There is no delicate way to state that in the build-up to this day, the anniversary that this day represents, we have thought a lot of ideology, of what it means to hold certain views and what a person might be willing to sacrifice in order to maintain the purity of such views.

Whenever planning something, your headmistress always starts out by putting bits of it in other stories.

At the heart of the Witch Kid operation, Oogami Yuusuke finds himself confronted by a foe thousands of years old, a foe that has stalked his family for generations.

In much of Asia, September is the beginning of the Ghost Festival, a time in which the past is considered and acts of charity are encouraged with the suggestion that by helping the living, you are also helping the restless spirits of the dead.

Perhaps those of you not privy to our headmistress's personal correspondence might be unaware of what a massive dork she is. Perhaps glancing at our school magazines, you have begun to suspect that this might be the case, but you have yet to have confirmed. Allow me then to confirm the truth for you and suggest that such inclination is why you currently have content like the below before you.

Friends, it is a quiet and grey day here despite the sun's attempts to shine. On this day in 1949, Shudo Takeshi, was born, a man whose influence on shaping the Pokémon cartoon now doubt also shaped the way many of us thought about these games and the characters therein.

We encourage you, friends, if you can, to please consider making a donation to a charity of your choice aiming to help homeless and stray animals.

There is a story, friends, a medieval flight of fancy by way of Servius that, taking inspiration of the Greek historian, Duris of Samos, put forth the idea that the Penelope oft listed as the mother of Pan was not a wood nymph, but, in fact, the wife of brave Odysseus.

Tachibana Yui had been fighting ever since she came ashore, her armour half-transposed, her transformation incomplete, the weight of her bastard sword held with both hands.

She remembered Astarte close to her, leaning against her, bribing her with karaoke microphone and candy, remembered her hand in hers, leading her on through the glittering lights and rattle and thrum of Shinjuku arcades; she remembered the closeness, the warmth, the tenderness of their friendship—and all she could do was shake her head, was turn from side to side to show that she did not want this.

He let out a low, little whistle, nodding appreciatively, and said, “Man, you don’t see these around much anymore.”

Yet it was the early 2000s, and we were giddy with what the future would hold, post-Britpop, post-Millennium Bug, and I had decided, as young men in their 20s sometimes do, that all culture had ended the moment I had stopped being a relevant demographic.

We are so excited to be on the cusp of announcing the next phase of our big project!

In their desire to understand her, they had given her numerous names and epithets; Tiamat, Tamesis, Leviathan.

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An instance for the discussion of every piece of writing you may have committed to paper in your entire life.