#I wonder if they’ll put it on switch or wait for the next console

[primordial0riginator]

I need to play more Hades <- girl who spent all of last night playing Hades

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

[bugmomwrites]

Animal Crossed Lovers (Tamaki Amajiki)

Alrighty so I haven't put any finished work on here in a hot minute, that’s my bad. ANYWHO my mom got me ACNH as an early birthday gift since my birthday (April 5th) just missed the supposed quarantine cutoff date for our area (7th). I may be be stuck inside while everything’s closed, but hey- at least the island of Escapism hardly rests 😉

(SW-3129-0651-5422)

Tamaki Amajiki x GN! Reader

Tamaki was never one to play video games, but he had to admit there was just something...soothing about Animal Crossing that melted much of his anxiety away. Nejire had initially preordered a copy for his birthday weeks ago, but her friend who worked at the local (s/n) (who he may or may not have been crushing on since their second year after they joined them at lunch one day) was able to pull a couple strings and get it on the fourth of March instead of the twentieth. Of course he had no idea, but he was so stunned when he opened it that it didn’t even occur to him that the game wasn’t even out yet until Mirio had reminded him. He didn’t question it though- his friend group was one wild card after another, so he guessed he shouldn’t have been too surprised.

He was thrilled, and just the fact that no one else had a copy yet made it feel all the more personal. Of course he knew in sixteen days it would be all anybody ever talked about, but for the time being it felt like the game, the little world he had created in the past few days with its gentle music and soft, wholesome theme, was his and his alone. The fact that it was a gift from his friends made it all the more special, and even if he had a hectic day at school he could turn on the console and water pretend flowers on a pretend island, and for those few moments, all was right with the world.

He was pulling weeds to sell to Timmy for bells when his screen pinged in the corner that made his blood run cold.

(Gamertag) is online

Playing: Animal Crossing New Horizons

That’s right, you had friended him on the switch after realizing all his friends had one, and now with a fourth person they could have a full team online. Mirio has suggested everyone exchange codes, and you had taken the liberty of showing him how to punch in the code and adding yourself while he sat there trying not to melt into his seat at how excited you got, or how nice you smelled up close. You had passed it back with a beaming grin, telling him you couldn’t wait to do co-ops. At the time he could only nod, speechless as the rest of his friends made idle chatter until the bell rung, and everyone scurried back to class.

He quickly realized he had left the terminal gate open when he was poking around the various features, learning about what each thing does in game. He tried sprinting to the airport to close the gates, and he made it to the dock before a big green banner flashed across his screen reading “you have a visitor!”

Out of the threshold popped your avatar, and for a moment he was grateful he could hide behind a screen. He wanted to be mad, upset even, that you had wandered onto his digital sanctuary, but couldn’t find it in himself because, then again, it was you.

The Nookphone in the top left corner buzzed to life, and he opened up the chat log with shaky hands. In a cutesy, pastel speech bubble was your message, and he wondered how something that was once so therapeutic to him could do a 180 and suddenly become the source of his anxiety.

G/T: Hello! Sorry to pop in unannounced, I hope you don’t mind^^

Tamaki felt his mouth go dry, reading it in your voice and after steadying his breathing, he painstakingly typed out a response.

Suneater: its ok.

G/T: It’s kinda hard to find others to play with when the game isn’t even released yet >~<

Suneater: Oh?

He should have known it was too good to be true. You were only visiting him because no one else was on yet. He sighed, trying to keep the dread from crawling back in before another note popped up.

G/T: The game doesn’t actually release until the first day of spring, but working at (s/n) has its perks. I saw the trailers and the hype and figured it would be the perfect game for you.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him upon reading that. So he wasn’t the last choice- rather, the game simply wasn’t out to the general public yet. But if that was the case, how did you also get a copy?

Suneater: thats nice of you

G/T: And then a little birdy told me you had a birthday coming up, so since I have a couple connections after I got my copy, I asked my manager if they’d set aside one more.

Suneater: you

Suneater: you were the one who helped get it early?

Boy did he feel stupid now. You worked at (s/n), (as you had literally just mentioned in your previous notes), Nejire got him a game that wasn’t out yet, you guys were all mutual friends- how did he not put two and two together?!

G/T: Yes lol that would be me^ you liking it so far? You picked a good name for the island too.

“Sunshine Island” may have seemed a little cliche to most people, but Tamaki had so many things in his life linked to it that by this point, it was just routine. Mirio was his sun in dark times. His nickname Suneater, even the sunflowers he had received from his parents for his birthday each year was tradition. He knew not everyone would see it the way he did, but to him, it was perfect, and he was definitely chuffed when he thought it up and punched it in for the first time.

To hear you loved it too sent a swell of pride through him, and he wondered if it was possible to love someone as much as he did just then.

Suneater: you really think so?

G/T: Absolutely

And with that, the two of you explored Sunshine Island together, he showed you his tent, the shops, and the little orchard of peaches he had arranged. You were impressed by the amount of detail and care that went into arranging everything, and asked if he’d be willing to help you with your island sometime, to which he obliged. 

You guys did some more walking, and he told you to feel free to shake theres and take a couple fruits with you. His native fruit was peaches, and in exchange you dropped a couple of your own fruits from your island on the ground for him to pick up so he could have more variety in his world.

G/T: There’s six different kinds, and each island is assigned one main type of fruit. the more you visit with friends, the more biodiversity you’ll get. Pretty cool right? I have some spare (F/N), and if you take and plant those, they'll grow and multiply!

His avatar hesitantly wandered over to the offering after yours stepped back a little to let him take them. Your generousity was surely appreciated, and even though you couldn't see it, he smiled softly before typing out a new message.

Suneater: Thank you. I’ll go plant those.

The game might have been synced up with real time, even getting darker after a certain hour- yet despite it being outside, neither one of you noticed just how much time had passed between all the bug catching, fishing, exploring and talking. When your screen loaded up a clock that read 2:54 AM, you blinked a few times, as if that would change the reading. But lo and behold, it was going for 3am on a school night, and you knew you both had to get to bed.

G/T: Ah beans its 3am, I gotta get to bed soon. Thanks for letting me hang out on your island, and sorry for keeping you awake >~<

Suneater: don't be sorry, i had a lot of fun. can we play together again sometime?

G/T: Of course! I can't wait to meet up again. Maybe we can visit my island next time? I should have those peaches planted by then, and you can teach me your ways, oh master landscaper.

Tamaki chuckled out loud at that, blushing, as he suddenly had a brilliant idea.

Suneater: That would be nice. Wait here a second.

He scurried off to a patch of flowers he had blooming, and with a shovel, picked up a few in your favorite color before making his way back over and dropping them in front of you.

Suneater: You can start by planting a few of these around your island. It is your favorite color, right?

Now it was your turn to blush as you picked up the (f/c) flowers he dropped in front of you, smiling like a goon at his burst of confidence. How he remembered your favorite color is beyond you, but hey- you weren’t complaining.

G/T: They’re perfect, thank you Tama!

Suneater: You're welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow?

G/N: You know it! Goodnight <3

And on that note you walked down to the airport, his avatar following close behind as if to see you off. It was a simple gesture, but appreciated nonetheless. Both of you powered down your switches for the night before plugging them in, and promptly hopping into your respective beds with racing hearts. It was the perfect end to your digital “date” and you couldn’t wait to log in again.

Thank you for reading! Feedback and reblogs are appreciated. Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. The inbox is always open for future ideas, so don’t be afraid to drop in. 

Also gonna tag @katsukisprincess​ cause I mean...Animal Crossing and wholesome Tamaki fluff. ‘Nuff said.

[itsbeautifulhologram]

Fatherhood [South Park] Prologue

Kenny isn't a complicated man, no way, he was raised in poverty and expected a lot less as a kid as he did as an adult. He expected himself to finally move from the shitty home into another shitty place away from his house with Karen in tow. He wouldn't dare leave his sister in the same shitty house he had been raised in, and end up at some dirty part time job to make ends meet and so he could help put Karen through college or a home of her own, whatever floats her boat. Then he'll meet some super hot chick, slide into her dms and somehow get her pregnant then marry her out of guilt she since was stuck with him and their kid. Just like his mom and dad, but he wouldn't abuse her or anything else, he wanted to be a better father than his was. 

He wanted to be the best and never let his kids go through everything he went through as a child. Kenny expected his life to be like that until he met [M/N] at least.

The guy turn his head around and made his chest hurt, he actually died. [M/N] actually gave him a heart attack, which was funny and the next day, he asked [M/N] for his name and number. The rest was history actually. They started dating at a young age, they never really fought either which was different from most relationships in South Park, they always had a date every Sunday and Thursday night since [M/N] and Kenny's schedules were terribly busy with their own lives and families. Usually it was at [M/N]'s home too, both relaxing and they watched movies. As they grow older though, they had more dates and worked their own jobs. [M/N] saving up for college and maybe somewhere nice to stay in while Kenny saved up for himself and Karen's own needs. Though, slowly, their relationship began to slowly break. Like the chain that kept them together was slowly rotting and cracking.

They knew it, everyone else did too but mind their own business. Kenny's eyes began to wonder and [M/N] began throwing himself into his studies and work when he noticed Kenny's eyes did wonder to the female population like he did in their younger years. Oh how it hurt him, how it made [M/N] question himself too. Was he right for Kenny? Was he neglecting him badly that Kenny wanted more compony with someone that had a perky set of breast? Was he a horrible boyfriend? [M/N] must be if he was holding back the only man he loved. He was horrible.

That's why he had to let him go, If you love something then you have to let him go right?

Right.

So, that's exactly what he did with a heavy heart and soft sobs, " I'm sorry," He had began to Kenny's horror and as horrible as it sounded, to his relief. " I don't think I can do this anymore, keeping you with me when you want something else. I've seen your eyes wonder to girls and I knew you don't have to gull or balls to cheat on me. So instead of making you suffer any longer, I'm breaking up with you." Before Kenny could console his Ex-boyfriend, [M/N] walked away from him and down the street. Kenny's eyes watching his figure get smaller and smaller until he was out of sight.

Kenny began chasing girls after that, he was a free man now. He was free from being the best boyfriend, free from his expectations, free. Maybe he wasn't someone who liked being in a relationship that lasted long as theirs's? Of course, he glanced at the occasional man but his focus was on women with the largest tits and the softest [H/C].

[M/N] never seemed to taken interest in the same sex, as far as Kenny knew, Craig was pushing it at times but nothing serious between [M/N] and him or any other guy, not like Kenny was paying attention either. It just bothered him but Kenny pushed it away.

He wasn't jealous, no way. He should be busy with the current girl around him, they kissed, screwed and everything else but Goldie Anderson never was one for labels. The short black-haired girl had two dull brown eyes and usually had cheap and dented glasses. She had a medium set of breast and a slightly curvy waist, but god, her lips were thick and usually wore ruby red lipstick. Her outfits were dirty or were tight on her which she used it to her advantage when she seduced Kenny to her bed.

Goldie Anderson's situation was like Kenny's, poor family and drunks but the only difference was that Goldie was an only child and often seduced others who had money. How she ended up with Kenny was a strange situation but no one said anything. They were almost adults, they'll handle their messes.

Except this was a mess they couldn't exactly clean up, or Kenny couldn't. Nine months ago, Goldie had slept with Kenny, no condom and claimed she was on the pill which was good enough for Kenny at the moment. After that, Goldie avoided Kenny like the plague which confused the other but shrugs it off. More girls were waiting for him anyway.

[M/N] gotten his student job thanks to the school, which would look great on his college application, he would help at the local daycare on the weekdays after school. Only Monday through Thursday, paid twelve dollars and hour. He was good. As long as he works through until he graduates, PC Principal would send a letter of reccomdation at a college in Boulder or Aspen for his teaching degree. He was busy with focusing on school to know of Kenny's sexcapades. He would start officially in October. He had his own expectations on himself, work hard enough so he could teach kids, don't get caught up with drama then marry some guy and have his own kids.

Two different men and their expectations through the roof. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kenny groans as he woke up to his parents fighting in their bedroom, they were fighting since he could hear his dad say over and over, " Fuckin' bitch, FUCK YOU!" Like a broken record, then the sound of glass breaking against the wall. The blonde sighs as he combes his fingers through his blonde hair and slowly get off the bed. It was early as far as he knew, the sun was poking out from under blanket that he covered the window with. He shuffled his boxers back up and covered himself the bottom half of himself with them, then a pair of sweat pants then his orange Parka. He pulled the hoodie up before walking out the door.

He was sure there was some bagels for him and Karen for breakfast, not to mention Tweek as given them a few days old coffee to warm up. Nice breakfast for the first day of the month, the blonde entered the kitchen and ignored the squeaks of mice and rats who breaks away from their groups and hid away. Kenny pulled the bag of bagels out the fridge and open up, his teal eyes peering in to see the first bagel was turning green and fluffy, he throws it away and takes the other one that had yet to turn gross. At least Karen would be able to eat today, he placed the bread into the toaster and switched it on. Kenny takes what's left of their cream cheese and placed it on the counter. 

The fighting hasn't stop but he didn't move to stop it, they always fought and always threw things and today Kenny didn't want to be apart of it. Kenny placed the coffee he had left in the cup and began warming it up in the dirty microwave, he watched it spin around slowly and the machine humming as it warmed his drink. Probably the only thing he would be eating at all. Not that he minded, his sister before himself. Kevin finally booked it when he turned seventeen with Stan's sister, Shelly. Last he heard, she was large and about to pop out Kenny's first niece or nephew. 

As long as Kevin doesn't turn out like their father, than Kenny had no problem of them having a kid together in some other none fuckish place like South Park. Plus not another mouth to feed. I hope they're okay though, knowing Kevin isn't one for reasonability, Kenny thought as he placed the bagel on the plastic plate. He used the butter knife and spread the cream cheese over the bagel as he heard footsteps come towards the kitchen. He turns to see Karen, she was rubbing sleep from her eyes and smiled drowsly at her brother. For now, karen is my only responsibility. " Morning Ken." Karen greeted with a yawn, " How are you?" " I'm good princess, you?" Kenny asked as Karen smiled but both winced when another bottle hit the wall and then there was knocking on the door. " Get the door?" Karen smiled and walked towards the door just as the microwave beeps, the blonde turns around and opens the tiny door and picks up his lukewarm coffee cup. He inhales it for a moment before drinking it. He heard the door open and closed within minutes, " You okay-woah-baby." Kenny said all in once when karen came back into the kitchen with a baby in her arms. It didn't move but he could see it breathing. " Just because we live in a shitty neighborhood, doesn't mean were a dumping ground for bastards." Kenny said, annoyance growing. " It's from Goldie's mom." Karen answered softly, looking down at the sleeping baby. " It's a boy..." " Okay, so Goldie got pregnant from some other dude and her mom wants it gone-" " Ken, he looks like you from the pictures mom has." Karen stops her brother from ranting away at Goldie being a bad mother. " She said Goldie went away and she didn't want him." Kenny stared at the bundle in Karen's arms for a moment and blinked, he could see blonde hair poking out from under the blanket a bit. He had a son, a baby boy. Another McCormick, he had made another McCormick. Kenny made a baby with a girl who didn't want anything to do with him other than sex. Oh how screwed he was, the grip on the mug falters and it falls to the floor which startled the baby and began crying loudly in a distressed Karen's arms. He wails and raised his chubby arms in the air as he sobbed for comfort. That's how it all began.

[repentantsky]

Top Games I’m Looking Forward To in 2021 (Part 1)

2020 was a horrible year, but the thing that kept me and many other sane were the slue of great games that came out, or in my case, a combination of that and buying older games for my handheld consoles. However 2021, has a lot more games that are my style, so I’m much more excited for it than I was for most of this year. Allow me to have my longest list yet in celebration of this fact, and do so in parts as there is a lot to talk about, as I look at 8 upcoming games in 2021, that I can’t wait to play. To make things fair, and hopefully to keep this list as accurate as possible, I will only be counting games that have a release date as of my writing this. Also, my lists aren’t usually ranked by how much I want to play a game, as much as they are how much I want to talk about a game, so my most anticipated game for next year could easily be the first entry. With those explanations out of the way, let’s talk about games. 

8. The Medium. 

The Medium is a horror game made in a similar vain to Silent Hill’s Midwich Elementary, in that there are two realities existing at once, and you are constantly switching in between them. The idea is always one that has fascinated me as a horror fan, but the Medium really looks to amping up the scares by using the visuals that we can currently attain to increase the fear factor, instead of making everything pretty to try and sell people on that end of it. The gross, disgusting, and frightful looking world we are presented with in The Medium is one I cannot wait to explore, even if I don’t have an Xbox Series X to play it on. Regardless of anything, it looks like it might be my personal favorite horror game of 2021 when it comes out, barring no delay, on January 28th. 

7. Ys IX: Monstrum Nox. 

The Ys series is honestly one of the more underrated long running series in JRPG history. If you need proof of that, just play Ys Origin, Memories of Celceta, or Ys VIII for confirmation. These games are incredible. YS IX looks to be taking the series in a darker direction than most, if not all the previous entries in the series, and not only is that super compelling, but it seeing YS in a darker light, might actually go a long way in helping it become the franchise it deserves to be in the eyes of fans everywhere. The combat looking more refined than ever, on top of the best visuals the franchise has seen to this point only add to the excitement, and the characters, from what we’ve seen so far, also look like they’ll stand out in a series full of fantastic characters throughout. YS IX, probably won’t be my JRPG of the Year, but darn if it won’t be up in the top 5.

6. Little Nightmares 2.    

Did I make it clear that I love horror yet? I hope so because this might not even be the last horror game on this list. The original Little Nightmares was honestly my favorite horror experience when it released, because no other game really did a better job of making you feel isolated, alone and weak, which is the prefect setting for horror. While Little Nightmares 2 won’t be doing the isolation aspect as much as the first because of a second playable character, with the danger ramped up enough, which the demo seems to show that it will be, it should be more than capable of bringing out the fear that made the first so memorable. There’s almost nothing scarier than being a small child in an adult world that seems to want you dead, and Little Nightmares 2 has all the vibes set up for freaking everyone out. I doubt many in the horror genre will be able to do it as well as this game will. 

5. Persona 5 Strikers. 

Finally we are out of horror and darker games and all that, for a bit, as Persona 5 Strikers is easily looking to be my favorite warriors games of 2021. Not only do I love the concept of Warriors titles, but the Persona universe is one that fits that genre well by default, having a near endless slue of famous enemies to turn into either fodder for the thousands of kills we’ll get, or bosses that will gave fans a sense of nostalgia, espeically if they are fans of Shin Megami Tensei and older games in the franchise. I’ll admit, I’m a little bummed it’s not Persona X Shin Megami Tensei, where characters from both the original franchise and the spinoff can get together to cause mayhem, but it’s the next best thing, and I am all here for it. The story promises to be incredible, and the gameplay fantastic, with that Atlus special touch added in. There’s no reason not be excited about what they put out there. 

4. NieR Replicant ver. 1.22474487139...

Gawd, that name though. Crazy name aside, NieR on the PS3 was a brilliant game, that was sadly underrated due to the time of it’s release, a lack of marketing, and people generally not knowing who Taro Yoko was at the time. His history speaks for itself though, with the brilliant yet weird Drankengard series, and NieR itself really being a shining example of what he can do. To see Replicant, a game that never made it to the West, be remade with combat done in the style of NieR Automata, is such an exciting prospect that I can hardly contain my hype. Not only does the title look better than the original by miles, which was visually fascinating to begin with, but the wonderful and odd music, and everything that can really be expected of Taro Yoko is there in full swing. We are looking at an upcoming masterpiece I am certain.

3. Super Mario 3D World + Bowsers Fury

I’m not always the biggest fan of Mario mainline platformers, but seeing as I really found myself enjoying his most recent Switch and 3DS exploits, I cannot help being excited for the chance to play a Mario game I haven’t had the chance to previously, with some extra content to boot. Car Mario looks like a lot of fun to play, and the chance to play with up to four people is something I can’t pass the chance to play. I know very little of the game, other than it’s massive popularity and high praise upon release, and sometimes, it’s nice to go into a game as blind as possible, even if the story isn’t likely going to be anything to write home about. Whatever the title brings, it will be enjoyable to say the least, and possibly the most solid of platformers for 2021. 

2. Bravely Default II.

I won’t lie, I have a complicated history with Bravely Default as a series. While I did manage to power my way through the first game, it took some time to make it happen, and honestly, despite it’s great characters and even better story, the gameplay left me wanting. However, Bravely Default: End Layer was and still is one of my favorite JRPG’s on the 3DS, so here’s hoping enough of the good that came from that game, finds it’s way to Bravely Default II. Regardless of if it does or not, I always willing to give a format a second go, and I’ve already found myself completely in love with the playable characters, just from the two demos alone, so all signs point to a fantastic game that I cannot to wait to experience. 

1. Poison Control.

The best part of doing a list like this, is throwing something in there that no one expects, and may not have even heard of. Without a doubt, the most anime shit style game on my list, Poison Control is a game that might be more about the story, than the gameplay. The basis is you are stuck in another world, with two characters bound to one soul, and you’re goal is to remove the poison from people’s minds, by invading their brains and literally clearing it out. You might monsters and run over the poison in their heads, to hopefully make them better people. Despite the dark sounds setting, and even the slightly darker visuals, this is probably one of the most light hearted games on my list. I have to say though, there’s always something to these sorts of games despite their obvious lack in certain quality, that I enjoy. The game doesn’t actually have a Western release date either, so I’m cheating a bit, but with a catchphrase like “Purge Poison, Raise Hell” how can you not be at least a little bit excited for what’s to come of this game. 

And that’s my list. Did I miss anything you’re super excited for? Let me know in the notes below, and be ready, because part 1 of this list will be all about games without a release date, and that’s where the hype can really begin.  

[theysaywhatasadsight]

The Trouble With Wanting (Chapter One)

A/n: Hooo so I barely made it but here it is! The first chapter for @ciarawritesmarvel and I’s entry for ficwars™2019 hosted by the lovely @chillingbucky and @revengingbarnes (love u two). The prompt for thsi chapter was ‘I clearly didn’t think this through’ but because it wasn’t within inverted commas I used it as...well you’ll see. Also this is kinda short but its more of a setting up chapter than anything. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

"Not to quote pop culture but this place is about to blow up," Nat grunted as she ducked under a table, crouching next to Clint who was bickering with Tony on the comms.

"How about we get out? It's just collateral at this point."

"Hold up, did you hear that?" She looked towards the other end of the restaurant they were currently battling in.

"Lost the aids a few minutes ago." Clint glared at her and went back to shooting.

Natasha rolled her eyes and anxiously whispered on the comms "Anyone have eyes on the ladies washroom? Pretty sure there's someone there."

"Maybe it's one of them?" Tony's voice crackled in her ear.

"I don't see ammo."

"Widow, get that briefcase and disable whatever's inside, I'll get the civilians if there are any. These IED's, I'm pretty sure we can't stop those from blowing this place to tatters." Steve muttered and then groaned, he did hate unwilling interactions with idiots who were somehow stuck in the one place they shouldn't be.

An Hour Ago

The clock ticked as the hours slipped by. 7 became 7:15, then 7:30, then 8. 8 became 8:30 and then Y/N's phone chimed.

"Hey, sorry, couldn't make it. Something with work came up."

Shooting off a quick text to let the idiot know it was okay, she rose, sniffled once and smiled at the server who had pitifully nodded at her throughout the disaster that was the first date, or rather what wasn't.

Stood up, how nice.

She managed to hold back the tears until she found an empty stall and locked the door.

Can't believe I wasted my fucking Saturday. I could've shopped for groceries. Maybe get some markers for the kids. But nooo fucking Jack Edwards has work so fucking urgent it's not even worth mentioning to your date.

The angry mental rant soon turned physical as she paced about as much she could in the tiny stall.

It wasn't until she spent a good fifteen minutes in there that she heard the screams.

~

"Wait, wait. Where's this attack again?"

"Some high end place in the middle of Manhattan. It's alien tech from when good ol' Reindeer Games tried to take over the world." Tony sighed, closing the briefing they had been sent over.

'And it's being done in public because…?" Nat enquired, not looking up from where she was cleaning beneath her fingernails with a knife. While in foam rollers and wearing a peel off mask.

"Have I mentioned how ridiculously cute you look, widow?" Sam grinned as Nat fixed him with a death glare and Clint ran a finger over his throat over Natasha's head. "They just want security and the chance to take hostages if anything goes south, I suppose."

"Kids, bickering later, please. Sarah just now decided to fall asleep." Steve yawned as he walked into the briefing room, fixing his cowl.

"Daddy dearest, duty calls." Tony grinned. He was the only one who didn't have a relax-and-enjoy-the-Saturday plan. His involved blowing something up, the bigger the better.

"Save the alliterations until later; for the love of God." Clint groaned, catching the last snatches of conversation as he put his hearing aids in.

Now

“Deep breaths. Okay. Calm down. It’s going to be okay. I’ll just...I’ll call 911. They’ll send someone over.” She tried to switch her phone on in vain.

“Anddd you had to die. Perfect. I’m going to die, talking to myself in a washroom stall, with my last message my date informing he stood me up. Mom’s going to be so embarrassed.”

She held her head in her hands, sighing. No one had come looking for her yet, the thought filling her with both relief and fear.

~

“Hello?” No one was there, only a faucet running. One of the idiots noticed him standing there and immediately shot, the bullets ringing on the vibranium shield. He turned and threw it at him, knocking him out. He sighed and turned again.

“Look, we’re evacuating. You have 5 minutes before this place goes to shit.”

Silence. He rolled his eyes and went to close the door.

“Whatever, I’m leaving. Widow, clearly you were mistaken-”

“Hold up.” A voice answered, from a stall far on the left. “Is it okay out there?”

He stepped in, locking the door from the inside.

“Well, not really. We should’ve brought more, they have alien tech and enough ammo for an army.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” the person on the other end was clearly panicking, judging by the accelerated breathing.

“Well, I’m panicking a bit too. And no one has any time to sit and listen.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was a counselor at a school once.”

“Why would kids need a counselor?”

“You’d be surprised. Most parents are. I moved jobs just to get away from it.” He could hear them calming down gradually. “Uh, is everyone dead? I heard screaming but I was having a breakdown of my own so…”

“Yeah, probably, I’m sorry.”

“That’s sad. Oh god, I could’ve been one of them.” They were breathing deeply now.

He clearly hadn’t thought this through. “Er, I don’t exactly know? I don’t do hostage rescue…”

“What the hell are you doing here then?”

“Well I was the closest, My skills are better for taking down the other side…” he was interrupted by the door groaning as it was shot open. “Fuck.”

~

Y/N could feel her heart climbing back into her throat, where it had been perched for the better part of an hour. Climbing back onto the lid, she held her breath, praying her rescuer would survive.

The gunfire stopped within a few minutes, leaving behind some screaming and groaning.

“Oh come on, don’t make that face. You deserve that, you’re evil.”

She leaned against the door. “You’re alive?”

“Well...I guess?”

“This is the weirdest goddamn day of my life.”

“Not that weird, at least you don’t have aliens dropping by. Yet.”

“Your pessimistic ass won’t last a day around a toddler, you know that?”

“I actually have a toddler of my own, who currently must be wondering where her father is…”

“Oh, poor dear.”

They were both quiet for a while.

“So are you coming out or-I mean I do have to get back soon…”

“And if I die?”

“Ma’am I promise I’ll do everything I can to prevent that.”

“If I die, you’re responsible.”

“You’re not dying.”

She cracked open the stall door to find her rescuer with his back to her, clad in navy battle gear.

“I’m sorry you look really…” he turned around. “CAPTAIN AMERICA!?!?”

“Just Steve, thank you.”

“Right, er, Steve. Should we get out?” she turned towards the door and took in various bodies on the floor, bleeding.

“Right. Right. Um, blood. There’s blood on the floor. And I’m alive. Okay.” She pitched forward and he rushed to catch her.

“Rogers? You there?” Widow’s voice came in through the comms.

‘Yep, got them.”

~

Y/N woke in a hospital, the bright fluorescents hurting her eyes.

“Good, you’re up. They’ll want a statement from you, but I won’t let them in till you’re okay.” A cheery nurse leaned over her.

“Was I shot? Why am I here?”

“Hypoglycemia, very low blood pressure, and shock. They just kept you for observation.”

“I can’t afford this. And I have a job.”

“It’s been paid for, love. And you’ll be good to go in a day. Your personal effects are with us, don’t worry.”

Sighing, Y/N leaned back. “I’m never going on a date again.”

[mgrgfan]

Past of the future, future of the past...

Chapter 3: A hard day.

"Well, those three months were quite something," Anthony said, when the Space Shuttle finally stopped on the runway. "I mean, actual first contact situation, even if with humans!" "Falkis, shut it for now," Sarah mumbled. "We'll have to explain this all over again to our superiors, when we return to the Mossdeep." "Okay, whatever, miss Born-with-camera-in-hands." Several seconds after it, the hatch in the side of the vehicle opened, the astronauts were safely removed from their seats with Psychic of the service Alakazam and put into the wheelchairs on the ground. "Don't worry, guys'n'girls, it's just a precaution," sounded voice of professor Takao Cozmo, making Sarah and Samuel slightly cringe. Of course, this man was a genius, especially for someone, who just turned 20, but at times, he was just impossible to be around. "We know," all four astronauts, along with the rest of Shuttle's crew, replied in unison. Of course, they wondered, why this mission only took astronauts down and didn't bring fresh crew... ---- "Can you secure this thing now?" "Wait… yeah, I'm securing it." Captain Vasilyev hovered near the console, monitoring feeds from the helmet cameras of cosmonauts, along with their talks, and wondered, why exactly did it have to be yesterday for the station's backup power source, the nuclear fission reactor, to get stricken with some kind of space debris and get a total coolant leak. Of course, since the reactor wasn't activated for the entire duration of its staying in the station, there wasn't any imminent radiation hazard, but they still had to return it back to Zemlino Space Center for the inspection and repairs. Right now, Lozhkin, Migulya and Panasenko were removing the reactor and loading it into the opened payload bay of the Lenticular Return Vehicle. There was some sort of a strange irony - today, the cosmonauts from both space stations were returning back to Earth. "Comrade captain, the reactor was safely removed and is now secured in the payload bay of the LRV" sounded the proud voice of Migulya in the comm. "I think we're done here. Let us all pack up and go back home!" "As a commander of this station, I give this proposal my complete approval!" announced Vasilyev to everyone. "Since we are all packed up already, I propose to fulfill it as soon as possible. To EVA team - go to station's primary airlock on the "Drum" module. I know, the LRV's backup airlock seems very nice, but we need to leave the MMUs and suits here for the next crew." "Aye-aye, comrade captain!" reported the EVA team, firing up their MMUs and flying back to the first module of this great station. Since the airlock wasn't exactly spacious, they'll have to enter one by one - mostly because the MMUs were pretty huge. Of course, was it not for the advanced materials from Imperial Science Facility 9, which allowed creation of the normobaric EVA suits - the entire crew would've had to stay on the station for a few more hours. Thankfully, when the EVA team finally got back into station and re-dressed, everyone else was ready. "So, comrades, I want to congratulate you with the successful end of the 10th expedition to the Space Lab 2, which also served as a cornerstone for our relationship with… "Nationals", I think. So, anyway, we all served very well. Glory and long live to the Empire!" "Glory and long live to the Empire!" "Since the rest of our crew returned to Earth in pods already - thank the Emperor for launching that propellant tanker! - we can now return home at leisure pace. All hands - board the LRV and prepare for return." "Aye-aye, comrade captain!" ---- "Goodbye, Space Lab 2. We will miss you and try to return soon. Just wait for us," the pilot said, looking in the return vehicle’s main window. The space station, jewel in crown of the Empire’s space program, was left by its crew and switched to full-auto mode, waiting for the next bunch of people to take the residence in it for performing even more science operations and making even more discoveries. "Proceeding as normal, four hours until touchdown." "Acknowledged," replied the captain, recollecting the events of past three months - the craziest months in his live so far. Contacts with cosmonauts from other regions of the world after the event, which was later named "The Shift"; nearly inviting them onboard the Space Lab 2 one time and only not doing this because of medic's advice; having to constantly help in writing reports to linguists back on the ground; making sure, that the space station works properly, especially before the propellant tanker gave them some more freedom in maneuvering… those months were most definitely crazy. "Comrade captain, I have a small question - why aren't the replacement crew already there?" asked him Grigoriy, who served as a biologist and medic aboard the station. "I don't know. Zemlino told me, that there were some hiccups with their launch vehicle, and their LRV is an experimental one, with fuel cells instead of nuclear reactor... they've decided not to rush it. Station can wait, after all, but losing cosmonauts is not an option. They were launched a few hours ago and will dock to the station tomorrow." ---- "Hello there, darling," said man in plain clothes, entering the room. If not for the reaction of the Empress, not many would've thought, that this man was, in fact, the Emperor Ivan the Second himself. "How's your bad?" "Like ****," replied Empress Svetlana in tired voice. "Trying to make negotiations through these crude translators, when we are no longer the most advanced country on the planet…" "We still kinda are, in some branches." "In some, mind it. So, trying to negotiate with what's, apparently, called "Pokemon Nation", process all the data, prevent instabilities within the Empire and so on and so on… It's so tiring. And you?" "Not much better," said Ivan, starting to undress. "Since our main advantages are more advanced arcane science, nuclear physics and space technology…" "You mean, you want to make orbital weapon platform," finished his wife. "I don't approve this idea. We aren't on exactly good terms with the Nation now and making them even worse isn't going to take us anywhere." "Not quite, my dear, not quite. Do you remember the Project Tin Can?" "Yes, and what?" "Do you remember, what is it?" "I don't. Honestly, Vanya, with so much work, I can't keep track of all of your projects." "This project, my dear, is a nuclear pulse spaceship, whose wet mass measures 4000 tons. It uses small nuclear explosion devices, constructed to create a directed wave of superhot plasma upon detonation, for propulsion." "And?" "We've finished assembling the propulsion bus of this ship today. Pusher plate, shock absorbers, plasma deflection cone, gas gun for drive bombs, magazines and so on - this was quite a challenge! Now, we only need to construct the payload part…" "Wait, actual nuclear explosion launch?! Dear, let me check your temperature…" "No no no, don't be afraid! This thing will be boosted by the NUCLEUS superheavy chemical rocket and will only engage the bomb drive at high enough altitude!" "Still, using demolition devices for propulsion… I think it's pretty crazy." "Crazy or not, it should work. By the way, some time ago, Knyazev showed me a project of turning the "Red Explorer"..." "The what?" "The nuclear pulse ship - we've named it "Red Explorer", since it's designed to explore the Fourth Planet. So, he showed me project of turning the "Red Explorer" into warship, with retro-missiles for planetary bombardment, electromagnetic rail mass accelerators, point defence and so on…" "Retro-missiles?" "Okay, let me explain this for you. Retro-missile is a type of hypothetical space-to-surface weapon, which is launched against the orbital vector and uses its engines to decelerate to slower-than-orbital velocity and fall into gravity well of targeted planet/moon, later correcting direction of fall with smaller maneuvering engines to ensure, that it'll hit the intended target area." "And what would be the true purpose of this monster? Considering, that all-out war is the latest thing we want?" "I don't know. Knyazev is an already a strange one, always seeking to turn any project into the weapon…" ---- "So, why exactly the next expedition wasn't launched?" Donnager asked in not-quite-slightly angry voice. "I'm not supposed to tell it to you… but the reason for it is Rayquaza," half-whispered Cozmo "Rayquaza? Isn't it the legend of Draconids?" "I wish it was, but, as it recently turned out, it's a completely real Sky High Pokemon, and a very territorial one at that!" "So…" "Yes, the space stations will get destroyed any moment now. The road to space is now closed by the ruler of skies." "..." Samuel clenched his fists in anger. He hoped, that the astronauts from the other station have also returned home. ---- "... Nose gear touchdown!" the pilot of the LRV happily commented. "Deploying the drag chute…" The pretty big machine, measuring 12 meters in diameter and looking somewhat like the flying saucer, deployed small fabric cupola behind itself, along with moving all control surfaces into positions for aerobraking, in order to lower the current velocity and prevent rolling off the runway. Roughly twenty-five seconds later, the chute got detached and the machine soon ground to halt. "Welcome back!" sounded from comm. "Guys - hang in there for a few more…" "Zemlino, you're not clear, repeat, you're not clear!" said the pilot, trying to find the reason for the sudden cut-out in the words of flight control officer. "... Guys, you don't even know, how lucky you were," finally replied the officer in flat and shaky voice. "Right now, the Space Lab 2 was destroyed by the Pokemon of Legendary power, known by hoennians as "Rayquaza", along with LRV-03. Second space station was also destroyed. The 11th expedition to the Space Lab 2… is no more." "..." all cosmonauts froze. If not for this lucky early return, mostly forced by the need to return the reactor to Earth - they all would've been dead now. And their comrades weren't so lucky... ---- "Dear, what's with you?" asked her husband the Empress. The Emperor, indeed, did not look good - he was pale in face, shaking and still staring at the screen of his portable computer. "... Nothing too bad. Wait a second," said he, getting the portable telephone out of his case and calling someone. "Knyazev? I know you knew this, you bastard! Does not matter right now. Consult the medics, I guess, Psychics with ability to predict the future aren't abundant. Anyway, your altered version of the Project Tin Can has just got my total and complete approval. Consult the ISF 5 and 9 for required equipment. Yes. Does not matter, but make sure, that it'll be able to withstand hits with Hyper Beam without getting holes - at least not at the first hit." Empress thought, that, whatever has happened, if it was enough to instantly convince her husband to turn the exploration ship, about which he dreamed for a very long time (at least as long as he was together with her), into the machine of war - it must be really bad… and yes, she saw the notification on her own computer - the notification, that the Rayquaza has just destroyed the LRV with the new expedition, measuring 12 cosmonauts total, and the Space Lab 2 along with the space station of the Pokemon Nation. Thankfully, all nuclear-powered satellites executed their contingency protocols flawlessly and moved onto graveyard orbits before this Pokemon would be able to destroy them and spill the nuclear fuel from their reactors. "... Yes. No. Of course. Yes. Goodbye," Emperor ended his phone call and turned back to his wife. "Sorry, dear…" "I know already. You know… I approve of it too. It'll help me rally the people of Soris together and lower the level of internal instabilities, as well as allow our people up here to protect themselves from attacks of this monster. So, you say, that this ship needs lots of nuclear materials?" "Yes. At first, they were needed just for the drive bombs and reactor, but now, they'll also be needed for the weapons - shells for railguns, missiles and so on. We can remake some of our already-existing demolition devices into weapons, but that won't be enough." "I understand. I think I can tailor this campaign as a sort of posthumous reverence for our cosmonauts. It'll really help us in keeping the Empire stable." "Do it, if you want to do so. But we need to get this son-of-a-Red Spirit flying, lest the road to space be closed forever for us all." "... Wait, nearly forgot - what about the political effect? Because, you know, getting something like this in orbit would be even worse, than actual weapon platforms!" "I don't know. I'm sure you can deal with this, my dear." Emperor smiled gently after saying those words. Empress hated it, because she could never resist this smile. "Besides, once everything settles down, we can use this ship as it was originally intended - for exploring the Fourth Planet! The amounts of drive bombs and supplies should be sufficient for this and replacing the landers won't be a problem at all…" Notes: ISF - Imperial Science Facility. Worldbuilding mini-note #1: Red Spirit - mystical being in the sorisian mythology, not directly linked to any of Legendaries. It's a somewhat malevolent entity, which, however, patrons those, who fight to avenge their comrades. Some sorisian warriors pray to the Red Spirit before battle to help them in the quest for revenge and, if they fall - make sure that their comrades will avenge their deaths. Worldbuilding mini-note #2: Emperor Ivan Yevgeniyevich Bazarenko the Second is a very shitty ruler (hence why his wife rules the Soris Empire - he gave his throne to her as soon as he was able to), but is an awesome constructor of pretty much anything that flies. Because of that, he spends most of his time in the Imperial Aeronautics Institute, returning to the palace only on special occasions. Worldbuilding mini-note #3: The Project Tin Can is based on the real Project Orion. Worldbuilding mini-note #4: The Rayquaza's aggression and territorial tendencies are based on its depiction in the anime. The Shift may also have something to do with it. Author's note: those three months will, eventually, get expanded upon in the small series of drabbles. Also, the next chapter will have much more action.

[spockuhurashipper]

Imagine: Your First Kiss with Hank Voight (One-Shot)

It had been six months since you’d left Sergeant Voight’s Intelligence Unit for a new job in D.C. It had been a really hard decision, and though he didn’t like the idea of you leaving his team, he encouraged you to make the best move for you. You knew that working for Homeland Security would be different but you felt it was your duty to protect your country.

You figured after six months you’d be settling in - that you’d be happy.

You weren’t.

You missed your friends in the unit. Your family.

Though you kept in contact with everyone on the team, work had kept you busy. You hadn’t really had a chance to talk to anyone other than a few texts back and forth. That’s why you answered immediately when you saw Antonio Dawson’s name pop up on your caller ID.

“Well, well,” you answered, “if it isn’t the best detective in Chicago. Well, now that I’m gone.”

Antonio laughed on the other end of the line, but you could tell it wasn’t whole-hearted.

“I don’t think that title holds anymore, partner.” Antonio replied. You could hear the sadness in his voice.

“What happened?” you ask, your tone becoming serious.

“Y/N, I really messed up. Big time. I can’t really talk about it over the phone, I don’t know why I called. I just needed to hear a friendly voice. I miss you.”

“Say no more. I’ll be on the next flight to Chicago.”

Antonio tries to object but you talk over him and say, “I’ll text you when my flight lands. See you soon, partner.”

When you hang up you hurriedly grab your laptop. You book a flight in less than five minutes and head into your bedroom to start packing.

Your flight lands at 1:00 AM. You yawn as you walk through the terminal, grabbing your phone and texting Antonio. He texts back. “Sorry, can’t be there myself but one of the team will be there shortly.”

You find a seat and plop into it, closing your eyes for a second.

A few minutes later, you hear a gravelly voice say, “They’ll let just about anyone in my city.”

Opening your eyes, you can’t help but smile when you see Hank Voight standing in front of you, hands in his pockets, teasing smile on his face.

“This is my city too, you know. I’ve got the bullet wound to prove it.”

Standing, you’re unsure if you should shake his hand or hug him. He solves it for you by pulling you into a hug.

“I remember.” He says. Hank was the one that pulled you out of the way of the cross fire and put pressure on the wound until help arrived. Talking you through it the whole time. Assuring you everything was going to be okay.

Pulling back, you grab your carry-on and throw it over your shoulder, following Hank outside to his SUV.

“So, Antonio sounded beat down on the phone. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

Hank’s face hardened. “Yeah. You hungry? We can go to the diner on 10th?”

You smiled. He remembered that you had a weakness for late night pancakes.

“Perfect.”

At the diner, you sit across from Hank sipping a much needed cup of coffee.

Hank sits back after you both place your orders and looks at you, smiling.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. The Unit just hasn’t been the same since you left.”

You smile back at him. You had always been attracted to Hank Voight. But you were a professional dedicated to the job. That’s why you always made yourself reign in the flirting and maintain a professional distance.

You’d been on some dates in D.C. but every guy you dated was missing something. You could never put your finger on it until now. Looking at Hank sitting across from you, you realize that he knows more about you than almost anyone. You feel comfortable with him. Safe. And there weren’t many men that could make you feel that way.

“I really miss you guys. I’ll admit, I’ve found myself wondering if I made the wrong decision.”

Hank frowns at you.

“And apparently Antonio couldn’t make it six months without me.”

Hank’s frown deepens and he leans in close.

“Yeah, about that.” He runs his hand over his face in frustration. A move you remember well.

Hank goes on to tell you about Antonio’s drug problem, Ava being kidnapped, Antonio pushing the perp through the warehouse wall and Ruzek going against his orders to take the blame for the murder.

You sit back, unable to process it all but mostly feeling terrible that you had no idea all of this was going on.

“Why did Adam do that?” You ask, mostly wondering out loud to yourself. But then you realize and you look up at Hank, locking eyes with him. “Olinsky. He’s taking a page out of Al’s book.”

Hank nods and flinches slightly, the mention of his friend still raw.

Without thinking, you slide your hand across the table and cover Hank’s hand with yours. Your own eyes fill with tears thinking about Al. He’d taken you under his wing when you’d joined the Unit. You missed him everyday.

Hank turns his hand over under yours and you holds hands for a moment. It makes you blush but you ignore it, focused on sharing a moment of mutual consolation.

Hank starts to say something but the waitress comes with the food and you pull your hand back.

You look at each other in stolen glances while she sits down the syrup, refills your coffees and asks if you need anything else.

Once she’s gone, Hank says. “Look, let’s eat. Catch up. We’ll touch base with Antonio tomorrow and together, we’ll get him in a better place. I know seeing you will lift his spirits.”

You nod. Still concerned for your friend but understanding that there’s nothing you can do at that moment. It’s something you have to learn on the job - compartmentalization.

You take a bite of the pancakes and make a delighted face. Hank laughs at you.

“So, tell me about your new job, Y/N.”

Between bites of pancakes, you tell Hank all about your first six months at your new job. As you talk, it becomes apparent to both of you how much Hank’s influence has rubbed off on you. It dawns on you that maybe that’s why you’re not settling in all that well - because you’re not playing by everyone else’s rules. The thought makes you smile.

When you’re finished with your meals, Hank pays the bill, though you object, and you follow him back out to the SUV.

There is fresh snow on the ground and the cold has you pulling your coat tighter around yourself. You stop walking and take in a deep breath.

“Ah, I’ve missed you Chicago.”

Hank drives you to your hotel where you find out they have no record of your reservation and are booked solid.

You walk back out to the SUV where Hank was waiting until he got a thumbs up from you and you climb back into the passenger seat.

You tell Hank about the mix up and he puts the car in drive.

“You’ll stay with me. It’s late.”

You know that voice. It’s his “that’s an order” voice. You’re programmed to not refute anything said with that voice (though you have a time or two, much to his annoyance).

The thought of staying with your Sergeant is strange, but exciting. You remind yourself that he’s not your sergeant anymore. He’s your friend.

You’re at his house in about ten minutes and you follow him inside. You’ve been there before but never to spend the night.

He shows you to the guest room, which used to be Lindsay’s room. You laugh when you see a Backstreet Boys poster on the wall.

“No!” You say, laughing as you point to the poster.

Hank follows your gaze and shakes his head.

“It was a phase. Don’t tell anybody or she’ll…”

“Kill me? I know.” You laugh and snap a picture with your phone to send to Erin later. You may not work together anymore but you will always bust each other’s balls. That was the Intelligence way.

Hank brings you clean sheets and shows you where the guest bathroom is.

“Just let me know if you need anything.”

He lingers in the doorway and you feel butterflies in your stomach. He’s never looked at you this way before.

“It’s good to have you back, Y/N.”

“It’s good to be back.”

You lay in bed for an hour. You can’t fall asleep. Between worrying about Antonio and running over the suppressed feelings that seeing Hank has churned up, you’re wide awake.

Quietly, you slip out of the bedroom and head down to the kitchen. Feeling your way for the light switch, you finally find it and flip it. You gasp in surprise when you see Hank sitting at the table, drinking scotch.

“Can’t sleep either?” He asks, and you try to calm your racing heart beat.

“Not a wink.”

Walking further into the kitchen, you nod to his glass. “Where can I get one of those?”

He points to the cabinet and you grab a glass before joining him at the table.

He pours you a drink from the bottle sitting on the table.

Every once in a while, when you worked for him, if you were the last team member in the bullpen, he’d invite you into his office for a drink. It was a time when you were just friends, not Sergeant and Detective.

“This brings back memories.” You tell him, taking a small sip, followed by a bigger one. You enjoy the burn as the amber liquid slides down your throat.

He nods and pours you some more, topping his off at the same time.

As you both sit in silence, you take in the sight of him. His face is covered in stubble. He’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt that looks incredibly soft. Your eyes land on his bicep where it’s stretching the fabric and you allow yourself to imagine, just for a second, what it would feel like to be held in those arms.

When your eyes make their way back to his face, he’s watching you.

You down your drink and let out a sigh.

“Confession?”

“Shoot.” Hank tells you.

“I’m miserable in D.C.”

You know he will always shoot it to you straight so you look up, ready for whatever he’s going to say.

Hank sees the look if despair on your face, even though you’re trying to cover it up with nonchalance and a fake smile.

Instead of saying anything, he slides off the high top stool and walks around to you. Your heart rate increases.

“Then come back home.” He tells you, simply. The sound of his voice so familiar.

You can smell him now that’s he’s standing so close. That scent you remember so well. Like sandalwood, leather and soap.

You close your eyes and breath it in. He smells like home.

Before you realize what you’re doing, you lean forward and press your lips to his, tentatively.

You pull back, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, it’s the whiskey, I…”

Hank takes your hand and pulls, guiding you off the stool. Now you’re standing in front of him.

You can see the specks of gold in his hazel eyes. He’s not mad. There’s some other look in his eyes.

You raise your slightly trembling hands to his chest. You can feel his muscles under the soft fabric, the warmth radiating from him.

He covers your hands with his own and you meet his eyes.

“Come home.” He tells you again, before leaning in and kissing you hungrily.

You whimper at the pleasure of finally being kissed by Hank Voight. Finally feeling his hands on your body.

He groans when you slide your hands under his t-shirt and the sound turns you on even more. Knowing you caused it gives you a thrill. As you kiss, images of your time together in the unit flash in your mind. You remember the way he would always check on you after a rough case. You remember how he never wanted you to go undercover, even though he knew you were the best at it. The way his eyes always found yours after a chase or take down, making sure you were okay.

Before, you convinced yourself it was just your attraction to him making you think things that weren’t true.

Now, with his hands on your body and his lips on yours, you know it was the truth.

“Hank,” you whisper, pleading. He leans back and looks at you. You’re both breathing heavily.

You don’t need to say anything. Years of working together has resulted in being able to communicate without words. Silently, he takes your hand and starts to lead you to the bedroom.

“Wait.” You say and he stops and turns. You smile and grab the bottle of whiskey off the table.

He lets out a chuckle and takes your hand again.

As you make love, you’re struck by how whole you feel. After months of loneliness, you finally feel that you’re where you belong. You’re finally home.

the end

[jadekitty777]

Across the Distance

Unofficial Taiqrowweek: Day 7 Bonus entry!

As promised, today is a double hitter. I wasn’t sure how to end this barrage of Taiqrow goodness - but some of my most well-liked stories tend to be my domestic fluff stories... so, you better believe we got some of that in here.

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,400

Ao3 Link: Across the Distance

Summary: Upon entering Atlas, Qrow immediately jumps on the chance to use all the kingdom’s fancy technology by to call Taiyang. After all, there was something really important he needed to tell him.

~

Qrow stuffed his hands in his pockets, following James down the hallway, eyeing yet another troop of heavily armed soldiers as they walked by. Atlas really was on high alert these days. He looked towards the general, seeing how tense he seemed to be as he walked tall among his subordinates. Normally, he’d poke fun at him about it; irritating Jimmy was one of his favorite past times after all.

But it was an important day and he didn’t want to risk souring the other’s generosity just because he felt a little out of place.

“Here it is.” James announced, punching in the access code into the keypad. There was a ding and the door slid open.

As they stepped inside, Qrow peered around the room. The space was small and square, with desks pushed against the walls that were laden with ancient looking computer equipment. There were also several rectangular boxes with blinking lights that he couldn’t even begin to guess at their function. “And you sure this’ll work?”

“I’ve been using it myself to keep in contact. As long as he’s there, you’ll get through.”  He looked at him, frowning sternly, “But I can only afford you a few minutes. And you can’t-”

He placed a hand on the general’s shoulder before he could prattle on about all his ‘stipulations’ again. Most of it went over his head anyways, especially the stuff on how improper decoding made for easier line tapping. All he really got was this was a risk and whatever he said had to be brief and non-incriminating. “I got it Jimmy. I promise I’ll play by your rules – just this once.” He grinned cheekily.

He studied him skeptically, finally sighing. “Alright.”

Qrow watched as James took a seat at the console, turning on the box-shaped monitor. The machine started to whir as it booted up, the screen turning from black to a deep blue. He pulled up a program on it that started running rapid lines of text. A few switches were flipped on another device next to it and he adjusted a little stand microphone, buzzing soon being heard. A few more keystrokes and a dialing started to emit from the speakers.

He lent against the desk beside the other, rather impressed. It really was ringing!

A click and then a voice spoke through: “General?”

“Hello Iseria. I apologize for calling so suddenly. I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

“Not at all! Is something wrong?” Though it’d been years, Qrow could still detect that singsong quality in his old boss’ voice. It was the only hint the world had to know the headmaster of Signal was actually a canary Faunus.

“Everything’s as fine as they can be. Actually, this is more of a,” James glanced towards him, “Social call.”

Taking that as his cue, Qrow cut in, “Hey Izzy!”

There was a long pause, then Iseria shrilled, “Qrow?! Is that you?”

“The one and only.” He took the seat as James vacated it, nodding in understanding when the other tapped at his wrist as if a watch were there counting down the minutes. “And as much as I would like to catch up, I don’t have a lot of time. I was, uh, hoping you could get Tai?”

“Oh.” She said, all too knowingly, “It’s that kind of social call.”

He flushed a bit. “No! I mean, sort of but – I just, wanted to check up on him and-”

Iseria’s laughter interrupted him. “Yes, I’ll call him in.”

There was a bit of rattling and some feedback from the intercom system, the headmaster’s voice echoing across campus. He’d timed it to make sure it was lunch time, so Tai didn’t have to worry about leaving his class. He only had to hope he hadn’t left school grounds for some reason. As they waited, Qrow chatted it up with his former employer, simple things like how classes were going or if there were any promising students this year. But, he wasn’t really paying all that much attention to what was being said, just let her drone on while he tapped his foot along the floor.

“So, we started to tell the students that they couldn’t – oh! Tai, there you are.”

He sat up attentively, a smile spreading the moment he heard Tai speak. “Oh uh, sorry. Should I-?”

“No, no! Come in. The call’s for you.” Iseria insisted, her voice growing faint and he could only guess she had stood up.

“Oh um, okay?” He sounded so confused, he had to wonder what the set up on their side looked like. There was a bit of shuffling as they traded spots, and then Tai’s voice was coming through crystal clear, “Hello?”

Qrow could have melted. “Hey sunshine.”

Tai sucked in a sharp breath. “Qrow?! How in the world-? Wait, are you in Atlas?”

“Yeah. I managed to get that stick out of Jimmy’s ass long enough that he actually considered doing me a favor.” He grinned when that one actually earned him a chuckle.  

From the other side of the room, James grunted, looking mildly insulted. “Five minutes Qrow.”

“Got it.” He replied, shifting the chair a little closer to the desk.  

“Only five, huh?” Tai echoed softly.

“Yeah, guess this thing uses up a lot of power. And,” He hesitantly added, “I probably won’t be able to call again.”

There was a resigned sigh. He could almost picture Tai’s sad smile. “Well then. We’d better not waste it. How are you doing? How are the girls doing?”

“Just fine.” He said, though it felt like a bit of a lie. There was so much he needed to tell him… but not here. Not like this. “Met up with the pipsqueak and her ragtag friends halfway through Mistral. You shoulda seen her. She’s really getting good maneuvering with her semblance now. And when she’s leading her team, she’s-” He trailed off, folding his hands over the desk, idly fiddling with one of his rings.

“Like a carbon copy of Summer?” Tai filled in. “Yeah. I saw that too, especially during the tournament.”

“It kinda freaks me out.” Qrow admitted.

He chuckled. “And Yang?”

“Found us after we got to Mistral. Actually, the ice princess and faunus gal did too. Oh!” He lent forward, smirking, “You were totally right about cat girl by the way. Yang’s so into her.”

Now Tai was full on laughing. “I told you! Dad’s intuition. They getting along well?”

“Yes, professor. They’re playing nice.” Qrow teased, before tacking on more seriously, “They got some issues still, but they’ll work it out.”

“Good. And… What about Raven? Did Yang find her too?”

He sighed. He was waiting for that one. “Ooooh yeah.”

“Didn’t go well?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Tai huffed, unable to hide his slight irritation. “How she holding up?”

“Eh, honestly? Better than expected.” In fact, had she not literally walked out of one of her portals, he may not have guessed Yang had ever even had a run in with his sister at all. “She’s got your strength, that’s for sure.”

“Mmm, I think she’s got something stronger than that.” He argued fondly. “And, you? You handling that okay?”

If he had more time, he may have tried to find a way out of answering that. He could still remember that evening, just a few days after Beacon’s fall when he admitted to Tai what he’d told Yang shortly after her disqualification – about where she could go looking if she really wanted to find Raven. The fight that resulted because Tai knew why he’d really done it. His partner had been so furious, he stopped talking to him for the next two days entirely – had Ruby not awakened when she had, who knew how long he could have kept it up.

“I just, I thought she’d… I dunno.” Qrow struggled, unsure how to put his feelings into words. All this time he’d tried to solve Raven like a lock that was missing the right key – if it wasn’t him, or Tai, or Summer then surely Yang had to be it. To find out it wasn’t was more a blow than he cared to admit. “I just wanted her to come back.”

“I know you did. And I’m sorry she didn’t.”

He knew Tai well enough to recognize when he was being completely sincere. His eyes flickered towards the blue screen, wishing he could see his face. He could really use one of his softhearted little smiles right about now. “You forgiving me that easy?”

“Oh no, I still want to kick your head in.” He said, chipper as ever. “But, I get it too. She was practically all you had for years; that’s not a bond easy to forget. I’m sorry if my anger made you feel like I was insulting that.”

Warmth beat in his breast. How did Tai always do that? Sometimes he wondered if he pre-wrote all the sappy lines he would say, because he always seemed to know just what he needed to hear at any given moment. Conversely, Qrow was never quite as eloquent in return – if he could find the words at all.

“H-Hey, shouldn’t I be the one apologizing here?” Qrow chortled nervously. “Which I am. Sorry. For – I’m just sorry, okay?”

“Okay.” He repeated, mostly amused at his awful attempt.

He cleared his throat, glancing towards James. The man rose two fingers. He nodded, exhaling slowly, “Hey, Tai? I’ve only got a bit left here so… there’s something I really need to tell you.”

“Uh-oh, that sounds ominous.”

“Hey now! It’s not bad!”

Tai hummed doubtfully. “I dunno, usually when you start off like that, it’s to tell me you broke something.”

“Well-!” Damn, he was right. “It’s not like that this time.”

“Alright then, what is it?”

He took another deep breath, smiled at the screen, and said, “Happy birthday.”

In his surprise, Tai stumbled over his words, “You-You remembered?”

“Of course.” Qrow reassured, “How could I ever forget about you?”

Even with his bandit days far behind him, he was still pretty awful at remembering precise calendar dates. So, for what it was worth, Tai didn’t immediately list off every example of him doing exactly that.

What he said instead was worlds better:

“I love you.”

The same feeling seemed to fill every inch of him until it was spilling off his lips, “I love you too. And I miss you like crazy.” That was when he realized he’d gotten so caught up, he hadn’t even asked how Tai was doing. “Are you holding up well?”

“It’s… really lonely without you guys at home. And since I can’t call and check in, I’m just worrying all the time.” He admitted, unable to keep the melancholy from his tone. “But, I can’t tell you how much this call helps. Just hearing your voice and knowing you and the girls are safe… heh, it’s the perfect birthday gift.”

Qrow placed his chin in his hand, unable to stop smiling. “Oh, it’s that easy? Then next August, I’ll plan a month-long trip to Vacuo with the girls’. We’ll send you postcards.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed at the way the other hissed that; sometimes he could really sound like the little dragon he was named for. His gaze flicked up as James walked over.  Five minutes had never seemed so short. “Looks like my time’s up. We’ll be home soon. I’m not too sure exactly when right now, but – soon.”

“I’ll be waiting.” He could hear the mirror of Tai’s own smile in his voice. “Be safe and watch after our girls.”

“Always do.” Qrow promised, leaning back. “See you; love you.”

“Love you too; and thank you, for everything.”

“Yeah. Bye Tai.” It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, giving Jimmy the nod to disconnect them.

“Bye.” Was the last thing he heard before the speakers were nothing but static. He stomped down on the loneliness that immediately crept into his heart, knowing it had to be ten times worse for his partner.

“I’m sorry it couldn’t be longer.” It was odd, hearing the normally stoic and firm general be so gentle.

Qrow shook his head, getting up from the chair. “Nah, you did plenty. I really appreciate it.”

He waited for James to shut down his equipment before following him out the door and back out of the high security facility. They mostly walked in silence, leaving himself with thoughts that swarmed him with all the things still left unsaid. All the troubles weighing him down and all the unearthed lies that had shaken his trust. He wished he could just go back to that room and be on that call the rest of forever, where it felt like those problems could be left behind.

And it was in that thought that he realized something in himself he’d never really perceived before: How he’d been on a path of self-redemption for so long, he had missed something important along the way.

It was hard to deny how good it felt to be a huntsman; to go out into the world and earn the praise of those he saved. To obtain that elite status he’d worked so hard for that made him both revered and feared. To be apart of something he once thought so large and important that even if he died doing his mission, he was paving a way for a better future.

Those things, those feelings, they were so large that they quickly overshadowed the simpler life with Tai he rarely slowed down long enough to enjoy. Waking up to the smell of coffee in the morning and eating toast with jam spread into sappy heart patterns. Picnics in the park or walks through the forest under a warm afternoon sun. An evening of late-night programs and movie marathons. Nights spent wrapped up in one another.

The more he debated it over in his head, the more he moved towards a conclusion that he’d never once considered in his entire life, never thought he ever could consider. But yet here he was, not only considering it, but determined to make it a reality.

After all, his own birthday was coming up soon too - and there was only one gift he could think of that he wanted. Now, he just needed to figure out how to tell Tai. Maybe the girls would have some ideas.

After all, retiring at forty-three was certainly something to celebrate.

- 

A/N: Prompt used was 66: “How could I ever forget about you?”

[antoncutedobin]

hypnotic.

requested? nope! but requests are open :)

summary! post-win sex!!!! pure ass smut. no plot. 

authors note! uh this is real dirty guys. just plain old smut. would rate nc-17 or honestly x. it’s . just smut. i hope u guys... enjoy? let me know jflgkjdfg idk if i’m bad at this or not oh my god ok read on. p.s. the gif will make sense once u reAD LDKFGJDFKG p.s again i’m so sorry for the drink the pink joke 

 You could tell Tyler was running on a post-win high. As the buzzer sounded, he looked you right in the eyes and licked his lips. You clenched your thighs together, already becoming excited about your favorite tradition. 

 Really, all sex with Tyler was amazing. You loved the tender and comforting sex after a loss, the silly drunk sex, and even the rough angry sex. Your favorite, however, was the marathon sex Tyler liked to indulge in when his endorphins are flowing from a game win. You couldn’t get enough of each other and Tyler aimed to make you climax as many times as he could.

 As soon as he got in the car beside you, his hands were pulling your face over for a steaming kiss. You gasped and his tongue slid inside your mouth, caressing every inch it could. You pulled away, both of you breathing harshly, and bit your lip. “I need to drive home…” 

 Tyler shook his head, unclasping your seatbelt and pulling you over the console to settle on his lap. His hands trailed along your cheek, drifting into your hair where he gathered it into one hand and pulled sharply to reveal your neck to him. He immediately began trailing soft kisses up and down the column, nibbling your skin before soothing it with a pass of his tongue. 

 Your hips began moving on top of his, feeling his erection through his suit pants. Letting out a moan, you couldn’t care less that you were in a parking garage. One of your hands dove into his hair and the other grasped the leather of the seat behind Tyler. 

 Never before had Tyler been so impatient with his lust, but something in him just couldn’t wait to have you. He pulled your jersey above your breasts and pushed the cups of your bra down just enough so that your nipples were exposed. He pinched one nipple, rolling it around between his thumb and forefinger while his mouth focused on the other breast. He trailed his tongue along the rosy bud, coating it with wetness and warmth before blowing a stream of air onto it. 

 You gasped at the dueling sensations, reaching down and urging his free hand to dip into the elastic of your leggings. 

  “Feeling needy, baby girl?” He mumbled softly against your breast, pulling back with a quirk of an eyebrow and a cocky smirk. 

 “Please…” You whimpered, your own hands diving to his waist to undo his pants. “We need to hurry… What if we get caught?” 

 “Then they’ll watch my gorgeous girlfriend cum while riding my cock,” he bit into the tender skin of your breast, causing you to yelp. 

 His dirty talk was turning you on even further and that was it. You couldn’t wait anymore. Lifting your body slightly, you urged him to do so as well so you could pull his pants down, at least far enough to release his erection. You grasped his length in your hand, the other grasping Tyler’s shoulder to support your balance. You swept your panties to the side and pumped his length a few times, running your thumb over the tip. Once he groaned, you began to lower yourself, allowing him to feel just how wet you were. You rubbed the tip of his cock on your clit, moaning greedily, before you began to slowly push him inside you. As soon as you were filled to the hilt, you attached your mouth to his, kissing him as you began to lift your hips. 

 Tyler was on fire, sweat pouring down his forehead as he grasped your hips, quickening your pace on him. His hand went to your clit, rubbing circles on it, breaking the kiss to pant breathlessly. “Are you going to cum for me, baby girl? Are you going to cum all over me? Mark me as yours?” He growled the naughty words into your ear before sucking on the spot right behind it, knowing it turned you to putty in his hands. 

 “Please… Harder, Tyler…” You moaned, riding him as hard and fast as you were able. You were so close, right there… “I’m going to cum, Ty…” 

 He laughed breathlessly, “cum for me, beautiful girl.” His thumb and forefinger pinched your clit and it set you off. You came loudly and wetly, fingers tangled in his hair, teeth biting into the leather seat. 

 Tyler knew he wouldn’t last with the way your walls were hugging him tightly, and he pulled your face back, “open your eyes,” he commanded. You did, and you saw the fierce determination in his eyes. “I want you to see me as I cum for you, I want you to know what you do to me.” His hands kept moving you up and down on his cock; jaw falling slack as his orgasm wracked his body. 

 You felt the warmth spread inside of you as you fell into a smaller orgasm, eyes locked with his as you both showed the most vulnerable parts of yourselves. 

 Coming down, you fell into Tyler’s chest, face pressed into his neck, breaths coming fast and hard. “Holy shit, Ty,” you laughed breathlessly. “That was so good.” His hands stroked your hair gently as his breaths slowed and evened out, turning to press a kiss to the side of your head. 

 “Fuck, you’re telling me.” 

 A few minutes of cuddling later, you raised your body, righting your clothes before flopping back into the drivers seat. Looking over at Tyler, you giggled at his heated look. He was fixing his pants when he practically growled. “Baby girl, you soaked my pants… Fuck… That’s so hot.” 

 Turning the ignition on, you blushed and began to drive. You knew you were heading for round two, but this time you were insistent it wouldn’t be in public. 

 As soon as you pulled into the driveway and stopped the car, he was out of his side and opening yours. Pulling you from the car, he urged you to jump up, his arms supporting your waist. He slammed you into the front door, hips keeping you trapped as he dug through his pocket for the keys to the door. Once he found them, he kicked it open and immediately kicked it shut. 

 The dogs ran to you both but Tyler wasn’t going to be diverted as he flipped around and pushed your back into the wall, kissing you passionately. Your hands were wrapped around his shoulders and you giggled as the dogs sniffed at the both of you. 

 Pulling back, you reached down and slapped his butt. “We need to let them outside, Ty.” 

 Tyler groaned as he put you down, grumbling unhappily before turning to greet the dogs. “Mommy and Daddy are going to have some alone time tonight guys, okay?” 

 He went to take care of them after giving you a stern look, “Bed. Now. I’ll be there in 5.” 

 You got ready for bed as you were alone, stripping down and putting a short lace nightgown on that was sure to drive Tyler wild. As you slipped under the covers, he opened the door and shut it behind him. He looked at you and groaned, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” His hand went to his tie, loosening it enough to slip over his head before removing his shirt with nimble hands. He sauntered closer to you as he unbuttoned his slacks, letting them fall to the floor without a second thought. 

 You bit your lip as he climbed into bed, easily maneuvering himself on top of you. He supported his weight with his arms before diving down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. “I’m going to drive you wild, baby.” A smirk appeared on your face as you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling his head back down to yours. 

 As you kissed each other like your lives depended on it, his hand trailed down your body, tracing all of your curves. He bit your bottom lip before pulling back; rolling your bodies so you were on top of him. His hands went to the top of your nightgown, fingers tracing the lace above your chest before gathering it in both of his hands. The next thing you heard was the harsh tear of the lace as he literally ripped it from your body. “Tyler!” You squealed as he flipped your positions once more, chuckling wickedly. 

  “It was hot… but it was in my way. I’ll buy you another.” He gave you a wink as he once again focused on your chest, lips suckling your breasts into stiff peaks before trailing downwards. His mouth placed open-mouthed kisses all along your stomach before he made his way to your pubic bone. Here he trailed his tongue along it, before switching plans altogether and grabbing your legs, pushing them up. His mouth trailed soft kisses along your knees to your upper thighs, teasing you mercilessly. His beard scratched against the sensitive skin and you groaned, grabbing at his hair to push him where you really wanted him. 

 “Please, Ty…” He took pity and nudged your clit with the tip of his nose before pressing a soft kiss to it. 

 “You’re soaked, baby,” his voice was alight with wonder. At this, another wave of moisture leaked from you and he couldn’t hold back anymore. His tongue trailed along the most sensitive part of your body, fluttering around your clit. He lapped at your wetness like he was parched. “Lucky for you, I drink the pink.”

 You groaned and had you not been so ensconced in pleasure, you might have smacked him for his pun. He seemed pretty pleased with himself as his tongue darted inside of you, fucking you steadily while his thumb worked your clit. You moaned, reaching the edge, and he pulled back, licking his lips. 

 “Not so fast, baby girl. I’m not finished with you yet.” He went back at it, this time his mouth circled your clit, applying the barest amount of suction as his fingers dug inside you. He searched upwards for the spot that would literally drive you wild and once he found it, he began thrusting his fingers against it. His mouth sucked on your clit, his tongue rubbing the bundle of nerves. 

 “Tyl…” You were cut off by a loud moan, your hips arching off the bed as you came on his fingers. He didn’t let you down easy, and when your orgasm was fading he went back at you until you came again, hips jerking against his mouth. “Ty… I can’t… Please….” You mumbled, eyes screwed shut, but he still didn’t move from your sensitive mound, he just doubled his efforts. You felt like if you came again you wouldn’t survive it. “Please…” You didn’t know if you were begging for him to stop or continue, but he just inserted another finger inside of you. 

 He moaned when you came for the third time, sending vibrations through your clit and with that you shattered into another orgasm. Your hips were gyrating all over his face, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. 

 Finally, he pulled back, “you’re so sensitive, aren’t you?” he cooed softly, his fingers trailing feather-light over your clit, smirking as you jumped. “I could make you cum again so easily…” 

 Before he could prove this to you, you used all of your strength to pull him up your body, entangling your lips in a rough kiss as you flipped the positions. “Now I’m gonna drive you wild…” 

 You gave him the same treatment, kissing down his body, before reaching his erect member. You fisted your hand around the shaft, pumping up and down as you kissed the tip. Looking directly into his eyes, your tongue darted out to caress the head of his cock. He let out a groan and his head fell back to the pillow as you took him into your mouth. Focusing on your breathing, you took him to the back of your throat, swallowing around him with only a modicum of difficulty. 

 “Fuck!” He groaned as his hand fisted in your hair. As you pleasured him, he began thrusting his hips up gently at first, before setting a rhythm to fuck your mouth. A litany of curse words fell from his lips as you drove him to the edge but before he could orgasm, he pulled you up, rolling so you were under him, and thrusting into you harshly. You both moaned together as he pushed into you with a fast and hard pace, his mouth on yours. 

 “Fuck, baby girl… Cum with me.” He begged, his thumb working your clit and you couldn’t help but obey, clenching around him and screaming out his name. He thrust two more times into you before groaning out his release, which seemed to be endless despite cumming an hour earlier. He collapsed onto your body and you wrapped your arms around his sweaty form. 

 You both took several minutes to bask in the post-coital glow, before he lifted his head, pushing the hair from your face. He rolled you both on your sides, hugging you close to him and kissing your forehead. “I love you. Now, get some rest, beautiful. We’re gonna go for round three soon.” 

 This man was going to kill you… and you didn’t mind at all.

[werewolves-are-real]

Tentative first chapter of a modern-Temeraire AU, which is, naturally, Napoleon/Laurence

Present - 2005

French aircraft, like French warfare, has clearly made remarkable improvements in the brief reign of Emperor Bonaparte. Clouds slip under the plane's wings as the Dassault Falcon 60X ascends into the troposphere and levels out without a shiver.

Normally Laurence does not doubt that the dubious honor of escorting the French Emperor to these long-awaited peace talks would have fallen to a more senior officer, but he doesn't question his placement here today. One easy but prestigious milkrun before the Generals will have to hint – or outright tell him – that he won't ever fly in warzones again. Won't fly in any active actions. He will not regret the actions that have caused his new disrepute – the same actions that saved Temeraire's life, along with many others – but if he will be stripped of all use he may as well retire.

Laurence is only serving as co-pilot – an honor and social politeness of some sort that he does not fully understand – but the French pilot has been very curt with him. Not that this is unexpected; France has become very insular in recent years.

Laurence is pulled from his thoughts as the plane jerks and creaks alarmingly. He frowns; it's the first noticeable sound the thing has made all night after more than 1200 miles of flight from Moscow, where the Emperor has just finished another set of talks. All the gauges read normal, but the plane shudders and groans.

He glances at the pilot. “Is this normal for the model, Sir?” he asks. But the officer does not acknowledge him, and his eyes are hidden behind black glasses.

In a complete breach of protocol the cockpit door slides open. It takes Laurence a moment to comprehend the irritated French scold: “What are you doing up here?”

Laurence glances up and tries to recall his briefing. “Nothing at all, Minister Fouche,” he tells the foreign Minister of Intelligence.

“Then damn well fly the plane!”

Laurence curbs his reply as the craft trembles. “I believe something is wrong,” he says instead, and the man shifts at once from furious to alarmed.

Again Laurence glances at the pilot. “...Sir?” he prompts, and when there is no reply he wonders if the man has somehow fallen asleep. He reaches out and taps the pilot's shoulder.

The French pilot falls over.

Fouche swears, yanking the pilot from the seat and tearing off his glasses. Open, dead eyes stare up at them. “What did you do?” the minister hisses.

“Nothing, Sir - !”

The plane shivers again. Fouche glances rapidly between Laurence and the controls, then comes to a decision. “Well, fly this plane, then!” He drags the pilot away to make room; this is unfortunately impossible to hide, and from the passenger area a riot of muffled questions break through.

Laurence ignores them and switches seats. “Yes, Sir,” he acknowledges grimly.

Fouche hovers ominously and with increasing impatience as Laurence runs through the standard diagnostic checks. “Call Paris,” Fouche snaps finally. “My security team - “ and when he rattles off a frequency Laurence has to admit,

“All communications seem to be down.”

Fouche vanishes into the back of the plane. Laurence checks the board once more, grimly, and then finding no choice angles down the plane's nose.

The rattling begins in earnest, easily accompanying the sickening dip of an artless descent. The door opens again. “What now?” someone demands.

“We are landing.”

“We are in the middle of the North Sea, Captain Laurence!”

“We are equipped for a water landing, Sir, and I do not trust this trip to fly to England – unless you have a better proposal. I would also advise - “ Laurence finally glances at the other speaker and stiffens.

Napoleon Bonaparte glares back impatiently. He is not as short as the papers say, Laurence thinks distantly. “Well?” Bonaparte snaps.

“...I would advise,” Laurence says, “That Your Majesty use parachutes to evacuate the plane; if there has been subterfuge at all it is not unlikely the plane has been rigged to explode, especially as this would be the most convenient time since leaving Russia. If I am correct we may have little or no warning.”

“Parachutes. And I suppose there are enough for all my staff? No?” Bonaparte sees the answer on Laurence's face. “I will not be made a coward by some terrorist. You think you can land this plane?”

“I shall certainly try, Sir.”

“Do it; and we, meanwhile, will search for answers elsewhere.”

If asked, Laurence would say that the use of cell-phones on a plane – especially one as advanced as the Dassault Falcon 60X - is not likely to do much harm; warnings against phone-use are mostly a precautionary measure these days, and primarily used to limit radio interference anyway, which Laurence for whatever reason cannot access. Still, under the circumstances it is exasperating as it is understandable to slide open the door, glance back, and hear the entire French convoy shouting into their phones.

Fouche seems to be insulting his subordinates; a man Laurence might recognize as the Emperor's brother-in-law us speaks wincingly in a pidgin French and Italian, apologetic and consoling, while Napoleon's head of household, Duroc, speaks rapidly and lowly into two different devices.

The Emperor himself is the picture of grim efficiency, splaying out half a dozen folders and holding a monitor close to his mouth as the plane rattles to pieces around them. “No, no, what did we do to Madame du Maurier? I – well, that is true. But she forgave us, and anyway she does not have the heart for killing. Of course it was a damn French assassin, do not waste my time, that is why we brought one of our own planes! To avoid assassins! - No – No, shut up if you have no good ideas. Limit your search to people in Paris; it does not help us if you question some culprit half the world away in a month when we are dead – Yes, what?”

Laurence clears his throat. “I beg your pardon; you should all sit down and secure yourselves. We are about to land.”

The next few minutes are likely fraught with tension for Laurence's passengers, but he can spare them no thoughts. The plane seizes in protest of the changing atmosphere as they descend through a cloud-bank and come into view of the glittering sea.

The Royal Air Force makes stringent preparations for every contingency – her officers, too, are expected to be well-versed in all intricacies of flight. This being said, Laurence has never personally overseen a water-landing before, mostly because they are typically avoided at every cost.

The problem is that planes are, first and foremost, designed to land one way; if an aquatic landing even occurs something has already gone very, very wrong. The Dassault Falcon 60X, like most passenger aircraft, has a series of small wheels that can jut from the base of the plane's body when landing begins. The plane doesn't put its full force on these at once; for a few minutes it will touch down and essentially fly parallel to the ground, slowly skipping over the earth and letting the wheels absorb speed and traction.

Water does not absorb because it pulls. On water, the plane does not skip or help the plane gradually pull down. There is only one chance to skate the plane across the water, perfectly at angle, so it doesn't crash and topple – at least not until everyone has had a chance to evacuate. In normal conditions this arrangement shouldn't be horribly difficult; in ideal conditions, it shouldn't be required.

Laurence methodically closes the air-vents and all other openings to the plane, hoping to keep it buoyant. He tilts the plan at a slight angle, so the nose will remain high, and keeps the wings carefully level.

Blotches of foam and roiling blue water pound over the viewscreen as they slam into the sea, jerking, rising; the plane skids like a ten-ton pebble before plunging down and bobbing, for one long heart-beat, above the water.

Laurence holds his breath.

____________________________

1989

“What do the poor sods think they'll accomplish,” is what John wants to know. He gestures at the television with a grimace, shaking his head. On-screen the bottom text reads, Rioters barricade house of the French minister!

“They'll be arrested by tomorrow,” dismisses Augustine. “Political protest means nothing these days; peaceful tactics are useless, and violence like this - “Augustine gestures with disgust, “Only causes trouble. And then people criticize that you should try a nice boycott, instead...”

Laurence must admit that this sounds correct. But he says, “It is certainly a statement.”

“I can make statements too,” Granby says. “All kinds of statements. I prefer the kind that don't get people arrested or beaten up by jumpy cops.”

A loud wail comes from the other room; Augustine excuses himself after sharing a brief, despairing glance with John. “Iskierka has to stop crying eventually,” John says, half to himself. “She's just a baby. She will stop crying eventually.”

Laurence smiles faintly. “I have no doubt,” he lies. Glancing one more at the bloody scene on-screen, he says, “I am afraid it is late; give my best to Augustine.”

By the time Laurence leaves the house no one in France has been arrested; the live broadcast just shows continuous rioting, continuous tales of tragedy. The next morning dawns too early. He wakens and starts to pack, fully intending to head out to the bus station, ride in to base, and ready himself for briefing and deployment. The Royal Air Force has been deployed in Bosnia and his number is up.

But the bus won't be arriving for half an hour; he's already packed, so Laurence circles his small sitting room for awhile, plucking his satchel, then flicks on the television while he waits.

He stares for a moment at the revealed screen, and then sits down.

BBC news continues to broadcast in Paris. Row after row of dismembered corpses run across the screen.

A close-up. Louis Bourbon, the caption reads under one bloody head. Late Minister of France.

_____________________________

Present

If someone has tampered with the plane there's a new danger in every action Laurence performs – he's already instructed the convoy to touch nothing, and for once he appreciates the value in having politicians with military experience. A few of the aides look a bit wild-eyed, but everyone does precisely as he says. Even the Emperor.

(Laurence reminds himself that very, very few people have been executed since Napoleon's reign began. It's not particularly reassuring.)

The Emperor's brother-in-law is head of the Armee de l'Air; he comes forward and watches Laurence suspiciously for a few minutes before seeming satisfied. At last the risk must be taken. Laurence powers down the craft entirely. Suddenly the engine's ominous stuttering whirs to a halt; the only sounds which remain are the slow, empty crash of waves and the echoing ocean as they bob over a barren sea.

______________________________

1989

“And now the new Directory of the Republic of France will read the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen - “

“They're turning into communists,” mutters Riley with disgust.

Laurence isn't sure. Some of the phrasing and rhetoric he has heard is a little disturbing (the French politicians over the radio keep calling each other 'citizen' and 'citizenyet' in a move eerily reminiscent of Stalinist Russia), but most of the Declaration sounds reasonable.

Of course, this Revolution started with a massacre; that isn't exactly a point in favor of the new French 'Directory'.

“I am afraid we are not in the best circumstances to judge,” Laurence says, and this his navy friend must concede.

The radio broadcast has monopolized attention throughout the compound, of course. There have already been mutters about a war in France, a war that would be much closer to home if the UK decided to intervene. Riley, Laurence and a few other naval and Air-Force officers have gathered outside the commissary to listen.

The reading of the Declaration is interspersed with cheers and shouts. Evidently the broadcast comes live from Paris. The reading does not last long, but after a pause, the broadcaster announces, “Eight people in hoods are now being led into the square, under guard – they're wheeling out a guillotine - “

Everyone waits, frozen.

“ - Oh. They're being put in the guillotines.” The broadcaster sounds a bit blank; in the background cheers rise, rise, blurring into static. “Their hoods are off – they - “

The broadcaster is drowned out by an explosion of shouting and screams.

And then her voice fades in, saying distantly, “Oh no. Oh no.”

______________________________

Present

“Completely helpless,” a man now identified as King Murat says to Laurence. Clinging to the sinking plane, and shivering in the water with everyone else, he does not look very regal in his borrowed life-jacket. “I do not like it, no; lost at sea, in this day and age! Good France will weep for our mysterious fates - “

“This is no fucking mystery,” Bonaparte says flatly. He throws his drenched phone at Murat, and it falls uselessly into the sea. “Fouche tells me a ship is coming from France; you will forgive me, Captain Laurence, if I do not care to journey the rest of the way by plane.”

_______________________________

1990-1998

France seems to exist in its own sphere outside time; no one inside appears bothered that the U.N. and NATO have both been called to investigate the conditions of post-Revolutionary France. As talks linger it surprises everyone when Italy unilaterally declares war.

It's an even greater surprise when France emerges victorious.

“Napoleon Bonaparte,” says Admiral Roland when the squadron sits down to talk about it, what it means. “Papers have been calling him the Little Gunner of Toulon, because apparently he shot down some of their own Frenchies during the Revolution. Ha! Now he's a symbol of France, and he's Corsican-born to boot.”

The little gunner – as though those guns weren't fully lethal, as though the empty bodies of dead civilians which lined up Paris' tiled streets don't still find their way across the covers of newspapers. Caricatures of the Corsican general depict him screaming 'Liberte!' while hulking troops shoot at rag-clothed women and children. The pictures don't do justice to the vividness of pictures and tapes smuggled across the channel, videos carefully posted in hidden corners of the emerging internet by defiant French loyalists. But despite this evidence it is not until the war of Italy that Bonaparte's name first makes international headlines.

When the war begins Bonaparte is not even a senior general, but somehow it's his name, again and again, that makes the news. And it's his voice the people hear when Italy cedes to France, in his name that peace is called; Bonaparte is a name that the common Frenchman knows, and loves.

And the Directory is stumbling.

______________________________

Present - 2005

Bonaparte's men put Laurence under watch as soon as they're aboard the Fraternite, which he can well understand. What shocks him is that the ship still proceeds to England.

“Sir,” he says when the Emperor visits him in his small berth; he has, at least, been spared the indignity of a cell, which is promising “Do you still intend to continue with the peace-talks?”

“Until I know if an Englishman tried to kill me? Yes. You will forgive this treatment, Captain, but precautions are necessary.”

Bonaparte does not sound apologetic at all.

“Of course,” Laurence agrees. “But if I may – ought I not report these events to my commanders?”

“No. We would prefer to arrive and take events as they occur.”

“England will already know that something has happened to the plane, your Majesty.”

“Yes – but of the whole world, only those on this ship know everything. For the moment.”

Well, everyone does say that Bonaparte likes to attack by surprise.

______________________________

1999

France's finances deteriorate; crime rises; trade and insularity hurt the economy while widespread hunger, nearly as severe as the poverty that struck under the old Ministerial regime, begins to take hold. “At least we have freedom,” say French citizens, desperately, when bold foreign reporters dare to sneak into the country for interviews. But the world expects another change, another tipping point; what is freedom with an empty belly?

Napoleon Bonaparte decides to address the Council of 500.

How curious, news stations proclaim – its only a vague note of interest, made slightly more interesting because Napoleon's brother, Lucien Bonaparte, is president of France's new legislative body. But half of Europe sits up when Bonaparte is ejected from the council - as General Murat's troops storm the building, eject the democratically-selected legislators, and leave behind a bare committee who dissolve the reigning Directory under Lucien's direction.

Every television station in France shows one clip on repeat – a man inside the House brandishing a dagger through the air, hand jolting toward Napoleon's heart amidst a yelling mob of politicians. The shot is blown up from every angle.

Outside France, they show the now-defunct legislators being run down by mobs on the streets of Paris. The mobs are frenzied in defense of the new Consul. “Good god,” says an English news anchor, taken so aback that his professionalism falters. “Will they kill anyone for that madman – why do they love him so much?”

_____________________________

Present - 2005

“Well,” sighs Admiral Roland. “There is no saving you now – I cannot imagine a better scapegoat, nor a more willing one. What was that report, Laurence? Possibly due to negligence in checking equipment - “

“It is a possibility that must be considered,” Laurence says.

“It is entirely inaccurate. The French made the plane, the French checked the equipment - you were just accompanying them over as some ridiculous diplomatic courtesy and still you manage to take the blame. And despite rumors, my power is not unlimited. I can't save you when you're so damnably determined to hang yourself.”

“I would like no such thing. But we both know,” Laurence says, “That my career in the Royal Air Force is over.”

Roland scowls. “Not by any fault of your own,” she says at last. It's the first time she has openly supported his decision; Laurence appreciates, also, that she will not lie to him with false denials. “But you do not have to make it so easy to blame you, Laurence. You do not deserve this.”

“I do,” he says, and means it. “That is enough, Admiral, I promise you.”

_____________________________

2001

Within a week of his reign First Consul Bonaparte makes overtures to half a dozen major world powers, including the UK and Russia. There are no similar appeasements for the broken remnants of Italy, a handful of scattered papal states left under loose French control.

Bonaparte is painted as a military genius, a tyrant, a madman. But the image won't quite stick: he's accomplishing too much, and Britain dithers over a reply to his offer even as the Russians begin negotiating for a firmer peace treaty.

The franc has stabilized the French currency, and despite disparate beliefs members of every political party in France applaud Napoleon's educational reforms, his modernization of the financial system, the newer and simplistic bureaucracy that has already been a relief to average citizens. Religious minorities praise the protection of his Organics Act even as he somehow makes successful overtures to the Pope – an especially impressive feat considering that Marie Antoinette, famed socialite and late wife of France's previous minister, was sister to the previous Holy.

Despite ongoing tensions over the Revolution, Napoleon himself is a figure of contradictions and debate. He becomes hard to criticize. Then in 2004 a news black-out, which is nothing strange for this new France, blocks information about the reborn country for a full six days. Finally the drama leaks that there's been an assassination attempt on Napoleon himself.

And, suspecting old supporters of the Bourbons were responsible, Napoleon responds like this: he arranges to have Minister Louis' cousin, the Duke of Enghien, kidnapped in the dead of night, brought to Paris, and shot before anyone notices his absence.

______________________________

“What do you mean he is to blame,” Bonaparte asks.

Laurence sighs a little. This farce will be terrible enough, but he did not realize he would be personally interrogated by the French Emperor. “Plainly Mr. Laurence did not sufficiently check his plane,” says Admiral Croft. “In light of that negligence - “

“Someone tried to kill me and you fib like a child,” Bonaparte accuses. “You are not even in the Air Force, Admiral. Captain Laurence. Do you personally check your plane before each flight?”

Laurence is forced to admit, “I run the systems through the computer, and conduct basic safety tests, but engineers on-base are responsible for general maintenance.”

“Yes. So. What did you do?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What did you do that your superiors are so quick to see you destroyed?”

_______________________________

2005 – Two Months Previous

“You'd think someone would know,” John complains. He gestures at the television, currently broadcasting yet another rundown of the situation in France. “'More information as it is uncovered' – that means they don't know anything... Iskierka, no.”

Iskierka looks entirely unfazed but leaps back when Temeraire eyes her suspiciously. She drops her paintbrush on the carpet (Laurence sighs) and begins tearing apart her paper instead.

He needs a bigger sitting room. One with a divider, perhaps, so when Iskierka visits she and Temeraire don't need to look at one another.

They were somewhat kinder to each other when Temeraire was still sick.

“I can't imagine that anyone will know when Napoleon is arriving until he's already in the country,” Augustine says. “I mean, he has his supporters even here, but he's just as likely to be shot as anything else.”

“Or his plane could get mysteriously lost,” John says darkly. “Save everyone some trouble.”

Laurence shifts uncomfortably. This hits a little too close to home.

He hasn't told anyone about his next assignment – his last assignment - for obvious reasons. In six weeks he'll be heading to Moscow to be drilled in security protocols, briefed by the French ambassador there, and instructed about the Dassault Falcon 60X to help transport the French diplomatic party, including Napoleon himself, back to Britain. The concession of a British co-pilot was meant to be a symbolic gesture; to Laurence it feels not only useless but potentially disastrous. He's been studying his French furiously since being given the assignment.

“You've been quiet,” says John suddenly. “What do you think of this nonsense, Will? You usually won't stop talking about politics.”

Laurence clears his throat. “We had peace three years ago,” he says. “I see no reason we cannot have it again; I hope only that this new resolution can be more lasting.”

“That treaty didn't last a year,” John complains. “And then Napoleon got himself crowned Emperor; an Emperor in Europe, like this is the Middle Ages. Anyway, that's not what you usually say.”

“I will always support the prospect of peace,” Laurence protests.

“You're usually a bit more cynical about actually getting it, though.”

“He is a soldier,” says Augustine dryly.

“I think we are quite due for a peace; there has been very little fighting on land between our two countries, and neither nation should wish for that. France and England are close enough to do great damage to one another in this day and age.”

“Piss poor time to be in the navy,” John agrees. “But you know Napoleon would attack us by land; he's done it to Spain and Italy. I'm more surprised he hasn't tried, really.”

“We have not yet provoked him sufficiently – that is the only, the sole reason for his restraint. If we are to prevent such war we must find peace; I do believe we could win such a war, but the costs would be too great.”

“I can agree with that,” Augustine says. “And even aside from the risks of war, peace would be wonderful; all this fear is awful. And I'm tired of seeing planes patrolling overhead, like we're going to get attacked any second – I'm sure this isn't what you imagined when you joined the RAF, Laurence.”

“That matters little enough. I will be finding something else soon.”

“Damn you will,” John snaps. “They're idiots if they fire you - “

“I will not be fired,” says Laurence wryly. “ - I am lucky not to be court-martialed, rather; it has been considered. It is still being considered. I had best resign now while I still can. This is all for the best, John, I promise you.”

“At least you'll have more time with Temeraire,” Augustine says when John looks mutinous. “Gong Su is a good man, but Temeraire will be thrilled to have you in England permanently, Laurence. You only have one more trip, do you not?”

“Yes,” Laurence agrees.

And what he'll do after that, he has not the least idea.

______________________________

Present

“I see,” says Bonaparte when Croft continues to sputter. Laurence looks away. “Very well; be assured I shall find out. If you want him cast away so badly that is all well and good. I will hire Mr. Laurence, then, and he will not be your concern any longer.”

“What?” asks Admiral Croft.

“What?” demands Laurence.

[fulldreamsahead]

Snapshot

So last night I had a dream where I was a a middle school aged boy and I was not having a good day. Much of the beginning of my dream was me trying to bike to school, but there was a ton of construction and traffic. No matter what I did, I didn’t seem to be making any progress. Eventually, I did arrive, obviously late, but still making it to my first period class. I acknowledge the girl behind me glaring at the back of my head as a sit down. I shudder and remember, in a montage, that they have been cold and cruel to me since they started new in this school not more than a few months ago. Back in the present, a kid who sits beside me, my friend, mention that the girl behind me is being a jerk again and I agree that I’m getting tired of it. Thankfully, it seems I only have the one glass with the girl and move on to my second period. 

Time skips to the next day and I’m getting ready to go to school once again. I look out the window from my apartment (several stories up) and I see the same construction and traffic. I frown and remember the girl glaring at the back of my head and I decide that this is totally a skip day. I take my bike out and head in the opposite direction of my school to head to a local coffee shop. My dad, who is Chris Rock, happens to see me and waves me down from his SUV. I fess up instantly and he is super sympathetic. He says he’s been stressed lately too, he’s a police office (real Spiral vibes), and it does feel like a skip day. He says he think he’ll stay home too and asks if I want to watch movies with him. I’m totally psyched about this and we return to the apartment. 

After eating breakfast and watching one movie, he gets a call that he needs to pick something up. Since it’s an easy trip, he takes me along for the ride. We drive to a nearby apartment building and he explains he has to pick up some evidence for the guy at the front desk. I meander around the lobby while I wait and I happen to run into the girl who sits behind me. Instead of being her usual mean self, she is instead really nervous so I ask if she is ok. A switch flips and she’s back to mean and snaps that she is fine. I roll my eyes, tired of her attitude, and move to pass her by. She rebuffs me and the two of us bump shoulders. My jacket snags on her backpack and I pull away to break the contact. In doing so, the front zipper pouch of her backpack opens and a book falls out. On total reflex, and since I’m the only one facing the scene, I reach out and snatch the book out of midair. She screams at me for doing so and I jump back away from her rage. She berates me and before she can lunge, I turn and hightail it out of there. As I run down the hall, I can hear snippets of the people living there. They mention the weird new people who recently moved in, a daughter and a mother. I put two and two together and place that the girl chasing me must be the daughter of this pair. After rounding a horse-shoe corridor, I end up back where my dad is at the front desk. He doesn’t inquire about the book or my panting demeanor. Instead he holds up a polaroid instant camera and I notice that it has a similar logo to one on the book. 

I’m just about to mention it to my dad when I woman emerges from the hallway with the daughter in tow. She starts screaming and since the camera is evidence, my dad goes into full police officer mode. He tells me to get behind him and as I do so the woman continues screaming, attracting a crowd. She shoves them away and my dad tells me to run. I do so, but there is only the rounding corridor to escape to. I go down the hall, but this time I notice there is a door to the staircase. I go through it and there was this long conversation I had with myself about which floor I should take to escape. I had this weird breakdown thought process that had something to do with every third floor being locked, but I might get caught if I use a close floor. For some reason, my logic dictates that the sixth floor (of seven btw) is the safest bet so I choose that one. Hustling up the stairs, I start checking doors on the sixth floor to hide in. One of the apartments happens to be unlocked and I duck inside. It’s sparsely decorated and dark with only a TV broadcasting static illuminating the space. I hear a sound and turn to look out a window to find it’s nighttime. I remember that our town is going to have a parade with fireworks and the sound I heard was the first of which going off. I hear the sounds of the mother and daughter and duck down in a fit of fear. In doing so, I juggle the camera and accidentally snap a photo with flash. Nerves racked, I hold my breath as the voices seem to pass me by. When they are fully gone, I slip back out into the hallway and book it for the stairs. 

I’m a total wreck at this point and in my rush I accidentally snap another flash blinding photo. Frustrated, I lift the camera up and look through the lens. I can see there’s a bunch of red writing that’s only visible when it’s looked through. Confused, I purposefully take another photo and find that the writing shows up on the photographs. I begin to suspect that the camera is some sort of communication device so I rush to find my dad. I catch up with him in the parking lot and I rush to tell him what I’ve discovered. He takes the information in thoughtfully, but we are interrupted by the mother and daughter emerging from the apartments. We run and just past the apartment parking lot is the parade, so we commandeer a float. We enter the parade track and my dad reassures me that there’s no way they’ll realize we’re apart of the parade. I’m reassured until my dad asks me if he can take the camera. I tell him to focus on driving, but he won’t drop the subject. He keeps bringing it up and it’s starting to make me suspicious. I think back to the conversation he had with the doorman and wonder about the book. Even though he’s asking too many questions, my dad is still calm and gives me some space. Reviewing the photographs, I notice that while the red text looks like words, it’s actually jumbled letters. Since there are a bunch of parade people surrounding our float, dad is very focused on driving. I slip the book from the center console and find that it has a decoding system for the red letters. I swallow and think about how the daughter and mother each probably had the two pieces to the spy device (the daughter the book and the mom the camera) so it wouldn’t be as suspicious. My dad asks about the camera again and the way to the parade lights shine off his face I start to notice a sinister sheen to his features. I realize he’s in on the plot also just as someone rear-ends our float. His head hits the steering wheel in the process and he turns to me menacingly, with a blood dribble oozing from his forehead. and demands the evidence, cinching my suspicion. 

[keena-kapu]

Destination: None - Calichrome Runaway AU

Pairing: Weiss/Blake/Ilia (Calichrome) Words: 9′707 AU: Runaway AU Content Warnings: None in this chapter AO3 Link: Click here! (Recommended for Mobile App Users) Summary: Blake Belladonna, Ilia Amitola, Weiss Schnee. Three girls that can't be more different, but are each running away from something. It's going to be a rocky trip, but these three have to stick together if they hope to survive with nothing to their name but a change of clothes and a beat up campervan. Ko-fi | Commissions

CHAPTER 1

Five days on the road, 2500 miles traveled 3:36 am Destination: None

Dead. At this time of night, everything was dead. All that sounded from the radio was mellow country music, the scenery was hidden in the darkness, and the road was devoid of any cars. Everything was dead, and there was nothing to distract from how boring the journey really was. But no matter how boring that was, it was necessary.

Everyone is running from something.

Sure, not everyone is literally running away from something, but we’re all running in some way from a part of us. We run from those relationships that didn't quite seem to work out. We run from the path our parents set out for us. Sometimes we just run because staying still is too painful. The choices we make in life are a form of running, whether it’s a healthy choice to make or not.

Was getting into a van and just driving a healthy choice? Maybe not. But that’s all Ilia and Blake had left to do. No options, no commitments, nothing left to lose. All they had were the clothes on their backs and an old Volkswagen camper with over a hundred thousand miles on the clock. There wasn’t even a destination at the end of it. Just a journey.

The light in the dashboard was probably the most interesting thing to happen the past two hours. The gas light. Finally, a reason to pull over and see something different, an excuse to look through the store. Ilia yawned, leaning back in her chair and using the wheel to help stretch her arms, anything to just keep herself awake that little longer. It wasn’t time to switch over drivers yet, but she couldn’t keep going without a coffee at least.

Five minutes in, she found a gas station to pull into. Dead yet again, other than probably a lonely clerk behind the counter inside. While not having to deal with other customers and cars at this time of night came as a benefit, the flickering lights didn't exactly offer much comfort when Ilia stepped out to fill the van up. Still, she swallowed her fears. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could get back on the road again. Or even pull in somewhere safe and get some sleep.

Once it was filled to the brim, Ilia opened the passenger door. While she preferred to let Blake sleep, they’d always agreed to tell the other of any pit stops as and when to give the opportunity to stretch legs. This was no exception no matter how peaceful she looked. She reached out for Blake’s shoulder, very gently rubbing it to rouse her from her slumber.

“Hey, it’s just me.” She spoke gently once seeing Blake’s ears twitch, a sign she was awake enough to hear her. “I’m gonna get myself a coffee, do you want anything?”

“Hmmnnn…” Blake could only hum quietly, shifting her position to sit herself up. First things she did was yawn, trying to open her eyes. The instant they were met with the dim lighting however she groaned, blinking repeatedly to try and adjust. She mumbled quietly, “What time is it?”

“Twenty to four? Too damn early.” She waited patiently for Blake to gather her bearings, catching the contagious yawn herself shortly after. She took a moment to stretch out once again, holding her arms up and behind her head. “But, yeah; do you want anything from here? Food, drink?”

Taking off her belt, at last, Blake gave a small nod. Despite her sleep being interrupted, anyone would be a fool to miss out on a rest stop. It would be hours until the next one. “Yeah. Can you get me some tea and some pretzels while I use the bathroom?”

“On it.”

The two girls made their way inside. Just as they suspected, dead on the inside too. Nothing but the mellow country music again and one lonely clerk behind the desk. While Ilia sorted paying for the gas, drinks, and snacks, Blake headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

Five days. Five days she’d been running. Five days since she’d slept in a real bed or had a real shower. No wonder she looked like garbage. But be that as it may, it was better than what was left behind. The bed lost it’s comfort months ago. The home was just a house. Blake hadn't belonged anywhere other than on the road for a long time. If all she had to sacrifice was a little of her dignity to find somewhere better then so be it. It was worth it compared to what was back there.

Blake examined the bags under her eyes. A consolation prize from their long journey with no destination in mind. It wasn't the worst she’d looked, but let’s just say checking into a motel room wouldn't be a waste of money even for just one night. Perhaps when they got to the next city she’d suggest it as a reward for their progress so far.

Funnily enough, Blake wasn't the worst looking thing awake at this time of night.

She’d hear about it when she rejoined Ilia again, who took to talking to the clerk while she waited for the coffee machine to finish. It seemed it was having trouble with tea.

“Yeah, she was here half hour ago, bought a bottle of vodka and left.” From the way he spoke, that was probably the most interesting moment of the night. “She didn’t drink it, just took it with her outside and poured it over her eye. Had to wipe blood and booze up from the sidewalk.”

“That sounds metal.” Ilia seemed rather impressed, handing over the pretzels to Blake once she was back at her side. At least something was ready.

“Yeah, it was pretty metal.” The clerk shrugged his shoulders. “But yeah, I called the cops just in case. Screw loose or not, least they’ll get her back home safe before someone else finds her.”

Ilia didn’t seem convinced. She didn’t exactly trust cops, she and Blake had good reason for that. But it was way too early in the morning to get into that conversation. Instead, she picked up the finally finished cup of tea, handing it to her friend. “ Sure, cops will do just that. Hope she’s a human for her sake.”

It was a sour note to leave on Blake thought, but Ilia was never the most tactful of people to talk to. At least it could be blamed on the time of morning. That being said, Blake was ever curious. Just what on earth were they talking about while she was in the bathroom?

She made a point to ask once they were in the van again. Ilia offered a small shrug in response, putting her coffee in the holder. “Oh, he was just asking if I’d seen some girl on the road. Apparently, she came in with her eye bleeding and shit.”

“Oh my god.” Blake sounded rather shocked to hear it. She’d caught the last half of that conversation. “And she just poured booze on it?”

“Yeah! Fuckin’ metal, right?” She laughed. Again, a pretty odd response at any other time of day, but they’d been on the road enough to see some wild sights in the middle of the night. Give it a couple of days, they’ll probably have a new story to tell that would blast this one out of the water.

Now both passengers were awake, the journey felt a lot easier. 4:05 am, there were still a couple more hours of darkness remaining, but at least now there were more reasons to stay awake. A conversation was a great way to stay up, not even mentioning the caffeine from the drinks.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Ilia held one hand on the wheel while sipping coffee with the other, sighing with relief. “and don't take this the wrong way, but, we look like shit.”

“No… What gave you that idea?” Blake managed to laugh, still waiting for her own drink to cool a little more before she could even attempt. Thank god Ilia was on the same page as her, it meant she felt a little less guilty about asking for a room. “You thinking a motel?”

“Bingo.” Ilia clarified, returning the cup to its holster. “Decent shower, decent mattress, do laundry, just not drive for a day. I think we’ve earned that.”

It didn't exactly feel like she’d earned it. Running the hell away from your problems did not warrant a reward, did it? One would say she was taking a brave step forward, but she’d disagree. Still, Ilia definitely deserved the night off. She wouldn’t let her own self-loathing stop Ilia from treating this as something she deserved. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Money’s supposed to come through at the end of the week too, so we can afford it. So long as nothing goes fuck up, we’ll be okay.”

We’ll be okay.

A smile returned to Blake’s lips as she tried once more to sip the tea. That, along with that all-important phrase warmed her heart and made her feel so secure. In spite of having nothing, being in the middle of god knows where and having no end goal in mind, she felt safe.

We’ll be okay.

“... Hey, slow down.”

Even with the darkness, Blake spotted something out of Ilia’s vision ahead. There was a figure at the side of the road, walking along it holding a bag in one hand, and what looked like a bottle in the other. It was a feminine figure, with long white hair and far too nice clothes for the time of night and location.

When she could finally see it, it matched a description Ilia knew. “That’s the nut job the clerk was talking about!”

Blake’s ears pinned right back in confusion. “The vodka girl?!”

“Yeah! Fuck, cops must not have shown up yet. You go, vodka girl.”

It didn't feel right. There was still two hours of darkness and there was no one in sight around here other than them. There was no way to tell if a cop would come near here, and no way to know who would be around at this time in the morning. The poor girl was already injured from the sounds of it; if a car full of guys happened to stop by and see her…

No, that’s not happening.

“Offer her a ride.”

It was quite a look Ilia gave when she shot around and glared. “You seriously want to pick her up after how crazy the clerk said she was?”

“You seriously think you’ll be able to sleep at night if we find out she goes missing or some shit?”

It was worth calling Ilia’s bluff. Sure, she wasn't really compassionate, but she wasn't completely heartless. There wasn't any satisfaction given with a verbal response, but the van did slow right down. Blake couldn't help her smug smile as she rolled the window down.

Once they got closer, Blake could see ‘Vodka girl’ properly. Crazy? She didn't look crazy. But what did crazy even look like? To some, it probably looked like pouring vodka over your face then walking away. But to others, it might look like packing clothes into a bag and ditching the life you had to hop into a campervan. Crazy was different for everyone.

But kindness? That was something she knew.

“Hey!” She called up, holding a smile as the girl looked around. “You lost?”

The smile wasn't returned. The girl huffed loudly, pulling the bag onto her shoulder and attempting to walk on faster. She was clearly trying to ignore them both.

Now Blake was close enough she saw the suspected injury. The girl’s eye had a large gash running down it, from her brow down to her cheek. She wasn't crazy by pouring vodka over it, she must have been sterilizing it. It wouldn't beat a hospital, but for someone out in the middle of the night, it was pretty smart.

Blake persisted. Usually, she would just give it in and accept the defeat, but she couldn't just let the girl go at this time of night. Maybe a different approach. “Next bus stop isn't for miles out here, we can give you a lift-”

“Do I look like I have my fucking thumb out?” The words were dripping with venom. Sure, she wasn't expecting ‘vodka girl’ to be sunshine and rainbows, but the vile attitude did take Blake back. But the van maintained it’s speed next to her, and she groaned in frustration. “Stop following me! Fuck off!!!”

That seemed to fit the word ‘crazy’ now. Blake was forced to sit back in her seat. She tried to help, but this girl didn't want it. Kindness can’t be forced on someone that doesn’t want it.

But then, there was a different method.

Gotta be cruel to be kind.

“Hey, dumbass!”

As harsh as Ilia’s words were, and as much as Blake cringed hearing them come from her friend, they caught the girl’s attention. She came to a stop to listen, as did the van. Leaning on the wheel, Ilia was far less sensitive than Blake was; “You’re a woman out in the middle of the night, middle of nowhere. Given your eye, it looks like you’ve had a shitty enough night so I suggest you get in because it’s gonna get even shittier if a group of guys drive down this way and spot you!”

Brutal.

But it hit the point home far better than Blake ever could have.

As much as the girl didn't want to admit it, they had a point. The next car to stop by might not even give her a choice. It was a dangerous gamble, but as it stood, this was the best offer she was going to get tonight.

What did crazy look like? It looked like taking that gamble. And the girl wasn't crazy.

She rolled her eyes, swallowing her pride and taking a few steps back to the van door. Maybe she was a little crazy to so readily accept the stranger's help, but it was way less than rejecting it. She hauled her bag onto the spare seat, throwing the leftover bottle back out onto the sidewalk before pulling the door to, sitting back on the seat with a huff.

As much as Ilia did have a good point, Blake couldn't help the second-hand embarrassment she felt about it. Brutal wasn't how she’d have handled this situation, even if it did get the results. At least she could offer the kindness in her own way now. “Where do you want a lift to?”

“Anywhere.” She was resigned in her reply. The girl refused to meet Blake’s gaze just yet, instead choosing to stare out the window as the van sped up again. “Just away from here.”

A girl in the middle of nowhere, with no destination in mind.

Where’d they heard that one before?

“We’re headed to a motel,” Blake leaned back in her seat, to look still. “Way safer to get a cab or the bus from there than the middle of nowhere.

She shrugged her shoulders, brushing her hair out of her face. “Sure, whatever.”

As much as Blake wanted to offer kindness to a stranger, maybe Ilia had been right on this one. She didn’t want to risk frustrating the girl any further than what she must have been through already, nor push her into talking when she didn't feel like it. God, she knew all too well what that felt like…

“It’s Blake, by the way.” She could throw her a rope, at least. It was her choice if she wanted to take it or not after that. “If you need us. I’m Blake, that’s Ilia. Just shout up if you need a stop.”

There was only a small nod of acknowledgment. Their passenger must be as tired as they were. She never really moved much more from her position against the window.

That made three. Three girls in a campervan, none with a destination in mind. One of which was a complete stranger, with their only knowledge of her being that she poured a bottle of vodka down her face to quick fix a wound. It wasn't ideal for any of the three involved, but it was way better than the alternative.

Needless to say, it was gonna be a long trip.

  CHAPTER 2

  Five days on the road, 2700 miles traveled

8:15 am

Destination: Valestone Motel

Sometimes, a week can pass in four hours. Sometimes four hours could pass in a week. That’s how it felt, anyway. All it took was a small change for the mood of the journey to change and to make its time feel so much longer than it should. That small change came in the form of ‘vodka girl’, who still hadn’t given them a real name to go on.

The majority of her time was spent staring at glass. Either the window or her phone. She hadn’t been messaging anyone or calling anyone yet, it was still too early in the morning, so Blake and Ilia thought. But so far she’d said little more than a few words to them. No questions about the stops, no details of any destination. Vodka girl remained a complete mystery all this time.

Still, that time wouldn’t be much longer. They’d spotted signs for the motel, putting it around half an hour away. By then they could get a room to themselves and the girl could sort out a better method of travel. Or even stay at the motel on her own.

At least the radio was more interesting now that the sun was up. The stations were actually playing decent hits from this century, and the people talking weren’t droning on about the politics of the most boring subjects ever. Even the news was delivered with a little more flare at this time. Not that anyone was listening.

At least, Ilia and Blake weren’t.

“First thing I need is a long bath.” Ilia smiled to herself, seeming to imagine just what it would be like. “Man, I really hope this place has a tub.”

“Last motel I went to was all showers,” Blake leaned back in her seat, smiling over at her friend. “but then again I haven't been in years. Never was big on road trips till now.”

“Well damn, you should’a probably mentioned that,” Ilia laughed, “Cause we’ve been in a van for a little while. ”

“And a little while longer I assume.”

Smiles and jokes were falling on deaf ears for the newest passenger. She was the only one paying attention to the radio. Background noise. There’s no stranger phenomenon than when you hear a name that means something to you, and then suddenly everything else vanishes except the source.

“Weiss Schnee, Daughter of SDC’s Jaques Schnee, has been reported missing,”

The girl snapped upright. Nothing else but the radio in that moment was making a sound.

“She was last seen in Downtown Vale leaving her hotel room, where the family were staying for a business trip, in the early hours of the morning. Police are urging anyone who knows her whereabouts to step forward.”

Butterflies in stomach? Try a flock of crows or something.

Where she wasn’t feeling up to talking before, she certainly didn’t feel like it now. At any moment, these two women could actually focus on the radio, jump to conclusions and turn to the police. Anyone would, right? Maybe she could last a while. If she lasted long enough they’d take her to the motel.

… but then what? Wait for someone at the motel to do the same? Take a taxi who would listen and do the same? Unless she traveled alone, it was a matter of time till someone did. There wasn't any escape from watching eyes and listening ears in every corner. Who’d take the word of a scared runaway over every media outlet in Northern Vale?

Funny… Funny how time fluxes at each thought. When you’re up in the middle of the night with worry minutes pass in hours. When you’re trying to beat the clock figuring out a plan, minutes pass in seconds.

That became apparent when the van pulled to a stop. Finally, the girl focussed again, and they were in the middle of a parking lot, by a large, but rather run down motel.

“Hey, Vodka girl?”

A raspy voice dragged her from her daze. When she looked up, Blake was already out the door. Ilia was looking over her seat and right at her. “This is our stop, if y’wanna keep going you're gonna have to get a cab or something.”

A point about the prices of a cab out here in the middle of nowhere was on the tip of her tongue. But that wasn't exactly fair when she got the first part of the lift for nothing. Even if she didn't ask for it. It was worth a shot to look for one and wasn't like she had a better option. Grabbing her bag together, she nodded. “Yes, I shall look into it, I suppose. Are you both staying here?”

“Just for the night. We’ve been on the road for nearly a week, need a comfortable bed.” She held her arm upward, quickly looking over and sniffing. “And frankly, a better shower than our water tank.”

The girl grunted in disgust. “Thank you for that completely necessary information.” Pulling the bag onto her shoulder, she stood up, making her way to the door and pulling it open. “And… I suppose I should thank you for the lift. Even if I didn't ask for it.”

Ilia shrugged her shoulders. “Eh, good deed for the week.”

With that, the girl left.

No point in prolonging the weird and awkward conversation when all parties had just had to deal with it for over four hours. All that time and neither Ilia nor Blake got a single clue as to the girl’s name, or her destination, or anything. The path each of them was running split here, probably for the best.

Paths can always cross again though.

After taking a moment to freshen up in the bathroom and clean the cut, the girl’s new path saw her entering the motel. There weren't many words that couple be used to describe the place, yet “Eighties” seemed to fit perfectly. And not in a flatteringly nostalgic way. It was dingy, dark, desperate for redecoration for a decade.

Doesn't matter. I won't be staying.

Approaching the reception, the girl hit what was probably the youngest thing in the room. The small bell at the desk. As she waited, she thought more and more of her new path in her head. She needed something to drown out the dreary country music from the radio.

Maybe if I got to Oniyuri? Good distance closer to Mistral. From there I can call her, get her to come get me.

She leaned forward on the desk.

Shit, how much is that gonna be? How many hours? Will they even take card? Fuck. Maybe if I stayed here she can come get me? How long would that take her though? Fuck, I really don't want to stay here. It probably has fleas and roaches and-

“Yeah?”

It wasn't the warm welcome someone would expect from a receptionist, but it definitely matched the displeasing appearance of the whole motel. Still, the girl cleared her throat. “U-um… hello. I was wondering if you could call a taxi for me?”

The woman didn't look impressed. “You not got a cell phone?”

Ironically, the words dripped with the same amount of venom as the girl shot Blake last night. What goes around comes around. “I do, but I don't know what firms operate here.” She clarified.

The woman grunted, picking up the phone by the desk and beginning to enter the number. “Got a name, sweetheart?”

Shit. Didn't think that far ahead.

“Oh… uh…”

Shit, shit, shit!!! Okay, time for plan B.

“Actually, I just remembered! I can get a lift in a couple of days. S-sorry.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She slowly put the phone down, tilting her head. “So, you want a room then? Or are you just gonna waste my time?”

Fucking hell this woman is rude. I’d rather take the roaches.

“Suppose I’ll have to.”

The woman slid a pair of reading glasses on. Funnily enough, the moody librarian look suited her personality better. She pulled out the check-in book, opening it ready. “A’right. Gonna need your name, address, and way of payment.”

Are you fucking serious? This shithole needs all that?

Fuck fuck fuck what can I do?

Fuck!!!

“Actually… I’m sorry. I came here too soon. I might be joined by someone yet.”

With a roll of her eyes, the woman took her glasses off again. “Don't ring the bell again till you know what you want, a’right?”

God, she wanted to let her have it. Hit her with the do you know who I am?! Speech. But that was the point. The radio was on announcing that name with every news update, it the woman knew who she was she’d phone the police. Then she’d really be screwed.

What the hell could she do now? Every option needed her name. Cab? Name. Room? Name. A bus probably wouldn't be around for hours and she’d never be able to figure out the stops or get the cash either. There were very few options left that didn't involve cash.

One option saw her looking at the left open check-in book, and making a mental note of the room number of a particular guest...

Desperation could look a lot like crazy.

The path Blake and Ilia were on was far smoother. Blake had checked them in the instant they arrived way before the girl had even tried. She seemed to have caught the receptionist when in a better mood considering how quick the service was.

The room could definitely be improved. It was old looking, definitely not up to health and safety code, and there still wasn't much proof there couldn't be roaches or fleas; but it would do. Laying on a long bed with legs outstretched beat the cramped interior of the van for yet another day.

An escape from an escape...

“Oh fuck yes!” The voice of Ilia echoed from the bathroom. She leaned around the door, giving Blake a grin. “There’s a tub! And it’s bug-free!”

“Nice,” Blake found her comfort on the bed. Legs outstretched and pillows against the wall. A perfect seat. “Now you can be out the way while I smoke my lungs out.”

“Go nuts. Ain't as if there’s a smoke detector to stop you.” The door closed behind her, but still the muffled voice got through. “Might as well take advantage of me not being able to complain about it!”

Didn't need telling twice. The water had barely been running a minute by the time Blake lit up. If asked, she’d tell anyone to never pick up smoking as a habit, or say she was trying to kick it and quit for next month. It was always next month. Who was she kidding? The warm sensation in her throat and lungs offered a huge relief like nothing else could. These last few months she was convinced a stick of tar and nicotine was her only solace.

Until she started to run of course. Healthier than smoking, offered a far more permanent solution.

We’ll be okay.

The run was a solace, but their small break provided small things she’d missed. For one, the ground didn't move when she stood up, she could actually stand up without hitting the ceiling as well. But there was one more thing. Better entertainment. A flick of the bedside remote turned on the TV, immediately scrolling through for something to watch.

And… nothing. A thousand channels, nothing to watch. Maybe it wasn't better entertainment after all. By about twenty channels Blake had just gotten into the rhythm of switching channels with one hand, holding the cigarette with the other. While she kept an eye on it, she was pretty sure there’d be nothing at this time to watch apart from maybe some sitcom.

Then suddenly she stopped.

You know that feeling when you see someone’s face on TV? And you just know you’ve seen them before in something, so you pull up a Google search just to see who they are?

Well, that’s even stranger when you see a face of someone you have definitely met in real life.

And even stranger still when you just saw them half an hour ago.

As it turns out, Vodka girl did have a name. And Vodka girl was a pretty big deal. The news report featured a photo of her, one without the cut down the side of her face, and was listing her as missing. Her name? Weiss Schnee. Everyone had heard of the Schnee's, they were a very big deal across remnant. Sure, faces other than Jacques’ didn't really appear in the papers or on TV much at all, but seeing that face again…

We had a fucking Schnee in the van?!

Then came the questions. Why? The longer she watched the report, the more it seemed like they were treating her as though she’d been kidnapped down a dark alleyway or something. Aside from the cut, however, she was fine. She was choosing to keep walking herself if they hadn't of convinced her to come onboard. There was only one possible reason.

She’s running from something too.

In the media, the Schnee's were presented as a perfect family. Functional, mature, all dedicated to the business. It was fucking cringey to anyone on the outside. Now though, seemed that perfect family was a fabrication. Why else would someone run away from something so perfect? Blake knew all too well not to judge that.

Afterall, why would someone run away from the perfect relationshi-

Knock knock

Blake snapped back to reality when there was a faint knock at their door. For the best as well, considering the cigarette had very nearly burnt her fingers. She took another long drag, closing her eyes for that sort moment to enjoy it before putting it out in the ashtray and heading to answer the door. It didn’t look as though this place had a decent housekeeping service, but she could be wrong. So long as she could make sure they didn’t walk in on Ilia during her bath, that was the main thing.

But when she opened the door, there was something more surprising than housekeeping.

Funny. On the TV wasn’t going to be the last place she’d see ‘Vodka Girl’ today. She stood before her, holding her bag to one side. Just a few hours ago she was literally telling Blake and Ilia to fuck off, and now she was here, looking humble as ever. Anyone would when they wanted something.

“H-hello, Blake.”

Blake didn't respond vocally. She leaned to one side of the doorframe. Looking past her gave the guess an easy view of the TV and its contents. And when ‘Vodka girl’ was seeing her own face and name upon it, she took a deep breath in.

“You know who I am.”

“Lil’ hard to miss.”

Brutal.

This time Blake was the one that didn't sugarcoat it. She wasn't going to make this easy for Weiss at all. She shook her head, grip tightening on her bag as though she were going to leave at any moment. But crazy was still worth a shot.

“Look, hear me out?” She began, trying to avoid looking at the screen for too long. “I would not come out of my way to find your room and come back unless I was truly desperate.”

Desperation looked a lot like crazy.

“If you came to ask me to keep my mouth shut, don't worry about that. I don't exactly get along with cops.” A flick of her ears gave a rather big hint as to why that was. A hint that was very well taken by Weiss.

“Well, I won't deny that’s one of the reasons,” Her gaze looked to the ground. She looked like a deer in the headlights rather than a glamorous celebrity. “But there’s something a little bigger I need to ask…”

Blake’s eyebrow raised. The four hours in the van Weiss had been completely silent, and now she wanted a favour? Anyone in their right mind would tell her to hit the road. But hey, someone running away from everything wasn't exactly in their own right mind.

“I need somewhere to stay a while,” There it was. “Just while I contact someone. For some reason, this shithole needs a name and address, and I’m not exactly in a position to give that right now.”

Blake shrugged her shoulders. “So give a fake name, I highly doubt a ‘shithole’ is gonna check it’s genuine.”

“I did think of that, but if the police have been called, they’ll be monitoring my card transactions. When I pay for it, they'll be able to track me down.”

“Right.” Blake folded her arms. “So I’m guessing you’re not gonna be paying us anything for doing this either.”

“Hey, I’d never ask to ghost unless I wasn't truly despera- ugh, fine.” Weiss brought a hand to her face, shaking her head against it and sighing sadly. “You have no reason to help me, I have nothing to offer. I’m sorry for just wasting your time.”

There wasn’t anything to gain, but there was nothing to gain the night previous either. And yet… Blake spent a long time looking and thinking. Logically, rejecting her now that she was actually asking for the help would be a dick move after they’d twisted her arm the night prior. But more importantly, when she looked again at her face, and to the injured eye… She just knew in her heart the right thing to do.

“Get in here and make your phone call,” Blake showed her answer by stepping to one side, allowing Weiss to pass and enter the room.

Weiss quietly thanked god under her breath, walking straight inside and taking a seat on the small futon one side the room, well away from everyone else. Maybe now she was actively seeking the help, she’d be a lot more social than she was in the van. Or perhaps Blake had fucked up and yet again it would be awkward silence all around.

Still, at least knowing she wasn’t a dick was a comfort. Now all she had to wait for was Ilia to come out and maybe play hell.

Well technically I paid for the room, so she can’t exactly complain about her being here.

  CHAPTER 3

It turned out there was a long time for Ilia to become an issue. She took long baths. Guess when the water isn’t yours, you can waste a lot of it topping the tub back up with warm water, as Blake could hear every now and again.

The company was quiet. Not so much an awkward quiet anymore, at least. But more of a mutual understanding of quiet. The tv had been turned over to a much more pleasant channel for background sound, but Blake had begun a spot of reading on her phone. Thank god for fan fiction, hours of reading joy for no cost.

Weiss was also on the phone, but for different reasons. She was trying to get in touch with this contact of hers. The sooner that was sorted, the sooner she could go. Maybe it’d be all over before Ilia even got out the bath and they wouldn't have an argument on their hands. Maybe… but unlikely. Given their luck so far.

“It’s on the outskirts of Vale.” She paced around the room, holding the cell to her ear. Only one side the conversation was heard. “About nine hours drive from Oniyuri, I think? Give or take. I can try and get there then wait for you?”

So far so good. Blake thought.

“What do you mean you aren't around for four months?!”

Never-fucking-mind.

Even listening to one side, anyone could understand what was being said on the other line from Weiss’s body language. It was fairly obvious she was in trouble with the way it looked like her heart dropped. The pacing had stopped, her eyes were the widest she’d seen, and she clutched the phone like it was all she had left in the world. Maybe saying this was bad was an understatement.

“So get your girlfriend to come get me! You keep saying you wish I could meet her maybe now’s a perfect time!”

Weiss ran a hand down her face as she continued to listen.

“Can't you explain to her my situation? Surely she’s an actual person outside the job.”

She resigned to the sofa again, holding her head and sighing sadly.

“Right, I see.” … “No, I understand, I wouldn't want to get her fired.” … “How can you send me money? If they’re tracking my card then-” … “Wait, that’s a thing?”

Blake continued to watch Weiss over her phone, pretending she was looking at that instead. But she was watching the girl’s every move, trying to get some idea of the conversation at hand. She could more or less guess, but still, curiosity.

“So you can have that delivered? I don't exactly have an address right now” … “P.O box, right. Can you send it to a town close to me in case I have to-” … “Iganbana. Okay. And how soon will it be there?”

Iganbana. That wasn't too far, about fifty miles or so away. Just an hour on the road, that wouldn't be asking for much at all.

“Alright. I’ll see how I can get a room tonight then make my way there to collect it. Really, thank you so so much for this, I’ll be sure to pay you back once we figure this out.” … “Love you too, stay safe out there. Bye.”

That single call looked like it took more out of her than this entire journey. Even hearing one side the conversation sounded exhausting enough. Lucky for Blake, however, Weiss was indeed more social this time. She could see Blake staring, and filled in the blanks.

“Typical the day I finally leave is the day my sister’s being deployed.”

Blake’s ears folded on her head. At least when she made her escape, she had Ilia. Not just to travel with, but also for a place to sleep. Ironic that the celebrity who had everything before now didn't even have that most basic need. “She can't even send you a key to her place while she’s away?”

“It’s her girlfriend’s place, her girlfriend’s a cop. If she let me stay there without reporting it then she could get fired. Maybe even fined or arrested, if my dad has anything to do with it.”

The worry going through Weiss struck an all too familiar chord with Blake. The fear, the panic, the regret. The ironic thing? When you want to run away from the choice of if to run away or not. Even now, having been away for almost a week, there were times when she wanted to go back. Or moments of panic where she thought she’d be found. If she could help someone else in her situation, she would.

“If you’re an adult, by law he can't do shit.” Blake began to explain, ears perking back up again when she noticed Weiss was listening. “You can confirm you’re safe to the cops, but you don't have to reveal your location if you don't want someone to find-”

“I’m Seventeen.” She stopped Blake in her tracks, lowering her hand again to look her in the eye. “Only for a couple more weeks, but in the eyes of the law I’m a minor and was reported missing as a minor. My parents would need to be informed regardless of my choice.”

Now that made things a little more difficult. Her and Ilia had a much easier road when it came to parents. They were at least old enough for there to be no concern with adult figures. Difficult to walk down for them personally, but easy in regards to upping sticks and just leaving in the eyes of the law.

Everyone is running from something.

Yet again that phrase, one Blake had as a mantra. Whether the running was real or not, we all needed our own escapes. But this was different in Weiss. It seemed sadder, more fearful… more full of doubt. What on earth made a high profile celebrity want to run from everything she ever knew without even a basic plan?

Before Blake could even ask, the bathroom door clicked open. Finally, Ilia had finished with her bath, stepping out wearing nothing but a towel. She was totally oblivious to their guest as she stepped out the room, face buried in another towel as she tried to dry her hair.

“That feels so much better,” She could be heard behind the towel, sighing with content as she lowered the towel. “I left some of the hotel soaps if you want a showe-”

The instant her eyes locked on with Weiss’s, she froze up. Suddenly she felt very very naked. She turned her body away, the darkened spots on her cheeks turning to a burning pink colour as she pulled her towel close to her body. “Okay, uh, why the fuck is Vodka girl back?!”

“Don’t freak out.” Blake insisted. She stood at Weiss’s defense, getting up from the bed to stand between her and Weiss. No one knew Ilia better than her, she knew her friend had a habit of letting her mouth run and then regretting it later. She wanted to spare Ilia that stress, and Weiss the extra stress. “I let her in. She’s in a shitty situation too, hear her out.”

“A little warning could have been nice.” She looked back and forth between Blake and Weiss. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? I thought she was gonna get a taxi from here and fuck off!”

“Excuse me, she has a name.” Weiss reminded her, eyes narrowing when she looked in Ilia’s direction. “Do you always greet everyone with a filthy mouth? Or is it just me?”

“Your dumbass was lucky I even offered you a lift, and now you want to ask more from us?!”

“Ilia!” Blake called up a little louder to catch her attention. Everyone was acting a little crazy in the room at the moment. But this wasn't what everyone needed at all. Not after all the shit today. She waited for both to calm down before trying to explain. “The hotel’s checking addresses and she doesn't have one right now. She’s just like us. What would we be if we turned her away?”

Ilia’s eyes narrowed. “Uh, normal ? Doing what keeps us safe ? The last thing we need is a god damn human expecting a free ride from us.”

That didn't impress Weiss at all, who scoffed. “Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“Excuse me?!” The sentence was punctuated in a very unexpected way. Ilia’s very skin pulsed with colour, it went from a tan brown to a vivid red, with her spots turning yellow in colour. As if anyone needed another clue Ilia was mad. That was one way to reveal she was a Faunus too.

It definitely shut Weiss up, who stared in awe. Suddenly she felt a lot smaller. “Okay, chameleon… got it.”

“Ilia, listen.” Blake was begging at this point. She knew her friend. She knew Ilia would want to make the right decision, but she knew how easy she was to get frustrated or annoyed. With all, they went through, who wouldn't be?

So she explained as much as she knew. She told her who Weiss was, the missing person report, the delivery over in Iganbana, all while expressing the sheer desperation Weiss had for them to help her. She tried her very hardest to appeal to Ilia’s more selfless side, the one she showed her when she first said she needed to run.

Skin pulsed back to normal. It must be working. All but the annoyed expression on her face when she crossed her arms. “So you just figured I’d go along with this without even asking?”

“Ilia, she’s desperate,” Blake begged.

“And we’re not?!” Ilia growled, “You know how dangerous all this is, and now you want us to harbour a minor on the side and get in trouble with the cops?” She shook her head, quickly walking to the wardrobe to finally collect her clothes. Her foot was down, her choice was made. “It’s my van. We’re not doing it. She can buy her own shit.”

When Blake looked around, she saw something she recognized all too well in Weiss. An expression that had two very clear meanings. One of them, that she wanted to stand her ground and say something, maybe even shout out her frustrations. But overwhelming that was fear. Ilia was nothing to be scared of, that much was true, but it was clearly striking a tone she’d been met with many times before. And Blake wouldn't stand for that.

‘My van my rules’ huh? Two people can play that game.

“We’re not in your van.” Blake corrected. When Ilia looked around at her, Blake wore a rather smug grin. Now it was her turn to be a dick. “It’s my room . I paid for it, remember? And if we’re pulling the ‘it’s my this ’ card, my money paid for this round of gas too.”

Checkmate.

Had her hands not been full of clothes she’d have raised them. But what was the point? She had no point to make in return. There wasn’t even an argument to be made that Iganbana was out of the way, considering it was the closest city in the direction for gas and food. Blake was completely right.

She resigned with a sigh. “ Fine. Fuck me, then, I guess. Only drove our asses nearly three thousand miles.” And with that she stormed back into the bathroom again with her clothes, slamming the door firmly shut behind her. Ah yes, the Ilia way to end a conversation.

Minutes were passing in hours again in the silence. That note rendered both Blake and Weiss utterly speechless. While Weiss was truly grateful, it felt too awkward to offer a thank you to Blake. And an apology felt pointless as well.

This extended trip just got a little more awkward.

Six days on the road, 2800 miles traveled

11:35 am

Destination: Iganbana

That was the worst night of the trip. No contest. Leaving the ghosting worries aside, it was bad enough attempting to find places for three people to sleep in a room with just a double bed and a futon. The fact that night everyone was on bad terms made it even worse. Ilia had demanded the futon, insisting she was too angry to even try and share a bed with either of the two. In turn that made the ridiculous situation of two strangers sharing a bed.

No one wanted to stay a minute longer than they had to. So they didn’t. They were up early, checked out quickly and were on their way before noon. So much for a night of relaxation like they’d intended in the first place. Yet another waste of money, just what they needed.

Iganbana was still half an hour away. Theoretically, at least. In reality, it was probably twenty minutes away. Ilia really didn’t want to drag this out longer and was showing that clearly as she sped down the highway over the speed limit. A fact none of the passengers dared to bring up, even if they knew she probably shouldn't be doing it.

“Shit!”

Finally, something broke the silence. But not in a good way at all. In the rearview mirror, Ilia saw unwanted company. In the form of blue lights. And a rather annoyed looking cop. The one time she’d gone over the limit the whole trip, and they just had to run into a cop!

This was bad. This was so very bad. That was all Blake thought when she tried to look behind herself. Probably a human too, probably a dude. Even on a regular day, two faunus girls had reason to be nervous. But there was an officially missing minor in the back as well to consider. “Were you over by much?” She attempted to ask in order to mask her fears.

“Not really, but enough to get us pulled. Shit, they’ll probably stop and frisk us and everything.”

In the rear seat, Weiss raised an eyebrow. “Why would they? You were only speeding a tiny bit?”

It earnt her only a burning glare. She really wasn’t going to win with Ilia today it seemed. “Easy for you, white human girl it’s just a little bit extra speed. They see Blake and me? They’ll assume the worst, guaranteed.”

That was something Weiss hadn’t even had to consider. But the more she thought about it… the more obvious it became. Though, Ilia could pass as human easily, so long as she wasn’t with Blake. Maybe if someone else was in the driver seat, this wouldn't be a problem…

Lightbulb.

Weiss quickly searched through her bag for a pair of large shades as the van started to pull in. “Swap seats with me.”

A confused Ilia couldn’t even look around. “Are you insane?! Do you want them to find you faster?!”

“Do you want me to make this journey worth your while or not? Trust me!”

What the fuck is she playing at? Though, wasn’t like there was much else. They’d just be prolonging the inevitable if they didn’t do it.

… fuck it.

Once the van had pulled in, Ilia quickly unbuckled and scrambled toward the rear of the van as per Weiss’s request, with the girl taking her place quickly. She took a moment to put the shades on, and quickly move the hair on her face to another direction. It was minor changes, but to someone who may not be looking closely, this might just work.

All they could do was wait. Funny how yet again this was a moment where seconds passed in hours. Hours which Blake had to try and ignore the horrendous knot in her stomach, where Ilia tried to swallow her fear. Truth be told? Weiss was scared too. But she was determined. This time, she’d be able to lie. And everything would be okay.

Everything will be okay.

The officer approached the window. A white human male, just as they expected. Weiss wound the window down and looked towards him a moment. The tense atmosphere was enough to make her heart race, but she wouldn't let it show. Not this time. As though a switch had been flipped, she offered him a beaming smile, and the cheeriest voice imaginable. "Good morning, officer! May I help you?" Both faunus parties couldn’t help but cringe. There was no way in hell anyone would buy that. and yet… it seemed he did. The cop offered a warm smile back to her, resting his arm on the open window as he relaxed against the door for a moment. "Morning, lovely lady!” He looked into the van, looking over the fake smiles given by Blake and Ilia. “or should I say, lovely ladies.” Okay shit, keep it together. He was buying this. He was really buying this. Maybe they would be safe after all.

Moment of truth. He pulled out a small book from his pocket, asking “Ma’am, are you aware of what speed you were just going?” Weiss put her hand to her chin. Then once again in that cheery voice, one that Ilia would probably punch someone in the face for doing usually, she played dumb. "I'm afraid not. Was I over?" The cop laughed nervously, leaning on the door once more and looking her in the shades. "I'm afraid so, ma'am." Weiss gasped. Oh god, watching this performance was enough torture. She placed a hand on her chest and looking as though this stranger had just insulted her. She really was making sure this was a theatric performance. "Oh gosh, I am so sorry! I had no idea I was going that quick. I'm so so sorry, officer." "That's okay ma'am. But I'll just have to see your lice-"

"Oh gosh, this is so awful." She was really going for it. Was that a sniff?! She raised a hand to her mouth, really giving off the expression that she was about to cry. Even if she could practically feel the eyes rolling from Ilia in the back and see Blake's expression looking like one of embarrassment, she faked a sob. "I can't get a ticket! My dad only just let me borrow this van today for the... music festival.”

Just when it seemed like the cop was about to ask ‘which festival’ she quickly sobbed again to distract him. “Oh, it's my first-time I-I can't miss it! I can’t let my friends down!" "Woah Woah Woah, calm down, sweetheart, it's ok." Thank god the cop was more focused on Weiss than them, else he might have noticed Ilia’s groan and Blake’s little eye roll. But he lapped it up. He stood up, putting the ticket book away and instead getting out a regular notepad. "Tell you what, darlin'; I'll let you off with a verbal caution this time, no paperwork required, with it bein the middle of the country 'n'all, if you give me your name and number. Deal?" "Oh... I suppose..." Within the next few minutes, Weiss wrote down a few details on the pad. A fake name, and a number below. They laughed and joked with one another, even despite the annoyed expressions of both Blake and Ilia of the whole ordeal. Ironically, the topic of switching drivers came up and Ilia ended up in the driver's seat again. She leaned out the open rear window, giving him a wave and a grin. "Thank you again, officer!" "And thank you, Welma!" He grinned back at her, calling out just before he entered his car. "I'll call you after my shift!"

"I'm looking forward to it!" And with that, she finally got inside, shutting the window and sitting back on her seat. As soon as the engine started again, Weiss's facade ended. Like the flip of the same switch, she returned to her sour-faced self. "What, a, moron."

"I can't believe you got away with that." Blake didn't know it to laugh or groan again in annoyance. No matter how fake she could tell it was, she had to admit it was impressive. It got them out of what could have been a dangerous situation. "That was so fucking extra though." Ilia shrugged her shoulders. "Human, white, girl, you really can flirt your way out of anything." Weiss folded her arms. "Well, you were the one saying I should acknowledge the privilege I have, might as well use it." "...”

You know what? Maybe she could like this girl. “You do have a good point." That was probably the first time Ilia agreed with something Weiss had said. And it didn't stop there. She looked up to the rearview mirror, making sure Weiss was looking too when she finally said; "Thank you." Weiss smiled. A genuine smile this time. And it felt good. "It's the least I can do. I never did give you a proper thanks for yesterday morning." For a few minutes, there were only the faint sounds of the radio within the van. It was a much less awkward silence, comfortable at last. There were actually signs that they could all leave this van on a high note after all. Provided nothing caused another argument along the way.

But curiosity was burning at Blake. And she broke the silence. "Hey, Welma, what are you gonna do with the cop calls you, exactly?" Weiss scoffed. "You really think I gave him my number? I wouldn't be that extra, don't worry." "Well, you weren’t exactly giving fakes yesterday." Blake reminded her. But she looked over to the rear seat toward her. “Seriously though, what number did you give him?" "Let's see, I gave him..."

Weiss withdrew her phone from her pocket. This had to be good if she was showing it rather than saying it aloud. She called out the numbers as she dialed them into her phone. She called the number and activating loudspeaker so Ilia could listen too. There were a few low toned rings, and then... "Hello, you've reached the voice mail of Jaques Schnee. Please leave your name, number, and reasons for your call after the tone." “Oh my god.” “Holy fucking shit.”

Both Ilia and Blake were lost for words. But weren’t lost for laughs! They ended up laughing loudly from the front of the van, Blake barely able to keep her eyes open and Ilia struggling to keep driving straight. Now that was going to be a shock for that poor cop when he called later.

After taking a few breaths, Ilia finally looked up again, offering another warm smile. “You know what? I think we got off on the wrong foot before. You’re alright.” "Thank you very much," Weiss smirked, crossing her legs as she sat back into a comfortable position. "And if we get pulled over again, I'm sure my dad will love being asked on as many dates as possible."

Ilia laughed again quietly. The jokes between them were fantastic reassurance of the trip ahead, even if only thirty minutes remained. Still, if minutes passed in hours, a lot could happen in that time. Especially with Ilia’s suggestions.

“Want me to floor it so we do?”

“NO!”

[themusicplayedherlife]

Can you do 30 and 38 with Tadashi?

30. “I can tell by your sarcastic undertones, rude comments and sheer lack of common decency, that you and I could be best friends in no time.” & 38. “There’s something about you makes me smile.” 

pairing: reader x tadashi hamadacharacters: reader, tadashi hamada, cass hamada, hiro hamadaword count: 1.6kwarnings: fluff, smartass commentssummary: tadashi can’t get enough of youa/n: I’m so sorry this took forever;w; I’m horrible! I usually don’t take this long on requests but angst has been all I’ve been able to write and I wanted something fluff worthy for the cute nerd. And then life got in the way making it hard to write anything :c thanks to this though, I have a bunch of ideas for a Tadashi story and one-shots

“This is fucking ridiculous!” For half an hour now you’ve been trying to get your stupid moped–which is really more of a scooter–to start. Thanks to the old contraption, you are now twenty minutes late to a job interview at a local cafe you had applied to earlier this week. At least you were able to call the cafe’s owner and tell her about your sorry, stranded ass. In response, she told you not worry about it, that she’d interview you when you got to the cafe. Bless her soul. “Stupid piece of junk! Why’d you choose today of all days to quit on me!”

You’re about to kick it out of frustration when someone clears their throat. You turn quickly, surprised by the sudden noise.

“Everything okay?” The newcomer asks you with curious brown eyes and kind smile.

If you weren’t so irritated, you would’ve taken a moment to appreciate the kind, tall, looking male, but since you are, you don’t. Instead, you practically growl and roll your eyes away from him. “Does it look like everything is okay?” you murmur, going back to your motor vehicle.

The stranger chuckles heartily, not at all taken aback by your abrasive attitude. “Need any help? I’m pretty good at these types of things.”

You pull away from your moped to look at the stranger once more. He’s still smiling, and he looks more amused than anything. With a shrug, you take a step back to let him inspect your bike. “Knock yourself out.”

He nods, removing his over the shoulder book bag and placing it next to your backpack. He takes a quick look at the engine and the wiring, and starts moving things around and tinkering.

You cross your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes and frowning. “Hey, if you mess up my bike any more than it already is, I swear I’ll hunt you down. You got it?”

He looks back at you once and sends a wink in your direction. “Loud and clear.”

You hold back the snort threatening to escape as he returns to his ministrations. You take that moment to actually survey the male. Black hair peeking out from under a San Fransokyo Ninjas hat, beige cardigan over a white shirt, and washed out black jeans paired with a pair of old green converse. Completely mismatched but somehow making it work on his tall, lean body.

Average yet attractive. Is that a thing?

Apparently so.

He rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan over his forearm, showcasing strong muscles hidden from view.

Maybe not as average as you thought… definitely attractive though.

You bite your lip as his muscles flex every now and then as he tinkers with your machine–completely mesmerized by them, almost missing when he lets a triumphant harrumph. “And… there!”

You quickly look up at the male as he stands up, smiling broadly when the engine no longer sputters but purrs smoothly.

“How did you do that?”

“Told you I was good at it,” he says, moving to grab his bag off from the floor.

“Looks like you really weren’t all bark and no bite.”

“Ouch,” he winces teasingly, the hint of amusement never leaving his smile or eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re not very good at showing people your gratitude after they fixed your bike?”

“Every once in awhile I’m told,” you tell him, smirking. “Momma tells me I won’t make any friends with my attitude.”

“Well,” he starts as you pick up your own backpack and slip your arms into the sleeves, “if it’s any consolation, I can tell by your sarcastic undertones, rude comments and sheer lack of common decency, that you and I could be best friends in no time.”

You laugh, putting your helmet on while climbing your moped. “Is that what you think?”

“Oh, I know it. I’m Tadashi by the way.”

You look at the outstretched hand he offers you before your eyes slip up to his face. Brown eyes are twinkling with mischief and a warmness you’ve never seen before. You’re almost tempted to take it and stay with him for a little while longer to talk; that is, until you remember you’re broke and have no job, and need one desperately. “Nice to meet you, Tadashi! I’m late, but I am thankful you were able to fix my bike. Maybe next time you fix it, I’ll give you my name.” You wink at him before driving away from him, only looking back at him once through the rearview to see him grinning.

Your interview goes smoothly unlike your trip trying to get here. Cass–the owner of the cafe–is a complete sweetheart and even hires you on the spot, giving you a quick tour of the cafe since it isn’t full as of yet.

“The recipes for the drinks and sandwiches are in this book right here. Anytime you need to go over them, they’ll be right here,” she says, picking up the small book on the counter in the kitchen. “I’ll give you copies of the recipes so you can study them at home but don’t stress too much about remembering them. Not even my nephews and I remember them sometimes,” she jokes.

She then introduces you to her twelve-year-old nephew, Hiro, who looks oddly familiar. When he grins, you see a gap between his front teeth that makes you want to ruffle the mop of black hair sitting on his head.

“Aunt Cass, I’m home,” a familiar voice calls out from the front of the store.

You freeze, recognizing the voice. There’s only one person who has that deep and raspy of a voice, and that’s the boy you met earlier. Tadashi. But there’s no way… right? Coincidences only happen in movies, not in real life, right? Maybe there’s someone out there in the world who lives in the same city as him that has an identical voice as him–

“Tadashi!” Cass calls out, immediately telling him to join all of you in the kitchen.

–or not.

What are the odds?

You watch as an unsuspecting Tadashi walks into the kitchen, ready to greet his Aunt and brother only to spot you standing next to them with a sheepish smile.

“You!”

“It’s me,” you utter with a shrug.

Cass looks between the two of you with obvious curiosity, a grin breaking out on her face when she notices your discomfort. “You two know each other?”

“He’s the one that fixed my bike.”

Now it’s Tadashi’s turn to grin, not waiting for Hiro or Cass to react to your revelation. “I guess I didn’t have to wait to fix your bike again to get your name.”

“Guess not.”

You’ve been working at the Lucky Cat cafe for a couple of months now and it’s been a lot of fun. Especially when your shifts align with Tadashi’s. He’s always doing something to make you laugh in the kitchen, or when you’re behind the counter taking orders. And apparently, it’s his favorite pastime, too. Hiro had let it slip the other day that Tadashi will sometimes beg him to switch shifts whenever the younger Hamada and you have the same schedule.

You couldn’t help but tease Tadashi about it afterward.

Guess what he said back when you first met was true, you did become best friends (and more). The two of you started hanging out outside of work; getting acquainted with his friends and him with yours. If you aren’t hanging out with your friends, sometimes you’ll hang out in his lab with him, and other times he’ll hang out in your studio with you. 

Today is one of those days that Tadashi is hanging out at your studio while you’re trying to finish a piece for a class. You can feel his eyes on you as you stroke your brush over the canvas, and it’s starting to unnerve you. “What?”

“Nothing.” You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes you wonder if he ever stops smiling. It’s like, every time you see him, there’s a permanent smile on his face. It’s cute, but it worries you that his lips will start twitching soon.

“Really? Because you’re still staring. Do I have something on my face?”

He snorts in response, “No.”

“Then?” you ask him, putting your brush down to turn in your stool and look at him. “What is it?”

His books are all over the floor and he’s sitting in between the mess he’s made, and just as you heard in his voice, he is smiling. It’s a soft smile, a smile you realized is just reserved for you. You’ve never seen him direct it at anyone but you. Not even Honey Lemon, who you thought was his girlfriend at first. “Do you really want to know?”

You roll your eyes playfully and lean forward. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to know.”

He chuckles, the sound raspy, deep and gentle. “I guess not.”

“So what is it? Why are you staring at me?”

His eyes shine with a warmness–that resembles the look in his eyes the first time you met–and they narrow into gentle crescents as he continues to gaze at you. “Because you’re so beautiful, I can’t keep my eyes off of you.”

Heat crawls up your neck, your eyes widening slightly at his confession, and he chuckles again in response, his smile growing wider. You turn away from him, shyly, opting to glare at your painting instead of him. “Stop smiling like a creep.”

He lets out a boisterous laugh accompanied by the sound of shuffling. “Well, you see, that’s kind of hard to do.”

“Why?” you squeak when he’s standing beside you, hunching over to be at your level.

“Because… there’s just something about you that makes me smile.”

Your lips curl automatically as you try to push away your embarrassment to say, “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah,” he breathes when his lips attach to your cheek, “but I’m your dork.”

[tenroseforeverandever]

Dear Father Christmas Chapter 6: 24th December, 2021

MASTERPOST

Characters:  Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Rose is beyond frustrated when the children’s creative intelligence results in an explosion of melted candy canes.

Notes: As always, my thanks to my darling betas mrsbertucci and @rose--nebula for offering their unstinting support and insightful comments. ((((hugs, ladies))))

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. A reminder that I am using the prompts very much out of order, but I intend to use them all. The prompt I used today was Candy Canes.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2021

Dear Father Christmas,

Ooooooh, some days I just want to tear my hair out. Today, in case you couldn’t guess, is one of them. It was completely mad! The Doctor aggroed (full Oncoming Bah Humbug), the TARDIS is in a snit, the children are in solitary lock-up until the foreseeable future (imposed by aggro-Doctor), and I have candy cane melted into my hair. The smell of burned sugar is everywhere! And on top of all that we’re expected at Mum and Dad’s in a few hours for Christmas Eve, and I’m not even sure we can pilot the TARDIS in her current state. We’ve been travelling this past week, so Mum suggested we could stay at the mansion overnight tonight and open pressies with them Christmas morning. Honestly I just want to go to bed and stay there for a very, very long time.

Even though it’s completely against everything me and the Doctor agreed on, this is one of those days when it’s really tempting to consider cheating a little with the timelines and stealing a few hours to give us a chance to get it together. It’ll never happen, but it’s sure nice to think about.

Actually, the whole of autumn has been a bit of a challenge, if I’m being completely honest. We decided to do try something new this year. When the school year began in September, we enrolled Hope at her own age level to help her to socialize (that’s another story! Let’s just say, some attitude adjustment was necessary.) That meant taking the TARDIS out on the weekends to explore and educate the children, Doctor-style, which was lovely. But, it also meant the two kiddies left at home during the week whilst Hope was at school weren’t having their intelligence challenged as much as would be considered ideal… for them. It’s a constant battle trying to keep on top of them to figure out what they’ll get into next.

I don’t quite remember why we didn’t enroll them in the Torchwood Nursery… Some nonsense about me needing to be home to do the school-run, morning and afternoon, and since they had each other for company, they might as well stay home too and drive me mental while they were at it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Santa, it was a mutual decision between me and the Doctor. We talked it over and decided since he’s enjoying working in the Torchwood labs so much, he should keep doing it, and he relieves me whenever I really need it. It’s just some days I find myself questioning my life choices...

Anyway, the upshot of it is, this past week, we thought we’d give ourselves a nice break. We took Hope out of school a week early for a few days of hols before settling back to Earth-life over Christmas. It started out great, exploring cave life on Naotol-ri-Pibol one day and observing the process of the Grand Canyon gradually forming over eons from the TARDIS doors the next. (That little trick always floors me: to have the TARDIS hover in one point in space, but move through time, so the evolution of the planet plays out like a time-lapse film before your eyes! Brilliant!) But our final stop, yesterday, was the absolute best Christmas planet in either universe: 63rd Century Yultidia! I know, I know, the name is cheesier than my mum’s festive nutty cheese ball, but it sure makes up for it in many wonderful ways.

You’d love Yultidia, Santa, for a chance to get away. It’s completely impractical and over-the-top, not at all suited for building toys, but still everything’s decked out in Christmas cheer. And there’s so much to do: reindeer-pulled sleigh rides (not that that’s anything special for you), shops, carnivals and amusement parks, ice skating, sledding, and all kinds of other winter sports. There’s brilliant, posh hotels and restaurants, the ultimate hot chocolate, and the most wonderful spas… ever! You can guess where I spent most of my time. You and Mrs. Claus should come and treat yourselves to a post-Christmas massage some year. You deserve it!

(I could bloody use another massage, myself, right about now.)

So, while I was enjoying my day at the spa, the Doctor and the brood went exploring. They went snow tubing and they each got to ride a reindeer. And then they went shopping…

Hope, being the most diplomatic of them all (and not just because she’s the eldest… it’s just her nature) convinced her pushover of a Daddy (she has him wound around every single one of her little fingers) to allow the three of them to buy, in addition to a soft toy each, Christmas decorations to add to Gran and Grandad’s setup this year. Of course they chose the tackiest, most garish multicoloured garland possible. Now I’m not talking about tinsel-garland, yeah. I’m talking about fake metallic tree branches in every shade of the rainbow and then some. A bit naff. Not that Mum would mind one little bit. Even though she’s gone a bit posh, living in luxury these last few years, she could never be accused of being particularly sophisticated in her decorating tastes. And besides if her grandkids want something, her grandkids get it.

They also bought a huge box of candy canes to hang from the garland, and no doubt from other places as well, given the quantity of them. I’m not quite sure what the Doctor had been thinking, allowing them to buy so many. Probably thinking with his sweet tooth instead of his brain.

Anyway, they picked me up from the spa, and we all went to a restaurant to have our tea. Soooo good! They have Christmas Chips! I can’t begin to explain the flavour. Gooorgeous! So after enjoying some hot chocolate and mince pies for dessert we all headed back to the TARDIS. Me and the Doctor left the three kids to play in the console room. They were looking all innocent, oohing and awing over their purchases and plotting where they would hang everything when they got to the mansion. Basically, they seemed content, so we headed down to the family room to watch some Scrooge. Biggest mistake ever… but we wouldn’t know that until this afternoon.

In retrospect, we should have known. The three of them were being awfully quiet for children who were “playing”, but we were just so happy to have a quiet evening to snuggle together, we didn’t want to jinx it. When the movie was over, I went to get them ready for bed. They had already tidied up the garland and candy canes, and Wilf was nodding off, hugging his new stuffie reindeer. I got them all into a bath to wash the glitter off them, then into their new Christmas jimjams and straight to bed. Nothing seemed amiss. Same this morning when I made banana pancakes in Christmas shapes for breakfast, although there was rather a little too much chatter about them getting to see Father Christmas (you!) hiding pressies under the tree this year.

We decided to spend a little longer on Yultidia. They all wanted me to go tubing with them! So much bloody fun! Then we had lunch and bought a pile of Christmas goodies for Mum, Dad, and Tony, and gifts for Hope’s teachers and the folks at Torchwood. They’d get them a little late, but that’s okay. I know you’re thinking “time machine”, Santa, but remember, me and the Doctor agreed not to cheat with the timelines, and anyway, those sweets are worth the wait.  

We all bundled back into the TARDIS, and got ready to go: the kids were all buckled in and squirming, so excited to show Gran the garland. The Doctor did his usual dance around the console switching switches and pushing buttons, and I followed behind, making sure everything was set just right, then both of us once again. I know it sounds tedious, but these days… safety first!

Then, the Doctor’s running his hands through his hair and telling me “Something doesn’t feel quite right. Something’s off. I just can’t put my finger on it.” And as he’s fishing for his sonic, I can’t help but see our three little angels giving each other guilty looks and biting their little lower lips. And all I can think is “Oh, bloody hell…”

Next thing I hear is the buzz of the sonic, then a violent rumbling coming from the candy cane box under the console, and I’m throwing myself between it and the children as fast as I can. Flames come shooting out of the box, and the Doctor’s just standing there gawping and saying “What?” over and over. I mean, at this point, Doctor, does it matter?

Suddenly the whole thing explodes, bits of melted and burning candy cane go soaring around the console room, sticking to everything. And believe me, hot candy cane burns are not to be taken lightly. The stuff was everywhere, in our hair, on our clothes (the kids had managed to come out of it with only a little stickiness, thank goodness.) But, worst of all, some of the molten sweet had seeped into the TARDIS controls.

The Doctor lost it. Completely lost it. I could see he was scared shitless. Things could have been so much worse, and he was over-reacting as a result. Like I said earlier, he put the kids in solitary time-out rooms. They were blubbering and apologizing and begging. At least Hope and Charlie were. Poor Wilfred, was just sobbing and sucking his thumb, really frightened and not quite realizing why his Daddy was so angry.

After the kids were settled, the Doctor gingerly ran his sonic over the TARDIS console and deemed it would be hours before she’d be ready to fly again. She just grumbled and dimmed her lights. I wonder if she would enjoy a nice spa treatment…?

Anyway, the Doctor just went down to interrogate the little hooligans, so I’m taking the time to record my letter to you now.

Holy crap! Hang on just a minute, Santa! Now, that plonker is crowing away to the kids about how brilliant they are. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he is! And they’re all laughing and talking some bloody technobabble language I swear they all made up. I’ll make them laugh, all right! I’ll be right back. Looks like Mummy Scrooge is going to have to step in after all.

--ooOoo--

I’m back! Honestly, that man is such a pushover! If I hadn’t stepped in… The brood may be little but they’re definitely smart enough to learn that they have to be held accountable for their actions. I saw their faces when Daddy thought there was something wrong, and they knew it was probably their doing. So accountability! No matter how clever their little invention was!

So, right now, they’re giving the TARDIS her “day at the spa”. They damaged her, and they can fix her up again. They’re polishing and buffing her, and the Doctor is helping them take apart the damaged bits and they’re all putting them back together. The Doctor’s even letting Hope use his sonic for the really stuck-on candy, and the TARDIS is humming in appreciation. My lovely, baby TARDIS. She’s such an important part of our family and it doesn’t hurt for us to remember that once in a while.

In case you’re wondering, it turns out the little inventors were devising a surveillance system to watch for you coming down the chimney. They had rigged each and every candy cane with miniature cameras they found in one of their father’s storage cabinets. (To answer the burning question that must be on your mind: no, I don’t know why he had them. I think it must have been from when Hope was small and he wanted to be able to keep an eye on her everywhere she went.) Anyway, long story short, they rigged them up incorrectly (they were a bit dodgy to begin with, mind) using some wiring they had pinched from under the TARDIS console that was completely incompatible. So, when the Doctor activated his sonic, he ended up reversing the polarity of the neutron flow (or some rubbish like that) and BLAM! Candy cane fireworks!

All I can say, is thank goodness we found out about it before we got to Mum and Dad’s. Can you just imagine Mum’s reaction to having peppermint-scented goo all over her living room? Blimey, what a nightmare that would have been!

Well, it’s time for everyone to get bathed and dressed again (right into their jimjams, I’m thinking.) Then off to the mansion to put up some rather naff garland (minus the candy canes!), hang some stockings, and as it’s been a very long day, a quick tea and off to bed.

Happy Christmas! Love to all, Santa. And here’s hoping you don’t encounter any exploding candy canes on your travels tonight!

love, Rose

[onwardintolight]

On Archive of Our Own here.

All outside the Falcon might have been quiet as they rested on the back of the Star Destroyer’s bridge tower, but inside the ship, the cockpit’s organic occupants were having their ears assailed by See-Threepio’s hysteric prattling.

“Captain Solo, this time you have gone too far,” the droid announced pompously, prompting the Wookiee to let out a frustrated growl, one that Leia felt spoke for all of them. “No, I will not be quiet, Chewbacca!” Threepio wailed. “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

Ignoring him, Han gestured towards the two other Star Destroyers they could see out the viewport, which seemed to dance around one another as each veered off towards some separate, unseen goal. “The fleet’s beginning to break up,” he observed, turning to Chewbacca. “Go back and stand by the manual release for the landing claw.” The Wookiee roared his assent and clambered his way between the seats towards the hatch, unintentionally giving Leia a face full of musky Wookiee fur in the process. She crinkled her nose and tried not to sneeze.

Threepio continued his lecture, and while Leia was sure that to his own ears he was being quite heroic, even she was having trouble tolerating him at the moment. “I really don’t see how that is going to help,” the droid moaned. “Surrender is a perfectly acceptable alternative in extreme circumstances. The Empire may be gracious enough—” Han exchanged an incredulous look with Leia, then motioned towards the droid. Happy to comply, Leia reached over and switched him off.

“Thank you,” said Han.

Leia got out of her chair and moved up beside him, resting her arms on the console and trying not to let the thrill of being this close to him again show. “What do you have in mind for your next move?”

“Well,” said Han, “if they follow standard Imperial procedure, they’ll dump their garbage before they go to light-speed. Then we just float away.”

“With the rest of the garbage,” Leia finished, an amused smile playing on her lips. It was a pretty good plan. “Then what?”

“Then we’ve got to find a safe port somewhere around here. Got any ideas?” He flipped a switch on the display monitor, and the light from the astrogation display bathed his face in a blue glow as he pored over holographic charts of nearby systems.

“No,” Leia replied, searching her memory for any information that might help, but coming up empty. This was a remote sector of the galaxy, and her knowledge of the area was primarily limited to the Hoth system, which they didn’t appear to be in any longer. “Where are we?”

He centered in on a system less than a parsec away from Hoth. “The Anoat system.”

“Anoat system,” she muttered, scouring the chart for anything promising, but not feeling particularly hopeful. “There’s not much there.” If her memory served her right, the system’s only options for shelter were planets the Alliance had advised against even venturing near — pirate-infested, toxic wastelands where people had a tendency to disappear.

“No,” Han agreed, widening the map to encompass more of the surrounding area. “Well, wait,” he said, his voice rising hopefully. “This is interesting. Lando.”

“Lando system?” Leia repeated, puzzled.

Han looked back at her briefly, an unreadable expression on his face, and Leia felt a twinge of uneasiness that she couldn’t quite place. “Lando’s not a system, he’s a man,” Han explained. “Lando Calrissian. He’s a card player, gambler, scoundrel. You’d like him,” he added, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Thanks,” Leia grumbled.

“Bespin,” he continued, and zoomed in on a planet in a system of the same name. “It’s pretty far, but I think we can make it.”

Leia scanned the information scrolling on the screen. “A mining colony?”

“Yeah, a Tibanna gas mine. Lando conned somebody out of it. We go back a long way, Lando and me,” he added, that same inscrutable look on his face as he turned off the astrogation display and leaned back in his chair.

“Can you trust him?” Leia asked.

“No,” Han declared without hesitation. “But he’s got no love for the Empire, I can tell you that.”

Suddenly they felt the Star Destroyer rumble beneath their feet as it began its pirouette into position for light-speed. “Here we go, Chewie, stand by,” Han spoke into the comm, eyes fixed on the scene outside the viewport. “Detach!”

Leia felt the deep reverberations of the Destroyer fade into nothingness as they floated away. Stars spiraling through the viewport, they tumbled down to join a stream of garbage released from a hatch in the giant capital ship. Han had timed it perfectly. Leia shook her head in wonder. “You do have your moments,” she confessed, reaching out tentatively to put a hand on his shoulder. “Not many of them, but you do have them.” Feeling a sudden burst of boldness, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Then, lips tingling, she sat back down to let him concentrate on avoiding a collision with the whirling detritus.

In a moment, the Star Destroyers had all disappeared from the Falcon’s sensors, vanished into hyperspace. Han pulled the Falcon out of the torrent of garbage and began calculating the route to the Bespin system.

“So, how long are we looking at?” Leia ventured to ask.

“Well, our hyperdrive is shot—”

“Clearly,” she snorted.

“—so we’re gonna have to use the backup hyperdrive. It ain’t fast. I’m doing the calculations now, but it looks like it’ll be, oh, about three weeks till we get to Bespin.”

“Three weeks?” she exclaimed, horrified. It made sense, of course, that it would take so long, and when she thought about it she realized she should be grateful it wasn’t longer. But honestly, until this moment, she hadn’t truly processed the implications of having no properly working hyperdrive in a relatively empty sector of space. She felt weak.

Han sounded apologetic. “Hey, at least we’ve got the backup hyperdrive. This could be a whole lot worse.” He finished punching in the coordinates and set the sublight drive on autopilot before turning around to face her. “I’m pretty sure we have enough supplies to last us that long. We’ll have to do an inventory and ration out everything just to be sure, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Right,” Leia said, feeling dazed.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Han got to his feet. “Well,” he started, giving his hair a quick comb-through with his fingers, “Chewie and I’d better go hook up the backup hyperdrive. You can go ahead and grab something to eat and we’ll join you later.”

“I’m not really hungry,” she muttered.

“You’re ‘not really hungry’?” Han repeated skeptically, concern and frustration warring on his face. It was a look Leia was all too familiar with — for awhile now, he’d been entirely too attentive to her eating habits. “Come on, sweetheart. I bet you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I ate a ration bar before the battle.”

Han rolled his eyes. “That’s not enough.”

“I’m not hungry, okay?” she snapped, a little harsher than she meant to. She didn’t want to be having this argument, and to be honest, she didn’t think she could force anything down right now, not with this tension crawling up her spine again, encompassing, constricting. She felt a little sick.

Han held up his hands in a gesture of defeat as he circled her chair and headed to the hatch. “Okay, Princess, do whatever you want. But if you aren’t going to eat, you could come help Chewie ’n me. I want to get us out of sublight as soon as possible.”

Pursing her lips, Leia nodded and followed him out the door.

“I know, I know,” Han said, in answer to another frustrated roar from Chewbacca. “This field stabilizer isn’t working either. We’ll have to see if we have any more in storage.”

Leia looked at her chrono. It had been an hour since they had started the process of switching out hyperdrives, and as far as she could tell, they weren’t even close to being done. Disconnecting the main hyperdrive had been anything but simple, and moving it had involved a small repulsorlift, a considerable amount of Wookiee brawn, and an eruption of cursing as a corner of the hyperdrive came to rest on Han’s foot (an event Leia still maintained was in no way her fault). They’d managed to drag the backup out of the number three hold with slightly less difficulty, and they’d been inspecting it ever since to make sure it was in good enough shape to use. It wasn’t.

Leia sat back on her heels, taking a break from scrubbing corrosion off the charge planes to give her aching arms a rest. Chewie disappeared into the number three hold, apparently on a search for spare parts. Han was silent. They’d traded barbs over the foot incident, as well as various other things, and he’d been in a foul mood ever since. She didn’t feel much better. Exhaustion was starting to hit hard, but as much as she wanted to be finished with the hyperdrive, she dreaded going to bed. Sleep was never easy for her, nor pleasant, especially on nights like this when the muscles in her shoulders and neck clenched under the weight of the walls of anxiety closing in. She dreaded sleep, and she dreaded waking up again. She dreaded having to figure out how to live in close quarters, dreaded further eruptions between her and Han, dreaded him… well, knowing her even more than he already did; seeing more of her cracks, and more of the monster she feared was lurking beneath them.

She dreaded the fact that she was trapped here, with no way to run — not from Han, and not from herself.

She rolled her shoulders to try and relieve some of the pain, then resumed her scrubbing. The charge plane she was working on was so corroded she was amazed Han thought it could be salvaged. She sighed, and wondered darkly if they’d ever be able to get the backup online, or if they’d be stuck in sublight until their rations and fresh water ran out (or until the local pirates found them). “I guess it was too much to hope that anything would be in good shape on this blasted ship,” she muttered.

Apparently that was the last straw. From the other side of the hyperdrive, she heard a clang as Han set down his hydrospanner none too gently. “Look, Your Worshipfulness,” he growled, “like I’ve said before, this is the fastest ship in the galaxy, and she’s saved your royal neck more times than I can count, so a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if there’s a reason she’s not in her best shape right now, it’s you and your kriffin’ Rebellion.”

Leia bristled. “My Rebellion?” she repeated, her voice rising with her growing ire. “You’ve been with us for three years! And I seem to recall that you yourself volunteered for many of your missions, including the one to Ord Mantell!” She threw down her scrubber brush and stood up to face Han as he rounded the corner of the hyperdrive, indignation writing lines into his face. “You had weeks to finish your repairs, and all the resources and supplies you needed from us. It’s not my fault that you wasted all that time.” She vaguely noticed Chewbacca appearing in the doorway of the number three hold.

Han stood there in front of her, seething, his eyes ablaze with anger, and — to her surprise — genuine hurt. She tried not to look at his lips. He was close, so close she half expected him to take her into his arms and kiss her again, but instead he thrust out an index finger. “Look, Princess,” he snarled, “if you’d rather I’d left you on Hoth, I can turn around and drop you back off on my way outta here.”

Leia suddenly felt incredibly tired. The fire that had been surging in her blood seemed to drain away, leaving her cold and empty. “Maybe you should have,” she said, then turned and walked out of the room.