red mailbox

3 a.m. coffee

◦ pairing: oc x yoongi

◦ rating: m

◦ word count: 4.6k

◦ a/n: This one is a request for @cactussuga - SANI I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK LITERALLY 9458760984091038746 YEARS. 

m a s t e r l i s t


A violent tension had made itself comfortable at home. It was so present I could almost see it: leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with a satisfied grin. It never failed to make me shrink into my bedroom, my fingers always lingering on the pane of the window, waiting for the cue to throw it open. What used to be filled with happy memories, my home grew to become a mere skeleton. It was just another building, with four walls, some windows, a door. The warmth of the child who lived here with her loving parents had grown cold. How could it not? When a strange man had come in through the front door and left just as quickly, the warmth escaped with him. His nightly visits in the absence of my father brought an unpleasant chill to the floorboards, a shiver through the picture frames on the walls. I had only been in high school when the unthinkable sounds cooed from my parents’ bedroom. Nowadays, it was filled with the sound of yelling.

I always wondered what had kept them together after all of that. It certainly wasn’t love. It couldn’t have been. They shrunk away from each other’s touch. My father slept on the couch. There was never coffee already set out in my mother’s favorite mug before she left for work. The days seemed to grow longer as vulgar names and shrill protests dragged out the miserable seconds of living in this house. My door was always locked now, shut tight, so their voices could not get in. So no one could get in.

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كلَّما قبلتك 
بَعد طُول إِفتراق
أشعُر أنّني 
أضَع رِسالة حُب مُستعجلة
ْفِي علبة بَريد حمراء.
Every time I kiss you
After a long separation
I feel
I am putting a hurried love letter
In a red mailbox.
—  Nizar Qabbani.

the end of Izetta is so good tho? It’s so GOOD

letting Iz survive but still carry the scars of everything she’s been through. Not undoing the damage but still showing her happy at the end 

that last scene has such a sense of peace and permanence. It’s so solid, the house built at the edge of the pond where they met, the future anchored in a past that has survived so much- Lotte and Dorothee and the red mailbox and the casual way Finé walks up the path. Its just another normal day, long after everything has settled

they had good moments before then but that’s all they were, moments that came and went, enjoyed in spite of how short they could be instead of with the hope that they might last

after all that, it’s so great that their life together is just getting started

and that things are seen to be good, happy, wonderful even though the war has left it’s marks on Iz

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Halloween 2016 #4: Marked

Length: Super long

I’d never liked Halloween, not even when I was a kid. My parents didn’t have much money and all of my costumes were handmade by my well meaning, but creatively challenged mother. She tried so hard and would look so proud whenever I tried on her creations that I didn’t have the heart to tell her it looked like it had been cobbled together by a blind person who was learning to sew with their feet.

After years of crooked-eyed ghosts made out of old bedsheets, attempts at various superheroes (using those same bedsheets as capes clothes pinned at the neck), and all the teasing that came with them, I officially retired from Halloween at the embittered age of twelve. No amount of free candy was worth the cruelty of my classmates at the annual school parade. I wrote it off as Ruined Forever and could never shake the bad taste it left in the back of my throat.

Even as I got older, my dislike for the holiday remained. I’d attend a party or two when invited, although never in costume, but I refused to put up decorations, made no attempts to spook friends or family, and I never took any part in trick or treating. I kept my outside lights off, my door closed, and any chocolate that happened to be in the house went straight into my belly. I was the Scrooge of All Hallows’ Eve.

So when my alarm went off on the 31st of October and the first thing I heard was the radio host wishing me a happy Halloween over the opening notes of Thriller, I groaned, long and loud. The thought of my workplace being awash with costumed coworkers encouraging me to “get into the spirit” was almost enough to make me call out, but I didn’t have much vacation time saved up and spending what I did have to avoid a few rubber spiders and plastic cauldrons filled with candy corn seemed wasteful.

I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on the same old suit and tie combo I’d wear any other day of the year. If anyone asked what I was supposed to be, I’d just tell them I was a corporate drone programmed to sell insurance. That usually got a short chuckle and the questioner off my back for a while. With a fresh brewed travel mug of pumpkin spice coffee in hand (one of the few good things to come out of the season), I grabbed my briefcase and trudged out the front door.

As I started to back out of my driveway, I happened to catch a glance of my mailbox over my shoulder.

“Oh, God damnit!” I snapped, slapping my palm against the top of my steering wheel.

I slammed on my brakes, put the car into park, and got out to get a better look. Someone, probably a teen with a bit too much Halloween cheer, had painted a big inverted cross in red on both sides of the mailbox.

“How freaking edgy.” I muttered, running a finger across the paint. It was dry and I figured it must have been done in the middle of the night.

“You shouldn’t open the door tonight.”

I jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected suggestion from across the road. A young girl, maybe thirteen and already in costume, was standing on the curb, her thumbs hooked in the straps of her backpack. She was dressed in a private school uniform, the shirt and skirt of which had been splashed with fake blood and ripped in places. Someone had spent a lot of time perfecting her makeup, giving her a convincing set of slash marks across one side of her face. Her “torn” cheek even seemed to glisten wetly. Childhood me would have been so jealous.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” I replied and dismissed her.

“Not for anyone.” She said gravely, “They can come out tonight.”

I sighed and climbed back into my car. It was way too early for such shenanigans. I hoped scrubbing that paint off the mailbox wouldn’t prove difficult. Would it scratch the box itself if I used a hard bristled brush? I didn’t want it to rust. As I pulled into the road, I noticed the girl was still standing there, watching me.

“Don’t open the door!” She called after me as I drove off, “They can come out tonight! They’ll find you! You’ve been marked!”

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cupcakeblake  asked:

i've been obsessed with urban modern witch aesthetic lately and i would love a drabble with that! jily or bellarke... doesnt matter for all i care! thanks <3

here’s some witch lily for ya <3

ao3

In hindsight, James will admit that there were probably a number of other ways- better ways- to have gone about asking the girl for help, but he’s been watching, waiting, for quite sometime now, nervous energy buzzing underneath his skin like a thousand ants until she walks in.

“You’re the village witch, right?” he ended up blurting out over the counter, and they both freeze.

She turns around, ever so slowly, eyes dark green and dangerous and he swallows heavily. This is it, he thinks, she’s going to turn me into a toad.

The woman- girl, he now realises with a start- slinks over, slow and graceful, and though she stands nearly a foot shorter than him, he can’t help but take a step back, clipping his elbow on the espresso machine.

She looks nothing like the what he expected the village witch to look like, no warts or hooked nose, instead her skin fair and creamy, with dark red hair that looks like it was kissed by hellfire itself, glittering copper in the dim lights of the coffeeshop, dotted with sprigs of holly and mistletoe even though it’s just barely fall.

She’s beautiful in a deadly sort of way.

“Who told you that?” she asks, a voice like the wind that rattles wind chimes and blows of roofs at the same time.

Despite the fear he feels tracing down the line of his spine, James steels himself and says, “I hear things. A witch on the hill, hidden by brambles and briar bushes and perhaps something a bit more sinister.”

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Dear Luke Part 3 (Luke Imagine)

Part One. Part Two. Requested by Anonymous. Masterlist.

Dear Luke,
Hey loverboy, how’s the other side of the world? I’m holding down the home fort for you, but I’ve got to say, these sheets aren’t the same without you in them.
Thanks for the impromptu trip home to see me. Would it be cheesy to say that my new favourite memory is sitting up with you until four in the morning talking? The answer is yes, it would definitely be cheesy. There were tears and then there was laughter and I think that’s beautiful. Okay. This is getting too cheesy even for me, and I happen to love cheese.
Told my mum that I’m dating a rockstar and she goes, “You’re welcome.” I forgot that she’s the reason I even wrote to you in the first place! Also I hate the phrase “dating a rockstar”. What is this, a soap opera? Nah, just my life.
To the point: I miss you. A lot. And you only left four days ago. What can I say, I’m the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. Sometimes it’s like I can feel the shadow of your lips on my forehead. I can’t wait until you come home for a few months and I get to hold your hand forever.
Yours,
Y/N

Dear Y/N,
Am I the luckiest guy on the planet? Yes. Yes I am. I reckon a lot of guys wouldn’t care for this whole letter-writing thing when texting and nudes are things, but one thing you and I have in common: we both love cheese. Honestly, though: send nudes. Probably not through the mail, that’s definitely dangerous. I wonder if old people used to send nudes in the olden days…
Wait, what was I talking about? Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway, this whole travelling the world thing is cool and all, but remind me again why you didn’t want to join me? Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s a valid question.
I would have to agree with you about your favourite memory, as it’s also now my favourite. What did we even talk about for that long? All I remember is like… how soft your skin is. When do I get to feel your soft skin again?
Please keep calling me your “rockstar boyfriend,” as it gives me a nice confidence boost, not to mention the fact that it’s very nice to be called “yours”. Also please see the enclosed photo of the two of us. You’re the one with the sunglasses. Look how hot you look. Did I mention how lucky I am?
Okay. I’ll say it. I’m pretty damn happy too. There are so many things to be happy about. Life can’t get any better than this, but I do miss you a lot.
Yours,
Luke

Dear Luke,
Got a call from your mum late last night and as soon as I answered, I knew something was wrong. I hopped on the first flight out and now I’m here with you. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You look so small in this hospital room, which is quite a feat for you. All of those tubes all over you, tangled like your bedsheets at home. I cried for the entire day. The other guys are trying to be strong too, but when they excuse themselves to the restroom, they return with puffy eyes.
People keep tossing around words like “trauma” and “long-term” and “irriversible” but that’s insane. You’re Luke. You can’t leave me as soon as things were finally getting good for us.
Please wake up. I miss you.
Yours,
Y/N

Dear Luke,
It’s crazy how fast life can change. From a million miles an hour to a snail’s pace, just like that. All any of us are thinking is: Where were you going that day, all alone? I talked to my mum on the phone yesterday and it finally made it real. Saying those words. “Luke got hit by a car and now he’s in a coma.” Sounds like some kind of sick joke. But the wallpaper in this hospital room is already way too familiar for this to be a dream. About half the time, I’m crying. You’d think I would have run out of tears by now. If you were awake, you’d wipe the tears from my cheeks and stare at them, wet on your fingertips, before finally observing, “You’ve sprung a leak.” and I’d laugh. It’s so strange to place my hand in yours and not feel your grip.
The doctors all say that reading these letters out loud to you are supposed to help. I don’t know what those magic words to say will be, though.
Yours,
Y/N

Dear Luke,
I’ve hugged more people in the past seventy-two hours than I have in my entire life. We all keep clutching each other because we’re afraid of letting go. They sent out the press release yesterday, and the consensus is all the same: the odds are against us. They’re against you. It’s no use arguing with the doctors. They are the professionals. But the idea that you’ll never wake up - it’s too absurd to even think about.
I know we haven’t been together long, but sitting in this hospital has given me a lot of time to think. I have thoughts of a pretty house with a wrap-around porch and a little red mailbox. I think about how that glint in your eye would make me feel if you ever got down on one knee. I wonder how you would style your hair for our wedding, and then I laugh, because I should be the one concerned about wedding hair, right? And I think a lot about how it would feel to carry your child. About watching a little miniature you grow up, blue eyes glinting in the sun as you teach him to play guitar.
It’s so ridiculous to have all of these thoughts when you haven’t even so much as moved yet. The only improvement you’ve made is that you can breathe on your own. The doctors say you may never play guitar again. I’m just so sad, Luke. I miss you so much.
Yours,
Y/N

Dear Luke,
So, the return to normalcy is beginning. After two weeks, I’m finally back home. I thought I was done crying, but when I walked into my bedroom, all I could see was you, sitting cross-legged on my bed, holding my hands and telling me that everything has a way of working out. Does it, Luke? Does it really?
My first day back at school was rough. It’s hard to focus on a lecture about gothic fiction when my only thoughts are about you. I get so anxious, always worried that you’ll take a turn for the worse while I’m in class. Most days I don’t even want to go to class. But what would you say? You’d cross your arms over your chest and say, “One of us is going to have to have a real job when this whole music thing falls through.” And I’d try not to laugh while thinking, I may love this boy.
I’ve asked one of the nurses to read my letters to you. I hope you wake up soon. I hope that someday, I’ll get to see you in my bed again.
Forever yours,
Y/N

Dear Y/N,
Well first off you’re gonna have to excuse my handwriting. My hand’s actually broken, as your probably know, so I’ve asked Ashton to transcribe for me. He’s a good bloke, Ashton, but his handwriting is terrible.
Anyway, onto the main point: I’m alive! Yeah, when I woke up, everybody immediately started screaming and crying and I was so shocked I almost passed out again. That would have been funny, eh? So all of these doctors came in and explained what happened and I just nodded my head real polite, but honestly I didn’t understand much of it. The gist: I got hit by a car and basically my head exploded! And I broke like every bone in my body. I was like, “It doesn’t feel like I broke every bone in my body.” But then I tried to move and let me tell you, you only make that mistake once.
So pretty much the first thing I noticed was that you weren’t around. Thought maybe you were just in the bathroom or something because no way were you not here, crying over my lifeless body. But you’re right, you should be at school. Everybody’s real optimistic, saying that I’ll definitely make a full recovery, but you never know!!!
And thanks for all of your letters. Honestly, I didn’t hear anything at all when I was out or whatever, but it was a nice thing to wake up to. I’m not ashamed to say I cried, especially at the bits where you talked about crying. I can’t believe how much pain I’ve caused you.
My favourite one was the one about a red mailbox a little boy with my eyes. Yeah. I liked that one a lot.
Let me tell you a secret. A lot of people have been asking me where I was headed that day when I got hit. I was actually on my way to a small shop where I planned to buy a guitar and ship it to you so you could finally learn to play that Fleetwood Mac song you love. I told you I’m cheesy. And this is also the point in the letter where you can’t blame yourself for what happened. It’s nobody’s fault but the driver’s, and he’s in a jail cell now. Don’t you ever feel guilty, darling.
Ashton’s complaining about his hand cramping, so I’ve got to wrap this up. I miss you tons, and when I’m able to get out of here, you bet I’ll be home. I fully intend to be in your bed as soon as possible. In the meantime, send nudes. Kidding. Sort of. Can’t wait to kiss you and stare longingly into your eyes, because I’m cheesy like that.
Oh, and one more thing: I think I may love you as well.
Yours,
Luke

Regarding that one "What if Frisk stayed dead" ask

annoying-fox submitted:
First of all, I’d like to say that the askbox’s character limit is stupid. That being said, I hope you don’t mind a short text wall.

Anyway, I think I figured it out. Chances are, Frisk wasn’t the first kid to die under Chara’s care. So, their reaction might have been along the lines of “Oh dear… Kid made a mistake, let’s try that again.” when Frisk died. Now, being an adult, Chara probably has more Determination (or at least more experience with it) than Frisk, thus being able to Save, Load and Reset for them, for now, if needed. This lead to Chara Loading to a time when Frisk would still be alive. Frisk, being another Red-soul, would naturally keep their whole memory of the events (minus the loading process) whereas the other souls, if any, would have forgotten almost everything. Essentially, Chara’s helping them get used to life in the underground through this, by getting them to learn from their mistakes, even ones that actually killed them. Eventually (unless Chara ends up leaving the Ruins with the kid) they’ll have to teach Frisk about the save points so they can do more things on their own from then on.

Now, I’m basing this on almost nothing, so I could very well be dead-wrong about a lot of this, and that’s fine. I just wrote what felt right!


Thank you so much for your theory! I’m so glad that you refused to be limited by the ask box and sent this as a submission. It’s a great read!

Once again, while we can’t confirm/deny anything outright because of spoilers, I can’t help but offer you a little bit of feedback. ^^ While this AU is canon divergent, there are some game theories that we subscribe to that molds its structure. If you want to get inside our heads, these might be of interest to you:

[ All humans could save and reload ]
[ The red soul ]

Stories, bills, feelings… 

everything goes in here and gets delivered to people. Often unexpected we open our mailbox at home and receive a nice letter or a postcard from a friend. 
This is, why I really like these old fashioned mailboxes, which you can still find at many corners across the UK. It is such a nice feeling to put your mail in here and giving it a total nostalgic touch, isn’t it? 

London, UK, 2009, Canon EOS 1000 F, Kodak Film.

Shining Diamond Seoul Concert Red Mailbox Event Winner Letter

To. ___
I received your letter.
You said you have poor handwriting but you wrote it prettily!!
I think rather than I lead the kids well, it’s the kids that follow me well so I comfortably do it as their leader ^‿^
You’re also very good at words in your letter! I want to be like that.
Somewhere we will see each other again so please always stay with us.
My love is all yours♡

-S.COUPS-

(T/N: the sender wrote “my bank account is all yours♡”, hence the reply lol)

cr: only1eshu / trans: wonlywoo / take out with full credits.

speculation compilation #32

Frisk tried to FLEE, FIGHT, and ACT / Talk. Chara remains steadfast.

Never leave HOME without your all purpose murder knife.

Frisk has not taken martial arts. But they were in Little League!

Unlike Frisk’s yellow eyes, Chara’s red eyes are merely a stylistic choice. The intent is that Chara gets a certain “look” in their eye that catches the light in a particularly foreboding way. Making them look red in these instances was a natural choice since it references the soulless pacifist ending of Undertale. However, in this story Chara’s eyes are naturally brown. One could attribute the red to representing the red soul, hope, or LOVE, but honestly it’s one of the few things added just to look awesome. ;)

Wha? This isn’t a theory!

Dang, that’s a lot of LOVE!

Official Caretaker fic can be read here. )