#the ghosts of eden park

[sleepdepravity]

This man had just been arrested for killing his wife.

[cloudofbutterflies92]

A little lesson

Kinkober 2023: sub!Ghost x female!OC

TW: handjob, breast worship, car sex MDNI

Normally Ghost and Eden hated informal parties, they would have liked to stay at home with their usual glass of wine, maybe a good movie. But instead they were there, talking to strangers at the party of a longtime friend of Simon's. Wedding anniversary, basically the 15th anniversary, but there was one small detail.

It had been a week since Ghost had provoked Eden, a shirtless photo after the gym, maybe with a towel reaching straight to the v-zone and dedications like "I wish you were here so I can fuck you so hard that everyone knows who you belong to". That was just the corniest phrase or the most puritanical action. He had sent worse. All for a stupid bet.

"If you resist, I will do what you want" had been Simon's proposal. Usually the lieutenant was always calm, very discreet, always giving her the 'initiative'. But this time he wanted to be a little bolder.

It was a few minutes before midnight, the end of the bet, as a week had passed. Eden was talking to the various guests as usual.

A text.

An attached photo of him, probably before they got to the party. With his shirt literally unbuttoned, he is clutching his erect cock.

"I was thinking how much I would need to get this between your tits. To see it move between those beautiful little mounds."

Eden didn't know whether to spit out the champagne or laugh.

"Asshole.”

"What?" One of the guests turned around, the figure was on the horizon, and Eden really didn't feel like getting nervous. But she was going to make him pay, she already had in mind how.

She swallowed, aware that she had to justify herself. "No I was saying Stephanie, the wife seems very patient to me. They really are in love" she proffered, trying not to be seen as she watched her boyfriend adjust his shirt collar and speak in his usual I-don't-want-to-be-here tone.

Simon Riley needed a little lesson

"It was nice to spend the evening together, 15 years is a long time," toward the final minutes of that party as the usual Eden thanked the celebrants. She wanted to try to be nice but sensing Simon's hand resting on her ass was bringing her the urge to want to leave.

Or to hit him.

"I was glad to see you Simon, your girlfriend is really an exquisite person."

"Yeah? I know" with that mischievous glint in his gaze Simon showed all the pride with which he continued that game

A few minutes and then we'll see who sings victory

It was the only thought of the brunette who came out with him in the driveway of the celebrating couple's house. There seemed to be no end to that route that took them all the way to the car.

"Midnight, you know what that means no?" Proudly Eden pronounced, she had won the bet and now the cards were on the table for her to pass.

Simon scoffed. "I have to admit babe, I could have sworn you lost. You know you're ovulating" the lieutenant put on some slow, sensual music, he wanted to avoid rupturing his eardrums that night since he had to endure some obscene music to say the least.

Eden was staring at him bewildered, had he done it on purpose.Had he really tracked her ovulation period?

"You were incorrect, did you really go and read inside my period app?"

"Actually I know by heart that the period ranges between 12 and 20.Math babe" the blond explained with a wink. The audacity.

And that was enough for Eden for her to stop the car in a secluded spot, the hedge was blurred enough to allow privacy.

Pulling on her own cigarette, the brunette's forest eyes analyzed every detail, figuring out how to begin. Her sweet revenge was ready to be carried out.

She then stepped out of the car and back into the passenger seat behind him, Simon seemed not to flinch but at the same time was intrigued.

"Y'know, I always told you I don't like these things" Eden removed one of her shoes, the much adored louboutins he had given her.A gulp came from Simon's adam's apple as he stared from the rearview mirror at the silk fabric rising higher and higher. She was not wearing panties.

He looked at her lightheartedly. "Have you prepared yet?"

"Oh not for you, I won't give you the satisfaction until you learn your lesson" with her own thumb Eden stroked her labia, swinging her finger methodically in a cyclic manner. Frustration was evident in Simon, trying to rest his hand on the obvious bulge in his pants.

"Ha ha, no. Take your hand away, you have to look" She ordered, swinging the dress strap to reveal a breast. With two fingers she spread her folds, moaning with amusement at the sight of the desire with which he wanted to fuck her at that moment.

"Would you like to feel your cock inside me? Fill me all up?"

"You're crazy, I need that cunt" he let out a deep, nervous laugh, bloody hell if she was in bitch mode. If there was one thing he was addicted to it was hearing his name spoken by her as he rammed her.

"Uh cheeky lad" she licked her own cherry lips, massaging his tit. The blond just thinking about how perfect those turgid nipples would be between his lips, licked and sucked he let out a choked moan.

"You were an asshole, sending me all those pictures thinking you might have a chance to win mh?Now you're not talking?"

No, or at least he couldn't by seeing her finger-fucking herself.He just wanted that torture of seeing her tease him to end. Just being touched by her would really help.

"Babe please."

"Please what?" In an authoritative tone she blew against his ear "Answer?"

It was enough to see him nod and whisper that "Yes please" to make her stop amused, beckoning him with her finger to join her. The blond wasted no more time, climbed over the seats and sat down beside her.

On all fours she whispered seductively. "I shouldn't be so generous with you," she unbuttoned his pants, lightly brushing the hard fabric of his boxers. He gently slipped his hand into her cleavage, hazel eyes watched her with a sense of contentment. Everyone believed that because of his size he liked to be the dominant one in bed, but the thrill of being subservient was different. It was tantalizing.

"I love seeing you so desperate for me, you know it's rewarding" she left the imprint of her lipstick on his cheek, releasing his hardness. Slowly the brunette reached his loins, massaging them up and down.

"Desperation preceding desire" the brunette went on, allowing Simon to suck on her nipples, the smooth rubbing of her skin, his moans. He depended only on that hand job.

"Christ I have to cum, go ahead" he choked between her breasts, his voice cut and deep.

Eden kissed his forehead. "S'okay, it'll be okay" she increased the speed, making him erupt in that orgasm, coating the woman's hand and gasping for air.

Looking up he saw her caressing him, her lips curved in that reassuring smile like her cherry scent. It was inevitable for him to take her face and suck lightly on her lower lip.

"Are you happy?I didn't know one handjob would do that."

"Happy? This is just the beginning," the curly-haired woman with that devilish wink promised him, causing him to grin and nod.

"I'm always ready for surprises cherry babe"

NSFW taglist: @spookyrares @cassietrn @sweet-samnang @roofgeese @ghostgirlvii @voidika @theelderhazelnut @violetflavia

[ghostgirlvii-art]

When I saw the screenshots it screamed Eden/Ghost so much I knew I had to give it a try. @cloudofbutterflies92 agreed with me on this 🤭🤭 Reference under the cut.

[thebutterflyofthemojave]

Children Of The War Masterlist

Moodboards

The cowgirl scientist

The Ghost of Mojave

The mercenary daughter

The mercenary daughter and the synthetic

The twins

The mother

The adoptive father

[transorbitalperegrine]

sketches!!

feat. origin: the black and white, my hatchetfield superhero au maybe 2 people know about!!

(alt. under cut)

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech's Trailer Park - Banishers: Ghosts of New Eden (Multiplatform)

Will you stand a ghost of a chance?

[god-monsters]

How Lookism Guys Fall in Love with YOU + personal hc

Requested. If you can't tell how repetitive I am from my masterlist, here it is all side by side to show you exactly the sort of tropes I like a LOT. Sorta hc, sorta the storylines-ish I like to write.

Strangers to Lovers

Johan Seong

Meeting Johan and bonding through his pups. You don't even need to show him kindness. Show Eden and Miro kindness and you will enter his thoughts regardless.

A cliched way to a man's heart is his stomach. Feed Johan up too to up the relationship.

Lots of emotional maturing needed for Johan to understand what the hell is going on. Pulls away to get some distance yet always ends up by your side. He can't help it. Eventually just gives in.

Goo Kim

While I personally dislike the love at first sight trope, this guy would absolutely double take if there was something that caught his eye and then he would be his normal extroverted and clingy self to get to know you.

This fucking charmer. Yes he's annoying, but even then he gets under your skin and you can't help falling for him too.

Also a fan of the hot-and-cold-casual-fuck-buddies dynamic. He'll see you every day for a week, wake up in your bed then ghost you for a month. Rinse and repeat. After a little while - oh. Goo realises he misses you.

Samuel Seo

Ah the oh-shit-I-caught-feelings-when-we-were-just-casually-fucking-and-no-strings-attached pining.

Meeting at somewhere like a corporate event or even in a club.

Lots of inner turmoil as he gets to grips with his emotions and how to deal with you. A little bit of push and pull before he eventually admits how he feels.

Ryuhei Kuroda/Xiaolong

Just meeting someone, anyone who is the opposite of Mitsuki and Vivi. Showing them what a normal healthy person, with normal healthy interests looks like. Show them kindness, show them your sweet smile, show them you don't want anything apart from just them and they will fall for you.

Ryuhei - Not really much guilt with moving on from Mitsuki because face it. They weren't exactly anything.

Xiaolong - oof. The most angsty hurt/comfort you can think of.

Friends (classmates) to Lovers

Zack Lee

Long-ish time friend, but nothing progressed due to his feelings for Mira. Gradually circumstances bring you both closer together. Tending to his wounds, school projects, maybe even shopping for a gift for Mira.

Start to see you in a new light. Deals with a lot of denial at first and then later, guilt. Unsurprisingly, it's Mira that notices the change in Zack and encourages him to pursue you.

Vasco Tabasco/Jace Park

Classmate of theirs through J-high or knew them from middle school. Help to tutor Vasco or just generally up to some shit with Jace. Maybe playing detective.

Not involved with Burn Knuckles, but you might as well be. With Vasco or Jace, the rest of the crew treats you with the same level of respect as their No.1/2 and will protect you at all costs.

Relatively straightforward friends to lovers, with all the worries of gang shit.

Vin Jin

Love the idea of Vin Jin, Mary and You being best buds together. Either from Cheonliang or you getting closer to Vin through Mary once they attend J-High.

An absolute asshole though he is a little softer towards you. Takes him a while to fall for you and see you in a new light. Is so used to you as a friend that it will take someone else interfering or an event.

See masterlist for someone asking you on a date or Vin seeing you in his Cheonliang jacket heh (the latter really breaks his brain).

Jake Kim

Childhood friend to lovers. You knew him before he joined Big Deal and/or while he was a tall lanky middle school kid.

Always had a soft spot for you. Walking you home from school, spending evenings in the library messing around, hanging in the park. Once he joined Big Deal and you started high school, it added some distance between you but Jake still could never get you off his mind.

Eventually reconciling and slow burn into lovers. Dealing with all the usual angst of Jake putting you in danger and risking your safety by being with him. Hint: he gets over it eventually. Or else it turns into angsty regret (my personal fave!).

DG/James Lee

You know him from his James Lee days and go way back. Either classmates together or another very typical show-him-a-little-kindness and then wormed your way into his heart.

Sees you more and more, and no matter what, you're never judgemental of him and you're able to talk to him like a normal human being - which is a rarity. Growing closer together until he starts to confide in you. One day, James just realises you're the closest person to him and he likes you. You have grown and grown on him until it's obvious and completely hits him over the head with it.

Progress into lovers is very straightforward. You stick with him through thick and thin. Even with his transition into DG, you're the one constant in his life that he keeps close by and protects.

Eli Jang

Know Eli from his J-high days and always been good buddies with you. Sure you could tell he's good looking but you didn't put him on a pedestal.

Eventually growing closer to him and also meeting Yenna. Which is a huge step, by the way. Eli is so goddamn protective of her and when you are both introduced he thinks 'huh? this is? nice??'. Loves the idea of a happy family.

Bit of angst dealing with the death of Heather and moving on with you.

+ Daniel Park, Jay Hong, Warren Chae, Hudson Ahn, Kwak bros

Colleague/Crew Member to Lovers

Gun Park/Goo Kim

The third partner and completing the Gun/Goo/You trifecta. Teaming up with Goo to piss off Gun or with Gun to become the sassiest, most fearsome duo and a headache for the blonde.

Eugene/Samuel Seo

Working alongside and rising through the ranks, impressing them with your competency that they have no choice but to take notice of you. They struggle treading the line between professionalism and falling for you.

Jake Kim/Sinu Han

Big Deal crew member, joining and working your way into the Boss's heart. Another one for lots of pining and slow burn as they try not to fall for you because they feel it's pretty inappropriate.

Another favourite little scenario: you working on Big Deal street. Either taking up an empty premise or working in a store or restaurant and catching their eye. Flirtation abound especially when they visit you when you should be working and prove to be an awful distraction.

[bengiyo]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

I was tagged by @telomeke and shaded by @lurkingshan.

do you make your bed?

Not usually, but I don't have a partner right now. I find that I'm actually really good at cleanliness when I have people in my space regularly. I am better about taking care of things when I'm doing them for the ease of others.

what's your favourite number?

14, but I couldn't tell you why. I think it has something to do with a girl named Ciara who I sat behind in elementary school.

what is your job?

I fix things for a government agency.

if you could go back to school, would you?

Probably. I didn't really know what I wanted to do when I went to college, and was far too much a mess at the time to study what I really should have. If I could do it and maintain my expenses, I'd retrain for my preferred profession.

can you parallel park?

Yes. I am the gay who drives.

a job you had that would surprise people?

I was paid for over two years to be really good at D&D.

do you think aliens are real?

So... I gotta be honest... I hate this question. This feels as loaded as the "Do you believe in God?" question. We are not aware of the existence of life on other planets, let alone sentient life. There is nothing for me to believe in. Do I hope that there are other intelligent beings out there? Yes. I think it would be really cool to engage in communication with a species that also crawled their way out of the muck and made it to space. I think there's much we could learn from each other about life and the universe itself. But belief is such a loaded term for me as a lapsed Catholic. I do not believe in aliens, but I hope that we'll get to meet some in the future.

can you drive a manual car?

Nope! Never needed to learn.

what's your guilty pleasure?

Hmm... Nothing really anymore?

tattoos?

Nah, I've always worked in the public sector in a way that hasn't made it an advisable choice, and I've rarely cared enough about something to mark my body with it.

favorite color?

Purple most of the time, but my wardrobe would say I'm in my green era.

favorite type of music?

I'm a soft rock 90s kid who embraced a lot of 2000s and later alternative. I've been on a huge synthwave kick lately. However, because I grew up in the 90s and remember the era of radio, I have a deep affection for Soul and R&B, classic rock, and pop.

do you like puzzles?

Yes? But not in a way that makes me yearn for them.

any phobias?

Probably falling, but that seems like a normal one for survival purposes.

favorite childhood sport?

Baseball! I was a shortstop.

do you talk to yourself?

Not often. I don't actually have an internal monologue, so I don't need to talk to myself often to get through it.

what movies do you adore?

This is...so difficult. I'm just going to name a ton of films: Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin, Pacific Rim, Ghost Dog, Master and Commander, The Man From Earth, The Sum of Us, Big Eden, Kill Bill 1 and 2, Knives Out, Muppet Treasure Island, Gattaca, C.R.A.Z.Y., Weekend, First Blood, Robocop, Starship Troopers, Drive My Car, Nine Days, Really Love, Set it Off, Make the Yuletide Gay, Shelter, Pig, Kiki's Delivery Service, The Digimon Movie, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Star Wars IV and V, Isa Pa With Feelings, The Way He Looks... and probably many more.

coffee or tea?

Coffee. Tea does so little for me.

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

A train conductor or an astronaut! Trains are so cool, and space is the final frontier! We have to boldly go where no one has gone before!

I'll tag @shortpplfedup, @negrowhat, @chicademartinica, @so-much-yet-to-learn and @happypotato48

[sleepdepravity]

THIS CHAPTER TITLE???

[cloudofbutterflies92]

WIP WHATEVER

Today I decided to bring a new wip I'm working on (hoping to bring it by October given the themes) of my AU Demon Countess Eden and a little excerpt from chapter 7 of "Fire and Gasoline"

Excerpt from Chapter 7 of Fire and Gasoline

"I suspect something too, but it's always best to keep him under surveillance. Here" as soon as Simon stepped into the room Eden already dismissed him from paranoia. Eden was not stupid, it's just that he had lost so much because of that bastard.

"William has been manipulating him for too long, that fuckin prick would take no time at all to track you down. If he's alive-"

That last sentence was a big question mark, there were rumors, rumors that he had been murdered by narcos or some drug dealer, and others that he was alive walking around Manchester like a bum.

Eden swallowed, "Simon he is, he's alive. I saw him."

Excerpt from the October Special Wip

"You know I'm an adult”

"Adult but leaving everything lying around."

Nostalgia, he missed hearing his mother complain, telling him about her week. Or telling everyone how proud she was of him, of the man he had become.

Wish he could be as proud of what he had done as his mother was, even when he looked in a simple store window he felt anger. Not physical disgust, but real anger at himself for failing to save his family, for becoming so cold.

"... absolutely not Reggie."

A thud, automatically the noise led him to turn around. Several scattered papers surrounded a woman, whose elegance particularly struck him. He was not used to seeing a woman of that elegance walking around in that neighborhood; she probably had to get to Regent Street. Or Knightsbridge.

Carelessly he tried to help her, picking up the various papers. His gaze fell on various types of sketches, a designer?

He looked up, seeing that woman lift her lips upward, almost uncanny. He must have been uneasy about it, yet there he was.

"You look like a curious big boy."

And he never had been, he was the classic "I mind my own business since my life is already problematic" Yet that unknown woman had put a kind of flea in his ear, being indifferent to such a woman seemed forced.

"I just wanted to help?"

"Eden, my name is Eden."

Tagged by @mkdecimation @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @simplegenius042

Tagging:

@chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @alypink @statichvm @cassietrn @piouswolf @thewanderer-000

@thedeadthree @himurasama @strangefable @captastra @aceghosts @kikiharinezumi

@katsigian @dickytwister @theelderhazelnut @elderglocks @sweet-samnang @sweet-samnang @moosch @priceseyes @themotherofhorses

@la-grosse-patate @killerspinal @dani-the-goblin @g0dspeeed @ghostgirlvii @josephseedismyfather @welldonekhushi @milkywayhou @esolean @voidika @scorpiosleeps @nik-barinova @adlerboi @direwombat

@redacted-scp-antics @valyrra @kaitaiga @chadillacboseman @raresvtm @roofgeese @pricescigar @violetflavia @marieke-price @888888-88

[hwaightme]

In memoriam

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

⚪ pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader ⚪ genre: angst (sorry seonghwa), smut, time leaping, magical realism ⚪ summary: what would you do to get your life back? what would you do, if you found out that you could turn back time? park seonghwa knows his answer, and does not care for the price he has to pay. ⚪ wordcount: 8.3k ⚪ warnings/tags: husband!hwa, language, implied major death, crying, time leaping, barista!san, magical cafe, turning back time, grieving, discussion of habits, a whole lot of coffee, hope, love, loss, lmk if anything else ⚪ taglist: @doom-fics @legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @hoshischeekss @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld ⚪ a/n: after severe ult bias wreck, I have been in a -state-, and after listening to suggested songs (under cut) + me generally loving the film The Girl Who Leapt Through Time and the book series Before The Coffee Gets Cold... this happened. Hope you enjoy, much love, all reblogs, comments thoughts and notes welcome~

⚪ nsfw tags: no protection, cum inside, praise, seonghwa being very soft, everything is very vanilla tbh, slow sex, slight overstim, focus on feeling of closeness

⚪ playlist: suffering for love by eden (a/n:what sparked this), somewhere by o3ohn, dancing with your ghost by sasha alexa sloan, holo by leehi, stay here by gaho, i wanna cry by seori, not too late by ateez

The ticking of the clock, giving rhythm to his trepidation, the second hand measuring out the beating of his heart devise a believable steadiness. In two minutes and three seconds, you were going to brush strands of your hair behind your right ear, sighing at the necessity for the repeated motion. You were curled up the impromptu reading nook that you had crafted out of an array of pillows and a throw – items that Seonghwa had meticulously picked out to fit the interior of your shared apartment, now a creative installation with you as its centrepiece.

He was exactly where he had been, and where he would be should he wish to relive this moment again: leaning against the dining table, hands pressed into the edge of the lacquered wood, coolness spreading to his trembling fingertips, stuck in a permanent dilemma. He studied you as though you were a heavenly mirage, admiring every inch of your form as faint fragments of the sun streamed through the window and graced your delicate skin. Seonghwa was never sure whether the glow that enveloped you, that blissful haze so innate, so intricate, was from the mellow rays or from the boundless light that you possessed, so strong that it permeated through you, and yet too precious for this mortal world. So, he had settled, even then, for the only explanation that seemed logical, no matter how irrational the concept seemed to someone who had not had the chance to know you.

“Angel, are you sure you don’t want me to get you anything?”

There it was, the brush of the hair, that dazzling smile, heart-melting expression as you turned your head towards him, placing a finger down on the cream-coloured page to mark your line of immersion.

“Yes, Hwa I’m good. Though actually, if you could grab some more gochujang paste, that would be great. I promised your mom a recipe exchange so not running low on ingredients is probably a good start.”

He beamed, though the incessant ticking induced a heaviness in his chest. That was right, in a week’s time his mother would be visiting the two of you with a crate of goods from home, and you would spend the day cooking together, constantly shooing Seonghwa out of the kitchen so that he ‘would not interfere with the production line’. And then, they would not let him leave until he tried every dish.

“One of these days my mom will kidnap you, I swear.” He responded, running a hand through his hair to mask his agitation.

“Well, I am already dressed like her kid, and I do like naps.”

“Now for humour…”

“… I know, I know, much better than you so she’ll figure the switch out straight away.” You winked, and before Seonghwa could respond, returned to the novel, your attention drifting from the conversation in a matter of seconds. How could he not love you?

That morning you had been cheeky enough to steal one of his shirts, parading in it and uttering phrases in dialect, in as low a voice as you could muster, eliciting amused laughter from Seonghwa. The light blue and white striped linen suited you more than it did him, he had decided. At least, it suited the joy that you experienced when he, faking vexation from your antics, had wrapped you in his arms, peppering you with soft reminders of his adoration on your cheeks, nose, lips.

In thirty seconds, he was to push himself away from the table, amble towards you, and plant a kiss on the top of your head, resting his forehead against you before bidding you farewell. As he diligently completed the actions, you reached out to grasp his wrist, and pulled him closer. In nine seconds, you let go. In three, he mumbled he would be right back. And just as the clock showed three twenty-seven in the afternoon, he leaned down to put a pair of sneakers on in the entryway, and pushed the front door open to reveal a stunning, infinite expanse of white. Without fear, he stepped in, and was consumed by the pure, cleansing hue. The ironic embodiment of you.

It was overwhelming the first time. The migraine that had persisted then almost detracted him from the process, however as the number of attempts had grown into a routine, or rather, a habit, so did his resilience. Now, as he woke up from the trance, blinking away the blur that had occupied his vision, barely any physical trace of his venture remained. All except the dull ache. But that was a given, the torment was an old guest to his weary soul.

He was back. Back in the same café, sat at the table in the far corner, away from curious eyes, right by a living wall of ferns and succulents, so carefully tended to that Seonghwa had never once seen a single leaf be wilted; he would not put it beyond this place achieving a floral immortality – it was either that, or they were meticulously replaced to give the illusion of continuity. Even so, what would Seonghwa not give for that oblivious paradise? An easy listening instrumental track filled the air with semi-acoustic guitar and gentle waves of metal brushes on the drums. The rumbles and short hisses emanated from behind the counter, guiding Seonghwa’s gaze to the owner and main barista of the café, who was languidly cleaning a metal beaker while keeping an eye out for any new customers. Even though he knew full well that while the remnants of the time shift were still suspended in the air, the space, completed in white and wooden tones, disappeared from the consciousness and vision of a passer-by.

Gradually, feeling returned to Seonghwa’s hands and feet, and he stretched his hands out in front of him, scrutinising the digits. Was it really the dark chestnut table that he touched? Was it really your hair that he caressed and your voice that entranced him so? The disentanglement from what had been and what could be was always the most agonising aspect of his commitment. But for the sake of keeping you in the present, this was the least he could sacrifice. As he blinked away the last of his emotion, steeling himself for the day ahead, Seonghwa turned to the large shop window to peer at the metropolitan commotion. The forlorn palette of greys that guided his interpretation was reflected in every building, every cloud that threatened catastrophic storms, every scowl on a stranger and in the cold concrete. Nothing new. Just a setting to let time pass by him.

As his heart beat to the pitter-patter of seconds, washing over him, Seonghwa hesitantly trudged to the counter and fished out the black leather wallet you had gifted him for your three year anniversary, stopping to brush his thumb over your picture that he inserted into the transparent compartment. A candid shot of you under the magnolias, a light squint of the eyes and scrunch of the nose as you had tilted your head to greet the sunshine that streamed through the brilliant white canopy. After the photo was taken, you had found a branch that had been snapped by the wind, and took it home, tending to the young blossoms that were protected by proud leaves, leaping into the air excitedly as they unfurled to reveal their apex of beauty. That time, you had admonished Seonghwa for not even sparing a glance at the flowers while complimenting them, but he was sure in his decision to not take his gaze off you.

“That’ll be three thousand won.” The barista sighed, a concerned smile on his lips as he studied the dark-haired man before him. The regular floated in a torpid melancholy, though his amiable expression and impressively polite discourse, be it with him or with another customer, had never let what he had seen on the first visit slip and shatter.

“Here you are. Thank you, San.” Seonghwa answered absent-mindedly as he handed the owner three glossy paper bills.

“Not a problem.” The barista and owner of the café Memento added the amount to the cash register with practiced motions, hands moving on their own accord.

Fluid, intrinsic, skilled. A repetition that served to mark the end of Seonghwa’s weekly visit. Except here, there was no way to guess what San would choose to do next, even though his uniform, his environment were all the same – there was no comfort in awareness of the future, and while that was a reminder that Seonghwa had successfully returned, the notion had recently begun to induce a subtle hum of distress within him. At least he was lucky enough to have found a temporary aid to the predicament.

“Back so soon?”

It was not Thursday, that much Seonghwa knew. For the past couple of months he visited strictly on Thursday mornings, and would be able to sustain himself and hold out until the next unscheduled visit, but one cemented in his routine. But the last few days had unfolded as though the universe itself was against him, proving that calamity was always lying in wait for the first sign of tranquility. He was distressed, on the verge of tearing himself and everyone around him apart - had he the power of Atropos, the floor would be decorated with abstract snippets of existence, grotesque and grim, but at least the act was committed at his own volition. Some fragment of control still remaining, albeit in his fantasies. This was why his feet led him here, to café Memento, through the heavy downpour outside which he had to experience in full force due to the ill-timed breaking of his umbrella. Seonghwa’s coat clung to him in a drowning desperation, giving him a sullen, forlorn appearance of a lost man. With haphazard motions he attempted to slick his hair back so that the accumulated raindrops would cease to run down his face, though that did little comically little.

Fumbling in the entrance of the café, the young man watched as the barista, turned passive confidante, stepped out from behind the counter, raising his index finger into the air as a sign to wait before disappearing behind the staff door. In his absence, Seonghwa attempted to peel the trench coat off, discovering that, for the most part, his shirt had been protected well by the waterproof material. So, it was almost like that evening he had been replaying in his mind the last three days, but not close enough. It was late June then. He was wearing a light cotton t-shirt, jeans, and converses, enveloped in the monsoon’s sudden attack while he had been circling the apartment complex where you lived, cursing himself. He had been more rain than man then. But the personal likeness did not matter, so long as he could get the coffee and take his practically assigned seat in the corner.

“Here, a towel, your collar’s getting damp, and let me hang the coat to dry… you absorbed a whole raincloud, didn’t you?” San had reappeared, and made a beeline for his friend, who was still standing at the door, water dripping onto the welcome mat, blending with the invisible chains of grief that were his loyal followers. A small, yet dazzling smile in thanks was shot in the barista’s direction as the dishevelled man accepted the towel, commencing to dry off his hair and neck.

“Certainly felt like it. And thank you. Sorry for barging in like this, I really don’t know what-”

“You want the usual, right?” the interjection cut right to the truth. Of course, what was Seonghwa thinking? After so many weeks of asking for coffee that he, in fact, despised, sitting in the same place and leaving the present to see visions of you, it would take someone who knew nothing at all to assume Seonghwa wanted anything else. Even the most distant acquaintance would probably make the rights guess. It was obvious that he was here to see you. He needed to, or his frustrations would eat him whole.

“Right.” Unintentionally curt, Seonghwa muttered his response while wiping down the droplets from his feverish skin. Concerned preoccupied him as he wondered if illness would prevent him from seeing you. No, he could not get ill. He still had so much material to cover.

“Figured. Life’s got you down?” either happily disinterested, or deciding to ignore Seonghwa’s shift in attitude, San continued in the same level tone as he finished hanging up the trench coat on the rack that stood in a corner by the door, obscured by an overgrown potted palm tree. Stretched over a couple of hooks, it looked every bit like a damp scarecrow, eliciting a sharp exhale through the nose from its owner.

“You could say that.”

“So down, that you walked here, in the rain?” using his beige apron to dry off his hands, the broad-shouldered man asked. Truth be told, it was not confirmation of his friend’s troubles that he was after. It was the cry, the realisation that he was going too far.

But much to the café owner’s dismay, Seonghwa saw no evil in his choices, instead choosing to rationalise them, supress the abysmal distress each one would inevitably bring by considering everything except the future. To this man, who obediently followed San to the counter, and waited for him to walk back around and take his usual spot, the suffering that came with each veering of the path was a divine, cleansing punishment that, at the end of it all, still brought him joy.

“Well, metro, then the walking in the rain.” Seonghwa stated as-a-matter-of-factly, draping the towel over his neck after gesturing to San whether it would be fine if he could keep it for the time being, and with a quick nod from him, gave a quiet word of gratitude and wiped a stray droplet that was threatening to roll down his forehead with the corner of the white fabric.

“Nonetheless, aren’t there… other ways?”

Seonghwa stared at the large coffee machine as though it was a beast, in slumber until the next press of a button, to avoid making eye contact. His mind had been far too hazy since early morning, and the myriad of repetitive work meetings had exhausted his ability to keep up appearances. He was toeing a line, a couple of phrases away from completely snapping, and studying the tiny coffee splatter stuck to steel decal at the top of the machine took off some of the edge, forcing him to refocus on the desire to wipe the damn spot away.

“Nothing like a nice hot americano to save the day.” He mumbled, glancing at San, only to be met with a questioning eyebrow and pursed lips.

“You literally do not even like coffee.”

“And you own a café, but drink decaf.”

“Touché. Alright then, the usual it is…” the battle was short-lived, overtaken by a tense quiet, subsequently filled by the ambient rumbling, shuffling and clinking – the sonorous colours of any ordinary coffee shop. It was clear enough that there was too much left unsaid, only to dissolve in the drink like a sugar cube turned sour. What was there to admonish? Love? Devotion? Never before had San seen such dedication in a customer when it came to the specially prepared beverage, he concluded as he murmured the incantations, concentrating on making the coffee bloom to its fullest. In situations such as this, he pondered what his life would be like had he not inherited this café, and along with it, the power to control time.

The torrential downpour outside was not letting up, and the droplets that accumulated on the shopfront’s awning were hammering down onto the pavement, spilling over and composing a cacophony. Seonghwa observed the enchantment, attempting to mentally follow the steps for the pourover, but ultimately failing even though San had gone through them, diligently, on the first three visits. As the grounds, with the beans freshly roasted and the final product all made in-house, were being wetted by the hot water pouring from the long spout of a black gooseneck kettle, cradled in the barista’s steady hands, the morose bystander imagined the city to be one big coffee cup, with the solemn concrete jungle resembling the rise and falls of the grounds’ dunes, taking and taking more of the rainwater and leaving behind exhausted, breathless shells called citizens. From far away, there was a unity, a name for the powder-like substance turned to a paste, but look closer, and each grain was lonely in its own special way, only there to dissolute, and diffuse into a bitter potion.

“Here.” As soon as the last of the substance was extracted and joined forces with the fluid in the cup, San set it on a white plate with a black rim, and carefully positioned the beverage onto an elevated portion of the counterspace, right above the display of baked goods and desserts, almost empty – reasonable, considering the late hour after a busy day.

“Thank you-” just as he reached out to grab the cup, excited to finally flee to his safe haven, the barista stopped him on his tracks.

“Seonghwa, hate to be that guy, but are you sure you do not need any other help at all?” the apprehension in his voice made the taller man’s stomach churn. Did he have to raise this point now, of all times? When Seonghwa wanted nothing more but to curl up in your arms and sink into a divinity only you two could share? He was not in the headspace to even mention the existence of alternatives. In his view, there was only one right path to follow, and it was one mapped out in scars on his heart.

“What are you insinuating?” he narrowed his eyes, hinting at an undercurrent of hostility.

“Nothing! Just, you know… This is meant to be temporary. There are only so many times you can bend time to your will before it snaps you.” Already anticipating a complete disregard for his warnings, San explained his worries much like he would explain the menu to a newcomer.

“But it’s all fine-” he gripped the plate tighter in his hands, lifting the ceramic off the counter and watching the liquid lap at the edges, a deep mahogany ocean. As he caught the glint of the lamplight reflected in its ripples, he could not help but search for the glimmer that was always in your eyes.

“Until it won’t be. Seonghwa, I know what this means to you, and I can see how you change after each leap but… I am worried.”

“Well… don’t, seriously. It’s fine. I just… I just need this. Okay?” he was met by a shake of the head, and a lean forward – San took the towel by its edge, and slipped it off Seonghwa’s neck, leaving it exposed to an unfamiliar chill. In a strive to supress the shiver, the exasperated man continued, choking out the words through a well-mannered filter: “And don’t I look like I am simply asleep when I am out there?”

“True that. Head down like the table is a pillow.” The barista responded, seemingly unperturbed as he flung the towel into a basket hidden under the workspace and wiped his hands on his apron. When he did not make any further attempts to prolong the fruitless discussion, Seonghwa’s feet moved on their own accord, spinning his body around, ready to dive into his long-awaited oasis.

“Alright then… catch you… later?” he threw out over his shoulder, casting San one final glance before striding towards the table, area dimly lit, but so cosy, promising the echoes of his real home.

“Mhm. I’ll be where I usually am. Not that you need me, but still. I’ll keep watch.”

“I appreciate it.” Words thrown out only to be swept away by the air conditioning, meaningless in the sense of emotion. Mentally, he was already in transit.

As Seonghwa settled into the chair, he felt lighter. As if the mere anticipation of seeing you once again was already capable of lifting some of his ache. He concentrated on the cup before him. A simple number, with the only decoration being those black lines, reminiscent of lines of misfortune that occupied an individual’s life. Ironic how this was to be his fated cup. The contemporary chalice that gave him the power to enjoy the moments he had mourned. As he did in every iteration of his new ‘always’, he pictured you, sat in front of him, in this very café, drinking the bitter black coffee, breaking out into a grin as you slipped into a child-like enjoyment. This black and white cup was the one you had held in your hands, commenting on how you and Seonghwa should try and find a similar set. To this day, he could not fulfil this little dream of yours. Maybe they were not being made anymore, and nothing merely similar would be up to standard.

Your figure became clearer and clearer before his eyes, until he could not distinguish between what should be, and what indeed was. This stage was the trickiest, for with every fibre of his being Seonghwa wanted to reach out to you, place his hand over yours and whisper just how much he missed you, how afraid he was that you were gone, not for good, not for evil, simply gone. It took training, resilience, and patience with himself to go further back, rewind the time until he hit the desired mark, and as the image was comparable to reality before him, he shut his eyes, and took a tentative sip of the coffee.

A flash. Pure white, drumming of the rain turning into deafening tick, tock, tick, tock. Sensation that felt like his body was turning inside out, collapsing and regrowing as he felt the ground beneath him, and the sky’s tears beating down on him, streaming down his face. With this, he regained his balance and sense of direction, and pressing a hand right above his brows to shield his vision from the rain, peeked at the scene. Just as he had expected, it was the little square, the pagoda with no proper roof to shield him, the paths, lit by weak yellowish streetlights. He was ready to go back home. To see you. To play the scene out and devote himself to you once more. There was a limit to what far removed, isolated worship could do.

He pushed himself off the soaked wooden seating that framed the inside of the pagoda, and stumbled out, still dizzy from the leap. Massaging his temples with the hand he had used as a visor, he tried to soothe at least some of the stinging, until it turned into a dull ache that was easier to handle, more customary. Before long, it melted into the buzz, the anticipation for what was to happen next.

He commenced a countdown in the form of footsteps as he stalked toward the complex, fully aware of you watching him from the windows. That was what you were going to say… later, but you were going to say it. You were going to reveal to him just how worried you had been, how you wanted him to come back as soon as he shut the door, and how his action had torn you apart. It really had been over nothing at all, but much like in the present, his week had gotten to him, but now there was no escape, except to break his routine, and sink into the feeling of you. Your voice, your caresses, your love. The world was moving slowly as he strode up the stairs to the entrance doors, fingers automatically finding the passcode although he could not consciously recall it. One step, two, and he was at the staircase that wound around the elevator, choosing the former to alleviate some of the tension.

To no avail. Instead, the adrenaline pumped with more vigour, causing his rationality to grow blurry and pulse to go haywire as he spurred himself on. Only a few more steps. And there would be you. Thirty seconds. Fifteen. He was at the door to the apartment. Seonghwa stilled himself, glancing back to take note of the trail of moisture that he had left, mentally apologising to the cleaners that would have to handle the mess the next day – he would hear them chiding ‘whoever this person was’ in the tomorrow of the past at precisely six thirty-eight in the morning.

He had only returned to this scene once before. A while back. And had promised himself to not do it again because of the toll it had taken on him. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And he desperately needed you. The familiar flicker of the lightbulb at the end of the hallway, footsteps that he could make out from behind the door as you approached were setting him ablaze. There you were. You. No one else. Not a replacement, but really you. It was your fingers that pinched the door chain and slid it out of position, your hand that took the door handle and pulled it in, it was you who was standing before him, teary-eyed, but obviously relieved to see him.

You were about to approach him and wrap your hands around his torso when you noticed just how soaked he was from facing the elements after his stress-induced outburst. He had chosen to exit the apartment instead of uttering as much as a single word aside from the command to not follow, leaving you disconcerted and peering out of the window into the starless night. It was a simple, common domestic argument that had set him off. Something or other about the arrangement of cutlery in the drawer, that then moved to the discussion of plates in the cupboards, and eventually grew into a back and forth about interior design. Any other day, Seonghwa probably would had stayed and talked it out, but this outburst which now served to be a perfect anchor for his travels, was the result of pent up emotion. It was odd, but he was grateful for having let his feelings overflow that day, otherwise this previous moment, this ethereal intimacy would not have been so prominent in his mind.

Seonghwa’s gaze burned into you as you hugged your own form, highlighting the curves hidden under the oversized t-shirt dress that you were wearing, the argument having taken place right before bed. Hair loose and slightly dishevelled, you look to have been playing with it – something you did when you were nervous. You would inspect the ends, twirl the strange, arrange and rearrange… and then when he would place a hand on your thigh, or take your hand in his, you would become aware of your state, start counting under your breath, resuming a shared tranquility. While he could not imagine the distress that you experienced internally, it was reassuring that even if for a fraction of a second, he could bring you peace from your loud mind.

Your eyes were reddened – likely from being rubbed to convince yourself that you were not about to cry over simple things. A light tremble of your lower lip as you took in his form, with Seonghwa exuding abandonment, regret, loss… a rocking from heel to toe as you propelled yourself towards him, reaching out to cup his face while ushering him inside. Who was he kidding when he thought that this would be easy to re-enact? He was guilty as charged. This was his doing. How could he possibly enjoy seeing you in pain? The preceding events objectively amounted to nothing, but your sadness was real, how you gasped and said his name was real. This was real.

Tears sprung to his eyes as you cooed and ran your fingers through his wet hair, forgetting about your own clothing as you approached to comfort him. Seonghwa was bewildered – no, he should be the one comforting you! How was this in any way appropriate, he should be strong, he should- he was struggling to form a single coherent thought as all prior resolve evaporated like snow on a hot summer day, and he crumbled under your touch. Your thumbs brushed over his cheers, carrying away tears that he did not know he was spilling, as you called out to him.

“Hwa, my love please… if you cry, I cry…I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry Y/N! My angel! Please… forgive me… I’m sorry… I’m so… so sorry…” Seonghwa wailed as his knees buckled under him, and barely having made it past the door frame, with you having just shut the door with a light kick of the foot, he slowly descended to the ground, with you promptly following.

“What? This was… this was just a plate, Hwa… both of us had a stressful week and-” you attempted to rationalise, failing to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat at the sight of your husband falling apart, words sounding choked out. You forced him to keep his attention on you as you searched for any kind of explanation in his widened eyes glossed over with sorrow.

“So sorry… I am so sorry I couldn’t do anything… Please I should have… I should have not let you go… I am so…” he slipped. He lost the plot, the phrases bursting out of him before he could do anything to stop them. It was no longer clear what it was that he was apologising for. He gripped the soaked denim, right above his knees, though the sensation of his fingers digging into his thighs did nothing to curb his disillusionment.

“What are you saying baby, I’m right here…” you whispered, one hand moving to pat his shoulder, gliding over the muscle and soon your arm was pulling the man closer and closer to you. He hesitated, afraid to soak your dress, though knowing that it was going to happen anyway.

“Y/N!”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry too. Come here.” Without any further waiting, he threw his arms around you. There you were. Your warmth against him as you rubbed his back, not caring for his blubbering, for his sniffling against the crook of your neck. He kept on mumbling apologies and your name, over, and over, and over again, as though those were the only words he knew, and his native tongue had otherwise departed from his consciousness.

“What has gotten into you, huh? It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ll even accept that I was wrong for putting the mug in that drawer.” You attempted to change the tone, adopting a more upbeat, lighthearted attitude while you wiggled to sit more comfortably. Your husband followed your every move, and soon enough you found yourselves sitting in a tight embrace right at the step that marked the difference between the entrance, and the apartment’s corridor.

“I’m sorry…”

“Okay, I get that, but what for? For being human and having a temper sometimes? We’ve been living together for two years, Hwa. Two. And you are here acting like we haven’t argued before.”

Two years. Two years, three months, and seven days, if he were to be exact. He had your history together memorised, and as he kept on leaping, the accuracy turned from weeks, to days, to hours, to minutes, and for some events, down to the second. In three, two, one – you kissed the top of his head, just like he had done to you many times.

“I am so selfish, Y/N…” he whispered, hoarse.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not like me.”

“No one is like you, and I mean that in the best sense. What kind of selfish are you even talking about Seonghwa?”

“I exhaust you. I repeat the same things, again, and again, tire you out and take you for granted.” He tried to explain himself, but his haze was refusing to let him abide by the regular scenario, instead letting him go off script and improvise.

You tapped him, signalling for Seonghwa to lean back and look at you. When his half-lidded eyes met yours, you muttered for him to sit down properly. Obediently, he twisted his body, and did what he was told. You remained by his side, one arm wrapped around his shoulders as you guided yourself to take a seat on his lap, effectively straddling him. One leg on either side, you pushed yourself closer, until your nose was against his, and you were peering into his pupils.

���I could repeat every moment with you forever, Hwa, never get tired, and always, do you hear me? Always, feel loved.” He took your words as gospel, as a clairvoyant portrayal that he would follow.

“I’m sorry.”

“How sorry?” you blurted, not thinking straight as you breathed against his lips, almost touching. Your arms draped around him, while he positioned his cool hands on your hips, more than aware of the proximity.

“Very.”

“Prove it.”

“Let me love you.”

“Now that’s something you should repeat more often, darling.”

You were supposed to kiss. You were supposed to sink into one another and blend into a loving embrace. Where were you? Why couldn’t he see you? A panic set into Seonghwa’s chest as his eyes shot open, and no matter where he looked, no matter how hard he twisted his neck, he was only met with the vast expanse of white. But his hands-

No longer holding onto you, they reached for thin air, only to fall, defeated, disappearing into a thick cloud-like fog. He yelled out your name, but was only met with a searing, piercing tone as though from an explosion blasting right into his ears, and no sign of his voice. He tried again, rushing to cover his ears on instinct as the high-pitched screech returned, though that did next to nothing, except proving that the colourless infinity was more merciless than nature itself. Slowly understanding the rule of not disturbing the soundlessness, Seonghwa blindly felt for the ground on which he was sitting. What if you were lost in this expanse with him? Where could you have gone? His best attempt would be to try feeling for any vibrations, and send some of his own. You must be in the minimalist hellscape with him, he convinced himself and knocked on what he had decided was the ground but was met with nothing.

His fist, then arm then the rest of the body fell through a chasm and in a split second, the white was cleared from his vision as suddenly as it had appeared. Perplexed and terrified, Seonghwa looked around, only to feel that he was stark naked, in the bedroom, with you under him. Slowly he turned his head to look downwards, and was greeted by your face, contorted in pleasure as you let out sultry moans, hands gripping the pillow that was supporting your head. You looked so beautiful, angelic as you whimpered his name, while he continued to thrust into you.

The sudden transition had thrown Seonghwa off kilter, and he inadvertently slowed down, hissing as he felt your walls contract around his throbbing member. The intensity of the intimate act had returned the senses to his body at an unprecedented speed, making him dizzy. Struggling to support himself with his outstretched arms, he lowered his body until it was flush against yours, and he was on his elbows. Every micromovement was a challenge while his cock was still inside you, though counterbalanced by the fear of this divinity being replaced by the white abyss once more.

“Hwa… ah… why’d you… why’d you stop?” you asked, breathless as your eyelids barely lifted to peek at him. Some stray strands of hair were stuck to your forehead, caught in a sheen of sweat that made you look ethereal in the light that had crept into the bedroom through the window, as the storm outside had calmed to reveal a timid moon, peering from behind the heavy clouds that lethargically moved across the sky. Your lips, rosy and plump, evidently from having been against his for long enough, were slightly parted as you panted shallowly. Seonghwa further lowered himself until he was hovering right above you, unable to stop himself from giving you a soft kiss, and whispering:

“I want to love you. Slowly.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” You quipped, a ghost of a smirk taunting him, earning a chuckle.

“Sorry, you know what you do to me.”

“No more ‘sorry’, darling, just give me all of you.” You moved so your hands were clasped around your husband’s neck, and sighed as he pushed himself up and bottomed out, the fullness making you see stars.

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you ah- too… Hwa.”

As promised, following his return from nothingness, he took things slow. With every thrust into your aroused core, he worshipped you, whispering praise after praise in your ear about how well you took him, and just how good you made him feel. Finely attuned to every change in your body, he adjusted his angle, his rhythm, until you were, once again, a whining goddess being brought to a magnificent ruin. Only this time, he was going to remember every picosecond. He noted how your eyes rolled to the back of your head underneath your lids, how your tongue flicked to the corner of your mouth, for just a split second, but enough to demand Seonghwa’s attention. In one sensual motion, he moved his cock deeper, and gave himself access for another, longer expression of his love. His tongue gingerly parted your lips, and you readily accepted him, appreciative of the caution and affection in his gesture. As you ascended in the adoring expression, Seonghwa decided that this was true timelessness. And the only one he ever needed. Only you and him, with only love between you.

Seonghwa had a habit of looking at you as though you were the only precious thing in his universe with those gorgeous brown orbs. And while you otherwise would glow at the realisation, tonight, there was something different. First, it was him apologising for ‘letting you go’, then it was him nearly completely switching character and nearly making you lose all sense of self as he pounded into you with a carnal desire, and now, it was a slow, sensual unravelling. The light pecks on your cheeks, trailing down to your neck, and the loving gaze as Seonghwa confessed his love to you as if this was the first and last time, were too much for you to take. There was an omniscience about him, otherworldly knowledge, like he was somewhere else entirely, aware of every nuance of your inner world and capable of changing your very fate. Your precious Seonghwa, your future.

Your high came suddenly and violently from the sustained length of each movement that made you concentrate on every detail, from the way in which Seonghwa had teased you by stimulating your clit with his leaking cock, to how he silenced you with a kiss, inhaling your uncontrollable moans.  As though you were a fragile doll, he embraced you as best as he could without collapsing on your chest, while he searched for the opportunity to chase his own release.

His movements began to falter as his own orgasm inched closer and closer, the knot in his stomach becoming nearly unbearable. The steady pace was broken into stutters as he rolled his hips, directing his member fully into your still-pulsating sex, the lewd melody emanating from him slapping against you only driving him further into his small death. The overstimulation was making you squirm, but you held on, and the way in which your nails dug into his back, and how you mumbled, barely audible, a soft and innocent ‘Seonghwa’ had sent him over the edge. Throwing his head back he groaned into his climax, euphoric while the viscous webs of cum painted your walls and labia as he pulled out in an attempt to control the trembling of his muscles. Rivulets of cum continued to pour from him, mixing with your sweet nectar, running down your smooth thighs. Unable to hold out much longer, he uttered your name, and in your blissful state, you responded by pulling him towards you, towards a comforting darkness.

The rise and fall, the pulse, the hum, your hand running through his hair, which was now mostly dry: all signs of you being real, being with him and sharing time and space. Seonghwa was home, everything was how it was supposed to be. You were excitedly talking about your work trip - a major design commission for a client abroad, and the post-coital somnolence was blocking his immediate awareness of this fact, until you addressed him directly.

“Mm… Hwa?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think the magnolias will be blooming once I’m back?”

“Yes, angel.”

They were a day too late.

"You have to let go, Seonghwa! You can't do this to yourself forever! You are not living!" San’s voice resounded through the café as he glowered at the man before him.

"I know you understand that I live when I am there!"

Clearly, for the state in which he had appeared in the establishment left nothing but exasperation. Pallid, his shirt crumpled, dark circles having grown even more prominent than before, the look was so uncharacteristic of Seonghwa that San needed to spend a couple minutes simply observing the customer in order to recognise him. But the stupefaction was rapidly dispelled as soon as he heard a familiar, low and dulcet voice order ‘the usual’. However, this time, this meant a ‘special offer’ from the owner himself.

“You only have so many leaps left. You know this whole thing is unstable. What if you don’t come back?” while he was aware that what he was doing was horrifically unacceptable, regardless of their so-called friendship status, San yelled across the room, only to be met with a matching boom.

“What would change?”

“Oh, you damn well know what would change, don’t do this to me.” San dismissed his customer’s challenge, slamming his hand onto the counter to control his rage.

“Look. San. I appreciate you trying to intervene, but I think that I can handle it.” The phrase, uttered by a poor soul, clearly addicted, induced a threatening scowl. After a painful minute of silence, with the two men standing, ready for a verbal duel, San fired first, promising Seonghwa’s worst nightmare.

“I can just not serve you the coffee.”

“And I can just… no, you wouldn’t do this to me.” Seonghwa had gotten used to the white flashes while he spent time with you. It was almost comforting, and had turned to be a device that brought him back to his senses so that he would not get too attached. Nevertheless, every time that he did slip into the realm, a new hope joined, that of the possibility of you escaping with him. Finding yourself in the white landscape, and promptly departing the past, following the ticking of the clock until it stopped, letting you enter the café, and return into Seonghwa’s life. San could not take this hope away-

“I will. The café is closed for business today. Because I said so. Seonghwa, get a grip. She is-” he began but was promptly shut down with a wrathful roar.

“No. She is not. Whatever you are about to say she is not.”

“Seonghwa you are not okay. Please. Please, just… please live for yourself for a second and stop looking back-”

He did not want to hear it. He did not want to hear what should have stopped him long before, prior to when he had the chance to experience the instant cure to his madness. So in a fit of indignation, he strode out of the café, not bothering to shut the door behind him. It was only a matter of time before he would be back. New day, same old scars on his heart, with each passing tick, tock, tick, tock, tearing at the amateur stitching until the wounds returned, infected by solitary lamentation, festering with cognizance of the colourless cosmos he had to battle, alone in a city of millions.

A month passed. Two. Without a word uttered about you. In silent melancholy he kept the memory of you alive, each detail in his routine turning into a memento mori, a subconscious devotion. From the chrome silver earring he chose to wear, to the loosely knit black cotton sweater, he did not have to be explicit in the pull towards the centre of his inner universe. When it was not you he saw, it was the shadows. When it was not you he heard, it was the echoes. Be it in an interlocutor, a passer-by, an illusion conjured by hope, the world seemed to be like you. All similarities, nuances, interpretations... but still so painfully distant.

Seonghwa listened to the same songs on repeat – songs that you had recommended to him over the years. Again, and again, and again until he heard them even in the lonely silence. A numbing balm to his unforgiving mind, the melodies were an extended monologue – a lifeline. At least they were not creations in the past tense. And one of your favourite artists was even on tour; a proof for the musical organism still pumping its melodic blood, one listener less. Would you go? Of course, you would. You lived for the memories. You had crafted your life to be a series of perfectly curated, picturesque moments, and time aided in cultivating the final selection to be your most precious. He had turned into a loyal spectator, watching with bated breath as the episodes passed him by, under your direction, starring you, produced by you. He could only succumb to the unchangeable fall through time and follow you until that last, unfinished sentence.

He wanted to hate you. He wanted to erase you. Seonghwa desperately wanted to banish you from his psyche, in which you were so deeply entrenched that he would answer to your name.

His love for you was his poison, and he knew that his friends were right. In the cycle, the circle he had drawn to trap what had remained of you and him, was to be his inevitable full stop. His sentence was far from being completed, and yet after what one could call his comma, he struggled to find words. Perhaps because there were none that he found worthy of ever competing with what had been. It was not possible to despise happiness itself, nor was it to not crave it. Just once more. One more time to experience that utopia. A bittersweet suffering completed in shades of a heartbreaking blue.

And that was how he found himself in that same park, under those same white magnolias. In a trance he studied your wind-swept hair, your white cotton sweater and baby blue, washed out jeans, making sure that you were wearing those earrings he had bought you for no reason in particular except to make you happy – perhaps an expensive gift for what would be only a month that you had been a couple, but your gleam had been priceless. His gaze travelled to your hands, spotting that there was still that tiny chip on your manicured left index finger.

Same words. Same motions. Like running through a script of his beloved drama, one that he knew by heart and uttered in his slumber. All going according to the heavens' loathsome plan, until your lips that were tinted with a gloss that he would find out in two weeks, and three days' time precisely was your recent favourite, were weighed down with a concerned frown, and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Why are you crying?"

Cautiously, Seonghwa lifted a hand to touch his cheek, finding a timid, glistening stream that had found its path from his eyed that widened in meek surprise. Another touch on the other side, and he rushed to wipe away the currents with the edge of his sleeve, stifling an agonising sob that threatened to burst out of his throat. His chest on fire, Seonghwa struggled to blink away the mist that settled over his eyes. He must not look away. He must not give into this cruel bleariness. Not when you were right there. You must be so worried. You were always worried about how deeply he felt, about how sentimental he got and would always wrap your arms around him, guiding him to relax into your body, whispering that everything was going to be okay. If only spectral, celestial embraces could comfort him the same.

"Happy to see you again..." he choked out, smiling helplessly as he saw your features return to your bright, hopeful beam, gaze nothing short of a window to paradise.

"Again? We've just seen each other last week, silly." You tilted your head as you responded - a motion he had seen time and time again and loved the same.

He desired to tell you. Tell you that you were meant to be. That there was a future, albeit with the horizon too close for comfort, but a future nonetheless, ahead of you with him. But he knew better than that. It would mean another lifetime wasted, and again, he would have to search space and time for signs of you. Yes, he was selfish, but how could he not be when the fruit of his love's greed was so sweet? He wanted to see all your reactions as if he had not committed them to memory.

"And yet, I feel like I have known you, and lived with you for many lifetimes."

"Then... here's to another?"

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And-

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Mischief has received a tag!

@soliloquent-stark Tagged me to do this thing!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 (or however many you have) posted fics and see if there’s a pattern!

1. May: Part 5 of Frost & Forge-Fire: A Year of OTP 2023 Frostiron 12 Month Anthology of a Relationship

The first time Loki sent Tony flowers, he was off on a mission with Steve, Thor, and Natasha while the inventor stayed behind with the others to worry about their significant others.

2. A place where sinners fall in love

Loki stared at the wreckage around the entrance hall of the palace, vases and other statues overturned and shattered across the once clean and shining marble floor.

(Note: That is not the exact first line, but it's the first line that's not just Loki's inner thoughts.)

3. Dancing in my storm

“Is this something the Avengers can and, more importantly, will help us with?”

4. To be in love with the masterpiece

“Loki! Where’re you headed? The studio’s back that way,” Steve called out when he saw one of his friends booking it away from the art building. He was on his way to the art studio from the parking lot and caught the swish of a short black ponytail bouncing in the opposite direction.

(Note: Okay, you got me. It's more than just one line.)

5. Eden revives in the first kiss of love

When Logan woke up, it was to the caress of sunlight on his eyelids and the warm breath of a kiss on his lips.

6. Under blue moon, I saw you

“Oh sweet fucking Norns,” Loki exclaimed.

7. You are the ghost behind my eyes

Steve had returned all of the Infinity stones as per his last mission as Captain America.

8. Heartache to heartache, we stand

Thanos’ army arrived like a swarm, decimated the compound, and left the sky black as if they’d put out the sun.

9. Take me back to the night we met

Tony bent over his scratched and dented Iron Man helmet.

10. Half past four and shifting gear

“You hear about Loki?”

Holy crap! I have patterns! Ones that my college creative writing profs would be so proud of me for. At least in these 10 fics (and very likely the ones following those), I start my fics either with immediate action or dialogue (speaking = action). I do remember when I started writing back in the Middle Stone Ages that I thought I needed to always "set the scene," especially with long rolling descriptions so anyone reading could 'see' where they were. I think I still sometimes try to set the scene, but it was 'gently' recommended by two of the profs I admire the most to start with action, dialogue, and one of them especially loved starting a story In medias res, and with "Under blue moon, I saw you," that was the start I gave it.

Who'da thunk that at almost 51, I'd finally grasp all those things my favorite writing profs kept encouraging? Go me!

Anyone else pick up patterns I haven't mentioned (or noticed)?

Tagging: @scottxlogan @mcfiddlestan @endlesstwanted @kleenexwoman @kedreeva @mistressofmuses @song-witch @stormxpadme @securitybreach @loni4ever @chaoticgardenbread @holistic-alcoholic @renlybaratheon-tyrell and anyone else who wants to play!

[thebutterflyofthemojave]

Music Monday

Tagged by @simplegenius042 💕💕(sorry for the double tag😭😭💕) in this case I decided to bring a song that reminds me so much of Eden <3

She ain't got no money

Her clothes are kinda funny

Her hair is kinda wild and free

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes

And nobody knows like me

She talks kinda lazy

And people say she's crazy

And her life's a mystery

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes

And nobody knows like me

There's something about her hand holding mine

It's a feeling that's fine

And I just gotta say, hey!

She's really got a magical spell

And it's working so well

That I can't get away

I'm a lucky fella

And I just got to tell her

That I love her endlessly

Because love grows where my Rosemary goes

And nobody knows like me

There's something about her hand holding mine

It's a feeling that's fine

And I just gotta say, hey!

She's really got a magical spell

And it's working so well

That I can't get away

I'm a lucky fella

And I just got to tell her

That I love her endlessly

Because love grows where my Rosemary goes

And nobody knows like me

It keeps growing every place she's been

And nobody knows like me

If you've met her, you'll never forget her

And nobody knows like me

(La-la-la) believe it when you've seen it

Nobody knows like me

Tag: @chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @alypink @priceseyes @themotherofhorses @justasmolbard @moosch @valyrra @starcrossedspirit @statichvm @caelums-fate @cassietrn

[ozonecologne]

So, I love animation history, and I've been watching a lot of forgotten animated films for the last couple of weeks...

Fire and Ice (1983): the rotoscope thing is very interesting. I love Darkwolf's design and how hot Teegra is in those early scenes, but not much else. It looks too much like He-Man and the plot drags. 2/10

A Troll in Central Park (1994): charming at the heart of things. Especially with Dom DeLuise as Stanley -- what a comforting voice from my childhood. "Anything that's real starts with a dream." I do very much wish I could live in an underground garden paradise like a little socially awkward troll. 4/10

The Princess and the Goblin (1991): a little bizarre and not very compelling, but I love the bits with grandmother Irene. The way that the attic is animated to transform into an Edenic homestead is so beautiful. 4/10

Quest for Camelot (1998): have you ever wondered what Sinbad would have looked like if they had like half the budget and story? Eric Idle is going to hell. I want to fuck the griffin. 3/10

The Ringing Bell (1978): it's considered a classic for a reason! The idea that you create what will destroy you, and love it for doing so... the idea that when you force yourself to grow up you can never go back... There will come a time when you don't fit into your old life anymore, and you did that to yourself. You destroyed what part of you was innocent and belonged here, but you've also turned your back on the world that changed you. So where do you go? What are you now? What good is a strength that requires you face the world alone? 9/10

The Sea Prince and the Fire Child (or, The Legend of Sirius) (1981): a Romeo and Juliet retelling that kind of dragged, to be honest. I love the way that the fire is animated and the underwater backgrounds; they're whimsical but there's a real primordial quality to them that I like, because the ocean is weird! The sea god design is excellent and there are some sea creatures that are truly delightful, like the bunny fish and whatever Mabuse is supposed to be. Sirius is offputtingly noodly though, and he's 80% of the movie. Didn't love this one. 5/10

Faeries (1981): I cannot believe how they pronounce "Niamh" in this. The folklore designs are really cute though. 2/10

Freddie as FR07 (or, Freddie the Frog) (1992): terrible. I should make a video essay about this film because it is batshit insane in like the worst way. Completely not worth your time but I'd love to tell you about it sometime. 0/10

Felidae (1994): what is it about violent cat series that get at me!!!! A gory noir film made about cats solving a series of cat murders? Some of the imagery really was wild here; I loved the nightmare with Mendel and the puppet corpses. Trauma and eugenics and vengeance at the heart of this one too, the villain was without a doubt a monster but you still felt for them anyway. Decently scary and well-paced, a great tribute to the source material. Also, uncomfortable cat sex scene. 7/10

The Last Unicorn (1982): all of my female friends apparently decided to watch this one at the same time, and we all got weirdly emotional about it. To escape a fetishized genocide your body is violated and turned into something that will no longer interest the conquerers. You do not want this change because this is not your body. Every day is a torment knowing that you slip further and further away from what you know you are. Every day you forget more and more of what you used to be. Eventually, you wouldn't want to go back even if you could remember. Even if you are not happy, you are safe. You are alone, all alone with the ghosts that haunt your footsteps. 9/10

The Plague Dogs (1982): GOD ok. These poor things. These poor dogs haunted by pain that they don't deserve -- "I'm a good dog." "I don't think they're doing it because they think you're a bad dog." -- and are just trying to live a good life once they escape their captors. One of them even remembers life before the torture, when he had a comfortable home and love. But now he thinks it's his own fault he's lost it. They wander the wild, hopeless, unloved except by each other, and what can they do? The world is so much bigger than them. Every decision that shapes their lives is out of their hands, and has nothing to do with them. They're cursed by the narrative. They didn't ask for this. They don't even know what they're doing out here, or where they're meant to go; they have no purpose and no reason to keep fighting for their own survival except that it's the only thing they know how to do. You start this life treading water and you end it treading water. The water swallows you all the same. 10/10

Rock a Doodle (1991): Elvis chicken???????? 5/10

Happily Ever After (1989): truly one of the most bizarre films I've ever seen. A sequel to Snow White that quite literally no one asked for and no one saw coming. I am forever haunted by "dwarfelles." I do love the prince's grubby little creature design though, he's so cute! 1/10 for him only.

Once Upon a Forest (1993): I remember so vividly watching this one when I was home sick from school one time. I don't why it stuck with me; it's not very good. 3/10 because cute animal designs

Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland (1989): gorgeous. adorable. such beautiful paintings and incredible character design! there were so many people connected to this project and it's such a labor of love. it has such a ghibli style and feel about it even though that's not technically the studio that produced it! 8/10

I also tracked down some of The Animals of Farthing Wood (1993-1995), but I'd love to watch the whole thing sometime. The Redwall series is also on my list, I loved those books as a kid.

Definitely taking recommendations! Have you seen any weird animated films you need to inflict on others?

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech's Trailer Park - Banishers: Ghosts of New Eden (PS5/XBS/PC)

From the makers of Life is Strange and things that ARE NOT Life is Strange.

[mightntbethebest]

cutely asks you to elaborete on your st oc

Holy fuck I forgot inboxes were a thing, sorry I accidentally ignored this

Song/VIII lore!

Physical description? [Haven't drawn him in a hot minute]

- Song is 32!

- He's 5'8. Shortass.

- Dark brown hair, he's rocking the curly mullet every hillbilly has now.

- Tired, brown eyes,

- Snake bite piercings

- Burn scarred skin from the watchtower.

- Various tattoos, some relating to Sleep.

- Elk horns. Yeah. He just gets progressively more cryptic as his time in Eden goes on.

---

Backstory?

He grew up absolutely in love with nature, hunting, and pretty much every country boy hobby out there. He has a sibling we know as Veris [Who belongs to @that-unfortunate-crow 👍]

Song was a camp counselor in his teenage years, went on to be a park ranger.

When he first started his job, allegedly, a couple of teens thought it would be a grand prank to set fire to the watchtower. The blaze caught Song right in the middle. I like to imagine this was how Sleep found him / How he found Sleep?

During that fire he technically died, but Sleep kept him from fully going into the afterlife.

From there he got caught up in the cult we all know and love, and went missing. [To this day he is still considered a cold case by the Missing 411 foundation.]

Before being taken by Sleep, Song struggled with religion, knowing there was at least a semblance of a god out there.

The source of his name was Vessel. When Song finally woke up and learned where he was, he forgot his name [Luke Hernandez] The first time the two sat down to actually get to know each other, Song was playing the guitar, and Vessel gave VIII his new name.

---

Extra!

He has an American Saddlebred horse named Benny, and a German Sheperd/Boxer mix named Loki. [In honor of our dog, Loki, who recently passed]

Song is absolutely terrified of Ghosts and Demons. He doesn't rock with them devils and spirits.

When he's not dressed like the most basic Texan cowboy out there, he's rocking his navy blue tactical uniform or Park Ranger uniform.

Me and Crow were talkin and came up with the idea that conspiracy/true crime youtubers have done videos on his disappearance, and he doesn't know about them. Veris does, Song doesn't.

[Veris Hernandez is fucking hilarious to me by the way]

His firewatch tower was called Tower Eight, because I'm so funny.