yoshimi red

Egyptian history: I will found a modest dynasty to last 2,000 years. might fuck my sister

greek history: no seriously. I have some ideas about what demons are made of, and music

Roman history: im Gaius maximus and I'm going to rise from obscurity to make everyones lives worse

silent hill protagonist: hey...are you okay?

NPC: okay? i'm fine. but those things out there. did you see them?

silent hill protagonist: those...things?

NPC: things??? you must have serious issues with women

silent hill protagonist, watching them walk slowly away: hey...wait

This is the most terrifying month of the year if you, like me, are scared of Draculas, Frankensteins, Wolfmen and ghosts

its great how silent hill f does all three

to do a horror game you need a good village or house. silent hill f has a very good village, as do fatal frame 2 and resident evil 4. Resident evil 1 has a great house. resident evil 7 has a good house. Silent hill in general is a good village. Resident evil village, ironically,

when someone's "into Japanese cinema" they could either mean a Criterion collection of seven-hour samurai films entitled "the sadness of blood" or etc, or a single specific erotic thriller from 1996, shot on camcorder, where a Yakuza strangles seven women in forty-five minutes

"this shouldn't have been a silent hill game it should have been its own thing" out of the original four games literally one of them is not a standalone thing that only sort of connects to the others. I hate franchise nerds so much

pa: ill tell you boy. Playing as a girl in those computer games is how satan and antifa gets you

son: oh no pa! What do I do? Do I burn it?

pa: that thing cost money. better just look at her ass all the time

son: but pa she's some kinda bug or somethin

pa: bugs got asses, boy

Short Fiction – Metanoia Upon the mountainside above the yawning abyss of the valley wherein the great necropolis of the Headless Saint lay as a shadow of brutal stone and sculpture with columns and pillars and mausoleums stretching on for countless miles beneath the fog, its highest reaches, the towers and spires of the battlements, piercing the turgid grey with the slender pride of ships’ masts at sea, above that, within the ruin of the old charnel house at the cusp of the village which had no name, the girl rose exhausted from her slumber upon the hard ground, her robe stained across with dark filth, and offered a prayer to Christ on her knees which ached, and rose up and went to the bucket of cold water left for her which was metal and dented and she took off her robe and she washed herself with the cold water and did not cry out as it touched her skin, and she took the towel from the wooden bench by the door and she ran the hard material of the towel across herself and it stung and pricked her all across her flesh, and when she was dried she stood and she offered another prayer mumbling through chapped lips in her voice like withered parchment (“Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions”), and she felt the cold air of the mountain creep in through the old ruined stone half-collapsed and felt the pale anaemic sun which reached in to bless her and she smelt the old bone beneath the floorboards where the corpses of all the martyrs who had not done good enough lay stacked their bones broken up and made into columns which lined the hall which led up to the altar where the nameless saviour of the village whom not one of the villagers could recall (“I believe he was a doctor, was he not?”) was interned with his full skeleton intact, preserved there behind glass sat with bony fingers knotted together by rope and grim pale skull twisted low in benediction by iron bolts, in a pose of eternal worship as behoved one of great honour, though no one knew what that honour had been but knew, according to this grand ossuary, that it must have been great, and therefore it was satisfactory, to all, that he was there.

in the eternal crusade, sinners have a new path to redemption. strapped into suits of armour, they are living engines for God's holy metal warriors, the Confessors. Euphemia is one such sinner. and she, unlike most, can speak to her Confessor. and the machine might not like what she has to say...

Short Fiction – Metanoia Upon the mountainside above the yawning abyss of the valley wherein the great necropolis of the Headless Saint lay as a shadow of brutal stone and sculpture with columns and pillars and mausoleums stretching on for countless miles beneath the fog, its highest reaches, the towers and spires of the battlements, piercing the turgid grey with the slender pride of ships’ masts at sea, above that, within the ruin of the old charnel house at the cusp of the village which had no name, the girl rose exhausted from her slumber upon the hard ground, her robe stained across with dark filth, and offered a prayer to Christ on her knees which ached, and rose up and went to the bucket of cold water left for her which was metal and dented and she took off her robe and she washed herself with the cold water and did not cry out as it touched her skin, and she took the towel from the wooden bench by the door and she ran the hard material of the towel across herself and it stung and pricked her all across her flesh, and when she was dried she stood and she offered another prayer mumbling through chapped lips in her voice like withered parchment (“Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions”), and she felt the cold air of the mountain creep in through the old ruined stone half-collapsed and felt the pale anaemic sun which reached in to bless her and she smelt the old bone beneath the floorboards where the corpses of all the martyrs who had not done good enough lay stacked their bones broken up and made into columns which lined the hall which led up to the altar where the nameless saviour of the village whom not one of the villagers could recall (“I believe he was a doctor, was he not?”) was interned with his full skeleton intact, preserved there behind glass sat with bony fingers knotted together by rope and grim pale skull twisted low in benediction by iron bolts, in a pose of eternal worship as behoved one of great honour, though no one knew what that honour had been but knew, according to this grand ossuary, that it must have been great, and therefore it was satisfactory, to all, that he was there.

in the eternal crusade, sinners have a new path to redemption. strapped into suits of armour, they are living engines for God's holy metal warriors, the Confessors. Euphemia is one such sinner. and she, unlike most, can speak to her Confessor. and the machine might not like what she has to say...

The t-virus well, we've heard from our friends at umbrella it's got results. It's good, what they've put into us. It might seem not good, with the rotting flesh, but that's, they told me that's temporary, it's going down. It's not so bad. You get a little itchy, a little tasty

Sorry I lost your dog, he hit a speed boost arrow & that’s the last I saw him

resident evil log: day ten of being injected with the serum. I am feeling great. Oh no

silent hill note: the angels weep beneath my skin. Puzzle code is Blue Knife Shield Red btw

fatal frame diary: Why, I wonder, are the Japanese people so afraid of women? In my latest book I

Me: I need more power

Gf being cute: I’m stronger than 10,000 samurai😊

Me: haha..no you’re not. The strength of ten thousand samurai is immeasurable.

[2 hrs later] Ten thousand. Wtf

In tears as I bend the knee in servitude: Daimyo..

Her thinking Im proposing: ohmygodohmygod

Looking around the room of wolves and dogs and cats and dragons and rabbits, doing a big wide grimace, and announcing that for my fursona ill be a big fat bastard toad

i wrote this book after starting MANCHUKUO but before finishing it, and it shares some of the same preoccupations; decline, small-town chinese life, female friendship and male cruelty. but here the pulp genre is slasher movies and scifi/religious horror. id like people to read it

ninja: im sorry my lady. the ninja code forbids me from falling in love with you

lady: uh thats fine. i wasnt really-

ninja: the duty of a shinobi means i cannot return your feelings. i cannot hold your hand

lady: okay-

ninja: never shall we kiss beneath the moon. never sh

interviewer: and your tattoo of konata izumi-

mike tyson: well you know in prison i embraced the demon that was inside of me and understand that i was pure evil. and konata, when she eats a chocolate cornet the way she does, she embodies nietzsche. she has the will to power

thats still in draft form. but this is a step towards the angel book, thematically

A Hong Kong high school dropout makes a prayer to Mazu, the goddess of the sea, to rescue her neurotic mother from debt, and unleashes a creature from the depths that will bring slithering death to the neon bustle of her home...
2026
a horror novel
BLACK BLOOD OF THE DRAGON

crazy that we've been 219 years without a roman empire

me: so if you think about it there could actually be something like the kraken from Pirates of the Caribbean™ down there. we dont know

her, desperate: did you know they killed charlie kirk. could you please have any opinion on that

me: the fucking president???

I think Thenardier is one of my favourite parts of Les Miserables. In a book centred aroundthe social injustices created by poverty it's so good to have a character whose suffering just makes them *worse*, who never learns anything, and who gets away with it completely

"the Romans loved their freedom above all else, and established a careful system to ensure no man could ever dominate Rome as the kings had. Unfortunately,"

Roman history books tell you all about this complex liberty-based political system of checks and balances and then proceed to "Brutus Maximus was not allowed to be consul so he made up the job of superconsul 2 and then bribed everyone in Rome until it was real. Cicero was mad"

It's okay I love thunderbirds too

KIM KITSURAGI - "What is it, detective? Can you make it out?"

BULLET - "if you read this you are gay lmao"

1. "It, um, doesn't say anything."

2. "Transgender ideology. My old foe."

3. [Espirit de Corps - Medium 10] "I think you should read it for yourself, Kim."

peasant 1: hey did you see my hoe anywhere

peasant: your hoe? I can't find my axe

the Troublesome Friar, laughing from the church tower: try doing your vital farming work now, fools!

peasant 1: oh man. Not that Troublesome Friar again. Damn

dictator: whats going on

advisor: regimes lowkey cooked bro. student protestors straight-up tweakin

dictator: and the rebels?

advisor, after a moment of grim silence: locked in

Donald Trump holds press conference but manages only to wheeze loudly for twenty seconds, before coughing out what appears to be a large poisonous moth