arborio00

[arborio00]

sometimes i legitimately fucking forget i have fully finished drafts i just never took the time to post. what do you mean i have 3 full thomaluc fics from like. two years ago. what do you mean i have a full zhongchi sick fic draft. what are we talking about

[arborio00]

i need to post here more. i need to write more. i need to eat some soup and go for a walk. i need to pet a cat. i need to feel the sun. i need to finish that book. i need to get a new library card. i need to get my navel pierced. i ne

[arborio00]

vetted fundraisers from today. please please continue to take the time to support campaigns like these, whether financially or through amplification. these families are placing their hopes in our care.

july 16th:

Doctor Mohammed Aldeeb and his family of four (€25,170/€30,000) - @moahmmedaldeeb, verified by @/el-shab-hussein

The Ayyad family of eight, four of whom are children ($25,102/$35,000) - @mayadayyad81, @aymanayyad82, @aymanayyad1, verified by @/nabulsi

Hanaa Jad Al-Haq, her husband Muhammad Hammad, and their little son Yousef (£2,720/£20,000) - @heno-mo, @yousef0hammad, verified by @/90-ghost

Helping autistic child Omar Jad Al-Haq recover and evacuating the rest of his family, one of whom is paralyzed from a stroke and needs treatment (kr21,145 SEK/kr200,000 SEK) - @omarasaadb, verified by @/90-ghost

Eman Salem, her husband, their four children, her widowed father-in-law, and her sick father (needs urgent surgery for gangrene in his foot) (€965/€27,000) - @emanfamily, @emansalem, verified by @/90-ghost

The Al-Habil family of of six, including three members who need urgent medical treatment ($6,208 CAD/$70,000 CAD) - @nohaibrahim-2024, @alhabeilfamily, @abeeribrahim2006, #240 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Hamsa Mohammad's family of five, including a newborn, a three-year-old, and her elderly grandmother, who needs urgent treatment for a broken pelvis and hand as well as heart disease (€5,854/€30,000) - @hmsamoh, @hamsamohammad, verified by @/nabulsi

17-year-old Muhammad Atallah (needs vital treatment after being shot with an explosive bullet), and his family of ten, including a toddler and a newborn (€2,697/€82,000) - @mohammed-atallah, verified by @/90-ghost

Mohammed Al Manasra (sole survivor of his family), his wife, their three little children, and their cat (Mohammed and his wife both need medical attention; Mohammed's foot is injured and will be amputated if not treated as soon as possible) (€28,827/€40,000) - @save-mohamed-family, #192 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet

The AlBalawi family of 11, including several children and two chronically ill members (€24,756/€50,000) - @fatmasalahfamily, @bisanalbalawi18, @elbalawi, @yasminalbalawiigaza, verified by @/90-ghost

Ahmed Al-Nabih, his two brothers, and their mother (€11,301/€30,000) - @ahmedalnabeeh11, #218 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Medical student Malak Dader, her five siblings (her teenage brother Moataz was killed), and their parents (two family members are sick with hepatitis) (€738/€25,000) - @malakabed, verified by @/90-ghost

Salam, her husband Mohammad, and their two little children (€17,643/€40,000) - @save-salam-family, verified by @/90-ghost

Munna Tashmali and her five children (this is the third time their home has been destroyed) (£3,774/£30,000) - @monashamali, verified by @/nabulsi

Muhammad Al-Habil, his wife, their three young children, and Muhammad's chronically ill parents (€11,286/€50,000) - @aya2mohammed, @alhabil, verified by @/nabulsi

Ahmed Alanqar, his wife Dina, and their four children, one a newborn (€29,184/€35,000) - @ahmedabuyamin, #174 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet

Evacuating Firas Muhaisen's family of six (including three children) and funding he and his sister's medical education (time-sensitive fees, needed by August 1st) ($3,130 CAD/$82,000 CAD) - @firasmuhaisenn, @nisreenameen, @hashem-fromgaza, verified by @/90-ghost

Amal Ashour, her husband, and their little daughter Maryam (€12,769/€30,000) - @amalashuor, @moatasim20101010, #175 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

not yet vetted:

Mohammed Ayyad, his wife, and their five children (€11,323/€35,000) - @mohammad1980ayyad, @m430235341

your contribution, no matter how small, can help save someone's life. please don't pass up the chance to take such an immeasurably valuable action

[arborio00]

Do you ever start writing something that you’re excited about and that seems like it’s turning out well and that you’re getting eager to share, and then you start typing it up or doing an edit pass and it’s just awful it’s awful its premise is fundamentally flawed and it’s out of character and the prose is clunky and the plot is badly paced and ludicrous and the whole thing is embarrassing, how could you have done this, how could you have sunk so much time into this, you can’t even look at it, how is this that shining thing you were so excited about, how could you even have considered finishing it let alone sharing it with anyone, you’re crying, your mother is crying, nuns are spontaneously exploding in the streets,

[arborio00]

me (thinking critically): wallace literally only hooked up with todd when he was in the scott costume, and that very clearly insinuates that their fling barely had anything to actually do with todd. scott was believed to literally be dead at this time, wallace was likely grieving and heavily drinking and

also me (gay, slurring): God but what if they made out thoigh.

[arborio00]

People like to think of others as sane and reasonable and fail to understand the reality of an entire population raised so deeply depraved, hateful and bloodthirsty that they will go out of their way to block aid. They genuinely want all life in Gaza wiped out and say so. They make TikToks with their dream of resorts and Disneyland and houses on the ruins. Eating poison from day one that turns a baby into a gleeful baby killer.

[arborio00]

i lied. im not going to finish my wips. im going to write scollace because i just watched the actual scott pilgrim vs the world movie for the first time as a rerun in a theater and they make me SICK

[arborio00]

this is what it feels like to open your notifications after you posted what u thought would be a banger but youve only gotten 1 like

[arborio00]

cant believe im touching up on my old renkaza drafts i never finished ^-^ (statement may or may not be including all the fears you hold so dear)... i feel like i used to be the renkaza fic person to go to but they stopped rotting my brain so bad (_ _*)

(i missed them, ily4ever kyo)

[arborio00]

Write fanfic for yourself.

Publish fanfic for the rotation of 3-6 people who are devoted readers and will either go feral or leave you very nice words and yell with you about it.

[arborio00]

if tumblr could stop fucking up my text that would be great

[arborio00]

dried flower !

Gallagher x fem! reader, angst, not proofread, written prior the 2.1 update but published on the exact day of it. inspiration; "Crabs" && "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. word count; 772. tags; @karagatan02.

note. Gallagher come home istg- also, this is kinda rushed sorry 😭

The past fabricates the present, the present is a sequence prolonging to a destiny full of potential, wherein demise is either today or tomorrow.

Time is an archaic thief—it robs the current abruptly and tosses bequeathed memories of serrated edges in the back of the mind. And reminiscences are remembrances. Remembrances are warm; they flicker hazily with such ardour and nostalgia, akin to The Remembrance’s melting candle.

Warm.

A foreign sensation emits from the lighter's flame—something that scintillates vague reminiscences within Gallagher's memory.

Some individuals harbour reminiscences, others are plagued by them. And Gallagher is left to recuperate.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him waned—a lily of no dampness, no sunlight, an aroma of an absent lover.

‘Gallagher…do you promise never to forget me? Never to forget that I existed by your side someday?’

Once, long ago, when you and he were still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, the question looms in the atmosphere for a while, and Gallagher allows it to sink in.

Gallagher observes as you run a hand over the cold steel, the other remains inside your parka. You pause your faint steps, soft eyes, deep their transparent clarity, lock into his.

The motionlessness of the Rooftop Garden added to the silence, overlooking a thousand towering buildings yonder.

Gallagher regards you in return— something about that gaze pours an unfamiliar, lonely, helpless sort of feeling. Something akin to searching. Something akin to an attempt to convey something, something that is formless, something that you could not grasp within, and therefore, had no hope of ever turning into words.

‘I'll never forget you,’ he grabs your hand and places. ‘I could never forget you.’

Though these reminiscences within began to dissipate; of course, you knew it all would evanesce along the fleeting time. This is precisely why you begged not to be forgotten, to remember that you had existed.

The thought fills him with an almost intolerable despondency; you never loved him.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him was once refined, lush smooth, and luxurious.

Once, long ago, when you and he were still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, Gallagher would walk along by your side occasionally, whenever he was done with his shift as a bartender.

You would often walk pressed against his arm; your arms entwined. Or you would cram your hand in his pocket, or, when it was really cold, cling tightly to his arm, shivering. None of this felt momentous as he resumed walking with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Delusion.

How Gallagher thought this route could persevere— the way his gaze would briskly catch your distanced figure in the bar as he works, that would urge him to pause his duty right away, to enjoy yet another stroll with you.

And in the absence of understanding, the world felt out of kilter— he could hear as it creaked through this new orbit. something has happened, and the world has changed, out of order, never to be the same.

Everything had changed, and all he could do, is watch it as it proceeded along the altered destination.

Please, Gallagher says, desperation lacing his tone. We can figure this out.

You love him, yet to remain is to endure further heartache, to be a burden. No, you manage, I cannot tolerate this inconsistency. My inconsistency. You’re better off without me

His breath hitches in his throat. He composes himself and reluctantly releases your hand, surveying you in stifled purgatory.

Hence, the relationship approached its estimated epilogue. No catastrophised bellowing matches, or dramatic wails; a silent compromise.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him waned. You relinquished it and deemed it a sequence for a euphoric future. Whilst, Gallagher stores it at home— its stem sagged, white petals shrivelled on the dry soil.

Something major has been extracted from his life, confining him to a devoid solitude.

It's foreign— your tender kisses planted on his scars, your assuasive gaze, your captivating voice, your indulgent caresses on his skin. It's no further part of his life, replaced with desolation, a hollow in his heart, and a touch that lingers, akin to a ghost.

Time is stagnant as it elapses without you and he wishes to wake up someday, and never bear this sensation.

He could barely detect you at the bar, though when he does, he wishes, that you both worked it out in, perhaps, an alternative universe.

jemvia, 2024. do not copy, share, repost, or re-upload my work on any website without prior consent.

[arborio00]

sum: literally just pulling sleepy baizhu to bed. (gn! reader.) a/n: this is my first tumblr post of my writing!! i offer scraps of my husband. its 2am - this isnt proofread.

> work doesn't always truly end for Baizhu. living in the workplace, and seldom turning away a patient no matter the hour, the line thins and blurs.

> it's you that has to pull him away from the desk at the end of the day, Changsheng having already slithered tiredly away at some point or another. and he's tired himself. so, so tired when you wrap your arms around him, and he just leans against you. yawns like a housecat, unable to fight against the warm, sweet comfort you bring him.

> "I'll only be a moment longer," he tries, but that's not gonna work.

> "a moment longer until you're collapsed over your desk," you say, caressing the side of his face, his smooth, smooth skin. the both of you are completely ready for bed, it's just a matter—a battle—of getting there. "please?"

> there's nothing left to do—nothing from your usual, clockwork schedule. Qiqi is tucked into bed, the blankets have been warmed, all doors and windows locked. the pharmacy out front is ready to be opened in the morning, which is only so many hours from now.

> finally he nods, rubbing his eyes from behind his glasses. Baizhu stands and you intertwine your fingers with his for emphasis, dragging him along to your shared bedroom. in the very dim light, you swear you see him smile—perhaps just barely, but still there. soft and sleepy and everything you love.

> you tumble into bed together and it just feels right. the bamboo blinds closed, cicadas chirping outside in the dark, humid air. bedsheets tossed around as Baizhu finally folds the legs of his glasses for the night. put away on the nightstand, set neatly over worn-down books of poetry and haikus. you can't help but kiss him—so gently—as you watch him unwind.

> "look at you," you coo, looking at him. his hair half-braided and eyes half-closed. Baizhu lets out an amused little sigh, averting his golden gaze, but by that time, you're already untying his hair. threading your fingers through it, loosening the braid until it's simply waved and he's...

> "just as pretty as the day we met." you kiss his nape to punctuate it, lips lingering a second too long, and he can't help but chuckle softly—for it's hard to believe, and he's sensitive right there. and sensitive in his drowsy heart that you tug the strings of, too.

> so you lay down together, tangled. smelling of soap and herbs and relieved stress—melting away syrupy and slowly. all until Baizhu at last begins to snore softly at your side, a sweet sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever. Your hushed breathing blends with the cicada's buzzing and the blowing of the warm wind outside. all is like some painting: hazy and sweet and viridescent. sleepy.

©2023 arborio  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[arborio00]

sum: "what are we?" pillow talk between zhongli and gn! reader.

a/n: from the (very old) poll!! thank you again to all 315 of you who voted.

no cws : pure fluff.

> you and Zhongli aren't quite together. in all actuality, you’re not sure if that concept exactly exists to him in the way it does to humans, your lover possessive and archaic.

> he holds you through the night without being asked to, a cuddly pillow of mortal love and affection. Zhongli prepares meals for you according to the ancient recipes they originated from centuries ago, and he barters expertly for fine perfumes to gift you. it’s better than you think anyone could possibly treat you, and the word ‘boyfriend’ just doesn’t quite suit it. the term feels elementary and a trivialization. it waters down what it really is.

> “you love me, don’t you?” you whisper, trying to laugh in case you must play it off in the end. but you know better, and so does Zhongli. that shyness, that fear in your voice, is perfect for his keen ear.

> such a question is hardly a joke to him. Zhongli pulls you further into him, flush, both bathed in the mixture of pitch-black and starlight, his nose bumping your head.

> “of all treasures, you are the most precious,” he murmurs slowly, pressing a kiss to your crown, breathing in your scent; the fragrance of local fruits and his own clean bedsheets.

> you huff. it shouldn't make you frown, you know, but it does regardless. curling against his chest, you mumble, “that’s not what ‘m asking…”

> his seriousness fades, becoming more smug. he laughs softly before relaxing into a slight smirk, amused by your cuteness, nearly lost in its purity. “ah, you want to hear it, don’t you? that I love you,” he muses.

> pouting, you don’t find his teasings nearly as funny as usual, as he may. you bury your face into his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of the fine form he has settled on for decades. Zhongli purrs.

> “I do love you… not in the way I love my country, or the fauna it grows, but in a truly unique way. it is a feeling I have never experienced in all of my abundant years. not unless I am with you, my love.” his large hands adjust you just so he can press a kiss to the apple of your cheek. “I love you, and am sorry I had not made that more clear.”

> you grumble. curse Zhongli and his sly, poetic tongue and tender reassurance. you were supposed to be sleepy and upset, like all of the protagonists of all of your favorite short, Inazuman novels. but Zhongli soothes you without invalidating you, simply and shortly, a skill he knows well. you just had to be the luckiest person in the world. you snuggle him as if seeking warmth.

> he chuckles softly, wrapping you in his arms. you know he won’t be letting go.

©2023 arborio  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[arborio00]

> arborio or ome. minor, he/she

> more info on my carrd.

thanks for reading.

ⓘ terfs, proshippers (including k4eluc), abelists, & zionists dni

ao3 / bluesky / daily clicks for Palestine

[arborio00]

©2023 arborio  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

short stories : rated g : 4,811 words.

Xiao is small and scared and hasn't lived here very long just yet—freshly taken in, taken into the home that is gradually being rebuilt up and around him. That stretching adjustment period is always the hardest, so he reads. It’s not a walk along the riverbank. But Zhongli only wishes to be as comforting as possible. A safe place. With a caring sigh, Zhongli crouches next to his child. Looks at the wooden blocks and dolls with hair of yarn spread along the knitted rug. His lips thin into a tight line, eyebrows slightly creased, his hand coming up at grace Xiao's back gently. This time, Xiao does not flinch, does not back away from his touch. 'Progress,' thinks Zhongli. _____________ Zhongli navigates the smaller moments of parenting a toddler.

zhongli and baby xiao fluff because i am so weak for them <33

this is just a collection three short stories; basically pure fluff and hurt/comfort. all possible warnings are tagged!

ⓘ if you ship zhongli/xiao, dni.

[arborio00]

©2023 arborio  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

After an unwelcoming day, Giyuu falls apart at an izakaya in front of his fellow Hashira. And yet, he's not as alone as he thinks he is.

muichirou and giyuu fic because they are so sibling coded ^_^ ‎this is linked to my other two fics with similar vibes (background sanegiyuu but its easy to ignore.)

if you read it, thatd be great :3c ♡♡

> if you ship muichirou and giyuu, dni.