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    “Oh, and that time I ran away? From the family that had me before the Jiangs took me in? I got hypothermia.” Wei Ying says all of this with the same easy demeanor that he uses when he tells playground stories about Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, like he’s not discussing trauma. “When you get hypothermia once you’re more susceptible to it in the future, which is a fun side effect.” He shrugs and kisses Lan Zhan’s neck with lips that are still cold but not horribly so. “I just get cold easy now. I’m used to it.”

    “Mn,” Lan Zhan says, and means, “We’ll fucking see about that.”

    Or: Wei Ying is not allowed to be cold, therefore Lan Zhan must learn to knit.

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    19 Sep 2022

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    To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

    He comes close, though.

    By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

    What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

    “Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

    Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.
     

    (Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

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    18 Sep 2022

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    The client is tall and slim, the padded leather motorcycle jacket he wears adding artificial bulk to his upper body which angles sharply in to slender legs braced wide on either side of the bike. His face is fine-boned and delicate and -

    Very, very familiar.

    It’s a face that Xiao Zhan has seen daily for the last several months, although never in real life.

    No, he’s used to seeing it through his kitchen window, twelve feet tall on the billboard that graces the side of the building down the block from his apartment.

    Fuck, fuck, fuck.

    It’s Wang Yibo.

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    19 Apr 2022

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    This was a joke. It was a joke, and Jisung was gonna wait out whatever clever punchline Minho had packed up his sleeve.

    Minho remains, cocking his head to the side in challenge. He murmurs around the piece of candied popcorn held between his teeth, leaning closer, inviting.

    “C’mon, Jisung,” Minho teases. “I thought you said you were hungry.”

    Jisung realizes too late that the punchline doesn’t exist.

    -

    It’s Jisung’s first time off schedule in months, and he’s naturally anticipating the most boring day ever.
    When Minho gets back to the dorms early, it turns into anything but.

    Russian translation now available!

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    31 Mar 2022

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Holy shit this is amazing

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    In an alternate series of events, Percy saves Annabeth from falling into Tartarus. Too bad he can't save himself. As Annabeth leads the Seven on a treacherous quest to meet him at the Doors of Death, Percy fights through a wasteland of pain, torture and difficult choices.

    Surrounded by monsters, alone in the darkest corner of the underworld, he starts to question whether he's a good kid anymore.

    -

    You can choose whether this fic has a good or bad ending! DO NOT REPOST. Have fun! :)

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    30 Mar 2022