9th and 10th Day of April (This one is a doozy, maybe skip it out)

 This one here is going to be a doozy, I am like, 3 days late for this challenge, and I have done nothing, nothing to warrant such attention


well, I’ve been stalling for too long, at some moment, I got to start writing, no? so, it is going to happen, today is the day I will be writing, I feel so more alive after a good mate (it would sound so wrong to an English speaker, they would think that I am from a furry community or something, but what I am talking about is like, sort of a regional tea, it is like matcha, but not really?)


I am not sure what I am going to be writing maybe I should make a story board for what I plan to be writing


I like mainly male leads, both male leads, the protagonist and male lead even if they aren’t built like brick walls, I like loud, fiery guys, that speak loudly and have fire burning on their veins, they have the most pure yang constitution, I like those characters the most, sincere, they love like love was meant to be all along, I want someone who can love others properly, I hate baggage, I know we all carry our own, but really, I wish it was not plot device meant to move the plot all along, like rape, I mean, I hoped that since it was woman writing, they would be more sensitive towards it, you know? is it sexist? it is sexist expecting the bare minimum of decency from a smut writer? maybe it is, maybe I am too sensitive, for not like this exploitative kinda of narrative, where this type of aggression are treated like a sexy adventure, and not like the horrifying experience that it truly is. blame me, the snowflake for having too high of expectations for them, I should have know, I truly should, but alas, too late


The black lichen running down on the walls, I try to step around it, but there is no clean spot on the ground, soon, my red slippers became so filthy in less than three steps, so dirty this school, why is it so filthy? I hate it.


I can’t walk, I thought I wouldn’t need to walk in this filth, but no other student seems to care, they walk with abandon, the older students seems to have stained uniforms, with the boys pain covered in the black markings, and the girls with their white stockings turned into a filthy color.


I don’t like this school, why mom enrolled me, I wonder if she hates me, she might, I wonder what did I do to make her hate me, so evil, why is she so evil? I hate her, hate


I take his hand on mine, the music, a slow, reverberating chanting that seeps in my bones, I feel myself turning into jelly as we move to the beat. his face is pale, sweat dripping from his forehead, I doubt I am faring much better, I feel like I using the sheer power of will to keep my skin from spilling my inwards on the floor.


I hear creaking, it comes from me, and it hurts, it hurts so bad I can barely hold my tears while my bones split themselves open. He looks deep in my eyes, with my hands on him, I can feel his bones splitting too, his eyes look at me in desperation, but it might have been my own expression reflected in his eyes that gave me that impression.


The song reaches a crescendo, we can barely keep pace with the others dancer, but slowly, I can see the competition dissolving in sack of meats, all over the floor, gorgeous dresses and tuxedos covered in what look like minced meat, they weren’t strong enough, but looking at the dancers remaining, I feel we are not going to make it.


We are not going to make it.


There is something about the absolute certainty of death… I feel relief, I think that knowing there is no way out of this, makes all the dread melt away, since I am dead meat.


why bother?

and the feeling rises in my chest, something dark deep inside of me, it is nothing like a felt before, can’t help but bask into the exhilaration. Ah, I feel like I could sing.


Maybe I should.


An ugly sound comes from my throat, scratching it way out of my mouth, like the screams of a banshee. The eyes of my partner bulge out at the sound of my voice, and suddenly his whole body started to bulging, like a balloon, a red balloon, filled to the brim until it exploding, dyeing my dress red.


The couple should end together or perish them both, but I don’t even slow my steps, his only remains are the pieces of meat that used to be his hand that I hold on my own, I dance as if with an invisible partner, and my voice grows louder, so louder, it rings in my own ears, the sound of a thousand ketles boiling, the sound of plague, the sound of death and destruction I wonder if my body is just channeling the pain I feel with every step I take.


The pressure doesn’t lessen, I scream for it hurts, I scream because I know I am going to die, and finally, I scream because I always wanted to sing, so, in my last moments, I will make them all remember my voice.


my skin glows from the blood boiling me from inside out, shut a beautiful crimson color, it wants to free itself from my body, I feel like a spirit, or a ghost on the dance floor, I should be dead by now, but I continue to dance still, the couples that were holding themselves, the ones who had a chance to survive, once my steps take me closer to them, their grasp slips, making them explode like wet fireworks in my wake, the ones standing look at me in fear, but my pace doesn’t slow down, until the end of this song, until the end of this song, while my legs still standing and my head isn’t mulch yet, I must sing to my hearts content, because at the end, it is my first prom, even if its my last.



I want to write more about the simple pleasure in life, you know? like a hot cup of chamomile tea with honey, to listen a good music with your legs covered with blankets, having a very soft kitten sleeping on your thighs, to scratch his fuzzy little head.


the creaking of the fireplace, the pitter patter of rain, the sound of wind on wind chimes.


the flowing rain. the drowned river, the burned flame, the suffocated earth and the heavy wind. I wonder how it be if things could be affected by the conditions they inflict on others. I would love to see a river drowning on itself, I wonder how it would do so, how it happens to do see. how would it look like, a dead river, I wonder what counts as a dead river, if it means there is no live thing coursing through it, or if a dead river is one of complete nothingness, not even movement, I wonder if a dead river flows.


lets try writing without music, lets try writing with the power of imagination alone, I wonder if music really does help in some way or I am just hampering my path to success


I am cursed, black ink courses through my veins, my tongue has rotten away, my throat filled with holes, my mind is nothing… really, there is nothing but vacuous space, so light is my head I think it will drag the rest of my decaying body into space, like yeast on dough, my body is bloated, too bloated, like a corpse left on the water for too long, I think I am shedding my skin, but it is hard to realize when your nerves are shot and your eyes are just glass, but it feels lighter, so lighter, and I lose my patience.


why do I feel like this? what makes me want to jump from a ten floor sky scraper, or maybe that doesn’t count as a sky scraper, but it doesn’t really need to be a sky scraper, maybe I just need a new perspective, from way above the clouds, the amount of light, the information comes pouring in, the lack of interest, the amount of screams, I cannot get out of bed if the voices don’t stop screaming, I look everywhere and a little to left, but I am unable to feel… anything, my mind… why do I always come back circling back to my damned mind, it is fucking burn out, it is so tired, I don’t know if it can keep writing, but here is where some kind of mistaken has been made, at some time, I fooled myself into believing I have a choice besides writing until the pink gray matter starts dripping from the hollows in my face were my eyes used to be....


I hate sunlight, I hate the uncanny, the weird, the creepy, I hate everything, I can’t stand romance, I hate drama, and I don’t know how to deal with people as well as I think I can, I am nothing but a big disgrace, so, what waits me before the pearly gates, or maybe the one made with brimstone…


I can feel lightheaded, even though I have no head, my arms are tired, but the words, I push them like caramel through a paper straw, dreading the moment where the channel rips, and I am left with a mess spilling on the counter instead of the cup in front of me, and that would be so stupid, I can’t let that happen, so for that reason… I write, I write because I am tired of cleaning the dirty counter, I want to be the baker instead, use the medium to display of my goods, instead of whatever I am doing right now. I kinda of want, something? I am not sure what, I have no idea, I have nothing, I have something, a lot of time, my heart races, and the calls from beyond scratch the inwards of my ears, it sounds funny, like there is entrails in my head, a stomach, a hateful watch, I scream, I stumble, I cry, I doubt life can be lived this way, I remember Franken Fran, that was quite the disturbing piece of media I consumed in years, and, my oh my, if only something could scratch that itch. how distasteful how horrible was that manga, like, horrible stuff, truly horrible, I want more…


Horror, life isn’t suffering enough, I have MY LIMITS, i WANT TO EXPAND ENOUGH TO REACH space


horror in space seems like a little fun, I don’t know why, but I feel like dead space would be one of my favorite franchises if I ever decide to play, but, oh well, when the time comes, I will play whatever that I need played, I will do the things that I need to be done in the time they need to be done.. I kinda of feel listless.


I find funny how in this wuxia world, the thing most beneficial the protagonist has brought with his was mental health awareness, and I don’t know why I find that the most funny thing ever. like, dear lord. now I want to read beware of chicken


but at least let me round up into the 2000 corner, to reach two thousand words, I am happy, I am glad, I am tired, and this here is three days late to the date that it was due, I wonder if I will ever be able to regain pace with the days of what should be done, instead of doing the thing three days later than when it should have been done, I don’t know how it brews so much discontent in me, but my inability to keep pace with the months, the day passing, and I stumble, falling face first into the asphalt, I try to pick myself, but the painful gashes run deep in my face, it kind of makes me want to cry, I am going to scream, I wonder if I can do the writing that I have been leaving deep into the bounds, I am so tired, I kinda of wish I had enough energy to scream, can I even do that, scream as loudly as my lungs will carry it out, I wonder if it will, well, I have ideas, zero ideas, I kinda of wish time and space would swallow me by the foot, I wonder if I should reach out to Marina, or Mariana, she was a good friend, and she speaks English, so I think our interests would align


Mr sexy beat, by Alexandra something something, I wonder, with all this exercise in english, I would think that the words that spill would be in english when I so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open, but I am so dearly wrong, when I realise, I am talking in portuguese.
 

I don’t feel comfortable in my own language, I can’t stand watching dubbed, I don’t like reading in portuguese, I feel so.. weightless in matters of my own country, I remember what Nicolas told me once, that I talk like I am a tourist, when I say “Oh, that meme has reached Brazil as well” like I am some kind of exchange student, of which my originality is forgotten in the face of… something I guess.


I can’t say I was born in the wrong country, it could be way worse, I could be born in the US. and that would be much more horrible, can you imagine, the tension, the drama filling my bones.


I am kinda of just letting the words spill, so tired, so exhausted, I am drudging…. I am going to read beware of chicken right now


It was serviceable


Well, I was reading writing advices, the kind that tells you to change your mindset, that creativity can’t be forced, but can be invited… well, the counsel was to put myself into my seven year old mind, where I still had that childish curiosity and wonder for the world, but that is not what I want… no, in fact, If I am going to put myself in any kind of mindset, I want to be in my 13 self, the cringy teenager that had no social awareness and it was free from the shackles of greater works, because when you know true quality, when you eat a gourmet meal, and your skills are subpar, whatever you cook will taste like trash, that is how I feel towards my writing nowadays, I can get some words out, some coherent narrative, and something nor here nor there. but there is


I am a bombshell, a lost youth, no school for me, I am a lost soul, a marginal, I have no place on earth besides my addicted mother’s trailer. I am a lost cause, why bother when I am going to amount to nothing, so I pump my body with drugs to blast away my consciousness, to be sober is like being tortured, the feeling of a thousand needles being pushed throughout my body, my ears prickle, my heart races, I feel giddy, I feel so giddy


I can do anything, can’t I? I say to no one in particular, my bloody lips smile in a crooked grim, my eyes bloodshot, I have been walking on euphoria so long, I forgot to sleep, my stomach rumbles, it seems no food for me today as well, it is going to make three days already, I step out of the abandoned building, I used for the mirrors, such exquisite ones, beautiful, abandoned, I don’t know why they would abandon such preciosity, but I am not going to tell no one about them


They will take my mirrors away, and I can trust myself, nor my mother to not sell them, or break in a fit of rage when withdraw kicks in.


I hate feeling it heating up, sore, hurting at every step with a pounding headache and a constant need to puke, so, for that, I keep myself high, it is hard to make a living when 50% of your expenses are drugs, you would think such a beautiful girl such as myself would use her body to make a living, and for that, I can only laugh, you stupid pig, I am not a simple, dumb blond.


no, I am Bombshell, the trailer trash villain, the smell of sweat fills my nostrils, my eyes are itching, but I can’t scratch it, it makes me annoyed.


So, yeah, bombshells,  funny thing that name, like, yeah, I am blond, not naturally, my hair is so sad without the oxygenate water, I don’t want nobody to see me without it, I know they are going to make fun of, me, they already do, but I don’t need to give them fuel for their mockery.


What was I talking about? Bombshell, Bombshell… I know the name is not only because of the hair, I am so tired that I can think straight… let me think for a moment, just something, anything… I think I can make chemicals?? and maybe fuse together, like, I can conjure nitroglycerin from thin air, aint that cool?


I have a guy I like, I used to see him in class, maybe he was the only reason I went to school, he was such a cutie, I just wanted to gobble him up from how cute he was, with his dainty glasses, curly hair and dimples when he smiled. I feel myself burning just thinking about it, I throw up something just to externalize this feelings, and it smokes a soon as it touches the grounds, with this sickly smell spreading.


I wonder. If right now, I am feeling truly horny or I just want to avoid my responsibilities… I don't know the difference between a horny wank and a depressed one…


Well, I can only say, if I masturbate, I am not going to advance my career as a writer.


Something something. I wish greatly for a boyfriend, someone who cares deeply for me, someone who waits, who pursues. Someone who does all the job while I just take and take and never gives nothing?


I really want an attentive boyfriend, but to be worthy of one, I would need to be there for him as much as I am for me.


I wonder, I guess I can just wait until someone shows interests in me.


I run parallel to the sidewalk, the speeding cars look like a paralyzed universe. Or something


What would teenage me think is cool?


I really liked Natsume Yuujinchou, so, a really depressed protagonist, I bet yah if I were to write something in 8th grade, it was going to be with self mutilation, suicide, and rape abound, I am pretty sure I even wrote something like that? Or I thought about writing a horny fanfic about this yume nikkie fan game.


So, depressed protagonist, who has never received the love and acceptance that he deserves from his guardian figures, and them withdrawing more into himself as to not bother the guardians with his emotional needs, not talking about the ghosts he sees, but because he doesn't engage to not make the other party creeped out and go away, he also doesn't builds any bond with all his adoptive families.


I remember this episode where he goes back to this home that he was really neglected, and they even talked shit about him when he was a scared child. He pass this feeling of loneliness. I like it quite a bit. But then, a spirit sensing the bitterness in his heart, offers to kill the abusive cunts


The thing I most like in Yuujinchou is the relationships, the bonds of human and yokais, then there is also the human friends, they are all so great, his friends from school, the son of a priest, this girl where her grandpa discovered a way to see yokais, and she keeps using it to the point where this really evil thing steps out into her field of vison and curses her for seeing hos true form, I believe that was her.


Also, I really like the contrast between him and his grandma, she was awfully lonely. They are one in the same, the only difference is that he has a reliable support system, she decided to punch her feelings away, but that is just ex peculation, I am not sure myself.


There is also this really cute fox kid who lost his mom, I remember when they kinda of formed this family with the mom being the cursed girl and the protagonist being the dad. But you know, there is an awful lot of queer teasing, like, I guess It doesn't count as queer baiting if, I don't know, it isn't announced in the trailers?


Well, other things my cringe teenage self would like? I think that maybe, cursed items, like, an evil eye pr thing like that.


I wonder if I can weaponize my own discontent to force myself into create art, because at this moment, I am feeling very angry, I am feeling very depressed, of my emotions were like those of the fool, right about now I would have an abundance of bile and melancholy. Like, I feel so terribly worn out, and just reading discussions about gay character, gay media, gay stories, and just seeing shit takes, it just makes my fucking blood boil, it is boiling so hard into my own veins I can barely breath as i feel the vitriol dripping with each drawn breath, I just want to hurt something, like, really bad, I want to hurt so much I can barely contain myself.


I promised to myself I would make the gay content that I knew it is lacking in this shitty world, I want to write so badly something gay right now.


I wonder what text would suit me better, I really am thinking about satire, something I  can channel my raw disdain and hatred by the way society sees gay men, I really want to punch homophobes in the balls, I want those girls that fetishise gay men and see them as an object, like a little toy puddle to complement their figurine, to blow up into smithereens. I just want to scream so badly, I feel like


I hate you, I woke up in the morning and I could feel my blood boiling by knowing your existence, I think I would love to write something like


Fujoshi bait. I use all the tropes of the genre, like, hot main character, hot male lead, great romance, and just, bashing women in the head with their fucking ridiculsness, like, fuck you, fuck you so hard I want to see you go die, and I will take pleasure in seeing your suffering.


Like, the voyeuristic fujoshi, entitled to gays, like, they have no respect for personal space,


Meghan, she is this nerdy girl that wear glasses and has very little friends, she is a social outcast and likes anime and manga, her favorite genre is bl and yaoi, she used to be a cringe fujoshi, but she got better, at least, is what she thinks, before she realizes her classmate might be gay, that is where the hell begins to the poor gay boy.


Where he can't talk with people without her group of people spreading rumor of him, the lack of respect for his opinion on the matter, how they out him as if it is something okay to do, the consequences of their action happens not to them, it happens with the poor gay youth, where he is bullied, ostracized, because you know, outside of her perverted mind, society at large doesn't view gay people as well… people, not even Meghan who gets her socks off watching gay porn and gay fiction sees the guy as human, no, he is less than human, he is just like a character brought to life, like he would appreciate her stalking tendencies, the way she exposes his personal life, where he tried to be a friend, Meghan abused of this relationship, Meghan is a delusional monster, and she destroys his life, at the end, when she divulged how he felt attraction to the whole school, he started being ostracized l, the guy he had a crush on and used to be his friend now looks at him with disgust, he didn't feel safe to come out in that environment, and he was justified to feel that way, Meghan is a fucking psychopath, a horrible bitch, she feels entitled to his personal life just because her weird fixation on everything gay, I hate Meghan, so I will make her very endearing and relatable, like a fly trap, I am going to every fujoshi feels connected with her, to see her as this great character, and like "sis, I am with you" and I wish I was her to see all this gay cute boys. Better yet make the character, the gay one be in a relationship with another boy, and Meghan just outs them to the whole school. The parents of the other guy get winds about the situation, and they are religious fanaticals, they get enraged, they beat their son into a pulp, them transfer him to a boarding school, and the gay protagonist gets devastated, he is crying, Meghan tries to comfort him, he explodes at her, saying that it is all her fault, and she gets enraged, that he should be glad she was willing to be his friend, how gay people are hated nowadays, he should be glad to have a friend who supports who he is, but them he calls her out on her bullshit, how she doesn't care about him, there is no support, there is no friendship, she just gets horny about the gay boy in her class going with other guys, she is a fucking psycopath, a voyeur, a pervert who aproached him just to watch from a better viewpoint, he hates her, she shrieks and screams in tear, and he just gives her a fucking hard slap on her face and them he kills himself off screen, because his parents did also heard wind of it, and they are worse, his death it is going to be fucking horrible, it is not a good story, the only reason it would be made was for me to express all my vitriol to the horrible women who feel justified in their objectification of gay men I hate them.

But I will probably never write this story, because I don't like sad stories

I don't want reality at

all


well, I want to think, but ,my brain is dummy thicc, and the only thing it wants to do is watch throbbing cocks all day, and probably rape play too, maybe I have problems, one day I will have courage to seriously address the problems troubling me, and I know for a fact that I am going to become so much better, like, damn, I believe in life, I am going to tell something about something.


I have a cup of wine, filled to the brim, the dark liquid threatens to spill with each twirl of my hand, but not even a single drop falls into the white carpet, no, it does not.


I have lazy brain disease, also know as depression, but I can train my brain to not become depressed anymore, but them the lazy brain disease kicks in and then all I want to do is curl up and sleep, so much I yearn for a good night of sleep, I know when I get my melatonin, I am going to cry, for the first night that I


There is a field of blue roses, the blooming petals shine brightly against the morning sun, I have this dreary feeling, time passes,. but it seems nobody hears the loud voices, echoing at the back of the shack, the scream grows louder and louder, to the point I think my skull is going to split in two from the pressure, but besides me, nobody seems to be affected by it, they don’t even seem to realize what is occurring. I feel tired, I feel saddened, I feel threateningly low in health, or maybe it is my mana that is low, I need mana to write real masterpieces, but I need Hp to type, and like, get out of bed, I really seem to use, I don’t even have energy to get out of bed, and like, I really should stop whining about it, I am leaving the bed more and more nowadays, if I look at the amount of writing I have been doing in the past days, I am amazed at myself, truly, I am, I wish I could be more kinder to myself, To give the love that I deserve and so much seek.


A simple “you are good enough” from myself, instead of forcing the writing like pulling a leash from an over eager dog, dragging him and suffocating the poor mutt, no, I am glad I started doing this, and I am proud of myself for being able to do all of this


for all the words I have written, to the creative pieces that fit in the coherent category, and even if I can’t do it on the day, I never fail to at least write some everyday, never not working, never not trying to improve myself, and for the fact you are trying to evolve into the best version of yourself Pedro, I am proud of you


Well, I have, if I do say so myself, anemia, and I think I might be dying, but it can be also just drama on my part, but I am so tired, and I am pretty sure I am bleeding right now, on my inwards.


10th day.


Well, I am very tired, so tired in fact I can see stars dancing on my vision as I figth the birds to keep my eyes open from the imminent concussion trying to drag me into oblivion, I just think it is so passe how the things are right now. I believe I achieved a lot in the days that I wrote,


Earlier today, I read They Both Die at The End.


I… felt feelings… I thought I didn't had it in me to feel nowadays, and I wonder why did I snubbed Adam Silvera, the guy writing the type of books that I have wanted to read for so, so long.


I was sleeping, but it was not one of the dreams you have when you are truly sleeping, I think I just had some powerful fever dreams


But alas, I am going to do something with it.


The story about three friends, who found the passage to another world through the mysterious door in their house. There was a lot of sexual tension between us for some reason, like, I forgot that normal people don't have to deal with only one bed trope, and then they separated into the rooms of the house.


I remember someones feet, it was one of my food friend, someone some one. I remember a train station where we could pick a world (maybe) and we went there in a class trip, after sneaking out, 2 others joined me, I think one of them was Benjamin button, the character from the Stephen kings book ( at least in my mind) he was a teenager, so I guess that was to be expected, he was very wise.

Or something, I know that we were supposed to go to the lord of the rings world, but I was too much of a pussy, and never read it, so in the end, we ended up in generic xianxia land with elemental powers, and we were separated.


I remember seeing this huge red pillar on the horizon, I guess it was supposed. To be mordor?? Maybe. Maybe not.


So, I was only a child, and was adopted by quite the kind family, we had servants, and I learned how to cultivate… I think maybe earth magic? Maybe wood or something.


And the days passed and I was once again, a teenager.


Then, my friend suddenly appeared, he was a grown men, in his forties, we let him on the house, and if I knew better, I would have set the whole family on fire, it would be a kinder death than what he gave them


Not fire, maybe kill them all in their sleep.


Because I remember, we brought him to the core of our home, he killed the guard and somehow I ended with an axe through my head, thanks to my wood constitution, it was piece of cake to deal with it.


For some reason, I was super compliant with him killing my whole family, I was sure that he had grand plans for me. But no, he unleashed this black balls from the size of marbles, and they exploded just nuclear bombs, and I was just like fire punch, from the manga, burning alive and at the same time, regenerating fast enough to keep living, I saw my whole family disentagrate, it was not my family from the real world, it was a generic cast from xianxia land, but even then, cruel, how I seem to let them get massacred, how I thought he would take me with him, maybe I thought him as a potential partner, but  I was a teenager, and he knew enough black magic to thrown 5 nuclear bombs in my living room


So, I heard him saying, if I managed to survive, he would take me under his wings.


I ran for dear life, I didn't want to die, but my house was a labyrinthine maze with the size of a city, walls powerful enough to sustain hellfire. I ran and ran until I had no more energy to put myself back together quite right, so I had exposed bones and red tissue, with my face gone, I finally found the exit, and I hurt so much, but it was so beautiful, the ocean, with the water so clear.. for a moment, I thought I did it, I escaped that nightmare, but over the house, the mushroom cloud extend far beyond in the horizon, with the flames of destruction fast approaching.


I jumped into a boat, and somehow, the boat guy was able to outrun the damage, even if we were enveloped by a cloud of debris and dust.


He roamed and roamed and roamed, until we ended in the ship harbor from this guy that he knew, who was like the mafia chief.


For some reason, I had my cellphone and back pack with me, I browsed lightly through it and dumped my backpack into a basin of water.


And then, I feasted with people who had access to our world, tangled one girl had watched, or maybe woman, she had a youthful energy, and I had way more details in the dream that is not quite a dream, I would love to write more about my fever dreams that I have instead of sleeping?


I think that every one of them fever dreams that I had are firmly etched into the bowels pf my mind, and if I dwell on it long enough, I can remember them clearly.


Like, a lot of dreams that I have I am coursing through streets that I know, but they are slightly different, you know, they have things that are not quote right about them, and I wish I knew how to explain, but it is like, this liminal feeling of wrongness, of a street corner not being a street corner, instead being a alley or a house where it should be something else.


I remember once, being into a huge fight, a very violent one, with people I can't remember the faces. And I am trying to figure in which dream I had this fight, like, I dreamt I was in a videogame once, that I was in a horror movie that only I was aware that was unfolding some horrible evil.


I don't know how to relay my dreams properly, I think about what happened, and I don't have the strength to back it up


Maybe… just maybe, I should start my 5k words challenge, to write an outline for a novel, what you think? So, for the next writathon, I am able to do some interesting things with it.


If I am going to write, I want a character like tanjirou to be my protagonist, since he is such a cutie pie, and I want to be half as kind as he is in my life.


A cultivation novel?


I feel like everybody and their mothers have written about protagonist with plant based powers, or fire powers, which would be my go to for an interesting power, the plant one, not the fire one, you can do so little with fire, besides destruction, what there is even to do with something so unruly?


But yeah, I had 5 protagonist from earlier ideas who ha plant based powers, like Micael, from eldritch scooby doo, that beared the spectre of the waning woods, with a deer skull for its head and eyes along the antler, that looked like hollows in the structure with shining diamonds behind, or something like that, Mica had no power to do strong things, had he? Too weak, too sleep deprived, he wanted to do great things, but no matter what he was not meant to, until a spirit reached out to him, and he took them into his body, now he could make the wood rot and grow at his will, to contort in any way he so pleased, he had complete control of the woods, and the stronger he got, the greater the effect of change he could act upon.


Or something like that.


Then I had my firt tey at the bullying plan thing, where I kept writing and it kept deviating from the original intended purpose


I feel so high strung, since I decided to walk in my bike today, I feel like procrastinating until the clock strucks out my time of departure.


Or something like that


So, bully plan




I have just finished my most favorite manga of all time of times that I will ever have, and of course, for a manga like this, it was to be expected, it had a shitty ending, like, don’t get me wrong, it had everything that I ever wanted, them happý, my ship became cannon, all the lives of the characters that made our hearts completely melt.


but… one chapter, after a 7 year time skip, practically undoing 53 chapters of development, and you don’t even let me see the face of my good boy for one last time??? who are you? the american deporting police, keep yourselves from ruining all the good stuff in life???

Man, that manga was good, it was so gaddamn good I think I am going to cry just from the thought alone of it, of how good it was, so very good


and… I want to write a different ending for it.


I want to see my boy Touma’s face, they got married, but I feel a little piveed that that the big guy had to adopt the little guy’s last name, but that is my internalized homophobia talking, so, I am just taking out of my chest to not let it stinking out the rest of ideas, him taking the name is fine, stop with them goddamn hetero normative on the gay relationship, be not, do not.


I am really sour that they didn’t even show a snippet of his face, like, the fuck, how could you, how dare you, I am going to break your jaw in a thousand different pieces, I am going to fucking do it.


They say you are not desperate enough for fan content unless you are face to face with a blank document and a desire burning in your heart.


Well, this here is no blank document, but I can write to my hearts content over here if that is what I so dearly desire.


I wonder, what would I write? Maybe one day in their married life of touma and taichi, but… I have no idea how time affected their personalities, how it comes across as petty if I just invent some fuckery of a personality to them, when they were so greatly loved by me as they were


But, a time skip happened, I am pretty sure the series was turned to the chopping block because its themes, not so palatable now, are we? Mister jump, and I call you mist because no woman would break my heart like you has done over and over again. Like. Biatch, I am full on considering giving that manga a reread, I want so much to keep seeing them, seeing them smile, seeing their live their lives, and make the choices that lead them on the paths of their choosing, like, dear god, my lord is great and saviour…


What I want that I didn't get, I want more 50 chapters of their story, I would like to see the life of touma as he works on his job and the life of taichi, that went to universoty, I guess I just want to see them, that IS what I truly want, that is the sole thing I love, my heart is pained by the lack of real follow through, by the messy undone state of things, lile, I love them, gimme more, I want to see their lives, why did it got so throughly ruined? It could have been great, it was supposed to be great, but great it didn't stay, and surely, ot fell from grace


The thing is, I want to write a follow through for their story, but I also know where my strenght and limitations, because, I can write disturbing, not good disturbing, but disturbing content nonethless, I dab at horror here, I dab at anguish there, if there is something that I am pro at, is dwelling in my own negative emotions, I feel no more fulfillment than when I am emptier than an urn with fake hollow made for the purpose of hiding cocaine


But.


I want to write this story.


Taichi is grocery shopping, he is on his day off, he researched the ingredients on the internet and decided to make something nice for his loved one, savory and spicy would go well with a can o beer, and seeing how today was the 8th of the month, where people hurried to dispatch things with the newly gained salary, touma would be busy driving the delivery truck and help his colleagues to unload.


He falls like a log when he hits the bed, it is almost funny the zombie like way that those busy days seem to put him into, skips dinner, he doesn't skip the welcome home kiss, nor the goodnight kiss, or even all the kisses that come right after, even though sometimes he skips shower entirely, but I really like his manly smell after a hard day at work, I ask what he wants, he tells me he wants me inside of him, in his raspy low voice, like falling into a spell, I am much too happy to oblige, being harder then a rock, caressing his well toned muscles just serves to arouse me more.


I used to envy him during highschool, if only I had pecs or abs like his I would be happy, and now that they were mine, I knew that to be true


I am not a teenager anymore, but I guess you can't help it, when you love a person so much as I come to love Touma, they never leave your head, or to put simply, I don't want to stop thinking about him.


Which is funny while buying food and thristing over my dear husband.


After having to deal with call after call from the management because some intern spilled coffee over the router. You would think that after the seventh time they would learn their lesson, but I guess learning from mistakes is to novel of a lesson.


But when I get home, and he greet me with open arms as I bury my face in his quite developed pecs, I feel my fatigue being washed away, I barely register the smell of food as he takes my lips into his, and the bliss of happiness is all I can feel.


As we part for air, and to undo belt buckles and apron knots I can only say the feeling that burns in my chest


"Touma, I love you"


I love him, this feeling so new in my days of college seem to burn brighter with the passage of time, I love him so much that it hurts


"I love you too, Tai"


And the food is forgotten for the


That is… I don't know if I can say out of character, because, it isn't all that much of a stretch that in 7 years I can nake their personalities whatever I damn please, but also, it would be boring to not even attempt to put in some echos from the past


They both are very kind and considerate of others, while Touma is completely devoted to Tai, my boy tai is shy, not very confident in himself, he is a guy that is going places, but god knows what they are, he has no real plan for the future besides majoring in technology for the fact that he liked to make this hand made toys. I didn't see touch a computer once in the whole goddamn series, so,




Can be drama, the moment he decided to give up his major in technology, where he became depressed because futaba broke with him, the lebanese was in hokkaido and the only person he could talk with was Touma, which worked in the same time he had classes, so their free time coincided quite well, he was burning out in his 3 third semester, he developed a deep loathing of technology, simply because everyone surpassed him, and then, from all this pulling and pulling, he snapped, in a pile of nerves, he curled into the floor, and shivered, painful tears trailing his face, so ashamed he felt of himself, so, in his loneliness, desperation, life and death situation, I don't know, he decided to call touma, and hearing the sobbing in the other line, he came running to sooth the crying young man, he did not take him in his arms, because he didn't want to make his friend umcomfortable, but hearing the wrecking sobs, he didn't knew what to do, so he decided to sit motionless right beside him, while the crying would grow dimmer.


He held his hand until he could calm down.


When Tai got enough of himself to pht together, he cleaned his runny face at the sink, his eyes throbbed but he didn't feel as lonely,


I want to write something even more appealing and meaningful. I want to write an astea corpus.


I want to create a character like Touma, because I love him, I love him so much that it hurts, he is the only reason this manga has ascended so quickly in my heart, it was the first to do the romantic triangle trope, but gay, and my heart, my heart was deeply troubled and gratified by it, it was so much more personal. So much more… clear to me. Each chapter I would take with a gleam in my eyes and the fact that it ended sent me in a grieving spiral, I really should try and write an outline in one of this day


What would I write? Maybe beat for beat of ao no flag?


She loves you, I love her, you love me


Relly, each moment with touma and his defined greek god body, like damn son, what did they feed you? Whey protein on the bottle?


Could you Imagine.


The only reason I want to re read is because Touma left a deep scar in my heart, and the ending didn't manage to scab it over with a satisfying conclusion, instead, ot bleeds, I wonder If Inam leaking love, if love has a limit, I may have invested it all on touma… he was such a great boy, he was the first great character, that managed to entrave me with his realness, he felt alive, so alove in fact that it hurts, I developed feelings for him as of he was real, and because his story no long continues, I am as heartbroken as a grieving widow.


My sadness know no bounds, but I wish I could use it for something productive instead, for what? I will begin to outline every day from now on what I will be writing, I am thinking of stoping ramblings for good and just sink my teeth in the juicy juicy story planning.


I want characters that are alive. I want characters like Touma, Like Tanjirou, like the personification of kindness itself,


Touma


TOUMA


TOUMAAAAAAA!!!!


I just wanted to call your name, if I could I would have engraved it in my arms, like a tree, maybe I should get a tattoo of his name on my arms, I love him


I love him so much, and I will treasure this feelings, and carry them with me forever more.


For an emotional payoff, you need setting up all the threads that will clench on your heart and leaving you bleeding on the street corners of life. I want to write something that would make me cry. I want tonwrite something to me as precious as the beautiful manga that it was Ao no Flag.


I am happy, I am not very happy nowadays, I think  I have forgotten how to be happy, but today, after reading blue flag, I feel happy, the garbage ending was garbage, but all the prior chapters in the series, to beginning to chapter 53, managed to fill the hole in my heart that I am in a constant need to fill with media, but today, was the first time I felt whole, and maybe why I am so sad and depressed but happy  at the same time, it ended, I didn't want it to wnd, Inwanted it tongonforever and forever, until it became completely trash, until I grew to hate it, so when I stopped reading, it wouldn't hurt as much as it currently is right now.


How unpleasent this feeling, I glad I can feel this way though, and I will treasure that manga, that story, that treasure that I found laying on the dirt, and will carry it with me forever, and ever, and never let it not be a part of me, or how I make stories, or my way of thinking…


It was very good, soo good, I will never

forget it, I will forever love it


I wonder if I could write a declaration of my love to a person the same way that I do for a fictional character, but here is the thing, fictional characters might habe flaws, but they are always lesser than real people, they are so much easier to love that I think I am falling for them anew with each new media that I lico that day, I fell in love with the characters from golden kamuy, I fell in love with tanjirou and inosuke, and I fell in love with Touma over them all, he is my most loved person that doesn't exist, I love him, I love him by a lot, a landslide


I wonder what will be the rest of my words? I have no idea what I want






Well, O am pretty much torn apart, you see, my objectives, none of them are coming to fruition.


I am not exercising, I am not writing, I am just loafing around watching anime and cartoons, free to the winds until life itself becomes a blur of unbearable smells of rotten givin the wasted opportunities, I feel myself just like that housewife, watching all the figs from the fig tree plumetting to the ground, with each fruit, one path she could have taken, unable to be reached, rotten.


I don't want to be like her, I know which fig I want, I want to be a writer, I want to manor in psychology, but I don't feel like a writer nowadays when I am not writing, and sure as hell I am not going to major in psychology any time soon given the way I have treated my classes and notes.


I really, really, am late, look at this, if I were to put the negatives still, I would have to put 8 of them in a consecutive line, and that would just hurt my heart, like, how come, how come, I think I will only me writing, and after that is finished, I will extract the short stories in a later date, but I am kind of sad.


I wanted to be able to write my goal with all the words in time, but I am so far behind, that it just reminds me of my prior failures, I don’t want to be a failure, but it is hard when the facts stare me dead in the eyes, like, 8 days


I just feel melancholic, the black bile coursing through my veins, with regular sleep and a balanced diet, I can say bye bye to all the negatives feelings that I ever had… huh? not that bad of a deal.


I can’t help but wonder if one of the reason that I stopped having motivation to write was the fact that it was only these stray thoughts, I really want to have serious writing done for me, I am a serious writer who needs no editor and can soar to the heavens faster than a fenix can do it, or something like that.


I wish I was a phoenix, if I was that fiery bird, than at the end of my life, I could just die peacefully knowing that I would be born anew.


It isn’t even a matter of retaining my memories, I think if I could lose them, would be an added extra, to be able to experience a first love a thousand times. I wonder if that would make a compelling story


Something like my immortal, but, different, a way that can show the effects of nurture, and how the personality would change depending of the enviroment, and how the nature would always shine true, no matter in which life, to always have curiosity, kindness, and the desire to love and be loved.


I want to be a phoenix, that at the end of my life, I just burn to ashes, and from my remains would be this chubby baby who would be me but also my son, who would experience all this myriad of experiences I never had the chance to, I wonder how to write.




Phoenix cycle would be too cheesy of a title, but I wonder, will I be putting all my efforts on this story??


I don’t see why not, it is a fun idea, like, a quick transmigration sort of thing.


I just thought about this being something like a quick transmigration type of system, but I don’t think I want that.


I want something more cozy, something like my immortal and natsume yuujinchou, something about learning to love your surroundings, and how the phoenix is always on living just for the small pleasures.


Something


The ten incarnations of a phoenix


that sounds so cool, but like that game of life,


It ended with the withered body of an old man bursting into flames, he had a smile on his face, he was lonely, his wife passed away and his children have gone far beyond the horizon line. He had a good life, he has no regrets, so he faces death with… not eagerness, relief, he faces it with relief.


and what was left of the old man was a smoldering pile of ashes, scattered by the winds, far and wide, and in continents beyond, a cry of a newborn echoes in a desolate place.


The cycle of phoenix begins anew.


I wonder what would be the 10 incarnations of a phoenix, like infinity train, it would have to be 10 chapters each life.


I think that the personification of a phoenix should have dark brown skin and bright red hair, with a crown of golden amids the strands.


I don’t want the protagonist to be a bird.


I don’t know if I want him to be able to change between genders.


I think it would be stupid to explain a phoenix back story.


so, let it be a mystery


what would this 10 lives be about?

10 lives = 1000 years.


The scriptures of a scholar


The commands of a general


The musings of a fool

The tea shop of a Courtesan


The journey of a Criminal


The waning of a king


The catalyst of a concubine


The marsh of a sailor


The riches of a new life


be gorgeus and beautiful baby phoenix


The cycle begins anew

the phoenix has orange smoldering eyes, dark hair and skin, with red and gold marks around the body


all memories are burned away at the end of each cycle.


I hate my mom


I can’t really have a conversation with her unless it is something she wants to talk about, and anything I want to talk about, she twists to make about her, and I guess I want to talk with someone? well, obviously I do want to


anyone for that matter. I am kind of tired


I hate the individual of which has conceived me.


I hate that cunt.


maybe I am just like the guy from I want to kill my mother. not as twisted, but today, that I feel only melancholy, I hate her to the bone, I don’t want to see her face, I don’t want to hear her force, I feel like every little thing would set me off, like she is doing it on purpose.


no, I don’t think she does it on purpose, I am not an idiot like her that thinks about how my own mom is scheming to ruin my dates, like, are you fucking dumb? you emotionally stunted woman, really, talking to you is not fun, I don’t think it ever was, if someone can get tired of people, I think I am tired of her, I guess I only express this juvenille and infantile thoughts in my writing, I can’t say that I hate her in real life, she is more frail than glass, it would break her beyond repair if I said something like that.


But I guess I have so much untapped rage, that it just leaks to all sort of possible outlets.


my mom is tiring to deal with to say the least, but if I were to be a more balanced individual, who got my shit together, I would have way more leeway to deal with her shit.


she just sets me off because I keep feeling the glass, so whenever she makes it overflow, it makes me believe she is the sole reason that my life is a shitshow. but no, she is not the reason, to put blame in anyone is nothing short of pathethic on my part, I am the reason my life is going to shit, I am the reason I have no one to talk with, you dredge striking conversation to all people you know about.


the reason why you are in such a mood today is because you just saw all the subjects on the scool site, the fact you remembered how you failed, and failed bad.


my mom is a flawed human being, and I hate her, but I love her just as much, I guess I always blamed her for all my unfulfilled emotional needs. she gave me food, roof and clothes, I am privileged, she says, so much, it is her protection against everything.


I hate how I can’t be vulnerable with her, my feelings bother her, her own feelings bother her.


I wish I could be more understanding to my childish mother. she is never going to meet my expectations, never, she is too caught up in her own little world to see how I am doing.


so, I guess I should learn to give myself the love and attention I so desperately crave.


I see myself as the most disgusting creature to walk on the planet, I hate each every inch of my body, I wish I could just die and begin from zero, like a videogame. but it is not going to happen.


I have to learn how to make myself comfortable, how to unwind myself, how to liberate all this anger that I have about my behaviour in a more productive manner instead of dumping all over the people around me and worst of all, even me.