#everything actually

[schokosarchive]

about three hours of full espresseleine committment despite me practically being on my deathbed (I'm exaggerating it, I'm just a little tired and a TINY BIT inconvenienced by a family dinner that drained my social battery)

so yeah

three hours in my room like it's the yaoi dungeon.

ref!

in this piece I love how madeleine turned out, and hate espresso. strange, because it's usually the opposite, I put more effort into the latter..

[mourningghosts]

before I pull this trigger, your eyes vacant and stained

and in saying you loved me made things harder, at best

and these words changing nothing as your body remains

[damnamour]

SHORTLAND STREET ― April 29, 2026

[esomaniac]

I think about this panel a lot actually

[possession1981-moving]

SUNWOO I Like You / Gayo Daejejeon 2022

[itspileofgoodthings]

She said “I can do it with a broken heart … bitch”

[noahsey]

happy pride month to scott smajor

[softpadawan]

Kanan slipped his knife from his belt and carefully began to peel the [djoti] fruit, revealing a juicy, pale yellow flesh. Ezra watched a coil of skin form around the djoti as Kanan turned it in his hand, keeping the knife steady. The cords in his forearms popped up every now and then, stretching as he worked. Though his hands were not beautiful—thick, clublike fingers, leathery wrinkles of excess skin at the knuckles, nails blunted from years of relentless gnawing—they were strong, and they knew what they were doing.

Ezra stared at them longingly. “How is it you know so much?” he asked softly.

“So much about what?”

“About everything. I’ve never even heard of a djoti.”

A grin crept its way onto Kanan’s lips. “I worked for Galpro, Galactic Produce Corporation, for a year and a half before I ended up at Moonglow. I know way more about fruit and vegetables than I ever planned to.”

“Hm.” Ezra took another swig from his canteen. “Why are you peeling it? Are the skins bad for you or something?”

“No, they’re edible, but kind of bitter. Some people have an allergic reaction to them if they’re sensitive.”

“Could I be? I’ve never had one before.”

“You ever eaten Corellian mahatsas?”

“Yeah, once, I think, when I was a little kid. They were okay, I guess. It was so long ago, I don’t really remember.”

“Then you’ll be fine. People who are allergic to djoti are usually allergic to mahatsas, too.” Skin discarded, Kanan carved out a dripping wedge of the fruit’s flesh and held it out to Ezra, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Tradition dictates that the first bite always goes to someone you love.”

In the sweltering forest, liquid ice shot through Ezra’s veins. He froze solid, paralyzed by hope.