larosier
Fandoms
- Formula 1 RPF (2)
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Summary
— i did not forgive them
— i still don't remember
— i was lyingor: what happens when you live in shades of self-destruction
(written for lestappen week summer 2023)
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Charles feels Max’s silhouette enveloping him now and he thinks how they found each other again, different versions but still destined to bleed asymmetrical colours. How this Max does not let the fire consume him but controls it, lets it loose in strategic maneuvers without sacrificing any of his nuclear grandeur. How Charles himself has learned to traipse the fickle balance between being a commodity and a person, sharing just enough for people to dip their toes into the surface but leaving the depth to himself.
They simultaneously mean so little and so much to each other. It's an oxymoron that Charles traverses in its entirety, takes in his mouth and attempts to chew into something he can swallow without choking.
— After Hungary, Charles ruminates while the world liquifies around him.
Series
- Part 1 of premonitions
Recent series
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- Words:
- 4,819
- Works:
- 1
- Bookmarks:
- 1
Recent bookmarks
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Summary
“What’s with all the dicks around?”
Wei Ying thought the way that Lan Zhan’s lips parted just the slightest bit must be the equivalent of another person’s baffled guffaw.
“I believe it is to honour the god Priapus, or perhaps Dionysus,” Lan Zhan explained with a slightly pinched face. His ears were bright red, and Wei Ying couldn’t help but want to tease him more.
“Too bad they’re all made of wood,” he winked. “Hard to honour these gods the way they deserve if none of their relics are made of silicone.”
A borderline angered look crossed Lan Zhan’s face, and his eyes darkened as he looked at Wei Ying. It felt like he was being preyed upon for a moment.
Wei Ying travelled all alone to the other side of the planet, but he never expected to meet someone who would change his life so significantly.
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There is a ghost in the Drift.
Bookmarked by larosier
03 Jul 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
panacea. turbulent and soothing and through it all, enduring. incredibly terrifying for someone like me who withers in the face of change and uncertainty but definitely something i needed to read. forever grateful time immemorial
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winter thunder, summer snow by vxmins
Fandoms: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Modao Zushi - Moxiang Tongxiu & Related Fandoms
04 Jun 2026
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“The ground is cursed,” Xiao Peng moans. He finishes another jar. “Even before the cultivators came, it wouldn’t grow. And then the blood…all the blood…”
“What blood?” Wei Wuxian asks.
“The cultivator war flooded the field with it,” Xiao Peng replies, strangely poetic. “My grandfather said so. He said, all the bodies got up and walked away, but they left the blood, and the blood stained the soil.”
An inn, a ministry office, and a millet field.
Bookmarked by larosier
06 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
someone come collect their freaks! me included
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where we begin by queen_gee for UmbrellaMartialGod
Fandoms: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
01 Aug 2020
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Summary
Wei Wuxian learned to use his powers for good, and always made sure to touch the dead again before the minute was up. He did not dare make the mistakes of his youth, and he did not forget the boy he once kissed in the sunshine of the last regular day of their lives.
He had a gift that gave and took. He learned how to use it wisely.
Wei Wuxian knew many things about death, though perhaps less than he did about life. That did not prepare him for the day Jiang Cheng walked through the door of his bakery, wet with the rain and pale with bad news, and said, “Lan Wangji is dead.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
In which Wei Wuxian is a pie-making necromancer, Lan Wangji is brought back to life, and they might be a little (a lot) in love with each other.
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paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3
Fandoms: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
10 Oct 2020
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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)