Tumgir
#winter letters
lemonadeandlanguages · 2 months ago
Text
While everyone is here suggesting other epistolary novels to have emailed, I'd like to suggest Winter Letters by Agustin Fernández Paz. It would be much shorter than Dracula (i think it's just a few weeks maybe?) but it's really good and creepy and not enough ppl know about it imo
Edit: I just realized that since the book isn't out of copyright it wouldn't be possible but I still highly recommend reading it!!
20 notes · View notes
slavicafire · 11 months ago
Note
Hello I’ve seen you post certain quotes from letters of summer past, do u know where I could read the entire book or poem? I’ve been trying to look for it everywhere. Thank you.
hello, letters of summer past and winter letters are collections of my personal correspondence - the snippets of which I post here from time to time in rather dramatic fits of emotional exhibitionism.
but thank you, I'm really touched that you like them!
13 notes · View notes
lilithsorchid · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
“Time that doesn’t move, time that couldn’t be called time.”
-‘The Goldfinch’ by Donna Tartt, page 858
1K notes · View notes
rainycabride · a year ago
Text
old vinyls or old books? fairies or mermaids? disney or ghibli films? croissants or baguettes? love letters or mixtapes? little women or pride and prejudice? art history or astrology? lorde or taylor swift? spring or winter? vanilla or lavender?
3K notes · View notes
dark-romantics · 10 months ago
Text
Cuddling next to someone on a cold breezy night is a love language
538 notes · View notes
firstfullmoon · 7 months ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Allison Titus, “Inclement”
[text ID: Snow and after, each bidding / and restlessness turns the goat’s heart / fallow: long hours of ice and bluster: / asymmetry of wind. / Say every goat has in its heart / a field, and each field, a goat: / the slumber of muscle and grass / is still a different elegy. Every / heart writes a different letter / of winter to its cold. / Icicles on sheet / metal, bucket frozen in the well. / Once there was no language / for the weather, just    The sky is low and birdless; / or The sky is a box of wings.]
318 notes · View notes
three-course-dessert · a year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Hi it's 2021 and I just read Not Easily Conquered for the first time and it made me so crazy I had to make graphics about it until I calmed down.
818 notes · View notes
clairaclarvoyant · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
🧺🩰🧸
164 notes · View notes
cherlosity · 8 months ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Part 3 (end?)
Commissions are OPEN
244 notes · View notes
therepublicofletters · a year ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
7.2.2021 || First full day back on campus, a little snow and writing letters
🖋 TWSBI Eco Golden Horse EF + Robert Oster Rose Gilt Tynte
1K notes · View notes
slavicafire · 3 years ago
Text
"My heart now is a nest of birds that left for winter"
- from Winter Letters (Listy Zimowe)
66 notes · View notes
ciinnamonbunn · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
122 notes · View notes
yekoc · 8 months ago
Note
So how does reproduction work in Nunnery AU? Does Max get pressured by her husband and her family to produce an heir and nobody has the guts to tell her geriatric husband that he's way too old to get her pregnant. But then Daniel knocks her up after only a couple attempts and it's kinda convenient because now people are off her back but also not convenient at all because what if anyone finds out it's not her husband's kid? Does the husband then maybe mysteriously die? Preggo Max in all AUs ftw
okay wow the timing of this ask just as i was discussing this EXACT thing at length both with @moonrver and with @baking-soda and @veryspecificfantasies... long story short reproduction works normally and, in max's case, too well. after a few stolen, frantic visits with daniel, max realizes that she's pregnant.
this was not on purpose. she didn't--she wasn't thinking about it. all she was thinking about whenever she had him was how much she wanted him; he tried to be careful, to slow things down, but she would never let him. she felt desperate for him all the time. each time, she wanted to burn the feeling of him into herself, to keep it with her during the long months that he was gone again.
and now--she's not bleeding when she should be, when she always does, and she's sick in the mornings, and when her maid tentatively asks if lady max might be, well, with child--max realizes that she is. and that of course it's daniel's; she's gotten good at evading her husband's touch, and he's so old he doesn't try much anyhow, anymore.
but now she starts to put the pieces together and she realizes that she'll have to--have to make him think that it's his. she has to do it, for herself but mostly for the child, for daniel's child, so that they'll be safe. so she gathers herself and goes to her husband who she hates and loathes, to his bed. and the whole time she closes her eyes and tries to go somewhere else, to her memories of daniel. riding with him out in the fields and the woods, the sound of his warm laughter, the way he looks at her. clings to that until it's over.
and max thinks that that was the worst part, that it's over now, but then the war starts. and instead of visiting her castle the way he does every few months, daniel goes off to fight. she never has a chance to see him or to tell him. all she can do is fear for him, cling to every scrap of news she gets from her husband's discarded letters, while her belly grows and the child starts to kick and move inside of her.
the birth is long and painful and scary, but at the end of it he's there--her son. daniel's son. their son. he has masses of dark hair, curling a little, and blue eyes, and he's screaming with life. max loves him. she insists on nursing him herself, sends the wet nurse away; he's hers. she looks at him and strokes his hair with a careful finger and even though it's too dangerous, she has to--she wants. daniel to know about him.
the letter is careful.
dear sir daniel, i write on behalf of my husband to thank you for your visit of nine months ago. it is always a great pleasure to have you on our lands. i think of it often. since you have come, i have been only recently delivered of a son: a lusty blue-eyed boy. the midwives remarked on his head of dark curly hair. he is learning to smile already, i believe, although his nurse says he is too young to know it. perhaps next time you are here for the hunt, you will meet him. regards--lady max.
she sends it, and the war goes on. men die in war all the time. she's afraid, always, and in love with their son; she nurses him and kisses his forehead and tells him about his brave father and cries. all the servants whisper sadly about lady max, married so young to a cruel man, and now melancholy all the time.
the news about the battle comes over breakfast one day. king seb's forces routed in the city of -------, with half the field felled. the war's not over yet, but for max the world is: she knows that daniel was with those forces, that he'd be out in the front of any battle, brave and stupid. it's not worth hoping. she goes to her rooms and holds their son and weeps and then she sobs, because she loved daniel and she never had enough of him--not close, not anything close--and it isn't fair. it was never fair.
her son is the only thing that matters now, in the world. she's not even recovered enough to ride a horse yet; so she stays with him up in her room in her tower, singing little songs to him, watching him yawn and chew at his chubby fist and kick his feet, nursing him and stroking the hair that's still so much like his father's; that hasn't changed at all the way all the nurses said that baby's hair would.
it's one day when's he's falling clumsily to sleep at her breast that she looks out of the window, across the long lawns where she used to ride sometimes with daniel, when he came. and in the distance she sees a horse and rider; they get closer. there's an aching familiarity to them. she can feel her heart beat pick up, her hands grow sweaty on the baby. the rider's colors are visible, his coat of arms, his dark hair. it's daniel. and max wraps the baby up and flies with him out of the tower and to the castle walls, leans over them, it can't be-- it can't-- but it is. it's daniel. and he looks up and sees her, and the sun comes out.
and then-- and then -- max has to greet him on her husband's arm, distant and formal, the lady of the castle. the baby is with his nurse, as a child should be. there's a long dinner. daniel's come to ask for quarter for king seb's troops, as they regroup. he came ahead; the army is a few days behind him, because he knew the lord of the castle was a generous man and loyal to his king. he says all of this to her husband, as max looks at her plate and cuts her meat and can't swallow it. everything inside her is bursting open. she can feel daniel, half the table away, as though he's beside her, hot and alive and touching her. his eyes on her, dark with longing. she has a headache. she must retire to her rooms--she's sorry. a tight smile, and then she goes.
she gets her son from his nurse; he will sleep with her tonight, it's alright. dismisses her maids for the evening. nurses the baby, puts him to bed in the cradle, and brushes her hair out with trembling fingers; and then she hears it--daniel's familiar knock, the tap-tap-tap that's their signal. and when she opens the door, he's there, in front of her, and she still can't touch him until he's in her chambers and the door is shut again. her trembling hands on the latch, in the firelight.
and then she can turn to him and he's there, wrapping her up, his hands fierce and tangled in her hair, his mouth crushed to hers. grabbing at him, clutching for skin, for warmth, for proof that it's him, here, alive, new scars and all. it's minutes before either of them can speak at all, and when they can all they can say is their names -- max, max. max. sweetheart. daniel.
did you--max says, finally. did you get my letter. and daniel just nods. your child, he says. max. and max says, your son. do you want to meet him?
daniel does. max brings him from the cradle and puts him in daniel's arms and daniel weeps quietly. the baby blinks up at him sleepily, and daniel touches his face in awe, and max says, that's your father. i've told you all about him. to daniel, she says, his name is joseph. i told them it was from the bible. and daniel cries more, and kisses his forehead, and then joseph starts to cry and max laughs and says, he's always hungry.
she feeds him by the fire, dress around her waist, unselfconscious. daniel kneels by her side, buries his face in her thigh, and she tangles her free hand in his hair. he turns his face enough to look at her--at them--bathed in the firelight; the baby's perfect feet, max's lovely body, changed slightly now. daniel can't believe he missed it, all of it; she bore his child. she grew him, and had him, and now he's here. and she is too. she could have died. daniel's fingers tighten in her skirts, thinking of it, and he wants to sob again but there's not enough time for that--to waste it in regrets.
instead, he says, tell me all of it--from the beginning, max. everything about him. and max smiles down at him and starts to tell it. she doesn't want to lie. she tries to make the story about what she had to do into something funny--tricking her husband, pulling the wool over her eyes--but it doesn't come out that way. she--i thought of you, she says. the whole time. i missed you. and then daniel's kissing her and apologizing, and telling her that she's brave and wonderful and clever and he's so sorry, he's so so sorry, he loves her. he doesn't deserve her.
max doesn't want to talk about it anymore. she wants daniel; suddenly and fiercely. she needs him; to remember it, for his touch to erase everything else. she puts the sleeping baby in the cradle and then she turns to daniel, that stubbornness that he loves on every line of her face, and he tumbles her into the bed. he pauses, leaning over her, to brush her hair away from her face; to look at her body, her corset still off, the spill of her full breasts. he kisses down her chest, looking up at her again and again; the rough scratch of his beard, his mouth on her milky skin. he groans with it, the taste, her ripe body; as frantic as she is.
he makes her come with his mouth, tries to stay buried there until max pulls him up again, insistent, demanding. but when he's finally buried inside her she feels her face hot with tears, and daniel says sweetheart--max, is it hurting you, i'll stop--and she says, terrified, no. it's just that i thought you were--i thought i'd never--that you'd never, again, and he's kissing her and saying max, i'm here, i love you. i love you. i'm right here.
so fuck me, she says, shoving at him, and finally daniel laughs, and then max is laughing too, through her tears, and he does, and she comes again, his mouth against hers to capture the wild sound of it, her fingers digging scratches into his sides. he looks at them, after, brow raised critically -- i thought i'd collected enough new scars by now, but i guess you had to leave a few of your own, maxy. and she laughs into his shoulder as he strokes her hair.
the baby wakes, then, and max feeds him again as they lie in bed together, daniel counting his toes, watching fascinated at the way he drinks greedily. always hungry. his son. thank you, he says to max. for him; for the gift of both of you.
max blushes. she can't say anything back except to ask daniel, tentatively, how long he can stay for this time. just a few more days, he says. and then he'll have to leave again, with the troops. but the war--the tide is turning, max. they'll win. it'll end, and he'll come back, and he will come to her. always.
bring some stories, max says, swallowing the aching lump in her throat. for him. good ones.
i promise, daniel says. i promise i will. and he kisses the baby's toes, and max's arm, and her shoulder and her neck and then her mouth, and then he watches them--his family--for all the hours he has left.
89 notes · View notes
tegami-bachi-letter-bee · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
39 notes · View notes
hedonisticallypretentious · a month ago
Text
Tumblr media
Picture from Pinterest. Credit goes to rightful owner.
25 notes · View notes
ninak803 · a month ago
Text
Letters (XIX)
I am baaaack! This is a long one. I hope you like it. I really hate me for using roman numerals.
@whataboutmyfries I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm not sure if you know but I love you.
These lovely idiots beelong to @lumosinlove
Dear Kasey,
How could you forget that I tend to create chaos? That’s basically one of my best character traits and you kept complaining every single time we shared a room. Remember the two weeks when we lived together because there needed to be some renovations done at your place? You always tripped over my bag. Every single day. And then you would complain that the bag’s not supposed to be there. I have to admit, I put my bag in your way on purpose at least once. It was fun to watch. You looked annoyed and grumpy but also some kind of happy? I don’t know how to describe it, but I liked it. I liked having you around. Why didn’t we share an apartment? I think we should’ve done that.
I totally get that. Family can be a lot. I love my family and I love that I’m so close and can see them whenever I want (usually) but I’m also happy to go back to my silent apartment and just be alone without anyone popping in and asking questions or in need of something. So, don’t feel bad about feeling that way. It’s absolutely normal and just part of growing up, I guess.
Saying that, yes, I annoyed the hell out of Finn when he visited. There’s something up with him, but I don’t know what exactly. I know he wanted to bring something up several times but didn’t in the end.  He would rather say something else than what was really on his mind. Like, we were out in the park, running together like we always do. Running and chatting, that’s like our thing. We were silent for a while and I noticed Finn was glancing sideways at me every now and then, almost as if he was trying to bring out the courage to say something. And after another while, he said: “Alex, uhm… I…” then just stopped, shook his head and said “Race me.” And he took off into a sprint, that bastard. I caught him. I’m still faster than him, let’s see for how much longer though. But stuff like that kept happening all the time during his stay. I didn’t push him, though. That was the right thing to do, right? He’ll tell me when he’s ready, whatever this is about. Right? I hope he knows that there’s nothing he can’t tell me. There is absolutely nothing he could say or do that I would judge him for. I’d bury a corpse for him, no questions asked. Okay, I’d have some questions (God, please don’t let it be about a corpse). I should probably call Finn and tell him that I love him, no matter what. I’ll do that later.
I had a fantastic time with Inés these last weeks. She also had some weeks off, but she still had to work at the bar, so a long trip wasn’t possible (time wise and money wise, she wouldn’t even let me as much as suggest that I’d pay for her. We both know I have enough money for that), but we met often and discovered New York together. I've lived here all my life and there are still so many places I’ve never been to before. It was fun to see the city through her eyes. One night, I picked her up after her shift at the bar and we went to a club together. Inés is beautiful and smart and amazing and great, but she absolutely can’t dance. Graceful isn’t a word that I’d use to describe her, to be honest. She told me before we went to the club that she can’t dance but I didn’t believe her. But she hadn’t lied. We had so much fun that night, doing stupid moves together. People stared at us. I swear they did. I loved watching her on the dance floor. She’s just so full of life, you know? And that happiness lights up an entire room, fills it. I don’t know, I’m probably talking nonsense.
I managed to talk her into a small trip though! Only for three days. We went camping close to DC (she insisted on paying her share) and did some hiking in the area. It was super sunny, and I got a bad sunburn on the first day (stop laughing). But do you know what a cloudless, sunny day brings? A cloudless, starry night sky. We lay under the sky and watched the stars. It was rom-com movie romantic, I swear. Except for my sunburn; that reminded me why sunscreen is a good invention with every move that I made.
Did you get to make the road trip with Natalie? If so, where did you go? And yes, you should totally take her to Toronto with you the next time. I bet she wants to see every place that means something to you, and I bet she even more wants to hear every embarrassing story your mom has to tell about you. I love your mom and her stories. And I’d love to visit you in Canada one day. Yes, I know we said that like a hundred times before and never managed to do so, but one day, I promise. Maybe not when you take Nat with you for the first time. I bet there’s a lot of stuff you want to do with her alone and I really don’t want to be the third wheel. Take your time alone together, you two lovebirds. But if I visit, I want to go to the mountain you talked about in your last letter.
Okay, so I know you’ve probably already heard about it because it’s all over the internet and you probably wonder why I haven’t mentioned it earlier. I got traded. I’m playing for Tampa when the next season starts. I already took care of the logistics, and all there’s left to do is pack up my stuff. I’m leaving in a couple of days.
I told Inés about it as soon as I knew. And we had a really long (and emotional) talk and we decided that it’s best for both of us if we break up. It wasn’t an easy decision, neither for her nor for me, but I know she didn’t like long-distance relationships. She barely has any free time as it is and once the season starts again, I’ll have anything but free time. She won’t be able to visit me because of her classes and work and money is always tight for her (obviously). And we both don’t want a relationship where we see each other every six months or so. And you and I know I suck at long distance friendships. Can you imagine how bad I would be in a relationship? So, yeah. We talked like adults and we both think it’s the right thing to do. Hard, but right. And it’s not something I just say because it’s something you say. We really talked it through, every possibility. Maybe we can be friends one day, I really hope that, but for now we both need some distance (won’t be hard, once I’m in Tampa). God, that sucks. We had such a great summer and I like her. Like really like her, Kase.
Sometimes I wonder if the stars or the gods or maybe fate itself look at us, at me, and tell themselves: “Oh, Alex O’Hara, your life is going too smoothly right now. Let’s add another step stone, another path you don’t see coming.”
I know I’m so lucky. I get to live the life I dreamed of. I just don’t want to leave my home. I don’t want to leave my family behind. I don’t want to leave Inés. Why did it happen now? Why this year? Maybe if our relationship had been longer, things would have been different.
I know, I’m being dramatic here. Don’t worry about me, I’m okay. Or I’m going to be. I’m alright.
So, that’s the news, I guess. I had a great summer until I didn’t.
I have to get moving now, pack the last of my stuff.
Bye for now,
Alex
25 notes · View notes
hescreature · 8 months ago
Text
evermore (2020)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
95 notes · View notes