#Buy and Sell Script

[untimelyambition]

now that we’re on the topic i would fucking love to read through the sheet music for nerdy prudes must die… not even to play or try and put on my own performance but just so i could read it and follow along with the show to try and work out all the harmonies

[cubedmango]

And not only are they at the risk of an unwanted adaptation but they’re also at risk of being completely misinterpreted by those same fans who only care about their actor ships… like I’m still bitter about the amount of them who were saying that the gmm version of cm would be better solely because they’ll kiss and probably do more in the physical romance aspect like . I understand wanting to have an actual on screen kiss included but most of the people who said that weren’t even fans of the show and just wanted to tear it down over something and it annoys me beyond belief because to insinuate that a show’s quality is based off of how many kisses or sex scenes it has in insane);£;)

LITERALLY ???? the fact that the only 'talking point' these people have against reasonable complains abt the quality of writing is "well the gmm versions are gonna show them kissing and/or having sex so itll automatically be better" is like ?? tell me u have literally zero standards for good television writing and that u have no idea romance stories are supposed to be Engaging and making u invested in the charas and their relationship besides just showing intimacy (mostly for views lets be real) without telling me that challenge: passed with flying colors! 👁👄👁 plus them clearly caring less abt the physical intimacy stuff in context of the charas and the story itself and how it would add to the storytelling and arcs and all but rather for their actor shipping bs like i see u people ur not subtle trust me 🤨

[toris-letterboxd]

okay.. I'm going to try to get out of this funk of whatever is wrong with me..

50 notes: drink water

100 notes: buy school supplies

200 notes: finally clean my depression room

250 notes: do my summer reading for school

300 notes: fix my guitar strings

400 notes: dust and deep vacuum my room

500 notes: try fix my fried hair

600 notes: try eat 3 normal meals

750: replace my old stuff and get new things like clothes and new hygiene products

800: apply for those jobs ive been looking at

900: sign up for math tutoring so I don't fail high school

3000 notes: start writing drafts for my short films

6000 notes: finish the draft for my tv show script

10 million: fully finish both drafts and direct and produce them and sell them to a studio

[evandorkin]

Once again plugging the BEASTS OF BURDEN OMNIBUS in the hopes of selling a copy or two. In this modern comics world a book comes out and disappears like a pebble tossed in a lake. There's a few ripples and then it's forgotten. I keep taking this pebble out and drying it. I don't think that metaphor really works but fuck it.

BUY THIS BOOK. DON'T POSTPONE JOY.

The Beasts of Burden Omnibus is available at full-line comic shops and bookstores that support stuff like this. It's also available from online book and comic shops and sellers. Published by Dark Horse Comics, the same folks who published The Eltingville Club, Dork and Milk & Cheese (and will once again in the future).

Almost 600 color pages of story and extras for only $30. Dogs and cats versus the supernatural. Includes every story done so far including the crossover with Mike Mignola's Hellboy. Art by co-creator Jill Thompson and Benjamin Dewey. Lettering by Nate Piekos and Jason Arthur. Scripts by e, with several stories co-written with Sarah Dyer. Winner of eight Eisner Awards and a Harvey Award. We lost some other things we were nominated for.

It's a good comic.

End of plug.

[married-to-google-translater]

Mc gets fed up with their money problems and starts selling hugs part 2

Part 1 is here

Yes hugs... One hug costs five euros/5,44 dollars ;) per minute. Imagine how the twst boys would react to that...

There's really no need for advertising. The word about your company would spread very quickly. Especially after Cater would take a couple of pictures for the magigram.

Riddle would surely have been horrified when he first heard about this. There must be some rule against such activities on the school grounds… But if Crowley didn't do anything to Azul's fish mafia, it's unlikely that he would intervene in this. Actually, Riddle would be a little sad because he would like hugs but it wouldn't be appropriate to buy them.

Riddle wouldn't be the only one who wouldn't be pleased…

Grimm would also be very displeased. Little magic cat does not appreciate that you pay so much attention to others. And that you get money that you wouldn't spend on tuna. Totally unbelievable.

Well, at least some people find this idea funny.

Kalim would like to support you financially and he would love your hugs. Truly a win win situation for both of you.

Jade would be surprisingly helpful and interested. If you would pay him, he would gladly help you with the business whenever he can. The payment can either be made with money or sponges.

Lilia would love your ingenuity and want to support you. This is one of the funniest ideas he's seen in a long time. Lilia would also love to observe other students' reactions and interactions with you.

However, Lilia is not the only one who likes to observe the situation.

Rook would love to take pictures of you hugging other students... especially merfolk, fae and beastman. Or at least you think so. You can swear you can hear the sound of the camera. He himself would cuddle with you sometime~

You really can't script this...

[transfaguette]

Have you noticed a disconnect when it comes to masc HRT and how people talk about losing access to it (or getting DIY access)? I was looking at a well known public DIY guide today and noticed that the trans masc page flow said T is cheaper and easier to get than E, and repeatedly that even though it's illegal to own without a prescription no one is ever actually going to get in trouble for it, then went on to list one single T provider per continent and said to figure out how to use bitcoin to buy the T. I got curious and checked out the feminizing page flow and there was no comparison to T access, all of the prices for every med were listed in USD with budgeting tips, and sources were listed by method of HRT with tips for shipping times. It just really picked at the scab from times trans fems (and cis people! and even some pre t trans men!) have told me I'm overreacting when I tell them I'm scared of losing my T script, and saying I can just DIY/calling me a doomer since they know a bunch of (always, always exclusively trans fem) people who DIY without any trouble!!!

My sister has had people come up to her male friends at the gym and ask if they want T- this is probably where the perception comes from, from cis male athletes and weight lifters and body builders. but thats like a pretty specific ecosystem that hey, maybe, just maybe, transmasculine people would be fearful of or just have no interest in engaging with. I think if you were deadset on it, yes you could find a source of T. its not impossible. but its noooooowhere near as accessible as diy estrogen, youre just straight up buying illicit drugs. especially if you live in a part of the US where trans people are already being criminalized, you are putting yourself at risk. maybe buying and selling T is low risk for cishet white men. but its still a felony they can use against you! and can make getting a prescription in the future more difficult.

I don’t have a problem with diy resources that focus on estrogen. they are made by and for ppl seeking estrogen so they write what they know! it is frustrating when people waltz into every situation assuming everything about being transmasc is easier. would be a lot nicer if people instead empathized with our fears instead of telling us to just stop being so whiny.

[viridianriver]

I want YOU to fuck with Elon Musk's finances!

Apologies for the nerd-talk here, but I have a easy political action for you!

Right now, the Tesla stock seems to be held afloat not so much by individual investors, but by investment banks which include the stock in index funds. The sort of funds that many people's 401ks are in. (I've been watching the stock, the 'sells' are many and small, the 'buys' are fewer and large, likely indicative of big-banks propping up a failing stock.)

And you, yes you, if you have a IRA, 401k, or other retirement investment which includes Tesla, can fuck Elon up today. (If you don't have one, send this post to any cool Boomers you know who might!)

What you're gonna do is call whoever you or your employer banks with (Vanguard, Schwab, TD, whoever) and tell them the following:

You're concerned by their reliance on TSLA in their indices, a volatile stock whose value is not based in investing fundamentals.

The intrinsic value of the stock (discounted cashflow / relative valuation) is $46 while the stock is trading at over $200

The current valuation is defended by the following flawed arguments:

a. Sales to consumer vehicle market - The majority revenue source. However sales across the globe are dropping compared to this time last year; 73% in Germany, 65% in Australia, and 49% in China. b. Potential Autonomous vehicle? - Promised for years, as a retrofit to existing vehicles - has not materialized, even after competitors (Waymo) succeeded in fielding the technology. c. Potential Humanoid Robotics? - An industry Tesla has no experience in, and is facing significant competition in from well-established well-funded competitors such as Boston Dynamics. d. Potential "AI"? - Unless specified further, with a concrete path to profitability this seems to be vaporware. e. Elon's personal brand - Has been losing credibility, due to partisan political behavior. He has also been failing to perform his fiduciary duty to shareholders, by neglecting his role as CEO to become politically involved. f. Battery Technology - Has a high reliance on imported materials such as Lithium, the availability of which is dependent on the unpredictable geopolitical situation in Ukraine.

And you are HUGELY worried about the impact on your finances when the stock corrects itself towards it's true value, and returns to trading along financial fundamentals. (If you want to get spicy with it, you can say you feel they too are failing in their fiduciary duties to you by continuing to invest in TSLA. But, from what i know of finance bros, that's fightin words, so use with discretion.)

So... If you want to have an outsized impact on this hair-plugged skinhead's finances, all you gotta do is call the finance nerds and speak their language a little. (I know phone calls suck but I literally gave u a script!) Most retirement investors are passive, so even a handful of upset callers can have an outsized impact.

Embrace your inner Karen if you want. (You're doing WHAT with my money? Propping up a failing overvalued business?)

Good luck, and tell me how it goes if you do this!! (disclaimer: this is not financial advice)

[brummelliana]

It Begins

The Next Beatles Game

this is only a placeholder of course. Let it be known that as a placeholder menu song it plays the guitar solo from Freebird. I wish it could always be this epic but stupid beatle song will have to replace it.

Good news for Ringo fans since he is actually in this one.

I spent the last 30 or so hours working on Act 1's coding. I have 1459 lines of code in the script as of now. There is more script and outline in google docs.

This is a much more ambitious project than CBML. To put it into perspective, the first choice in CBML was at line 1611, and AHDN has about 10 choices and a minigame so far.

But as Can't Buy Me Love improved upon Paulgame, I aim to improve upon CBML with "A Hard Day's Night: The Game". A Hard Game's Night? The title is a work in progress...

The outline is more or less finished. The plot follows along the lines of the film, but I don't want to make it an identical experience to watching the movie either.

Like CBML there is an original player character, I draw info from the original script, add a little here and there, ect.

Your choices will matter much more in this game. I have variables and a point system, the Beatle boys will remember if you slighted them, or vice verca.

It is planned to be a tamer game than Can't Buy Me Love, (I mean, CBML was a real fever dream of a plot), but fear not, I will try to integrate my classic Brummelliana wacky zany humor everybody and their mother loves.

My current plan is to finish act 1 as a demo, and then continue on the rest of the game. If I'm lucky, maybe it will be out this summer, give or take. Maybe the full game will be done by winter 2025.

Maybe I should go crazy and sell the full thing for like... a dollar. I don't know if that'll make Paul sue me or what. The full game might be a few hours, so I might get away with it.

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Rin Itoshi with a partner who's an oldest sibling.

Well, he didn't even know you had a little sibling at first, since that topic never popped up in your conversations (actually, he probably avoided the topic family altogether). It just happened to slip up during an outing at the mall. You both just passed through a shop you knew your sibling liked, which made you remember their birthday was coming up. So, you grasped the opportunity to buy their gift beforehand to prevent you from forgetting it like you did last year and making your family member mad (again).

"Rinnie, let's stop here!"

"Huh? Why? I don't remember you mentioning you liked this shop before"

"It's not for me silly! It's for my lil sibling!"

"....you have a younger sibling?"

"Yeah!"

"And you buy them gifts?"

"...you don't buy your sibling presents?" (Of course, you didn't know about what happened between him and Sae and their strained relationship at the time)

"...no"

He looked really uncomfortable, so you just left it at that. You knew he would tell you eventually when he finally felt like he trusted you enough.

After that, Rin actually got pretty curious about you and your sibling. How was your relationship with eachother? Do you treat them well? (he knows you do, but the trauma he got when Sae left still haunts him to this day) Do they treat you well? (He hopes they do, because he won't take it lightly if they don't). Sadly, he couldn't go to their birthday becsuse he was playing abroad, but you gushed about the party while in call with him, talking about how "Your little baby was growing too fast" and how "You weren't ready for that". So, that answered (a part of) his questions: your relationship was just great. Amazing, even. And that only made him more curious and more anxious to meet them.

The opportunity to actually meet your sibling presents itself in an unsuspected night. It was one of Rin's rare day offs, which you both usually spend cuddling in the couch, eating tons of chocolate (actually it was you eating chocolate and him watching, because he had to follow a strict diet. More for you, I guess!) and watching some horrible horror movies that had such bad script, acting and special effects that they looked more like comedy movies.

You were finishing the popcorn when you heard the doorbell ringing. Since your hands were full, you asked Rin to open the door.

"Rinrin, sweetheart, could you please open the door? I'm busy with the popcorn right now!"

Without saying a word, Rin got up from the couch (where he was picking the movie for the night) and went straight to the door, wondering who could it be. Maybe you ordered take out. Maybe it was that sweet old lady that lived next door offering brownies again. Maybe a scout selling cookies. It could also be--

Oh.

He was NOT expecting this.

"...I think you got the wrong house" The striker said after opening the door and finding a teenager, probably not a lot younger that him (5 years at most). They were crying badly, with snot running down their nose and looking absolutely devastated.

"So, who is it--" you said, blissfully unaware that someone was having a breakdown at your front door. However, when you finally got to the door and saw who was there, you quickly put your hands over your mouth, muttering your sibling's name with a worried "Oh dear! What happened?" following right after.

You quickly ushered your sibling inside, told them to sit at the couch and went into the kitchen to make them some tea to help them calm down, not knowing Rin was right behind you ever since you closed the door, wondering "Who the hell is this person?", but not quite knowing how to ask.

"You're probably wondering who they are". There you were. Always knowing what he wants without him even needing to utter a word. That was probably one of the reasons your relationship worked so well, Rin thought.

"Yeah"

"They're my little sibling, the one I went to that birthday party last month"

"...ah."

"I don't know why they're crying tho. I hope I can figure it out."

"I'm sure you can"

"C'mon, let's go to couch. They're waiting there" You said, holding the tea in your hands. But, before you both got out at the kitchen, you stopped and turned to him with a smile "Actually, could you please grab some napkins at the bathroom stall? I'm sure I'll need some"

"Sure, no problem"

Then, you both parted ways. While Rin was searching for the damn napkins that Itoshi was sure were actually straight up hiding from him, only your sibling's sniffs and your soothing words filled the house. He gradually heard the crying disappearing though, so you must have done a very good job at comforting your family member.

Rin must have spent a long time searching for the napkins, because at the time he finally got to the living room, he could no longer hear sniffs or hushed whispers.

"Honey? I found the napkins." He said while getting closer to the couch.

When he did get to where you were, he understood why he wasn't hearing anything anymore. No wonder the sniffs disappeared: you and your sibling were both sleeping, with their head in your lap and your hand in their hair, as though you were passing your hand through their locks to soothe the pain they were feeling. You both had calm expressions on your faces (well, as calm as a face of a person who probably spent more than 1 hour crying could be) and the cup of tea sat empty in the table beside the armchair.

"Oh."

Rin looked at the scene in front of him with a sad sparkle in his eyes, wondering how his life would be if Sae was a sibling like you in the past: a caring brother, that wouldn't call him lukewarm and wouldn't say he makes him wanna vomit.

Shaking this thoughts out of his mind since they were going to make him more harm than good and it was no use thinking about Sae now, Rin grabbed the blanket you both use during movie nights and threw it over you and your sibling, looking at the scene one last time before heading towards your shared bedroom, your movie night long forgotten. He wasn't sad though, because what happened today made him be sure of something:

You were the perfect match for him, and he would be damned if he let you go.

A/n: Did this based on me and my little brother's relationship. His birthday was yesterday, so I got creative. A great idea, not so great execution. Wish I could've done a better job on my Rin debut fic, sorry Rin 😔

Masterlist

[exeggcute]

interesting links roundup #2

reading

America’s dairy farms are disappearing

The Canary (forgive me for sharing a michael lewis wapo piece but it's about mineshaft engineering safety which is super neat I promise!!!)

‘The data on extreme human ageing is rotten from the inside out’

Diving lizard’s built-in ‘scuba tank’ allows it to breathe underwater

The Empathy Punishment

The Final Penalty

Gold Treasure Worth a Fortune Was Just Hidden in a Forest. The Hunt Starts Now

How a Scientific Dispute Spiralled Into a Defamation Lawsuit

How to succeed in MrBeast production

How Weed Strains Get Their (Amusing, Provocative, Downright Wacky) Names

Human cases of raccoon parasite may be your best excuse to buy a flamethrower

I sell onions on the Internet

Jawbreakers

Man Called Fran

Moral progress is annoying

The optimal amount of fraud is non-zero

Planet of Person Guys

Real-Estate Shopping for the Apocalypse

Some Notes on Attunement

U.S. overdose deaths plummet, saving thousands of lives

Why Is It So Hard to Go Back to the Moon?

Why We’re Turning Psychiatric Labels Into Identities

You are not a commercial for yourself

tools/reference

archive.is (this is the paywall remover I've been running all the paywalled links through (you're welcome) and pairs nicely with the news aggregators below)

Microsoft Activation Scripts

Radio Garden

Tom Paine Today and The Brutalist Report (both of these are news aggregators that let you quickly see what's in the headlines and how different outlets are reporting on it, although the latter is a bit more tech-focused)

Unclaimed Baggage

other

Observations - Journey (YouTube)

Shouting in the Datacenter (YouTube)

This American Life #839: Meet Me at the Fair

[silverskye13]

It was late. Helsknight was alone, and he was tired. Everything about him was tired. His arms ached from sword drills, his legs from practicing his footwork. His toes kept cramping from standing too long in his boots out on the Colosseum sand. His fingernails were sore from gripping a sword hilt, and his spine twinged as exhausted muscles struggled to hold his back straight. There was an ache behind his eyes. Everything tasted like mud.

He needed food. He needed water. He needed to bathe.

He needed rest.

Helsknight instead sat quietly in the mess hall. His sword form book was open on one side, his little black book on the other. Half-coherent and quickly scribbled notes in his cramped, curling script clambered across the pages, tripping over each other and jumbling, nearly unreadable, into loops and lines. Helsknight had gotten a rare glimpse of Red training today, in a quiet moment when he thought no one was watching. He wrote down what he could observe without taking his eyes off Red. It gave him more notes to jog his memory, at the cost of coherency. Now he de-tangled the cluttered words haltingly and stubbornly, trying to replay Red's movements in his head.

"Left-handed," Helsknight muttered under his breath, painstakingly transcribing his notes onto a new page. "Heaviest swings come from the shoulder..."

The heavy, netherite axe had thundered through the armored training dummy, crushing the armor and snapping apart chainmail with the power of a lightning strike. It made Helsknight's throat tighten just thinking about it. How bad the ache, if that blade caught in his armor and shattered his collar bone. How blinding the agony as it mashed chain, and fabric and metal deep into a wounding cut. It was like weilding a war hammer that could still bleed someone.

"Favors the right leg," Helsknight muttered, licking his quill to sharpen the tip. The ink, heavy with the grit of charcoal instead of overworld squid ink, sullied the taste of mud in his mouth with carbon and smoke. "Bad knee, not as strong as the left side. Could undermine stance."

Red had almost a head of height on Helsknight, longer legs and longer arms, and an axe far longer than his broadsword. It would be speed and precision against reach and power. Speed and precision, and Martyn would be there, and Martyn was faster, and just as precise.

[He should see if he could sit in on Martyn's training next, though Martyn would know he was there, and would be smart enough to hide the full measure of his skills.]

The ache behind Helsknight's eyes bloomed intense and horrible, spotting the edges of his vision with stars. With a heavy sigh he tilted his head back and pinched the space between his eyes, nose wrinkled and eyes screwed shut in pain. The starring faded. The pain did not. He was so very, very, very tired.

The lights flickered once. Twice. Then went out. Briefly, Helsknight sat in utter darkness in the mess hall. He cracked an eye open and, seeing no difference in the darkness whether his eyes were open or closed, closed it again. The slow hiss of steam-piston joints approached from everywhere. From nowhere. Chck-chack--hisssss, like an old, heavy piston line made of wrought iron and pewter. Leaden footsteps paced, and with it came heat, blistering and dry as force fire. The backs of his eyelids lit with a red cast, and Helsknight scowled.

"Whatever you're selling," he growled, taking his hand from his face and leveling his exhausted gaze on Evil X, "I'm not buying. Save your breath."

The uncanny machine tilted his head, the bright red lights of his eyes narrowing in a grin. The lights in the mess hall came alive again, though they all seemed to fizzle and bleed, casting the room in a dull red, plasma-like glow. It made the brutal black and grey of Evil X's robotics stark, made the weight and strength of him more apparent. Evil X was the kind of creature that broke things just by playing with them, all blunt wrought-iron parts attached to a mind made uncanny by the faithful fear of every soul in hels -- including Helsknight. To be unafraid of Evil X was to be stupid, and dead, and for an unlucky few, kicked from hels altogether.

"So unkind to your Sovereign," Evil X chuckled gleefully, leaning forward over the table in a gesture that looked almost like a bow. "That's why I like you Helsknight. You really, truly, don't care."

Helsknight snorted derisively, "Do something worth caring about and I might."

Evil X laughed, tilting his head back, a hand clutched to his broad, iron chest as though there were breath that truly needed catching. He had the knack of acting, moving, organic down well -- far better than EB did. His movements were smooth and natural, so unlike a machine, that only the hiss and click of gears and servos belied his nature. One could almost be convinced he was a man in a suit, were it not for the jagged edges of his joints, and the way redstone and wires glinted and sparked where the edges of his frame met and separated.

"Oh I could," Evil X hummed, his voice bright and pleasant. It was a deep, growling voice, and it reverberated like tearing metal. "If you'd only let me, knight."

Evil X held out his hand playfully, that sly grin still narrowing his eyes. Helsknight raised an eyebrow at it. He crossed his arms and leaned on them against the table, looking up at the ruler of hels with a sardonic smirk.

"If you're looking for deference, you need a ring to kiss, my Sovereign." Helsknight said. "You only kiss the back of a hand if she's a lady, a queen, or a princess."

"So many stupid rules," Evil X sighed. "Being a knight must be an exhausting chore."

The metal monstrosity leaned forward, splaying out his hand to catch his weight on the table. The wood groaned beneath him like a wounded animal, and the heat escaping from the joints of his fingers made the wood smoke. Helsknight resisted the urge to lean away from the heat. He knew intimidation when it came knocking, loud and unsubtle, on his cell door.

"How about," Evil X hummed brightly, his voice sickly-sweet with derisive pleasantry, "you kiss my hand because I am your Sovereign, and I am owed your respect."

Helsknight's pride seethed, but this was a fight he neither wanted nor could win. Helsknight stood, wincing only a little as muscles that had grown stiff as he sat protested the movement. Evil X straightened when he did, once again offering his hand. Helsknight bowed low and, careful not to actually touch the Sovereign, for fear of burning himself, kissed the air over the back of Evil X's hand.

"I am at your service, tyrant."

"Flatterer."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"It was if I say it was."

"You can do a great many wonders, tyrant," Helsknight said, "but you have yet to change the nature of truth."

Evil X moved like lightning, a bold red smear of color that Helsknight could barely see. Evil X grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, wrought iron fist bunching in his chainmail, and yanked him forward. Suddenly he was being lifted halfway across the table, staring up into the void-dark black of the screen that made up Evil X's face, which shouldn't be possible, because Evil X wasn't that tall. The magma-hot press of his fist so close to Helsknight's neck made him wince, the radiant heat threatening to burn if it got any closer. He could smell the rings of his mail heating, and the press of his weight against the collar of his clothes squeezed his throat closed; not enough to strangle, but certainly enough to threaten. It took every ounce of sense in Helsknight's body not to snap his hands forward and grab at the scalding metal of the Sovereign's wrist.

"You know, Helsknight, I do like you." Evil X said, all pleasantness gone from his voice. "I like your sarcasm. I like your strength. I like how much you struggle."

He pulled Helsknight a little closer, and Helsknight, already on his tip-toes, his fingertips just barely catching his weight on the table, felt every part of himself currently anchoring himself the ground lift just barely off their purchase. All of his weight fell against the collar of his shirt, and the press of Evil X's fist, thinning his breaths to reedy sips of air.

"But I won't abide by your disrespect," Evil X said, his voice so deep and mechanical, Helsknight felt it in the pit of his stomach. "A healthy fear in hels is very important to me. I thrive on it. Call it a law. All must fear Evil X."

Evil X narrowed the red lights of his eyes unpleasantly, something like a grim smile playing in his mechanical features.

"And you, my brave, sarcastic, law abiding knight, don't seem very scared of me." Evil X tilted his head just slightly, and red-grey steam swirled from an articulation near his mechanical spine. It was hot enough that Helsknight flinched his eyes closed, for fear it would scald him. "Do I need to scare you, Helsknight?"

Helsknight felt his heart kick a little quicker in his chest. He grinned. He always found it was best to bare his teeth at a threat.

"I'm terrified," Helsknight said truthfully, his voice a strangled whisper in his throat. His hands hovered inches away from Evil X's wrist, the barely withheld impulse to grab the hot metal, to try and find any leverage to ease the bruise against his throat, fighting to rip free. "But I deal with fear often in the arena. Forgive me for not being very transparent with it."

Helsknight swallowed and winced. The heat radiating from Evil X's hand was starting to seep through his armor. His chainmail was heating up, and he could feel every link uncomfortably hot against his skin.

Evil X smiled, his voice brightening, "Beg for my forgiveness, and maybe I will."

"Can't," Helsknight lowered his hands and tried to reach for the table. His fingertips scuffed at empty air. "My Saint takes precedence."

"You're not a monotheist," Evil X pointed out reasonably. "You believe in the Order of Remembrance."

"But I don't beg their god for mercy," Helsknight said, his voice thinning. "It's... Getting hard to breathe."

"Terrible waste of energy, breathing." Evil X sighed, as though the act were pitiful. "You organic creatures waste so much time on it."

"It's a bad habit to break. Addictive."

"What, breathing?"

"Living, generally."

Evil X let out a derisive tsk! and rolled his eyes. "Of course. How silly of me."

"Ex..." Helsknight hissed, his hands jerking up for another aborted grab at Evil X's wrist. Small, firefly stars were starting to swim into the edges of his vision, retreating from sight when he managed another thin gasp.

Evil X, still unhurried and unbothered, twisted his wrist, tilting Helsknight's face to the side as if to get a better look at him. It pressed the heated chainmail harder against Helsknight's neck, and he wheezed in protest.

"Is there something different about you?" Evil X asked, scrutinizing him unhurriedly. "Done something to your hair, maybe?"

"The scars are new," Helsknight whispered unhelpfully, his vision starting to blur around the edges.

"No," Evil X sighed. "No it's not that. It's got something to do with the smell of you. Beg for mercy from any new gods lately?"

"Not that I know of."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Sovereign." Helsknight tried to be more insistent, but his head was starting to swim. His heart was fluttering quick in his chest, pushing too little air too quickly through his limbs.

[Don't panic.]

"You know, I could make all your problems disappear." Evil X hummed, the unbreakable vice of his grip holding Helsknight so unnaturally still, he could have been writhing in the hands of a statue. "What with the Demon rigging your match. My brother won't ask -- doesn't want me meddling in his humble little hive. But I wouldn't refuse a request from the Champion of hels."

Helsknight reached with his hands and feet, cursing silently when all he found was open air. The table should still be there... Somewhere. Salvation. A reminder that the world existed outside the infinite black of Evil X's screen, the blinding red of his eyes, and the vice of his grip.

"He would forgive you for letting me in eventually," Evil X hummed. "He likes you."

The lights in Helsknight's eyes had stopped fading when he breathed. They invaded his vision like a brilliant tide. He only realized he'd given in to the impulse to grab Evil X's wrist, because suddenly his hands were burning. If he cried out in pain, it died somewhere against the clench of the Sovereign's fist.

[Don't panic.]

"Just recant on that stupid little agreement of ours," Evil X smiled, "and let me be your sponsor again. The Demon couldn't touch you then, now could he?"

"You could," Helsknight grunted, trying to twist in the unyielding grip. He only succeeded in pressing the heated chainmail harder against his neck.

It burned.

Evil X chuckled, and Helsknight felt the vibration in every rib.

"I can do that regardless," Evil X said gently, as though he were talking to a child. "I do what I like, when I like. I am the ruler of hels."

"Prove it." The glittering lights in Helsknight's eyes was starting to give way to a surging darkness. It rose around his world like an embrace. "Let me go."

Evil X chuckled again. It shook Helsknight's whole world.

"Say please."

There was a brief moment where Helsknight managed enough spite to want to spit in Evil X's face. He didn't. But he really, really wanted to.

He only knew his world had gone black, because when Evil X dropped him, his vision came surging back again. Helsknight collapsed to the floor, gasping and coughing. His nose stung with the smell of hot metal and singed fabric, and burns along the curve of his neck and the palms of his hands throbbed with bitter sensation. Evil X crouched on the balls of his feet, watching Helsknight as though he were a particularly interesting bug on the floor, or maybe some strange species of fish suffocating on a beach.

"Your pride is going to be the death of you," Evil X said pleasantly.

"Only if you're the one trying to kill me," Helsknight managed, when his coughing finally started to subside. He pressed his forehead to the cold floor, and blinked in quiet surprise as Evil X flicked his wrist and gently placed a water bottle in front of his nose.

"The offer stands," Evil X hummed. "I'll sponsor you. Get you out of that stupid little hovel of yours and into a house in the center of town, right beside my tower. Maybe even get you some proper armor, enchanted to a god's specifications."

"Since when have you been interested in sponsoring anyone?" Helsknight growled, his voice tumbling like gravel through his wounded throat. He didn't take the water Evil X offered. It felt too much like a trap.

"I want to see what the Demon does, obviously!" Evil X said gleefully, placing a second bottle by the first. A temptation. "I want to see what he'll do when I take away one of his playthings. I bet he'll throw a tantrum. Break some things in the Colosseum. It's been awhile since anyone has pissed my brother off."

"I'm nobody's plaything."

"Of course you are," Evil X flashed him another of those pitiful smiles. "Right now you're the Demon's. And here, I'm being so kind and offering to be your champion."

Helsknight felt a hot flash of anger jilt its way down his spine. Groaning from the effort, and the sting in his palms, he slid his hands beneath himself and tried to push himself off the floor.

"I don't need a champion," he spat. "I need you assholes to leave me the fuck alone."

Evil X's heavy hand landed in the center of Helsknight's back. It was the kind of gesture a friend would make when trying to offer consolation. The moment it touched him, it burned. Helsknight gasped, and then his arms buckled as Evil X, as trivially as one might capture a spider beneath their hands, pressed him back down against the floor. Helsknight grit his teeth around an impotent scream, writhing beneath the burning touch. It felt as though the Sovereign of hels planned to shove his hand through Helsknight's spine.

"Oh you stupid, prideful little knight," Evil X smiled pleasantly, "if no one is your champion, who, exactly, is going to protect you?"

The press on his back intensified. Helsknight thought he could hear his spine and ribs creak. He reached and kicked, as though it would do any good. One of the water bottles went skittering away when he hit it with a flailing hand.

The loud shatter of glass shot Helsknight gasping into wakefulness. He blinked his eyes, startled to find himself blind. Just as soon as he noticed its absence, light poured into the room, spreading warm and dim from the shrooms lights overhead. Tanguish was standing in front of him, out of breath, a potion bottle in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Tanguish asked, whisking to his side. "I thought I heard-- from down the hall-- like you were--" his expression softened from fear to worry. "Did something happen?"

Helsknight glanced around the room, and when he saw nothing abnormal, shortened his scan to the table. His form book and his little black notebook were there, as was his quill. One of his arms had an angry red line where he laid on it while sleeping, and had pressed too hard against his notebook. There were no burns on his hands, though his throat felt dry and sore from thirst. His back ached from how far he'd slumped over the table, spine protesting the unfair treatment.

"I'm... Fine." Helsknight said hoarsely. "Nightmare, I think."

"Oh. Well. Don't. Don't scare me like that," Tanguish said, smiling faintly. He gently placed the bottle on the table -- not a potion, but water, chilled by his touch. "Here. Uhm. S-someone must have left it out. It was hot when I picked it up."

Helsknight paused halfway to bringing the bottle to his lips. He blinked down at the innocuous little bit of glass, nervousness awakening in his stomach.

"Did I hear glass shattering?" He asked cautiously.

"Oh. Hah. Um. Well..."

Tanguish looked down. Helsknight followed his gaze. A few steps from the table, a water bottle had shattered, the jagged edges of the glass outlined faintly in the red-orange light. Tanguish's foot, just to one side of it, pooled blood in a slowly blooming ring.

"Tanguish."

"I'm s-sorry! It was so dark in here," Tanguish stammered, looking around. "I've never-- I didn't even see it I just stepped-- ah!"

Helsknight got to his feet and scooped Tanguish off the floor. It sent a corkscrew of pain spiralling down his spine, but he made his way to the stairs regardless. The cool of Tanguish's skin against his armor felt like a balm, even as his nervousness turned to snakes in his stomach.

"I'm fine!" Tanguish protested, clinging to Helsknight's armor. "Just get me some tweezers and--"

"The Colosseum surgeon will be awake still," Helsknight grumbled.

"It's just glass I don't need a surgeon!"

"You'll want a surgeon when you find out you left a piece in your foot a week from now."

"It's fine-- I'm fine," Tanguish said, his voice softening. "Don't freak out over it."

"I'm not freaking out."

"Helsknight, you're shaking."

"I'm tired," Helsknight protested. [Not technically a lie.] He stormed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "And the sooner we get this looked at, the sooner I sleep, right?"

"Right..." Tanguish agreed, and decided, tactfully, not to ask about the odd, ring-shaped burns around the neck of Helsknight's tunic.

"Right."

[popopretty]

[Translation] Asagiri Kafka's afterwords for The Day I Picked up Dazai novel

Normally, afterwords would be the last thing I read in a novel, but as there are not many changes to the published novel this time compared to the movie bonus version, I was able to skim through the text quickly and get to this. And to be honest, despite not being a writer myself, I was so moved by Asagiri's views about writing and his characters that he shared in the afterwords, that I had to sit down and translate it right away.

This is just my crappy translation, as usual, but I hope it gave you a short, interesting look into the author and the characters. And please do not forget to buy the novel if you have the chance.

The translation is under the cut, thank you!

It has been a while. This is Asagiri Kafka.

Have you been enjoying Bungou Stray Dogs?

This novel, “The Day I Picked up Dazai”, is a compilation of the first week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side A” and the second week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side B” for the screening of “Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST” movie (hereinafter referred to as “BEAST”).

Normally, it is difficult to publish a bonus like this, but since "BEAST” and “Fifteen” that were published earlier by BEANS Bunko were originally bonus novels too, "The Day I Picked up Dazai” was also published in the same way, thanks to the efforts of all parties involved in the Bungou Stray Dogs series.

It is the story of Dazai and Odasaku’s first meeting, where Dazai who wants to die, collapsed in front of Odasaku’s place, who is neither a mafioso nor a hit man.

Why are there two different stores, Side A and Sode B? Regarding this question, please read the novel and see for yourself. If you keep in mind that this is the bonus for the BEAST movie, I think you will be able to understand it better.

Let me reminisce a little bit here.

This story was actually suggested to me by Igarashi Takuya, Director of the Bungou Stray Dogs anime.

Shortly before BEAST movie premiered, I was struggling. It was because I was asked to write a bonus novel for movie-goers again. I said “again” because, as I mentioned earlier, BEAST itself was a bonus novel for the Bungou Stray Dogs DEAD APPLE movie. I remembered having a hard time writing it, because I let myself run wild and wrote a total of 190 pages instead of 50 pages as requested.

But I had learnt my lesson after the last rampage. I can’t just write whatever I want anymore. I have to wrap the story in a reasonable length, like a pro should do.

A proper, professional story.

Huh?

My pen stopped right there. I stopped, looked around, feeling lost.

What is a proper story?

The act of writing novel is quite different in character compared to other types of media such as writing manga, anime scripts, or game scenarios. You can say it is almost a different thing. Writing novels, rather than narrating an event, is more like putting the flow of emotions into specific sentences. You use the sequence of letters to create rhythms, create flows, and create emotions. If anything, it might be closer to composing a song than writing a story.

Therefore, you have to decide “what kind of emotion will be put in this novel” from the very beginning, or you can’t start writing. That is the only and absolute rule.

Now, however, that is where the condition of a “proper story” hung over me.

A proper novel, of a proper volume, with a proper content for a bonus.

In other words, a proper emotion.

I searched through the drawers inside my head. For a proper emotion that is waiting to be brought out.

There was nothing but emptiness there.

A professional story teller is one with the skill to move the readers’ emotions. When people find the chance to move their own emotions, they will happily be paying for it. Human-being is that kind of creature.

And writers are ones who create and sell those kinds of emotions: the fear, the excitement, the heart throb etc., those that make you think. It is that kind of job.

It is supposed to be that kind of job.

Yet I became unable to move forward.

A good story is a story that moves people. I know that. Then what kind of emotion I should put in the story to make it "proper"?

How do I find that emotion?

I mean, how did I even write novels until now?

I stood still. My legs stiffened, my knees froze, unable to take even a step forward.

I then tried to at least pretend that I was moving forward, by listening to music, by taking a walk around the neighborhood at night. But as good as the night breeze felt, I didn’t manage to reach a single story that I needed to write.

What if I stayed like this forever, what would I do?

I felt a chill plunging into my back.

Then I realized, that stories, or probably emotions too, are not things you can search for or come up with. You have no choice but to patiently wait for it to come your way. You have no choice but to humbly and earnestly sit and wait for the story’s visit.

I got that, but the "proper 50-page story” still refused to come.

It was not long before one week passed. Then two weeks.

I was doing other work, while keeping my heart’s door open, waiting for the story to come to me.

At that time, I had an online meeting with the anime staff. I casually asked Director Igarashi, “Do you have any story you want to see?”

The Director gave it a little thought then told me, "I want to see the story of Dazai and Oda’s encounter”.

At that very moment, the story rushed in through my door, like a bang. I could hear that sound very clearly.

Two stories. Odasaku, and the two Dazais. A story where they met, and a story where they couldn’t meet. A story of gain and a story of loss. If I can portray the gain and loss side by side, the amplitude of the heart will be doubled and rise up in front of us.

That was a momentary event. Rather than pushing my way forward, I felt as if something was pulling my hand. Before I noticed, I have already finished the stories.

I came to realize.

It is not the writer who searches for the story. It is the story that chooses its writer, and at some point it will come our way. A professional writer is no more than someone with the ability to catch that call.

Also, this is the most important thing: there is no such thing as a “proper emotion”. Because after all, the feelings of other people belong to them only. That is why there is no guarantee that a novel can move others “properly”. However, you can move your own emotions. You know what kind of novel can and how it will move you. If you do, you can write just that. That’s the only way. That is the truly professional attitude. That’s what I thought.

Well then.

It is a little bit off topic, but as we are talking about “stories that come our way”, let’s talk about Odasaku’s first-person narrative.

Odasaku is a special character. For me, he is exclusively a novel character, and I have never portrayed him in the manga.

He first appeared as the narrator in “Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era”, then “BEAST” and now this “The Day I Picked up Dazai”. All are novels. That’s why for me, Odasaku doesn’t live inside the pictures, he lives inside the first-person narrative passages.

He is an eccentric guy. Even if you prepare the place and tell him to speak, he won’t speak to you that easily. His way of thinking is rather unique, that if I write his narrative after writing other characters’ first-person narrative, I would stumble for sure. Odasaku doesn’t speak. He just sits there in silence, while I can do nothing but sitting in front of my blank manuscript paper, trying to talk to him, like “What’s up?”, “Here, here”. However, he is a guy who won’t speak when it is not necessary. Sometimes it goes days or even weeks without him saying a word. Why did such a character come to me...?

During such time, there is only one thing I can do. That is, of course, to stay with him, sit patiently, and simply wait.

Finally he will start speaking. In his unique rhythm, word by word. His words have the power to cut through the world from a certain angle. That special cross-section is full of things I have never seen before and it never fails to surprise me.

And then when he finishes telling his story, he will swiftly disappear. To a dark and quiet place somewhere – probably, I can only imagine, somewhere like a bar. He will sit there calmly and keep his own time to himself. After that, it will be hard to call him again. It is a backbreaking task to me, but in the end, that is the type of guy Odasaku is, and if I am allowed to sound self-conscious, that is Odasaku's charm.

This story was written in such a way. There is a chance that he will come back again. And when he does, I will patiently listen to his voice again.

This story was completed and published thanks to the help of many people: in the Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST movie’s Production Committee, the anime staff, Young Ace’s Editorial Department, BEANS Bunko’s Editorial Department, and the many people who were involved in the publication of the book. Thank you very much. It is all thanks to you that the book was published without any problem this time as well.

Well then, see you in the next story.

Asagiri Kafka.

[cremedensada]

Yandere Filipino Mythical Creature

content warning: physical torture (not sure if it counts as torture , but the character is definitely in pain) , implied character death

It's the afternoon. It wouldn't be until a few more hours now until the sun sets into the horizon, but you're not worried about walking home at night.

Sure, this street was incredibly known as a hotspot of supernatural events, but that was practically all superstitions. Wherever a gigantic balete tree grew, a lot of people immediately decided it would cause hauntings and whatever. You never understood why they feared it - it was just a tree. You've walked down that path time and time again, and nothing weird or crazy happened. Except, perhaps, for the unexplainable feeling of dread, hairs on your skin standing up as a voice in your mind whispered and murmured about the feeling of being watched.

Walking outside the local convenience store, you count the remaining coins you have left after buying a bottle of soda. After quite the stressful day, you definitely deserve to splurge a bit, future you can fuck themselves.

A wrinkled hand grabbing your wrist jolts you out of your reverie, and you look up - gazing right into the haunted eyes of an elderly woman.

"'Gang," she murmured, "I sense the presence of an evil spirit taking an interest on you. You need to be careful."

You blink.

Yes, you never understood why the elders especially believed in the supernatural - everything had an explanation, after all. But perhaps it's because of how they sell the stories - the looks in their faces, the tremor in their hands, and the sheer insistence in their voices. That, perhaps, is what fuels the fear and continued beliefs.

"Po?"

"Kaluy-an ka sa Dios," she says, mournfully, "don't walk by the balete tree down the street. Take a detour."

She points towards the street ahead of you, the gigantic balete tree standing proudly amidst the busy-ness. A few people congregate around the base of the formidable tree; some, you recognize, have started to settle down and drink. Everyday, the drunkards start drinking earlier and earlier.

You turn towards her, and it's clear she's awaiting a response. Her eyes unnerve you - her gaze permanently looks stricken and focused, like she's looking at you and at the same time past you, looking at something incorporeal.

"I'll be fine, po," you reassured politely, giving her a smile that you pray to whatever deity that it looks comforting and not awkward nor fake. "Thank you for your concern."

You hope that was enough to placate her.

It was, kind of. She nodded and relaxed, but the fear remained in her eyes.

"They've been getting even bolder these days," she mutters, turning to rummage through her leather bag, "not many kids your age seem to believe us old folks anymore. Pah!"

You swallowed down the sigh. Yeah, you were wondering when the whole 'kids these days' script would start. You almost expected it now.

The old lady hands you a small bottle, inside it is a clear liquid - it looked a little bit more viscous than water.

"Keep it with you at all times. It'll keep you safe," she instructed, before hobbling off.

You look down at the tiny bottle in your hand before shrugging. You have no clue how this will protect you or whatever, but sure, you suppose. Your mother raised you to not be disrespectful of gifts from the elderlies even if you have no fucking clue how to make use of them.

You continue on walking, crossing the street and towards the pathway passing by the balete tree. It looks bigger up close, it always does. The feeling of dread bubbles up once more, but this time, your hands shake.

Perhaps you were unconsciously affected by the old lady's warning than initially thought.

You pause right in front of the tree. Your heart beating like crazy in your chest, and what was once just mere murmurs in your mind now felt like screaming, a buzz in your ear annoyed you - your instincts told you it was dangerous.

At that moment, you considered heeding the old lady's words. Sure, it'd be quicker to reach home this way, but with how your instincts were acting...

"Hello? Earth to stranger - are you okay?"

You jolted, heart racing. Standing in front of you was a stranger - a man smiling down at you. He seemed amused at your surprised expression.

"Sorry, sorry. I got lost in my mind for a sec," you reasoned with an embarrassed smile.

The stranger laughed lightly, the sound of his voice making your heart flutter unusually. You take a good look at him while he laughs.

His hair was dark and fluffy, too good to be looking that effortlessly natural. His skin could only be described as sun-kissed, glowing beneath the remaining rays of sunlight.

The stranger looked at you once again, his gaze intense as if committing your image to memory. Brown eyes, flickering into gold whenever the light hits just right.

"The name's Kaizer. Just call me Kai." He looked ethereal.

Out of politeness, you give him your name as well. Kaizer smiles.

"I know," he says, "I heard the people here mention it in passing. Want me to walk you home?"

The feeling of dread returned tenfold, the tiny bottle in your hand felt heavy. "It's fine. I'll be on my way—"

"Oh, but I insist," he continues smiling, "come on now, you don't believe in stories about how spooky balete trees are, do you?"

You take a step forward. It feels as though your body is moving on its own.

"I mean, if the tree was so scary, then why are people always hanging out around here?" Kaizer gestures to the few people lounging at the base of the tree. The drunkards you spied from before were still there, laughing and slurring their words as they passed a shot glass filled with beer to each other. A group of women were gathered as well, gossiping mothers and aunts - you presumed - paying you two no attention as if you weren't there.

Before you could respond, you felt the tiny bottle in your hand crack. It broke with a loud shatter, though miraculously your hand remains unharmed as you checked and fussed for damage.

Kaizer flinched at the sound, wincing before schooling his expression back to a smile. "What was that? It smells horrible."

Does it? You bring your hand to your nose and sniffed. Nothing. "I don't smell anything."

"Yeah, I figured," Kaizer retorted.

You have no idea what he means by that, or anything at all. You open your mouth, a question on the tip of your tongue—

Kaizer turns to look at you and beams once more. "Here we are!" He gestures to the black painted gate, the familiar house looming behind it. Your house.

Since when did the two of you arrive here? Not even a second ago you were both still underneath the tree. It usually takes you about five minutes more to get here.

You look up at Kaizer in confusion, and he seems to understand why. He merely smiles, reaches out to graze his fingers against your cheek and barely holds out a shuddering sigh. "Don't go out tonight, yeah?"

With that, he walks away - back to the balete tree. Perhaps he lived nearby the tree, which is why it was there where you met him.

You never thought to ask him how he knew where you lived.

——————

It was midnight. Gloria hobbled down the street. At the back of her mind she prayed that the young individual she spoke to at the front of the convenience store heeded her words.

Never in her seventy-five years of being alive had she sensed the presence of pure evil lingering around a mortal like it did with them. Alas, she wasn't as strong as her ancestors, so the little bottle containing the oil meant to protect them was all she could do.

She turned left and halted. The balete tree stood at the other end of the street, the atmosphere was eerie and cold.

Gloria turned back, retracing her steps. She pulled another bottle of the oil that she keeps for her own protection, and studied it. It was bubbling. A little bit, but it bubbled nonetheless.

The presence of a spirit was around the area.

She continued to hobble away, heart pounding as she kept glancing down the bottle and towards the path in front of her. Left, right, right, left — the balete tree stood at the other end of the street. The oil bubbled violently, like water boiling on the stove.

She turned again, eyes darting from left to right, behind, and forward. Something was after her now. The spirit was stalking her like she was its prey.

Where was she heading? Where should she go? Why was she even out in the streets at this hour?

The moment of clarity hit her the moment she finally reached her destination.

The giant balete tree stood in front of her. Gloria doesn't remember being out here in the first place.

"Are you lost, madam?"

Chills rose through her spine. The oil bubbled violently, before the bottle cracked in her hands. Sharp edges of the broken glass bottle broke through her skin.

Gloria turned to look, and her knees shook. She couldn't describe what she was seeing. The lady let out a choked sob, barely resisting the urge to claw her eyes out.

Kaizer stood in front of the pitiful lady, not a look of concern on his face. He spared her no sympathy as she fell to her knees.

"I gotta hand it to ya, madam, those oils you make to protect yourself from us is powerful," he says, hands in his pockets, "wonder how long it took for you to create something like that to ward off the likes of us. Too bad it doesn't work on me."

"It should have," Gloria refuted despite the despair in her voice, "it should have repelled you, you demon—"

She choked again, clutching at her throat. Something was preventing her from speaking, like someone had her windpipes in its grasp and ever so slowly tightening it.

"Sorry to disappoint," Kaizer approaches Gloria's kneeling form, "actually no, I'm not."

An unseen force pushes Gloria to stand up, up, up, until she can barely feel the ground beneath her feet. The hold on her windpipes continues to tighten.

"It took me so long to create a corporeal form, madame. I wanted to look perfect in their eyes," he spoke reverently, a look of awe on his face as he reminisced the memory he had with you, "I finally got to meet my darling today. Escorted them home like a gentleman would."

Gloria let out a guttural howl, devastated at what he said. Kaizer shoots her an irritated glare in response, and the grip on her throat tightens considerably.

"Mind your manners, madam," he chastised, as if he was not taking the form of an individual much younger than Gloria herself, "did anyone ever tell you not to interrupt people when they're talking?"

Gloria swallowed a sob, afraid of what he'd do to her if she were to say anything.

He looks at her with scrutiny before sighing. "As I was saying," he resumed, the smile once again returning to his face, "it felt like a dream come true. How funny, I bet you didn't think spirits like me are capable of dreams. We're actually capable of a lot of things."

Kaizer snapped his fingers, and the force keeping her afloat dissipated. Gloria slammed back down the ground, groaning in agony as pain flared through her feeble body. She didn't say a word other than letting out sounds of pain and whimpers, afraid to find out if he'd choke her again.

Gloria sobbed as Kaizer – the evil spirit that he truly was – grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head to meet his gaze. Red, gleaming and viscous, like blood.

"Listen here, Gloria," Kaizer hissed, the utterance of her name has her paralyzed with fear, "I will not let anything, and I mean anything get in the way of my beloved and I. Do you understand that?"

He looked at her like anything other than an absolute yes would not be accepted. She nods.

Pleased, Kaizer lets go of her. "Good."

Gloria weeps freely now, shaking and crying out in fear as the demon in front her merely stood and watched her despairing on the ground.

She looked up, meeting his gaze despite the struggle and the pain in her muscles pleading her to stop. At the back of her mind she knew, there was no way she'd get out of here alive. She would die in the demon's hands.

"Why are you doing this?"

Kaizer blinked, pretending to consider her question before smiling. A smile that would probably make someone's heart flutter. A smile that made Gloria's chest fill with dread.

Kaizer settled with a response: "Wouldn't you do anything for love?"

With a blink of an eye, Gloria found herself in the middle of the street. She could barely register the harsh bright headlights of a car speeding towards her before—

—————

It's the afternoon. It wouldn't be until a few more hours now until the sun sets into the horizon, but you're not worried about walking home at night.

Mostly because you make sure to be home before sundown.

You walk out of the convenience store, yawning. Today you had decided to treat yourself to another juice bottle; at the back of your mind you considered to try and not spend more money this week, especially your savings but you were never one to follow through.

You glance towards the street ahead of you, the gigantic balete tree standing proudly amidst the busy-ness. A few people congregate around the base of the formidable tree; some, you recognize, have started to settle down and drink. Typical.

Whatever, you could care less anyway. This would not be the first time you had to pass through the drunkards. At least they're too busy wasting the afternoon away drinking than harass you.

Nevertheless, you grip the strap of your bag tightly, and breezed across the street. You passed to the other side safely, passed by the drinking men without issues, and passed by the balete tree.

You let out a relieved sigh before continuing on your journey. A part of you wonders why you felt as though someone was staring at you - heart pounding in your chest as you willed the feeling to go away. It was probably due to the stress and tiredness that made your mind to conjure up such thoughts.

Back at the balete tree, its inhabitant watches you walk pass, unaware of its presence. Soon, it would show itself to you. A form that you would find pleasing to look at - something that would be able to touch you and approach you and talk to you. Just you wait.

—————

Translations:

'Gang - dear (affectionate term to younger individuals, commonly used by the elderlies)

Kaluy-an ka sa Dios - May God bless you

Honestly at this point I don't care if any of this doesn't make sense I just want to write something lol

[seat-safety-switch]

Are you the kind of person who wants to finish a book even though you really shouldn't? Good news: a book won't feel bad if you stop reading it. In fact, most books throughout history have never been finished. Nobody knows what the ending of the Bible is, and if they skip to the last page they just see a cryptic note about going back to page 1 and starting the choose-your-own-adventure all over for being such a slimy cheat about it.

My point is, you can simply stop reading a book you don't like. Put it down, go pick up another book. Maybe your friend, or a member of your community, would like that first book more than you. Denying it to them is selfish, and, if you're not getting any enjoyment out of it either, kind of silly.

This goes for every kind of media. Keep getting your heroic space marine killed in the same scripted event in a videogame? Throw that shit in the metaphorical return pile and get back to the goodness of Zoop. Don't know where a TV series is going, but want to give it one more season before you give up on it? Zero more seasons, motherfucker.

And most importantly, project cars. If you're sick of working on your car, and it keeps fighting you, and you just can't bear opening your wallet one more time for another bullshit broken part, there is a solution. Sell it to me for a crazy lowball price and I guarantee you that I will never fix it either. It'll be basically the same outcome, but you get a little money in your pocket to buy another car. Maybe you'll finish that one!

[brandyschillace]

WRITERS STRIKE:

I am an author, and my most recent book was turned into a screen play by a talented screenwriter. Folks, she worked her ass off—I mean it; the hours and the workshopping, then the many rounds of pitches, going up before studios and pushing the story because she believed in it. Then, at last, she found an excited director/producer at a major studio. He took it to the execs. You know what they said? ‘Seems like the writers are planning a strike—so we’re not buying anything new.’ That’s right: the writers went on strike BECAUSE of mistreatment by studios… and the studio (before the strike) used the strike to, wait for it, mistreat writers. This amazing screenwriter worked for a year and a half for no pay (as a matter of fact, she paid my agency a small holding fee to work the script), created something amazing for a network, and now is struggling to make ends meet. I told my agent to let her keep the rights as long as she needs (as in, forget the term contract ffs, she doesn’t need to pay for any more rights from us), and they agreed. But I’m sick at heart for her. I get it, too; I write books and hope they sell—they don’t always. It’s a gamble. But I can’t imagine being in the position she’s in right now. Please, support the writer’s strike however you can. Big studios, big publishers… they will keep pushing writers to the margins as long as they can get away with it.