#posting this at nearly midnight to ENSURE no one sees it

[skeleton-orb]

hello everybody. it is the corporate yaoi. they have bewitched me body and soul.

thank u reference image for my life

[pickledonyun]

𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙟𝙤𝙗 - 𝘺𝘦𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨

genre: crack (technically yeosang x fem!reader but it's complicated?)

warning: blood mentioned (someone has a knife and they're stupid), also.... everyone is stupid

summary: you don't hate your summer job at the ice cream shop, you just hate that you're working this shift practically alone-- that's all. it doesn't help that the new guy struggles in the brain cell department and the most beautiful man you've ever seen is in line.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: would you believe that I usually only write angst? l o l. thanks for reading my first ever tumblr fic and I hope you enjoy it (: thanks to my actual wife @bangchxnnie for helping me figure out how posting here works <3 marry me (again)

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There’s no real reason that working at an ice cream shop should be hard. It’s not good for anemic hands, maybe, or anyone who hates to see children smile. But the job itself, aside from the annoying intricacies of any food service work, should not be hard. 

That’s what makes sense to you, anyway. But alas, here you are— at ten before midnight, elbows deep in Beach Day while the himbo you’d had no time to train attempts and fails repeatedly to refund a particularly angry lady’s money. 

It’s fine. You absolutely will not cry— not when there’s a line of people out the door, their skin sunkissed and sticky from sea spray. You’d love for them all to leave, but you’re not an asshole. 

“Breezy, I need you to swap with me.” You say. 

“Nah, it’s breezy.” The kid answers. That’s where his self-inflicted nickname came from. You don’t even know his real name. The register beeps again, the red error message popping up. He’s trying to— what? You’ve never even seen that error before. In your four summers here, you’ve never seen it a single time.

You peel your gloves off and approach the register. “Go help the group of boys at the back.” You say, gesturing to a group of particularly pretty friends that just walked through the door. 

The kid, obviously unable to read the room, shoots you with finger guns. “Breezy.” He says. He walks as leisurely as possible towards them. You’re going to kill him. 

After the rush, though. 

You step up the register, a very fake and very apologetic smile on your face. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Just give me one second.” 

“I’ve been waiting for this refund for fifteen minutes!” She snaps. It’s a lie, a complete exaggeration, and her voice carries. You can feel the stares of the other patrons on you, their conversations dampening just slightly at the commotion.  

You apologize again and click the proper buttons. Her refund receipt prints just a moment later. “I’m sorry again, ma’am. Have a blessed night.” 

That’s food-service for ‘fuck you’. 

Breezy walks over after a few moments, emerging from the back. “Yo, ice-mommy, I cut my finger.” 

You can do nothing but blink at the mortifying nickname. And then you look at Breezy’s finger, which is hardly attached at the tip. Your eyes widen and you usher him back into the back of the building. “Breezy, what?” You ask. “Why did you even have a knife? Why were you back here?” 

Breezy just shrugs. You grab your cell phone and call your boss, quickly explaining the situation. Your boss tells you that she will call Breezy’s mom. After you ensure that the kid isn’t going to bleed out, and that everything is sanitary, you wash your hands and return to the front. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. Your body is tense with the anxiety of now being a one-woman show. The line, at least, hasn’t gotten any longer. That group of boys are the last ones in line. You do your best to help everyone quickly and efficiently, but you can only move so fast. By the time you get to them you are nearly in tears and your hands are shaking. At least Breezy already gave half of them their ice cream before he cut off his finger. You finish up their orders, careful to avoid eye contact because one of them in particular is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and then meet them at the register.

The especially pretty one pays, and you only charge him for six of the eight ice creams. It’s sort of an apology for them having to wait so long. ”I’m really sorry.” You say again, thanking him for his patience. 

He shrugs, a sweet smile on his face. “It’s okay. They’re like toddlers, they entertain themselves.” 

You glance over at the others, who have claimed a slightly too-small table by the window. The two tallest are arguing over something, and they’re doing it rather intensely. 

“They tried to drown each other at the pier this morning.” He adds, “I promised them that if they behaved I’d buy them ice cream.” 

“Effective.” You laugh, and it’s a pleasant sound. You’re about to say something else when you feel a tap on your shoulder. 

“The bleeding won’t stop.” Breezy says. 

“Breezy, you can’t be up here if you’re bleeding—” You begin, placing your hands on Breezy’s shoulders to usher him to the back again. “Did you apply pressure?” 

“Mom says I’m not supposed to pressure people into things.” 

“Applying pressure to your wound is not the same thing.” You say, and for some reason there are tears welling up in your eyes because how is he this stupid? 

“But what if it doesn’t want to?”

“Doesn’t want to what, Breezy?” 

He shrugs. He just shrugs. You can’t help the frustrated whine that escapes your lips. “I’m going to fucking kill Jongho for taking this weekend off.” 

“Isn’t he graduating from magic school?

“What did you smoke before your shift?” You ask. It’s a genuine question, unfortunately. 

Breezy shrugs. 

You’re crying when you return to the front. You don’t cry at work much. But you can’t help it.

And then you see the pretty guy from earlier, except now he’s standing there with an ice cream cone that you’re sure wasn’t his. He smiles kindly at you. “I’m really sorry for bothering you, but I think this may be peanut butter instead of caramel. I wouldn’t care but it’s Yunho’s and he’s got a really severe peanut allergy.” 

You can’t help it. You start weeping. Absolutely sobbing. The boy blinks at you, face distraught, but you can’t stop. 

“I’m sorry–” He apologizes, but you hold up a hand. 

“It’s not even you.” You blubber. “It’s just, Breezy’s being peer pressured by his fingers and Jongho’s graduating magic school and I’m pretty sure he’s going to need an amputation.” 

“Oh my god, he’s having an amputation?” He gasps.

You cry a little bit harder and walk away. The interaction is too far gone, anyway. It only takes a few seconds to fix the nutless ice cream cone, and you return it to him with high hopes that he doesn’t report you to the health department for crying in the front of house. “Here you go.” You say. “You know Jongho, right? Tell me your name so I can let him know you came by.” 

“Yeosang.” He answers, and fuck, it’s precious. He’s precious. You’re going to slam your head against the wall. 

“Okay, Yeosang. I’ll let him know. Just, if you see him, maybe don’t mention magic school. Or the amputation.” 

Yeosang nods, a slightly-amused, slightly-terrified look on his face, and then he goes back to his table to give Yunho his nut-free ice cream cone. 

As if summoned, your phone begins to ring. It’s none other than Jongho, your best friend and least favorite coworker. You step to the side so that you’re hidden by a cooler and wipe at your face. “Hello?”

“I buried the body but I dunno what to do next.” 

“What body?” You grumble.

“Your mom’s.” 

“Fuck off.” You say, a hand pressed to your eyes. “What do you want?” 

“I was just wondering how Mingi was doing on his shift.” Jongho says. You rack your brain for a face to attach to the name.

“Mingi?” You say. “Who the fuck is Mingi?” 

“You know? Tall blonde guy, a little disturbed.” 

“Breezy?!”

“Who the fuck is Breezy?” 

“I can’t talk to you right now.” You snap, tears already welling back up in your eyes. “I just sobbed in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life and told him you were getting an amputation by accident.”

“You’re really nothing without me, huh? I leave for one day–”

You hang up on him. Jongho can suck your big–

“Excuse me?” 

You shove your phone in your pocket, mortified, and smile kindly. Your face is still damp from your tears. “How can I help you?”

“I just felt so bad for making you remake my ice cream that I wanted to repay the favor.” He says. It’s Yunho, then– a big puppy dog looking kid. He’s adorable. 

“It’s okay, really.” You promise, and you mean it. “Your health and safety is more important!”

He shrugs. “Still, thank you.” He says. He holds out a folded piece of paper.

You take it hesitantly. When you open it, a phone number is scrawled inside. You’re just about to politely decline when he points in Yeosang’s direction. “It’s a gift on my behalf for being difficult.”

Did he just give you Yeosang’s number as an apology? You glance between at the paper, then Yeosang, then the paper. Yeah. He did.

Your face grows hot, and you shove the paper into your pocket. He was absolutely not supposed to hear you say that Yeosang was the hottest man you’d ever seen. “Thank you.” You murmur, desperate to crawl in a hole and die. 

Yunho leans closer. “Promise me you’ll text him?” He asks. 

You hesitate, but then you nod. 

You’re met with a bright smile, and then Yunho’s gone. The paper feels heavy in your pocket, but it’s a weight you find you don’t mind carrying. 

“Yo, ice-mommy.” 

When you turn back around, Breezy is standing there with a smile on his face. “I didn’t peer pressure my finger, but we talked it out. Consensus gentium and all that. It stopped bleeding. We’re cool. It said, right on, Mingi, right on. ”

There’s not even a way to begin to process what he just said. You gesture at his hand, which he has a paper towel wrapped around. “You’ve literally cut a piece of your finger off.”

Breezy just shrugs.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[bwabbitv3s]

Good Godfather Vlad AU

~I picture this as the timeline where Vlad goes to therapy after the disaster of the reunion where he sees his friends for the first time in ten years. He thinks it is going to be nothing but anger and hate towards Jack over how he ruined his life. Only for his friends he has not seen collage to ask him about why he never answered their letters they send him over the years.~

"What letters?" Vlad asks. His composure slipped a little at the unexpected revelation.

"Why all the ones we sent you while you were in the hospital. We were not allowed to visit as you were in intensive care which only allows family." Maddie tells Vlad.

"Yeah tried to get them to bend the rule but they would not budge. We attempted to break in three times that first week to visit you once you were stable." Jack says.

"The hospital banned us after that. Not the best decision we could have made but we just got stonewalled at every turn trying to find out how you were." Maddie says sadly.

"We sent you one everyday. You were in intensive care since we could not be there with you. Had to break into the dean's office to get your legal address so the redirection to the hospital would go through." Jack chatters away gesturing wildly. The punch nearly sloshed over in his cheap plastic cup.

Vlad feels like his stomach drops and the room is spinning. He remembers very little of the first week in the hospital. The crushing loneliness and pain as he came in and out the only clear memories. Never once does he remember any letters.

"I never received any letters." Vlad says softly.

"That can't be. We made sure to get them posted directly from the post office to ensure the address and postage was correct." Maddie answers then looks at Jack.

"Yeah we were worried that getting them sent to you in the hospital would be an issue and had the postal worker walk us through how to do it right." Jack says in a gentle voice.

How can it be that he never got any letters? Vlad would remember if he got one sign of his friends not abandoning him back then. He would never have refused to receive mail. Then like a slow motion train wreck he remembers an issue with the college.

"You got my address from the dean's office?" Vlad asks carefully. He hopes dearly that he had heard it wrong the first time.

"Picked the lock at midnight five days after you were hospitalized and broke into his records." Jack answers.

"Took a while to find your file as the filing cabinet was not alphabetized. Very unprofessional of him." Maddie says

"The Dean had my address wrong that year, seven was transcribed as one. It took weeks with the postal department's help to track down anything that was meant to be sent to me. The Undeliverable Mail Depot even had trouble finding anything that was meant to be sent to me." Vlad says in mounting dread. 

"You never got any of our letters?" Jack asks.

"We had been sending letters to a non existing address the entire time." Maddie gasps. She starts to step forwards as if to hug him.

"I think I need to leave." Vlad stutters out. He hastily shoves a business card into Maddie's reaching hands. All he can focus on is the high pitch ringing in his ears as something inside him feels like it breaks. 

"I need some time. You can use that to reach me later. I just can't right now." Vlad hastily says before Jack can stop him. 

Vlad holes up in his hotel room the rest of the night on the phone with the hospital he had stayed at after the accident. It takes little time for him to get the right person and just a tiny bribe to get them to check the mail room for any lost letters without having to be there in person. He waits on hold for an hour before the answer comes through. An entire bankers box full of letters was tucked away in the back with an incorrect mailing address and smudged name. He pays an exuberant amount to get it priority shipped to him. 

The next day he avoids everyone from the reunion. Using his powers to hide from the event planners and other graduates. His plans for revenge are dropped as a heavy package arrives at noon that day. With shaking hands he opens it and finds a years worth of faded letters sent to him after the accident. 

Tears smudge the one written the day his friends got banned from the hospital. A blurry photo of Jack being escorted off the grounds by security officers is tucked into that letter. A giant teddy bear in neon blue in his hands.

Vlad cancels the next weeks meetings with his company and gets the board to deal with things for a bit. He calls up the ghosts he had hired and tells them the job is off and gives them payment in recompensation for it. Lastly he books a meeting with a therapist.

Now with a Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

[intheshadowofwar]

06 June 2023

Wars of the Worlds

Canberra 06 June 2023

Note: The Author apologises for the lack of photography in this one. He will ensure that there are more in the next post, under pain of Field Punishment No. 3 (Being Made to Feel Really Bad about The Whole Thing.)

It’s nearly midnight, and I’m sitting in my room occupying that peculiar state where one is too tired to do much of substance, but too alert to sleep. I’d been reading the first volume of John C. McManus’ excellent series on the US Army in the Pacific War, but I’ve put that on hold - partially because I think it deserves more attention than I can give it before I travel, and partially because reading about Douglas MacArthur gives me a headache. I was scanning my books, seeing if there might be something I might read a chapter of section of, and my eyes fell on this.

This is the Imperial War Museum’s History of the First World War in 100 Objects by John Hughes-Wilson. I think it caught my eye because I’ll be there in two weeks. The book’s divided into six parts, so I thought I’d rifle through it and pick an object from each part that stood out particularly to me when I looked at the contents. It’s probably a strange way to do a book review, but to be fair I’m not aiming to review this. This, I think, is a bit more of a philosophical enterprise.

Part 1 is called Imperialism, Nationalism and the Road to War, and it’s fairly short, but it has some fairly choice artefacts. There’s George V’s crown, there’s a map of the European alliances, and there’s even the bloodstained tunic of Archduke Franz Ferdinand - but my eyes were drawn to a pen. This is on page 16, and it’s specifically ‘the pen that signed the Ulster Covenant.’ ‘This pen,’ the book tells us, ‘was used by Colonel Fred Crawford at the signing - reputedly in blood - of the Ulster Covenant, one of the totemic occasions in modern Irish history.’

The book highlights the pen (which forensic analysis has told us, disappointingly, was probably not dipped in blood) as an example of societal tension in both Britain and Ireland in the years leading up to the First World War. The chapter describes, for instance, industrial unrest being put down by troops in South Wales and Liverpool, the Suffragette movement, taxation issues created by welfare reform and the Anglo-German naval arms race, and principally the issue of Irish Home Rule. This brings us neatly back to the Ulster Covenant. It may surprise you, considering the hideous violence that overtook Ireland following the war, that Britain faced not a Catholic uprising in 1914, but a Protestant one. Unionists were alarmed at the Liberal government’s Home Rule Bill, which provided for a separate Irish parliament, and the prospect for the enfranchisement of the Catholic majority that it entailed. On Ulster Day (28 September) 1912, 80,000 Ulster Protestants gathered in Belfast to sign the Covenant, with Carson of course being the first to do so.

By March 1914, things had gotten, frankly, weird. The British Army faced the possibility of being sent in to crush the Ulster Volunteer Force, who were technically preparing to commit insurrection against the government so that they could remain attached to the government, ostensibly in support of an Irish Catholic majority, many of whom were anti-British republicans. To make things even more complicated, Anglo-Irish officers and Ulster sympathisers were overrepresented as officers in the British Army - Brigadier-General Hubert Gough (once again, remember that name) reported that the vast majority of his officers would refuse orders to enforce Home Rule. It was a mess from which it seemed Britain could not extract itself - and then Franz Ferdinand was shot, and the matter became moot as the First World War began.

So why the pen? I think there’s this idea that the First World War is the genesis of pretty much everything that happened afterwards. Yet here we can see the seeds of what would follow the war in Ireland being sown months and even years before the first shots were fired. The First World War didn’t create the Irish Civil War, or the Troubles, or anything like that. More broadly, it stands against the idea of a peaceful, golden Edwardian age that apparently existed before the war, or that there was a long uninterrupted peace between Waterloo and Sarajevo.

I’ll try to keep the other five a bit shorter.

Part 2 is The Shock of the New and there’s plenty of choices here, covering the course of the war through 1914. I was tempted to pick Admiral Souchon’s medals for their Gallipoli connection (I must remember to write a little about Souchon and Goeben before I get there) but my eyes were really caught by ‘the Imperial Eagle in Africa’ on page 88. This is a mosaic of the Imperial German eagle taken from Lome, the capital of German Togoland, by the British. In the late nineteenth century, Germany had joined the ‘Scramble for Africa,’ which had divided the continent between the various European powers. Like every other imperial power, their arrival caused great suffering to the people of their new colonies, most infamously the genocides they carried out against the Herero and Namaqua in Namibia. These Africans, so mistreated by their so-called superiors, were marched into battle when war broke out between Germany and Britain. Both sides used Africans as porters to carry supplies and as fighting troops - the Germans called them ‘askari.’ The East African Campaign, the longest of the African campaigns, cost 10,000 ‘British’ (mostly African), 2,000 ‘Germans’ (mostly African) and perhaps a hundred thousand civilians.

Naturally the vast majority of the historical attention on the African war goes to Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, the German commander in East Africa, who, in internet terminology, is often called a ‘badass.’ To be fair, he did apparently tell Adolf Hitler to go fuck himself (though he was still a bit of a nasty authoritarian himself.) Yet it does seem a bit unjust that the great ‘hero’ of this war was a white German man, and not one of the thousands and thousands of anonymous black dead.

The third part is Theatres of War, which roughly seems to cover 1915. I was drawn to an Italian trench helmet on page 112. Italy entered the war in May 1915, and primarily fought the Austro-Hungarians over the Alps. If there was anywhere on Earth more miserable than the Western Front, the Alpine Front might have been it. Here, men fought for mountaintops, caves and valleys, fighting not only the enemy but the elements. The eleven - eleven! - battles for the Isonzo River read like a parody of the supposed incompetence of leadership in the First World War. Luigi Cardorna - a general who combined pig-headed refusal to accept that constant assaults on the Isonzo were achieving nothing with a brutal, even cruel disciplinarian streak - often tops lists of the worst generals of the war.

(To give you an idea of what I mean by a disciplinarian streak, the man brought back the Roman ‘decimation,’ executing every tenth man in units that ‘weren’t performing well.’)

It’s the unit that this helmet belonged to that really caught my attention. An almost mediaeval affair, it was issued, often along with metal armour, to troops advancing ahead of the main assault force, tasked with cutting barbed wire. They called them Compagnie della morte - the Company of Death.

(As an aside, they tried to replicate this sort of thing in the video game Battlefield 1. It’s, uh… it’s not very realistic.)

Part 4, Mud and Blood, roughly covers 1916-17. The first was Private William Short’s Brodie Helmet, but I’d already done a helmet. The second was a Simplex locomotive. The third, which I went with, was a recovered life buoy from the battlecruiser HMS Indefatigable, lost at the Battle of Jutland on 31 May 1916. I picked this because it’s an example of the war on the sea.

The battlecruiser was the brainchild of Admiral John ‘Jacky’ Fisher, the First Lord of the Admiralty in the 1900s, and the concept was sound. A battlecruiser is not a battleship. Battleships are meant to slug it out, and have the armour to match that purpose. Battlecruisers have battleship guns, but they don’t have battleship armour. The idea is that they can ‘outrun what they can’t outfight, and outfight what they can’t outrun’ - basically, they take on smaller ships and raid commerce.

The battlecruiser idea is not a bad idea, but it ceases to work if their commanders forget they’re not actually in a battleship and engage in a full-scale battle. This is what happened to the British battlecruisers at Jutland. Admiral David Beatty, commanding the Battlecruiser Fleet, engaged his German equivalents in the so-called ‘Run to the South.’ Indefatigable was hit within the first twenty minutes of the engagement by the German battlecruiser Von Der Tann, and was blown in half by an ammunition explosion. Three of her 1,019 crew survived. Shortly thereafter, the Queen Mary exploded, and Beatty’s own flagship Lion nearly met the same fate. Later in the day, the very unfortunately named Invincible also exploded.

To be fair to Beatty, these losses weren’t just because of the weaker battlecruiser armour - the battlecruiser squadrons had taken to leaving the blast doors to the ammunition stowage open to facilitate faster reloading - this meant that when the stowage went up, there was nothing to stop the force of the explosion. To be less fair to Beatty, these unsafe ammunition practices were being implemented under his watch, and he promptly followed the German battlecruisers - who were in fact withdrawing in the direction of their own battleships - right into the main German fleet, and promptly had to race very quickly back north again.

Part 5, From Near-Defeat to Victory, covers 1918. I chose to look at a ‘wreath for Saladin.’ This was sent by Kaiser Wilhelm II to Damascus in the Ottoman Empire in 1898, to be laid on the tomb of the great Islamic warrior Saladin, who fought against the Third Crusade. On the 1st of October 1918, the Allies entered Damascus. The 10th Light Horse got there first, but the official entry was performed by Sherif Feisal’s Arabs - and alongside them, one T. E. Lawrence, today better known as Lawrence of Arabia.

The history of the Arabs after 1918 was one of betrayal and disappointment. They had assisted the British in hopes of ejecting the Ottomans and creating a new, unified Arab state. Instead, under the terms of the 1916 Sykes-Picot Agreement, Arabia was to be split between French and British mandates. Feisal was made king of Iraq as a consolation, but the seeds of conflict that continue to affect the Middle East were sown here. It’s controversial how much Lawrence knew about this and how much he told to Feisel, though it does seem to me that he supported Feisel’s ambitions for an Arabic state. Ultimately, it was an example of how, for many peoples, the deposal of an old master simply cleared the way for a new one - Ottomans for Englishmen, Tsars for Bolsheviks, and in parts of the southwest Pacific, Germans for Australians.

This has taken a lot longer than I thought it would, but we’re up to the last part, A New European Landscape. I’ve picked Augustus Agar’s boat on page 410. Lieutenant Augustus Agar, Royal Navy, used this torpedo boat to sneak into a Bolshevik flotilla off Finland and sink the cruiser Oleg. I’ll be as a blunt as I can; I chose this because it demonstrates that the First World War did not neatly end on the 11th of November 1918. Conflict was continuing across Eastern Europe, the Balkans, Turkey, the Caucasus, Siberia and China - there’s probably places I’m forgetting. The fact of the matter is that ‘peace’ was really only for the west. The war didn’t ‘end’ so much as it eventually petered out.

Well, that’s about it. I’ve very much moved into the ‘tired enough to sleep’ zone, so I’ll leave that there. Sorry it’s a bit wordy, but I thought it may be of interest. And of course, if you want to look at this book yourself and see the objects I didn’t share, this all came front A History of the First World War in 100 Objects, by John Hughes-Wilson.

A quick acknowledgement to Drachinifel, whose videos on Jutland I used to reorientate myself to the battle. They can be found here and here.

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, August 6, 2024

Stocks tumbled over fears of a U.S. economic slowdown (NYT) A wave of anxiety rippled through financial markets today, with stocks falling in the U.S. and around the world as investors zeroed in on signs of a slowing American economy. The S&P 500 fell 3 percent, its worst day since September 2022. The drop brings the index down 8.5 percent from its peak in July, but it’s still up 8.7 percent in 2024 overall. Investors were apparently spooked by a combination of factors last week. Today’s drop extended a sell-off that began after the U.S. jobs report on Friday showed significantly slower hiring, with unemployment at its highest level in nearly three years. The report also followed a Federal Reserve meeting in which officials decided to keep interest rates steady. That fueled fears that the Fed might have waited too long to cut rates, allowing a soft landing to turn into a more turbulent one.

Phoenix: Living with heat (NZZ) If you want to understand what heat does to people, you have to study it where it already dominates life. In Phoenix, Arizona, for example, in America’s Southwest. Nearly every day in July featured temperatures above 43 degrees Celsius (above 109 degrees Fahrenheit), with nights never dropping below 32 degrees. With an average daily temperature of 36 degrees, June was the hottest month on record. The rising nighttime temperatures could ensure that the summer record of 2023 with 55 extremely hot days is broken again this year. After sunset, concrete facades, roofs and asphalt roads continue to radiate stored heat for hours—so much so that people sweat outside until well after midnight. People who live in Phoenix only open the door at night to get some fresh air. If you want to meet people on the street in the city’s residential areas, you have to get up early. Joggers who want to run around the block more than twice set off at half past four at the latest, when it is coolest. Dogs are taken for a walk between five and six, and after sunrise it is rare to see a baby carriage on the street. A greenhorn who has gone outside without a water bottle is kindly but emphatically told by passersby how dangerous this is. You sweat almost constantly in this climate.

Tropical Storm Debby hits Florida with floods (AP) Tropical Storm Debby slammed Florida with torrential rain and high winds, contributing to at least four deaths as it turned menacingly toward the Eastern Seaboard’s low-lying regions and threatened to flood some of America’s most historic Southern cities. Record-setting rain was expected to cause flash flooding, with up to 30 inches (76 centimeters) possible in some areas, the National Hurricane Center said. The potential for high water threatened the historic cities of Savannah, Georgia, and Charleston, South Carolina. Up to 18 inches (46 centimeters) was forecast in central and north Florida. / Something else Hurricane Debby brought: (CNN) Twenty-five packages of cocaine weighing about 70 pounds washed ashore along on a beach in Islamorada, Florida, on Sunday, according to a social media post from US Customs and Border Patrol. According to the agency in Miami, a good samaritan discovered the drugs and alerted authorities. The cocaine has a street value of more than $1 million.

Prime Minister Condemns ‘Far-Right Thuggery’ as Riots Grip U.K. (NYT) Anti-immigration rioters attacked a hotel in the town of Rotherham in northern England on Sunday, breaking windows and appearing to set fires at a hotel that has housed asylum seekers, as riots continued in Britain. The police in cities across the country have braced for continued far-right and anti-immigration protests spurred by a deadly stabbing attack last week in the northern English town of Southport. Disinformation spread rapidly that erroneously claimed the suspect in the knife attack was an immigrant. On Saturday, dozens of people were arrested as demonstrations from Liverpool to Belfast descended into violence. Sunday saw a new wave of clashes, with groups gathering in Rotherham, Bolton, Hull, Southport, Middlesbrough and other towns and cities scattered across the country that devolved into varying degrees of violence.

Bangladesh PM Sheikh Hasina resigns and flees country as protesters storm palace (BBC) Bangladesh's Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina has resigned and fled the country. Hasina, who was seen as increasingly authoritarian, was forced out by weeks of protests that led to deadly clashes with the security forces. She had led Bangladesh since 2009, and took a helicopter to India, according to BBC Bengali. Hasina's resignation comes as thousands of protesters have taken to the streets in the capital Dhaka—with thousands more set to follow, a day after clashes between police and protesters left at least 90 people dead. Demonstrators stormed Hasina's official residence in Dhaka, looting it and carrying away furniture.

Thai democracy (Washington Post) Pita Limjaroenrat is arguably Thailand’s most popular politician—but his career now hangs in the balance. The suave, charismatic figurehead of Thailand’s Move Forward party led his progressive, reformist faction to a stunning first-place victory in general elections in May 2023. But the political establishment in Bangkok, enmeshed in close to a decade of de facto military rule, had other ideas. Conservative forces moved against Pita and his allies, with the Senate, comprised of lawmakers handpicked by the regime, thwarting his coalition’s ability to form a ruling government. Eventually, the Pheu Thai party, one of Move Forward’s erstwhile allies, broke with Pita and joined hands with the same military that had thrown it out of power in 2014. Pita, cast into the opposition, has been subjected to a concerted campaign of lawfare targeting both him and his party. On Aug. 7, Thailand’s constitutional court is set to rule whether to dissolve Move Forward and effectively disqualify Pita himself from holding political office in the near future. The case is centered on Move Forward’s campaign pitch to reform Thailand’s draconian lèse-majesté laws that criminalize critical speech about the Thai monarchy; they are now being wielded by the state to potentially kneecap Pita and his party. The looming crisis spotlights how Thailand is a “competitive autocracy,” as Pita put it to me himself in an interview last week. “An election victory does not translate to governance here.”

Four years after the Beirut port blast, justice is still stalled (AP) Four years ago, Helen Ata got a call from someone she didn’t know telling her that a massive explosion at the Beirut port had caused her building to collapse. Her brothers were trapped under the rubble. One of them, Issam, survived, with a permanent disability in his right leg. Her twin brother Abdo, whom she calls her “other half,” died. The port blast anniversary Sunday comes as the region braces for retaliation after an Israeli strike killed a senior Hezbollah commander in Beirut and an explosion in Tehran, widely blamed on Israel, killed top Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh. For many, the fears of a new escalation come as wounds of the port explosion four years ago remain raw. On Aug. 4, 2020, hundreds of tons of ammonium nitrate detonated in a Beirut Port warehouse. The gigantic blast tore through the Lebanese capital, killing at least 218 people, according to an AP count, wounded more than 6,000 others, and devastated large swaths of Beirut, causing billions of dollars in damages. The blast stunned the nation and a probe by a maverick investigative judge into the explosion shook the country’s ruling elite, rife with corruption and mismanagement. However, years of obstructions by top officials to dodge accountability and stall the probe have hampered hopes for justice.

International airlines have suspended flights to Israel (NYT) Israel went into a new workweek in a state of deep uncertainty on Sunday, with the potential for attacks by Iran and the militant groups it supports already causing disruptions for many. A number of international airlines have suspended flights to and from Israel pending expected retaliation against the country by Iran and its Lebanese proxy, Hezbollah. That has left tens of thousands of Israelis unable to come home, according to an Israeli official who asked not to be named because he was not authorized to discuss the matter. Delta, United, the Lufthansa group and Aegean Airlines were among those that suspended services to Israel. Israel’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs is asking citizens traveling abroad to fill out an online survey to help the government map where they are and try to organize solutions, including alternative commercial flights. Most are believed to be stuck in Europe and the United States.

Israeli Reservists Confront Toll of Protracted War (WSJ) Aday after Hamas attacked Israel and sparked war on Oct. 7, Adi Hazan drove to a rally point in southern Israel and began what he thought would be one or two months of emergency military-reserve service. Nearly 10 months later, the machine-gunner is still deployed—and the rest of his life is in shambles. His construction business is failing, he is sinking into debt, and his family relies on handouts from friends and charities. And he doesn’t see an end in sight. A small nation with fewer than 10 million people, Israel relies heavily on reservists such as Hazan to keep its military functioning in times of crisis. But now, with the war in Gaza heading into its 11th month, and long-running exchanges of fire with regional militias such as Hezbollah heating up, many of those fighters are close to a breaking point. Exhausted and in some cases demoralized, they are struggling to balance family and work with military service, while the economic toll from their absences mounts. The strain on military manpower is one reason Israeli officials are hesitant to launch an all-out war against Hezbollah, which would require the same cohort of weary reservists to fight against a military power far superior to Hamas.

Israeli Strike on Gaza Shelter Kills at Least 30 and Injures Dozens (NYT) An Israeli airstrike on a school functioning as a shelter in Gaza City killed at least 30 people and injured dozens more on Sunday, according to the Palestinian emergency response agency in Gaza and Palestinian news outlets. It was the third attack on a school in the last four days. Most of the victims were women and children, said Mahmoud Basal, a spokesman for the Palestinian Civil Defense. He said that an F-16 fighter jet hit a school called Hassan Salame, where at least 14 people were still buried under the rubble. Shrapnel and debris also hit a neighboring school known as Nasser, he said. The death toll was initially 25, but rose to 30. The Israeli military said it had targeted “terrorists” in “Hamas command and control centers” located at the Hassan Salame and Nasser schools. It said it had taken “numerous steps to mitigate the risk of harming civilians” before the strike, including using precision munitions, surveillance and intelligence, though it did not specify how it had done so.

Nigerian protests fizzle out amid deadly police crackdown (Reuters) Protests against a soaring cost of living in Nigeria ebbed on Monday as few people turned out in major cities after security forces used lethal force to quell demonstrations. Hundreds of thousands had taken to the streets in cities including the capital Abuja and the commercial hub Lagos demanding relief from economic hardship and widespread insecurity in protests which started last Thursday and were meant to continue until Aug. 10. Amnesty International said at least 13 people have been killed in clashes with the police since Thursday. Police have put the death toll at seven, blaming some on accidents and an explosive device. A firm police response and a call for a protest pause by President Bola Tinubu have dampened the demonstrations.

[azurelyy]

Headcanon Game

@thepurpleflow3r I saw your comment on my post, so I am hoping this request was intended for me... If not, just ignore this! :)

Sasuke: 

3. Drinking Headcanon

Sasuke rarely drinks - and it is especially rare for him to drink in public and he only does so on very special occasions. In those rare instances, however, he melts into a touch-starved mess of a puddle. He never leaves your side, touching you in any and every conceivable way: his fingers interlocked with yours walking to the bar, his knee resting on yours under the table, his hand on the small of your back as you chit chat with friends. When you leave to go to the bathroom, he actually whines - so quietly you nearly miss it, but you know what you heard.  “I’ll be right back,” you laugh gently, placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Save me a seat?” His eyes ignite with small flames at the inside joke as the corner of his lips twitch upwards, a lovely shade of rose tinting his usually pale cheeks. “At every table, forever, I’ll save you a seat, my love.”

When you drink, his eyes dilate in the most adorable way as he hovers over you. He doesn’t stand close enough for it to be obvious in your drunken state, but he likes to stay near enough that he can jump in at a moment’s notice should you need him. Stumbling slightly? He’s by your side in a flash, steadying you with his arm around your waist and a kiss to your head. Slurring your speech? He provides you a glass of water, brushing the hair that’s sticking to your forehead from your face with a gentle smile. At home, he ensures you are never dehydrated and loves you with his mouth, insisting on only focusing on you - no matter how much you might protest.

“W-Wanna feel you inside me, Sasuke.” You moan as his tongue continues its assault against you, his slender fingers gripping onto the plump flesh of your thighs as though they were his only support from falling from a cliffside. His midnight eyes stay locked onto your glassy ones as he moans against you, blue flames coursing through your veins. You can see what his eyes are screaming at you as you climax for the third time that evening, hot arousal flooding from you into your lover’s mouth: Tonight is only about you.

14. Romance Headcanon

Sasuke is a romantic at heart. He remembers every little detail about you. He knows your favorite flower from each season, always ensuring your home is filled with floral arrangements and bringing a new one home when the they start to wilt. He knows your taste in jewelry, surprising you every now and then with a new piece when he leaves for an extended time on a mission. He leaves love notes scattered throughout your shared home, sometimes in obvious places like the bathroom mirror and sometimes hidden in cabinets for you to stumble upon while he is away, heat rising to your cheeks from his words even when he is nowhere to be seen.  Sasuke might not be the best with words, or the most touchy-feely partner, especially in public, but he makes up for all of it with his extreme thoughtfulness. With him, you never have to question his feelings: he makes them known in his own way, and often.

Kakashi:

3. Drinking Headcanon

Kakashi turns to mush when he drinks. His cheeks tint pink, his speech slows and slurs, and he fully allows himself to dote on you. Typically, Kakashi would refrain from PDA of any kind - he is a powerful shinobi and doesn’t want anyone to know about you for fear of losing you - and he gets especially flustered when you quickly duck him into alleyways and put your hands on him, whining and pleading. 

“Just a peck, Kashi, please?”

But when he’s drinking? There is absolutely no stopping this man from caressing every inch of your body; from planting pecks along your cheeks and your nose and your neck, whispering the most sinfully dirty jokes into your ear as heat rushes to your crotch and you writhe in his muscular arms which are wrapped around you like a security blanket. 

“Can’t wait to get you home, kid,” he whispers, sucking your earlobe between his teeth as his hand trails up your thigh. “Gonna have so much fun with you.”

When you’re drinking, Kakashi throws caution to the wind and ensures that he is by your side, his hand in yours or his strong arm wrapped around your waist. He allows you to put your weight onto him, lets your hands roam freely over his body under the table.

He gives you a piggyback ride home, helping you into your pajamas and cleaning you up as he passionately kisses you and whispers his adorations to you. If you are only tipsy, he will love you affectionately and slowly - nights like these are rare - a nice break from the usual rough sex the two of you enjoy. He wraps you into his arms and thrusts into you, kissing your exposed skin, letting you rake your nails down his back and arms, as he takes you to the moon and back. 

14. Romance Headcanon

Now that Kakashi has found you, he makes sure to tell you how much he loves you every chance he can. Your home is nothing but an oasis of love and affection. He touches you every second he can, kissing you delicately as he brings you your morning coffee or saying goodnight. When he is home, he is always nearby. He allows you to watch your favorite tv shows while he reads, his head in your lap as you gingerly play with his soft silver locks as he hums. He brings home little trinkets that made him think of you, or candles that he thought you would like, his dark eyes sparkling as you take the gifts and put them to the side, focusing on embracing him before you even register what he gave to you.

“I love you, Kashi.” you whisper as you nuzzle into his chest and he kisses the top of your head. 

“I love you more.” His voice is so husky - a commanding tone that stops you from arguing with him about how it is absolutely absurd that he could ever love you more than you love him - as he picks you up and twirls you around in his arms. “Now, c’mon. Open this. No - wait - sit there. Yeah, I want to see the way your cute face lights up when you open it.”

Request a headcanon!

[aristocratic-otter]

OK, ok, I'll post something, sheesh! Lol, kidding. I wanted to post. Though I'm not sure who's left for me to tag 😂 Thank you for the tags and lots of love to @stardustasincocaine. @urban-sith, @moodandmist, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, and @captain-aralias

I've got (sorry!) a little angst from my erotic grope fest fic today:

A Fucked Up Cinderella Story

Baz

Without the chemicals of arousal flooding my brain, I can finally think. And my thoughts bring me no ease. I’ve spent ten hours with this boy. We’ve bared nearly every secret of our bodies to each other. And no few of the secrets of our minds too. I feel like I know him better than I know the people I’ve lived with or around for eighteen years.

And, two hours from now, he’ll be gone. I’ll never see him again.

It’s not to be borne. I don’t want to give him up.

But do I have the right to ask him for more than these twelve hours? The agency he works for has gone to great lengths to ensure that our identities are kept private from one another. I’d willingly shed my mask right now if he asked it of me. But is it fair for me to ask him to shed his?

He’s in arguably the more vulnerable position here. I’ve got family, money, and political power on my side if he were the type of person to come after me. If what he’s said is true, he has almost nothing. One friend, no money, no family.

I’d be risking a reputation of being gay (which is true) (and I don’t care if everyone knows it), and of being the type of man who hires escorts (which probably every man in the old families has done at one time or another. And no few of the women).

He’d be risking a reputation of being an escort. Prostitution may be the oldest profession, but it’s also still the most reviled, as unfair as that is. He could lose job opportunities, educational ones, and I don’t know his friend, but there are definitely some people that would discard a friendship with him over it.

So, I risk almost nothing by revealing myself, and he risks everything.

I feel a black cloud of grief rise up in me as I realize that, no, I can’t try to find out who he is.

To counter that, something good

from The Watford Games

Baz

Simon’s forehead is on mine, and our lips are a finger’s width apart. I can feel his hot breath washing over my skin, smelling of rat meat and something indefinable. It should be disgusting, but it’s not. I’m depraved, I know.

He’s saying I’m not a monster, and those are words I would have given anything to hear, before. When I was just a boy longing after another boy who hated him.

But now? Now that I’ve tasted the buttery fatty richness of Simon’s blood? He can’t tell me I’m not a monster. Not when everything in me is dying to sink my teeth into his neck and drink him dry.

“I am!” I retort, trying not to notice how my bottom lip actually brushes his when I speak.

I can’t see Simon’s eyes through the darkness, and that’s a tragedy. I want to know if he’s peering at me with suspicion, as I’m used to, or with the much newer and exciting look of interest he’s been giving me lately. I’m probably imagining the latter, though.

“Baz,” he whispers, “Shut up.”

And then he kisses me.

What? It's a classic line! 😂 Ok, tagging a few folks (for Sunday, since I'm gonna once again post at a minute to midnight🙄). @angelsfalling16, @bazzybelle, @bloodiedpixie, @caitybug, @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @im-gettingby, @otherworldsivelivedin, @prettylightsbigcity, @palimpsessed, @skee3000, @tea-brigade, and everyone mentioned at the top!

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Oh, that bit about Karl’s powers and XD’s company at the beginning of the overwatch timeline made the karlnapity brain go brrrrrrr, bro!! Very long post ahead!!!! And I know the chatfic is coming soon, and I totally understand if you wanna reserve the blog’s attention for that once it comes out because I am also extremely excited for it, so publish this whenever you want!! Also good luck with the title and summary!!

So like, it’s a few years after Overwatch fell, and Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl are more or less content! They feel for Sam and the other original members, they do, but Overwatch and the omnics honestly weren’t a very big part of their world. They all made it through the omnic crisis just fine, and now they’re just going about their lives in the relative peacetime. They’re even engaged, vague plans of a marriage someday cobbling together bit by bit, but they’re in no rush. They’re happy!

And then Karl finds out about this interesting experiment that’s looking into real, live, actual time travel. Like!! Karl was psyched enough when space travel started getting big again; he knows just about everything there is to know about Horizon One for someone who’s never been there. If time travel turns out to be real? Karl wants in, and he wants in now.

Sapnap and Quackity are half-convinced it’s a scam or a gimmick or something. Sure, they personally knew what amounted to a superhero team a few years ago, but there’s a difference between a small group of skilled fighters and literal time travel. Especially since it’s an XD-sponsored endeavor, Quackity is certain there’s some catch. If nothing else, it’s probably a way to waste a lot of people’s time and money to get XD some good press again.

But Karl is so excited to check it out, neither of them want to try particularly hard to shut him down. They decide they’ll keep an eye on it, obviously, just in case, but they wish Karl good luck and a good time. So he heads out with high hopes and a little suitcase, promising to call every night and to see them soon.

And for the first few days, it goes great! Karl does call them every day and talks for at least an hour about everything he’s learning about this theoretical time travel and how it’ll work: a ship called the Slipstream, which is supposed to use teleportation technology to travel between places in negative time, thus creating functional time travel. Sapnap and Quackity reserve their doubts, but Karl’s having the time of his life either way, and they’re glad to hear him so happy. Especially when he tells them that he gets to get in the ship and take it on a test flight tomorrow - not to try out the time travel yet, but just to make sure he knows how to fly it. Karl gets to fly a ship!! He’s gonna be an actual pilot!! He’s so excited!!!

Karl hangs up that night, clearly over the moon, and Sapnap and Quackity resolve themselves happily to at least four hours on the phone tomorrow night, hearing all about the flight and how it went and what Karl is looking forward to.

And the next night, the hour comes, and Sapnap and Quackity settle on the couch with snacks and drinks, ready for a good long listening session. They wait for the phone to ring. And wait. And wait.

After an hour, they reason that maybe the test flight took longer than expected. Maybe Karl is tired out from flying it. Maybe Karl got distracted. Maybe he forgot to charge his phone. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Either way, it’s not like they had agreed that he’d call at this specific time. So there’s no need to worry. They’re not worried.

Another hour passes. And then another, and another, and soon midnight finds Sapnap and Quackity, sitting in the kitchen with mugs of tea long since cooled, watching a phone that won’t ring. Looking up the experiment or the Slipstream doesn’t bring up any bad news, which sets them both a bit at ease; no news is good news, right? At least for now?

Uneasily, they decide to go to bed. Karl will have to have called or at least texted by morning, surely. And if not, they’ll call him, and then they’ll call the number they were given for questions about the experiment. There’s no reason to worry.

Despite having no reason to worry, when morning comes without word from Karl, Sapnap and Quackity worry. When they call Karl, it goes straight to voicemail. When they call the number for the experiment, it’s disconnected. When they look up the experiment and the Slipstream and XD in general, they notice what they hadn’t last night: not only is there no news, there’s no mention of the experiment. The website Karl had learned about the experiment from is gone. XD’s website makes no mention of time travel. Even with all of Quackity’s investigative power, as far as the world wide web is concerned, there has never been a ship or shuttle with the name Slipstream.

It’s like the whole project never existed at all, and Karl Jacobs along with it.

Thus begins Sapnap and Quackity’s investigation. They call anyone who will listen, telling them that Karl is missing and it’s almost certainly the fault of XD and his company and please please please help them find out what happened. They become the most annoying thorn in XD’s side in months, calling every division in every company several times over, demanding answers. At one point, they’re discreetly contacted and offered hush money if they just drop it, and Sapnap has never screamed so loud in his life as when he told them exactly what they could do with that money. Quackity immediately tries to follow up, tracing the offer to gather proof that something must have happened if they’re trying to cover it up, and only runs into a brick wall. XD is infuriatingly good at covering his tracks.

What finally marks the turning point in their investigation is XD’s most common underestimation: common human decency between strangers. Quackity and Sapnap are anonymously contacted by someone who was working in the experiment’s division and heard about their search, someone who has access to Slipstream plans and blueprints. Through them, Quackity and Sapnap learn that Karl vanished because he was pressured into activating the time travel function on his test flight, despite the fact that it wasn’t ready yet. They’re also given early blueprints for the Slipstream, which include some of the plans for the time travel mechanism.

It’s this mechanism that Sam is able to study and rework and reverse engineer, eventually leading to the development of the chronal accelerator, which should, in theory, bring Karl back.

And it had been a rough time for Quackity and Sapnap, spending nearly all of their free time trying to gather resources and to find the truth and then to help Sam however he needed. They’ve undergone their respective breakdowns, supporting each other through them: Sapnap kept Quackity from burying himself too deeply in his work and his research, getting him to sleep and eat regularly. In turn, Quackity made sure he was available for Sapnap to talk and vent to, redirecting his steadily burning fury to constructive outlets. They’ve settled into an uneasy but manageable rhythm of getting through the days, haunted though they are by the uncertainty of where Karl is and when (if) they’ll see him again. And with the invention of the chronal accelerator, they’re both struggling with just how much hope they can afford. If this doesn’t work - if they get so close to finally getting Karl back, only to fail… it’s not something they want to think about.

So when Sam calls them down to his workshop, saying that he thinks he has a working model to recover their fiance, they arrive hand-in-hand, Quackity guarded, Sapnap cautiously optimistic. They gather around the workbench, surrounding Sam’s invention, a mechanical-looking harness with a glowing, green-and-purple spiral at its heart. Sam looks to them, hovering one hand over the activation switch, waiting for their signal.

They share a glance. Sapnap squeezes Quackity’s hand, steady and secure. No matter what, it promises. No matter what, I’ll still be here. I’m with you.

They both nod to Sam, and he flips the switch.

The harness hums and crackles to life, its spiral glowing brighter and starting to spin. Sam stands at the ready, watching six different monitors to ensure nothing goes wrong. Sapnap and Quackity lean on each other, nearly holding their breath, eyes glued to the accelerator.

Slowly, a figure fizzles into existence. Half-transparent, arms curled close to their chest, they glance around the room, looking lost and unsure, until they meet eyes with Sapnap and Quackity. Then their eyes go wide, one hand rising to their mouth, hanging open in shock.

Sapnap? says the ghost of Karl Jacobs. Quackity?

And in the next second, the ghost comes back to life, lungs filling with air, color rushing to his cheeks, solidity returning to his form. And Karl gasps, coughs, leans forward with one hand clapped over the accelerator, and his gaze doesn’t leave his fiances for a second. He extends one shaking arm, reaching for his fiances with an open hand. The tension shatters.

Sapnap closes the distance in half a second, Quackity barely a breath behind. The fiances collapse against the table as the two of them all but tackle Karl. Because Karl is real, Karl is alive, Karl is here in front of them. The lingering doubts that have dogged their footsteps vanish. The fear in their hearts that three engagement rings would become two wedding rings dissolves. The aching absence they’ve felt between them for months melts away in tears and sobs and bone-crushing hugs, the three of them relishing the hard-regained closeness, pressing together as the weight of the world lifts from all of their shoulders.

They’re together again.

[djarrex]

Hi everyone, just wanted to address what happened last night along with some other things from before that all tie in together.

There’s multiple parts to the following post - please make sure you read all of it if you’re gonna take the time to even start.

It was midnight and y'all were still jumping in on anon and telling me how I'm awful for not commenting, owning up, or taking responsibility - I should have been in bed. I have a life and job outside this app; and with the several of you in my inbox and it being too late at night to address each, I’m gonna do it now. I can’t not say something about all of this. I just can’t keep quiet and ignore the problem - it’s not fair to you all. Deleting one post already has you guys even more riled up and all I wanted to do was offer something better than a “half-hearted apology” (it was very late at night when I wrote that very short apology, and wanted a redo tbh). 

I really didn't want to make a long post like this. I reached out to a select few on here because I care about them (there's more of you, but like I said, it was at the time after midnight and I was fucking exhausted). but I was being demanded for accountability. So here I am.

Allow me to be real with you all, if that's ok. If it's not, well, idk. First I wanna address all you anons, who, instead of speaking to me one on one about all this, want to criticize me and shame me and my writing when truthfully it feels like you haven't even read more than a handful of my work. I didn’t realize that I write the clones all the same way? That I always make them super aggressive and uncaring and dom? “you write every single clone as so dominant instead as unique individual men with their own personalities” Interesting. See, that right there tells me you haven't read nearly enough of my stuff for me to believe that's true. That's one accusation I absolutely will not back you on because I know it’s inaccurate - saying how I group the clones into some overly-aggressive, and uncaring category - that I always write all of them as mean in bed because they're men of color. And hey, if I do write rough smut - which yeah, it's out there and I write it, as do a lot of you - there are warnings at the beginning, aftercare, dialogue, reader sharing their feelings, and most importantly... consent between the two. That’s what warnings are for, so that you know what you’re going to be reading. That’s why I, as we all do, appreciate warnings listed at the tops of fics; honestly, write them sub or dom or switch or however you want but don’t come at me like that. I’m sorry if I'm coming across as rude because I'm usually not, I’m one of the nicest people you’ll meet, but I will not stand idly by while you chastise my writing (writing that is pretty much the same type of stuff a lot of you write & rb with the same characters) that you haven’t read enough of to back such claims.

Next: Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart,

I get it. Really, I do. I fully understand the problem of whitewashing in SW along with almost everywhere else, and I do not agree with it. It's a huge problem, and it needs to be rectified. Now just because I don't speak publicly about it and opt out of publicly shaming TBB, doesn't mean that I agree with what’s going on. Not everyone is comfortable with sharing their opinions on a subject, no matter what that subject is or which side they're on. You live and you learn when it comes to that. 

It has never been my intention to fetishize POC in my writing, which btw, the same people who are saying that it is my intention are the ones claiming I portray all of the clones as the same, aggressive men, lacking their individuality. It’s a claim that is simply not true, and I know I have followers on here to back me up on that. I know what I've written; how about you check it out and tell me that you don't see the words "soft" or "fluff" or "cuddling" or “gentle” or “tender” within my work linked in my ML. Clone character being a good partner and father? Tender love making? Holding each others faces in their hands? “We/you survived” sex? Taking care of their partner? Saying “I love you” to one another? Confirming the safe word and going slow at first? Oh my - riveting and harsh stuff - totally unacceptable.  

Now: My admittedly problematic writings of Rex + Zygerria,

I went into writing that rp fic totally unaware and unknowing of the true implications. For that, I sincerely apologize. When I posted the NSFW alphabet, that’s when I was called out on that rp fic - not when I first posted it. Which the timeline doesn’t matter, I know that, but it concerns me a little bit that no one spoke up about it sooner - letting me dig myself deeper into a hole that I didn’t realize I was inside of in the first place. I've apologized once, and I know that doesn't negate what happened; I acknowledged my mistake back then, but I suppose that wasn’t good enough. I had asked you, anon, to message me to give me guidance, to teach me on what to do about the fic - you stayed hidden. Well, respectfully, what the fuck? I know we're all adults but don't lecture me and avoid me when I’d literally reached out for guidance on how to properly rectify the issue. I fixed my wording in some of my fics (the things I’ve caught upon rereading them) because I recognized and more importantly learned about and from my mistakes along with the unintentional negative implications of how I wrote those characters. Some of y'all wanna tell me that I "haven't learned"? Who are you, my personal blog police? My professor? My life coach? Are you even my friend? If I'm wrong and haven't learned, then fucking educate me. I worked hard on that rp fic, just like I do with a majority of what I write, but it doesn’t matter because I will delete it knowing that it’s harmful to others and I apologize for inadvertently romanticizing slavery with what I wrote - it was unintentional, and I’m truly sorry to those who have been hurt by it. I know it’s wrong, and there’s no proper excuse for it. Can’t go back in time, but consider it gone now.

Since that first wakeup call, I’ve been working hard to ensure I avoid using certain words and ideas when describing the clones in my fics. If there’s still something you see that isn’t correct or is inappropriate, please tell me! Don’t hold it in but then jump on the “attack M” bandwagon. Private message me, or come peacefully off or on anon, there will be no hard feelings. I don’t mind being corrected when I make a mistake - that’s just part of life, we all make mistakes and we live and learn from them. Making mistakes doesn’t = scumbag human. When you hold your breath and choose not to take the time to guide me, and if I appear to still be making the same mistakes, well, idk. I’m telling you right now that I do not mind if you message me with the good intention of pushing me in the right direction. When you come at me with hostility on anon, well, no thank you. To the anons that came without rage: thank you! I read what you wrote, and I have a better understanding as to how my writing had hurt the lovely followers of mine, and tried to address as much as possible in this post. See, angry mob anons? It costs zero credits to be kind and offer up your thoughts and advice with a good heart. I’m not going to hate you or block you if you try to correct me. I don’t block unless you’re a snoopin’ minor. Just don’t hold a knife to my throat.

Now: Why did I delete the tags and then my response to that anon ask? 

Simply put: I felt awful. Deleting it doesn’t immediately mean I’m hiding from it and ignoring the issue. I wanted to come up with a better apology, explanation, whatever you wanna call it, because my followers deserve that. The ones who enjoy my work, the ones who interact, the ones who I call my friends, the ones who know that I’m a good person. Didn’t want to leave the tags/post floating around all night, giving more people time to sharpen their pitchforks and join the mob while I attempted to sleep. Trust me, I know saying that I had no ill intentions when tagging that post doesn’t make it better nor does it make it go away. I’m just trying to show you my point of view, that I knew immediately how I should not have tagged it that way, so that’s why I deleted them. I corrected my mistake. But y’all are too fucking quick I swear.

One more thing:

I know some of you who had called me out with the passive-aggressive inbox messages are still following me, and for what? You don’t like what I post, which is why one would follow another in the first place, so why bother sticking around? Do you feel like you need to police my blog? You want to be there the literal minute I make a mistake? I’m gonna turn off anon for a bit, so if you wanna discuss, message me. Just know that if you’re going to come at me with knives out, I probably won’t reply to you. 

To conclude:

I’m sorry. Truly sorry for the entire Rex + Zygerria outfit + slaver ordeal with both the fic from a while ago and then the tags from last night. We can’t go back in time; the only option is to correct past mistakes that are able to be corrected, and then move on with new knowledge that’ll aid in me working even harder to ensure my writing isn’t inappropriate or offensive, and doesn’t hurt my followers nor the characters I write for. I’m still going to write self-indulgent filth and fluff, post-order 66 Rex, and other misc shit. I enjoy writing fanfic, as I know a lot of you enjoy reading what I write and love to talk to me about it. I hope that this didn’t come off as me being a bitch, because I’m really not. I enjoy interacting with the handful of people on here that I’d call my friends, and I love reading your reactions and tags to my fics when you’re excited and/or horny (LOL). It’s just after lunch time where I’m at, so I hope you have a great rest of the day/night/morning whatever for wherever you are.  

<3 

M

[byulsgrease]

moonbyul + midnight summer dream || we all gotta get away

last event post! thanks again to all of you for requesting and sticking around, means a ton :D

a/n: fun fact, this is my favorite song off red moon. ironically my favorite b-sides are usually the ones that never see the light of day in a live performance/are performed very little and when they are they're shortened 😔 also this is my first song-inspired fic, had a lil fun trying something new (angst, ~340 words)

event prompt list

cw: angst

The haze of unrelenting midsummer heat barely subsides even in the middle of the night. You groggily peer over at your phone on the nightstand, a notification having pinged you out of the lightest sleep.

"Who is it?" Byul lethargically slurs beside you. Oops. Guess she must've not been sleeping deeply either, but how could either of you? You're both nearly sweating through oversized t-shirts, bed covers rumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed.

"No one important," you mutter.

"Must be a little important if it's the middle of the night," her enunciation slightly clearer. It's hard to tell if the edge in her tone is tired, annoyed, or bitter. You roll over to face her half-open eyes, stomach down and cheek pressed into the pillow, ensuring you keep a reasonable distance as to not share too much body heat.

"Don't worry about it." Your hand slides up the bed to find one of hers, smoothly interlocking her somehow-cooler fingers with yours. It's sufficient temporary comfort to get you both back to sleep, or at least resting calmly with your eyes closed before descending into the unconsciousness of genuine slumber.

Your eyelids suddenly shoot wide open, greeted by the tiniest bit of sunrise poking through the window. A general stickiness of summer sweat sits uncomfortably on your forehead. It's probably stained your sheets too. Who knows how many times you've had to wash them so far this summer. Rain lightly patters against the windows, that explains the extra mugginess. Bleary-eyed, the fuzzy red glow of the alarm clock numbers read 4:30. You don't have anywhere to be. You haven't since she left. And yet here you are, alone in an empty bed with the recurring dreams. Thankfully this one was tame— other mornings you've awoken drenched in more than just sweat.

Is being together still the dream you believe it to be if every night ends with the inevitable return to the waking nightmare of life without her?

I don't know, what happened to me?

Every time I sleep it repeats.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 20: Moxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

(Yes this is out of order, but I figured I’d rather give you guys out of order content than no content at all. Hope that’s okay.)

Day 20 - You can send one item to your soulmate every year. 

Content warning: Christmas, food mentions, homophobic family members mentions, serious fluffiness.

Word count: 2.7k 

Songs mentioned in this fic: “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. 

Patton’s eyes scanned over the letter, barely reading the words he’d read many times before. After the first time he’d gotten one, years ago, he’d re-read it so many times he’d committed it to memory.

Patton Hart,

You are receiving this notice to inform you that the annual soulmate item exchange is arriving. On December 24th, BEFORE MIDNIGHT, please bring your package to your nearest postal service or drop box, marked clearly with the provided adhesive label on the TOP. Item must be contained in the shipping box provided. Other boxes will not be accepted. If the drop off time is missed, your package will not be received. 

There was no signature, no return address, no number to call. At first, he’d been slightly suspicious, since everyone he asked had no further information than what was on the small letter, but after the first year, when a beautiful black and gold notebook and a matching pen had shown up on his doorstep on Christmas morning, he’d decided to heck with his worries. Despite his initial curiosity, he’d sent a gift anyways (if it was legitimate, he wasn’t about to leave his partner without a present!), a grey beanie that he’d stitched a small heart and message into. 

He giddily placed the letter back into the envelope and stuck it into the gap between the hallway mirror and the wall so he wouldn’t forget. Although, he doubted he would. He’d already bought a present, months ago, when his eyes fell upon a black and purple striped sweater in the window of the mall. The black thin stripes occasionally jumped, looking like the lines on a heart monitor, and it hooked him instantly. It was simplistic yet eye catching and unique, like the gifts Patton always received from his soulmate, so he immediately bought it and wrapped it as soon as he got home. He didn’t know his soulmate’s size, but you really can’t go wrong with an extra large (baggy sleeves are ideal, after all).

His time passed quickly, filled with movie nights with his roommate (who insisted on watching Nightmare before Christmas at least once a week) and trying new Christmas cookie recipes. It was his favorite holiday, with the songs and the decorations and the ever present smell of cinnamon in every store, so the moment they had passed Halloween, every moment was filled with his Christmas playlists and cheesy holiday sweaters. His family was coming to his place for their celebration this year, so the place was decked out with tinsel and little snowy villages, candles and fairy lights on every wall, and of course, their tree in the corner of the living room. It was going to be… amazing. 

He’d offered to take his roommate’s soulmate item along with him to the post office, seeing as he was uneasy in high crowd situations, and soulmate exchange days were always insanely busy. It had been the right move, too, because as soon as the office came into view, he could already see the crowd of people milling outside, trying to get into the small door. What could you expect, though, only giving people a twenty four hour window to all show up to the same spot? By the time he got inside and got both packages passed to the handler on the other side (an arduous process, since they had to check each gift thoroughly to ensure there were no cards or any other way to identify the sender), it was dark outside. All he wanted to do was curl up with some hot chocolate and watch the Grinch, as the two of them had planned. 

That’s what they did, falling asleep on the couch in the process. They were awoken in the morning by a knock at the door, Patton gently extracting himself from Virgil’s arms and turning off the TV, cringing that the cover screen of the movie had been on all night. The other mumbled in annoyance at his heat source disappearing and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s too early.”

“Merry Christmas, Virge!” Patton shrieked, ignoring his roommate’s mock irritated snarl as he gave him a tight hug. “Let’s go get our gifts!”

Begrudgingly, Virgil followed him to the door that he flung open, revealing two small parcels on the step. The labels from the senders had been replaced with simple name tags, another way to ensure that their soulmates would not be traceable. The other houses on the block all had similar ones outside their doors, and the carrier was nowhere to be seen, as usual. He picked them both up, handing Virgil his, and running back into the kitchen to get scissors, pretty much vibrating with glee. 

“I’m making coffee first. You want some?” 

Patton hummed, looking between the gift before him and Virgil’s tired eyes. “This can wait. Let’s have coffee.”

Virgil was barely able to conceal with excitement at being chosen over a Christmas present by someone who was essentially an overgrown child, pulling out two mugs. He passed his package to Patton, who placed it beside his on the table, and shuffled around his roommate to start on breakfast.

“It’s Christmas. You’re going to eat breakfast for once,” Patton interrupted the moment Virgil started complaining, grinning widely when he finally agreed. 

“Do you ever wonder who your soulmate’s gonna be? What they’ll be like?” Virgil asked as he poured the coffee grounds, dangerously precise as always. The elder hummed.

“They’re your soulmate. So I guess, a perfect match to you. It’s not like they won’t like you or anything. That’s against the whole point!” An egg sizzled as it hit the pan, quickly followed by another.

“I guess,” He mumbled, clicking the on button on the machine. The smell of coffee quickly filled the small kitchen, “So when is your family getting here?”

“Around noon,” Patton chirped, flipping the first egg while simultaneously popping bread in the toaster with his other hand, “I like to cook, but my moms don’t trust me to make the main dish alone. My sisters are super excited to be old enough to help make food this year-- it’s so cute. But yeah, they should be here by noon.”

Virgil cracked a pained smile, watching the dripping coffee into the pot. “Okay. I’ll be out of your hair by then.”  

Patton’s hand froze in mid air, whipping around to his roommate. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’ll be gone by then,” Virgil repeated, looking down to play with the hem of his sweater, “Do you want me to leave earlier? I can if you want.” His voice very nearly cracked as he spoke, tone getting quieter with each word. Patton’s heart shattered.

“Why do you think I want you to leave?” He whispered, blindly shutting the stove off behind him so the eggs wouldn’t burn. The toast popping startled them both, but neither could find it in them to laugh as they usually would have. Virgil shrugged.

“I mean, your family’s coming over. I’m not family. And I know you were super excited for them to come over, and I don’t want to… ruin the vibe,” He shook his fingers in weak jazz hands, shooting a watery grin at Patton. “I was just planning to go to the mall or something. I think it’s open-” 

His words were silenced as Patton threw his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. It was no secret that Virgil didn’t get along well with his own family. That was the understatement of the year, really. Patton didn’t know the details, refused to pry, all he knew is that it had something to do with Virgil coming out to a pretty conservative family, an action that ended with him being split off from everyone. He had lost his little brother to his parents cutting contact, among other things, and Patton realized with a start that this was Virgil’s first Christmas without his family. 

In the single year they’d been roommates, the two had grown closer than any childhood friend Patton had kept throughout the years. Heck, he’d maybe consider them closer than he was with his moms, and that was saying a lot. For them to even fall asleep on the couch after a movie night, as they’d done last night, was a regular occurrence for them. They admitted secrets to each other they hadn’t fully admitted to themselves, about their own aromantic natures, about what that meant for soulmates, about what kind of pie was the best. Not all their conversations were deep.

“You are family, Virge,” Patton whispered, resting his chin on the other’s shoulder. “And unless you have a legitimate reason not to, you’re staying here. My family will love you, I swear,” He added quickly, knowing the other’s tendency to grow anxious around new people. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin-”

“I will physically fight you,” He hissed before the other could finish, pulling out of the hug with a soft kiss to his temple. “Stay. For me?”

“Fine,” Virgil rolled his eyes, turning away in fake annoyance to pour their coffee, “For you.” He had a reputation to uphold after all, and him nearly crying was not great for it.  

Just as they finished breakfast, Patton eyeing his present next to him with, again, startling resemblance to an excited child, there was a knock at the door. The roommates shared a confused glance, silently communicating that ‘no, I’m not expecting anyone’ before Patton got up to open it. He’d barely unlocked the latch when it burst open of its own accord, a loud shriek of “PATTY!” echoing through the small entryway.

“You guys are early!” Patton laughed as two small girls attempted to squeeze him to death around his torso, the pair having the same blond curls as Patton. 

“These two just couldn’t wait to see you,” A woman Virgil assumed to be one of Patton’s mother’s smiled, angling above the girls to give Patton a gentle hug which he eagerly returned. 

He quickly led them all inside, introducing a nearly shaking Virgil to his family. His other mom was carrying a box laden with uncooked food, and began to set it out in the small kitchen to begin preparing it. The girls, after a bit of hesitation, flocked to Virgil.

“Why’s your hair purple?” One asked, pulling herself onto Virgil’s lap. Her southern accent was just as strong as her moms’, reminding him of the accent Patton had slowly lost since moving in with him. It wasn’t gone all the way, just dimmed, but from the kitchen, he could hear his roommate talking to his moms animatedly, the accent back in all its glory. 

“I drank too much grape soda,” Virgil lamented, “When I was little, I couldn’t get enough of it. And then it turned my hair purple.” 

“No, it didn’t!” The girl leaning on his knee giggled.

“Are you saying I’m a liar?” He gasped, placing a hand over his heart, “How dare you!”

They both erupted into shrieking laughs, causing Patton to poke his head out of the kitchen. Virgil couldn’t help grinning widely at him as the second girl pulled herself onto his lap as well, causing Patton’s face to light up like the sun. 

“Did you know Christmas is my favorite holiday?” 

“Is it really? Why’s that?” Virgil asked, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s mine, too!”

“Nu uh, it’s only mine!”

“We can have the same favorite!”

“Nu uh!”

----------------------------------------------

Patton collapsed back onto the couch, groaning loudly. The tree was the only light in the darkened living room, the air still warm and smelling like the dinner they’d enjoyed hours ago. It was quiet again, his family gone back home. He’d missed them immensely, but he’d forgotten how loud they could be. His feet shifted on the floor, rustling the wrapping paper left over by his hurricane twin sisters; a mess he’d clean up tomorrow. Footsteps approached from down the hall, signalling his roommates arrival, and the speaker on the mantle started to quietly play “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”, Frank Sinatra’s soft voice drifting through the air.

“I’m so full,” He groaned again, resting his head on the back of the couch.

“Mood,” Virgil said, dropping next to him. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Virgil was just as tired as him. Tired, in the best way possible. 

“You’re really good with kids,” Patton noted with a smile. 

“Tell anyone and they’ll never find your body,” He deadpanned and Patton snorted, before he continued, “They’re the same age as my brother.”

“Oh,” He whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, surprisingly. I miss him. A lot. But this was the best Christmas I’ve probably ever had. No homophobic family members, no shouting matches, just… family. It was nice.”

“Hard to be homophobic when you have two moms,” Patton joked, relieved that Virgil snickered. 

“Probably would be, yeah.”

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,

With every Christmas card I write,

May your days be merry and bright,

And may all your Christmas’ be white.

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, relishing in the silence of the house. The tree sparkled, lighting up the blank walls in rainbow hues, their conglomerate mix of thrift store ornaments shifting and reflecting the light. People shouted outside, joyful noises, and kids laughed, their neighbors wrapping up their own holiday celebration.

Patton opened his eyes as he felt something placed on his lap, looking down in confusion before grinning.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot!”

Virgil smiled sheepishly, shifting his own box between his hands. “I put them into my room when your family showed up.”

“Smart move. The twins would have torn them open.” Patton dropped off the couch onto the floor, sitting cross legged and shaking with anticipation. With a laugh, Virgil joined him when he gestured to the floor in front of him. He reached up and took his keys from the mantle, slicing open the duct tape on his box before handing it to Patton to do the same.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, 

Like the ones I used to know, 

Where the treetops glisten and children listen, 

To hear sleigh bells in the snow

They opened their boxes in unison, Patton gasping when he saw the item in his. He pulled out the large, black fuzzy blanket, blue paw prints the size of Patton’s palm decorating the surface. A high pitched squeal burst from his lips as he squished the blanket to his chest, shoving his face in the soft fabric. 

“Virgil, look! Isn’t it-”

His words caught in his throat at the expression on Virgil’s face; one of absolute shock. He was clutching his gift in white knuckles, and Patton’s mouth went dry when he caught the distinct black heart-beat-esque lines on the purple sweater. 

“Oh,” Patton whispered, both of them frozen, looking at the gift they’d bought in the other’s arms. “Oh!”

“You’re my soulmate!” They both stated at the same time, breaking off into giggles.

“I guess so,” Virgil gasped, smiling as Patton pretty much leapt into his arms, trying to maneuver his hands around the other’s shoulders while still clutching the black blanket. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so relieved! You’re aro and I’m aro and it’s not going to be awkward with someone else, and I don’t have to explain and oh my gosh this is so fantastic!” 

They both dissolved into another laughing fit, Virgil finally able to wind his arms around the other and pulling him closer. The end of the song slowly dwindled down as they both untangled themselves, unable to stop grinning. There was a moment of silence in the room as Virgil picked up a shrieking Patton and dropped him onto the couch, their sides sore from laughter, and essentially settled on top of him.

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” filled the room with soft violin swings as the two fell into a blissful sleep, wrapped in their respective gifts, more at peace than they’d been in… who knows how long.

[alice-dont-break]

don’t mind me i.. forgot to post this on tumblr and need it for the masterlist lol

home | janthony one shot

cw: anxiety

"Are you still up?"

Jasmine sent the text with little hope of getting a response before morning. It was nearly 3am and she was sure her boyfriend would be fast asleep by now. She didn't even know why she sent it, really, but for the tiny sliver of hope it provided. The thought of his voice, so gentle and easy to listen to, soothed the burn behind her eyes, but she still needed more. She hated to admit it, but she needed him.

"Yeah, course I'm sure," she'd said bravely, when Anthony had asked if she was good to stay on her own tonight. It was really just a matter of time before the couple moved in together, as they spent nearly every single night in Jasmine's apartment, but it was a matter of convenience that day. Anthony was working late at a studio right by his own place, and had to be back first thing in the morning, so they thought it would be easier this way. At least for Jasmine, that was proving not to be the case.

About half way through the afternoon was when she started to notice the constriction in her chest. It wasn't taking over, but rather subtly lingering as she went about her day. If she dwelled on it for too long, her mind would start to scramble, so she just did her best to ignore it. When she'd finally gotten home from set around midnight, she thought maybe her adrenaline had gotten her through the brunt of it, but when she first saw her tired eyes in the mirror it all came rushing back.

Frozen in place, she couldn't help but watch herself unravel. First was the gloss of tears coating her eyes. She was simply overwhelmed, as her eyes leaked all the pent up stress that could no longer fit inside her jumbled mind. Then came the flush to her cheeks, a hot crimson from the embarrassment that such a stupid comment could set her off like this. Her director hadn't meant to upset her, it's just those words... no matter where she is when she hears them, she's transported back to a memory she can't bare to relive. And then finally came the hardening edge of her jawline, drawn rigid by the tension from her teeth grinding together.

"Fuck," she whimpered, realizing not only that she could no longer evade the situation storming her mind, but also that she'd now have to weather it alone.

She tried to splash some cool water on her face, hoping it would have the same effect as a cool cloth Anthony would always soothe her with, but that just made her feel like she she was crying more as the water mixed with her tears. The frustration made her lose her battle against the sob she'd been holding back, and she finally gasped for air through quivering lips. She couldn't bare to look at her pained face anymore, so she trudged back into the bedroom towards the drawer that Anthony had taken over as his own. After pealing off the leggings and t-shirt that clung to her sweat-glazed skin, she stepped into a pair of his boxers and un-balled one of his t-shirts. When she pulled it over her head, she paused half way so her nose was still enveloped by the familiarly-scented fabric. She let that ounce of comfort wash over her senses for just a moment before allowing the shirt to fall into place. She wrapped herself in a tight hug, using the same gentle but snug pressure he would use, so the worn out cotton would rub her skin and bring her closer to the embrace she now yearned for.

Arms still clutching their opposite sides, Jasmine shuffled over to the bed. She climbed over to Anthony's side, and leaned back against the headboard with her knees to her chest, breaking her hug with herself only to pull her legs in tighter. Her shoulder muscles were pulled taut as she tried to take up less and less space on the bed, hoping eventually she'd shrink to be so tiny that she just disappeared, along with the whirring in her mind that just wouldn't shut up. At this point she was grounded, she knew she was safe, but the feeling that her body was still in the midst of its fight or flight response was coursing through her relentlessly.

It was in that tightly bound position that she spent the next few hours picking at her nails, whimpering at the sound of every car that dove by, and wishing she could just fall the hell asleep. She found she'd reached her last straw when the ice maker started up and left her white-knuckling the sheets and gasping shallow breaths; she was too tired to fight through this alone.

Texting felt easier than calling because maybe she'd find that she wasn't waking him up. Maybe she wasn't being a nuisance, and he would just see the notification pop up so she wouldn't have to call and disturb his rest. Or maybe, it would simply buy her some time to talk herself out of doing something so annoying. The option she hadn't considered, was that just seconds later her phone would ring.

"Ant?" Her voice crackled through her tired throat, coming out barely above a whisper.

"Jas, are you okay? What's going on?"

The familiar voice that she'd been craving to hear all day put a lump in Jasmine's throat. She tried to hold it in to conceal the pathetic state she'd found herself in, but all her walls were in pieces on the floor. Her resolve was gone, and a sob fell forward to muffle the apologies she tried to string together.

"Hey, hey, Jas, you've got nothing to be sorry for, okay? D'you want me to come over?" Anthony's voice was so steady that the sounds alone began to quiet the whirring around Jasmine's mind, but she still felt ridden with guilt.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she mumbled with a little more clarity this time.

"No, uh, you didn't babe, it's totally fine," he wobbled, "I was, I just rolled over and saw your name pop up. But anyway, can I come, Jas? You don't sound too good."

"I, I'm okay, I think I just wanna..." her watery voice trailed off as she looking up to the ceiling for strength, but found her vision still obscured by tears. Finally, she relented to the pull on her chest and whimpered "please come, but please don't hang up on me."

Anthony felt his own eyes starting to sting from the fragility in the voice he heard, but regardless he had already pulled on a pair of shoes and descended the stairs to his car by the time he had to respond. "Of course, sweetheart, I'm on my way but I'll be here the whole time."

Jasmine's sigh of relief was nearly involuntary, as her chest suddenly opened just a touch at the promise of comfort. Her lungs still ached and her eyes still burned, but the cries of frustration ceased as there was an end in sight. Her qualms about whether she should have called, or whether Anthony would resent her for being an annoyance were all washed away by the reassurances he cooed through the phone. He was proud of her for calling, hates that she was suffering on her own, and would always be happy to show up for her, or so he said. Maybe Jasmine couldn't fully convince herself these were complete truths, but for now it didn't matter. For now, she'd just focus on soaking up the loving energy his tender voice conveyed. She'd consume the last of her strength by just listening, letting herself drift through the moments in a trance until her rescue would arrive.

"Hey Jas? The car you're about to hear is mine, okay? I'm just pulling up," Anthony said a little firmer than his prior musings. He knew the way she flinched at every noise, and wanted to ensure she knew she didn't have to fear this one.

"Y-you're here?"

"Yeah, babe," he smiled weakly as he turned off his ignition, "coming up the stairs right now. Got my key, so I'll come right up. I've got you now, my love."

Jasmine still clutched the sheets for a second when she heard the front door's lock click, but sighed in shame and caught her breath by the time she heard the thumping of Anthony's jog up the stairs. "It's me babe," he assured one last time through the phone, before stepping up to the threshold of her bedroom door and hanging up the phone.

His eyes found Jasmine in the same position she'd been in all night, with her knees tight to her chest on his side of the bed. She was swimming in his boxers and t-shirt as the fabric draped off her shoulder, making her look even tinier and more defenseless alone in the bed meant for two. He knew from the wavering in her voice on the phone that she'd be in bad shape, but the tear streaks down here face and splotches on her shirt told him it was worse than he'd imagined. With a quiet exhale of sympathy, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered, resting his hand on her ankle. His thumb started drawing soothing circles around her skin, so he could give her a small physical assurance without overcrowding her. He was wary to give her more physical touch before he knew what they were up against, though all he wanted to do was scoop her into his arms.

Jasmine had held his worried gaze for a moment, but then dropped to hide some of the pain that her angry blood vessels would reveal. She watched her fingers mindlessly twist at the frayed hem of the t-shirt she wore while wearing the close watch of her concerned boyfriend.

"Jas, I'm here now, okay? Grabbed you a water bottle from my car.. think you could try to take a sip?"

He held out the bottle, and Jasmine reluctantly reached forward to accept it while keeping her gaze downcast. Her sweaty fingers fumbled with the plastic cap for a moment, before squeezing her eyes shut and huffing in a quiet frustration. Anthony tightened his grip on her ankle and rubbed with a little more pressure in his thumb to try to bring her back to level.

"Can I come a bit closer and give you a hand baby?" He offered softly.

"Please," she whimpered.

Anthony shuffled carefully up the bed, taking the water bottle in one hand and placing the other over her badly trembling one. After flicking off the cap, he squeezed her hand and held the bottle up to her lips, tilting it just slightly so she could take a small sip. He put the bottle aside, then cradled her jaw with his fingers so his thumb could brush away the water that had spilled down her chin. She hadn't even noticed the water on her face, as she was so deep inside her own mind, but what she did notice was Anthony taking care of every little thing. She could focus on coming back to him, because he would handle the rest.

As he held her face, their eyes met and he greeted her with an unimposing smile. Too defeated to reciprocate, her eyes fell shut as she squeezed out the tears making her eyes swell. The first drop to escape landed in her eyelashes, lodging themselves in and making them feel thick and heavy. But with Anthony's close eye, he just knew even before she did that it would drive her crazy. Before her breath could even catch, and before she could nearly poke her eye out by trying to clear it herself with her lack of stability, Anthony used the edge of his finger to wick away the droplet. He pressed the softest of kisses to that same eyelid as the crease between her brows smoothed out, and a soft trill slipped from her lips.

The sound of contentment eased a little of the tension that had built from the worry in Anthony's own chest, as he moved his lips higher on her forehead. The sheen of sweat that covered the skin there left a salty taste in his mouth, though it slowly dissipated as he just rested there, letting his lengthened kiss melt against her. His fingers weaved up through her curls to hold her secure, and began to gently comb through her tangles as he pulled back with a gentle smile.

"Jazzy, do you think I could help you to the bathroom and get you a little more comfy?" He spoke with a mellow timbre, aligned with the gentle way that the back of his hand danced over her cheek. She raised her eyes to look at him, and though she kept her lips tightly pressed together, she gave him a small nod of agreement. "Thank you, love," he said before pressing a kiss to her cheek where his hand had just been, "let's go."

He kept a hand over hers while he stood up beside the bed so she could stay grounded to his presence, then reached for her other one as well. He squeezed her hands tightly, and gave her an encouraging smile, as she shuffled towards the edge of the bed to meet him. When she pushed up on her trembling legs, he saw her eyes lose their focus as she started to buckle, but a swift hand around her back caught her and brought her into his chest.

"Hey, there you go," he cooed with his chin tucking her safely into place, "I've got you, just lean on me." With one hand holding her upright by the waist, and one tightly grasping hers, he guided them towards the bathroom before hoisting her up onto the counter. He stood between her legs, and raised both hands to brush her hair back, clearing space on her forehead to pepper a series of slow kisses.

When Anthony stepped back, he placed a hand on her thigh and kept it there while he pulled a scrunchie from a drawer to tend to her hair. He knew how she hated the way her curls would stick to the sweat on her neck, so he used his fingers to comb her hair up and back, before securing it in a bun at the top of her head. He knew exactly three loops of this scrunchie would keep her hair tightly in place without pulling so hard as to give her a headache. Now that the back of her neck was freed, he put a hand back on her thigh, and stepped aside to run a facecloth under cool water. With his most gentle touch, he swiped the cloth across the back of her neck, slipping it just under the neckline of the t-shirt she wore, to erase the last of the discomfort she felt there, and he felt her shoulders slump a little further forward.

"How's that babe? A little more comfy?" He set aside the cloth as his thumb rubbed half circles over her kneecap, and she nodded. He tried another little smile, hoping to find a little bit of life in her eyes, but all she could muster was to drop her head forward so it rested against his shoulder. His hand found its way to the nape of her neck, as he started to work on pulling her back out of her haze. "Sweetheart, can you tell me if there's anything else you need right now?"

Jasmine chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she scanned his eyes, searching for the homely sparkle she'd need to hold onto as she climbed out of the hole she'd buried herself in. "Can we lay down and just hold me?"

Her words were breathy and shaky, but he met them with a more assured smile as his fingers cupped her jaw and his thumb brushed over the cracks in her lips. "There's that sweet voice I've been missing," he murmured, before nodding and taking both her hands. Before he could pull her off the counter though, her hands slipped from his and she wrapped them around his neck with her legs following around his waist. He grinned against her shoulder, as his endearingly needy girlfriend seemed to be on her way back. Lifting her up without another word, he padded back to the bed and set her down in the middle, knowing there was no way she'd be staying on her own side that night.

As soon as he tried to stand up straight and step around the bed, Jasmine started to whine and reach out for his hand. "Alright alright," he chuckled softly, opting to climb over her instead and keep contact with her the whole time. She was coming back to him, but they both knew that he was her tether; if she let go, she'd fall.

As soon as he extended his legs, Jasmine was rolling over to fold herself around his middle. Her head rested on his chest, her leg was thrown over his, and her hand was tugging at his arm so he would wrap it around her back. "Babe, can you give me a sec to get us under the covers maybe?"

"Don't like the sheets right now," she whispered, "and just want you."

He smiled weakly into her curls between kisses to the top of her head, and focused on getting her settled as close as possible to his warmth. Of course he was worried about all this anxiety wreaking havoc in her mind, but for now he was just happy that she could communicate what she needed, and that he could give her all that and more. "Okay love, maybe just a blanket?"

She grumbled a little bit, but he felt her cheek nuzzling his chest with a nod, so he used his feet to kick the blanket folded at the end of the bed up to his hands. Nothing could make him unwrap Jasmine from his tight embrace, so he used just one hand to clumsily place the blanket over them, smiling as she grabbed the edge and pulled it up to her ears. She was fully enveloped in a safe space they'd created for her, and she felt certain that no one or nothing could break through the walls.

"Jas, sweetheart, we don't have to sleep yet if you're not ready, okay? Can stay up, or talk about it, or anything like that," he said softly, matching the gentle brushes of his fingers through her curls.

"I'm sorry for waking you up," she blurted out, "I don't want you to think I can't spend a single night without you when you want that because -"

"You didn't," he interjected, "couldn't sleep either. Didn't like having an empty pillow beside me."

Jasmine tilted her chin up to read for honesty across Anthony's face, and he responded with a little lopsided smile. "Really?"

"Yep, only answered so quick because I was already on my phone. Was looking at pictures of us and stuff to try to feel closer to you. Just missed you and could kinda sense something was up from your texts, I think... I dunno," he muttered, voice trailing off as the embarrassment of his words caught up with him. "Anyway, how about sleep, sweetheart?"

She tilted her chin a little further, and strained her neck up so her lips could reach his. She pressed them together in a careful, slow kiss to acknowledge everything he said, then tucked herself back into the space between his chin and shoulder as a tiny smile appeared in response to the comfort she felt sneaking back in. "M'tired, just don't know if my mind will let me sleep."

He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, then nuzzled her closer. "Okay babe, do you wanna try one of the counting exercises your therapist gave ya? You said those help some, right?"

"No, don't wanna focus on anything that isn't you." She felt the warmth of embarrassment in her cheeks that matched his own, but she didn't care. He'd seen her at her lowest now, and all he gave her was the most gentle and careful and attentive love she could hope for. She could give him her whole heart and mind on a platter now, because she trusted him to protect them even better than she could herself.

"Well I've got an idea then," he said, muffled by her curls pressing into his lips as his kisses were continuing lazily. He shifted her up slightly, with an arm still tightly around her waist while the other secured her head close to his lips. He leaned in to press the most tender kiss to the crown of her head, not letting his lips linger for too long but making sure she felt the conviction. "Close your eyes sweetheart, and count."

Her lips parted a little bit as her eyes met his, filled with so much love she could have burst. He was just so wonderfully attentive and loving, that all she could do was smile when he leaned in for a second kiss. "Two," she murmured as her eyes fluttered shut.

Between each kiss, Anthony took a deep breath, hoping she could feel the rhythm from his chest and use it to guide her own breathing. "S-six," she breathed out, with a yawn that crinkled up her nose. By "thirteen", the kisses were long enough to melt away any lingering tension in her forehead, and by "twenty", her words were just breaths. Finally, her thoughts and worries had dissolved into the calmness that washed over her with each kiss. Her only focus was the soft caress of Anthony's lips until she had no focus at all. Just peaceful rest and a chance for her mind to heal from the raid of the past few hours.

Anthony knew that she was out cold by his thirtieth kiss or so, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He too found solace and tranquility in the steady and repeating kisses, so much so that he lulled himself into his own rest. When they both lay with eyes closed, breath leaden, and minds quiet, his lips were still resting against her. This was where they belonged; returning to an apartment would never compare to the real homecoming of his lips finding her forehead.

[yahboobeh]

When the Clock Strikes Midnight

Happy New Year everyone! Here’s my NejiTen discord server Secret Santa fic for @giada-luna! FF.net | AO3

There were very few things to do at the hospital, and Neji could count them all on one hand. He thought he would have been used to it by now. He had spent most of the past two months in and out of the hospital between checkups and surgeries as his body slowly recovered from the multiple impalings that should have killed him. 

He mostly slept, breaking apart the cycle of visits from nurses and loved ones with groggy drug-induced naps. However, four days post-op meant his pain medication was replaced with something less addictive, making even napping a difficult way to adequately pass the time. Hinata insisted that Neji packed a book, but he’d made short work of that the first day the nurse had removed his IV (and, by extension, his pain medication). The tv on the wall was only good for the white noise, and even meditating was starting to feel monotonous. 

Luckily, tonight was his last night in the hospital, recovering from what was hopefully his final surgery. It was also New Year’s Eve.

As if on cue, Tenten was there, pushing the door to his room open, sporting a pink and white quiapo and smile on her lips. 

“Oh good, you’re awake!” 

He nodded and watched Tenten close the door and cross the room to the side of his bed. 

“New dress?”

Her face reddened as if she hadn’t expected him to notice, much less comment on it. 

“Yeah, new year, new me?” She chuckled awkwardly. “What do you think?” 

“I like it.” 

Her blush deepened, and she muttered out her thanks before shifting the conversation away from herself.

“Have you done your exercises today?”

Neji sighed before answering, yes. A nurse came by twice a day to ensure he was walking and practicing special breathing techniques to keep his lungs clear. Tenten knew this but continued to worry over his recovery consistently. 

“You did the breathing exercises?”

“Yes.”

“And the coughing?”

“Tenten.”

“Ok, but when did you go for a walk last?”

“Last night when you insisted,” he teased.

Tenten crossed her arms and huffed at him.

“That’s not funny. Sakura said it’s important for you to move.”

“I know,” he said with a bit more exasperation than he’d intended, “I’ve been through this countless times over the last two and a half months, Tenten.”

“I’m sorry,” she huffed, “forgive me for being concerned.” 

Neji sighed. They were both tired and stressed. Tenten came to visit him every day, and it didn’t matter if he was in the hospital or resting at home. She seemed to have made overseeing his recovery her primary job. Neji knew from Lee’s visits that Tenten was also fretting over Gai. He appreciated her concern and even felt guilty for being the source of her anxiety, but the constant worrying and nagging opened the door for more arguments. Neji enjoyed exchanging barbs, but Tenten was the last person he wanted to argue with.

“A walk sounds nice,” he relented. They walked every night, regardless of her questions and his answers. So, Neji began the slow process of sitting up. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did during his initial recovery, but his muscles still ached and protested from the exertion. 

The nurses made him keep a walker next to his bed to brace himself on while he got out of bed, but Neji hated it. It reminded him that he was weak, mortal, and very lucky. Tenten knew he hated the walker; Neji didn’t even have to tell her. It was one of his favorite parts of their friendship. They knew each other so well that they communicated silently. Tenten stood in front of him, offering out her hands should he need them. 

In front of anyone else, Neji would wave away assistance but not from Tenten. They gripped each other by the forearms, and Neji stood up. She smiled the whole time, and his heart fluttered. 

“Where should we walk to tonight?” she asked as they stepped out of Neji’s room and started down the hall.

“Have you eaten anything?” 

“Not yet.”

“Then how about the cafeteria?”

“Oh, are you offering to buy me dinner?” Tenten teased.

“Sure, just charge it to my room,” he joked. 

But he’d seen the glint in Tenten’s eyes at the prospect of a meal. He knew she wasn’t eating well. She looked thinner and tired. The war had been particularly unkind to Team Gai, and while Tenten carried herself with a demeanor that said ‘I’m okay,’ Neji could see the truth. He hated it. Hated that she was spreading herself so thin between his and Gai’s recoveries, that she only had Lee to train with, that she had seen so much and cried so little. 

“Let’s eat,” Neji confirmed. 

The walk was slow. All of his walks were slow. 

“How is Gai-sensei doing?” Neji asked. “Lee thought he was almost done in surgery when he was visiting.”

“Yes, he is doing well. He was in recovery when I went to see him today. I left when they moved him back to his regular room. Although I think Sakura gave him some extra medication to make sure he rests.”

“Ah, so I take it we won’t be seeing him tonight?” 

Neji paused to rest, and Tenten leaned against the wall.

“Lee and I talked earlier. Gai-sensei will likely be in and out of consciousness all night. We decided it would be best if we split up this New Year’s celebration. He’s staying with Gai-sensei, and I’m with you.”

“So we finally get a quiet and uneventful new year?” 

Tenten giggled.

“Just this once.”

They started walking again, quiet as they neared their destination. At the entrance to the cafeteria, Tenten continued the conversation.

“You know, this just means that next year Gai-sensei and Lee are going to go over the top to make up for this year.”

Neji rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the images of Gai and Lee’s potential outlandish plans. 

Tenten, at Neji’s quiet insistence, filled a tray with food. He had eaten earlier, so he prepared a cup of tea and purchased Tenten’s meal. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered while they scanned the room for a table.

“I wanted to,” he ensured. A wave of emotion hit him. He always wanted to do small things for Tenten, to repay her selflessness and kindness with his own. 

He knew she felt the same way he did, and Neji had resolved to tell her as much. It wasn’t a matter of if he should tell her, but when and how. 

Would she want a grand romantic gesture, or would she appreciate something more quiet and comfortable? He could easily imagine either scenario and felt overcome with indecisiveness and nerves. 

Tenten elbowed his arm, and he was back in the cafeteria. 

“Sakura and Sasuke are here!”

Neji gave a nod to indicate that joining them was fine and followed Tenten to the table. 

“Hey, guys!” Sakura, who had been hunched over a cup of coffee, perked up when she saw them. 

“Hey, Sakura! Do you mind if we join you?” Tenten asked. 

“Oh sure, I’m just on a coffee break.” 

Tenten set down her tray and glanced up at Neji. He shook his head, silently declining her offer for help. 

He winced as he sat down and let out a sigh before sipping his tea. 

Sasuke sat across from him, toying with his coffee. 

It was strange to see him without an arm. It made Neji’s stomach turn, and he wondered if it was similar to how Tenten might have felt when she saw him half dead. 

“How are you guys doing?” Tenten asked. 

“We’re good,” Sakura replied, “tired, but good. Things are starting to slow down, and Tsunade-sama is feeling well enough to help out here and there.” 

“That’s good,” said Tenten. 

“And I was just checking up on Sasuke’s… uh… arm… before my break, and here we are.” 

Sasuke polished off his drink and stood up. 

“Gonna grab another coffee, want one?” 

“No, thank you.” 

Sakura then jerked her chin towards them, ever so slightly. 

“How about you two? Need anything?”

“We’re all set, I think,” said Neji, “thanks.” 

Sasuke walked off, and Tenten instantly leaned across the table, her meal half-forgotten. 

“How are things going?”

“He wants to stay and keep me company tonight!” 

“Really?” 

“Yes! My shift runs late. Do you think he’s going to kiss me at midnight?” 

“Maybe! If he does you have to tell me everything!” 

Neji drifted in and out of their rushed conversation giving an appropriate nod or shrug whenever Sakura looked at him for reassurance or he felt Tenten’s expectant glances. 

Sakura excused herself shortly after Sasuke’s return and the pair departed the cafeteria. 

Tenten tried to push her half eaten bowl of fruit onto Neji, claiming she was full and he needed to eat more. 

She cleared their dishes and they slowly made their way back to Neji’s room. 

Neji sighed as he leaned back against the bed, the pillows and mattress taking over for his strained and sore core muscles. The bed was raised so he could sit up comfortably. 

Tenten stretched her arms and yawned before sitting next to him on the bed. 

She reached for the remote and turned on the tv. 

“Only three and a half hours left of this shit year,” she said, flipping through channels. “Do you know which channel is the news?” 

Neji shook his head. 

“There might be a list in the drawer,” he suggested. 

“Oh! I found it!” The local New Year’s Eve celebration show had started. Any other year they would be among the revelers in the center of the village enjoying the festival.

...the crowd is ecstatic tonight...eager to leave behind a year of death and destruction...hearbreak and loss....

“I heard from Hinata that they’re going to interview Naruto and Kakashi-sensei.” 

“Sakura mentioned that earlier today,” said Neji.

“It’ll be weird to see them on TV.”

Neji glanced over to his teammate, catching her eye. 

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here.” 

Tenten giggled and leaned her arm against his. 

“Don’t be silly. This is where I want to be.” 

Neji raised a brow. 

“In a hospital room?” 

“With you.” 

Neji felt his face flush and hoped she didn’t notice. Was this the right moment to speak up? 

“Besides,” she continued, “we can see the fireworks from your window.” 

Neji shrugged. 

“I suppose it’s a fitting end to this year.” 

Tenten smiled. 

“Yes. The year that we never thought would end. It’s been awful from start to finish.” 

“The entire year?” 

“Pretty much. I mean, there were some good things. But it was all just preparation for the war and then…” 

Tenten trailed off, picking idly at a loose thread on the blanket. She shook her head as if she was denying access to the dark place of her mind where those memories were tucked away. Neji knew that place well. He suspected everyone did. 

“It doesn’t matter. The further we move away from this year the better.” 

Neji chuckled. 

“Do you think that once the clock strikes midnight everything will suddenly change?” 

“Maybe, you never know.” She gave him another smile. “It doesn’t hurt to hope though.” 

Their conversation died down for a moment, picking up the familiar pattern of silence between topics. 

The television hummed with the activity of revelers and hosts entertaining the crowd as the last few hours of the year ticked away. 

Twenty minutes before midnight Kakashi appeared on screen to help ring in the new year as Hokage. 

...we’re ushering in the new year with an era of peace...

“I hope Gai-sensei is awake for this,” said Tenten. 

Kakashi was a bit awkward and unprepared, but if Gai was watching, Neji knew that the new Hokage’s performance could be discussed as nothing less than perfect. 

After a few minutes Naruto made his appearance. They listened for a bit before getting out of bed to look out the window. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Tenten reached into her kunai pouch and pulled out a small bottle of sparkling sake, “can’t celebrate without a drink.” 

“Don’t let Sakura see that.” 

“It’s a mini bottle and you’re going home in the morning. I think you’ll be alright.” 

She twisted off the cap and took a swig. 

“Although I got a twist-off lid so no one hears a cork pop.” 

She passed Neji the bottle and he took a drink. Fizzy bubbles rippled across his tongue, the sake dry and tart. 

They finished the bottle as the countdown to midnight started. 

...59...58...57...56…

The energy in the room shifted. Neji felt lightheaded with anticipation.

...41...40...39...38...

Neji remembered the question Sakura had eagerly posed to Tenten at dinner.

‘Do you think he’ll kiss me at midnight?’

And he knew that the moment was right. 

....27...26...25...24…

Neji watched Tenten watch the television. She was smiling, and Neji didn’t need his byakugan to see that she had relaxed. If it was the sake or the prospect of a new start, Neji wasn’t sure, but her aura of calm was contagious.

...11...10...9...8…

He looked back up at the television, where Naruto was helping lead the countdown.

...5...4...3...2...1... Happy New Year!

Neji could hear cheering from the nurse’s station as the first few fireworks went off. 

Tenten ignored the view of the fireworks show they had stood by the window for, turning from the tv directly to Neji, her smile wider.

“Happy New Year, Neji.”

His arm moved before he could register it, cupping her jaw. The smile on fell from her lips, and her brows furrowed with the confusion that played across her face. 

That was when he kissed her, soft and gently. He heard the smallest gasp between the burst of fireworks outside their window. Tenten’s lips were soft and tasted sweet like sake. She kissed him back and pressed her hands to his chest. Neji put his hands on her waist and drew her in closer. 

They were slow, sweet and unsure. His mind hummed, and his body buzzed. He wanted to pull her even closer and kiss her harder, but he was too nervous, and this was perfect.

Neji wasn’t sure how long they kissed for, but when they stopped it was nothing more than a brief pause, foreheads pressed together.

“Happy New Year, Tenten.”

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Have you seen The Old Guard? It gives me very similar vibes to Animorphs although I can't quite put my finger on why exactly, outside being able to heal severe injuries.

I’m a sucker for a good superhero flick, and The Old Guard does an excellent job of capturing the same “family forged under fire” and “death is inconvenient; pain is all too real” dynamics that make Animorphs so dang good.  Also, I’m not saying I’d added the song “Going Down Fighting” to my Rachel Berenson playlist before I’d even finished the movie... but yeah, that might’ve happened.

Someone made a great post a while back about how they started Animorphs as an adult, encountered the mechanic where morphing heals all injuries, and assumed that it was going to be used to ensure that the Animorphs had a cartoony lack of risk in battles or consequences for violence.  And then, of course, the series goes in almost the opposite direction.  It uses the “we can survive literally any wound that’s not instantly fatal” mechanic to explore the lasting emotional impact of injuries that don’t leave a physical mark.  It makes the characters rapidly adapt to that reality of their powers through having them repeatedly choose to endure horrific injuries in order to get a job done.

Similarly, The Old Guard works so well as a superhero movie less because of the characters’ superpower than because of their limitations.  None of the protagonists have super-speed or even super-fighting; they’re just good at their jobs because they’re ridiculously experienced.  Joe’s ability to survive a grenade blast looks more impressive, not less so, for the moment we also see Joe gasping and staggering with exhaustion after fighting off his fifth bad guy in a row.  Andy’s total incompetence at purchasing and using a band-aid drives home her hyper-competence with weaponry.  Most of the characters are driven, one way or another, by the desire to escape their emotional exhaustion with millennia of constant war.

And in both cases, we get the full horror of the “it can’t kill me, so might as well” attitude the characters display.  One of the most gut-wrenching sequences in Animorphs is the sequence early in #36 where the kids morph orcas and go after the Sea Blade until orca-Jake is fatally injured... So Jake demorphs underwater, Cassie rushes human-Jake to the surface, Jake morphs orca before the merely debilitating decompression sickness can become fatal decompression sickness, and swims back to the battle.  Ten minutes later it’s Ax who has been shot nearly in half, and the whole atrocious process repeats itself.  Then it’s Marco.  Then it’s Jake again.  Over an hour into the process they briefly assemble on the surface as

Four human kids, a hawk, and an Andalite.

I looked at us, bobbing in the midnight ocean. My best friend. My cousin. My girlfriend. A nothlit and an alien. 

My friends. Bedraggled. Wet. Cold. Incredibly tired. Hair plastered to their heads. Lips blue. Bodies shivering. 

And I was asking them to do it again.

...Sometimes I hate my life.  "Let's go, boys and girls."

So they go again.  They get shot some more.  They inflict more damage to the Sea Blade.  They heal.  But that doesn’t prevent Cassie from mourning the hork-bajir lives that were lost to get them there.  It doesn’t prevent Jake from having nightmares about the experience.  It’s not enough to save Tobias’s view of humanity, and maybe all of life, as irredeemable.  And in some ways, that’s the whole series right there.

But sure, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  Strong words from a guy who never saw battle.

[thisbrokenmask]

Drift Away

pairing: female reader x Park Jimin

genre: angst (prepare your heartstrings)

word count: 5,192

warnings: Jimin is sad, that’s all

summary: jimin is home for christmas. so are you. it’s been several months since you broke up with him but he’s still hurting. will you give him the closure he needs?

a/n: so I wanted to write something nice and fluffy for Jimin’s Christmas Love, but this sort of happened instead. Crystal Snow has been one of my favourites since I first heard it, there’s something about the longing and complex emotions in it that’s always appealed to me, so I’m glad I got ‘Crystal Snow’ on my @btsholidaybingo​ card! (Also, don’t mind me projecting my break up from earlier this year, I promise I’ll write something happier for ChimChim soon) 

It’s only when conversation in the car dies down that Jimin begins to take notice of his surroundings. He’s been talking non-stop with his parents and his brother since they engulfed him in a big group hug at the train station, catching up with each other despite at least two calls a week to his parents and a text thread with his brother that rarely sits still for a full 24 hours.

Somehow, there is always something new to talk about, or something comfortingly familiar to talk about again, and he is thankful for that in the very moment he notices how close they are to home. Being close to home means being close to your parents’ house, and that means being close to you. 

He stares out of the window as the houses roll past, various colours painting his skin from the different light displays and decorations hanging from their eaves. Jimin has no doubt you’ve come home for the winter holidays, just like he has. You always loved Christmas, always itching to get the Christmas decorations up as soon as you could. He remembers how you would start talking about Christmas as early as the week after Chuseok and how he’d been amazed that he’d found someone who loved Christmas more than he did. Even he could wait until after Hangul Day before he allowed himself to even think of ideas for Christmas, but you were always two steps ahead of him. 

He wonders if you were as excited this year. 

His parents definitely notice the sudden quiet in the back of the car and glance at each other, silently repeating the conversation they’ve had several times over the last few weeks, questioning whether they should ask or leave him be. 

“Have you heard from Y/N?” his mother asks, long having decided that addressing the elephant in the room will help Jimin, rather than letting him wallow and fester in his own thoughts. He’s had long enough, she feels, and talking about you will only help him to move on. “Is she back for Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin answers truthfully, feeling an uncomfortable fullness in his chest that makes him feel a bit sick. His brother shifts in his seat across the car. “We haven’t spoken.”

“Oh,” his mother says lightly, faux nonchalant. Her barely-concealed acting would normally have irked him and he would have asked her to just be more direct, not tiptoe around him and treat him like a baby, but he’s tired. Tired of pretending not to care, tired of pretending he doesn’t still think about you. His mother quickly changes the subject anyway. “Well, Jungkook is home, isn’t he? Are you going to go and see him?” 

“Yeah,” Jimin nods once, unable to tear his eyes away from the world outside. He knows your street is approaching and he doesn’t want to miss catching a glimpse of your house. He wonders if your parents have put up the same lights they always do: bright white and twinkling, following the slope of the roof and lighting up the biggest tree on the front lawn. “Yeah, I’ll go see Jungkook.”

Christmas music is playing in the store when Jimin enters. A mix of American and Korean music playing over the speakers, old enough to give the music that slight tinny sound only old, weary speakers can provide. 

His mother has sent him armed with a list of things she deems absolutely essential, but he knows it’s just an excuse to get him out of the house, to get him to do something rather than pretending to watch TV while wrapped up on the sofa in his favourite blanket like he has been for the last two days. He knows, because he saw the full bag of flour in the pantry last night when he was quietly looking for a near-midnight snack. He knows, because there’s a carton of eggs in the kitchen that’s almost full and there’s enough sugar to sweeten the tea of the whole street at least two times over.

But she insisted, so here he is. 

He has the eggs, flour, sugar and a few other things from the list when he sees them, having just turned down the aisle they’re standing in. Your relatives don’t spot him straight away, your mother talking a mile a minute as she lists the pros and cons of two different brands to your little sister who, as always, is simply nodding along. Your mother will make her own decision, probably already has, but your sister is there to be her sounding board. That used to be your job, he remembers you telling him, until you hit 16 and had the excuse of school exams to get you out of the weekly shopping trips. 

He’s about to turn around and go down the next aisle, planning on circling back when he knows they’ve moved on, but then he hears his name being called. He looks up to see your little sister abandoning her post and running towards him. Your mother blinks as he gets closer, walking over to say hello as he’s too polite not to, and for the first time in his life he wishes he found it easier to be rude.

“Mrs Y/L/N,” he greets your mother with a bow low enough for his gaze to drop to the floor, his basket knocking against his calf before he’s straightening up again. “It’s nice to see you, I hope you and your family are well.” Jimin smiles at your sister, who smiles back and nods but moves back to stand by your mother. He can tell she’s holding back from hugging him and his arms ache. 

“Jimin,” she smiles back, but her eyes are sad. “It’s nice to see you, too. I’m very well, thank you. I hope your family are, too?” Jimin nods with a smile. “You’re home for Christmas?” Another nod. “That’s wonderful. Y/N is, too-” She cuts herself off, eyes widening apologetically. 

“It’s okay,” he assures her with a smile despite the constricting feeling in his throat. He holds back from asking about you despite the way his tongue itches to form the words. “I’m glad to be back home for a while. Speaking of which, I apologise but I must get back,” he holds up the slip of paper his mother pushed into his hand. “But it was lovely to see you both.” Jimin bows again to both your mother and sister, making sure to push his smile just that little bit wider to ensure they know there are no hard feelings. 

“It’s lovely to see you, too, Jimin,” your mother smiles. “It’s been so long.”

He knows. He knows exactly how long it’s been since so many things: the last time he saw your parents, the last time he saw you, the last time you spoke to him. 

“It has,” he agrees, and bows again before slipping past them. “Merry Christmas!” 

He waves goodbye as he walks away, waiting until he’s down the next aisle before trying to read the rest of his list with stinging eyes. 

He wonders if your mother will tell you that she saw him. 

It’s only a few days before Christmas Eve when Jimin finally sees you. He’s walking back from Jungkook’s house, his younger friend’s parents insisting on feeding him before he was allowed to go home. He almost doesn’t notice you, so caught up in the same thoughts he’s been having for months to even register people around him. 

But he hears your laugh and he can’t not look.

Jimin’s head snaps up so suddenly that he’s sure the movement alone catches your eye, but it could be the fact that he stops dead almost mid-stride. You’re on the other side of the street, walking towards the direction he’s coming away from, and you’re not alone. 

He thinks he recognizes one of the girls by your side from high school, but the other is completely unknown to him. He barely grants either of them a second of his attention before focusing back on you. You’ve cut your hair and dyed it a lighter shade, but it’s still you in those jeans he always loved and the jacket you bought with the money you saved up from your first summer job. 

He notices the exact second your eyes flit over to him, and the exact moment when they shoot back for a double take, a flash of recognition taking over your features. Meeting your gaze is like a pummel to the gut and the head at the same time; his brain feels dizzy and his knees waver like they might give out if a light breeze brushes past him.

You look away so quickly, so determined in the way you turn your head completely to look at your friend, that it takes him a few seconds to register the moment is gone. He feels empty, so empty, at how easily you ignore him. He feels empty, and then he feels so full of sadness and anger and hurt that he briefly convinces himself that he hates you as he turns to stomp back to his house. 

“Who was that?” he hears one of your friends ask incredulously, but his feet beat a muffled pace against the snow too quickly for him to hear your answer. 

Hey, how are you?

The text comes through hours later, lighting up his room as Jimin lays staring at the ceiling. Drying tracks itch his face from the silent tears he finally let fall once he knew his parents were in bed and most likely asleep. He couldn’t forget how easily you turned away from him, and from there his memories awoke to remind him of all the times you’d turned toward him, ran toward him, jumped into his arms and held on. 

It was, he’d believed, yet another night of his chest slowly ripping itself open, only to leave it for him to try and fix before breakfast.

But you texted him, and he chewed his lip desperately as he considered what to do. 

Hey. I’m alright thanks, you?

He had considered texting Hoseok to ask what he should do, but it was nearly midnight and he didn’t want to bother his friends any more than he felt he already had. This was his situation, anyway, and all the advice in the world to the contrary wouldn’t stop him from listening to the way his heart still called out for you. 

I’m good, too. I just wanted to say sorry about earlier.

Earlier?

Don’t lie, Jimin. I know you saw me, and you know I saw you.

I’m sorry I ignored you.

Jimin scoffs into the darkness of his room, a flush of anger rushing through him at your words. He doesn’t know if he believes you, as much as he wants your words to be true. He wants you to want him still, even though he knows things would be different now. He likes to try and convince himself he could trust you to love him again, but then he remembers how easily you broke his heart and he just hurts all over again.

Are you?

Of course I am! I felt awful, I wanted to say hello to you so badly.

Then why didn’t you? 

The question isn’t malicious or confrontational; he just needs to know how you think so he can figure out he feels. 

I didn’t know how to, you finally reply. 

Saying ‘hello’ is normally a good place to start?

I know, I know, I just

Jimin watches the bubble of ellipses come and go several times, waiting for you to get your words right. He always gave you that, even when the words would hurt him in the end. 

I didn’t know how to explain to the girls who you were.

His heart feels like a cold lump of lead in his chest, almost too heavy to beat.

Didn’t want to have to explain what I did to you.

Despite everything, he still hates to hear/read/see you feel guilty over what happened between you, because it means you’re sad. He’s still got a bit of hardwiring in him that makes him want to cheer you up, to protect you from pain and sadness even when he’s drowning in his own. 

I understand, he finally texts back, wishing he actually did. He doesn’t know how or why he’s the one comforting you when you were the one that broke up with him but here he is, lying in his childhood bedroom merely streets away from you, telling you he understands. Understands that you couldn’t tell your friends he was the guy you’d broken up with before you both left for college mere months ago. Understands that you dropped the bomb on him that you were pretty sure you weren’t in love with him anymore after two years of him devoting every atom of his being to your existence. Understands how you didn’t want to start college with a boyfriend you didn’t feel the same about anymore and might end up hurting in worse ways than just words. 

Jimin blinks back the tears that well up in his eyes as the thoughts pass through his head, his phone locked and clutched to his chest like prayer beads. He wonders if you’re the same, if you’ve been umming and ahhing over whether you should text him or if you’re casually resting on your side with your duvet wrapped around your leg like you normally did before you slept. He wonders if you’re in bed at all, or if you’re sat up at your desk and are only texting him now as an afterthought to your busy day.

Strange shadows appear on his ceiling when his phone lights up under his fingers.

Thank you.

He bites his bottom lip before releasing it and pressing the back of his hand to it instead, knowing his mother will notice in the morning and ask him what he’s been worrying about. He knows you’d ask the same, knowing him just as well, if not better. 

He figures this is his best chance to take his shot to ask.

Can I see you, at some point?

The bubble pops up then disappears again without returning, and he knows you’re trying to figure out how to say no to him nicely.

Just to talk. We could get coffee or something?

He doesn’t want to sound desperate, but he is, and he figures that you might give in if you realise.

No funny business, I promise. I just want to see you one last time, one last conversation and then I’ll leave you be. I just feel like I never really got closure and it would be nice to finally feel like I can move on. [Ever the people pleaser, he adds,] If that’s okay?

If you say no or you don’t reply, he’ll take that as closure and do his best to move on. It will hurt more, but he’ll know where he stands and then he can figure out where to step next. If you say yes, it’ll be awkward, but he’ll be able to figure out where his heart is much quicker by sitting across a table from you. 

The last few months have been disorienting and confusing and painful, spent trying to clumsily mend his heart when he wasn’t quite sure of the extent of the damage. He’s convinced himself that if he sees you and speaks to you, he’ll know whether or not he still loves you. 

If he doesn’t, he can finally put down the weight he’s been carrying and walk away lighter. 

He doesn’t quite have a plan yet for if it turns out he does. 

Of course. When are you free?

It’s bitingly cold on the 28th, the day you and Jimin agree to see each other. It was the one day you were both free that wasn’t too close to Christmas, New Year, or the day you were returning to college for the January term. It was the one day with the least potential for sentimentality. 

He gets there five minutes late, hoping you’re already there and seated rather than him being first. It seems you had the same idea, though, as you walk towards him from the opposite end of the high street. 

While he’s still far enough away to be sure you won’t be able to see it, a puff of white air escapes him as a laugh pushes his lips into a smile. He should have known you’d want to be the one who gets to walk in and withhold your gaze until you’re ready to look at him; you were always both so similar that way. 

He sees you falter and guesses that to be the moment you realise he’s the person walking towards you. Your pace slows slightly, hesitant, before you pick up your speed again. You probably hope he didn’t notice, and he’ll pretend he didn’t. 

You meet in the middle, outside the door to the cafe you used to come and sit in together all the time; impromptu dates, one of you wanting to be out of the house, the other jonesing for a hot chocolate like only Mrs Mae can make. 

Jimin opens the door for you and ushers you inside, and you breathe a gasp of thanks as you hurry into the warmth. Mrs Mae is still pottering about behind the counter, wiping and drying between customers. She turns and smiles before either of you can say anything and her apparent sixth sense is oddly comforting. 

Mrs Mae has always been observant, keeping an eye on everyone who comes into her shop yet somehow making them feel like they have all the privacy in the world in her plush seats. She still pertains that she knew you and Jimin were dating before even the two of you did, and she harbours the secret that she knew it was falling apart before you did, too. 

Her smile is two parts happy and one part sad to see you and Jimin together: pleased to see another pair of town kids all grown up and still coming to her little shop, pleased to see the combination of one of the sweetest couples she’s ever witnessed back together again, but sad to know both of your hearts are broken beyond repair for each other. She knows you’ll never walk into her shop hand-in-hand again, but she’s pleased to see you together nonetheless. 

The machine behind her is already steaming with two hot chocolates, mugs warming while they wait, and she waves you off to sit down before you can even order. 

Muscle memory guides you back to the table you always used to share, tucked against the window in the corner furthest from the door, and Jimin wonders if you notice before you sit down. Whether you do or not, he can’t tell, because you now won’t look at him. Your eyes are turned to the floor as you shrug off your coat, tucking it over the back of the chair, and you stare at your fingers on the tabletop when you sit down.

Jimin sits across from you, sinking into his chair and slowly pulling off his gloves. His coat is over the back of his chair, too, but he can’t bring himself to pull off his matching scarf and beanie, the navy blue contrasting his blond hair in a way that you can’t help but find yourself admiring. 

He doesn’t see how quickly you look away as his gaze drifts back towards you, but Mrs Mae does. She puts the cups of hot chocolate in front of you both, a third plate sliding onto the table between you. You both gape slightly at the two cookies shaped like Christmas trees, small ribbons of green icing criss-crossing over each other with little dabs of bright colours nestled between them. 

“On the house,” she says simply without flourish, tucking her tray back under her arm as she walks away before either of you can protest. 

You clear your throat as Jimin coughs gently into his fist and you finally look up at each other. Jimin feels a pang in his chest at how similar and how different this all is at the same time. The small hints of smiles on your faces are no longer coy and shy like they were when you came here together on your first ‘date’ as teenagers. Everyone insists you’re young adults now, and your lips are turned in an effort to alleviate the awkwardness between you. 

It’s nearly been three months since he last heard your voice and he feels tummy swirl as you open your mouth to speak.

“Good Christmas?” you ask feebly, not sure where else to start but thankful the recent holiday gives you something to talk about. 

“Yeah, it was good, thanks,” Jimin replies as he wraps his hands around his mug to keep them warm, wincing when the hot ceramic stings his palms slightly. “Yours?” You can see the genuine curiosity in his eyes and your heart pangs at the caring side of him that you miss. 

“Yeah, thanks.” You pull your own hot chocolate towards you, looking up to Jimin to offer him a cookie. He insists you choose first with a wave of his hand and so you take the one closest to you between your fingers but you make no move to eat it yet. You hold the cookie delicately with your finger tips, as if it might break if you dare to hold it any tighter. Jimin has already taken a small bite from the top of the tree, careful to produce minimal crumbs, and you wonder if he even noticed the small star on top. You normally save that bit for last. “Why are we here, Jimin?” 

He pauses briefly mid-chew, eyes darting to yours and cheeks flushing pink. He swallows and wordlessly pushes the empty plate towards you, positioning it under your hands that are already starting to break up the cookie into smaller chunks. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, looking down into the foam on his hot chocolate. The words are in his chest and it’s taking longer than he would like to get them to come out. It’s the closest experience he’s ever had to that awful limbo of waiting to be sick, although the cookie helps keep the nausea at bay. “The last few months have been… hard,” he finally admits, looking out of the window to the empty street. There’s snow on the pavement and only a few tracks of footprints have distrubed it. He can pick yours out easily. “I’ve gone back over everything you said and I know it’s over,” he says, giving you a pointed look that eases your fears that he was going to try and win you back somehow. “But I just feel like there was still something left to be said, somehow? Maybe I just needed to see you one last time to know how I felt about it all.” 

He trails off, pensively drawing shapes into the tabletop with his fingertip. You use the moment of silence to take a sip of hot chocolate and hiss when it almost scolds your tongue, the sound snapping Jimin from his thoughts with a smirk aimed at the table. 

“And?” you ask when he still doesn’t say anything. “How do you feel? Now that we’re here?”

He frowns, finger stilling, but takes a few more seconds to look up at you. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, and you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “I thought I’d be sad to see you, thought I wouldn’t be able to forget what happened and would want you back, but,” he shrugs with one shoulder, looking down to his cookie as he snaps off an outcrop of branches. “I dunno. I don’t want us to get back together, I know I can’t trust you not to hurt me again.” You swallow thickly, willing the tears away despite the pain in your chest. You deserve to no longer have his trust, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear him say it out loud. “I think, seeing you now, I’ve realised I just… miss you.” He still holds the smaller piece of cookie between his finger and thumb but his eyes are on you, and you aren’t so successful this time in keeping back your tears. You’ve missed him, too. 

Jimin panics when the first tear rolls over the apple of your cheek, his earring shaking as he drops both pieces of his cookie on the table and reaches a hand out to wipe your cheek before hesitating midway over the table. You brush at your cheek with your own hand, offering him a watery smile as you pick up one of your own broken bits of biscuit. 

“Sorry,” you breathe. “I’ve missed you, as well. It’s nice to know you’ve missed me, too, even though I don’t deserve it.” Jimin’s features soften and he goes to speak, but you cut him off, scared you won’t get your words out if you don’t do this now. “I know I was the one who ended it, I was the one who fell out of love with you and hurt you and broke up with you, but I still missed my friend,” you look up at him and see a soft smile on his lips, his cheek resting in his palm as he watches you. 

You briefly wonder if he’s enjoying seeing you hurting, then you remember he isn’t like that at all. He’s just happy to see you letting out the emotions you’ve been holding in for weeks. 

“I’ve missed my friend, too,” he says quietly as he reaches out to place his free hand over yours, stopping you from completely crumbling the biscuit in your hands. “That’s what I’ve realised. I think that’s why I’ve been struggling so much, because- yes, I was hurting and heartbroken and all that,” you almost laugh at how casually he says it now, a blase wave of his hand as if he’s talking about a minor inconvenience to his day. “But I didn’t realise how much I missed my friend. I think I made my peace with the break up a while ago,” he admits, his hand still on yours but you don’t shake him off, finding comfort in the weight of his palm over your fingers. “I could sort of accept that you didn’t love me anymore, because those things happen and you were honest about it. But I was still grieving, and it’s been so confusing trying to figure out why it wasn’t going away even when my head was telling me I understood it all.” 

You brush your fingers together to rid them of crumbs before turning your hand to hold his, your fingers wrapping around his palm. 

“I felt the same,” you say, Jimin’s gaze flicking up to yours from the vague spot in space he’s been staring at. “I thought I’d done the right thing; it was eating me up inside, knowing I didn’t feel the same anymore and I knew breaking up was the best thing to do. But then I went to college, and I met loads of new people and I thought, ‘This is great, I’ll be fine in no time.’ But I just couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing, something was wrong somehow, and I started thinking I’d made a mistake. Started thinking I shouldn’t have broken up with you, that I should have tried harder or something,” Jimin squeezes your hand gently, his skin still as soft as you always remembered it. You brace yourself for the words you know you have to say, for both of you. “I don’t love you anymore, and I know you’ll fall out of love with me soon, if you haven’t already. You’ll get over me and move on, and we’ll both be fine. I know we said goodbye months ago, but that was as partners; a boyfriend and a girlfriend saying goodbye. I think it’s time for us to say goodbye as friends, too.”

Jimin feels you pull your hand from his and he freezes, scared that you’ll get up and leave him here with two cooling hot chocolates and broken cookies, but you simply lift your cup to take a sip, needing the distraction. He considers your words as his hand slowly retreats back across the table, curling around his own cup but not lifting it. 

“I don’t mean we can’t be friends,” you say, neither of you able to look at each other. “But I think we need to say goodbye to the friendship we’re both mourning. I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to that, and I don’t want either of us to desperately hang onto it when we could be moving forward, figuring out a new friendship instead.”

Jimin catches the hopeful tone in your voice and finds his heart soothing itself from the gallop it was building up to. You don’t want to cut him out, thank God, but you’re right: he needs to let go of what you had before, so you can both make room for what you could have in the future. 

Outside, it starts to snow, and he watches the first few snowflakes fall around each other in their flurries. He figures they’re very similar to you and him in the way they dance around each other in their own spirals. That’s how you will be from now on; the two of you will be following your own paths through life, and you may come close to one another or you both may drift away on different flows of the breeze. 

Either way, he’s sure it will be beautiful. 

“Thank you,” he says finally, biting back a laugh when he turns to see you with a mouthful of cookie and a half-empty mug. You never could sit still when he got lost in his daydreams.

You smile shyly, cheeks flushing, and for the first time Jimin feels just that little bit lighter when he lets himself laugh. He needed this conversation with you, needed to talk it through with the only person who would understand. Knowing that you can - and will - stay friends soothes him, dulling the ache in his chest to just a bit of discomfort, and he knows it’s now possible for it to go away completely with a bit more time. 

He walks home an hour and another two hot chocolates later. You paid for your own, adamant he had to start treating you like Jungkook instead of his girlfriend, although you revoked this when he said he would have made Jungkook pay for his drinks, too. His chest is warmer now than it was earlier, although whether that’s from the lifted weight, the three hot chocolates or the hug you gave him before you parted ways, he’s not sure. 

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[dokuhebi]

Submission from: @raichoose Kabuto

He lies in their bed, and though he hasn’t quite indicated he’s awoken, he’s certain they can feel his eyes on them. He’s watching them dress - something he might be persuaded to coyly refer to as a favored pastime, with how often he tends to observe them - and as badly as he wishes to get up and go to them, to playfully kiss any patches of pale skin not yet clothed, like he normally would -

For once, he hesitates.

During their time apart, Kabuto had offered his services to Konoha’s hospital, yet primarily remained focused on the orphanage there instead. Science and progress and medicine, near and dear to his heart as they were, hadn’t quite factored into his post-war life. The same cannot be said for Orochimaru, whom he might playfully refer to as a busy bee had he not preferred to reference flowers or snakes.

Truthfully, he missed working beside them in the laboratory - misses, really, he has so much to get caught up on, even though they’ve been able to conduct experiments on their serpent patients together. Nearly two decades might not seem like a lot of time in the face of the immortality Orochimaru has finally achieved, he supposes -

But it’s a lot to me. I’m still … mortal.

“ … Orochimaru.”

His voice breaks through the quiet of the room, and Kabuto reaches out, beckoning for them to come back to bed.

“Let’s stay here for a few more minutes. Karin can check on our patients. Even Suigetsu can, if he proves competent enough to do so.”

A joke, followed by a pause. He doesn’t want to worry them - after all, it’s not as if his health is in decline - but Kabuto can’t help but voice the direction his morning musings have taken him in.

“That is to say - I wish I could stay here. Permanently. I’d miss my brother and the children, of course, but … ” He swallows thickly. “I don’t like the thought of losing time with you. I’ve lost enough already, haven’t I? And it scares me to think that you found your eternity, and I … Honey, I don’t know how much time I have left, and decades won’t feel very long to someone who has all of time at their disposal.”

He’s not sure why his heart is gripped with a foreign hesitancy, then, almost as if Kabuto is proposing to them, in some way, and he’s nervous about what Orochimaru might say.

“ … Back then, the plan was to make me immortal, too, right? Is that still the plan? … Can I have eternity with you?”

The serpent indulges themself in a lazy morning, a rarity if ever there was one for someone like them. They were so often up all night, or at least awakening long before the sun did. But things are a little different now that Kabuto is back in their life. Now that their bed has become a favourite place for the both of them to spend time in. Nights and mornings spent hidden under warm sheets together, talking or fooling around, reassuring one another or merely enjoying the others silence. Suddenly the time allocated in the day for rest is not a burden or nuisance for the Sannin, suddenly they quite enjoy it. So they had allowed Karin to start the day in the laboratory, not yet showing up in their own hideout to lead the project as they usually would. Karin could handle it on her own, and frankly, so could their eldest son Rogu, who would hover about ensuring his parent’s orders were being upheld. They idly unlace their night kimono, about to slip out of the soft fabrics to replace them with a more daytime appropriate garment. A longer kimono, a little warmer in case they had to step outside. But they have not yet shrugged their night kimono off when they hear their partner call their name. Only a slender hand holding together the open front, as the silken ribbon that tied it around their waist now settles over the dresser.  Something is off, they can tell by his voice, even as he jokes, even as he tries to not worry them.  So they return to his side before he even has to beckon for them to, and they find their seat beside him, pale legs catching the candlelight of the room as they hang elegantly off the edge still. They lightly take his chin in their fingers, to ensure he looks them in the eyes, a silent prompt that he needed to say what was on his mind, rather than hide behind any jokes at Suigetsu’s expense. Not because they care for the shark like mans wellbeing of course. They only wish to force their partner’s fears out in to the open. How could they help him if they didn’t know what was wrong after all? And then he voices his concern, the mention of his mortality has their gaze narrowing in shared concern. Wondering if there was something that had him fearing his clock ticking over sooner than expected. But then he finishes. He is still young enough that the immortality technique would preserve and cement him in this world. Why, the Sannin was far older when they cheated death and reversed their clock. Currently looking half Kabuto’s age, when he is actually half their age. But eternal youth is not a game to be played fairly. They abandoned their age like a serpent does a shed skin. Renewed.  A fanged smile greets him, as they lean down to kiss his lips, tenderly, but also a little sternly. As if they chide his question in some playful manner. Drawing back, their golden eyes catch in his midnight pair, and their expression remains most enamored and loving, “I threw an absolute tantrum when you left me the first time my sweet prince,” they tease, another kiss placed to the top of his head this time, as they correct his hair thereafter, and return his glasses from the side table to his face, so he can see their genuine gaze all the more clearly, “what in all the universes made you think I would want to see you leave me again?” Slender fingers caress down the side of his cheek, as they then draw the sheets open so they can tuck themself under them beside their partner. Deciding there was no need to hurry and get dressed after all, deciding they were quite happy to fit their smaller form in the curve his body makes especially for them, “you aren’t going anywhere my love. I told you long ago you would want for nothing, that I would give you all I have to give. Eternity just so happens to be one of the gifts I have to offer. It is yours whenever you want it.”