#happy new year's!

[nuatthebeach]

prompt: "come back to my side."

link to ao3 above part 4 of "come let's walk for miles" can be read separately happy new year's!

Harry tucks the flaps of his coat around his chest tightly, wishing the bone-chilling cold was due to the frost crystallizing the willow trees and not a different ache entirely. Shaking his head, he balances the fruitcake in his hands before taking in the melancholy around him. Once leaves of glittering gold leave lonely branches in their wake.

Every Christmas, down by the park, he thinks of her. He can't help it; she's everywhere.

He watches a child pelt a snowball in the direction of a friend, and she's there with him, sneaking up from behind, yanking his hood down to shove the iciest of chunks down his back. Laughing as he yelps. Shrieking as he chases her with a snowball twice the size of hers.

He watches a teenager pull a dress from a gift bag, and she's next to him again, hissing at him to quiet down, you ponce. Smacking him when her mum's yells echo outside the Burrow to come back this instant and apologize to Aunt Muriel for ditching the pageant and taking off with him instead. Switching her heels to sneakers. Lifting her dress to match his running speed. Smirking in restaurants over cheap burgers and nosy bystanders judging their audacity.

He watches an older couple hold hands while their kids play football, and she's right there again, pulling him under the bleachers, the rush from winning the game still buzzing in his veins. Cupping his jaw and lighting his insides on fire with her searing kiss. Fluttering her eyelashes and waiting for his reaction. Sighing contentedly when he drags her body against his, sunshine tingling their flushed skin.

He watches the reflection of the moon against the lake, and she's next to him once more, eyes shining with tears under the starlit sky. Shaking her head, chin wobbling as he asks her one last time to stay. Whispering you know I can't, and truthfully, he does. But when they kiss again, he recalls all the ways he's been hurt in the past—before he knew what real pain felt like.

A camera flash lights up his vision; he turns his attention to its harsh reality.

This time, he watches a family say cheese, and she's not there with him, not there to hold him in the quiet of the night. And now it's him listening to her on the news, stunned—but not surprised—by the way she blazes through the great fame of the football world. Buying magazines that praise her influence in the sports industry. Mind drifting when he sees a little girl wearing a kit with her name on it.

Hollowing when she never returns home for the holidays. Numbing when he grows used to it.

In the dark of that Christmas night, he sinks it all in—for the last time.

Tonight, he will lay his flickering hopes to rest. It's been five years too long. She won't come back.

Stepping onto the final landing of the Burrow, Harry adjusts the fruitcake and knocks on the door. He forces a grin as it swings open.

But the shine of his best mate's blue eyes is different from the cheer Harry's accustomed to from the Weasleys. Surprised the cake made it intact, eh? the words lying dead on his tongue…for Ron steps aside and clears the path for Harry, and his heart—his treacherous heart—absolutely stops, and it's all it can take for him to breathe, all the atoms of the air no longer existing in this very moment… Because, God, it's her, it's really—

"Ginny."

The Christmas lights in the park, the glistening snow, the shining moon, they were never really there, were they, ever since she left.

"Hi," she whispers, voice cracking.

They can heal each other again, one fragile piece at a time.

He swallows and says, "Welcome home."

[scriveyner]

on the brink

on the brink | samurai flamenco | gotoyoshi | ~750 words

Gotou had been in the bathroom for all of ten minutes, the world a very comfortable shade of fuzzy at the edges, but he hadn’t had the time to properly enjoy the buzz because there was a tell-tale thump-thump-thump-thud from the main room of the apartment. Gotou lifted his head, squinted at the wall for a moment like he could see through it, and finally staggered out of the washroom to make sure that the furniture and his unfortunate live-in-roommate were both, for the moment, intact.

Continue on ao3 or

The good news was that Masayoshi had not collapsed the shelf in the futon closet. “Gotou-shan,” Masayoshi chirped, lying on his back with his legs still hook on the shelf and arms out to either side. “The apartment won’t shtop moving.”

“Did you,” Gotou leaned his shoulder against the wall because he refused to concede the point that everything was still very, very wobbly, “fall out of the closet?”

“No!” Masayoshi scrunched up his nose. “Yes. I think.”

“You were going to sleep.”

“No!”

Gotou raised an eyebrow. Masayoshi thumped both of his arms into the floor in aggravation. “I wasn’t!” he protested, like it was some kind of weakness to admit that they’d managed to get totally trashed together, and maybe it was time to pass out for the night. “I need to—” he raised his hands and started squeezing them in the air, and Gotou stared at him because, well, that wasn’t very Masayoshi-like. “My outfit,” he whined finally, and Gotou realized that he was pantomiming reaching for a hangar and not, you know, groping someone’s chest.

For a split second he imagined how that would go, with someone like Mari. There wouldn’t be enough left of Masayoshi for the funeral, he reckoned.

Wait, outfit.

Masayoshi had rolled onto his side and was attempting to navigate himself upright, and Gotou said, “you are absolutely not going out on patrol when you’re completely fuckin’ schnockered.”

This at least made Masayoshi pause in his efforts. “What?”

“What?”

“When I’m what?”

“No patrols!” Gotou waved an arm, made to grab for one of the costumes stashed in the closet but then realized of course there were no costumes here, they had all either been destroyed in the fire or claimed for the Flamengers museum. “No costumes, you’re fuckin’ drunk and I’m fuckin’ drunk an’ I don’t want to spend fuckin’ New Years’ in a fuckin’ drunk tank!”

Masayoshi thought about this. “Are there fish?”

Gotou stared at him.

Masayoshi gave him a look of concern.

Gotou sighed, pushed his hand through his hair, and said, very slowly, “not a tank like at an aquarium.”

“Ohhhh,” Masayoshi finally was fully upright. He gestured at Gotou. “But I have to—”

“If you want to fucking go to the shrine in—” don’t look at the clock don’t look at the clock “too few fuckin’ hours you need to go to fuckin’ sleep!”

“You say fuck a lot when you’re drunk, Gotou-shan.”

“I do a lot of things when I’m drunk that I don’t want to think about or remember.” Gotou gestured to the futon closet. “Would you just. Go the fuck to sleep, Masayoshi?”

Masayoshi was giving him a look that he didn’t want to think too much about, the same look that made his stomach as warm as his face felt right at this moment. It was his “I’m about to do something stupid” look, which he telegraphed far more openly when he, too, was drunk; and before Gotou could open his mouth to attempt to redirect Masayoshi, he was staggering forward directly into Gotou’s arms.

“Now what are you—” Gotou started, but then Masayoshi touched his face, and he froze, heart pounding in his throat. He didn’t have to think about it, following the lead, tilting his head into Masayoshi’s hand, forward—and then Masayoshi’s lips brushed over his, chaste and quick and oh god he was far too drunk to warrant popping a boner let alone over something as quick and delicate as that. The kiss was brief, too brief—and he followed for a moment when Masayoshi drew back, blue eyes large and glittering.

“You’ll remember that,” Masayoshi said, earnestly. “Won’t you, Gotou-san?”

Gotou, head swimming, nodded once, absently—and then wrapped his arm around the small of Masayoshi’s back, pulling him in for another, far less chaste, kiss. “All that, and more,” he murmured, and Masayoshi beamed as they kissed again, the bells ringing softly in the distance.

[wataksampingan]

In mine and many other east Asian cultures, the dragon traditionally symbolises things like power, wealth and strength (imperial symbol and all)

I think we often forget that in the story of the Great Race, the dragon came in fifth because it'd stopped to give people rain. Then it'd stopped again to push a rabbit adrift on a log across the wide river so it reached the shore safely (that's why the Rabbit year comes before the Dragon).

Dragons aren't meant to just be powerful - they are meant to do good with such power, and to help those in need.

So in this lunar new year, I hope you gain more power, so that you might be able to help others. I pray you have abundant resources so you may give to yourself and those around you. I wish you courage, endurance, kindness and generosity, for yourself and your people.

I hope you, and I, will be rain givers, life preservers, joy bringers.

I hope we will be dragons.

Extremely belated postscript that should have been here far earlier:

Free Palestine, Free Sudan, Free Congo 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

[wordfather]

goodbye 2023👋hello 𓏏𓉔𓇋𓋴 𓇌𓅂𓄿𓂋 𓇋 𓅃𓇋𓃭𓃭 𓎼𓅂𓏏 𓄿 𓅓𓅲𓅓𓅓𓇌 𓃀𓅱𓇌𓆑𓂋𓇋𓅂𓈖𓂧 𓅓𓄿𓇌𓃀𓅂 𓉔𓅲𓋴𓃀𓄿𓈖𓂧 𓇋𓆑 𓉔𓅂𓂕𓋴 𓎢𓅱𓅱𓃭 𓅃𓇋𓏏𓉔 𓏏𓉔𓄿𓏏

[karlrincon]

Happy New Year 2024 from Korea.

Year of the 🐲🐉!

[planetary]

[phoutube]

[purr-in-ink]

[k-eke]

I wish you a happy new year 2024!!!

[jramseyi]

Happy New Year!!

Starting off 2024 with a dragon and some bunnies.

[littleboynamedplatypus]

[scriveyner]

time will tell

time will tell | bungou stray dogs |🎩🤕 & 👿🐯 | nsfw 🔞| ~800 words

Chuuya sat on the railing, one leg out along the rail, the other hooked between the posts for balance, and smoked his third cigarette. The fireworks had been going off for a while now, brilliant bursts of color scattered across the night sky. He watched the display silently, the distant wall of sound echoing without pause as the celebrations continued throughout the city.

Continue on AO3 or

He looked over when the balcony door opened and Dazai wandered out; wearing a dressing gown that hung open and little else, save for the loose, gaping bandages that draped his frame. Chuuya rolled his eyes and tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Figured you drowned in the bath by now.”

“Not without a beautiful woman,” Dazai said with a sigh, hooking his arms over the railing and resting one over Chuuya’s leg. “Alas, all I awake to is a slug in my bed, and not that gorgeous cocktail waitress—”

Chuuya flicked more ash toward Dazai in irritation, though the breeze caught it and sent it away. He wasn’t drunk enough for this tonight, of all nights—he’d left the wine indoors. “Think we’ll see many more of these?” Chuuya indicated the display with his head, and Dazai lifted his face to the night sky, the colors painting patterns across his face.

Dazai said, “God, I hope not.”

Chuuya attempted to kick him, but Dazai’s arm over his leg kept him from doing so. Dazai laughed and leaned in toward him, tilting his head so that he was looking up at Chuuya, still perched on the railing. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, eye to eye as the fireworks finally started to peter out in the distance.

“Fucking shitty Dazai,” Chuuya grunted finally, leaning forward and catching the lapel of the dressing gown sliding off Dazai’s shoulder. That pulled him in close enough for a kiss, which Dazai obliged and then some. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Planning for the future?” Dazai teased lightly, twirling his fingers through Chuuya’s hair, and Chuuya shoved at his chest with his hand.

“Nah, just living in the present,” he said, and Dazai’s twitch of a smirk conceded the point. With the cacophony from the fireworks fading, they could hear the bells now, ringing in the temples. Chuuya leaned his head back against the beam and looked back out, and, after a moment, Dazai folded his arms over Chuuya’s leg again, and they both listened to the bells in the night.

~

Atsushi nuzzled Akutagawa’s neck, biting the skin lightly, and got kneed in the side for his trouble. “Ow,” he huffed, because Akutagawa usually at least gave some warning, and lifted his head. “What was that for?”

Akutagawa turned his head on the pillow, the back of his hand propped over his open mouth and panting. Even in the dim light the flush was evident on his features, and Atsushi preened quietly to himself, and he got kneed in the side again because he wasn’t paying attention. “Idiot,” Akutagawa hissed, a breathless quality to his voice. “We’re missing the fireworks that you wouldn’t shut up about, earlier.”

He tilted his head and looked over his shoulder; the curtains were not fully drawn and even through them he could see the echoes of bursts of color. Atsushi sat back on his knees for a moment, distracted—and then looked back to Akutagawa, sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and sweat sparkling in his hair; the faintest reflections of color captured on the pale canvas of his skin.

Atsushi shifted his weight, pulling Akutagawa down the bed and into his lap as he sat up. Akutagawa huffed in annoyance, draping his arms over Atsushi’s shoulders and seating himself firmly down. His throat jumped as he settled in place, and Atsushi nipped at his neck again, watching Akutagawa tilt his head back but not really trying to get away. “You,” Atsushi breathed, “are a far more captivating display.”

Akutagawa grabbed him by the ear-tail and yanked, and Atsushi made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a yelp. “Stop,” Akutagawa hissed, and Atsushi moved him just slightly in his lap, feeling Akutagawa’s body tense. “Weretiger,” he groaned, his momentary annoyance already forgotten, his other hand clawing into the back of Atsushi’s scalp as he shuddered.

“Yeah?” Atsushi murmured, eyes locked on Akutagawa’s face as they rocked together slowly, the clock already ticked over and forgotten. “You really want me to?”

“Of course not, you wretched creature.” Akutagawa’s words sounded like they were being punched out of his lungs by each rocking thrust. “Fuck, weretiger—”

“I can definitely keep doing that,” Atsushi said, sucking another dark mark into Akutagawa’s neck and grinning, the world outside an unimportant, distant memory. Everything was focused on Akutagawa, held tight in his arms and moving impatiently on his lap. “I can keep this up all night long.”

Akutagawa looked down at him, breathing through his mouth, hand twisted in Atsushi’s hair. He pulled Atsushi’s head back, just enough to crush their mouths together; when they broke apart, panting, Akutagawa growled, “you better.”

[nadjaofstatenisland]

[clawsomebeats]

its time

[pemprika]

a love so eternally bedeviled 🌏

[tapiocats]

Decay exists as an extant form of life