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[cruzotecapp]

Top 5 On-Demand Medicine Delivery Apps in India: Healthcare Services at Your Doorstep

Technological innovation has changed every industry. The Uber business model has changed the on-demand industry and now they have tapped into the health industry.

Undoubtedly, the on-demand medicine delivery app development has made people’s life easier and more flexible. Now, people don’t waste time going to the pharmacy to buy medicine.

With just a few taps on their smartphone, people can easily order their required medicines and can get medicine at their doorstep without even going out. The payment gateways are also hassling free. 

Benefits of Medicine Ordering Apps

So, why should you look at developing your medicine ordering apps? Here is a look at the benefits for both customers and pharmacy businesses.

For Customers-

1- You can get your medicines while sitting on your couch watching TV

2- The apps offer great discounts and other incentives like free shipping

3- Get reminders about your medical needs at regular intervals so that you don’t miss out on them 

4- Access a vast range of information on prescription drugs and medicines

For Pharmacies-

1- A dedicated online presence that increases its customer base

2- They can attract new customers and reach new geographical locations via their app.

3- Search medicines and look for generic alternatives

4- Stores can manage their inventory digitally and get helpful reminders and notifications on expiry dates and upcoming medicine delivery schedules 

5- Offer different schemes and marketing campaigns to customers

6- Provide a superior level of customer service

7- Advantage of refilling orders from repeat customers

List of Top 5 Medicine Delivery Apps in India

1)PharmEasy

PharmEasy is one of the high rated medicine delivery apps in India. With the help of PharmEasy app, people can purchase medicine online and a delivery person can deliver medicine at the customer door within 24–48 hours. The app also allows people to buy healthcare products, OTC products, and all kinds of medical equipment online. It also allows booking diagnostic tests, online blood testing, a full-body checkup at pocket-friendly costs. Along with every order people can save FlAT 20%, this app offers you a discount of up to 70% on health tests and packages with zero sample pickup charges.

2)Netmeds

Netmeds medicine ordering app is operated by Dadha Pharma, one of the oldest pharmacies in India, trusted for quality medicines since 1914.

Using the Netmeds app you can easily order your medicine by uploading your prescription and place your order in minutes using the app. The app offers a 15% discount on all types of medicine and the delivery is made within 2 to 3 days.

3)MedplusMart

MedPlus is one of the leading and reputed pharmacy networks in India with more than 1500 stores in 7 states. It has offered genuine medicines, superior service, and great value for money to the people. Using the MedPlus app, you can buy not only medicines but also baby care, nutrition, healthcare, personal care, diabetes, and other products at the best prices.

Once you place the order within the app, you will get a notification when it is ready and you can pick it up from the nearest Medplus store. With the MedPlus rewards, you can get off up to 35% on medicine and with a genuine prescription, a straight 20% discount is given. 

4)BookMeds

Through BookMeds app, you can order medicine from anywhere and anytime just uploading the prescription given by the doctor. Using the app you can purchase diverse and different medicinal products such as surgical products, orthopedic care, mother and baby care, hospital equipment, medical gadgets, protein supplements, fitness products, etc.

The best feature of the app is you can set pill reminders. So, don’t forget to take your medicine on time. This feature is highly useful and recommended for senior citizens. You can avail of free cash on delivery and get your medicine order within 4-5 hours.

5)Practo

Practo medicine app is used mainly for doctor appointment booking, ordering medicines, scheduling diagnostic tests, or having an online consultation with your doctor at a convenient time. 

It also helps you to find online medicine services & solutions to enable you to take better care of yourself. Recently the company developed its online medicine app across 100 cities in India.

You can order over 40,000 listed medicines using the app. Practo has also tied up with local medicine stores and pharmacies during the pandemic which will help you to deliver your medicine at your door at the right time. This also helps the local stores to let their business survive in such hard times.

Start your free trial: https://accounts.cruzotec.com/register and Book a free demo session: https://calendly.com/cruzotec/product-demo

[fivecompanies]

Exploring Businesses In CDO

"Don't find customers for your products, find products for your customers"

Seth Godin

Oro Gadgets Center

Located in COGON, CDOC, the Oro Gadget Center is more than just a store; the owner of this store is Mr. Monte and his family; he did not give us his full name for personal reasons. The store offers gadgets and gadget accessories; they also provide quality products with warranties on every purchase, whether brand new or pre-owned. Senior citizens can enjoy special discounts, and they also have exciting promos to watch for. The store currently operates without employees, the family is the employee that handles everything, Their vision is big, and they want to expand nationally and want to open a branch in SM malls. Their challenges are in accounting and tax management but Sir Monte remains determined. The advice he gave to us is "Always be patient and ready to handle pressure, don't quit, even if there a little customers. Success will come"

ACN Trading

ACN Trading was founded in 1983 and has been a trusted name for the community for over three decades. They have around 20 dedicated employees, ACN caters to unique customers like the sikad drivers and motorcycle owners, and they provide high quality parts and services. They have even taken a business online like the Facebook page so making it easier for customers to find parts they need and they can also message the page. The owner tells us the long lasting for success is knowing what you're good at and what you love. The quote about that is "Focus on what you're passionate about and where your talent is".

Honda Cogon

Honda Cogon has been a trusted destination for over three decades and a trusted destination for motorcycle enthusiasts in CDOC. They sell Honda motorcycles which is my favorite brand for motorcycles, and they also offer a range of services, from sales and spare parts to lubricants and appliances. They have a branch that is under Desmark and Premio, but Premio caters other brands like Yamaha, Suzuki, and Kawasaki. The challenges they have are demanding customers and factory defects but they maintain customer-first approach. For the customers the provide a free wifi and coffee to ensure a welcoming atmosphere. They have a special promos, discounts, and aholiday deals, and the make sure customers get the best value for their hard earned money. The manager Mr. Jomari Pamisa shared an advice for us, his advice is "It’s not about how much you have, but how you use it. Follow your passion, ignore the naysayers, and learn from those who’ve been there before". Honda Cogon have 17 employees and 1 trainee.

Century Enterprises

For the last 14 years, Century Enterprises has been providing a products to local business owners, especially retail store owners which include my family which is also a business owner. They have four dedicated employees. The store offers attractive deals like a one gallon of oil will have a free one kilo of it. Older customers have a special discounts, ensuring they will keep coming back. Despite not having any branches, they have maintained a strong and steady customer, providing good service and fair pricing go a long way. Jenny Labor, the owner of Century Enterprises, tells us to save money first before starting a business.

Obsioma Car Aircon Repair

Founded on January 8, 2019, Obsioma Car Aircon Repair has been a trusted name in car air conditioning services in Cagayan de Oro. With a dedicated team of four, they cater to companies like LKKS, auto repair shops, and Transpecial. Most new clients come through referrals and their active Facebook presence. What makes them unique is their special discounts for pastors, loyal customers, and friends. They solve complex car air conditioning issues and maintain strong customer relationships through regular updates. With reliable suppliers like Anco, Reliance, and TrueAire, they ensure top-notch service. Started with a personal investment of $150k, their goal is to grow and expand. Through friendly and trustworthy service, Obsioma Car Aircon Repair is set to continue serving the community for years to come.

[thebittercorvus]

Hello, [KEEPER #427] and welcome to your training video!

If you're seeing this video, it means that you passed our initial test and are now part of the F.O.U.N.D Training Regime for Keepers. If not, kindly leave the facility and a team will make sure to dispose of this content properly.

Are you ready to begin?

. . .

. . .

. . .

Excellent!

Let's begin with some fun numbers! Here in F.O.U.N.D we love numbers, and we hope you, [KEEPER #427] will love them as well.

As of the recording of this video, there are 47 adult super humans in Lionsgate, and all of their profiles and current affiliations can be found in our website. It doesn't sound that impressive, but keep in mind that this process begun only a decade ago, and the technology to discover super-habilities is one that is still in progress! It is expected that in the next decade, that number will triple. And as such, here in F.O.U.N.D, we must be ready for that!

But what is F.O.U.N.D you might ask? Well, surely if you're seeing this video, after you voluntarily studied for and passed our background check and entrance test, then you surely must already know what we do. But! There's more to F.O.U.N.D than just the Keepers Surveillance Program. Here in F.O.U.N.D, we handle all sorts of day to day problems, such as public security, internet safety, workplace safety protocols, private security, state surveillance, automatized solutions and of course, the Keepers Surveillance Program.

Now, many people believe that the Keepers Surveillance Program is just, as the youth would say, an urban legend. And isn't that interesting? Here in F.O.U.N.D we strive to be a company that preserves the local culture intact, and as such, the Keepers Surveillance Program and its affiliations, as well as any other activities concerning the inner workings of F.O.U.N.D and related activities won't be talked about, discussed, mentioned or referred to, in public or private, online or otherwise, in a way that could be considered either serious or joking. By continuing to watch this video, you're agreeing to those terms and by failing to follow the directive, a team will be sent to your location to deal with you accordingly to the gravity of the transgression.

Do you, [KEEPER #427] agree to the terms and conditions explained?

. . .

. . .

. . .

Excellent!

Now, there are only three requirements to be a Keeper!

First one, they must be over sixteen years of age and without superpowers. It is a job after all, [and by law] and for the security of their employees, the F.O.U.N.D won't recruit anybody under that age. [They wish they could, but it'll take a while to set that in motion.] To find more information about our internship program and part time jobs, check out our website!

Second one, they must be an upstanding citizen. Here in F.O.U.N.D we're proud of our HEROES, all of our public figures that day to day bravely fight against our VILLAINS. As such, and in order to continue working the way we do, all our specialists run a very through background check for all of our possible Keepers. The requirements needed to pass the aforementioned background check might vary with time, location, appearance, social status, age, gender perceived or otherwise, sexuality perceived or otherwise, disabilities perceived or otherwise, ethnicity, interpersonal relationships, political affiliations, personal opinions regarding the super-people, internet history, school history, bank history, medic history and criminal records.

Here in F.O.U.N.D we're very proud to be an all-inclusive family, and as such, everyone above the legal age of sixteen is allowed to try out or be recruited for the Keepers Surveillance Program.

If you find out that you passed the background check, congratulations! You are Here now, and will be automatically enrolled in the F.O.U.N.D Reward Program, which includes but isn't limited to, full coverage healthcare, discount on all affiliated stores, subsidized tenement, monthly food stamps, monthly transport stamps and full college tuition. You may apply as well for the Family Plan as well [but are you willing to risk your family as well] in our website.

However, if you find out that you didn't pass the background check, then worry not! F.O.U.N.D will not be in touch, and we'll deploy a team to make sure you [REDACTED] are transitioned correctly back to your day to day.

And now, the third requirement in order to become a Keeper, is to always remember, the F.O.U.N.D Surveillance Protocol, and the way of life of the Keeper.

Alongside your instructional video and legal documents, a profile will be sent to you.

This, is your Kept.

As of the recording of this video, all of the 47 super-humans living in Lionsgate, are all of different affiliations. You might have heard of a few of them, as our beloved hero Darling is the most searched member in our database! Truly a wonderful woman! However, it is our duty to keep our common citizens safe from the casualties they might cause, regardless of their HERO or VILLAIN status.

As such, it is the Keepers role to keep watch of their Kept, and report back to F.O.U.N.D of all they do. In order to do this, the Keeper must learn the F.O.U.N.D Surveillance Protocol.

First and foremost, you must FIND your Kept, without being found first. Remember, the common citizen and the super-humans believe this is an urban legend, and as such, the Keeper must not disrupt their daily duties [And wouldn't it be nice if we kept it that way?], regardless of what those might be.

After FINDING your Kept, your must ORGANIZE your plan of action, and report back immediately that you've correctly identified your Kept.

After making contact with the company, resources will be sent to your location. It is then your duty to UTILIZE those resources while following both your training and the directives, in order to properly document your Kept's daily activities.

However, it is a matter of fact that both our HEROES and VILLAINS are smart people, and will inevitably figure out someone is following them. If you see the signs that they might have found you, you must immediately NOTIFY the company, and a substitute Keeper will be sent in order to take your role.

If you ever find yourself in trouble and are interrogated, tortured or otherwise questioned, follow the protocol! DEFLECT the questions until a team arrives, and if your human condition makes it hard for you to survive, remember! It's always the most honorable course of action to [DIE BEFORE GIVING OUT THE SECRETS] be silent until someone finds you! If you signed up for our Family Plan, a course of action will be taken as soon as the request is accepted by our team in Human Resources. The current waiting time is only [FORTY YEARS]!

Thank you, [KEEPER #427] for joining the F.O.U.N.D!

And remember, between our HEROES and VILLAINS, truly the fearsome ones are our brave Keepers!

No superhero works alone. Everyone has a “Keeper,” someone to help the paragons with their darker moments. Of the two, criminals and villains fear the Keeper more.

[splash-water-park]

Dive into Malpani Group Wet n Joy Waterpark Shirdi: Your Ticket to Splashtastic Fun!

Nestled amidst the spiritual aura of Shirdi, Wet n Joy Waterpark is a vibrant oasis of splashtastic fun for all ages. Whether you're seeking an adrenaline rush or a leisurely escape with family, this world-class water park promises a day of unforgettable memories.

Thrills for the Daring:

India's Largest Wave Pool: Brace yourself for the exhilarating waves that crash and churn in the massive wave pool, the crown jewel of Wet n Joy. Feel the surge of adrenaline as you ride the waves or simply relax and soak in the energy.

Heart-pounding Slides: Take your pick from a variety of slides that cater to every level of thrill seeker. From the twisting and turning Boomerang to the free-fall rush of the Space Bowl, get ready for screams of delight and heart-stopping moments.

The Rafting River: Embark on a wild journey through the turbulent rapids of the rafting river. Navigate the twists and turns, battle the water jets, and emerge victorious with a smile on your face.

Family-Friendly Fun:

Kids' Zone: Let the little ones loose in the dedicated kids' zone, featuring age-appropriate slides, splash pads, and a mini wave pool. Watch them squeal with joy as they create memories that will last a lifetime.

Lazy River: Float along the gentle curves of the lazy river, soak in the sunshine, and let the world melt away. It's the perfect way to unwind and recharge after a day of exhilarating adventures.

Rain Dance Floor: Groove to the pulsating music and let loose under the refreshing showers of the rain dance floor. It's a guaranteed way to beat the heat and have a blast with your loved ones.

More Than Just Rides:

Wet n Joy isn't just about the rides. The park offers a range of facilities to ensure a comfortable and enjoyable experience for everyone.

Delicious Food: Refuel after your aquatic exploits with a variety of cuisines at the park's restaurants and food stalls. From pizzas and burgers to Indian delights, there's something to tantalize every taste bud.

Relaxing Loungers: Take a break from the action and soak up the sun on comfortable loungers scattered around the park. Unwind with a good book or simply enjoy the serene atmosphere.

Shopping Arcade: Treat yourself to souvenirs and mementos from your Wet n Joy adventure at the on-site shopping arcade. Find everything from swimwear and towels to fun water toys and quirky souvenirs.

Planning Your Visit:

Location: Wet n Joy Waterpark is conveniently located on the Shirdi-Nagar Highway, just a short distance from the main temple complex.

Timings: The park is open from 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM throughout the week.

Tickets: Tickets can be purchased online or at the park entrance. Discounted rates are available for children, senior citizens, and groups.

Wet n Joy Waterpark Shirdi is more than just a water park; it's a gateway to a world of laughter, excitement, and unforgettable memories. So, pack your swimsuit, grab your sunscreen, and get ready to make a splash at this vibrant oasis of fun in the heart of Shirdi.

Additional Tips:

Wear comfortable footwear that can get wet.

Apply sunscreen to protect yourself from the sun.

Stay hydrated throughout the day.

Arrive early, especially during peak season, to avoid long queues.

With its exhilarating rides, family-friendly attractions, and attentive service, Wet n Joy Waterpark Shirdi promises a day of fun that will leave you wanting more. So, what are you waiting for? Dive into the adventure and experience the magic of Wet n Joy!

I hope this content provides a comprehensive overview of Wet n Joy Waterpark Shirdi and entices you to plan your visit soon!

[nabeelarasheeda]

Check out the Best Branded Men's Watches Online in Dubai to Make Up for Lost Time

Picture yourself sifting through the enormous selection of men's timepieces, each displaying a distinct narrative on your wrist. Dubai online shopping puts this experience at your fingertips. You may browse and find the top branded men's watches by online shopping and select the ideal timepiece that matches your personality and style in just a few simple clicks.

The World of Online Watch Shopping 

Let's study the world of online men's watch shopping in Dubai. There are several respectable brands and sellers active in Dubai's online marketplace. Many brands and price points are available on websites, including Amazon, Namshi, etc. Finding the ideal watch that fits your style and price range is simple when you compare designs, features, and costs.

The convenience of comparing designs, features, and prices at your own pace makes finding the perfect watch a breeze. Additionally, men's watches price online comes with exclusive deals and discounts, making luxury watches more accessible than ever.

An extensive variety of watch collections are available online, offering a wide range of timepieces from recognised brands in various categories. Finding the ideal watch that fits your preferences and price range is convenient and simple, thanks to the variety of selections, styles, and prices that can be explored with just a few clicks. Let's examine a couple of them in depth. 

Stylish Statements for Formal Occasions: Dress Watches 

Imagine that you are attending a black-tie event, fully dressed. A dress watch on your wrist brings subtle beauty to the ensemble. These clocks have timeless designs and are ideal for giving your formal clothing a refined touch. Exquisite dress timepieces that scream elegance and class are available from brands like Rolex, Omega, and Tag Heuer.

Smartwatches: Embrace Technology on Your Wrist 

One of the leading categories of watches among the available men's watches online in Dubai is smartwatches. Imagine wearing a smartwatch that connects you to the internet. These accessories allow you to measure your fitness, receive app notifications, and even take phone calls on your wrist. Leading manufacturers of smartwatches like Apple, Samsung, and Garmin, ensure that you remain productive and connected throughout the day.

Diving Watches: Underwater Adventure Awaits 

Consider going on a diving adventure to explore the ocean's depths. Your trustworthy friend and source of practical and life-saving features is a dive watch. These timepieces are reliable, robust, and designed to withstand the harshest underwater conditions. You can find the best diving watches price in Dubai through online shopping. High-end dive watches can be found at companies like Seiko and Citizen.

Aviator watches: Bring Out Your Inner Explorer 

As you put on a pilot's watch that was inspired by early aviators, experience the rush of adventure. These watches have striking designs, huge dials, and legible numbers. These were initially intended for pilots, but tourists and aviation enthusiasts now enjoy using them. Breitling and Hamilton, for example, are well known for their superb pilot watches.

Conclusion:

Embrace the thrill of watches online store in Dubai, where you can discover the best-branded men's watches from the comfort of your home. The possibilities are endless, whether it's a dress watch for formal events, a dive watch for underwater adventures, or a smartwatch for cutting-edge technology. Explore, compare, and choose the perfect timepiece that reflects your personality and aspirations. Make up for lost time and start your watch collection journey today!

[thoughtfulenemyking]

Buy home appliance

SarcoOnline.com is the best online portal in Oman, offering customers a one-stop shop for all their home appliance, Samsung mobile store, online watch store, and online offers needs. The online store provides customers with a wide range of products from top-notch brands, including Samsung, Sony, Apple, Huawei, Oppo, Philips, and more. SarcoOnline.com provides customers with an easy to navigate and user-friendly interface. Customers can quickly and easily browse through the different categories and find the product that suits their needs. Furthermore, customers can also benefit from the various discounts and offers available on the website. SarcoOnline.com also offers customers a mobile shop in Oman. This mobile shop provides customers with a wide range of mobile phones and accessories, all at competitive prices. Customers can easily compare different models, features, and prices, and make an informed decision before making their purchase. The website also offers customers a wide range of online watch stores. Customers can find a variety of watches from different brands, including Seiko, Citizen, Casio, Fossil, and more. Furthermore, customers can also find a variety of watch accessories, such as straps, cases, and bands. In addition to offering customers a wide range of products, SarcoOnline.com also provides customers with a range of online offers in Oman. Customers can take advantage of the various discounts and offers available on the website, and save money on their purchases. SarcoOnline.com is the best online portal in Oman for all your home appliance, Samsung mobile store, online watch store, and online offers needs. With an easy to navigate and user-friendly website, customers can quickly and easily find the product that suits their needs. Furthermore, customers can also benefit from the various discounts and offers available on the website, and save money on their purchases.

[nomadsecuritycamerabuy]

Nomad Security Camera | Why Should You Buy It?

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[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[creationwatches-blog]

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[copperbadge]

[Hogs Killing A Snake by John Steuart Curry; American Gothic by Grant Wood]

I’ve been thinking about the digital experience of art since going to the museum yesterday. My mother loves to see art, and she loves it when I go and send her photos. Any museum I go to now, I’m not only there looking; I’m snapping photos of art I like and sending them to her, and she sends back commentary. It slows me down to look for longer, and it also allows me to have a dialogue with someone even when I’m there alone. For example, she knows I love Hogs Killing A Snake, and I loved that it was across a gallery room from American Gothic so that it looked like the woman in American Gothic was watching it happen. So I sent her this picture to express sadness that it had been moved. I am now at once both museum guest and amateur curator. 

It got me to thinking that if I had the coding ability or the sheer time or the fundraising ability, I would build an app that connects people who are going to museums with people who want to see art but can’t, for whatever reason -- particularly senior citizens who are maybe a bit frail to get out, or aren’t near art and have no good way to get to it. Or even just, I’d love to see Guernica and while clearly I can look at it in books, I feel the experience of someone texting me a live photo of the painting would be exciting, and my odds of getting to Madrid anytime soon are low. Like yes, most museums have their collections online and many have virtual tours you can take, but it’s not the same as having another person there to offer their opinion and ask yours. 

The idea would be that if you’re going to an art museum, you log into the app and tell it the time, date, and museum you’ll be going to, and it matches you with someone who, at that point in time, is free to receive photos and descriptions of the art you see and respond to them -- maybe even request a specific piece or subject matter (my mother likes birds and sculpture). You could also build a “tour” that someone could explore later if they wanted. You could even find someone who wants to see a museum near you and go just for them. 

There are logistical problems of course -- the whole “dick pic” issue being probably the worst, and it would be devastating to expect an art tour and then the person never logs on -- but I feel those could be got around. I don’t think funding would be much of an issue, lots of philanthropists want to support the arts and museums could kick in or even become participants (for example offering discounts on tickets to people who are going there to give a “tour”). You could program it to know when you arrive at the museum and prompt you with a reminder to take lots of pictures and send them to your “guest”. And since the messages would be in-app nobody would have anyone else’s phone number unless they hit it off and wanted to tell each other so they could do future “tours”. 

IDK, I don’t know how people build apps or even how they pitch them to potential funders, but I might investigate. I think it’s a fun idea. 

[kkrazy256]

For the comfort asks can Remedy please have a nice day outside-

By some miracle of shift scheduling, Remedy has a full day off. He had planned to use it to just go hang out in inventory and maybe oversee some instrument calibrations. But the rest of the med team just wants him to relax for once. This is probably the first time he's gotten a full day (two consecutive shifts) off since he transferred. They make up a list of items they want to be bought in the city (small cheap things that are easy to grab from one place) and hand him some of their savings. All big pleading eyes and laments about a certain snack that's run out in the medic breakroom cabinets. Now Remedy's gotta go outside.

Most of the time, he only gets to go out into the city at night. Usually for his trips to the lower levels to trade/steal supplies. They're never for fun, and he's more focused on his surroundings for safety reasons rather than sightseeing anyway. But he does like the thrill of walking on high beams and looking out at the night lights. Everything feels so small and far away from up here. It's like looking at one of those elaborate city dioramas he sees on the holonet (but can't afford). In those moments, everything feels much more manageable. Like he could just reach out and pick it all up and move it however he wished.

The city is very different during the day. The air is still stagnant and filtered, but it's a lot cleaner on the upper levels. Remedy's in some civvies and a tattered cloak he took from the lost and found. He takes a walk. Not too far from the Senate Building and Guard Headquarters, but far enough. It's a lot more visually busy (unlike the hidden movements in the dark).

Remedy tries some of the local street food, liking how flavorful and cheap most of them are. He stands outside museums, reading plaques on the exhibits. A lot of them aren't clone-friendly or have tickets that are too expensive. Coruscant residents get special discount packages. But clones aren't citizens, much less residents. He is fine with watching from afar.

He goes to a park. A little area with patches of grass that were probably brought in from far away. Most of Coruscant feels fake like that. He lies back on the grass, it prickles against his skin through the cloak. It's also pleasantly warm. The type of warmth that envelops you from within and makes you feel like you're under the covers. The type of warmth where you close your eyes and see orange behind your lids, like darkness never exists. Remedy wonders what it's like to fall asleep to a world that doesn't turn dark when he closes his eyes. So he takes a nap. It's the best sleep he's gotten in a long time.

He doesn't get up until the sun is starting to set, and the orange is starting to dull into familiar greys. He goes to the local market to get the little things that his medical team told him to grab. He also buys a few spices and peppers so he can finally try out a recipe he saw online. He also finds a few plants that would grow well in their little herb garden on the laboratory floor.

He returns back to the medbay with his haul and the team paws through the goods, munching away on snacks they rarely get to eat. Remedy makes the recipe, enough for everyone to share. They ask him how his day went.

It's tired, a bit awkward, but it's a rare Remedy smile that they get in return.

"Nice. It was a nice day."

[haberdashing]

did it hurt (when you fell from heaven)? (5/?)

The world is changing now, and many of its inhabitants are changing with it.

They are calling it a Transangelic Epidemic: the sudden and monstrous transformation of hundreds of good citizens.

Sasha James doesn’t think it’s anything she should be concerned about until, after spending the night with a coworker who’s more than just a coworker, her back begins to ache…

Inspired by Transangelic Exodus; should be readable without having read that first, but they are very much set within the same verse.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

on AO3

It took Sasha about a week and a half of working from home before it occurred to her that most people probably wouldn’t adapt to her current living situation nearly as well as she had.

Tim ran all her errands for her now to avoid her having to go out in public, though nothing about the change was visible just yet; it was easier to establish that she just wasn’t an errand-running sort of person than to set up a pattern of running errands out of the house and then avoid suspicion while suddenly breaking that pattern, after all. There were one or two where she’d still had to go in person, such as picking up her HRT from the chemist--she’d worn one of her heavier jumpers then, just in case--but by and large, Tim had it handled. Some people might have missed the errands, but honestly Sasha was just relieved to not have to deal with them anymore; it was easier to go about her life without thinking of when she’d be able to fit those in.

Not that her schedule was terribly difficult to fit things into to begin with, mind. That was the other thing. Most people’s social lives, especially in London, seemed to involve going to pubs regularly with a gaggle of friends or attending concerts every weekend... but Sasha had never really bothered with that sort of thing.

Sasha didn’t just spend all her time while working on the computer; the vast majority of her social life operated through it, too, and had for some years now.

She was a bit more careful about what she said online now, though. Sasha hadn’t told her Internet friends that anything was different, that she’d stopped going in to work or had bad back aches, though she’d thought about what she’d do if she had to bring any of that up, had prepared a few not-quite-lies about chronic illness and regular pain stopping her from going into the workplace. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, exactly; she just knew how insecure their usual means of communication were, if somebody had a mind to get her data from them.

(If she did everything just right, of course, nobody would think of going after her data in the first place, but there was no use in hanging all her hopes on perfection there.)

The only person she’d ever really gone out to spend time with was Tim, and, well, living together made that rather unnecessary. They spent plenty of time together now, and she didn’t really mind the scenery changing less than it had before when the time spent together was the same. Why go sit in a pub drinking overpriced booze and watching whatever happened to be on the pub telly when she could sit at home in her own furniture drinking regularly-priced booze and watching whatever she damn well pleased?

The one thing Sasha missed most from having to stay at home 24/7 was a little coffee shop that was a block away from her old flat. She’d been something of a regular there, bringing her laptop and hanging out there for hours while nursing a sugary coffee; the workers there all knew her name and order by heart, and a couple of them even gave her the employee discount by now. If she closed her eyes and thought about it hard enough she could practically smell it, the scent of coffee and pastries in the air that always seemed to make the day that much more enjoyable.

Sasha didn’t know if there were any similar coffee shops by Tim’s place (their place, now). It didn’t really matter, though; she couldn’t go anyway, couldn’t risk triggering suspicion by becoming a regular somewhere and then up and vanishing one day when her transformation became too great to hide.

If she wanted sugary coffee and pastries, she would just have to make them herself.

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[frankbelloriley]

Because Film Twitter nonsense is making me insane, I’m going to write some things out and hopefully I can concentrate long enough to do a Black Judas and Nomadland double feature.

So a couple weeks ago, I come across this brain dead take. I’ll say why it’s a brain dead take in a second, but for now:

This take is dumb for a few reasons. Number one, the academics who created and elaborated on the term auteur theory were students of Andre Bazin, two dudes named François Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard. Two dudes who kick started the French New Wave of cinema, and there’s a direct creative throughline from those guys to the American Independent Scene of the 90s. So again, on one level, saying auteur theory was created by academics who never worked on films is already showing your whole ass. 

Two, auteur theory isn’t a way to make films but a way to critique them. What auteur theory is, and how it was created, was that Andre Bazin, as a film critic, was watching the works of William Wyler, John Ford, and Howard Hawks, and was like, “Hmm, the films by these individual directors share similar artistic traits. I wonder what’s that about.” And wrote about it. That’s it. That’s all it is. William Wyler likes long takes, John Ford likes to frame things inside the frame, and Howard Hawks likes fast dialogue and action on multiple planes of the screen. That’s all it is. If you want to call a director who calls himself an auteur a douchebag, go right ahead. If you want to talk about production designers or cinematographers in a similar vein, go right ahead. Matter of fact, if you talk to some film critics (or, god forbid, actually read them), some will argue that the role of the director is diminished to other factors. But to say auteur theory doesn’t exist is stupidity. And, in addition, directors get all the credit because they also get all the blame if a movie’s shitty. As they should. Yes, film is a collaborative medium, but it’s all channeled through one vision of a director.

But hey, it’s Twitter, the Bad Take Generator. I was willing to let it slide but-

This dude works in the entertainment industry. Like, not knowing entertainment history is one thing, but actually flaunting that you’re talking out of your ass? And I do mean flaunting it.

Buddy, you can’t say “hot take” and then point out people are getting mad. You said a provoking statement and then act confused when people get provoked? You’re driving the Bluth stair car when you hit send. You’re gonna get some hop ons.

But whatever.

Couple weeks pass, then this past Monday, the Nashville reporter for the NYT made a bad tweet about Citizen Kane saying, “this is why I never watch anything before 1975.” And he got clowned a bit as he should (”really leaving out The Godfather, and to his credit, he was like, “yeah, my taste is awful.” Dude’s biggest crime is tweeting something that should’ve been a text. Who among us? He deleted his tweet, and that should’ve been the end of a terrible discourse.

But on Tuesday, Lexi Alexander, an actual film/tv director, was like, “It’s completely fine to not like old movies, they were all made by sexists and racists. People who say you have to like them are elitist.” And, listen, if you’re going to discount movies before 1975 for that reason, I got some real bad news about 1976-today’s film industry and Harvey Weinsten (for those who know where this story is heading, yes this is foreshadowing).

And, of course, film critics, being who they are (students of film and film history), took issue with that sentiment. Some film critics never even going to film school, simply going to a library because books and films are widely available. Personally, if you think it’s elitist to like Casablanca, you are a fucking weirdo. One critic Jason Bailey took her bad tweet and cropped out her name and commented on it. This is where the story gets weird.

Because Lexi, who the past week has shown cannot be able to take an L and log off, claims Jason Bailey sent his followers after her. Because of a cropped tweet. Now, at this point I do not want to dismiss that there are some bad Twitter actors saying truly negative things at her, but for the most part it’s, “this is a bad take coming from a film director.” But she keeps doubling and tripling down. Another film critic Walter Shaw comes to her defense and now he gets trolled as well and also doesn’t handle it well. In Walter’s zeal to defend Lexi Alexander on the internet from “misogyny” (as she has now called all criticism from her bad tweet), he calls Richard Dreyfuss’s son the c-word. People, rightly, point out the hypocrisy of decrying misogyny while using that word. He deletes his Twitter account as a result.

It’s around this time where an Emerson student tells her to shut the fuck up and she threatens to send an email to the dean and get him expelled. This is Thursday afternoon.

I just want to pause this for a second because the victim complex is about to get sadder and like, you are a film director. You work in the industry. What are you doing here, man? Like, I know, I know, the past calendar year of the pandemic has done incredible mental damage, but come on. When do you recognize this isn’t healthy?

Back to Thursday afternoon and a lot of people who were just watching this happen now see that a film director is trying to get a college student expelled for saying “shut the fuck up” are now trying to calm her down. A black woman film critic stepped in to nicely say this:

Seems very reasonable. If it were me, I would’ve logged off long ago, but definitely now. I have gotten in spats on Twitter where I had to log off, it’s fine and, in all likelihood healthier.

Lexi is not reasonable.

Man, yikes. But Lexi does log off later that Thursday evening. Things seem quiet.

For 24 hours. And then she comes back with this doozy.

Gonna go ahead and firmly say “internet trolls are nowhere as bad as a serial rapist and definitely super not worse than a serial rapist.” I feel pretty okay in saying that. Also gonna go ahead and say: what are we doing here? How did you get here? And: when asked to clarify:

What is this? What is the point of this? What is to be gained?

I don’t even know how to end this. I’m just really depressed. Like, these are people who are in charge of making film/tv and seem to despise the history of it, and when pointed out the possible errors of their mindset, seem to go weird online. How? I’m so confused.

[corpsentry]

fandom: haikyuu!! rating: teens pairings: atsumu/hinata, thomas/inunaki, gen stuff characters: the entire msby black jackal starting lineup, but with a heavy narrative focus on meian notes: quarantine fic, stuck in a mountain lodge fic, quarantined in a mountain lodge fic, ensemble dynamics

Nature is healing, the birds are returning, and Miya Atsumu is setting the kitchen on fire.

ao3 mirror

Every evening at six, they have the Animal Crossing debate.

“So,” begins Atsumu. He raps the whiteboard he stole from the hidden walk-in closet. He makes eye contact with each of them in turn except for Inunaki and Thomas and Sakusa, because Inunaki is asleep on Thomas’ shoulder and Thomas is having an existential crisis and Sakusa is studying his nails.

“So,” Shouyou parrots back. Shouyou is the only reason the Animal Crossing debate hasn’t devolved into an Animal Crossing dictatorship. He leans forward in his seat, brushing elbows with Bokuto who is distracted. Bokuto’s Skype hasn’t been working properly all day.

Feeling validated, Atsumu clears his throat. He gestures at the contents of the whiteboard which include his obscene monthly paycheck and Raymond and a list of every online gaming store in Japan.

“Today’s question.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Should I spend a hundred thousand yen—“”

“—Objection your stupid honor, no—” Sakusa.

“—On the Animal Crossing switch which comes with a tempered glass screen protector and the Animal Crossing pouch and the Animal Crossing: New Horizons game and a laminated mini-poster of Raymond or should I—”

Thomas nudges Shuugo’s shoulder. “Is he actually sleeping,” he whispers frantically.

Shuugo glances over at Inunaki. He’s jammed into the side of Thomas' sweater and crunching something imaginary between his teeth. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking of killing someone or thinking of killing someone.

“Yes,” Shuugo whispers back.

“—and destroy the garden,” Atsumu concludes.

The sound of something creaking above them. Bokuto thinks there’s a ghost haunting the attic. Shuugo thinks it might actually be Bokuto haunting the attic. He is simply unaware of the possibility.

“No,” Shouyou says brightly.

“Yes,” Bokuto says distractedly.

Atsumu begins to lean against the whiteboard in an unconscious bid to look like he has everything under control. “What.”

“Don’t destroy the garden and don’t buy the switch,” Shouyou clarifies.

Doubt flashes across Atsumu’s face even though Shouyou has said no to him every single day this week and last week and the week before that as well. Sakusa has produced a nail filer and is filing his nails in his corner of the sofa. Inunaki’s eyes are wide open and he’s looking at Thomas like he wants to kiss him or kill him. Thomas is looking at Shuugo like he wants to kill him.

“Meian-san.”

“Shouyou.”

“Atsumu.” Shouyou is the only reason Atsumu is still sane and also the only reason Atsumu is not quite sane anymore but sort of just dragging himself through each day with his face on the floor.

Sakusa has begun to file the sofa. Atsumu’s whiteboard slides three meters to the left, yanking him off-balance with it. Bokuto gives his phone a half-hearted shake and it bounces harmlessly off Thomas’ shoulder. Inunaki hisses at him.

Atsumu tries again, “is this about the garden or is it about the Animal Crossing. Hey, Shouyou. Are you listening.”

“Where are you going, Meian-san?” Shouyou asks, serene as a Buddha.

“To the bathroom,” Shuugo says after a pause, and then heads up the stairs and locks himself in his room and plays Candy Crush on his phone until he falls asleep.

::

The lodge was initially Shouyou’s idea. His mother’s friend’s uncle owned a lodge at the base of Mount Fuji and while they usually would have rented it out to AirBNB guests at this time of the year, the website had recently been banned in Japan due to transparency issues and they were good law-abiding citizens, so they stopped. Since they had the space anyway, they said to Shouyou’s mother over tea and rice crackers, would her son be interested in spending a few weeks in the mountains? Of course, there would be a generous discount.

So Shouyou said yes but only discovered later, as he had not thought to ask, that the lodge was not the size of a 2LDK apartment but a small castle. There were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms and a large industry-grade kitchen that contained three bread machines and a brick kiln. There was a barbecue pit in the backyard. They discovered an ouija board presumably left behind by previous inhabitants, Shouyou texted all of them about it over the weekend, and so the deal was done.

Shouyou would go because he liked the mountains and resonated with them spiritually, having cycled up and down one for most of his high school career. Atsumu would go because Shouyou was going. Bokuto would go because two of his friends were going and Sakusa would go because he was promised his own room and two bathrooms, and he was interested in the ouija board. Inunaki would go because he liked mountains despite being the emotional equivalent of a volcano, and Thomas would go because he was still caught in the middle of their fucked-up courtship ritual that had been going on for years now. Shuugo was hired as parental supervision. The Black Jackals could not afford to have their starting lineup incapacitated in the mountains before the next season began.

Naturally this all took place in early March, before the entire situation devolved into mass hysteria and toilet paper shortages and nature’s attempt to reclaim the gacha machines from mankind or whatever. When they arrived at the lodge COVID-19 was only on Sakusa’s mind, because Sakusa read the news religiously. It was also occasionally on Atsumu’s mind, as Atsumu was prone to bouts of sudden and sustained anxiety. However, every time Atsumu made eye contact with Shouyou the matter would be expelled from his mind as a ball, hit out of the ballpark, lands in some deserted parking lot several cities away. So Shuugo figured they would be all right.

Then, of course, they were extremely not all right. But by then all the local supermarket ladies had already fallen in love with Thomas and his cashmere sweaters and his smile. Surely they wouldn’t let them go back down the side of the mountain without trying to tear off a limb. Or two. Or twelve. So they stayed.  

::

On Friday, Atsumu breaks the washing machine. He claims it broke by itself and that he was simply pressing buttons like a good Japanese citizen but Sakusa later extracts the truth from him, which is that he bodyslammed the washing machine before he tried pressing buttons like a good Japanese citizen. Which makes him a shitty fucking Japanese citizen, said Sakusa. Anyway all the buttons he pressed were the wrong ones, so it wouldn’t have made a difference. Shouyou calls his mother’s friend’s uncle to apologize for the washing machine in the evening and he doesn’t seem that bothered. It was turning twenty-five this year, apparently, which made it an immortal god of a washing machine. Someone would have had to put it in its place eventually.

They don’t tell Atsumu that he broke the twenty-five-year-old washing machine though, because Sakusa’s mad about having to hand-wash all their clothes from now on. Additionally, Atsumu seems to be experiencing emotions in relation to the washing machine as he doesn’t host the Animal Crossing Debate for the first time since they got stuck here, and goes to sulk in Shouyou’s room instead.

Shuugo knocks on Shouyou’s door after dinner, meaning to check on him and make sure Atsumu hasn’t ripped a hole through the bedroom wall that Shouyou shares with Bokuto. He’s a little concerned but not too concerned. There are sounds coming from behind the door, which means that he still has at least one spiker or one setter.

He sticks his head inside. He sticks his head back outside.

He regrets everything.

“Meian-san,” Atsumu says several moments later, fully-clothed and experiencing even more emotions than he had been experiencing when he first found out about the washing machine.

“No.”

“...I’m sorry.”

Shuugo doesn’t have it in him to meet his eyes. He passes along Sakusa’s message with less bite than Sakusa had probably intended, and then goes to the kitchen to look for a drink.

::

NINTENDO SWTICH @m_atsumu

You Will Never Know The Value Of A Moment Until It Becomes A Memory.

::

“What do you mean you finished all the peach purunto.”

“Uh.” Thomas stares at his feet. He stares at the ant presumably crawling on the floor beside his feet. He stares at Shuugo, who is watching him from the big sofa in the living room and drinking a pouch of grape purunto. “Um,” he repeats in a slightly higher-pitched voice.

Shuugo salutes him for good luck and Thomas' shoulder twitches in response. He can’t make any big movements now or Inunaki will be startled and then try to kill him. This has been the state of affairs between them for a while now, since the Izakaya in December where a waiter tried to take Thomas home and Inunaki almost set their private room on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he tries.

The truth is Thomas doesn’t even like peach purunto. He likes grape purunto because he thinks the peach-flavored stuff doesn’t taste artificial enough. Everyone on the team knows this except for Inunaki, who Thomas has been engaging in a fucked-up courtship ritual for the last fifty-nine years. Everyone also knows that Shuugo and Bokuto have been stealing things from the fridge after midnight and not Thomas, who sleeps like a newborn baby placed in subzero temperatures and thus retires to bed early every night. But Thomas isn’t in a position to tell Inunaki anything.

That being said, neither is Shuugo. Shuugo squeezes the plastic pouch dry. He props his arms up on the back of the sofa, chewing peacefully on the last of his konnyaku, while Inunaki approaches Thomas and Thomas approaches the counter.

Thomas makes a sound when his hip bumps into the drawer. “Sorry,” he says again on instinct. Oh Thomas, Shuugo thinks wistfully.

Inunaki stares up at him. Shuugo can’t see his expression but he can picture it perfectly in his mind. It’s the same expression Inunaki wears when he’s about to receive a nasty serve. It’s the same expression Inunaki wears when he’s deciding what drink to get from the vending machine outside the gym.

“Peach purunto is my favorite.”

“I know.” Thomas does know. Poor guy. Shuugo sends him another prayer.

“So what.”

“What?”

Inunaki’s voice almost cracks here, as if he were the one being cornered and not the one actually doing the cornering: “Am I not your favorite?”

Thomas' knees give out. He slides to the floor. The two of them vanish behind the kitchen counter in a dramatic moment full of romantic tension and fear.

“Is that allowed?” he asks in a voice so high-pitched and breathy and small it probably wouldn’t register on a decibel meter or the Richter scale.

“Do you like me or do you not?”

Shuugo flops silently back onto the sofa and rolls to the ground, excusing himself from the room. He doesn’t need to watch this part.

::

Or maybe he should have because apparently Thomas said no out of embarrassment and Inunaki flipped him off and stole the third button off his shirt and now there’s a problem. Thomas takes a swig of his shochu mixed with grape purunto. “There’s a problem, Meian-san,” he says miserably. “I only have one good shirt. And now I look like a gravure model.”“Because of the button?”

Another swig. “The button is enough.”

Downstairs Bokuto is talking to Akaashi the shounen manga editor on Skype or at least trying to. Upstairs Sakusa is ransacking the hidden walk-in closet for more cleaning supplies. Last Shuugo checked, Atsumu’s room was empty. Shouyou’s was not. Shuugo is never sticking his head into anything without acquiring firm vocal confirmation of his safety ever again.

“Where is Inunaki-san anyway?” Thomas looks right through him to the other side of the world where he is probably having the time of his life in Paris.

Shuugo thinks about it. He sips at his peach purunto.

“The backyard?”

::

The story goes that they all wound up in a lodge the size of a small castle at the base of Mount Fuji but then the world blew itself up and everyone got sick. Their supervisors decided, talking anxiously to Shuugo over the phone, that it would actually be better for the Black Jackals’ starting lineup to hang out in the lodge until this whole thing blew over. Was that possible? Please, Meian-san? Please?

Meian Shuugo, being completely defenseless against the word please, immediately turned to Shouyou. Shouyou, being completely defenseless as a general state of being, called up his mother’s friend’s uncle and offered them a generous portion of his obscene paycheck. And Atsumu’s obscene paycheck. And all their paychecks, actually.

Of course you can stay, they said over tea and rice crackers that could not be seen but could be heard over the crackling speaker of Shouyou’s Nokia phone. We don’t really want to go up there ourselves right now anyway, what with the cruise ship and the epidemic and everything.

Thanks, said Shouyou. In the background Sakusa was making Atsumu sign a contract to stop using Sakusa’s second bathroom.

Are you sure you’ll be okay, Shouyou’s mother’s friend’s uncle added as an afterthought.

Shouyou laughed brilliantly and confidently into the receiver.

“Don’t worry, Kishimoto-san,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

::

Bokuto video calls Akaashi the shounen manga editor every night. They’re boyfriends, so this makes sense. What doesn’t make sense to Shuugo is that Bokuto conducts these video calls in the living room. He has either not discovered the wall socket in his room or decided that he is above it. He has also either not discovered that Akaashi, his shounen manga editor boyfriend, is very busy, or has decided to ignore the fact entirely.

They don’t use Zoom because Akaashi the shounen manga editor has qualms about private user information and where his is going. But Akaashi doesn’t seem to say anything during any of their calls anyway, so no one’s really sure why Bokuto bothers calling to begin with. Is Akaashi the shounen manga editor even real? Is Bokuto imagining things the way he is the ghost haunting the attic? One time Shuugo walked past the sofa while Bokuto was on it. His laptop screen was blank.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, stretching the ‘a’ like a piece of taffy formed from several pieces of taffy stuck together.

“...About the ghost in the attic...”

“...Tsum-tsum broke the washing machine...”

“...I think his name is Jonathan...”

Shuugo gives Bokuto one last glance before leaving the living room with his chips. Who the hell is Jonathan? Who is Bokuto talking to? Today, as well, the mystery remains unsolved.

::

HEY HEU HEY @b_koutarou

MY SKYPE ISN’T WORKING SOMEONE PLEASE HELP

hey @k_tetsurou

Are you sure it isn’t working. Maybe the other person just doesn’t want to talk?

HEV HEY HEN @b_koutarou

SUDDENLY I CANNOT READ

::

They all find it unnerving that Atsumu politely agrees to do the dishes for the next two weeks as emotional compensation for breaking the washing machine. They find it unnerving that Atsumu doesn’t snap back when Sakusa declares that he is inferior to business majors over dinner on Tuesday. They’re all so busy being generally unnerved that it doesn’t occur to them that Miya Atsumu may have other plans that have temporarily deterred him from being an asshole, such as being an asshole at a later date.

“GONNA TAKE MY HORSE TO THE—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“ —OLD TOWN ROAD—”

“WHAT’S HAPPENING BOKUTO-SAN?”

“RIDE TIL I CAN’T—”

“MEIAN-SAN.”

“THOMAS?”

“ATSUMU.”

Silence. Atsumu turns to look at them. “Shouyou!”

“Atsumu!” Shouyou takes a step towards Atsumu from behind the sofa, where the rest of them are gathered like one’s online shopping information hides behind a firewall. He holds his hands up in front of him, palms out, to indicate non-aggression. “What are you doing?”

“I’m washing the dishes,” says Atsumu, who has clearly given up on washing the dishes.

“And what are those?”

“Portable speakers. Found ‘em in the hidden walk-in closet.”

Shouyou tries to get closer but Atsumu holds up the kitchen hose like a knife and waves it at him. Every decent industry-grade kitchen comes with two meters of kitchen hose these days. It’s a necessary self-defense tactic.

“Come any closer and I’ll hose you. Even if you’re Shouyou.”

“Do you not love me?” Shouyou asks, heartbroken, probably.

“Does he really love him?” Sakusa comments from behind the sofa firewall.

Thomas and Sakusa exchange a look of equal parts horror and indifference.

“I love you,” Atsumu says, blissfully unaware of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s general existence at this time. He is in Clear Pain. The hose is trembling in his hand and Shuugo fears suddenly that he may let go of it. The water being emptied at breakneck speed into the sink can be dealt with later. If it decides to empty itself in another direction, they will need more than a sofa to save them.

“But I,” Atsumu lowers the hose, shuts the water off. His hands are still soapy and there’s an odd, unhinged look in his eyes. “I can’t wash the dishes in silence.”

Shouyou takes three steps forward. “Why?”

“Well, I mean.” Atsumu tilts his head to one side like a serial killer in a serial killer movie does in the moments before they jump the main character’s best friend who is dictated by cultural tradition to be the first to die. Or maybe Atsumu is the main character’s best friend. Or maybe Atsumu doesn’t watch any serial killer movies.

He tilts his head to the other side quietly.

“It’s boring?”

::

They let him keep the portable speakers.

::

Shuugo calls his wife and kids on Skype every other night. On every other other night he wanders around the lodge like a ghost until the early hours of the morning, thinking about unresolved high school conflicts and the next V League season and his grandparents up in Hokkaido. Sometimes he checks the attic for ghosts. Usually he doesn’t. He’s confident he’ll find Bokuto there one day.

“Why don’t you just come back?” his wife asked, the first time they Skyped. He had to explain that he trusted his wife with all his heart when it came to looking after herself and their kids. But, and Shuugo said this earnestly and passionately, he didn’t trust a single member of the MSBY Black Jackals to look after themselves, except maybe Barnes, who was not present. They were professional volleyball players, not professional adults. No one ever really becomes a professional adult.

“This is a good chance for them to learn,” his wife commented, patting the top of Kenta’s head like a buzzer in a gameshow, but more gently.

Shuugo shrugged. “This is a major historical event. They’ll learn some other time.”

Kenta pushed himself up into the camera and said something indistinguishable. It was about Doraemon or the cockroach infestation episode of Gintama and Shuugo wasn’t sure which. He waved back at his eldest son. His eldest son nodded gravely and was buzzered back into his mother’s lap.

“Say bye to daddy, Kenta.”

“Insect repellent.”

“Love you too, kid.”

Tonight is one of those long, sleepless nights. Shuugo ducks into the hidden walk-in closet to see what’s been stolen this week, makes a note of who to yell at the next day, and ducks back out before he can meet anyone he doesn’t want to meet. He checks the toilet paper reserves. He spends an hour lying on the sofa in the living room by himself, scrolling through photos of his family and his dog. His wife sends them every day except for Thursday when she has to catch the live simulcast of her favorite drama on NHK. Kenta looks like he’s managing; Kohki, less so. But then and again, Kohki is three.

He dozes off on the sofa. In his dreams he’s fifteen again and everything sucks except for volleyball, which he doesn’t suck at, which he’s the best at. There’s a boy he thinks he might be in love with but first he wants to get a popsicle from the corner store. Wait a minute, he tells the boy. I’ll be right back. He runs to the corner store and buys his popsicle and runs back to the place where he had promised to meet the boy and it feels like no time has passed at all. Maybe three seconds, maybe three years. But the boy isn’t there anymore. The sun is setting. The street is empty, and there’s a volleyball bouncing by itself at the far end of it, silhouetted in red and orange and gray.

In the morning he’s awoken by yelling from three different directions and the smell of something burning. It’s unbearably, saccharinely sweet so it must be Atsumu again, perhaps with the help and passionate support of Inunaki. The time on the clock reads something fifty-two and he can’t be bothered to squint harder. It doesn’t really matter. Sun’s up anyway.

“MEIAN-SAN.”

He clears his throat. “COMING.”

He sighs, shakes the cramps out of his shoulders, and heads off to save his kids. The ridiculously tall and fast and powerful ones with the impulse control of a flock of mature geese. The ones who play volleyball.

::

Inunaki wants to go grocery shopping. This is not news as everyone generally wants to go grocery shopping, barring Atsumu who has been living in a bubble of sustained anxiety since they got here and is only maintaining his sanity because of Old Town Road and Hinata Shouyou. But this week Inunaki seems particularly agitated about it. He starts the morning off by trying to make sourdough and destroys the first bread machine. He gets pissed about that and destroys the second bread machine. He pulls down the giant projector screen in front of the sofa and blasts K-ON at full volume all afternoon while Sakusa tries to film a skincare tutorial and Bokuto tries to nap and the whole house smells like sourdough starter. Shuugo almost regrets drinking his peach purunto. No, he chides himself. You will not regret what cannot be changed. Like peach purunto and sake parties. Like sake parties.

In contrast Thomas has always seemed the most hinged of the lot, though recently Shuugo has been approaching the astronomical revelation that this may in fact be a false impression created to lure you into trusting him with your life. After all, borderline-nonexistent impulse control is an entry requirement for all members of the MSBY Black Jackals except for Barnes, who is not present. Every once in a while Shuugo catches Thomas staring off in Inunaki’s vague direction like a chicken stares at a smaller chicken. It worries him.

Through the combined efforts of Shouyou, Bokuto, and Atsumu, they trap Inunaki in Sakusa’s second bathroom without Sakusa’s knowledge and convince him to watch a purunto infomercial on Sakusa’s laptop, also borrowed without his knowledge. The infomercial is something like ten minutes long. It’s a contingency measure arranged by Sakusa several days ago. If you need to stop Inunaki-san, he said last Friday or Monday or perhaps Sunday, dabbing at his cheeks with pore cleanser while Shuugo leaned against the doorway of his first bathroom and played Candy Crush. Then use this.

So they use it. Inunaki is successfully eclipsed from the equation and Thomas and Shuugo haul ass to the old Toyota parked outside and while Sakusa dreams of whatever Sakusa is capable of dreaming of, like clean oyster shells and hand sanitizer commercials probably, they drive down the side of the mountain to the supermarket.

::

Meian Shuugo grew up in a prefecture just outside of Tokyo. It was the kind of bland suburban neighborhood that wasn’t particularly interesting and contained only three convenience stores, located next to the police station, behind the police station, and several hundred meters away from the police station beside the supermarket. By extension, the supermarket Meian Shuugo grew up with was not particularly interesting either. It had all of the aisles a supermarket was expected to have but it didn’t have a playground for kids or a box television for kids or a giant stuffed Pikachu in the candy aisle. Shuugo, being a kid for most of his childhood, was unimpressed.

The supermarket in the town located half an hour shy of their lodge reminds him, acutely, of his unimpressive youth. He walks through the sliding glass doors and is assaulted with upbeat music, chatter, crying babies. Perhaps in another life he was born in this town and grew up bounding up the side of a mountain, doing mountain-child things like chasing beetles and building rafts to float down the creeks that were embedded in its face. Perhaps in another life he grew up the exact same person.

Thomas hands him a list, then goes to grab a shopping cart. They work methodically; Shuugo reads out Thomas’ neat, Sharpied-in handwriting and Thomas grabs things from the aisle at record speeds. Shuugo wonders, this week as well, if Thomas is secretly telepathic.

“Toilet paper, the eight-pack.”

“Got it.”

No, he corrects himself. If Thomas were telepathic he would not have said no to Inunaki, who clearly wants to resolve the conflict they launched in the Izakaya last December even if his actions seem to say otherwise. Thomas hauls the toilet paper off the highest shelf and deposits it, with care, in their cart. Thomas the shopping cart chauffeur. Thomas the good guy.

“You’re a good guy, you know,” Shuugo says seriously. There’s not much left on their list; eggs, sake, dried seaweed sheets for Atsumu who has recently added it to his collection of coping mechanisms he picked off of self-care articles on Buzzfeed.

Thomas the shopping cart chauffeur turns to look at him. “I am?”

“Course you are.” Shuugo squats down in front of the chocolate section. His hand hovers over the thin row of plastic Chocobaby’s. It’s Kenta’s favorite.

Thomas laughs quietly. “Inunaki-san doesn’t seem to think so.”

If he buys the Chocobaby he’s sure Thomas won’t call him out for it. But Atsumu might, if he gets jumpy enough and his brain decides to latch onto it. And Sakusa definitely will. And even if neither of those things happen, who will eat it?

Shuugo sighs. “No, Thomas,” he says, stands up, brushes off the front of his pants. He grabs a bag of mini M&Ms resolutely, dumps it in their cart. “He does.”

“He does?” Adriah Thomas, twenty-eight this year and six-foot-seven, tall enough to strike fear in the hearts of most modern modes of transport including the Boeing 377, looks at him quizzically.

“You’re surprisingly dense, Thomas.” Shuugo takes over his chauffeur service for the time being and wheels their cart down the aisle towards the frozen goods section. His starting lineup may not be fond of tiny unimpressive chocolate pellets but he knows for a fact that ice cream will make the next week that much more bearable. “Maybe that’s how you got this far in life.”

“What does that mean, Meian-san?”

“C’mon. Let’s get more peach purunto.”

::

NINTENDO SWTICH???????????? @m_tsumu

instagram user @joshokfine is the only remaining source of stability in my life. be like joshokfine. be better.

::

It starts pouring just a little shy of four in the morning on Saturday. Ordinarily one would be awake to witness this but they’ve been stuck up here for four weeks now, or maybe five, or maybe twenty-seven. No one sleeps when they’re expected to anymore except for Sakusa, who has packed enough moisturizing face masks to last him through the second coming of Christ.

So it starts raining and then the wind starts screaming and the windows start yelling and Shuugo is in the kitchen pouring himself something like his seventh cup of sake with sparkling fuji apple juice when Atsumu shows up at the end of the hallway in a giant pink quilt.

“Meian-san,” he croaks.

“Morning,” Shuugo says cheerfully, toasting him from the kitchen counter.

“It’s raining.”

“Yes.”

“It’s thundering.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Shuugo sets his glass down. He combs a hand through his hair and cringes. When was the last time he showered? Yes. No? He removes himself from the kitchen, steps out into the dim orange light of the living room. Atsumu has designer eye bags and designer eye bags beneath his designer eye bags. The kid looks like he’s been through hell. Or had a nightmare about it. Or had a nightmare about something else, like a pandemic or Raymond from Animal Crossing or breaking up with his boyfriend in the middle of a pandemic while still being without Raymond from Animal Crossing.

Shuugo wipes his hand off on his shirt and clears his throat. “What can I do for you?”

::

The lodge is fucking huge. That was the first thought Shuugo had when they’d finally finished lugging all their shit up the side of the mountain and Thomas’ old Toyota had been parked in the clearing outside and Sakusa and Atsumu were arguing loudly about optimal bathtub water temperatures just beyond the front door. Seriously, Shuugo mused, craning his neck, this lodge is fucking huge. The living room was not a living room so much as it was a giant open space with a vaulted, three-storey ceiling and spiraling staircases that led off on each side to narrower, but equally majestic, hallways. Carved into the eastern wall of the first floor was a large, industry-grade kitchen which contained a walk-in fridge and a brick kiln. In the center of the floor was a floral sofa.

They argued over whether the space that the sofa, and the accompanying automated projector screen and thirty-nine succulents, occupied should be called a living room at all. This went on for the first few days. In the interim Shouyou and Thomas explored the kitchen and Atsumu explored setting the kitchen on fire. Atsumu also explored the door at the end of the northern hallway on the third floor, and discovered the hidden walk-in closet that probably hadn’t been opened since the economic bubble burst in the early 90s. Bokuto explored the attic above the third floor via a trap-door in the ceiling and declared that it was haunted. Inunaki drank peach purunto. Sakusa found a hornet's nest in the woods nearby and tried to bring it back.

They never did get to have the full-blown debate about whether the sofa space should be called a living room, because by the start of the second week or the third or maybe the tenth, maybe the eighteenth, the world had stumbled backwards into the figurative hornet's nest of life itself. It emerged from the immediate aftermath covered in burns and uglier burns and violent, angry scrapes. As China began to pull itself together by the seams its neighbors both immediate and distantly-related began to show symptoms, keeling over in the dystopian-movie-dust.

Come April, they were all in the thick of it. Of what, you ask? No one knew. But they sure were.

::

There’s something about rain and nighttime that demands your attention. Shut away in your highrise apartments and your suburban houses, your grandmother’s old Japanese-style estate; shut away at home with the lights on and the world off, the world cordoned out; the rain is the only thing that reaches you. The sound of it. The pitter-patter. The footsteps.

Meian Shuugo invites the rain to shut the fuck up as he herds his starting setter to the sofa. Atsumu has been going through it for a while now. They all know this, the way they know he talks to his twin on Zoom some nights because he doesn’t care for private user information and what happens to his. However, no one mentions it because unlike Bokuto, Atsumu has discovered the wall socket in his room, and decided to use it.

“Shouyou’s asleep,” Atsumu explains and for the hundredth time or maybe the thousandth, he doesn’t think numbers are real anymore, Shuugo marvels at how tenderly he says Shouyou’s name. If someone had said his name like that when he was twenty-three Shuugo would have driven off immediately and bought them a ring or challenged them to a Beyblade fight. He wonders if Shouyou will do either of those things one day. If he’ll get the chance to.

Shuugo hums. The star of the lodge, beyond the brick kiln with the unidentifiable bones and the thirty-eight succulents, is the chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Usually it’s bright as ass but it’s raining outside today and it’s four, so they’ve got the lighting mode set to Orange And Moody. Which, Shuugo gathers, seems to be the correct setting.

Atsumu opens his mouth, still wrapped up in the giant pink quilt that he probably stole from the hidden walk-in closet. “I’m being an asshole right now, aren’t I?” he asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Not right now right now, if that’s what you’re talking about—”

“—Meian-san.” Atsumu is unimpressed and he shows it too much. If he wants to look unimpressed he should look dimly unimpressed or at most vaguely unimpressed, or he’ll come off as being over-invested in the whole affair. Granted, the kid’s always been bad at handling his emotions. But this is a moment of what Shuugo recognizes to be shaky vulnerability. Even for Miya Atsumu.

Shuugo smiles. “Yeah?”

“That’s not funny.” Atsumu sinks further into the sofa, vanishing between two very large floral cushions.

No, Shuugo has half a mind to say. You’re not very funny. I try not to tell you that because Sakusa says it enough for all of us but really, most of your jokes suck.

“Well,” Shuugo says instead, thoughtful. “What does being an asshole mean to you?”

“Uh. An inconvenience?”

“What does the current situation look like to you?”

“An inconvenience?”

Shuugo claps his hands together and then winces in very quick succession. If he’s judging this right then there’s a high chance Inunaki’s still awake thinking about the Izakaya they went to last December, and Bokuto might still be in the attic. He should stop.

“That’s right,” says Shuugo, not stopping. “If being an asshole is about being an inconvenience then the whole world’s being inconvenienced right now. In general. Does this look like optimal functioning to you?” He gestures broadly around him and hopes that Atsumu doesn’t think he’s pointing at the thirty-eight succulents.

“Because it isn’t. Everyone’s tired, Atsumu. Everyone wants things to start getting better.

“So given that we’re basically living in the asshole of the universe right now, I don’t think you’re being an asshole. Do I wish you’d stop listening to Old Town Road while doing the dishes? Yes. But do I wish Thomas and Inunaki would stop pretending they never want to see each other’s faces again off-court like the two main leads in a Korean drama? Yes. Do I wish I were at home right now in Tokyo with Mai and Kenta and Kohki? Of course.

“But no one gives a damn about what I want in the asshole of the universe. So no one gives a damn about you either.” Shuugo reaches for his sake. “What I’m trying to say is: buy your switch.”

He takes a sip of his sparkling fuji apple sake thing. He’s good at holding his liquor but the alcohol’s loosened his tongue and the rain isn’t letting up and it’s late or it’s early, depending on who you ask. Depending on who you are, and what you’re afraid of. He wonders if Atsumu’s still thinking about the thirty-eight succulents. The thirty-ninth has been missing for a few weeks now. No one knows for how long exactly. Time, remember?

Atsumu furrows his brows. He seems to be thinking very intently about something. Shuugo hopes it’s the fate of the universe.

“So, the Animal Crossing edition,” he says slowly, the color returning to his cheeks. “Do you think I should get that one?”

Around them the rain continues to fall. Every once in a while a bolt of lightning comes within an arm’s breadth of their tiny sanctuary away from the world and the toilet paper shortages and all the suffering and cruelty and unfairness. It lands at their feet. Light erupts from the ground like a star splitting in half and sticks to their faces, their hands, their teeth. For half a second, the interior of the lodge turns so white, it almost blinds them.

::

Shuugo wakes up at five in the evening on the sofa. His toes aren’t frozen solid the way they were the last time he fell asleep on the sofa. He sits up. Something pink and fluffy slides off his chest.

Inunaki is yelling at Thomas from the second floor. They’ve made an error in the toilet paper calculations, or someone’s used up all eight rolls in a week, or both. Inunaki’s disappointed and upset and he wants to get out of the bathroom. And he wants to talk about the Izakaya incident. And he wants a peach purunto.

Shuugo scrubs the heel of his hand down his face. He stretches his arms over his head. Then he rolls off the sofa with the quilt still drawn tight around his shoulders like a cape. And so begins another day in the life of Meian Shuugo, father and husband and professional volleyball player, and motivational speaker, and friend.

::

A conversation between Shouyou and Atsumu, as overheard by Bokuto who was taking a really big dump in (Sakusa’s bathroom) (but don’t tell him that) (no one tell Sakusa anything no really I will sic my ghost on you):

(Shouyou, I have something to tell you.)

(Let me guess. You ordered the switch.)

(Huh????? How the fuck do you know I ordered the switch.)

(You talked to Meian-san, didn’t you?)

(What the fuck. Are you telepathic?)

(No, Atsumu. I’m your boyfriend.)

::

A conversation between Thomas and Inunaki, as overheard by Atsumu who was hiding from his demons in (Sakusa’s bathroom) (who the fuck owns a bathroom anyway) (this is a communal household) (I am not hiding from my demons I am engaged in an act of civil protest):

(Inunaki-san.)

(I know you’re not the one who finished all the peach purunto.)

(Oh. Okay.)

::

In a surprising twist of events Sakusa has not only brought enough moisturizing face masks to last him until the second coming of Christ, but also stashed a metric fuckton of toilet paper in his second bathroom.

“I knew you would disappoint us some day,” he says neutrally to Thomas, who goes off to cry in front of the barbecue pit for twenty minutes.

“It was partially my fault too,” Shuugo says, feeling apologetic for some reason.

Sakusa watches Thomas go with the face of a merciless, unsmiling god. “But mainly his.”

In spite of the hornet's nest he tried to bring back in the first week, Sakusa consents to the public use of his second bathroom. He deletes the contract he made Atsumu sign that had previously prevented him from legally entering, but refuses to let them port the twenty-four toilet paper rolls jammed under his sink to any of the other bathrooms. It’s a personal thing, he says while peeling his third milk honey face mask of the day off with his fingertips. Who are they to complain? It’s his toilet paper.

Regardless, the toilet paper doesn’t grant him immunity from Meian Shuugo, who despite his stunning alcohol consumption record is in fact still the parental supervision figure in this household. This gives Shuugo certain rights such as the right to walk into rooms without knocking, though he’s decided to stop doing that and become a better person, and the right to use the barbecue pit after ten. Also, if he says they’re going to have a Ghibli movie night, they’re going to have a Ghibli movie night.

They have the Ghibli movie night. On Sunday. Or Friday. Or whatever. Whatever. They have it.

When Shuugo was a kid his family would sit on their ugly living room couch and watch Ghibli movies together instead of working through their disagreements with transparency and care. This is partially why Shuugo was not a kid for as long as most kids, but he can tell you exactly which scene comes after the fat cat in The Cat Returns gets stuck in the giant vat of pink Jell-o. He can also tell you, with full confidence, that Ghibli movies will do things to you. What kind of things, you ask? Does it matter?

Once again, they head into the hidden walk-in closet on the third floor and return with piles of blankets, quilts, and a bag of Calbee chips without an expiry date. On the way out Shuugo notices shuffling from above him and discovers, for the first and hopefully last time in his life, Bokuto Koutarou in the attic having a serious conversation with an owl.

“His name is Aka,” says Bokuto.

“Very sly of you,” says Shuugo. “I’m not going to ask why there’s an owl up here.”

“He only visits sometimes.”

“Okay. Great.”

Bokuto follows him downstairs. Shuugo picks a feather out of his hair and wonders if this is what zookeepers feel like. They collect Sakusa from his bedroom after peeling off twelve honey-and-lavender face masks, and make a stop at Thomas' room. The door creaks open after a few seconds and Inunaki sticks his head out. His hair is tousled and his eyes are puffy.

“What do you want,” he says.

“We’re having a movie night.” Shuugo resists the urge to pat his head. He may be turning thirty this year but sometimes he feels like he’s eighty-five and everyone else on his team is four and he has to do something to make sure they grow up right.

Inunaki follows him and Sakusa and Bokuto down the stairs and Thomas sneaks out of the room afterwards when he thinks no one is looking. They are actually all looking and rightfully so, seeing as it is Thomas’ room they just stopped by and Inunaki should not have been there at all. But no one says anything. Thomas tip-toes down the stairs in all his Boeing 377 glory. Inunaki goes to the fridge.

Shouyou and Atsumu have returned from the hidden walk-in closet and have started building a fort in front of the projector screen. The process consists of Atsumu lying face-down on the floor, motionless, while Shouyou throws things with a hardness rating of less than five at him: a blanket, a stuffed Pikachu, a bolster.

“What movie are we starting with,” Atsumu asks.

Shuugo salutes him from the kitchen even though Atsumu can’t see him. “Princess Mononoke.”

Atsumu lifts his head for a moment and stares past the floor-to-ceiling window to the other side of the world, where he is having the time of his life in Florence.

“Good,” he says. Then Shouyou throws a slightly larger stuffed Pikachu at him, and he disappears from sight.

::

In Atsumu’s words, everything sucks like fucking shit. In Sakusa’s words, everything’s piss-awful. In Thomas' words everything is sort of unbearable and in Inunaki’s words where is the peach purunto. In Bokuto’s words Akaashi the shounen manga editor is more stressed than the entirety of Japan combined and needs some time to himself. In Shuugo’s words, ew. Ew, ew, ew.

“Ew,” Atsumu says when the mountain god’s head gets decapitated and the screen fills up with the blue liquid-y stuff that mountain gods are apparently made of. Inunaki gives him a look that’s so utterly and completely disgusted that Atsumu excuses himself from being Shouyou’s armrest and stands up.

“You wanna fight, Inunaki-san? You wanna fight?”

Inunaki does not detach himself from Thomas’ cashmere sweater. “No.”

“Atsumu, I can’t see the screen,” Shouyou says sleepily, and Atsumu’s expression does a one-eighty off a cliff and dies.

“Oh. Sorry.”

It’s three in the morning by the time they get to the fifth movie. Or is it six? Shuugo decides it doesn’t matter and then pulls a fast one on all of them by putting in Grave of the Fireflies which, Sakusa complains, is too dry for this time of the year. In spite of that, Sakusa is the only one who manages to watch it from start to finish, his eyes glued to the screen while he files his nails discreetly in his corner of the sofa. Beside him Inunaki has fallen asleep against Thomas’ shoulder and Thomas has fallen asleep against the headrest, Sakusa having pushed him gingerly off of him half an hour ago. Bokuto is snoring loudly with his face in Inunaki’s armpit. Beside Bokuto Atsumu is asleep with his head in Shouyou’s lap, and Shouyou is mumbling something incoherently about rice.

Meian Shuugo reaches for the remote control and turns the projector off.

“You should go to sleep too,” he tells Sakusa. He reaches for the blankets and begins to drape them carefully over the sofa in criss-crossing patterns.

Sakusa yawns. “When do you think this will end.”

Shuugo shrugs. “Eventually.”

Sakusa inclines his head, then stands up and stretches. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.” He collects his belongings from the coffee table and goes to the kitchen for water.

“No, thank you for the toilet paper.”

“Self-preservation skills. You learn them early on in life when you’re me.”

::

They stop having the Animal Crossing Debate because Atsumu’s switch arrives next week, delivered by a courier in an inflatable T-Rex costume who says he’s here on god’s business. But they keep going with the whiteboard and the six p.m. discussions and everyone jammed up on the big sofa in the living room. It still doesn’t feel like a living room and the lodge still feels like a castle, complete with ghosts and unidentifiable bones and the ouija board Sakusa’s smuggled away to his room. But when they roll up all the curtains, the floor-to-ceiling windows start communicating with god or something, and the sun does a cool break-and-enter routine that ends in fireworks. Everything it touches goes up in flames. It’s kind of beautiful.

“Today’s question.” Thomas raps the whiteboard they stole from the hidden walk-in closet weakly. “Should we have spaghetti for dinner?”

Atsumu looks up from his switch, and Shouyou follows. “Did you read my tweet?”

“Atsumu. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Oh.” Atsumu looks back down at his switch. On Shouyou’s insistence he’s recently downloaded Kirby Star Allies. He is surprisingly into it.

Inunaki raises his hand. “Objection your honor,” he says. “I don’t think we should have spaghetti for dinner because it sucks.”

Thomas makes a face at him. It doesn’t really work because he’s six-foot-seven and wearing a Victorian suit he found in the hidden walk-in closet, but apparently it works for Inunaki, who repeats, with more conviction, “it sucks.”

“It does not suck,” Thomas insists. He begins to lean against the whiteboard in an unconscious bid to look like he’s not emotionally affected by Inunaki’s words.

“Can we have rice,” Sakusa says. “We’re Japanese.”

“I’m not Japanese.”

“You’re Inunaki’s boyfriend. Honorary Japanese.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Sure it is,” says Bokuto, who is back to texting Akaashi for the time being instead of calling him on Skype. He now carries a power bank and a cable with him everywhere. To the bathroom. To the barbecue pit. To the woods.

“Why don’t we have both?” Shouyou suggests. Shouyou is the literal and metaphorical light of their lives right now, although Sakusa would be hard-pressed to admit it unless they gave him another bathroom. Shouyou also comes up with some of the most god-awful ideas sometimes. Like inviting everyone to a lodge in the mountains during the off-season and getting them trapped in a major historical event. Like trying to live each day to the best of his ability as if he’s Rapunzel from Disney’s Tangled and not twenty-three and severely, inhumanely sleep-deprived. He still wakes up at five-thirty every morning. Shuugo asked him about it once. He said he needed the time to meditate.

“Why don’t you just meditate later?” Shuugo went on, hanging over the back of the sofa and watching Shouyou channel his inner Buddha of peace for something like the third time that week. The sun had not yet risen but it was beginning to put in efforts towards it. A thin strip of gold ran horizontally between the land and the sky, dividing them in jagged and uneven strokes.

“It’s not the same,” Shouyou said, exhaling through his mouth, eyes closed. Shuugo wondered briefly if he was bothering him, then figured that Shouyou would tell him if he was.

“I need to be awake each morning to make sure the world’s still there. To say good morning.”

Shuugo picked idly at the upholstery. “What happens if you aren’t there?”

“Who knows,” Shouyou laughed, brilliantly and confidently, and in that moment Shuugo understood for the first time in his life how he alone had not succumbed to the timeless insanity of quarantine. Perhaps in another life Shouyou had been born tall and powerful and with the kind of instinct and skill that Kageyama Tobio carried around on his shoulders all day. In this one, he had seen the second coming of Christ once already, and built himself a new skin in its wake.

It was the routines. The morning meditation and the rolled eggs and the five-hour-nap in Atsumu’s room. The evening runs through the woods and the card games at night. It was Atsumu’s Animal Crossing Debate and the chaos that always followed, the chaos that generally followed the MSBY Black Jackals everywhere they went, as if they had been born into incredulity and outrageousness and passion. Passion for their sport. Passion for life itself.

They aren’t professional adults. No one ever becomes a professional adult. They try to be professional siblings and children and lovers, professional commuters and pastry chefs and shopping cart pushers. They try to leave their suburban neighborhoods and the boys they never get to see again behind. They try to be kind to themselves, even as the world begins to slide resolutely off a cliff.

And they fail. And everything sucks. And everything’s sort of unbearable right now. Even Sakusa has stopped checking his phone religiously. They’d rather watch Grave of the Fireflies ten more times than put on NHK news.

So ew. Ew at the present state of the universe. Ew at Shuugo’s hair. Ew at the amount of money Atsumu spent on his Animal Crossing switch which came with a tempered glass screen protector and the Animal Crossing pouch and the Animal Crossing: New Horizons game and a laminated mini-poster of Raymond.

And fine. Because what else can they do now but shut up and keep going? If there’s a God up there he’s definitely laughing at them with his hands full of nail clippers and clean surgical masks and health, cash, all the forgiveness the world needs right now. He’s probably making coffee as they run themselves into the ground, as they run their rivers dry.

So everything’s been going to shit for a while now. You’d think they’d get used to it, but they still haven’t. Which is to say that they’re still angry enough to fall in love and expect something to happen. Which is to say that they haven't given up on their dream of finding a ghost in the hidden walk-in closet. Which is to say that, in spite of the toilet paper shortages and the hornet's nest and the weepy sake parties, all the fucking weepy sake parties, there’s hope.

::

Are you sure you’ll be okay?

(The sound of rain, laughter, a ball hitting the ground.)

Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.