i’m going to paste things from my twitter here so i don’t lose them in the waves--
huaisang's name means 'holding mulberry leaves' and that's bc he ate them for 15-odd years and spun that much silk. that much! he is a soft and clever worm; i'm way too distracted to draw rn but want to give him a fan and gown of dark glossy green leaves, round cheeks curving like the moon behind; what do you have there, young man? what are you stuffed full of? aren't you just fit to burst
—and o, friday is dirty? when huaisang learns how his skin works it’s with meng yao, who enjoys stroking the plump whiteness of him but not as much as he does striking it. folding him small and smacking him up into a shaking mess. when he bites it gives and he squeals. to control how hard, how deep, how much; the vast and dizzying entitlement over what reddens in a squeeze, moistens at a slap, pulls him closer when he pushes in. the dessert he never got to taste.
