#and it just feels like the same day on an endless loop because nothings changed and it’s been a week straight of this pretty much

[ff2-soda-pop]

So I think the fact that every single day for the past week has been the exact same with literally no difference is starting to bug me—

[fairlyang]

Let you break my heart again 🕷️

you are in love with your best friend

w/c: 999

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

tags: kinda angst? you’re so in love, he doesn’t feel the same, heartbreak, shitting n crying, slightly delusional

notes: the grip this song has had on me the past two weeks- this idea came to me last week I just HAD TO-

part two

You had been feeling down the entire day since you saw Miguel post the new girl he had been talking to and calling her his girlfriend with today’s date on the caption.

Him calling you a couple hours after asking if you wanted to go to a party with him only added salt to the wound.

You have been hopelessly and desperately in love with him since your freshmen year of high school.

8 years.

8 years of silence.

8 years of torture.

No one even looked his way in high school because he, alongside you, were known as the science nerds of the school. You obviously didn’t care, if anything it made falling for him that much predictable.

At least for anyone with eyes and good at deciphering body language.

Which Miguel wasn’t.

Somehow he never realized and you never had the balls to confess your love to him.

After graduating high school he had quite possibly the biggest glow up (unbeknownst to you he had turned into spider-man) and first semester of uni changed everything for him.

He had girls eating out of the palm of his hand and practically falling to their knees for him as if they hadn’t been using him to do their homework just a few months back.

Miguel didn’t seem to care or see through all the girl’s intentions.

Meanwhile you had liked him when he would wear nerdy little crewnecks and those thick glasses that had now been long abandoned.

You liked him when he was getting brutally bullied and were the only one to ever stick up for him, but it never going well for either of you.

You liked him when he was going through a hard time with his mom and relied on you heavily for nearly everything.

You liked him when the revelation of who his father was, tore him up to literal pieces.

He was always in your head. Whether it be daydream, hearing someone talk about him, or actually dreaming about him at night.

Only in your mind can you pretend that you’re his girlfriend. That he likes you.

That you’re his first and only choice.

That you’re the only one he wants.

That he’s just as in love with you as you are with him.

He had taken over all your thoughts possible and it never got any easier.

You thought you’d get over it after sophomore year but it only grew as he ended up being your only friend throughout high school.

Nothing was more heartbreaking than having to hear him talk about all the girls he would go out with, or fuck.

The worst was when you’d actually go to parties with him. You’d end up almost throwing up or crying in the bathroom after seeing yet another new girl grinding herself against him or a girl making out with him.

It never ended up being less heartbreaking. You had luckily made a few friends who tried their best to help.

Peter B and MJ.

Somehow you befriended them your first year of uni and all four of you became a little group. They were your occasional saviors when you’d find yourself sulking over Miguel being with another girl.

They’d always try to distract you and cheer you up.

Or if they were the ones to spot Miguel fooling around they’d turn you to the opposite direction to avoid your heart from crumbling again.

You felt as if you were being entrapped.

It was almost as if Miguel subconsciously knew what he was doing.

Because when he grew bored of a girl all of a sudden his attention would be fully on you.

Buying you food, getting you cute little plants, helping you study.

It was an endless cycle of pain and heartbreak then yearning and being enamored by him.

Right now was pure heartbreak and misery.

You had been crying for hours on end now and just let your sad playlist loop.

All you were wishing for now is that one day you’d stop falling in love with him.

That somehow your feelings for him would wash away and you’ll never have to deal with this heartbreak ever again.

But it’s been long now. These feelings weren’t going to disappear.

And he wasn’t going to magically fall in love with you.

Especially because he’s always been the one to let anyone and everyone know that you were only his best friend. And nothing more.

But the way he’d wrap his arms around you, leave kisses on your forehead and cheeks just boggled your head.

The way he would just stare at you when you were rambling about the newest science news you’d heard about.

The way he would hug you tightly at the most random times imaginable.

The way he’d willingly put his jacket on you if it were too chilly outside.

The way he would get so overprotective when a guy asks you out.

So you were always questioning what he really thought of you.

He never made it easy to decipher any of his feelings unless he was telling you up front, which he almost never did.

As more hot tears fell down your face, you could only pray that someone will like you like you like him.

It felt like such an impossible ask.

You loved him so much and you could practically feel pieces of your heart breaking. Why couldn’t he just reciprocate your love?

Why did you have to torture yourself like this?

Why is the only time you’re truly happy (besides when you’re with him) is when you’re dreaming about actually being with him?

Why is it so hard for him to romantically love you?

Why does it always have to be platonic?

Maybe one day you’ll be able to get over him and these feelings won’t be as strong.

Maybe one day you’ll find someone that’ll know how to take care of your heart and return your love.

Maybe one day it’ll be him.

[luckykiwiii101]

Not So Sugar&Spice And EVERYTHING Nice After All…

(Read till the end!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I HATE to break it to you but, you’re going to have to get ready to accept that you’re NOT going to live the life of your dreams.

DROP those endless list of desires you’ve piled up over the years or months you’ve spent on this app.

Those years and months speak dangerous words, words that you finally have to hear. But it’s not my fault it’s come to it.

You’re NEVER going to get what you want. Save those vision boards for nap time, because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing them. Yes, in your LITERAL dreams.

Ouch, that’s got to hurt.

“I’ll try to enter the void state again tonight.” Yes. Exactly. You’ll TRY again. And you’ll try again the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. And it will NEVER end. You’ve been at it for a while now.

“I’ll try THIS method tonight.” Yeah, and you’ll be looking for a new method by tomorrow. And so on, and so on, and so on.

Same goes for your manifestations.

“I’ll persist later!!!” Yes. Exactly. You’ll persist “later.” Later as in, next week? next month? next Year? Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn in to years, and years turn into decades, and decades turn into small little segments of your tragic little life, spent doing what? Trying? Procrastinating? Sulking? Or living the life of your dreams? Call it Russian roulette, but YOU’RE the one holding the gun to your head.

The cycle never ends. The tragic thing is, it starts with an undisciplined, lazy & hopeless person. And ends with the same undisciplined, lazy & hopeless person.

Why?

Take a wild guess. You’ve tumbled onto tumblr, figured out that you could live the life of your dreams, and did NOTHING about it, other than TRY.

Well, trying was never the answer.

All you ever had to do was just change your PATHETIC assumptions, into more….ideal ones.

Changing your assumptions are COMPULSORY! Not to rain on your parade, but this is a rain parade from hell. Purely tragic. Maybe you’ll start applying to get out of this endless loop.

And sorry to crush your hopeless little dreams, but you aren’t going to get ANYWHERE if you don’t change them. You are NEVER going to enter the void state. You are NEVER going to be a master manifestor.

Looks like that 9-5 is going to land you on highway 95.

Do I have to run you over, leave you bedridden, not able to move a muscle, for you to just PERSIST. Because your mind is all it takes. Nobody asked you to run a marathon. Yet you’re actually running a marathon, in the opposite direction of your dreams.

Well, all I can say is, keep running.

At the end of the day, ACCEPTANCE is all that matters. Accept that you will never have anything you want, or just accept that you already have everything you want.

If this isn’t the wake up call that wakes you up!!! NOTHING will.

All I can say now is, if you’re still roaming this app by the end of February, I feel BAD for you. I’m not saying that’s how long it will take, but if it does, then yikes! And we all know one thing about Gossip Girl, I LOVE to wreak havoc. But you’re already doing that FOR me. So thank you, and goodbye. Now say goodbye back, along with your precious desires.

Too bad that your dreams are going to just stay as dreams.

Bye Bye.

(So not you, by the way):

[ronearoundblindly]

Steve Rogers, number 4, a kiss where it hurts (imagine him making it stop hurting) xxx

*no pairing listed but could work in Fools Rush In, It Had To Be You, Autumn Is Healing, Threadbare, or as a stand alone. While those series do specify female readers, this is written gender neutral. He calls you 'sweetheart' one time.

A Dark Day and A Bright Night, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024

Warning only for description of a bad mental health time. (I know not everyone experiences this in the same way, but I tried to cover the gist and focus on Steve's comfort of you.) Otherwise, just sweet, caring fluff! WC 1781

There are invisible barriers everywhere, and they stop no one but you.

No one else can hear the muddled whispers of what else you could have done, what more you should have accomplished, how disappointing it is that anything took so long.

You can’t do any better. You can’t go any farther. There’s a line in the sand no one can see. Sometimes, no one can see you.

Nothing matches up. Work fast-forwards around you in chaos while you slog through, treading water with all the energy of someone who has been out at sea alone for days and days. You grow so tired.

There are moments you power through, mind racing to gain lost ground on an endless, looped track. You grow so tired, and it’s never just one thing. It’s water and sand and nothing all at once, vast forces beyond your control.

What else? What more? Why so long?

There are barriers no one else can see, and it’s not their fault because it doesn’t match up. We move through life at different paces. We experience different struggles. We are stopped by different forces.

“How was work?” Steve asks, a chipper smile on his face as he places dinner in front of you.

“Fine.” There are no other words.

“Really? Seems the project is right on schedule, thanks to you.”

You see him pause before he takes his first bite, and rush to pick up your fork, knowing it’s best to participate, knowing the barriers may be invisible but effort is not.

He eats his mouthful, and you stare.

Dinner isn’t a line in the sand, but it feels like one, another interaction you’ll be disappointing in, another fear you can’t explain.

“Not my best work, but it got done,” you manage, mechanically feeding yourself, showing the effort, making a show of the effort. “How was your day?”

It’s a flat question. The response is muddled by water and wind and doubt.

Why can’t you focus? Why can’t you do better for him? Why does he stay?

Steve can’t see any of it. He can’t get to you because there’s no one place you’re trapped in.

You do the dishes. You watch TV. You start your bedtime ritual, and you’ve participated as little—and as much—as possible because treading water is lonely. You grow so tired.

Tomorrow could be better. You can do better tomorrow. It’ll take effort.

Tomorrow you’ll work harder and you’ll be less afraid. But that’s what you thought the last time you were stuck. That’s what you think each time you find a line in the sand.

You stare at your reflection, still treading, still scared, still misaligned.

“Did you hear me?” Steve loosely holds you with his palm on your hip. Standing behind you, face sullen in the mirror, he asks where you’re hurting.

To Steve, there has to be a solution. Each mission must have a goal.

You spit, rinse, and put your toothbrush in the holder.

“Just tired.” That’s the sand he cannot see.

“Seems like more than ‘just tired,’” he huffs, unsatisfied, and turns you toward him. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing you can help with.” That’s the water he cannot navigate.

You’re on your own.

He smirks humorlessly. “That’s never stopped me before.”

But you don’t have the words. All that comes out is “my head.”

“Headache?” He reaches for the medicine cabinet. “You need some—“

You shake your physically fine skull. “No. It’s not a headache.”

Steve’s face…changes in a way you’ve never seen before. You expected confusion, perhaps pity, but this is something all-together reminiscent. His eyes dart around the bathroom like he’s taking inventory, and for the first time today you aren’t the most distracted person in the room.

Then he returns to you.

“I think I’d like a nice bath. Will you join me?”

He sets it all up, using the best smelling bubbles, setting out the softest towels, and inviting you back into the little spa he created by handing you a lovely chocolate.

When you try to refuse because you’ve already brushed your teeth, he replies, “live dangerously,” and pops a bonbon for himself.

Hopefully, it is dark enough for Steve to miss the tears in your eyes.

He lets you settle in the water against him, playing by splashing warmth over the parts not submerged. He kisses your shoulders and neck, the back of your head. Steve keeps himself attached by the lips, breathing you in but feeling so far away. Your mind wanders to nowhere, thinking nothing.

“Feels good—I mean, bett—feels okay, yeah?”

He suds up his hands and washes a bit of you, but your muscles are tight and curled.

You’re tucked into yourself, small as can be.

“Can you try to relax for me, sweetheart? Can you let yourself float?”

The tub works for a guy Steve’s size. There’s a little space but not enough to stretch out completely.

The tension in your body is slow to release. You manage to let your arms, knees, and feet peak through the bubble clouds.

Steve nudges, “and your neck?”

You didn’t realize you were holding it up.

There is infinite space to lay flat in your endless sea. Floating offers a respite, a view of the sky, the same sky blanketing your beach.

Invisible barriers at least spare the scenery.

You and Steve watch the fragrant foam burst for a while. It takes you much longer to truly relax back into Steve. The quiet of the bath drowns you with the noise in your head.

What else? What more? Why so slow?

It’s never just one thing. It is all things, all at once, and nothing at all. All of the elements to survival and understanding are there if you just focus your attention, if you just put in the effort, but you are so tired.

Steve wraps you in his arms to press you deeper into his chest.

“Sometimes my ma would burn dinner,” he starts quietly, voice rough from holding back all his questions you can’t answer, “and we would scramble around, combing the cupboards. We’d make the oddest meals out of bits and bobs. Maybe half of it, we should’a never touched, but we did what we had to. Ya know what? Those were some of the best times. We did the best we could with what we had—sometimes less—and that’s what made her so amazing. On what she probably considered her worst days,” Steve kisses behind your ear, “I admired her the most. Formed some of the best memories.”

“Let me guess. Because she smiled the whole way through?”

“Nah,” he muses, chuckling enough to shake you in the water, “she threw a pan once. Loosened the door of the stove she slammed it shut so hard. She cried usually until we were sat down eating. Always tried to give me the most food because I was so small… 

“I made it a game. I only took a bite if she did. Win-win.” 

He stays quiet for a beat, assured you’re hearing him.

“You’re not ruining anything by crying,” he says solidly, almost loud in the confines of the bathroom. “Good things can still happen. You still did good today.”

He continues. He details little things he admires about you; how hard you work for yourself, for him, he notices all that. He wants you to see what he sees.

There’s no barrier stopping him.

The water turns tepid, and Steve gets out first to ready a towel for you. There’s a difference between him treating you like a china doll and his doll. His doll is not breakable. He isn’t gentle because you are fragile; he does it to preserve you for the next day, and the next. Steve refuses to place any more burden on you than already falls.

He’s right there, strong, noble, and determined with forces working against him.

He’s scared and he doesn’t understand. He can’t fight. He has to scramble to catch up, to change plans, to make a meal out of nothing, to turn nothing into something. He doesn’t understand why he’s in a different sea, or why he can’t get to you standing on the same damn beach. His hand is right there on the barrier, but his shouts are muddled.

It’s not fair, and it never will be.

He physically lifts you up, wrapped in a plush bath sheet, his hug strong enough to thump against that clear wall that springs from your line in the sand.

That’s when you realize the barrier isn’t impenetrable. You can still see the scenery. You can still hear muddled sounds.

Some of his voice gets through. Sunlight and warmth get through. The water still buoys you up.

If there are directions to go, there are paths to take.

If there are ways in, there are ways out. 

There are invisible barriers everywhere, but they don’t stop Steve from being there for you.

One more chocolate. One more brush of your teeth. You trade the fluffy wrap of a towel with the cozy wrap of a t-shirt, and he makes sure you’re comfortable.

A simple goodnight kiss alone might tip you over into exhausted euphoria, but Steve is not that kind of simple.

He props himself up on an elbow and rolls you onto your back.

Kissing your right temple, he whispers, “I love you.” Kissing your left temple, he confesses, “I love your voice,” the peak of your forehead, “I love your spirit,” between your eyebrows, just above one ear, and the other.

“Miss you when I’m not here. Miss you when you’re not here. I miss you even in my dreams.”

Then, and only then, do you get that simple kiss goodnight. His soft lips melding to yours for a long, soothing moment before you two drift off to sleep.

When you dream of a beach and an ocean and nothing at all, you miss him, too. You remember his presence, and the truth becomes as clear as the sky above.

There are pieces of you to love. You are a loved thing. You are light and heat and sound that can get through, even when misaligned, even when you don’t match up, even when not in the same sea.

Steve’s love is invisible, but you know it’s there. It’s not a limit to fear. It’s not a barrier to turn away from. His love is not an obstacle you want to get past.

Not every invisible force is bad.

Sometimes, barriers slow you down, let you listen, make you rest, and help you float.

There are barriers everywhere, but nothing between you and Steve.

Ransom Drysdale and a kiss out of spite ⬅️ ➡️ Ari Levinson and a kiss out of envy

A/N: oof. *walks away crying* I'm fine. It's fine.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza  @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @rogersbarber

[acescorazon]

I LOVE YOUR FIC CHANGES!!!!! I HOPE YOU UPDATE SOON!!!!!

THANK U BBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. ILY MUAH. I was updating like every day but then i got my period... i mean i fell into a pit of darkness and didn't have the energy to climb out. How bizarre. ANYWAYS, HERE'S YOUR FOOD.

Title: Changes Ch: 5/?

Rating: M (I'm just putting that as the rating in general for every ch lol)

Word count:2291

Warnings: Depressed clown :(

Chapter excerpt:

"Mihawk keeps asking about you," Mohji announces all of a sudden, "He keeps asking if you're okay and if your illness is something serious." Hawkeye keeps asking about him… Why? To know if he's died yet? What a joke! That man doesn't care about Buggy, why is he even wasting his breath asking about him? "I just keep telling him that you have the flu, and he's always like, 'Ah…is that so? Tell him I hope he feels better.' Isn't that…ridiculous?!" Yeah, that is rather ridiculous.  Buggy has a hard time believing that Mihawk is genuinely concerned about him, but at the same time, he can't imagine why he'd just pretend to care either. It's weird.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|

The next several days are on an endless loop for Buggy. He stays in bed all day, unwilling to come face to face with Mihawk after his little drunken rant from days prior, afraid of what Mihawk will say to him now that he's completely sober. So, he stays in bed, either sleeping or lost in thought. He should be preparing men, supplies, and their new flagship for departure, but he can't bring himself to do it. At the very least he should be making sure everything on Emptee Bluffs Island is going smoothly, and yet… he doesn't care about that either. 

Being in Cross Guild is so…exhausting.

Crocodile has called for meetings every single day, and every day, Buggy has one of his men lie and say he's sick. He's missed about 10 meetings now, he thinks. He can't remember, everything is starting to blend in together. All he knows is that sooner or later Crocodile is going to get pissed and come looking for him, and then what? Beat him up? Threaten him? Actually, kill him this time? 

Man, who cares?

Cabaji, Mohji, and Richie, often come by and sit with him, usually overly worried about Buggy's well-being and not believing him when he says he's just sick or tired, but of course, Buggy always tells them that he's fine. 

Today, they're with him again, sitting by his bed and trying to get him to eat some of the sea king the other members of the crew somehow caught and killed today. "Captain…" Mohji sighs, "Come on, at least take a couple of bites." He asks, but he sounds more like he's begging than asking. "You've hardly eaten anything these last few days." While that is very true, it's because Buggy doesn't have much of an appetite these days, nothing tastes right or really interests him, and god knows he doesn't have the energy to make his own food…just… he just wants to sleep.

Buggy sits in his bed, slightly peeved that Cabaji and Mohji insist he sit up in general, and looks down at the sea king on his plate. He's not normally a picky eater, you can't be picky when you've spent most of your life at sea, but… this thing reminds him eerily of a poison dart frog with its vibrant color and spots, yet at the same time, it's got fins and a body like a snake... He doubts his men would actually cook up something poisonous, they aren't that naive…but still, Buggy has no interest in this fish..frog…snake thing. 

But if he did die from ingesting it…that'd just be his luck, wouldn't it? Death seems… inescapable at this point, and he often wonders just what or who will end up taking his life first. "I'm not hungry," Buggy repeats, but Mohji and Cabaji seem determined today.

 

"Just take a couple of bites, please, Captain?" Mohji practically begs, "Just a couple, it's actually really good!" Doubt it, Buggy thinks. 

Cabaji follows suit, "Yeah, just take a couple of bites and if you don't like it, you don't have to eat the whole thing! We'll just feed the rest to Richie, right, Mohji?" 

"Right!" 

Buggy really doesn't want to eat anything, but he hates to make the other two worry, so he ends up taking a couple of bites of his lunch, and yeah, it isn't bad…it's one of the better-tasting sea kings that he's had, this one actually tastes like chicken despite its weird appearance, but Buggy still only eats a couple of bites, just enough to get the other two off his back and then hands Mohji his plate to give to Richie. 

He wants to lie back down, but the others won't let him. "Um, Captain?" Cabaji calls out, seemingly a little nervous, "Uh, how about I run you a warm bath and…uh, How about I help you wash and brush your hair today?" Cabaji suggests with a small grin. Oh, yeah, basic needs are a thing. Man, Buggy really doesn't care about any of that stuff anymore, he's going to die anyways, so what's the point? He'll just ask one of his men to make him look nice for his funeral. 

"Okay?" Cabaji asks, still smiling.

Buggy understands what this really is about. This is a very polite and roundabout way of telling him he needs to bathe, but none of his men would ever outright tell him he stinks so they have to use words like, 'Oh, how about I run you a bath and help you wash your hair today?' Or, 'Wow, you look like you need to relax…how about a nice bath?' 

Whatever. 

Buggy lets Cabaji run him a bath, and he sits and waits in bed while he prepares everything for him. He watches Richie eat his leftover sea king, and can't help but think how nice it'd be to be a lion, well, actually a cat. If reincarnation exists, he thinks he'd like to live a carefree life as a cat, a spoiled one too. Being a pirate isn't something he thinks he'd want to do again unless he could live a life with his old crew again, this time a happy one that isn't cut short, maybe then he'd be a pirate again... Or he could be a star in the sky, that'd be nice. 

"Mihawk keeps asking about you," Mohji announces all of a sudden, "He keeps asking if you're okay and if your illness is something serious." Hawkeye keeps asking about him… Why? To know if he's died yet? What a joke! That man doesn't care about Buggy, why is he even wasting his breath asking about him? "I just keep telling him that you have the flu, and he's always like, 'Ah…is that so? Tell him I hope he feels better.' Isn't that…ridiculous?!" Yeah, that is rather ridiculous.  Buggy has a hard time believing that Mihawk is genuinely concerned about him, but at the same time, he can't imagine why he'd just pretend to care either. It's weird.

"Crocodile has asked about you too, but only once, and when I told him you had the flu, he rolled his eyes at me and went: 'Of course that dumb clown is sick.' And then walked away! I tell ya, I don't know what the others see in those two!" Mohji frowns, "They're so mean to you! I… I think if we all banned together then we could…you know…." He whispers the next part of his sentence, "Show them who's boss."

Honestly if Buggy thought he and or his crew had a chance against Mihawk and Crocodile, then he would have had both of them taken out a long time ago, but he knows even with an army of men, he couldn't take out one of his business partners, let alone both. It's a fun thought though, "Let's not waste our time," Buggy replies, exhaling a long, shaky sigh, "Besides, it's like I told you before, I can handle those two! Do you really think I'd let them beat and bully me?!" 

Mohji just stares at him from his seat, obviously not convinced but he doesn't push the subject any further, and thank God for that.

Cabaji reappears a few moments after that, telling Buggy his bathwater is ready, and in all honesty, Buggy rather not do this, but he doesn't feel like hearing the other two complain either. He follows Cabaji into the bathroom and tells him he can at least bathe himself, and somewhere at the back of Buggy's mind he feels like he should feel more ashamed by the situation, but he doesn't. His former captain always told him that good friends don't judge you when you're at your lowest times and that they instead help you when no one else will, and so maybe that's why he has no guilt about letting Cabaji wash his hair. He'd do the same for him and then some. He and Mohji are more than just subordinates, they're friends, no, they're family, and honestly Buggy doesn't deserve either one of them. 

As he washes Buggy's hair, Cabaji also tells Buggy that Mihawk keeps asking about him. Again, Buggy finds the idea of Mihawk asking all of Buggy’s crew about his well-being almost comical. Did the world’s strongest swordsman grow a heart? Ha, as if. Or maybe Buggy’s earlier suspicions are correct, maybe Mihawk’s waiting, hoping that Buggy’s ‘flu’ will take him out and that he won’t have to deal with him anymore, which honestly seems like a more realistic explanation for everything. 

A hot bath and a nice relaxing hair wash later, and Buggy’s sitting on the small couch in his room, getting his hair brushed by Cabaji as he listens to both Mohji and Cabaji ramble on about this and that, and occasionally bicker over trivial things. It feels like his men are the only consistency in his life, but he wonders if there will be a day when even that changes. Maybe he’ll end up with so many men that their crew will seem more like an army than a family, then again maybe he won’t live to see the day when that’s actually a problem. And if that doesn’t happen, then maybe Mihawk will eventually end up replacing Buggy’s crew with a new, more efficient one that he hardly knows let alone can consider his family…who knows?

Now, as stated before, Buggy’s usual visitors consist of Mohji, Cabaji and Richie, but today Buggy finds himself getting an additional guest in his room. Sometime around late afternoon Alvida joins Buggy’s already boisterous company, and as soon as she realizes Buggy’s perfectly fine, she sighs at him,”I knew you weren’t sick.” she mutters as she has a seat on the couch next to him after Cabaji and Mohji fight over who’s spot she can take, “But oh well, you won’t believe what I just saw.” She says, grinning. 

Hopefully, she saw Crocodile and Mihawk board a ship and sail as far away from the island as possible, never to return again, but that’s just not realistic, is it? “What did you see?” Buggy asks though he’s not particularly curious about her gossip today.

“Mihawk and Crocodile were fighting.”

“Crocodile and Mihawk bicker every once in a while, so what?” 

“No, they were actually physically fighting earlier.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know but they were both heated,” Alvida claims, “I think they reached a draw, but they were fighting for a long time, half the island saw it.”

Despite claiming that he doesn’t care about either of the two, Buggy’s slightly curious about Mihawk and Crocodile’s altercation. Sure they’ve butt heads a couple of times in the past because Crocodile is so damn overbearing and of course, Mihawk doesn’t take being bossed around lightly, but they never get physical with things, it’s usually just threats of possible fights that don’t go anywhere. Maybe that was it, maybe Crocodile just got too controlling again, and Mihawk got tired of it. He did say he was tired of Crocodile’s shit the other day… Yeah, that’s got to be it…Because what else could it be???

…

A couple of more days go by after that, and Buggy’s still stuck in that same loop: Sleep. Overthink. Sleep. Overthink. Sleep. Overthink. Of course, there are brief things that break the cycle like Mohji and Cabaji checking on him and feeding him and making sure he’s being taken care of, but other than that, it’s just sleep, overthink, repeat. He just doesn’t see the point in getting out of bed every day when Mihawk and Crocodile are just going to make his life a living hell, or worse, end his miserable existence. 

Despite all his stress though, there are times when his bedroom is rather comforting, he knows that it offers him no real protection from the outside world, but in his room he feels safe and like he’s miles away from all his problems even though they’re literally just right outside. He thinks he’s missed, hm…12 meetings now, maybe 13 …14? Who knows, he’s surprised that Crocodile is even still calling for them, or that he hasn’t come barging into his room to yank him out of his bed and beat him to death for ruining his perfect schedule.

Buggy doesn’t care about Cross Guild though (or for much of anything right now) he never has and he doubts he ever will. He’s perfectly fine just keeping himself locked away in his bedroom for as long as possible. Mohji will take care of the others and if he doesn’t, then Alvida will, and if she doesn’t, then Buggy’s sure that Crocodile and Mihawk will boss his men around, but they’re strong, spirited, and oblivious, they can handle anything. 

Something breaks his seemingly endless depressive cycle by the time he’s missed 18 meetings…or was it 19?

One of his men comes into his room around midmorning, like always, and tells him that a meeting has been called… But today, Mihawk’s the one who’s called for the meeting apparently, and Buggy instantly tells his subordinate to tell Mihawk that he’s still under the weather and can’t go to the meeting, to which his subordinate replies, “He says it’s urgent, Chairman Buggy, and that if you can’t go to the meeting room, that he’ll bring the meeting here instead.”

That’s got to be the worst, no, actually, the second worst thing he’s been told in his entire life. Why? Why now? Why can’t Mihawk and Crocodile just hold their dumb meetings by themselves? It’s not like Buggy gets to make any decisions or his input matters, why does he have to leave his safe space and go see them?

((A/n: Hate how they didn't add ChouChou to the live-action or Richie. The idea that some of you might not know that Richie is a lion and you might think he's just some guy is funny though lol.))

[chimerahyperfix]

The spot of endless night-time in the sky mocks you. It chases it's way to the House through the sky like a snake approaching its prey. Because that's what the King is; a predator coming to feast on the weak. It's the sign of the end. The end you can't seem to stop. A big old "crab you" for even thinking of trying.

You try anyway. Try to climb the mountain with your bare hands. Push the boulder up the hill. You tackle the situation from all angles, but nothing works. You've worn yourself thin throwing yourself at the equation, and it's killing you. Literally.

It's stopped being as painful, which sends alarms ringing through your brain. Your nerves are frying. Dying. Being frozen in time has thawed to the sensation of pins and needles instead of being bone-chilling. Caustic liquids don't hurt to chug down as much. You can phase out of thinking when the King attacks you. You can simply turn your thoughts off and move through the day like a phantom. It concerns you and you just don't care at the same time.

Your blood sings and your voice rots and you go and go and go, pushing yourself thin until you are a walking corpse.

It's just you, though. One for many. You have you have you have you have to remember that. Remember that. Just you just one, saving everyone else. Just you. No one else will remember this.

No one else will remember this.

You sit in the big room with the big window and all the dot charts. You don't remember what it's called-- did you ever know? Who cares? It's not important right now. Sit on the floor and look out the window like a child looking over the ocean.

The King, you can see him now. His tall, dark shadow appearing over the horizon, lit by the moon. His armor shimmers like the stars he seems to love so much. [Because that's what they are, right? Is that the correct term? Stars? You're not sure. There's a torn page in your mind where it should be.]

Just seeing him drives you up a wall. Echoes of pain from how he's killed you run through your body, even though you know its imagined. Mashed to gore painted on the walls screaming howling make it stop make it stop. You don't care anymore. He can come, and he'll kill you. Or you'll kill him! Eventually! It has to happen!

Maybe he can feel your stare. It looks, to you, like he looks up just a little bit, to look in your direction. You, alone, sitting behind a giant window under a shaded masterpiece, clashing sky of sun and moon and all his stupid stars. [Stars feels like the right term, it feels nice in your mouth, but you're not sure. You don't know, if it's right or wrong or if you've just crabbing made something up to describe simple spots in the sky.]

You want to kill him. You want to make sure no one ever has to hear his stupid wails again, or fight his monsters, or be frozen in time or look at his stupid crabbing sky ever again. Make that armor of his a cradle, a grave, a casket or a cage, it doesn't matter, you're going to bury him in it. Trap him six feet under like time has trapped you, a squirming angry animal of a thing behind bars of a birdcage.

No one will find you here. That's fine. The other housemaidens have started to avoid you, because you've become an angry little thing overnight. You don’t bother Mirabelle and some loops you flat out avoid Euphrasie, because they shouldn't have to see you like this, clinging to what was you from over a hundred today's ago. You don't want to worry the two of them, overstep a boundary you can't remember or something, because you've done this all for them and the consequences of your capital-C Change can come later when the King is gone and you don't have to do today over.

For now, you will wait. This loop probably won't be the one because, realistically, when will it be? When will you win? Are you going to be trapped here forever, doomed to repeat the same day over and over in a cage made of craft and wishes and pure spite?

You just wanted to help. Look where that got you. Over and over, forever.

[napakmahal]

“ Did all this happen because I left?”

Pause girlies because this is actually kinda serious. I just got out of a depressive episode and just really wanted to give the depression girlies a lil treat. Remember: you need other people in your life when you have depression. Make friends not resources. I love y’all (angst)

How can something be so painful yet so numb at the same time? The human brain is one of the most complex systems in the universe, aside from the universe itself. How it can feel so many polar opposite things simoultaniouly, and in that creating an entire civil war within itself. How could the brain, the thing meant to be in charge with your care and wellbeing one day just decide to decrease its own activity and make you miserable? It was the worlds greatest betrayal.

You’d been lying in your bed for the past week, and you might have gotten up twice a day. Once to use the bathroom and the other to get some food and bring it right back to your bed. Everyone said it wasn’t a big deal because you were young and you were probably just in a bad mood because of your hormones. Hormones were evil enough to suction blood from your reproductive organs (usually) once a month, they couldn’t possibly be cruel enough for this.

On your overheated and whirling computer was an endless loop of lousy reality T.V shows you’d watched over and over. There’s been therapists that have said that in these times of depressive episodes, you should revert back to adding some life and movement back into your brain. Which meant doing things like crossword puzzles, working out, math games, and reading 200+ page books. All things that you could totally do and things you liked to do. But not right now. Now all you wanted was junk food and shitty TLC shows. Not some slow burn, or some huge mystery TV show that required you to remember tiny details from the beginning of the season. Reality TV was entertaining, effortless, and on loop but you’d be lying if you said everytime you heard the freaky eaters intro a little more of your brain died.

That’s the funny thing about depression. Because even though you can feel yourself slipping and drowning in total misery, there’s nothing anyone can do to save you. So you get stuck in this endless loop of self detructive behavior hoping that the pain you experience on the outside is enough to kill the thing on the inside.

You were clinically depressed, and nothing nobody did was ever going to change that. But these episodes weren’t always like this. For a while, episodes were bearable. Your ‘friend’ made them better.

You’d known Hiro for a while, meeting him on the downtown bus during sunset on a spring saturday. You thought he was cool, he thought you were pretty. But the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing seemed uncomfortable and the labels meade things weird.

Granted you were each others first kiss. The two of you had tried to convince each other it was just because you got asked out to your eighth grade formal and you wanted to be prepared. It also didn’t help much that the more you described the dude that asked you out, the more Hiro wished he hadn’t skipped all those grades.

You never told anyone about that. Sure you could say it was a one time thing but it was hard to use that as a defense when you’d made out with him because you were bored under the dock near the beach during the summer carnival, and when you were just playing video games in his room, and when you were sitting on the steps of the museum of Japanese artifacts while sharing a soda, and the time you two were at the skatepark after it closed and you two were making out- only except that time he’d taken off his jacket.

Sure you were both fifteen but you watched people make out in the hallways at school everyday. Kissing didn’t seem like this massive thing. Hiro grew up isolated from the true highschool experience, he didn’t know. All he knew was that making out with you was cool and pretending he only did it because he was bored (and not because he would swear on his teen hormones that he loved you) was even cooler.

His aunt and brother had liked to tease you for it, but that’s all it was: teasing. The two of you would never live down the torment you’d likey face if they found out about your “I’m bored, let’s make out” sessions.

Speaking of, your mom didn’t really know you and Hiro were like that. She was only partly sure you liked him and you only thought that because one day after she caught you being particularly smiley that night after having him over to stream a new song she came into your room, played with your hair and said: “So you and Hiro are friends? That’s nice, he’s seems nice. Just, make sure he doesn’t make it worse.”

That was also kind of a silly depression thing: People and their influence could make it worse for you, others, and even themselves. Bad influence already makes bad people, but bad influence on people with depression tends to make them miserable, desperate, and self loathing.

But contrary to what your mom had said, Hiro didn’t make it worse. He made it better and she would soon figure that out after you’d tried texting him multiple times despite knowing he was at an expo outside the city. And he’d respond as fast as he could with the best messages, but when he’d go dead silent for almost ten hours each day it just dampened your mood. You’d kept reminding yourself not to be selfish, that your lack of ability to be happy shouldn’t stop people from living their lives. But from the hours of 7 a.m. - 5 p.m. you were left with no friend and a fat headache.

——————————————————————————

The intro to a show you couldn’t remember the name of played for the tenth time that day, drying out your eyes and causing an endless headache. You were surprised you hadn’t at least gotten a stomach ache from all the Tylenol you’d been taking. Someone knocked at your closed bedroom door before gently opening it.

“Y/n,” Your mom squinted through the darkness of your closed blinds and at the glowing computer screen. “There’s someone here to see you.”

With your back faced to her you couldn’t say anything other than a low, “Oh.”

She left for a bit as you continued to lay there, helpless almost dead. Thinking about death is something everyone does up to a certain extent. Questions like: How will I die? What comes next? Are ghosts real? All normal.

But when you and people like you thought about death it wasn’t like when other people thought about death.

Suddenly, your door creaked open and you didn’t even have the energy to look back but you just knew. Hiro had looked around at your depression room and sighed. He hadn’t even been around you for more than thirty seconds and he already wanted to cry. This was bad- so bad. The boy gently crept up to your bed and sat down. You felt the dent of his body in your mattress and still didn’t move.

“How are you?” His voice was quiet.

You responded barely above a whisper, “Fine.”

“When’s the last time you left this room?”

You didn’t even reply. At that moment, breathing was too much work. Having to think about the air going through your lungs and exhaling it out was a chore.

Hiro leaned over your body and shut the laptop closed before moving it off your head and placing his body in it’s spot. You two were now face to face, laying on your bed like the lovers of valdaro. It was bad this time and everyone knew it. Guilt had been eating him alive since he read the shift in your texts. How could he enjoy himself at this expo while you were there suffering?

“Did all of this happen because I wasn’t here?” He whispered.

You grabbed onto his hand. “No. I’ve always been like this.”

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.”

“But it’s never been this bad before. If I was here then-”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” You cut him off. “Hiro I’ve been like this all my life. And you shouldn’t feel obligated to hold yourself back because I’m not normal.”

Once while playing around at the park at midnight you told Hiro that a therapist you had said these episodes will wax and wane. In the good there will be bad and in the bad there will be good. But there would never be moment where it would just be good. You’d be this way for the rest of your life, sad, in pain, and left with a feeling of mania and worthlessness. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“Do-” Hiro’s voice started to shake and a tear from my eye scurred across his face. “Do I at least make it any better?’

The thought of making it better by being there would in turn make him feel a little less guilty about not being able to be with you all the time.

For the first time in a week, you gave him a weak smile. No teeth, just lips. Before you leaned forward and gave him a prolonged kiss. In return, he brushed your hair from your face and started petting your head.

“Yes,” You whispered. “You do.”

[dirtytransmasc]

Spider got shot but instead of dying he survives but from the loss of blood he falls into a coma. I think this outcome probably would have effective mama Neytiri and their family even more. Knowing that your boy survived but he’s still not fully back with you must be the hardest thing ever.

neytiri wouldn't leave his side, she'd be incapable of it. she has to be there when he wakes up, when his eyes flutter and for a moment he's there, when he whimpers in his seemingly endless sleep; she needs to be there for her baby, she can't leave him alone again, she refuses.

she sat in that cold lab every day, holding his hand, fixing his hair, making sure the blanket was tucked around him just right. everyday she begged eywa for an answer, for the reason why she was doing this to her son, why he was meant to suffer as a nearly lifeless shell of himself?

then she questions herself. she was the one who lost him, she was the one who failed to find him all those months cause she let jake drag her away, she was the one who didn't get to him quick enough. he bled out in her arms, she begged for norm and max to save him even though they said it was hopeless, she was the one who fought for his dying body and now she was being punished. she was the one who locked the boy in a space between life and death; he had been too far gone, she knew that, yet she was desperate to keep him from The Great Mother, now he was stuck here, not living, simply existing. it was cruel of her, but now all she can do is sit as his side and pray for a miracle, for Eywa to give him the mercy of death or for by some chance, he wakes, against all odds.

she's not his only visitor, not by a long shot. kiri is his second most frequent flyer, spending hours at his side; she feels the sterile lab with noise, talking the night and day away. she talks about life in the village, about the water, about Eywa, about their siblings. spider is never once out of the loop on life.

jake sits with the boy whenever he could, their time apart made more then a few things clear; jake was sorry, he was sorry for every fuck up, every mistake, every failure in his parenting that spanned the spider's little life. he had felt the same guilt towards lo'ak and neteyam, but he was able to apologize, he was able to make it up to them. but he couldn't do that with spider, he slept feeling the weight of all jakes failures on his shoulders. he spends most of the nights with him, when neytiri and the kids leave for dinner, he sits and he talks and he cries and he feels. he misses his son, his child, he wants nothing more then to hear his laugh or his voice, anything.

neteyam visits, just as often, only not as long. his guilt gets the better of him; he was the older brother, in most ways, and spider had taken the bullet for him, had shoved him out of the way. most of his conversation with spider are questions. why? why did you do that? when he's not begging for spider's answers, he's pleading with him to wake up. lo'ak is practically the same, finding anyway to twist what happened so the blame is on himself. he feels like if he had just waited, he wouldn't have gotten shot. if he was quicker he wouldn't have gotten shot. if he had just been better that night, spider would never have been there. both of their visits end in tears, clinging to their brother's body, because they went so long without him, now they can barely say they have him back, and it feels like its their fault.

tuk grows up beside spider, feeling alone even though he's right there, missing her big brother. she talks to him as if he's still perfectly fine right next to her, telling her about her day, how the family is changing, getting used to their home.

his family are not his only visitors. lo'ak brings tsireya and neteyam brings ao'nung, kiri and rotxo are quick to follow. its nice to bring some life to the normally overly sterile lab, spider seems to like the company. eventually the tonowari siblings and their friend come on their own; they had taken to spider as one of their own, and treated him as such.

this of course brought Ronal, a great tsahik, and Tonowari with his people's prayers. both had tried their best to heal the child before, but seeing their children bond with him, even by association with his siblings, and his tiny little body laid in that bed; it brought out the parent in them, and that is a different level of drive. a parent, even just by nature, will do anything to protect a child.

they miss their baby boy, they miss him with every part of themselves, and as desperation grows, they start searching for ways to make an avatar.

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

Hi! I want to share what may be a controversial hot take with you, I don't know. But I would really like to know your opinion!

Is it just me, or should identity not be this much of an issue with characters who are gods? I mean, the MCU has Thor trapped in an endless loop of journeys of self-discovery. They have Loki trapped in an endless loop of self-sacrifice, now quite literally trapped. They have Sylvie moping around in bars and working at McDonald's, and they have Valkyrie cutting ribbons at ice cream parlor openings. Isn't all a little too mundane? I understand that they must feel a need to make these characters relatable to an extent, but to cut them down so low and make them so lowly that we're rolling our eyes and actually pitying them. Why?

These characters are gods! They should be embracing it, owning it, unapologetically! Thor should be king of Asgard by now! With Loki beside him, driving him crazy and keeping him on his toes, making wonderful chaos and mischief everywhere! Does Loki want power and a throne? So what if he does! He's a god! He is entitled to power and a throne! Whether anybody likes it or not, Loki IS the son of a king - TWO kings if you want to get technical - so why the F not? These characters should be wild and larger than life! Unmanageable and untamable. They should only be rising in power, not taking orders at Mickey D's or wearing ugly brown 3-piece suits getting pushed around by brainwashed mortals!

I just think the quest to humanize and normalize and make these characters relatable has completely ruined them. It took all the fun out. The wonder and magic is gone. The fantasy is gone. The escapism is gone. What do you think?

Hi honey! Sorry for the delay in answering.

I mostly agree with everything you say here. It's like they want these grand characters to be humanized so they can be relatable, but in order to do that they get rid of everything that makes them different from human characters so they all end up being pretty samey.

I do believe that the journey of discovery can be done with any character, be it the most powerful ones or the non-powered humans, but the journey should be completely different... just like the outcome. A human can strive to discover who they are and own it by ending up working as a barista at a cafe. But a god (or a goddess in this case) should not be waiting tables at a McDonald's in hers. You can still make her relatable while keeping her godlike status!

At the end of the day, if you want the non-powered characters and the OP ones to go through the same path and end up in the same spot then... what's the difference between them? If you change Sylvie's name and she's called Victoria and she's a 26-year-old human from Italy, does the story really change that much?

What I mean is those stories should be personalized to each character so that the journey only makes sense for that specific character, but instead all those stories are pretty standard to the point that they would fit a god, a regular hero and a dumb citizen.

It was very painful seeing Valkyrie doing TV commercials while New Asgard is a freaking tourist attraction. Was that really necessary? Showing the Asgardians as just regular people now who dress like humans, work like humans, and their King is a celebrity who announces drinks on TV? That's not making them relatable, that's ridiculing them.

I don't mind Thor not being King of (New) Asgard because he gave up the throne in TDW and I like the idea of him giving up that power after he saw what it did to Odin... but why can't we have a scene where he says just that? Where he explains it? We just see him giving it up and handing it over to Valkyrie like it doesn't matter to him and that's a big disservice to his character and the story throughout his trilogy.

Unfortunately, Marvel has been on a path of normalizing anything magic - just see what they did to the Mirror Dimension in NWH. It's just geometry! Nothing special about it! It's super dumb! Ugh. (I'm still mad about that, as you can see lol). It feels like lazy writing, not enough focus on characterization and world building and an obsession with meme-making that actively goes against the story 🤷‍♀️

[scoopertrouper]

If you’re still taking Stancy prompts, Nancy wondering what Steve is up to while they keep their distance in s3 is always my jam. Love love love your Nancy and Steve.

my first prompt fill!

i have to be honest, i don’t know if this is really what you were looking for? like, i admit there’s altogether more jonathan than probably anyone wants to see. but alas, i banged this out in like four hours last night and this is where my brainworm took me. thanks for prompting!

also, if you want to get a more exact idea of the kind of headspace i was in writing this, you’ll just want to listen to tswift’s death by a thousand cuts on one long, endless loop.

2,200-ish words under the cut.

-*-*-*

the only thing we share [is this small town]

She sees him sometimes. 

Not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose, but Hawkins has a population smaller than the enrollments of some state colleges. It’s kind of inevitable that their paths will cross more than occasionally.

And it’s not that Nancy's avoiding him, exactly. It’s more that every time she gets a glance at him even in passing, it’s impossible not to recall the sad way he’d stared down at her the last time they’d really spoken to each other, resigned to an outcome she wasn’t even sure she herself had reconciled with yet.

It doesn’t make her feel good, and after the past year, she’s more than sick of seeking out reasons to feel bad. 

So she doesn’t avoid him, but she also doesn’t not hide behind aisles in Melvald’s when she sees him pass by. And if they happen to be walking along the same side of Main Street at the same time, it just so happens that she’ll remember several urgent reasons why she needs to cross the road right away.

But that’s not avoiding. It can’t be, because Nancy doesn’t avoid. She barrels, head on, right into even the most fraught situations, because at the end of the day she has nothing without her resolute confidence in the fact that she is right.

She is right, and nothing – not Department of Energy hacks, nor the assholes at the Hawkins Post who make a sport of changing up their sandwich orders and the way they take their coffee every other day (“See if you can solve this, Nancy Drew…”) – can shake that certainty.

(Except sometimes – sometimes/especially when she sees Steve – a creeping sense of wrong begins to slither its way in, wraps icy tendrils of doubt around her carefully guarded resolve and squeezes. Hard.

But before it can do too much damage, before it can cause the kinds of hairline fissures that turn into cracks that end in endless interdimensional bloodshed, she turns away. Takes Jonathan’s hand, and looks into his eyes, and remembers why they’re the only two people in the world who could possibly get each other. Even when she can’t understand why he hovers in uncomfortable silence while those dickheads laugh at her. Even when he doesn’t get why she just can’t stop pushing, because a job’s a job and maybe if she let up a little they wouldn’t laugh at her so much.

None of that matters, because she and Jonathan…they just make sense. The photographer and the journalist. Shared goals. Shared trauma. Right? Right. 

And so the ground steadies beneath her feet, and her breathing eases, and she sinks back into the safe surety of her belief.)

Most of the time, not-avoiding-Steve also facilitates not-thinking-about-Steve, which is easier now that he hasn’t been around town much lately. She’d heard via the grapevine – amid some derisive tittering that had irked her for reasons she preferred not to examine – that he’d gotten a job at the ice cream parlor at Starcourt, and that he wasn’t headed to college after the summer was over, because he didn’t get into a single school, can you believe it?

The guilt was suffocating. She puts it out of her mind.

So it’s a blessing in disguise that Jonathan’s aversion to crowds and hypercommercialism means that Nancy hasn’t spent as much time at Starcourt as she’d planned to once she heard they were putting in a Gap. Because less time at Starcourt meant less time not-avoiding Steve (and less time – and money – spent stress shopping).

In fact, Nancy’s been lured into such a false sense of security that she never sees the stupid commercial coming.

It’s evening, and still boiling outside, and she and Jonathan are languishing on his beat-up couch after a long day spent toiling in the darkroom (him) and chasing down a specific kind of pastrami on rye with grain mustard available only from the sole deli in Hawkins, which just happens to be about as far across town as you can get on foot (her, of course).

Nancy is the kind of mentally exhausted that means that while she’s valiantly trying to pay attention to CBS Evening News (she likes to flip back and forth between all the major network shows), she’s actually staring off into space as Dan Rather covers a TWA flight hijacking that she knows she should care more about.

The jingle of the commercial doesn’t even penetrate the fog until Jonathan scoffs.

“Christ,” he mumbles. “They’re still playing this shit on TV?”

“Huh?” Nancy grunts before she can stop herself, rousing from her stupor. (It’s only now that she realizes she’s been doodling daisies where she usually takes careful notes on each story’s lead-in.)

“The Starcourt commercial,” Jonathan says, nudging her with his shoulder. “It’s been open for, like, a month. When’re they gonna give it a rest?” 

“Oh.” Nancy gets with the program, and laughs perfunctorily at the cheesy stock footage that’s eaten more airtime over the past six months than she’d ever thought city council would have the budget for. (Huh. Maybe there’s a story there.) “I kind of forgot about it.”

“Maybe…we could check it out soon,” Jonathan says, eyeing her almost cautiously. “See if it’s as awful as it looks.”

Nancy does a double-take before she can stop herself.

“You said it’d take a literal alien invasion to get you to set foot inside that mall.” And with the bizarro turn their lives have taken over the past year, she can’t be entirely certain he’d been joking.

Jonathan shifts, and scratches the back of his head.

“Well – they do have a bookstore,” he says, defensive. “And, like, I know this internship hasn’t been what you were hoping, so it might be nice to –” His jaw drops before he can finish the thought. “Holy shit, is that Steve Harrington?”

Nancy’s head whips around so fast she almost hears a crack. And yeah, that is Steve Harrington. In vivid technicolor, standing behind a cash register next to a vaguely familiar-looking redhead with a tousled bob – Nancy’s pretty sure she’s seen her around school before.

She recognizes the discomfort in his face all too well – it had stared across the table at her every time she’d tried to quiz him on SAT vocabulary words last summer. 

Only then, he hadn’t been wearing a hideous polyester sailor costume.

“That’s new,” Jonathan says, the ill-disguised laughter in his voice so uncharacteristic that Nancy’s head whips back around again. She’s going to need a chiropractor by the time this commercial ends. “I guess we definitely gotta check out Starcourt now.”

She rolls her eyes, and relaxes the fist she’d clenched around her pencil during the seven seconds – max – that Steve had been on screen. Jonathan doesn’t seem to have noticed her tension, and she’s grateful.

“What’s so interesting about watching Steve scoop overpriced ice cream?” she deflects skeptically, sinking further into the couch, wincing as she hits a spring. Now Jonathan’s the one who double-takes.

“Um. Nancy. It’s King Steve.” She doesn’t love the way he says that. “Dressed like a stand-in for The Village People. Slinging banana splits. What isn’t interesting about that?”

“It’s just a job,” Nancy retorts, face heating. “D’you think it’s funny that I run around buying lunch and pouring coffee for a bunch of dipshits who wouldn’t know a good above-the-fold if it hit them with a two-by-four?”

“Of course not, Jesus!” Jonathan sputters helplessly, shoulders hiking up to his ears. “I just meant – I didn’t – of course I don’t think that’s funny.” His mouth flattens. “I think it’s really shitty. You’re right, I shouldn’t make fun of anyone’s job. We don’t have to go to Starcourt. I just thought it’d be something we could do together.”

He looks deflated, and all at once, Nancy feels like shit. Jonathan was so serious all the time, and usually she liked when he let that go a little bit and dropped his guard. But she’s ruined it by getting defensive, and she doesn't even totally understand why.

“No, I’m sorry,” she backtracks, grabbing his hand and linking their fingers. It’s warm, as familiar as her own at this point. “It’s just…been a shit day. I overreacted.” She just has to work harder. Make them see how serious she is about this. Make them see how good she is at this.

All at once, she’s acutely ashamed of how lax and distracted she’s been, scrawling stupid pictures all over her notepad when she should be working. Improving her craft. Showing everyone that she belongs in that newsroom. Showing them that she’s right.

In return, Jonathan’s smile is strained, but it seems genuine enough. He squeezes her hand, with a strength that still surprises her sometimes.

“Things’ll get better. You’ll see. You’re brilliant. They’ll figure it out. Eventually.” He ducks his head, then looks up again, a little more relaxed. “Speaking of ice cream…I think Mom brought some Rocky Road home last night. Two spoons?”

Nancy nods, accepting the peace offering for what it is (even though she prefers strawberry).

“Yeah…that sounds good.” He leaves to clatter around in the kitchen, and she turns back to the TV, suppressing the urge to chew on the end of her pencil (what serious journalist walks around with bit-up erasers?).

Against her will, Steve’s face plays on a rewind loop in her mind’s eye.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but he’d looked miserable, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t stage fright (he used to preen whenever the yearbook photographers were in his general vicinity. It was equal parts endearing and annoying).

Had he really not gotten into any colleges? (None of her business.) His dad probably hadn’t taken that well. (Really none of her business.) 

She should’ve tried to help him more, after the whole…incident. He’d been insanely concussed, and that couldn’t have helped with the whole college essays and applications thing. He’d already been having a hard enough time with it all.

But what could she have done? The thing with Jonathan had been so new, and every time she chanced a look at Steve, he was already staring back, hurt scrawled plainly all over his face.

It would be better now, though, right? A lot of time has passed. She’s firmly settled into her new relationship, and Steve is – Steve knows how to rebound. He’s always been good at that, on the court and in life.

Maybe she should go visit him. Not – not to laugh at him, but just to see how he’s doing.

Would that girl be there? The coworker? She’s cute, in a “probably listens to too much Depeche Mode” kind of way. So not Steve’s type. (Nancy, why would that matter?) 

But they had been standing kind of close in the commercial. Maybe they’re friends?

Nancy snorts. Steve didn’t have female friends, except for maybe Carol, and that was mostly vis a vis that shit-for-brains Tommy. In fact, after he cut the two of them out, Steve didn’t seem to have many real friends. Or any. At all. He’d focused all his attentions on Nancy.

She swallows past the tightness in her throat. Anyway. This girl. Definitely – definitely not a friend. Maybe a friendly coworker. Or…

Nancy glares at the whites of her knuckles. None of her business. 

It really isn’t. After all, she has Jonathan, and Steve has, well…whoever he wants, really. That’s never been an issue for him, not even after he’d been officially “dethroned”. Girls still lined up at his locker for crumbs of his attention, right smack dab where Nancy used to wait for him in between classes. She assumes that in that regard, not much has changed besides the venue.

In fact, she can see it pretty clearly: Steve, raking a hand through his thick hair every time a pretty girl happens to make her way into Scoops Ahoy. Drumming deft fingers against the glass of the freezer. Handing out free scoops of ice cream like they’re not gonna eventually come out of his check.

Suggesting that they stick around until he’s off-shift so they can catch a movie or – or – something else.

The pencil snaps. Startled, she stares down at her hand, where the two jagged pieces haphazardly dangle, connected by little more than a few bare slivers of wood. What the fuck?

She’s got pretty much no time to figure out what the hell just happened, though, because Jonathan picks that moment to come back into the living room, a carton with two spoons balanced in his grip.

“Sorry that took a sec,” he apologizes, and  Nancy shoves the pencil’s remains in between the couch cushions before he can notice. “Will left eggs in the pan again, and I told him he’s gotta wash them out, like, right away or it’s a pain in the ass to scrub them off later –”

“It’s okay,” Nancy cuts in, unsettled by the stinging in her palm as he flops back down beside her. Despite the heat, he curls an arm around her shoulders. It’s light, and wiry, and she tells herself she prefers it that way.

“Dan’s kind of boring tonight,” Jonathan tuts, leaning back. “Wanna see what Tom’s up to?”

Nancy nods, curling into his side and scooping a spoonful of ice cream out of the container crammed between them. It’s creamy, and deliciously sweet on her tongue.

It’s just right.

(It has to be.)

[emptiiwatertank]

Promise?

(THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING A FIC SO SORRY IF ITS SHIT ANYWAYS TEEHEE ENJOY) word count: 1196

<S-Stanley…?> The Narrator spoke as he watched Stanley stand in front of the two doors. 

The two had a rather heated argument beforehand about the Parable and how the two were stuck in it. Stanley could not understand how despite The Narrator creating the whole thing he can’t release Stanley from it. Why the two couldn’t be released from it. Honestly it's the whole concept Stanley couldn’t stand but in the end could you really blame him? Stuck in an endless loop of playing the game over and over again, having to wake up everyday to the same dark office and walking through the same halls and reliving every ending over and over and over and over and over and o-

<Stanly please you know how I feel about this.> His voice sterner yet had a slight quiver in it, his anxiety rising at the thought that it’s the skip button ending. That Stanley had somehow managed to access the skip button and was just standing there as the Narrator watched, not being able to do anything. Stanley did get used to standing in place and letting his mind adrift to some place else maybe wondering what ending he should do next or if he should see what The Narrator could summon at will. Anything to keep his face straight and his body unmoving. <Stanley believe me if I had found a way to get us out of here I would’ve done it dozens of resets ago.>......silence. Not a thought, facial expression, or body movement that The Narrator could recognise from his beloved Stanley. Then the thought hit him, though it had lingered for the short time that past The Narrator couldn’t handle the thought. 

<Stanley I’m begging you please say something. R-really, I would let you go if I had found a way out but I haven’t. Every second where I’m not bickering at you to follow the path or stick to the story I’m going through every possible file I have. Every drawer. Every Script. There. Is. Nothing.> 

He begged and he shrieked.

Voicing out how much he searched and scoured every corner of whatever place he was for a possibility, even a small chance, that he could set them free. That he could free them of this cycle of hell that they’ve been living in for however long. How he could return Stanley to whatever life he had before this, if he had one. Or rather just a way to end it all, let their spirits be renewed into something more wonderful than a cycle of seeing the same walls and desks and staircases.

Nothing 

Not a twitch or a blink.

A small twinge of regret overcame Stanley but this was the closest he was getting to revenge on The Narrator. He was omnipotent, he could change the room Stanley was in at any given moment. He could move him to other areas against his will and lead Stanley where the only way he could escape was killing himself. The Narrator had voiced out how he regrets making that ending because at the time he didn’t understand admiration or love. Adoration for one’s creation or even loving someone even though the two were stuck together, there was a mutual understanding between the two that they both understood and respected. 

And this was a way to put it all on the line.

Because in the end The Narrator should have some power to free them right?

To put an end to all this.

Stanley stood there, wallowing in regret, worried somewhat if he took it too far. If his Narrator muted or stepped away from the microphone to come back later and checked if Stanley moved or not. His mind wandered to where his Narrator wandered off to this time, keeping his thoughts low so the other wouldn’t notice. Deep in his thoughts he almost jumped and broke character when he felt a warm embrace coming from behind. 

A hug…

The arms that wrapped around Stanley grew tighter and he felt a head slump on his shoulder, slowly going into the crook of his neck. He could feel the figure shake, tears flowing down its cheeks as it held Stanley tighter.

And then it spoke.

“Please Stanley…..”

The Narrator.

His voice, emitting from the figure that held him like he was gonna lose him at any second.

“I’ve tried everything.” He croaked, sounding like he hasn't slept in days, his form shaking more as he clenched onto the dress shirt Stanley always sported.

“I can’t free us……I can’t free you…Forgive me.. Please” The Narrator was getting desperate for a response from Stanley. Though he hated the idea of human touch or feelings he knew touch was something his Protagonist needed. As for emotion? The Narrator simply had too much of it and needed to let it all out. For Stanley.

His body shaked and trembled as his sobs got louder, his hold on Stanley though overwhelming him keeping him grounded so he didn't disappear back into his office. He hid his face deeper into the crook of the other’s neck and sobbed hoping, praying that he says or moves or anything to indicate that he’s still with them.

Then he felt the figure he held so dearly turn to put him in an embrace of his own. One arm wrapped itself around the narrator's frame while the other hand found its way to his hair. The two sat on the floor slowly, giving rest to Stanley’s legs, their embrace never ending.

The Narrator held him tighter and chuckled, his voice still hoarse from the crying, “You asshole” he sniffled. Stanley chuckled [I’m sorry.] “No no it’s fine, I deserved it anyway”.

There was some truth to those words but that didn’t stop the pang of guilt in Stanley’s heart. He had found the way to wreck his Narrator emotionally. His Achilles Heel. And it was Stanley.

“Just-” The Narrator started, the quiver in his voice still there, “Promise never to do that again”. Stanley nodded but leaned his head back as The Narrator lifted his head to look at Stanley, the two eyes meeting. It was then Stanley felt a part of him shatter and break, the sight of dark circles that surrounded The Narrator’s eyes that made the yellow pupils glow more. A yellow tint on his cheeks that blended with the tear tracks that started from his eyes. This was one of the few times he saw The Narrator as human, though he’s seen laughter and annoyance, this was genuine.

“You promise?” he looked at Stanley, looking for an answer in the dark brown eyes of the other, his eyebrows furrowing trying to make himself look more serious instead of the desperate whimpering man that Stanley looked beneath him. He dragged his arms from their embrace and signed to The Narrator, [I promise], a soft smile meeting his lips as he looked at The Narrator trying to reassure him. The Narrator returned a softer smile, his cheeks glowing a brighter yellow as he looked at Stanley, which in turn made Stanley’s cheeks go a light shade of pink. 

“Very good.”

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

got a tendency for codependency

(robert aeor high p4)

masterpost

eyooo and welcome to part four of the robert aeor high au and it's a very special update today! i welcome you to...JIMMY POV!!!

Jimmy can feel  Shelby watching him, feel her eyes boring into his back, telling him to stop talking. But he doesn’t, because Scott looks like he’s hurting and Jimmy wants to help. All Jimmy’s ever wanted to do since he got away is to help.

or, Jimmy's determined to make friends in his new school and just kind of a chill update

(3493 words)

TW: mentions of running away, insinuated past abuse, dissociation, insinuated ptsd, panic attacks

It’s only Jimmy’s first day, and already he’s made a friend. Her name is Shelby, or Shubble to eir friends, ey use she/ey pronouns, she’s a gnome, and ey wears a really, really big hat. Jimmy’s never really had a friend before, but even so, he feels like he’s lucked out with Shubble. She’s kind and funny, and ey really listens to him when he talks.

Jimmy doesn’t know if he’s friends with Scott, though. The gorgon was kind of intimidating, asking all those questions about if he can fly or not. Jimmy supposes it’s kind of hypocritical to be thinking this, because he himself was asking some questions of the more personal variety as well. But how was he to know that Scott would be so sensitive about that kind of thing? But how was Scott to know that Jimmy hated being asked about flying? He’s checkmated himself with that one. 

Scott and the tiefling, Jimmy thought he heard Shelby call him “Owen,” have just gone into the corner where they’re having some kind of intense conversation. Scott looks really uncomfortable, his arms hugging himself tightly, and Owen seems to be quite angry about something, throwing his hands in the air. 

Jimmy can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but he does know that a while ago, he heard his name. They had both glanced back quite conspiratorially after that, and then quieted their voices considerably. Jimmy’s half-listening to Shubble’s animated chatter, half-watching the two boys in the corner. 

He wonders what they’re talking about, what it has to do with him. Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. 

Oh, goddamn it! It’s been a year, a year, and he still can’t shake it off, that voice, always at the back of his mind, whispering the same words every time, repeating and repeating and repeating, endless looping circles. For the first couple months after he left, he couldn’t sleep, the words the only things he could hear at night, when there were no distractions to keep them from coming. 

It’s less severe now, with Beks’ quiet snores from the bunk above him, rhythmic and soothing, and her parents always there to comfort him if he needs it. Really, the voice is more of a nuisance now, a shaking reminder that makes Jimmy’s feathers poof up every time he hears it.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird.  

Ugh. He shakes his wings slightly, the feathers making a soft rustling sound, and turns his attention to Shubble, who’s going on about inter-species peace or something of the sort- nothing Jimmy would know about.

“Shelby?” he asks, interrupting the gnome mid-sentence.

“Yeah?” Shubble answers. He finds it amazing how ey doesn’t even seem to care that she’s been interrupted, how ey just cuts herself off, no matter what ey’s been saying, to turn her attention to Jimmy.

“Do you know what those two are talking about over there in the corner?” While he’s saying this, still keeping half an eye on the conversation, Owen’s just enveloped Scott in a hug. The gorgon’s standing still as a stone in his embrace, and Jimmy wonders why he won’t hug Owen back. The few times Jimmy’s been hugged have been some of the nicest moments of his life. He doesn’t understand Scott.

“Oh… let’s not talk about that, Jimmy, it doesn’t matter much anyway.” Shubble’s expression has changed suddenly and drastically, going from a welcoming, warm smile to an anxious frown that she’s attempting to hide rather poorly. “Plus, they’re coming back now, see?”

“...I guess so,” Jimmy mutters. He doesn’t want Shelby to get mad at him, doesn’t want to jeopardize what’s maybe the only friendship he has, so he drops it for now. As Scott sits back down in the seat next to Jimmy, Owen gives the gorgon a quick pat on the back before he slides into his seat as well.

Stealing a glance at the gorgon, Jimmy realizes that the person he’d bumped into on the hallway while trying to find his class was probably Scott- he’s about the right height, and Jimmy distinctly remembers cyan. If so, that did make trying to be the gorgon’s friend a bit awkward, especially as he’s certain that even though he doesn’t know Scott that well, he’s a smart, cunning person. If Jimmy’s figured it out, there’s no doubt in his mind that the gorgon has as well.

God, Jimmy’s such a clumsy idiot. 

He can see Scott right now in his peripheral vision, hunched up into himself and seemingly very worried about something. Now, Jimmy’s no expert on life, and especially not having friends, but he does know that he’s generally good at cheering people up- or at least, that’s what Beks says, and she took him in. Jimmy trusts her, so that means he should trust himself.

“You good?” he asks, tapping Scott’s shoulder. “You seem… upset about something.”

Scott looks over, surprised, his mouth drawn into a straight line. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s obviously not, and Jimmy’s brow furrows, confused as to why someone would say something if it wasn’t what they meant. What are you supposed to do after this, again? Oh, right.

“...Are you sure?” he asks the older boy awkwardly, not quite looking in his eyes, preening his wing feathers; an anxious habit he’s picked up in the last year.

“Um. Yeah. Yep. I’m just peachy,” Scott mutters weakly, staring straight ahead at nothing. Jimmy can feel  Shelby watching him, feel her eyes boring into his back, telling him to stop talking. But he doesn’t, because Scott looks like he’s hurting and Jimmy wants to help.

All Jimmy’s ever wanted to do since he got away is to help.

“What did Owen say when you were talking in the corner? It clearly upset you, and I know we barely know each other, but if you need to talk about something, you can come to me.” The words come out in a rush, cascading from his lips before he can stop them. He realizes what he’s said is probably very embarrassing and he can feel the red creeping into his cheeks, his eyes glancing upon Shubble’s tense expression, which looks like she’s certain Scott’s going to fall apart like a fragile little flower. 

On the gorgon’s other side, Owen’s back has tensed, his ears pricked. He’s turned away from him, but Jimmy can tell the tiefling’s been eavesdropping- ready to jump in at any time to Scott’s defense.

But despite what Jimmy’s expected, harsh rejection and an angry glare, one more possibility of friendship lost forever, the opposite seems to happen.

“...Thank you, Jimmy.” Scott’s voice sounds genuinely grateful, and Jimmy’s unbelievably relieved that he’s not mad. He hadn’t even realized his feathers had fluffed up until they relaxed, smoothing back down into their normal shape. He can see Scott’s eyes out of the corners of his own, hidden under glasses, the cyan irises tracing his plumage as it relaxes back into his wings, smooth and flush with his back. Jimmy feels a little shiver knowing that Scott’s looking at him, looking at his wings with such… curiosity.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. Goddamn it. Goddamn it! He can’t get away from the voice, her voice, pulling and pushing and repeating and looping over and over and over and over again- Jimmy shakes his head, trying to refresh his brain, but it doesn’t work and he’s scared scared scared, he doesn’t want them to see him like this, especially not Scott, especially not Scott but 

curiouslittlebirdjimmy’salwaysbeenacuriouslittlebird- 

He’s aware of how his wings must be wrapped tightly around himself, aware of the way Shelby’s looking at him with concern, shaking his shoulder and yelling, “JIMMY!” But he can’t hear her, the voice is drowning everything else out, and he knows he should be able to feel Scott’s hand pressing against the back of his neck, making sure he’s awake, but he doesn’t feel it, he doesn’t feel anything, nothing but the voice screaming screaming screaming loud in his skull, it won’t stop, why won’t it stop-

Then something brushes his wings and he snaps out of it, shaking his head and breathing heavily. The thing that had touched his feathers, right where they connected at his back, had been the teacher’s hand- Jimmy realizes they’ve been standing over him as well, and a fresh bout of shame loops over him. He hasn’t been that bad in almost four months.

“Though that would work,” they say confidently, rubbing Jimmy’s shoulder. “You good, kiddo?”

“I- yeah, I’m fine,” he lies, mirroring Scott’s words from just a few minutes ago. Now he understands. “Don’t worry about me.” Jimmy kind of wishes someone did worry about him, obviously he has Beks, but she’s different, she’s not really his friend, exactly. He’s super grateful for her and everything, and she’s been such a help in everything, but he knows that most of her motivation to help him comes from a place where she’s just trying to heal herself, her own past wounds.

Her little brother.

“If that ever happens again,” Mx Leiverman says authoritatively, breaking Jimmy out of his thoughts, “I want you to touch his back, that spot between his wings, right? That’s one of the most sensitive spots on an avian,” they explain, “and it tends to wake them up from dissociation, which I think is what was going on here. Of course, it also wakes them up from real sleep, but I sure hope our new student won’t be sleeping in class.” The teacher sends him a wink, smiling. “Now, do you all know what we’re doing today, or were you just chatting the whole time?”

Jimmy smiles guiltily, it’s not a real smile, it’s just met to make the teacher feel better. He doesn’t want her to think he’s a nuisance. Jimmy hates being told he’s a nuisance. “I suppose it might help to have a refresher.”

The next thirty minutes go by in a blur, small talk with Shelby while doing some sort of science experiment. Everyone else seems to know what will happen, but Jimmy’s extremely surprised at the end result, an amazed gasp exploding from his mouth at the colored mushroom cloud that poofs out of the beaker. His reaction makes everyone else laugh, and Jimmy has to admit that he probably sounds pretty silly.

Plus, it doesn’t feel like they were laughing at him, it feels like they were laughing with him. That’s sort of a new feeling to Jimmy, but he decides he likes it. School isn’t as bad as he’d thought it might be- he’s already made friends, Shelby especially, who makes him laugh in a very real way, and Scott, who’s quiet but nice and after a couple more minutes with the guy, has solidly landed in the friend category. He’s really interesting to look at too, and Jimmy finds himself having to drag his eyes away from the gorgon’s snakes or hands or eyes beneath shades on multiple occasions.

Owen, on the other hand… from the outside, he seems fine, treats Jimmy just the same as Shubble and Scott, but there’s something just slightly, marginally different- Jimmy doesn’t think he likes him very much. Maybe it’s the way the tiefling glances to the side as if he wants to run away, or how whenever he thinks Jimmy’s not looking, his face twists into a scowl, or the way that when he laughs, there’s an undertone that Jimmy can’t quite pin down, but certainly doesn’t like.

But Owen doesn’t matter because now Jimmy has friends, real friends for the first time ever. Well, except for Beky, of course- but she’s a grade younger, it’s not like he’d be able to hang out with her in class. Plus, she has her own friends, El and Krow and that whole lot, and Jimmy never really got on with them. Especially Krow. It’s nice and all, but he’s just always found it a bit…intimidating, especially as it’s a siren and could be manipulating him without him ever knowing it was doing anything at all.

And El, though she’s very down-to-earth and funny, is straight-up terrifying. She’s just over eight feet tall, and while that’s short for a celestial, even the forest celestial that she is, it’s still pretty damn tall for anyone else. Of course, sky celestials get taller- they can grow to twelve feet- but Jimmy’s only five foot two. He’s really quite short. 

Jimmy just generally distrusts people who are super significantly taller than him. They remind him of Patty and he does not want to be reminded of Patty- just thinking of her sends a shiver down the center of his spine, and he has to concentrate from keeping the voice creeping back into his mind, her voice, repeating and repeating and repeating.

And then before Jimmy knows it, class is almost over, and he’s packing up his stuff with Shelby’s help, letting him know where everything should go and how to keep his binder organized. 

“These uniforms are really uncomfortable,” he mutters offhandedly, picking at the rough material of his skirt.

“YES!” Scott practically yells the word, almost causing Jimmy to jump out of his skin. “Oh, sorry. But they are, aren’t they? No one else thinks they are! Everyone’s like ‘Oh Scott, they’re fine, you just have sensitive skin,’ but they mess up my snakes too.”

“For me, it’s my feathers,” Jimmy explains. “The holes where my wings stick out from my uniform are really scratchy and they’re probably going to leave an irritation on my wingbuds, if they haven’t already.” He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, why this dumb little conversation is making him so happy, his mouth quirking up in a slight smile.

Scott continues going on and on about the uniforms, and Jimmy just watches, nodding and chirping up with little add-ons whenever the gorgon says something he agrees with. It’s kind of nice, just sitting here and talking to this kid he’s met today. 

Plus, Jimmy just finds Scott’s snakes so interesting, the way they hiss slightly when he speaks, and how they’re always writhing across his head. The gorgon will sometimes run a hand backwards through them, taming them down for about thirty seconds before they’re back at it again.

Jimmy remembers reading somewhere that a gorgon’s snakes mimic their emotions, and from what he can recall, right now it looks like Scott’s feeling- maybe not happy, exactly- but energized nonetheless.

Jimmy doesn’t realize he’s been spaced out, staring at the gorgon once again, until Shelby waves a hand in front of his face. “Hellooo? Jimmy, you home?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry, I just kinda spaced out for a bit.” He shakes his head, and turns away from Scott, feeling mildly embarrassed. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but Scott’s just interesting to look at, with his snakes always twisting this way and that, his cyan eyes really quite hypnotizing, even through his dark sunshades. Jimmy supposes they must come from his siren mother.

Hopefully Scott doesn‘t have any of the manipulative powers that typical sirens, like Krow, possess. Jimmy would actually be pretty surprised if he did, because it seems like the only feature he’s inherited that’s not completely gorgon-ish is the color of his eyes and snakes. Oh, and the fact that he apparently can’t petrify anyone. 

Jimmy’s still curious about that, wonders why Scott wears the shades if there’s nothing within his eyes he has to protect others from. But that’s a question for later, when they’re better friends, because the gorgon’s seemed to really tense up when Jimmy’s asked similar questions.

“Well, it’s time to go,” Owen says brusquely as the bell rings, pulling Jimmy out of his thoughts. “Where to next, Jim?”

“Um, lemme check,” Jimmy mutters, opening his schedule as he feels a spike of anxiety. He really doesn’t think Owen likes him. That’s bad. Jimmy doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong that might make the tiefling hate him, but he wouldn’t know, would he? Jimmy’s new at having friends, he only just got out a year ago.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. 

He shudders at the voice, still pressing into his mind, her words sharp as a knife in his mind. “Um, next class is math with a Mr Brunswick? In room 201,” he adds to clarify. 

Scott looks at him, surprised. “If you’ve read that right, you’ve got the next class with me and Joel, then.”

“...Who’s Joel?” Jimmy asks, wondering if he’s missed something.

Scott considers the question for a couple of seconds, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word the answer. “Joel is… Joel. He’s a hard one to explain- you’ll know what I mean when you meet him. Jimmy smiles uncertainly, slightly worried about who, or what, Joel is, but he gets his answer soon enough.

He follows Scott across the hall, tripping over feet and hitting people with his wings left and right, muttering “sorry”s that are met with annoyed glares from the other students, until finally, they’re inside the classroom. Jimmy heaves a sigh of relief and leans against the doorjamb, because thank god he’s out of that crowded mayhem- he’s decided he doesn’t like the hallways.

“Someone’s dramatic,” Scott smirks, turning back and beckoning for Jimmy to follow him. “So, I think your desk is next to mine ‘cause I saw it earlier, and Joel sits right behind me.”

“I don’t see a seat behind yours,” Jimmy starts, confused.

“Oh, yeah, Joel has to sit on the floor,” Scott explains, somehow just bringing up even more questions about this mysterious “Joel.”

He opens his mouth, more confused than ever, when suddenly someone walks through the door. Or more, stoops under the door frame. Jimmy’s eyes travel from their bright white shoes to their blue and mottled white legs all the way up to their head, where a scruff of brown hair with a single green streak slightly off to the side sits, a tattoo of a strand of laurel snaking down their arm.

Oh. Oh, no, he’s so tall. That’s not good.

So that’s Joel. Or at least, he assumes that’s who they are, because Scott’s waving them over, and they’re enthusiastically making their way through the rows of desks to sit on the floor behind the gorgon and Jimmy.

“Eyo, are you that new kid? The one on my bus?” Joel leaves no room for questions, his meaning blatantly clear. Jimmy supposes he has to admire that, even if he’s really not enjoying the fact that Joel towers over him even when he’s seated on the floor.

“Um, yeah, probably,” Jimmy laughs nervously, picking at his feathers and smoothing his skirt down to his knees. “I mean, I feel like I would’ve noticed you, with you being…,” his eyes take a second to trace from Joel’s shoes to his head, “That tall,” he finishes, feeling a familiar wave of nausea that always comes at times like this. “Are you a sky celestial? I’m not the best at species identification, but you guys are kind of unmistakable.”

“That I am,” Joel smirks, “and a handsome one at that, eh, Scott?”

The gorgon rolls his eyes, but Jimmy can see the hint of a smile beneath the snarky facade. “Keep telling yourself that, bestie.”

“So, Timmy, right?” the sky celestial asks, quite sure of himself as he leans towards Jimmy, who tries to hide a snicker.

“Timmy?!” He’s not sure if Joel’s joking, because even given the little he’s seen of him, he seems to tread the line between joking and being serious in every sentence. “No, sorry, the name’s Jim. So, Jimmy would be what you heard. With a ‘J.,” he adds to clarify.

“...Oh,” Joel mutters, slightly taken aback. “Well, that’s not a terrible mistake to make, is it?”

Scott smiles dryly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Um, it’s fine, I guess?” Jimmy mutters. “I really don’t care all that much.” 

“Well, good,” Joel puffs, “Because you shouldn’t. Because I’m the best. And not egotistical at all.”

“Sure,”  Scott mutters, a smirk still apparent on his face, bent down to finish his homework. Joel rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out at Scott.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Either Scott, Shelby, Owen, or Joel are in all of his classes, and in some, all four of them are there. When Jimmy’s walking home with Beks, her owl wings contrasting directly with his bright yellow plumage, he can’t help but think that, all things considered, his life’s been so, so much better since he got out.Maybe it’s good that he is a curious little bird, because otherwise, he wouldn’t be here right now, now would he? But, even after having a day to get used to him, Jimmy just has to admit that Joel’s still too tall.

[tokusmuts]

From my next door sister to my lover (Chapter 1)

P/s: Sorry for taking too much time for a comeback, but this is what I promised. If you wanna meet me more, go to this link to enjoy my Discord Server

Characters: Hidden Male Character x Riho Takada

Words count: 3061 (I wasn't expected I can write that much)

Enjoy!

Today, like so many other days, you came back from university again. Fortunately, I live in an apartment, unlike most of your classmates, who are struggling in motels far from the school. But every place has its own problems; rather, they interest me more than you hate them (although most of my neighbors complain about them). The first is a family at the end of the block on this floor where this often occurs, often leading to the husband beating his wife; secondly, some people are passionate about showing their affection in a ridiculous way in the crowd. People. And finally, even if it's just the opposite of the previous one, it should be listed separately. There are people living alone in apartments the same size as mine. That's right, you're alone too; at least, that's how you can comfortably see the world the way you want without any obstructions. slowly; you're not sure yet!

Luckily, your family doesn't visit too many times a year, so you have time to indulge in gravure magazines that take a month to return due to having to order through Amazon, basically because they are no longer available. direct sales or old magazine issues. That is, until one day you were also masturbating with them when suddenly, on the other side of the wall, you heard some very erotic moans, and next to your house was a sister who was also alone. Is she also masturbating? But hearing those moans made your masturbation even higher; it was much easier to ejaculate because you no longer had to imagine it. Just like that, day by day, you were helped by her to satisfy yourself, even if only indirectly. That made you really wonder: "What if I could have sex with you directly?" It was pretty crazy, so you were actually quite scared that something unexpected would happen, so with a natural preference for safety, just you borrowed her moans for the next few days. Until one day...

After masturbating, you suddenly remembered that you hadn't taken my clothes out of the washing machine yet. You hurriedly carried them from the washing machine to the balcony. Here was a scene that changed my endless loop every day: the girl next door, whom you used to masturbate back to, was standing there drying clothes just like you. But if it was just that, nothing would impress you yet. But she only had a tank top and nude pants on. That thin blue shirt certainly couldn't hide her bulging breasts. Despite her thin body, those breasts are truly amazing. While you were glancing back and forth to make sure no one else could see this wonderful thing but you, you turned around to see her fixated on you. You began to feel panicky. Did she know that you had borrowed her moans to masturbate recently? Suddenly she called you close to the gap between the two balconies and whispered to me:

"Go to my house! The password at the door is 1608! I will wait for you, babe!" - You felt a shiver go down your spine as you wondered if she had somehow found out about your secret indulgence, but you couldn't resist the temptation of finding out what she wanted from you.

She flashed an inviting smile before taking the empty pot back inside. It took you a while to be sure of what you just heard; unexpectedly, she actively wanted the crazy thing you had always worried about to come true. At this point, if something unexpected happens, you don't wanna care anymore; you hastily dried all the clothes that were still in the basket on the rack and didn't fix your clothes but went straight to her house. Slowly dial each number on the password board, then a "beep" sound is heard and the door lock is opened. You entered the house with not a single light from inside but the light from the sunset shining in. The living room was empty of people, but there were signs of recent activity: a half-empty glass of wine on the coffee table and a book left open on the armchair. Anyway, why would you care about that, though? This house should have only her, and now it has you too—a guest who will be a regular visitor. While you were still overwhelmed by the elegant decoration of a single-occupant house, there were intermittent breaths resounding in the quiet, slightly creepy space of this house. As soon as you followed those breaths, before your eyes was the image of her being illuminated by the sunset. Her body against the sunset was so heartwarming, especially her sideboob, which seemed just waiting to spill out of that blue tank top. It made you feel a rush of desire and admiration for her beauty. You couldn't help but stare at her, mesmerized by the stunning view. She looked over at you also, and there was a hint of disappointment mixed in with amusement in her eyes.

"You're a bit late here for a boy who dared to use my moans for masturbating!" - she said.

You felt your face turn red as you realized she had caught me listening to her through the thin walls of our apartment. You didn't know if you should be happy or scared after her statement, but there was a belief in you that you was about to make love real, not just through your imagination. She seemed to realize that you no longer cared about her threat but was instead focused on her breasts peeking out from under her tank top, as if the only thing it could cover were her nipples. Gradually, your desire to possess her made her more interested. She slowly walked towards the bedroom, slowly taking off her tank top. She wasn't wearing any bra underneath, and now she was almost naked with only her pants left on her body. With each move, with the tank top slowly being lifted off her body, her ass also swayed. Your lust was at its peak. You went right behind her, hugged her, and then put your hands neatly on her bare breasts, feeling her nipples rub against your hands. Her ass felt that your cock was already hard; she turned to face you but kept your hands on her breasts.

"Even if it's a one-night stand, we still need to know each other's names!" She said, "Actually, I don't need..." - You were in the middle of a sentence when you were stopped.  "Listening to your moans, I know you've had orgasms many times without remembering my name, even though I want to, but I feel the need to..." She took your hand and gently squeezed her breast.  "You can call me whatever you want; I think 'baby' is enough for a name!" - you said, "Hmm, it's up to you, but I still want you to call me by my name."

The force of her hand grew stronger with each word she spoke, and your palm felt more than ever the softness of her bare breasts while her nipples grew harder and harder.

"So your name is..."

Right before you could finish asking the question, she suddenly gave you a kiss, which also marked my first kiss. It was a light kiss—just two lips touching—but it pushed your sexual desire to its climax. Her hands had also moved away from her breasts to embrace you, one of her hands reaching down to caress your dick from under your pants while the other cupped your head so it would stick closer to her lips. You didn't need her help anymore, but kept squeezing her breasts.

"My name is Riho, Riho Takada." "Remember that name carefully!"

It was also the last casual thing to say before she began a much more intense kiss, jumping on top of you. You can comfortably keep your hands on her chest when she has both her legs and arms around you. You gradually brought her to her bedroom, which was a very luxurious room and always had outside light shining in. You threw her on the big bed and continued to kiss her, but this time with one hand around her waist and the other starting to stimulate the outside of her pants. She could only moan softly in her throat, as you still hadn't let her lips rest.

"Ah…that's amazing… Keep sucking on my breasts; they'll make milk for you sooner or later. Ah! But as for the pants, take them off, please. I want your hands to be in direct contact with it. Ah."

Just when it seemed like your head just wanted to get stuck in her breasts, she reminded you that her body is more than just those. You let go of her breasts, not completely, but just to prepare to go back and devour them again. The silver pants had been removed, and her body was now completely naked. The tight, neat, hairless pussy is inviting you to bury your face in it and eat it, though she just wants to keep playing with your hand. As soon as your face went between her legs, she immediately clamped your head with her skinny legs while you sucked on her cunt repeatedly. It only took a few licks to make her moans reverberate throughout the room. You stopped suddenly because you were worried that the next room could hear her moans, as you have been all this time. She seemed to realize that too; she just smiled and said, while still having to breathe:

“Do you think, ah, everyone has the right to hear me moan?"  “So... I suddenly realized something."

So from the beginning, she purposely left the wall between your apartment and hers so that only you could hear those moans. The rest of the apartment is surrounded by soundproof walls, so now you don't hesitate to use all your strength to bury your face in her cunt and suck it, and at the same time bring your hands up to squeeze on her breasts. It was certainly hard to keep her breasts out of the fun. Being attacked surprisingly, she involuntarily shouted loudly.

"Damn… that’s right… Suck them harder... No one will hear me moan but you, babe, ah.”

The harder you sucked, the harder it was to get her to orgasm as soon as possible. Then she finally screams, and her mouth starts spitting out the fluid you've been waiting for. You was surprised at first, so you also put some semen on your face, but all the rest went into your mouth. Her pussy kept shooting until she just had the strength to lie there panting. That delicious liquid seemed to give you more energy to continue this love affair. Sucking hard enough outside, you immediately put your tongue inside her crotch. Your tongue was squeezed tightly by her cleft, then it opened again. The cycle continued and gradually pulled her toward her first orgasm. She pushed your head in deeper while her body bounced up and down with each sucking, which made it impossible for her to keep her hands on her chest no matter how hard she tried. Now, your hands go to her toned buttocks for a squeeze; they really fit and are surprisingly soft despite their toned appearance. Squeezing her butt also brought your face into more contact with her cunt. Soon, she was about to have an orgasm.

“I'm going to cum... Hurry up, baby. I want to cum...ah."  "Please, cum, Riho-chan, I want your fluid, um,” you said between the sucks.

Her second release just come to you straight away. You then lay on top of her, your mouth returning to her delicious nipples while the cock was erect after a few minutes. Her stimulation is brought into her womb. Your dick was squeezed bit by bit as it was inserted into her cunt.

“What? Why is it so big? ...ah”—Riho groaned loudly and shouted

Your cock was bathed in her fluid, the most effective lubricant. Then your hips started moving your dick in and out of her cunt. Your cock, after being lubricated, made the smashes come faster and stronger. Riho couldn't help but groan and cling to the pillow at the fierce attack coming from you. Since then, she has been ready to take the initiative; now she can only lie still and receive each burst of pleasure coming from you. It seemed that the first time you could fall in love with her, it would be slow, but the more you made it, the more you felt that you had to do it faster and stronger continuously. Each of your thrusts made her chest unable to stay still and bounce, and even though you had already closed one of the nipples in your mouth, it was really hard for the other breast to stay still. All the sperm inside you have been pushed to the top of your cock, but you still don't want to release them, especially when Riho's moan is really rare. The eroticism it brings along with your dick moving faster and harder in her cunt makes you soon to be at your limit again. The amount of sperm that was racing at the tip of your cock was waiting to come out, and then you reached my limit.  “Riho-chan! I think I can't take it anymore. Ah!" - you said  "Yes! This is how it feels. Ah, quick cum baby, ah! I want your cum inside of me, ah,” Riho said intermittently due to moaning. Riho clung to the sides of the bed, preparing to receive the waves of sperm coming from you. And then the tightness of her cunt on your cock made you cum inside her; your hip muscles seemed to relax as much as they could and let your dick drain all the sperm inside her. The feeling of being filled up inside the girl of your long imagination began to make you want more.  "Honey… You shoot a lot. Ah, but I want more... Ouch!” - Riho suddenly shouted as her body was flipped upside down and her ass was stabbed right inside by your dick.

The feeling of her ass gripping your dick and your groin feeling the softness of her skin—all resonated with your every blow to her ass. Riho couldn't help but cling tightly to your hand and groan nonstop, turning to look at you from time to time, and then you were both wrapped in each other's lips. She didn't know how much you wanted to put your dick in her ass from the moment you watched it sway right before it all started. Gradually, you lifted her hips, propped her arms up, and bent her knees, from pronebone to doggy style. With one hand, you grabbed her long hair and pulled it back so that her head would be pulled along, which made it easier to kiss, with the other hand holding her hips and occasionally slapping her ass hard.

“Ah…so happy… Slapping harder, baby... ah!” - Riho shouted in pleasure.

Each time your crotch smacked her ass, it bounced back and forth, making you want to pat it even more. The room was filled with mixed sounds that were filled with darkness. Subsequent waves of sperm began to pile up on your tip, but this time it seemed that you had neither the strength nor the desire to hold back any longer.

“Oh god… ah… Riho-san… I'm going to cum again.” “That's right… Please, cum, babe... ah... I want my insides to be filled up...ah...again.” - Riho was forced to scream louder as the sound every time you pounded her ass was getting louder and louder.

This time, it was hard to hold back any longer. The last waves of sperm were fired; the strength was exhausted, but your dick still didn't seem to want to leave her ass at all. Both you and Riho collapsed onto the bed, and you lay on top of Riho. The sunset has also fallen since then, and now only the moonlight shines in. You both lay there panting, and then you kissed Riho's lips from behind again. Unexpectedly, from neighbors who lived next to each other but didn't even know each other's faces and could only connect with each other through groaning sounds, now you are here together.

“Tired…really tired…ah…but I really like it!” - Riho said while panting “Me too…ah…this feeling…I waited so long…to have such a good night!” - even you let your breath get in the way “So from now on… stay here with me too!” “But... and my house..." - you hesitated at Riho's suggestion. "Nevermind! Here, I can cook for you, and we can make love every day! Once in a while, we will go out for some trips! If you need to return urgently, just go back, and then come over here and fill my pussy!"

Hearing it was enough to satisfy your ears, so you also agreed to Riho's wish. But after making love, you were hungry again, and although you were very regretful, you had to let your dick move from her ass so she could shower and prepare dinner!

The love between you and your neighbor's sister begins here!

To be continued! And welcome to chapter 2  

[practicecourts]

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

Hi Anna, thanks for the ask. I found this hard to answer. I've answered it once here (for a whole scene that's now posted so that's the final version ;-)

I think I'm not at the stage where I feel my writing hinges on just the one word or the one sentence (I think that if I felt that way, I would just keep re arranging words and lines and words and be on an endless loop of editing, deleting and rewriting the same thing. I need to focus more on the bigger picture, for it to stay fun. from a chapter of Hope Lupin's story there's a part I struggled with and that I now like the result of. (so I knew I wanted to show how Remus is essentially the same, because he is. but also everything is different now, since he will be living his life with this disease. This is before Hope can really grasp the magnitude of that and she has her son back at home, looking as if he's healed but she knows things won't be the same. I've spent a long time thinking about changing teeth bc wolves and humans have a very varied timeframe in which that happens, it's very silly but I really like that some line about teeth remained...

Hope asks Lyall to tell her about werewolves. She wants to read about them, a book, a chapter or just some notes, anything at all to tell her what to expect. Lyall remains silent and he promises to find her magical books, but that apparently is not easy. When Remus has been in the hospital for ten days, she buys a book on astrology, and absorbs everything it says about the moon’s cycle and its phases. That's how she knows the day Remus is discharged from St Mungos is a New Moon.  His bandages have come off in the hospital, his wounds are healed enough that she can look at them without flinching of feeling ill. She learns how to apply the right ointments although she doubts even magic will have an effect on the scars that run across his body. With his clothes on he looks almost the same as before, only a bit paler. When he comes home the dogs greet him as they always do. The leader of the pack, Brenin, follows him up the stairs, before Lyall calls him back down. That's something that's never happened before, but other than that, it's almost as if nothing has changed. His teeth look the same, there’s still a gap, where his first tooth fell out a few weeks ago and the small edge of a new one is perhaps more clearly visible. Sharper.  On Remus’s first night back home, she sits in the darkness, staring up at the black sky, at a moon she knows is there, but can't see. Just like her son’s disease.

continue reading on ao3

[purplebass]

I'm having tough days and I don't feel like interacting with people. I'm keeping irl interaction to a minimum because of personal reasons (mainly, I am not okay and I'm retreating into myself and into my sense of loss), but I want to interact with people here. I don't want to lose human touch. I feel like I can talk freely if I talk to everyone and anyone at the same time.

What am I doing? Not that anyone cares but.

Aside from studying because of an upcoming exam (one of the causes of my distress atm), I am writing. Well, this is nothing new. I'm writing different pieces at the same time. One is a missing scene from TOP featuring Kell and Lila, because they are one of the few fictional reasons I'm able to go on. I love exploring their dynamics. Another piece is about my dear blackdale. I am ready to write some M-rated stuff about them set in the future. I'm also writing other pieces featuring thomastair, even tho those ideas aren't fleshed out yet. And then? I'm also reading.

I'm reading Divine Rivals by Rebecca Ross at the moment. What caught me was the cover (they remind me of Wessa but also of Blackdale aesthetically). I have read half so far, and I was hooked from the prologue. I find Iris and Roman cute even though the whole gods thing is still a little unclear to me, but alas, I haven't finished the book yet.

These are the things that are getting me going right now. Life savers, while I feel lonely and lost. My mood is a bit dark lately and I don't even know how to put it into words. I just feel empty, lost, at loss. Without feelings. As if I'm barely surviving. I don't know how to shake my shoulders and wake up and do something to change this situation. Part of it is while I'm keeping people at a safe distance irl: I don't have anything to say nor to offer. My life is an endless cycle of the same old, the same old. I'm in a loop, and I can't came out of it. I don't know how. Later I'll see my therapist. No idea if he has any clues, but I'll try to talk about this with him, even though I believe no one can really help me, if not myself.

[straycatboogie]

2023/05/17 English

BGM: Aphex Twin - Xtal

Today was a day off and a perfect day for walking in the mountain. I went to that mountain and spent my time doing nothing with Aphex Twin's album "Selected Ambient Works 85-92". Indeed, there is no special thing to do in there even though it has rich greenery. All I do is just to face the nature or myself. And also I learn that the nature doesn't seem to be changing drastically by visiting there every week. But, maybe this is because I am an autistic person therefore a kind of monomania, I start learning that there is a certain change within that greenery or nature. That's like our life. Writing this journal lets me learn about this: Everyday is not a simple result of repetition even though it seems to be a cluster of happening the same things/events. And also, it doesn't mean that it is boring. Every single day is a precious day, so it has a certain worth to be lived carefully. Quitting alcohol and learning autism let me learn about them. In Japan, a lot of fiction of "infinite/endless loop" are read passionately, but we can enjoy some certain difference in that kind of "repetitive" "infinite loop", can't we?

When was the first time I listened to Aphex Twin's music? Listening to his beautiful tunes makes me calm... People say that autistic people like me feel calm when they do their routine works. It seems that his tunes are a kind of good medicine which enables me to do that routine, and also keep on peace of mind. But, this might sound so strange but, that kind of autistic people who like the firm calmness had done/achieved a lot of "breakthrough" things which had made this world confused and recreated. Autistic people tend to be in a panic when they find the sameness is disturbed... but I guess that those autistic pioneers/innovators would say "why? I have done what I believe in my life". But I still want to ask that why it becomes possible if I see the real world full of innovations autistic people made. Indeed, there must be more neurotypical innovators, but I still think that it is interesting that some great people who were free that dilemma, and who must live their lives as they wanted honestly.

This afternoon, listening to Lou Reed, I read Ryu Murakami's "YouTuber". I remember that I had read Ryu's novels a lot during my life because he has been a great/huge rival of Haruki Murakami, therefore treated as a new pioneer of Japanese literature. Yes, he has written a lot of "controversial" and "marvelous" masterpieces... and this novel is about a "trendy" and "catchy" topic, the YouTuber(s). But I guess that the thing he is trying to write/tell is also about a "classical" one which is "the basic/true essence of our limited life". Indeed, this novel has no reality, and also the confession within it is too unacceptable to read, but I accept it is about our sad fate or nature therefore I never treat it as crap. What is that "sad fate/nature"? I think that is the fact that we will die one day, and also we have to be beaten/defeated by this real or this world itself. That can be described as "everything is in a flow" like some oriental religious thoughts. And, not surrendering to that fate, but trying to live against that fate would give us the meaning or beauty of life. Our passionate power of life must be beautiful... I accept this is the message from this novel.

This sunset time, I met an ex-staff of my group home again. As a friend, she had asked me that "have you heard of the app ''WhatsApp'?". I heard that a member of her family is living in a foreign land, and that person had said to her that he wants to use her that WhatsApp, instead of LINE. Therefore she wanted me to tell about it. But I am just an old/out-of-date dude so never able to say that I can understand how to use WhatsApp. So it took about half an hour to control/set the environment of her smartphone to enable her with that family member via WhatsApp. She could communicate with him by this setting I made... and she said to me a lot of thanksgiving as "I really appreciate it! Every shoppers I went only installed it, but never told me how to use". But I don't think this is irrational because WhatsApp is not a popular app within Japanese users. For foreign users, the app LINE which is almost Japanese "national" app we Japanese use every day passionately would be "what on earth this app is?". Indeed, this era becomes globalized and the world becomes flatter. But, this is the real therefore it is interesting.