dark as moonwink

CARE NOT HOW THE OLD GRACE GOES

[ajyargal-blog]

Pinned Post!

Welcome to a low activity multi muse with a focus on original characters primarily set in a modern universe. Under permanent HIATUS!

Rules // Full Muse Profiles.

[ajyargal-blog]

Note on Sign Language dialogues

I will use em dashes during dialogue so it's far easier to see and identify when muses like Corvo ( completely mute ) or Isaías ( born Deaf but has cochlear implants ) are talking in sign language as opposed to vocally speaking. Traditionally, especially in books and such, you would write someone speaking through sign language as just another dialogue in quotations without any special means, but I do it in this manner to drive home the fact that they are signing, not vocalizing per say, because not everyone will be familiar with my muses or remember every detail about them.

[ajyargal-blog]

🧶 - Corvo and Silas for polycuteness..

@khasmc​​ // autumn prompts. 🧶 Our muses doing needlework together

[Corvidae] Eyesight struggling to keep pace with Silas’ swift progress, gnarled hands pausing their work of weaving uneven, lumpy rows of what intends to be a hat or a sock one day ( he hasn’t decided ), Corvo simply contents himself with observing a professional’s method at play—appreciation voiced through a hum, quiet and lilting.

Next to the fireplace within the sitting room, balls of yarn, sumptuous wool dyed to pleasant hues, are all combined into an expert pattern, each knot and movement of the needle confident, assurance and experience paving the way towards completion, and Corvo places his hand on Silas’ shoulder, drawing his attention as the touch gentles and rubs a circle over his hunched back. “—Break? I’m going to get more tea—” The motion of his hands remain steady, slow and concise, before he rises from the comfortable couch—spine cracking from a well-needed stretch.

However, as he’s heading towards the small kitchen attached to this level of Kirin’s mansion, Corvo stalls as Silas’ wraps the unfinished scarf around him. Immediately warmed to the bone by the gesture, grateful smile reaching his eyes, he admires the soft texture and the work put into it while nodding with clear approval. “—It’s lovely—” Combing back the long, white strands of Silas’ hair, he leans closer. Presses a kiss over the corner of his mouth with a breathy laugh, beard scratch purposeful as he withdraws to watch the pleased flush rise across Silas’ features.

“—You always do great work. Thank you—”

[ajyargal-blog]

❝ Aw, I love the sound of music. ❞ In avian calls, whistling wind, running water and evening insects. There's always a sound, even in the silence, that Lulubelle hears. Just the same, it's the call of the eagle she turns into a quieter working song as hands weave together ivy into crowns. One such creation finds a place atop the dark brown of Oulen's hair. ❝ Nature always has the best of it. I think I'm much too fond of birdsong. I could listen to it for an eternity and then some. ❞

 @tctidem  //  five senses.

[Altan] Thick with compassion, the trees shield them from the harsh rays of the noontide sun, canopies of former green turned golden and sweet; home to a number of birds small and timid, beautiful and striking as they emerge through melodies each carries between their fluttering wings. Even the golden eagle resting on a make-shift roost returns their calls, her chirps sweet as they are high-pitched—even so, they silence the songs of the much smaller performers for a brief time, and Oulen reaches over to run a gentle knuckle down her feathered neck to soothe. “They are truly wonderful to listen to. It is rare, but sometimes when I close my eyes, I can feel what they’re saying by the tone. Isn’t it magical to think our ways of communication are not so different?”

Gaze lowered, focus returned to weaving strips of leather together, Oulen’s shoulders jump slightly as the weight of greenery settles atop her head, the whisper of each leaf a delicate scrape against hair and skin. “Oh? I hope it’s not too forward to say your hands weave a song of their own, Lulubelle.” Her tongue still fumbles over the foreign consonants, but the warmth of affection is undeniably woven across her intonation, and Oulen adjusts the crown, wind-kissed cheeks adopting a pleased hue. “One could never get tired of seeing you work...” Even more determined to finish her project, calloused fingers nimbly tugging leather knots into a pattern as she hums along to the birdsong, she tidies the last strips of leather with a cut of a bone-hilted knife. Smile proud, presenting the simple leather necklace to her, Oulen leans over to place it around her friend’s slender neck.

Almost swan-like with her grace, Lulubelle doesn’t fail to wear it as she does many things in life; confident and beautiful.

“There! Now we are even.” Giggling, hands reaching over to offer the scrapped pieces of leather as a toy for the golden eagle, she glances up as all the birds take flight with fingers outstretched towards the sky. “I like to think the feeling of appreciation we have to one another is the closest we’ll feel to flight. So, remember to smile more and embrace the sensation of weightlessness when you can, okay?”

[ajyargal-blog]

❝ i can never forget that taste. ❞ @ dorje bc he manages to quell snek man.

 @shadowtongued  //  five senses.

[Abhyasa] Perceiving the earth as round, ever-turning, endless with possibilities, Dorje releases his ebullient mirth freely at the statement—loud enough to disturb the small birds roosting within the monastery canopies. Carefully, patience rewarded once again, the old pot on the stove rattles away with the cha süma brewed to perfection, and grabbing a ladle, a ram’s silver-furred head looking to Sliske with an unmistakable smile, he pours a ladle of the hot, salty yak butter tea into a ceramic bowl for his guest. “It is good tea, then! I am gladdened to hear that you enjoy it so even if it is not made in the traditional way. Sad to say, I lack the way to churn it. Come, come, drink as much as you’d like, friend. The yak’s milk is especially good this time of year, did you know? She has been in a good mood with children coming by and braiding flowers into her mane.” Gesturing out the window with his spoon, directing Sliske’s attention towards the lone yak chewing from the stack of hay ( large form dusted with layers of snow, unbothered by the cold ), one can spot the burst of blooming colors emerging from her shaggy head.

Where the children find such pretty flowers remains a mystery Dorje is content to let be, ever-enjoying the sound of the youths’ voices filling the walls of this sacred place.

“Drink, warm your body, and then tell me of your travels! It has been over many moons since we last spoke.”

[ajyargal-blog]

The face of utter disapproval the kids at his clinic are subjected to when he doesn’t see them wash their hands for at least thirty seconds.

[ajyargal-blog]

❝ you feel warm to me. ❞ - arlo to kojo 'w'

@phantasmaw​  //  five senses.

[Serendipity] Scooting closer, content as they watch the snow covering the backyard from the window of his room, Kojo drapes one end of his hand-stitched quilt over Arlo, laughter quiet and endeared as skin-to-skin contact is established. “Aw c’mon buddy, you’re the one running hotter than a furnace. You gonna say I make you warm on the inside next? Make you all gooey and soft?” Tone teasing, though not immune to his own thoughts as a blush paints a bold color over grinning features, Kojo jostles his weight against Arlo, tail hammering against the cushions while the loveseat groans beneath their combined mass. “Wait, hold on! I just mean it’s nice that you think of me that way, y’know? Any time you just wanna chill out, you’re always welcome to drop by.” Offering himself as a home, a sojourn for Arlo to return to over and over again, Kojo links their hands together, palm to sweaty palm.

“You make me feel warm too. Like a fresh-baked cookie... bro... you’re like, my personal oven. Wait, hold that thought. Can you, if you do that demon-y thing, cook an egg on your arm? We gotta try that.”

[ajyargal-blog]

​❝ i can smell you from here. ❞ ridvan to regis !

 @cansizlar​ //  five senses.

[Mandragora] Vocal cords ruptured with introspection, lungs uncurling from sleep as he breathes in the scent of a curiosity, an unfamiliar bouquet of death and not-decay swelling through the blood as his tongue tastes the forgotten air of old, venerated places ( mosaic, these fragments of history afforded to him remain splintered, flaking away as gold dust each time revelations come to light ), Regis curls his mouth into a facsimile of a smile—fangs hidden—diplomacy rising to the forefront while hands uncurl and fold behind his back. “Pray, forgive my intrusion. I did not wish to disturb you so casually. If I may... your sense of smell is quite extraordinary. An aspect of your erbörü traits, is it not?”

Research gleaned not from texts, as few of those exist with exact accounts of an individual of Ridvan’s make, but instead, from gossip and the exchange of favors commonplace to inhuman aristocracy, Regis cants his head, emerging into the moonlit as the trickle of a nearby fountain masks his footsteps. “Emiel Regis at your service. Now, I have a proposition for you, and it involves a fair deal of questions. You see, I’m compiling my own studies about vampiric dimorphism across the different species, and you, my friend, are quite the marvel.”

[vaememes]

THE    FIVE    SENSES     /      SENTENCE    STARTERS  .

some   may   be   nsfw   and   /   or   be   triggering.   

01    :     TOUCH .

❝ i love this [ FABRIC ], it feels satisfying. ❞

❝ your touch. it leaves me breathless. ❞

❝ your touch is unlike any other. ❞

​❝ have you ever felt anything more comfortable? ❞

❝ feel this. what does it feel like to you? ❞

❝ i wanted to see what it felt like. ❞

​❝ touch it. i dare you. ❞

​❝ you felt ice cold when i touched you. ❞

​❝ you feel warm to me. ❞

​❝ i love the feel of [ FABRIC ] against my skin. ❞

​❝ i love the feel of your skin against mine. ❞

​❝ i would never touch anyone else. ❞

​❝ i love the feel of your hair between each of my fingers. ❞

​❝ don’t you dare touch me. ❞

​❝ i want to feel your lips against my own. ❞

​❝ i can feel your pulse. it jumped. ❞

​❝ let me give you a massage. ❞

❝ you feel like home to me. ❞ 

02     :      TASTE .

❝ i love the taste of you. ❞

❝ i can never forget that taste. ❞

❝ fair warning, it does have a bitter taste. ❞

​❝ no offense, you just aren’t my taste. ❞

❝ can i have a taste of that? ❞

❝ i have yearned for the taste of your lips. ❞

​❝ that tasted pretty good actually. ❞

​❝ it just left a really bad taste in my mouth so no thanks. ❞

​❝ nothing taste better than chocolate. ❞

​❝ i’ve got something you might want to taste. ❞

​❝ i will forever savor that taste. ❞

​❝ blood has such a metallic taste. ❞

​❝ my taste buds are mad at me after eating that. ❞

​❝ how’s it feel to get a taste of your own medicine? ❞

​❝ you didn’t even taste it. ❞

​❝ trust me, you’ll want to taste this. ❞

​❝ i think it has a bit of bitter sweet taste. ❞

❝ so you tasted it, did you like it? ❞

03     :      SIGHT .

❝ i see you. ❞

❝ i’ve never seen things so clearer than i do now. ❞

❝ it’s too dark, i can’t see anything. ❞

​❝ how can you see anything? it’s pitch dark. ❞

❝ i’ve looked close enough and i see you for what you are. ❞

❝ please, just look at me. ❞

​❝ stop staring at me like that. ❞

​❝ get that light out of my face. ❞

​❝ it’s so bright outside today. ❞

​❝ what’s wrong? what did you see? ❞

​❝ you’re scared, you must have saw something. ❞

​❝ what i saw, you’ll never believe me. ❞

​❝ i’ve never seen you before. ❞

​❝ have we seen one another before? ❞

​❝ you see me for what i truly am. ❞

​❝ i didn’t see anything. ❞

​❝ did you see that? ❞

❝ i can’t believe my eyes. ❞

04     :      SOUND .

❝ shhh, i just heard something. ❞

❝ did you hear that? ❞

❝ what is that sound? ❞

​❝ i missed the sound of your voice. ❞

❝ do you hear me? stay away from me. ❞

❝ i hear you, loud and clear. ❞

​❝ i’m sorry, what was that? i didn’t hear you. ❞

​❝ i’ve heard that sound before. ❞

​❝ you didn’t hear anything at all? ❞

​❝ can you hear what they’re saying? ❞

​❝ aw, i love the sound of music. ❞

​❝ i never said i could hear them. ❞

​❝ wait, hear that? something is coming. ❞

​❝ i could hear screams … ❞

​❝ i heard you all the way upstairs. ❞

​❝ you didn’t just hear that? that sound? that noise? ❞

​❝ trust me, you’re going to want to hear this. ❞

❝ please, just hear me out. ❞

05     :      SMELL .

❝ what is that smell? ❞

❝ i have missed your smell. ❞

❝ you smell nice. ❞

​❝ it’s unlike anything i’ve smelled before. ❞

❝ i smell the food cooking from here. ❞

❝ do you smell that? ❞

​❝ how are you able to smell that? ❞

​❝ no offense but it really smells. ❞

​❝ it’s starting to smell. ❞

​❝ tell me, you’ve smelled this before. ❞

​❝ i know that smell, it’s the smell of lies. ❞

​❝ i can smell you from here. ❞

​❝ are you smelling me? ❞

​❝ i missed the smell of your hair. ❞

​❝ i need to step away, get some fresh air. ❞

​❝ do you smell that? that’s the smell of freedom. ❞

​❝ i could never erase your smell. ❞

❝ i can smell the fear on you from here. ❞

[ajyargal-blog]

[ @beyondshadow​ sent: ] “Excuse me,” he says, slowly, after waving the young man over. Partially from habit, partially to ground himself in unfamiliar space, Shikamaru waits for the guy to drop his skateboard, absently taking note of the excessive amount of accessories around his wrists. His own arm gestures around the street, glad in muted casual wear. The afternoon sun winks shyly at them. “Can you... show me a bit places to eat here? I am visiting for a little and I like to know what people here like to eat.”

[Serendipity] A day’s worth of fulfillment gained from performing a single, successful kickflip at the park, wiry tail occasionally wagging from the triumph yet lingering in sun-warmed limbs—each subtle ache and twinge promising a sore morning—Kojo weaves through the well-scoured streets of his city with eyes cast skyward. Occasionally waving at familiar faces, grin toothsome as it is bright with quick greetings interspersed throughout the busy afternoon, he pauses at the crosswalk and scrolls through his playlist, head bumping along to the newly shuffled track.

Noticing someone waving in his peripheral, he looks over while removing an earbud, eyebrows set at a questioning angle as he mouths a ‘me?’. Once confirmed, steps a quick stride over cracked pavement and washed-out chalk drawings of a hopscotch court, Kojo comes to a stop an arm’s length away. A casual wave given before his hands return to the pockets of his puffy jacket, one foot resting on his skateboard, he takes in the stranger’s scent: smoke lingering like camphor ash, some travel-worn musk, and most of all, a clean scent of autumn. Leaves and grass, quiet and subdued underneath a smell he can’t place a name to. Still, it’s nothing worth concern, and grinning, posture relaxed—almost a mirror to the other’s slouch—Kojo rubs at his right ear, fingers playing with the wooden gauge as he considers all the options. “Sure man! There’s a bunch of good eats in this area. We’re pretty close to downtown so if you’re feeling like something in particular I can point out just the place for you. But, if you’re here to get a taste of local greatness, then I got just the thing.”

The wheels of his skateboard create a consistent scraping sound as Kojo rolls it back and forth over the pavement, and—picking it up back up with a flip, looking over at the guy with barely contained excitement, he leads them to his favorite little haunt. “Oh yeah, the name’s Kojo. You in town for work? No offense, but you don’t look the type to go around on a vacation on a whim.” It’s something in the slant his eyes ( hardened, the color of earth stained with something dark ), but Kojo’s just guessing, making light conversation as they turn corners and weave around the busy lunch crowd milling around the streets.

Introductions exchanged, curiosity peaked and expression lit up, Kojo repeats his name with no small degree of amazement. “Shikamaru? No shit you’re from Japan! That’s cool man. My little brother is always talking about visiting there. Like, Mickey watches anime all the time, and when he was younger, he even got one of those ninja headbands for himself. He’s kinda outgrown that, but he’s been taking Japanese language classes for a while now. It’s cool, and...” Trailing off, laughter tinged with embarrassment, Kojo rubs the back of his neck. “My bad. I talk a lot, so just say when and I’ll tone it down a few notches. Don’t wanna be rude, you know?”

This part of the city navigated with ease, their destination just behind a wall blanketed with colorful, striking graffiti, Kojo stretches out his arms to proudly present the tiny building wedged in between a flower shop and a print store—all located in a small shopping center. “They got the best, and I mean the best, tacos in the whole world.” The sign at the window advertised themselves a fusion of Korean-Mexican cuisine and, all-but pushing Shikamaru through the door, Kojo exuberantly greets the girl at the counter by name before taking over an empty table at the corner in an otherwise full restaurant. “What? Did you really think I’d let you eat all by your lonesome? Food always tastes better with company and besides, I’ve been craving their kimchi fries since forever. Alright, I highly suggest the samgyeop-sal tacos,” he adds, thrilled at the prospect of sharing food and conversation ( with a new friend! ) while pointing at the menu items.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, but you like spicy food right? Because all this is super spicy...”

[ajyargal-blog]

:phantombs .

“What? I’m not good enough to smile for?” Nonsense. Absurd. It borders sacrilege, in truth, to think him not good enough for everything big and small both. Criminal, even. The lordly thing squints, and He imagines, how foul? How cruel should be the punishment for a slight this grave? His ringed fingers prod. They catch along the rain-eaten sockets of the marbled lion dog, and its symphony rings in an ominous scratch. Mutts and wild beasts like him… They’re supposed to grow fond, and that heart is sorely, unforgivable lacking. No. The wolf rises off the stone, lazily half-leant. “Tell me what I’m good enough for then. You seem to know.”

[Serendipity] Swaying back and forth at the base of the steps, tail bent bent at an angle, wavering between trepidation and joy with each heartbeat, Kojo rubs the back of his neck. A spring-bud of apprehension blooms somewhere in his chest, squashed down as the night continues to drag on—the full moon hidden behind a veil of clouds, glimpsed briefly as it shines through while the currents herds the drizzling rain elsewhere—and with brows furrowed, Kojo says, “You two always smell alike, but... then you don’t.” It’s the difference between rust and polished steel, their similarities substantial at a distance until one gets close enough to see, to briefly understand before their thumb is bled over the sharp edge of something dangerous.

Still, Kojo smiles. No less genuine because he’s wants to believe in the similarities he still senses, utterly dog-like with his loyalty. “You make me feel like running. In a good way, kind of. Like I can shed what makes me human and forget for a while.” He wonders, briefly, the thought unbidden as the breeze that carries the scent of this enigma straight into his lungs, what His laughter must sound like.

[dizzyallaround]

tenderness

[madeleinejubileesaito]

(light and peace)

1/30

read all 30 days

[ajyargal-blog]

: interxstitial .

uncertainty is a poor look for jiwon. his eyes dart every which way, too nervous to land on any single point for much longer than a few seconds. colour rises in his cheeks like ink blots, uneven, splotchy. he has a nasty habit of nibbling at his lower lip and drawing his shoulders in, as if trying to make himself look smaller. innocuous. not even worth the time of whatever predator is staring him down. it’s not an entirely unfamiliar sentiment, but it is one that has jiwon cringing, embarrassed and ashamed. he shouldn’t be like this, not anymore. years of rehab and therapy were supposed to make him better than this, and now he’s wasting the efforts of everyone who supported him through recovery. stupid, stupid, stupid.

blinking up at taís, jiwon attempts a smile of his own and grips the shoulder strap of his bag to stifle the fidgeting. she’s even taller up close, a healthy handful of centimeters over jiwon, and her voice sounds warmer without the typical clinic noise to muddle it. jiwon half-expects to hear the clink-clink of a weight machine or the inelegant thud of his own body hitting the ground, but all he gets is the click of a lighter and the whistling breeze. taís is pretty, too. devastatingly so. insecurity looks even worse on jiwon when coupled with faded concealer and not-so-purposefully smudged eyeliner. unstyled, dyed blonde hair lays flat on his head, but his fringe, pinned back with an alligator clip, adds some semblance of volume. tiny graces from his few remaining lucky stars, although they’re running on fumes at this point.

“i’m doing all right.” the answer is automatic, but not untrue. all things considered, he could be in a worse state. following taís outside, jiwon burrows his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to shield them from the cold. this morning, the forecast had predicted snow late in the evening, but he’d been in too much of a rush that morning to grab a heavier coat. “um, sure, i like noodles. sorry for kinda showing up out of nowhere. i.. actually wanted to ask you something, too.”

[Aestival] The smoke cleaves through her tongue, the taste acidic and not at all pleasant, but she does feel better once she exhales a lungful of it. Trying to quit is an ordeal, something she’s started and failed at several times so far, but at least she’s reduced the number of smokes she goes through a day by a significant margin. One more puff, and then Taís grinds the end against a pockmarked wall before pocketing the half-finished cigarette for another time. There’s something far important that needs her focus, and while she doesn’t want to pry, Taís so dearly wants to make sure he’ll be alright by the end of the night.

Being professional is no hardship, nor is being polite with colleagues and strangers alike, and—reaching forward, conveying her genuine care by placing a hand on Jiwon’s shoulder, fingers squeezing around him, Taís smiles. “You look cold though, so let’s get to that restaurant. Any conversation worth having is better with food,” she adds, patting him on the arm. “Otherwise, we’ll start eating our own words and that’s not really satisfying.”

Nudging them into action by walking ahead for a few paces, she then turns around, hand outstretched towards him. “Mind holding my hand while we walk there? It’s kind of silly, but I always have this fear that I might trip over myself when it’s getting dark out. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen over in the past.” Admitting it easily, having long accepted that asking for help doesn’t make her any weaker, Taís hopes that this could reduce Jiwon’s diffidence while he’s building up to what it is he wants to say in his quiet, gentle voice—one that’s filled the hallways of the clinic with a musical, pleasant cadence whenever he spoke during prior appointments.

[ajyargal-blog]

[ @beyondshadow​ sent: ] A look, layered with decades of nonchalance and discontent, Shikamaru aimed it without hesitation at Kirin when the man rolled his eyes in response. With a smirk, sardonic, he drew closer, tugged one finger firm around the low dip of his collar and whispered, “Cameras are a little too obvious, don’t ya think?” Despite the curve of amusement to his words, he nonetheless pressed the words to the curve of his mouth, borderline smug with knowing. "You’re far more clever than that, Jindosh. C’mon."

[Profundity] Palm scraped on exposed metal, bleeding instantly—the process of it analyzed without alarm as he sits and stares at the blood spreading over callouses and across intersecting lines that map out the entirety of his life, or so presumed by people who believe in nonsense like fate and destiny. Here, in the domain of his mansion and the intricate laboratories built into its very foundation, Kirin knows his mind is near infinite as the rain itself; thoughts a cascading revelation that will shake the world to the core as history remember his name until the end of time. Yet, as this gash reminds him so pointedly, he is only human. A man of flesh and blood, as well as all the foolish sensibilities that come with having a functional endocrine system.

He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around his palm, staunching the bleeding with delicate, white lace. Finishing the installation without any further interruptions, Kirin closes the panel, marveling at the completion of another brilliant design. It’s arrogant, perhaps, but why shouldn’t he take pride in his ingenuity?

Built out of scraps, of leftover material that would still fetch a ridiculous amount of money from buyers, the mechanical cat powers to life—limbs elegant, full of sweeping angles and baroque accents that bring attention to its emerald bright eyes. Rapidly typing across the keyboard, executing commands and testing the limits of its movements, Kirin observes the cat’s motions as it walks around; left, right, forward, backward. Pleased at how it’s automatically using its tail for added balance, he installs the rest of the A.I software into it before letting it leap off the table.

The perfect solution for the irritating critters taking up residence in his basement skirts past Shikamaru, and Kirin grins, expression turning sublime at how bewildered his guest looks for a single instant.

Swiveling on his leather chair as Shikamaru approaches and situates himself across his ornate table amidst half-drawn blueprints and scattered components like he’s always fit in there—akin to some puzzle piece that has a habit of going missing over and over before turning up at its own leisure—Kirin leans back, one leg crossed at the knee as he rolls his eyes. “The point of a camera is for the subject to know he’s being filmed, Shikamaru,” he replies wryly, and curls his uninjured palm over the swell of Shikamaru’s thigh. Silent for a moment, exhaling quietly as fingers dip and trace the curve of his clavicle, Kirin doesn’t look away, refusing to admit defeat in this little contest of theirs (one that rarely has victors, only stalemates). “It wouldn’t be much of a performance without that, now would it?”

And what a performance it was! He could admit he sat there, absolutely riveted to the scene in the large bath, and delighted in the knowledge that it was all purposeful, calculated down to every little sound and motion as Shikamaru stared at the wall, winking back at the camera that blinks with a perpetual red light.

“If you truly had a problem with it, then you could have dealt with it as Corvo does. That man has no issue whatsoever about breaking many of my things.” Tone edging towards fondness, terribly so as he spoke of the older individual in their agreement, Kirin guides his finger across the seam of Shikamaru’s pants. “Or, by some possibility, are you here to give me a more direct demonstration of what you did earlier? I wouldn’t mind the distraction, dear.” Mocking, laughter spoken through the angle of his sneering mouth, he waits with great expectation, and—

And is not at all dissatisfied by the results.

[ajyargal-blog]

: yeousun .

it  could  be,  she  thinks,  it  could  be  so  easy.  to  her,  it  is  as  uncomplicated  as  it  sounds,  but  sungji,  perhaps,  lives  a  different  life  than  most.  it’s  not  a  flat  out  refusal,  though,  &  she  is  grateful  for  that.  hopeful,  even.  she  watches  her  face  carefully,  delicately.  watches  as  her  gaze  drifts  dreamy  at  the  trees.  ❛ there is no rush. ❜  she  murmurs,  taking  a  final,  coveted  sip  of  the  sweet  nectar  before  crumbling  the  paper  in  her  fingertips  &  depositing  it  in  the  nearest  garbage  can.

she’s  lead  again,  as  always,  &  willingly  so,  she  follows  taís  towards  the  swingset  without  so  much  as  a  second  of  hesitation.  her  legs  are  far  less  springy,  however,  &  she  does  her  best  to  keep  up  with  her  companions  hastened  pace.  ❛ i do. ❜  she  breathes,  catching  herself  on  the  chains  of  the  swing  before  settling  into  her  own  swing  seat  next  to  her.  she  digs  her  boots  into  the  slush  to  kickstart  her  flight,  swinging  lazily  at  the  base  as  she  catches  her  breath.  

❛ back in seoul. an older brother, although he was more like a father. he’s married, happily. my sister in law is great, just like a sister…  they’re expecting, i’m happy for them. ❜  her  tone  grows  soft  with  affection  as  she  turns  her  gaze  on  taís.  she’s  keeps  at  her  languid  pace,  half  sitting,  half  swinging,  all  hazy  &  bright  as  she  smiles  across  at  the  other.  ❛ what about you? ❜

[Asetival] Feet planted on the ground, hands wrapped around the frigid chains, Taís swings back and forth in gentle increments; attention undivided while listening to Sungji speak. After a minute, then two, she folds her hands between her thighs to warm them up again. “Really? That’s wonderful news! I know you’re going to be one of those aunts that spoils the kids rotten whenever you’re in town,” Tais teases, meaning every word of it. It’s hard not to imagine Sungji walking through the door, arms full of toys and shiny gifts for the baby. “Do they know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Though, it must be hard to be away from family throughout the year, she thinks.

Perking up visibly at the question, she pulls out her phone and taps in the passcode before quickly sorting through her gallery—snippets of food pictures, scenery shots, and many selfies taken with her patients’ grinning faces scrolling by as her thumb glides across the screen. “That’s my younger brother, Isaías. Don’t let the grumpy face fool you, he’s a real sweetheart.” Showing her the picture of her sibling, intonation full of pride and familial love, she flicks to another picture of him bowing while in his white judo uniform. “I don’t think I would’ve gotten through my recovery if it weren’t for him. Which also reminds me!”

The calendar date double-checked, Taís turns to her with a hopeful smile. “If you’re free during the New Years, do you wanna come by our home? If you’re busy that day then it’s completely understandable, but I wanted to extend the invitation just in case.”

[katkat-to]

ghosts, when examined, are just withered flowers

this was my dtiys entry for @cloudyzan over at Instagram that i painted last month. .

. i’m also at instagram (@katkat.to) and deviantart (@katkat-to)