#that's some pretty shitty writing there

[the-love-witch-roleplays]

[redrobin-detective]

[gravitywonagain]

Sake and Cider at Sunrise

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

.

“Tomorrow morning, what are you doing?”

Lan Zhan is sitting at his desk in the middle of reading through something that looks exceedingly boring. Probably budget reports or something equally dull. Wei Ying isn't interrupting him so much as saving him.

Wei Ying half-sits on the edge of the desk as he grabs the paperwork from Lan Zhan’s hands and skims it. It is a budget report. 

“I --” Lan Zhan reaches to take the report back, but Wei Ying is faster, pulling it away as he interrupts whatever Lan Zhan was about to say.

“Nope. The answer is ‘meeting Wei Ying at Dafan for fresh pow.’”

He grins as Lan Zhan lets out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping under the burden that is being Wei Ying’s friend. 

In the most deadpan manner possible, Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying and repeats, “Meeting Wei Ying at Dafan for fresh pow.”

Wei Ying bursts out laughing, almost falling off the desk, “You should say ‘pow’ way more often. I’ll die. It’s amazing,” he says, getting control over himself again. “Okay. But really. You wanna go?”

“I… sure. What time?”

“You’re gonna love this: Meet me there at five-thirty.”

The confusion on Lan Zhan’s face is understandable.

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.”

The skepticism is... also understandable, if a little dramatic. 

“You, and I quote, ‘hate waking up before dawn with the fire of the noonday sun which is way better than the dawn sun anyway.’”

Wei Ying laughs again, “I can’t believe you remember all that!”

Lan Zhan’s expression shifts to one part it’s true so what the fuck are you on about with this five-thirty nonsense, one part am I being pranked?, and one part I listen to the things you say and Wei Ying isn’t quite sure what to do with any of that. 

“But, yeah, that’s true. Unless it’s for powder. I will do many things for good powder.”

Now Lan Zhan looks like he’s filing that bit of information away for later, which is not concerning in the least. He turns his body to face Wei Ying and gives him his full attention. It’s a lot.

“Okay. What should I bring?”

Right. Backcountry. 

“Any gear you would want for hiking and powder skiing. You can borrow Wen Ning’s skins and bindings, I already asked. They won’t be perfect, but they’ll do for now, and I’ve got beacons and shit that I can lend you. You’ve done avalanche safety, right?”

“Every year since I was twelve.”

“Wow, say that with a little more disdain, Lan Zhan.”

“It was a requirement in school and now a requirement for my certifications.”

Wei Ying chuckles at the weird contempt Lan Zhan has for his many certs and their annual requirements. “Okay. Well, maybe this will make it feel more worth it.”

“If you say so.” Lan Zhan does not sound convinced.

“I do! The snow report looks epic!”

“Epic?”

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth that makes Wei Ying’s heart beat faster.

Wei Ying nods, “Epic, Lan Zhan.”

“I hope you don’t mean that in the alpinist sense.”

In the alpinist sense, “epic” would mean that they hike, get lost, someone’s binding breaks, a freak storm hits, they have to dig in for the night, they leave at least one piece of gear on the mountain to be found in the spring, and, eventually, they make it back to the cars, hungry, tired, and probably after running into their own search party on the way down. This is absurd. Lan Zhan is such a fucking nerd. Wei Ying has no idea what he sees in him. 

He rolls his eyes but can’t quite keep himself from smiling, “When have I ever meant anything in the alpinist sense?”

Finding out Lan Zhan was a budding alpinist had been almost as bad as the minor panic Wei Ying had over the golfing scare with Jin Zixuan. Who wants to freeze their ass off, crossing crevasses on stupidly unstable ladders and getting hypoxic, just to stand on top of a mountain? Lan Zhan, apparently. 

“I will get you on big mountains one day.”

“Only if I can ride down.”

“Hm.”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes, calculating but smug. Like he’s just won, or figured out how to win but needs to adjust his strategy. 

Wei Ying kind of hates it. But it’s kind of captivating, too, and hot. Very hot. 

Especially when Lan Zhan leans in slightly and Wei Ying mirrors him, caught in the gravity of Lan Zhan’s sharp gaze. Lan Zhan’s eyes flick to Wei Ying’s lips and Wei Ying is about to say something about them being in the fucking Ski School office when, suddenly, Lan Zhan snatches the budget reports out of Wei Ying’s hands and leans back in his chair. 

Smug, indeed. 

-

It’s still dark when Wei Ying pulls into the Dafan parking lot in his and the Wens’ well-loved, mostly-red ‘98 Subaru Outback. Did he make fun of Wen Qing for being a stereotype when she bought it? Yes. Does he love driving it around the mountains because it is, objectively, a good mountain car? Also, yes. Of course, next to Lan Zhan’s clean, white 2018 Jeep Cherokee, it looks like an absolute beater. 

Wei Ying looks at the clock on the dash as he cuts the engine. 05:27. Fuck yeah. He zips up his jacket, grabs the two thermoses from the passenger seat, and gets out of the car to meet Lan Zhan where he’s lifting the Jeep’s hatchback. 

It’s cold and quiet. Dark. The sun hasn’t even really started lighting the sky yet. Wei Ying breathes in the mountain air, pine trees and snow and granite, and lets it freeze his lungs for a moment. His shoes crunch on the snow and gravel as he walks toward Lan Zhan. 

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

“Good morning, Wei Ying. You’re… awake.”

Wei Ying smiles at Lan Zhan’s surprise, “Yeah, well, I drove here, so I sure hope so.”

“Mn.”

Their breath condenses in the air and swirls in the light from Lan Zhan’s open door. 

Wei Ying hands the cleaner, less dented, stolen from Wen Qing thermos to Lan Zhan, then turns to open his own hatchback to begin sorting through his own gear.

He can see Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eyes as he does. Standing as if frozen, with the thermos held out in front of him, confusion radiating off him like body heat.

“A Wei Family treat for the top!” says Wei Ying.

It doesn't seem to clear up Lan Zhan's questions.

“Okay, well, yours is just tea, you fucking lightweight." Never. He will never let it go. "But mine is sake and cider!”

Lan Zhan's eyebrow pops up, but it's an expression of curiosity rather than confusion. Wei Ying doesn't let himself think for too long about how well he can read Lan Zhan's silences these days. Or how fucking sculpted Lan Zhan's cheekbones and jaw are.

“My dad used to make up thermoses for my mom when she was backyard touring. He made them when we were all together, too, and let me have sips at the top.”

“Of sake?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t much, just a taste. But now it’s a tradition.”

Lan Zhan nods and sets the thermos down on the bumper of the jeep as he gathers his gear. He, as it turns out, already had touring bindings and skins, or his brother did, so they’re actually more prepared than Wei Ying had planned for, which is perfect.

“You’re gonna have your own gear by the end of the season,” says Wei Ying with a grin.

“Am I?”

“You are. And it’s going to be all the really nice, expensive stuff and I’m gonna be so jealous.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

—

The hike starts out smooth, though Lan Zhan struggles a bit with the grade of the climb. Wei Ying cheats a little by putting his own climbing bars up, "Stiletto mode," he calls it, and Lan Zhan grumbles even though he's not the one breaking trail.

“Have you ever actually worn stilettos?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Oh, Honey, just wait until you see me in drag. You will lose your gotdamn mind.” 

Lan Zhan is mostly silent as they hike. Wei Ying lets the quiet linger.

It's early. They're surrounded by soft, fluffy powder. The air is still and freezing.

By the time they're halfway up the hill, they can turn off and stow their headlamps, the cold light of dawn shading everything blue. When they reach the top, the sun is peeking over the ridgeline, painting the sky and snow with pinks and purple, gilding the moutnains across the valley, sparkiling on the calm lake water in the distance.

Wei Ying drops his pack, fishing out his thermos and watching Lan Zhan do the same. He takes off his gloves to unscrew the cap, to press the release and pour himself a little cup of nostalgia.

The hike wasn't particualrly long or arduous. He feels his legs engaged, not tired. They still protest when he sits, though the chill of the snow through his snowpants eases some of their complaints. The sake eases them further.

Lan Zhan's eyes fall closed as he sips his tea, still standing, skis and poles stabbed upright into the snow next to him.

"This is nice," he says, and Wei Ying thinks he's not talking about the tea.

He's so beautiful in the morning light. It might be worth waking up early just to see him like this: serene in the cold, lit gold by the sun.

Steam rises from his thermos cap, turning his nose pink.

"Yeah," says Wei Ying, "yeah, it is."

After a calm moment, they begin to strip the skins off, the ripping sound loud in the near silent valley. Wei Ying shows Lan Zhan how to fold them in on themselves so that they won't stick to anything and everything in his pack.

When Wei Ying grabs his toolkit and gets to work switching his bindings around, Lan Zhan asks if he can try Wei Ying's drink.

Well, no. He asks if he can try the "Wei Family treat," but Wei Ying can't think about that too hard right now. He just grins and asks, "You gonna pass out on me at the top of this mountain, Lan Zhan?"

"Just a small sip," Lan Zhan says, taking the proffered thermos.

The face he makes rivals the cute scrunching of his nose when he tried beer for the first time.

“This is not sake or apple cider," he says, disdain and distrust in his voice.

Wei Ying laughs, “It is!”

“No, this is brewed rice alcohol and instant cider mix.” 

“You’ve seen my car. You think I can afford good alcohol?”

“I think this is closer to a cleaning solution than food grade,” he says, sniffing the thermos, wincing dramatically, and then handing it back to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying takes the thermos laughing, “Not all of us own a mountain, Lan Zhan!”

He loves bitchy Lan Zhan. He does not understand how Lan Zhan has managed to convince everybody that he’s all serious and stoic all the time. 

“Real sake need not be expensive,” Lan Zhan says, sounding exactly as rich as he is. 

“Like you’ve ever even tasted ‘real’ sake,” Wei Ying shoots back with a smile. 

“I’m not sure I’ve tasted any sake.”

Wei Ying snorts into a new bout of laughter and drops to his knees in the snow next to his splitboard. He giggles his way through configuring it back into a snowboard shape while Lan Zhan adjusts his ski bindings. 

“Alright,” says Wei Ying when he calms himself enough to speak, “Are you going to keep making fun of me? Or are we going to get some sunrise fresh tracks?”

“Just waiting for you to finish minor surgery on your gear.”

Wei Ying has to stop strapping in because he can’t breathe. It’s the deadpan snark that just fucking kills him. That bone-dry delivery. That playful glint in his honey-brown eyes. That deep, smooth baritone. Getting off track.

“Okay, punchy,” he says with his arms resting on his knees and his lungs labored with his amusement, “Is this what alcohol does to you before you pass out? Do we need to wait for you to sober up from your single, tiny sip?”

Lan Zhan makes a face that is somehow haughty and embarrassed and unimpressed all while saying fuck you with his eyes. 

Wei Ying loves it. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” Wei Ying says to no one in particular as he stands and clips the chest strap of his back pack together. He checks himself, looks around their spot. Nothing looks out of place. 

He shakes the adrenaline into his arms, feeling the moment shift. Lan Zhan, too, seems to feel the change in mood as he adjusts his goggles on his face. They share a look, a nod. It feels as natural as the smell of pine trees on the breeze. 

“Okay,” Wei Ying says with a smile, “let’s go.”

Wei Ying hops his board once, takes a deep breath of cold mountain air, drops his nose into the bowl, and floats.

Riding in untracked powder down a steep, open slope is one of his favorite things in life. He carves into the mountain and feels it carry him. His toe-edge cuts through the powder and he leans into the slope, dragging his hand through the snow just to catch it on his glove. It’s light, airy, cold. The wind rushes in his ears and he hears his own heartbeat.

His shoulders roll with the turns and his hips follow, easy as anything, used to this from years and years of muscle memory. He cruises down the slope, big easy turns, powder spraying in his wake. The sun is still lancing its rays across the mountain and it sparkles with the colors of dawn. He flows with it. His knees bend into the stretch, toes curling in his boots, weight shifting without him ever having to think about it. 

He sees Lan Zhan fly past him and the cold stings his lungs. Lan Zhan is beautiful in motion. This is not the first time he’s thought this. But, here, in Wei Ying’s world of quiet mountains and fresh powder, Lan Zhan is beautiful. His turns are clean and graceful, a slow rhythm building when he plants a pole. 

For a moment, Wei Ying sees his baba. 

When he meets Lan Zhan at the bottom of the hill, Wei Ying is smiling so hard he can’t control it. He, very carefully, does not spray Lan Zhan with snow when he stops, choosing to stop down mountain on his toes. There will be more laps. This one he wants to be as smooth and perfect as their first tracks. He wants so badly for Lan Zhan to be happy, to be enjoying this with him.

“What do you think?” he asks, trying not to let his anticipation color his voice. 

Lan Zhan turns toward him, then looks back up at the mountain, then back to Wei Ying. It’s not easy to see behind the goggles, but there’s a fire lit inside him. 

He smiles at Wei Ying. It’s small, a twitch of his lips, but real and young and happy. The same almost childish exuberance colors his voice when he says, “Again.”

The second lap is excellent, not only because Wei Ying gets to stare at Lan Zhan’s ass for the entire hike up, but also because the ride down is just as floaty, just as soft and perfect and breathtaking as the first. He does manage to spray Lan Zhan with powder this time and Lan Zhan’s unimpressed face kills Wei Ying for a second time before 8am. 

The sun shines bright in the sky on the third hike up and already the heat is rising. They begin to strip layers even before they start the climb -- jackets stowed in backpacks as they each drink some water and reset their gear. 

Wei Ying’s shirt comes off about halfway up the mountain. 

At the top, Wei Ying finds that Lan Zhan’s insulation layer has been tied around his waist and that there’s a silver necklace chain barely visible under the collar of his henley. 

When he asks about it, Lan Zhan takes his gloves off and pulls it free. It’s a family necklace, he explains, a diamond and aquamarine accented platinum snowflake on a platinum chain. His brother has a matching one, so do his father and uncle. 

He trails off and Wei Ying thinks there’s more to the story, but he doesn’t want to press. Not now. Not the time. 

They glide down the slope, crossing nobody’s tracks but their own. It’s quiet and peaceful and it’s just them. Only them. A perfect kind of solitude. 

It’s not until the fifth hike up that Lan Zhan finally gives in to the heat. 

Their muscles and bodies are warm from exertion, midday is truly upon them. In the rising temperatures Lan Zhan stops climbing, plants his poles and starts removing his pack. 

The sudden cessation of hiking noise and the sliding plastic sound of a backpack buckle behind him causes Wei Ying to stop and turn. When he does, he sees Lan Zhan, gloves stowed on his grips, shirt coming off over his head, winter-pale skin shining in the high noon sun. (Best sun. Best sun for so many reasons now.)

Wei Ying’s brain breaks a little. 

It’s one thing to know that someone is an athlete. It is another to see the sculpted muscle and lean lines that that entails. It’s a third to see all of that for the first time surrounded by mountains and powder and pine trees and perfectly lit by winter sunlight and the surrounding snow. Wei Ying wishes he had his camera. 

“The Heavens have blessed us this day.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds both pleased and annoyed as he tucks his shirt into his backpack. The gemstone snowflake hangs between his collarbones, askew from his movement. 

“Seriously, Lan Zhan. Holy fuck. How is that fair?”

The man has a six-pack and sex lines and still manages to look genuinely confused by Wei Ying’s reaction. The audacity. 

“I bet you have a gym in your house, don’t you.”

“I do,” Lan Zhan says easily, putting his gloves back on and drawing attention to his forearms. As if Wei Ying weren’t already absurdly attracted to him. 

“Oh, fuck off.”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders and chest and arms flex as he pulls his poles out of the snow and gestures with one up the hill. It doesn’t even look deliberate which drives Wei Ying crazy. His snow pants sit low on his hips and Wei Ying wants, almost desperately, for a reason to make Lan Zhan go first so he can check out his back muscles as he hikes. Nothing comes to mind. He settles for maybe, possibly, getting a repeat wardrobe change on their next lap. 

Fuck, he wants to see those muscles work. 

“Yeah,” Wei Ying lets his eyes drag over Lan Zhan one more time before turning back up the trail, “I’m gonna go bury my head in the snow to cool off now. Thanks. Where’s an avalanche when you need one?” He stabs his poles into the snow and grabs his t-shirt from his waistband. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting my fucking shirt back on. I have enough self-esteem issues, thank --”

“Don’t.”

There’s something in Lan Zhan’s voice that forces Wei Ying to turn and look at him. Something vulnerable and raw.

“Don’t?”

“Please,” he says softly, “I like looking at you.”

Wei Ying feels speared open by that. He feels… The blush that creeps up his chest is bared already. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan. How are you so fucking sincere?”

Pink graces Lan Zhan’s ears as he holds Wei Ying’s eyes. He says nothing. He doesn’t look away. 

Wei Ying gives.

“Okay. Okay, the shirt’s staying off.”

When they reach the peak and start stripping the skins off their skis, Wei Ying does, in fact, stick his face in the snow. It only helps a little. 

They finish after a sixth lap. 

Lan Zhan does take off his shirt again as he leads the hike up. 

Wei Ying, somehow, doesn’t die about it. 

-

The next day, after lessons are closed, Lan Zhan meets him by the instructor lockers and hands him the thermos he’d taken home. When Wei Ying grabs it, it’s heavier than he expects and it sloshes like it’s full. He quirks an eyebrow at Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan just nods at it, clearly waiting for Wei Ying to take a sip. So he does. 

It’s hot and sweet and… alcoholic? It’s smooth and thick, but not syrupy, and smells spiced. 

“This is delicious, Lan Zhan!”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan looks smug as hell and says, “That is sake and cider.”

Wei Ying’s laughter can probably be heard all the way in HR, he shakes so hard with it. 

He loves it when Lan Zhan is a bitch. 

[soupinaboot]

Steve got the Cat Valentine treatment from the fandom. 😐

[gothicprep]

“not everything is about [your thing]” is good general advice for the internet.

we all have a big issue that we care deeply about, and it probably is important, and you’re right to care about it. but be very careful not fall into the “when all you have is a hammer, all problems look like nails” trap. it’s very common.

the world is a big and complicated place, so not everything is relevant to everything else. sometimes it’s good to draw connections but a lot of the time you get led down absurd rabbit holes, from one tangent to the next.

[hearts401]

We need to start treating bad writing like bad art and im not kidding

[0vergrowngraveyard]

i had a dream that would’ve been SUCH a good fic idea—it played out in my mind like a movie, almost every detail—but i don’t have the skill set to write ittttt

[catfuyus]

— ❝ COMING HOME ❞ ft. BAJI KEISUKE

Nothing feels right. You place the keys in a small ceramic bowl near the front door’s entrance. It’s a new smell in the same house. The smell of fresh paint that never dissipated from when you first moved in. Everything is off. As if you had suddenly awakened from a long, disassociative nothingness, and everything had changed from the moment you went under.

Everything was different, as if you were seeing it for the first time, but everything was technically, the same. Years unchanged.

You remove your shoes, hang up your bag and wander into the kitchen. It’s airy, light. The faint smell of freshly chopped herbs on the cutting board in sight. But no people. This house is empty. It’s full of things that you know you should recognize, you do recognize to an extent, but still nothing.

The sliding glass doors open to wide, green yard. Flowers blooming in the garden. There’s patio furniture placed on structured concrete with four chairs arranged for seating. Four chairs, you think absentmindedly, before shutting the doors again to wander through the kitchen and back through to the living room.

The house has stairs. Carpet padded stairs just after the tiled floor. Something tells you not to go up. Something tells you to head back out. To get out, while you still can. Get out while you still can.

So you exit the front door, bare feet padding on the cold concrete. There are flowers planted by the front door as well.

The house is a shell. Decorated warmly. Garden maintained. But there is a scent that lingers beneath the artificial candles and freshly cooked dinners. A sickening smell that speaks more to its true nature than the inhabitants can seem to admit. Or maybe they don’t notice. You noticed the smell as soon as you walked in.

A car pulls up. Your heart spikes, silently hoping, needing it not to be the person it needs not to be. You need your peace to last a little longer.

It’s a small black truck. Chevy Colorado. It’s not new, not clean on the outside. It parks on the street in the middle of the driveway. A guest not staying long. It would anger the inhabitants of the house if it did.

The door slams, and he appears around the front of the car. Smiling brown eyes. Hair pulled high into a ponytail. As he walks up the driveway you know he smells like sunlight and cologne. An old Metallica shirt you’d seen a dozen times and a silver cross necklace dangling from his neck.

He stops smiling when he sees you. Surprise taking over the features of his face. A faint, what’s wrong as he pulls you into his chest.

You hiccup. His shirt is wet where you pressed your face, tightly clutching onto the back of his shirt. You hiccup a little louder, rubbing your face into the cloth with no regard for anything else.

He leads you down the steps, the faint smell of freshly cut lawn and the summer sun passing by you with your eyes blurry. It’s a nice smell. A familiar smell. The truck door is opened and you slip into the leather seat.

We can try again tomorrow. We can try again some other time. It doesn’t have to be here. We don’t even have to try again if you don’t want to.

No it’s okay. It’s really okay.

He presses his lips against yours. Hard in a thin line. Exhaling as he pulls away. And you’re dizzied with the need for more. But his amber eyes are hard, pulled into vexing thought. And you feel protected. And needy. Arms going out to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for another, more desperate kiss.

I’ll go get your shoes. Keys in the house? You nod. Stay right here. I’ll be right back.

You duck down, low into the seat and wait for him. He’s quick. Reappearing through the window of the car and popping the driver’s door open. He sets your keys in the cup holder, shoes on the floor, slides in and starts the car.

He takes your hand and kisses the back of your knuckles. Eyes on the mirrors as you watch his face. I love you. Puts the car and drive and leaves this awful place.

I wish I could give you more. I wish I had more to give.

You’re everything I want. I don’t want you to think I need any more than you. He smiles, wraps his large hand around your thigh. I already have all of you. You’re my whole world.

And you’re mine. Your throat hurts. Sore from suppressing emotion. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be a bad person.

I never thought you were. Not for one second.

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

There are parts of the past that you miss. Coffee in the morning. Carpet under your toes. Fresh baked cupcakes and pulling out a chair for dinner.

You think those things belong there. In that house. And that’s what you miss. But all those things and their softened afternoon light. Hazy naps under the sun and a cooling evening with ice cream and tv.

These are not permanently gone. Not since you started dating Baji. He listens to the kind of music you like. Play fights with you when you’re annoying. He makes you coffee in the morning. Memorized it just the way you like. And when you look up at him with tears in your eyes and hesitant hands, he brushes your nose up against his and pulls you in for a kiss. I’ll always keep you safe.

But you don’t know that, Kei. You don’t know what’ll happen.

That’s the one thing I do know, babe. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.

And jump out of bed and bring your coffee to cling to his back all day. Taking little sips. Careful not to spill, as you keep your arms trapped around him. Keisuke is kind like that. Keeping you stuck in his arms. Under his weight. It’s almost like he needs to feel you too. Like he knows you’re safe when you’re stuck to him. His little wife. Only he knows this side of you. The softened underside of your belly that you show no one. All hard edges and growls smoothened over. When you’re with him like this, it makes him realize that you’re family. That you’ve made a home in him. That he wants it to keep growing, with just the two of you, and whatever else you make.

That your trust was hard earned, and he lives every day to be deserving of it. Knowing that he’ll always be the kind of man you need. Because he loves you, you’re the one, and no one else fits in his heart like you do. You make everything easy, and even when it’s hard, he’s still so filled with love for you. And it’s not the painful kind that your parents have hammered into you. It’s bittersweet and blossoming. Achingly beautiful and delicately loving. A tender love that protects. A fierce love that guards and releases. You’ve never known that kind of love. Not until Baji pulled you into his arms and gave you his heart.

It’s never been safe to be kind. It’s never been safe to be tender. To let them know what you’re feeling. To let them know this softer side of you. It’s never been safe.

So you became a fighter. You became strong and ferocious. A leader in part. Confident in some. Aggressive, protective, you are the one who guards, who keeps others safe. But with him, it feels so nice to sleep.

To weaken. To soften. To trust. With closed eyes and open heart. That he will take care of you. All of the parts of you. And you can connect, deeply, to the side of you that no one knows. That in safety and security, you can make a home with him. And know that he will defend it and never neglect it. Because it’s his home too. It’s his Everthing. And it means as much to him as it does to you.

[necromycologist]

reading through my old notebooks rn and Oh Shit this poetry fucking slaps. on the other hand Oh Shit this fanfiction is fucking stupid

[sleepyblr-heart]

old yuri comic GO

[sciderman]

I did not know you wrote fics I’m truly living here

🫶

my fics are so delicious, you are SO lucky you get to experience them all for the very first time anon

[jichanxo]

is it that time already? sunday six ✨

tagging @passthroughtime @four-white-trees @phantasy14 @skysquid22 @overdevelopedglasses

after spending a bunch of time away from senseific, i'm feeling refreshed and ready to start chipping away at it again. here's something old i've touched up and made a little more presentable

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“Not into it?”

“You weren’t sober.”

“That’s all? I was sober enough.”

“You wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been drinking.”

“Maybe not.” Kitakata conceded. “But I’m sober and I’d still kiss you now, so what’s the difference?”

Yagami froze.

[motherforthefamicom]

redownloaded an old art program

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

One of the main reason I like writing omegaverse is that it's so deeply stupid and embarrassing. It's just a ridiculous set of tropes. I love it so much but we all have embrace the fact that it's so, so silly.

And that's great! It takes alllll the pressure off. No matter how seriously I take this, I'm not letting my parents read it, I'm not sending it out to traditional publishers, I'm not gonna get nominated for a Hugo.

If I finished one of my other, more serious WIPs and I was embarrassed by the result, I would be devastated. It would fundamentally undermine my entire sense of self. But I don't have to worry I'll be embarrassed by this when I'm done because it's omegaverse, so I already am!

The stakes are just so much lower.

[prolibytherium]

Writing and suddenly realizing I have unwittingly established a coherent metaphor that ties several plotlines together thematically COMPLETELY by accident

[basslinegrave]

anyway i need more monarch a trois fics. sigh. wish i could write, i gotta draw them more at least