#india writes

[grilledcheeseandgravityfalls]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

Endling [end-ling]. Noun. An endling is the last known individual of a species or subspecies. Once the endling dies, the species becomes extinct.

The title of "The Last Dragonlord" isn't quite as enviable as it sounds.

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what’s this? me? posting a fic again after literally half a decade? yall there’s like a 45% chance this is a dream

[riding-under-the-stars]

Sometimes I go about my day and notice something that urges me to write about it or just... admire it. But they’re only little scenes and descriptions of places, really. I might start actually writing them and putting them here? Hmmm

[grilledcheeseandgravityfalls]

hi i just wanted to say i found your fic “red” on ao3 and it’s quite literally one of the most beautifully written and tragic things i’ve ever read in my life. i would like to thank you for the amazing feels journey u put me through. i’m never going to be over this ever

oh my motherfucking god i wrote that. how long ago??? literal. years. i think i was 16. how DID you find it, first of all

second, wtf you’re so nice i may cry??? you found my old (old, oLD) miraculous fic and then liked it enough to expend the effort to Come To My Blog and tell me about it??? i love you. this is the kindest thing

[grilledcheeseandgravityfalls]

told myself i wouldn’t write cheesy self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic the night before my bio final. it’s 2 am, i haven’t studied, and i am a liar

[riding-under-the-stars]

I went on a short backpacking trip last weekend and it was great, so, so good to be back out on the trail and escape life. The weather was so much nicer up there in the mountains, the nicest I’ve experienced in months. I was up and sitting on a log cooking breakfast in a thin puffy jacket. We could hear a creek nearby, the water boiling, and my pup happily gnawing on a stick beside me. We noticed the clouds in the distance were low, and only a couple minutes later they came rolling through and descended into the forest. It probably looked fake. If you saw it in a movie you’d think “oh, someone turned on the fog machine” but the clouds were low and just came floating through camp. It was just misty and foggy where we were, but if you looked out onto the trail you could see it billowing and rolling. They passed through eventually and we finished eating and went to the stream to fill up our water bottles. Mountain water always tastes the best. When we got back on the trail to hike out, we caught up with the clouds and walked down through a layer of them again. We weren’t even high up elevation wise at all compared to what I’m used to, but the whole morning was such a peaceful and ethereal experience.

[riding-under-the-stars]

There’s something special, magical, almost, to me about white pine forests. I think they’re beautiful. I love all forests, of course, but the forest floor in these is different than in most deciduous forests. Where those have layers of leaf litter and insects and can be moist (which is beautiful and I love for its own reasons, but that’s not what this is about), the white pine forests just have the nice layer of the rusty colored soft pine needles coating the ground. It’s more clean and crisp. Easily dried. I always feel like I can just sleep on the ground anywhere I want--push a pile of the needles together to make it a little cushier and nap without worrying about too many bugs coming up from beneath me.

It’s also more wide open in most of the ones I’ve been to. The branches don’t start until higher up in the tree, so even though you’re in a forest surrounded just like any other forest you’ve been to, you also can see your surroundings. It’s easier to breathe. The air is clean and crisp and hinted with pine.

Maybe it’s just me, but they’re one of my favorite places to go. I picture them and immediately think of the soft ground covered in orange needles, winding trails between the trees both beaten down and lined to show you the way, but also open enough that you can create your own trial. I see sunlight dripping through the canopy like honey, usually that sunset light. Or maybe it’s an early morning backpacking and I have a sweater on until the sun breaks fully through and warms up the air. I can hear birds somewhere, but never seem to see them. It’s quiet, I can breathe easier. Being there brings me peace.

[grilledcheeseandgravityfalls]

me: *hasn’t finished a story since 1847*

me starting another wip: mmaybe htis ti me..

[theindianwinter]

White smoke curls past lips painted in the same unfathomable maroon of your wine. In your mind it curls around, pulls together the pieces, stops you from shattering against the rocks. The maelstrom has roared to life, reanimating the demons you thought you'd vanquished long ago. You are not okay. But for five minutes, in the haze of wine and nicotine, you can believe the lie, the one that says you are, and everything will work out fine. For five minutes, you are almost okay, and that is more than you can ask for in this moment.