#pridewrite

[makerofmoodboards]

a lesbian "happily ever after" moodboard!

[pridewrite]

From the team! #pw alt10, Holding Hands

Here's some fanart I did recently as my own lil' entry for Pridewrite! The hands are of Yamada Hizashi (left, with the glove) and Aizawa Shota (right) from My Hero Academia, but feel from to imagine anyone else! I chose the ace, aro, bi, pan, polyamory, trans, nonbinary, and genderfluid pride flags for the backgrounds since those are the most common headcanons for these two!

(Feel free to use them as icons on Tumblr or Ao3 but please like &/or rb if you do! But likes & rbs are also very appreciated even if you don't use them!)

-Mod Kepler

[aiyexayen]

pridewrite day 19 (yes it is) prompt: time/change

Xie-wang doesn't sleep with a knife under his pillow. That would be insane; who would take the extra seconds to twist and fumble for something they need so immediately? Not to mention the risk of an attacker searching the pillow first and using his own blade on him, which he would absolutely deserve for being such a fool.

No, Xie-wang doesn't keep a knife under his pillow. He keeps poisoned needles in his hands.

Small ones, easy to manoeuvre, easy to hide. It wouldn't be any better to keep a blade in his hand than under the pillow, after all; any enemy attempting to attack him at night would see it and know, would target the weapon or have time to prepare for it. He'd only do such a thing as a decoy, and that would just get in the way.

But needles? No one will see them coming.

To make them a viable option he's had to train his body into a very specific kind of sleep since he first began his training to be an assassin. A careful, motionless sleep, so he doesn't risk stabbing himself. For security, it's small price to pay.

--

It is four years into Xie'er's life at Siji Shanzhuang, the first time Wen Kexing forgets his fan.

He notices this not because Wen Kexing makes a fuss but because noticing things is what Xie'er does. And because like recognises like.

He assumes that fact is also the reason why he was never asked to leave once he'd completely healed, and has never once been asked to swear fealty or accept discipleship. Instead he is allowed to wander the grounds as he wishes; the most anyone asks of him is if he can run an errand, or his opinion on new decorations. No questions, season after season. He even spends his days garbed in familiar pretty blues and whites that no one has ever demanded he take off.

Like recognises like.

So Xie'er recognises the way chronic survival shapes a life:

the way Zhou-zhuangzhu's pockets practically jangle with potions and antidotes, or how on good days he's somehow always the first to taste any food that reaches the table and on bad days he's the last;

the way that Xiang'er still takes an involuntary tiny step toward whatever direction her ge should be in whenever she's startled or threatened, before the conscious stance she takes at her husband's side;

the way Liu Qianqiao never turns her back on an unexamined corner of any given room, or how her idle fingers make perfect knots in any stray strip of fabric;

the way that Wen Kexing never so much as takes a bath without his fan in arm's reach.

Until he does.

Until they're ushered out of the dining hall to see Xingming make good on his boast that he can finally outpace Chengling at the signature swift-moving steps. They've only just hit the courtyard when Wen Kexing idly pats his sleeve, then his other sleeve, hands coming away empty, and gives a little laugh, quiet and to himself, turning back without a word to fetch his fan from the table inside.

Xie'er is the only one who even notices him slip away--ah, no, he's not; he catches Zhou-zhuangzhu paused as well to look thoughtfully back at the doorway for a brief moment before nodding and turning back to the group. Xie'er himself can't seem to do the same. He watches until he sees Wen Kexing re-emerge, sees his hand withdraw from his sleeve as he steps over the threshold again.

Xie'er almost lets out an undignified huff of disbelief. Even after that, the fool is going to simply keep it in his sleeve? Not hold onto it, not remind himself that the comforting weight of his weapon is still his to command?

Indeed, Wen Kexing seems entirely unaffected, the way he all but dances up to Zhou-zhuangzhu's side and leans into his personal space, only to be pinched affectionately by the latter. Kexing waves his hand imperiously at something Weining says, and then grins to follow it up.

Realising that he hasn't so much as taken another step and the group is pulling far ahead of him, Xie'er reminds himself to breathe and strides back into place. He does not look toward Zhou-zhuangzhu or his chattering wife; like recognises like, and he does not want to know if he was observed in his own observation. It happens unnervingly often, here at Siji Shanzhuang. Sometimes he wonders why he even stays with how irritating they can be about it.

No, he doesn't look over. He does, however, take stock of his own blades still strapped to his wrists, on impulse, and tries to imagine ever going without them. Impossible.

Wen Kexing is certainly a skilled weaponless fighter. And logically, of course, there are many skilled and trusted fighters here. Former assassins, ghosts--the sheer level of competence in this small group alone, the rest of the sect aside, could take on a small army, most likely. And further, why should they ever have to? This place is safe. As safe as anywhere Xie'er could imagine. Safer.

But how can even that be enough for Wen Kexing? To such an extent? Xie'er grinds his teeth, trying to let it go and failing.

Ever oblivious to his moods, or at least refusing to pay them heed, Xiang'er sidles up beside him and yanks on his arm, her hand closing unknowingly around one of Xie'er's daggers, pressing the flat of the sheath into his skin as she tugs. Strangely, his shoulders untense.

"Xie-gege, don't be so slow! I've bet so much on Chengling and you have to help me laugh at A-Ning when Xingming loses. Lai, lai, lai!"

Xie'er rolls his eyes but lets Xiang'er pull him out of his thoughts and into the evening's tomfoolery.

--

Later that night Xie'er sits on the edge of his bed, alone in the near-dark. Voices and a bit of music, followed by the faint scent of wood smoke, still float delicately to his open window from the main courtyard where the most reckless disciples occasionally stay up a bit too late drinking. Aside from them the pleasant hush of nighttime at Siji Shanzhuang falls soft in the corners of Xie'er's room, in the hall outside.

His muscles are pleasantly sore now from the spar Xiang'er talked him into after the dessert she'd also talked him into, and then the subsequent activities in her room with Xiao Cao which they had not needed to try very hard to talk him into. The back of his neck is still damp from the cloth he'd washed up with and the breeze from the window blows a chill down his spine. All in all, it's a perfectly ordinary night.

By the light of one candle, Xie'er turns a little glass vial this way and that in his hand. Inside it are poison-tipped needles.

How long he sits there he doesn't know. The voices outside grow dim; the moon glows brighter. The night noises of insects and frogs keep his controlled breath company. It's a perfectly ordinary night.

With shaking hands, Xie'er puts the vial down on the table beside his bed. A moment later, he gets up and takes it to tuck into his locked box. He blows out the candle. He lays down on his bed.

It's a perfectly ordinary night.

It takes many hours, but sometime before the dawn Xie'er finally sighs, fetches a knife to slip under his pillow, and falls asleep.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

Raph isn't the one for sappy first meetings or hermit-crab-in-shining armor routines. So of course, he's got a perfectly non-sappy, non-heroic reason for why he just rescued an unfairly attractive human from a sinking ship.

Title taken from the song Black Sea by Natasha Blume.

Prompts from @achraya's Monster May Bingo: Water Creature and @pridewrite’s 2022 Challenge: Meet-Cute. If you like Pride, but don't want to give your money to pink capitalism, consider each donating to or at least boosting one of these charities.

[guesswewillsee]

Pridewrite Day Nine

Heart/roses

I've been coughing up petals for years now

Choking on the thorns that line my throat

Love is love is love is love

They want to be soft

I still taste blood

My heart might not have beat in months.

My fingers drum against my collarbone-

Something rhythmic as a temporary replacement,

I think it died in there.

I line my mouth with roses to cover up the smell.

I flush my system with reassurances

I choose not to care

This too shall pass

I can be a whole person by myself

I don't need anyone else

I cut desire out of my tongue

Bleach the stains of others' touches off of my skin

Sexuality is

By definition

About others

At least a little bit

I choose not to care

I've never kissed a girl before

I choose not to care

I fill my ribcage with poetry

This is what I was meant to house

I learn not to care

I don't need a heart anyway

I turn to tin and rust

I rest

I wait

I don't need a heart anyway

[fawn-eyed-girl]

Meet Me at the YMCA: A Free! MakoHaru story

Hi everyone! I’m really, really excited to share my very first MakoHaru story, which I’ve put together for @pridewrite‘s Day 12 prompt: Meet-Cute.

Free! is a series so, so close to my heart. I love the characters, and I especially love the relationship between Makoto and Haru (like who does not want a Makoto in their life??). I had to wait until the right story, and this one spoke to me, and I really, really hope that you enjoy 💖

Story Summary: Every Tuesday and Thursday, Makoto teaches the 9am Aquacize class to little old ladies at the local YMCA. He loves his class; he loves his students, and they love him (even if they are always trying to fix him up).

And he's shocked when, one morning, a pair of brilliant blue eyes begins to watch him from the fast lane of the pool.

Eyes that he's never seen before. Eyes that he cannot forget. Eyes that he wants to get to know...but is he too afraid to try?

[snugasabugbear]

D&D Pride Prompts 2022: "Cottage", Zandek / Galax

Zandek was on the far side of the lake when he heard the teleportation, a sharp crackle that managed to travel all the way from the cottage and across the waters to his large, flat ears. It stood out well against the sounds he had grown used to while alone within the forest valley. The stillness of late summer had quieted the usual rustling of the trees, leaving it to the insects and birds to fill the air with their own melodies.

It was nearing evening, and he had just reached the treeline when the stark sound of magic drew his attention from his own song he had been humming. He stopped, taking a moment to readjust the entire trunk of a tree he had been carrying on his massive shoulder, and beamed as he heard the magic end with a light flourish. There was only one person he knew who crafted his spells with such embellishments, and him being here only meant one thing.

He set off quickly along the bank, moving as fast as he could without losing his grip on the tree trunk, a feat his eagerness made quite difficult. Less than two minutes later, Zandek had reached the path leading through a patch of wild shrubs and up to the cottage’s front door. It opened, and the small figure who emerged was barely out the door before she used her wings to leap into the air directly towards him. The blue kobold covered the distance between them before he even had time to set the log down. When she collided his chest and threw her arms around his neck (barely making it over his collarbone on either side) he let the trunk roll off his shoulder and thunderously crash onto the ground behind him without a second thought. What else could he do, of course, but wrap his own colossal arms around the person he loved more than anything else in the world after two whole months apart? 

“Galax,” he breathed through a tusked smile. No words other than her name came to him to say, but it was the only one he needed. She only stopped pressing herself into his mane when he repeated it again, and turned her yellow-green eyes up towards him. He would never tire of the blissful smile she wore on her draconic face when she looked at him this way. Her sharp teeth poking from her mouth drew a chuckle out of him; they were something she had used time and time again to scare the many people who pissed her off, but to him they had been adorable for a decade now.

She put a hand on either side of his head, and he let her pull his forehead down to meet hers. They both closed their eyes, taking in nothing but each other’s presence.

“Missed you, Zan,” she whispered. She sounded tired, he thought, likely from the endless deliberation between the Circle of Eight and the Council of Waterdeep that she had been looped into some months ago. 

“I missed you too.” He hadn’t know exactly when she would be back, but he had sworn every day since she left that he would provide for her every relief he could when she returned. A throat being cleared from the open door of the cottage finally drew their attention from each other to a tall, blonde human in impeccably clean white and gold robes.

“Didn’t she cast a message to you every single day?” Merridoch teased lightly, his finger running over a small goatee beneath his chin. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s getting late and you won’t be getting rid of me until I get some of Zandek’s cooking.”

~~~

Merridoch stayed true to his word, but Zandek was more than happy to prepare a dinner only one of his oldest friends was deserving of. Once Galax’s traveling things had been put away, the three congregated in the kitchen so they could talk while Zandek prepared their meal. Normally, he was limited by the ingredients that he and Galax had managed to stock up on. What they grew themselves they had in abundance, but any finer spices, seasons, or oils were entirely dependent on what they were able to find from traders who passed through the nearest village. However, this was not a problem when they had one of the most powerful conjuration wizards on the Sword Coast at hand. Within no time, Zandek was preparing a perfect spit-roast pheasant meal for the three of them, Merridoch conjuring nearly every new component as he needed it.

“Every time I’m here,” Merridoch said as he sat back in a cushioned chair, waving his hand idly and drawing a Moonshaen batter from the aether, “I feel like I understand what the rest of the world looks like to you, Galax.” He motioned to the spacious room around them, its ceiling reaching fourteen feet above the floor and a few of its tables standing over five feet tall. While the home technically only had one floor, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to think it had two from a distance based on its height. When Zandek and Galax had started building the cottage, it had been an early decision to make it large enough for Zandek to move around comfortably. He’d greatly appreciated the improvement, no longer feeling like his nearly eight foot tall form was being confined like it had been by the low, cramped ceilings of Waterdeep. The house’s furniture had similarly been built with both his and Galax’s sizes in mind, leaving it filled with things like enormous cabinets right next to tiny arm chairs, giving the cottage an almost whimsical fairytale-like look in most rooms.

Galax snorted, perched on one of the shelves near Zandek. She had changed out of the stately outfit she had arrived in, a white and gold collared robe with long, flowing sleeves, into her more typical beige and brown bodice and hood.

“Hmm,” she squinted, a slight smirk on her face. “I don’t think you’ll know the experience of being me unless you also have to deal with a cocky wizard who thinks he’s charming enough to get away with whatever he wants.”

“Galax, please. I’ve cast Clone on myself multiple times. I know exactly what it’s like to deal with a wizard who is absolutely charming enough to get away with whatever he wants.”

“What I’m hearing is that the only person who can stand you is yourself.”

“What I’m hearing is you’re jealous I can give myself the gift of my own company.”

“We’ve got entirely different definitions of ‘gift’ then, Merri.”

Zandek couldn’t hide a grin as he listened to the two. Their version of friendship was not something he fully understood, but despite the bickering, or perhaps even because of it, he knew it was friendship nonetheless. He couldn’t help being reminded of the year they had spent adventuring together in Waterdeep, all of them living out of the bar previously known as Trollskull Manor but they had renamed “Leaf’s Spirits”. In spite of everything that had happened during that year: the explosion in the alley, nearly being killed by the Xanathar on multiple occasions, even the Blood War and the battle against the renegade demi-god that had called himself “The Emperor”, he would go through all of it again to keep what it had given him.

When the two had finished their current squabble, they told him some of what had occurred during Galax’s time away in Waterdeep, though they only went into light detail on most subjects. It wasn’t that Zandek didn’t care about the current events of the city he had once called home, it was simply that most things involving higher levels of the Waterdeep government went over his head. They did spend a bit more time on their meeting with one Rhyze Ascaelia, the newly named First Paladin of Valaeros. As far as Zandek could tell, the talks had largely been about how the city would approach relying on the divine in times of need, and if such a thing should even be considered after the incident with The Emperor. From the sound of Galax and Merridoch’s testimony, not very much had been agreed upon.

Over dinner their conversation turned towards the rest of their previous adventuring party. They had magic to thank for their ability to stay in contact with everyone regularly, but a short message spell still paled in comparison to getting to see them in person. Merridoch was the one who got to visit each person most regularly, and they couldn’t have someone better to tell the others the stories of their time on their own. It was nearly midnight when he reluctantly admitted he couldn’t delay his return to Waterdeep any longer.

“A wizard’s work is never finished it seems, something I wish I could have warned my younger self of before ever trying to become one,” he joked as he finished the teleportation circle they usually kept partially finished in one of the back rooms.

“Would that have really stopped you from learning magic?” Zandek asked from the doorway, Galax on his shoulder.

“Not in the slightest,” Merridoch said without hesitation, disappearing the piece of chalk into his hand with a wink. “Don’t be strangers, you two. And if you are, I might just drop by when you least expect it.”

“That really may not be the best idea, Merridoch,” Galax wryly remarked. “Surprising a cleric sounds like a good way to get a firebolt to the face.”

Merridoch laughed, turning back to them as the teleportation circle lit up behind him and pointing at the two with both index fingers.

“Counterspell.” 

With a final smirk, he fell backwards into the circle and disappeared in a shower of golden sparks. The air crackled again as the magic dispersed, returning the room to darkness and silence other than the insects chirping outside.

“He’s truly incapable of not having the final word,” Galax sighed, shaking her head.

“I think just when he’s talking to you. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, honestly. Would it be unreasonable to say I would prefer fighting The Emperor again over having to argue with the stubborn fucks on that council for another month?”

“You’re a lot braver than I am to go up against them in the first place.” He leaned his head into her as he walked them both through the main sitting room. Resting on the ground in the corner since it was too heavy to hang on the wall was his Starmaul. Zandek hadn’t looked at it closely for some time, and only now noticed the light layer of dust now forming on the large blue rock that made up its head. He smiled slightly, content in letting dust continue to gather on the weapon.

“How about I put out the rest of the lights? You can head to bed and I’ll be there soon.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, though she couldn’t finish the last word without yawning. Zandek chuckled, opening the door to their bedroom for her. Their ‘bed’ wasn’t on any sort of frame. Instead, there was a small horde of blankets, furs, and pillows covering the ground beneath the far wall, illuminated by the moonlight coming through the skylight that took up over half of this room’s ceiling. Zandek knelt down and offered his hand for Galax to use as a step from his shoulder to the floor. She put a hand on his cheek before he could stand and led him down again, his forehead pressing against the white line that ran from between her horns to the end of her nose. It was something they had done for so many years now, but it still made his heart beat faster every time. “Out of everything these last two months, falling asleep without you may have been the hardest part of all.” He sighed and leaned further into her. The exact same thing had been true for him.

“I’ll make sure not to be long, then,” he whispered, and kissed the scales between her eyes. “Welcome home, Galax.”

~~~

AO3

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[art3you]

For the Farm prompt of PrideWrite2022, a green cowgirl rabbit in a cowboy hat and a yellow western cut shirt with fringe on the shoulder, and a periwinkle farmer rabbit with a dusty pink dress and a yellow sunhat.

[gender-snatched]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Additional Tags: Don't copy to another site, 1890s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Green Carnations, Fluff, Pridewrite Challenge 2022, Pridewrite 2022 Summary:

Sirius has a gift for Remus 

For @pridewrite, prompt: green carnation 

[mood2you]

Unicorn with human themed stuff. Gay culture of the 00′s or something.

ID: A white unicorn with ash-blond mane (with bangs) and tail and a long pastel rainbow horn. His face is very stylized, skinny and angular. He has a nose ring. He  has an orange and blue tank top, a pink backpack with yellow and purple spots, and blue shoes on its back-feet (hooves) with rainbow light up soles, end ID.

[kosi-annec]

PRIDE PROMPT: Queer Euphoria

“Uhm… abuela?” The elder in question looked up from her book, turning slightly to face her granddaughter. The young child wasn’t looking at her, instead, her gaze was directed to the floor. “Can I, uh, tell you something?”

The old woman tilted her head slightly. “But of course, mi hija. What is on your mind?” She asked, voice gentle as if trying to soothe the anxious child.

And it does, as Amare calmed down. There was still some lingering nervousness in the child, but less so now. What could be plaguing her mind this much? The elder thought to herself, closing the book in her hands and placing it on her lap, giving her nieta her full attention.

Amare didn’t reply immediately, instead, she played with the drawstring of her hoodie. “I was just, well, I was wondering if–that maybe I’m not… well, I don’t feel like a, uhh…” The younger stammered, gesturing her hands wildly in an attempt to make the older understand what she was trying to say. Unfortunately, her abuela isn’t a mindreader.

What the elder is, however, is patient, so she waits for her nieta to find the right words to say. Not telling her to hurry up, or snapping at her for wasting her time. Just letting the child say what she needs to say—even if it was stuttered.

It doesn’t take long till Amare gets her bearings. She takes a deep breath, exhales, and gets the words out: “I don’t–I don’t think I’m a girl.”

The old woman takes a couple of seconds to register what her nieta—well, what her little one said. She guessed that her silence was too long for the child as the little one continued, slightly more panicked. “I mean, I don’t feel like a girl. I know I’m born one, but it–it doesn’t feel right. Like it isn’t, well, me. That probably didn’t make any sense, but–I just, I don’t know. Is there something wrong with me? I probably shouldn’t feel this way, but I do and—”

“Slow down, slow down.” She raised her wrinkled hand to signal the younger to stop. It works, and the rambling stops. Her child still hasn’t looked at her.

Finally grasping the situation, the old woman started slowly: “So, you don’t feel comfortable being referred to as a girl?” The younger nods to that, not daring to say a word or even look at her.

“Would you feel more comfortable if you were referred to as a boy?” The younger pauses for a moment, then shakes their head. Ah, so like Azul.

The older woman smiles softly. “Then, would you like me to refer to you by they-and-them pronouns?” They looked up at her for the first time since the conversation started, their eyes filled with surprise. She can finally see the cogs turning in those bright red eyes of theirs.

Then, something seems to click in their head, because they smile at the question. “Yeah… yeah, that–I’d like that.” They said, airy at first but more sure with the next few words.

“That’s settled then,” she gets up from her chair—with the help of her grandchild, “we can go buy some new clothes for you if you don’t feel that any of the ones you own suit you.”

“Oh! You don’t have to, abuela. I can get by with the ones I have—”

“Nonsense, mi alma. We are buying new ones for you, ones that fit you.” She interrupted. “Besides, we can give away the ones you don’t like.”

They sighed at the old lady’s response, resigning to their fate. Well, it isn’t that bad. I get to have more comfortable clothes at least, they thought.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” she turns to her grandchild, “do you want to go by a different name? One that makes you feel more comfortable.” That was what happened with Azul, so they might want to change their name too.

They take a moment to think about it. “No,” they said, “I like my name. It feels very me.” Amare smiled to their abuela, pure honesty.

The old woman smiled back. “Then let us go, Amare. We have some shopping to do.”

[abuela means grandma; mi hija means my child; nieta means granddaughter; mi alma means my heart or my soul]

[makerofmoodboards]

A historical lesbian moodboard!

[pridewrite]

INTRODUCING: PRIDEWRITE

Ever been working on inktober or Whumptober and wanted to try and make it gay? In this challenge, we're queer from the start.

For the entire month of June we will be supplying two prompts per day to celebrate pride and spark your imaginations.

Poetry?

Art?

Makeup?

Videos?

We'll take all of it.

CHALLENGE BEGINS ON 1ST JUNE 2022!

prompts - rules - tagging guidelines - tumblr - instagram - meet the team - faq

[aiyexayen]

pridewrite day 2 let's gooooo

day 2: plaid/cuffed jeans, ft. jiang yanli/wen qing/wei ying

"Not to be a lesbian but oh my fucking god. Oh my god. Jesus fuck-ing Christ."

Wei Ying looks up from the frog he's been inspecting and turns to the other end of the pier where Jiang Yanli--his best friend in the entire world--sits with her phone gripped close to her face, her bare feet dangling in the water.

(The fact that he has no fewer than seven people he would call his best friend in the entire world does not make it less true. Anyway, he's known A-Li the longest, since they were little kids playing out on this same pier together with A-Cheng. Sometimes when they come out here the two-decade-old memories of the three of them racing to be the first to jump into the river, wearing even less than they are now, layer over reality to the point of distraction. Today is not, however, one of those days.

Today is a day for crouching by the shallows and peering under lotus leaves, sketching the frogs until something of clearly much gayer importance is brought to his attention.)

Just as Wei Ying looks up, so does Yanli, peeking over her phone to make sure he heard. Wei Ying will swear later she had actual hearts twinkling in her starstruck eyes.

Emphatically she adds, directly to Wei Ying, "Oh my god."

Grin flashing, Wei Ying stands up and pads over with a quick little hopping gait across the sun-heated boards, ignoring the creak of joints that let him know just how long he's been hunched in the same position. They'll get over it.

"Show me, show me!"

He drops down right up against Yanli and gratefully sticks his feet in the cool water, abandoning his sketchbook and flopping sideways into her so she can do just that.

Yanli giggles indulgently at his nonsense and leans her head over against his, holds up her phone.

It's a photo. And another one, as Yanli swipes a delicate thumb across. And a third, and a fourth, and they're, well, really fucking hot. Wei Ying inhales sharply.

All of them are of Wen Qing--his best friend in the entire world--set against some kind of empty parking garage. And she looks like a goddess. A goddess in plaid and cuffed jeans and blood-red eye shadow.

Not just any cuffed jeans, either, but fancy fashion jeans: almost obnoxiously wide-legged, briefly hugging her hips to hint at curves and then dropping straight down to make her look longer than she really is. The cuffs on the bottom are wide, too, only rescued from trailing on the ground by the spiky heels just peeking out from underneath. Oh, and they're notched open right next to the dangling red silk belt for a thigh window, under which Wei Ying can just see hints of her tattoo.

It probably wouldn't be nearly as bad without the black plaid shirt, four sizes too big, thrown on and hanging open over nothing more than a slash of red lace across her chest. The sleeves are, Wei Ying notes with despair, rolled up to the elbow, showing off forearms which he's always known were unfairly built. It's bad enough in the first shot of her lounging seductively against a concrete wall; the one where she's crossing her arms and staring down at the camera with her trademark quelling look--caught impeccably in high definition--is much, much worse.

"God in heaven," Wei Ying agrees, feeling his mouth go dry.

He knew, technically, that Wen Qing had started her modelling gig last week, taking advantage of her looks to see her through medical school, but he hadn't really thought about it, and definitely hadn't remembered the first set was dropping today.

"Right?" Yanli sounds vindicated. "Holy fucking shit, A-Ying--the one where she's sitting on the yellow beam? I have never before in my life been so envious of a chunk of steel."

Wei Ying laughs and agrees. "Maybe you should put on a raincoat and go knock on her door, ah?"

Yanli elbows him lightly and then they sit there together in the summer sun, bare arms and thighs sticking together, hunched over the little screen of her phone for an incredibly reasonable and normal amount of time, flipping back and forth between the images. Whether it's the fact that Wen Qing is so drop-dead gorgeous or just the novelty of seeing someone they actually know dolled up and posed like a real model, like she's art, Wei Ying isn't sure.

Eventually Yanli pulls back, sits upright, and breaks the silence with a long, soft sigh. "Wei Ying," she announces. "I might have to ask your girlfriend out on a date."

Wei Ying takes a slow breath, sitting up himself, and turns to give a solemn nod, looking up at Yanli with big eyes. "I understand, A-Li. I'm afraid...that I feel the same way about your girlfriend."

After another beat where they just manage to hold eye contact, they dissolve into giddy laughter and fall back together.

"We'll ask her together, ah?" Yanli says, setting her phone down and reaching out to flick a stray hair out of Wei Ying's face. "These turned out stunningly well; she deserves a celebratory dinner."

Wei Ying beams and catches her hand, swinging it like a kid. "In the meantime--"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before Yanli tackles him into the river.

Spluttering and laughing, they surface and Wei Ying splashes her in retaliation. She beat him to the dunking by a full ten seconds at least!

"No fair!"

"That's for the terrible pun you were about to make about being hot and bothered," Yanli says smugly, and splashes him back.

In truth, Wei Ying can't even try to pretend he's offended; it was a terrible pun. He spends the rest of the afternoon making worse ones, though, just because he can.

He's pretty sure at least the frog appreciates them.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

A collection of kisses spanning the galaxies.

Title taken from the song Kiss Me More by Doja Cat ft. SZA. Prompt from Pridewrite's 2022 Challenge: Kiss and this Codywan Kiss Bingo.

If you like clones, consider checking out this unwhitewashthebadbatch carrd by clonehub. If you like Pride, but don't want to give your money to pink capitalism, consider each donating to or at least boosting one of these charities.

[allura-writes]

Pridewrite day 2 - Plaid and cuffed jeans