#honestly i really love the broken-apart volcano set

[postmakerkiwi]

🦴 Skelos Badlands Sounds - Crumbled Volcano 🔥

Lava flows from this ancient dome, broken and worn from eons of eroding, forming this massive pool of molten rock. Bubbles will pop and steam will hiss, so be sure to not get too close.

photo by CatbatQuartet

[thebiasrekkers]

You Can’t Live Without Me - KNJ

Plot: Kim Namjoon has it all. Money, top pedigree, and a guaranteed future. But he lacks true affection in his life. He has no one to blame but himself because the one good thing he had, the one good woman he had, he tossed her aside. He tries to drown his regrets in alcohol. He tries to tell her one more time...

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: one-shot | break-up!au | angst | broken romance | exes

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Female OC (Mileena)

Warnings: Heavy alcohol use, language, class separation, angst, heartache, interracial/intercultural relationship, suggested drug use

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,782

AN: Not gonna lie, I had mixed feelings about this. I know I was all gung-ho about it in the beginning, but now I’m just hurt for a variety of reasons. My intent was to have this be a hot and steamy “we-can’t-be-together-but-screw-it-and-screw-you-while-we-get-naked-on-the-floor” story, but it didn’t turn out that way. I can’t complain. My goal is to hurt feelings. Mine included. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Something. 

Anything. 

Preferably vodka. 

Oooh yes, vodka vodka vodka. 

That's what he desired at this moment. That was what he needed. Even a shot of gin would satiate his hunger and need for a drink. It was not like he could go back home and just order his pints and be done with it. The closest place to home was Seoul Tree, but Namjoon wasn't feeling that tonight.

Normally Namjoon would rely on his lovely tobacco infested cigarettes or the sweet taste of THC in his lungs and throat, but fortune was being a bitch and his last pack had been lost, having smoked his last joint that morning. Disappeared and vanished into thin air. Plus a bit of alcohol in his system was always a better fix. 

Fingers groped in his pocket, sighing in defeat and disappointment at not discovering a smoke he may have hidden from himself. Instead, he was rewarded with a stick of gum. 

Better than nothing.  

Tearing open the wrapper, he stuck the gum in his mouth and made his way into the bumping, noisy Club Fetish.

Namjoon found his way inside easily enough in the dark. Honestly, he could really find just about any club in the world with his eyes closed if necessary - he snuck in them often enough when he was younger. He'd ditch classes at his boarding school back in Ireland. It was a hell of a place; one of few sanctuaries to him - almost like detention. Wow, was that kind of screwed up for him to think such a thing?

He sighed and passed a few bucks off to the bouncer, allowing him entrance before he was soon greeted by the noise and smells of the club. Drugs were afoot, and whiskey flowed like water as the potent sweat of dancers and grinding club goers reached his nares. Bass from the speakers pulsed across his body. They were calling out to him.

He was a regular at this place for the past couple of days. It showed in the staff's actions of grasping his wrists and guiding him to the nearest booth, fervently asking him what it was he wished to eat. To drink. 

Asking for some side dishes for the time being, he looked at a familiar face and smiled. "Can you bring me some whiskey if you have any? Otherwise, just some vodka would work." 

The waitress, Libby, gave him a look of concern, worried that the side dishes may not be enough for him to handle the alcohol content of vodka and that he shouldn't be drinking during a work night. However, Namjoon quickly waved off the woman's worries. "Don't worry, Libby, I can handle at least that much. And if you're intent on making sure I get fed properly, just bring me some of that kickass fruit and we'll go from there, yeah? Please?"

After hesitating for another moment, Libby disappeared in the back for a moment before returning with a bottle and glass. The glass of the clear liquid was set before him. 

Finally. 

Tilting his head back, the glass was drained and the familiar buzz warmed his soul. Thank God, he thought, smiling and pressing the glass against his face; the cool surface doing wonders to his warm skin. That's all he needed. Well actually he would have appreciated some more.

Soon, dishes of food were prepared for him and he partook of them happily. Libby continued to refill his glass faithfully and to ease the woman's troubled mind, Namjoon made sure to eat something every time he took a drink. It wasn't until he was half bleary eyed and into his eighth shot that an unsettling thought crept into his mind. A worm of worry taunted how he might turn out to be like his uncle. A drunken, pot-addicted madman without a care for the world and overly aggressive with his flourishes - caring more about his appearances with his colleagues and peers than his own nephew. 

Well fuck him.

Namjoon had some tolerance to liquor as he often stole booze from his uncle just to escape the reality of living in that insanity; of dealing with the morbidity of having to acknowledge that his parents were dead and gone. Well, his father was still alive but he may as well have been dead as far as he was concerned. 

He moaned slightly at the pitiful thoughts. He was not here to think about that. For God's sake, he went to America to escape from everything. Except now it seemed to be haunting him.

Only one thing could make this better. Well, several one things. But weed and company would always be welcomed. 

Libby filled his glass again and as Namjoon chewed on a cracker, he sipped the shot of vodka down - umber eyes glossy and with a slightly hazel sheen - wet from the intoxication reflected in their depths. He stared down into the glass, lost in the swirls of liquid and neon lights dancing at the bottom of it.

He needed to learn to stop thinking. Thinking brought on these issues with family, with his ex and her new lover. She was sprouting thorns, the very same thorns he’d once taken the time to pluck away. 

Yes. He needed to cease all thoughts.

More. Alcohol.

The sound of the doorbell ripped through the silence of the apartment. Mileena jumped from her bed, wielding her pillow in both hands. Her hair and sleeping shirt were disheveled and anyone who looked at her would easily have pointed and laughed. 

Thankfully, no one was there.

The ringing continued, reverberating off the walls, and a series of heavy knocks followed suit. Dropping the pillow onto the bed, she trudged out of the bedroom and into the living room. Her eyes veered toward the clock on the wall, spying the time. It was an ungodly hour of the morning and she wasn’t having it. She didn’t care if it was an emergency either. Heads would roll.

Grasping the handle, she wrenched the door open violently. Mileena prepped her leg to shin-kick the person waking her up this early. It didn’t matter that it was her day off. She barely slept and every hour was precious to her.

On the other side was her ex, Namjoon. She pulled a disgusted face as he lazily rolled his neck to peer down at her. He reeked of booze. Her eyes roved over his appearance. He was dressed nicely, like he was out at the club or leaving a company dinner. His suit jacket hung off his shoulders and his tie was half pulled from his neck. Their gazes met and she sighed, folding her arms across her chest as he leaned heavily against her doorframe.

Life had a way of messing things up. It was no different now. They came from two different worlds. Namjoon was the nephew of some big-shot CEO. Mileena worked two jobs and attended night school. She was just starting down the road of obtaining her Masters when she met Namjoon; when he swept her unknowingly off her feet. 

Was he a bad boy? No. He was a hurt boy who had too much time and too much money on his hands. He walked a self-destructive path and Mileena almost fell into the volcano with him.

Being called into the Dean’s office about her attendance record was the wakeup call she needed.

“Hey, Millie,” he rasped, his voice thick with his lack of sobriety, “busy?”

“I hate that goddamn nickname.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I was busy sleeping. You know, that thing that normal people with regular jobs do?”

He chuckled; that low, rolling sound that held a baritone timbre that always made her heart flutter. It was the sound that he made whenever he was going in for the kill. When he was getting ready to open himself up to showcase a sliver of vulnerability. The side of himself that he rarely showed anyone.

But Mileena saw it. It was the reason she fell for him all those years ago in the first place. 

“What do you want, Joon?” 

“What do you think?” he asked, his hand moving out toward her; to touch her. 

She immediately took a step back, moving just out of his reach. His drunken grin fell from his face, replaced with a dour expression. Her eyes narrowed slightly. 

“You’re drunk,” she snapped, moving to shut the door in his face, “call a cab and go home. I don’t have time for this.”

The door rattled beneath her fingers at the sudden blow from Namjoon’s fist against it. She blinked away what little haze of sleep remained. Mileena slowly reached a hand up to run her fingers through her raven-colored hair, digging the pads into the back of her scalp. Releasing a slow exhale, she cast her stormy hues up at Namjoon.

“You need to leave.”

“Just hear me out, Mills.”

“Why should I?” She scoffed. “You smell like you swam in a vat of whiskey. There’s nothing you could possibly say that would convince me to take it seriously.”

“I can’t live without you.”

Mileena felt her jaw grow slack. She stared straight into his eyes, taking note of the surprise on his own face. Namjoon must have realized what he actually said at that moment - the internal conflict clearly showcasing itself across his visage. For a while, neither of them said anything as they lingered in her doorway entrance.

She waited for him to take it back. She expected him to. 

Instead, he looked back at her expectantly. A cold feeling slowly washed over her entire body, chilling her spine as it continued sinking down to the balls of her feet. Her vision swam with the onset of tears and Mileena roughly swiped at her cheeks to prevent them from falling. She saw Namjoon moving, his hand reaching out toward her face. This time, she side-stepped out of reach - her own hand angrily smacking his wrist away from her.

“Then why aren’t you dead yet?” Mileena snapped. “Why are you still breathing, Kim Namjoon?”

Her words hurt him. She knew it did. But the damaged part of her, the part that was hurt that Namjoon came to her again like this, couldn’t feel a shred of remorse for her callous words or her icy tone. She didn’t even care that she would probably regret it in the morning. 

All Mileena could focus on was damaging his spirit.

Namjoon bit his lower lip, his brows furrowing harshly. “That’s not fair,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. 

She took a step back.

“I think it’s very fair!”

She could feel her heart jack-hammering against her ribs, but Mileena refused to relent. She wouldn’t give him an inch. Because already, without having to be told, she knew he would go a mile. 

He moved faster than what should have been possible for someone who was drunk. In seconds, Namjoon was crowding her space and forcing her back into her apartment. Mileena watched him kick the door with his heel, slamming it shut behind him. She stumbled backwards, nearly losing her footing, but a sharp pain twisted around her wrist as Namjoon grabbed her before she could fall. Her body was pulled forward and she gasped when her chest crashed into his.

“Mileena!” he yelled.

“You never cared about me! About my life!” she screamed, trying to free her wrist from his hold as she pushed away from him. There was a sharp pop at her shoulder from the strain pulling at her arm. “Why should you, when your future is already guaranteed?!”

Namjoon blinked down at her. The angry expression he wore slowly began melting away. Mileena felt him loosen his grip on her wrist and she took advantage of the opportunity - yanking herself fully from him. 

They were five feet apart now. Mileena could barely hear her own breathing over the drumming of her heart. Angry tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. She shouldn’t have been entertaining any of this. She should have just threatened to call the cops on him. Overwhelming feelings of desire and inadequacy always threatened to strangle her when they were around each other; when he was this close . 

Our lives can never meet in the middle, she thought sadly, feeling her lower lip tremble, and that’s why you ended things.

Gravity held her by the ankles, pulling the rest of her body down to the floor. She collapsed to her knees, her hands falling limply at her sides. All she could do was stare at the hardwood floor, consciously forcing herself not to look up at Namjoon. Mileena already knew. If she looked at him now, he’d see the truth behind her eyes. He’d catch the lie in her seemingly frigid words. It didn’t matter that she was dating someone else.

He would know that she still loved him.

“Please,” she managed to croak, the sound of her voice reflecting how tired she truly was, “just leave.”

There was silence at first. Then the subtle shuffling of feet before hearing her front door open and close - the hinges softly squeaking before the latch caught. Mileena quickly covered her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. 

The silence returned and she knew, for certain, that she was alone.

Namjoon barely felt the people he bumped into on the streets and he didn’t hear their protests. The world was a blur of lights and muffled sounds. But none of it mattered to him. Not one single bit. 

Because the world seemed almost colorless.

Traffic zoomed by and he felt his legs carrying him toward something more quiet and solitary. He needed to get away from all the lights. He needed quiet. He needed a place where he could think; a place where he could fill his head with nothing but thoughts of her.

Pain blossomed over his right knee as he ran into a park bench. He stumbled into the seat, his back popping from crashing into it. For a moment, his vision blurred and there was a soft ringing in his ears. The world swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors momentarily before correcting itself. 

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he shook his head as his palm slid down to cover his eyes. 

“I’m so fuckin’ stupid,” he muttered, pressing the pads of his fingers against his skin.  

It wasn’t like he didn’t know the reason they weren’t together anymore. Namjoon was a selfish prick who had home life issues that stemmed from neglect coupled with substitution methods in the form of “buying affection”. Classic, cookie cutter, spoiled rich kid. He played the misunderstood bad boy and the girls were drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Women filled his bed and faces changed as often as the cleaning staff changed the sheets.

Everything changed when he met Mileena. He wanted to change. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be better for himself because she made him see that there was a different way to do things. Throwing money didn’t gain influence. Behaving like an asshole didn’t achieve success or respect.

But Namjoon knew he was selfish. She wasn’t a dime a dozen. She was his unicorn. 

And just like in fairy tales, his touch tainted her. 

Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. And then one year became two. The more he wanted her, the more selfish he became. The more he pushed, the more she pulled away. She was right. He didn’t care that Mileena was working and studying. He depended on her and demanded her attention way more than what was necessary. But she continued to give and give and give.

Until one day, she just couldn’t give anymore.

Namjoon collapsed under the pressure of his world. Its fake smiles, fake promises, and cold outer shell. Nothing was genuine, but that didn’t make it any less real. The truth was harsh and slashed at him from the inside out.

He heaved a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows onto his knees. With a heavy heart, he let everything settle over his body like a lead blanket. He’d fucked it all up and had no one to blame but himself. Because he wasn’t strong enough to truly fight for what he wanted. He was too scared to leave his privilege behind.

Mileena was right. He could live without her. He could still breathe without her. 

But that didn’t mean that he wanted to.

A bitter laugh pushed from Namjoon’s lips as he slowly shook his head.

At least she was free from the shackles of his bullshit.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5011 Chapter: 31/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 31

Tobirama had obviously just finished rinsing off the dishes from his lunch when Madara slammed in to the room, the walls of their house still echoing with how he had slammed the front door open as well. From the calm way his husband reached for a tea towel to dry his hands he must have felt Madara's chakra coming from halfway across the village. Surely anyone with even an iota of sensing capabilities had felt him as he made his way through the streets like an erupting volcano on the move, chakra boiling and spilling around him in a dark miasma of rage.

“I take it whatever meeting you were called to did not go well?” Tobirama asked. They were supposed to have eaten together for their lunch break, a lovely little date that Madara had been the one to set up for once, but plans were interrupted when a runner came to summon him back to the tower. It looked like the other had eaten without him.

“Fucking imbecile!”

“Mm. Not well at all.”

Tobirama’s eyes flickered away to the clock on the wall and Madara guessed he must be checking that there was enough time left of their lunch break to listen to the sort of rant they both knew was just waiting to burst forth. Just a little under twenty minutes was left until they should both be back at the office. Madara had checked. He had a temper, sure, but he wasn’t irresponsible with it. Mostly.

Before saying anything Madara first spent a couple of minutes stomping in circles around the table just to get some of his frustration out, snarling and blistering the air with language so strong it was a good thing Kagami had not chosen today for one of his spontaneous visits.  Over the years he’d learned this was a vital step so he didn’t turn such language on whoever he was venting to, not wanting to sound accusatory. When he finally stopped pacing he felt no calmer and desperately cast about for a way to feel so. He solved the problem by stomping over and shoving his face flat against Tobirama’s chest where he released a muffled scream against the warm, solid muscle of his husband’s pectorals.

“Feel better?” Tobirama asked dubiously when the scream was done.

“No.”

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“Your father is as terrible a man as mine is!”

Nodding slowly, Tobirama dared to point out, “That is not new information.”

“I knew he was an ass; I didn’t know he was this much of one! Can you honestly believe what he said to me!?” Madara huffed and ground his teeth with indignation until he was pulled up short by Tobirama’s answer.

“Until you tell me what he said I can’t believe anything really.”

Madara paused and took a deep breath. It didn’t help very much. He still felt as though he were on the verge of blasting steam out of both ears when he allowed himself to speak again. “Not only did he imply that pretty much anyone can do my job which means I’m not needed for them but he basically told me that I should be grateful to him for allowing me to focus on ‘less taxing responsibilities’. I’m going to kill him!”

Rather than defend his father – who they both knew did not warrant any defense – Tobirama mirrored his husband’s actions and took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it back out slowly through his mouth.

“Well, in answer to your question: no. I cannot believe he said that to you.”

“I’ve worked damn hard to improve the security teams! Their morale is up, their patrol patterns are tighter, I even worked out a schedule so no one ever has to stay on night duty for more than a couple of weeks at a time! Now he’s basically demoted me to a regular tower lackey and he says I should be grateful!?” Madara snorted and clenched his fists in a pantomime of strangling someone’s neck. “He even had the gall to tell me it would be better if I focused more on my duties as an heir! I know my own damn duties!”

He was gratified to see the clench of Tobirama’s jaw, a sign that he wasn’t overreacting to the situation. If Tobirama was angry enough for it to show visibly in any way at all then Madara knew the insult given him was serious enough to warrant his own rage.

“While I will freely admit that I was upset those projects were given to you in the first place I will also be the first to say that you have more than risen to whatever challenges such duties posed. You make an excellent lead for the security teams. I cannot fathom what he thinks to accomplish by removing you from them.” Tobirama’s brows knit together with a frustrated confusion Madara was not at all happy to clear up.

“Oh I can tell you why,” he spat. “He said, and I quote, that I should appreciate being relieved of such taxing work as I am clearly stretched too thin with all the projects I have taken on with you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Right? That’s what I said!”

Tobirama’s jaw clenched again. “Does he understand the irony that he is working towards the exact same goal as the man he’s trying to undermine with this asinine move?”

“Probably not! He doesn’t think! Neither of them think anymore! It’s like they signed their damn treaty and then threw any collective sense either of them had ever possessed out the window! Some days I can hardly believe my father is the same man pulling such idiotic stunts as he does – and now your father has decided to pitch in to the madness!?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t think either of them see a thing beyond the end of their own ambitions anymore. They built something that the world had never seen before and now they both want to rule over it uncontested.”

“They’re idiots!” Madara shouted.

He was startled to see a bit of humor flash across Tobirama’s face. “Utter fools.”

“Yes! And now their foolery has relegated me to little more than a lackey, a paper pusher. I barely pull any weight on the council now. Fuck, I’m no better than the Akimichi heir who falls asleep in almost every meeting!” The humor was gone immediately from Tobirama’s face and his husband reached out to pull him back in to a tight embrace.

“No. It won’t stand. Who else has little enough on their plate that they can take up all the work you do? Let him flex his authority if he must, this can’t last.”

Madara sighed tiredly as he felt all the energy and fight drain out of him. “But it can. All he has to do is split it up between a bunch of different people. He’ll probably promote that terrifying cousin of yours to my position if he thinks anything like Tajima does. My father accused him of trying to oust the Uchiha, if you’ll recall, and it seems Butsuma has finally decided to retaliate. By doing exactly what he was accused of, I might add!”

The chest he was buried in once more heaved with a sigh to match his own.

“I am so rarely optimistic, anata, will you not let me have just this once?”

“Fine. Oh yay. Gee I can’t wait to be reinstated when Butsuma magically stops being an asshole.”

“Much better. An excellent mood to go back to work with, I’m sure.” Tobirama didn’t exactly sound in high spirits himself but Madara appreciated having the tension broken even if he wasn’t actually ready to be positive.

“I’ll show you high spirits,” he grumbled.

There wasn’t much time left before they needed to leave, barely a few minutes, but no matter how much Madara wanted to spend it cuddling Tobirama insisted that he find something to eat while he had the chance. Seeing as they were meant to attend Hashirama's for dinner that evening Madara did have to agree that it was safest not to leave his stomach too empty. It was always a gamble eating with Hashirama and Mito, their tastes being so varied. One never knew if the meal would be a wonderfully prepared delicacy or some monstrosity they discovered at the market and just had to try. Madara lived in fear of the day they discovered that durian fruits existed.

He returned to the office when break time was over with a full belly and slightly lowered blood pressure, though not by much. Never had he been so thankful of his own habit to bring his paperwork up to Tajima’s office before noon. After the day he’d had he wasn’t sure he had the energy left to deal with his own father’s cold attitude and he definitely did not want to be the one who broke the news that Butsuma demoted the heir of the Uchiha clan without even discussing the matter between them. That was not going to be a pretty conversation, although he didn’t want to get his hopes up that anything good would come back to him after those two idiots went through their latest blow out.

Since most of the work waiting on his desk pertained to projects he was supposedly no longer involved with Madara found a petty sort of satisfaction in dropping the massive stack of folders and scrolls on the floor to be dealt with by someone else and turned his attention to more simple administrative matters, things he had been doing since the governing body was first set up and they had all accepted basic duties. Hashirama gave him a questioning look but he was easy enough to distract with questions about dinner tonight.

For the rest of the day whenever someone brought Madara some of the things he should have been working on he cheerfully directed them to the growing pile of work on the floor. In the farfetched event he was actually allowed to continue the duties that were rightfully his it was likely he would regret ignoring them all day but that was a problem for the future, not to be considered right now.

No matter how wide he pulled the smirk across his face, however, it did nothing to lessen the stinging anger of rejection, the hot ball of betrayal for having something he cared about taken away from him without any real reason. Pretending everything was fine wouldn’t fix anything but it was the only way he knew how to deal with such emotions so he forged onward with a grim smile baring his teeth. And he smothered the tiny voice in the back of his mind that told him maybe it would be better if he took the time to work through what he was feeling sooner rather than later. The voice sounded suspiciously like Hashirama anyway and when did that oaf ever have anything smart to say?

Rather than take out his repressed emotions on the most convenient victim, Madara somehow managed to keep all of the insults against Hashirama to himself until his friend returned from dropping off documents to Butsuma. They wandered downstairs together to drag Tobirama out of his office and found Mito waiting for them just outside the building. Madara had only just opened his mouth to let loose at last and make fun of how many times today Hashirama had knocked over his pencil cup when their attention was called back by an unwanted voice.

Butsuma rather noticeably did not look Madara in the eye as he approached, though there was something about the tightness around his mouth that said he was holding back some sort of expression trying to form. Whether that was a smirk or a frown Madara didn’t know. Surprisingly, the man headed directly for his second son.

“Word arrived from the Daimyo this afternoon,” he announced. “His eminence regrets that he was too distracted to thank you and your mission partner properly after the two of you managed to uncover a coup being planned right under his nose.”

“None of us do this for acknowledgement,” Tobirama responded dutifully. The way he spoke gave Madara the impression he was only saying what was expected of him.

“As any shinobi should say. However, his eminence wishes to give his thanks personally as well as an apology for so rudely sending you away while you were injured. He has extended an invitation for you and Izuna to stay with him and attend a proper celebration of your deeds.” If he puffed his chest out any farther Butsuma may have been in danger of sprouting actual feathers to preen, clearly pleased with himself as though he had anything to do with the matter.

Ignoring the way Hashirama tried to thump him on the back in congratulations, Tobirama simply nodded and asked, “When is he expecting us?”

“You are to leave in four days and arrive on the fifth.” Again Tobirama nodded and Madara mentally crossed his fingers that the man would go now so he could begin soaking up as much of Tobirama’s attention as he could to make up for the time they would be apart. Of course, because that was just his luck today, Butsuma had to open his mouth again. “Unfortunately it seems Izuna will be much too busy to attend at the capital. He does, after all, have some incredibly important duties on his hands nowadays. I had thought it would be good if you took your husband along with you to stand in Izuna’s stead.”

That, at least, explained what Madara now recognized as a repressed smirk. It was little more than a miracle that he recognized anything beyond the haze of anger that fell over his eyes and suddenly it became very difficult to smother the instinctual urge to activate his Sharingan.

His temper only worsened when finally Butsuma’s gaze slid over to lock with his own and he could see the light of satisfaction dancing in those beady little eyes. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to punch someone. And considering the swift and vicious nature of his temper Madara really thought that should say something, both for the amount of anger he was controlling and the strength he was demonstrating in not actually throwing any punches.

“Your generosity knows no bounds, father,” Tobirama’s dry tone broke through his reveries and Madara turned to give his husband an incredulous look until he continued. “We never did get a honeymoon. It’s very kind of you to allow for one now. Since Madara's duties have been lightened perhaps we’ll set off a day earlier and take our time on the journey.”

Butsuma’s left eyes twitched. It was the most beautiful thing Madara had seen all day. He’d thought watching his own father’s plans get turned back on him time and again was fun but those incidents had nothing on the petty satisfaction of seeing Butsuma experience the same thing and knowing he couldn’t contradict his son without Hashirama and Mito asking questions. Indeed, Hashirama was already cooing over the idea while Mito granted them both indulgent smiles. Neither of them seemed to notice the tension between the three men all staring each other down with poison in their eyes and their faces held in masks of civility.

“Please send word to the Daimyo that we will of course accept his invitation. If Izuna cannot pull himself away from his work for a day or so to attend to his eminence then we will be happy to do so together. Thank you for letting us know, father, I will use the rest of this week to prepare for my own absence.”

“Right,” Butsuma mumbled. “Be sure that nothing falls behind while you are gone.”

“That goes without saying. Now, if you will excuse us. Good evening.”

Not another word was spoken as Tobirama gently and skillfully guided all members of their group off down the street while somehow also distracting his brother from the fact that their father’s cheeks were turning purple.

Madara wasn’t sure how his husband managed it but within a couple of minutes he had Hashirama and Mito walking several feet ahead of them engaged in conversation about what they had both gotten up to that day, neither looking back to see why their intended guests were lagging behind. Honestly, however, he didn’t care very much about the how when it gave him a few moments to just breathe and cling to the hand that slipped down to capture his own in a bracing grip.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered.

“Anata…”

“No I mean it, I’m really going to kill him. How dare he?”

“To be honest I don’t blame you. It’s bad enough to remove you from the things you’re good at but to send you away without warning just because–”

“No!” Madara almost felt bad for cutting his husband off but he was just so angry he couldn’t contain himself. “How dare he compare me to Izuna? How dare he imply that Izuna’s work is more important than my own? We perform wildly different functions! I don’t- UGH!”

He’d never so badly wanted to know how the hiraishin worked because right then he would have very much enjoyed the ability to just disappear without a trace. Sometimes the Body Flicker just couldn’t take him far enough. Thankfully he was blessed with the calm rock that was Tobirama, who said nothing about having his fingers squeezed so tight they could both feel their bones grinding together.

“I didn’t think of that but you’re right. It was unfair of him to do that. Crafty as well, though I can’t say for sure whether it was his intention to sow discourse between the two of you.”

“Well I don’t care what his intentions were! That was unfair! And terrible! I am not my brother and my brother is not me and we don’t do the same job so you really can’t compare how important either of us is – and maybe if he didn’t take my fucking job away from me then I wouldn’t be so ‘unimportant’! He can go straight to hell!” Madara snapped his jaw shut when he noticed his voice beginning to rise. They were still in public and no matter what people thought he did understand public decency.

After allowing him a moment to calm himself Tobirama looked around, the corners of his mouth tightening to see the street they were on was still quite busy. “If you would prefer not to be in company right now I can make our excuses to Anija.”

“It’s fine. We’ll make him listen to me bitching too. He deserves it.”

“Mm and what did he do to deserve such an honor?”

“He’s always so bloody happy!” Madara cried, indignant. “It’s not fair! Why can’t I be that happy all the time?”

It wasn’t until they had gone several more steps in silence that he realized there was anything amiss. When he turned to say something else he noticed Tobirama’s face was pulled in to a pensive expression, almost hesitant as he opened his own mouth, words slow and clearly very carefully worded.

“Are you unhappy most days?”

“What? Oh. No, no that’s not- I didn’t mean that. I meant- fuck’s sake every time I think ‘yeah this is good, I’m happy’ one of our fathers does something to kick us down again. I swear sometimes they can smell when we’re happy and they deliberately swoop in to ruin it. I hate them. I hate both of them. They’re old codgy bastards and they need to be retired. By force.” Madara scowled down at the ground in front of them, even angrier than before but now it was at himself for almost giving the impression that he was unhappy after both of them had been trying so hard to build what they had between them.

Tobirama seemed to understand at least, the pensive look slipping away and leaving sympathy in those pretty red eyes. Neither of them said much more for the rest of their walk to Hashirama's house. Madara distracted himself for a while thinking about how good he’d gotten at reading his husband’s expressions. The man wasn’t really much more expressive than he ever had been, still the same blank looking face on most occasions, but it had gotten easier to interpret the micro-changes and even the smallest quirk of his lips became a smile in Madara’ eyes, a certain shine became amusement. It was a testament to how close they’d become and thinking about their relationship did help keep his temper reigned in for now as he kept his concentration on happier things.

When they were only a couple of streets away from his house Hashirama finally turned and blinked behind himself as though only just remembering they were there too. As soon as he spotted them his face broke out in a sunshine smile that only served to reawaken Madara's annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you two! Mito was just telling me all about her day and it sounded so lovely!”

“Bully for you,” Madara called back. “Not all of us had lovely days!”

Hashirama all but ground his heels in to the dirt, screeching to a halt so he could wait for them to catch up with him and Mito. “Did you have a bad day Madara? Why didn’t you tell me! I would have cheered you up!” At his side, Mito shook her head.

“You were right there when Butsuma-sama told him in so many words that his brother was more vital to this village than he is. Would that make you feel good if he said it to you?”

“Well…I would be proud of my brother?” Hashirama tried. He winced when all three of them gave his sharp looks.

“Obviously I’m proud of my brother,” Madara snapped. “But it’s shitty to compare us against each other as if that means anything. It’s like comparing apples and oranges. Its- its- he’s not unimportant but I’m important too, damn it, and your stupid father can’t just take that away from me and laugh in my face about it!”

Eyes wide, Hashirama wilted. “Oh. Yeah. That wouldn’t feel good at all. Wait, what did he take away from you?”

Barely able to contain himself, Madara was almost grateful for the white hand that slapped itself over his mouth as Tobirama very carefully cleared his throat and suggested perhaps they should all go inside to discuss this. That was probably best. If any other words came out of him at that moment they would have been very loud and not at all tasteful. Biting his tongue until he was sure the indents would stay for weeks, Madara stomped off with the rest while they all quietly made the rest of the journey to Hashirama's home.

The moment the door was closed between them and the rest of the world it was like all restraints fell away and Madara stood in the genkan for fifteen minutes shouting to his heart’s content. Sometime during the flood of words Mito and Tobirama slipped away to prepare tea so by the time his words ran out and Hashirama led him in to the living room there was a steaming cup waiting for him next to where Tobirama sat on one half of a spectacularly ugly loveseat. Madara had enough kindness in him to wait until the man didn’t have a cup up near his face before flopping gracelessly down next to his husband and snatching up his own tea.

“I can’t believe he did that.” Hashirama shook his head.

“Can’t you?” Mito asked with sharp words. If he were feeling more himself Madara would have been surprised she had said anything that might even remotely be considered in support of him. They still hadn’t really warmed up to each other even after all this time.

“Well…okay yes, I suppose I can believe it of him.” Ignoring his tea, Hashirama rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “Some days it’s hard to reconcile the man he’s become with the man who raised us.”

Although Tobirama remained silent Madara was sure he felt the weight of both himself and Mito staring, waiting for his contradiction. It never came and yet they could still see it in his eyes. Butsuma had raised one son, buried two, and forgotten the one he deemed to not require his attention. As much as Hashirama wanted to love the man there had never truly been a father to love in him.

Madara scowled down in to his cup. He almost wished he could say the same of his own. Would it have been better to lose the affection he once so cherished or to never have it at all and feel no loss?

“I’m surprised you’re as calm as you are about all this,” Mito said but when he raised his head he saw that she was speaking to Tobirama, who only hummed and sipped his tea.

“Plotting a murder should never be done loudly.”

She granted him a gentle smile that should absolutely not look so deadly and then lifted one eyebrow. “I agree that silence is golden but I would have expected you to be a little more vocal now that we’re all alone. You did not go without insult yourself, my dear.”

“Your concern is appreciated but I’m fine,” Tobirama deflected while Madara blinked rapidly, trying to remember if Butsuma had said anything bad that he might have missed.

“Calling Izuna’s work too important to set down is an insult to both of you,” she pointed out. “You work more than the rest of us put together some days and he can send you away without a thought but not Izuna? One might begin to think he had changed his mind and decided to support the Uchiha above his own clan.”

“And I’m sure that when he realizes that he’ll be foaming at the mouth with disappointment for himself.” Tobirama shrugged it off as no big deal while Madara did his best to sink in to his own cushion and disappear.

In his anger he hadn’t even realized it but Mito was right. Of course Butsuma would think to send him off now that he apparently had nothing important to do but to pull Tobirama away from the hundred and one projects he always seemed to have a hand in? Any shinobi worth their salt was used to picking up and leaving on short notice if the mission was important enough but an invitation from the Daimyo wasn’t something that came on short notice. Invitations to the capitol were just as full of pomp and ridiculousness as its inhabitants. The Daimyo would have sent word more than a week in advance, which meant that Butsuma had deliberately been sitting on it all this time and just waiting to make his move. It was a miracle he hadn’t waited until the day before if that was his game.

What kind of man, he wondered, would throw his own son under the bus just to toss a petty insult in someone else’s face? Now Madara found himself faced with a new dilemma. He couldn’t decide if he was angrier on his own behalf or on Tobirama’s as the full scope of Butsuma’s idiocy sank in.

His husband must have noticed his stricken look, murmuring quietly from one side of his mouth.

“You were preoccupied and with good reason. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Madara told him just as quietly. “Would you like help planning his murder?”

Tobirama’s quicksilver smile was there and gone in an instant and that was all the answer he needed. He could be a tad blind in his anger but clearly Tobirama understood.

“Guys, please stop whispering. You’re making me really nervous.” When he looked up Madara saw that his best friend was wringing both hands anxiously, clearly not able to hear what they were saying but still under the impression that they were indeed plotting a murder. He knew them both so well.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Madara replied petulantly.

“I didn’t! I asked!”

“Semantics.” Delicately lifting the teacup he had almost forgotten about, Madara sipped at the drink before it could go cold and listened to Hashirama whining at him without any outward reaction.

Finally having the chance to yell everything out of system when he came in the home, Madara found that he really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Chewing over the issue wouldn’t change anything and listening to Hashirama's sympathetic murmurs would only keep him concentrated on feeling down. Distracting the man was as easy now as it had been in the office. With only one sentence wondering about some gossip he’s overheard yesterday he had Hashirama off on a tangent chasing this new topic and although he could tell he hadn’t fooled either Tobirama or Mito he was grateful that both of them let the subject drop as well.

It was a relief to let the mood around him lighten. Madara was happy enough to join the conversation at times but for the most part he tried not to be obvious about leaning in to his husband for a bit of comfort. More and more as the months went by it was starting to feel like their lives were ever-changing in way they shouldn’t be and he realized he was coming to rely on Tobirama as one of the only constants he had left.

When he felt a pale hand slip in to his own for a brief squeeze and then slipping away before anyone could notice their PDA Madara bit his lip. It wasn’t all bad. If all he had left in the world was Tobirama then he was doing alright, he thought.

[bluefurcape]

When It Rains

This was a prompt from @itslulu42 on discord and I don’t think you’ll remember giving it but I started immediately then forgot about it. Then I came back to it and my note on it said “Smooth jazz kakashi” and I of course had to start back in bc I needed to know what happened next. 

I think the prompt was something along the lines of Amnesia, but instead of angsting Kakashi keeps hitting on Sakura. Part one of...three maybe. And vaguely i mixed in a KS Month prompt but now it’s too late and guess i’ll just die.

Haruno Sakura had known Kakashi since she was twelve years old. And he had known her since he was…well, she wasn’t exactly sure how old he was, since he never divulged that. The only reason any of the former members of Team 7 Kakashi knew his birthday was the success of an elaborate ruse enacted a long time ago, involving Icha Icha, balloon animals, and a knife.

Kakashi smiled at her without recognition, his eyes crinkling pleasantly. From his bed, he looked around the hospital room and the people gathered with mild curiosity. There was a faded yellow bruise exactly the size of an egg on his forehead, an injury that Sakura had healed only moments ago. Despite the stifling heat of summer outside, the air conditioning kept the room comfortably cool. The sweat that had dampened her clothes on her walk over to the hospital was almost making her chilly.

She took a deep breath, recounting the facts as they had been told to her, because she was having trouble processing. “Kakashi and Gai were doing one of their stupid bets.”

“Right,” Shikamaru said.

“And they were climbing Kakashi’s face on the Hokage monument,” she continued and he made a noise of confirmation. “They saw a nest of what they thought was a rare extinct bird and decided to check it out.” Slowly she began to shake her head. “The rare bird has an ability to take away memories. Kakashi and Gai forgot who they were and fell off the monument. The only reason they’re still alive is because you were nearby, playing hooky, and you managed to shadow grab the two of them.”

Shikamaru nodded.

“And how did Kakashi get this enormous welt on his head?” she asked.

“He may have bounced on some rocks before I got to him.” He looked away, shrugging in feigned innocence. If he thought that Sakura would reproach him, he was wrong, because Kakashi definitely deserved more than few knocks to the skull. Especially for this particular mess.

“Shikamaru?”

“Yes?”

“This is really bad.”

“I know, Sakura.”

“Really, really bad.” Sakura began to pace the length of the room, from the window to the opposite wall. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting when she received the urgent summons on her day off, but it wasn’t this. “So unbelievably bad. The Kage coalition arrives today. They’re going to be expecting Kakashi to be making a speech in a week. He can’t make a speech when he’s a drooling idiot!”

“Hey, I’m not drooling,” Kakashi piped up, highly offended. In a lower voice, he asked, “I’m Kakashi, right?”

She was somewhat relieved that he could still talk. All the stupidly vacant smiling was giving her suspicions otherwise. As a test, in case this was some kind of elaborate joke courtesy of Shikamaru, she asked, “Do you know who I am?”

“No, but I’d like to,” he responded automatically.

Her jaw dropped and then she shut it. “Excuse me?”

Shikamaru cleared his throat, but it sounded more like strangled laughter that he choked back down.

“My priorities are a little off here, but would you be interested going out to dinner with me?” Kakashi asked.

“Ask me again when you get your memories back,” she said flatly.

“Well, that’s very good motivation.”

Sakura turned to Shikamaru and widened her eyes. She knew something had been up when Kakashi and Gai had been admitted to the hospital and no one was allowed to treat them or see to them until she personally arrived, even though she had not been actively treating patients, except when her expertise was required, since her promotion to medical director. Her mind had reeled with worst case scenarios, disembowelment, lost limbs, broken spines. Instead, she walked in and Kakashi waved to her, a nasty welt on his temple, but otherwise whole, according to her diagnostic check. Gai was in the same state. Physically, nothing was wrong with either of them, they just had the misfortune of running into a magic memory thieving bird.

“You weren’t called in just to check on his health,” Shikamaru said, leaning against the window sill. “The Council is giving you an assignment. Obviously, we need you to monitor the Rokudaime in case his condition deteriorates. The second thing is that you need to try and jog his memory and bring him back.”

Her instinct was to question the choice. He had been her captain and they had an easy relationship, but she barely knew him. Kakashi kept his secrets close and it made small talk with him a bitch, because he apparently considered everything a secret. Still, she understood the reasoning behind the assignment. Kakashi didn’t have any family left. His father had passed when he was only a child. His mother, even earlier. As far as she knew, he had no relatives in Konoha who could tell him familiar stories. Naruto was often away on high ranking missions and there was no telling when he would return.

She turned to Kakashi, who was watching her with a smile. “I’ll try my best,” she said doubtfully. She glanced at Gai. “What about him?”

“We thought it best to allow him some recovery time before calling in Lee.”

“…Good idea.” This would devastate Gai’s protege. A volcano of emotions was surely waiting.

#

“Ha-ru-no Sa-ku-ra,” Kakashi said, as if the syllables of her name were a song. He grinned, pleased with himself.

“Right. And your name is..?” Sakura gestured to him in encouragement.

“Uh…”

“Ha,” she prompted him with the first sound of his clan name.

“Ha…Ha…Haruno Kaku?”

“Hatake Kakashi,” she corrected patiently.

“I would much rather be Haruno Kakashi.”

She flushed, her face heating. “Well, you aren’t.”

“But there isn’t a Mr. Haruno Sakura around, right?”

Sakura bit her lower lip, trying not to laugh. Ever since he’d become her charge, the flirting had been incessant. She figured the magic bird had affected his impulse control in some way. However coming from him, the cheesy lines were actually kind of endearing. “No. No there isn’t.”

He nodded innocently, sitting primly on the ancient sofa in his apartment. His place was unsurprisingly neat, though all of the pieces of furniture looked at least a decade older than her, edges worn away and colors faded. It was also definitely a bachelor pad in every sense of the word. A narrow twin bed, suitable for one and only one. A closet full of the same articles of clothing.

When she entered the kitchen, she found a single set of utensils, a mug, a bowl, and a plate in the cupboard. Just to have something to do, she placed the kettle on the stove anyway to make some tea. One of them could use the bowl to drink out of. Did he never have people over? She tied up her sweaty hair and wished silently that she could at least take a shower. The council had laid down a strict water ration due to the extended drought this year. Bathing was restricted to about fifteen minutes and the mandate encouraged the villagers to go a few days in between. Her stink wasn’t too bad, as far as she could tell, but she missed standing under a nice stream of water and forgetting about the world.

She leaned against the counter, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling hopeless. She didn’t even know where to begin.

“Does any of this ring a bell?” she called out. All of this was a shot in the dark. Bring Kakashi to familiar places and see if anything happened was her general plan. She hated it because she loved real plans. Strategy with complexity. Tasks that could be conquered. Instead, she floundered, coming up with ideas on the fly.

“Nope,” was the cheerful response. At least he was taking this memory loss business in stride. If it were her, she would be freaking out at being completely untethered.

The kettle whistled and she poured the hot water out into the mug and the bowl. From one of the cupboards, she dug up a dented box of genmai and added the tea bags, letting the tan tendrils swirl. There was a solitary tray of ice in the freezer that she took a few cubes from, because she simply did not feel like drinking hot leaf juice in the middle of a drought. Out of curiosity, she checked the bottom part of the fridge too. A nearly empty carton of eggs and an old box of take out greeted her. The inside was bare bones. She was finally getting a glimpse behind the walls that Kakashi maintained and rather than a suave, older man like she had been half expecting, she was getting a sense of just how alone he was. Guilt twisted her lips into a frown. She could claim that she hadn’t known, but that was just an excuse. Her own life was a little more than she could handle. Late night shifts. The constant fires that needed to be put out. Kakashi had been there, quiet in the background, and her attention had glanced over him and determined him a lesser priority because honestly, he seemed fine.

She brought the tea over to the living room, offering  Kakashi the mug and taking the bowl for herself. He accepted the beverage then looked back at her and said, “Now, I know I don’t have any memories, but is it customary to drink from a bowl?”

“There weren’t any other cups,” she explained as she curled herself into the armchair perpendicular to the sofa.

“Hm. Okay.” He lowered the hospital mask and took a sip. When he noticed Sakura’s blatant stare, he cautiously asked, “What?”

Even without his memories, Kakashi had chosen to continue to wear the mask. He didn’t seem to notice it or question why he was wearing one.

She caught a glimpse his long, straight nose and lips that lifted in an easy smile. She was almost upset that she hadn’t known before that every time he shot a grin at her, the mask had hidden a set of slightly crooked teeth and a chipped canine that she found unnervingly charming. She wanted to cradle his face in her hands.

Part of her resisted telling him, craving the pleasure of simply seeing him. But it was only right that she tell him, rather than let him go on and act in a way that he would resent her for later. “You probably don’t know this, but you never show your face to anybody,” she said calmly, hiding the giddy urge to get on her feet and dance in her own personal victory.

He hummed to himself and tugged on the elastic strings of the mask hanging around his ear. “Never?”

She nodded her head.

“Is it because I’m ugly?” he asked, touching his lower lip as he frowned.

“No!” Her response was a little too emphatic, even to her own ears.

“Ah. Good.” He smiled again and her heart beat faster.

She was unused to feeling this way around him and she was both curious and disconcerted. To distract herself, she leaned over to the side table and picked up the only two photo frames that Kakashi seemed to possess.

The older one was a photo of his team when the Fourth had been his captain. It showed a young Kakashi glaring at the camera, standing next to a dark haired boy in goggles. The Fourth stood behind them, his hands affectionately ruffling their hair. The last member, a young girl with short brown hair, beamed in the front. She couldn’t help but notice the similarities between this photo and the other one, which was of Team 7 in the early days. A nostalgic smile played on her lips.

“Who are those people?” Kakashi peered over at the photographs.

“Your friends…” she responded tentatively, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

…those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.

“Oh. Are they still around? Maybe they can help me get back my memory.”

She hesitated. She’d heard rumors of what had happened to Kakashi’s old team--none of it sounded happy. The dark haired boy must have been Obito, who would become the same man that Kakashi had thought dead and carried guilt over for decades. In a twist, Obito had turned out to be alive during all of that time, but even that was complicated and…he certainly was gone now. Of the four people in the photograph, Kakashi was the only survivor. Painful trauma didn’t seem like the best place to start with his memories.

She held up the photo of Team 7 instead, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her deliberate omission. Team 7 had gone through it’s own troubles, but the ending was happier. At least they had that. She pointed at their younger selves with exaggerated enthusiasm. “That’s you and me. The blond one is Naruto and the scowling one is Sasuke.”

“Sasuke looks like he has a stick up his ass,” he commented immediately.

“An accurate assessment.” She snorted. “You were my teacher and then later, my captain. Do you remember?”

He scratched his chin in thought. “Teacher, huh? That doesn’t sound right to me.”

“On the first day I met you, you were very late, fell for Naruto’s stupid trick, and told us that you hated us.”

“Yikes.”

“And then you had Naruto tied up because he tried to cheat.”

Kakashi squinted at the picture. “Naruto’s the blond one, correct? The one who looks like he hasn’t realized that he’s crushing on the other one?”

Sakura blinked and looked for herself. “What.”

“How long ago was this picture taken?”

“Ten, I think.”

“So, are they married now? The hate sex must have been good.”

Her cheeks flushed. She did not want to think about two of her closest friends getting it on! “Gross. They aren’t together and you’re not allowed to talk about them like that. Sasuke is on some kind of redemption quest and Naruto is on a long term mission to the east.”

He made sarcastic air quotes as he said, “’Redemption quest.’”

“This isn’t working, let’s move on,” she grumbled.

[asdfghjklicia]

These Bloodied Flowers In My Lungs

She met him at the end of September, when autumn had stolen into nature and set everything ablaze with red and gold. 

His name was Kenneth. His eyes were darker than a sun that had burnt out, and his movements flowed like water. His laugh warmed her from the inside out. 

The already short days sped up, and mid-October found her spending her alone days wishing she wasn’t. 

She knew something was wrong when she woke up choking on the thin white petal lodged in her throat.

She coughed it up, and with that one more followed as she raced to her laptop to find out what was happening. Her trembling fingers could barely hit the keys and the loading sign seemed to linger for far too long, but after a short eternity, the search results appeared in blue and black text on the screen. 

It was supposed to be a myth. Something conjured from the mind of a lovesick sicko. And yet here she was, a bent petal between her shaking fingers, trying to swallow what felt like a whole flower as she read through the definition of the Hanahaki Disease. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to sing today?” her friend asked, watching the president of the school choir cough yet again. She only nodded, not trusting her voice to come out strong enough to be convincing. It had only been a few hours since that first petal in the morning, but her throat was hoarse from coughing, and it had taken several trips to the water cooler to try and wash down the same white petals. She’d Googled them- daisies were symbolic of purity and innocence. How cruelly ironic. 

Singing that morning was painful. As president, she conducted the choir in front of the school on Friday mornings, and she had to be the perfect example for her girls. During high notes, she forced the flowers down, during low notes she forced the tears back. When she took her seat for assembly, she hid her face in her notebook so that nobody would see the tiny white petals that escaped her.

The victim regurgitates and coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love.

Watching him dance was like being near an active volcano. It was beautiful, but it was like every time she breathed, she choked on her awe like smoke. 

Kenneth had two songs for this year’s school showcase, one upbeat hip-hop song with four other people and one slightly slower solo dance. 

As the lyrics for the solo played over the speakers, she began coughing up something that felt different. Rounder. 

As the chorus hit, she bent her head and coughed. Yellow petals. 

As the bridge hit, she hacked up the broken-up fragments of an entire yellow flower. 

Discreetly, unwilling to tear herself from his dancing for too long, she googled it. Daffodils, the floral equivalent of unrequited love and someone being the only one that mattered. 

She dared not catch his eye as she kept watching, a tear falling as the music ended and he looked elsewhere. 

The illness can only be cured through surgical removal,

The days turned into weeks. Daisies turned into daffodils, innocence into the knowledge of unrequited love that hurt her almost as much as the flowers growing in her lungs. 

And all the while, they got closer. The longer they talked each night, the more they texted, the more she bent over her toilet, hacking up petals of betrayingly cheery daffodils and bright white gardenias that represented secret love.  

however, any existing romantic feelings are also removed with the infection.

“Hey, will you sing for my solo?”

The question caught her off guard. She could already feel a petal tickling the base of her throat as she asked him to clarify himself. 

“My solo- Trade Hearts? By Jason Derulo? I’m not really feeling Jason for my dance- I think I’d prefer you to sing it, even as a recording that plays as I dance on the day. You have a great voice.”

It was creeping up her throat, twisting what she wanted to say like a vine.

Despite the tears and flowers choking her up, she forced herself to reply, if only to hear the smile in his voice over the phone. 

“Okay then, just a fair warning that my voice is getting kinda hoarse these days.” she said, the lightheartedness in her voice covering up her misery. 

“That’s awesome, Fab. Thank you so much.”

After he hung up, she was still smiling as she coughed up almost a whole red carnation, the incarnation of heartache, and kept her smile plastered on as she noticed the first tiny specks of blood darkening the red petals. 

The Hanahaki Disease, without surgery, is fatal.

So she recorded the song for him. The lyrics struck a chord within her, and she poured everything into recording it before she sent it to him. The messages she got back were short, but they made up a broken paragraph that was punctuated with emojis. 

THIS IS SO GOOD! 

WHOA HONESTLY I KNEW YOU COULD SING BUT DAMN 

I’LL HAVE TO USE THIS WHEN I DANCE

ACTUALLY

COULD YOU 

DO IT LIVE?

IT’S IN TWO WEEKS.

WOULD THAT BE POSSIBLE 

AT ALL?

IT’S SOOO GOOD

She laughed, doing the best to ignore the feeling of flowers pressing against her lungs and onto her ribcage. 

Then it occurred to her. 

Live?

In two weeks?

She stared down at her hand, the carnation petals that were flecked with blood, the same petals that she had twisted to death in her fingers’ trembling vice grip.

Would she live that long?

She did. 

The afternoon of the showcase, she chose her outfit- blood wouldn’t show up on a black dress.

But then she hesitated as she looked herself over in the mirror. If she didn’t have long left to live, maybe she needed to live a little. 

She took out a lavender off-the-shoulder skater dress. In the past couple of months, she had learned a lot about the significance of flowers and colours. Light purples meant romance- and nostalgia. 

Just in case, though, she packed the black dress. 

In the cab to school, she felt what she recognized now as carnation petals clawing up her throat, and she forced herself to swallow it repeatedly. 

Once she had paid, she ran to the school bathrooms. 

It was drenched in blood at this point, but as it dripped off, she saw that it wasn’t red, it was light pink. 

Pink carnations - I’ll never forget you. 

She hurled it into the garbage. She didn’t have a lot of time left. 

From her high stool on stage, she sang, pouring the same emotion into the song as he danced with the same passion- although her singing perhaps had more desperation than his dancing did. 

As the music ended and the hall erupted with applause, he gestured to her to stand. Hopping off the stool, she began to take her bow- but he pulled her forward to centre stage, holding her hand as they took their bow together. 

Her grip was loose on his hand, but like a vice on the mic as she struggled to keep it together. 

As they walked off stage, she couldn’t hold it off anymore. 

I’m sorry, Ken. 

“That was amazing, Fab- where are you going?” he began, as she ran backstage. 

“You okay? Fab?” she could hear the alarm in his voice as he knocked on the door of the female stall, her coughing and choking resonating around the cement walls of the backstage bathroom. One by one, they forced their way up her throat, overflowing from her mouth, their already incomplete, broken petals breaking apart further as they fought their way out of her and onto the bathroom floor. 

Three cyclamens. 

Three poisonous flowers that meant resignation, defeat and death. 

Three flowers that meant goodbye. 

[sejinpk]

So for that top 5 ask meme thing... How about top 5 live action films?

Thanks for the ask! I don’t often talk about live-action movies, so I’m glad you asked this! ^_^ There are only four entries because there are really only four live-action movies that I feel like I can confidently say are truly favorites.

1. American Psycho

American Psycho is the first (maybe the only?) satire where I feel like I’m actually able to see/get the satire for myself, though, admittedly, this was only after the commentary initially told me as much. >.

This clip highlights what I’m talking about regarding multiple levels, specifically the part starting right around the 1:15 mark (note: the clip is VERY NSFW!!!!).

On the one hand, it’s a horrifying scene in which a crazed Christian Bale is chasing a prostitute through his apartment building with a chainsaw. She bangs on other residents’ doors and screams loudly, but nobody comes to help her, or even to see what’s going on. And eventually Bale kills her with the chainsaw, just as you think she might have been able to get away. It’s heartbreaking.

But on the other hand, right at that 1:15 mark, you see Christian Bale sort of *giggle* trot into view covered in blood and wearing nothing but *snort* socks and tennis shoes, carrying a *kheheheeheaahhhaahahahahaaa* chainsaw in front of him like a *full-blown laughter and cackling* demented phallic symbol, running buck naked through his apartment complex, and he somehow has perfect aim to be able to drop the chainsaw down the middle of what looks like three or four stories of spiral stairs so that it actually hits the woman he’s chasing. The absurdity of the scene is absolutely hilarious.

I love Christian Bale’s acting as Patrick Bateman. I also really like Willem Dafoe’s performance. In fact, I like most of the performances in the movie. Regarding Bale in particular–and this is something said by the movie’s director in interviews–he really understood the dorkiness and the pathetic nature of Bateman. I think thefirst video clip above highlights some of this (random interesting fact: apparently Christian Bale can sweat on cue, as he broke out in a sweat at the exact same time in every take of that scene), as does this clip of Bateman’s music monologues, which are hilarious (I wanted to include the video in this post, but Tumblr apparently has a 5-video-per-post limit, so this is the one that got cut).

The movie is legitimately funny, both because of Bale’s portrayal of Bateman, and because of the satire. I think it does a really good job of getting you to laugh at him, rather than with him (in this case, that’s the intended effect). The movie also handles its tone very well, which was super-important for creating the effect the filmmakers wanted.

I also think the movie’s themes and social commentary are interesting and still relevant today, even though the story is set in the 80′s, the movie was released in 2000, and the book the movie is adapted from was published in 1991. It’s only been on the last one or two re-watches (I’ve watched the movie several times) that I’ve started to understand how the movie uses physical violence and the horror elements as a metaphor for class- and economic-based systemic violence.

2. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

I also really like Rise of the Planet of the Apes, which this movie is a sequel to, but I like Dawn of the Planet of the Apes a little more. The key thing I love about these movies (and especially Dawn) is the humanity they give both the human and ape characters, which is what makes the drama and action so compelling. Both sides of the conflict, humans and apes, are given so much depth and nuance. Their conflict isn’t black and white, and you’re able to understand, and empathize and sympathize with, both sides equally strongly.

I think the character work in the movie is incredible. Practically all the characters we get any kind of time with are developed–we can see how they think, what motivates them, what their priorities are, even if they’re given very little screentime. One of my absolute favorite emotional scenes in the movie is when Dreyfus, Gary Oldman’s character, turns on his phone after the humans get power back, and as he’s looking through old pictures of his family, who have died, he just completely breaks down. It’s such a moving, heartbreaking scene.

Also, Andy Serkis + motion capture = Dawn is a poster child for this.

3. Tai Chi Master

So far, there have only been two works of fiction that have had a significant influence/impact on my life in some way. One is the Monogatari Series. Tai Chi Master (called Twin Warriors in the U.S.; original Chinese title 太極張三豐(Tàijí Zhāng Sānfēngin Mandarin)) is the other. This movie is what got me interested in learning tai chi, which eventually led to my broader interest in health, which in turn led me to where I am today, in school studying to become a Registered Dietitian.

It’s the story of the supposed legendary founder of tai chi, Zhang Sanfeng (played by Jet Li), though I don’t know how closely it adheres to the actual legend. I find the movie generally enjoyable, but the main reason it’s on this list is because of the impact it had on my life.

This sequence in particular, in which Jet Li’s character is figuring things out, testing ideas, and going through the initial process of creating tai chi, is what enamored me so much and got me interested in learning it (of course, the tai chi in the movie is stylized and exaggerated to varying degrees):

On a somewhat related note, I’ve heard of a movie called Pushing Hands (the name of an essential practice for developing sensitivity in internal martial arts), which has at least a tangential connection to tai chi (but sounds interesting even if the connection is really weak), but I have yet to get around to seeing if I can find it to watch.

4. How the Earth Changed History

(I wasn’t overly fond of any of the video clips I found, so that’s why there’s not one here.)

How the Earth Changed History, originally called How Earth Made Us in Britain (it’s a BBC production), narrated/presented by geologist Iain Stewart, is easily my favorite documentary. It’s about how planetary forces have shaped human history. It’s broken up into five parts. The first four parts each focus on a planetary force: water, the deep earth, wind, and fire. The fifth part focuses on how humans have influenced/affected the planet.

One thing I really like about this documentary is that it’s entertaining. In addition to just making the narration interesting, Stewart goes the extra mile to take the viewer into some really neat places, such as inside holes and tunnels dug to get at groundwater; a crystal cavern (a giant chamber that was initially sealed and filled with water, in which enormous crystals grew); on a catamaran in the ocean; the middle of the Sahara desert; various archaeological and historical sites; through a literal fire; etc.

I also found the information itself really interesting. Here are a few of what I thought were the highlights:

In the wind/air segment, he talks about how the Sahara desert (which is formed and maintained by large-scale wind patterns) acts as a natural barrier, which, in the past, inhibited trade between civilizations on different sides of it. As a result, a town/city (I don’t remember the name) in a key mid-desert location became an important trade hub. Centuries later, Christopher Columbus discovered the trade winds (more large-scale wind patterns), which ultimately led to a new trade route/cycle that bypassed the mid-desert city. Thus, the wind was influential in both the city’s rise and fall.

In the deep earth segment, he talks about the relationship humans have with fault lines: they enable us to more easily get at the various minerals that arise from within the earth, such as copper, but they’re inherently dangerous (earthquakes). Humans now have the ability to shield our buildings from the impact of earthquakes; it’s all a matter of choosing to do so.

The “Human Planet” segment is where I learned about the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. He also talks about an Indonesian mud volcano, which is still erupting. In the documentary, Stewart says it was caused by human activities (drilling), but it sounds like there’s still debate about that, with some scientists supporting drilling as the cause, and others saying it was caused by an earthquake. Either way, the documentary shows that the incessant mud bubbling up from inside the earth literally buried the nearby town, and that was six to seven years ago (the documentary was released in 2010, and the mud volcano began erupting near the end of May, 2006). I can’t imagine how much worse it’s gotten.

In addition to what I’ve said about the documentary, I came across a very well-written review on Amazon that does an excellent job of describing the content and discussing why I find it so interesting.

I don’t normally like to do this, but I really want more people to watch this documentary (honestly, though, it’s only like $10 - $15 new on Amazon), so here are links to each segment on YouTube:

Water

Deep Earth

Wind

Fire

Human Planet

Again, thanks for sending me this ask! I really enjoyed making this post! ^_^ If there’s anything you want to respond to, please feel free to do so! :D