I just finished the final outline for the entirety of Book 2, and I was grinning like a madman as I read the last lines. Y’all are not ready for what I’ve got for you in this one lmao.
Even better, because I have a real plan going into it, the pacing will actually work, the chapters will likely be shorter, and they should come out more frequently.
Shang Qinghua, acclimating nicely to his unexpected new job benefits, is forced gets to go on an unexpected company-sponsored side trip! Included perks in this one-of-a-kind Mobei-guided tour package:
✔️ blood (?) pearls
✔️ marine biology
✔️ fishing minigame
✔️ near-death experience
✔️ AYCE seafood buffet
Please keep all hands and legs inside the portal! The frostbite is free!
So we got another new Zatch Bell chapter yesterday and
FUCKING HELL SHERRY
You really just came in and started kicking bitches in the face immediately
Kick your husband next
(Unless this is just some sort of purposely emotionless marriage where he's just being a bit of a Sugar Daddy and you don't actually care, in which case go off I guess)
And goddamn, the entire last half of this chapter was pure unadulterated badassery from THE Sherry herself and Raiku Makoto (The author) REALLY SAID "Ah no, I don't actually like the last half of this chapter, brb I'm gonna redo it, give me two weeks"
Like fucking hell I was already worshipping the ground she walked on, what the hell else do you WANT from me here???
If somebody asked Wind what he thought of Skyloft, he would probably talk their ear off for a solid half hour, then come back ten minutes later for more.
First off, it was in the sky? Just floating there? It was like something straight out of his Grandma’s stories, only bigger and tangible and wow.
He loved it here. It reminded him of home, in some weird way. It was just, well…
A shadow passed overhead, and Wind balled his hands into fists in an effort to keep from flinching.
There was just one integral aspect of Skyloft that he could really do without.
“You know about my methods of creating my jugan. I lay my ill intent upon an object until it gains…an aspect of use.” Sakurai pauses, gauging how to phrase it. “But of course, another common focus of a curse is a person.” A beat as he waits for it to sink in, and sure enough Muraki’s eyes go larger than he’s ever seen.
“You…cursed yourself.”
With the upheaval of his life as a Scar and Claw's dissolution, Sakurai resolves to finally put his past behind him. The past, however, has other plans.
Finally have a start to the Sakurai character study I've had in the works for a while! Takes place between World Domination and Confession arc. Enjoy!
I meal prepped, cleaned my room after putting off forrrrr *squints* "two whole years" and then wrote 3k noncon porn. I am,,,,, an adult who is adulting so well rn
"I remember a time when everyone
I loved hated me
because I hated them. So what,
so what, so fucking what.
I remember a time when belly
buttons were knee high
When only shitting was dirty
and everything else clean
and beautiful.
I can't remember anything
without a sadness
so deep that it hardly
becomes known to me.
so deep that its tears
leave me a spectator
of my own STUPIDITY
And so I go rambling
on with a hey nonny
nonny no.
How long can one go on writing and writing like you. I now don't really know who I'm writing to or why its quiet [sic] peculiar. I usually write like this and forget about it, but if I post it it's like a little part of my almost secret self in the hands of someone miles away who will wonder what the hell is going on or just pass it off as toilet paper. Anyway I don't care really what happens because when I think about it, its so bloody unimportant – but what is important, who has the right to say that this letter is not important and Jesus is a something anyway – in any way – anyway – Yeah! I wonder what it would be like to be a cretin or something. I bet its great. Er how are you keeping, Stuart old chap. Are you OK – is life good – bad, shite, great – wonderful as it was or is it just a thousand years of nothing, and coalmen on and on and on.
I think this is it
Goodbye Stu don't write out of – er, what's it? Well, not because you think you ought to. Write when you feel like.
So goodbye (from John. You know, the one with glasses)
ANYWAY
BYE BYE
See you soon.
I don't know why I said that."
– An unsent letter from John Lennon for Stuart Sutcliffe (1961)
Diana to herself: I hope you love this place as much as I do little one. There's no better place to be alone with your thoughts.... hopefully you'll get more use out of it than I do lately.
Footsteps approaching and voices outside
Gaurd: Your Majesty, a Dr. Fitzgerald is requesting an urgent meeting with you.
Diana: Really? Please send her in.
Dr. Fitz: Your Majesty, I do apologize for the intrustion. I asked a member of your staff where to find you and they directed me here.
Diana: Doctor, is everything alright? It's unusually chilly out today. I'm sorry you had to venture out to find me.
Dr. Fitz: Not a problem at all, ma'am. I have some great news that I couldn't wait for our next appointment to share with you.
Diana: Really? Did you- Did you find a cure?
Dr. Fitz: Sort of. I think we're very close to finding a noninvasive treatment plan that will block all the symptons related to this defect. It's a short term fix, but the longer cure is still on our rader. But, I thought this is something you'd want us to explore, as well.
Diana: Absolutely! That's amazing! What do you need from me?
Dr. Fitz: Well, we still need to do some testing to see if the treatments are successful. It will need to be on each member of the family we found with the defect. Seeing the responses from this will help not only create a plan to block the symptoms, but hopefully fully cure them, as well.
Diana: This is music to my ears. When can we start?
Dr. Fitz: We can start right away if you like. Our team is about ready.
Diana: Fantastic. I say, we go ahead, then. Great work, Doctor.
Dr. Fitz: Of course, ma'am. I will, of course, need your go ahead on informing the patients of the ongoing treatment.
Diana: What do you mean?
Dr. Fitz: Legally, ma'am, our team cannot administer treatment without consent from the patient.
Diana: I see.
Dr. Fitz: I'm sorry, ma'am. I know discretion about this matter has been of the upmost importance to you.
Diana sighs: No, don't be sorry. I imagine it's time I come clean about this. I was just... hoping I had more time.
Dr. Fitz: I understand. Should we postpone the treatment?
Diana: Yes, I need to inform everyone myself. Then, we will move forward.
It felt weird, standing in front of the familiar West End building and looking at posters of plays that were on, which he had not bothered to look up beforehand. Normally, this was Aziraphale’s part. The whole shebang was Aziraphale’s part, really, calling him up and talking about this play he wanted to see and oh the reviews were wonderful and he’d known this or that playwright, do you remember Crowley, back in– and then Crowley, annoyed at first but always willing in the end, would cave in, preparing to complain all the way through from dinner to nightcap.
Crowley didn’t even want to go in anymore.
He hadn’t done anything fun, any of the things they’d always done together, in those last weeks he had spent… alone on earth. Alone. Without the angel, the eternal adversary turned sort-of-foe turned co-conspirator turned accomplice turned partner in crime turned partner turned friend turned—-—. He’d never been alone on earth before, he realized with a sad sort of surrender. It had always been them, before they even were a them. From the very beginning. Even when he’d felt truly and utterly alone (and confused, and bitter, and sad), the first few millenia mostly, he’d always known Aziraphale was somewhere out there. This was different. He was all alone.
Even if the angel would show up. He half hoped and half feared. (Half agony, half hope. Where’d he read that recent– oh right.)
Because this time, surely, he would have to tell him to never show his face again.
It hurt too much, that face. That ever-same, loathsome, happy, pure, joyful face. That bastard face that he loved more than he was willing to admit, even now and especially now.
Show of the Week: Crazy for You, announced the billboard. Was this divine or hellish irony? Yeah, definitely not that one. His eyes moved onwards and landed on Death Note–The Musical. That sounded better. Death. Destruction. People dying to music. Just right. He hoped the note of death would play loud and clear for the angel to hear. Relationship, dead. Hope, dead. Note, dead. Good. That one.
Trying not to remember all the times they’d walked in together, Crowley made his way into the lyric theatre.
Almost immediately after the lights had dimmed, a latecomer sat down beside him.
“Did you find out anything?” the man-who-turned-out-to-be-Aziraphale asked. Strictly business, huh.
“This is not how this works, Aziraphale.” This time, Crowley’s voice was truly cold. Achievement unlocked. Hating the Angel Who Had Left Him, +1. That brought the score to– 0. There was no score. He wished there was.