Tantalus Hideout
Adventures in Anime
By Sebastian, April 25, 2011 in Art and Literature
Simply Just One Hell of a Butler
Mrawesome2398's Adventures in Anime! (mrawesome2398 is my usual name in places.)
You may not know it, but there are many portals, portals that lead into many worlds………. worlds of Anime! That's right, not many discover these portals but I have and I have had many adventures. These are my stories.
It all started one morning on Alchemist Lair. I was happily watching Bleach when I noticed a glitch had formed on the bottom of the player. "What's that?" I wondered. All of the sudden words formed on the spot where the glitch started, CLICK ME, it said. Now if you don't know me well, I'm a very curious person so I of course clicked it. I thought at the worst it was a popup advertisement, but boy was I dead wrong. My computer screen showed something that looked like THE MATRIX. All that would come out of my mouth is, "What kind of virus is this?!?!?" Then a bright light glowed around the computer and my self, basking everything in its white light.
After the light died, my computer had turned into a notebook, mini laptop, and I definitely was NOT in my computer room anymore. I was cartoonish, like an anime character. It was all so strange. Then I realized where I had seen the kind of artwork that the room was done in. Ouran High School Host Club! Then I realized the exact room I was in and almost screamed! I was in the Host Clubs room, and trust me I didn't want caught in there! I looked around and let out a deep sigh of relief. No one was there! I scrambled out the door and went straight to the headmasters office, I didn't know what was going on, and was a little scared, but if I was going to be stuck there I was going to enroll myself in the school. Then I realized I had no money! As soon as I thought that the backpack my laptop had come in suddenly got bulgier. I look inside and the laptop wass glowing and next to it, a wad of cash. I count it up and it's a million dollars in hundred dollar bills! I didn't know what had happened but I wasn't going to complain!
When I made it to the headmasters office we fought for ages. He said he didn't care how much cash I had, I needed a parent to sign the work for me. Apparently my magic laptop wasn't going to make one for me. I pull it out to see if I can contact my parents to save me or something since I couldn't enjoy my stay. Then the headmaster said, " I was told about you, wow the chosen one starts here. You wanted admitted to the school and about five uniforms right, well it's on the house, O.K?"
"Sure, thank you," I stuttered sure that this man was crazy. He handed me a slip with a room number and some uniforms. I went into the bathroom and changed right away, I guess everything they give you fits in an anime. Now that I had the proper attire I went straight to Tamaki Souh's room. If I was going to be going here there was something that needed to be done.
I stormed into his room went right up to him and whispered into his ear , " I know Haruhi is a girl and I suggest you do what I want or the whole school might just know. I have just one request, let me join the host club as your apprentice. If you keep me the secret is kept, if not the secret isn't, its that simple."
"Whoa, wait a minute," Tamaki said, almost screaming, " Your that new student right the one headmaster went crazy over, rumors spread fast here. He went on and on about treating you with respect."
"I must've been in the restroom," I thought to myself.
" I for one don't like that the one I'm supposed to treat well, is treating me poorly. And… wait how would you know about Haruhi if you're new?"
"Trust me if I told you you'd think I'm crazy or freak out."
"Our group IS a little crazy and I'm freaking out already. I have time so shoot."
I got a few chuckles from him during the story but after I finished he seemed in a trance for a moment and then suddenly got serious. He said, " That must be terrible! Oh poor mrawesome2398… you know, no girl will like that name let's change it to……… Haya (from the Japanese word hayabusa meaning falcon or Haya meaning soon or quickly) it should be Haya!"
"Seriously, Haya, actually thinking it over that is a pretty good name. Yeah and for my last name how about Miyazaki. I think that's pretty nice."
"That's fine………. I accept."
"NO WAY!!! I'm a host!"
"Sure I guess I have no choice anyway since you know about Haruhi, meet me in the club after classes. Now hurry, you'll be late!"
"Thank You!" With that I ran out the hall so fast I literately RAN into Hikaru Hitachiin who was walking with his brother.
"Hey WATCH IT!," screamed Hikaru.
"Calm down Hikaru," Kaoru said with comfort and he grabbed Hikaru's hand and helped him up halfway, "I'm always here for you, to comfort and protect you, I love you Hikaru."
"EEEK! Brotherly love!" screamed some passing girls. I could tell my stay here would be anything but normal.
I used my weird magic laptop to get out of third period, Social Studies, not my strong subject, and went to my room. I needed answers and I needed them fast. I hopped on to my laptop and tried to get on the Internet, email, or something to get a hold of someone. As soon as I click Mail my laptop whirrs and then shuts down, dead. "WHAT NO FRIGGIN' MAGIC CHARGER TO GO WITH IT!" With that the laptop gave a final whirr and out popped a glowing charger! I was furious, I threw the laptop at the wall but it bounced right back into my lap. I couldn't take it anymore! I threw it into my backpack and turned on the television. All of the sudden the screen went static and a voice came through that seemed to penetrate my mind.
"mrawesome, mrawesome2398, you're not focused on your true fate, your destiny, you need to focus, the fate of anime hangs in the balance you need to…" I took the remote and turned the channel, click, "focus…" WHAT THE HECK! I turned it off but there was still that voice. I got up to unplug the television when I saw someone's foot from behind the TV. I ran back there and saw I bald man in shades. I screamed and then he ran and jumped out the window! I was on the third story and FREAKING OUT. I looked out the window but he was gone.
After that ordeal I was going to talk to the headmaster. As soon as I got in there and explained he started acting jumpy and weird. He just kept muttering, " So it's begun." and, "That was a bold move."
"Sir," I said with frustration, "I'm a little freaked out now I for one…"
"Don't worry it's…"
"DON'T WORRY! A creepy man was in my room and jumped and disappeared out of a third story window! Not to mention I can't get rid of this laptop! So sorry if I'm at least a LITTLE worried!"
"IT WILL BECOME CLEAR LATER!! Now get to lunch!"
As I was eating my lobster savoring every bite, even though I knew I could have it every day, I kept feeling like someone was watching me. I felt the same way through my classes and on my way to the Host Club to begin my job as a host. It was probably just me being paranoid but I was still pretty freaked out. I arrived at the doors of the abandoned music club. This is it, I'm gonna be a host!
Rose petals flew everywhere as I entered the majestic Ouran Academy's Host Club. As I looked around I realized everything was exactly where it was in the anime. Trying to conceal my excitement and act more noble then a "commoner" I went to meet the rest of the gang.
Tamaki Suoh was in the corner looking gloomy in his signature style and Honey was eating cake. The twins of course were mocking Suoh. Mori-Senpai was watching Honey and scolding him, telling him to slow down.
I supposed that this wasn't very far into the storyline seeing as everything was like it was in the beggining. Maybe it was alternate and didn't exactly follow the storyline. Maybe it was part of the "great quest". I didn't know, and didn't care.
After exchanging information about each other we changed into our cosplay. We were dressed like charactors that resembled Vampires from a series in their world Vampire Night. I didnt care because it was almost time for our guests.
To Be Continued when I see fit.
Edited October 7, 2012 by Emotional Outlet
Chapter 8 added after AGES!!!
Modern Contagion
By boink666
Guardians of Aishod
By † Shazi
Aishod is a story I have been working on for years (and is still on it's second draft) I started it for NaNoWriMo in 2011 and finished the first draft for NaNoWriMo in 2013. Since then it has been and on/off sort of project (since I started writing a novel for my mumsy) but I have edited and rewritten the first 9 or 10 chapters to a standard I am much more happy with. I'm still not totally happy with the story, there is a lot of explaining that needs to be done and a lot of things that need to be expanded but for a second draft of a really rushed story I am pretty happy with it.
The story of Aishod...
Aishod follows the young and somewhat imulsive princess Pippa who has come home from magical boarding school. She had been receiving vague letters from home for years and suspected her uncle Tibbott of foul play. As soon as she returned she was put under house arrest, but little did her uncle realise that her magical ability of the mind far exeeded his own. She easily slipped out of the palace unseen and hired the mercenary Ivy to help her work out what is going on. The two are set on a journey niether of them expected as the Guardans of Magic warn that Tibbott is planning something far worse than just removing the Queen from power and taking the throne.
etc.....
Mutual Destruction
By † Emotional Outlet
Michael stared at the woman in the mirror. He supposed averaging four hours of sleep over the past two weeks wasn't ideal, but hallucinations seemed excessive.
She seemed to blink when he did, mimicking his other movements perfectly. Even the number of teeth seemed to match as he ran his tongue over each one.
When he reached for the long dark hair that flowed over her shoulders in the reflection and grabbed an unexpected handful of hair, he took in a slow, controlled breath. The reflection smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling and drawing attention to the faint bags that formed beneath.
He felt his lips part. "That's enough for now." The voice was feminine, static faint beneath the lilting sounds. "Rest your eyes, won't you?"
Michael went to sleep.
Something stank.
Corben tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but was met with utmost resistance from his body. He groaned and took a mental step back, focusing his energy into opening his eyes.
It was painful, like soap rubbed under his eyelids. His arms wouldn't cooperate long enough to let him rub the pain out, so he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing out the pooled tears. They tumbled over his cheeks hotly and still his eyes burned.
After a few orchestrated blinks, he managed to stabilise his vision long enough to examine his surroundings—or, at least, realise he was staring at the open predawn sky sandwiched between towering grey brick.
The smell hadn't left either.
He tried to move again. It felt like he was lying on garbage bags, but he couldn't get past how much his eyes hurt. Whether the bags were filled with pizza boxes or rotten fruit didn't make much difference—he needed to get up. Corben grit his teeth and tried to launch his upper body forward.
When his back seized with pain instead of lifting, he swore he could crack a tooth. He clumsily groped the bags beneath him, trying to force some feeling into his limbs long enough to figure out what he was lying on. What little he could feel through the plastic was immediately recognisable.
Bottles. Broken bottles.
Corben laughed.
By DuLake
By Jeremy Lloyd Beck
Chapter One -- Welcome to Write Club
The first rule of Write Club is you never tell anyone they should stop writing.
Lucius Alugan joined Write Club so that he could brag about how his vampire movie was a genius re-imagining of Greek mythology. "Real next level shit," he said. Lucius works as an overnight stockboy at the neighborhood Snak N' Grab and came to Write Club to feel like a writer; he came to Write Club so that he wouldn't have to sit on his ass and make pages to feel like a tortured writer. Lucius Alugan pretended to be an alcoholic and a Satanist for his writing. His government name was Joseph, but pretended the name's Judeo-Christian roots offended him.
The second rule of Write Club is you never say when a story is a rip off.
Mononymous Henna told everyone she was a proofreader for Rolling Stone, but we all knew she worked the sandwich cart. Henna came to Write Club to get feedback on her song lyrics. Like every other singer-songwriter hopeful, she wanted to fuck a rock star and believed that meant she had vocal talent. She wore black and boots and died her hair jet because that's what she thought was cool. She was going to bring the hard rock back to pop music. Her music was shit but she had a cute face and eye-liner, so maybe she could achieve her dream if she learn how to stuff her bra.
Sir Lancel Aincroft tried to ask her out for lattes after Write Club once, but she didn't want to risk staining her perfect white teeth. The same week, Lucius got her number because she thought his frilly white shirt was exotic and original and totally rock n' roll. That weekend, Lucius took her to his crypt to get her drunk and blacked out on her shoulder. Sir Lancel spent the night abusing his emergency inhaler and masturbating.
Jennifer Logan wanted to become a blogger. She came to Write Club because she couldn't figure out anything interesting enough or true enough to blog about. Nobody asked her out for lattes or sex because she wore a pixie haircut instead of make-up. Everyone at Write Club knew Jennifer cleaned the toilets and children of some interchangeable Hollywood executive. Lucius tried to convince her to give her boss his screenplay, but she wasn't stupid. When Jennifer wanted a raise, she bought gel inserts for her empty bra.
The third rule of Write Club is that you give any writing exercise a chance, no matter how bat-shit it sounds.
When Sir Lancel Aincroft suggested everybody go through Craigslist personals and write up a character sketch, Lucius said he was a hack and that his Conan the Barbarian rip-off stole it's plot from Lord of the Rings.
The fourth rule of Write Club is that you don't use words like "hack."
When I created Write Club, I was looking for a place to practice my craft. I always believed that words were magic, that they had the power to build new worlds and realities. Sir Lancel believed that, which is why he wrote Conan rip-offs and colored them with rings of power, it's why he wrote escapist fantasies where good also won. He knew that words could create the worlds that didn't exist but should, the ones we need to survive. Sir Lancel understood that we would all burn in hell if we never thought to write ourselves a heaven. When I started Write Club, I was looking for a creative space to build my own heaven.
The fifth rule of Write Club is that you always find something nice to say about a piece before you critique it.
"It's shit," Lucius said. "Another Lord of the Rings rip. The world doesn't need another one of those.
Sir Lancel cringed.
"The sixth rule is honesty;" Lucius shrugged.
"At least include what you liked about it," I said.
"I liked that it ended," he replied. "Took it bloody long enough."
One more thing about Lucius: He wasn't British, he just thought it was cool to steal vocabulary from the BBC.
"I liked the world you created," Jennifer offered. "It was. . . big. Epic and all that. I liked the map you drew of it all."
"Yeah," Henna followed, "real big, really complex. Like a movie. I liked that. And the bit with the snakes was creepy."
"He'd never make it in Hollywood," Lucius muttered. I frowned.
"Neither have you," Sir Lancel whispered dryly, eyes lowered, lips static.
"Up yours, Harry," Lucius spit, tipped back in his chair; Henna touched his shoulder; Sir Lancel took a hit from his inhaler.
His real name was Harry, but he went by Sir Lancel Aincroft, his D&D name. He was fat and tall and smelled like his job at Burger King. When he worked the fryer, he had to wear a hairnet around his wild neck beard. He studied computer repair at the local technical college and sent anti-Creationist letters to the school board as a herald of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, a sort of sauce-strewn Cthulu. He swore off alcohol and drugs, but always kept the emergency inhaler he didn't need nearby for a few inebriating puffs.
When it was my turn I told everyone about the snake that whispered to my protagonist in his sleep. I told them about how crazy it was driving him and that I was beginning to suspect I had an ending – between you and me, the hero goes nuts and axes the shit out of his bride to be.
"Does somebody die?" Henna asked. "Somebody always dies in your stories."
"It's horror, not pop music." Lucius said. "Of course somebody dies. Somebody has to die."
"Why though?" She asked. "Wouldn't it be more of a surprise if they didn't?"
"What can I say –" I laughed – "every spell requires sacrifice. I guess mine take it in blood."
"Be careful with that dark stuff, man," Lucius warned.
"Said the Satanist?" Jennifer raised her eyebrow.
"It's not for everyone," he retorted; I smiled; Sir Lancel turned his head away from the entire scene.
"My song today is about finding true love on Craigslist and finding out it's your spouse," Henna said, beaming in her ingenuity.
The second rule of Write Club is you never point out when a story is a rip off.
On the bus, I was struck with a vision of my story, I saw what it could be and what it should be. I felt it run through my blood like a virus, an amoeba swimming as fast as possible to my death. I pulled out my cell phone and, chubby fingers fumbling over the touchscreen, I wrote the last act of my story. The words were there; the spell was written. All that was left for me to do was to put it all together and cast it on the world.
When I got home, I was happy to be done for the night. My daily word count achieve, I was content to give myself over to slumber. I quickly stripped to my boxers, climbed in to bed, and let a snake-fueled ax-murder drift gently out of my mind – or perhaps it just sunk deeper in.
After I went to bed I woke up in my protagonists room. A three-legged crow tapping it's nine talons impatiently against my dresser. It was crimson red and flecked with gold. The bird opened it's mouth to caw, but nothing came out. All I could hear was the hissing.
"Sssacrificce," I heard, turning instinctively to the golden snake in the aquarium by the bed.
I straightened in the bed and tried to stand up, but, as I turned to stand up, I realized my legs were both flayed and bleeding; I realized I was not the hero.
The hero was standing over the bed with an ax.
I heard the crow's cawing like an echo as he lifted his weapon. I grabbed the nightstand and pulled myself to the ground as the ax dropped deep into the mattress. My hand slipped into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the gun I'd left for my ill-fated heroine. It was unloaded and unhelpful, but that was the story and my body couldn't help but follow through. I squeezed the trigger and listened in terror as the gun clicked impotently as the hero – wearing my face, as all my heroes do – climbed over the bed, ax raised, ready to end the story.
Then the bird flew between us, the hero slipped fell backward off the bed and his hatchet fell helplessly behind him.
Then the hissing returned.
I turned to the sound and saw the snake, scales aglow, growing fatter and longer in it's coil in the small glass box. The snake grew until it could no longer be held back; the sides of the aquarium popped and sand and water spilled from the perch. The snake continued to grow as it crawled toward me hissing:
"Ssssacrifice. . ."
The snake turned and snapped at the bird. I watched it dance in the air and then fly out the open window. I was alone.
The snake raised it's expanding mass and hissed provocatively, its tail rattled like the muffler on my first car.. Make a move, try your luck, it seemed to say – though it could clearly say so if it wanted to.
That's how I wrote it.
That's when my protagonist grabbed me by the shoulder and, hand choked up on the ax, released the mortal blow. I winced as the blade sunk easily through my collarbone; I felt the very tip touch my heart.
"Thank you," the snake hissed, coiling itself back up.
My protagonist dropped me back to the ground and began hacking cleaving blows into my chest, the blood sprayed like a water fountain in hell, all the way up to the ceiling fan.