* * *

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 her son Ivan), was otherwise.

“O, Astaphaios,” said Patchouli, and it was done.

“Oh

* * *









“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 with her poker, to a degree that almost frighten

* * *

The bell rang. Rather late for a customer, but they were so seldom that the human at the counter didn’t question this bit of serendipity.

He looked up and felt a flutter through his whole being. This wasn’t just any customer; a regular had come calling. Even if it was on the late side, he couldn’t help that little bit of joy he got from seeing a returning face. This one, a crow tengu named Hatate, had been in far more than a handful of times, a pitifully rare occurrence at this tiny shop.

“It’s been almost a week. I was beginning to get worried,” he chided.

Hatate greeted the human with a languid flap of her wings, bent with the weight of a long day as she steadied herself at the counter, swaying from side to side. “I’m touched. Can you do the usual, though? My feet are killing me.”

He wasted no time setting up the chair and the hot towels. When she was finally able to sit down, Hatate gave a blissful sigh, propping her stockinged feet up in the right spot without any prompting.

“Tough day of fact-finding?” the human asked, pulling the striped socks off carefully and draping them over the only other chair.

“I don’t know how those old-timers do it,” she groaned.

Testing the waters, he dug his thumbs in firmly next to the ball of her big toe. Hatate immediately winced and grimaced. She wasn’t kidding, then. This called for a slightly more careful approach. He reached for the bottle of oil, poured out a generous amount, and rubbed it all over her foot. The scent of lavender filled the tiny booth. Hatate leaned back in the seat, taking in the scent and letting her shoulders sag against the back of the chair.

“I think that stuff’s grown on me. Just smelling it’s relaxing enough.”

The human slid his fingers across the arch of her foot, digging in gently this time. “Are you saying I should get into aromatherapy instead?”

Hatate shrugged her shoulders and laughed softly. Her wings wiggled ever so slightly. “Either way, I’d still be a customer.”

He didn’t respond right away. Even though he wanted to whoop and run like a boy, possessed by the joy of those words, Hatate’s p

Mid-day was often the busiest time of day for most. Not so at the little shop. The noonday sun shone brightly into the shop front, casting few shadows. When had the last customer been? The human behind the counter could hardly recall. It felt like ages, in any case.

The broom was just in his hands when a shadow did fall across the shop’s threshold. There was a familiarity about it. From the roof-like cap to the protrusion of wings, there were few known to the human that the caller could be. The way this one carried themselves narrowed it down. There was only one who swung her hips that way when she walked.

“Miss Shameimaru!” he called before turning to confirm his hunch.

Shameimaru Aya, truest of crows who had alighted here, stood at the shoe rack, wings still half-unfurled from flight. By way of greeting, she proffered a newspaper to the human, and he graciously accepted.

“At your service.” She paused, then smiled at the human, eyes half-lidded in jest. “Or I guess I have that backwards, don’t I? You’re at my service.”

“As long as your coin’s good.”

As Aya sidled up to the counter, the human set the ‘menu’ down in front of her. She hardly needed to glance at it, but it was the offer that mattered; she’d jokingly complain if he didn’t. From her pocket, she pulled a coin purse, unsnapped it, and dumped a few coins out. He already knew from the amount what she wanted.

She smirked. “This coin still good?”

“Hasn’t lost its lustre, it looks like.” He swept the coins off the counter without examining them, as he might have done before in a returning jest. The mere joy of having a customer — and one he had to admit he was fond of — had dulled any need for that. “Pardon me, I’ll get the chair.”

Chair, footrest, and hot towels. The basic setup was trivial, but the human found himself getting to it with a vigour he found hard to muster elsewise. When he guided Aya to the booth, his hand fixed itself to her shoulder. She stopped with a questioning glance at his hand and then at him. Suddenly, it occurred to him what the matter was, and he quickly withdrew his

Three turns cold, one and three-quarters turns hot. That was how she expected it, and I would hear no end of complaints if I didn't get it right. Something about her skin being 'sensitive'. I just thought she was a bit wimpy when it came to heat; it would certainly explain why her 'aircon' was always running.

Whatever the reason, it was my job to make sure the bath filled at just the right degree of lukewarm. She could just as well do it herself, but I was the one to do it, and that was that. So, I'd done as fine a job as my current motivation allowed. Just passable, in other words.

I popped my head out of the bathroom. "Hatate."

No answer. So she was in that sort of mood today.

"Miss Hatate," I tried.

Still nothing. I grumbled. If she was going to keep being this tart about a mild rebuke, gods forbid I ever see what a major disagreement would bring about.

Stalking around the corner, I found her still prone on her perennially laid-out futon, rapid clicking the only sound audible over the cloying noise of a 'radio' set adjacent. Her outside clothes were left in a loose pile next to the futon, leaving her in an oversized shirt and little else. Perhaps some other man would be excited by such a sight. To me, it was merely an annoyance.

'Working,' she called it. All it ever seemed to me was her messing about on that 'phone' of hers. She'd sit there half the day punching buttons if no one interrupted her.

I dodged several newly tied-up stacks of old magazines to make my way closer. Whatever counted for music coming out of that damned black box made it nearly impossible to hear my own thoughts. Steeling myself, I bent down and adjusted the racket down to a reasonable level. Hatate's pointed ears wiggled in reaction to the sudden absence of chaos in the air.

Still, she went on click-clacking. How her fingers never cramped, I couldn't guess. "I was listening to that."

"I need you to listen to me for a second, if that's alrig

[x] This is not who I am.

[X] I can’t explain-
You would not understand-
this is not who I am.

Just go home and watch anime buddy.

I can’t explain why I feel this way. As I stand here, underneath the mo(u)rning sun, the old man’s blood on my hands-

You would not understand. I don’t know what you’ve been through but at least you have family, friends, a fucking life!

This is not who I am. And there’s nowhere left for me to run.

I sway on my feet before regaining my balance. Such a strange feeling, lightheadedness- but I still have things to do. I can’t be here when the police show up.

Reaching down to the ground, I pick up the Sword of Hisou. It’s running low on energy and its tassel is stained with blood.

It’s an inanimate object. But somehow I get the feeling that if it could feel, it would be sad right now- a thing of legends, reduced to a butcher’s knife.

I begin the long walk back through the mansion. The urge to pay my respects to the old man is there, but I don’t even know where I’d begin. Sorry I killed you and all your men for money. No, not just the money, I wanted to feel alive again…

It’s funny. He clearly accepted his own death. He knew how I’d feel about this. He even warned me, pretty fucking clearly, that nothing awaited me.

Now, I’m Rank #10. Others will come after my rank now, punks with beam sabers bought cheap on Ebay, looking to get rich or slake their bloodthirst. It won’t matter how many I kill, they’ll just keep coming. Maybe that’s why the old man gave up.

It’s never going to end. I need to find the exit.

But how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even remember how I ended up in this shitheap to begin with?

Ah. I’m already outside, by the gate. Brooding like this makes you lose track of time. I hop back onto my bike, blood staining the handgrips as I rev the engine.

First things first. I need a shower- and new clothes. The blood’s already drying, so I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to wear this dress again.

---

Showered. Changed. Parked my butt on the couch, watching some incomprehensible show about magical r

Back when I had only seen some art from, and possibly the first preview of, the "Hifuu Club Activity Record – The Sealed Esoteric History" animation, somebody reminded me of a romantic song I had not listened to for quite a while.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NIMAGhrVJ9k

The inspiration led me to a lot of sweat, but the end result was a tribute of sorts to the makers of "The Sealed Esoteric History". Since I did not yet know what the animation was all about, I drew inspiration mainly from the story of "Yumetagae Kagaku Seiki – Changeability of Strange Dream" by Zun.

https://en.touhouwiki.net/wiki/Changeability_of_Strange_Dream

The song I used is "She’s a Mystery to Me", written by Bono and The Edge, recorded by Roy Orbison shortly before his death, and published posthumously in 1989.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmMcHcRAtmU


❧❧❧


Mystery World (2014)

1.

Darkness falls and she
will take me to her dream;
we’re the Ghostly Field Club team.
I whisper, “Come what may!”
for I can’t find my way
without her as my guide.
Night falls, we pass through the entrance.
Daylight comes, and fairies laugh and dance.
Are we butterflies
doomed to uncertainty?
It’s a mystery to me.

Refrain:

It’s a mystery world,
it’s a mystery world.

2.

Master sparks of love,
strange visions vague or clear,
beasts soon to disappear.
A blade so sharp it cuts
ten phantoms in one slice.
A dowser with her mice.
We hear the noise of threat

Mukyū returns.

Testing.

Art: Huángguā a.k.a. 黄瓜musci.

So... this time, I am going to share my very first Tōhō filk.

Like I told my fellow fans back in the days, the text is pretty mean. (»I’m just playin’, Suwako-chan! You know I love you!»)

The original song is "Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)" by The Offspring (1998). You will probably remember that IOSYS promotional videos were still dominating the scene when I wrote this one. I’m feeling retro all of a sudden.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZQ3FiKf09M


❧❧❧


Pretty Hot (For an Old God) (2011)


(Backing vocals by Ran & Chen where needed)

Eiki:

Unzan, Reisen, Meirin, Eirin!

Reimu & Marisa vs. Suwako:

Ribbit to me baby!
Kero, kero!
Ribbit to me baby!
Kero, kero!
Ribbit to me baby!
Kero, kero!
And all the girlies say I’m pretty hot for an old god!

Alice:

Eins, zwei, drei, guten Morgen, ii asa!

Yukari:

You know it’s kind of hard
Just to get along today
Our subject didn’t win
But she fakes it anyway
She may not have the power
But she does it loli style
And everything she lacks
Well she makes up in denial

So don’t debate, just gather faith
You know she clings to her delusions anyway
Gonna play ex-boss, and double-cross
For you no way, for you no way
So if you don’t rate, just overcompensate
At least you’ll know you can catch fish in the Misty Lake
The world needs wannabe gods (hey hey!)
Do your ancient thing

Rumia, Nitori & Suika vs. Suwako:

Ribbit to me baby!
Kero, kero!
Ribbit to me baby!
Kero, kero!
Ribbit to me baby!
Kero, kero!
And al

So originally i was gonna make a short story loosely connected to Watch Your Step.

Instead I ended up with this. Somehow,

Merry Christmas!

I found it charming. Thanks, OP

was cute. thank you, op. merry pissmas and a happy new queer!

XX


The Apollo 11 departs, and it won’t be coming again. In the end, it’s me, and seven other rabbits who survived. Did we even hurt those humans? Doesn’t matter. I got my helmet back at some point during all that... I take it off myself this time, shake out my ears, and fall down.

“That fighting reminded me of what I saw when we last went down to Earth,” says Keiun. “Humans... aren’t they just barbaric?”

I sigh and answer, “Never been, but yeah...” while picking myself up. It’s no time to rest, we’ve got comrades to bring back home and send off. I put my helmet on again, and with the others walk toward the dead I’d gathered while still fighting.

The next several hours are a blur, at the end of which I find myself seated behind a table before Lady Toyohime and Lady Yorihime inside the manor. They both look serious, for once.

“Those are the losses for certain, Ringo?” Lady Toyohime asks me.

“Yeah,” I say, looking at nothing in particular, “forty-one rabbits dead.”

“And eight who returned,” says Lady Yorihime, seemingly crossing her arms, “but that brings the count to forty-nine; we sent fifty of you.”

I look up, not at them, and gaze off to the side, sighing through my nose.

“We haven’t taken a survey of the names yet but,” whispers Lady Toyohime, before she addresses me in a normal tone, “Ringo? Did someone run away?”

“Reisen,” I say.

“R-Reisen did!?”

“Reisen!?”

The sisters look at one another, or I can guess that’s what they’re doing out the corner of my eye.

“Why!?” asks Lady Toyohime. I’m surprised she’s reacting stronger than Lady Yorihime. I slide down in my chair, fold my arms, and finally look at them.

“She was a scared rabbit,” I explain, “not a scared soldier.” And I think to myself, Is any rabbit a soldier?

“We can’t let this be acknowledged, Elder Sister,” says Lady Yorihime, turning to her elder, “At least not the whole truth of it.”

“You’re right...” the older Lunarian agrees. â€

>>2212
>>2213
musical accompaniments, if you'd like:
>I tune everyone out.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pIOOhj0wQE
"This Guy's In Love With You (orchestral)" by Burt Bacharach
"Ticket To Ride (instrumental)" by The Beatles.

>“Listen up!” shouts Lady Yorihime.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkJZVNC21Cw
SeeD, from Final Fantasy VIII

>This is Reisen, the vanguard is nearing the opposite shore of Tranquility.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DruLLOO6Vq0
Emil - Despair, from NieR: Automata

>A sobbing runaway enters the Bamboo Forest of the Lost
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Egn_VNVKzI4
The Weight of the World/English Version, NieR: Automata

DDLs: https://mega.nz/#F!1BdBzIKZ!bhLzijfM3iyphpueDOKf0g

>>2213
that pic...
only now do I see its error

The boy awoke with a jolt and a yelp of surprise as something slapped him in the face. After a moment of confused fumbling, he found it to be his own clothes - clean, mended and toasty warm.

The fairy smiled at her sleepyheaded guest from the doorway, then floated serenely away.

The boy quickly changed. The warmth of the clothes helped keep the chill of the underground air at bay, at least for the time being. Carefully inspecting his bad leg, he found it to be almost entirely lacking in feeling still. It would be a while before he walked again, it seemed.

As he swung his legs, both good and bad, over the side of the bed, and pondered how he was going to proceed, he spied something leaning on the wall beside the bed. It was a cane of sorts, roughly fashioned of the same pale, bonelike substance he'd encountered twice already. It seemed tall for him at first, but as he rose and braced himself against it, he found the oddly-shaped top nestled perfectly under his shoulder.

Memory and a luminescent blush returned as he recalled that his hostess had a very good idea of his proportions - and he of hers.

With surprising ease once he got used to the odd arrangement, he made his way to the dining room, or at least the one he supposed to be it - the one with the table. He found it without difficulty, but it proved to be devoid of fairy. As if sensing his thoughts, however, she promptly appeared at one of the other doors, carrying another bowl of food.

"Good morning," they boy said automatically as he maneuvered awkardly into his chair.

"Good morning."

The boy started. The fairy's voice was as unearthly as her appearance, an unholy union of a whisper and a moan, like the wind howling through an old, decrepit house. It was at once appropriately childlike and much too deep for her.

"You can talk," he blurted out.

The fairy gave him a Look.

"...you never talked before," he added lamely.

"I could say the same about you," she replied.

"...sorry," he mumbled.

The fairy said

The boy quickly lost count of the days he spent in the fairy's care. It wasn't that they were many - he still woke confused by his strange surroundings - but here in the silent, gloomy underground world, 'day' held very little meaning. Whatever clock by which the residents of this strange little community rose and slept, if indeed there was one, was hidden from him.

Boredom, too, played a part. His hostess was clearly no idle hand and left him often to his own devices. During those times he had naught but books for company, for she would not hear of him leaving the house until his leg was mended and he could walk unaided. Of the times when she remained, she would occasionally entertain him with the board game she had purchased (so she said) especially for his sake; but just as often she would take it upon herself to further his understanding of the written word, or fill other gaps in his learning.

She was, the boy thought to himself, altogether too motherly. He resented none of it, though; for while she would occasionally mock his ignorance, when he all-too-frequently failed to keep it in check, she never belittled the boy himself. He was a guest in her house, no more and no less; though she clearly had the wisdom and responsibility, if not the appearance, of an adult, she never once treated him as a child.

It was a new and sobering experience. It was also very effective; he desired so much to earn the respect given him that he studied harder under her than he ever had in his life.

Though it had to be said that respect was perhaps not the only thing he desired: their continued shared bathing was driving him to levels of arousal he had no idea how to deal with. He certainly enjoyed these times, and eventually even overcame his embarassment about them, but her indifference left him floundering. He understood enough to know that she could not possibly have failed to notice, and yet she showed no sign of either reciprocation or rejection.

In this matter he was most certainly a child, and he knew it.

But then one morning - if indeed it was a morning - something finally happened to take his mind off things.

I actually finished these ages ago but forgot to fucking post them. I hate my life.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Hellooo~? This still works right?




　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Hearing you loud and clear.

　　　　　　　　You hear what they’re saying?
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　How couldn’t you? Nobody will shut up about it.

　　　　　All rabbits of the Partridge Unit, please respond.　　　　　　　　　Going to the sea tomorrow, should be fun.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　We still hidden?　　　　　　　We are.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Quit it with that. Yeah, you.　　　Present.
　　　　　　　　　Present.　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　I’m honestly...
　　　Yeah, I’m here. 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　Present.　　　　　　　　　　I’m honestly kinda scared.
　　　　　　　　　　　　Lady Yorihime is asking for you.　　　　　　　　　Crap! Ahh, shit! 　 　Lady Yorihime!?
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Hey, we all are.
　　　　　　　　Seiran sneaks mochi from the pounders when no one’s around.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　You alright?　　　　　 　 　 　 　 　　　　　Hey! I don’t!
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Yeah.　　　　　　　　　　They aren’t interfering with these channels? What a relief...
　　　　　Ke~gare kegare~!　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　They already landed. What’re we gonna do?
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Hey, cut that out, that’s not funny.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　It’s kinda funny.　　　　　　　　Stop using the coms to talk about eating mochi.
　　　They’re humans.　　　　All of them?　　　　　　All of them. 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　YUM YUM MOCHI’S GREAT S

XX


The Apollo 11 departs, and it won’t be coming again. In the end, it’s me, and seven other rabbits who survived. Did we even hurt those humans? Doesn’t matter. I got my helmet back at some point during all that... I take it off myself this time, shake out my ears, and fall down.

“That fighting reminded me of what I saw when we last went down to Earth,” says Keiun. “Humans... aren’t they just barbaric?”

I sigh and answer, “Never been, but yeah...” while picking myself up. It’s no time to rest, we’ve got comrades to bring back home and send off. I put my helmet on again, and with the others walk toward the dead I’d gathered while still fighting.

The next several hours are a blur, at the end of which I find myself seated behind a table before Lady Toyohime and Lady Yorihime inside the manor. They both look serious, for once.

“Those are the losses for certain, Ringo?” Lady Toyohime asks me.

“Yeah,” I say, looking at nothing in particular, “forty-one rabbits dead.”

“And eight who returned,” says Lady Yorihime, seemingly crossing her arms, “but that brings the count to forty-nine; we sent fifty of you.”

I look up, not at them, and gaze off to the side, sighing through my nose.

“We haven’t taken a survey of the names yet but,” whispers Lady Toyohime, before she addresses me in a normal tone, “Ringo? Did someone run away?”

“Reisen,” I say.

“R-Reisen did!?”

“Reisen!?”

The sisters look at one another, or I can guess that’s what they’re doing out the corner of my eye.

“Why!?” asks Lady Toyohime. I’m surprised she’s reacting stronger than Lady Yorihime. I slide down in my chair, fold my arms, and finally look at them.

“She was a scared rabbit,” I explain, “not a scared soldier.” And I think to myself, Is any rabbit a soldier?

“We can’t let this be acknowledged, Elder Sister,” says Lady Yorihime, turning to her elder, “At least not the whole truth of it.”

“You’re right...” the older Lunarian agrees. â€

>>664
>He's just a fag that doesn't write anymore because his mental instability and life issues got the better of him and came crashing down.
Who is 90% of THP's writers?

good thread

>>2192
sage, nooblet - do you speaketh it!?