A noble, obviously. Anyone who votes for peasant is a liar.
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What would you rather be: a peasant, or a noble?
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LOVE in Type-Moon - Now With 64% More Yandere
Hello, friends. Write here somewhat interesting thoughts about the theme of Love in Nasu. More or less everything is fair game: what ur waifu's Love represents, what Love means for the characters themselves, if and how Love is treated differently in different TM works, if and how Love is important in TM... blablabla.
Just a few restrictions.
1)If possible I must ask you to not make of this another ungodly Sexism In VNs Which Boils Down To How Sexist Shirou Is For Calling Saber A Girl. You might have noticed that we're not precisely lacking in threads where to do that.
2)Oh and this is not kinks thread, so similarly don't start derailing about lemon ideas. Especially if you don't plan on ever writing them ;_;
3)This is not the unconventional pairings thread either, since we have one already. So avoid "I think that X and Y would make for a cute couple".
4)We have already established that Nasu H scenes aren't precisely the best. We can do without going one more time to the target range to shoot at Ciel H and the Fate threesome, ok?
5)While it's certainly proper to be a good waifuist as God intended, try not to make this the repository for your waifu fantasies.
Have fun
Just a few restrictions.
1)If possible I must ask you to not make of this another ungodly Sexism In VNs Which Boils Down To How Sexist Shirou Is For Calling Saber A Girl. You might have noticed that we're not precisely lacking in threads where to do that.
2)Oh and this is not kinks thread, so similarly don't start derailing about lemon ideas. Especially if you don't plan on ever writing them ;_;
3)This is not the unconventional pairings thread either, since we have one already. So avoid "I think that X and Y would make for a cute couple".
4)We have already established that Nasu H scenes aren't precisely the best. We can do without going one more time to the target range to shoot at Ciel H and the Fate threesome, ok?
5)While it's certainly proper to be a good waifuist as God intended, try not to make this the repository for your waifu fantasies.
Have fun
↧
↧
[Fate / Grand Order] Cetacea
Cetacea
a complete Fate / Grand Order oneshot
by fallacies
At the final confrontation with the King of Magicians, certain truths come to light. Fortunately, Gudako is familiar with the oldest Mystery in the world.
Q1. What if he had an accomplice?
Q2. Why isn't Chaldea 201X considered a Singularity as well?
Q3. Isn't it kind of unfair that you only get to take six Servants into battle?
Q4. When the truth is known only to the Devil, can we trust him to tell it straight?
Q5. Who was it that told us about the outside world being destroyed, again?
Q6. If the future isn't set in stone, how can fate exist?
Q7. If Servants are static existences, why do these fights get harder all the time?
Q8. You do realize he was crucified as a political dissident, right?
Q9. So, when is it appropriate to draw the card you've hidden up your sleeve?
Q10. If he can incarnate himself so easily, how is the Third Magic still worth anything?
Q11. Did you really expect to win on rhetoric alone?
Q12. How much Quartz can you recover from the belly of a whale?
Q13. Does it hurt more if I slap your face with a wad of hundred-dollar bills?
A. A victory purchased is no victory at all.
Q2. Why isn't Chaldea 201X considered a Singularity as well?
Q3. Isn't it kind of unfair that you only get to take six Servants into battle?
Q4. When the truth is known only to the Devil, can we trust him to tell it straight?
Q5. Who was it that told us about the outside world being destroyed, again?
Q6. If the future isn't set in stone, how can fate exist?
Q7. If Servants are static existences, why do these fights get harder all the time?
Q8. You do realize he was crucified as a political dissident, right?
Q9. So, when is it appropriate to draw the card you've hidden up your sleeve?
Q10. If he can incarnate himself so easily, how is the Third Magic still worth anything?
Q11. Did you really expect to win on rhetoric alone?
Q12. How much Quartz can you recover from the belly of a whale?
Q13. Does it hurt more if I slap your face with a wad of hundred-dollar bills?
A. A victory purchased is no victory at all.
Servant Profiles
This was supposed to have been done by April Fools. Because it wasn't, I now have some pictures to go with it. Note that the genre is technically mystery/humor, and that the story doesn't wholly consist of Gudako talking Solomon to death.
This thread will be updated roughly once or twice a day until the conclusion of the story. As always, feel free to comment! It makes the writing easier.
~/{+}/~
Q1. What if he had an accomplice?
It's a closed-circle mystery.
You're stranded in a research laboratory deep within the Alps, six thousand meters above sea level. After a series of explosions rock the building and kill or severely injure the majority of your coworkers, the man who claims responsibility declares that a great cataclysm has befallen the world beyond. Communications outside the facility are cut not because of interference or sabotage, but because the rest of humanity is now dead.
You think he might be lying. Nothing so ridiculous could actually be true, right?
Wrong.
Your immediate superior -- the senior-most member of the surviving staff -- confirms the murderer's claims as soon as things begin to calm down. There is no escape; there is no out; there is no future.
Your sole hope, he tells you, is the path that you forge with your own two hands -- because there can exist only a single truth. The foundations of the Common Sense of Man are under threat. Unless you secure their continued existence, the world that you've known your entire life will be invalidated.
Reclaim the past. Rebuild the future. Deliver the world from the fate of annihilation. As one amongst the last representatives of humanity, it's your duty and obligation to fight the Shadows.
This is the Rite of Succession: The Grand Order.
Carried away by the heat of rhetoric, your multitude of questions are momentarily forgotten. By the time you recall them again, it dawns on you that you've perhaps committed a grave error ...
~/{+}/~
Q2. Why isn't Chaldea 201X considered a Singularity as well?
Contrary to expectations, the first and final singularity isn't at the dawn of the Consensus of Man. It's far closer to home -- in the halls of Chaldea itself.
Accessed with full administrator privileges, courtesy of Da Vinci-chan's hacking, the three servers of TRISMEGISTUS officially designate the pseudo-holographic projection of CHALDEAS in the Command Center as the concealed 'Singularity i' -- the number before zero. Even though the hardware within the chamber should've been destroyed in the explosion that killed poor Olga-Marie, facility-wide metering of energy demands indicates that systems somehow remain operational.
Proceeding with caution, you advance to the heart of the laboratory with Mashu, Da Vinci, and three of your best fighters in tow. Your final companion is a cloaked Servant, recently summoned, but fully ascended.
What awaits at destination is the termination of the Great War.
~/{+}/~
Q3. Isn't it kind of unfair that you only get to take six Servants into battle?
Those of your companions who survived the first wave of demons now gather about you protectively, bleeding as they warily regard the twisting appendages that grow from the chamber's damaged walls -- which wreathe nest-like about the crimson sphere overhead. The King of Magicians paces forth from amidst the creatures, smiling with a maddened gleam in his eyes.
"You've done well to discern the true form of CHALDEAS, Daughter of Eve," he says, addressing you. "In the end, however, this changes nothing. By the Original Sin, the fate of man is long foreordained. The Day of Judgment comes."
At this point, you can't help but smile.
"Actually," you say, "this changes everything."
~/{+}/~
Q4. When the truth is known only to the Devil, can we trust him to tell it straight?
"Sempai ... ?" Mashu asks, looking to you with obvious worry.
"You know," you say, "for a long time, I wondered why Professor Lev would even bother to sabotage Chaldea. If the destruction of humanity is inevitable, we'd all just fall over and die without his intervention, right? It's a completely unnecessary effort."
Solomon's eyes narrow.
"Those overtaken by the logic of demons are wont to prioritize their base-most desires," he says. "Efficiency and necessity are constructs that exist only within the Common Sense of Man."
"'Lev's actions make no sense because the devil made him do it,'" you paraphrase. "But that's the thing, see? You and your people say all of this stuff, and we're just supposed to take it -- as if your honesty's utterly beyond question. How do we know if any of it's true? How do we know you aren't just lying?"
Solomon chuckles.
"I have no reason to lie," he says, spreading his arms. "You survive yet solely because I choose to humor you. But if indeed you wish to entertain this fantasy of yours, out of mercy and generosity, I should deign to hear you out. Come. Tell me why Lev Reinol Flauros would sabotage Chaldea."
"It's very simple," you say. "He wanted to paint a picture."
~/{+}/~
Q5. Who was it that told us about the outside world being destroyed, again?
"Why didn't he just kill everyone?" you ask rhetorically. "He was one of the chief architects of the organization, and Olga-Marie trusted him entirely. If he wanted to collapse the laboratory and kill everyone inside, nobody would've been able to stop him."
"You mean ... Professor Lev wanted us to survive?" asked Mashu. "He just wanted us to suffer, or something?"
"Maybe he was possessed," you answer, playing devil's advocate to your own argument. "Maybe every act he committed was just arbitrarily malicious. If the world is ending, and humanity's doomed no matter what, that's a perfectly reasonable answer. On the other hand, that would make talking about his motives pretty much meaningless -- so let's categorically disregard this as a possibility. Let's assume for a moment that he was acting rationally, for a specific reason. Of the members of the Foundation with compatibility to the leyshift system, why would he eliminate everyone except us?"
"Because we aren't very highly ranked within the Foundation?" asks Mashu.
"No," you answer. "Because we're gullible. Because, as novices in the practice of magecraft, we served his needs as an audience."
"Hoh?" says Solomon, smiling in amusement. "And why would Lev Reinol Flauros require an audience?"
"Da Vinci-chan," you say, looking to the older girl. "Are you capable of confirming the status of the environment outside Chaldea via magecraft?"
Da Vinci frowns.
"I've told you before, Gudako-chan," she says. "Even if I was summoned as a Caster, I'm an artist and scientist foremost. I do have a comprehensive understanding of modern thaumaturgical theory, but actual magecraft aside from my capabilities as a Servant isn't something that I can perform."
"And what about you, Mashu?" you ask.
Embarrassed, Mashu looks away.
"Um ... I've been practicing ... but no, I can't."
"So," you say. "Why precisely are we under the impression that the world outside of Chaldea is gone?" You make a gesture with your hands. "That's right. Because Professor Lev said so, and because we can't independently determine otherwise."
"But didn't Doctor Roman confirm what he said?" asks Mashu.
"No," you answer. "If you think back, he told us that communications were down, and that nobody who ventured outside came back. Everything else he stated was explicitly conjecture. 'It's possible that the entire world is already dead,' and 'what Lev said might not be a lie,' and so forth."
Between her bangs, Mashu's visible eye widens.
"That means-"
"That means," you continue, "that aside from Professor Lev's testimony, we have absolutely zero evidence that the world outside is in fact destroyed. I can't confirm otherwise. Neither can you or Da Vinci-chan." You pause. "But you know, it's curious. There is one person at Chaldea that should've been able to tell us more about the situation. In fact, he even studied with Professor Lev during his apprenticeship at the Clock Tower."
"Doctor Useless, you mean?" asks Da Vinci, incredulous.
You nod.
"Don't you find it odd?" you ask. "Doctor Roman's a graduate of the Clock Tower, but his initial response to Professor Lev's statements amounted to telling us a handful of facts we could've confirmed entirely without his expertise in magecraft. He also happens to be the only remaining staff member with administrative access to SHIVA -- a system capable of observing the exterior of the facility. However, we've only ever seen him using his privileges to investigate other time periods."
Glancing across the chamber, you meet Solomon's gaze.
"I'd say it's incredibly convenient that every other staff member potentially capable of calling out Professor Lev on his bullshit happened to be right here in the Command Center when the bombs went off." Theatrically, you press a hand to your chest, pretending to be shocked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that Doctor Roman's starting to sound a lot like an accomplice. Wouldn't you agree, King of Magicians?"
You smile.
"Or should I say, Romani Eichemann?"
~/{+}/~
~ Next post in about 5 hours.
↧
How do you pronounce gif?
A hard g, like in garden, grape, and golf; or a soft g, like in gym, gerbil, and giant?
↧
Post the image song of the poster above you
Shit on your friend
Also shit on your enemies
Reveal your terrible, terrible taste in music
Forum games
Also shit on your enemies
Reveal your terrible, terrible taste in music
Forum games
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↧
What Is Sacrosanct [Kara no Kyoukai] [lemon]
“Diligence begins in the morning. After you wake and see to your hygiene, put your neighbors in order as well. Deliver the proper greeting to your dormitory mother before taking your breakfast. What’s that about Sundays? Oh, of course. On Sundays, you may feel free to wake an hour early to attend morning Mass.”
-Riesbyfe Stridberg, Mother Superior
Azaka wriggled out of her warm cocoon. The hands of the clock put her at fifteen minutes to six. Other students relished the chance to sleep in for even a second more, but she shrugged off her blankets and marched to the bathroom. She popped her toothbrush out of its case and into her mouth, dousing the morning staleness in sharp mint. Spit, rinse, and done. Dampened by sweat, a wrinkled chemise clung to her sides. It sailed onto a hook on the door alongside her underwear. And then into the shower.
The Reien Academy taps ran two ways: lukewarm and freezing. Austerity demanded that everybody cope. Most did. That is, the stupid ones. Every last student was born to comfort, specifically in the form of the heated bath. The early-risers worked together to heat water in kettles, one boiling while the other bathed. One girl smuggled in a compact boiler and leased it out to her building. That boiler, now quite charred, had taken the blame for the recent dorm fire. A convenient scapegoat, though it deterred nobody from trying again.
Before turning on the tap, Azaka pulled on a leathery brown glove. The water gushed through the pipes and the first icy droplets began their descent. Azaka held up her hand.
“Pianissimo.” A snap of the fingers.
The water around her flashed into steam. A wrinkle in her brow, a slow breath, and she reapplied the Magecraft. The result: a perfect sprinkle of hot water. With a sigh of satisfaction, she began to rinse.
It was a cheap use of magic, but she didn’t have a reason to skimp on comfort.
A quick dab of conditioner on the ends of her hair, and then a rinse. The heavy strands were plastered against her back. She let them sit a moment while the warm water poured down. She sucked in the humid air, and rinsed. scalp, massaging the roots of her hair. A small squirt of shampoo worked into a rich lather with a rich strawberry scent. Then, a rinse.
With her eyes closed, a little imagination could go a long way. The touch of a man’s hands, trailing down her back. The cascade of hot water that enwrapped her just might have been his body, clinging to her in a singular expression of the most illicit passion. Everything was warmer, all of a sudden. She was feeling a familiar heat between her legs; even the steam in the stall was thicker. Water that was comfortable now bordered on scalding.
She caught herself before her fingers could reach. The heat of the moment was smothered by shame for her lack of self-control. Forced back to calm efficiency, she continued the shower. In the long term, her goal was the same, but it would be undignified to carelessly enjoy her dreams. Quietly, unobtrusively, she would continue to play a proper role, until her facade could pass for the real thing. She grabbed a bottle of gel soap and scrubbed it into a lather. Though her fancies were impure, nothing stopped her from enjoying a good wash. Just as she started her final rinse, a knock came from the door.
“Azaka, are you finished in there?”
She paused. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since she entered, and what was Fujino doing awake so early anyway? She’d normally have to be pulled out of bed to get up before seven. Unless the was clock wrong?
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Er, it’s five fifty six, but, that’s not it. The dorm mother is asking for you.” So very imperative.
The towel made a few hasty passes until most of her skin was dry. She grabbed her uniform, set out the previous night and tugged it on, one piece after another.
A final check in the mirror, and she was off. Maybe her hair was a little damp, and maybe her underclothes weren’t in perfect order, but it would do. She’d gotten very good at making things happen in a hurry. Image was everything, after all. Sometimes, when things of a delicate nature occupied her interest, things that started with a little touch and a bit of wild imagination, she could speed through the remainder of her morning routine like a flustered and breathless tornado. Some things did end up out of order but it was only the one time, and nobody had noticed that her brassiere was on backward anyway.
Azaka left, exiting the bathroom with a whoosh of humid air. Fujino blinked away the afterimage. She stifled a yawn and trundled into the bathroom. All in all, it was quite convenient for her. The bathwater was still hot.
At the dorm mother’s office, Azaka knocked twice and then waited at attention. After a moment, the wizened old lady opened the door. The slow creak might have been the hinges, but it could have just as easily have been the ancient nun’s elbows.
“Yeees?” she asked, barely moving her lips. “Ah, miss Azaka.”
Not a-za-ka, but instead, uh-ZAH-ka. The nun was from Ireland, and had spent her many years in many places. Now she considered herself above pedestrian things like pronunciation. Her tendency to fall asleep with her eyes open had caused some problems, including one mishap with the housing records that had landed no fewer than fifteen freshman students into the same room. But the students had worked around this in a few weeks, and divided the paperwork amongst themselves. The old lady was a decorative object, like the potted plants or the cheap reproductions of religious art.
“Yes, Mother Alcott. I came at once when I heard you wanted to see me.”
“Hmm, yes, I believe the Mother Superior requested I send you over last night. I meant to tell you after dinner, but I must have drifted off...Well, it’s no matter, I’m sure. Just make your way over to her office now. Ah, since you’re here, perhaps you could also deliver these documents? I know she’s wanted them for some time.” Hefting a stack of manilla folders, she pushed them into her hands.
Though her smile was wearing paper thin, Azaka managed to force out some words. “Of course, Mother Alcott. I’d be happy to assist you in any way.”
“Good, good, I’m so sorry that you’ll have to miss Mass this morning, but if circumstances permit, perhaps you can accompany me there in the evening? Run along now.” She finished with a beatific smile.
The door clicked shut, and she bore her cross all the way to the administrative offices.
A Gothic mausoleum. Above everything else, a giant violin case, and a small vase of flowers atop a massive desk. Riesbyfe Stridberg, the head honcho, with rumored connections all the way up to the archdiocese, was currently seated with her fingers steepled in front of her face.
“I believe I asked for you last night.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was not informed until this morning.”
“Are those for me?” the woman asked. Her silvery-gray hair bobbed as she gestured to the heap of papers.
Azaka nodded.
“Well, I’m sure that someone worked very hard to prepare them. Just pop them in that little chute, will you?”
She complied immediately, and the papers slid down the stainless steel trough. A blast of heat issued out, accompanying the distant roar of a gas furnace.
Azaka stumbled back and gestured dumbly toward the incinerator.
Riesbyfe shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Didn’t you understand? No matter, I have an urgent request for you, if you would like to hear it.”
“What was that? You just burn all the paperwork or something? Is that why the dorms are such a mess?”
“Not at all, not at all. In fact, those documents were completely useless. We use a digital system to store important records.”
“Then—then why?”
“As I said, someone worked very hard to prepare them, and you worked hard to bring them here. Is it not written that hard work is its own reward?”
“I know you’re very fond of the Proverbs, Mother Riesbyfe, but respectfully, what was the point?”
Now, the nun cracked a smile. “Builds character?” She spoke slowly, serenely, as though her words were anything but flippant. “Shall we get to business then?”
Azaka slumped into a chair. “Please.”
“Yesterday, an extremely important visitor from Europe landed in Narita. This person then took a bus, and was due to arrive here this morning. Ordinarily, a member of the staff would have received her, but she requested a person of her own age. There was a lottery.”
“And I was selected?”
“No. That was Shizune Seo, but her father came to collect her just last evening. I was considering who should be trusted with this role, and it happened that your instructor came to my mind. I hope you are up to it?”
“I’m honored that you would leave this task to me, but I don’t know what to do in a case like this.”
“Just do whatever it is that youngsters do these days. The agenda is set for you, so please try to make the guest feel welcome. Consider it a free vacation. Anyway, since you’ve accepted, go get yourself packed. You’ll be looking for a blonde woman at the bus stop so I don’t imagine it’ll be hard to find her.”
This was inevitable. Before such a high authority. and for such a petty thing, her protests wilted and made way for the ancient Japanese staple crop of submission. A short leave from school hardly consoled her for the sudden disruption in her schedule. “I’ll go get ready, but when should I leave, and when is this person arriving?”
Mother Stridberg took a quick look at the clock. “By my mark, she arrived six hours ago. So you’ll be leaving now.”
The limousine had rolled away immediately after she disembarked. Every stage of the journey had been pleasant thus far, and this was sure to be no different. Frigid air swirled through the bus stop. Chased with snow, the bare branches of the trees around the road gleamed brilliantly in the false illumination of the road lamps. The snowfall was gentle enough that she needed no hat. Nobody waited for her, but that was just for the better. Beauty was best enjoyed where it came unexpected, like this chance to sit quietly in a simple shelter and observe, absorb, and appreciate a short view of the most basic elemental forces at work.
She remembered winters in France, ancient winters that had been both harsh and unending. Winters where the harvest had been exhausted, and even draft animals were slaughtered for food. Winters that consumed every scrap of land in sight. Winters that the family spent huddled together around the hearth, listening to their father’s stories as a handful of logs smouldered throughout the day. And what stories they were! More than dragons and kings, she enjoyed the tales of war, spread to their village by word of mouth. Her father, unshaven and exhausted, sometimes spoke softly of the rout of the French cavalry, but made no comment on the misfortunes that spread afterward. Of those, he did not wish to speak before his children. But like the whispering crackle of the fire, his words belied a thousand prayers never given voice. Her father noticed the intensity of her expression, but perhaps he assumed it an illusion, a trick of the firelight that caught her eyes.
She waited warmly in that new and gentle winter.
The bus rumbled across the highway, though inside it was as smooth an experience as one could hope for. It was upholstered in felt, and was all around an upscale model designed for long-distance travel. It was a relief that she was travelling on the school’s dime, since her stipend was rather frugal.
Azaka stole a quick glance at the passenger beside her, an astonishingly pretty foreigner who identified herself as Jeanne. Her pack contained the essentials for travel, some clothes, and a map to their destination, not to mention a healthy stipend to cover any costs. While her phone charged, she browsed a magazine left behind in the mesh pocket of the seat. On the opposite side of the aisle sat Jeanne, quietly enjoying the soft warmth of the heated vehicle. Such an ordinary sight, and yet where the oblique rays of the rising sun caught her hair, she exploded into radiance, as though the centerpiece of a grand work of art. Something in her nature felt complete, simply correct in a profound manner.
They had exchanged words briefly, first at the beginning of the trip. Azaka learned that she was a dignitary of the church itself. She could hardly have believed it, given that the girl was hardly older than she was. Young women did not usually draw the respect of the Mother Superior. Truth be told, Azaka had little interest in this tagalong game. The immediate cause of her excitement was a town marked on the map: Mifune.
Perhaps she might drop in for an unexpected visit, and display a little grace. Every detail of her outward aspect had been chosen to match his interests, as she had always intended. What a windfall it would be if she could see him again. Such thoughts happily buzzed through her head. While ordinarily she would give herself over to some idle fantasy, she noticed again the woman in white, and this time their eyes happened to meet.
“Is this your first time in Japan?”
“Ah, yes, it is.”
“You speak very well, miss. It’s as though you were born here.”
“Thank you, but it’s really nothing exceptional.” Not her own achievement.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”
“France. I have some business here, and I thought that it would be a good opportunity to see the rest of the country at the same time.”
“Well, it’s my pleasure to accompany you.”
“Likewise.”
A great deal more came to her mind and was left unvoiced. She felt a presence, like the weight of office, around the strange visitor, but could not place it to anything. She was nothing but a girl, perhaps a little older than her. She was normally more personable, but that feeling seemed so strange, so oppressive, that she could force out nothing more than reserved politeness. And for what? A pretty foreigner, likely some official’s daughter out on tour?
The bus was nearly empty, so they had the advantage of a quiet journey. The landscape rolled by, and fields of snow turned to rice paddies, barren after the harvest. Azaka was drowsy now, lulled by the quiet hum of the engine. She studied the map and noted the distance to their destination, and judged that she’d have a few hours to nap if the mood took her. At the edge of her vision, she noticed her companion sitting quietly. Then, the journey became a blur of motion and forgotten thoughts.
The bus came to a halt, the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. A pair of businessmen disembarked. A family of three left behind them. And somebody got on.
It was black hair of around medium length. Underneath the unkempt bangs there were those familiar glasses, such unfashionable things. A neutral expression, and then recognition.
“Mikiya!?”
-Riesbyfe Stridberg, Mother Superior
Azaka wriggled out of her warm cocoon. The hands of the clock put her at fifteen minutes to six. Other students relished the chance to sleep in for even a second more, but she shrugged off her blankets and marched to the bathroom. She popped her toothbrush out of its case and into her mouth, dousing the morning staleness in sharp mint. Spit, rinse, and done. Dampened by sweat, a wrinkled chemise clung to her sides. It sailed onto a hook on the door alongside her underwear. And then into the shower.
The Reien Academy taps ran two ways: lukewarm and freezing. Austerity demanded that everybody cope. Most did. That is, the stupid ones. Every last student was born to comfort, specifically in the form of the heated bath. The early-risers worked together to heat water in kettles, one boiling while the other bathed. One girl smuggled in a compact boiler and leased it out to her building. That boiler, now quite charred, had taken the blame for the recent dorm fire. A convenient scapegoat, though it deterred nobody from trying again.
Before turning on the tap, Azaka pulled on a leathery brown glove. The water gushed through the pipes and the first icy droplets began their descent. Azaka held up her hand.
“Pianissimo.” A snap of the fingers.
The water around her flashed into steam. A wrinkle in her brow, a slow breath, and she reapplied the Magecraft. The result: a perfect sprinkle of hot water. With a sigh of satisfaction, she began to rinse.
It was a cheap use of magic, but she didn’t have a reason to skimp on comfort.
A quick dab of conditioner on the ends of her hair, and then a rinse. The heavy strands were plastered against her back. She let them sit a moment while the warm water poured down. She sucked in the humid air, and rinsed. scalp, massaging the roots of her hair. A small squirt of shampoo worked into a rich lather with a rich strawberry scent. Then, a rinse.
With her eyes closed, a little imagination could go a long way. The touch of a man’s hands, trailing down her back. The cascade of hot water that enwrapped her just might have been his body, clinging to her in a singular expression of the most illicit passion. Everything was warmer, all of a sudden. She was feeling a familiar heat between her legs; even the steam in the stall was thicker. Water that was comfortable now bordered on scalding.
She caught herself before her fingers could reach. The heat of the moment was smothered by shame for her lack of self-control. Forced back to calm efficiency, she continued the shower. In the long term, her goal was the same, but it would be undignified to carelessly enjoy her dreams. Quietly, unobtrusively, she would continue to play a proper role, until her facade could pass for the real thing. She grabbed a bottle of gel soap and scrubbed it into a lather. Though her fancies were impure, nothing stopped her from enjoying a good wash. Just as she started her final rinse, a knock came from the door.
“Azaka, are you finished in there?”
She paused. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since she entered, and what was Fujino doing awake so early anyway? She’d normally have to be pulled out of bed to get up before seven. Unless the was clock wrong?
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Er, it’s five fifty six, but, that’s not it. The dorm mother is asking for you.” So very imperative.
The towel made a few hasty passes until most of her skin was dry. She grabbed her uniform, set out the previous night and tugged it on, one piece after another.
A final check in the mirror, and she was off. Maybe her hair was a little damp, and maybe her underclothes weren’t in perfect order, but it would do. She’d gotten very good at making things happen in a hurry. Image was everything, after all. Sometimes, when things of a delicate nature occupied her interest, things that started with a little touch and a bit of wild imagination, she could speed through the remainder of her morning routine like a flustered and breathless tornado. Some things did end up out of order but it was only the one time, and nobody had noticed that her brassiere was on backward anyway.
Azaka left, exiting the bathroom with a whoosh of humid air. Fujino blinked away the afterimage. She stifled a yawn and trundled into the bathroom. All in all, it was quite convenient for her. The bathwater was still hot.
-
At the dorm mother’s office, Azaka knocked twice and then waited at attention. After a moment, the wizened old lady opened the door. The slow creak might have been the hinges, but it could have just as easily have been the ancient nun’s elbows.
“Yeees?” she asked, barely moving her lips. “Ah, miss Azaka.”
Not a-za-ka, but instead, uh-ZAH-ka. The nun was from Ireland, and had spent her many years in many places. Now she considered herself above pedestrian things like pronunciation. Her tendency to fall asleep with her eyes open had caused some problems, including one mishap with the housing records that had landed no fewer than fifteen freshman students into the same room. But the students had worked around this in a few weeks, and divided the paperwork amongst themselves. The old lady was a decorative object, like the potted plants or the cheap reproductions of religious art.
“Yes, Mother Alcott. I came at once when I heard you wanted to see me.”
“Hmm, yes, I believe the Mother Superior requested I send you over last night. I meant to tell you after dinner, but I must have drifted off...Well, it’s no matter, I’m sure. Just make your way over to her office now. Ah, since you’re here, perhaps you could also deliver these documents? I know she’s wanted them for some time.” Hefting a stack of manilla folders, she pushed them into her hands.
Though her smile was wearing paper thin, Azaka managed to force out some words. “Of course, Mother Alcott. I’d be happy to assist you in any way.”
“Good, good, I’m so sorry that you’ll have to miss Mass this morning, but if circumstances permit, perhaps you can accompany me there in the evening? Run along now.” She finished with a beatific smile.
The door clicked shut, and she bore her cross all the way to the administrative offices.
-
A Gothic mausoleum. Above everything else, a giant violin case, and a small vase of flowers atop a massive desk. Riesbyfe Stridberg, the head honcho, with rumored connections all the way up to the archdiocese, was currently seated with her fingers steepled in front of her face.
“I believe I asked for you last night.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was not informed until this morning.”
“Are those for me?” the woman asked. Her silvery-gray hair bobbed as she gestured to the heap of papers.
Azaka nodded.
“Well, I’m sure that someone worked very hard to prepare them. Just pop them in that little chute, will you?”
She complied immediately, and the papers slid down the stainless steel trough. A blast of heat issued out, accompanying the distant roar of a gas furnace.
Azaka stumbled back and gestured dumbly toward the incinerator.
Riesbyfe shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Didn’t you understand? No matter, I have an urgent request for you, if you would like to hear it.”
“What was that? You just burn all the paperwork or something? Is that why the dorms are such a mess?”
“Not at all, not at all. In fact, those documents were completely useless. We use a digital system to store important records.”
“Then—then why?”
“As I said, someone worked very hard to prepare them, and you worked hard to bring them here. Is it not written that hard work is its own reward?”
“I know you’re very fond of the Proverbs, Mother Riesbyfe, but respectfully, what was the point?”
Now, the nun cracked a smile. “Builds character?” She spoke slowly, serenely, as though her words were anything but flippant. “Shall we get to business then?”
Azaka slumped into a chair. “Please.”
“Yesterday, an extremely important visitor from Europe landed in Narita. This person then took a bus, and was due to arrive here this morning. Ordinarily, a member of the staff would have received her, but she requested a person of her own age. There was a lottery.”
“And I was selected?”
“No. That was Shizune Seo, but her father came to collect her just last evening. I was considering who should be trusted with this role, and it happened that your instructor came to my mind. I hope you are up to it?”
“I’m honored that you would leave this task to me, but I don’t know what to do in a case like this.”
“Just do whatever it is that youngsters do these days. The agenda is set for you, so please try to make the guest feel welcome. Consider it a free vacation. Anyway, since you’ve accepted, go get yourself packed. You’ll be looking for a blonde woman at the bus stop so I don’t imagine it’ll be hard to find her.”
This was inevitable. Before such a high authority. and for such a petty thing, her protests wilted and made way for the ancient Japanese staple crop of submission. A short leave from school hardly consoled her for the sudden disruption in her schedule. “I’ll go get ready, but when should I leave, and when is this person arriving?”
Mother Stridberg took a quick look at the clock. “By my mark, she arrived six hours ago. So you’ll be leaving now.”
-
The limousine had rolled away immediately after she disembarked. Every stage of the journey had been pleasant thus far, and this was sure to be no different. Frigid air swirled through the bus stop. Chased with snow, the bare branches of the trees around the road gleamed brilliantly in the false illumination of the road lamps. The snowfall was gentle enough that she needed no hat. Nobody waited for her, but that was just for the better. Beauty was best enjoyed where it came unexpected, like this chance to sit quietly in a simple shelter and observe, absorb, and appreciate a short view of the most basic elemental forces at work.
She remembered winters in France, ancient winters that had been both harsh and unending. Winters where the harvest had been exhausted, and even draft animals were slaughtered for food. Winters that consumed every scrap of land in sight. Winters that the family spent huddled together around the hearth, listening to their father’s stories as a handful of logs smouldered throughout the day. And what stories they were! More than dragons and kings, she enjoyed the tales of war, spread to their village by word of mouth. Her father, unshaven and exhausted, sometimes spoke softly of the rout of the French cavalry, but made no comment on the misfortunes that spread afterward. Of those, he did not wish to speak before his children. But like the whispering crackle of the fire, his words belied a thousand prayers never given voice. Her father noticed the intensity of her expression, but perhaps he assumed it an illusion, a trick of the firelight that caught her eyes.
She waited warmly in that new and gentle winter.
-
The bus rumbled across the highway, though inside it was as smooth an experience as one could hope for. It was upholstered in felt, and was all around an upscale model designed for long-distance travel. It was a relief that she was travelling on the school’s dime, since her stipend was rather frugal.
Azaka stole a quick glance at the passenger beside her, an astonishingly pretty foreigner who identified herself as Jeanne. Her pack contained the essentials for travel, some clothes, and a map to their destination, not to mention a healthy stipend to cover any costs. While her phone charged, she browsed a magazine left behind in the mesh pocket of the seat. On the opposite side of the aisle sat Jeanne, quietly enjoying the soft warmth of the heated vehicle. Such an ordinary sight, and yet where the oblique rays of the rising sun caught her hair, she exploded into radiance, as though the centerpiece of a grand work of art. Something in her nature felt complete, simply correct in a profound manner.
They had exchanged words briefly, first at the beginning of the trip. Azaka learned that she was a dignitary of the church itself. She could hardly have believed it, given that the girl was hardly older than she was. Young women did not usually draw the respect of the Mother Superior. Truth be told, Azaka had little interest in this tagalong game. The immediate cause of her excitement was a town marked on the map: Mifune.
Perhaps she might drop in for an unexpected visit, and display a little grace. Every detail of her outward aspect had been chosen to match his interests, as she had always intended. What a windfall it would be if she could see him again. Such thoughts happily buzzed through her head. While ordinarily she would give herself over to some idle fantasy, she noticed again the woman in white, and this time their eyes happened to meet.
“Is this your first time in Japan?”
“Ah, yes, it is.”
“You speak very well, miss. It’s as though you were born here.”
“Thank you, but it’s really nothing exceptional.” Not her own achievement.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”
“France. I have some business here, and I thought that it would be a good opportunity to see the rest of the country at the same time.”
“Well, it’s my pleasure to accompany you.”
“Likewise.”
A great deal more came to her mind and was left unvoiced. She felt a presence, like the weight of office, around the strange visitor, but could not place it to anything. She was nothing but a girl, perhaps a little older than her. She was normally more personable, but that feeling seemed so strange, so oppressive, that she could force out nothing more than reserved politeness. And for what? A pretty foreigner, likely some official’s daughter out on tour?
The bus was nearly empty, so they had the advantage of a quiet journey. The landscape rolled by, and fields of snow turned to rice paddies, barren after the harvest. Azaka was drowsy now, lulled by the quiet hum of the engine. She studied the map and noted the distance to their destination, and judged that she’d have a few hours to nap if the mood took her. At the edge of her vision, she noticed her companion sitting quietly. Then, the journey became a blur of motion and forgotten thoughts.
The bus came to a halt, the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. A pair of businessmen disembarked. A family of three left behind them. And somebody got on.
It was black hair of around medium length. Underneath the unkempt bangs there were those familiar glasses, such unfashionable things. A neutral expression, and then recognition.
“Mikiya!?”
-----
There's a slick new tradition of multiple chapters that I've come to enjoy. ↧
Best TM Writer?
TM has been employing a bunch of writers since Nasu is known to be a really busy creature. Since TM now has quite a number of writers, whether said writer is still writing for TM or not, I judge that this is the right time to make such a poll (partly because of the poll boom that's been going on as of recent). Though that is to say, the word best are probably subjective and this will likely boils down to preference.
But alas, I hope for some healthy and intellectual discussion.
But alas, I hope for some healthy and intellectual discussion.
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What's her name?
Remade thread for public polls
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↧
NASU-SAN'S DAILY LIFE [CYOA]
SOMEWHERE IN TOKYO
APRIL, 2014
Notes LTD, your own company, has a meeting; and you're running late. It sounded weird when you put it like that, but it would. It's wrong, after all: it's not really 'your' company anymore. You have investors now investors now: they don't control the company, but you're required to listen to them, not like in the good old days.
Well. Those days were also you and your good friend Takashi Takeuchi, sitting in his apartment and nailing out a story on bottom-shelf ramen at 2 in the morning, so maybe they weren't so good. But things were simpler, especially compared to what you had to do today.
As you sit down in the conference room, your accountant hands you some papers, but, for once, you're familiar with the business of the company beforehand. The Tsukihime Remake is going well, artists and programmers together slowly working the VN into shape, and you have time to think: it'll be a while before they need you to give them new content.
But Tsukihime is a big project, and your staff is still small: work is /slow/, and what's more, even with the recent success of Ufotable's adaptation, the company is going to run out of cash before your next release. Being the company's creative force and an owner, this is your problem twice over, and you rub your temples as the accountant finishes his presentation. Something needs to ride the company over.
A. Take on debt.
B. License for overseas markets.
C. Mobile game.
D. Takeuchi will think of something.
Kinoko Nasu:
Profitability: 10
Artistic Integrity: 10
Motivation: 10
APRIL, 2014
Notes LTD, your own company, has a meeting; and you're running late. It sounded weird when you put it like that, but it would. It's wrong, after all: it's not really 'your' company anymore. You have investors now investors now: they don't control the company, but you're required to listen to them, not like in the good old days.
Well. Those days were also you and your good friend Takashi Takeuchi, sitting in his apartment and nailing out a story on bottom-shelf ramen at 2 in the morning, so maybe they weren't so good. But things were simpler, especially compared to what you had to do today.
As you sit down in the conference room, your accountant hands you some papers, but, for once, you're familiar with the business of the company beforehand. The Tsukihime Remake is going well, artists and programmers together slowly working the VN into shape, and you have time to think: it'll be a while before they need you to give them new content.
But Tsukihime is a big project, and your staff is still small: work is /slow/, and what's more, even with the recent success of Ufotable's adaptation, the company is going to run out of cash before your next release. Being the company's creative force and an owner, this is your problem twice over, and you rub your temples as the accountant finishes his presentation. Something needs to ride the company over.
A. Take on debt.
B. License for overseas markets.
C. Mobile game.
D. Takeuchi will think of something.
Kinoko Nasu:
Profitability: 10
Artistic Integrity: 10
Motivation: 10
↧
↧
New Pixiv BBCode
As an extra bonus, this with make sure all Pixiv reposts are automatically sourced, as they should be. (You ought to be sourcing all your image posts, whether from Pixiv or otherwise).
↧
Which BL Member is Most Likely to Change the World?
We are each of us mere motes of dust speckling this great earth, yet some of us will alter the course of millions. Among this bunch here, who bears heaven's mandate?
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Your ideal lineup of pre-existing Servants for a Grail War
So regardless of how much you love or hate the idea of Yet Another Grail War, let's pretend for a moment that one is going ahead. And in an interview Nasu has clarified that in order to maximise his Dark Souls time, he's decided to reuse existing Servants instead of designing any new ones.
In such a scenario, what Servants would you want to see? The war will feature the core seven classes, but of course it'll fuck up and an eighth Servant is also summoned, of an aberrant class (Avenger/Ruler/Saver/Shielder/Gunner).
In this unfortunate situation, who do you pick to make the best of a bad lot?
In such a scenario, what Servants would you want to see? The war will feature the core seven classes, but of course it'll fuck up and an eighth Servant is also summoned, of an aberrant class (Avenger/Ruler/Saver/Shielder/Gunner).
In this unfortunate situation, who do you pick to make the best of a bad lot?
My picks
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The Magus of Flowers - A Merlin Fanclub
A fanclub for the lovely and mischievous Merlin^^
Post art!!
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http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=53693352
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http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=56295223
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Group is here
Post art!!
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=53693352
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=55225473
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=54612070
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=56161480
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=56295223
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=54610693
Huge
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=56037980
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=56138792
Huge
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.p...st_id=55962700
FGO Datamine(?)
Group is here
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↧
How Has Beast's Lair Influenced Your Life?
Nobody who stays here long comes out unchanged. You've stared into the abyss; what does it see when it looks back?
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Aoko or Touko
Image posted to Danbooru without a source, hence the lack of attribution.
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Anime as Interpreted in the Psychological Lens of Neon Genesis Evangelion
The objective of this thread is to inspire rampant armchair psychoanalysis of anime. Keeping in mind the symbolic and psychological themes of Neon Genesis Evangelion, please introduce an argument with a distinct position, regarding one or more of the shows from the current or former seasons.
If you understand, then get your monocle on, light your pipe, we're doing this.
Example: Valvrave the Liberator's emphasis on memory as a source for power directly relates to Evangelion's "light of the soul" or the AT field. Where Valvrave represents human existence as a cobbled together patchwork of ever-fading memories, each burning out in a glorious release of light and energy, Evangelion represents humanity as a homogeneous whole, a group of similar compounds, differentiated only by the shape of the container. The AT field is a metaphysical representation of the border of human consciousness, as opposed to the materialistic view of Valvrave, wherein memory and by extension consciousness are nothing more than energy in a functional arrangement.
If you understand, then get your monocle on, light your pipe, we're doing this.
Example: Valvrave the Liberator's emphasis on memory as a source for power directly relates to Evangelion's "light of the soul" or the AT field. Where Valvrave represents human existence as a cobbled together patchwork of ever-fading memories, each burning out in a glorious release of light and energy, Evangelion represents humanity as a homogeneous whole, a group of similar compounds, differentiated only by the shape of the container. The AT field is a metaphysical representation of the border of human consciousness, as opposed to the materialistic view of Valvrave, wherein memory and by extension consciousness are nothing more than energy in a functional arrangement.
↧
Kingdom Hearts Unchained χ
New-ish Kingdom Hearts mobage general thread.
Prequel to everything.
Don't want to clog up the normal KH thread.
Android Link: https://play.google.com/store/apps/d...gleplay.khuxww
IoS Link: Go to itunes stores
BL Party: NRVNQSR
Union: Anguis (Just pulled out of a hat)
BL ID Codes:
You: 311803
IRUN: 182063
How to find your ID:
Tap your Avatar and look on the top right.
Prequel to everything.
Don't want to clog up the normal KH thread.
Android Link: https://play.google.com/store/apps/d...gleplay.khuxww
IoS Link: Go to itunes stores
BL Party: NRVNQSR
Union: Anguis (Just pulled out of a hat)
BL ID Codes:
You: 311803
IRUN: 182063
How to find your ID:
Tap your Avatar and look on the top right.
↧
↧
To Which BL Member do You Owe the Most?
Whether it's a translator like McJon for their selfless dedication to the community, or to a specific author like Arashi for making sustained contributions, or to a friend who has tided you through times fun and sorrowful, which user do you personally owe the most to?
Spoiler:
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Type of Profession You Think Would Suit Canon Servant/Heroic Spirit
This doesn't actually belong in Type Moon discussion or fic forum because it's basically just a desperate grab for stupid low commitment fic ideas, but I thought it could be a fun discussion topic? Thing is, I usually hate "modern day AUs" or "no powers AUs" in fandoms, but lately I have had this belief shaken by reading Tobias's fic. Also, we have precedent in the "Saber at work" episode of Carnival Phantasm, I guess.
So, choose a canon Servant/Heroic Spirit sort of person and name what profession you think they would gravitate towards and/or get stuck in. This could be that they were modern day transplanted for stupid contrived reasons or they just got perma-summoned or whatever, I don't care. More asking about their personalities and talents, staying the same, and what they might end up doing as a result.
So I'll do a cheap Saber example:
Saber could end up in a service industry position by accident (as in CP) because she could not ignore a "Help Wanted" sign. I also kind of wonder if she might also get involved in some kind of Robin Hood/Leverage-esque crime, such as being a thief, because of the fact that she was able to rationalize a certain amount of pillaging for the greater good in her own time.
If you have others for Saber, go for it, or anyone else, really.
Mods, if you think this goes somewhere else, feel free to move it or whatever, but I just thought it was pretty clearly late-night stupid.
So, choose a canon Servant/Heroic Spirit sort of person and name what profession you think they would gravitate towards and/or get stuck in. This could be that they were modern day transplanted for stupid contrived reasons or they just got perma-summoned or whatever, I don't care. More asking about their personalities and talents, staying the same, and what they might end up doing as a result.
So I'll do a cheap Saber example:
Saber could end up in a service industry position by accident (as in CP) because she could not ignore a "Help Wanted" sign. I also kind of wonder if she might also get involved in some kind of Robin Hood/Leverage-esque crime, such as being a thief, because of the fact that she was able to rationalize a certain amount of pillaging for the greater good in her own time.
If you have others for Saber, go for it, or anyone else, really.
Mods, if you think this goes somewhere else, feel free to move it or whatever, but I just thought it was pretty clearly late-night stupid.
↧
Literary Creatures [Tsukhime] [lemon] [oneshot]
Even at the height of summer, the heat never settles on the mansion as it does on the city. The interior is well-insulated, and despite its age, maintenance has been regular and thorough. Regarding the geography, I understand that the elevation of the property exposes it to stronger winds. That and the surrounding vegetation produce a comfortable microclimate. Whatever heat wave it is that affects the city below casts only a pale shadow on this place. Altitude keeps it all at bay.
It keeps many things at bay, in fact. Elevation is the defining characteristic of power. It communicates a separation from the activity of the environment: an infinite, impassable distance. This is typical of structures from across history, whether the great ziggurat of Babylon, the Greek acropolis, and the archetypal castle. Neuschwanstein is a good example, I believe. Closer to home are the shrines and temples, always situated above the common world. Their more extreme cousins in Tibet put themselves on mountaintops, espousing a deeper desire for ascetism, if not for practical logistics.
I have only one more thing to say on this matter. A certain distance is comfortable, but at times, very lonely.
Enter the library; a hardwood floor with lush carpeting on the reading area. The long mullioned windows cover about two thirds of the far wall, and heavy velvet drapes frame the sides. To the left, there are about six shelves that extend to the ceiling, filled with whatever held the interests of the last few generations of the family. All very ordinary books and novels. The more interesting histories are preserved elsewhere, though my father was not especially reluctant to bring some here for extended study.
On the right, and this the part that is of concern to this story, is the reading space. The carpet is solid burgundy and soft enough to sink into. A table is in the center, rosewood with a glass face. Around it in a half circle are a single couch, a loveseat, and a chaise lounge. These were part of a set, older than I am. Nevertheless, their quality is excellent, and comfort has not diminished.
That fact is confirmed, because I am currently seated on the couch. The upholstery is fresh and smells of detergent, and is perfectly soft. With one hand, I lazily turn the pages of the book propped up in front of me. I have been lost for some time in this world of paper, time marked only by the ticking of the large clock above the door.
Some consideration must be made to the weather; it is raining. Droplets splash against the windows and disperse, marking their existence with just that faint tap. It is a constant and gentle sound, and it puts me in a strange mood. This hill is high, but hardly pierces the clouds. Like anywhere else, the rain falls. It falls harder, even, thanks to the absence of any windbreak. Not to suggest that I find this unpleasant. Cold weather does not bother me. Has not, for a while now.
And sprawled on the chaise opposite to me is my brother, who has yet to finish his first hundred pages of the Jungle Book. While I cannot comment on his choice of material, I will express some degree of sisterly pride that he has endeavored to read it in the original language. His cultural education is critically deficient, and judging by the half-dead glaze of his eyes, is not showing good signs of improvement. I shall be gracious and lend him a hand.
With a light snap, I shut my own novel. His eyes flicker over to me for a moment, and then lock on as I walk toward his seat. He lowers the book and sits up, making space for me before I can ask for it. Onto the cushion now. Ah, lovely. The cushion has preserved a lingering touch of warmth.
“You seem to be a bit tired, brother. Would it help if I asked you to read aloud to me?”
A quizzical look, and he clears his throat. "’There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his earliest kill; But the jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be still.’ Right, how was that, Akiha?”
“...To be fair to you, I think that was only below-average pronunciation. However, please work a little harder. You’re not a child being raised by wolves.”
He scoffs and turns his attention fully on me now. “Yes, wolves could never be so demanding. I’d probably have done pretty well with them.” A little hint of a smile is on his lips, teasing. But one might call it predatory, even. Such a petty challenge, and of course I must not back down.
“This sort of recreation is useful in society.” I pull my body up onto the chaise. Legs over his lap, and back against the armrest. “That aside, there aren’t any wolves in Japan anyway.”
He says nothing and picks up the book. Behind his glasses, his eyes focus intently on the pages. They flicker every few seconds and he blinks quickly at regular intervals. The rustle of paper marks another page complete. That and the sound of quiet breathing cut through the distant hiss of rain, all punctuated by the wooden ticking of the clock. His silence leaves me with a sliver of irritation, but seeing him like this, quiet and focused, puts me in such a calm mind that I cannot even think to probe again.
Those eyes are sharply focused, intent on seeing nothing but the book. Above, the hint of a frown has settled itself on his brow. Pulse is up by a few beats, and I can smell sweat under his clothes. The marks of irritation are palpable, but something new is rising above them.
“Hey, Akiha?”
This interrupts my thoughts. Of course I do not express this, turning my head in response.
“I’m kinda stumped with this part. Do you mind?”
“You’re joking, surely?”
Nothing has been done, nothing said, but as I inch closer and closer my face has already twisted into a smile so tight that I can feel it even through this haze that blurs my vision and suffuses through my body with such a familiar warmth that I want only to curl up and squeeze so that it never escapes me. And yet there is a certain approach to make, and a certain way to make it. A guest does not immediately enter the boudoir to take tea.
I tap my foot against his knees, which shift unconsciously and allow me to enter. The glide of fabric against satiny fabric is now the loudest sound in the room. I press the ball of my foot against his inner thigh. Gentle plying pushes his legs apart and I find the firm bulge at the fly of his pants.
Nii-san starts and drops his book. Eyes wide open and face decorated with a burning flush, he is the picture of a maiden whose lover has found her bed in the night. He’s rarely off guard when it comes to things like this, and something else has caught my notice.
“Now, how long have you been like this?”
He’s regained some composure, in defiance of the staccato tapping of my foot. “Take a guess.” His hand is on my knee, and sliding up.
Nii-san is quite the carnivore to turn the situation around. A little trickle of sweat runs down my back. Is this the feeling of a rabbit in the jaws of a trap? A bird in a cage? Regardless of these doubts, I arch my back and make a small smile. “Then, you make very dangerous game indeed. Now, shall I have you come, just like this?”
I dig in with my toes and roll his swollen organ around with greater force. He stiffens all over, releasing a slow groan. Breath running ragged, he slips in a reply. “I invite you to try.”
Licked, sucked, nibbled, I am devoured. My breath is stolen away, mixing with his in the interstice of our lips. The sensation is overwhelming. He clamps down harder, now pressing me against the cushion. As my warmth is stolen, more still is pumped in. This face, this chest, this beating heart, are all no longer my own. We two are linked, sharing everything between us. But there are limits. The slow burn of asphyxiation begins to overtake us, sending my heartbeat skyrocketing until I finally break away to breathe.
Part, return. Part, return. He is a starving beast, wolfing down its meat in gulps. Ripping through the entrance of my mouth, and then the entrance of my being.
“No, wait.” I gasp out. “Not yet.”
He simply stares into me. Behind lenses, those lovely blue eyes shine. “What’s wrong with right now?”
Clothing rips and is cast aside. Skirt and underwear gone, my most vulnerable parts are bared. Pants open, he moves in. It is unlike me, I know, but right now I only want to grab him and tighten my hold, until he can never go free. In fact, I’ll do just that. I hug him from below, beckoning him forward.
Poised to make entry, his dick glistens in its own fluids. Hurry up, hurry and do as you wish, or I’ll grow impatient. On his glasses, a fine mist has formed. Whether it is my breath or his own steaming sweat, is impossible to tell. He jerks forward; I wince in anticipation of the familiar sensation, of the tightness and the pleasure.
It doesn’t come. Nothing but a quick peck on the tip of my nose.
“Eh?”
“Look at you all flustered. What, you thought I was serious?”
It’s gone. Enchantment and arousal ablate and vanish, replaced now with indignation that burns my face crimson.
“Why, you, you!”
He sinks closer to me, covering me completely with his body. When he speaks, the words come in a low purr.
“Well, you thought right.”
It enters like a red-hot stake, sliding between the walls of my flesh. I cry out in surprise, taking him in fully with an involuntary jerk of my hips. Pain probably hits me first. Though this is hardly the first time we’ve coupled, the sudden intrusion into my innermost parts comes with a jolt of tension, and the crushing strain. I take him in and tighten until my own muscles burn with the strain. I won’t ever, ever let go.
It feels good. As he stirs up my insides, they coil and loosen, filling with the slippery fluid of our communion. Unprepared depths acclimate to his rhythm, now pounding freely into me. It comes in bursts of motion. He removes himself, plunges back in, and starts all over. It’s the simplest, most natural expression of ourselves. I lie here trembling in ecstasy, accepting everything he gives.
My hand wanders down to the little knob above my entrance, and as I hold him tightly to me with one arm, I also savor my own touch. Stoked from within and without, the sensations rise to a fever pitch. Above, he curls over me and forces our lips together. I’m enveloped, pinned from above and below, taken over by my beloved brother. Skipping the hunt, paying no mind to the steps, just seizing the prey before it notices anything amiss.
This is being devoured. Everything of mine is open to him, and he takes it. Outside, my blouse is torn open, lingerie pushed to the side. The damage to the clothes is not worth mentioning. These are nothing special, and he simply wants me badly enough to not care. As do I him.
Panting for breath, he stops halfway, looking down over me. He reminds himself that I am his, and looking up at him, I remind myself that he is mine. Rather, we remind each other of this fact. I tighten around him unconsciously, trying my best to suck him back into me. To continue this act of plunder.
Instead of relenting, he poses a question.
“When you get down to it, what are we, Akiha?”
Impatient as I am, I consider this briefly. “Siblings? Lovers? Humans?”
Maintaining that steady expression, the sharp focus on my eyes and face, he says, “Humans. Yes, we’re just beasts that learned to tell stories.”
I understand his meaning. I understand, but I don’t want to think about it. It’s not my fault. He’s responsible for getting me this excited.
“So?”
“So, nothing. We’re done with stories. It’s fine to just be beasts.”
He gives my hand a squeeze and releases, and then plunges into me once more. Just like that, the renewed sensation becomes more intense than before. I love this feeling. I love the raw heat that flows between us. Our bodies are pressed together, absent of any divide save the skin that forms the final barrier between inside and outside. And surpassing even that, we are linked within as well. We share our essence, our pleasure. I love this person who is closest to me, yet so distinctly separate.
“B–brother!”
Within, he twitches, pulses. Breaths become harsh, washing over my face. He rams himself in, and tears himself out. His heart beats so forcefully that I can feel it through his back. He groans, or growls. I can scarcely tell the difference.
“Akiha. Akiha!”
His seed coats my insides, dribbling out as he continues to move in the throes of climax. Temporarily spent, he withdraws and reclines against the chair. Face flushed, chest heaving, he still stares at me, pinning me down with his gaze.
“As always, you’re so very soft.” he murmurs.
Time passes without count. The clock ticks, forgotten. We await the chance to recommence, until he says, “Ok, turn over.”
As I shift my position, I note how my arms and legs tremble, filled with a feverish energy. Once satisfied with my orientation, he slides his hands over my rear. A gentle squeeze, and then my hips are seized.
From behind, he finds my entrance still dripping. Teasing it open with his fingers, he brings the head of his dick to meet it. It’s like a kiss. Bit by bit, he enters. I can already take him in, but he moves agonizingly slowly. He enjoys himself fully, and soon finds a good pace. With each dull smack of flesh on flesh, I release a short gasp. I’m eager for more and more.
Without warning, he comes in harder. It sets me off, and I yelp like a dog in heat. The image might be shameful if it weren’t so apt. He resumes with unbridled enthusiasm, and I take advantage of this position to move in sync. My butt is high in the air, receiving the impact of his hips every time we meet. Sweat pours down my back, over my neck.
From within, something begins to uncoil. Each motion begins to vibrate and resound. It’s an excellent feeling: the physical experience of being loved. It continues as my quivering comes to a crescendo. I tighten, I hold, I crush.
“Shiki, I’m– Shiki!”
It bursts out like an explosion, wracking me with a sensation that dominates my focus. A singular awareness of pleasure. Hips jerk backward into him with force, to enjoy every inch of movement to the greatest possible degree.
Though I am already like this, surely with some extraordinary expression on my face, he doesn’t stop for a moment. Moving at whatever pace suits him, he stirs me up from the inside out, and I follow along. Once is nothing. Twice is hardly enough. We might continue as long as we can, until exhaustion prevents either of us from continuing for another second.
Just as I thought, we continue. In all sorts of ways, with all sorts of pleasures, we find our way to the limit.
He falls back against the chaise, now completely finished. I already feel the beginnings of soreness, the sweet tinge of pain in my stomach. I rest against him for a while. Our hearts beat steadily in one strong pulse. I’m held gently now. He finds his way around my body with his hands, but slowly, idly. This is a time only for relaxation.
And yet, it isn’t enough.
Lost in a haze of exhaustion and lingering licentious pleasure, he never really saw it coming. Vermillion hair surrounds him. He is completely immobile. Trapped in a cage. The enveloping walls of red are like the inside of some great beast, the inside of myself.
A few stray locks swirl around his flaccid length, and it returns to life. Swollen with blood, practically jumping for another chance to come, all over, all inside, it doesn’t matter.
“Akiha…” He pauses for a second, completely bewildered by the circumstances. “What’s this new trick?”
“Convenient, isn’t it? As long as I’ve got surplus energy, I can give you as much as you like. In a case like this, we could continue practically forever.”
That’s a lie, technically. There’s no escaping our limits. At best, this is just a temporary way of cheating the natural order.
“I see. You’ve actually gotten pretty creative with this.”
I straddle him, keeping my lips positioned over his engorged glans. I whisper, directly into his ear, “Just sit back quietly. For now, you’re all mine.”
These rituals of courtship all go back to the copulation of animals, if you look far enough. Everything, down to the last trick of seduction. But we’ve no need for much more. Sometimes, the simplest path is best.
There was a time when this mansion was desolate. Even when it was full of residents, active with the movement of multiple servants, the place never seemed so dead. It was lonely, all the way up here. As soon as I could arrange it, I left for Asagami, and didn’t look back.
This is a place where one sits dominant above all others, but, come to think of it, two isn’t much harder to fit. Even if it’s a little more cozy, that’s alright.
I’m not touched by the cold, not by sadness nor by grief. I can bear everything, so long as I have him here to bear it with me.
This is a life shared. A debt that goes two ways. It can’t ever be fully repaid.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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It keeps many things at bay, in fact. Elevation is the defining characteristic of power. It communicates a separation from the activity of the environment: an infinite, impassable distance. This is typical of structures from across history, whether the great ziggurat of Babylon, the Greek acropolis, and the archetypal castle. Neuschwanstein is a good example, I believe. Closer to home are the shrines and temples, always situated above the common world. Their more extreme cousins in Tibet put themselves on mountaintops, espousing a deeper desire for ascetism, if not for practical logistics.
I have only one more thing to say on this matter. A certain distance is comfortable, but at times, very lonely.
Enter the library; a hardwood floor with lush carpeting on the reading area. The long mullioned windows cover about two thirds of the far wall, and heavy velvet drapes frame the sides. To the left, there are about six shelves that extend to the ceiling, filled with whatever held the interests of the last few generations of the family. All very ordinary books and novels. The more interesting histories are preserved elsewhere, though my father was not especially reluctant to bring some here for extended study.
On the right, and this the part that is of concern to this story, is the reading space. The carpet is solid burgundy and soft enough to sink into. A table is in the center, rosewood with a glass face. Around it in a half circle are a single couch, a loveseat, and a chaise lounge. These were part of a set, older than I am. Nevertheless, their quality is excellent, and comfort has not diminished.
That fact is confirmed, because I am currently seated on the couch. The upholstery is fresh and smells of detergent, and is perfectly soft. With one hand, I lazily turn the pages of the book propped up in front of me. I have been lost for some time in this world of paper, time marked only by the ticking of the large clock above the door.
Some consideration must be made to the weather; it is raining. Droplets splash against the windows and disperse, marking their existence with just that faint tap. It is a constant and gentle sound, and it puts me in a strange mood. This hill is high, but hardly pierces the clouds. Like anywhere else, the rain falls. It falls harder, even, thanks to the absence of any windbreak. Not to suggest that I find this unpleasant. Cold weather does not bother me. Has not, for a while now.
And sprawled on the chaise opposite to me is my brother, who has yet to finish his first hundred pages of the Jungle Book. While I cannot comment on his choice of material, I will express some degree of sisterly pride that he has endeavored to read it in the original language. His cultural education is critically deficient, and judging by the half-dead glaze of his eyes, is not showing good signs of improvement. I shall be gracious and lend him a hand.
With a light snap, I shut my own novel. His eyes flicker over to me for a moment, and then lock on as I walk toward his seat. He lowers the book and sits up, making space for me before I can ask for it. Onto the cushion now. Ah, lovely. The cushion has preserved a lingering touch of warmth.
“You seem to be a bit tired, brother. Would it help if I asked you to read aloud to me?”
A quizzical look, and he clears his throat. "’There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his earliest kill; But the jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be still.’ Right, how was that, Akiha?”
“...To be fair to you, I think that was only below-average pronunciation. However, please work a little harder. You’re not a child being raised by wolves.”
He scoffs and turns his attention fully on me now. “Yes, wolves could never be so demanding. I’d probably have done pretty well with them.” A little hint of a smile is on his lips, teasing. But one might call it predatory, even. Such a petty challenge, and of course I must not back down.
“This sort of recreation is useful in society.” I pull my body up onto the chaise. Legs over his lap, and back against the armrest. “That aside, there aren’t any wolves in Japan anyway.”
He says nothing and picks up the book. Behind his glasses, his eyes focus intently on the pages. They flicker every few seconds and he blinks quickly at regular intervals. The rustle of paper marks another page complete. That and the sound of quiet breathing cut through the distant hiss of rain, all punctuated by the wooden ticking of the clock. His silence leaves me with a sliver of irritation, but seeing him like this, quiet and focused, puts me in such a calm mind that I cannot even think to probe again.
Those eyes are sharply focused, intent on seeing nothing but the book. Above, the hint of a frown has settled itself on his brow. Pulse is up by a few beats, and I can smell sweat under his clothes. The marks of irritation are palpable, but something new is rising above them.
“Hey, Akiha?”
This interrupts my thoughts. Of course I do not express this, turning my head in response.
“I’m kinda stumped with this part. Do you mind?”
“You’re joking, surely?”
Nothing has been done, nothing said, but as I inch closer and closer my face has already twisted into a smile so tight that I can feel it even through this haze that blurs my vision and suffuses through my body with such a familiar warmth that I want only to curl up and squeeze so that it never escapes me. And yet there is a certain approach to make, and a certain way to make it. A guest does not immediately enter the boudoir to take tea.
I tap my foot against his knees, which shift unconsciously and allow me to enter. The glide of fabric against satiny fabric is now the loudest sound in the room. I press the ball of my foot against his inner thigh. Gentle plying pushes his legs apart and I find the firm bulge at the fly of his pants.
Nii-san starts and drops his book. Eyes wide open and face decorated with a burning flush, he is the picture of a maiden whose lover has found her bed in the night. He’s rarely off guard when it comes to things like this, and something else has caught my notice.
“Now, how long have you been like this?”
He’s regained some composure, in defiance of the staccato tapping of my foot. “Take a guess.” His hand is on my knee, and sliding up.
Nii-san is quite the carnivore to turn the situation around. A little trickle of sweat runs down my back. Is this the feeling of a rabbit in the jaws of a trap? A bird in a cage? Regardless of these doubts, I arch my back and make a small smile. “Then, you make very dangerous game indeed. Now, shall I have you come, just like this?”
I dig in with my toes and roll his swollen organ around with greater force. He stiffens all over, releasing a slow groan. Breath running ragged, he slips in a reply. “I invite you to try.”
Licked, sucked, nibbled, I am devoured. My breath is stolen away, mixing with his in the interstice of our lips. The sensation is overwhelming. He clamps down harder, now pressing me against the cushion. As my warmth is stolen, more still is pumped in. This face, this chest, this beating heart, are all no longer my own. We two are linked, sharing everything between us. But there are limits. The slow burn of asphyxiation begins to overtake us, sending my heartbeat skyrocketing until I finally break away to breathe.
Part, return. Part, return. He is a starving beast, wolfing down its meat in gulps. Ripping through the entrance of my mouth, and then the entrance of my being.
“No, wait.” I gasp out. “Not yet.”
He simply stares into me. Behind lenses, those lovely blue eyes shine. “What’s wrong with right now?”
Clothing rips and is cast aside. Skirt and underwear gone, my most vulnerable parts are bared. Pants open, he moves in. It is unlike me, I know, but right now I only want to grab him and tighten my hold, until he can never go free. In fact, I’ll do just that. I hug him from below, beckoning him forward.
Poised to make entry, his dick glistens in its own fluids. Hurry up, hurry and do as you wish, or I’ll grow impatient. On his glasses, a fine mist has formed. Whether it is my breath or his own steaming sweat, is impossible to tell. He jerks forward; I wince in anticipation of the familiar sensation, of the tightness and the pleasure.
It doesn’t come. Nothing but a quick peck on the tip of my nose.
“Eh?”
“Look at you all flustered. What, you thought I was serious?”
It’s gone. Enchantment and arousal ablate and vanish, replaced now with indignation that burns my face crimson.
“Why, you, you!”
He sinks closer to me, covering me completely with his body. When he speaks, the words come in a low purr.
“Well, you thought right.”
It enters like a red-hot stake, sliding between the walls of my flesh. I cry out in surprise, taking him in fully with an involuntary jerk of my hips. Pain probably hits me first. Though this is hardly the first time we’ve coupled, the sudden intrusion into my innermost parts comes with a jolt of tension, and the crushing strain. I take him in and tighten until my own muscles burn with the strain. I won’t ever, ever let go.
It feels good. As he stirs up my insides, they coil and loosen, filling with the slippery fluid of our communion. Unprepared depths acclimate to his rhythm, now pounding freely into me. It comes in bursts of motion. He removes himself, plunges back in, and starts all over. It’s the simplest, most natural expression of ourselves. I lie here trembling in ecstasy, accepting everything he gives.
My hand wanders down to the little knob above my entrance, and as I hold him tightly to me with one arm, I also savor my own touch. Stoked from within and without, the sensations rise to a fever pitch. Above, he curls over me and forces our lips together. I’m enveloped, pinned from above and below, taken over by my beloved brother. Skipping the hunt, paying no mind to the steps, just seizing the prey before it notices anything amiss.
This is being devoured. Everything of mine is open to him, and he takes it. Outside, my blouse is torn open, lingerie pushed to the side. The damage to the clothes is not worth mentioning. These are nothing special, and he simply wants me badly enough to not care. As do I him.
Panting for breath, he stops halfway, looking down over me. He reminds himself that I am his, and looking up at him, I remind myself that he is mine. Rather, we remind each other of this fact. I tighten around him unconsciously, trying my best to suck him back into me. To continue this act of plunder.
Instead of relenting, he poses a question.
“When you get down to it, what are we, Akiha?”
Impatient as I am, I consider this briefly. “Siblings? Lovers? Humans?”
Maintaining that steady expression, the sharp focus on my eyes and face, he says, “Humans. Yes, we’re just beasts that learned to tell stories.”
I understand his meaning. I understand, but I don’t want to think about it. It’s not my fault. He’s responsible for getting me this excited.
“So?”
“So, nothing. We’re done with stories. It’s fine to just be beasts.”
He gives my hand a squeeze and releases, and then plunges into me once more. Just like that, the renewed sensation becomes more intense than before. I love this feeling. I love the raw heat that flows between us. Our bodies are pressed together, absent of any divide save the skin that forms the final barrier between inside and outside. And surpassing even that, we are linked within as well. We share our essence, our pleasure. I love this person who is closest to me, yet so distinctly separate.
“B–brother!”
Within, he twitches, pulses. Breaths become harsh, washing over my face. He rams himself in, and tears himself out. His heart beats so forcefully that I can feel it through his back. He groans, or growls. I can scarcely tell the difference.
“Akiha. Akiha!”
His seed coats my insides, dribbling out as he continues to move in the throes of climax. Temporarily spent, he withdraws and reclines against the chair. Face flushed, chest heaving, he still stares at me, pinning me down with his gaze.
“As always, you’re so very soft.” he murmurs.
Time passes without count. The clock ticks, forgotten. We await the chance to recommence, until he says, “Ok, turn over.”
As I shift my position, I note how my arms and legs tremble, filled with a feverish energy. Once satisfied with my orientation, he slides his hands over my rear. A gentle squeeze, and then my hips are seized.
From behind, he finds my entrance still dripping. Teasing it open with his fingers, he brings the head of his dick to meet it. It’s like a kiss. Bit by bit, he enters. I can already take him in, but he moves agonizingly slowly. He enjoys himself fully, and soon finds a good pace. With each dull smack of flesh on flesh, I release a short gasp. I’m eager for more and more.
Without warning, he comes in harder. It sets me off, and I yelp like a dog in heat. The image might be shameful if it weren’t so apt. He resumes with unbridled enthusiasm, and I take advantage of this position to move in sync. My butt is high in the air, receiving the impact of his hips every time we meet. Sweat pours down my back, over my neck.
From within, something begins to uncoil. Each motion begins to vibrate and resound. It’s an excellent feeling: the physical experience of being loved. It continues as my quivering comes to a crescendo. I tighten, I hold, I crush.
“Shiki, I’m– Shiki!”
It bursts out like an explosion, wracking me with a sensation that dominates my focus. A singular awareness of pleasure. Hips jerk backward into him with force, to enjoy every inch of movement to the greatest possible degree.
Though I am already like this, surely with some extraordinary expression on my face, he doesn’t stop for a moment. Moving at whatever pace suits him, he stirs me up from the inside out, and I follow along. Once is nothing. Twice is hardly enough. We might continue as long as we can, until exhaustion prevents either of us from continuing for another second.
Just as I thought, we continue. In all sorts of ways, with all sorts of pleasures, we find our way to the limit.
He falls back against the chaise, now completely finished. I already feel the beginnings of soreness, the sweet tinge of pain in my stomach. I rest against him for a while. Our hearts beat steadily in one strong pulse. I’m held gently now. He finds his way around my body with his hands, but slowly, idly. This is a time only for relaxation.
And yet, it isn’t enough.
Lost in a haze of exhaustion and lingering licentious pleasure, he never really saw it coming. Vermillion hair surrounds him. He is completely immobile. Trapped in a cage. The enveloping walls of red are like the inside of some great beast, the inside of myself.
A few stray locks swirl around his flaccid length, and it returns to life. Swollen with blood, practically jumping for another chance to come, all over, all inside, it doesn’t matter.
“Akiha…” He pauses for a second, completely bewildered by the circumstances. “What’s this new trick?”
“Convenient, isn’t it? As long as I’ve got surplus energy, I can give you as much as you like. In a case like this, we could continue practically forever.”
That’s a lie, technically. There’s no escaping our limits. At best, this is just a temporary way of cheating the natural order.
“I see. You’ve actually gotten pretty creative with this.”
I straddle him, keeping my lips positioned over his engorged glans. I whisper, directly into his ear, “Just sit back quietly. For now, you’re all mine.”
These rituals of courtship all go back to the copulation of animals, if you look far enough. Everything, down to the last trick of seduction. But we’ve no need for much more. Sometimes, the simplest path is best.
There was a time when this mansion was desolate. Even when it was full of residents, active with the movement of multiple servants, the place never seemed so dead. It was lonely, all the way up here. As soon as I could arrange it, I left for Asagami, and didn’t look back.
This is a place where one sits dominant above all others, but, come to think of it, two isn’t much harder to fit. Even if it’s a little more cozy, that’s alright.
I’m not touched by the cold, not by sadness nor by grief. I can bear everything, so long as I have him here to bear it with me.
This is a life shared. A debt that goes two ways. It can’t ever be fully repaid.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
-----
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