@kimkhimhant / kimkhimhant.tumblr.com
Chay gives a poor imitation of his usual smile and pulls away, and he’s left alone on the pull-out sofa in Chay’s living room and all that’s left are his hands and the stains he can’t wash off and the pain in his chest where there was supposed to be love. There was supposed to be love.
canon era baby~~
So, first I'll explain. I'm gonna being reccing my own fics which I'm not super sure how to do cause I mostly just yeet shit on ao3 and let the fates decide, and I'm never sure what's like, too much? Like I see other people rec their own fics and I'm like (O O) how do i do that. Like idk why I have this resistance to like, telling people that I like my own fics? So today I said fuck that, everyone's gonna know now.
And I've just been doing not so hot recently for a number of reason and I figured like, I've been obsessing over so much, why don't I get to be excited about the good things? So anyway, these are my favorite fics that I've written, not just the ones that have done the best or whatever, just my personal favorites, so without further ado...
The clothes he’s wearing aren’t his own. His hands, when he looks down at them, aren’t his own, either. He’s not sure there’s anything left of him at all, now.
Chapter 1 is out of Transposing Constellations, the sequel to Burning Stardust, my first KinnPorscheBig fic. Hope you all enjoy!
And he reminds himself, after the deed is done – there are no good men. No innocent victims of any crime. The blood on his hands is the blood of people with blood on their own hands, and he has never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. And no one has ever hurt him in a way that he didn’t deserve to be hurt. And no one has ever hurt him in a way that he didn’t ask for.
Kim has learned to catalog touch into two distinct categories: violent, and nonviolent. He’s thirteen when he first learns the touch of another man in a form that he can’t seem to categorize at all.
