#hi i'm so excited to write with you!

[perfectioncursed]

@winchvsters ♥'d

❝bad things happen, but you can't get rid of your past because then you'd lose the good parts, too.❞

[myiliterallyhavenolifegoals]

i'm unwell!!! because in stede's eyes, ned low was right!! ned says "he [ed] only likes you because of your bumbling amateur status" and calls stede blackbeard's "pet" just like izzy did in series 1

so stede steps up as a captain, kills the man who harmed his crew, and suddenly, for once in stede's life, he isn't a joke! the gentleman pirate is taken seriously and welcomed into the pirate community!

and what happens less than 24 hours later? ed calls their night together a mistake, AND LEAVES.

yes, obviously the situation is more nuanced, and these old men are once again struggling to communicate, but i 100% understand why stede went a bit of the rails at the end of episode 7. stede's been so focused on trying to help ed, that he's completely ignored his own ongoing identity crisis and trauma, and after the incident at the academy in series 1, this meltdown was long overdue.

[aquanutart]

She is offering water to any lost travelers! However, it's so hot that the water has become tea, so she's adjusted accordingly!

[nakaremfarlei]

Was just thinking about the amount of animals Obi-Wan interacts with compared to literally everyone else and in the Clone Wars episode where Kamino gets attacked he literally gets saved twice by the same ray-like animal and just...

The growth from judging Qui-Gon for the 'pathetic lifeforms' he picks up to whatever he has going on during the Clone Wars era. He must have gotten that from Qui-Gon though, right?

And because it's my brain and it's rotting with all the star wars stuff I am consuming I was thinking of Obi-Wan saving all these creatures and the 212th having to deal with that. Surely they made one of the rooms pet proof in case one of them needs a new home. There also have to be clones who love that because of course Obi-Wan can't really take care of rescues on top of all his duties.

After the first few times this happens Cody learns to order animal food and other necessities. And if the Republic doesn't fulfill these requests or asks too many questions he'll just have to make sure to organize them on planet during the campaigns.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

A little special something for something even more special. Hint: it's about love and fears and birthdays and new beginnings

(@/marvel hire me <3)

[nocturnalnewsiestrash]

Charles being left handed is something that can actually be so special to me

[skyerocketing-anxiety]

When I say that is now my favorite episode of the season if not the show I am being entirely serious like I didn't know how badly I needed this episode until I got it god bless this beautiful holiday. hallow be thy ween

[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!!!

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

not spop-related but i can't post this on my main blog so.

i do find it funny how most of the fan depictions of belos were far more interesting and detailed than s3 belos. i've seen fanart and fanfics of him where he's a complex villain struggling with religious guilt and then the canon is just like.. lmao yeah he's pure evil. kill him.

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[fanaticmorelikefantastic]

Welcome Home : Hobie x fem!reader

This is my first fic for @the-kr8tor 's Octobie event! I'm really super excited and I hope you like it :D

Synopsis: Everything sucks and then you get cat distribution systemed to Hobie.

Tags: Hobie/reader, Hobie/fem!reader, Reader is from another country, I just assumed she was american, American reader, Supposed to be in the 70's?, Just pretend it's an au if anything sounds funny about it, Hurt/comfort, wee bit of angst, crying in the rain, etc.

Note: I tried my best to write it as a hurt comfort, but I'm not sure if it turned out that way. First snippet of a series of oneshots about an American immigrant reader and Hobie! das it :)

It was a dark, but not very stormy night. London, always a gloomy one, this city was. Not that I’m any better. Through a series of events, I found myself in this here alleyway, looking for answers. Riddle me this; how does one find a man, who is a spider, who is a man? You call me, that’s how. The dame came into my office, just wanted to know who her saviour was, she said. Told me she would hand over a handsome sum of cash if I could find him. Money makes the world go round, after all. Course I agreed, I was tight-strapped this month and something had to pay that rent.

The first step to knowing about the wanted is to know about the wanter. In this case, that would be me. In reality, there was no damsel bursting into a private eye’s office, there wasn’t even a large wad of cash. Just a girl, a masked hero, and a handwritten thank-you note. 

London was nowhere near the pearly and refined city it was advertised to be, especially not in this soot stained, half muddied alleyway. As for why I was found in said alleyway, several days ago, I had gotten into some trouble with some sort of crooked cop, but before anything extraordinarily unsavory could happen, I was saved in one fell swoop by a man in some strange costume. I believe that living out of hotels was taking a toll on my mental state, and living at all was taking a toll on my wallet. So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to find who he was and thank him. A simple thank-you, that’s all, and maybe I would ask him if he was hiring.

My search took me from one end of the city to another, and eventually into this alleyway. They called him ‘Spider-Man’ or ‘Spider-Punk.’ Strange names, but I’m not too sure what I expected of a man who runs around dressed like such. At some point in my thread of conversations and inquiries, I was led to Camden, then to this very alley. Supposedly, he shows up here often, but apparently not today. That’s fine. It’s okay. I had only started my search because I had nothing better to do; I was just taking a break by doing this. Against my will, this spot made me start to think of… everything. My moving here, my lack of a job, my lack of a  house, that awful place that I had left behind, my dwindling visa, it all seemed like too much; it all was too much. I leaned on a dusty hvac machine, back heavy with worries, listening to the quiet shrills and screams of some not-so-far away concert. The music had deep, billowing bass and a powerful guitar. It was like no other music I had heard before, and it called to me somewhat. Unfortunately, the rotten worms in my head were louder than the music right now. Barely overshadowed by the crackling of my thoughts was a low rumble curling in the clouds above. I sighed when I heard a clap of thunder. The  muffled concert in the distance began to stop playing its heavy and low tones when the mouselike droplets evolved into a storm. I hated the rain. Not all rain, just this rain; this rain that marked the demise of my journey; this rain that reminded me I was only ever stupid and naive; this rain that told me to give up, pack my bags, and go back home; that I should have never left my country in the first place; that was the rain that I despised with all my heart. This wretched rain had gotten on my face. Yes, surely, it was the rain that was ruining the makeup I worked so hard on this morning. It was ripping up that stupid letter of mine and causing me to dig my face into my hands. All of this was blamed on the rain, who was innocent of all save for soaking my hair. 

I stayed like that for a while, next to the smoother gray wall, huddled over, soaked in mostly my own misery. My own waterfalls made the rain feel like a light shower. If nowhere else, I felt allowed in this alley. That I could cry and sob and be angry and scared and cold and nobody would care because they don’t expect to see sane people in an alleyway to begin with. I most certainly do not. The tears and rain that coated my palms made them almost suction to my face, but in the midst of my dolor, I heard a voice from somewhere beside or near me.

“What’s wrong lovie?” My head dragged up from my hands after the sound of a limoncello voice hung itself in the air. After a lousy wipe of my eyes, I was able to properly see the man who cared enough about a stranger’s tears to stop and ask what they cried for. That dingy street lamp flickered its light around him like a halo. It took me a moment to register the man, his dewy chocolate skin and glossy hazelnut eyes. His face was studded with silver stars, and despite his sharp expression, he held a certain softness about him. He held a bright red umbrella, funny, he didn’t look like the type. He was a tall man for certain, craning over so he could cover me. His presence made everything stop for a moment, a still, small, and quiet recognition fell on these two strangers in this back alley of London.

“Who are you calling lovie?” My voice was like a crisp, wobbling paper. I stood up to speak with him, but by the time I was at my full height, my waterworks were, once again, in full swing. He panicked a little, holding his free hand out in the way one would to try and calm a dog you’ve never seen before.

“Woa, woa, what's the matter with you? ‘s  everything alright?” I’m not quite sure what made me do it, maybe I’ve lost my mind since coming to this place, but I stood there and sobbed out everything that happened to me during my time in London. Words, and feelings, and thoughts and actions kept spilling, tumbling, out of my mouth like bricks collapsing through the bottom of a broken forklift. That whole time, he listened, actually, truly listened to the ramblings of a stranger who he’d just met in some shady back alley while it was raining. Once again, I held the feeling that everything about him glowed. 

“Well, have you got any place to stay tonight?” He spoke very softly to me.  

“If I did, I wouldn’t be hanging around here, would I?” I shivered like a wet rat, parts of my hair stuck to the nape of my neck. He laughs through his nose before shrugging off his studded black leather jacket and placing it around my shoulders. The lining was warm. 

“Well, let’s get you washed up. You look a bloody mess.”  He gave my shoulders a light tap.

“Am I bleeding?” I tapped my face a little, checking for anything warm. He gave me a funny look in response.

“Th’ name’s Hobie by the way. Hobie Brown.” I did my best to wipe my face off before telling him my name. I reached out my hand, and he gave it a quick shake.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

I followed him around the streets like a lost puppy, clutching the coat he gave me like it was a lifeline and occasionally looking at his silent face. The pavement we passed on was glossed over with the continuing rain. We passed building after building, some separated, some connected, and others so close they might as well be. I was certainly very close to someone who could, within reason, be mistaken for a building. If I ever began to wander too close to the edge of the umbrella, a steady and gentle hand would kindly guide me back to my spot beside him. We made our way to a canal style river thing in the middle of the city. He pointed my gaze toward a houseboat floating and rolling on the water. It looked like somewhere a retired pirate would live. 

The interior was surprisingly cozy despite its somewhat bare furnishings. Various knicknacks and things nestled themselves in unassuming spots around the place. The moment I set foot in the door, I felt right at home.

“Leave your shoes at the door, ’ll take that too.” Hobie. Hobie waited for me to unlatch my shoes and stand straight before taking his coat from my shoulders. I never noticed him put the umbrella away, but it’s gone, and his shoes are neatly set to the side on a not-so-neat towel. I don’t know what to say as I watch him take my shoes and line them right next to his, so I stand in the doorway and watch him wander out of view then right back in with some dry and clean clothes. He hands them to me with both hands, so that’s the exact way I receive them as I try to unclog my throat for words to flow through. I look back up at his face. He’s waiting so patiently for me to find my words, with that same sternly soft expression.

“Thank you.” The words came out a little too quiet, so I said it again. 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me, even though we just met and I-” My voice broke again when I started tearing up. 

“Oh no, no, come on, love. You on’t have to cry.” Quickly, He thumbed away my budding tears, his palms warm on my face.

“I know, but I’m just- I’m so grateful, you know?” He did. He knew. I could see it in his shining gray eyes that he knew. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have waited for me to stop my crying. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have wiped away every stray tear himself. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been so quick to open his home to me. If he didn’t, he would have never lent me that coat of his. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have handed me these clothes that I’m holding.

Once I got myself together, I was directed to the bathroom. Surprisingly, (according to him), there was warm water to shower with, and I did so happily. When I stepped into the living room I felt like I had on brand new skin. Hobie had the stove on and open while he stirred some milk into a second cup of tea. He turned around before I could even properly enter the kitchenette, as though he already knew that I was there. 

“Feelin’ better yet?” He handed me the cup he was holding with a smile, a deep and pretty blue. I held it and relished in the warmth of the cup from both his hands and the tea. 

“Wasn’t sure if you liked sugar, so I didn’t add any.” I wanted to cry again. He was overwhelming in all the best ways possible, but I had already put him through enough of my tears tonight, so I sucked them back in.

“I don’t” I smiled at him before taking a sip of what could very well be the best tea of my life. 

“If ‘s not uncomfortable, you could stay ‘ere till you get your own base of operation.” He was leaning on the counter, index tracing the edge of his own cup while speaking. Instead of this tea, I wish I could drink the color of his eyes as they’re looking at me. I'm suddenly smiling a lot right now.

"I will, if you'll have me."

[gardenofearthlydelightss]

Love you 'till forever

I look up from my book and see you sleeping

Sleeping on the sofa, wearing my pullover

Walking down the streets on little feet

I could almost eat you, lucky me to meet you

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hi? Is it okay to ask for Ganondorf's possible anxieties involving having a son?

I mean, it's highly unlikely that Ganon even saw another male until at least 18. Imagine what that would do to someone. No father, no male role model, no male friends, no male associates. No male contact at all.

Like, I can't even imagine what it would've been like to have had no female contact at all until 18.

Just not having a good father in one's life is known to stunt a person substantially. I can't even fathom how othered Ganon must've felt growing up. How utterly pressured he felt to become a pillar of masculinity without any real example to follow. No one to teach him what it actually means to be a good man. No one to explain things to him. No one to show him the subtle little things that seems to almost be universal among men no matter the culture. Especially in how they interact amongst each other. No one to teach him about comradery between men. About the unspoken rules that men seem to have.

And, not to mention the almost commodifying perspective the Gerudo have towards men. One even mentioned that she'd believed that all men were useless except for Ganondorf.

I can't help but think he might've internalized some of that.

So, would Ganon be anxious about setting a good example for his son seeing as he likely didn't have that himself?

Ganondorf had to admit he was still in shock over looking at his children. But the longer he stared at them, the more a new feeling settled into his heart.

Watching his daughter was a blessing; a strong feeling of protectiveness overcame him, and he wondered how such a delicate looking child could grow into a warrior like her mother. But his son…

Ganondorf could fathom having a daughter, could handle raising a girl. But a son…

He’d never felt so simultaneously out-of-depth and excited.

It wasn’t particularly a feeling he enjoyed. Ganondorf despised being out of control. But looking at the little boy made him feel so utterly alone and adrift, wondering how in the world he could possibly raise this child correctly. Yet at the same time, it filled him with eagerness, an excitement to give the boy guidance that he had been sorely lacking in his life.

Growing up as a Gerudo male had been so incredibly isolating. Ganondorf had been treated as a king and as some Other, his childhood filled with voids and gaps in understanding, in confusion that had left him stumbling when he’d first entered Hyrule. He’d never felt unwelcome by his fellow Gerudo, but he’d also never felt welcome. His presence was a blessing, a symbol of leadership with no understanding of what that even meant. Somehow it was his responsibility to lead his band of thieves, and the best way he knew how was to be the strongest. His physicality lent to it naturally, so it only seemed the correct path. But when he’d first entered Hyrule, when he’d first seen another man, he had felt wholly inadequate. It had been a group of Hylian soldiers, all strong in their own right, laughing amongst each other, at ease, normal.

He wasn’t normal. He’d never been normal. His body had been strange and cursed, developing in ways no other Gerudo’s had, lacking the gift of life that the women bore, making up for it in sheer power and aggression. It had been his goddess-given right to be a protector, and that had developed into a greater desire when he’d seen Hyrule.

He didn’t have to defend. He could just take as his sisters did, but with greater results. He could live in a land that prospered, he could rule it, as was his birthright.

But all of those thoughts felt empty when looking at his son, because here he held a new gift and opportunity. He could be a father. He could raise a boy to be a man, could show him what that meant when he’d never had that chance.

But what could he possibly do in this role? He knew nothing of fathers, even in his journeys to Hyrule. The closest he’d gotten to interacting with a father was seeing the king, who occasionally was present with the princess, but mostly the girl was elsewhere in the palace. Was being a father not that involved, then, or was it simply because the king of Hyrule had other duties? Ganondorf surely wouldn’t abandon his children nearly so much. They could attend duties with him. How else could they learn to fulfill their roles, anyway?

Was that the correct course of action? Twinrova had done as much with Ganondorf, so it seemed reasonable. He’d been involved in the care and leadership of his people since he was a teenager, perhaps even a little younger.

The worst part of this was that he had no one to turn to for this. Ganondorf hated relying on anything or anyone else but himself, but in this matter… he… almost wished he did have someone. Nabooru, as much as he loved her, was not going to be helpful in this matter. However, in this land that Din had taken him to, the Gerudo here did have a very small amount of men present in their ranks – only those who joined with Gerudo women were allowed. Men from a nearby settlement occasionally interacted with Gerudo, and those who chose to embrace the culture and marry one of the women were allowed. But they were foreigners, and Ganondorf was their ruler through his own birthright and his marriage to Nabooru. He refused to look to them for an example.

Ganondorf took a steadying breath, lifting the child into his arms. It didn’t matter if he had an example or not. He’d forged his own way his entire life, and that wasn’t changing now. He would be a father to these children whether he was ready or not, and so he would strive to be the best father he could be, whatever that meant.

[lizardkingeliot]

i'm 4.2k into writing this loustat seven-years-underground-era ~fucking and fighting~ fic and i'm finally getting to the fucking the fun part and i deeply want this thing to be 1) under 10k and 2) finished and posted by this time next week so everyone keep your fingers crossed for me this is going to be a chaotic weekend and the psychic damage 2x07 is about to inflict on us all will def be cutting into my writing time 😭

also honestly as much as i don't want this season to be over i'm looking forward to how much extra writing time i'm going to have when my brain isn't being constantly pummeled with the impending excitement/fear of A New Episode for a while at least lmao

[timeclipsed]

[ipatrichor]

dead boy detectives episode three thoughts

NIKO MY GIRL NIKO. i love her so much holy shit. she's just so effortlessly charming and so deeply, sincerely kind 😭 i would kill for her good lord the scene after they leave the devlin house? she was so scared for completely understandable reasons (i would not want to go to a house with an axe murderer ghost either, and she almost just died like the day before on top of that!) but she suits up and braves a Goddamn Coastal Storm (seriously, it was dark when she left and light when she found them meaning she was out there alone in the dark storm for a little while Minimum) to help her friends!! it's like. yeah she's pretty naive and easily scared (again, Reasonably so), but also she cares so goddamn much about her friends. im gonna cry dude

also this episode really is giving me everything i asked for huh. i asked for niko joining the gang and changing their dynamics, and we got that incredibly sweet scene with edwin at the library. i asked for the bickering to stay while dynamics grow and evolve, and edwin & crystal have a scene where they still snipe at each other while working well together to rescue charles and appreciating each other's skills and knowledge. i asked for charles backstory, and holy shit. this show really does have it all huh

okay speaking of charles. i love love love what we got this episode. i mean yeah i kinda guessed his dad wasn't great from what he'd said before, but i was also second-guessing myself a little because well, if he was that bad charles probably wouldn't be checking on him to make sure he's okay, right? and then we get that reveal, and damn. god it was so cool to see something actually really hit charles, because he's mostly a chill guy! sure, he's gotten annoyed and stuff, but it never seems to last long and i've been really looking forward to seeing what'll break that composure. this episode did not disappoint holy shit

speaking of which. idk if it was just the dad's abuse that was affecting him so much... this is an odd theory, but hear me out. it's making me kind of wonder if the reason he was so deeply affected was because his dad was involved with his death somehow. iirc his cause of death was drowning or something? hypothermia maybe i do not remember but i remember something about injuries like broken ribs or something. and i dunno i'm starting to wonder if those injuries were from his dad and they contributed to his death. or maybe im completely wrong and it hit him so hard to see a man kill his wife and daughters because he's spent the decades since his death afraid his dad will do that to his mom! who knows! only time will tell, but i am so intrigued

also i actually really love that him repressing so much doesn't get resolved. like yes girl keep deflecting from your trauma until you get overwhelmed and have a messy breakdown where everything explodes. and like yeah his friends know he's keeping shit to himself now, but that's. really not something it's easy to bring up so really the most they can do is let him know they're there for him and keep an eye out. which is probably harder to do with So Many Goddamn Enemies.

like okay let's count we've got esther + monty, crystal's demon ex, death's scottish secretary (idk her name or job sorry. the lady who played the witch mom on supernatural. rowena??? girl idk i didn't finish s5), the cat king (not necessarily evil but he is literally keeping them trapped so), miscellaneous enemies/villains each episode like the sprites or the misery wraith (terrifying btw! i Do Not like that thing on a personal level but i appreciate it thematically 👍), and ALSO Literal Death is basically looming over them as an existential and also very literal threat. girl this is crazy there is So Much going on how the fuck is this show only 8 episodes

crystal's memories... i actually really like that she might've been an asshole. like yeah you could argue her ex was influencing her (either supernaturally or just like peer pressure) but i actually think it's more interesting if he wasn't and she was just willing to be an asshole. and also maybe endanger people's lives?? idk what was up with dropping a large rock on moving cars but it didn't seem like anyone died bc he would for sure have leveraged that against her so. but i just think it's more interesting and compelling if she has to deal with like... yeah she was an asshole. what now? she can't change it, she's just got to live with it and choose to do better

also back to charles bc that scene will not stay out of my head. his actor is so good... the subtle emotional nuance in his facial expressions... i may need to rewatch the episode everything about his acting is so good. also charles getting stuck in the loop was fucking chilling- i didn't expect hitting the dad to work really, I thought it'd do nothing or go through him, but when he caught the cricket bat and hit charles with the axe i actually gasped. and then just sitting there unmoving and unseeing until the loop restarts and he vanishes... girl that was terrifying. like would they kill off charles like that? no I don't believe so, not in episode 3 of 8. however it was genuinely scary i didn't know if something fucked up would happen that he'd need a while to recover from or something. im glad he's okay physically at least, even if mentally is debatable :')

monty... what do i say about monty. he's cute and so awkwardly charming- if we hadn't seen that he's esther's familiar i would've been rooting for him to be a side character who shows up every now and then, kinda like jenny y'know? but because we know he's part of her revenge, i'm spending his scenes side-eyeing him like hey. the hell is that about. however i will say it's better knowing so we can stress about what his plan is instead of having him introduced as just a guy and then being a traitor or something. idk i like the dread and suspicion! it's a quality writing choice

i will say though, there's one thing about him that's making me side-eye him even harder. why did he antagonize charles? if he's trying to ingratiate himself with the boys + crystal and earn their trust, being a dick to one of them won't help. does esther's plan rely on isolating edwin? why? and if it's not her plan, why is he singling out edwin specifically? idk many questions lots to consider!!

in conclusion, this is such a good show and each episode just keeps getting better. i'm jumping right into episode four, i just wanted to organize my thoughts here first haha