The Legend of Arthur Smith

by Yin Twig

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/350675.html)

Arthur Smith could barely see the guy who was fucking Hadrian’s Wall because the mist was obscuring the view. This mist was the tenacious and unrelenting. The thick fog had been there when since before their plane arrived in England yesterday morning, delaying the landing by an hour. It had continued for the entire three hour and twenty-six minute train ride from London to Carlisle yesterday afternoon. A full day later, and the mist was still everywhere in this grassy field dotted with little yellow flowers a half hour’s drive out of the city.

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A Holiday Affair

by Riba
illustrated by Yin Twig

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/324824.html)

A cold wind blew through the streets, sending swirls of snowflakes to dance around the lone figure trudging through the new coat of white. Chris’ cheeks were red from the gusts, but he couldn’t bring himself to hunch forward into his coat to protect his skin. Giddy with excitement, he reveled in the glistening white powder as it sparkled in the light of the street lamps that cut through the night’s darkness.

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Heart of Ice

by Yin Twig
illustrated by Riba

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/325958.html)

Louisa, Queen of the Northlands, sat by the open window of the tallest tower of Castle North and gazed moodily at the snowy city. The wind rustled in her hair, pushing the thickly falling snow into the small enclosure. She was often there these days, as far away as she could get from him.

Perched on the stone ledge she placed a candle beside her, which sputtered in the powerful winds. Out of a box, she pulled a letter written on scented paper, sealed with a kiss. This, she held over the candle and watched the flames take the corner and then slowly envelop the rest of the lie-drenched epistle.

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The Whims of the Dark One

written and illustrated by Yin Twig

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/322230.html)

Zed, alone in a strange house in a strange neighbourhood, allowed the strange man to put the blindfold over his eyes. It was that kind of a day.

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A Sucker Born Every Minute (and Three on the Doorstep)

written and illustrated by Yin Twig (陰 茎)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/314723.html)

“Did you get the milk?” Fleet Hall—Platt’s father—asked in a quiet monotone. “I went to put milk in my cereal this morning, but I couldn’t find the milk, so I had to use mayonnaise.”


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