“Are you sure you’re with me, Kou? There’s no backing out once you get in there, you know,” Michiru said sternly, zipping her jacket shut and peering round the corner.
“Double sure. In fact, I’m pretty sure God put me on this planet to carry out this very mission. Well. Put me on Kinmoku so I could travel over here and end up meeting you and THEN carry out this mission. You know what I mean!”
Michiru stared blankly at Seiya, an eyebrow raised.
“This is a very serious situation, you understand. No messing around. On my count, you run and get the door and we execute the plan as I outlined on the phone.”
“Yes, Michiru. Sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. I’m in position.”
“Okay,” Michiru took a deep breath, “in three…two…one.”
With a click of Michiru’s fingers, Seiya sprinted towards the door, carefully avoiding the watchful eye of the cctv camera slowly stuttering it’s way around the garden. She unlocked the door, her hands fumbling slightly with the keys, before silently shutting it behind her.
“Kou, can you hear me?” Michiru’s hushed tones came from Seiya’s belt, where her walkie talkie was attached.
“Uh huh. Remind me again why you couldn’t do this bit?”
“I’d get in very, very serious trouble if I got caught. You, on the other hand, don’t have so much to lose. Now, like I said – go up the stairs, get past the lasers-”
“The lasers!?”
“Oh…did I fail to mention those earlier? I do apologise, it must have slipped my mind. Yes, you’ll need to dodge the lasers, then down the hallway, then you’ll reach a door. Insert the passcode as prompted and…”
“Bingo,” Seiya finished, her eyes glistening in the limited light of the room.
“Remember, Kou. We’re doing this for the good of humanity. Best of luck.”
With that, the line went dead, and Seiya headed for the stairs, flinching with every creak the floorboards made.
If she got caught now, she was done for.
Breath caught in her throat, she opened the door at the top of the stairs. The hallway that followed was mercifully short but as Seiya switched to her night vision goggles, the task before her came to light. There were red laser lines everywhere – something only a gymnastic feat could surpass.
It was a good job then, that Seiya Kou was a talented athlete that would never back down from a challenge.
Carefully, she slipped underneath the first laser, her finger narrowly missing a second, leading her to catch her breath as she attempted to regain her balance. She stood up again slowly, leaning over to plant one hand on the ground and lift herself over another beam. She tackled each one in turn, skilfully and gently, before she finally managed to get to the other side.
Breathless, but nonetheless eager to complete her task, Seiya rushed down the hallway, stopping at the door to insert the passcode.
“Kaioh. Kaioh, I’m here,” Seiya whispered into the walkie talkie
“This is it, Kou. Good luck.”
With that, Seiya swung the door open. She was forced to step back, unable to cope with the sheer volume of ugliness that was suddenly before her, assaulting her eyes, leaving her with nowhere to run.
Before her was a large wardrobe. It was beautifully decorated, wooden with a classic design and for a second if Seiya focused on it long enough the urge to vomit would begin to leave her.
And then the mustard hit her again.
She strode forward, a brave soldier alone, the matches ready in her hand. All of it, all of it would go up in flames and she would laugh, she would laugh maniacally in the face of twenty two hideous, burning mustard suits, never to be suffered again – not by Seiya, not by Michiru, not by the world.
When Michiru had called with her proposition earlier that night, Seiya knew from that very second that this was her right for the taking. It was her battle. It was her victory. It was her revenge.
As the suits burned, tears streamed down Seiya’s face, and she knew in her heart that all was right with the world.
This is the most hilarious thing I have read all day!
Okage the Shadow King is a Playstation 2 Game from 2001 that showed me how amazing an RPG can make you feel when you actually just stop and let yourself explore a universe.
You begin your journey as the apathetic and reluctant Ari, though its up to you how indifferent Ari can be through your choices! Due to your idiotic father’s latest archaeological find and some crazy dance moves over a cheap looking genie bottle your sister becomes cursed to speak the horror of all horrors; PIG LATIN. Some even more insane shit happens and suddenly your sisters curse is lifted but oh no her shadows pink and your shadow issuddenly the one who cursed everyone in the first place;
I mean “Stan!” 😀 (Yey for Censored Localization!) But Sa-Stan can totally help you, once he’s back to full power. It seems after being trapped in a bottle for centuries other ‘Evil Kings’ have sprung up everywhere and tried to steal his title! You are now Stan’s friend/slave and must defeat all the false kings to find the master mind behind all these uprisings!
Did I mention Stan has an adorable butler?? This is James:
He’s always cute and helpful and smooth as fuck with Ari’s mother and helps you out when you’re stuck in the game! AND THE FUCKING DIALOGUE:
THE CUTE MONSTERS YOU FIGHT?
THE Music is so unique and upbeat too, just listening to it screams BAG PIPESADVENTURE!
Plus all the bad ass ladies, and charater art in general.
I don’t want to spoil it all so I’ll stop, even game-play wise but the mechanics are very good for the ps2, loading times are surprisingly short, and leveling up isn’t a complete nightmare. Yeah the dungeons can be hard, but the story is expertly told, and full of hilarious puns and plot lines. The world building is amazing in this game, and the diversity is incredible for a game of its time. Every character is different and full of their own motives, even down to the npcs. Every time I play it I find something new to be in awe and fond about.
Please, Please, find a way to play Okage the Shadow King.
Thank you! It should be noted just in case that All image and music rights go to Sony Entertainment and Zenerworks, I made none of the content above.
OKAY BUT I ACCEPT ALL OF THAT AS HOGWARTS USUAL DAILY LIFE IN AU WHERE UMBRIDGE IS NOT THE WORST HUMAN BEING BUT YOUR COMMON TEACHER WHO IS PROBLEMATIC AND KINDA SHITTY BUT CAN BE LOVEABLE AND NO ONE HATES NO ONE I JUST WANT HOGWARTS STAFF’S EVERYDAY SHIT AND TEACHERS INTERACTING WITH EACH OTHER AND FOOLING AROUND AND SNAPE AND MCGONAGALL AND HOOCH DISCUSSING THEIR LUNCH HOOCH IS LIKE WHY SO MUCH RAISINS IN KOMPOT
TODAY
I HATE IT AND SNAPE IS LIKE BUT FRUITS ARE THE BEST PART ABOUT KOMPOT AND MCGONAGGAL’S LIKE I SAW YOU TRYING TO GET APRICOTS OUT OF YOUR GLASS WITH YOUR FORK 5 MINUTES AGO YOU HYPOCRITE
That scene in Mulan where all the ancestors are arguing about whose fault it was that Mulan ran off to join the army except with all the Force ghosts arguing about Ben Solo.
This is the greatest thing I have ever drawn I am so proud
There’s this one specific bakery that Mako HATES. Loathes. Would punch to dust if given the opportunity.
It all comes from one day when she was running late to a meeting with the others. The night before, they’d had a tough fight, and despite being exhausted, Mako didn’t sleep well. She didn’t get up in enough time to make anything for the meeting and so, knowing they’d all be expecting it (and not wanting to deal with a hungry and disappointed Usagi), she stopped at this bakery and bought a cake.
Mako should’ve known better, she’s painfully aware of how bad she is at lying. But when everyone assumed she’d made the cake herself, she just kind of let them. Any adorable stammering and awkwardness (AND THERE WAS A LOT) was attributed to Mako been embarrassed by all the praise.
There was a lot of praise.
A LOT of praise.
Nobody could stop talking about how good the fucking cake was. “Best ever, Mako-chan!” “You were really ‘cooking’ today HAHAHAHA” and so on. The girls asked for it again next time. (”And BIGGER,” Usagi urged.) So Mako made the cake herself. Mako made the hell out of this cake.
It wasn’t as good.
Oh it was GOOD, and her friends were very appreciative (and it must be noted there were no leftovers), but it wasn’t AS good. There was something missing. Mako could hear it in the slightly less enthusiastic praise, see it in how the last few pieces didn’t disappear quite as quickly.
When the meeting was over, Mako immediately went to the bakery and bought another cake. She took it home and studied it, ate it, let her tongue pick out every last clue. She tried again.
And failed again.
Mako has been to this bakery so many times now attempting to recreate this cake that they know her on sight. She is a preferred customer. They love her.
MAKO HATES THEM
She’s convinced that the bakery is a front for some as yet unknown enemy. She hasn’t found proof, but it’s only a matter of time.
She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.
Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.
She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.
When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.
Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.
When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.
Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”
“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.
“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”
“Be taught what, Albus?”
But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.
Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.
When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.
“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”
“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”
Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.
Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.
In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily… strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”
Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.
“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”
He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.
Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.
Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”
Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.
“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.
“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.
“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”
Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.
When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.
They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.
As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?
Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.
The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.
Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?
Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.
why would she sell sea shells by a sea shore when you can just pick them off of the ground for free that’s not how you run a business
She’s sold sea shells by the seashore since shapely seashore seashells stay scarce. Since she sells superior shells searchers spend centuries searching for, seldom selling simple shells, she still sustains solid savings.
She can’t sustain a shop selling sea shells. Should somebody sell superior shells, Sally’s sea shell store shall see a sales slump. Superior shells are simply safer stock if synthetic; synthetic shells shouldn’t see spots, scars, or stains similar to Sally’s sea shells.
Silly stuff, Spadesslick. Such synthetic shells sacrifice stability so sincere shells should still sell substantial sums.
Rhio's Tunglr Stuff 