#but i wrote it in one go and i am proud of it

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

Alternate ending where SQH presses the return home button after yelling at MBJ + I somehow turned it into a slightly happier ending(this was supposed to end with SQH being alone till he dies)(bro never moves on)

but in this oneshot, he becomes a part of the Shen family.

Mobei-Jun mourning SQH’s body… imagine…

The moment he presses on the button, he felt his heart sink with the glow surrounding him.

He was going back to his body, which was equivalent to dying. Turning to his icy surroundings, light snow falling onto the tip of his fingers, his knees unbuckle as he fell to the floor.

“I—“

—

He regrets it, he really does. He shoud have just stayed in the other world. There, at least he knows how to escape the life he had, he knows people who would care about him even if he had run away (at least, he hoped so?)

here, there was no one. His parents didn’t care about him, they’d already moved on with new families in their lives. They hadn’t even bat an eye when they found out his body was a coma.

Shang Qinghua shivered in his hospital bed, tears slipping down his cheeks, he couldn’t even let out a sound.

It was cold. It was empty. His arms were bandaged heavily, they’d told him that he had severe burns because of the fact that there was hot water when it happened.

He couldn’t write; Proud Immortal Demon Way had already ended. He… just really…lacked the motivation to ever write again. Without his most passionate fan, without his king or his martial siblings… it’s unbearable. Losing the trust of everyone he knew was heart breaking enough, but they— they had forgiven him for his final moments.

They’d let him back into the sect—! Liu Qingge had grinned at him, after all that. Mu Qingfang allowed him to nap in the medical room whenever things got too hectic—heck! Yue Qingyuan visited his peak for friendly conversation and tea!

Shang Qinghua had given all of that up, and for what???

He didn’t know any more….

Haaa…. His anxiety and fear had gotten the best of him.

There was no Cucumber bro to critique his 3000+ chapter novel, there were no ice kings to force him to stop working in the middle of the night because of his health.

It was just him. Just Luo Meihua. The useless idiot.

A mistake he made, and he will never ever be able to see his family again.

Shen Qingqiu was right, Shang Qinghua was an idiot.

—

“Hey..” A quiet feminine voice pulls him out from the grasp of sleep, his heavy eyes open wearily as he tries to focus on the new figure. It wasn’t one of those nurses. The girl was wearing a very blue casual outfit, blue sweater, blue jeans, and even a blue purse.

….?

He squinted. Did he know her..??

He knew this wasn’t one of his half siblings, they were much younger than he was. “Hh….” He tried hard to say something, but a year of unuse made it hard to say the right words.

“It’s okay! Uhm, you don’t need to speak! I’m sure you’re wondering who I am?”

Shang Qinghua nodded minutely.

“My name is Shen Yang. Do you remember the story you wrote?”

He grimaced, giving her a pained look, he knew by now how shitty it was, please don’t make him talk about it??? I mean, there was some good parts but if he could, he wouldn’t have made A Ding as the sole logistics peak!!!

Wait.. “Shen..?”

She laughs slightly, mistaking his question for something else, “Mm, my brother was Peerless Cucumber, he went into a coma like you did, one year ago. If you knew him, anyway. He hated your novel.”

No wonder she looked familiar—!

But.. huh…? How did she know he was in a coma? How did she know he was here.

He tried to convey that to her with his raised eyebrow.

“We… uhm. Originally, we wanted to personally talk to you, since… we found A—Yuan’s notes in his computer. It was more critiques about the novel,” Shang Qinghua stifled a fond laugh, Ahh, Cucumber bro… “…and so… we found out you were in a coma, just like my brother.”

—

Shen Family: finds out Airplane is in a coma and they visit him once

Shen Yang is also a volunteer at the hospital, just so she can visit Shen Yuan more often. So occasionally, she watches Airplane’s coma body, wondering what kind of person he was to write PIDW

sometimes she writes and reads it out to Shen Yuan because she knows he loved stories, even if they sucked

When Airplane wakes up and they both realise he has no home anymore,

(“Your parents..?”

Shang Qinghua shook his head and laughed bitterly, “it’s not like they visited me at all.”)

So she persuades her parents to let him stay at the house (they refuse at first, like, airplane’s a stranger, and they’re still mourning Shen Yuan)

But eventually, they pittied him and allowed him to stay.

(“I promise I’ll pay you back, thank you so much for your kindness!!!”)

After all his trauma, he becomes the quiet kid, no silly rambles, and without any system forcing him on any missions, he becomes so so antsy, so he just takes on a lot of responsibilities and becomes sick and is super miserable until Shen Family takes an intervention

Eventually they get attached to SQH and help him get therapy. And it doesn’t actually help much, he couldn’t talk about his transmigration trauma at all

BUT he admits the little things, like his parents’ emotional neglect and accidentally mentions something like “I’m used to getting beat up. I’m used to everyone pushing their work onto me.”

Which is concerning in modern society,, like,,, why is he used to getting beat up 3 times a day

Bro just really hates himself

But one day, maybe after a few long months, the light in his eyes return and he gets into a rant again and Shen Yang just remembers his brother, Shen Yuan, and sees him in SQH and

man

Shen Yang shares stories about his brother to SQH

(“He sucked at sewing.” )

( “Shut up, Airplane… Sewing is harder than it looks.” Shen Qingqiu glared at him.)

[mariethesley2]

megumi x fem!reader

"Hi and welcome to the very first video tape of me trying to learn how to cook" .... She looks into the void in contemplation and feels the embarrassment crawl up to her face... "Well it's not like I'm showing this to anyone I'm just trying to document my life, so more precisely : hi to the future me! I hope that by then I would have learnt to cook more decent meals".

She always wanted to document her life with that one camera she has since apparently it's a great way to not go insane as a sorcerer ! but the girl never really knew how to start and learning how to cook was a good starter, from one side she gets to film a simple mundane chore done and on the other she gains a basic life skill, one stone two birds!

"anyways I got these groceries," she says that while showing the bag to the camera "going down the endless stairs AND going back up is such a drag, I really HOPEFULLY I won't have to do groceries that often"

That was her first day in the jujutsu high dormitories and wanted to try the tiny kitchen in her room and what better way than to cook pasta in it?

"so I only found this kind of pasta, " she says looking at the package, it's almost expired. The girl turns back to the camera smiling "looks good to me" "then I got this cheese, I'll grate it later, " she fetches something else form the grocery bag "I also have canned mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, a lil bag of flour I got from home, this tiny cute lil brick of milk I'll use it to make the sauce along with these tiny bits of salt and pepper" she said while presenting one by one to the camera.

"I'll try and cook enough for both me and megs "

She grabbed a pot, filled it with water put the pasta to boil with some oil and salt, despite her being alone, she never stopped talking to the camera, it seems like she has a lot to say...

"ok so I have a question, it's kinda personal but do you think megumi wishes he has friends other than me?? 'cuz at this point i' m starting to think that we're only friends because there was no options or am I imagining things?? " she paused to hear the answer and busied herself with the sauce.

It didn't take long for her to remember that she was, in fact, alone and that the answer she was waiting for was never coming

She let out a little laugh to mask the embarrassment "hah.. I'm barely one day in and I'm already losing it it seems... Yaay..." a small pause followed, "still I hope future me has the answer to this!!"

For the rest of the video she remained silent while preparing the sauce, straining the pasta, putting it in bowl for her to share with megumi, she really wanted for the "meal" to turn out just nice, no scratch that, she wanted it to be at least edible.

While arranging the bowl and spilling some sauce on herself and the camera, and with bits of grated cheese almost everywhere she was finally done "and here it is ladies and gentlemen!! This pasta dish made the one and only me!!" the self proclaimed chef looked at the camera with the biggest smile there is, clearly proud of herself.

The door knocked just when she was about to turn off the camera. She quickly hid it and went to get the door and there was her lifelong friend that she may have a tiny little, unnoticeable and insignifiant crush on, but that's a story for later.

"gojo is as-" before he could even start talking, she quickly cut him off out of excitement "I made pasta!! Come taste it!!" the girl took him by the arm and guided him to the tiny kitchen, she slid a fork towards him on the counter "here, have a taste and tell me what do you think".

"are you serious?? How am I supposed to trust you and your non-existent cooking skills?? You remember the sweet chicken or should I remind you if the time we almost die cremated?? " she shoved a fork-ful of pasta before he could cite anymore of her previous epic fails, "so??"...

clearly wrote this with childhood friends to lovers trope in mind...

Author's note ig: I have no idea what I just wrote honestly, if you read it I'm genuinely sorry for you cuz it's boring af and badly written ik. I just wanted to put it out of my drafts cuz it's been bugging me there. I'll prolly never finish it so if anyone wants to rewrite it we'll you're welcome to!! And maybe tag me so I could read my idea with a better writing style, thanks!! <3

[endy-the-anxious]

Last of their kind

Summary: what it's like to be the last of your kind

Word count: 799

Characters: naga!Janus

Trigger warnings: dead, implied death, and a corpse (not described in detail)

Notes: this is inspired by a rp i have with @lost-in-thought-20

----------

It wasn’t easy being the last of your kind. A few stages were involved, each more miserable than the next, and each making you feel more isolated.

The first stage started with hope. The hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone. That there were others who knew what it was like to be just like you. Who shared some of the same struggles, and whose existence would bring comfort, if only you could find them. That hope was supposed to keep you from falling into the pit of despair. It would give you the drive to go on a journey in search of people like you.

Unfortunately, this hope was also the road right to that same pit, where one would balance on the ridge until they would inevitably fall in. Because nothing was more gut-wrenching than going on a journey with hope, only to have it crushed when you realize that you truly were the only one.

You could find traces of your kind, from ruins to books to skeletal structures, but none of them helped alleviate the pain. In fact, they made it worse. Knowing they had been right there, right where you were right now, and yet, they were gone. And you were still here.

Janus had long given up on having hope of finding others like him. He’d fallen into the pit and wasn’t planning on getting out. After all, what was the point anyways? This would be a fitting end. The last naga would die alone, surrounded by the memories of his ancestors before him.

The ruins that had once been a village were the last place he’d visited. Surrounded by trees, close to the mountain range, they would have been safe there. There should have been at least some nagas there, but there weren’t. The place was empty and covered in dust. Clearly it had been abandoned for many years. Still, Janus had searched around, looked in every nook and cranny. If he could find something, find anything that could just tell him where they went, it would be alright. But there wasn’t.

He found an egg, though. A naga egg. And maybe it had been foolish to think that anything could still hatch from it after all this time, but Janus had been desperate. This was the last thing he had. So he clung to it, and tried to nurture it. He’d picked a random house in the village, and every night, he would lay in bed, tail curled around the egg. Whispering to it that it would be okay. That it could come out because he was right there to take care of them. That it was safe now.

It stayed like that for weeks, but there was no sign of life from it. Thinking that maybe it struggled to get through the outer shell of the egg, Janus decided to help it. He carefully peeled it open, piece by piece. Still, no movement. He wasn’t ready to accept the truth yet. He couldn’t. So, he would carry the fetus to his bed at night, hoping that if he warmed it up with his body temperature, it might come back to life.

When he finally realized it didn’t, and never would, the devastation set in. He buried the fetus in the backyard, to put them to rest, before starting the mourning stage.

The grief alone had nearly killed him. It had grabbed him by his throat and yanked his heart out of his chest before tearing it to shreds in front of him. His people, gone. Wiped away like they had never been there in the first place, ready to be forgotten. His screams of anguish continuously traveled throughout the forest until his voice was too hoarse to go on.

And that was where he ended up now. Leaning against the bed in his room, unable to move, unable to continue. It was strange to think that the catalyst that led him down this path was one singular book. Had he not been curious, and read about his people, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have known about his people, but he could’ve been happy anyways. He could’ve lived among humans, ones who cared about him, at least. But instead, he’d let this quest of finding other nagas take over his life, and he’d left everyone behind. Perhaps that was for the better, too. Soft skin and serrated scales didn’t mesh well. His torso being that of a human wouldn’t make them accept him more. It would only make him stand out.

He should count himself lucky, for being allowed to die here. After all this time, after all this suffering and sorrow, he would finally find his people.

And he knew they would welcome him with open arms.

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: sex workers reader and toji, wrestling, he puts you in a headlock, ass slapping

as a sex worker under an agency, you sometimes get the opportunity to perform certain tropes that you wouldn't think too much about doing on your own. there have been quite a few that your manager has thrown your way; medical play, light BDSM scenes, and now, mixed wrestling. you've done your fair share of oiled up fighting with other women in your career, but you've never wrestled a man before.

its all staged, much like real wrestling except—except you're not too sure why or how you were paired up with infamous actor Toji Fushigurou. technically speaking, you two aren't anywhere near the same weight class, but you're not sure if technicalities even count for a job like this.

there are a few rules: no actual striking of each other, take the others underwear off during the fight, no biting. as the ref lists off all the other little things you two need to remember, you both take each other in. Toji is, for lack of better words, fucking huge. he's got at least six inches on you, packed with muscle and a nonchalant kind of finesse that makes you just the slightest bit nervous under his stare. he stands only in a tight pair of black boxer briefs, and you can make out the outline of his soft cock, despite the fact that it still rests low on his thigh.

he grins at you when he notices your ogling, winking once when you frown at him. he's been in the industry for so long, he's more than used to being objectified, but something about your little defiance that shines in your eyes makes him want to tear into you, piece by piece.

"Go!" the ref announces once she's finished listing her instructions. Toji doesn't immediately attack you, instead grins at you, hands on his waist as he cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. with a, albeit weak, battle cry, do you lunge at him—

and quickly find yourself pinned. you don't know how he does it so quickly, maneuver you as if you only weighed a pound, but he does it. catches you in his arms and swings you around until your back meets the floor with a grunt, the wind suddenly knocked out of you. he's gentle though, where he pins you with his knees on either side of you.

"At least try to put up a fight," he teases you, pulling at the straps of your bikini. but you fight him off as much as you can, grunting and cursing at him, taking this entirely too seriously for what will ultimately end with you being fucked into oblivion by the man. doesn't mean you have to go out without a fight, though.

although, your fight doesn't mean much to Toji. by the third and final round, you're fully naked and he's still got his underwear on. your ass is slapped raw by how many times his too big hands have groped you, nipples pinched to sensitivity. you're not surprised when the ref announces your lost, tells Toji to claim his prize.

and he does just that. pins you on the floor, finally releasing the thickness of his cock. he's cocky the entire time, teasing, with how he pins you on your stomach, holding you in a headlock as he fucks his cock too deep inside of you to put up much of a fight anymore.

"Did you even try?" he asks, breathy, a smirk plastered on his face as he looms over your shoulder. "Or did you want to end up like this? With my dick in your stomach? The fight worked you up that much, huh?"

he taps your clit with too thick, mean fingers with his other hand, tightening his bicep around your throat when you try to get smart with him. he knows its all bark and no bite, if judging by the way your cunt sucks him in is anything to go by. you can only gurgle out a curse to him, eyes rolling back in your head when his wicked laugh only pushes you over the edge to climax.

(after the scene ends, he kisses your temples and squeezes your waist, telling you that you guys should do more scenes together. you only stick out your tongue at him, promising to get stronger so you can take him down next time. he laughs at you, more than happy to entertain your thoughts that will, truthfully, never come true.)

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

[blackjackkent]

OK, need to run GW2 events tonight so leaving it there for the time being, but whew what a day for Rakha. XD And I'm getting the distinct impression it's only going to get worse from here.

Last time when I went through Act 2's finale with Hector, I had like two weeks off of work to focus on it; tragically that is not the case for Rakha and in fact this coming week is likely to be another very stressful one, but I *do* have Thursday off for Independence Day, woohoo. So even slightly more Rakha adventures than usual to come in the near future. XD

[naffeclipse]

[that-was-anticlimactic]

all fluttering and dancing in the breeze

🍃written for @nobamaki-bigbang🍃

“Great! Okay, so I’m assuming we all know how to play baseball, right?” Maki asked.

Everyone was nodding, and Nobara was about to scoff and say duh, was about to proudly announce that she was actually a fantastic baseball player. But…

But then she glanced at Maki—sweet, gorgeous, Maki with a determined fire blazing in her eyes—and she had an idea. A terrible, devious, but quite possibly genius idea.

“Um, actually,” she spoke up, much louder than necessary, “actually, I, uh… I don’t know how to play baseball.” She fluttered her eyelids and smiled shyly, grabbing a strand of her hair and twirling it around her fingers as if she were the epitome of innocence.

[or: nobara pretends that she doesn't know how to play baseball so she can spend time/flirt with maki]

🍃11,157 words | nobamaki🍃

🍃art on tumblr here & here🍃

🍃art on twitter here & here🍃

[nikialexx]

(slightly long and personal post, which was initially meant to be me explaining/apologizing for the delay in responding to my comments on ao3, but turned into... this... instead. It's under the cut for anyone who wants to read :)

recently (and by 'recently' i mean it's been over a year) it's been very very hard for me to summon the motivation to do... anything. Even the things I used to love, such as reading, writing, engaging in fandom, baking, playing the sims, occasionally watching a show or a movie... it's all been so unbearably hard. There were some real-life situations that contributed to this, most of which are thankfully in the past now, but the state of nothingness that I've found myself in has yet to fully fade away. I'm doing better (i read a book! an entire book! i can't remember the last time i did that!!) but there are still days where it just feels hard.

And It's like... I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but the process of getting through the tunnel is so dark and painful and lonely.

This entire post was inspired by me feeling guilty about not responding to my ao3 comments. i used to love responding to my ao3 comments. but now, whenever i even think about opening the website for any reason, i just feel... anxious. I can't even open the website to read the comments on there- I read them in my email instead because that feels less daunting.

I'm still writing, although some days (most days) it's harder than it used to be, a constant uphill battle where it used to be the easiest thing in the world for me to do. But I'm not writing nearly as much as I used to, which means I'm not posting as much as I used to or would like to. And it feels awful. For me, writing was always my *thing*. it was coming home. it was my favorite thing about myself. and not having that (or atleast, not having it in the way that I used to) has been really hard, and it's felt like a piece of me is literally gone. Like I'm missing some fundamental aspect of who I am as a person. Some days (most days) i feel like a shell of who I used to be.

And, to reiterate, I am getting better. It's just happening very slowly. And while I can look at the overall picture and say 'yeah... things are good', there are still the in-between moments of silence and darkness where I just don't know what to do with myself.

This is all very dramatic, but really, I just wanted to get my thoughts down (and also apologize, in the most melodramatic way possible, for not responding to my comments).

I spent a good chunk of the past year pretending I was okay, and refusing to even acknowledge that I was depressed because that felt like such a big, self-important word. But admitting it and accepting it is what led to me being able to work on getting through it. And now I'm doing better. So. Just wanted to share. If you happen to be feeling the same way, you're not alone :)

(also i will respond to my ao3 comments eventually. i promise i will. and thank you for leaving them. I read them all and I love them <3)

[mutalune]

hey siri how do I stop feeling gutwrenchingly anxious in the guilt way for using the treatment methods available to me to not be in constant misery

[soggypotatoes]

the problem with turning up to uni all colourful in overalls and pigtails is that everyone thinks im 18

im 27, i just have the fashion sense of a clown and my neck is sweaty

[malachitezmeyka]

Ever since I first read Eugene Onegin two years ago, and even more now that I had to reread it for school recently, I've been saying that I've never related to a fictional character more than I relate to Tatyana Larina (not counting my own characters, that is, as they are intentional projections). Particularly the verses about Tatyana's childhood hit very close to home. I've been wanting to talk about it for a while but couldn't find a translation of the book that I liked. So, instead of sleeping, I spent 2 hours absolutely torturing my own brain by coming up with my own translation and I'm way too proud not to share.

Eugene Onegin, chapter 2, verses 25, 26 and 27, translated with the original temp and rhyming scheme intact, by yours truly <3

—

XXV

And so, her sister's named Tatyana.

She seldom catches someone's gaze,

Lacks Olga's beauty, lacks her glamour,

The pink-cheeked freshness of her face.

She's almost feral, quiet with woe,

So quick to startle, like a doe.

And even in her family home

She seemed a child not quite their own.

She hardly ever showed affection,

Both mom and dad would often say.

By window she would spend her day

Alone but for her own reflection,

She judged the children running wild,

Though she herself was still a child.

XXVI

Imagination was her close friend

From infancy. As village days

Kept dragging on without an end,

She'd get lost in her fantasies.

Needle and thread she too avoided,

Fabric was never once embroidered

By her unblemished fingers, for

She found needlework a bore.

An average girl would take her doll,

Sit down with it and start to talk,

Prepare it for the time to walk

Into an upper class grand ball –

To silent dolls during these sessions

Young girls repeat their mothers' lessons.

XXVII

Tatyana never had discussions

With dolls, nor did she play with them;

She never told them of the fashions,

Of city news, and even then

Of toys and games she was quite wary,

She'd rather read of something scary.

In winters, in the dead of night,

Her heart learned how to take a fright.

When for young Olga their old nanny

Would gather up the neighbours' kids

To run and play out in the fields,

Tatyana would act most uncanny:

She never played or ran around,

And found their laughter far too loud.

—

[allylikethecat]

Get excited! I actually finished another oneshot for tomorrow...

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Hi Rachel,

In some of my writing I’m beginning to notice more and more that certain characters (not all) remind me of myself lol. And I hate it, I go back and rewrite them. But I’m interested if you relate to any of your characters as well so—Out of the characters you’ve written (Lonan, Reeve, Harrison, etc..) who do you think is the most like you? And what’s your take on writers seeing themselves in some of their characters?

feel about seeing reflections

Hahaha I used to HATE writing characters that were like me, and it took a while to realize that actually, they ALL are me in some iteration. To answer your question about writers seeing themselves in their characters—if writing characters that are “self-inserts” makes you joyful, DO IT!!! If writing characters who aren’t self-inserts but have attributes to you makes you joyful, DO IT! Or if you’re not into it—that’s fine too! Life is too short! Have fun with what works for you!

My experience below, this gets kind of intense as a warning! CW: suicidal ideation, disocciation

Aligning myself with my characters has been an intensely life-saving experience. I’m not sure I’d be here if it were not for Lonan… 16-year-old Rachel WAS him, and also needed him because literally nobody else “understood” where I was at except for him (undiagnosed autism for BOTH OF US??).

There was a time of my life where I couldn’t emotionally regulate at all, and in moments of stress, would often dissociate and quite literally converse with this man (looking back now, this was just a coping mechanism—confirmed by my doctor btw!—but for a couple years he was a genuine part of my psyche, like moved out of just character territory). I think I talked about this years ago, but I have a really distinct memory of disconnecting so much I quite literally thought he was THERE next to me, which I needed—he really became an externalization of the things I couldn’t deal with (or didn’t understand how to deal with). I needed to see myself reflected in the eye of someone else and for a really long time that was Lonan for me. Actually screaming crying that’s so cute.

And Lonan is similar to me in a lot of ways! This is a side tangent but when I was first diagnosed as autistic it made me wonder if I’d inadvertently written any autistic characters & it struck me way back then that the person most similar to me (Lonan lol) is probably also autistic. I was like—sensory issues?? No emotional regulation?? Speaks a bit oddly?? We are THE SAME. Haven’t really confirmed this in canon lol but I’ve been thinking about it since 2021.

Funnily, now that I have that diagnosis, my life is a lot more stable so like… I’m not currently the most like Lonan lol. But me at 16-19??? Absolutely him.

Unfortunately, I am currently HARRISON, which isn’t ideal but just like he’s a 21-year-old experiencing horrors I’m a 21-year-old experiencing horrors (which is why BB is sometimes painful to write cuz I’m like oooooh I’m feeling this… too much). To be fair, I’ve always said I’m the introverted version of Harrison (because I am lol our personality types are the same, not that I believe in those but since I was like 13 I’ve said this). But just like Lonan, Harrison has helped me now process some tough things this year that I’m not sure how else I would’ve survived. It’s important to me that I have fictional vessels to explore my own life with because it can help me identify problems & then learn to empathize with myself by empathizing with a character first.

Of course they’re also separate from me—they absolutely didn’t start as ME but as time goes on I start seeing myself in them particularly (Reeve sometimes too—our kindred spirits with processing toxic relationships <3). Maybe it’s because I am autistic, but I find it useful to understand my experiences via someone else. I love seeing the ways we can inform each other.

My TL;DR is I’m Harrison if he was Lonan so I guess I’m BB Harrison. Love this for me so much. But also add autism. Which is probably already there because: Lonan. LMAO and a dash of Reeve’s compartmentalization skills. And we have me!

[pevko]

slides in here.... i saw you rb that "dissolution of social media" post and i was like AGH mit pevko..... longtime*??????) mutual i am fond of but now confined to the dash 😔 sometimes i still hear ur voice......... (weirdly enough, mitya-pevko comes up just fine so i guess they fixed it??)

(*question mark bc my sense of time is bad but im like 90% sure it's been ages)

ANYWAY sorry this is just a silly thing to say i appreciate u and miss seeing the black cat in my notifs! i hope you're well 🙏 also would love to see more àrt if u have any to share........ love art forevar

almost sure that we have been mutuals since 2018 or a little earlier !! i think ... or 2017? i recently went thru some old photos from then and i think i have your art saved from back then even 😭 i love seeing you in my notifications a lot too also !!! i hope youre well too!

[m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e]

Is it normal to be so obsessed with the idea of being a good or I guess even unproblematic person, to the point where you’re nit-picking every single little thing you say or do and feel like shit about yourself for not always fitting your own idea of being a “perfect” person? …what do you mean “no”?