#i live ma day as if it was da last

[lululovesprongs]

max verstappen i love you diva💜💜💜💜 your satan spawn antics and lack of fucks to give have charmed me💜💜💜💜

[cherryblogss]

MERMAID MOTEL (blurb)

+18!!! avisinhos: trabalho sexual, cyber sex😛, penetração vaginal, diferença de idade, size kink, sexo oral, headlock?, sexo desprotegido (NÃO NÉ), bem raso pq to com preguiça.

notinha: o diabo da insonia me pegou e eu fiquei escutando várias playlists antigas, entonces resolvi fazer isso. coloquei uma parte de cantoria aí msm eu tendo uma voz horripilante. espero que gostem!😘 pela fanficagem vms fingir q ele mora na espanha.

Sinopse: Enzo se sente entediado com tudo que o cerca, mas encontra uma nova paixão em um lugar inesperado. ☆

Buy a white sweater for the last white day of the summer

Buy my purple wig for my mermaid video

Walk back to where I lived in my motel on Neptune (Avenue)

Durante o dia Enzo se sentia imbatível, as ações da sua empresa cada vez mais valorizadas, todos o obedeciam sem questionar e comprava qualquer coisa que colocava os olhos. Apesar de ter tudo o que sempre sonhou, quando deitava em sua cama, se sentia entediado e ainda tinha a porra daquela insônia que não deixava ele descansar. Por isso, Vogrincic fez algo que sempre considerou absurdo.

Enzo se sentia ridículo por criar uma conta em um site de conteúdos adulto. Os primeiros dias que ele abriu a página na web sentia seu rosto se contorce em desgosto com tantos conteúdos nojentos e explícitos até demais. Após uma semana navegando naquele submundo da internet, achou um perfil que chamou a atenção dele no primeiro instante. O seu perfil.

yoursiren is live

A sua página era totalmente diferente das outras, tinha um charme irresistível, seu cenário era adorável com itens de cor pastel e, claro, a dona do perfil era a melhor parte. Enzo já esteve com muitas modelos, atrizes e celebridades, mas nunca tinha visto um rostinho tão meigo e acolhedor, além de incrivelmente lindo. No momento em que ele entrou, você ainda estava iniciando a transmissão, então conversava sorrindo com a câmera, exibindo um sorriso encantador.

O resto de você deixava ele ainda mais sem palavras. Seu corpo era perfeito em todos os jeitos, sentia a ponta dos dedos coçando pra te toca, seu cabelo roxo super longo com algumas mechas lilás combinavam com a lingerie de renda da mesma cor. Era óbvio que você usava peruca pelo aspecto sint��tico dos fios com uma cor nada natural, o acessório dava um ar tão mítico a sua imagem. Pela primeira vez em muito tempo, sentiu seu coração acelerar com o desejo de ter algo, de conquistar algo.

Quando você começou de fato o conteúdo, Enzo sentia seu pau endurecer cada vez mais nos shorts de dormir e passou a massagear a ereção. Seus gemidos eram hipnotizantes, o jeito como sua bucetinha parecia tão apertada mesmo pela transmissão, o modo como o vibrador que enfiava saía cada vez mais molhado. Tudo fez ele gozar em vergonhosos 2 minutos. Ao limpar a bagunça, percebeu que podia te mandar gorjetas e conversar em particular a partir de certo valor, mandando singelos €900 e uma mensagem no chat privado te rechando de elogios.

Quando você respondeu no outro dia, ele marcou uma chamada privada para a noite. Você geralmente não fazia conteúdo pra uma pessoa só, mas como ele te mandava tanto dinheiro e parecia decente, aceitou relutante.

A chamada foi o acontecimento mais erótico da sua vida. O jeito que ele começou conversando com você sobre coisas aleatórias e, de repente, você já se encontrava esfregando seu pontinho inchado por cima da calcinha encharcada. Ele do outro lado da tela, quse fodia a própria mão admirando sua musa obedecer seus comandos.

Marcavam ligações pelo menos 3 vezes por semana, fazendo diversas dinâmicas e testando quantas vezes você aguentava gozar. Apesar de trabalhar por algum tempo com conteúdo sexual, você nunca tinha sentido as coisas que o homem rico e misterioso te causava. As vezes ele te mandava mensagens fora do horário com mil promessas inapropriadas. Vocês nunca passavam do papo casual e safadezas.

Até que um dia ficaram só conversando sobre coisas aleatórias que aconteceram no dia, a chamada ficando silenciosa quando você caiu no sono e Enzo cochilou um pouco, o mais velho despertou assustado ao perceber que tinha dormido relaxado depois de muito tempo.

O mais especial não era o momento sexual e, sim, escutar sua voz. O jeito que você falava com ele, fazia piadinhas e descrevia seu dia, fazia borboletas irritantes surgirem no estômago dele. A cada dia que passa, ele se apegava mais a você e imaginava um mundo em que ele tivesse te conhecido de modo diferente.

Você era o vício dele, ocasionalmente o moreno implorava pra você fazer conteúdo só pra ele prometendo que podia arcar com todos os custos, mas não iria confiar tudo a um homem que nem sequer te mostrou o rosto alguma vez. As vezes, ele se irritava com sua teimosia e tinha crises de ciúmes quando te via interagir demais com outros homens da live.

You call me lavender, you call me sunshine

You say take it off, take it off

Passaram 4 meses conversando todos os dias, nem sempre envolvendo sexo, mas sim, diálogos sobre tudo que acontecia. Com o passar dos meses, podia dizer que vocês tinham um tipo de relacionamento.

Enzo te chamava de vários apelidos carinhosos, mas sabia que quando ele estava emocionado demais te chamava de mi cielo, dizendo que você iluminava os dias dele e era a estrela guia das suas noites.

Descobriram que moravam pelo menos no mesmo país, você era uma imigrante que foi estudar em uma cidade espanhola que ficava relativamente perto da sede da empresa dele em Madrid. Apesar disso, Enzo nunca tinha coragem de pedir pra te ver e conforme você ia se ocupando com a universidade ele não queria te interromper.

Até que um dia o mundo dele caiu com uma mensagem sua. Você finalmente conseguiu um emprego estável na sua área e iria se distanciar de tudo relacionado a conteúdo adulto, consequentemente teria que excluir ele da sua vida. Desesperado, revelou a própria identidade tentando te dar uma razão pra continuar a falar com ele, tentanto te persuadir a encontrá-lo pessoalmente.

Você estava cansada de interagir com ele apenas virtualmente, portanto pressionou o mais velho a te tratar como alguém parte da vida dele ou você iria sumir mesmo. Por isso, Enzo marcou de vocês se encontrarem na sua cidade em um local público, tudo pensado na sua segurança e em te fazer confiar mais nele.

A primeira vez que se viram pessoalmente foi em uma cafeteria, como você já sabia como era aparência dele após pesquisar na internet o nome do executivo, foi em direção ao moreno de cabelos compridos e costas largas. Ele era tão lindo em pessoa, quase te fez suspirar ao ver aqueles olhos ternos de perto. Além disso, ele te deu um abraço apertado, nem se lembra de alguém ter te apertado tão carinhosamente contra o corpo, você fechou os olhos com força sentindo carinho genuíno depois de tanto tempo.

Enzo ficou chocado quando viu aquelas mesmas feições em um cabelo cacheado e olhos de uma cor diferente (ele devia ter se atentado que você usava lentes também). Fora dos pixels, a sua aparência era mais deslumbrante em pessoa, os olhos vividos e alegres, a sua pele com algumas marquinhas de acne adicionavam um charme a mais, o sorriso que marcava umas ruguinhas no seu rosto e o seu corpo... ele evitava olhar muito, senão teria problemas em esconder o que sentia.

Era ainda mais encantadora pessoalmente, você realmente parecia uma sereia. Algumas cabeças viraram pra te dar uma olhada. Enzo passou a segurar sua mão por cima da mesa, marcando território. Agora que tinha te encontrado, nunca te perderia de vista.

Lancharam enquanto conversavam sobre pequenas coisas que não diziam pela chamada, ele achava adorável a sua timidez ao falar encarando ele e você não conseguia desviar os olhos daquele homem cativante.

Percebendo que o dia de verão estava bem refrescante, te chamou pra ir na praça que tinha ali perto, caminhando com os dedos entrelaçados o trajeto inteiro. Ele te deixou sentada em um banco dizendo que ia fazer uma ligação importante e quando voltou estava com um buquê de flores variadas dizendo que não sabia qual você gostava mais então pegou as que tinham suas cores favoritas. Se divertindo com a maneira que ele ficou sem jeito, puxou o moreno pela nuca colando os lábios de vocês em um beijo carinhoso e demorado.

Nesse mesmo dia, Enzo te chamou pra ir até o hotel com ele onde vocês acabaram fodendo pela primeira vez. Tudo foi tão intenso. Ele começou a te beijar no elevador, até chegar na cobertura no último andar do prédio vocês já estavam quase nus.

Ao chegarem no quarto, Enzo lembrou de uma conversa de vocês e pegou a sua câmera colocando no modo gravar, fazendo um vídeo seu retirando a lingerie azul que ele havia te mandado dias atrás. Depois apoiou o dispostivo na mesa de cabeceira apontando pra cama. Te deitou de barriga pra baixo no colchão, distribuindo beijos molhados pelas suas costas até chegar na sua bunda onde mordiscou uma das nádegas, enfiou o rosto inteiro na sua intimidade esfregando o nariz avantajado nas suas dobrinhas e beijando o clitóris inchado. Ele chupava tudo na região, deixando marcas no interior das suas coxas e estapeando seus glúteos. Te deu dois orgasmo seguidos que enfraqueceram suas pernas.

Quando ele começou a meter o pau grosso em você, pressionou o corpo inteiro nas suas costas quase te esmagando com o peso dos músculos, precebendo que você estava ficando burrinha de pica passou um dos braços pelo seu pescoço tentando abafar seus sons altos, te sufocando com os biceps musculosos. Nessa noite, você lembra de apagar por uns minutos e sentir um jato de líquidos saindo da sua buceta piscando.

Maybe I could sing you to sleep

God bless the universe, god bless the ocean

God bless you and god bless me

Todo fim de semana ele ia até a sua cidade pra te ver ou você ia até ele, Enzo comprou um apartamento luxuoso no melhor prédio do local e te deu de presente com a desculpa que ele ia usar sempre o local, então por que não poderia te ter lá esperando por ele? Toda vez, Enzo chegava com várias sacolas de marcas luxuosas de presentes pra você.

O moreno te fodia vigorosamente conforme os gemidos agudos saiam da sua garganta. O pau grosso cutucava seu cervix toda vez que era enfiado até o talo. Sua buceta jorrava líquidos sem parar depois de dois orgasmo seguidos se encaminhando pro terceiro. O corpo inteiro dele estava pressionado contra o seu, o peitoral espremendo seus seios, a correntinha que usava combinando com a sua batia no seu queixo com a movimentação intensa e as mãos dele apertavam com força a sua bunda. Quando você gozou apertando o pau dele mais ainda, Enzo gemeu alto soltando jatos quentes de porra diretamente na sua buceta. Logo em seguida, relaxou totalmente sobre seu peito.

Sentindo-se acolhido em seus braços o mais velho acaricia sua cintura com as mãos grandes, ao passo que você começa a passar os dedos pelos cabelos sedosos, Enzo sente o sono pesando seus olhos e o corpo ficando mole. Só faltava uma coisinha pra jogá-lo no mundo dos sonhos.

"Canta pra mim, por favor"

Começou a entoar sua música favorita no seu idioma materno, desafinando aqui e ali. Depois de alguns minutos, sentiu o corpo do maior ficar mais pesado e a respiração mais profunda, então baixou o nível da cantoria gradativamente até parar totalmente. Deu um beijinho demorado na cabeça do seu parceiro, fechando os olhos para dormir.

Só conseguia agradecer ao universo por existir um homem tão incrível e colocar ele na sua vida. E claro, devia agradecimentos a si mesma por ser tão atraente e sedutora ao ponto de encantá-lo igual uma sereia.

[colormepurplex2]

In Memory of Him | It's Cold In Here

↳ Florist!Taehyung x Artist!f.Reader ⤜ Non-Idol, Late Husband's Best Friend ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 13,558 ⚠️ Mild language, death/loss of a loved one, deep depression, high anxiety, loads of guilt, hidden feelings, realizations, hurt feelings, repressed feelings, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the letter that you found attached to a bundle of flowers on your doorstep.

To the love of my life, For after the funeral Take a deep breath, baby, I know it’s not easy. Even as I sit and write this, I can feel your energy in the next room. You’re always such a worrier, I’m sorry I’ve added to that. It’ll all be better soon, I promise. But, I know you and I know that you’ll pull away, you’ll cut yourself off…and we can’t have that, now can we? You have to keep going if we’re to stay connected even after I’m gone.

So, here’s the first of a collection of some things that you can hold and look back on when the storm starts to roll in. There are only so many words in existence to describe what you mean to me. So, instead of words, I want you to remember these feelings: Warmth - like the sun on your face while you read a great book Satisfaction - the way you sigh softly after a good, lazy day in bed Contentment - waking up with a smile on your face every morning Peace - that moment of quiet before the rain starts, when the scent of petrichor filters in These are all the things you’ve brought into my life the last seven years. I’ve never been able to look at the sun, sleeping, smiles, or storms the same. Never did I imagine I’d meet and marry such a beautiful, kind-hearted soul with a genuinely unique outlook on life. I never had to be reminded to smile because it just came so naturally whenever you were around. You have brought so much light into my world and gave me the best years of my life. You also gave me Sujin, the perfect little replica of myself even if you think he looks more like you than me (I secretly agree, but that’s not something I’ll admit outloud). When I look at our wonderful son, I’m reminded of the beauty that first drew me to you all those years ago. Being his father is the second greatest achievement of my life, the first being making you fall madly in love with me…don’t laugh, you know it’s true. Many people see things in black and white, a beginning and an end…but our life isn’t like that. We’re full of color and everything in between. You’ve supported me at my best and have loved me at my worst. Everything good in my life is because of you. I know you’ll always love me, and I know it won’t be easy once I’m gone, but I need you to promise me you’ll continue to wake up with that smile on your face and never forget how the sun feels or how beautiful the quiet before the storm is. I need my light, my girl, to keep going. Be that guiding light so I know exactly where you are in the world as I watch over you and Sujin. We knew forever wasn’t guaranteed, that’s just the way life is, right? This doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a long shot. You still have so much more to give, so much more love to offer.  I know you’d never forget about me, that’s not what this letter is for—it’s not a reminder of me, it’s a reminder to live, love, and keep shining. There are more where this came from, Taehyung has them and knows what to do, but not until you’re ready for them. I love you so much, never stop living—for me, for Sujin…for you. Love forever, Your Yejun

The letter crumples in your fist, the bundle of hibiscus and lavender it was attached to forgotten on the step between your feet as you bury your face in the crook of your elbow and scream. It’s better that way—the symbolism of the hibiscus flower on a letter from Yejun is a punch to the gut when he’s no longer here. Eternity? Bullshit. The sound is muffled into the thick wool of your coat but no less filled with agony. As if the day wasn’t hard enough, everything went belly-up when you found the flowers and the letter on your door step. You choke on a breath of air as you try to control yourself.

“Yejun.” His name drips from your trembling lips, absorbed into your jacket sleeve like your cries. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave us?”

A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, jerking away from the potential comfort, despite it being exactly what you need right now. You crowd against the wall, knees knocking into one another as you huddle in on yourself where you’re sitting in the stairwell outside your apartment door.

“Hey, hey, hey, come here,” a strong, soothing voice coos. Your limbs protest weakly for a moment, your heart raging with guilt at the prospect of finding solace in another man’s arms—even if that man is Taehyung, your now late husband's best friend—but the desperate need for someone to hold your pieces together wins out. You fear if you let yourself truly break, you’ll never be able to be made whole again. You frantically launch into those open arms, keening a wail into the solid chest between them. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

💔💔💔

Two years later

“Mommy, are we going to Uncle Tae’s house today?” Sujin asks from behind you, where he’s strapped into his booster seat.

You glance in the rearview mirror, angling yourself so you catch a glimpse of his smile as he stares out the window, patiently awaiting your answer. It’s gotten easier over the last two years to look at him without growing weepy. He looks like and reminds you so much of Yejun. They have the same chestnut-colored eyes and floppy midnight tresses. When he smiles, the tiny dimple on his left cheek is a near mirror to his father’s and something that your eyes seek out every time he flashes you a grin. Little pieces of his father that fill the gaps in your heart.

“Did you not want to stay at Grandma’s tonight? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday,” you remind him.

Sujin hums like he’s thinking hard about your question. “Well, I did want to go to Grandma’s, but I also want to see Uncle Tae, and plus, he always has good ice cream. All Grandma has is boring vanilla.”

“How about we see if Uncle Tae wants to hang out this weekend? I think Grandma would be sad if you decided not to stay with her tonight.”

In truth, you’d also be a bit disappointed if Sujin changed his mind. Being only four when his father passed, he doesn’t remember Yejun much, mostly knows him from photos and stories he’s heard. So, it’s not surprising he’s not able to put together that today is the second anniversary of his father’s passing. He doesn’t know that tonight isn’t just about your mom getting a visit. It’s also about you having an evening to grieve without being under your son's watchful and inquisitive eye.

Though maybe you’re wrong, perhaps he knows more than you think as he responds softly, “It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll stay with Grandma so you can go visit Daddy.”

If it wasn’t for tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you might have driven right off the highway. “You know what today is?” you ask hesitantly once your initial shock passes.

“Of course I do,” Sujin says with another smile, his dimple catching in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the car window. “I might not remember him, but I could never forget him.” It’s a wonder there aren’t more six-year-old poets, as what he just said is easily the most eloquent thing ever uttered by a child. Your heart swells, and you feel that telltale burn in the back of your nose and behind your eyes as you blink away the flood of emotions threatening to spill into the open.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “That’s right. He’d be so proud of you and how much you’ve grown.”

“He’d be proud of you, too, Mommy.”

It’s another blow, directly targeting the cracks already forming in your armor. Fissures zip and snap over the surface of the wall you’ve spent the last two years building. “Thank you, buddy. I love you,” you manage to get past the lump in your throat. 

The rest of the car ride home is spent with Sujin telling you about his day at school and how one of his classmates snuck a salamander into the classroom after recess. You hum, haw, and laugh as he recounts the way the class reacted to the discovery of the amphibian.

It makes you feel lighter, listening to his words and hearing the clear whimsy his heart possesses as the salamander suddenly becomes a dragon and Sujin, the fearless knight that saved the teacher—the damsel in distress—by scooping it up and putting it in an empty lunch box.

“She said since I was so brave and such a good helper that I could go outside with Mr. Kim, the science teacher, and help him release it back into the wild,” he proudly proclaims. “Did you know salamanders like water? Mr. Kim said they’re kind of like frogs even though they look more like lizards.” Sujin continues on, spouting off facts he learned about the salamander from his science teacher.

It’s a short drive from the school to your apartment. You’ve often thought about moving, using some of the life insurance money from Yejun to buy you and Sujin a lovely place outside the city. But, your mom lives just a floor up, and it’s been convenient having someone so close to look after Sujin when you need them, like tonight.

Having your mom close by, not just as a babysitter but also as an emotional support outlet, has been a blessing and far outweighs the other feelings—the seemingly endless void that now lingers in place of your late husband. With that, though, you can’t help looking at your small apartment as more like a preservation of memories. It was the first place you and Yejun moved into after getting married. It’s the place you both brought Sujin home to when he was born. It’s still filled with so many memories…you’re not sure you want to leave—at least, not yet.

The building has no elevator, just several winding flights of steps right up the middle. “Go on up to Grandma’s. I’ll stop by with dinner before I leave. Remember, homework first before you play.”

Sujin gives you a beaming smile and nods his head in understanding before vaulting up the stairs, his strong six-year-old legs carrying him far faster than your own. You watch him disappear up the stairs—the last flash of his face so reminiscent of Yejun racing up those very same steps the day you moved in—followed by the familiar sound of your mother’s voice drifting out over and down the stairwell as she welcomes him into her space—a safe space, away from the looming cloud of darkness over you.

Knowing he’s occupied and cared for, you allow your mask to slip just a little. The weight on your shoulders eases as you let the emotional fatigue roll in and replace your typically calm and collected demeanor. Even after two years, it’s not gotten any easier when this particular day comes. The holidays are hard, sure. There are plenty of days where you find yourself feeling like it’s too much…but nothing truly compares to this day. It’s not filled with happy memories the way those other days are. It’s nothing but darkness. There is a constant ache in your chest, which is amplified when the calendar turns over, and you find yourself once again reliving that fateful day all over again.

You spent nearly every waking hour sitting beside Yejun, the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair becoming your permanent perch. The ventilator was always loud, but the punching swoosh grew to be comforting because you knew that meant he was still there. All the lines and tubes hooked up to him made it look like a scene from one of those sci-fi films he enjoyed making you watch with him. Yejun was so full of life when you first met, many years before. But, the image stuck in your mind—the one you can’t seem to get rid of—is of him with sallow cheeks and pale, greyish lips, drained of life.

It’s weird to think of watching someone die. But that’s precisely what you did over the six months Yejun was in the hospital. The disease moved quickly, the cancer stealing your husband away bit by bit, and you were powerless to stop it. That’s probably one of the worst parts, the helpless feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t prevent it from happening. No amount of prayer, begging, or screaming would change it. He’d still die, just the same. Day by day, the best parts of the man you loved vanished, and by the end—you feel guilty even thinking the thoughts, so you push them out of your head. 

After unlocking the door, you step into the quiet space of your apartment. Your shoes join the ones discarded by the door before you drop your purse on the small console table against the wall and make your way across the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Sujin’s room is the first door. You peek inside to see that he had made up his bed before school this morning. You make a mental note to grab one of his chocolate popsicles from the freezer before dropping off dinner tonight. He deserves a little treat for being such a good kid.

The small single bathroom sits between Sujin’s room and the larger of the two bedrooms, the one you shared with Yejun for almost five years. You haven’t changed any of the decor. Everything is the same as it always has been, right down to the pillow on Yejun’s side of the bed. It took months before you mustered the courage to wash the pillow case and cried the entire time you stripped the pillow and plopped it in the washer.

The pillow was small fish compared to the closet. Going through all of Yejun’s clothes nearly took you out. Thankfully, Taehyung was there to help. You weren’t the only one that lost someone two years ago today. Taehyung and Yejun grew up together and worked together for the last dozen years, starting out as teens together at Taehyung’s parents' florist shop. They are—were—as close as brothers, and not just for the fact that Taehyung’s parents took Yejun in when his parents both passed, but because of their unbreakable bond—a bond nearly as strong as the one you had with Yejun.

Taehyung has been there for you whenever you’ve needed him since Yejun’s passing. All it takes is a phone call or a text message, and he drops everything for you. You try not to take advantage of it because you don’t want him sucked into your empty void any more than he already is. No grown man should be attached to a woman like that, especially when he has no obligation for it.

But, you must admit, it’s nice knowing he’s there…especially today. This is the one day of the year that you know you don’t have to text or call Taehyung for him to show up. His one promise to you. He’ll be there, waiting for you at the cemetery, just like he was last year.

You pull off your oversized t-shirt and worn jeans covered in splotches of paint from your time in the studio today. Once a well-known local artist, you haven’t been able to create anything worthwhile since Yejun passed. He would always joke about being your one true muse. It seems he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’ve been able to create in the last two years feels wrong, like it’s missing something.

The life insurance you received from Yejun has been more than enough to keep you and Sujin afloat. However, you feel like a failure having even to touch that money, even if it’s just to pay the bills. If you could just get your life together, you’d be able to provide for yourself and Sujin the way you once did—before everything happened. Shoving that line of thinking away, you focus on the here and now, just getting through the next handful of hours.

A quick shower later, and you’re dressed in a warm sweater and a clean pair of jeans with thick wool socks. It’s cold, winter having well and truly taken hold outside, but when the sun goes down, the bite from the wind grows more bitter. Grabbing the large, lidded bowl of beef stew you had cooking in the slow cooker all day. You wrap it in a dish towel to keep from burning your hands on the hot sides, snag a popsicle for Sujin, and make the short trip upstairs to your mom’s place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom greets you when she opens the door. She’s gotten a lot more grey in her hair in the last year or so. The steel-colored strands stand out against her temples, framing her strong but still soft face. You used to think she looked too austere, but then you realized that was just the permanent mark of motherhood and time.

“Hi, Mom. Did Sujin get his homework done?” You follow your mom in, shutting and locking the door behind you as she ambles into the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Her apartment is a near mirror of your own, her second bedroom set up for Sujin as well.

“He finished a bit ago and wanted to break out the paints. Was nattering on about some sort of lizard, I think. He wanted to try to paint it,” she explains, putting the tea kettle on without needing to ask. Peppermint tea with a dollop of honey can fix even the worst of woes in her eyes. She’ll insist you have some just as she has any other time she can feel your darkness crowding in. You’ve grown to appreciate your mother's intuition, both for yourself and your son's sake.

“There was an incident involving a student bringing in a salamander at school, it seems. Sujin helped the teacher and was allowed to go out with Namjoon—Mr. Kim—to release it.” You recall the conversation in the car, your mother chuckling softly when you tell her about the salamander turning into a dragon.

She busies herself, packing the tea steeper with her own blend of mint tea. Tending the small garden of herbs and spices that she keeps on the fire escape off the living room, is how she spends most of her days since she retired a few years ago. Even in winter, she keeps a small plastic greenhouse over them, opening it just enough to care for them each day. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with that science teacher now?” she asks. You can tell she’s lightly probing, trying to figure out if there is anything more between you and ‘Mr. Kim’.

“I met him at the beginning of the year when we had parent-teacher meetings. He insisted I call him Namjoon, that’s all, Mom.”

Humming, she grabs the kettle just before it begins to whistle. “Still, he’s nice?” she asks, casting you a glance over her shoulder.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing she’d not try to go down this path of questioning. You know she means well, but you’re just…you’re not ready to think about those things.

“He’s nice enough, Mom, I guess. It was just a slip of the tongue. I’m used to greeting him at drop-off in the mornings. It’s not—I don’t, it’s just being cordial, y’know? I’m not ready…” you trail off, hoping your mom picks up on what you’re trying to say so you don’t actually have to say it; not today.

Her free hand goes to her mouth, covering her frown. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—you know I’d never, not like that. I’m sorry. Forgive an old fool for her loose words.”

“It’s okay, Mom, really,” you offer with a tight smile as you set the stew on the counter and pop the popsicle you brought for Sujin in the freezer.

She sets down the tea, the cup slightly trembling on the tiny saucer she serves it on. “I made some pajeon to go with the stew. It’s warming in the oven. Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asks, seeing that you need to move on from the previous subject.

You settle on one of the chairs at her small dining table, pick up the tiny teacup, and blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. The mint is a cooling contrast to the heat of the liquid, coating your throat with a soothing sensation. The blooming sweetness of the honey lingers on your tongue, helping combat the intense punch of the minty flavor. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home.

“I’m not all that hungry. You and Sujin enjoy it. You’re sure you’re okay taking him to school tomorrow?” She gives you a fond smile and nods. “I’ll pick him up on my way home and we’ll come have dinner.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.”

You finish off the tea, suppressing a grimace as it goes down a little too warm and nearly scalds your throat. The sun will be completely down soon, and you’d like to get to the cemetery before it’s too dark out. “I should get going. Just going to say hi to him real quick.”

Your mom watches you stand. Her eyes are hyper-focused on your face. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says slowly. It’s clear she wants to say more, but you’re glad she doesn’t push.

The room your mom has set up for Sujin has a small bed pushed into one corner, leaving the rest of the space for him to play—unlike his room at your place, which has a writing desk and dresser taking up the majority of the play space. He’s never complained, though, choosing to get creative with the small room he does have. “Hey, buddy, Grandma said you’re painting. Can I see?”

You lean on the door jamb, peering into the room. The easel Sujin is using is angled away from the door. All you can see is smears of bright color peeking around the edge of the canvas.

His bright eyes meet yours as he grins extra wide. “It’s not done yet, but of course you can see it.”

Stepping in and around the easel frame, you take in the canvas covered in paint. When your mom said he was going to paint the salamander, you knew there was a possibility of said ‘lizard’ being portrayed as a dragon as it was in Sujin’s story in the car. But what you didn’t expect were the characters surrounding the dragon. You count them, six in total. The brunette woman at the top of the castle tower is clearly Sujin’s teacher, Mrs. Min. Sujin himself is astride the dragon, and who you think is Namjoon stands in a corner near some trees, his large-frame glasses are what lead you to believe that’s who it is. The other three characters are where you’re a bit lost.

“Who are these people?” you ask, gesturing to the other feminine figure framed by two men; one with unruly black hair and the other with small angel wings extending from his shoulders. It dawns on you the moment you ask.

“That’s you, Daddy, and Uncle Tae, of course,” Sujin proudly states. “You were in the tower with Mrs. Min. I’m rescuing her, and Uncle Tae is rescuing you while Daddy guides him.”

You’re not sure what to say. But you can’t help looking at your son in a different light. He’s only six, but in moments like this, you feel like his soul is older and wiser than yours. “It’s lovely,” you finally say, because it truly is, and everything else you could say would definitely start the waterworks, and there will be enough of that later. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Be good for Grandma. There’s a treat for you in the freezer, but only after dinner, okay?” You feel like you’re running away—and maybe you are, but the darkness creeps in just a little bit further the more you look at his painting.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sujin beams at you sweetly. He lifts his chin, angling a cheek in your direction for a kiss. You plant one there, throwing an arm around his back for a quick squeeze, too. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” you murmur, shoving down the suffocating feeling bubbling in your chest—just need to make it a few more hours.

💔💔💔

The cemetery is about an hour's drive from your place in the city. Yejun grew up in the countryside, and the columbarium where he’s interred is at the cemetery closest to his and Taehyung’s childhood home. It’s a quiet drive, a typical Tuesday evening if it were any other week. You don’t even bother with music, haven’t in the last two years, preferring to just soak in the quiet and try to center yourself.

As you pull into the parking area outside the gate to the grounds, you spot Taehyung’s black SUV. He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver's side door with his chin tipped down below the line of the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Your headlights swing across his vehicle, illuminating him in the process as you park.

You take your time climbing out of your car, casting fleeting glances in his direction while you gather your courage and resolve. He’s wearing a thick grey-colored tweed coat that covers him to the knees, and khaki slacks lead down to shiny brown loafers. His hair is windswept, the fluffy waves moving across his forehead with every gust of chilly air.

“Hey,” you say as you swing open your door and step out. He catches your eye over the roof of your car and gives you a soft smile.

“Good evening. Drive okay?”

You nod. “Not too much traffic, which is always nice.”

“You should have let me come and pick you up.” It’s the same thing he said last year, to which you decline politely just the same as well.

“Thanks, but I enjoy the drive. Gives me time to think.”

His eyes flick over you, taking you in from head to toe. There is understanding clear on his face. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the entrance gate. You notice a small bundle of flowers held in his other hand that’s hanging by his side. “Oh, this is for you.” It surprises you when Taehyung offers you the flowers, having thought he was bringing them to leave in Yejun’s vase.

You take the offered cluster, automatically bringing it to your nose and giving it a delicate sniff. It’s hard to smell the fragrance in the cold, but as you peer down at the flowers and take in the deep purple and soft pink, the scent of lavender and hibiscus filters through as if on a memory. It’s a combination that reminds you painfully of Yejun, as this was always his go-to whenever he would bring you home flowers from the shop after work.

“Thank y—“ your polite words cut off as you hear the distinct crackle of paper as you shift the bundle of flowers between your hands. “What’s this?” you ask, holding the flowers up until you see the small envelope attached to the hemp string holding the bunch together.

“A note,” Taehyung responds slowly as if he’s trying to decide if that’s all he’ll say. “Perhaps wait until we’re settled to read it?”

You finger the crisp fold of parchment, wondering. “Okay, yeah,” you agree, chalking it up to most likely being a grievance note from Taehyung, and it might be awkward for you to read it right now in front of him.

The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local companies and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.

“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us, so we can take as much time as we need.”

Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds just some twenty years ago or so.

“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fence line. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.

“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.

You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”

That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”

“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.

Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s never easy, watching the way you suffer through your emotions. Taehyung knows you try to hide them, and sometimes you’re successful. But others…like right now, he can read you as clear as a bright spring sky. Only instead of pastel blues, pinks, and yellows, you’re a stark monochrome of Pantone grey. Just as clear, but decidedly less alive. He hates it. Knowing just how vibrant of a person you once were. When Yejun left your life, so, too, did the color, it seems. Leeched away with the slow death of your husband. It’s a cruel fate, Taehyung has decided, and it’s one you never deserved. Yejun also knew this. He saw this in the way you mourned at his bedside, even before he was gone. It’s why Yejun made Taehyung promise to take care of you, to never let you forget how to smile.

As more time passes, Taehyung isn’t sure whether or not he’s done a good job by Yejun’s request. Not when the dark circles around your eyes seem to get more permanent every time Taehyung sees you. It’s why he brought the letter—the next letter. He’s curious if you remember the first one, the one that came the day of Yejun’s funeral; the one that had you crawling into Taehyung’s arms for the first time, seeking the comfort you knew was there.

That’s happened a few times in the two years since Yejun now. Any time you begin to fray at the edges and unravel a bit too quickly, Taehyung’s been there, weaving you back together the best he can. It might not be pretty, but a patchwork quilt is better than shredded rags, he likes to think. He hopes, at least.

“Are you warm enough?” Taehyung asks, realizing your arm is trembling around his. The jacket you’re wearing is far too thin, meant more for warding off spring rain showers than winter chills. Your lips are formed into a thin, bloodless line as if you’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, and your brow is pinched.

The lift of your shoulder is subtle, dismissive and nonchalant. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Here,” Taehyung insists, pulling you to a halt on the walking path. “Take this.” He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the thinner trench you’re wearing over your sweater. You instantly relax, a soft sigh misting the air in front of your mouth.

“Thank you. I forget how cold it gets out here at night,” you mumble, encouraging Taehyung to continue walking toward the entrance to the columbarium, where Yejun’s memorial awaits. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without it?” Your eyes are round and glassy when you look up at him, the moonlight overhead reflecting in their depths.

The thick sweater Taehyung has on paired with his wool scarf is enough to stave off the wintery bite, but what warms him the most is seeing your eyes flash with a brief flicker of life when you snuggle into the depths of his jacket, bringing the tweed collar up around your neck after he assures you he’s fine without it.

Your feet shuffle, your stride slowing as you approach the columbarium. Taehyung can feel your hesitancy. The air around you is suffocating and full of static, something Taehyung wants desperately to help dispel.

“Come on. Together.” Taehyung offers you his hand, splaying his fingers wide in invitation. You lick your lips, eyes flicking between Taehyung’s face and his offered hand. Finally, you sag a little and slip your fingers in between his.

Your hand is soft and delicate in his. Taehyung has always admired your ability as an artist, being able to take your hands and a simple tool like a paintbrush and create something profound and breathtaking. Some might argue that what Taehyung does is also a form of art, but he swears it’s nothing compared to the pure magic you create. He’s found himself under your spell more than once, entranced by your art.

Even the works you’ve created in the last two years, the things you keep hidden away in your studio, are still quite beautiful—if more haunted. Taehyung knows you’re not selling any art and you haven’t hosted a gallery night in almost three years now. The few times he’s been inside your studio since Yejun, you’ve indulged his curiosity and let him look at the things you’ve worked on.

Taehyung cherishes those private moments you allow him within your space. He uses them as a time to reflect on what life has brought to you and to him. You have a shared experience of losing someone, but it’s clear you’re both working through your pain differently. Your studio, once a bright and vibrant space filled with inspiration and captured moments of love, is now more of a tomb, silent and full of the whisper of death.

Taehyung eases open the door to the columbarium. The motion-activated lights within flicker on and fill the space with a soft yellow glow. It’s better than the typical fluorescent white lights they used to use. Taehyung thinks the bright, sterile lighting is far too reminiscent of a morgue or hospital, not exactly places people should be reminded of when coming to visit their dead loved ones. So, he suggested the change when he took over doing the gardening for the cemetery.

Yejun’s niche is towards the back of the space, near the bottom. You separate yourself from Taehyung, letting the bundle of flowers droop upside down in your hand as you step lightly across the floor. You look like a specter, gliding across holy ground in search of what’s keeping you tied to this plane of existence. In many ways, Taehyung thinks that’s precisely what is happening with you. You’re suspended in time, stuck in a limbo of heartache.

In the two years since Yejun, you haven’t been able to move on, even though that’s exactly what Yejun wanted you to do. Yejun never wanted you to mourn him for long. He told Taehyung there was far too much love for you to give, and you had a heart big enough to love someone else while still holding true to Yejun. What Yejun failed to realize, Taehyung thinks, is that without Yejun, you didn’t want to love again.

Taehyung holds back a few steps, giving you some time to have a private moment as you kneel down in front of Yejun’s niche. The placard covering the niche is engraved with his name, birth and death dates, and a small metal frame that holds a glass engraved likeness of Yejun. It pains Taehyung to see the smiling face and crinkled eyes behind his wireframed glasses. Yejun was his brother in all ways, except for being born to the same parents. That didn’t matter to them, though—still doesn’t matter to Taehyung. They love—loved—each other just as fiercely as if they had been.

“Yejun,” you whimper his name, pressing a hand to the placard, head hanging low. Taehyung watches your shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he can’t take it anymore. He moves across the space and kneels down beside you, ignoring the cold that instantly leeches through the knees of his trousers. Before he can think better of it, he has his arms around you, trying to hold you together…trying to keep your seams from unraveling too fast.

Taehyung coos softly, murmuring as many words of encouragement and solace as can work past his quivering lips, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise. He loved you so fiercely. I miss him, too. I’m here for you. Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Over and over again, Taehyung repeats it like a mantra until your sniffles subside, and you slump into his arms, feebly returning his embrace.

Feeling your arms around him is a comfort, one that helps him keep his own tears in check. “Thank you for being here,” you sniff before burying your face in his scarf and inhaling deeply.

“I’m always going to be here for you,” Taehyung offers, smoothing a hand over your hair in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He watched Yejun console you enough times to have a good idea of what might help. After Sujin was born, you battled postpartum depression for a while, and Taehyung helped wherever he could, giving him those brief glimpses into your emotional turmoil. Yejun always petted your hair and let you ground yourself in his embrace. He never even had to say a word; just let you draw on his strength. So, Taehyung has always tried to emulate that for you whenever you’ve needed him.

You sigh, and Taehyung reluctantly lets you pull away to sit back on your heels. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says, capturing the side of your face in one of his hands. You sway on your knees; big, round, red-rimmed eyes locked onto his. “Never apologize to me. You’re human, not a mess. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, lips barely moving. You slowly turn, sitting with your back against Yejun’s niche.

“Okay,” Taehyung repeats, and settles in beside you. He barely notices the cold this time as it seeps through the seat of his pants. There are far too many fierce emotions rolling through him to be bothered by the chill.

“Is it okay if I read this now?” you ask after several moments of shared silence.

Taehyung looks over at you, fingering the small envelope attached to the bundle of fresh flowers he brought. He swallows past the thick knot in his throat, worried about you reading it but knowing you need to. Perhaps it’ll be best read when he’s around and not in the solitude of your apartment where you could fall apart without someone there to catch you; Taehyung knows Sujin is staying at your mother’s tonight.

He clears his throat. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

“They really are beautiful,” you say, voice so soft it barely carries to Taehyung. You admire the flowers for a moment, and the anxiety Taehyung had earlier in the shop when he was wrapping them goes away. He was worried that he got the flowers wrong. He knew Yejun always brought you fresh flowers, different types for different occasions. Yejun was all about the spiritual and emotional meaning of flowers, something that Taehyung hardly paid any mind to until after.

Finally, you tug the end of the string that attaches the envelope to the flowers, and you set them to the side. The flap is tucked into the envelope, so you slide it out and remove the tri-folded parchment from within. It looks the same as it did the day Yejun gave it to Taehyung a few weeks before he died. It’s the same as all the other letters waiting in a box under Taehyung’s bed—waiting for the right moment, waiting for you.

“If you need a moment—” Taehyung begins to say, but you hold up a hand to silence him. Slowly, you unfold the paper and smooth it over your thighs. Your eyes flick over the paper, snatching on random words until they hit the name signed at the bottom.

“What is this?” you whisper, yet your voice cuts like steel. “Is this a cruel joke?” You hold the paper up for Taehyung to see. At the top, it reads ‘For if you haven’t moved on’. Taehyung can understand why you might think so.

“N-no. It’s…there’s…” Taehyung pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again. “It’s not a joke. It’s from Yejun.” The look of hurt that ghosts across your face brings a prickling heat behind Taehyung's eyes, and he has to blink them several times to hold his emotions at bay as he explains. “The letter I gave you after the funeral?” He waits until you give him a subtle nod. “This is another he gave me…along with many others.”

“Many others?” you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone.

“He wanted to leave you something, something more than just your memories and heartache. So, he spent a few weeks, before he got bad, writing letters to you. He gave them to me and made me promise I’d give them to you when the time was right. This one—” Taehyung nods toward the letter held between your fingers “—was one I wasn’t sure if I’d have to give you or not. It was one Yejun specifically said to only give you if…well, if you hadn’t started living life again.”

“Hadn’t started living life again?” You balk at that, rearing back from him with an angry look pinching your face.

Taehyung feels like he’s botching this, not explaining it properly to you or something. “Just, just please read it.” Taehyung has no idea what the letter says. He never wanted to invade Yejun’s and your privacy. He’s hoping, though, that maybe the letter might hold some key information to help you understand…to help ease your anger in a way that Taehyung’s words can’t seem to.

You stare at Taehyung for a moment, and he’s certain you’re about to spit in his face and leave him sitting here alone. But, you finally shake your head and sigh, settling back into place and focusing on the paper. Taehyung is sorely tempted to try and read over your shoulder, but he doesn’t want to further your ire. So, he slides a few inches away, opening up a wide, cold gap between the two of you…and waits.

💔💔💔

To the love of my life,   For if you haven’t moved on Hi, baby. I hope this is a letter Tae never has to give you, but if you’re reading this, then that means we’re not doing so well. I say ‘we’, because I’m still there with you. Just like I promised in my other letter. I told Tae to use his discretion on whether to ever give you this or not. He knows you nearly as well as I do, so I trust him. So, if you ever read this, know he doesn’t mean any harm by it…I don’t mean any harm by it. But, baby, you gotta start living again. At this point, I don’t know how much time will have passed since I had to go away, but I do know you can’t let much more time pass. I need you to live, my love. Live for me, live for Sujin…live for yourself. No more standing by while the world continues to spin, you have to spin with it, baby, let it carry you away, and on to better days. Please. Find something that makes you laugh, find something that makes you smile…even if it’s a someone. I know you’ll always love me. There is no doubt about that. But, don’t let that love stop you from living. Let someone in, let someone help…love again, for me. Show the world that it can’t tear you down. Go on a date, go skydiving, go to one of those fancy art galleries in Italy you used to fantasize about…just go, baby. Go and do, and be free. Don’t be afraid…please, don’t be afraid to live. Love forever, Your Yejun

The memory of the other letter, albeit a bit fuzzy, drifts through your mind as you sit and try to come to terms with how you feel at this moment. You absently trace the neat scrawl of Yejun’s handwriting covering the page. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Is that it? You’ve never thought of it like that, in terms of being afraid to live. But, if you think about it, you suppose that’s the root of it. You are afraid. Afraid of moving on. What if you do find happiness? What if you do find someone else? Yejun is clear that he’s confident you’ll never forget him, but what if you do?

You don’t want to be sitting somewhere thirty years from now, with your head thrown back, laughing at the joke from some other guy, with Yejun having not crossed your mind in years. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. You just…you don’t know.

Taehyung is sitting so quietly beside you that if you closed your eyes, you’d think you were alone. Guilt pricks against your heart at how badly you first reacted, the harsh tone and words you lashed at Taehyung where he didn’t deserve it. You clear your throat, drawing the flicker of Taehyung’s eyes in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Tae. I really am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” The words are thick on your tongue as you work through the emotions threatening to obliterate your existence. You think you might cry, but give yourself an imaginary pat on the back when you manage to maintain eye contact with Taehyung while successfully blinking back the tears.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working, flexing the dark stubble you can see shadowing along his jawline. It’s in this moment that you feel like you see Taehyung in a new light, with added clarity. He looks haggard, tired. You didn’t notice it before, the sunken circles around his eyes or the lack of a clean shave…until now. It’s not fair, you realize, that he has taken care of you so much the last two years when you haven’t even so much as bothered to check on how he is doing.

You’re just about to break the silence with another feeble apology when he smiles, it’s faint, but it’s there. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Yejun and I might have shared a different kind of bond than what you two had, but I have at least an inkling of the keen sting you’re feeling, the one that never quite goes away no matter what you do.” He brings a hand up and presses it to the center of his chest. “The one that slices a little deeper after the sun goes down and everyone else has gone about their lives.”

Chilled goosebumps pop up along your arms, despite the warmth from the added layer of Taehyung’s jacket. That is exactly what it feels like, a lingering sting that won’t go away, one that grows when you’re alone.

You lick your trembling lips, tearing your gaze away from his and focusing back on the letter clutched in your hand. “Yejun,” you whisper. “He—he wants…he wants me to move on.” A soft sob catches in your throat. “But, I can’t do that. How can I do that?”

Your shoulders heave as the emotions you were able to hold at bay before come crashing through the walls you managed to put up. It’s not like the weeping from earlier. That was simply the quiet cries of a mourning wife. This is bone-deep, soul-rending agony that shakes your entire body.

Taehyung pulls you into his arms, and you press your face into the cushioning of his scarf and scream. The sound is muffled, but you can still hear it echoing through the columbarium when all the air finally empties from your lungs. You try to replenish the air, sucking in stilted breaths, but it’s not enough. Panic ensues, your heart launching into a heavy, staccato rhythm as if trying to pound right out of your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung soothes. “Slow down. Try to breathe slowly.” He pulls you firmly into his lap. You’re heedless to the intimate position your body falls into with your knees on either side of his hips. All you care about is getting air into your lungs. Taehyung holds you by the face, angling yours so you look up into his worried eyes. “Come on, slow. In…out…like that, come on, another one. In and then out.” He breathes with you, exaggerating the way he inhales air through his nose and pushes it back out through his mouth.

His warm breath puffs across your face with each exhale, carrying with it the faintest sharp tinge of mint and the earthy tones of tea. Something that instantly makes you think of home. It helps bring you back to reality, slowing your rampaging heart, and subsiding your shuddering cries.

“I can’t do it,” you mumble.

“You can. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“No, no. You don’t—I can’t. It’s…it’s cold in here,” you whisper, pressing a trembling hand over your heart. “No one wants that.”

A soft, sad smile forms on Taehyung’s face as he continues to stare down at you. “Good thing that I know a thing or two about keeping things warm.” He drops his hands from your face and grabs the lapels of his jacket that’s still draped over your shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it tighter around you. You can’t help but smile, even if it’s a watery one.

“What would I do without you?” you ask, not expecting Taehyung to answer.

“You’d make it.” He sounds so sure. “I know you would, you’d do it. But, I am glad to be here, to help however I can.”

Taehyung doesn’t urge you off of his lap, just allows you to rest there with your cheek pressed over his softly beating heart, finding whatever comfort you can from the proximity of another source of warmth. His words linger there, filling the space between you with a comfortability that you know you’ll never find anywhere else. You don’t say anything else, as there isn’t much else to say. At least, not words you think you could say out loud. Not here, not now.

But, an hour later, as you’re driving home, you decide to try. So, you do something you haven’t done in a while and turn on the radio, letting the music fill the silence from before. It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless; the first of—you hope—many.

The next morning, with the light of a new day spilling through the gap between your bedroom curtains, you decide you feel…good. As you lay in bed last night, full of revelations about how you’re going to start making steps toward Yejun’s desire for you to be happy again, worry began to set in. Worry over whether or not you can do this. Now, though, you feel decidedly different—light, in a way—as you push back the blankets and climb out of bed.

With your mom having taken Sujin to school this morning, it afforded you some time to sleep in, which is something you haven’t done in years. You weren’t sure you were going to, considering how poorly you’ve been sleeping the last couple of years. It feels nice, stretching your arms over your head and not feeling as groggy for once.

There is one thing you want to do before heading to the studio, where you know you’ll probably just piddle around until it’s time to pick up Sujin, but it’s just baby steps for now. It’s not lost on you that your work, the art you create, no matter if you manage to move on or not, might still be something that you’re never able to recover. Yejun wasn’t far off when he joked about being your one true muse, but you try to remain hopeful that you can surprise yourself.

The box in the back of the closet is exactly where you left it almost two years ago. It holds some of your most treasured possessions. Things you’ve held on to dating back as far as your teen years and as recent as two years ago. You kneel in the bottom of your closet and slide the box out from behind the stack of empty shoe boxes you can’t seem to toss out.

It’s a bit faded, the blue exterior, once a brilliant navy, is now more denim in color. You’ve had the box since you were a child, given to you by your father the summer before he split from your mom. That really hurt your family, when he cut himself out of the picture without so much as an apology; he ran off with another woman. It was so hard for you to believe in love after that.

Lifting the small silvered latch, you ease open the box lid and sigh as your eyes land on the folded paper nestled on top. Yejun’s first letter. It’s the last thing you put in this box. The paper still feels crisp in your fingers as you delicately pluck it out and unfold it. You worry at your bottom lip a moment before letting your eyes devour the same words you read once before.

This time, they don’t hurt nearly as much. You still feel that piercing ache, but it’s accompanied by another, fresher feeling—one of hope. What stands out the most, now, though, is the confirmation that there are other letters waiting for you. Yejun says as much himself in this letter, you just hadn’t ever put the dots together, too distracted in your grief.

There are endless possibilities for what those other letters might be for. But, what’s clear is that you won't get another one until you do something to deserve it. Knowing Yejun, you have a few ideas of what those things might be. There is a thrill but also a sense of trepidation as you think about that. You want to move on and be happy again, and in doing so, you know you’ll get the other letters, but there’s also that sense of overwhelming dread.

Where do you begin?

You spent most of your day rearranging and organizing supplies at the studio. But, now that the sun is beyond its zenith and casting longer shadows across your paint-marked studio floor, you feel like you’ve done nothing but waste time. You still haven’t decided where to begin with Yejun’s letters and you’re no closer to coming up with an idea for your next project either.

With frustration coloring your thoughts, you lock up and welcome the reprieve of going and picking Sujin up from school. That’s one part of your life that you do know up from down with.

As you pull through the pick up line, you don’t see Sujin anywhere out front. You spot Mrs. Min ushering a few students to their cars, her friendly face sporting a smile as she does so. Her eye catches yours and she holds up a hand, rushing over to your passenger side window.

“Hi!” she says when you roll it down. “So glad I caught you before you waited too long. Sujin volunteered to help Mr. Kim with his terrarium and it’s taking a bit longer than expected. He should be out in the next fifteen minutes or so, feel free to park in the teacher’s lot or you can wait here if you’d like.”

“Mrs. Min!” a rambunctious gaggle of students call her name, requesting her assistance.

She gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls. He shouldn’t be too long!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards the cluster of students beckoning her over. One of the kids has what appears to be a large diorama that they’re having a hard time carrying to their car, even with the assistance of their friends.

“Well, great,” you mumble to yourself, checking your rearview mirror and seeing a long line of cars waiting behind you.

Pulling ahead, you slip around the side of the school and pull into one of the empty teacher spots and cut the engine. You haven’t been inside the school since the parent-teacher meeting at the beginning of the year, so it wouldn’t hurt if you went inside now, it would give you a chance to peek into Sujin’s classrooms and see what he’s been up to. If it’s one thing he loves, it’s learning.

Mr. Kim and Mrs. Min have adjoining classrooms at the end of the hall for Sujin’s grade, a storage and supply closet connecting the two rooms. The door to Mrs. Min’s room is closed but the light is still on inside. You take a quick peek through the view window on the door and see colorful drawings and paper projects hanging on the wall, books scattered across a few tables, and a large container of art supplies opened on her desk. She teaches English, Reading, Art, and History while Namjoon covers Math and Science. 

The gym teacher, Mr. Jeon, startles you as he breezes through the double doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the playground. “Oh, hey! Sujin, your mom is here!” he calls, stepping back and propping the door open with the heel of his sneaker.

“Mom!” you hear Sujin’s voice sound from through the open door. “You gotta come see this!”

Mr. Jeon holds the door open for you, his face lit with a pleasant smile. “A future scientist, I’d bet,” Mr. Jeon stage-whispers as you pass him and that makes your own smile blossom further.

“What’s going on, buddy?” you ask, taking in the scene before you.

Namjoon is crouched down beside Sujin, helping him sort through a collection of rocks spread out on a sheet of plastic. There are dozens of them, all various shapes and colors.

Sujin excitedly points out a few of the large rocks. “These would be perfect to create a hiding space!” he loudly proclaims before turning his bright eyes up to you. “Mr. Kim is letting me help him choose the rocks to go into the terrarium. We’re going to get our very own class salamander! Isn’t that cool, Mom? A class dragon!”

A soft chuckle comes from Namjoon as he pivots on his heels and squints up at you, the sun catching on the thick-framed glasses that are slipping down his nose. “We had so much fun yesterday talking about the salamander that was brought into Mrs. Min’s class that I couldn’t resist. I’ve had this old aquarium sitting in my garage for years, it just seems perfect.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s really cool.”

“Sorry for keeping him,” Namjoon suddenly stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking contrite. “I didn’t realize the bell had rung until Jungkook said something.” He turns to Sujin who is happily stacking a few of the smaller rocks into a pile. “I think that’s all for today, Sujin. We’ll finish it up tomorrow during class.”

Sujin frowns, his warm brown eyes flicking to Namjoon. “Okay,” he sighs.

“I tell you what, for all your hard work today, how about I let you be creative director during assembly tomorrow? Does that sound okay?”

The frown is quickly replaced with another excited smile. Sujin gives a whoop of delight and slaps his hands together before dusting them off. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, that sounds amazing!”

Seeing the interaction between Namjoon and Sujin gives you an idea, one that you hope you won’t regret. “Go grab your backpack, buddy, I’ll meet you outside Mrs. Min’s room in a second.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sujin pulls open the door and scampers through, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he skips down the hall.

“Thank you for that, Namjoon, really. He was so excited about what happened yesterday and now this? He’s been wanting a turtle for a year now, so this will be a good test on whether or not we should get one.”

Namjoon pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and grips the back of his neck as he smiles shyly, his cheeks pinking slightly. “He’s a great kid, loves to learn. Though, turtles are a bit more needy than salamanders. It would also depend on the type of turtle. The standard box turtles are…” Namjoon trails off, his brow pinching as he throws furtive glances your way. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for a science lesson.”

That makes you laugh, which seems to ease the awkward tension in Namjoon. “Sujin isn’t the only one that likes learning.” You don’t intend the words to sound flirty, but they come out that way and you can distinctly tell that Namjoon keys into that.

“Yeah?” he asks, the shyness leeching away by the second.

“Um, yeah. Er, well, I should—” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder toward the door “—Sujin is probably waiting.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Namjoon sidesteps over the plastic sheet of rocks and fumbles with the door handle before yanking it open. “Have a good—”

“Are you free Friday night?” you blurt, wincing at the rudeness of interrupting him but knowing if you don’t ask now then you’ll lose your nerve.

“Friday?” he parrots back, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Panic slices through and you immediately want to take it back. “Sorry, that was—I didn’t, it’s not appropriate is it? I’m so sor—”

“I’m free,” he states, the words silencing your backpedaling.

“Oh.” Now that he’s confirmed, you’re not sure what else to say. It’s been so long since you’ve done this.

“Is there something you wanted to do?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, clearly picking up on your trepidation.

You swallow around the choking feeling in your throat, the one that’s ingrained with the idea that you’re still married and still madly in love with another man and this is akin to cheating. “Maybe dinner? Or a late coffee? Um, or…I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve done this.”

Namjoon gives you an easy smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let’s say, seven?”

“Seven is good. How about that new pizza place that opened up near the park, do you know the one?”

“I’ve had my eye on that place for weeks! That sounds perfect.”

Are you really going on a date…with Sujin’s Science teacher? “Okay,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take a few steps down the hall. “Great.”

“Great,” Namjoon confirms with a smile, his deep dimples making an appearance. “See you then.”

All you can do is nod, not trusting yourself with any more words with the influx of emotions now swirling through you. Sujin bursts through Mrs. Min’s door, his backpack and lunchbox in tow.

“Let’s go!” he trumpets, thrusting his free hand into the air in a fist. “I’ve got some homework to do before I can work on my diagram for the terrarium!”

Namjoon’s soft chuckle carries to you from down the hall as you usher Sujin towards the exit. You can’t help casting one last glance behind you, taking in the way he’s lazily leaning against the doorframe of his classroom. He’s quite handsome, there’s no arguing that.

A giddy feeling adds itself to the uncertain emotions rolling through you. A fluttering in your tummy that you haven’t felt in over seven years. You can’t help but wonder, as you load Sujin into the car, if this is really what Yejun wants for you or are you making a mistake?

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s a weird sensation when you expect to feel one emotion but end up feeling another. That’s what Taehyung thinks anyway, as he reads the text message he received from you for the dozenth time. You have a date. With Namjoon.

Taehyung has never met the quirky Science teacher, but he’s heard plenty of stories about him from Sujin. Charming, educated, and completely and utterly perfect for you. And that should make Taehyung happy. Yet, all he can feel is mild annoyance when he thinks about Namjoon sitting across from you at a dinner table making you laugh and smile.

He wants to chalk it up to being overprotective in a brotherly sort of way, but Taehyung knows better. It’s no secret—well maybe it is to you—that Taehyung cares for you deeply. Even before Yejun, Taehyung always had a soft spot for his best friend’s wife. Something that he drunkenly confessed to Yejun once a few years ago. Yejun took it goodnaturedly, something that Taehyung still thinks about to this day, and simply told Taehyung he understood the attraction because hell, who could blame him?

They never talked about it again, until the day Yejun asked Taehyung to take care of you and Sujin—the day he was given a box of letters addressed to you. Yejun had given Taehyung a knowing smile and said something along the lines of fate knowing and that’s why Taehyung already had so much love for you.

He wasn’t sure, at first, if Yejun had ever shared Taehyung’s little secret with you. But, as time went on, it was clear that he hadn’t. That, or, so lost in your grief, you’ve been keenly uninterested in that prospect. But, now, you’re going on a date and Taehyung doesn’t know how to feel about it.

The twinge of jealousy in his chest doesn’t sit right with him. He has no right to feel this way. It’s just something that he can’t seem to shake, hasn’t been able to since you told him about it two days ago. So, instead of expressing that, he forces himself to try and share in your joy.

That’s great. Let me know when you’re home, I have something for you.

A letter perhaps??

Your eager reply makes him smile despite himself. If anything, that helps his mood to improve. The ‘first date’ letter is already sitting on his counter, waiting.

Perhaps. Now stop texting me and go have fun.

There is no reply to that. So, Taehyung waits patiently, phone in hand. Hours pass in a mindless, sluggish way. He’s far too wound up to do anything productive but also has nervous energy that needs to be released. So, Taehyung spends the four hours it takes for you to finally respond by squeaking out haphazard notes on the alto saxophone he’s taken to trying to learn to play.

His phone lights up where it sits on the coffee table and he nearly drops the instrument in his haste to snatch up the device.

I’m home.

That’s all it says and it makes Taehyung frown. Not that he expected you to tell him how the date went over text message, but he was anticipating something more than just those two words. He is startled to realize just how late it is, though, being past eleven already.

Is it too late? I can always just swing by tomorrow.

Sujin is staying with mom. It’s not too late.

Taehyung is contemplating his reply when another text from you pops up that makes him drop everything else and grab his car keys, not caring it’ll be close to midnight by the time he pulls up outside your apartment. It was a knee-jerk reaction to also grab the letter that was sitting beside his keys, but now he’s thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.

Those thoughts quickly fade as he focuses on the road, intent on reaching your apartment in record time. His phone sits on the passenger seat, still open to your text thread, the single word might as well be an alarm blaring to Taehyung, urging him on faster.

Please.

💔💔💔

As soon as you send the last text message you want to take it back. Not only do you feel whiny, but you know Taehyung will drop everything and come over which makes you feel terrible and like you’re using him.

But, fuck. The date was so horrible all you want to do is crawl into familiar, comforting arms and cry yourself to sleep. You’re about to pour your third glass of wine when there is a sudden knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Taehyung stands there with your spare key in his hand, eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathless as he clearly sprinted up the stairs to get here and now you feel infinitely worse for it.

You shake your head which earns you a pained sound from Taehyung but you hold up your hand, silencing him. “I’m not shaking my head no as in no I’m not fine, it’s more a I’m such a fool head shake. I’m sorry, Tae. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—”

“I’m glad you said something. What happened? Do I need to go pay a certain science teacher a visit?” For all his bravado, you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you said yes.

“No, no. It’s not his fault. Well, not entirely. Look, I’m sorry you drove all the way over here.” You discard the empty wine glass in favor of taking a large glug directly from the bottle.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, deftly taking the bottle from your hands before you have the chance to take a second gulp from it. “Stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was a fucking disaster.”

If Taehyung is surprised by your cussing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stills beside you, brow slowly pinching and forming deep furrows between them. “Did he hurt you?” he whispers, but his tone is cold and hard. “I’ll kill him.”

“What? What, oh no, Tae, no. He didn’t hurt me, god no.” You sigh, propping your hip against the lip of the counter and wrapping your arms around your middle. “He was lovely, actually. I was the disaster. Or maybe we were. I don’t know, it was just a terrible night. A terrible idea.”

“Talk to me about it,” Taehyung encourages, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders to steer you toward the couch in the living room.

So, you spend the next hour recounting all the horrid details for him. Everything from the way Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about rocks and mineralized dirt to the way he tried to kiss you at the end of the night only for you to duck and him to lose his balance, effectively making him face plant into the brick wall of your apartment building.

“See, it was a terrible idea,” you lament, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Taehyung hums softly. “It doesn’t sound like a complete disaster to me. Namjoon was polite, even if he did nothing but talk about his own interests. Did you try changing the subject, or did he ask about you and you gave a dismissive answer?” You give Taehyung an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you have the tendency to avoid things like that. So, it’s only meant as a means to try and understand. Maybe it can be better next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” You throw up your hands in defeat. “He said he had a lovely time, but I could see it plain on his face, he was just trying to be nice. He left with a bloody napkin pressed against his mouth for crying out loud!”

“Well, maybe he really—”

“But, most of all,” you continue, speaking over Taehyung, “I didn’t have a good time. I don’t want to do it again. It didn’t make me happy.”

That seems to subdue Taehyung. “Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Well, okay, that’s different.”

“I’m broken, defective.”

Taehyung scoffs, giving you a withering look a moment before dragging you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. “You’re not defective. You’re human. All this proves is that maybe the science teacher isn’t the guy for you. Simply just a lack of…chemistry.”

You can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. “You’re terrible,” you say in a lighter tone, meant to tease more than chastise. “But, you’re right, I guess. I just…this was the first date I’ve been on in a long time and it all went so horribly. It’s hard not to think that I somehow messed up, that I’m just…not right, just broken, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes are soft as you look up at him, trying hard not to let yourself grow too accustomed to the comforting feel of his arms around your shoulders.

“You are perfect, most certainly not broken,” he whispers. You watch from beneath your lashes as a small crease etches across his forehead and you can tell he’s warring with himself over something before he slowly presses a soft kiss against the side of your head. “You just have to give yourself grace. I’m proud of you.” As he says that last part, he gently pulls back, hands resting on your shoulders. His right hand trails down your arm and you feel the soft caress of paper against the back of your hand. “Yejun would be proud of you, too, taking as big of a step as you have, I just know it.”

The envelope is small, but you instantly recognize the shape and feel of the paper. It’s just like the one you got earlier this week—like the one from two years ago. “Should I wait to read it?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“I’ll leave if you’d like some privacy.”

And in that moment you realize that’s the last thing you want. “No, please stay. Umm, that is, unless you have something to do.” It’s after midnight, the sour twist of jealousy rears as you think of everything that could possibly take Taehyung away at this hour. You tamp it down, knowing you have no right to keep him here, regardless. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Taehyung’s lip twitches as you wait for him to answer. He shakes his head. “No, I have nothing else to do. I can’t promise I won’t end up crashing on your couch, though,” he says, stifling a yawn in his elbow before lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and spreading it out over Taehyung’s legs before curling up on the opposite end of the couch. Taehyung shifts around the blanket with his feet, making sure the other end covers your legs as well.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he sighs sleepily. “I just want to make you happy.”

You’re not sure if he misspoke, because surely he meant only that he wants to see you happy. Because, as it is, him saying he wants to make you happy…well, that does something funny to you. Though, you can probably blame that on the terrible date with Namjoon or the half a bottle of wine you drank. Either way, you can’t help but smile as you look at Taehyung laying on the other end of your couch, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling with deep, even breathing.

You take a moment, running back over the date with Namjoon in your head, fingers idly moving along the edge of the envelope. It started out so nicely, Namjoon standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. They made your nose itch and your eyes water a bit from how overly fragrant they were—clearly some mass grown clippings from a supermarket—but you smiled anyway, appreciating the gesture.

Dinner was lovely, the new restaurant proving to be worth the drive and money spent. It’s perhaps your own fault for thinking Namjoon might pay for the meal and it didn’t hurt you any to pay for your own, but it felt oddly…impersonal? Less like a date and more like a business meeting or something. You’re not too old to be naive in the sense that women are just as capable of paying for dinner as men, as well as the fact that men shouldn’t hold the complete burden of expense on dates. It’s just…it was unusual and he didn’t even bring it up, simply told the waiter to split the check before it was brought.

It’s not helped by the fact that Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about work or soil deposits. And perhaps Taehyung was at least half right in the fact that you didn’t put forth a lot of effort to change the subject, but the way you see it, if Namjoon was interested in knowing about you, he would have asked. Though, is that expecting too much? Are you being too harsh? Maybe you’re projecting and Namjoon really wasn’t that bad.

Before you can continue to spiral any further, you force your thoughts to the letter in your hand. Hoping it’ll put your ill heart at ease, you extract the folded parchment and smooth it out.

To the love of my life,             For after your first date Hi, baby. First, I want to say that I love you. Second, I hope he at least made you smile. If he didn’t bring you flowers or even those cheap ones from the supermarket, don’t think too much of it. I’ll let you in on a little guy secret, not all of us are well versed on flora and even less so on women. Even if it didn’t go so well, though I hope it did, you can’t give up. Go on another date, with the same person or someone else, you just can’t stop now. Take as many adventures as you can, do something spontaneous. You never did take that dance class you wanted to a few years ago. Paint, travel, explore the world. Take Sujin to places we never got to go. Just don’t stop, keep turning, even if it’s slowly. I’m so proud of you, you know? No matter what, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it. I can’t wait to see all you do. You’re going to be wonderful. You’re amazing, keep shining, baby. I love you so much. Forever With You, Your Yejun

Tucking the letter against your heart, you snuggle down in the couch, mind racing. You feel lighter somehow, like Yejun’s words have given you far more affirmation than you thought possible. The terrible date doesn’t seem so disastrous now.

“You okay?”

You startle at the soft question, thinking Taehyung was fast asleep. His eyes are barely cracked open, peering at you over his bent, blanket-covered knees.

“Mm, yeah. I think so,” you say after clearing your throat.

“Good…good,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes falling shut once more.

“Hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take a moment to truly see him, the soft light from the stand lamp on the other side of the room illuminating him in profile. The soft curve of his cheek, the delicate slope of his nose, and the pouty bow of his lips aren’t new features, but you’re not sure you’ve ever truly paid attention to how breathtakingly handsome he is.

“Will you help me?”

Taehyung’s lips twitch as a mild frown turns down his lips. “Help you?”

“With whatever comes next.”

“Whatever you need, I’m yours,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his frown. You watch him for a moment longer, his lips going even softer as the smile fades with sleep. His chest rises and falls, your eyes tracking the motion in the dim lighting until you feel the pull of sleep yourself. Taehyung is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, and for the first time in over two years, you sleep peacefully; with a subtle warmth blooming in your chest where once there was only cold.

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist  

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-03-18 ColorMePurplex2

[sofasoap]

A glass of bourbon, or a glass of whisky?

Pairing: Simon "Ghost"Riley x F!reader Warning: M rating. Alcohol use, hint of intimacy.

This is sort of a ... alternative start how Mini and Simon might have met? always a possibility....

Thank you @glitterypirateduck for organising the writing challenge! you are totally awesome :) Go here to check out other wonderful writer and artist's work for this challenge. Prompt used : 100 and 59.

Masterlist

The masked man standing by your brother staring at you, eyes wide. 

And you look at him, trying your best to hold your expression neutral. 

Small world isn’t it?

“So this is the brooding Lieutenant I've been telling you about.” Soap slapped the man’s back.“And…This thing here..” Soap pinches your cheek and dodges your punch on his shoulder. 

“HEY! I am not a thing!”

“... is my baby little sister. She’s the youngest amongst all the cousins, so we call her Mini.” Soap ignored your protest and huffing and turned back towards the masked man.“and a word of warning. Don’t you dare hit on her.” 

Well, too fucken late Johnny. You thought. This man has already shagged me a few times last night. 

“Bourbon. On the rock.” Simon grumbled to the bartender, slamming down the note on the counter. He signed as the bartender nodded his head and turned to make his order. Wise decision to give himself a night to stop over at Edinburgh. He regretted making the decision to drive all the way from Credenhill to Inverness instead of flying. But he wanted to make a pit stop at Manchester to…..  “Really, You are in Scotland and you are ordering bourbon?” A cheerful but mocking voice perked up beside Ghost interrupting his inner monologue. Ghost turned his head, glaring at the woman leaning against the bar, shaking her tumbler glass.  “Clearly you have not been introduced to the proper whisky.” you laughed as you dragged a bar stool and sat down beside him.  He took a sip out of the glass. “Someone tried. But I still prefer this.” “Maybe I can change your mind?” 

“Simon. Simon Riley.” he held out his hand. 

You gave him your name as you took his hand. He did a good job pretending it’s the first time hearing it. Or did you two actually introduced yourself to each other before you dragged him back to your flat? 

You're pretty sure you did. By the amount of times you moaned out his name last night…

“Yours or mine?” “My place is only around the corner. Come on.” you dragged him down the street, towards your flat. You were half nervous and half excited, the alcohol making your body and brain buzz even more. You have never done this before. Dragging a stranger back to your place, just for a night of pleasure. But you couldn’t care less at this point. You need to forget the asshole that has cheated on you. After all those promises of undying love, how he will not forget about you even with the distance…  Load of bollocks. Johnny can deal with him for you when you tell him about it. 

“Sorry my family can be a bit too much.” You sat down beside Simon, “it always gets a bit rowdy a few drinks in.” 

You noticed him slipping out of the room after your Ma and aunties started bombarding the poor man with questions, and your Da and uncles pouring him drinks, introducing everyone in the family, until your brother manage to drag the almost flustering man out of the chaos and push him towards the back door, knowing his friend need a bit of break and a smoke.

He hummed in reply, silently taking a drag of the cigarette and looking up towards the sky. 

“... You have a nice family.” he whispered. You can hear the jealousy, but more sadness in his voice. 

“Johnny and I are very lucky.” you lean back into the wall, and take a sip of the drink. “We are quite a closely knit family. Pretty much everyone lives within a day’s drive. And there’s always a big get together for holiday events.” you turned towards the man sitting beside you, trying to take a proper look at him. “And downside to that is, everyone is into everyone’s business.” You chuckled. “When Johnny mentioned inviting you over for Christmas, everyone thought he was going to bring his secret boyfriend home.”

Simon choked.

You laughed. “The amount of time he talks about you when he comes home, and between his texts and on the phone, I would have thought he had a big crush on you.”

“No we are just…”

“Good friend? Ah come on, it’s Ok to admit it. You know. Our family is pretty open.” You patted his shoulder. “I am just kidding. Johnny really treasures you as a friend.” You squeeze his shoulder. “He always appreciates you, and the team, how they are like his second family away from home. And Simon, thank you, for keeping my brother safe.”

Simon looks down at you, blinking, stunned by the sincerity in your words. 

Oh, he’s got beautiful eyelashes. You thought. Didn’t really get a chance to have a good look.. 

Yea. because you were too busy moaning into his chest when he was buried inside you. 

He was just as big as you thought he would be.  And he was good.  Very good.  Better than that cheating ex-partner of yours.  You were disappointed by the time you opened your eyes in the morning, he was gone. And surprised to find a note on your desk as well.  “Thank you.”  For what? You wondered.  Maybe you should have thanked him, for making you forget the misery. 

“You two are still outside in the cold?” Johnny slid the window open and poke his head out, breaking both of your thoughts. “Dinner is nearly ready. Ma want you two to come and take your seat at the table.”

“I am just trying to convince Simon how superior Scotch Whisky is compared to bourbon.” You replied as you pushed yourself off the wall, smiling at Ghost, he rolled his eyes at your lies.

Soap waved his hand. “Don’t waste your breath. I tried for years. That rock skull of his still thinks bourbon is better.” he lamented. 

“Or maybe I might have been swayed?” You could almost see a tiny curl of his lip as he replied. You can tell he doesn’t smile much from the surprised noise your brother just made.

“Steaming Christ Lt… “ “Johnny, we are off duty, I’m Simon here.” Ghost interjected. Soap cock his eyebrow, and sighed.

“Come on, you don’t want to keep the whole family waiting.” Soap commented again before slamming the window shut. The two of you looked at each other, before Simon put out his cigarette and dumped it into the ashtray, and stood up to follow behind you. 

“Mini.”

“Mmm?”

“Care to introduce me to more varieties of Scotch Whisky tonight?”

You paused your hand that was about to turn the door knob of the back door, and turned slowly to face him, with a big smile on your face. 

“Yours or mine?” 

“I did tell you not to hit on my sister, Simon…Oh I knew I shouldn’t have invited you over…”

“Actually Johnny…. The truth is….”

I don't know who to tag..... so, apologise if you don't want to be tagged please let me know

@homicidal-slvt

@cumikering

@siilvan

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@nrdmssgs

@writeforfandoms

@devcica

@liyanahelena

@okayyadriana

[lorinstella]

a pergunta que não quer calar: onde fica monte todd?

bem, não é bem uma teoria, mas sim alguns pensamentos e suposições que eu queria compartilhar com todos vocês

nestes últimos dias, eu estava pensando e me questionando sobre a localização do monte todd, e uma coisa que eu questionei sobre isso foi se o monte todd era realmente o próprio monte todd ou se o monte todd era uma referência ao monte tod, eu tinha essa dúvida porque não há nenhuma montanha ou monte que tenha esse nome ou um nome similar e o monte tod é muito similar ao monte todd em termos de nome.

então eu comecei a pesquisar isso um pouco mais a fundo, há um pico na antártida e um tipo de projeto da austrália que tem o mesmo nome, mas esses dois lugares não têm muito a ver com o cenário geral do monte todd e de wick.

e nisso, eu assisti alguns jogos de pessoas jogando wick e analisei o cenário da floresta, ai percebi que tem bétulas de papel, indo um pouco mais a fundo nisso, a distribuição da bétula de papel tem uma presença um pouco forte no nordeste, centro-oeste e oeste do eua, como sendo minnesota, maine, michigan, new hampshire, montana etc., mas o que tem uma presença um pouco mais forte e está espalhado por todo o país é o canadá, e olhando para o clima do canadá, o inverno canadense pode ser bastante rigoroso em algumas partes do interior e pradarias, então se a família weaver vivesse em algum interior do canadá perto de uma floresta e tim e tom tivessem imunidade baixa e muito frágil, isso poderia dificultar a sobrevivência de tim e tom na floresta quando foram botados para fora de casa pela mary devido a esses fatores, e pode parecer nada, mas o canadá participou da primeira guerra mundial, e há algumas pesquisas sobre isso que indicam que os soldados canadenses eram grandes usuários de gás venenoso durante esse período, então há esse ponto que até faz sentido sobre o áudio da máscara de gás do john

eu sei que isso pode parecer muito sem sentido e até um pouco bobo tudo o que eu falei aqui, mas eu queria saber o que vocês pensam sobre isso e falarem um pouco sobre o que vocês pensa sobre qual poderia ser a localização do monte todd ou algo assim

de qualquer forma, espero que todos estejam tendo um ótimo dia/tarde/noite (o > ω・o)

_____///______///______///______///_____///______

translation:

_____///______///______///______///_____///______

well, It's not really a theory, but rather some thoughts and assumptions that I wanted to share with you all

in these last days, I was thinking and questioning myself about the location of mount todd, and one thing that I questioned about this was whether mount todd was actually mount tod itself or whether mount todd was a reference to mount tod, I had this question because there is no mountain or hill that has this name or a similar name to it and mount tod is very similar to mount todd in terms of name.

so I started researching this a little in depth, there is a peak of antarctica and a kind of project from australia that has the same name, but these two places don't have much to do with mount todd and wick's general scenery.

and in that, i watched some videos of people playing wick and I analyzed the forest scene, in that I realized that has paper birch trees, going a little deeper into this, the distribution of paper birch tree has a somewhat strong presence in the northeast, midwest and western of usa such as minnesota, maine, michigan, new hampshire, montana etc, but what has a slightly stronger presence and is spread throughout is canada, and looking at the climate of canada, the canadian winter can be quite harsh in some parts of the interior and prairies, so if the weaver family lived in some interior of canada near a forest and tim and tom had low and very fragile immunity, this could make it difficult for tim and tom to survive in the forest when they were thrown out of their home by mary due to these factors, and it may seem like nothing, but canada took part in the first world war, and there is some research on this that indicates that canadian soldiers were heavy users of poison gas during this period, so there is this point that even makes sense about the audio of john's gas mask

I know this may seem very nonsensical and even a bit silly that everything i said here, but I wanted to know what you think about this and talk a little about what you think about what the location of mount todd or something like that could be

anyway, I hope everyone is having a great day/afternoon/night (o > ω・o)

[lunamagicablu]

Anima mia, dove sei? Mi senti? Io parlo, ti chiamo, ci sei? Sono tornato, sono di nuovo qui. Ho scosso dai miei calzari la polvere di ogni paese e sono venuto da te, sono a te vicino; dopo lunghi anni di lunghe peregrinazioni sono ritornato da te. Vuoi che ti racconti tutto ciò che ho visto, vissuto, assorbito in me? Oppure non vuoi sentire nulla di tutto il rumore della vita e del mondo? Ma una cosa devi sapere: una cosa ho imparato, che questa vita va vissuta. Questa vita è la via, la via a lungo cercata verso ciò che è inconoscibile e che noi chiamiamo divino. Non c’è altra via. Ritorno temprato e purificato. Mi conosci ancora? Quanto a lungo è durata la separazione! Tutto è così mutato. E come ti ho trovata? Com’è stato bizzarro il mio viaggio! Che parole dovrei usare per descrivere per quali tortuosi sentieri una buona stella mi ha guidato fino a te? Dammi la mano, anima mia quasi dimenticata. Che immensa gioia rivederti, oh anima per tanto tempo disconosciuta! La vita mi ha riportato a te. (Carl Gustav Jung – da “Libro Rosso”) ************************** My soul, where are you? Do you hear me? I speak, I call you, are you there? I have returned, I am here again. I have shaken the dust of every country from my shoes and have come to you, I am near you; after long years of long wanderings I have returned to you. Do you want me to tell you everything I have seen, experienced, absorbed in myself? Or do you not want to hear anything of all the noise of life and the world? But one thing you must know: one thing I have learned, that this life must be lived. This life is the way, the long sought way to that which is unknowable and which we call divine. There is no other way. I return tempered and purified. Do you still know me? How long the separation lasted! Everything has changed so much. And how did I find you? How strange my journey was! What words should I use to describe by what tortuous paths a lucky star has led me to you? Give me your hand, my almost forgotten soul. What an immense joy to see you again, oh soul so long unknown! Life has brought me back to you. (Carl Gustav Jung – from “The Red Book”) 

[thoughtfulfangirling]

Some absolute highlights from He Who Drowned the World:

Everything about Zhu and Ouyan's interactions for the first half of the book

In particular, Ouyang thinking Zhu made too ugly of a girl to be convincing

Baixong becoming such a major character. I liked him in book one quite a bit, so it was thrilling to see him step up so high in the narrative

How Baixong is a straight man playing the part of a gay man to be intimate and make the Third Prince love him for his protection, and how he ends up genuinely, deeply loving him back even though it's not at all romantic

Generally the amount of deep platonic love in this tbh. Zhu's love for Xu Da is so entrenched, he's become a part of her. For almost the first third of the book, we don't even really spend much time on Zhu and Ma's love (it's there, but it just doesn't take precedent)

The way Zhu loves Ouyang not because of their relationship but because of what she sees in him/herself. How much she wishes to forge a connection. That though her feelings are completely platonic, she seems to see him like a soulmate

The slow realization that conversations with Zhu almost opens up a world of other possibilites for Ouyang he never considered. He gets so close to getting it. But as usual, he's just too self destructive to get there

The whole scene of Lady Ki's downfall. WHAT A SCENE!

The way characters can cause bad things to happen, and even though they are indirect, both the narrative and characters themselves hold those characters responsible. It may not be their hands that inflicted the moment of death, but they are responsible.

Zhu finally fully realizing that while she will sacrifice anything for her desires, the cost might instead be paid by others and having to reassess how much she's willing to have those others sacrifice for her

How this queer book written by a queer author decided to give a major part, one that experience Otherness very similar to those who are queer, to an effeminate straight man. To make that space in this kind of book to acknowledge how these kinds of expectations can harm so many because rigid expectations always have too small a box to fit in for most.

THAT LAST SCENE!! How Zhu made the riskier choice because she's learned there is more kindness in her than she thought. How that kindness frees two people in the span of just a couple of pages before her reign even beings.

That she rises to the top in the garb and, after having lived briefly, as a slave. The lowest of the low taking her seat on the throne

I just really really loved this book. This duology. I could make some complaints, but at the end of the day, I loved way more things than I disliked.

Okay, just had to get that out of my system

[sisilafami]

2024

Rap:

2sdxrt3all - Stop Holdin Nuts 2 / ADLIBGOD / Tape of the year

03 Greedo - Album Inna Day / PROJECT T-PAIN / Hella Greedy / Crip, I'm Sexy / ALL I EVER WANTED WAS A BANKROLL

414JungleBaby - The Real Jungle Baby

509 BMG - Cracka Pack Chris Griffin Reloaded / Cracka Pack Chris Griffin

AC640 - You Reach I Teach / Classes With Bo Jack / 1989 Ghost Face

AKAI SOLO - Only The Strong Remain

Armstrong - Blood Out A Turnip

Baby Osamaa - SEXC SUMMER

BabyChiefDoit - ANIMALS ONLY

BabyDrill - ScoreGod

Babyface Ray - The Kid That Did

BabyK turnt - Still Grinding Sorry

Band Gang Lonnie Bands - Creature Thoughts Chapter 1 (deluxe) / AntiMedia Reloaded / AntiMedia

Bear1Boss - Big Slime Like a Dragon 2 / Bo$ Pop / Bubbles / Outta Here!

Big Gucci Bri - Living Like Gucci

Bootychaaain - 5STAR

BossMan Dlow - Dlow Curry / Mr Beat The Road

BRISTACKZ - STACKZ WORLD

Cade - solace

Chief Keef - ALMIGHTY DP 3 /  DIRTY NACHOS

CruddyMurda - Sorry 4 The Paint

Cuzzos - STAY SAFE

D30 -  Snakes & Vultures/ Glitch Kid

DaeMoney - ROCKSTAR LIFESTYLE 2

Duwap Kaine - Goldmine / Thank You Kaine 3

Ehuncho - El Huncho

El Cousteau - Merci, Non Merci

Four50 & Big Yaya - The Chemist & The Doctor

fucksnowrr - #NotADeluxe / gen talk deluxe / gen talk

Funny $money - But The Money Aint Funny Vol. 1 STREETS / A TREAT WHEN PLAYAS MEET (with BTE Big C) /  I Got The Hook Up Vol.1: Big Bucks No Whammies

Ghost 53206 - FreeBandz Menace

Glokk40Spaz - Da Real Oso / After TTBR /  Slaughter House Recordz

Glokk40Spaz & Osamason - 3vil Reflection

GloryGirl2950 - Queen of the Land /  Opp Land

HavinMotion - Trappin In Beverly / MOTION / SORRY MA

Hi-C - SGT-HI-C

J.U.S - 3rd Shift

jackzebra - 王中王 / 弓长张

Jaeychino - ARTWORK lll / WATCH THE THRONE / ARTWORK / ARTWORK ll

K-the-I??? & Kenny Segal - Genuine Dexterity

KP SKYWALKA - Back To Granny's / FREE CAR PISTOL

ksuuvi - #sameone2 / Not What it Seems Extended / Not What it Seems / twenty…

kurious - Mystery Mixtape / Majician

Lelo - Nightingale / When It's Over / LifeAfterDogShit

Lil Tony Official - 14 Steps To Success / Lil Tony Archive Vol. 1 /  Taken For Ransom

Lisha G - Groovy Steppin Sh_t

Los - Last In Love / 50 State Shawty

LUCKI - GEMINI!

Lunchbox - Lunchtime

Maajins - enjoy the ride deluxe

MarijuanaXO & Joe Pablo - It Ain't Over

Morally Rich Jake - Iamfatfully / Fm60

Munch Lauren - Tha Lab

Nino Paid - Can't Go Bacc

Osamason - Still Slime / christian boultan

Real Boston Richey - Richey Rich

Rissa Fam - The Dream, Vol. 1

RRoxket - Red Ranger / RRoxket

Rx Papi - D.A.W.G Pt. 2 /  Made Man / Raheem Dead, Somebody Shot Em

SahBabii - Saaheem

Sexyy Red - In Sexyy We Trust

Sickboyrari - BALLAD OF A GLIME

skaiwater - #gigi

Skino - Ghazi Living / Youth Madness (Deluxe Edition) / Youth Madness

SlimeGetEm - Slime Pin Em / Richest Demon / GetEm Vorhees / No Face Dropper

Slimesito - Friday the 13th / EVILSLIME / BITY OF GOD

SME TaxFree - A Thousand Yings Later / 53218 / #6OfEm /  Ballin Aint A Crime / Cali Plug / Got My Brothers Wit Me

SME TaxFree & RRB Duck - BBL Knockerz

ST6 JodyBoof - ARP

T-Bone - Bone Appetit

Tanapee & Montana Jay - Southend

Tdf - BLUEPRINT

The Era Footwork Crew - COMBO PACK

TisaKorean - In Silly We Trust / MUMU 8818

TrapHard Swagg - Trials & Tribulations (Deluxe)

wildkarduno - Still Healing

Wizz Havinn - Free Wizzop / Fresh Out The Trenches

Wrld Tour Mafia - Tourmania 2 / BLOOD SWEAT & TOURS

WTM Scoob - Peach Wolf / L8 Nights / Scoob Wav

Wtm Solid - BIGG

Xaviersobased - with 2 / Keep It Goin Xav

HM:

1oneam - One Death/ 454 - CASTS OF A DREAMER / Anycia - PRINCESS POP THAT /Big Bratt - The First Lady /Big Yaya - The Reason Vol 1 / Bloody! - Tales From The Crypt / BoofPaxkMooky - In a Tree / Cash Cobain - PLAY CASH COBAIN / Certified Trapper - Trappernese / che - Sayso Says / Chicken P - Chick James, Vol. 1 - Hardest N___a Livin' - Still Bussin / Chow Lee - SEX DRIVE/ Concrete Boys - It's Us Vol. 1 / Court loww - Striker Music - Get In Mode Ep - Whack It / DeeMuney - 10 Drop Commandments / EscoUpp - Turn Me Up / Ghost 53206 - Power Book / Hook - CASTLE / ICYTWAT - Magic as Usual (Deluxe) / KA - The Thief Next to Jesus/ Ken Carson - A Great Chaos (Deluxe) / Kodak Black - Dieuson Octave - Gift For The Streets / Lbf Jay & Big Homie Dre Cash - Rush Hour 2 / LOE Shimmy - Zombieland 2 /Los and Nutty - LOS X NUTTY (Deluxe) /Mach-Hommy - #RICHAXXHAITIAN / Mari Montana - 71 Days / Mariboy Mula Mar - No Auto Mar 4 /Mel V - Chapolations /Myaap - BIG MYAAP, NOT THE LIL ONE /NeedNoName - Cook'N UP /Paco Panama - Sorry 4 The Drop / Papo2oo4 - We Don't Miss /Percatric - I Do This 4 Yall 2 / prettifun - Pretti /RRB LILMEL - I Aint Done BLENDING - RSIDE OR NO SIDE / Schoolly d - 'cuz That Nixxers Crazy That's Why / Shaudy Kash- On Thea Yeah Side 3 / Sideshow - F.U.N. T.O.Y / Smoke Chapo - Guess Who's Bach / SPOOK - SPOOK SZN / STAR BANDZ - Estrella /Talibando - ART OF WAR /Tony Shhnow - Shhnowfall / Vayda - FORREST GUMP / WB Nutty - For Hustlers Only / Wiardon, Malcolm Jakob & Reek - WEIGHT OF THE WORLD / wildkarduno - Our Time Komin - Our Time Komin NEXT / Yonaa - YonaaThon / YoungBoy Never Broke Again - I Just Got A Lot On My Shoulders /Yung Threat - INLILAHKITRUST

Contemporary : 

A LARGE SHEET OF MUSCLE - THE OX GOES POP

British museum - SATAN IS A ROOF OVER MY HEAD

Ernesto Longobardi - Maloviento

Ernst Karel-Bhob Rainey - 47 Gates

Eva-Maria Houben - the voice

Francisco Meirino - A Perpetual Host

Hanno Leichtmann & Valerio Tricoli - Cinnte Le Dia

Henrique Vaz - De Silenti Natura

Jürg Frey - String Quartet No. 4

Kavain Wayne Space & XT - YESYESPEAKERSYES

Lamina - Sue​ñ​os acu​á​ticos

Lance Austin Olsen - Pierre Gerard - Mind Shadows

Leilehua Lanzilotti - the sky in our hands, our hands in the sky

Linda Catlin Smith - Flowers of Emptiness

Lionel Marchetti - 67x1mn (JAPON)

Miguel Angel Crozzoli_ Sounding Numbers

Nicholas Maloney & Tony Panella - Substantialis

Onceim - Laminaire

Paul Abbott - Knees, Elbow Bag

Paul Beaudoin - alongside-beauty

Piotr Kurek - The night we slept under an overhanging cliff

Sarah Hennies - Standing Water

spruit - minalistic

Sun Yizhou - typewriter in the rain

Wadada Leo Smith - Masnavi_ A Sonic Meditation and Reflections on Light

Digital Beats :

Actress - Statik / Даррен Дж. Каннінгем

Deejay Veiga - Tudo é no Guetto

DJ Anderson do Paraíso - Queridão

Dj Corey - Heat Files 2k24

DJ Nigga Fox - Chá Preto

DJ Ws da Igrejinha - Made In Igrejinha, Vol. 1

iShowSpeed - Trip 2 Brazil

Jlin - Akoma

jmt - GhettoTech Reject

kashraww - IM BACK

King Doudou - Sin Limites MixXxtape

Loog - VI

Nídia & Valentina - Estradas

nsasi - Coinage

Roma Zuckerman - The Phenomenon of Provincial Mentality

tell me what you know about death - communication has an entirely mental, non- material, essence that is conveyed between isolated minds

R’n’B:

Bilal - Adjust Brightness

FLO - Access All Areas

Tyla - TYLA

Vontee the Singer - Lovers & Friends (Deluxe)

Other stuff: 

Anders P. Jensen - Det Foranderlige Instrument

Araabmuzik - AGGRO DR1FT (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Georgia + Dove - Air from Air

Julia Holter - Something in the Room She Moves

Lolina - Unrecognisable

Model Home - Mongrel

New York - Rapstar*

Wadada Leo Smith and Amina Claudine Myers - Central Park's Mosaics of Reservoir, Lake, Paths and Gardens

World Music - Hackney Commercial Waste

New old :

Charles Esposito - Accidental Music 1987-1991

Inga McDaniel - Double Mug

lil kev - stl king of footwork

Luc Ferrari - Complete Works 08

Morton Feldman - Feldman Edition 14- Complete Music for Cello & Piano

Pascal Gaigne - Iguzki Hauskara

Roger Doyle - Babel

[marcianadejupiter]

2025, jan 29

translation above🇧🇷

It was a cool morning in the last days of winter. Harriet was having breakfast with her granddaughter, Grace. Shortly after, Claire also came to get her share, wearing only her undergarments. But Harriet felt a deep sadness, for she knew deep in her soul that she had lived long enough and that this would be her last day.

She didn’t even finish eating before she saw that death was calling her. Grace and Claire witnessed her take her last breath and began to cry.

🇧🇷🇧🇷

Era uma manhã fresca dos últimos dias do inverno, Harriet tomava seu café da manhã junto com sua neta, Grace. Logo em seguida Claire também veio pegar sua parte, usando apenas as roupas de baixo. Mas Harriet sentia uma profunda tristeza, pois sentia no fundo da sua alma que já tinha vivido o suficiente e aquele seria seu último dia.

Nem sequer acabou de comer e viu que a morte a chamava. Grace e Claire presenciaram ela dar seu último suspiro e começaram a chorar.

Upon realizing that Harriet’s soul was no longer among them, Maethe felt her heart falter, and as she stood up to go to her mother-in-law’s body, her heart couldn’t bear it, and she too was taken by Lady Death.

🇧🇷🇧🇷

Ao saber que a alma de Harriet não estava mais entre nós, Maethe sentiu seu coração falhar e ao levantar-se para ir até o corpo da sogra, seu coração não aguentou e ela também foi levada pela Dona Morte.

Alaric lost both his wife and his mother in the same day. His children, now orphans, wept, unable to understand how the world could fall apart so quickly. Now, only he and his eldest daughter, Amelie, remained to care for the younger ones and the household.

🇧🇷🇧🇷

Alaric perdeu a esposa e a mãe no mesmo dia. Seus filhos, órfãos, choravam sem entender como o mundo podia desmoronar tão rapidamente. Agora, restavam apenas ele e sua filha mais velha, Amelie, para cuidar dos mais novos e da casa.

🌳🌳

I still can't believe my favorite sim passed away 😭 send hearts for her death 💔💔💔

[ilcovodelbikersgrunf]

L'ULTIMA LETTERA SCRITTA DA DAVID BOWIE...

"Sto per morire... So che mancano pochi mesi alla fine della mia esperienza terrena...

Cosa devo fare? Mi dispero, mi metto in depressione, rifiuto l'idea della morte e fingo che la malattia non esista.

O decido di vincere la morte... Decido con l'anima, perché solo l'anima e il cuore mi danno l'ispirazione per comporre musica come ho fatto per 50 anni...

Conto brevemente le ore e, come mi dicono i medici, posso prevedere con un intervallo minimo, la data della mia morte e il lancio del mio nuovo e ultimo lavoro è fissato per l'8 gennaio 2016, giorno in cui compirò 69 anni. .

Lavoro giorno e notte, ho tempo per comporre, perfezionare, interpretare, registrare in studio e fare video... Lo faccio il prima possibile perché non voglio che la mia faccia intraveda la morte che, prendendo in giro, mi sta falciando il corpo senza che io possa difendermi...

Ma ti sfido, morte... Fanculo se non ti sfido!

Ho sfidato e vinto il fanatico mondo degli anni 70 con l'orgoglio dell'ambiguità... Ho amato gli uomini e le donne, era un uomo, una donna, un alieno e infine un corpo celeste.

Cosa puoi fare, morte contro la mia eternità, il mio genio, la mia follia, la mia creatività, la mia musica che vivrà per sempre?

Sono Lazzaro, strappato dalle cicatrici, morirò nel corpo, ma vivrò per sempre attraverso la mia musica.

Ho vissuto abbastanza per ricevere gli auguri di buon compleanno. Pensavo di non poter vedere il mio album pubblicato... Sopravvissuto l'8 gennaio... e tu, mio caro assassino, hai perso!

Pensa solo che, se non avessi bussato alla mia porta, i miei lavori sarebbero stati 24, sarei riuscito a vivere anche 100 anni, e invece, grazie a te, ho 25 anni!

"Sai... Sarò libero come un uccello"

-------

THE LAST LETTER WRITTEN BY DAVID BOWIE…

"I'm about to die… I know that there are a few months left until the end of my earthly experience…

What should I do? I despair, I get depressed, I reject the idea of death and I pretend that the disease doesn't exist.

Or I decide to conquer death… I decide with my soul, because only my soul and heart give me the inspiration to compose music as I have done for 50 years…

I briefly count the hours and, as the doctors tell me, I can predict with a minimum interval, the date of my death and the launch of my new and last job is set for January 8, 2016, the day I will turn 69. .

I work day and night, I have time to compose, perfect, interpret, record in the studio and make videos… I do it as soon as possible because I don't want my face to glimpse the death that, mockingly, is mowing down my body without that I can defend myself…

But I challenge you, death… Fuck you if I don't challenge you!

I challenged and won the fanatical world of the 70s with the pride of ambiguity… I loved men and women, it was a man, a woman, an alien and finally a celestial body.

What can you do, death against my eternity, my genius, my madness, my creativity, my music that will live forever?

I am Lazarus, torn from the scars, I will die in the body, but I will live forever through my music.

I lived long enough to receive happy birthday wishes. I thought I couldn't see my album released… Survived January 8th… and you, my dear murderer, lost!

Just think that, if you hadn't knocked on my door, my jobs would have been 24, I would have managed to live even 100 years, and instead, thanks to you, I'm 25 years old!

"You know… I'll be free as a bird"

[thisisthiago]

Martha,

Estou com algumas memórias suas, espero que não se importe...

Veja, eu não as roubei. Estava caminhando por Buenos Aires há alguns dias e encontrei esses pedacinhos da sua vida próximos a uma dessas lixeiras grandes, à beira da calçada. Acredito que não estavam lá por engano... arrisco supor que é porque você já não está mais por aqui...

As encontrei em uma manhã que ainda não estava acordada. Logo cedo, a rua estava vazia e molhada pela água que os porteiros jogam para lavar as calçadas portenhas.

Então, mais pela água do que pela hora, muitas das fotos, cartas, postais e memórias já não estavam mais em condições de serem recolhidas. Muitos pedacinhos simbólicos seus com certeza estavam ali.

Queria te dizer que consegui resgatar algumas fotos e um cartão postal que estão comigo, aqui no Brasil. São memórias de Punta Del Este e postais da mesma cidade, bem como algumas mensagens de 53 a 98. Recordações que recolhi porque, caídas no asfalto me chamaram atenção e me inspiraram a refletir sobre a vida, sobre os momentos que construímos, registramos e deixamos na memória, com a esperança de que perdurem.

Achei melhor trazê-las comigo. O asfalto não parecia o melhor lugar para que elas pudessem durar mais tempo por aqui. Mostrei a algumas pessoas queridas e elas, assim como eu, se inspiraram com uma história sobre a qual não sabemos coisa alguma. Nem todos teremos vidas que serão o expoente do drama, do amor ou da alegria. Isso não significa que precisemos ser apagados ou esquecidos em uma lixeira, no canto da rua.

Não te conheci. Você não me conhece. Mas, ainda que como um lembrete de que revelar fotografias e enviar postais vale a pena, você segue por aqui, ao menos por mais algum tempo.

Um abraço,

Thiago

🇬🇧 English Translation 🇬🇧

Martha,

I have some of your memories with me, and I hope you don’t mind…

You see, I didn’t steal them. I was walking through Buenos Aires a few days ago and found these little pieces of your life near one of those large trash bins by the curb. I believe they weren’t there by mistake… I dare to assume it’s because you’re no longer around…

I found them while taking a walk one morning when the city wasn’t yet awake. Early in the day, the streets were empty and wet from the water the porters use to wash the sidewalks.

So, more because of the water than the hour, many of the photos, letters, postcards, and memories were no longer in any condition to be retrieved. Surely, many symbolic pieces of yours were there.

I wanted to tell you that I managed to save some photos and a postcard that are now with me, here in Brazil. Memories of Punta del Este, as well as postcards from the same city, and a few messages from 1953 to 1998. Keepsakes I picked up because, fallen on the asphalt, they caught my attention and inspired me to reflect on life, on the moments we build, record, and preserve in memory, hoping they endure.

I thought it best to bring them with me. The asphalt didn’t seem like the best place for them to last any longer. I showed them to a few dear friends, and they, like me, were inspired by a story about which we know nothing. Not all of us will have lives that are the pinnacle of drama, love, or joy. That doesn’t mean we deserve to be erased or forgotten in a trash bin on the side of the street.

I didn’t know you. You don’t know me. But, even if only as a reminder that printing photos and sending postcards is still worthwhile, you remain here, at least for a little longer.

Warm regards,

Thiago

[wildmtthyme]

What is Love? Baby, don't hurt me.

Simon doesn't believe in love. He thinks it's the greatest lie ever told, experience has taught him that. Not personal experience, but experience nonetheless. Never mind the fact that he's in a long-term relationship. Never mind the fact that him and his girlfriend live together. Never mind the fact that they have a dog. All of this doesn't matter until he's confronted with that very topic he hates so much. And then his world is tipped upside down when his best mate is KIA. Simon is forced to take a hard look at his life afterwards.

Master List can be found here.

Chapter 3: The Cost of Duty.

Warnings: Canon character death. (Sorry, Suds). Heavy angst. Grieving. Bad Scottish accent writing (not sorry).

<- Chapter 2: The Call of Duty

Chapter 4: Bad Coping Mechanisms ->

The flight back was… he wasn’t sure. He still felt kind of… numb… his eyes locked on the flag covered box… holding the body of his closest friend. The mission had been a failure of epic proportions. For a couple of reasons. He felt his throat thicken and burn with grief… he wanted to look away but couldn’t. The rest of the team were sitting further away from the box than he was. But he couldn’t leave Johnny back here alone. He just… couldn’t.

Price had already said they’d spend a few days at base while Johnny’s family took care of his funeral arrangements… but that they’d be getting some of his ashes. So that they could have their own, private, sort of send-off. Price said that would take another few weeks, though.

But Simon didn’t want to be at base. He didn’t want to be in those halls that would echo with Johnny’s bygone voice. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Mel’s arms. He wanted to sink into her and let his grief out. It had been a very long time since he’d lost someone close to him and he’d almost forgotten how… sharp… it felt. He couldn’t help but remember the last real conversation he had with Johnny, real talk, not mission talk. They were sitting on the roof of the building they were stationed at, surveying, gathering intel when they had a moment, a break to just be.

So, you still with that lass a’ yers? Johnny shot him a raised brow look, a knowing smirk tugging at his mug. Simon just rolled his eyes and gave a curt nod. Ut oh, what happen’? He shook his head but felt a shove to his shoulder. “She said she loved me.” Johnny went quiet. If there was anyone on the planet that knew him best, it was him. And he knew his particular opinion regarding the subject of love.

But then… Aye, wha’ of it? He shot him a look. “It’s bullshit.” Watch yer mouth, boyal. Johnny’s spine had straightened and his tone had gone chastising. Tha lass has been at yer side for years now, you think she stays because a’ yer good conversation? She loves ya, jus’ accept it. He was shaking his head slightly but Johnny leaned towards him. An’ be grateful fer it. A fine lass like tha? Through thick’n’thin, thas what makes a home, Ghostie. I ken ya feelins on it but ya only saw one side a love, tha bad side. I saw tha other growin’ up. My da loved my ma… so much… the man looked up and swallowed thickly. So damned much. Ya’d thought she made tha stars. An’ she loved him, boyal, like he hung tha moon jus fer ‘er. Is not all good, but is not all bad either. Thas tha way is supposed ta be. Now, tha lass ya got, she looks at ya… like my ma used ta look at my da. Tha same… doe eyed… look. Simon had swallowed thickly, watching as Johnny smirked at him. Ya hang tha moon fer ‘er, Simon… an there’s nuthin’ wrong with tha. He had leaned away then and Simon thought he was done but he spoke out to the night, throwing him another odd chestnut. An’ she made tha stars fer ya… I see tha when ya look at ‘er sometimes, too. So grouse all ya want, but its there in ya, too.

Simon sniffled quietly, scrubbing a hand down his face as he leaned forward, elbows landing hard on his knees as he took a heavy, deep breath. What the hell did Johnny know about love. What did Johnny know about anything.

[mynameisjessejk]

Ayas' Quest - A Damsel In Distress

It was not quite noon when a small crowd of small humans came swarming out of a nearby hamlet, all crying "Sir Knight, Sir Knight!" in their high voices.

Ayas dismounted, because it was what Celyn would do, as Ember danced a few steps backwards, snorting. The gelding liked children, but not when they swarmed around his hooves; he was always worried about stepping on one then.

Then Ayas knelt, because he towered intimidatingly over the children. "Here now," Ayas said. "What's amiss?"

"Acha's gone missing!" Now that they had his attention, the children rapidly nominated an older boy, still round in the face and pudgy, less than a decade old, Ayas thought, to do their talking for them.

A missing child was a terrifying prospect. "What can you tell me?"

"The grownups say we made her up," the boy said. "But we didn't. She and her family lived down there," he added, pointing. "And she was going to marry my brother," the boy added stoutly, jutting out his chin. His lower lip quivered. "But Lowrans didn't come home from the war, and then they was just gone."

Ayas looked again in the direction the child pointed, and could just make out, low in the valley, a ruined foundation, a house perhaps decades old, maybe more than a hundred years, and unoccupied that long.

"Da says," the boy hiccuped. "Da says we're mislaying our grief. But we remember Acha."

"I believe you," Ayas said gently, just as Celyn would. "Acha and her family. A young woman, her parents?"

The boy nodded. "Her ma, her da, and she had a sister, between me an' her in age. But the sister got the pox last winter and didn't make it so it was just Acha and her parents when they disappeared."

"You believe us?" a younger girl asked.

Ayas didn't know, but he knew Celyn would have said yes, and knew Celyn would have investigated. "I do," he promised. "And I will see what can be seen."

"Oh, Maldouen are you pestering that knight? I'm sorry sir," a woman said, a laundry basket on her hip. She was clearly on her way to the river.

Ayas smiled at her. "I'm not bothered," he assured her. "I'm taking a break for the nooning, and we were playing a game."

"Oh, you're kind, Sir," she said, and made her way down towards the river.

Maldouen bit his lip. "Playing," he whispered.

"You said they didn't believe you," Ayas reminded him. "Nor will they me, till I have some proof. Now," he said. "You must go about your days, see to your chores, and I will look around."

"Thank you Sir," they whispered. Maldouen clutched his hand breifly before they dispersed.

Ayas looked at Ember. Ember was grazing contentedly in the grass on the verge. "Don't go anywhere," Ayas said wryly, and walked down towards the ruined house.

The air felt heavy around the stone ruins, and tasted slightly of iron. Not Fae, then, which would've been the most able to do as the children suggested, though perhaps the least likely. Still, Ayas was glad it was not the Fae, for nothing more substantial than that he didn't like them.

He followed the scent of iron towards the river, upstream from the women at their washing, and into the fens.

Ayas' mouth slid into a line of distaste when he missed his mark and slid ankle-deep into the muck. But he pushed on.

Deep in the fens, the iron scent turned to something more like wild garlic. Ayas sniffed curiously, frowning.

"Who you then?" a childish voice asked.

Ayas went still. Being addressed by someone you couldn't see was never a good thing, in his experience. "I'm called Ayas."

"Not true name, that smart," the voice replied.

Ayas inclined his head. "Unfortunately, I know enough Fae to know better."

The voice laughed, high and shrill. "Me too! So unfortunate," it cackled. "Why you in my fens, Ayas-Not-Truly?"

"There's a girl missing," Ayas said. "I've been asked to look for her."

"Lost child always sad," the voice said, and the sedges parted an a creature emerged, coming only to Ayas' waist. It would have looked like a human boychild, except that it was quite wrinkled all over.

Ayas felt his shoulders ease some. A hob. "May I call you something, Hob?" he greeted politely, bowing his head slightly. "And will you aid my search?"

The Hob's eyes sharpened. "What you give me for it, Huntsman?"

Ayas said, "There's food in my pack, the choice of which could be yours, or aught you see me wear that pleases you."

"Sweets?" the Hob asked, leaning in.

Ayas considered. "I don't have any, but I can try to see if the locals will trade."

"No trade, I take a lock of your hair?" the Hob asked, folding his hands pleadingly. He knew he asked much.

Ayas met his lamplike eyes. "Will you keep it safe?" he asked; magics could be done with hair, and while he wasn't worried what the hob would do with his hair, if mislaid it could be dangerous.

"I wear it, here," he said, holding out his hand, wringed in several hair-braids.

Ayas nodded. "A deal," he said.

"Ash," the hob said. "Call me Ash. What girl you seek?"

Ayas said, "There was a girl in a house which has crumbled before it's time, her mother and father. The girl's name is Acha."

Ash's face twisted. He spat. "No," he said. "No, keep your sweets!"

"Please," Ayas said quietly.

The hob's shoulders hunched. "Killed my friend," the hob snarled.

Ayas' head tilted. "Help me understand," he asked.

"Friend," the hob repeated. "She played with me! She was nice! They trapped her inside and they killed her!"

The sister, Ayas realized. "Oh Ash," he said softly. "I am so sorry about your friend."

Ash sniffled, tears welling in lamp-eyes. ""Trap! I hate them!"

"Humans live indoors," Ayas said gently, kneeling in the muck before the hob. "They kept her inside because she was sick."

"Sick?" the hob repeated.

Ayas nodded. "Sometimes humans get sick," he said. "Mine's sick right now, and I'm on a quest to help him, but I promised to help the children find their friend on the way."

"Sick," Ash pushed.

Ayas nodded. "They get too hot, and they cough, and they get weak." He mimicked a cough for the hob, who might not have heard such a thing.

"Friend coughed," Ash said quietly. "Then went inside and never came back."

Ayas nodded. "She got sick, and her family tried hard to help her, but sometimes there's no helping it."

"Stupid," Ash grumbled.

"Sometimes humans die," Ayas said, and felt his own throat catch on the word. "But we love them anyway."

"Your human sick," Ash said.

Ayas nodded.

"Your human die?" Ash demanded, grabbing Ayas' hand.

Ayas patted his shoulder with his free hand. "I hope not," he said. "If I can finish my quest, then he won't. But I have to help the children find their friend before I can go on."

Ash nodded. "Friend with me!" he said brightly. "Come come come," he caroled, and then darted into the sedges.

Ayas bit back a curse and gave chase.

In a high and dry spot near what Ayas was sure was the center of the fens, there was a little wooden ramshackle house, and a teenaged girl tending to it, singing under her breath.

"Acha," Ayas said.

The girl whirled, her eyes wide.

Ash said, "Ayas-not-truly! Friend!"

"Ayas," Ayas said. "Well met."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for you," Ayas explained. "The children missed you. Maldouen missed you," he added gently.

Her face fell. "I thought they didn't remember me," she said, something nearly accusing in her voice, to Ash.

"Children," Ash said dismissively. "Can't do." He shrugged. "House back already. You go back?"

Acha opened and closed her mouth. "My parents?" she asked weakly.

"Mah," Ash said. "Yes, I fix," he conceded.

A lizard on the wall of the hut erupted into a man. Ayas didn't see what the woman had been, but she appeared in the flowers. They were glassy-eyed and vacant.

"I'll take them all home," Ayas promised Ash.

"And I'll come visit," Acha promised. "I know you miss Eby. I do too."

"Maybe Maldouen would also like a friend," Ayas suggested gently.

"Oh," Acha said. "That's- yes, that's a good idea."

So Ayas took the unresisting parents and the slightly shocky girl back to their suddenly-rebuilt house. He put the parents to bed, and assured Acha they would be well in the morning. Then he left the girl to get reacquainted with her unpended life and went back to Ember, grazing on the road.

"You did it!" Maldouen hissed, appearing through a hedge. "How?"

"A hob," Ayas explained. "Actually, I promised him a sweet. Do you think you could help me with that?"

"Ma just made sweetrolls for tomorrow," Maldouen said. "I c'n nick one off the sill." And then he was gone, vanishing back into the hedge.

Ayas smiled. This one felt good. He checked Ember's gear, tightened the girth, and stroked the gelding's ears.

Maldouen reappeared with the roll in his hand. His face was slightly sticky, like he'd stolen one for himself, too. "Here you go, Sir Knight!"

"Actually," Ayas said, smiling despite himself, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course!"

"Head out that way into the fens, just a bit, don't get lost, and just call out that Ayas sent you with the sweet."

"I get to meet the Hob?" Maldouen asked, sounding thrilled.

"Call him Ash," Ayas suggested. "He lost a friend recently and he's sad."

Maldouen nodded, and went running off. Ayas couldn't remember ever running everywhere he went, but his own childhood was a long-ago blur.

Ayas mounted Ember and left the little village behind them. He couldn't quite regret the lost time, but his stomach churned with worry for Celyn.

[contreparry]

happy friday!! 'Stubbornly waiting for them before going to sleep' for the pairing of your choice?

I really wanted to use this opportunity to write some Bethany and Carver twin stuff set in the modern!Thedas AU, so here's some of the Hawke twins with their older sibling for @dadrunkwriting!

"Shhhhhh!" The sharp whisper cut through the silence of the dark living room like a blade, and Bethany nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound right by her left ear. Fear gave way to fury, and she jabbed her elbow into Carver's stomach as revenge.

"Don't 'shhhhhhh!' me, Carver! You shhhhhhh!" Bethany hissed, even as she nervously glanced back to the stairs, where ma and da were sleeping. But the lights remained off and she didn't hear the creaking of bedsprings, so everyone else was still asleep. Good. If ma and da woke up and saw that Marian wasn't in bed... Bethany shuddered at the thought.

"I'm not stompin' around like a nuggalope," Carver grumbled, but he slipped his hand into Bethany's and squeezed it firmly. They were a little old for that usually- too sappy for eleven-year-olds- but tonight was different, and they both needed the comfort that only a sibling could provide.

Bethany woke up from a nightmare, a hospital nightmare, and the smell of bleach and air freshener lingered in her nose like a curse. Carver woke up too, even though he claimed he was already awake, and after some discussion they resolved to cross the hall and see Marian. She might be bossy and over-bearing, but Marian was... she was Marian! She could fix anything. She always knew what to do whenever there was a problem. And she could drive away nightmares with a laugh and a story and a mug of hot cocoa, no matter the season.

But when Carver and Bethany pushed Marian's door open, she wasn't there, and the awful stone that was sitting in Bethany's stomach only grew heavier as she realized that her older sister wasn't in her bed. She was never gone before- not without notice- and it felt wrong. Was wrong! She'd never leave without telling them. She never would! This was Marian, and she loved them! Marian promised to take her and Carver to the library tomorrow! She'd never run away, especially if it meant breaking a promise!

But Bethany kept thinking of all the terrible things that might make Marian leave them for good: ma and Marian fought last week, a terrible row about dressing for Chantry services. Carver spilled a whole glass of orange juice on Marian's mathematics workbook two days ago. Da told her that she would have to wait until next summer to take driving lessons earlier in the month, and Marian was still upset about it (Bethany could tell by the tightness in the corners of her mouth whenever Marian's friends talked about their summer courses). And Bethany played Marian's makeup- all her eyeliner and eyeshadows, all those dark and cool colors that made Marian look so serious and grown-up- and made a complete mess of everything. And sometimes Bethany saw the way Marian looked out past their familiar neighborhood and towards the skies, as if she wished she could grow a pair of giant wings and leave everything behind.

"We'll sit here," Carver whispered, sounding confident even though his hand felt a little clammy in hers. "And we'll wait for Marian to come back." Even though Bethany felt as if she was spiraling, Carver's faith in their sister was unshakeable. They sat down on the couch side by side and stared out into the dark, waiting for... for Marian to come back.

"Where d'you think she went?" Bethany asked, both terrified and eager for an answer.

"Probably out to see a friend," Carver whispered. "She'll be back." Visiting a friend made sense, Bethany thought. It was a reasonable idea, yet she couldn't shake the bone-deep fear that Marian would never return home.

"What if ma or da finds out?" Bethany asked, even though she already had a good idea of what might happen if ma and da woke up and found out that Marian wasn't home. They'd fight. Ma would cry. Da would run off to search for her. And Bethany and Carver would have to... have to wait. And waiting was the worst.

"She'll be back before they wake up. And we won't tell 'em," Carver replied stubbornly. They both fell silent then, though Carver reached up and grabbed the plush blanket that served as a decorative throw and wrapped it over their shoulders as they waited. And waited.

It felt like an age of waiting, but Bethany heard the soft metallic click of a key in the front door before it swung open and closed with a soft thud. The lock clicked again, and then quiet footsteps (so quiet, even in those heavy leather boots) walked down the front hallway and towards the stairs. Marian, Bethany thought as relief swept over her. Marian was home. She hadn't run away!

"Marian," Carver whispered, and a startled squeak of alarm echoed through the living room.

"Carver?! What's wrong, you should be in be- Bethany too?!" Marian exclaimed in a whisper, and in a few quick steps she was kneeling by the couch. She smelled like cigarette smoke and night air, and her hands and leather jacket were chilly against Bethany's bare arms, but Bethany hugged Marian fiercely and breathed her in. Marian hadn't run off. She was back, just like Carver said she would be.

"Had a nightmare," Bethany sniffed, relief breaking what her fear and nightmare hadn't. "About... about the hospital again."

"Oh, Bethany..." Marian said, sympathy heavy in her voice. "And you stayed up to keep her company, Carver?"

"Couldn't sleep anyways," Carver insisted, and Bethany felt Marian shift and drag Carver into her embrace. He squirmed half-heartedly for a second before he returned the hug.

"You two..." Marian sighed, and her breath ruffled Bethany's hair. "You're too good. Both of you. C'mon, up to bed. I'll tuck you in."

Bethany followed Marian's lead and the three of them crept up the stairs. Tomorrow, when she and Carver and Marian went to the library, Bethany would ask why Marian snuck out at night, why she smelled like cigarettes, and why she hadn't told either of them where she was going. But that could all wait for tomorrow, because now... now they were going to sleep.

[crowpricorn]

Hi, I saw your ask game post! Could you maybe do 1 and/ or 15 for wesper? :)

questions

1: good morning, 15: passionately

hi!! of course, thanks for asking & I hope you enjoy it🥰💗

Jesper doesn't like mornings. He is usually too tired or hungover to particularly enjoy them, it is. He can't help it. Nights have always been for heists and parties and shifts at the Crow Club, pushing himself to his limit. His nights used to last as long as days and his sleep used to come in spurts, a couple of hours here and an half an hour there. What was necessary for him to at least keep standing straight for another day, another game, another defeat. 

But now— Now his nights last as long as they manage to fall into bed in a tangle of bodies holding each other and grounding each other down. It's Jesper telling Wylan fairytales from his childhood so that Wylan manages to sleep. It's Wylan caressing Jesper's back and face, feather-like touches that make him swarm until he is lulled to sleep. 

Their nights dance around unwinding from the day — there's no heist or game to play, but they still rule an empire, and it can get on the verge of being too tiring. There's always something to be done — luckily, because for how much he is trying to live slower, Jesper is still Jesper and his body and mind are a storm. 

There's never too much to do, though, that they can't enjoy their nights. Sometimes they crawl back to the Barrel, spend a couple hours with Kaz and the Dregs, drink ale and chant vulgar shanties. Some nights they dance, or paint — Wylan — and practice zowa powers — Jesper. Some other nights it's soothing baths and laying on the sofa in front of the fire telling each other about their day. Communicating their hearts away, which is something Jesper is still getting used to and that Wylan requests from his partner — and rightfully so: communication makes their hardships look easier and their bad days turn into chances to better themselves. It's still impossibly hard to get all vulnerable and bare, even with Wylan — even for Wylan — but Jesper tries. 

Most nights, anyways, they fall into bed well before the day has completely ended. Jesper remembers that back in the day his nights would start around one bell in the dead of night: gangs meetings, brawls, gambling dens to try and hope not to be kicked out of, pretty people to flirt with and then run away from when they showed interest back. Running and running all the time, all the night, away from his Da and responsibilities and duties. Away from himself.

Nights are not so long and desperate now. They are for sleep and they are for peace. Sometimes they are for love, also, because Jesper likes to plead — beg — for Wylan to push him around, hold him close, kiss him senseless, and Wylan loves to push Jesper around, hold him close, kiss him senseless — until he writhes and gasps and Wylan smirks his devilish, sexy smirk that has Jesper's knees go weak. 

So — Jesper's nights are good, great even. And sleep full. Which means that, for once in his life in Ketterdam, he can bring himself to enjoy mornings — like he did when he was a kid at the frontier, waking at dawn to help Da with the cattle and Ma with the hens and house chores. When he would challenge the rooster into who woke first and then woke the rest of the house. When he would love to sit on the roof and look at the sun wake way later than the lots of them. 

It's winter now, which means that the streets of Ketterdam are battered in rain and that it's freezing cold — like it had never been in Novyi Zem. Their bedroom is usually warm, because Wylan adds some kind of chemical steam to the room that makes the air warmer than what a fire would accomplish. Without ruining the walls with the blacks of smoke, even. 

Nonetheless, Jesper wakes earlier than he would have liked to, feeling his body freeze from the exposure to the bare air of five bells in the morning. Wylan has huddled all the covers for himself — again, and somehow he pushed Jesper out of them even though they had fallen asleep entangled into a tight, warm embrace. 

Jesper would wake Wylan up and share a piece of his mind — really, he would! He's learning how to communicate his needs after all. But the sight of his beautiful, gorgeous boyfriend sleeping so peacefully makes him halt. 

Wylan is not as restless as Jesper on a daily basis. He knows when to slow down and he has ways to take time for himself: when he plays and songwrites, when he paints and when he has tea with his Mum. When he snuggles close to Jesper for cuddles, even when Jesper is busy reading the ledger or letters to him. He knows how to slow down, but his mind is always caught into something, trying to unknot new edges and possibilities, trying to understand more of this or that. There's often an adorable divot between his brows, caused by too much concentration and stubbornness. 

Right now, his face is as peaceful as possible, all distended into a relaxed sleep. Jesper takes his time to watch the way his copper-golden curls fall around his apple shaped face. He observes the shape of his brows and eyes, his button nose, his full lips, a bit pouty even in his sleep. The splotches of freckles dotting the expanse of his skin in galaxies, the line of his jaw and his ears — pierced, both of them, and that's something that sends Jesper (and the Merchant Council, for that matter) insane. For two completely different reasons. His reason is that his boyfriend is hot. And beautiful. 

And he is still clinging to all the covers while Jesper is out of them in a pair of loose trousers and no shirt, freezing. 

"Wy," he murmurs, sliding closer and trying to struggle his way under the covers — but Wylan has them hugged too tight to his chest for this to work. Jesper huffs, and he starts pestering Wylan's smooth skin with goopy kisses. "Wy," he repeats, firmer. 

Wylan starts stirring, brows furrowing before he even opens his eyes, and Jesper doubles his kissing effort, until Wylan grumbles and pushes him away with a firm, strong hand on Jesper's chest. Jesper goes like jelly — like he always does whenever Wylan shoves him around like that — but at least it gives him the desired result of waking Wylan up. 

"Wha'?" Wylan asks, voice hoarse from sleep. Jesper moans lowly at that and wow, peachy: another Wylan Van Eck thing to add to the list I love every part of my boyfriend and I am, maybe, also horny for every bit of him. 

"Sweetheart," Jesper says, leaning closer again. "You snatched all the blankets for yourself."

Wylan's eyes snap open, and Jesper is blinded by the intense, raw blue of those gems, even in the dim, dark gray morning light. 

"Mh," Wylan mumbles. "Come here then and make me warmer," he says, like he is the one that has been freezing for the Saints know how many hours, and not the other way around. Jesper listens anyway, scooting closer and under the covers, moaning at the sensation of warmth enveloping him — of Wylan's body pressing against his and urging him closer, stealing all the warmth off him, but also sharing it back in earnest. 

"You should tell me when I steal your covers," Wylan whispers, and his breath lands directly on Jesper's neck, making him writhe closer to his boyfriend. 

"I did as soon as I woke up," he promises. 

Wylan nods, eyes still open and set on Jesper. It's not even six bells in the morning, but they are now awake, which means that going back to sleep is near impossible. Not after their relaxing bath and mind-blowing sex from the night before — surely not after sleeping for more than seven hours already. 

Jesper leans his face level with Wylan's and presses his lips against his boyfriend's. "Good morning gorgeous," he says, already retreating back so that they can get comfortable until they are ready to get up. But Wylan surges forward and captures Jesper's lips into a proper, warm, slow kiss that makes him melt against Wylan's chest. 

The thing is — mornings used to be cold, and lonely. Mornings were part of the night until the heist or dice game was not ever, and waking time fell between two to three bells in the afternoons. When he slept. 

Now mornings are this: slow and tender, warm. He gets to watch Wylan and to revel in the warmth of his embrace. He gets to snuggle close and to brush their noses together and to kiss him awake. He gets this: Wylan kissing him passionately, a bit biting, until they are both breathless with a different, more urgent kind of warmth. 

Wylan shifts, straddling Jesper with his smooth thighs and kissing him into the mattress, pinning his wrists above his head with a hand. 

"We still have some time before we have to get up," Wylan says, heat entangled into his words. He smiles, full of mirth, brows cocked devilishly — and Jesper can do nothing else but smile back, raise his head up for another kiss, let Wylan have his way with him. 

Mornings are really something he looks forward to, now, willing to sleep earlier than his body would request just for this: whatever kind of closeness he and Wylan choose to share at the dawn of a new day — be it holding each other and talking their way until the sun raises, or kissing softly and still sleepy. Or Wylan leaving a trail of kisses down Jesper's body and promising him the world — "It's still early, we can go slow," he says. And Jesper thanks the Saints for early mornings.

[sciatu]

Dicono che c’è una spiaggia dove il mare porta le anime di coloro a cui ha preso la vita. È una spiaggia lunga, dalla sabbia dorata dove le onde leggere e costanti restituiscono al sole chi negli abissi gelati, non potrà più vederlo. Sono marinai e viaggiatori, migranti soli e disperati o famiglie che fuggivano alla morte ma a cui sul mare la morte ha dato l’ultimo passaporto per viaggiare nel mondo,  terribilmente liberi dai bisogni, tristemente salvi dalle ingiustizie e dai silenzi in cui altri uomini, li avevano obbligati. Dicono che se chiudi gli occhi e ascolti il vento, su quella spiaggia senti le voci dei bambini giocare, senti le madri chiamarli ed i padri sorridere per le loro corse sulla sabbia intoccata e i tuffi tra le onde ormai loro sorelle. Le nuvole diventano rose quando i loro sogni e desideri li toccano ed i gabbiani scivolano tra le loro speranze ormai orfane. La sabbia piange lacrime silenziose e da loro nascono fiori solari che non muoiono mai. Dove sia questa spiaggia nessuno lo sa, ma se su una spiaggia solitaria chiudi gli occhi e senti la voce di bambini felici, allora è quella la spiaggia di chi è partito e non è mai approdato.

They say there is a beach where the sea carries the souls of those whose lives it has taken. It is a long beach, with golden sand where the  constant and light waves return to the sun those who, in the frozen abyss, will no longer be able to see it. They are sailors and travellers, lonely and desperate migrants or families fleeing death but to whom death on the sea gave the last passport to travel the world, finally terribly free from needs, sadly saved from injustices and silences in which other men, they had been forced to. They say that if you close your eyes and listen to the wind, on that beach you hear the voices of the children playing, you hear the mothers call them and the fathers smile as they run on the untouched sand and dive into the waves, now their sisters. The clouds become roses when their dreams and desires touch them and the seagulls glide among their now orphaned hopes. The sand weeps silent tears and from them are born sunny flowers that never die. Where this beach is nobody knows, but if on a lonely beach you close your eyes and hear the voices of happy children, then that is the beach of those who left and never landed.