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My Mistress loves to eat.

Each day, I prepare enough food to feed at least three large families, and each day she single-handedly devours every single thing placed in front of her. She is a kind Mistress, but eccentric, and prone to acts of whimsy. And so, I do everything within my power to fulfill any request she may make of me, however ridiculous it may be.

As she consumed her mid-morning snack of fried tengu egg seasoned with ground hakutaku horn, washed down with a pitcher of pur?ed curry, I recounted the events of my morning shopping trip. She seldom shows any sign of listening, but it's better than silently listening to the disgusting sounds of gnawing and slurping as she practically inhales her meals. Just as I was telling her of my run-in with that immortal girl, fresh from what looked to be a rather brutal and violent fight with the aliens. A fight that she lost, if her injuries were any indication.


From her tone, I can already tell she wants me to do something.
I can barely contain my sense of dread.

"For tonight's dinner, I think I would like some liver. Ooh! With onions! Liver and onions, Youmu!"

Liver and onions? I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing! My Mistress was, for once, requesting something conventional! No exotic ingredients, no outlandish recipes, just a simple meal of liver and onions?

Eager to get started before she could change her mind, I rushed out to gather everything I would need. After all, how difficult could it be to find some good liver?

...quite difficult, as it turns out.
Despite my best efforts, despite checking every shop that could possibly sell what I wanted, I couldn't find anyone selling liver!
Kidneys, gizzards, hearts, lungs! Just about any organ you could ask for could be found for sale; all but the one I sought!

If I did not know any better, I would have suspected my Mistress knew what she had asked for was nowhere to be found, and requested it for precisely that reason.
As fond as she was of her jokes and pointless errands, though, she would never make light of her meals. If she says she wants something, then she truly wants it, and asks because she knows it is possible to acquire.

Yet, no matter how much I ask, I cannot find a single merchant with liver to sell!

I did not know what I could do!

My Mistress is kind, but hopelessly obstinate. When she decides she wants something, she is unable to rest until she finally gets it.
Which is to say, I will be unable to rest until she gets it.
She will whine, and pout, and stare at me with those pitiful eyes, and I do not want to face that under any circumstances.

But I can't find any! I can't find any of the liver she wants!
Where am I supposed to find her liver, when there is no liver to be found?

It was then that I remembered the Immortal, wounded and bleeding on the ground...

That night, my Mistress praised me
"It's the best dinner I've had in centuries!" she told me. "Just delicious!"
So pleased was she with her meal, that she even offered me a taste.
I politely refused, saying I was not hungry.
How could I be, after what I did?

After my Mistress retired for the night, I went back to my own room, and tried to meditate. But, all I could think about was what I had done. Despite all the washing, I could still feel the blood on my hands.

It was then, that I heard the voice.

?Who has my liver?? it asked. ?Who has it??

I was just imagining that, wasn't I?
Was this a dream?

Then, I heard it again. Closer, this time.

?Who has my liver?? it asked. ?Who has it??

Something is wrong. It couldn't really be her, could it?
It's impossible! It's impossible for her to be here!
Unless she became a-

?Who has my liver?? it asked. ?Who has it??

Even closer, this time.
I don't want to be here.
Go away! Go away!
I don't have it!
I don't have it!
I don't have your liver!

Now, the voice was right next to me.
?Who has my liver?? it asked. ?Who has it??

Barely able to move, I thrust my arm out and point towards the room of my Mistress. "She does!" I yell. ?She has your liver!."

"She does~?" it asks, with a familiar giggle. "I hope it will be just as delicious as the last one~!

Turning towards the voice, I see my Mistress floating beside me, smiling like she always does when she plays a prank on me. That stupid, stupid smile.

And then I screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.
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Happy Halloween!
Poor Youmu.
oh god. Why do you have to haunt me like that.
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One night, I awoke to feel a strange tickling sensation upon my face. Wondering what it could be, I open my eyes to find, of all things, a spider looking back at me.
Silently cursing my forgetfulness in ensuring my windows were all firmly locked, I remain completely still as she continues to make her way across my face, her fingers lightly tickling my cheek.


I say nothing, not wanting to even risk provoking her into biting. Though difficult, I remind myself that spiders seldom attack unless they feel threatened, and most of the time they are more afraid of you than you are of them.


...or so I try to tell myself, as she leans in, and I feel her on my neck. If this was fear I was feeling from her, it was a form of fear that was entirely foreign to me, completely unlike the far more familiar nervousness I feel welling up inside me.
It was all I could do to keep from yelping as I felt her brush past my ear.

Stay calm. She isn't going to hurt you.

I repeat the words in my head, over and over, like a mantra.
There was nothing to be afraid of. Spiders don't eat people, after all. They eat insects. Bugs. Small things.
Sure, I have heard tales of larger spiders being able to eat small bird, and even rodents, but surely they cannot eat anything as large as a human, right?

Granted, as spiders go, this one does seem to be quite large. Unnaturally so, in fact.
But, surely that is just my own imagination playing tricks on me! Anything, no matter how small, would obviously seem much bigger when it's right in your face! That's only natural!
Clearly, I was simply allowing my imagination to get the better of me in thinking there could be such a thing as a human-sized spider, just as I was allowing it to make me think I could feel her breath on my face.

What was it doing?

I could only wonder as I suddenly felt something warm pressing against my cheek.
Perhaps she was resting?
I assumed so, as a moment later the sensation was gone.
Glancing around my room, I could see no sign of my little visitor. No sign of anything amiss, aside from an open window.
Letting out a sigh of relief mixed with irritation, I get out of bed and close the window, wondering if it had all just been a dream.
Yes, that had to be it. It was all a dream. A vivid and strangely-arousing dream.

Telling myself that, I crawled back into bed, and went back to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and went about my usual business, only to discover an unusual red spot had appeared where I had felt the spider resting the night before. Realizing that I had not been dreaming, I immediately became worried. What if the spider was poisonous? Like, really poisonous?

Tracking down the medicine peddler was simple enough. A girl with ears like that is easy to pick out in a crowd. Getting her to actually look at me long enough to see what I was talking about, let alone say anything about it was took a bit more effort, but ultimately she told me it looked like an ordinary spider bite and that it should go away in a few days as long as I don't scratch it..

Or, at least, I think that's what she said. It was hard to tell, for some reason.

Regardless, it was enough to put my mind at ease, and I went about the rest of my day without giving it another thought.

As the says go by, however, the spot does not disappear. If anything, it seems to have grown, and become slightly painful. Once again worried, I again tracked down the medicine-selling bunny-girl, and asked her about it. After more coaxing, and mutterings about how such-and-such isn't really her job or something like that, she finally relents and looks at the sore on my face, and once again gives me a vague assurance that there was nothing to worry about. It was just coming to a head, and I should be doubly careful not to scratch or otherwise irritate it.

Feeling once again reassured by her words, even though I suspected she may have just wanted to get rid of me because I was clearly not going to buy anything, I again went about my usual business, and tried my best to ignore the pain.

As more days pass, though, it becomes clear that the sore isn't getting any better. Now quite large, painful, and looking quite unsightly, I could no longer believe that there wasn't something wrong. Seeking out the medicine-rabbit a third time, I tell her that I think my sore has become infected, and ask her about seeing the doctor. Judging by her gasp of shock and barely-concealed revulsion, I could tell she agreed, and she told me she would inform her master of my problem, but that she would not be able to see me until the next day. Realizing I had no choice but to wait until then, I returned home and decided to take a hot bath to distract myself from the painful throbbing of my cheek.

Though the pain persisted as I soaked in the warmth of the water, I still could not deny that it felt good. Were it not for the steady throbbing, it would be quite relaxing.
If only it weren't for the throbbing.

That steady, constant throbbing, that was not going away, no matter how much time passed in the bath.
If anything, it seemed to be getting worse, growing more and more painful as the minutes went by.



With a final agonizing throb, I feel the sore on my cheek burst like an over-sized pimple, the abrupt release of pressure feeling both painful yet pleasant as I feel something falling down my cheek and into the water.


Falling, and screaming.

With a sudden feeling of dread, I look down and see them.


Dozens of tiny little spiders, floating and splashing about in the water. Shaking my head in horror, a couple more fall from my cheek and join their sisters in their sudden bath, and I realize what had happened.

As I watch them seemingly adapt to the situation and begin to frolic about like children at a pool, their tiny cries of shock and fear giving way to playful shouts and giggling, I feel a tightness in my chest, and barely notice the single spider that had not fallen making its way up my face. Even as it stopped upon the tip of my nose, looking me right in the eyes, I could do nothing but remain frozen in terror and clutch at my chest as it seems to almost smile at me.


The last sound I hear as I lose consciousness is my own pained grunting, as I desperately grasp at my heart.
HorrorAnon. I love you. You are a god.
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This is that Spider Zit story from one of those "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" books I read as a kid! You know, the book series that had all those scary stories, like the one involving those kids on the island with the crazy plant life?
Totally not sure if I'm supposed to be shitting my pants because I'm arachnophobic or not. Not sure if scary, or cute.
Yeah, That's what I thought it sounded like too. Especially with the opening.

Either way, Nice job HorrorAnon for making anothre Anon shit himself.
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Twas the night before Christmas, when in THP,
There were writers not writing, far as I could see.
The votes had all been copy-pasted with care,
In hopes that an update soon would be there.

The Cabal were nestled all snug in their chat,
Debating the silliness of Remi's hat.
Their discussions of dicks, and wars robots wage,
And occasional rants fueled by drunken rage.

When out from the /forest/ there rose such a clatter,
I clicked on the link to see what was the matter.
Away to the new tab, I went with pizazz,
Still mourning the day that /blue killed the smooth jazz.

And there, with my wondering eyes I do spy,
A throng of stalled stories, one can't help but sigh.
Alas, in contrast to that sight most distressing,
The Story List, truly, is downright depressing.

As slow as molasses, their updates became,
That cadre of writers, too many to name;
Now, Patchwork! Now, glasnost! Now Taisa and Lion!
Oh, Sanaek! Fallout Guy! Norseman! We're cryin'!

Be they tales of adventure, or smut of were-cow,
Just write away! Right away! Write away, now!
As Yuuka may dream on her field of sunflowers,
So, too, does Anon dream of sweet Patchy showers!

Nue-brand shenanigans! Ran-tails abound!
And don't get me started on poor /underground/!
Be it KID or ULA, what are we to do?
I fear they've been eaten by whatever got Grue!

At this point, at the risk of appearing lazy,
I must end this now, as my vision grows hazy.
Though I hope the point's made with this holiday bit,
I admit that, as parodies go, it's quite shit.

It's not all that faithful, the pace is unsteady,
And this poem's been parodied here once already.
But now, at the end, I'd be remiss to omit:
?Merry Christmas to all, now update, goddamn it!?
Nice. Though, I think Taisa and glasnost are on a different level than Lion.
Professionally done.
Nice but you know, /forest/ isn't completely dead, just mostly. I can't say that for /border/ though since Patchwork left it.
>different levels
Lower or higher?
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You better not sleep,
You better not fly,
Better stay home, I'm telling you why;
Seiga Claus is coming to town!

She's making a list,
And checking it twice;
Deciding what stuff might fetch a nice price,
Seiga Claus is coming to town!

She sees where you have hidden,
All that you hope she won't find;
It won't matter one iota,
She'll still rob you fucking blind!

So you better watch out,
You better not roam,
You better pray her pet zombie stayed home!
Seiga Claus is coming to town!
Dammit OP, I enjoyed this too much. You might as well add Rabbit to these,

Thread Watcher x