#I WAS LOOKING IN MY FILES FOR SOMETHING AND THE LIL BLURB I WROTE WAS TITLED 'THEIR FIGHT' SO I OPENED IT AND JUST CONTINUED IT 😭

[hislittleraincloud]

Me: *takes the day off after publishing UVC*

Also me: *writes more Jairo after fine-tuning UVC for a couple of things/issues*

By the way, the beginning of UVC was based off of this scene in canon because I 💖 Winnie Black:

[singswan-springswan]

I just realized it’s May haha 🥲

What am I doing with my life that May was so far away and yet suddenly slammed me full-stop with a punching bag I don’t understand. Anyway have my Mermay contribution

Holy kriff what actually is this quality dumblr? grr.

I did the artsy a while back, but I’m pleased to announce that I still can’t draw consistent characters 😌 whaaaat? Psh, I mean—this is an aquarium AU, so obviously they can’t be clones irl come on 👀 that’s why they don’t look like each other.

Also, I wrote a lil blurb for the concept so enjoy :3

~

“So,” Padmé said shortly, keeping both eyes firmly fixed on the clipboard in her hands. “What do we know already?”

It was easier to stare at the infuriatingly thin packet of papers on the board than to raise her gaze just a little tiny bit and look into the pool she and Rex were standing over. For one, nothing in the pool moved much. The water only barely dipped and splashed on the very minute occasion from whatever sluggish filter had been placed inside. The water otherwise was clear and plain, and—honestly—a little boring.

It was another generic holding tank they kept at the aquarium: nothing Padmé hadn’t dealt with dozens of times before. They used the large, platformed containers to rehabilitate all kinds of sick and injured marine life, ranging from dolphins, to turtles, to stingrays, and even a few arthropods, though Padmé was decidedly less involved in some of those projects. The only nuance in this situation was the species—creature, really—currently within the tank.

To put things simply, it wasn’t something they already knew much about. And it was easier to stare at her papers than to risk looking at it.

“Nothing, really.” Rex sighed. He ran a hand over his clipped curls and gave the stack of papers a pitying look. “It’s been hard to run any tests since the three of them came in. Normal tranqs don’t seem to work as well, and anyone who’s tried to get close so far has been… compromised.”

Padmé’s thoughts strayed to Sabé’s broken arm, and the thing that had caused such a gruesome injury; how it was coiled at the bottom of the tank in front of her and—

She reigned her attention into focus.

“So this—all of this is it?” To distract herself, she flipped through all five papers with incredulous surprise. There was maybe one whole page of lab results, a few more of random notes, and a sad scattering of anatomical data. It was some pathetic compilation. Especially considering their aquarium’s research reputation. And the significance of this… species. “There’s no file? No report? This is all the information we have?”

“I’m afraid so.” Rex dropped his hands behind his back. “The director wants to commission individual research assignments for each subject. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard. You might just be the first, so don’t get too discouraged.”

Padmé wasn’t daunted by the task of personally studying the animal in the tank before her. She was more concerned about safety parameters. The last time she’d gotten close, it’d tried to drown her (almost had, actually), and it’d taken Dooku ripping one of its fins off to subdue the thing.

She wouldn’t ask why Sheev thought she of all people was best suited to personally researching this animal. Nevertheless, she had without a doubt been assigned the project, and Padmé had never underperformed in a task. Anyway, it was… a good opportunity. She should be thrilled—honored, even. Plenty of others would certainly die to have this chance.

After her first encounter with what she’d originally thought to be a beautiful, majestic creature, however, she was a little hesitant to be working so closely with it. It was dangerous. Worse than that, it was intelligent. It was the smartest thing Padmé had ever handled here at the aquarium, and she’d barely spent ten minutes in its presence.

“Alright,” Padmé’s huff sounded more frustrated than she’d intended. She tried to ignore the amused twitch to Rex’s lips and slapped the papers down against the clipboard. “I can work with this.”

He nodded.

“I suspect it won’t be an orthodox schedule, however. I may need access to the holding tank at odd hours.”

Rex chuckled and put a hand on her shoulder, camaraderie and sympathy in one go. They weren’t the closest of friends, but they were both dedicated to their work, and he understood her undeterrable drive which—in some cases—was slightly less than healthy. If her most recent disaster was anything of note.

“I know. And Palpatine knows too, don’t worry. You’re getting a lot of free reign over this assignment.”

It was good news; not that it reassured her about much. This was going to be difficult, conditioning such an intelligent creature to recognize her as its handler. It might take weeks, and Padmé was a stubborn person, but she wasn’t the most patient.

“Good. I’m going to need it.” Padmé looked up from the clipboard and met his eyes to communicate the authenticity of her thanks. She refused to look inside the pool. Only Rex.

“I appreciate your help.”

He smiled, nodded, then turned and went for the stairs that led down the side of the tank. “Good luck!” He tossed over his shoulder, leaving her alone with the merman.

[ssahotchhner]

give you my wild

hi guys, wrote this quick lil blurb, one shot thing that i thought you guys might like (: thank u all for being so patient with me i'm currently in a pretty stressful transition stage of life rn so the summer is gonna be really hectic for me so pls bear with me!! but anyway, i wrote a lil something!! let me know ur thoughts, love u hope ur all staying safe and happy!

pairing: hotch x reader

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, children, kidnapped children

questions, comments, concerns

masterlist

“You and Hotch are fighting.” Spencer observes as he sits next to you on the jet and slides you a mug of coffee.

“No we’re not.” You say calmly as you flip through the file in front of you, “And do you have to talk so loudly? He could hear you.”

“If you’re not fighting it shouldn’t matter if he hears me or not.”

You sigh, “You are insufferable.” Still, unable to help it, you look up to see if Aaron’s watching. He’s not.

“What are you fighting about? Did he forget to put one of your case binders back in the right numerical order?”

You give him a mocking laugh, “Oh, you mean like the time I accidentally bent the corner of some random first edition book and you didn’t speak to me for a week?”

“That was a first edition John Fowles novel, it was a collector’s item.” He says fiercely. He let’s another moment of silence pass before he tries again, “Seriously, though, what are you guys fighting about?”

“Spence,” JJ hisses before you can answer, “Mind your business.”

“Thank you, JJ.”

“Of course. Besides all you have to do is ask Rossi, Hotch already told him all about it.”

You gape at her as Spencer immediately darts up, going to sit next to Rossi, “Jennifer, you wound me so.”

She smirks at you over her own case file, “It’s a silly fight anyway, you both know it.”

You set your jaw and look down at the file, willing your eyes not to water, “Yeah, right.”

You and Aaron rarely fought and when you did it was almost always over something insignificant. While that was probably the case now as well, you always had a difficult time with it, even the smallest disagreement. Your abandonment issues would always cause you to spiral to a place of anxiety over whether this would be the time he left you or not. Aaron didn’t know the level to which you panicked over small arguments with him because it made you feel stupid to admit. You were always able to hide it fairly well, but your coworkers knowing that something was wrong wasn’t helping.

“Y/N, you’re with me at the family’s house, JJ and Morgan, you head to the morgue, and the rest of you can go to the crime scene.”

“Sounds like someone wants to talk to you.” JJ said, waggling her eyebrows. You only gave her a half smile and then looked back down at your file.

**

Later, Aaron clears his throat in the SUV, breaking the silence as you stare out the window. “I understand we’re upset with each other right now, but I’m hoping you’ll be able to put it aside for the sake of the case.”

You almost scoff, “The fact that you even think you need to say that to me is even more upsetting. As if I would let our petty argument get in the way of finding a child who is in danger.”

“I’m just making sure we’re on the same page.” You take a deep breath and hold your tongue, but Aaron speaks again, “You think the argument’s petty?” He asks softly.

You huff and turn back to the windshield, eyes burning with unshed tears, “When compared to the task at hand, yes.”

“I think that we should talk about it–”

“If we talk about it now, Aaron, I’ll start crying and I won’t be able to do my job.”

He glances over at her, “Sweetheart–” He starts, his voice laced with both alarm and concern.

“Please,” You swipe at your cheeks where a tear or two escaped, “Just, not right now. Later.”

His gaze lingers on you for another moment or two before he turns back to the road.

***

The missing girl’s mother is sobbing and you’re holding tightly to her hand, doing your best to comfort her. “Why would somebody take Brittany? She was so sweet, she’d never hurt anyone.”

You give her the trained responses, remind her that your team is the best and doing everything they can to find her daughter, and then let Aaron do the questioning. All the while, you’re holding the mother’s hand and she’s squeezing yours back hard enough that it hurts, but it weirdly feels comforting.

“Agent.” Aaron calls after you as the two of you are leaving the house. You turn back to him slowly, resenting the use of the “agent” title. He steps closely to you before speaking again, “You seem more upset than usual, getting emotional when talking to parents… I understand that the nature of our argument coincides with the case–”

“I can handle it.” You say firmly, “Do not baby me.”

“I’m not, I’m just giving you the option to step away for a bit–”

“What would it say about me as an agent if I needed to step away because I’m fighting with my boyfriend? Do you need to step away, Aaron?” He’s silent and looks down at his feet. “Do not suggest to me again that I can’t do my job.” You add and then storm away.

***

Back at the police precinct, you start helping Reid with the geographic profile and going through Brittany’s journals. She was an avid writer and the hope was she had met her captor before and written about him. Aaron’s gone to a separate room to talk with Rossi and the police chief.

“Still fighting?” Spencer asks once you start flipping through a journal.

“It would give me great peace if everyone would stop hyperfixating on my relationship, thank you.” You say and hear a chuckle come from Morgan’s direction. They work quietly after that and eventually, they catch a break. You, Spencer, and Penelope are able to use clues from the journal, the geographic profile, and her laptop to identify her captor.

It’s the early hours of the morning when you’re able to infiltrate his home and find Brittany, thankfully, alive. You’re the one to reunite her with her family and a crushing hug from her mother is all it takes to get you to fall apart. You walk away from them, tears streaming down your face, conscious of the rest of the team watching. Aaron heads over to you, holstering his weapon and unbuckling his bulletproof vest. He doesn’t say anything when he reaches you, just envelopes you in his arms and lets you cry into his chest. He ushers you into his SUV and drives silently to the hotel, the sound of your sniffles the only sound that fills the car.

“I know that this is about more than just our fight.” He says finally.

You nod, “You’re right.”

“I’m sorry that I made you feel like I don’t trust you with Jack, it wasn’t my intention. I know you’re more than capable and he would love you, I just–”

“Aaron, I’m pregnant.” You say suddenly, unable to hold it in anymore.

There’s a moment of silence before Aaron pulls the car off the road, putting it in park, turning on the hazard lights, and fully turning to you, “You’re sure?”

You burst into tears again, “Yes, and if you don’t want a baby with me, then I’ll have to figure something else out, but I need to know now–”

“Honey, of course I want a baby with you.” He cuts you off and you hiccup, “This is wonderful news.” He says and when you look at him his eyes are shining with tears.

He looks genuinely happy and excited, but you still look away from him, “You won’t even let me pick up Jack from Jessica’s, but suddenly you’re ready to raise a child with me.”

He sighs, “Ever since Haley died, I’m… very protective of Jack, sometimes to a fault. It’s not a reflection of you, I’m just… terrified of introducing him to someone new in case he loses them the same way he lost his mom. And especially with you and our line of work. I think about losing you every single time we get a case and I think of how much it would destroy me and I just want to do everything I can to make sure my son never feels that way again. It’s not fair to you and I’m sorry.” You still won’t look at him so he continues, “When we get back tomorrow, you can come to my place. I’ll cook dinner for you and Jack and we can spend the night together. Like a family.”

Finally, you look up at him, “Really?”

“Yes.” Aaron says through a giddy laugh, leaning forward and kissing you, “A baby,” He says incredulously into your mouth and then you’re laughing too.

Then he pulls away slightly, “Should we elope? Do you want to be married? When’s your next appointment, we can both take time off work–”

“Aaron,” You laugh, “Slow down. One day at a time, okay?”

He smiles and kisses your forehead, “When did you find out?”

“A couple weeks ago,” You say, smile fading just a bit, “I’ve been so scared. That you wouldn’t want me or the baby. And then a few days ago when I offered to go pick up Jack and you immediately shot me down I just felt like…” You trail off as the tears flood your eyes again, “God, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry again.”

“It’s okay,” He caresses your cheek, “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to carry this alone.”

You give him a shaky smile and kiss him again, “I understand, you just want what’s best for Jack. You’re a great father, me and this baby are so lucky.”

He kisses you hard, “I’m the one who’s lucky.” You both smile and he pulls away again. Keeping a hand firmly on your thigh, he pulls back onto the road. The fear you had been feeling for weeks lifted off your shoulders and as you look at the man you love in the driver’s seat, you feel silly for ever being afraid at all.

[howtolistentomusic]

There's a radio sitting atop a pile of boxes. I grab it and hand it over to Carlos. He sets the device on the edge of the container and pushes the power button. We're greeted with a burst of static. He fiddles with the tuner until he stumbles upon "Wicked" by Future. 

"Aw yeah!" he says as he turns the volume way up. "Some real music! Anthony, take notes!"

"I'm insulted by the implication that I don't listen to hip-hop."

"You bump 2Pac between Justin Bieber songs?" David says.

"Hell yeah I do!"

"Guacha!" David says. 

Pronounced as if a stressed "ah" sound is added at the end of the English word watch, guacha is a Spanish verb for "look." Informally, though, it means something more like I approve! It's typically complimentary though it often carries a connotation of surprise that can come off as condescending. Against all odds, David basically said to me, I'm impressed. Welcome to the big boys club.

"2Pac is the greatest rapper of all time," Carlos says.

"Well, I don't know about that."

Don't get me wrong. I genuinely do like 2Pac. I grew up in Southern California, after all. But the GOAT? There's no way. He's a compelling figure for many reasons but too many others can rap circles around him.

"Listen to All Eyez On Me," Carlos says.

"Illmatic is better."

"What the fuck is that?"

It's the classic and hugely influential debut album by Nas, in case you're rooming with Carlos and Patrick Star.

"Life's a bitch and then you die!" Ruben sings.

"That's why we get high! 'Cause you never know when you're gonna go!"

"Damn, Ant!" David says. "Who would have thought?" 

It's unclear whether he recognizes "Life's a Bitch", Illmatic's track three stunner, or if he's simply surprised that I made a weed reference. 

"What else are you bumping?" David asks.

"Wu-Tang. Souls of Mischief. Big L—"

"The Based God?" Carlos says. "He fucking sucks!"

"That's Lil B, dumbass."

Dude doesn't know Big L from Lil B and he's never heard Illmatic. And yet here he is, trying to lecture me about hip-hop. Get the fuck out of here.

"Whatever. You're fucking old," Carlos says.

Touché. But I'm trying to keep up. I'm certainly on the Playboi Carti and Lil Uzi Vert bandwagons. "wokeuplikethis*" and "XO Tour Lif3" are great. I have a hard time understanding the appeal of Migos though.

Carlos grabs some bags from the edge of the container. When he turns to dump them into the proper gaylords, I glance at the radio. It's beckoning like a glowing pickup in a video game. I can't resist. Being cool is overrated anyways.

I tune to Live 105.5. "Good For You" by Selena Gomez is playing. 

"Hell yes!" I say.

My coworkers laugh.

"Of course you would listen to this bullshit!" Carlos says.

Bullshit? Ok, I get it. So it's totally cool to want to fuck Selena Gomez. It's totally cool to mime and graphically detail the sexual acts you'd perform on her if given the chance, as a few of the guys did a while back when a Spring Breakers DVD came through the warehouse. Respecting the art she creates, though? Nah. Too much.

"Wanna show you how proud I am to be yours," I sing. "Leave this dress a mess on the floor!"

Two yeas ago one of my favorite music writers, Katherine St. Asaph, wrote some brilliant work inspired by "Good for You". Her Singles Jukebox blurb, in which she rates the song a 9 out of 10, is a masterpiece. And in a review of Revival for Time Magazine, she vividly wrote that the song "makes looking good for her man sound like searing a part of herself dead." Despite such a convincing case for the song's merits, however, I can't bring myself to like "Good For You" all that much. It's boring and rote and I totally prefer "Hands to Myself". In a place like this, though, I'll fucking take it. After all, remaining myself while simultaneously playing "dude" well enough to avoid ostracization by my coworkers is a balance I struggle with every time I step foot into this warehouse, so it feels really good to fill the room with a piece of my world for once while these fuckers are forced to deal with it.

"I just wanna look good for ya, good for ya," I sing. "Uh huh."

"Alright," Carlos says as the song winds down. "It's over." 

He tunes the radio back to hip-hop just as Anna screams "Break!"

"Fuck," Carlos says as he turns off the device. ***

As usual, I beat the entire crew back to the dock. I hop into the container, turn on the radio and adjust the station.

"Reck a less bee hayve YA ah!" the radio pronounces.

Zayn Malick! Totally over One Direction, rhyming.

"Turn that shit up!" Donald says as the guys finally find their way back to roll-off. "This is my jam!"

"Let's start a boy band, Donald!" I say.

"I'm down!" 

David laughs. Carlos shakes his head.

"I'm seeing the pain, seeing the pleasure," Donald sings. He's not kidding; he genuinely seems to like this song. "Nobody but you, 'body but me, 'body but us, bodies together!"

While I'm thrilled to have a temporary companion in poptimism, I must point out that this song sucks. I wish I could play "Little Black Dress" instead. I wonder what the guys would think of that particular track, which pits a traditional dude's reverence for classic rock against his hatred of boy bands.

"That's your last one," Carlos says as "Pillowtalk" gives way to a commercial. 

He tunes back to the hip-hop station. "Hold On, We're Going Home" is playing and I have to stifle a laugh. Be careful what you wish for, I think to myself.

Carlos can't stand Drake. He's told me as much. He's a fucking pussy were his exact words. Of course, he'd be loath to admit that now, when control of the radio is at stake. I decide to stoke the fire.

"'Cause you're a good girl and you know it!'" I sing.

"Why do you like literally the worst shit?" Carlos says.

"I can change the station if you prefer," I say as I reach for the radio.

"Leave it!" he says.

"Yes, daddy!"

As soon as he turns his back, I tune back to pop. Mass groaning ensues as Shawn Mendes goes on about stitches. Carlos, however, is silent. He's standing still as a statue, staring me down.

***

If the warehouse gave out game balls at the end of each shift, Carlos would have more than the rest of roll-off combined. This is despite the fact that the dude is hardly physically intimidating. Indeed, the contrast between his tough guy persona and his tiny 5"2' frame is a gift that keeps on giving. One time, in an exercise designed to lighten the mood after a slog of a safety meeting, management made the entire staff of the warehouse line up on the floor of the line, single-file, tallest on the right and shortest on the left. There were approximately 30 people in the building and only a single woman was standing to the left of Carlos. It took the roll-off team hours to get all the laughter out of our system.

Carlos isn't particularly funny or clever either. While his insults come fast and furiously, they tend to be the predictable nonsense you would expect from someone that still considers "gay" a burn in the year of our Lord 2017. It's the same sort of mockery I've been dealing with my whole life. The words themselves don't really bother me.

But Carlos will wear you down through sheer attrition. His short fuse, gangbanger ethics and the fact that he values his pride over his job give him a willingness to escalate that's difficult to compete with. I once witnessed him empty an entire can of shaving cream onto the face of poor old man Kenneth. He also once swung a bag of hard toys, with all his might, at Donald after the two got into a heated argument. Then there was the time he was in a bad mood and discreetly coated some furniture with that aerosol "snow" stuff—the kind that people use on their windows as a Christmas decoration—in the hopes that some naive rube would ruin their clothes.

So I'm not sure what Naive Rube was thinking in perpetuating this tug-of-war over a stupid radio. Perhaps I felt like I deserved a fucking break. Roll-off already has a radio, after all. Sure, Anna controls the station. But everyone seems fine enough, usually, with the soul and R&B she prefers.

In any case, I'm not in the mood for Carlos' shit today.

***

I place a box of books at the edge of the container, right in front of Carlos.

"Are you just gong to stand there?" I ask.

"Give back the radio, you fucking pussy!" Carlos says. "Nobody wants to hear this pop shit!"

I know, dumbass. That's why this is so much fun.

"Give it back!" he repeats. He swipes for the radio but I grab it and place it out of his reach.

Carlos slices a bag of clothes with his pocketknife.

"I'm going to fuck you up!" he says. "Stupid little bitch! I'm going to fuck you up!"

"Cool story, bro."

"Are you really not gong to give it back?"

I laugh. Look, this entire thing is petty as fuck but the dude's entitlement really is something else.

"Give it back simply because you told me to? I'll pass but thanks."

"I'm going to give you one last chance," he says.

"Oh noes! Make sure you play some Justin Bieber at my funeral."

Carlos is fucking seething. He pulls the still-as-a-statue move again in an attempt to intimidate but roll-off simply functions around him. Nobody else seems to care much about the radio war and that's fine by me. When Carlos finally realizes that his protest isn't going to work, he grabs the box of books and gets back to business. Apollo for the win!

As an alternative kid with a preference for dark clothing and bulky accessories, the sun has long been the bane of my existence. This is especially true as I age, as one of the ways I temper insecurities about my ever-expanding waistline is by burying myself in layers. Today, however, the sun is an unlikely ally in my ongoing struggle against Carlos. It's 100 degrees out, see, and when it's this hot outside the container becomes almost unbearable, the metal walls stubbornly retaining the heat in a way that feels like you're working in a giant oven.

Pushing donations from inside the container is typically a two-person task but nobody else is up for it today. And the emptier it becomes, the safer I seem to be getting from Carlos' antagonism as I place the radio further and further from his reach. For a glorious hour I have the device all to myself. Ariana Grande! Lady Gaga! Hailee Steinfeld! Rihanna! I'm singing along, dancing like a maniac, and feeling pretty damn good. Then I hear a loud crash. 

I turn around. Carlos is standing at the foot of the container, a crate of dishes in front of him.

I've seen this before. God forbid there's glass around when Carlos is angry because he'll start chucking it, his aim loose enough for probable deniability but accurate enough to make life hell. 

He grabs a plate and throws it my way. It shatters near my feet. 

"Calm the fuck down!" I say. 

"Give me the radio."

"Come and get it.

Carlos hops into the container. Fuck. Here we go.

Of course, he's not grabbing anything without going through me first. It's too damn empty in here. I step towards him to obstruct his path. We meet in the middle of the container. Our faces are inches apart.

One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Three, Mississippi. Four, Mississippi. Five, Mississippi. Six—

"Fuck this gay ass music," he finally says. Then he turns and walks away. *** A short time later we finish unloading the container. Two hours remain in the workshift but supervisor Stella tells us that we won't be getting more trucks until tomorrow. She assigns the guys to other tasks in the building while I stay behind on the dock to tidy up.

For good measure, I empty the batteries from the radio and throw them in a bin designated for hazardous materials. Then I smash the radio on the floor, throw the pieces in the electronics gaylord, then pull it inside the warehouse.

Give me my damn game ball.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Seventy-Three: A Joyous Moment ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Seven years...seven years she’s been waiting for this moment. Since that fateful day her sophomore English teacher assigned them all penpals from all over the world to help improve their English.

Hinata, oddly enough, wound up with someone from her ancestors’ lands. Though a second generation American, she and both her parents (as well as her sister) all bear names from Japan. Which, yes, got her teased (and goodness knows how many times both first and last have been mispronounced…), but she’s proud of her heritage.

Which meant a kind of excitement at being matched with a student from Japan. While the project would only last the semester, she hoped to learn more about the lands where her bloodlines came from.

Uchiha Sasuke was his name, as it would be said there. The same age as herself. At first, of course, it was rather...stiff. Formal. Especially since Sasuke’s English was a bit...well, by the book. Slang was nearly non-existent. Not that she minded. That was the point, after all: to give them someone to help practice the language with. They talked about their schools, their lessons, their friends, their family...all rather basic, predictable things. Sasuke would talk about his brother, Itachi...and she in turn spoke of her sister Hanabi, and cousin Neji. Sasuke also had a cousin, Shisui...and apparently many more where that came from. The Uchiha were rather populous in their city.

When Hinata admitted to knowing very little of her extended family, or of knowing many others with such heavy Japanese descent, it was then they hatched a plan: someday, he would come to America, and meet her in person.

Of course, back then - given how young they were - it felt like an empty promise. Surely it would never actually happen. After all, they’d stop talking once the project was done with.

...wouldn’t they?

As the weeks slipped by and Sasuke’s English improved, Hinata found herself melancholy. In truth...she didn’t want to stop talking. She’d grown rather attached to her penpal. So as their final letters were exchanged, she slipped an extra piece of paper alongside her letter. On it, her email was scribbled.

...would he send her something…?

When several days passed with nothing to show in her inbox, Hinata couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment. Maybe he hadn’t felt the same: that they were friends beyond the project. Had all he said only been because it was for a grade…?

Did she really not matter to him…?

Boredly scrolling the internet one night, she glanced to the pinned tab as her email gave a ding. By then, it had almost faded from her mind. Probably just more junk mail she didn’t give a hoot about…

...wait...she doesn’t recognize that address…

Is it…?

Barely daring to hope, she opened the message...and found a note from Sasuke at last! He apologized for the delay - he and his family had gone out of town and he’d been without any wifi. But he did indeed want to keep talking…!

Brightening, she wrote out a reply as fast as she could, insisting there was no need for an apology: that she was just happy to hear from him.

From then on, every few days almost without fail, the pair would exchange a message. At times it would dwindle as life got busy, or slow. When they were away. But even as they both left high school behind and began university, they kept up the correspondence. Tales of their new educations, new friendships, changes in their family.

And yet, oddly enough...neither of them ever had one particular topic to share.

Neither managed to date.

Hinata, of course, didn’t feel it all that odd. She was too shy, and (in her opinion) too plain to warrant a significant other. Besides, school kept her busy, and she didn’t need the distraction. But surely Sasuke would have found someone by then, right? He’d often complained about clingy girls that annoyed him, but...apparently none ever struck him as someone he’d tolerate enough to try dating.

...part of her was curious.

And part of her dreaded the day.

Hinata had convinced herself it was because if Sasuke ever found himself a girlfriend, he wouldn’t have time for her anymore. College was time-consuming enough, and they typically only had time for brief blurbs of updates between projects and exams. And she didn’t want to have to lose time talking to her...friend.

...yeah. Friend.

Then, finally, her graduation date was approaching. Sasuke himself had done so the year before, but her own degree had required a bit more time after a university switch resulted in lost credits. Teasingly, she asked him what he was going to send her as a congratulatory gift.

“Well, what do you want?”

“Hm...I don’t know. I’ve never been good at asking for gifts…”

“Neither have I. It feels...selfish. Too forward.”

“Exactly!”

“But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Sasuke, I was just teasing you. You don’t have to get or do anything for me.”

“But you sent me that card! The one you made?”

“It was just a card…”

“But you made it. It had your heart within it.”

The IM earned a pause, blushing behind the screen. Was that...what he meant? At times he’d still mix up words and meanings in English. Her heart was in it…? Well...yeah, maybe it was. He was her very good friend, after all. And friends make their friends nice things. Especially for something as important as graduation!

“You could make me one!”

“I’m no good at crafts...you would hate it.”

“No I wouldn’t! If you made it, then...your heart would be in it, too.”

A few minutes passed without reply.

“...do you remember the promise we made when we first began to talk?”

...promise? “Um...you mean about you visiting?”

“Yes.”

“...yeah, I remember.”

“Would that be a good gift?”

Her jaw dropped. “You...you want to come all the way here for my...graduation?”

“Yes!”

“But...that’s so much more than a card! I would feel so bad!”

“You forget I want to see you, too. We could call it even, Hinata.”

...he wanted to see her…

“...if it’s not too expensive, or out of the way, and you...really want to, then...yes, that would be a good gift. The best gift I could ask for…!”

“I will look into it. Keep your hands crossed!”

Giggling at both the prospect and his slip of phrase, Hinata had collapsed back on her bed with a smile as wide as the horizon. He might be coming…! She might get to see him at last! After so long…!

A week later, after exchanging dates and times and locations...it was set. He had his ticket, inbound a few days before her ceremony. And though it was still weeks away, her stomach filled with butterflies. What would it be like, finally seeing him in person? Sure, they would video call sometimes. She knew well what he looked like, as he did her. There wasn’t much mystery left between them, but...the distance no longer would be.

...would she...finally admit to how she felt?

...no, that felt like a cruel thing to do. He would be stuck here, after all, with her confession...if he rejected it, he couldn’t leave until his flight. It might ruin the rest of their meeting. And she couldn’t do that to him.

...and yet…

If he accepted it - if he felt the same - then wouldn’t there be no better time than being together at last? They could make the most of finally being able to see one another, touch one another…!

...but...and yet...if they…?

Even now, standing waiting for him to emerge from his gate, Hinata battles herself. What should she do? What should she say? Even her outfit took hours to decide: a white sundress and matching sandals, little bag over her shoulder. Not too much, and...hopefully not too little. Nice, but...not too nice.

...ugh, this is a nightmare…

But it’s too late to turn back now. People begin filing off the plane, and Hinata’s heart leaps to her throat. Short as she is, she struggles to see the moment he disembarks.

And then...there he is.

Bag over his shoulder, he looks around the airport curiously, and then starts scanning the crowd, a kind of anxiousness in his eyes.

Trying to push her way forward, Hinata calls, “...Sasuke?”

With a snap, he looks to her.

...it’s just like those cliché movies.

Suddenly trapped, unable to breathe, she stares at him. He stares back. Then they take a step...another...walk, jog, run! Arms find her waist, bringing her close with a laugh. Going so far as to squeeze her and lift her up, he earns a surprised eep before setting her down.

...this is just like she imagined…! A joyous moment of meeting, at last.

Parting, they look to each other with faces pinkened with happiness...and a bit of embarrassment.

“I...have waited so long to see you,” he admits, giving a flicker of a grin.

“Yeah...m-me too.” Her fingers start to fiddle at her front.

“It feels a bit...unreal, huh?”

“Yeah...it does.” Pause, then giggle. “I...I-I dunno what to say!”

“Neither do I. You’re...shorter than I thought you’d be.”

Her cheeks puff in a pout. “Well...you’re taller!”

Sasuke laughs. “Maybe I should pick you up again? Give you a better view?”

“N-no! I’m j-just fine here on the ground!” Her hands wave insistently.

“Well, then what would you have me do?”

“Um...we need to go get your luggage, right?”

“Yes...just one bag. I travel light.”

“Ah...o-okay.”

...another pause.

“Would you...show me the way?”

“Of...of course! Here, it’s -” As she gestures, something warm touches her hand.

It’s...it’s his hand. Enveloping her own as he waits to be led.

Pale eyes stare at it.

“...is this...not okay?”

She flounders. “Uh...n-no, that’s...that’s fine…”

“Good…” He gives her a soft smile. “...because I have wanted to do that for a very long time...Hinata.”

Pink creeps back into her cheeks...and then she gives a giddy smile in return.

“...yeah...me too.”

                                                           .oOo.

     I...really like this one xD Maybe not as well written as it could be, but I had a rather busy day, so...as usual, that means writing late, and I'm a lil tired lol      I love the concept of penpals becoming friends and falling in love x3 So of course I had to do that lil trope with these two, haha! Otherwise tho...not much to say, I guess. I'm...pretty tired, and tomorrow will also be busy.      So on that note, I'ma hop off - thanks for reading!