait on the corkboard, and swore when it only clipped him by the crest of an ear. Had it been a bullet from a rifle, it would have cracked his teeth, but the blue-haired rabbit had never the same skill at darts.

(She was also dead plastered on scalding Lunar shochu.)

The smiling Earthling in the portrait was,

Awesome. I'm not quite sure on how the Earthlings and Lunarians interact (because hell, I'm not clear how that happens) But I like your characters and the introspection.

Mokou was rather bored out of her mind.

It’s been a few short weeks since she agreed to that truce Kaguya had come up with figuring why the hell not, you can only spend a few hundred years brutally killing each other before it got boring. Even before the truce, it was pretty rare to see her anyway as she had been mostly hiding away in Eientei.

And now that the truce was in effect it’s been two weeks since she has last seen her. Honestly, it was starting to drive Mokou insane, many parts of the bamboo forest had big clearing burnt to ash. Just without even the potential threat of Kaguya popping out of the bamboo for another of their classic deathmatches, everything seemed just… boring.

Yay, the first week of peace was quite nice but now it was maddening, hell, even the rabbits that usually kept track of her when she wandered through the forest was missing. And while she would hate to say this but in some twisted form of irony, she missed Kaguya company, as one of the few people in the world that could ever understand her, even if we had our ‘disagreements’ and not that she would ever be willing to admit to any living soul that she missed that smug bitch of a princess.

Hell, there hadn’t been even a single lost person in the forest these last two weeks, it’s as if the entire universe was mocking her decision!

Figuring it was like every other day and no one was going get their dumb asses lost she decided to head home early. Hands still in her pockets and slouched over as she meandered her way back home, a scowl firmly etched across her face. With her knowledge of the forest, it only took a few minutes to get to her little cottage. Arriving back her scowl only deepened when she saw her door ajar.

Mokou rushed up the door and slammed and open eye instantly locking on the only person in the room. “Kaguya! what the hell are you doing in my house.” She said.

Kaguya, who was sat at her table simply raised an eyebrow “Why Mokou, I’m simply enjoying a cup of some tea.”

Walking over to the table and taking a seat opposite of Kaguya and said. “That’s my tea yo

“You are putting me in a difficult position Byakuren. You know I can’t agree to this”

Ibaraki Kasen drums her fingers across a table in the Moriya temple dining hall, the usually bustling room empty save for the oni-cum-hermit and one Buddhist monk sitting across for her with all the confidence in the world. If Byakuren is put off by the other hermit’s frank refusal, she does not show it.

“Come now Kasen, surely you are sympathetic toward guiding youkai into hermitage considering your own state of being. We can help you as well. Besides, you came quite quickly when I mentioned a free lunch didn’t you.”

A spot of color touches Kasen’s cheek, before she quickly suppresses it. “Even a hermit has to eat occasionally you know. I’m grateful for your hospitality, but that doesn’t mean I can easily accept joining your temple. And another thing…” Kasen’s features shift for an instant, an immense pressure encompassing the room in an instant and disappearing just as quickly as she turns to Byakuren with an unusually serious expression. “Don’t think I buy this charity act. You only want me to get a connection with the youkai sage council. I don’t believe for a second you’re approaching me with good will alone.”

Byakuren shrugs, unfazed. “It can be both, can’t it? But let’s not lose our appetites over such political matters. I think I hear Nazrin now with the food.”

Kasen gives a questioning glance towards the monk. I thought Ichirin was their cook. She was the last few times I was lured herecame here.

The door slides open as Nazrin enters, an oversized chefs hat on her head, large enough to cover even her ears. She balances a tray on two hands, teetering left and right precariously. Kasen almost moves to intercept and help her but stop halfway up, afraid that her distraction may tilt the mouse youkai’s delicate balance. Finally, Nazrin slides the tray down between the two hermits, and uncovers the dish. An array of pastries greets you, having survived the perilous journey from kitchen to table.

* * *

The basement flooded.

The fact of it was made known to the noble lady of the manse some twelve minutes into the new calendar day, or six minutes after Remilia’s wine-soaked head had made blessed contact with cool satin pillow, or two hours after the lady Scarlet had begun indulging in earnest in the privacy of her quarters for reasons she tried hard and presently was failing to keep secret: quarters which were summarily invaded by an indignant younger sister, who felled their arcane protections as if like Roman walls before Ottoman guns, and who marched in with the heavy footfalls of Ottoman Janissary troops, and who seized her in her bed like dared none other than Flandre Scarlet, sister to and only extant kin of the Scarlet Devil, and began to shake her.

“Wake up and get your wits about you you sorry drink-sotted excuse for an elder sister why here you lay crocked in bed like a jelly like a pickled fish in aspic like the refuse of decent society you can’t even keep your own self in order much less your own house well don’t you know the basement is flooding.”

“Flandre stop it I tell you to stop it here what’s the matter the basement is what.”

“Flooding, damn you, taking in water, you must be deaf as a bat, Patchouli, make yourself of some use and transport us there, do catch your breath you matchstick woman, desist with that ghastly wheezing.”

It would be well to note that teleportation, performed under ideal conditions, by a well rested magician, in clement weather, over largely flat ground, with proper equipment and time ahead to prepare, might reach just shy of gentle.

Teleportation, conducted by Patchouli Knowledge plus two flights of stairs (upward, at forced march), passing through the floors of the Scarlet Devil Mansion (stately Queen Anne style, but if the Queen were the subject of an Ilya Repin painting, together with

* * *









“We’re lost,” moaned Dahlia. “Utterly and hopelessly lost.” The garden fairy was soaked from head to toe, and her left side was spattered with red from one close call with a fish that she knew in her heart of hearts must have been fathered by an alligator. She had shot it through from tonsil to tail, just as its jaws were about to snap shut on her arm. Life was never fair to you, Gilliam the Bastard.

At least the lantern was still dry.

“That won’t do,” said Hortensia. The kitchen fairy sported a more even, primered, coat of blood. She was chirurgical

* * *