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Smooth Jackson. Very smooth

Dex deals with it, in increments.

He didn’t stop himself falling because he hadn’t noticed it had happened until it was too late, but he’s picked himself up off the ground of loving Nursey and managed to make his way across the vast expanse. He can’t shoot back up into obliviousness again, thinks he might come across a canyon and fall even further.  It’s maybe inevitable, being bound by this love for the rest of his life. At first he’d let himself believe in quiet moments that he might be free one day, might move on to someone else’s land and love them as much; but then Nursey would smile, or laugh, or breathe, and Dex would know. He’s gone, he’s fallen hard and fast and fully, plummeted to the earth that is Derek Nurse, the gravity of love tying him indefinitely to this man.

So he deals with it. It’s the best he can do.

He remembers that they’re not friends. This confuses Nursey at first because they’d pretty much reached a mutual accord at the end of the last semester, but a few sharp words from Dex and they go back to being grudging acquaintances. Dex tries not to notice that he’s always the one on the attack in their petty arguments, that Nursey – who’s so kind, so good – never does more than gently chirp or defend himself with the deft deflection of a poet. He gets used to the frowns from Bitty when he spits acid, vile and corrosive, at Nursey across the kitchen. Rans and Holtz try talking to him about it once, but he spits at them too, his words as toxic as chemicals in a lab explosion, and they learn to leave him be. They want to help, they care so much, but ultimately as long as they play well together they can’t do much more as captains. It’s not only not their job, but not their place either.

(In the dark of his room, Dex sometimes wishes that they’d push him. Lock him and Nursey in a room together so they’re forced to talk, so Dex has no choice but to let the torrent of feeling that he’s hidden inside him escape his carefully constructed dam and wash through the room. Let him face the scorn, or the sympathy, or the awkward acceptance that would inevitably follow the reveal. But they won’t force him, and he’s not brave enough to do it alone.)

It gets harder as they grow more distant, because when Nursey isn’t talking to Dex he’s talking to everyone else, spilling his sunlight all over them so they smile and laugh and relax in the warmth of his presence. Dex watches this from the shadows, sees the rays just across the room and wishes he could step into them, give Nursey a smile, slip back into the friendship they’d so briefly had. But then Nursey will glance his way, catch Dex watching him, and Dex has to scowl and turn away, curl up in the cool shade he’s damned himself to, curse away the tears that want to run with the absence of light.

It comes to a head when Dex requests he be moved lines. He can’t play with Nursey, he tells Coach Hall. Can’t skate with him. Can’t breathe the same air.

Coach Hall refuses, but he does tell Ransom and Holster. They tell Nursey, and finally, he snaps.

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So since I’m still not over this shot, I ask to the fandom winds, would a fine Photoshopper out there be willing and able to get this dork all xmas’d up for me, please? As much as I’ve picked up Photoshop, I don’t think I’m that good just yet, haha.


aight I did not see this spiraling into mini-drama here but I’m going to try to say something because I get how awful feeling inferior is. Making comparisons can be difficult to avoid when you do not have very much confidence or especially when you feel as if you are not doing as well as you should be and are letting people down (this is cliche but everyone grows at different paces and regardless of progress you are loved). This obsessive comparing is extremely tolling on you and not worth the energy at all. As long as you are not adamant towards recovering like I was for the past few years, things will get better (or not as bad as it usually is). It’s not hopeless, I promise. There are people who do want you to feel your best and help you every step of the way and I hope you all have or will find at least one person like this in your lives.

That being said, this whole big blog/small blog thing should not matter because like dailyflygon said, we’re just a bunch of nerds drawing the Pokemon we love. My inferiority issues do lead me to assume ridiculous things like someone being more popular means that they’re obnoxious and exclude others unlike them, but I don’t get that with this community, even as a small, inactive, blog that is lacking in interaction (due to shyness). I’ve never considered myself a part of any communities before, but this one is extremely supportive and I want to at least protect that.

tl;dr It’s okay to feel down. We cannot control how we react to things, but we should not act on those feelings in a way that causes stress for others either. Instead, find a way to lift yourself back up without hurting yourself or anyone else.

@typenullandvoid replied to your post “Let me go.”

“Colress FUCKING LET ME GO THIS INSTANT” he demands, fists clenching as he tries to force his will onto the other- Anything to get free of the Psychic levitation he was now held in.
“What the hell have you done to yourself?! You let Science go to your fucking head!!” he rants and raves for a bit, still trying to empower his will- and then he stops when Silvally is mentioned, eyes widening a bit. “D-don’t you fucking dare hurt him”

“I’m not going to hurt him.”

  He lets go of Gladion, handling him a bit roughly before releasing him from the levitation. Colress steps back, burying his hands in his pockets and straightening his posture, another flash of teeth visible between his lips. 

“Why are you visiting, mm?”

  His smile contorts into a frown at the other’s continued ranting.

“I’m closer with Bee than ever. Is that a problem? I’m… so powerful, as well. Nobody can get in the way of my research. Not even you. ..did you know Beheeyemite exists?”

Reverse Endangered (Outline)

This got kinda long, and it’s dark in some spots (character death, violence, etc.), but for anyone wondering what happens in the reverse-Endangered storyline, I made up a full (and very rough draft of a) plot in one day. :y The below picks up from chapter ”negative zero-point-five,” because I am the best at naming things.

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@its-tobacco-ash liked for a Christmas starter

   It had been a quiet day at 221b, which was a nice change from the busy and bustling streets of London. The radio in the kitchen was playing Christmas songs, had been all afternoon, as John busied himself in the kitchen. He had taken to making mulled wine for him and Sherlock, something to hopefully get them into the Christmas spirit (if only a little) and to calm Sherlock down and take his thoughts away from not having a case.

   The recipe had belonged to his grand mother and John always got a little nostalgic whenever he made it. John smiled and added two cinnamon sticks to their mugs before taking them into the living room.

   He placed one in front of Sherlock on the table and then settled next to him on the couch, enjoying them warmth of his own mug in his hands.

    “So,” He then began, “Let´s talk gifts. What do you want for Christmas?” 

     THE VACANT STREETS hosted a new figure- hardly visible over the few hastening passersby, but all the more… conspicuous. It received a few tickled glances- a passing giggle or whisper, but hardly anything more. Awfully realistic, wasn’t it ?

Max inclined against storefront wall, looking aloft, producing a small box from- well, somewhere- … and acknowledging the stranger beside him with a toothy grin.

     ❝ Yo ! You got a light ? ❞                                                                  🔪 || @blackeyed-mile

-Despite the years he had spent in this region, Johto still managed to feel foreign and wholly other to him.  Not even the Sevii Islands– of which he was a resident only a year or two– had ever made him feel so out of place.  He knew the tiny towns and quaint, if backwards, culture like the back of his hand, had learned the ins and outs of each little pocket of civilization and still he found himself far more on guard than anywhere else he’d visited in his lifetime.

-It didn’t help, of course, that he was here as a last resort.  That this arguably primitive locale was his– their– only choice after the fall.  They needed somewhere close, somewhere relatively out of the way or unremarkable, somewhere the presence of black uniformed shadows would be brushed off as malignant spirits to be warded off but otherwise undisturbed.  With what limited resources they could count on, this had been the best option.  Years had come and gone and witnessed their regained footing, their numbers and influence surging, and yet still he held contempt for what this place represented: the only place left to them after He had gone.

-Goldenrod City, with its streets and buildings casting its titular glow in the light of the mid-afternoon sun, was one small refuge for a man like Archer Apollo.  It was reminiscent of home, of the towering spires of Saffron and Celadon, of the tourist-flooded bustle of Fuschia and Vermillion.  Here, he breathed easier and felt more at ease.  There was no question as to why this place had been the center of their efforts, why the majority of their resources were funneled into this city above all others, why the Magnet Train had no other stops but here.

-Unfortunately, his destination was just outside the city itself and as he made his way south, there was a distinct temperature difference between the warmth of the city and the mostly uninhabited openness of route 34.  Insects hummed in the dwindling hours of daylight and there was a faint din of battle somewhere further south.  Grateful he had no need to navigate beyond it, Archer turned toward the squat, red-roofed building to his left.

-With a manilla folder tucked in one hand, he pushed his way inside to the tinkling of an over-the-door bell.  Inside and just behind the counter across the lobby was an attendant.  He recognized her from the file he’d studied earlier about the proprietors of the famous Goldenrod City Day Care and offered her his best politician’s smile as he approached the counter.-

Good afternoon, miss.  I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Akiyama.  Are they available?

    curious, as he extends the pair and grey scales are hit with a streak of sunlight bouncing off gold coated sewing shears. but what interests him is its design —- a bird. typical for its relation to needlecraft but what he wonders is the story behind the item.

    the daughter of a seamstress, perhaps? an individual who has taken an interest in the idea of making articles of clothing? or did she come from a similar place as he where shears were used to create tears in the fabric of space? he often wondered of similar things when it came to interesting strangers. but he stalls thinking for now, as he didn’t want to end up losing sight of the owner.

    red hair. blue dress. there. he followed in pursuit, and as soon as he made it at a respectable walking distance he made his discovery known. ❛ you dropped these. ❜ with weapon prowess he twirls the scissors like he would a butterfly knife and offers it back to the girl, the shear’s handle presented towards her direction.

✰. @perignotus !


“I could go for a clean quick kill…” Ayano muttered to herself. She knew that the girl she wanted to kill was going to be along any moment, and with the place seemingly be devoid of witnesses it made for the perfect place for her to commit a clean and witness-less murder…So she thought at this moment in time anyway. 

“…Or maybe I’ll stab her again, and again, and again…” She had her knife out, with it being clearly visible in her hand…Her plan here was simple : Commit the murder, then dispose of the body by dumping it into the nearby incinerator. If all went to plan, she’d leave no witnesses behind, and hopefully leave no trace of her killing either…

“Either way, I’m going to make her pay for daring to get near Senpai…”  She was getting prepared to strike at any second when her target would finally show her face…