#airplane excitement

[jakemyboy]

There's a plane!

He will always pick up a ball when there is a plane. This is one of the few inside toys that has become an outside toy recently. I guess it's just as good as a ball!

I believe it was a stuffed dog, but now it looks like baby Simba from Lion King.

[sashi-ya]

I completely changed the course of my life, and I'm happier than ever. I'm starting a new career next week. I know, I might be "old," but it's never too late to search for new horizons 🤭💕 hopefully, by the end of the course, I'll become an Airplane Dispatcher. For those who don't know me, my dad is a pilot and a meteorologist, so I was born and raised in between airplanes and airports. Therefore, this isn't new to me, and it is something I always wanted to do! I am aware you might be wandering wtf what is going to happen to your nurse degree? Nothing! I'm still a nurse and I'll always be. Unfortunately, in my country, being a nurse or a doctor isn't well paid in the slightest, and I've lost all my motivation during the pandemic... people are very ungrateful to say the least. Another thing are my health issues, I'm often debilitated due to lupus, so working at a hospital is very, very difficult when you feel like that... you are often not taken seriously, and you have to work even while about to drop. My health and life are more important!

So, be happy! Always search for your sun! It's ok, don't be afraid ☀️✈️

[tempo-takoyaki]

Uh oh, someone spiked the tea!

(Image without text under the cut: )

[blueshistorysims]

February 1937, Henford-on-Bagley, England

Shortly after the children left for school, Eleora received a letter from her father. It had been marked urgent and sent all the way from India. She’d known that her father and brother were in India for business, but she wondered why he had sent a letter so urgently.

Of course, when she read the letter, the reason was made known. Vikram Patel, Samira’s father and Miranda’s maternal grandfather, was dead. He had a heart attack while he and Sir Salim were eating dinner, and by the time medics arrived, he was dead. Eleora had known Mr. Patel most of her life and while she and Samira were at university, he always sent Indian candies for girls.

Eleora was waiting for the children to come home. She wanted to speak to Miranda before she broke the news to everyone. 

“Hello Mummy!” Amalia yelled upon entering the house.

Simon-Elliot gave his sister a look as Miranda shut the door behind them.

“Miranda darling, I need to speak to you for a moment.”

Miranda looked rather worried. “Am I in trouble, Aunt Eleora?”

“No, of course not.”

“What is it?” Miranda asked after Eleora shut the door. 

Eleora sat down and beckoned her to sit next to her. Miranda followed, tugging at her school skirt as she sat down. 

“I’ve had a letter from my father. He’s currently in India with my brother for work. Um… your grandfather passed away about two days ago. He had a heart attack.”

Miranda began to cry almost instantly, and Eleora’s maternal drive kicked in, hugging the child tightly and whispering sweet nothings.

When Miranda calmed down, she stood up, wiped her eyes and glasses, and stared at the floor. “Why does everyone in my family die?”

Eleora stood up. “Miranda.”

“It’s true. Grandpa died before I was born, Mum died giving birth to me, Da died, Grandama’s dead, and now so is Ājōbā.”

She walked over to the child, holding her face gently. “Well, what about your Ajī and Aunt Elspeth? Your many second cousins?”

“I barely see them. And I only know a few words in Marathi, and half of them don’t know English.”

“I’m going to write to your grandmother, send our condolences since we won’t be able to make the funeral, but I will let her know that instead of staying in Bombay for two weeks like we normally do, we’ll spend most of the summer holiday there, that way you can be with your family in India and perhaps improve on your Marathi.”

“Really? The whole summer?”

She closed her eyes and sighed as Miranda hugged her tightly. “Of course, dear.”

[bleep-bloop-boo]

dhskfvfif I LOVE TRAVELING AND PLANES SPECIFICALLY SMM

THE COMMUNITY ALWAYSSSS REINSTILLS MY FAITH IN HUMANITYY

there was this old woman who had had bandages around her shoulder and a brace on her arm. she sat in the wrong seat and some other guy came and asked her to move. everyone around us stopped, just to help her out. shes not a native english speaker, someone explained to her what she needed to do. everyone cleared the path for her. every single one.

BUT THE BEST PART

EVERYONE HELD THEIR HAND OUT SO SHE COULD LEAN AGAINST THEM TO HELP HER TO HER SEAT

AND EVEN MORE?? THEY ASKED AND TOOK HER BAG AND PASSED IT DOWN ONE BY ONE TO HER SEAT

then the people around her helped her settle in and made sure she was okay <33

AND THEN THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS CAME BY AND CLOSED ALL THE OVERHEAD CABINET THINGIES BUT ONE DIDNT CLOSE AND THEY DIDNT REALIZE SO LIKE 3 PEOPLE, WHO DIDNT EVEN HAVE THEIR LUGGAGE THEIR, ALL TOGETHER WENT AND FIXED IT AND PUSHED IT UP FOR THEM-

ik its pretty small but skrbeod djsskdvjejd this is what community is. helping out each other free of cost. i love humanity :))

[belovedstill]

NOT a Time Loop (Definitely a Time Loop) (ao3) svsss, platonic cumplane | T | 7.2k, pre-canon, canon divergence, set in modern world, time loop, airplane & cucumber bro, trope-specific repeated major character death (more, including warnings and spoilers, on ao3)

When Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky decided this morning to end his writing career, he didn't expect he'd be responsible for the death of his harshest of readers, nor that he'd unintentionally cause something that's definitely not a time loop. Hahaha, everything is alright, thank you very much! ...But what's the deal with Peerless Cucumber?

a while ago, I wrote a tiny 'different POV' part for this fic which you can find here 😊

Full fic on ao3 & under the cut

It begins like so:

A stranger at the table next to his orders the blandest meal the diner has to offer.

Shang Qinghua opens his laptop. He presses the ‘Post’ button on the drafted work, logs off, and shuts the lid of the laptop with his heart both heavy and light with tentative relief. Some other patron’s phone gives a loud ping. He sips his coffee, too tense to even register the taste. He gets up, leaves a tip too small to be considerate but big enough to leave a dent in his savings, and leaves the diner. On his way out, he hears an enraged shout, quickly doused by the diner’s staff.

Whatever, it’s not his job to care about patrons causing a ruckus.

He goes home, buries himself in his bed, and sleeps undisturbed for the rest of the day.

It begins like so:

Shang Qinghua opens his eyes at the diner table. In front of him, there’s a laptop with his final post on Zhongdian still in draft form. He blinks at the screen. Looks around. Sees the same decor and the same patrons and the same tired staff.

Wow, déjà vu, he thinks, takes a sip of his too-bitter coffee, and clicks ‘Post’.

A stranger at the next table receives the blandest meal the diner has to offer, but accepts it only with a half-hearted hum, staring at his phone instead. The phone chimes.

Shang Qinghua sighs to himself, logs off his account, closes his laptop, and sips the rest of his coffee, too tense to truly appreciate the moment. He leaves a tip too small to be considerable but big enough to leave a dent in his savings and walks out of the place. On his way out, he hears an enraged shout, quickly doused by the staff.

…That’s weird—but it’s not his job to care about patrons causing a ruckus.

He goes home, thinks how strange it is that he still feels as if it’s all happened before, and buries himself in his bed. He sleeps uncomfortably through the rest of the day.

It begins like so:

Shang Qinghua opens his eyes at the diner table… again? He looks around.

The diner is still relatively busy for the post-breakfast crowd. Some of the few patrons look perky enough for it to still be before noon, and the staff still looks tired and already resigned for the fast-approaching lunch hour. Shang Qinghua's laptop is still open on his draft of the final author’s note on Proud Immortal Demon Way, his coffee still looks too black and too bitter, and—after taking a sip—still tastes that way, too.

Is double déjà vu possible? He's definitely experiencing it right this moment, so it must be a thing. Sometimes, real life is stranger than fiction, that's for sure.

“Your low-fat, no-sugar, no-nuts, no-berries, dairy-free porridge,” a waitress announces at the table nearby. The young man sitting there acknowledges her with a hum without looking away from his phone.

Shang Qinghua waits to check if his phone will ping this time, too, but it stays silent.

He breathes a sigh of relief. Damn, he almost thought it was a time loop sort of situation!

He snorts at himself, shakes his head (no more Internet for him for a while!), and with a heaviness in his heart—and lightness, at the same time—he posts his final chapter, logs off, and closes his laptop.

The stranger’s phone pings with a notification. Shang Qinghua freezes on the spot.

Heart beating faster in his chest, he throws the tip money onto the table, grabs his laptop and bag, and flees from the diner.

He doesn’t go home. No, no, no, this is not a time loop! If it were, he would go home right now, but look! He’s not going home. He's not trapped and he has free will, he can go to—oh, I don’t know, the arcade looks fun!

Only he doesn’t have money to spend there and the staff will ask him to leave if he’s just hanging out.

So, the shopping mall, maybe?

Again, no money!

The park. The park! As long as it’s anywhere but home, things should be okay and non-time loopy at all.

The park is pretty much abandoned at this time of the day, what with it being school and work hours. Shang Qinghua would know; he graduated university just last year—(wait. No. It's been two, three years by this point, hasn’t it?)—with a literary degree that earned him nothing and only swallowed the money he didn’t have in the first place.

The job market is a cutthroat place, anyway. He’s never had any illusions that he would find a well-paying job within that short of a timeframe after graduation. Besides, so far, he only has a Bachelor diploma, and everybody and their mother knows that nowadays Bachelor holds next-to-no distinction whatsoever. So what that he’s graduated? Countless other Chinese kids have. So what that he has creative ideas and is ready to work in whatever position imaginable? Countless others do! The sweet nepotism position which was supposed to be his is all but non-existent now, what with his father conveniently forgetting that his first failed marriage actually brought him a son.

…Anyway. It’s a perfect place to be at this time of the day! There are no beds in sight, just benches, so Shang Qinghua sits down on one and doesn’t panic.

He’s not in a time loop. Hahaha. Just because some things are similar to his dream (within a dream within a dream…?), it doesn’t mean anything. Dreams can be wild, and he has been very stressed recently!

Stress dreams, that’s it. What he needs to do is have a good night's sleep! Probably drop the caffeine. And probably meditate before bedtime. And not think about the Proud Immortal Demon Way readers being absolutely pissed at him, and his only source of income being jeopardized because he can’t stand himself writing mindless filth anymore.

Sue him! He’s never intended Proud Immortal Demon Way to get so big, okay! It’s a social commentary on the unrealistic expectations of masculinity and its effects on men’s mental health, and he started it as a joke besides! It was just supposed to open some eyes, provoke conversations, maybe pay for his food, maybe his living expenses if people took a liking to it! Instead, it got him through the final year of uni when he was convinced he would have to drop out, and has paid the god-awful rent for his god-awful apartment ever since then.

…So, in the end, it has never been that mindless, has it now! He mindfully observes what makes people's brains tick, mindfully calculates what will open their bank accounts, and mindfully writes what they want to read! He's an entrepreneur, a businessman! He's basically Shakespeare!

…

He needs to let go. As convenient as Proud Immortal Demon Way is, Shang Qinghua really doesn’t feel that good writing it anymore. People who love it, love it for all the wrong reasons. People who hate it only hit the nail on his coffin on why he has to stop.

Yes, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky knows that specific work sucks! That has always been the point! It’s supposed to be a trash novel! You don’t point at an obvious mess and say ‘this is a mess’ unless you’re his mother, so honestly, everybody could spare their judgments.

…Even though the judgmental readers have always been the ones he likes the most.

He really doesn’t want to read their comments under the final update. It can’t even count for a chapter: it’s just two sentences. The author’s endnote is longer than that.

But it had to be done. It had to, even if he knows what he’ll find in the comment section. ‘Wasting his potential’—hell, he knows! He knows that, Peerless Cucumber, thank you very much, now go choke on a—

An ambulance siren pulls him out of his definitely-not-panicked state. He was just lost in thoughts, that’s all, it happens to the best of us! A cold shiver runs down his spine as the shrill noise zooms past his hearing range. It turns off relatively nearby.

Man, is somebody dying? A heart attack, maybe. It's so early in the day, too, poor guy. Or girl. Do girls get heart attacks the way guys do? Probably. He should look it up, it’d probably make for a good plot for a new wife for Bingge to—

—ah, no, wait. No more Proud Immortal Demon Way. No more Luo Binghe. That’s gonna take some time getting used to, doesn’t it?

Shang Qinghua lets out a heavy sigh, turns it into a growl, and stands up. He’s made his point: he’s stayed in the park long enough and nothing‘s happened! He can go home now and not go to sleep immediately—just to make sure he does things differently than in his dream.

As he waits for the pedestrian lights outside the park to turn green, the same ambulance sounds its alarm and zooms past him. The speed of it smacks his hair into his eyes.

At home, he downs a strong cup of coffee, even more bitter than the one at the diner, and does not go to sleep. Depression naps can wait! He has the entire afternoon ahead of him, he can find something to do! There's a new donghua everybody has been talking about, or, if he wants something international, he can always reach for that one ice-skating anime from several years ago. He’s never really got around to watching it, has he? Last he checked, there was a movie coming out, or something.

He boots his laptop up, connects it to the charger, and waits.

The screen loads up on the posted final PIDW chapter. The two sentences of the ending and three entire paragraphs of the endnote stare back at him. The comment count is already at 3333, and he's actively blocking the view stat from his mind.

Ctrl + W and it's not a problem anymore.

On the screen, in the opening scene of the anime, the main character is having a full-blown panic attack.

Shang Qinghua’s face black-lines and he shuts the episode off.

…Maybe taking a nap now wouldn't be that bad, actually? He’s already spent his day differently by staying up so much longer. He deserves a break!

Yes. Yes, he's already proven this is not a time loop. It's going to be fine.

It is not fine, he thinks the moment he opens his eyes and sees the unposted draft of the final chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way staring mockingly back at him.

Fuck!!!

This is not a time loop. This is not a time loop. This is not a time loop!

He closes his eyes. Nope! He's not seeing anything!

“Your low-fat, no-sugar, no-nuts, no-berries, dairy-free porridge.”

“Mhm.”

Shang Qinghua wants to cry.

More changes, he decides. He doesn't touch the coffee. Doesn't look around as he shuts his laptop without posting the final update. Doesn't leave a tip. Doesn't pass “GO”, doesn't collect ¥200, goes directly out the door without turning back.

So, the park didn't work. He withdraws a couple of bills from his account he kept saved away for his upcoming rent and spends it all on arcade games. Ambulance sirens mix in with game sounds well enough that he almost doesn't notice them.

Almost.

He blinks open and blanks at the sight of the unposted draft of his final update.

So it wasn't the update, huh? He considered that for a moment, back at the arcade, between slaying pixelated aliens. If anything, it seems the repeat started even faster without him posting.

Not that it’s a time loop. But the terminology can very well be the same. Hey, language evolves! Words are used in new contexts all the time! For all intents and purposes, this might still be just a very weird, layered dream.

Shang Qinghua looks at the final chapter of his work and deflates.

“I can't even quit you in peace, can I?”

“Your low-fat, no-sugar, no-nuts, no-berries, dairy-free porridge.”

“Mhm.”

Shang Qinghua sighs.

He opens the editor of the chapter, erases the two lines, and instead writes:

Something has come up, sorry. Next chapter postponed till next week.

Clicks 'Post'.

The phone in the stranger’s hand pings.

This time, Shang Qinghua doesn't leave. Thinking about it, he’s never truly relaxed after posting, has he? That final chapter was supposed to be a load off, but it just caused the never-ending trouble. Now that it’s pushed back in time, he can sit back and enjoy his too-bitter coffee in peace.

…The coffee doesn't have to be so bitter, actually. He reaches for the sugar packets available in the napkin holder and drops the contents of two of them into his drink.

Creamer, too! If he has to be trapped in this time loo—no, dream—then he might as well not hate his drink. The sugar and cheap creamer are free, anyway, and, if he’s right, the money he spent in each of his previous dreams should be back in his bank account.

He checks and breathes in relief. Not a dent! Even the amount spent at the arcade is back, and he did go wild with that one.

The stranger at the other table starts muttering to himself and furiously typing at his phone; the diner is quiet enough Shang Qinghua can vaguely hear him even from his own seat.

If the ping isn’t a coincidence, then is he a reader? Wow, real people in real life are actually subscribed to Proud Immortal Demon Way, huh? The ‘ping me!’ option is only available to VIP readers, too.

Shang Qinghua watches as the guy types and types and types, and wonders. The guy sure doesn't fit the image of a PIDW fan in his mind. The gender fits, but he looks too Rich, even if Neglected (he just has a ‘rich’ face, okay!), and Holier Than Thou than he expects his readers to be. Shang Qinghua knows he’s written filth! It's what’s been paying his bills, okay! If the dude is paying for the chapters then he must know what he's got into! No need to judge, bro, you would only be judging yourself.

…Unless he's a closeted pervert; closeted perverts dipping their toes in his filth are always welcome. Make yourself at home!

The guy is still typing, so furiously his face has turned red with rage.

Wow, sorry for postponing the chapter, dude. Airplane promises it'll be posted when he actually writes something substantial! He can't post the ending he wanted to avoid all this time/dream issue! And, from what he remembers—if he's correct—then weren't you enraged by the ending, too? Seriously, there's no way to please readers these days…

The guy’s face really is getting redder… and tighter… and—swollen? His muttering is more distorted now through his suddenly much smaller mouth.

And he doesn't stop typing.

Shang Qinghua stares, blinks hard, and stares again.

The guy's fingers slow down until he forcefully jabs at his phone screen.

…Well. Don't judge him that much.

Shang Qinghua opens his laptop back up and clicks on the comments, then scrolls through hundreds of individual short comments of confused emojis, keysmashes, and question marks to find the essay the stranger has just left him.

Oh, he finds it.

Stranger no longer.

At the top of the body of words, very much longer than his chapter—not that it's difficult to achieve that, considering—is the guy's pseudonym.

Peerless Cucumber.

…

No way.

No way!!!

An indescribable emotion fills Shang Qinghua's chest, both excitement and frustration, and who knows what else. The guy! The legend! His worst nightmare and the best thing that's happened to his writing! His nemesis and motivation, all in one!

“—call an ambulance!”

Eh?

When he lowers the lid of his laptop, several things become clear.

The guy’s—Peerless Cucumber’s—face is swollen beyond recognition. The neck of his hoodie painfully digs into his skin, his fingers are too thick and stiff to hold his phone, which clatters onto the table, and he's doing something that can't reasonably be called breathing. Wheezing, maybe—if that, even.

A waitress calls an ambulance. Another is trying to make Peerless Cucumber lie down. The staff hurriedly ushers the gawking patrons out of the diner. Shang Qinghua clutches his laptop to his chest as he's outright pushed out the door.

He loiters nearby, still in shock, until the ambulance siren sounds in the distance and gets louder and louder.

The ambulance pulls up. Paramedics run out and into the diner. Minutes pass, then something vaguely person-shaped is carried out on stretches and rushed into the ambulance. The sirens wail back to life. Red-and-blue lights blind him. The vehicle drives off with a screech of tires.

Shang Qinghua stares at nothing in particular.

Fuck. Has he just—given Peerless Cucumber a heart attack…?

The diner door is pushed open again, the waitress looks as shaken as he himself feels. From the inside, he hears disgruntled voices of the other staff members.

Somebody says, “I hope it doesn’t make the news.”

He turns on his heel and leaves.

Goes home.

Can’t sleep.

He blinks.

He’s back at the diner. In front of him sits his laptop with the last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way ready to be posted. Above the screen, at a nearby table, sits a stranger.

—not a stranger. Peerless Cucumber.

Shang Qinghua’s struck by the chilling thought that Peerless Cucumber has just died.

But no—he’s right there, alive, staring at his phone. Like he’s waiting.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t want him to wait.

He suddenly wishes he'd never posted his work online.

The waitress brings over the blandest meal the diner has to offer and announces it in the same voice that has just worried about the diner's media presence. Peerless Cucumber accepts it with barely a hum, without even looking at her, as if he knows. But no, he can't know—he has reacted the same way every single time.

His phone doesn't ping and Shang Qinghua knows perfectly well it won't until he clicks ‘Post’.

If he posts the chapter, Peerless Cucumber will die of rage.

If he doesn't, Peerless Cucumber will die of rage.

If he postpones, Peerless Cucumber will die of rage.

…

Just chill out, bro! Has nobody ever told you this much anger is bad for you? Shang Qinghua can't be responsible for your death! Who told you to get so invested, ah! Not him!

There really is no good ending here. Shang Qinghua has heard the ambulance sirens nearly every time the events of this day repeated and he knows, instinctively, that it’s Cucumber-bro every time. But what can he do? He's just a guy trying to end his online writing career in peace. There have been stories about fans refusing to let their idols step out of the spotlight, but this is really… too much!

Peerless Cucumber is tapping impatiently on his bowl; it's full three minutes past Shang Qinghua’s update schedule.

Damn. Okay. That's not a good sign, his anger levels are rising already. Shang Qinghua hasn't felt this responsible for the emotional state of another person since he moved out of his mother's house!

Okay. Think, think, think. Posting this chapter didn't work, as did posting nothing or postponing.

Maybe posting something more substantial…?

By the time he gathers his thoughts and clicks ‘Edit Work’, the waitress approaches Peerless Cucumber’s table.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Shang Qinghua looks up.

Cucumber-bro looks angry again. Angry enough his breathing comes out in wheezes.

The waitress yells about an ambulance. Cucumber-bro stares at his phone in frustration, fingers tapping and tapping.

What now? He hasn't even written a full sentence yet! That can't have angered him that much?

Waiting just ten minutes past the normal posting schedule is not that bad, either, come on! Learn some patience…

…Well. A heart attack does not know patience and soon Shang Qinghua is pushed out the diner’s door once again. He spends the little time he has before the next repeat brainstorming the continuation of PIDW.

He blinks and opens his eyes back in the diner. Grabs the laptop in front of him. Clicks ‘Edit Work’ and starts hammering at the keys like his life depends on it.

Well, not his life. Peerless Cucumber’s.

And maybe his, a little bit. He's getting really tired of repeating the same morning over and over again.

If he knew he would get stuck in a moment of his day, he would have chosen a better place! This diner has really shit coffee; it’s never worked on him, but at least it’s cheap.

The laptop is old, with a keyboard that hasn't been properly cleaned in… ever. The keys are loud.

Somebody's eyes bore holes in his forehead.

Don't judge him! He’s doing it for everybody involved!

A bland order is delivered.

“Thanks.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers freeze and he stares at Peerless Cucumber above the screen.

The waitress nods and leaves, and Cucumber-bro goes back to staring at his phone as if he hasn't just talked!

If this has changed, then maybe…?

Slowly, his fingers stutter back over the keyboard and he types, and hammers, and writes more of Luo Binghe just for Cucumber-bro not to die. And when he gets to an okay stopping point, even though it's by far the shortest chapter of his life, he clicks ‘Post’ without a second of hesitation.

Peerless Cucumber’s phone pings.

Well, that’s maybe 10 minutes past the planned update, but Cucumber-bro not dying out of enraged impatience is a success!

Shang Qinghua watches with a bated breath as the guy taps on his phone. Waits for the app to load. Taps on the new chapter.

Starts reading.

And… uh.

He reads scarily fast, doesn't he…

Shang Qinghua remembers all the pages-long comments posted within minutes of new updates.

Maybe a spur-of-the-moment chapter pulled out of his ass isn't long enough to prolong—

“What.”

—he couldn't have already finished it?! That was 2k words at least!

“The fuck.

“Is this.”

He's not even using question marks this time, or speaking in the same paragraph…

Shang Qinghua gulps as he watches Peerless Cucumber swallow through the spoonful of his porridge and touch his phone screen with a shaking finger.

Damn. He really looks pissed.

Shang Qinghua dares a look at the chapter he's just released. Strangely, the comment section is void even of the “first!!!” crowd.

Peerless Cucumber is typing. His face is growing red. It swells with barely held-in anger.

In the top right corner of his screen, a new notification pops up.

As Cucumber-bro takes a moment to breathe through whatever crisis he's experiencing, Shang Qinghua clicks on the notification. It leads him straight into the comment section. There's only one, from yours truly.

You lazy ass, it says. It's the most illegible thing in the world and I'm not even talking about the plot.

Harsh!

Another comment.

It’s always been obvious you have no standards, but that’s a new low even for you.

And another.

You didn’t even fix typos before posting!

Wow, he's never spam-commented before.

Shang Qinghua looks at the chapter he's just posted, for the first time.

It's, uh… Cucumber-bro might not be… wrong…?

But it's not like he had time to do anything better? You don't write 2k words in 15 minutes without any sacrifices!

“Are you alright, sir?”

Oh no.

Shang Qinghua blinks at the unposted last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way and salutes in his heart to the 2k words he's just lost—or never written—or whatever. Those have never existed now. Well, they did not work at tiding Peerless Cucumber over, anyway, so it’s not that big of a loss.

He's not writing like a madman for the guy ever again, though. No gratitude whatsoever, only criticism! No “thank you for trying to save my life, bro”, no “that was an impressive writing speed!”, nor “how are you doing mentally after seeing me die again and again?”. No care at all. Not that Shang Qinghua isn't used to that already, don't actually mind him.

Still, it would be nice to just…

…Talk.

Huh.

Cucumber-bro’s blandest meal arrives. Shang Qinghua gets up. Walks over. Clears his throat.

Cucumber-bro looks at him, a spoon in his mouth.

Okay, maybe just looming over somebody as they eat isn’t the most socially adept thing to do. He came over to say something! He can do that.

“Hi.”

He receives a look as bland as the porridge Cucumber-bro’s swallowing. “Do I know you?”

He talks! Shang Qinghua has never thought hearing somebody talk to him in such a “then perish!” tone would bring tears to his eyes, but there it is! And they’re tears of gratitude, too!

He opens his mouth and promptly remembers that talking to people usually requires the forethinking of conversation topics. He's quite literally drawing a blank.

He stares at Peerless Cucumber and Peerless Cucumber stares back at him. In silence. Why has he approached him, again…?

“You need to chill or you'll die,” he blurts, very helpfully.

Cucumber-bro’s face becomes even scarier than the first time Shang Qinghua watched him write his comment in real time. “Excuse me?”

A chance to back down! Sucks that his mouth has a mind of its own!

“You'll die,” he says, enunciating each word, “unless you calm down. Stop raging so much, it's totally unhealthy—”

“Is that a threat.” Peerless Cucumber’s dropping the question marks again. From the previous rounds, it's not really a good sign.

“Not a threat! Just trying to help, bro!”

Is he allowed to talk about the time loop? This is not a transmigration type of thing where he has a system dealing out punishments, right? It would have made itself known by now…

Okay. He's got nothing to lose.

He drops to the seat in front of Cucumber-bro and ignores the stinky look he receives as a result.

“Look. You know time loops, right? You must, you've read my work, after all. That part where Luo Binghe goes through the same day one hundred times to learn all there is to please the Western Princess so when the time comes he woos her the very first time she meets him and they get married the very next day?” Peerless Cucumber’s staring at him, blankly. His eye might be twitching. “That's what's happening here. You don't know, but this day has happened like five times already and you rage yourself dead every single time, bro, that's not healthy for you.”

“Your work,” Cucumber-bro repeats, and Shang Qinghua starts to doubt the guy’s sanity. That's what he's taking away from this? “You write Proud Immortal—”

—and then he stops himself mid-sentence. For some reason. As if he’s realised he has as good as confirmed that he knows what Airplane is talking about.

Shang Qinghua grins. “Yeah! And you’re a connoisseur of fine arts, I see!”

Cucumber-bro presses his lips into a thin line and mumbles, “...I don't know what you mean.”

Tsundere! He’s definitely a tsundere!

“Aw, there's no need to be shy! Many people read Proud Immortal Demon Way.” Shang Qinghua crosses his arms on the table and leans closer. “Besides, I know you're Peerless Cucumber, there's no need to be ashamed. I mean! You tear me a new one under every single chapter. No wonder you croaked that way, too.”

Peerless Cucumber continues glowering at him. “You're insane.”

“Takes one to know one. And it's nice to meet you, too.” He sighs and leans back in his seat. It… really is working out quite well, isn’t it? Better than he imagined! Who would have thought all it’d take to make himself feel better was just getting up and talking to people! ‘Be the change you want to see in the world’ and all that! “Never expected to meet a fan out in the wild.”

Cucumber-bro is rapidly growing red. “I am not your fan.”

Shang Qinghua raises his hands in surrender. “Sure, sure! Definitely not a fan!” He watches with worry as Cucumber-bro’s face changes colours. “Calm down, breathe. I wasn't kidding when I said you raged yourself to death.”

Maybe saying that isn't the smartest thing, actually. Peerless Cucumber looks startled, like he's considering believing him. His face looks like it's swelling already.

“Water!” Shang Qinghua calls, and, in panic, grabs his coffee from his own table. That's the only drink he ordered, okay? “Drink!”

“I can't have dairy—” Peerless Cucumber starts to say, but Shang Qinghua is already pressing the mug to his very thin and unnaturally stretched lips. He watches as he is forced to swallow the remaining gulps of coffee and withdraws. “Idiot! You want to kill me?!”

Quite the opposite, quite the opposite! He spent money on that coffee, bro, better appreciate it!

But Cucumber-bro’s redness and swelling don't go down. He continues to rattle at Shang Qinghua until a waitress approaches and asks them to calm down. And that's when Peerless Cucumber stops breathing completely. He just glares at the cup Shang Qinghua fed him coffee out of, mouths at him something that could be ‘you've killed me’, then drops right across the table.

The ambulance doesn't make it in time. One second, Shang Qinghua closes his eyes on Cucumber-bro’s unrecognisably quiet, frozen, swollen face and, in the next, opens them to Cucumber-bro sitting at a nearby table, staring at his phone. Waiting.

The final chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way is ready to be posted.

Shang Qinghua lets out a shaky sigh. Runs his hand down his face. Takes a gulp of his coffee.

He gets up and tries again.

And again.

And again.

He tries everything. Everything! He tells Peerless Cucumber the whole truth at least three more times. One time, the ambulance is called for him, with how “confused” he is. You try being responsible for somebody else's life and fail to save them no matter what you do! It leaves a mark, okay!

That specific time, he strips down to his underwear and claims to know the future. He has a good reason, okay, and it totally makes sense in the moment!

“Would a deranged person do this?” he asks and, as Cucumber-bro stares at him as if he is the ridiculous one and yells out a ‘Yes!’, the diner staff calls the ambulance.

So maybe they have a point at that time. Admittedly, Shang Qinghua might have been going a little bit insane by that point, after watching Cucumber-bro puke his guts out and choke on it to death before the time looped again.

He's tried approaching Cucumber-bro. Talking to him. Explaining. Manipulating. Writing a different Proud Immortal Demon Way chapter; posting it several paragraphs at a time as he writes it. Then posting just a personal note to Peerless Cucumber himself.

He has watched him dying as he fumes with frustration, grits teeth with anger, or chokes on his food.

One time, he outright begs him not to die. He’s exhausted and resigned by that point. Cucumber-bro just looks at him like he's grown three heads. Startled. Suspicious. Vulnerable.

“How do you…?”

Despite the mistrust, Shang Qinghua likes that version of him the most.

He dies that time, too.

It doesn't work. It never works. Cucumber-bro rages himself out of breath again and again and again and again. There really is no point here! Shang Qinghua is not his protagonist, he doesn't have a golden halo nor a wisdom stat of +100, nor access to blood parasites able to control and regulate and heal. He's not a Heavenly Demon lord, he's not a medic, he's not a scholar—he just writes about them. Hell, he doesn't even remember how to administer first aid!

What is with this time loop? Why is Peerless Cucumber so important the universe can't carry on without him? People die everyday, what's so special about him? If anything, he already looks like he's going to hit it sooner than later. Shang Qinghua’s on a self-prescribed Sad, Single, and Unemployed diet and even he doesn't look that bad. If all the food Cucumber-bro ever eats is as bland as the porridge he’s ordered before the start of the loop, then it's no wonder he's so thin. No wonder he’s so salty online, too; gotta substitute somehow.

He doesn’t even notice that the time has looped again and he’s got up from his table until he’s colliding with somebody.

The waitress yelps.

A bowl she’s just carried on a tray falls to the floor and shatters into pieces.

The blandest porridge splatters around on the impact.

Peerless Cucumber’s attention is off his phone and on the shattered bowl.

“My food…”

For a moment, everybody is quiet. Then, the waitress huffs a sigh.

“I’ll bring you a new bowl right away, sir,” she says as she fishes out a rag out of her apron and starts scooping the mess onto her tray. “Please, be careful where you step.”

That last line is pointed at Shang Qinghua. He laughs nervously and—carefully, really carefully—steps closer to Peerless Cucumber’s table and sits down. Cucumber-bro frowns at him.

Shang Qinghua braces himself for another death session preceded by biting words.

And he's not disappointed! As the waitress returns and finishes the clean-up of the mess, Peerless Cucumber spits insults about his work at him, rants about plot holes and continuity errors, about one-dimensional characters and the potential, the potential! His face remains pale and normal-shaped but for a healthy flush on the rims of his ears.

Things seem to be… going well? Cucumber-bro is not choking on his anger, and when the staff asks him to be quieter, please, he calms enough to just glare at him and tell him to piss off if he's not serious about writing the novel properly.

Shang Qinghua breathes in relief. That sounds like a permission!

“Okay,” he agrees, “I'll stop writing it right away. I was meaning to drop it, anyway!”

Cucumber-bro’s eye twitches.

Uh-oh.

When the waitress from earlier approaches their table a full scathing tirade later, she sets a packed to-go container in front of them.

“I'll have to ask you both to leave,” she demands. “You're disturbing the other patrons.”

Shang Qinghua looks around and, surely enough, the heads of the three other patrons blur with how fast they look away, pretending they were not paying attention.

Cucumber-bro grumbles as he pulls his jacket on and grabs his things. Shang Qinghua hurries to his table and haphazardly pushes his laptop into his bag.

Surprisingly, when he runs out the door to follow after Cucumber-bro, the guy is waiting for him outside, tapping his foot like a wife waiting for her workaholic husband who’s late to their anniversary dinner.

He hasn't stayed back for the company, however. He glares at Shang Qinghua and says just one sentence.

“Don't you dare stop writing.”

And then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Shang Qinghua could cry.

Peerless Cucumber has lived!

He should celebrate. People usually go out to celebrate, don't they? Yeah! Prime going out time!

Half an hour later, he's freshly showered and on his way out, with his hand on the handle of his apartment entrance door, when he realises—

He doesn't quite know what exactly people do when they “go out”.

Fortunately for him, he doesn't need to figure it out, because between one blink and the next one, he's back in the diner, his laptop open in front of him, Cucumber-bro staring at his phone at the next table over.

A waitress brings over the blandest meal ever.

Shang Qinghua does cry, then.

And then squawks when the glass entrance door swings open and shatters on impact against the wall.

In the entryway to the diner, against the backdrop of the hectic city landscape of rushing cars and gawking, hurrying pedestrians, there stands an extraordinarily tall man clad in well-fitting red-and-black high-quality xianxia robes, a black menacing sword billowed in black flames and ashen smoke held in his hand.

On his forehead, there gleams a blood-red heavenly demon zuiyin.

Looking at him, Shang Qinghua hears the screams and wailing of countless tortured souls punished out of revenge, even though everybody in the diner is frozen in silent shock. You could hear a pin drop!

Luo Binghe struts in like he owns the place despite it very much not being part of his own dimension; it's not like anybody would ever dare free him of that conviction, anyway. He walks past Shang Qinghua's table, throws him a glance—and an honest to god nod, he swears, unless he really blinked and dreamed up the entire interaction—and approaches the waitress who stares at him in half awe and half trepidation.

He raises one hand, gives her a charming smile that doesn't meet his eyes (so scary!) and, in a single move, blasts the bowl she's holding into shards.

…Well, at least it wasn't Shang Qinghua who made the mess this time!

“My food,” Cucumber-bro mumbles in a barely heard objection, and that makes Luo Binghe's face darken. He squares his back even more, truly intimidating, opens his mouth, and in a tone that will forever haunt Shang Qinghua in his nightmares says:

“He asked for no nuts.”

And then Shang Qinghua watches with his own two teary and tired eyes how Luo Binghe pulls out a neatly wrapped bowl and turns to Peerless Cucumber.

The same Peerless Cucumber who has flamed under every single chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way as the unofficial president of the unofficial Binghe Protection Squad, who is staring at the very same Luo Binghe as if it's the last thing he's going to see in his damn life.

Knowing what he knows, Shang Qinghua can't really blame him for it.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe addresses Cucumber-bro (!?) and, using both hands, reverently sets the bowl on the table in front of him. “This disciple has brought you your midday meal. Pray Shizun forgives his tardiness; he's encountered an unexpected obstacle on the way.”

What, thinks Shang Qinghua.

“...What?” echoes Cucumber-bro.

“W—what,” stammers the waitress. “Wait, y—you can’t bring your own food—”

Luo Binghe shoots her a dark look; her mouth immediately slams shut and she scutters back into the kitchens.

Shang Qinghua curses inwardly and collects his things. When he makes his way to Peerless Cucumber’s table, Luo Binghe is already sitting in a chair across from him, and looking at him as if it’s Peerless Cucumber who is miraculously defying the rules of the universe and breaking the wall between reality and fiction.

“Uh—excuse me, sorry, pardon—” The glare Luo Binghe shoots him isn’t nearly as scary as the one he sent the waitress earlier, so Shang Qinghua pushes on. “The staff will probably call the police, so we’d better go.”

Peerless Cucumber looks up at him as if it’s Shang Qinghua whose approach is out of the realm of real-world possibilities. “Who are you?”

And isn't that the question of the hour?

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky.

A god, apparently.

Somebody who’s watched you die over fifty times.

Your friend, and the guy you hate, and the person who’s lived to keep you alive.

He answers instead, “I don’t even know anymore.”

Cucumber-bro stares at him like he’s just told him Proud Immortal Demon Way is based on a true story. At this point, Shang Qinghua isn't sure the main idea didn't come to him in a prophetic dream.

“Shang-shishu,” Luo Binghe says. All attention is immediately on him. “You’ve done well assisting Shizun. Your efforts have been noted and will be duly rewarded.”

Huh?

…Wait.

“Who do you think this guy is?” Shang Qinghua asks, pointing his thumb at Peerless Cucumber.

Luo Binghe’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. “Just as this lord will reward Shang Qinghua’s assistance, he will punish any disrespect shown to Shen Qingqiu.”

Shang Qinghua laughs nervously.

Luo Binghe turns back to Cucumber-bro. “Shizun should eat,” he says in a tone much warmer, with eyes so much kinder—Shang Qinghua is getting a whiplash. “He needn’t worry; no meal from this Binghe will ever harm him.”

Cucumber-bro puts his phone down and reaches for the spoon Luo Binghe’s holding out to him.

Well, Shang Qinghua has tried, but he’s not staying here to wait for the police to arrive! He's heard enough sirens to traumatise him for a lifetime!

“Don’t die again?” he asks Cucumber-bro who only gives him a blank, confused stare.

Luo Binghe answers in his stead. “He won’t.”

And that’s really as good as he’s going to get, isn’t it?

With one final nod, Shang Qinghua adjusts the shoulder strap of his laptop bag and makes his way to the exit. Behind him, Peerless Cucumber and Luo Binghe talk.

“That’s really good!”

“I knew Shizun would like it. Eat more.”

“Are you a cosplayer?”

“I don’t know what that is. I’m Luo Binghe.”

“Really into it, are you? Either way, you look so cool. Where did you get this costume? Such good quality.”

“Thanking Shizun. These robes, I’ve had them—”

The rest of their conversation is left behind the remains of the diner door.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t go home right away. He spends an hour in the park, then another at the arcade, then walks by the diner and peeks in through the window.

Cucumber-bro and Luo Binghe are gone.

There have been no ambulance sirens.

Hours pass. The sun sets and the night blankets the city like a beast creeping closer and closer to its prey. Shang Qinghua stares out the window of his crappy apartment as he stands in complete darkness for the first time in around two months.

He lies down on his uncomfortable bed. Turns and twists for hours before sleep finally overtakes him.

And when he opens his eyes, it’s to the paint peeling off his greying ceiling, and to the weak rays of sunshine filtering through the blinds, and to the buzzing of a fly fighting a losing fight against the window.

His eyes sting.

It’s finally over.

He stays in bed into the late afternoon. Just in case.

It’s only when the day has turned into the evening again that he dares a step from out of his blanket and he almost trips on his laptop, haphazardly abandoned in the middle of the room.

He plugs it in to charge and turns it on. Types in his password. Listens to the worryingly heavy hum of the built-in fans.

—and is immediately jumpscared by the unposted draft of the final words of PIDW lighting up on the screen. He almost slams the laptop lid shut.

Almost. His hand is already grabbing at the screen when a pulsing red dot in the top right corner catches his attention.

A new notification.

He clicks on it and stares.

New direct message from: @Peerless Cucumber

16h ago Who the fuck are you and where the hell is the new chapter?

.

..

…

GIVE HIM A BREAK!!!

[andrwgarfields]

I’m so glad he talked about this moment and it being a 24 hrs thing cause i specifically remembered how there was this ONE FANPIC OF HIM IN LA and some were excited saying oh is he doing auditions and and literally all the hstwt fans were saying it cannot be from the day itself cause he’s going to be in the trials at that same night and how impossible it is and bla bla bla

[kai-ni]

Spent like five hours scrubbing this airplane from nose to tail. Every inch. The smashed bugs off the cowling and leading edges, AND the belly where all the soot and grease gathered from the exhaust and etc. SHE IS CLEAN. Her paint is so white. I am SORE and EXHAUSTED. BUT SATISFIED.

LOOK AT HERRRR. MY WIFEEE.

(and I'm getting 'paid' in one hour of flight time + instruction LSKDFJ. But Kai, you worked for five hours? Yea it was about a 200 dollar job and that's how much an hour of flight instruction is, it's fair trust me).

[mar-why-am]

26/06/24

What a crazy day, wrote my last exam at 12 and boarding a plane at 4!

Cant believe it's the end of semester 1 😱

I'm proud of myself for surviving my first semester of university 🎊

[knizuu]

Apparently whistling goes well with piano :]

*I’m aware Classic era had Hocke Wulf whistle, but I wanted to draw modern designs <3

*wow, having many names :D

This is also ship post since @im-just-a-dumb-gay and I have shipped this before ^ ^

[jakemyboy]

Just sitting quietly with the boy, doesn't happen too often, so I cherish it. ❤️

[shizukahaiji]

Baby’s first international flight soon I’m so nervous

[brown-little-robin]

~

[scarecrowgolem]

flying over to live with my partner tomorrow im nervous.....

[alienaiver]

7, 18, 29 for fic writer ask game! ✨

icarus hi!!! my favorite noya lover!! thank u for sending these in 🥹🧡

7. your preferred writing fonts

for free writing where i just throw out words and thoughts and write whatever comes to mind i prefer comic sans! idk why, whenever im in a block it gets my juices going !! but when im writing a planned out scene, drafting or simply editing, i always go with times new roman. i think its a brain injury at this point from school strictly using it but i do think its pretty!

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

i dont keep them most of the time, but i just dug up this note that was supposed to be in inked coffee!

"Hey sleeping beauty," you smile, throwing your stack of books down onto the table that Shinsou's sitting by. Startled from the sound he sits up and quirks up an eyebrow, "isn't that sort of an ironic nickname to give someone with insomnia?"

You roll your eyes at him and sit down opposed of him, pushing half the books his way, his notebook almost falling off of the table if he hadn't caught it. You shake your head as well as an extra act of teasing, "it's a spell, Shinsou. I'm casting a spell."

i think its actually a really fun little scene/joke, so i might use it in amethyst haze 👀 hmmm... good thing you sent this question, made me look thru my notes and drafts !!

29. how easy it is for you to come up with titles?

thats actually genuinely the Hardest absolute part for me 😭 i struggle with it like its an university level sort of math equation. i usually reach out to friends. @dira333 is amazing at them and has helped me numerous times come up with the most amazing and beautiful titles!!!! i have very very few works where the title was planned from the beginning. dermovat is named after my psoriasis cream bcos its about eczema and i thought thatd be funny. rotisserie chicken only came to life because my friend said i turn like one in my sleep! i also came up with proposals plus one because i just finished godzilla minus one!! 🙂‍↕️🧡 those are probably the only ones ive really come up with that was like. easy to me!!!!

[smaeemo]

Thinking about how 11 year old me thought the best way to make new friends was to memorize every single person in my class’ schedules and then proceed to throw them a paper airplane with their schedule on it.