#TIT TAT WAS WORTH THE EDIT

[palmoilnews]

How China reduced its reliance on US farm imports, softening trade war risks BEIJING, Nov 13 (Reuters) - Since the U.S. and China imposed tit-for-tat tariffs in their trade war during Donald Trump's first presidential term, Beijing has taken steps to reduce its reliance on American farm goods in a wider effort to bolster its food security. That has put China in a better position to withstand tariffs of at least 60% on Chinese imports threatened by Trump, set to return to the White House in January, raising the prospect of Chinese retaliation again targeted at U.S. agricultural goods. In his first term, Trump slapped duties on $370 billion worth of Chinese goods. Beijing retaliated with tariffs of up to 25% on over $100 billion worth of U.S. products, targeting soybeans, beef, pork, wheat, corn and sorghum. In the years since, the share of China's soybean imports from the U.S. - the top American export to China - has dropped to 18% in 2024 from 40% in 2016, according to Chinese customs data, as China has turned instead to imports from Brazil, which has also replaced the U.S. as China's top corn supplier. China's agriculture imports from the U.S. declined to $34 billion in 2023 from $43 billion in 2022, and are expected to drop further this year, according to Chinese customs data. The following details China's efforts since the trade war with the U.S. to diversify agriculture supply sources, boost local production, and bolster food security: Aug. 5, 2019: China halts purchases of U.S. agricultural products in retaliation against tariffs imposed by the Trump administration. Jan. 16, 2020: Trump and China's then-Vice Premier Liu He sign a “Phase One” trade agreement where China agrees to raise purchases of American goods by $200 billion over two years, including $32 billion in agriculture products. 2021: China launches commercial trial planting for genetically-modified corn and soybeans. April 29, 2021: China adopts anti-food waste law to prevent grain wastage and bans binge-eating videos and excessive leftovers. Feb. 1, 2022: U.S. trade official says China failed to meet its commitments under the "Phase 1" trade deal that expired at the end of 2021. Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack tells lawmakers that China's purchases of U.S. farm goods fell short by about $13 billion. Feb. 4, 2022: China allows imports of wheat and barley from all regions of Russia, the world's biggest wheat exporter. March 7, 2022: President Xi Jinping tells political advisers: "China must rely on self-reliance and feed itself ... If we can't hold our own rice bowls, we will be controlled by others ... Food security is a strategic issue." May 25, 2022: China allows imports of Brazilian corn. June 28, 2022: China passes a soil conservation law to protect crop yields in the breadbasket provinces of Heilongjiang, Jilin, Liaoning and Inner Mongolia, where decades of rapid industrialisation and overuse of pesticides degraded soil and curbed yields. April 14, 2023: In bid to curb soybean imports, China rolls out plan to reduce soymeal ratios in animal feed to less than 13% by 2025, from 14.5% in 2022. It plans to approve microbial proteins for feed and pilot projects to use leftover food and animal carcasses for animal feed. May 4, 2023: China approves a variety of gene-edited soybeans, its first approval of the technology to boost yields. Unlike gene-modification (GMO), gene-editing does not introduce foreign DNA, instead it manipulates the existing natural genome. Dec. 26, 2023: China issues licenses to a first batch of 26 seed companies to produce and sell genetically modified corn and soybean seeds in certain provinces. April 9, 2024: China launches drive to boost grain production by over 50 million metric tons by 2030. China produced a record 695.41 million tons of grain output in 2023. May 9, 2024: China approves the safety of gene-edited wheat. May 28, 2024: China allows imports of two varieties of genetically-modified corn grown in Argentina, the world's third-largest exporter of the animal feed grain. June 3, 2024: China's first food security law aimed at achieving "absolute self-sufficiency" in staple grains and food production comes into effect. The law holds central and provincial governments accountable for incorporating food security into their economic and development plans, including protection of farmland from conversion to other uses. Oct. 25, 2024: China launches a 2024-2028 action plan to accelerate development of smart farming and precision agriculture to raise food output. China's agriculture ministry says the country is set to exceed a record 700 million metric tons of grain production in 2024.

[ticklish--love]

TMI 6, 9, 10

6: Any tattoos you want?

Yup! I really want one on my ribs, kinda by my boob (THIS IS CALLED THE TMI ASK, OKAY)? Or, as @takeaguessitsjess says, “a tit tat,” if you will. I’m not sure exactly what, I’m too indecisive, but definitely there.

9: Favorite Show?

I’m crazy behind on TV, so I’ll say Phineas and Ferb (I deadass told my entire 8am class that this week during a lecture tbh LMAO. It got some laughs so I was happy).

10: Favorite bands?

I honestly don’t follow bands. If I like a song of theirs, I kinda just say “cool” and move on to go look for a different band/singer. But here’s a few where I listen to more than one of their songs:

Florence + The Machine, Daughter, James Blake, alt-j, Hozier, Halsey, Axwell /\ Ingrosso, Imagine Dragons, etc. etc.

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 11.8k / genre: tea witch!reader, nonwitch!jimin, growing up and finding your place in the world; fluff

summary: be careful, his mother would say. witches don’t care for mundane humans. be polite, do your business, but then leave. don’t linger. it’s not safe.

park jimin feels lost and alone and he’s still looking for home. but something unspoken leads him to your door—a witch who brews tea to match the stories and sadness that spill from his lips. a witch who gives him a question that he has to repay with an answer. (after all, you always have to pay a witch their dues.)

warnings/rating: SFW - talk of negative self thoughts, but that’s it I think! (so I suppose it’s a little angsty but it clears up dw :) )

a/n: thank you to the lovely @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this, ily queen!! the majority of teas mentioned are by the company bird & blend, and where possible I’ve inserted links to the exact teas I’ve included (so I suppose you could buy them yourself if you wanted to 👀)

edit [24/09/20]: please see the end of the story for an extra author’s note. -- Jimin is wet.

Jimin is tired, and sad, and lonely, but these are all things he's intimately familiar with, monochrome burden curled around his limbs and his heart, dragging him under their relentless weight. A familiar Sisyphean torture. Struggling against gravity only to be brought hurtling down once again. Yes, he's used to it by now.

But the wetness? That's new. Rain paints him with messy strokes, laid slick and cold across his body, soaking through clothes to skin to bone, reaching and curling chilled fingers into the heat of his insides. His shivers are full-bodied, every atom of his soul dripping rainwater, and Jimin—

Jimin wants to go home.

(He just doesn't know where that is, now.)

(Doesn't know if he's ever going to find it here.)

People rush past him. A sea of lifted hoods, unfolded umbrellas, crumpled newspapers— an array of protection from the downpour, some effective, some less so, but each offering at least a modicum of shielding. Hasty armour against the heavens. 

Jimin is not so lucky. His pockets are empty and his jacket has no hood. Sodden blond hair guides tributaries down his face, the back of his neck, rainwater rivers that touch him so soft, so cold. Just more weights on the scale that are tipping him down, down, down.

(He's so tired.)

(He's so lost.)

The city becomes a different beast in the rain, grey and hazy, heaving with bodies, and Jimin has been swept up and spat out, road signs useless, phone dead, passersby more intent on their own destination than his. Too busy to spare a glance for the soaked boy who stands aside, out of the shifting tides of people, out of place.

(He's used to that, too.)

But then: a touch. Feather-light. A breath of wind, the gentlest curl of fingers as it brushes over his rain-slick cheek; a summer breeze, dappled sunlight and rose tinted warmth.

He turns into that touch, turning his head into that ephemeral hand, chasing the sensation of sun-hot air, and then, it hits him—

the smell.

(Sea salt and pale waves, a view that stretches on forever and falls into nothingness, endless skies and deep waters; cold across his skin and in his nose as he breathes in Songjeong beach, fills his lungs with the mellowed chill. The sand is a familiar soft roughness under his feet as he stares across the horizon, out to the world beyond, so close he can almost touch it.) 

(Frying pastry, sticky street food, the smell of hot oil as the vendor flips the ssiat hotteok; air sweet with brown sugar and warm yeast, round and plump and full of seeds, a delicious crunch against his teeth. Laughter fills his ears and his lungs, as sweet as the sugar on his fingers, his lips, warmth and happiness and light.)

(Fish tang, salt and wet; the bustling yell of the fish market, fat shrimp and slick squid and rough oysters, fresh from the sea; everything breathing and shuffling and so alive, air full of the brightness of it all, edged with brine, sharp. He cuts through the choppy waves of people, treading a path that’s drawn by his steady feet, guiding him through this place he knows so well.)

Here, Jimin stands in the rain of Seoul, and all he can smell is Busan, Busan, Busan.

All he can smell is—

All he can smell is home.

(Home, that place of comfort, carved out in the heart of his memories, when he was younger and smaller and burned brighter; rose tinted and past perfect, unchangeable.)

Something stirs in his stomach. Something far reaching, but light, that soft curl of salt air brushing past the cold rain that's filled him.

He follows it.

(After all, it couldn't possibly take him somewhere that's worse than where he already is.)

--

Jimin has only met two witches in his life.

For the first, he was young, all chubby cheeks and small hands—he’s lost the round cheeks but the small hands have stayed.

He can easily recall the grizzled edges of the witch’s face and the deep solemnity in his voice. He’s a cliffside of a man, unbending and awe inspiring in his earthly solidness, almost terrifying; skin with pockmarks like crags, sandstone rough and chipped, eyes flint-hard and unchanging as he squats down to look at Jimin. The only thing that keeps him from bolting is his mother’s presence at his shoulder, hand warm in his, holding him tight and safe.

The witch is a monolith, and that scares Jimin. But whatever concoction the man passes over to Jimin’s mother—after she gives him jars of their family-recipe kimchi, spice and salt and sour—finally clears up the cough that’s been lingering in his throat for weeks, squeezing his lungs and throat, so he’s happy. (Even if his lips taste like sickly sweet aniseed and something deeper, something he still can't name).

For the second, he was all pubescent awkwardness, limbs still so short and yet so ungainly and gangly, a cygnet still shedding the grey plumage of his youth—desperate to reach the signature elegance and grace of a swan, all curved neck and crystal feathers and perfection.

This witch is all hard, perfect edges, glittering diamond, beautiful, untouchable; hair a dark waterfall around her face, lashes long, lips red, perfect curves and yet still so sharp. Terrifying. She eyes Jimin with something bordering on disdain, but disdain would require him to be worth her time. (He’s not.)

But he comes with payment, bundles of samphire he picked from the coast with bare hands, fat and green and salty, and so she deigns to give him a moment of that time. The metal charm is cold in his palm, ice and fire, but it works—Jonghee finally notices him, sees him, smiles at him. (Even if their relationship only lasts two weeks, a short lived school romance, she never would have looked at him twice without the charm that’s tucked in his pocket, drawing her gaze.)

Both witches had carried power like a cloak about their shoulders. Heavy around them, magic weighty and dark, smoke and fumes. Both were so different, but cut from the same cloth; clouds in the distance, sparking with lightning and weighty with rain.

Never cross a witch, they say. Always pay your dues, they say. Never approach a witch without knowing what you want, and never approach a witch without appropriate payment, ready to strike an accord, reach an agreement. One thing for another, tit-for-tat, keeping the scales even.

Witches are dangerous, they say.

(Be careful, his mother would say. Witches don’t care for mundane humans. Be polite, do your business, but then leave. Don’t linger. It’s not safe.)

(But witches keep their word. A promise from a witch is ironclad and unbreaking, written in stone. They’re dangerous, and you should always be wary, but there are rules they cannot and will not break. 

In a way, it’s easier to trust a witch more than anyone else, because they’ll always honour an agreement. Jimin might not have spoken to a witch in years, now, but he knows this: if a witch gives you their word, it’s worth more than its weight in gold.)

--

Jimin’s feet—so skilled at treading the sea slick sands of Busan’s beaches—are unsteady on the firm concrete of Seoul’s streets. But still, he follows them. They tread a path he doesn’t know, tracing directions he cannot see, but it’s impossible to ignore and even harder to resist.

Ley lines cross. They settle here, a soft X drawn in smudged pencil on a finger-worn map, and Jimin stops. 

The sign in the window says closed. At least, Jimin thinks it does, but then he blinks, and it’s almost like the words have rearranged themselves: open. 

The building is unassuming, nestled between two others, a stunted tree surrounded by towering redwoods, but it’s this shopfront door that draws his eye—duck-egg, blue green, the colour of new life, the morning sea, the ebbing tide. The sign that hangs above is wooden, a little faded, but in a way that suggests comfort and not disrepair; like an old jumper, worn soft with age, but still warm, still loved.

Aurora. 

A spark of light catches his eye. A glint, a dazzle, pulling his gaze towards it: below the sign, windchimes, circling a piece of quartz, catching the sunlight that's swallowed by clouds. It glitters at him through the rain. Even in the harsh breeze, the chimes are almost still, gently singing, soft voices whispering under the sound of falling water.

The door seems to swing forward at the lightest touch of Jimin’s gaze, already open, opening further. Beckoning him in. 

The smell of sea fills his senses.

The quartz throws refracted light over him, lines between each colour sharp and defined despite the rough hewn edges, a rainbow that shines even brighter on the dark wetness of his clothes as he steps through; the windchimes ring out, a crystalline murmur, and then the door eases shut behind him.

It’s warm. It’s warm, and dry, and serene. Light slants in through the windows, dulled by the rain but still painting the room in white and gold. Everything is in its place, neat and quiet and cheerful, a spray of pastel crocuses in a lopsided, handmade clay vase on the counter. The counter is clear while the rest of the room is full; busy shelves and wall hangings and a garland that has the shifting phases of the moon, crescent-quarter-gibbous-full; glittering geodes, polished crystals, water smoothed pebbles; half burned candles, jars and bottles and shells, all crowding against each other.

The whole place hums with magic. But unlike the magic Jimin has felt before, sulphur sour at the back of his throat, burned tobacco in his lungs, this is gentle, all encompassing—like a kitchen warmed by a busy oven, full to the brim with bread, filling the room with its scent and heat. 

Jimin feels out of place. He’s wet and dark and sad, drip-drip-dripping dirty rainwater on the hardwood floor. Hair hangs into his eyes, and he’s small and cold, almost bowing under the wet of the weather that clings to him. He shivers, caught up in the chill.

“Jinnie? Are you back already?”

A voice calls to him, out of sight. Jimin looks away from the mug and open book that lies on the counter, ring mark caught by the sliced geode coaster, sparkling copper green and jade.

“Did you forget to bring your charms? I told you to double check your bag before you left. I’m not done yet, anyway, I—”

Blink, blink. Wide eyed, soft and slow, surprised into stillness.

You look like comfort. It’s like someone’s taken a soft winter’s evening and turned it into a person—jumper big and thick weave warm, hair a softened mess, dangling earrings that look like little cherries, bare feet, skin touching the warm wood floor, mug in hand that coils with steam. Like a fireplace that flickers warmth and light in the cold.

Your pretty mouth is a little open, poised to speak another word that fails to come as you blink at Jimin.

“You’re not Jin,” you say, instead.

Drip, drip. Shying away from that doe-eyed gaze, Jimin looks down at his feet.

“The sign said open,” he mumbles, wanting to fold in on himself, a sodden origami crane that collapses under its own weight.

“It did?” There’s a tinge of surprise in your tone, but then a drip of rainwater trails down Jimin’s nose and falls, a teardrop of crystal. Your voice turns soft. “Oh, dear. No, of course it did. You’re soaking. Come on, come in. Take your shoes and coat off, leave them by the door. You look like you need a cup of tea.”

You leave no room for argument, disappearing back the way you came. Jimin is shocked into stillness, but then you reappear with a soft cream towel, an uplift to your eyebrows that looks expectant. Jimin pulls his worn shoes off, leaving them in self-created puddles at the door, jacket hung on the curved arms of an old coat rack.

The towel is warm around his neck and in his hair, cotton soaking up wetness with unnatural ease. The warmth of his surroundings is seeping in, chasing away the chill that’s settled in his bones, and when Jimin perches on the chair you’ve pulled out for him, he feels a little better. Not much, but a little, and that’s more than he can ask for.

The tea room is cluttered, racks of glass jars, some full to the brim, others almost empty, washed-out white and green and brown, some bright with full flower buds, some muted with dried berries and fruit; strings of dried orange slices hang from the ceiling above, surrounded by scatterings of bundled flowers and leaves. And yet, somehow, under the smell of bubbling water and dried tea, that tang of salt lingers, light on Jimin’s tongue.

“You look like you’ve had a long day. Would you like to talk about it?”

(In Seoul, no one has time for Jimin. Their eyes are closed off, hard, absorbed in themselves, their own problems—Jimin understands. Life is difficult, and it can be an uphill struggle, everyone so hungry, starved. Just like him. Trying to scrabble for a foothold in a mountain that’s been worn smooth by generations of grasping hands before him.)

The look you give Jimin is soft, and warm, and open; the look a mother gives a child when they fall and scrape open their knee. No pity, no judgement, just empathy.

“No,” Jimin says. Then: “Yes.” Then, after a long, lingering silence: “I don’t know where to start.”

You let out a little hum, patient, encouraging, reaching for two mismatched cups; one, soft camellia pink, the other, dark blue, bumpy ceramic, deep ocean waves.

“How about you start with how you’re feeling?”

How he’s feeling?

(How is he feeling?)

(Lost. Lonely. Alone. Like he’s caught in a riptide, and no matter how much he swims, the shore is growing further and further away; adrift and out to sea, swallowed by merciless waves.)

(Like he should have listened to the cautious words of everyone back home. Like he’d set himself up for failure from the moment he’d set his sights on Seoul, on success.)

(Like he’s never been good enough, will never be good enough, and he should have known that.)

Jimin doesn’t—Jimin doesn’t want to show you this raw, aching part of him, fit messily between his lungs. 

He doesn’t have to tell you anything. He doesn’t have to peel back the skin of his chest and lay himself bare.

--

But for the first time since he’s stepped foot onto Seoul’s soil, Jimin feels seen.

--

His words are slow and faltering.

Jimin is out of practice, talking about himself, the things that he keeps small and folded away in quiet corners of his heart, but you listen. You hum and shift and move, opening jars, closing jars, weighing out loose leaves, eyes intent on your work.  Maybe that’s what makes it easier. 

You’re not staring at Jimin, watching as he strips himself raw. You’re watching the fire that flickers on the small burner, water bubbling and almost boiling, but not quite. Not yet. You’re watching your careful hands as you scoop the blend into a cast iron pot, burnished darkness. You’re not watching him, but you’re listening: how he’d come to Seoul to pursue his passions, his dreams, how it’s left him lonely and lost and aching. A ship on a course without map or compass, sky overcast, no stars to guide him.

“Sometimes I feel like I should have stayed in Busan,” Jimin murmurs. His head is bowed forwards, eyes caught in a knot on the wood of the table, lines coiling together. “Everyone was right. I’m never going to make it.”

The cup set in front of him is empty.  Your fingers are curved around the handle as you turn it towards Jimin, and he notices little clouds on your nails, fluffy white against pastel blues. You hum lightly at his words, lifting the iron pot from its woven mat, steady as you pour.

(This is unlike any other place he’s ever known.)

“Do you want to go back to Busan?”

The tea smells lovely, a little floral, a little sweet, mellow and warm. It flows over the sharp salt that’s coating Jimin’s senses, sweeping away the last drops of rain that cling to his bones; washed fresh and clean. It settles in the pit of his stomach, lies light against his tongue, warming him from the inside out. 

(A blanket that’s tucked over his shoulders and wrapping him tight.)

Suddenly, Jimin wants to cry.

He swallows down the tears, the rising tide that threatens to spill from his eyes. He thinks about his answer—does he want to go back to Busan? Back to the salt and the sea? Back to the world he knows so well, misses so well?

“No,” he admits. “I miss it, but… no. I want to find my place in Seoul.”

I want to be good enough. I want to find a new home.

The answering smile on your face is a small, tender thing.

The tea stays hot, no matter how long Jimin takes to drink. Rooibos, coconut, lavender, cocoa, earthy and delicate flavours mixing across his senses. His hands wrap around his cup, the shifting blue waves steady around the liquid inside, cotton towel around his neck crowding even closer as his shoulders bow inwards. 

He notices, then, that he’s dry, somehow—every inch of him, from his skin to his hair to his clothes, whisked away by some unseen, ephemeral hand. Like he’d never been in the rain at all. His hair is soft on his head, clothes unwrinkled, and he smells like citrus and light, a shimmering garden. Not like rainwater and muted sorrow.

“You’re a witch,” he realises, suddenly. 

He knows this place must be home to magic, but he’d figured you some sort of assistant, apprentice, as soft and unassuming as you are. 

But, no. The magic he feels in the air, butter rich and sugar sweet, isn’t from the building. It’s from you.

He shouldn’t have told you anything. Witches are dangerous. He owes you now, undeniably so—for the tea he’s drunk, cup empty and cooling in front of him.

No one ever denies a witch their dues. No one would dare. But he has nothing to give you.

“I don’t have anything to give you.” Jimin’s eyes are wide. “I don’t have any money.”

“Jimin.” Your voice is a murmur, but it does nothing to quell the spike of worry in his heart, the realisation that he’d never told you his name, not once. But of course you know it. Witches see the unseen. Witches read the unknown. “You don’t owe me money. Please, don’t panic.”

Jimin tries to swallow down that panic.  There’s nothing in his pockets but his phone, dead as it is, an old bus ticket stub, his keys, plain and unadorned save for the tiny puppy keyring he’s had for years, but doesn’t remember the origin of. Nothing a witch might be interested in. “Then what can I give you?”

“You’ve already spilled your heart to me,” you say. “That’s half of the payment. A confession of feelings.”

Jimin’s lashes flutter. He can’t help his eyes darting over you, reading the signs he’d missed before—you might not stink of magic like coal dust and smothered fires, but instead it rests like a garland of flowers about your head, woven into the wool of your jumper like silken thread, gossamer. Delicate and light but undeniable, a fleur-de-lis that blooms over hard marble, strong and steady.

“What’s the other half?”

“That’s up to you.” You tilt your head, little cherries in your ears swinging with the motion. “A secret. A memory. Something you’d like to share. That’s the price; a story you want to share. The final half of the transaction.”

“Do you… keep it?” He’s heard of witches stealing the memory from people, leaving them hollow shells, but you shake your head with a soft laugh.

“No. You share your story, Jimin. You don’t give it to me. Your words and history are yours, not mine. I promise you: anything you give me remains your own.”

A witch’s promise. Unbreakable truth.

(What does he have that’s worth a witch’s time?)

A memory. A good one. 

Climbing the trail of Geumjeongsan, warmed by the sun overhead, filtered by the arching trees, his brother beside him, his parents behind. He was still young, too young to climb all the way up the mountain route, bundled into the cable car that had lifted them towards the heavens, world spread at his feet, a feast for his hungry eyes. Their dinner had been roasted duck, fatty and crisp, leaking oil over his lips and cheeks as he’d eagerly bit in after a day of hard work. His family had been laughing, surrounding him with their love, liquid sunlight spilling over him. Happiness.

Your chin rests in your palm as you listen, hair a soft frame around your softer eyes, smile lingering at the edges of your lips. Jimin’s words trickle and slow, and for a second he wonders if it was enough, if this years-old memory, fuzzy around the edges, pays his dues—but as his mouth curves around the final syllable, listing the room back into warm quiet as he smiles at this remembered joy, he knows. Something in his heart knows. It is. It’s enough.

“Thank you for sharing that happiness with me, Jimin. It was lovely.” 

For the first time in a long time, Jimin’s heart feels less like a broken thing. It feels like someone’s starting to take liquid gold to the cracks in his heart, protective resin that brings his broken parts together, the soft touch of kintsugi that shows his flaws but also lets him see that his heart can work despite them. 

Broken and imperfect but still here. Still whole.

(He may have paid off his debt, but Jimin feels like he’s taking away something that’s more than just a cup of tea.)

His shoes are dry when you return to the door, and when he reaches for his jacket, it’s like he’s just peeled it off a washing line, smelling of sun and fresh laundry. His trainers fit better on his feet, not rubbing at the heel like it should. Small, little things that change so much.

“It’s still raining,” you say. “There’s an umbrella in the stand that you can have.”

The umbrella is a long, sturdy thing, plain black, but when Jimin lifts it, there’s a small charm tied to the handle. A tiny string of rose quartz beads, polished pale pink.

Witches never give things away for free. Jimin knows this. 

“The price is that you have to share it with the first person you meet who needs it.” The words fall from your smiling lips before Jimin can ask. “You’ll know who it is when you see them.”

The arms of the umbrella spread so wide above him, engulfing him in protection, keeping him dry and safe. He turns to look at you. You're leaning against the doorframe, still barefoot, fingers that bear the sky barely peeping out of the sleeves of your jumper. Untouched by the rain and grime of Seoul, a lit candle in the night, vanilla scented wax, dribbling hot and sweet. So unlike any other witch Jimin has ever heard of.

There’s no smell of sea, any more. No lingering memories of Busan. Just petrichor, rain and concrete, an undercurrent to the fresh smell of his clothes, his hair, washed clean by a magic that’s softer than anything Jimin has ever known. 

The only thing that’s softer is the smile on your face, the curl of your fingers as you wave goodbye. The door swings shut as you step back, windchimes trembling at the gentle parting, quartz throwing glitter over Jimin’s cheeks and catching in his lashes.

(The sign in the window remains untouched.

As Jimin turns away, it says closed.)

The rain has lessened, a drizzle that threatens to sweep over him, but the umbrella keeps him safe, draped over the air around him, warding away the cold that tries so desperately to claw back into his chest. Jimin doesn’t know where he’s going, just like before—but he steps onto the street and immediately stops.

The string of rose quartz pearls swings into his wrist. 

“Hello. Would you like to share my umbrella?”

Jimin has to hold it up high, shorter than the long-limbed boy who stands in front of him. His eyes are dark and almost solemn, sliding across Jimin’s face as he seems to pull himself out of some faraway, unseen place. He doesn’t seem to notice the rain that’s starting to soak through his clothes, peppering his handsome face with small, cold kisses, but then he smiles, gratitude written across his grinning teeth.

“Hello.” His voice is so deep. “Thank you.” And then, after only the briefest pause: “My horoscope said I’d be helped by a Libra today.”

Jimin startles, umbrella scattering rain with the motion. “How did you know I’m a Libra?”

--

And so—this is how Park Jimin meets Kim Taehyung. With a witch’s blessing warm in his belly and overhead, umbrella a shield against the heavens.

--

And so—this is how Park Jimin meets Jeon Jungkook. With Kim Taehyung at his side, a witch’s charm around his wrist, rose quartz a soothing calm against his skin.

--

And so—this is how Park Jimin starts to build a home in Seoul, brick by brick, larger hands working alongside his own; Taehyung’s palms large, Jungkook’s fingers steady, laying the foundations to happiness. Together.

--

His feet find their way back to Aurora again and again, a moon that pulls at his waters, caught in its gravity. Quartz to citrine, aventurine to hematite, windchimes singing like bells whenever he passes underneath them, door swinging open at the lightest of touches.

Your wide eyed surprise ebbs like the tides. The second time, and then the third, and fourth, you’d stopped in your tracks at his arrival, hands a tumble of confusion whenever he’d appeared at your door, but now you’re always ready and waiting.

(“How did you find this place the first time?”

Today’s tea is sencha, salty sea-buckthorn, bright spearmint, delicate lemon verbena, tinged blue with cornflower and butterfly pea, the ocean waves in a cup, brewed just for him.

“I followed the sea,” Jimin answers. “The salt air. Didn’t you do that?”

“No.” The same tea lies in your own cup, a shared moment in the past and present. “You called out and you were answered. This shop is older than you or me, and even Jin doesn’t know the magic that lies in its walls. We don’t control this place. We just live here.”)

The stories he pays you with change over time, memories from years past, growing closer and closer to the present, an autobiography that lays out the peaks and valleys of his life; the happy, the sad, the embarrassments, the triumphs. The tea changes every time, too, mellow greens to bright fruits, smoky blacks to delicate whites, whisked matcha and woody lapsang souchong. Matching the timbre of his voice, reflecting his words, letting him dwell on happiness, or pulling him out of sorrow.

Sometimes Jin is there. Oftentimes, he isn’t. The tea room is sacred ground when Jimin is paying his dues, stories and secrets falling from his lips, but otherwise Jin will bundle in, all energy and noise, leaving plates of flaky pastry and tiny biscuits and soft bread, brioche lined with chocolate, melting and hot. They leave Jimin warm and full, no matter how much or how little he eats. Two kitchen witches that give, and give, and give.

Jimin pays for a plate of rose shortbread with a recollection of the time he’d spilled juice over his brother’s homework, only to blame the dog, who was refused his usual after-dinner gravy bones. Jimin still lives with the guilt. Jin laughs, and you smile, flower petals soft and sweet in your mouth as you listen to him speak.

He wants to bring Taehyung and Jungkook, share the brightness with them, with you, the things that make him smile and laugh; lifting him out the deep waters of sadness and towards the sun, light dappled waters, bright coral reefs, a multicolour display of life. But Aurora doesn’t call to them the way it calls to Jimin, which means he goes alone.

Taehyung’s eyes widen when Jimin mentions his disappointment.

“Jimin-ah.” His mouth is round with shock, a sweet pomegranate, red flushed lips. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” 

Jungkook’s cheeks bulge with lettuce and samgyeopsal, but he swallows it down in one go, a gannet with the metabolism of a god. (Lucky.) “Finding witches in Seoul is hard,” he says. “You have to actively search them out. Do you?”

Jungkook has met more witches than any of them, a little golden spark of magic nestled deep in his chest, a magnetised needle that points him forward like a compass. But even he can’t find Aurora, no matter how much Jimin tries to guide him.

“I just… walk,” Jimin says, unsure. “I just feel it and I walk.”

“I’ve alway wanted to get a cup of tea from that shop. They say the best way to solve your problems is to share it with a witch, but I’ve never been able to find it, no matter how hard I’ve tried,” says Taehyung. An empty leaf of lettuce lays in his palm, curled up, almost sad in how small it looks. (The same would be a riverboat in the tiny cups of Jimin’s hands.) But rather than jealousy sparking in his eyes, he just seems happy for Jimin, toothy grin appearing on his face. “You’re so lucky, Jimin-ah. I bet it’s incredible.”

--

(Jimin is a nightjar, a singing bird, calling out into the darkness. The dawn bursts over the horizon, light heavy, laden with brightness, aurora shimmering rose and gold, welcoming hands.)

(Jimin sings. You listen.)

--

This time when he finds Aurora—or maybe it finds him—it’s snowing.

Seoul is blanketed in white, pavements worn smooth with a thousand busy feet, roads salt slick and slush. The wind bites at his cheeks, apple crisp and sweet, the air a soft whisper that runs its chilled fingers through his hair and turns his head.

(The rose quartz lies warm around his wrist.)

The winter sun overhead casts short shadows, pale light flushing down Jimin’s face as he leans into that fleeting touch. It’s not Busan that fills his senses this time; it’s the smell of mulled wine, hot cinnamon, melting chocolate, but more than that—dark evergreen and sweet cherry-wood fires, dusty pepper and star anise, sticky caramel.

(Homely.)

Open, the sign says.

Today, the windchimes circle a shard of snowflake obsidian. It trills out a greeting as he touches his fingers to the door, tiny bells that tinkle their hello as Jimin steps over the threshold, Aurora just as warm and inviting as it had been the last time he’d stepped foot here. As warm and inviting as it always is.

(Closed, the sign says.)

He’s warm too, today. He’s wrapped up against winter, hand knitted hat on his head—a recent project by Taehyung—and his hands are nestled in his pockets, curled around the small hand warmers that Jungkook sneaks into his coat without comment. Reminders of the love of his friends even when they’re not beside him. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold and his eyes are sparking happiness, smile wide as he stomps snow off his feet.

But there’s no one to greet him. No candles are lit, no half-finished drink on the counter, an unintentional offering to the quiet building. It feels like a held breath, light, heavy, ephemeral, weighty.

(Every moon hanging from the garland is waning.)

Jimin’s socked feet are quiet as he steps the familiar route to the tea room, hallway beckoning him forwards; the door is shut, and he hesitates, but even as he watches, it quietly swings open, untouched. 

You’re bowed over the table. A hand rests over your eyes, your body held still, a rictus of—of deep thought, maybe? The weight of decision, indecision. Maybe. Something that hangs heavy about you, usual shimmering magic pulled down, osmium heavy; still glittering and beautiful, but sharper edged, burdensome. 

The cup in front of you is dry, empty, matte ceramic the colour of bone, muted white, brittle cream. There’s no smell of warm tea today. Just still air.

(No matter how many times Jimin has seen you laugh and smile and tilt your head, the truth is that you’re a witch, and Jimin has only just started to map your world. He’s a cartographer with nothing more than his own hands and the aching need to find the stars, to trace those celestial bodies overhead that shine out so bright.)

The floor groans under Jimin’s unmoving feet and your head snaps up.

“Jimin?” Your eyes are wide and startled. All at once the air lifts, sunlight seeping from the floorboards; an open window that’s been thrown open to pull in the summer breeze. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

(The windchimes had been as loud as always, announcing his presence.)

“I’m sorry,” apologises Jimin. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You shift away from the table and straighten, magic coiling around your neck like a scarf, thick and warm. (Covering your mouth and muffling you.) “I just wasn’t expecting any customers,” you say. “You never have to apologise, Jimin. Come on in, take a seat. What do you want to talk about today?”

Jimin had wanted to share his happiness. He’d wanted to talk about Taehyung, and Jungkook, and the dancing job that’s turned steady, all the bright little pieces of his life, glistening opals, precious stones. But he realises, then, that’s not what he needs, really. 

(Not what he wants, really.)

“Nothing,” he says. His voice is soft and sweet, white milk bread, fluffy and light. “I just wanted to see you. How are you?”

The fire under the water flickers, a sun flare that dies as soon as it’s born, settling into its usual ring of tiny flames. The magic around your neck turns into a stole, slipping away from your mouth, settling about your shoulders. You’re silent, for a long moment, as if you’d been in some unseen place and Jimin has pulled you back.

You glance at him through the curl of your lashes. “Busy,” you say, eventually. “Distracted, I suppose. Trying to work things out.”

Why? Jimin wants to ask. Work what things out?

But he knows better than to pry for a witch’s secrets, as open armed and soft palmed as you might be. So he just says: “I hope it gets better soon. I’m sure you’ll find the answer.”

The bundles overhead shift in an unseen breeze, dusty cinnamon sticks and fat berries and handfuls of clove, stirring the spiced smell of winter. Jimin would swear he hears the windchimes singing, a tiny choir of voices that swells and breaks as quickly as a wave crashing against the shore. 

You let out a small laugh. It’s edged with something Jimin can’t put a name to. “Oh, this is the kind of answer that’s given, not found, so I have to wait, even if I think I know what it is,” you say. “And it’s… not one I was expecting. Witches don’t do well with being unable to take control of the situation, but I can’t do anything about it.”

Jimin pauses. He realises then, in a way, he’s been selfish—always speaking, never listening. But you don’t offer yourself up in the way Jimin does. A witch is a library of knowledge and secrets, locked to the outside world; Jimin wouldn’t dare to try and find the key. It would burn his hands, sear itself into his palm. The door has to be willingly opened by whoever’s inside.

He thinks about those words he’s heard you so many times, now, mouth so gentle around the syllables, the lilting question. A flickering constellation that guides his feet. One that he can trace, lines between the stars.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

The smile you offer him is one he hasn't seen before, crooked, a whispered secret. Sending the pages of all those books fluttering, stirring on their shelves. “Do you want to strike a bargain, Park Jimin? I give you a story, and you pay me in turn?” 

A tiny shiver prickles over Jimin’s skin. Your question feels like a test you both know he can't complete, but—there's something inside him that flickers bright at that challenge. 

He’s not a witch and has no magic glowing in his spirit, but a contract takes two people, mundane or not. He’s never considered himself bold, softer and gentler than he wishes he was, sometimes, but—there’s that unrelenting part in him, reckless and brave, hungry for more, that pulled him from Busan and set him in Seoul, that bruises his knees and rubs blisters on his feet from his endless dancing; the part that brings him to a witch’s door, over and over, heedless of the magic that lingers like crystallised sugar about his wrists and ankles, almost painful were it not so sweet.

(Bravery isn’t always about being bold. Sometimes bravery is trying again, and again, even if it seems hopeless.)

“If that would help you?”

The delicate hanging chains of your earrings tremble, tiny sparkling hearts of crystal, your eyes widening imperceptibly in surprise. Witches are forces of nature, relentless, but for a second—just a second—Jimin stops you in your tracks. Not as an imposing seawall built against the crashing waves, but rather, a soft hand that’s lifted, palm first, fingers spread wide.

(Bravery is this, too: being gentle and open where others might expect you to be cold and distant, worn bitter by the cold world around them.)

(Jimin has always known this, but you’d reminded him, when he’d almost forgotten.)

The air smells like mulled wine, heady and sweet, a bonfire of spice and tannin. For a moment, Jimin fears he’s misstepped, craggy cliffs crumbling underneath his feet and throwing him into the merciless waves below—but then you step back, cast your hand at the wall of jars, almost endless in width and height.

“What tea do you think I need today, then?”

Jimin smiles, all full lips and shy teeth, and says: “You have to tell me your story first. That's how the transaction goes.”

And for the first time, Jimin sees you truly laugh. You shed every piece of armour that’s girded about you; you might be quieter, and gentler, but your magic is coiled close, plate metal that shines so bright but falls so soft. Your heavy iron door opens, just a crack, the smell of leather bound books and old manuscripts curling outwards, letting Jimin catch a glimpse of the wonders inside. 

“I can’t tell you a story that hasn’t finished yet, but I have plenty of memories,” you say. “Hm. How about the day Jin and I found this place?”

Jimin doesn’t know how to blend tea. He doesn’t know how to balance flavours, top notes, heart notes, base notes, curling tastes together in a way you do so effortlessly. But he knows how to follow his heart, and as always, Aurora helps guide him.

He listens to your words the way you listen to his, with soft encouragement and gentle laughter, eyes bright as he swallows down the secrets of witchcraft that are banal to you but utterly fascinating to him. A glimpse into a world he’s barely touched. He traces unseen vibrations in the air, reaches for jar after jar, none of them labelled, but perfect each time he pulls them open and breathes in their scent. Almost jumping into his hands. He thinks of a feeling, a flavour to match each memory you lay in front of him, and the magic responds; not under his control, no, but letting him drift in its flow.

He plants a garden: fat rosebuds, yielding petals, bright lemongrass, earthy raspberry leaves, flaky cocoa shells. 

(Jimin doesn’t know these ingredients, but you do, eyes intent and sharp as you watch him move with an ease no one else has ever displayed here, moving around the room that’s entirely yours—a part of your heart nestled safe in Aurora’s walls, one that even Jin could not traverse, if he tried.)

(But here he is. With no magic in his bones, here he is, treading a delicate path through this sanctum, weaving the energy around him without knowledge or thought. Just human, but also so much more.)

The iron pot is heavier than Jimin realised, a solid weight that you always heft with ease. The scent that fills the room when he pours is delicate and light but it washes away the spicy scent of winter warmth, and instead smells like floral enchantment. 

He slips into the seat across from yours. It’s a reversal, tipping the world on its head, an entirely unfamiliar perspective; the wall behind you isn’t lined in the tools of your trade. Today, Jimin sits in the master’s seat. Today, you are silhouetted by the dried bouquets that hang from the crooked branch that coils from the ceiling, muted colours even quieter in the nimbus of your magic, dawn light and warmth, dripping honeycomb, gold and saccharine.

“Would you ever leave Aurora?”

(Even the fleeting thought sends disappointment through every part of him, an echo of loneliness for something that hasn’t happened. Jimin’s always been possessive, in a way, wanting to keep a tight hold of the things he cares about.)

(You’re one of those things, now.)

The smile you give Jimin is answer enough. “Once a witch finds their home, there’s no turning back. No matter how long I’m gone, or how far I go, I’ll always find my way back home.” And then there’s a little glitter in your warm eyes, gold dust under a sun-laden river. “Time for tea, I suppose?”

It’s rosewater sweetness, dark chocolate bitterness, a citrus undercurrent that flows around it all. Biting into Turkish delight, coated in rich chocolate, yielding to the press of your teeth, an explosion of flavour. Jimin has never tasted anything like this— rich and creamy but also fragrant and light.

Judging from your wide eyed stare, you haven’t, either.

(It’s perfect.)

(It takes that indecision that’s been settling around each of your bones, sweeps it away, Jimin’s eyes as large as the moon and just as bright. This cup is so much more than just a warm drink, a hot touch down your throat; it’s the world telling you something, showing you something, something about Jimin, something you thought you'd been wrong about.)

(Jimin has no magic of his own, but he burns so bright. A lovely, sweet, strong, talented boy, stronger than he knows, lovelier than he knows. The world fits around him so well, a backdrop to his beauty, shaping itself to his touch.)

(Your magic shapes itself around him in a way that's as easy as breathing, and it should frighten you.)

(But it doesn't.)

With any contract, the witch sets the price. Your story for this cup of tea should be enough, a parting of the curtain into a world he shouldn’t be allowed to see—but something still pulls in Jimin’s stomach. He feels a little empty. Like he’s eaten a meal and could be content to finish now, but he’s waiting for that final course, that bite of dessert. Something to satiate his lingering hunger.

You still need to pay the final part of the price.

“You need to give one more thing,” says Jimin, reciting the ancient law that he’s never been taught but sings in his bones. 

Your silence is summer lightning. Light sparks in the distance, flashing hot and bright, but without the weight of thunder, without the promise of rain.

“A secret,” you decide. “I’ll give you a secret.” 

If a witch’s word is worth more than gold, then a witch’s secret is worth more than rhodium; stronger, rarer.

“I’ve told you that Aurora answers people who call out, if they need our help?”

“Yes.” Jimin remembers this well, thinks about it every time he’s led back here, the guiding hands that helped him find the path he’s treading now. “You’ve told me that.”

“Witches can find the shop and come here often,” you say. “They come to buy things and leave again; they have to keep their magic safe. You see, a witch’s power is most potent in their own home, and weakest in another’s, so you’ll find witches won’t drink one of my teas, or eat Jin’s food, unless they’ve left the shop. It’s a sign of absolute trust to do something like that.”

You snack on Jin’s biscuits all the time, spread homemade jams over freshly-baked bread, watch Jin drizzle honey into soft camomile, slip lemon slices into hot Earl Grey. Mixing your magic and trust together like a tangle of fresh sheets.

“But humans, without magic? Even if you try, you can’t find this place unless it wants to be found. Neither Jin nor I control that, really, but the sign helps control the flow,” you continue. “If we put it on closed, the shop won’t beckon people in. But if it’s open? People come with their burdens and their sorrows, and I’ll sit, and I’ll listen. My magic isn’t what helps them. Sometimes all people need is a listening ear and that’s what I offer: a single moment of quiet in their busy lives before they leave again. You want to know what the secret is, Jimin?”

“Yes,” says Jimin, eager. Not just as a payment of something that’s owed, but for his own curiosity, digging its fingers into his stomach and lungs. “I want to know.”

The smile you deliver now is the final jolt of lightning, white hot and flooding the air with crackling energy, before the clouds part to reveal the quiet night sky, the vibrant colours of the Milky Way naked for the eyes to see. 

“My secret is this: you shouldn’t be able to keep finding this place. I didn’t realise anyone could, but here you are, again and again. You’re the only non-witch who’s ever stepped foot in here more than once.”

Clink.

“My secret is this: you are the only thing in my life that I cannot answer with magic, and it’s completely out of my control. Even if the sign says closed, you can walk in, regardless.”

Clink.

“My secret is this: I know I won’t be able to find that answer I'm looking for, because it’s not in me, or my magic, or my shop. It’s something in you.”

Clink. 

Three falling secrets that fold into one. A handful of coins tumbling over themselves into the waters of a wishing well, slipping into that liquid quiet. Throwing ripples across the glass surface.

Jimin has always thought that witches were gods of their domain, endless fonts of wisdom, magic cast over the world around them that catches knowledge in its weave, Indra’s net. “But I’m—I’m just human.”

Your eyes are soft. “There’s no just about it, Jimin,” you say. “Witch or not, we all have our place in the world, as small or large as it may be.”

“But I don’t have any magic. Jungkook does, and even Tae does, a little.” He always knows when to say bless you before someone sneezes. “But I’m just… completely mundane.”

“I know you don’t have magic, Jimin. But do you know what the word mundane originally meant? It doesn’t mean boring, or dull. It’s rooted in the world. The earth. There’s nothing more powerful. Don’t you know how brightly you shine?”

Jimin tilts his head away. The truth is that for all the happiness that’s started to grow across his heart like blooming roses, trailing wisteria, some days the river at his feet feels less like sun flecked waters and more like tar, thick and dark, ready to pull him back under. It’s not so easy to cast off sadness once it’s found you. Sometimes his chest feels like it could cave in under the weight of his own failings, each and every one of his flaws stacked up high, pressing on his lungs, his heart.

He doesn’t feel like he shines.

“Oh, Jimin. You really don’t see, do you?” The magic that curls around him is silken, light. Touching the rose quartz around his wrist with recognition. “Remember earlier, when I said the answer I wanted has to be given, not found? It’s because you need to find it. You can give it to me, once you do.”

“What if I never find it?” He looks back at you, back into your eyes, endless and deep. You’re a witch with power that drapes about you, a cascading mantle spun from silver and gold—if you don’t know the answer, how could Jimin possibly find it? “What do I do then?”

“I promise, you will,” you say. “You will. Sometimes the things we need to find appear when we’re not even looking for them. After all, you found your way here, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Jimin answers, truth settling quiet between his lungs. Easing that weight that presses down on them. “I did.”

--

He did. And he does. And he will.

--

You stand in the open door and watch Jimin go, wrapped up once more, a Christmas present of woven wool and thick socks.

“By the way,” you call, and Jimin stops, turns back. “You said that your friends wanted to come here too, right?”

“Yes,” answers Jimin. Taehyung asks him endless questions and Jungkook might pretend like he’s not interested but he’s always nearby when Jimin recounts his tales of the witch’s shop. “They really do. But we can never seem to find Aurora when we try, even though Jungkook is normally so good at finding magical places.”

“Next time, don’t focus on Jungkook.” Above your head the windchimes tremble, obsidian spiralling. “You said he was a compass, didn’t you? But he’s not the one with the map. You are. Don’t forget that, okay? Trust in yourself, Jimin. Be your own guide.”

--

The next time Jimin stands with his friends flanking him, he thinks about the moon. How its silver light is loved so dearly, even if it’s just a reflection of the unseen sun, shining with someone else’s flames. 

He might not have the strength of fire, but he can still shine.

The windchime’s call is throaty as Aurora comes into sight, brushed by a stone of lapis lazuli, door falling open at their arrival, the building filling with sunlight as Jimin steps in. Welcoming him. Jungkook and Taehyung are far more hesitant, staring at Jimin like he’s a voyager into unknown waters, here there be dragons, at risk of being swallowed whole, never to be seen again.

Jimin laughs at them. The lapis swings into the windchimes in a way that sounds like a giggle, too.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook says, once he’s inside. A candle sets alight. “Jimin, what the fuck.” Another. 

“It’s Jimin-hyung,” Jimin says, but Jungkook ignores him, staring at the candles that start to catch flame one by one as he watches them.

“It’s so nice, Jiminie.” Taehyung’s eyes are huge. “Aren’t those flowers pretty?”

On a nearby shelf, the bowl of pansies blooms brighter under Taehyung’s gaze, every plant in the room standing tall, trying to catch his attention.

But of course, the thing that’s stronger than any of the candles or plants or trinkets here—you, stepping into sight, every inch as overwhelming as always, swallowing the room with your magic. Souffle soft and sweet, with all the rich headiness of melted chocolate.

You’re barefoot, as always, cardigan overlarge and draping, nails adorned with tiny butterflies. Jimin’s never met another witch like you, but now that he knows you, it’s almost laughable how he hadn’t noticed from the instant he’d seen you; you’re a witch, through and through, magic dripping through the air like nectar, ambrosia. God touched.

“You finally made it,” you say. “Jimin's told me a lot about you both. Your timing is perfect; I’ve just put the water on to boil. Who wants to go first?”

“Holy shit,” murmurs Jungkook. 

The final candle bursts alight when you smile.

--

Jimin is always surprised at his capacity to find new happiness.

His parents had been heartbroken when he’d announced his decision to leave Busan, and pain had turned to anger, and anger had turned to arguments; he wanted too much, asked for too much, was never happy with what he was given. (All has been forgiven, now, but as always, the memory still lingers.)

Seoul had been so lonely, at first. He’d felt like the bottomless pit his parents had accused him of being, hungry, demanding ceaselessly for more, more, more—his heart had felt like a shrivelled thing, only good for holding onto sadness and bitterness. No room for happiness in any of the weeping corners of his soul.

But, now, Jimin realises that he’s sated. 

He’ll always strive higher, work harder, that little edge of hunger in his core, but life has been given to him in its fullest measure. Unconditional friendship stuffs his heart full, but it can grow and grow, more and more, shuffling around to make room. Taehyung and Jungkook, and now Hoseok, then Yoongi, then Namjoon, each one burning bright, another star in his growing galaxy.

(Things he’d needed to find without knowing, appearing when he hadn’t even been looking.)

He still doesn’t know what answer it is he’s looking for, to give to you, and really, he’s not sure what the question is. He’s been given so much, and he’s so grateful, but there’s still that tiny hollow inside him, waiting for his hands to close around the final puzzle piece. Waiting for him to slot it into place. 

But winter passes, sliding into spring, and then spring rolls into summer, and Jimin realises—he has time.

He has time. There’s no rush. He’s so used to chasing and running and aching, and that momentum will never leave him, but he’s starting to learn that it’s okay not to always sprint forwards. He sparks bright with progress, a glistening shine, but the things that shine out greater still are these: the moments of stillness. Taehyung and Jungkook sprawled around him, cheeks full of takeaway food. Hoseok in the dance studio, all the energy of his limbs brought to a quiet standstill as he sits and drinks water, staring at Jimin in the mirrors and wiggling his eyebrows. Yoongi beside him on the subway, eyes shut as he listens to the music coming from his earphones, tilting his head at Jimin’s questioning touch and taking one bud out to share. Namjoon, brows furrowed as he reads the book in front of him, large hands flipping the pages with such care, but turning his attention to Jimin the second he appears.

You, ankles hooked around the legs of your chair, cup of freshly brewed tea in front of you, letting the steam curl over your nose and cheeks. A cup of the same tea in front of Jimin, sometimes made by his own hands. Not often, but enough to find out more about you, the building blocks that have shaped you into who you are. 

Jimin learns about witchcraft, and magic, and how it’s far less complicated and somehow entirely more complex than he thought. You’ve pulled the library doors wide open and invited Jimin to browse at his leisure, through ancient tomes written in languages he doesn’t understand, vellum covered in calligraphy too faded to be read, but you’re his Rosetta stone, translating it all. He always thought that magic was a secret thing, and it is, but you’re letting him look in. You give him knowledge, and patience, and time. You give him an open door, a place that always welcomes him, no matter the time or weather. 

He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but Jimin doesn’t have to wait for Aurora��s call any more. He doesn’t have to wait for that crest of that nascent dawn on the horizon. He follows the curvature of the earth and walks towards the sun himself, chases that luminous aureole and finds it all on his own. And there you wait for him, at the base of that shining star, your magic a halo that’s settled in your hair, the north on his compass. 

He still comes empty-handed, no answer to offer you; but you seem content to wait, so Jimin is, too.

He’ll wait.

He has time.

--

Jimin returns to Busan for the weekend. He sleeps in his childhood bed, eats food that never tastes the same when he tries to cook it himself, thinks about how tall he feels compared to his parents now, even if he hasn’t grown at all. He feels a little off kilter, like he’s pulled on an old t-shirt that used to fit him perfectly, but doesn’t anymore; too loose around the neck, too tight around the arms. Wearable, but different. Still comfortable, but not the same. He’s outgrown it now.

(Busan will always have a piece of his heart, but it’s not home anymore.)

(Home is somewhere close, he knows, but he’s still waiting to find that key, final tumbler of the lock sliding perfectly against its metallic teeth. He’s close, so close, but not there. Not yet.)

He’s walking past the fridges in the supermarket, on a quest for fresh radish for his mother, when he catches a smell that dredges up an old memory, smoke and ash. 

Jimin turns his head.

The witch looks just the same as before: ageless and perfect. Long dark hair in perfect curls, nails and lips blood red, eyebrows perfect arches, imperious ice. She’s already staring at him, and once their eyes touch, a flicker of recognition passes over her face, and then surprise, gaze darting over Jimin.

“Well, look at you. You finally grew into those cute cheeks of yours. I thought you would.” Although her words might be patronising, Jimin is shocked at her tone. It’s polite; almost friendly. Nothing like the aloofness she’d shown him all those years ago, when he’d come to her with the reckless desperation of a youth in love. “You’ve clearly done well for yourself.”

Jimin’s jeans are ripped more from wear than fashion, his shirt is from the discount rack at the Lotte mart, and his trainers are scuffed and worn. He might have grown into his face but nothing about him shouts success—and yet this witch is looking at him with something like mutual respect. “Pardon?”

“I can smell the power of the magic on you from here,” the witch says, and Jimin startles. “Like warm banana bread. Or the bark of a maple tree. It suits you.”

“That’s—that’s not mine,” Jimin admits. His heart races in his chest. He hadn’t known that he carries some brightness of your magic with him, some sweetness, motes of light swirling around him even after he’s left Seoul. He hadn’t known that other witches could smell that magic the way he can smell theirs.

(He hadn’t known that he would smell like you.)

The witch tilts her head. Her earrings are interlocking hoops, circling each other, sliding at the motion. “Oh, I know that,” she says. “It’s been given to you. It’s not yours, but it’s a part of you. It just takes a special kind of person to control that flow of power, and I’ve never met a mundane who can do that. Surely you must have realised?”

Jimin’s lashes flutter. He mixes tea, sure, but—that’s not him. It’s the shop guiding his hand. Isn’t it?

It’s been given to you. It’s not yours.

That promise you’d made Jimin, last year, the first time he’d stepped over your threshold, dripping rainwater and sorrow, so sad, so small: Anything you give me remains your own.

You just hadn’t mentioned it was the same for you, too.

(Hadn’t mentioned that you’d given him anything at all.)

(But you’ve given him so much, haven’t you?)

(It’s a part of you.)

(Jimin is changed by every person he meets, the sum of every part that’s ever been given to him by someone else. But he’s also more than those parts; he’s himself, something he’s made, is still making. Working towards being the best he can be.)

(He's himself, controls himself, the world around him. When he lifts those jars from the shelves, he's following his heart. He's his own guide. He trusts himself. Oh, it's not the shop after all, is it?)

(Is it?)

“Ah.” The witch lets out a knowing hum. “Understanding will come with time. Magic can seem such a fickle thing to the mundane, but it’s not. A witch’s magic is a reflection of who they are.”

He thinks of your magic, warm and honey-sweet. Dawn light; sun bright. A reflection of you. One that adorns him with its brilliance, even when you’re miles away from each other. You’re the silver lining to every cloud in his sky, when they’re white and wispy, or heavy with rain, torrenting water, weathering every season that turns in his heart. In the bittersweet death of autumn, the cold loneliness of winter, the emerging life of spring, the buoyant joy of summer. You’re a shelter against the elements. You’re the place Jimin feels safest in. You’re his—

Oh. 

Oh.

(There it is.)

(Home isn’t a place. Home is a feeling. You carry it with you, in your heart; that comfort, that belonging. Somewhere you want to come back to, that you know is waiting for you at the end of the day, any day, every day. That knowledge of love. Your friends; your family. Familiarity. Contentment. Feeling at peace because you know no matter where you are or where you go, home will always be there with you, and waiting for you back where you started, or wherever you finish.)

(Dropping that answer into his hands, feather light, rays of the morning sun cast over his palms, weightless in his grasp.)

(The key finally fits into the lock, and turns, door bursting wide open, letting life and light into Jimin’s heart, filling something that he already thought was full.)

The dark haired witch gives him a smile that’s equal parts pleased and self-satisfied. She sweeps away, leaving Jimin lost, and found.

--

Jimin steps down in Seoul with an utter lack of grace. Like the world has been pitching beneath his feet and has only just turned steady, sea legs buckling on the solid earth.

His bag is heavy with everything he’d brought to Busan for the weekend, and he’s tired after the train journey, and it’s hot, so hot, the summer heat oppressive in its height and weight, pressing sticky hands over his sweaty skin. Even so, he’d spent almost all three hours of travel with his leg jiggling up and down, wound up, pent up, every thread of him coiled around the knowledge he holds. The answer he’s been looking for, inside him all along. 

Part of him wants to run. That hungry part of him, still scared of not being good enough, terrified that if he doesn’t grab something with both hands it’ll slip away like quicksand; that the river at his feet will pull the earth up in its rush, leaving an empty canyon in front of him, lonely and deep.

But another part of him—the part of him that’s grown so bright, watered by the love of everyone around him—quells that fear. It’s the part that gently reminds him that he has time. It’s the part that carries him gently in its current, guiding him through the swell of bodies and busyness that’s all pervasive in Seoul, guiding him north. 

(His north.)

His feet aren’t a stumbling rush. He doesn’t have to hurry, after all. No matter how long he takes, he’ll get to his destination. 

(Home is always waiting for you at the end of your journey.)

The windchimes orbit rose quartz today. The same pastel pink that circles his wrist.

“Hello,” says Jimin. “I missed you.”

The windchimes shiver and spark out a note of happiness, and Aurora’s blue-green door swings open. He’s hit with a burst of cool air that pulls the sweat away from his skin. Stepping into the shop feels like a shot of caffeine in his veins, and, besides, he’s found what he’s looking for.

He has the question, and the answer. (He’s had it all along.)

(Where is your home?)

He sheds his shoes and bag, cast carelessly on the floor, and doesn’t hesitate to step forwards. The door to the tea room swings open before he reaches it, as always, feeling his urgency and responding without being asked.

And there you are.

Your hair is bundled up out of your face, arms and legs bare in the summer heat, tiny pineapples on your nails, a sweating pitcher of tea dripping rivulets of water on the table as you pour yourself a glass, ice tumbling around slices of fresh peach. You glance up at his arrival, and when you smile, Jimin feels how the magic in the room lifts and swirls around him. 

It’s the tart sweetness of fresh-squeezed lemonade; the soft chill of vanilla ice cream; the rich cream of mango parfait. It’s all happiness and tender affection, and Jimin wonders how he’s never seen the depth of it before now.

“Hi, Jimin.” Your voice is brighter than the summer sun outside, stronger still. “Did you just get back from Busan? You must be exhausted. How was your family?”

He answers by stepping forwards and wrapping his fingers around your glass. You watch in stunned silence as he lifts it to his lips, swallowing down the mix of flavours; rooibos, apple, hibiscus, rosehip, orange peel. Peach melba, sugary and mellow against his tongue, cold biting pain against his teeth.

He wipes away a stray drop of tea from his lips. Sunlight ripples in the room as your eyes flicker over his mouth. “Ask me.”

Your eyes tear back up to his. He can feel how the magic in the air slides away from you, pooling on the floor, swirling about your ankles; it’s like the brush of sand against his skin, treading across wet beaches, sticking to the soles of his feet. “Ask you what?”

“I need to pay for the tea. Ask me for a story.”

Jimin can feel the tug in his stomach, that telltale sensation that he has to pay his dues. Still, you seem surprised. “Okay, Jimin. What story do you have to share?”

“I met a witch, once. I was sad, and lonely, but she listened to me, every time I went to see her, again and again.” Jimin can feel your magic rising with each of his words, the gentlest tide. “And one day, she let me listen to her, too. She asked me to give her an answer for an unspoken question. But she didn’t press me for it. She just let me come back, again and again. She gave me a part of her magic. She’s not like any other witch in the world.  I’ve been waiting to find that answer to give to her, but then I realised I had it all along.”

(Where is your home?)

Your mouth drops open, but Jimin speaks over your intake of breath. That tugging in his stomach is still there. That pull towards you. “Ask me for a secret,” Jimin says.

“Okay, Jimin.” Your voice is quiet, but your magic has never felt stronger, spilling out of you like morning dew, shimmering, opalescent. “What’s your secret?”

“I think I’m in love,” he says, feels how the magic in the room swells, but he knows he still has more to give. “Ask me for a confession.”

“Okay, Jimin.” A whisper. Your magic is as bright as a solar flare, glimmering crystal, spun sugar. “What’s your confession?”

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin confesses.

And then he does.

Every window and door flies open, every plant bursts into bloom, every candle catches light, windchimes singing, breeze rushing through every room, but Jimin doesn’t notice any of these things. All he can feel is the warmth of your mouth against his own, the sweet taste of peach, how your magic fizzes on his tongue like champagne, a heady rush. 

Your breath is a flicker of candlelight in his mouth, one that grows into a bonfire, one he readily fans, watches how the flames leap high. One kiss turns to two, then three, your lips fitting so perfectly against his own, parting so readily at the first press of his tongue; your mouth a sweet little curve, dripping honey and syrup, as lovely as the rest of you. The world narrows down to this, to you; your hands warm where they cup his face, run through his hair, soft touches, how perfect those feel. 

He’s breathless when he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against your own. The magic is a heat shimmer, glistening air, surrounding the two of you in its embrace—but it doesn’t shine as brightly as you, your beauty, the sheen on your lips, kiss-swollen and exquisite.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Oh, Jimin.”

You’re so warm under his hands. The summer air that fills the room is swirling motes of brightness, brushing over you both with its delicate touch, and Jimin breathes you in. Not your magic, but you; a little salt, summer sweat, a little sweet, perfume soft. You feel so perfect like this, wrapped up in his arms, a powerful witch that’s opened up for him, the yielding petals of a flower, the sweet nectar at its core. Jimin’s always hated feeling so small, almost dainty, a slip of a thing compared to Taehyung’s height or Jungkook’s strength, and yet you fit so perfectly against him. 

For all the magic that drips from you like liquid gold, divine and powerful, here you are: all comfort and tenderness and affection, open arms, calling him home.

“I’m giving you my heart.” Jimin presses his words into the lovely swell of your cheeks, the line of your jaw, your neck, lips trailing over your skin, drinking down the way you shiver. “It’s still mine, I know, but I’m giving it to you, too.”

The smile on your face is all open happiness, laughter brighter than every star in the sky. “A witch never lets a payment go unreturned,” you say. “My heart for your heart. Sound fair?”

Jimin’s answering laugh is echoed by the windchimes outside, tickling and light. “I think that settles the score.”

--

(Where is your home?)

(Wherever you are.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

--

[24/09/20] author’s note: hi, guys. so I’ve recently been on a bit of a rereading binge, digging up old favourite fics of mine and enjoying them all over again, and I was horrified to discover a scene in a fic that’s eerily similar to something I’ve written here: namely, the scene where Jimin first comes across the shop and pays for a cup of tea with a happy memory. 

I genuinely had not read the fic in over two years and don’t recall many details at all, but I must have remembered it without realising and echoed it in my own writing. I was reading the fic and my heart genuinely stopped in my chest and I started to freak out because I would never, ever want to plagiarise someone else’s work, intentionally or unintentionally. 

however, on a reread of both the other fic and my own, the scene in question is somewhat similar but not the same. I just feel uncomfortable at the idea of benefiting from someone else’s time; writing is hard work and publishing things online takes a great deal of courage, and I know people who’ve had their work plagiarised, and how much it hurts. so I want to state for the record that when I wrote finding home it was without reference to anyone else’s story, so any similarities were coincidental. 

[onbeinganangel]

Me again? How about 1, 25, 28 from the end of year list? ✨

teeeeeee my love! happy to report none of these have been answered yet! thank you 😘

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

worst question ever, i’m gonna cheat and you’re gonna get this in categories, sorry not sorry

my favourite fic i wrote this year in terms of craft: Rebirth (Coming Home) this was a pain in the arse to write and to edit (which is truly what i’m worst at) and in so many ways, i couldn’t have done it without my betas! BUT it is definitely, in my personal opinion, my strongest writing, and the closest to what i’d like to write more often. even though writing was tough at times so many of these scenes ended up on paper exactly how i imagined them in my mind’s eye and there’s nothing more satisfying than that as a writer

the fic that I most loved writing: Quick as a Flash of Lightning, Unhurried as Eternity, this was just ridiculous to write. i had never churned out 10k like this before! i don't know that it was the amazing support system or wanting to make something amazing for Starry but every word was a joy to type, after a long wave of nothing

the most rewarding fic to finish: Maelstrom, the water told me everyone has heard me moan about this fic lol so i’ll just say that despite the ups and downs of writing it and everything else, the feeling of having finished it was completely unparalleled. just pure euphoria! I’m glad it exists and it’s out there in the world, even if it isn’t what i thought it would be

a bonus non-drarry: Misfortune’s Bitter Storms because I loved diving deep into Bill as a character and exploring this triad in a way that fit into canon seamlessly without discounting wolfstar AND remadora and in a way that made sense to me.

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

rules? what are rules? yeah i’m gonna do more than one again, you guessed it! i think “fics i recommend everyone” is a very interesting category, because they don’t necessarily fall under the same category as my favourite fics! A lot of my favourite fics i read this year aren’t necessarily for everyone — i want people to read them so we can scream about it together, but it doesn’t mean they should lol

so here are three wonderful fics i read this year

Blackpool by TheDivineComedian - a gen fic! yes! you read that right! A GEN FIC! this does very hard into the Sirius & Regulus relationship (one of my weaknesses), and absolutely harrowing and disturbing Black family shenanigans. actually life changing, gorgeous writing.

Blackberry Jam by @julietsemophase - a ww2 no magic au! honestly this one just stole my heart and made me sob like a wee baby! i don’t know how i found this fic but i thank my lucky stars i found it

the moon between my hands by @softlystarstruck - fem!drarry!!!!! So Tender. So Soft.  and like… written in a very specific queer way that made my heart do things i didn’t know it could do.

28. longest fic you read this year

All the Young Dudes takes that trophy, at over 526k but that’s a Marauders era fic and no one is here for that. so I will also mention Tit for Tat by @mintamintathings which is my longest drarry read of the year at 388k and a HUGE rec from me (do mind the tags if you go in, friends! it’s definitely not for everyone but if you can handle it it’s sooooo worth it). I binged the whole thing way too quickly as well (as you know Tee, because i was screaming in your DMs like a deranged little bastard, in our little Tit for Tat fan club) but by god, it’s worth the hours staring at the ceiling absolutely REEEEEELING from the feels.

questions from this end of the year list here

[cami-chats]

In Your Camera Roll

Title: In Your Camera Roll

Link: AO3

Square Filled: Sending A Dick Pic

Ship: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

Rating: Explicit

Major Tags: None

Summary: “Bucky was innocently working at home when a wrong text makes his night much more enjoyable.”

Word Count: 1841

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full text also below 

Bucky was editing his ass off when he got a text. He didn't recognize the number, but Steve had just gotten a new phone. Last Bucky had heard, he was setting it up while also trying to move Sam's things in.

Unknown Number: :photo:

Bucky rolled his eyes. It was probably a picture of Steve drinking from Sam's favorite mug or something equally stupid and sappy, so he swiped to open it without much thought.

And a dick showed up.

Bucky blinked.

Another text came in before he had a chance to even attempt to think of a response, mostly because his mind had stalled at the picture. He was horny more often than not, mostly because he hadn't had a boyfriend in years, and he'd stopped doing hookups when he got the prosthetic because people either said that he should warn people he had a piece of technology attached to him, or they had a fetish. Either way it wasn't fun, which meant that it had been a while since someone showed him their dick with intention. He didn't appreciate the fact that this was the first text this number had ever sent him, but even jerks had nice cocks sometimes, and lord did this man have a nice one. It was leaning against his stomach, flushed and absolutely mouth watering where it curved against olive skin.

;) Then, a minute later, Oh shit.

Wrong number

Fuck

I'm sorry

Please tell me you're not underage

Oh my god I'm so sorry

Bucky appreciated that, and now that he knew this was a case of wrong number and not completely unsolicited dick pics to a random number, it was pretty funny. He thought about just saying that it was fine, but, as previously mentioned, it had been so long since he'd gotten any that he was willing to take a little risk. He looked at the picture again, then shot off a text.

Nice dick man :tongue:

I don't have plans if you don't

He sent the texts before he could second guess himself, and figured that the worst case scenario was the guy turned out to be a homophobe and Bucky blocked his number.

Tell me you're not underage before I say anything else :suspicious face:

Lol if I'm underage then why did I have to make my own doctor's appointment

It was a valid question.

Now that that's over...

:smirking face: Tit for tat

Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have tits. It took a minute for Bucky to find, copy, and paste the shrug emoji. With a sigh, he set his phone to the side and went back to the open document on his computer, then made a face. He'd gone over this story so many times, he wasn't sure he'd know if he had the same paragraph to start all the chapters. His phone buzzed with another message, but he ignored it, staring at the too-bright screen and trying to will himself to get back to it.

He picked up his phone. All the better for sending me a pic of your cock. Come on fuel my imagination

Shouldn't you be texting the person you meant to send that to?

What makes you think I'm not?

I mean

I'm not.

Because he's a dick

Then why were you texting him??

Good phone sex voice. Pretty sure he's saving the pics I send him for blackmail purposes but eh wouldn't be the first time that happened.

You need to find a better bed partner

You offering?

Bucky hadn't really meant for it to sound like an offer, but hell he could go for that. It had been, god going on two years since he'd had sex, a little sexting was more action than he'd seen in a while. He was a little nervous about this-- the guy was a complete stranger after all-- but what was the harm? Worst case scenario was a random guy had a few naughty texts and maybe a dick pic or two for his own collection; it's not like he knew who Bucky was or even what he looked like.

Sure am sugar. Give me a lil something and I'll give you a pic of your own :winky face:

Does my first dick pic not count as something?

That was for someone else, I want something of my own

Hmm

You an ass man?

:drooling face: :peach: :peach: :peach: :heart eyes:

Lol

One min.

He probably didn't have too great of an ass, but just thinking about it was making Bucky harder. He pushed himself away from the desk, one hand clasped around his phone, the other adjusting himself through his pants. He shooed his cat-- Winter-- off his bed, and he took off in a huff for the kitchen, probably to knock pictures off the wall in protest. He threw his phone down on the newly vacated bed and started to shuck off his clothes. He paused when he got to his pants though, figuring that it was better to get a picture now, just in case that's the sort of thing this guy wanted.

He had to turn on the lights for it, and he really hoped this guy was worth it because now he was squinting uncomfortably after being in the dark for so long. He hooked a thumb in his underwear then stopped and switched hands so his prosthetic wasn't visible. He took a couple pictures and hoped one of them was decent; it's not like he had a lot of experience with this.

Just as he was about to set his phone down again, a text came through.

:photo:

Bucky choked on his tongue as all his blood rushed south. He took back every single doubtful thought he'd had about this man and the quality of his ass because good lord. He had to do squats every day or something, because no one got an ass like that from sitting at a desk all day. Not to mention those boxer briefs were practically painted on, a vibrant red that clung to perfect curves.

I'm saving that pic for later

Just fyi

God knows he'd be jerking off to that picture for the foreseeable future; it was only fair to tell the guy responsible for it.

Was that enough to inspire you? :winky face:

Bucky looked through the pictures he'd taken. They looked inadequate in comparison, but he chose the one where the head of his cock was peeking out the top of his underwear and his hand could be seen cupping his balls over the fabric.

Ooo :tongue: Do I get the rest if I ask nicely?

Nah :winking face: Bucky kicked his clothes off and took another picture, his hand wrapped around the base, and sent it. He opened the photo of that marvelous backside and moved his hand over his erection slowly. "Mm." His eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed into his mattress as he teased his length. That was an ass so good he wouldn't even need to be buried inside of it for it to be wonderful. Give him a handful (and an eyeful), and he'd be good to go.

He was jerked from his imagining of what it would look like without the fabric by his phone ringing. "I swear to god if this is Steve..." He answered with a short, "What," without even looking at the number. Which, in hindsight, wasn't a well thought out idea.

The person on the other end snorted. "Wow you that nice to everyone you send dick pics too?"

Bucky blew out a breath, relaxing again. "I didn't check to see who it was. Uh, why'd you call?"

"I get off a lot better with someone's voice in my ear than just a few pics on my phone. Probably should have asked first," he mused, and Bucky chuckled.

"Don't you hang up, it's now your responsibility to talk me to an orgasm."

"Out of curiosity, do you always answer the phone when you're jerking off?"

"You overestimate how often I get phone calls. What's your name honey?"

"Tony." A pause. "This is where you tell me yours."

Bucky laughed a little. "Bucky. So Tony, come here often?"

"I hate you," Tony said, voice unbearably fond. "Tell me what you're doing."

"Jerkin' off."

"You've never done phone sex before have you," Tony said, sounding amused.

Bucky huffed, taking his hand off his erection. "Can't say I have. Shouldn't you have asked if I was any good at it before ya tried?"

"I had faith. I still have faith."

"Keep dreamin'," Bucky snorted. "I never was any good at talkin'."

"Well that's fine babe cause I can talk enough for the both of us," Tony purred. "I'm laying on my bed right now. I've got lube next to me, but I haven't really touched myself yet. What do you say, you want me to finger myself?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathed. "God that's-" his throat clicked.

He heard a noise and assumed it was the lid of the blue getting taken off. "Tell me what you're doing."

"Tony, I told you I ain't--"

"Think about how I did it," he soothed. "Told you where I was, gave you an idea for how close I was. So tell me baby, where are you right now?"

Bucky licked his lips, trying not to feel embarrassed. "I'm in my room. Uh, on my bed, layin' down. Before you called I was thinking 'bout your ass and uh touching myself."

"You got any lube?"

"I didn't grab it," he admitted, blushing a little.

Tony huffed out a laugh. "I have to do all the work around here. Grab your lube sweetie, you're saving tomorrow-you some pain now. You can thank me later, in the form of electronic roses and assurances that I'm the best you've ever had."

Bucky got to his feet while Tony was talking, padding to his bathroom and grabbing the half empty bottle-- right next to the who-am-I-kidding unopened box of condoms-- before going back to his room.

*

It took embarrassingly little time for Bucky to come with Tony's voice in his ear, whispering dirty things between moans and gasps as he pleasured himself, but Tony was close behind him, so he didn't feel too bad about it.

When they were both done panting, Tony said, "Okay, I'd love to stay up and have a little pillow talk, but I do actually have to get up early tomorrow."

Bucky laughed breathlessly. "Alright. Have a goodnight Tony. When you jerk off tomorrow morning, I expect you ta think of me."

"Oh I will," Tony promised. "Night sweetheart."

"G'night."

In the morning, Bucky texted him every flower emoji he could find, followed by Definitely the best I've ever had. Wanna spice it up a little next time? I swear I'm better in person

He didn't know how his proposal would be taken, so he waited anxiously for a reply, trying not to stare at his phone.

Name a time and a place :peach: :eggplant: :splash:

[playwithleaves]

Wife completely wrecked me this week... said she learnt about it on Reddit, thought I’d share what you’ve done!

I was watching Ghostbusters with my wife last night and she proposed a trade, back massage for a handjob. Something we often do. I obliged, retrieved some body butter and went to work on her. While this tit-for-tat thing is common practice for us, as I will soon learn, previously discussing our kinks and fantasies ... really spiced things up!

After a solid half-hour massage, I took up position next to her and she began rubbing me through my underwear. The playful teasing continued for a LONG-TIME and I noticed the movie was close to finishing (assuming I would be too!). The credits rolled and she was still just teasing.

She then instructed me to take off my underwear and start another movie. Lathering me up with body butter, I then endured an entire Spiderman: Far From Home's worth of edging. I lost count how many times she got me close. Building me right up, only to drop me on my head...She alternated between slow and fast, hard and soft, dragging nails, playing with the head... even getting the balls involved too. She never looks at what she's doing, just focuses on the movie the entire time.

Halfway through the movie, she pauses it and instructs me to go and get a condom from the bedroom. (because we're on the couch, we always use a condom for handjobs, just keeps things clean). For me, the implication of this request is.... IT's TIME!

I hurry back to the couch and she takes the condom and places it on the coffee table. The movie plays and she again starts working on me. As the movie winds down and the credits roll, she grabs the condom.

She then says, "Remember months ago when you told me about ‘edging’, I've been doing some "research".

"If you're good, you may get to cum tomorrow..." and off she goes to bed.

I'm absolutely stunned!

It's now the next morning and I'm about to go slip back into bed with her.... find out what constitutes as being "good".

Edit: turns out slipping into bed and waking her up does NOT constitute as good...

submitted by /u/Throwaway841309269 [link] [comments] from Sex https://ift.tt/3qXXVal

[jettadarkwynd]

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

© Reuters. FILE PHOTO: Illustration photo of a China yuan note

By Vivek Mishra

BENGALURU (Reuters) – China’s yuan will regain some of its recent sharp losses against the dollar and appreciate over the next year, but only if trade tensions between the Washington and Beijing subside, a Reuters poll found on Thursday.

The yuan has weakened almost 5 percent so far this year and hit a 14-month low last week, primarily driven by new tariff threats from the U.S. and retaliatory warnings from Chinese authorities.

Also, by consistently lowering the mid-point reference rate, the People’s Bank of China (PBoC) has allowed the currency to weaken substantially, adding to anxiety in global financial markets.

“We believe the yuan may potentially strengthen against the dollar if the current triggers are removed. Indeed, if U.S. President Donald Trump takes a step back from imposing further tariffs, this may help reverse some of the market concerns about USDCNY,” said Jeff Ng, Asia chief economist at Continuum Economics.

“Further, a rebound in domestic economic metrics could also help tilt the PBoC away from accommodation, keeping USDCNY closer to the 6.50-level. The yuan could also be granted a reprieve if markets expect the Federal Reserve to slow its pace of rate increases or start to worry about the U.S.’ current account deficit.”

The yuan was expected to gain around 2 percent to 6.70 per dollar in a year, according to the poll of more than 60 foreign exchange strategists taken August 6-8. It was trading around 6.82 on Wednesday.

After largely standing aside in recent weeks while the yuan fell, there are signs that Chinese authorities are now looking to put a floor under the currency and discourage bets on further losses that could trigger capital outflows.

On Friday, the central bank said it would require banks to keep reserves equivalent to 20 percent of their clients’ foreign exchange forwards positions in a move to stabilize the yuan.

Still, the 12-month forecast for the yuan was the most pessimistic median in Reuters polls conducted this year.

According to a separate Reuters poll on currency positioning, investors piled bearish bets on the yuan to the highest on record amid the escalating tit-for-tat trade battle between the world’s two biggest economies. [ASIA/FXP]

Beijing on Friday announced tariffs on an additional $60 billion a year worth of imports from the U.S.

China’s retaliatory measures come after the latest U.S. proposal to increase tariffs on $200 billion of Chinese products.

Though data on Wednesday showed China’s exports are holding up surprising well so far, it is early days and the trade battle is expected to put further pressure on its already slowing economy. Growth is forecast to slow to 6.6 percent in 2018, and 6.3 percent in 2019, from 6.9 percent last year, a separate Reuters poll found.[ECILT/CN]

“The rising likelihood of an economic war with the U.S. presents the biggest threat to China’s growth and financial stability since the global financial crisis,” noted Dariusz Kowalczyk, a Hong Kong-based senior emerging market strategist at Credit Agricole (PA:) CIB.

“We believe Beijing has more to lose in a confrontation and so it is in China’s interests to reach a compromise with Washington rather than going down the path of retaliation. While some battles are likely to be fought, a war will probably be avoided, allowing China to limit the growth slowdown fairly easily via relatively modest credit, monetary and fiscal easing.”

Still, there are few signs that either side is in the mood for concessions at this point, and a few currency strategists expect the yuan to depreciate further over the coming 12 months.

Thirteen of 64 participants said the yuan will weaken below 7.0 per dollar in a year, a closely watched level that has not been breached since the 2008 global financial crisis.

“It is an under-statement to say the near-term outlook for the yuan remains highly uncertain. In the event that trade tensions escalate further, 6.95–7.00 could be the ultimate top for ,” noted Khoon Goh, head of Asia research at ANZ.

“Such a move would entail a 10 percent depreciation of the CNY, matching the 10 percent tariff which the U.S. threatens to impose on $200 billion of imports from China.”

But Goldman Sachs (NYSE:) told clients in a note that it believes an eventual “deal” still seems to be a reasonable base case assumption. It expected the currency to touch 6.60 in 12 months.

(Polling by Khushboo Mittal and Vivek Mishra; Editing by Jonathan Cable and Kim Coghill)

Read More https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

[cute1dfacts]

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

© Reuters. FILE PHOTO: Illustration photo of a China yuan note

By Vivek Mishra

BENGALURU (Reuters) – China’s yuan will regain some of its recent sharp losses against the dollar and appreciate over the next year, but only if trade tensions between the Washington and Beijing subside, a Reuters poll found on Thursday.

The yuan has weakened almost 5 percent so far this year and hit a 14-month low last week, primarily driven by new tariff threats from the U.S. and retaliatory warnings from Chinese authorities.

Also, by consistently lowering the mid-point reference rate, the People’s Bank of China (PBoC) has allowed the currency to weaken substantially, adding to anxiety in global financial markets.

“We believe the yuan may potentially strengthen against the dollar if the current triggers are removed. Indeed, if U.S. President Donald Trump takes a step back from imposing further tariffs, this may help reverse some of the market concerns about USDCNY,” said Jeff Ng, Asia chief economist at Continuum Economics.

“Further, a rebound in domestic economic metrics could also help tilt the PBoC away from accommodation, keeping USDCNY closer to the 6.50-level. The yuan could also be granted a reprieve if markets expect the Federal Reserve to slow its pace of rate increases or start to worry about the U.S.’ current account deficit.”

The yuan was expected to gain around 2 percent to 6.70 per dollar in a year, according to the poll of more than 60 foreign exchange strategists taken August 6-8. It was trading around 6.82 on Wednesday.

After largely standing aside in recent weeks while the yuan fell, there are signs that Chinese authorities are now looking to put a floor under the currency and discourage bets on further losses that could trigger capital outflows.

On Friday, the central bank said it would require banks to keep reserves equivalent to 20 percent of their clients’ foreign exchange forwards positions in a move to stabilize the yuan.

Still, the 12-month forecast for the yuan was the most pessimistic median in Reuters polls conducted this year.

According to a separate Reuters poll on currency positioning, investors piled bearish bets on the yuan to the highest on record amid the escalating tit-for-tat trade battle between the world’s two biggest economies. [ASIA/FXP]

Beijing on Friday announced tariffs on an additional $60 billion a year worth of imports from the U.S.

China’s retaliatory measures come after the latest U.S. proposal to increase tariffs on $200 billion of Chinese products.

Though data on Wednesday showed China’s exports are holding up surprising well so far, it is early days and the trade battle is expected to put further pressure on its already slowing economy. Growth is forecast to slow to 6.6 percent in 2018, and 6.3 percent in 2019, from 6.9 percent last year, a separate Reuters poll found.[ECILT/CN]

“The rising likelihood of an economic war with the U.S. presents the biggest threat to China’s growth and financial stability since the global financial crisis,” noted Dariusz Kowalczyk, a Hong Kong-based senior emerging market strategist at Credit Agricole (PA:) CIB.

“We believe Beijing has more to lose in a confrontation and so it is in China’s interests to reach a compromise with Washington rather than going down the path of retaliation. While some battles are likely to be fought, a war will probably be avoided, allowing China to limit the growth slowdown fairly easily via relatively modest credit, monetary and fiscal easing.”

Still, there are few signs that either side is in the mood for concessions at this point, and a few currency strategists expect the yuan to depreciate further over the coming 12 months.

Thirteen of 64 participants said the yuan will weaken below 7.0 per dollar in a year, a closely watched level that has not been breached since the 2008 global financial crisis.

“It is an under-statement to say the near-term outlook for the yuan remains highly uncertain. In the event that trade tensions escalate further, 6.95–7.00 could be the ultimate top for ,” noted Khoon Goh, head of Asia research at ANZ.

“Such a move would entail a 10 percent depreciation of the CNY, matching the 10 percent tariff which the U.S. threatens to impose on $200 billion of imports from China.”

But Goldman Sachs (NYSE:) told clients in a note that it believes an eventual “deal” still seems to be a reasonable base case assumption. It expected the currency to touch 6.60 in 12 months.

(Polling by Khushboo Mittal and Vivek Mishra; Editing by Jonathan Cable and Kim Coghill)

Read More https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

[taylordmorris]

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

© Reuters. FILE PHOTO: Illustration photo of a China yuan note

By Vivek Mishra

BENGALURU (Reuters) – China’s yuan will regain some of its recent sharp losses against the dollar and appreciate over the next year, but only if trade tensions between the Washington and Beijing subside, a Reuters poll found on Thursday.

The yuan has weakened almost 5 percent so far this year and hit a 14-month low last week, primarily driven by new tariff threats from the U.S. and retaliatory warnings from Chinese authorities.

Also, by consistently lowering the mid-point reference rate, the People’s Bank of China (PBoC) has allowed the currency to weaken substantially, adding to anxiety in global financial markets.

“We believe the yuan may potentially strengthen against the dollar if the current triggers are removed. Indeed, if U.S. President Donald Trump takes a step back from imposing further tariffs, this may help reverse some of the market concerns about USDCNY,” said Jeff Ng, Asia chief economist at Continuum Economics.

“Further, a rebound in domestic economic metrics could also help tilt the PBoC away from accommodation, keeping USDCNY closer to the 6.50-level. The yuan could also be granted a reprieve if markets expect the Federal Reserve to slow its pace of rate increases or start to worry about the U.S.’ current account deficit.”

The yuan was expected to gain around 2 percent to 6.70 per dollar in a year, according to the poll of more than 60 foreign exchange strategists taken August 6-8. It was trading around 6.82 on Wednesday.

After largely standing aside in recent weeks while the yuan fell, there are signs that Chinese authorities are now looking to put a floor under the currency and discourage bets on further losses that could trigger capital outflows.

On Friday, the central bank said it would require banks to keep reserves equivalent to 20 percent of their clients’ foreign exchange forwards positions in a move to stabilize the yuan.

Still, the 12-month forecast for the yuan was the most pessimistic median in Reuters polls conducted this year.

According to a separate Reuters poll on currency positioning, investors piled bearish bets on the yuan to the highest on record amid the escalating tit-for-tat trade battle between the world’s two biggest economies. [ASIA/FXP]

Beijing on Friday announced tariffs on an additional $60 billion a year worth of imports from the U.S.

China’s retaliatory measures come after the latest U.S. proposal to increase tariffs on $200 billion of Chinese products.

Though data on Wednesday showed China’s exports are holding up surprising well so far, it is early days and the trade battle is expected to put further pressure on its already slowing economy. Growth is forecast to slow to 6.6 percent in 2018, and 6.3 percent in 2019, from 6.9 percent last year, a separate Reuters poll found.[ECILT/CN]

“The rising likelihood of an economic war with the U.S. presents the biggest threat to China’s growth and financial stability since the global financial crisis,” noted Dariusz Kowalczyk, a Hong Kong-based senior emerging market strategist at Credit Agricole (PA:) CIB.

“We believe Beijing has more to lose in a confrontation and so it is in China’s interests to reach a compromise with Washington rather than going down the path of retaliation. While some battles are likely to be fought, a war will probably be avoided, allowing China to limit the growth slowdown fairly easily via relatively modest credit, monetary and fiscal easing.”

Still, there are few signs that either side is in the mood for concessions at this point, and a few currency strategists expect the yuan to depreciate further over the coming 12 months.

Thirteen of 64 participants said the yuan will weaken below 7.0 per dollar in a year, a closely watched level that has not been breached since the 2008 global financial crisis.

“It is an under-statement to say the near-term outlook for the yuan remains highly uncertain. In the event that trade tensions escalate further, 6.95–7.00 could be the ultimate top for ,” noted Khoon Goh, head of Asia research at ANZ.

“Such a move would entail a 10 percent depreciation of the CNY, matching the 10 percent tariff which the U.S. threatens to impose on $200 billion of imports from China.”

But Goldman Sachs (NYSE:) told clients in a note that it believes an eventual “deal” still seems to be a reasonable base case assumption. It expected the currency to touch 6.60 in 12 months.

(Polling by Khushboo Mittal and Vivek Mishra; Editing by Jonathan Cable and Kim Coghill)

Read More https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

[benmauerberger]

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

© Reuters. FILE PHOTO: Illustration photo of a China yuan note

By Vivek Mishra

BENGALURU (Reuters) – China’s yuan will regain some of its recent sharp losses against the dollar and appreciate over the next year, but only if trade tensions between the Washington and Beijing subside, a Reuters poll found on Thursday.

The yuan has weakened almost 5 percent so far this year and hit a 14-month low last week, primarily driven by new tariff threats from the U.S. and retaliatory warnings from Chinese authorities.

Also, by consistently lowering the mid-point reference rate, the People’s Bank of China (PBoC) has allowed the currency to weaken substantially, adding to anxiety in global financial markets.

“We believe the yuan may potentially strengthen against the dollar if the current triggers are removed. Indeed, if U.S. President Donald Trump takes a step back from imposing further tariffs, this may help reverse some of the market concerns about USDCNY,” said Jeff Ng, Asia chief economist at Continuum Economics.

“Further, a rebound in domestic economic metrics could also help tilt the PBoC away from accommodation, keeping USDCNY closer to the 6.50-level. The yuan could also be granted a reprieve if markets expect the Federal Reserve to slow its pace of rate increases or start to worry about the U.S.’ current account deficit.”

The yuan was expected to gain around 2 percent to 6.70 per dollar in a year, according to the poll of more than 60 foreign exchange strategists taken August 6-8. It was trading around 6.82 on Wednesday.

After largely standing aside in recent weeks while the yuan fell, there are signs that Chinese authorities are now looking to put a floor under the currency and discourage bets on further losses that could trigger capital outflows.

On Friday, the central bank said it would require banks to keep reserves equivalent to 20 percent of their clients’ foreign exchange forwards positions in a move to stabilize the yuan.

Still, the 12-month forecast for the yuan was the most pessimistic median in Reuters polls conducted this year.

According to a separate Reuters poll on currency positioning, investors piled bearish bets on the yuan to the highest on record amid the escalating tit-for-tat trade battle between the world’s two biggest economies. [ASIA/FXP]

Beijing on Friday announced tariffs on an additional $60 billion a year worth of imports from the U.S.

China’s retaliatory measures come after the latest U.S. proposal to increase tariffs on $200 billion of Chinese products.

Though data on Wednesday showed China’s exports are holding up surprising well so far, it is early days and the trade battle is expected to put further pressure on its already slowing economy. Growth is forecast to slow to 6.6 percent in 2018, and 6.3 percent in 2019, from 6.9 percent last year, a separate Reuters poll found.[ECILT/CN]

“The rising likelihood of an economic war with the U.S. presents the biggest threat to China’s growth and financial stability since the global financial crisis,” noted Dariusz Kowalczyk, a Hong Kong-based senior emerging market strategist at Credit Agricole (PA:) CIB.

“We believe Beijing has more to lose in a confrontation and so it is in China’s interests to reach a compromise with Washington rather than going down the path of retaliation. While some battles are likely to be fought, a war will probably be avoided, allowing China to limit the growth slowdown fairly easily via relatively modest credit, monetary and fiscal easing.”

Still, there are few signs that either side is in the mood for concessions at this point, and a few currency strategists expect the yuan to depreciate further over the coming 12 months.

Thirteen of 64 participants said the yuan will weaken below 7.0 per dollar in a year, a closely watched level that has not been breached since the 2008 global financial crisis.

“It is an under-statement to say the near-term outlook for the yuan remains highly uncertain. In the event that trade tensions escalate further, 6.95–7.00 could be the ultimate top for ,” noted Khoon Goh, head of Asia research at ANZ.

“Such a move would entail a 10 percent depreciation of the CNY, matching the 10 percent tariff which the U.S. threatens to impose on $200 billion of imports from China.”

But Goldman Sachs (NYSE:) told clients in a note that it believes an eventual “deal” still seems to be a reasonable base case assumption. It expected the currency to touch 6.60 in 12 months.

(Polling by Khushboo Mittal and Vivek Mishra; Editing by Jonathan Cable and Kim Coghill)

Read More https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

[breakbit]

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

New Post has been published on https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll

Chinese yuan to regain some ground if trade tensions ease: poll

© Reuters. FILE PHOTO: Illustration photo of a China yuan note

By Vivek Mishra

BENGALURU (Reuters) – China’s yuan will regain some of its recent sharp losses against the dollar and appreciate over the next year, but only if trade tensions between the Washington and Beijing subside, a Reuters poll found on Thursday.

The yuan has weakened almost 5 percent so far this year and hit a 14-month low last week, primarily driven by new tariff threats from the U.S. and retaliatory warnings from Chinese authorities.

Also, by consistently lowering the mid-point reference rate, the People’s Bank of China (PBoC) has allowed the currency to weaken substantially, adding to anxiety in global financial markets.

“We believe the yuan may potentially strengthen against the dollar if the current triggers are removed. Indeed, if U.S. President Donald Trump takes a step back from imposing further tariffs, this may help reverse some of the market concerns about USDCNY,” said Jeff Ng, Asia chief economist at Continuum Economics.

“Further, a rebound in domestic economic metrics could also help tilt the PBoC away from accommodation, keeping USDCNY closer to the 6.50-level. The yuan could also be granted a reprieve if markets expect the Federal Reserve to slow its pace of rate increases or start to worry about the U.S.’ current account deficit.”

The yuan was expected to gain around 2 percent to 6.70 per dollar in a year, according to the poll of more than 60 foreign exchange strategists taken August 6-8. It was trading around 6.82 on Wednesday.

After largely standing aside in recent weeks while the yuan fell, there are signs that Chinese authorities are now looking to put a floor under the currency and discourage bets on further losses that could trigger capital outflows.

On Friday, the central bank said it would require banks to keep reserves equivalent to 20 percent of their clients’ foreign exchange forwards positions in a move to stabilize the yuan.

Still, the 12-month forecast for the yuan was the most pessimistic median in Reuters polls conducted this year.

According to a separate Reuters poll on currency positioning, investors piled bearish bets on the yuan to the highest on record amid the escalating tit-for-tat trade battle between the world’s two biggest economies. [ASIA/FXP]

Beijing on Friday announced tariffs on an additional $60 billion a year worth of imports from the U.S.

China’s retaliatory measures come after the latest U.S. proposal to increase tariffs on $200 billion of Chinese products.

Though data on Wednesday showed China’s exports are holding up surprising well so far, it is early days and the trade battle is expected to put further pressure on its already slowing economy. Growth is forecast to slow to 6.6 percent in 2018, and 6.3 percent in 2019, from 6.9 percent last year, a separate Reuters poll found.[ECILT/CN]

“The rising likelihood of an economic war with the U.S. presents the biggest threat to China’s growth and financial stability since the global financial crisis,” noted Dariusz Kowalczyk, a Hong Kong-based senior emerging market strategist at Credit Agricole (PA:) CIB.

“We believe Beijing has more to lose in a confrontation and so it is in China’s interests to reach a compromise with Washington rather than going down the path of retaliation. While some battles are likely to be fought, a war will probably be avoided, allowing China to limit the growth slowdown fairly easily via relatively modest credit, monetary and fiscal easing.”

Still, there are few signs that either side is in the mood for concessions at this point, and a few currency strategists expect the yuan to depreciate further over the coming 12 months.

Thirteen of 64 participants said the yuan will weaken below 7.0 per dollar in a year, a closely watched level that has not been breached since the 2008 global financial crisis.

“It is an under-statement to say the near-term outlook for the yuan remains highly uncertain. In the event that trade tensions escalate further, 6.95–7.00 could be the ultimate top for ,” noted Khoon Goh, head of Asia research at ANZ.

“Such a move would entail a 10 percent depreciation of the CNY, matching the 10 percent tariff which the U.S. threatens to impose on $200 billion of imports from China.”

But Goldman Sachs (NYSE:) told clients in a note that it believes an eventual “deal” still seems to be a reasonable base case assumption. It expected the currency to touch 6.60 in 12 months.

(Polling by Khushboo Mittal and Vivek Mishra; Editing by Jonathan Cable and Kim Coghill)

Read More https://worldwide-finance.net/news/commodities-futures-news/chinese-yuan-to-regain-some-ground-if-trade-tensions-ease-poll