#just know if you write anything else for aki I will cradle it softly and love it as if it were my first born

[meownotgood]

what if I made out with you... right now

🏃‍♀️ scuttles into your ask box

okay, it's hard to choose, but I think that my favorite fic of mine is still this one. my writing has improved a lot since then, so it isn't my best written fic by any means, but I always think about just how much I loved writing it and cared for the whole process... it was just supposed to be dumb smut but my favorite part ended up being all the soft parts that weren't smut lolol

and I promised I'd share my favorite fic of yours because you deserve some love too... I think it's no surprise but this is my favorite... the way that I think about it all the time... when aki's all shy and begging... but then he gets all rough... the way you wrote him was so good it got me sweating... THE WAY HIS NAME GETS BRANDED ON YOU I??? WHY IS THAT SO HOT I DON'T KNOW BUT IT'S MASTERFUL AND I THINK ABOUT IT EVERY DAY?! I want him aki did you know I'm actually the Sex devil

ʚ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ɞ｡ WHAT IF I DIED. THEN CAME BACK! AND CRIED. AND THEN DIED AGAIN.

mags, you're one of my favorite writers on here because you are able to weave together a story that puts your love for the character (coughcoughakialwayscoughcough) on FULL display. your love, devotion, is PALPABLE in every word. you are in SYNC with the world of CSM but more importantly- AKI. characterization is so important to me and you NAIL aki (badumtss) SO fucking well. i can hear him, see him, picture him thinking the EXACT things you write for him. just a couple parts that have been in my head since the first time i read it and rereading them again rn just made me GO INSANE:

"Can you do it while I'm inside? On my lap?" 

But after a lifetime of never being selfish, never getting anything he wanted, right now, what he should or should not be doing doesn't matter.

"F-Fuck, I'm gonna cum, please," Aki begs, voice high-pitched and desperate, helpless, "Please let me cum inside you, please, I need it so bad, I can't- I-" 

YOU WERE ACTUALLY THE 3RD BLOG I FOLLOWED ON HERE!!!! oh my god that's wild. but i remember being absolutely BLOWN AWAY when i first read arrival in tokyo. i was like, this is it. THIS is the golden standard.

okay this is getting so long i'm sorry ijust love your work so fucking much. I'M BEYOND HONORED YOU LOVE THAT ONE, I DEFINITELY WAS LIKE. WANTING TO IMPRESS YOU BC YOU INSPIRED THE HOTS FOR AKI FOR ME LKFJ;LRJGL i think i'll return to the concept someday, maybe fix it up bc i loved the idea sm hehe <3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“Why do you hate me?” with Ronnie and Chris ?

CW: Implied ableism (you don’t see it but you do see Ronnie’s reaction)

The palm of Ronnie’s hand digs into her forehead where she sits at the kitchen table, phone to her ear, reminding herself to breathe past the furious pounding of her heart. “Jo, absolutely not. Tris has his qualifiers coming up and there’s just no time-... no, yeah, I get that the prices will go up by then. No, I’m still not-... Joanne, listen to me.”

She can hear Tristan in the living room, playing some kind of game, headset on as he chatters happily to Akio on the other end. There’s a sudden burst of video-game gunfire, an overwrought, overdramatic scream, and her son shouts his victory.

She manages a weary smile, at that. But her sister’s voice on the other end of the phone wipes the moment of contentment away.

“No, Paul can’t handle it. You know he works long hours, he-... I beg your pardon?” She sits up, her spine going ramrod-straight, Veronica Higgs has never backed down from a fight in her life and she’s not starting with her own sister. “Paul loves Tris very much. But his work-... Right. Jo, I would love to have a girls’ weekend-”

She’s lying.

“-but Tris’s qualifiers are a huge deal, and if he nails this he could be in line for the U.S. Olympic team in a few years. You know his heart’s set on it.”

There’s silence, and Ronnie’s hand drops down to the table, closing into a fist.

“He goes through the same qualifiers everyone else does, and you know it.”

Behind her, the video game sounds quiet a little, and Tristan murmurs into his headset before he slips it off.

“No, they don’t-... change the rules for-... Joanne, my son is an immensely talented gymnast and you’d know that if you didn’t spend all your time trying to insult him in ways you think I won’t catch! You think I don’t hear the absolute goddamn bullshit coming out of your mouth when my back is turned? Insulting my son? Honestly, Jo, what’s he ever done to you? Huh? Besides be my husband’s son, besides exist? He is a fifteen year old boy! Why do you hate him so much?”

Ronnie breathes slowly out as her sister stammers, stumbles, backpedals like always at the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s enough for you to write him off, isn’t it? Paul being his father, Tristan looking like him, acting like him... that’s enough, huh? Well, he’s a teenager, and he’s a sweetheart, and he’s smarter than you are, and he’s going to the goddamn Olympics one day and I hope when he gets a fucking medal you reconsider your goddamn bullshit concepts of what Tristan is capable of!”

When she was a teenager, she used to slam the phone down into the cradle. Pushing the little red button on her cell phone is much less satisfying.

She drops the phone onto the table and puts her head into her hands, fighting back tears that threaten, refusing to give them leave to fall. Her breath hitches-... once, twice.

But she’s had these conversations before. Just... not with Jo.

A thin, long-fingered hand touches her back, carefully settles palm-down against her spine between her shoulder blades. She takes another breath. “Hey, Tris. Go play your game with Aki, okay? I’m fine.”

Tristan is quiet, and then he leans over, sliding his arms around her. Her teenage son is all muscle, compact and built for the gymnastics he loves more than anything else in the world. 

“I’m, I’m sorry,” He says, awkwardly, against her shoulder. His voice is rough, changing as he ages. Deeper every month, it feels like, cracking sometimes. Her sweet baby boy.

“Me, too,” Ronnie says, softly, leaning back so she can lift a hand to rest it against her son’s face, palm to his cheek. When he was a baby, he used to pat her like that, over and over again. It drove her crazy and it was the sweetest thing in the world. He’s nearly grown and still, deep down, she sees the tiny infant with his puffs of nearly-blond copper hair, nestled against her. 

Nearly grown, and with ambitions she had never dreamed of for him when he was new, but will give anything to help him achieve. 

“I’m sorry,” Ronnie says softly, “that she’s going to miss out on how amazing you are.”