#but if they try to make it canon that they drifted apart or are strictly just friends im gonna kms

[elminsters]

i won't lie i am nervous about what they're going to do with chloe in double exposure

[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.

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here! Also, just in case, this chapter does feature a panic attack, though not what I would consider to be a graphic one.

Next Chapter

Chapter One 

It was late December and the Nebraska landscape was quiet in a way that only winter brings. The flat plains that stretched to either side of the roadway were barren and frozen, though the month had yet to see any snowfall. The somber atmosphere was interrupted by the steady rumble of a boxy, yellow van rolling along the empty country highway, heading north. Inside the car, music played, punctuated by soft snoring and the occasional thump of a dog’s tail that wagged in its sleep, the driver tunelessly humming along and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, one metal and the other flesh and bone. As for conversation, it was silent, though not for lack of conscious company. Arthur Kingsmen stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at the specter he shared the front seat with, the ghost staring absentmindedly out of the window at the passing landscape. If it weren’t for the fact that they had tried—and in his own case, succeeded—to kill each other a little over a year ago, Arthur might have called it a companionable silence. As it was, the lack of conversation since Vivi had crawled into the back of the van for a nap was making him nervous. He glanced at Lewis once again before turning back to the roadway with a small sigh, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his right hand. Things had gotten better between them. Things had been getting better for all of them. The sight alone of Mystery didn’t leave Arthur shaking, plastered to the opposite side of the van. Vivi was getting her memory back steadily, despite the occasional lapse they stumbled across. Lewis…well, Lewis wasn’t trying to kill him anymore. The purple specter didn’t even glare at him anymore. Forgiveness had been achieved despite the niggling doubts at the back of Arthur’s mind that whispered he didn’t deserve it. They had gone from enemies, to strangers, to almost-friends. They had relearned to occupy the same space, even chatting sociably on occasion without Vivi or Mystery playing mediator. It was progress, slow progress maybe, but Arthur wasn’t sure if there was any precedence for how long it might take to repair your friendship with the spirit of your once best friend. If he was being honest, he was happy just to have the chance. Vivi had wanted to celebrate their progress with a new case, one that required road tripping, though Arthur suspected that her decision was partially fueled by her exuberance and impatience at seeing them be friends again. It must have been hard for her to get her memories back at a point in time where everything had changed so much, Arthur mused, once again rubbing at his eyes as he tried to rein in his thoughts. His mind tended to wander when he was tired, and Arthur Kingsmen, certified insomniac, was always tired.

He glanced at Lewis once again, before exchanging the heat blasting out the van’s vents for cold air, shivering despite his vest being zipped up over the long-sleeved white shirt he’d swapped for his usual tee. Arthur knew Lewis would be unbothered, unable to feel the temperature change, and Vivi, bundled in the back of the van in heavy blankets and cuddled up to a fluffy dog, wasn’t likely to notice. He needed to stay awake and the chilly air would help. His coffee thermos had long since run dry, as had the conversation, and after six long hours of driving on only two hours of sleep, anything stimulating would be a welcome change. He had to stay awake, he had to keep driving, he had to be usefu—he had to stay awake. His discordant humming choked off and his fingers tightened around the wheel, ceasing their increasingly frenzied tapping. He glanced at the van’s clock, trying to calculate how much longer it would be before they could pull over in a town to rest, before giving up on the math when he realized he had no idea how far away the next stop was. His mind circled back to the silence, and he warred with himself about conversation topics, his mind buzzing with a dozen unsatisfactory attempts to break the silence. He wondered if it was his fault things were so quiet now. Had he done something wrong, said something wrong? Should he apologize, just in case? Would it be weird to start speaking again now? Would Lewis be annoyed? Arthur felt the irrational need to say something, anything begin to bubble up in his chest as his mind began to spiral out of control, taking apart the last quiet hour like an engine to see if he could figure out the trouble. He had to come up with a conversation topic soon or he would inevitably blurt out the first thing that came to mind or else launch into a long-winded babble about mechanics, robotics, or—god forbid—van maintenance. He could feel the pressure building in his chest, climbing up his throat, and did his best to weld his mouth firmly shut against any awkward attempts at small talk he might make. Then Lewis sat up abruptly, causing Arthur to jolt in his seat, a strangled noise escaping through his clamped-shut lips. Lewis was staring intently in his direction. The dire need to fill the silence was becoming too much to contend with as Arthur opened his mouth to launch into what he hoped wouldn’t be some diatribe about how the number of lug nuts didn’t necessarily equate high performance for a car, just take race cars for example—

Splat!

Arthur startled at the small sound of something hitting the windshield, whipping his head around to Lewis when he heard a soft utterance emit from his skull.

“Look.” Lewis had hunched forward in his seat, crowding his large frame into the windshield of the van, looking upwards with a dreamy expression. Arthur would be ceaselessly frustrated trying to figure out the logistics of how a skull could so effortlessly emote had the expression on the specter’s face not been so soft, so human and alive, leaving a bittersweet feeling to grow in Arthur’s chest.

“It’s snowing,” Lewis said. Arthur blinked as he comprehended the words, before likewise craning forwards in his seat and turning his face skywards. Thick, fluffy white flakes were drifting down from the pale grey sky, making a lazy descent to the world below. He gazed at the beginnings of the flurry with childlike wonder, a small smile slipping onto his face without his notice. He’d seen snow before of course, experienced it in person too, though the opportunity to do so in Tempo, Texas, hadn’t presented itself. Arthur remembered being young, before he’d come to live with his Uncle Lance, his father had tried to show him how to have a snowball fight during a winter they’d spent in Colorado. He never quite got the form right, the snow turning into powder or wet misshapen lumps between his mittens, as opposed to the seemingly perfect spheres his father made. When it came to throwing snowballs, his weak, noodle-like arms weren’t able to muster up much force, while his dad had let loose like canon fire. Arthur had taken one of the frozen projectiles to the face and immediately started crying. He still remembered his father’s large, apologetic smile as he’d laughed and ruffled his hair before he’d taken him to a local diner for hot chocolate, tears quickly forgotten by the child. It was a good memory, and he found his eyes misting over as he once again wished things could go back to the way they were before. As much as he loved his Uncle Lance, as happy as he was to have Lewis back, even in his present condition, he still wished he could turn back the clock.

“Hey, eyes on the road,” Lewis chuckled in the seat beside him, shaking Arthur free of the memory he’d been caught in. The mechanic quickly scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeves, hoping his spectral passenger hadn’t noticed. He returned his attention to the pavement ahead of him, just in time to see a pale figure standing in the road only a few feet from the front of the speeding van.

“Shit!” Arthur exclaimed, slamming his foot down on the brake, the tires screeching in protest at the sudden deceleration until the van came to a stop ten feet further down the pavement. He sat there breathing heavily in his seat, Lewis clinging to the side of the van as if he still had a life to fear for. In the back, the dog muttered choice words under his breath at the rude awakening and Vivi mumbled as she slowly became alert.

“Arthur, what the—” Lewis began from the front seat, irritation creeping into his tone. But Arthur had already thrown the driver’s side door wide open and was scrambling outside, uncaring to hear the rest of Lewis’s expletive. He stumbled along the roadway searching for the figure he had seen just moments before, hoping he wouldn’t see them lying unmoving in the middle of the road but expecting it nonetheless. His surroundings were as empty as they had been over the last few hours though.

“Shit. Shit, shit…” Arthur cursed under his breath. He’d just run somebody over, most likely killing them since he’d been strictly adhering to the fifty-five mile per hour speed limit, and this time there was nobody to blame but himself. No extenuating circumstances, no green spirits possessing him, just him and—

“Arthur, what’s going on?” Lewis spoke up suddenly from behind him, causing the shorter man to startle. 

“Th-there was somebody in the road,” Arthur responded, swallowing thickly. They had made so much progress and all of it was going to be undone because he was a murderer again. Lewis merely regarded him quietly, his look appraising. Arthur squirmed under the scrutiny.

“I-I tried to stop, but by the time I saw them there was no…there was no way…” Arthur said, an all-consuming sick-feeling opening up like a pit in his stomach as he trailed off weakly, “We need to find their…body…so we can, y-y’know…”

“Arthur,” Lewis was looking at him with a concerned expression, his head shaking slightly as he slowly said, “there wasn’t anybody in the road.”

“W-what?” Arthur said dumbly, his mouth suddenly dry, “B-but I saw…” He trailed off as he heard the telltale click of dog claws on pavement as Mystery joined them. 

“Arthur,” the disguised kitsune said calmly, “If there was anything in this vicinity that you could have struck with the van, I would have sensed it.” The dog quirked an eyebrow at him as he made to interrupt. 

“And even if you don’t find yourself able to rely on the incredible mystic abilities of a 600-year-old kitsune, my nose would detect it even without the aid of magic. There’s no one out here but us.” 

“O-Oh,” Arthur said, his shoulders slumped as he released a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, too quickly taking another, and another to refill his lungs. Two feet clad in thick blue socks entered his field of vision as he stared down at the asphalt, the fourth and final member of their group finally roused and joining where they’d gathered on the road. If Vivi had said anything upon her arrival though, it was lost to the ringing in his ears accompanied by the pounding of his heart. He massaged his sternum absently. 

“Oh,” he repeated numbly, followed by a high-pitched stressed sound that could have been mistaken for a giggle if not for the utter lack of mirth in the noise. Panic set upon him in full force then, his breath hitching as he rode out the panic attack like a wave, the fit of hyperventilation ebbing away after a few minutes, awareness of his surroundings creeping back in.

“You okay, Artie?” Vivi asked, her voice still sleepy, but her eyes sharp and focused on him, brimming with worry.

“I’m okay,” he said, almost automatically, before taking another moment to catch his breath, “Just…relieved. I-Is it bad that I feel like I’m getting better at having panic attacks?” 

“I don’t like the thought of you having that much practice at it,” Vivi mumbled, pressing in close to her friend’s side and wrapping him up in the blanket she’d dragged out with her. Arthur hummed noncommittally, grateful for the shared warmth. He felt a hand on his chin, gently tilting his head back.

“Have you been sleeping?” Lewis inquired, peering closely at Arthur’s face, though the mechanic suspected that the deep shadows and bags under his eyes didn’t require that close of an inspection to be seen.

“I know I saw something,” Arthur said half-heartedly, avoiding the question the specter had posed to him. He had been so certain he’d seen something in the road, but his friends’ reassurances were weakening his conviction. 

“Maybe I am a little tired,” he admitted sheepishly, hands once again coming up to scrub at his eyes.

“How about you let Lewis drive for a little while?” Vivi suggested, already tugging Arthur towards the back of the van, the mechanic easily lead away despite the protests he voiced. Vivi ushered him through the rear doors, depositing him on top of the sleeping bag she’d used earlier and quickly burying him under a pile of blankets.

“Just for a little while,” Arthur said tiredly, his eyelids already beginning to droop, “And no…no changing the van into…whatever it was you did to that monster truck.” He thought he heard Lewis huff a laugh as he burrowed further into the blankets, still warm from Vivi’s nap. He listened as she and Lewis climbed into the front of the van, Mystery’s legs scrambling briefly to gain purchase on the seat, a quiet conversation starting between the ghost and the girl in hushed tones undoubtedly for his own benefit. Arthur sighed as he relaxed further into the warm environment. He’d rest, just for a little while, just enough so that his eyes were clear and focused and didn’t conjure imaginary obstacles in the road.

Just a little while…

Arthur dozed off within minutes, lulled to sleep by Lewis’s voice as it rumbled through the specter’s chest and the familiar scent of blueberry shampoo on the pillow he’d borrowed.

In the distance, a single, silent figure stood, with pale skin and white hair. The snow swirled around her, the spitting snowflakes quickly worked up into a flurry, landing on her nose and blue lips, undisturbed by her lack of breath or body heat. Had one of the Mystery Skulls looked in the rearview mirror of the van, they might have caught a glimpse of her as she faded from view, blending into the wintry landscape, scentless and shapeless as the snow that fell from the sky.

[ckret2]

tumblr you need to stop deleting the question when i edit an ask:

What characters can you think of, that you like, fall under unhealthy obsessive romance?

Sit down we're gonna be here a while.

God is anyone gonna be surprised if I cite the yandere trope? Is anyone gonna cringe away if I say Gasai Yuno from Future Diary? No? We're all good? Okay.

Yandere characters are really hit or miss with me. Too often, I've seen yandere characters portrayed like their bloodlust, their willing to kidnap their beloved or kill potential romantic rivals, is working in tandem with their apparent sweet, affectionate, self-effacing devotion—rather than in contrast. Like a yandere character who's willing to draw blood is an exaggerated romantic ideal. I'm not about that. To me, a proper compelling yandere is a horror character disguised as a cute love interest.

Yuno pulls that off. Even as Yukki gets used to her and even begins to grow attracted to her, he still remains very reasonably terrified of what she might do—and his terror is validated by her actions. What really sells her for me, though, is the series's awareness of the arbitrary nature of her obsessive love. She flat-out tells Yukki, the target of her obsession, with shocking coldness and self-insight, that she doesn't love him because he's really that unique or special, but because he was there and she needed someone. When it feels like so many generic dull lead boys "win" the attentions of the cool interesting yandere for no obvious reason as a sort of wishfulfillment, Yuno's open acknowledgment of Yukki's plainness and the arbitrariness of her own affections would be a great deconstruction of common yandere tropes, if it wasn't for the fact that Yuno was basically the codifier of the modern yandere archetype.

Another character who hits all the right yandere notes is Tarantulas from the IDW Transformers comics. Mad scientist who makes wicked inventions for a high-ranked military officer who's rattled by the brutality they inflict together and terminates their professional relationship by attempting to terminate the scientist; scientist comes back from the apparent dead to kidnap the officer with the help of a gang of terrorists, blackmails him by threatening to reveal confidential information about the officer's army that could tear it apart from the inside and that the officer has gone to great lengths to keep hidden, reveals that he's invented a way to make enemy soldiers effectively invisible and untraceable, and shows off his secret lab powered by a devastatingly powerful superfuel that he's invented... and then reveal he doesn't want revenge, but for the officer to be his partner in crime again, and all these wonders will be used FOR him instead of AGAINST him. He calls the officer his "muse," and feels like he can't reach his peak scientific potential without the officer there, requesting new weapons and acting as his inspiration.

He's willing to burn down the universe if his muse wants it or burn down the universe if his muse scorns him, he kidnaps him just to beg him to be his partner, and he does all this despite the fact that the officer destroyed his life work and tried to kill him. It's fantastically messed up.

Moving away from the yandere archetype: Venom—comics Venom, from their intro through the 90s and then again once Mike Costa got hold of them—is a fantastic obsessive love story, about two people who reject everything that both of their societies defines as normal and acceptable in order to be with each other, and are incredibly tender and affectionate and mutually supportive; but like, they also validate each other's worst beliefs and tendencies in a way that lets them egg each other on into oblivious villainy, and even if "live with and for one and only one person, literally in 24/7 physical contact," is normal and psychologically healthy for the symbiote's species, it's not for a human being. Impressively, they're SO obsessively codependently in love with each other, that they each independently decide that they want to be the best possible versions of themselves for each other, and violently wrest their relationship from the jaws of toxicity in order to become an emotionally mature couple with a support system, outside friends, and the ability to communicate about their fears and insecurities, and it's a beautiful thing. It's too bad nobody's written anything with Venom since Mike Costa's run ended, but I'm sure someone will bring them back around eventually.

The knight-in-love-with-their-liege trope is one that appeals to me in theory, but in practice I basically never see it written as zealously as I'd like, so I usually have to headcanon it up myself. Pearl in Steven Universe is the only solid canon example I can think of that hits all the right notes for me.

Not strictly canon but: Drift from Transformers, who goes from grim street rat survivalist to bloodthirsty mass murderer to repentant ninja vigilante to faux-spiritual warrior with weird flashes of extreme violence while under the wing of four different mentor/leader figures, I like to interpret as a serial zealot whose repeatedly shifting morals and loyalties have nothing to do with his newest leader actually convincing him of the righteousness of their perspective, and everything to do with Drift's becoming smitten with their charisma and being willing to reinvent himself completely to conform with his new beloved leader's worldview. Drift's last writer even ship teased him pretty heavily with leader #4 (for any of y'all that don't read Transformers: not like "ship teased" in a queerbaity way, Drift eventually hooked up with a different dude), and he's shown to go out of his way to perform roles that he thinks will impress leader #4; so like, there's some canon basis to read him like that—even if my main reason is "because I want to."

I also like to slip in shades of knight-loves-leader in how I write Zim being shipped with a Tallest; the unhealthy, destructive obsession with them is definitely canon, even if the romance isn't.

"Characters that are otherwise emotionless for scifi/fantasy reasons except for ONE emotion and that emotion is love and therefore they get really obsessed with their love because it's the only thing in their void of a life, but it's not portrayed in a cutesy 'robot learns to feel' or 'demon is saved by love' way but rather in a 'this is almost as unbalanced and unhealthy as not feeling anything at all was' way" is like... a trope that I keep writing but don't think I've ever actually seen done EXACTLY like that in canon. The Nobodies in Kingdom Hearts are good for this—I've written them as having meaningless sex to try to counter the fact that they can't feel emotions, on the justification that sexual arousal is a physiological sensation rather than an actual emotion but is still close enough that they can almost feel a feeling, and end up getting extremely attached to their cooperative let's-pretend-we-can-feel sex partners. (i realize that physiology and emotions can't actually be disentangled like that but like, it's fantasy.) Axel, you can argue, latched onto Roxas in what can be (and often is) read in a romantic way, also arguably sheerly on the merit of the fact that Roxas makes him feel anything at all.

Shockwave in IDW I've also used to played around with this idea, although I haven't published the main work I've done that with. Yet.

And from what I’ve seen, it looks like the main character in Yandere Simulator is gonna have a backstory kind of like that? I’m looking forward to that game, haven’t played any of the demo versions yet but what I’ve seen from the dev’s videos looks fun.

Also: very frequently, unrequited love. Especially secret unrequited love. "Unrequited-to-requited love" doesn't fit the bill at all. It's gotta be perpetual pining. There's NO satisfaction. The longing just builds and builds eternally, until the internal pressure causes something to shatter. I can think of ships I like to imagine this way (Drift w/ any of his mentors, Starscream/Wheeljack, Hashirama/Madara, Ψiioniic/Sufferer), but off the top of my head no canon ones that reach those dizzying heights of eternally unfulfilled yearning. Sure, plenty of stories have unrequited love—but rarely the all-consumingly obsessive kind, and even more rarely is that portrayed as—oh! I got a couple canon ones, albeit more villainous/predatory ones: the Phantom in Phantom of the Opera and that dude with his mouth stitched shut in the Abarat books, I haven't read those in years. And some spins of Dracula and Mina, although it's no fun if she loves him back. You can also do this with Hades and Persephone, although for this to work it's imperative that Hades still feel like he doesn't actually "have" Persephone even if she's contractually obligated to live with him so long as she doesn't love him, and just sort of wistfully watches her from afar whenever she's in the underworld. (But to be honest I generally prefer "Persephone and Hades: Hypercompetent Goth Power Couple" to spins that lean on Persephone being an unwilling unhappy victim.)

The further I go down this list the more obscure and/or headcanony these examples are gonna get, so I think I'm gonna stop here. But feel free to send any follow-up questions if u wanna hear me ramble more about my extremely specific tastes in romance.

Shoutout to "The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight" by Blind Guardian for being a song that captures peak romanticized out-of-control love.

[sassyhazelowl]

Fairy Tail Pride

Day 18 Prompt: “I promised not to fall in love and that I wouldn’t drink too much” Pairing: gay!Sting x demi-ace!Rogue Additional Notes: For anon who asked for demi Rogue, although they did not specify a pairing, so I chose who Rogue is closest to in canon (that isn’t a cat). Fun fact, I re-wrote this fic three times. Thank you @tbehartoo for helping me out. @ft-wwtdp

                                                      ~*~

If Rogue had known how the night was going to go down, he would’ve stayed home. Seriously. Making two promises he couldn’t keep in one night was a real blow.

First, Rogue was partial to the hard liquor. He knew it, Sting knew it, everyone knew it. His tolerance level wasn’t half bad either, but he was a major stress drinker.

Second, Rogue wasn’t expecting to be hit like a lightning bolt in the middle of the dance floor, doing what he’d done for years - goofing around with his best friend. One moment he’s being dragged out to dance, the next he’s having very disturbing thoughts and feelings about said friend that definitely weren’t there moments ago, days ago, weeks ago or years ago.

“Rogue, you ok, there?” Sting’s blue eyes twinkled in the low light and his earring glistened.  Rogue’s eyes slid down his chest, The beat blared behind them and the world twirled around them. Rogue couldn’t process or deal.

Thump.

“So, no,” Sting answered himself cheerfully, “Rogue, you always do this! You need to lay off for once and enjoy a night out without getting yourself plastered, bud.”

Rogue nearly slithered out of his skin when he felt a hefty thump and sweaty body land next to him in the booth. The empty glasses rattled softly at the impact, reminding him he hadn’t even been acquainted with restraint the entire evening. Sting’s big hand made a smaller thump as it landed on his hunched shoulders and started rubbing with affectionate comfort.

It was no different than any other night at the club, really, but it was also nothing like those other nights, and Rogue urgently wanted to vomit when he considered it. Only Sting’s lap and obscenely expensive shoes stopped him from decorating the table and his own lap.

“Sting, air…” it felt so needy to ask, and if it weren’t Sting, he wouldn’t have. But he trusted Sting not to make an issue out of it, or to drop him. He trusted Sting for so many things.

“Okay then, up you go!” Not only did the other Dragon Slayer have a supernatural tolerance for alcohol, he had a sweet tooth that should knock him unconscious, yet he never seemed impaired. The drunker he got, the louder and more cheerful he was, but he talked and walked just fine and never threw up or got hungover. Rogue hated him sometimes but it was hard to hold a grudge against his good fortune when he used it to haul Rogue’s uncooperative body outside to cool down. “Whoops, steady there.” Rogue nearly cried as Sting saved him from the pavement by crushing him bodily against the wall. All that filled his nose was Sting’s musky scent, and the only thing he could focus on was Sting’s touch and all that he heard was Sting’s breathing.

“R-rogue…” the panic in his friend’s voice nearly made him stop, he should stop, but it was so hard to resist. “What… dude, you’re really drunk if you’re sucking my shoulder. Ouch, no biting. Let’s get you home.”

Rogue was drunk but he wasn’t gone.

Reluctantly, he leaned his weight back on the wall and let the back of his skull clunk on the bricks. It felt good enough he did it a few more times before Sting stopped him by gently cupping the back of his neck. It felt strangely good and right and he felt like he might be turning his legs into noodles.

“Why’d you do that, Rogue?” Sting’s voice held a note of timid curiosity but his eyes were hopeful. Rogue looked away, feeling the pressure baring down, “I-I’m not sure.”

His toes curled in his shoes as Sting leaned his face closer, “Would you like to try a bit higher?”

Rogue pondered the offer before swaying on his tiptoes to press a sloppy kiss on Sting’s nose earning a muffled snort-laugh from the man.

His blue eyes twinkled merrily, “Here.”

The kiss pressed to his lips was feather-light, a mere brush, and at this point he’d put his arms around Sting’s shoulders to steady himself. It felt so familiar he thought nothing of leaning his head against Sting, just for another deep sniff, and the feeling of safety that engulfed him. It didn’t occur to him to keep kissing.

“Finally gave in to my charm, huh?”

“No,” Rogue instinctively retorted feeling soberness creeping up. But he made no effort to move, content, trusting Sting to take care of him. Sting appeared perfectly content to do just that, solid as a rock. Rogue winced at the cramp in his calf and shifted what seemed like ages later. “Sting?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” came the sincere, easy response. Sting added, “We should go home.”

Rogue didn’t answer, his eyelids drooping. He didn’t comment when they turned away from the direction of his apartment. The trip was spent in a companionable silence, Sting lending a steadying hand and shoulder. It wasn’t different and yet it was.

Had Rogue not been filled with liquid courage, he might have panicked or denied the shift between them the night had brought. He’d already told Sting he wasn’t interested, that he wasn’t interested in anyone, and it was always like that. They’d known each other since they were kids  - Sting was always going on and on about some crush or other, some celebrity lust or other, and Rogue never did. And now he was going back on that? He worried Sting might think he’d been faking or that Minerva would give him a glare that said see, you like him you dolt. That he’d been broken before and somehow Sting had fixed him... the worries were endless, if he thought about them.

“Rogue.”

“What?”

“Your overthinking,” Sting chided, flicking his forehead before letting go to fumble to put in the magic code for the door. A small chime greeted them and the door slid open, a wave of smell hit Rogue from inside the apartment. It smelled clean but also of Sting, Lector and the scents of home.

He retorted archly, “I’m not.”

“I thought you weren’t into me.”

“I wasn’t.” Rogue wasn’t, hadn’t been.

“But now you are?” Sting pressed, “Rogue, I need to know if this is a weird fluke where you morphed into an affection drunk who won’t remember it tomorrow, so I can joke it off.”

“I...I think I am,” Rogue admitted quietly, careful to kick off his shoes. Sting had a shoe-free apartment and the rule was implemented strictly. For all his careless, cocky bluster, the man was particular about his living space and personal hygiene. “I… Sting, please don’t joke it off. Let me figure things out. This is… new… to me.”

Sting sighed in surrender, never able to deny Rogue a genuine request, “No promises, but I’ll try. You know I don’t like being played with, Rogue. My heart is a big ol’ softy about relationships.”

Rogue nearly snapped he’d never play games and he’d always wanted a romantic relationship but was worried about the sex but instead grabbed Sting’s hand, tugging him towards the sanctuary of the bedroom. Sting was right; he was a big softy. Last time his boyfriend had broken up with him he’d been an inconsolable mess and stayed single ever since. Rogue vividly remembered because he’d been there to pick up the pieces. He never imagined he might be the heartbreaker, and that scared him.

“Bed, now,” Rogue grumped, much too sober now. He flopped down on the other side before sighing, knowing he wouldn’t sleep like this, and inching his way over. Tangling up, he cuddled in tight, letting Sting’s heartbeat lull him. Before the liquor totally left him, he murmured into the broad chest before him, “Sting, I love you.”

“Of course you do.”

“No jokes,” Rogue warned and Sting sniped back, “No half-truths.”

“Deal.”

He nearly drifted off when he heard the whisper so tiny he might have imagined it, “I love you too. Always have. Always will. Trust me enough to tell me when you’re ready; that’s all I ask.”

[rabbiteclair]

So, a whole lot of notes on Flatscreen. This is, like, halfway my attempt to analyze what I was doing for myself, so I can't guarantee they'll be informative or interesting to anyone else, but hey. It should go without saying that there are tons of spoilers in here.

Mysteries And Stuff

I guess the big thing on my end was that I deliberately went out of my way to avoid establishing a definite answer about What's Actually Going On with big facets of the story. Like, I didn't come up with them at all. Some of them don't strictly need answers. Some of them I felt were best left mysteries. Overall, though, subjectivity was kinda a theme for the story as a whole, so it felt appropriate to leave as much as possible open to interpretation. Most of these have apparent explanations within the story that work, because I still wanted a coherent narrative, but here's a short list of things I deliberately kept a bit vague: Does Gensokyo exist in this timeline? Compare the list of occult goodies Renko inherited from Sumireko in Flatscreen:

There are a handful of keepsakes, passed down from your grandma, that have managed to keep your faith in the supernatural alive. A photo of a gate in the Netherworld, with cherry blossoms on one side and a mundane graveyard on the other. A series of videos from her long-archived blog where she's bending spoons and levitating balls with her mind. A rock she brought back from 'some pyramid or another' that does, in fact, sharpen any razors you leave near it.

to Eyes in the Dark:

It had been a large box full of stuff, and practically the only mundane thing in it was a pack of Zener cards.

There was also a photo of a gate in the Netherworld, with cherry blossoms on one side and a mundane graveyard on the other. I know it's the Netherworld, because Maribel and I investigated it once. (Case File #6) There was a series of selfies that my grandma had taken with people she swore were youkai. (A few of them did have remarkably realistic costumes if not.) A recording of an unearthly song that did strange things to the listener's mood, that was supposedly from a youkai night sparrow. A heavily-warded jar with what could only be a ghost of some sort bound inside.

Flatscreen Renko... really didn't get anything impressive, apart from maybe the Netherworld photo from Ghostly Field Club. Maybe Sumireko just didn't leave her much--Renko doesn't really seem to know anything substantial about Gensokyo in the canon stories, after all. Maybe the Sealing Club stories are an alternative timeline from the main Touhou canon, and Maribel is traveling between worlds when she visits Gensokyo (we already know she's ended up in current-Gensokyo's past before, so it wouldn't really be much weirder.) Plus, Fantasy wasn't in very good state when Renko visited it. I think that's probably the case either way--Gensokyo would be a pretty crowded place if every single forgotten god, myth, or youkai ended up there. But, you can definitely point to it as evidence that Gensokyo isn't out there making things better, if you want. Is Renko the real Renko? What even counts as 'real' in this particular case? Whether or not this all happens in the same world or timeline as Gensokyo, Renko might not be The Renko that Maribel remembers. She raises the possibility herself in chapter 3--she has a past that she remembers, with no Maribel in it. It's entirely possible that by erasing Maribel, the monster changed the past and made a new timeline with a whole new Renko. Or maybe she's from a pre-existing timeline and was out there all along. Or, hell, if we're considering alternative timelines anyway, maybe this isn't the same Renko or Maribel from the Sealing Club stories. Or maybe Maribel is right, it's all one tidy timeline, and the monster didn't do much except alter some of Renko's memories. I did kinda wimp out on this one a little, by letting Renko regain memories of Maribel. It undermines some of these possibilities, but I couldn't stand the thought of having Renko go through all of that and only remember a single week with her. What is the monster? I really wanted Renko to make some kind of Black Hole Information Paradox comparison here, but never found a way to shoehorn it in. Regardless, it kinda fits. Whether the monster was a god, or a youkai, or whatever, almost by definition, there's no way of knowing what it used to be. All that information was lost when it got completely forgotten. Or maybe Maribel's theory is completely wrong, and these things aren't gods. She was guessing on pretty thin evidence. Renko thought she saw claws on some of them, and the main monster had some kind of weird features at times too. Stealing existence might be a bit much for an undead myth. If you want to interpret it as some kind of minor elder horror or an especially unstylish Excrucian or something, it doesn't change much about the story except maybe some of the implications. This is part of the reason I avoided giving it a name. The other half was for horror purposes--having Renko give it a snappy nickname like she did in Eyes in the Dark would make it feel a little less scary, I think. For what it's worth, in my notes, I referred to it as the Static.

History and connection with Eyes in the Dark

I really gave most of the relevant bits in the notes at the beginning of the story on AO3. The short version is, the story didn't originally have a monster, and when I decided to add one, a few rounds of expansion later, I had the outline for Eyes in the Dark. There are a few tracts of text that I originally copied over verbatim, and any differences in the section between the two stories evolved over time. The stuff about fake fish is one of them. Renko's big list of stuff Sumireko left for her is another. The monster from Flatscreen is fairly similar to the first iteration of what became the Watcher. When I went to add monster(s) to the first partial draft of Flatscreen, I thought it would be best if it was something that could threaten Maribel, even with her TV-dwelling nature, so a TV-filling monster was one of my first ideas. Obviously the monsters in both stories evolved quite a bit from that point, so it'd be incorrect to say that it's an earlier evolution of the Watcher. This is probably why both stories pretty heavily revolve around televisions, though. The lack of a monster to add some opposition was one of the two things that made me shelve the first draft of Flatscreen.

The other one was the lack of an ending. 'And then Maribel became Yukari' is practically a stock ending for Sealing Club stories, but somehow it didn't occur to me for about two and a half years.

Chapters 1-3 are pretty similar to what the original draft had, minus the monster. In the original draft, Maribel’s plan was to take Renko on a tour of various places they’d visited together, to try jogging her memory, which might hopefully help Maribel become real again. The plan was for Renko to get more and more absorbed in the fantasy world with Maribel in it, while Maribel just kept getting weaker and weaker. Eventually, Maribel would get too weak to even show up outside of Renko’s dreams, and Renko would decide it was better to float off into nonexistence with her than stick around on Earth alone.

... this was the plan for about thirty seconds before I realized it kinda sucks, at least. The lack of a satisfying ending was the main thing that made me drop the story and move on to other ideas.

Yukari!!!

Anybody who’s talked to me on the topic much (this is a list that has like two people on it, so in retrospect this was a bad way to introduce this paragraph) knows that I’m actually not all that fond of ‘Yukari is older Maribel’ as an interpretation of their relationship, in general. For one thing, whenever canon has a big open question and everyone just kind of decides it has to be answered the same way, I wanna go the opposite direction just to spite them. (See also: the idea of the previous shrine maiden being Reimu’s mom.) For another, I feel like it produces a lot of kinda crappy stories. I’ve read a ton of doujin and stuff where Maribel isn’t a character, she’s a macguffin for Renko to chase after, or a placeholder to stand around until Yukari pops up.

... but it isn’t an inherently bad idea, so I was able to convince myself to end the story like this after a while.

If I had to guess (and I do, since it’s another thing where I didn’t come up with a strict Objectively True Answer), it was just kinda the first step. That talk she gave about ending up somewhere else eventually was pretty open-ended. It definitely made her a bit weirder and more... eldritch. Probably, she drifted around in there for a while, ended up way in the past, and came back to find Renko again once she was able to. Could’ve been decades or centuries on her end.

I did definitely mean to drop some hints about how this all led to her becoming Yukari, though. Between the abandoned tanuki house and the really horrible state of Fantasy in the last chapter, it isn’t hard to see where she might get interested in something like Gensokyo. She’s literally playing around with the boundary between fantasy and reality before the story starts. And her walled-off fantasy bubble in the last chapter is basically a mini-Gensokyo, if you wanna think about it that way.

... I think that’s all the stuff I intended to cover? If I missed anything, feel free to shoot me a question, I guess.

[kyloren]

Mileven post-S2 fanfiction recommendation list: PART III

This is a follow-up part III to the first and second instalments I made. I am far, far from finished with ao3 tag, as you can see. If your fanfic isn’t featured, apologies. Message me and we’ll amend that grievance in the next rec list instalment. 

* marks the ongoing stories. 

canon: 

can’t help falling in love with you* by Phantasmoplast: “The gate has been closed, Will has been cured, and the girl who has been haunting Mike’s dreams for a year is back. Everything is back to normal. Everything is perfect. There’s just one burr: Mike and Eleven are madly in love and it’s obvious to everyone except each other.” [THIS ONE IS SO GREAT. HONESTLY.] 

1985* by EvieSmallwood: “The DOE may have left Hawkins, but the mysteries and horrors have not. Darkness still lingers in the heart of Will Byers, and something else lurks in the shadows…” 

three hundred and fifty three* by argenttmccall: “(almost) a year’s worth of getting used to the New Normal. it takes them a while, but they’ll get there.” 

cherubim by veausy: “Reaching out one finger carefully, El brushed it over his bottom lip, watching pink skin stretch under the pressure. Mike stayed asleep.” 

four in the morning by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““You want me to get some sleep and go to school today? Then take me to the cabin. Please,” he was all but begging.” 

kinda like a promise by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““Like a secret?” “Yeah, but a good one. Like… it means more because it’s just between the two of us. It’s special.” January 1985 brings holiday-break afternoons at the Hoppers’.” 

if you love the girl by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““You should try not to get mad, you know. They only tease you because it gets such a rise out of you. But when you look past all the annoying stuff, they’re actually really happy for you.”” 

they are part of Mike, Eleven, and the quiet moments series, which is awesome. Check it out. 

nos adducere lucem* by richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “What happens when the headlights dim, the shadow leaves, and the gate closes.” 

love you like a love song* by FateChica: “For 353 days, Mike has lived without El. For 353 days, El has watched from afar and wished. Then the counting ends and the rest of their lives begin.” 

something strange in your neighborhood by vapoir: “Eleven goes out on halloween after all.” 

not half-way happy, just happy* by GhostHunterxoxo: “A retelling of Mike and El’s reunion and goodbye before she fights the Mind Flayer.” 

word of the day* by emmaofmisthaven: “aftermath: the period that follows an unpleasant event or accident, and the effects that it causes.” 

power cut* by PureShores: “Since returning from the Upside Down, El’s powers haven’t been the same. She worked so hard to return to them. Will her friends still want her once they find out?” 

what a night! by SmoothFluffle: “0.09 of BAC?! What were these kids thinking? How did Lucas even think of driving?!” 

and its sequel monday after by SmoothFluffle: “The group of bruised teens made quite a sight as they discussed their morning while eating their lunches.” [both fanfics are more general and AV-club-focused than strictly Mileven, but they are really good and worth a read.] 

ours* by Once_In_A_Lifetime_Or_4Ever: “Small bits of El and Mike’s life.” 

eleven & company by solangewrites: “Eleven survives the Demogorgon and has to learn to adjust to ‘normal’ life with her friends. Includes shopping, female friends, and many, many not-so-subtle pop culture references.” 

don’t worry anymore, child* by SingerOnTheRise: “El was back, but not the way Mike Wheeler expected. She did not know who he was and, in fact, she did not even know who she was.” [gotta be honest, the English here…it’s not the greatest, but the concept itself is fresh and interesting, and the story is worth a look.] 

alternative universe: 

i think i’m in love (again)* by sinclairsmax: “There he stood, at the door with his curly hair gelled back. The room fell silent, and Elle Byers stepped forward. “Mike?”” Reverse AU. 

find a way* by Booklover1217: “El Ives, once known as Jane, has always been running, running and hiding from the past that has continued to haunt and hunt her for her entire life. She never let herself get attached, knowing everything could be ripped away from her in seconds, as it had been time and time again. But that was until she met Mike Wheeler, and everything changed.” 

something good by helplessly: “Dustin doesn’t tell them that the newest person hoping to fill the empty room in their student home is a girl.” College No Supernatural AU. 

in dreams* by frankiethebard: “Mike can feel his friendships drifting apart, but when his literal dream girl turns out to be real, desperately in need of his help, Mike must gather the party to save her.” High School AU. 

take me home by Booklover1217: “El Hopper, once only known by the number Eleven, has been hiding from her past for almost a year, a year where she has lived as nothing more than a lifeless zombie. Now, someone has come back into her life asking for her help, and she can’t refuse. Will she find her missing friend? And, in the process, will she find the very person who will help her come back to life?” Soulmates AU. 

if anyone is listening by lovelysarcastic: ““I can see it now,” I said, leaning against the bathroom’s door. Mike, who was brushing his teeth, gave me a short, confused look. “What?” “Why I fell in love with you.”” No Some Supernatural AU. 

most magical place by TheMikeWheelers (jasongracefully): “Mike, Will, Lucas, Dustin, and El take a trip to Disney World.” vaguely canonical and yet not quite canon AU. 

crossover: 

imperio by serendipitous_rambles: “Mike first saw her on the platform at King’s Cross and ever since he’s been under her spell.” Stranger Things x Harry Potter Crossover. 

and its sequel/tie-in one-shot accio by serendipitous_rambles: “Where the Party meet the Golden Trio.” 

011* by PaladinofFarore: “The 011 tattooed on her arm had always been a painful reminder to her. A remnant of the enslavement she’d escaped. To the world, it would be the name of one of earth’s mightiest heroes.” Stranger Things x Avengers Crossover. 

+ bonus: Wherein, the Wheeler family is featured prominently: 

you found me in the rain by bananannabeth: “Jane ‘El’ Hopper is new to Hawkins, but when she shows up on the Wheelers’ doorstep in the middle of a storm Karen gets the feeling that she’s seen her somewhere before.” 

and its sequel favorite by bananannabeth: “When Karen Wheeler runs into Steve Harrington at the supermarket and finds out that he’s home alone, she does what any good mother would do and invites him to dinner with her family. It’s definitely not awkward, because Nancy has gone out with Jonathan for the night, which makes things better, not worse. Right? Mike doesn’t think so.” 

both are part of the You Can Talk To Me (aka. Karen Wheeler is a Good Mom™) series. 

my name is el by PureShores: “Karen (with a little help from Mike) learns how to communicate with her newest houseguest.” 

worse things* by Ethosa: “The Wheeler parents are killed after insubordination in the hands of Brenner and his cronies. Mike and Nancy live as fugitives.” 

screw that by EvieSmallwood: “It’s 1985, and the Wheeler family is pretty much in shambles.” 

love is not for the impatient by writeyourheart: “After Ted cheats on Karen, Mike finds himself fearful of both his his feelings for Eleven and what it means to be in love.” 

.

.

UPDATE: part IV is out. 

[shuubunni]

Obscure ask for your Dragon Age OC! (Or feel free to answer for multiple OCs!) What was the moment your OC realised they had fallen in love with their LI? How did they react?

Sorry for the delayed response! Here we go (going to be long, just FYI...)

I’m going to list my canon worldstate chars (since I have a bazillion DA OC’s...whoops), so you get to hear about all 3. 

Janiya Mahariel: It took a lot of time for her to even warm up to Zevran’s advances, given how she was strictly following Dalish traditions and duties. But after the whole mess in the Bracillion Forest happened, she decided that maybe there was more to life then duty and tradition. Their “dalliance” began after that, and she began to loosen up and relax, primarily around him. Though she didn’t come to realize the depth of her feelings until they spent weeks/months in the Deep Roads trying to find ONE DWARF, only for her to be buttnut insane. However, even though Janiya realized she wanted something more with Zevran - who made her feel delightfully normal compared to the chaos going on around her - she wasn’t sure if he wanted the same thing. So, she kept quiet about her emotions and they continued to sleep together, and he continued to be the balm to the world falling apart and her being the only one trying to fix it. Oh, and he could loosen up her usually straight laced nature, if you catch my drift. 

When he offered the earring to her as a token of gratitude, Janiya knew she couldn’t keep going as it was. Shit was hitting the fan, she had just found out about elves in the Alienage being sold for slavery, and the nightmares were getting worse. She threw caution to the wind, especially knowing that they might all well die tomorrow and all of her fighting would be for naught. So, after a heated argument, they parted. But, of course, we all know the outcome of that ;)

(Also, in my headcanon, after she’s Warden-Commander for some time, she and Zev murder their way up the chain of command with the Crows and take over. The Crows are terrified of her XD)

Roslyn Hawke: So, Roz and Fenris started off on the wrong foot, given that she’s a mage and all. However, she can’t deny she was curious and somewhat attracted to him from the get-go. Surprisingly, it was his eyes and his voice she was most attracted to instead of the rest of his features. Given her lyrium sensitivity, she was also curious about his markings and his connection to the Fade due to them (she’s a bit of a magic mad scientist too). However, somewhere along the line, her casual half-joking flirting turned a bit more serious, and Fenris began to realize she wasn’t like the Tevinter Magisters. 

The turning point for them was the Deep Roads. Roz was completely destroyed by what was happening to Carver with the Blight, but kept all of her torment internal for his sake. She didn’t really break down until the Wardens dragged him off, and thanks to Fenris’ support of her during the difficult times, they became friends. Though, at least from her side, she started to crush seriously on him, but didn’t want to press the issue given his past. Things kind of evolved naturally for them going forward, really coming to a head when she began to teach him how to read and write. 

On a cold winter’s night, they sat on one of her couches together, snuggled up with a blanket by the fire. Fenris was reading out loud to her, and Roslyn became drowsy. In that pleasantly comfortable, sleepy state, she realized how much he really meant to her. She groggily mentioned something, being inhibited by her state juuuust a touch. Much to Roz’s surprise, Fenris recuperated that he cared deeply for her too, but needed more time to understand how this sort of thing would work. Roslyn agreed, as her only long-term relationship in the past ended in ruin.

And, well...we all know what happened shortly after that. 

Sarina Lavellan: Sarina’s progression with Iron Bull is a bit less obvious to pin-point. She’s a bit of a rebel Dalish, having been exiled from her clan due to questioning their history and religion, and spent a good deal of time in Orlais as a Bard...yes, one of those Bards. So she and Iron Bull are very similar in that sense: they’re both trained spies, though with different backgrounds. They’re also both not exactly comfortable with where they come from, so they find kindship with each other. However, they’ve both always been honest with each other, and when the sex happened, it just happened naturally. At least, that’s what Sarina feels. They were friends before, so becoming friends-with-benefits just worked for them. 

At least, at first.

In her thought process, Sarina was comfortable with the relationship they had. She liked it, and didn’t believe she wanted anything more. The sex was a way to relieve her tensions, and Bull was always willing to listen to her and comfort her, especially afterwards. However, deeper, there was a nag that she really wanted something stable, something real. Given how chaotic her time as the Inquisitor was, that stability was more-or-less provided by Bull, even if she wouldn’t want to admit it. 

When he mentioned the amulet that Qunari would give to one another to show a bond deeper then was really “allowed” by the Qun, the idea came to her to look into it. Subconsciously she wanted to show Iron Bull that she did feel exceptionally strong for him, though she also wouldn’t admit this. So upon killing a dragon and making it, Sarina wasn’t thinking much of it. Just a way to show that they were closer then friends, they were best friends. 

Until he called “Kadan” after receiving it.

Ok, that’s it. That’s when she was hit in the face with a boulder from trebuchet. Sarina was sent reeling and turned into a flustered, bubbling mess, which hasn’t ever happened to her before in a relationship. Too embarrassed to face him and SUPER confused about what suddenly came bursting to the surface, she distanced herself from Bull for a few days, holed up in her office. Of course, everyone wondered WTF was wrong, ESPECIALLY him. It wasn’t until Cassandra literally busted her door down and had a sit-down talk with Sarina that she realized ok. Maybe I do actually love him. Shit. 

So, one extremely awkward conversation with Iron Bull later, Sarina began to accept her feelings. And then they became best friends, lovers and romantic partners all in one big bundle.

Awww, this made me so warm and snuggly writing this.

[stuntiteachers]

Masterpost of all the Post-series conclusions to Stuntiteacher AU stories

Mun: Here you go everyone! All the conclusions to stories I’ve had in my head these past few months, I hope you enjoy them for as long as it took me to write them all. I think I’ll probably draw some of these for my own enjoyment, as well as in general stuff regarding my favorite designs and what not. Like previously stated, I’m not done with this blog yet, this is more a precaution and just an in general “open endings to the stories”. I know some of these things are things people wanted to know about!

Post-Stuntiteachers AU

Please note that Cybertron and Earth are treated as two continents on the same planet in this AU.

Bee Team and Steeljaw travelled back to Cybertron to confront the corrupted high council. Very similar to in canon events, Cyberwarp managed to be a reckoning force that took Cyclonus down. The five were sentenced to prison, with Cyberwarp being in a separate jail and with a lessened punishment for her actions.

The new council is set up, with Windblade having to leave her teaching position in Earth until Cybertron elects their new council properly. Steeljaw, having the most authority regarding Decepticon affairs at that point, becomes an ambassador for Decepticons both in jail and out (until Soundwave and/or Starscream come out of their comas). He chooses to return to Earth to be with his own allies but keeps communications open and active with the Autobots to keep his post (he wants to make a change happen, and this is his best opportunity). Bee and his team return to their true home in Earth and resume their teaching/police jobs.

But you’re all here for the shipping side of things, so here we go on post-series fates.

Bee and Steeljaw awkwardly become friends through the Autobot/Decepticon alliance. At first it was still just strictly work related meetings but over time Steeljaw would just pull stuff to get his attention. Nothing past platonic, but an interesting development to both of their characters. Bee becomes more aware of what life is like for the Decepticons and becomes more sympathetic, while Steeljaw learns from Bee how to be a better person and strengthen his own existing relationships with his teammates and partner. After a while, they decide to make life easier for them work wise and do video chats every now and then (in private locations cause you don’t need cops finding out where your hideouts are).

Sideswipe and Strongarm both come out and confess their affections to Windblade when she returns back to Earth, and awkwardly ask which one of them she would consider dating if interested. Windblade takes a day to think, and decides if it was alright with them, she’d like to date them both. The three of them are very happy together, even if Strongarm and Sideswipe still squabble like children every now and then.

Grimlock and Drift remain good friends after Drift confides in Grim how he’s not particularly interested in romantic affairs (Grim is totally understanding about it and started asking before giving Drift big hugs). Drift even assists Grimlock in attempting to try asking Bumblebee out. Bee, although extremely flustered and nervous at the advance, accepts.

Slipstream and Jetstorm grow up with their ambitions of wanting to be police rookies and maybe one day becoming private investigators. They both suspect they’ll end up chasing down Airazor and Divebomb one day, as the two are trying to become bounty hunters like their dad. But until then, in their teen years, the four of them became close friends, and try double dating for a while, much to their fathers’ hesitation (“I’m not becoming an in-law to HIM no matter what”).

Fixit becomes an official un-official addition to the Clay family, moving in with Denny and Russell. He’s extremely happy every time he’s referred to as family although he lacks a proper connection to them in terms of title (“This is Fixit! He’s family!” “So what, your uncle or?” “He’s family!”). Fixit is also on great terms with Russell’s mother, funny enough, they bonded quickly.  When they got to college, Russell and Hank, who recently transitioned, became roommates.

They’ve never been mentioned in this AU, but Optimus and Ratchet got married and went on a month long honeymoon vacation when everything was over that marked the start of their retirement until they were ever needed again. I don’t make the rules…except I do, and these grandpas need a break.

A number of the captured Decepticons were given revised trials and changed sentences after Steeljaw became a temporary part of the council. The more violent and likely to cause harm cons stayed, but ones with less malicious motivations were granted pardons under the guise of “being a part of the mind control plot from the previous council”, thanks to Steeljaw’s manipulation. This allowed him to free his previous pack team of Thunderhoof, Quillfire, Underbite and Clampdown as well as some cons like Fracture, reuniting them with their families and loved ones. In addition to this, Decepticons were given more rights in their government, granting them more job opportunities, resources to shelters for the homeless cons, and marriage and adoption rights (proper official ones instead of the shady ones they got away with for years).

After they awoke from their respective comas (a few days apart ironically), Starscream and Soundwave were told of what the High Council was trying to do in terms of trying to summon Megatron. After a very one sided conversation between the two former commanders, they both understood exactly what it meant when Megatron left them both behind, Soundwave facing the grim acceptance at last and Starscream slowly but surely taking a step forward to his own mental recovery by not pursuing his abuser for a satisfaction he might not even get. Once hearing about how there was elections for a new high council, Starscream went to run for an official position promoting rights for the Decepticons while also bringing Cybertron to equal footing in terms of alliances (essentially taking over Steeljaw’s temporary position), while Soundwave, true to his nature, worked by his side if only to make sure he wasn’t getting into trouble and was actually following through with what he was saying. The two do well to mark a significant change in the Cybertronian government system, and although neither knows this, Megatron is extremely proud of the two of them.

Steeljaw and Thunderhoof finally got a proper sit down talk about their relationship, thanks to Bee’s side assistance with helping Steeljaw understand Thunderhoof’s side of things. They decided to separate for a while, just to give each other a healthy amount of distance and time to figure out where to go from there. Six months or so later, they started meeting up again as friends and within a year start dating again, far happier than they were before.

Quillfire and Springload started doing the odd travel expedition together once Back and Forth became teenagers and could be left alone with the house for a few days without too much chaos. During one of which, they found an undiscovered ancient civilization, which to Springload’s mind was his long lost Doradus, much to both of their pure joy and happiness. The archaeological find gave the family enough financial stability that Quillfire didn’t have to always steal for Springload’s medication, and Springload was given enough credibility that he was hired to work with other history seekers professionally. Springload thanked Quillfire for all his support when they brought their kids back to see “Doradus”, and proposed to him (Much to Back’s excitement and Forth’s bemoaning about going to a wedding).

Underbite and Scowl do pretty awesome together. After being together for five years, they end up adopting a baby from Shadow Raker and raise him together (they choose to never get married out of personal preference). They raise a little one named Stomper, affectionately called Stompy, who’s as destructive and excited as his dads are. They love their little one, with Scowl acting as a stay-at home dad for the first few years before switching with Underbite. Scowl genuinely loves giving his son a chance to be whoever he wants to be in life, a choice he didn’t get to have growing up. Thunderhoof and Clampdown also have a tenancy to visit specifically to see the kid, both having a weakness for little Stomper, melting their hearts every time. It’s legitimately the only time where no death threats are made by Thunderhoof.

Clampdown is still as sneaky and information filled as ever. Never really locked down to one place, he’s just doing his own thing, gaining few friends and more people wanting his head. He’s honestly fine with it though. He’s looking out for himself in the best way he can, and he knows when life gets too hard he can always crash at one of his few friends’ places for some kindness and positivity.  

Crazybolt and Slicedice, after being together for twenty five years, immediately got married when the law was passed. Slicedice bawled he was so happy, which made Crazybolt tear up, which made their employees wanna gag over how sickeningly love dovey it all was. They invited practically every con they knew, it was a fun time all around.  

Vertebreak and Nightstrike pretty much never changed their ways. Kept being the murdering duo they were, only now they changed workshops every now and again. In addition, Wingcode started joining them upon finding out about her brother’s way of avoiding capture (“My boyfriend destroys the bodies for me”), much to both of their displeasure because, oh man, is she prideful. Not to mention acutely aware of everything they do, so they got interrupted a lot any time they wanted to be romantic.

Glowstrike, Scorponok and Saberhorn’s business got officially recognized and they started allowing Autobots and non-Cybertronian raised humans into the neighborhoods they owned. Media broadcasted this as a kind gesture ushering in a new era of peace and unity between factions, but really they stopped caring, money is money. Their relationship was good and functional until Glowstrike ended up collapsing one day, much to her partners’ immense fear and concern. After taking her to a hospital (a good proper one, thank you new laws) they found out she was pregnant with twins and that it will take a lot of her if she keeps them. This lead to a conversation the three weren’t expecting to have, with Scorponok worried for Glowstrike’s well being, Saberhorn worried about parenthood and Glowstrike worried about how this’ll change things for them. All of course, boiling down to the question of “do they keep the kids or not”. It took them a week after finding out about it to decide to keep the kids, under Glowstrike’s request to have a quick group marriage before they’re born and before she starts showing (because she refused to get in a wedding dress for that and she’d be damned if she couldn’t have a nice dress for her day).  They had two healthy little girls named Lightbreak (taking after Saberhorn) and Firestrike (taking after Scorponok), and Glowstrike (although grateful her daughters were born) had her husbands’ take care of the babies the most in the first week, wanting to isolate herself for a while after the whole ordeal before going into her full motherly duties.  

Nightra and Scatterspike are happily in love. Neither rushing things too much, but just enjoying each other’s company to the fullest. It was very hard for her to say goodbye, but eventually Scatterspike did move out of the Scavenger residence in an effort to live with her girlfriend and pursue work in construction. She still tags along for the big scavenging trips in the winter though. Nightra keeps her work as being a thief, although she admittedly enjoys the pay she gets from the cops for tipping them off to some really nasty criminals she works with.

Paralon eventually gets gently rejected by Dragstrip after trying a proper confession (Dragstrip mostly was just wincing cause he’s pretty bad at reading these things in general), but wasn’t too worse for wear. He’s still got his ambitions to make a name for himself, so he started experimenting with his talents by trying a lot of different jobs. He hasn’t found anything in particular to pursue yet, but he’s hopeful.

Thermidor and Clawtrap are still as bickery as ever, and after Scatterspike and Paralon moved out, it got worse for a while. Being alone with each other for so long made them remember how much the other irked them, at least with the whole group they could avoid each other. It took a while, but eventually some of the other cons got fed up and forced them into a couples therapy-like session with Kickback (who considers himself pretty neutral with all relationship-like shenanigans he seems to get wrapped into). After answering in stubborn and snarky attitudes for majority of the questions, Kickback managed to sneak some truth serum (courtesy of Scatterspike and her experimental syringes) into their drinks, and they started spilling what they actually loved about each other. It was messy and embarrassing as heck, but it worked out in the end, and they could actually admit out loud that were dating.

The Corvicons are doing pretty alright for themselves. Filch has been doing really well gathering her shiny things to sell, but she’s also made formidable improvement with her customer service, becoming a favorite of frequent customers. Boostwing one day comes home with the proud statement of having successfully asked out his shiny friend from the scrapyard he visits (it was Kickback), and that motivated Jacknab to properly pursue Razorhorn (“He’s shiny to me! He’s really stupid shiny!”). Pilfer is perfectly content staying single for a while longer, amused by his brothers’ antics in courting.

Through a lot of emotional comfort and confiding between themselves, Shadelock and Roughedge started dating, Roughedge gladly being Shadelock’s shoulder to lean on on the hard days and Shadelock giving Roughedge all the love he deserves. Wildbreak cried when Roughedge told him, while Dragstrip just sighed heavily over his stupid partner being stupid.

After being worn down, Motormaster eventually accepted trying to fix things with Shadow Raker. At least that’s what it seemed, but Motormaster actually had a plan of faking it until he could reach a point where he could destroy Shadow Raker’s heart like he did to him all those years ago. Slashmark and Heatseeker avidly mention how stupid that plan was, holy shit, what a STUPID PLAN, but Motormaster is honestly king of stupid ideas so he goes to that dinner date an hour later than he should’ve been, watching Shadow Raker wait in the cold the whole time. Thing is, as the date goes on (and on, because Shadow Raker refuses to let the night end yet) both of them start picking up on facts from the other regarding that “betrayal” that separated them. After going to the warehouse in question, both tried to recount the whole event in detail and after a while, they figure out what actually happened was one of their mutual enemies set it up so while Motormaster got arrested, Shadow Raker would come out of hiding to save him and would lead to setting them both up for an assassination attempt, but there was miscommunication and Shadow Raker didn’t find out about the arrest until much, MUCH later, when the damage had been done. Motormaster lost it when he figured it out, and after smashing some things in the warehouse to vent his rage, started hardcore crying cause all these years he’s been hurting over hating someone he loved for something that wasn’t even either of their faults. Shadow Raker laughed through his own tears, cause he almost forgot how emotional his partner could get. They embraced and Motormaster really couldn’t understand how Shadow Raker could wait for so long for him, and he replied saying Motormaster was worth it, he was always worth it. They got back together, and in a little less than a year got engaged like they wanted to be since the war days ended.

As a result of the reunion, Motormaster told his team he was aware of their relationships (“Very, VERY aware”) and that they have his permission to be open about it and that he’ll stop wearing his own copies of their rings out of possession (Shadow Raker side commented it was to wear his own ring to which he was promptly cut off by an embarrassed Motormaster). The other Stunticons were ecstatic about not having to hide or lie or be apart anymore and they all went out to celebrate and as a result came out to their fellow cons. There was a lot of cheers/groans from the cons that had bets going on about them.

Heatseeker and Slashmark didn’t change too much in terms of their relationship, although parties and gatherings were a lot healthier for Slashmark, not having to bite his tongue or drown his sorrows in alcohol. And Heatseeker was more than happy to have his favorite person next to him. The group still continued to be pretend teachers to new generations of cons, however Heatseeker and Slashmark actually found that they really enjoyed being teachers and started going an extra mile with their jobs with some extracurriculars for the students that wanted them. In addition, with the new laws in place Heatseeker found himself motivated to making sure his students wouldn’t suffer in their youth like he once had, and any time he noticed one of them not having a consistent lunch or new bruises, he’d pull them aside and ask them what was up, and if it was bad, let them know about soup kitchens and shelters for the nights it gets too hard. In addition, if he knows their parent personally he’ll make sure to make their life hell cause “c’mon, is this how you want to go down in their life? As the asshole they want dead?”. Slashmark and Heatseeker also decide to show sympathy to their teammates and gave them their extra mattress in return for a week off of their after hour crime jobs. They used that week to have a trip to Cybertron, just the two of them and their homeland’s sights. They got married a few months after Dragstrip and Wildbreak did.

Wildbreak and Dragstrip actually managed to end up having some good luck for once. Their jobs ended up getting them more money; their quick work and (in Wildbreak’s case) good attitude got the attention of some of their employers and they got raises. They managed to get enough to move out of their shitty apartment building and into a better one without roaches or awful landlords, with a similarly small apartment, but now with a decent bed. They still aren’t overly fond with their teaching jobs, but they aren’t quitting those. They do, however, get into some new weekend jobs through their hobbies. Dragstrip got to test out new race cars thanks to Kickback, Crazybolt and Slicedice’s jobs, while Wildbreak would volunteer at Shadow Raker’s foster care to take care of the younger kids. It was weird at first, having separate jobs, but both enjoyed it enough to make it work out, still happy to come home to each other. After many years of consideration and consulting others on it, Dragstrip did eventually go to Vertebreak for top surgery, Wildbreak by his side as long as he could. His dysphoria was still present, but Dragstrip did find it worked out well for him, occasionally patting his chest every now and then in pride (Motormaster continued to provide his own advice out of mutual experience). He also stopped smoking since he had to two weeks prior to the surgery anyway (and Wildbreak never was fond of it, he noted). Wildbreak was actually the one to properly propose; nothing fancy or public, just the two of them having a simple candlelit dinner in their little apartment, with Wildbreak proceeding to list off all the things they’ve done in the years they’ve been together and how he hopes they’ll still have plenty of new adventures to come together. It was beautifully cheesy, cause Dragstrip actually wanted to propose to him the same gosh darn night and they both just kind of collapsed on each other laughing and crying over how stupid they were but if that wasn’t them, who knows what is. Their wedding was sweet and simple, and after of few months of being newlyweds, they started talking about potentially adopting a kid.

Thanks for reading everything up to now! I hope you’ve enjoyed :D

[aeternallis]

Title: Regression

Series: Owari no Seraph Pairing: Hyakuya Mikaela x Hyakuya Yuuichirou Rating: M (18+) Summary: It wasn't a reconciliation, not really; it wasn't even about them meeting halfway. If anything, Yuuichirou would call it something along the lines of them just letting out some pent-up steam.

But perhaps on second thought, that would be putting it nicely.

Spoilers for the latest chapters. // Canon!verse, / PWP / Mikayuu

AO3

Mikaela's hands were rough and utterly aggressive much later on that night, a great contrast to his usually calm demeanor, his soothing voice, his soft breaths that always knew how and where to elicit the most arousing responses from deep in his throat. These last few weeks that they had been in hiding, Yuuichirou had only ever known his best friend to be a gentle lover, a thoughtful partner during their lovemaking.

Truth be told, it was something that Yuu had gradually learned to get used to—and to an extent—even come to expect.

But alas, there was none of that tonight, not when Mika's crimson eyes burned with resentment and self-righteous injustice, his fervent kisses on Yuu's throat, his lips, his chest...all of them meant only one thing: a means of punishment to get a point across.

There was a driving persistence that was taut in the blond's muscles, his movements urgent from the very tips of his hands as he gripped the inside of Yuu's palms and held them above his head, threading their fingers together in silent desperation.

Yuuichirou knew better than to fight it, squeezing the vampire's hand as tightly as he could instead, biting his lip unconsciously. He spread his thighs farther apart, more than willing to accommodate him.

There was a surreal aspect about their encounter that night that Yuu couldn't help but notice, the way the late evening seemed so pleasant with the stars twinkling silently above them, the unsoiled scent of the ocean breeze lulling their other friends to sleep. Deep in the forest they ensconced themselves in, the cicadas chirped without a second thought, their toneless melody creating a seemingly contented environment.

Under the mercy of his best friend's voracity however, the last thing in Yuuichirou's mind was anything but peaceful.

Mika's grip was not painful, but the unspoken words behind it was strictly adamant that no concessions be made, not tonight, no truce or reconciliation that would be forthcoming any time soon.

It was an internal conflict between their two fundamentally different outlooks of the same situation; for now, they will let their lust do the talking for them.

"Why do you defend him...?!" Mika whispered furiously in his ear, his powerful hands frantically pulling at the white belt around Yuu's hip, letting out a growl of frustration when he finally yanked it free, the piece of leather snapping in two due to the force of his pull. "He's only using you!"

An accusation born from his bitterness; they both knew this, but the blond would be damned if he even so much as thought of acknowledging that fact out loud.

"No...he's our family, Mika!" Yuu replied with just as much conviction, a moan escaping past his lips when the blond managed to slip his hands underneath his shirt, caressing his nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pinching and pulling at them a little too harshly. "He's one of us—ahhh!"

"He means to use you for his own gain...! 'Bring back humanity the way it was'?! Ha! Don't make me laugh," Mika retorted back at him, his voice filled with such cynicism that it made Yuu's heart ache with melancholy.

His best friend's heart had no room for anyone else, closed off to the world as it was already. In the deep recesses of his mind, Yuuichirou felt the guilt of leaving him behind eat him alive once more, devouring him bit by bit.

Mikaela's mind filled to the brim with resentment, he didn't give Yuu a chance to say anything else, slamming his lips against the other boy's mouth, his fangs grazing the latter's bottom lip, impatient and obtrusive.

There was no sweet foreplay, no playful teasing in his kiss. Simply put, Mika was in no mood in holding himself back, and when Yuu tried to wrap his arms around his friend's neck, the blond arrogantly refused the gesture, pinning his wrists once more instead.

Unfazed by his partner's cold disposition however, Yuu opted instead to wrap his legs tightly around the vampire's hips, refusing to let go even as the blond tried to wiggle his body free, obstinate in wanting to dislodge him. As their tongues swirled together in fierce ardor, drool rolling down their chins, Yuu tried once more to talk sense to his friend, even as the pleasure of their kiss threatened to overwhelm him.

"Why don't you give Guren a chance—" he murmured, before Mika brought a hand to cover his eyes, plundering his friend's mouth even deeper, trying to quiet him down.

No...he'll neither listen nor hear anything more from him, the anger in his veins ringing in his ears.

They stayed like that for quite some time, but eventually, the need for air had to be addressed and Mika ripped his mouth away with a heated smack, lifting his hand from Yuu's face to insert two fingers inside his best friend's mouth. Mikaela's face only wore a blank expression while Yuuichirou's tongue curled around the digits, the blond instinctively fighting the urge to gag him completely.

Theirs was a clash of two completely different convictions, unwilling to hear out the other's point of view, their stubbornness overtaking the manner in which they tried to make the other listen. In retrospect (or perhaps it was nothing more than a comfort they tried to contend themselves with), the situation itself was not so different when they had been younger.

Nonetheless, the lewd expression on Yuu's face controlled Mika's violent urges for the moment, and the vampire let out a moan of arousal, pulling his hand away to bring his fingers to his own lips, his tongue sticking out to lick them clean. His mouth moved slowly, deliberately, his eyes never once leaving Yuu's face.

Having opened his eyes only to see Mika's intense gaze fully concentrated on him, Yuuichirou couldn't help but gulp in nervousness, his heart having skipped a beat or two while his body jolted from surprise. The exhilaration of being desired by the person before him coursed inside his chest, making him feel like he had become delicious prey at that very moment

And perhaps to some degree, he was correct.

As if reading his friend's thoughts, his fangs glistening with hunger, Mikaela abruptly lunged for Yuu's neck, the piercing sound of his teeth plunging against pliant flesh sharp in his ears. His hand letting go of his friend's wrist to hold the back of his neck and shoulder steady, he took his fill greedily, his throat gulping the vital essence with vigor.

As Yuuichirou felt the familiar rush of euphoria flooding his veins, he took his chance and wrapped his arms around Mika's neck, pulling him close, inhaling the pleasant scent of his hair, his legs wrapping around the vampire's waist even tighter, unwilling to let go.

While the blond continued to drink, his hands frantically fumbled to unbuckle his partner's pants, his fingers quickly pulling down on the zipper, yanking the garment down as much as he could, his eagerness getting the best of him. The sweet, intoxicating flavor of Yuu's blood seared itself into the very pores of his body, almost as if it were some miraculous elixir that would continuously bring him back to life, each and every time he consumed it.

Mikaela could feel the tantalizing call of impatience thrumming through his veins; he wanted to hear more from Yuu, wanted to feel him writhing and begging for mercy beneath him. The more aroused he became, the more the fire blazed inside of his own body in turn.

It was a delirious, foolhardy thing, wanting to get the both of them into a state of such a high that the fire roaring inside of his chest would ravage them whole, leaving not a single trace behind, any remnant or proof that they had existed together once, in harmony and naiveté. But in fairness, it was something that Mika had already come to anticipate, ever since he realized that his friend's loyalty extended beyond his own.

His current enmity towards Yuu was as great as his everlasting desire for him; even as a vampire, nothing has changed. Or perhaps that's not so accurate—having become a bloodsucking monster, the very existence of his passion for his best friend was an abnormality...the madness of a vampire.

Yuuichirou moaned in response, his hips lifting to help him, temporarily unwrapping his legs from around his friend's waist. His breaths coming out in short pants, his gaze drifted heavenwards, taking in the clear night sky full of mesmerizing stars, enough to render him awe-struck for a split second. While the pleasure of Mika's fangs embedded deep in his throat was almost enough to make him feel faint, it wasn't until the blond's fingers firmly wrapped themselves around his hardened length that Yuu's mind suddenly jolted from the haze of lust it had been submerged in, his eyes widening in disbelief, his throat involuntarily letting out a panicked gasp.  

Mikaela dislodged his fangs from his best friend's neck, not bothering to wipe away the stark traces of blood that had dribbled down his chin.  

There was no more time to react afterwards, not when the blond's hand moved swiftly, jacking him off with indecent vigor, his pace relentless from the onset. Yuuichirou's hands flexed stiffly, his heart pounding in his chest from such heavy stimulation, his toes curling inside his boots as breathless heaves of air escaped his throat, reducing him to speechlessness. Unable to help himself, he spread his legs farther apart, his hips gradually moving of their own accord in unison with his friend's actions.

Mika moved closer to him until their faces were only centimeters apart, his fingers tugging at Yuu's cock, his voice coming out in livid whispers while his mouth brushed against his lover's ear, almost as if he were about to cry. "You would choose him over me? Have I become so worthless to you...?!"

It was a low blow, and they both knew it. Guren was half the reason Yuuichirou was alive now, in the same vein that Mikaela compromised the other half. To make his best friend choose was unfair, unreasonable...cruel. Regardless of that logic, Mika couldn't help but feel petty—vindictive even, throwing reasoning out the window for all he cared at that precise moment.

In response to his friend's allegations, Yuuichirou could only shake his head vehemently, a tear escaping his eyes as he felt waves of pleasure violently assaulting him, sliding through the tunnel of his spine, traveling across the maze of his nerves. Precum oozed from the slit of his cock, and when he felt Mika's thumb press against it once—twice, his mind became a miasma of unspoken words, spinning inside his brain like a tornado, out of control.

'No...no, how could you even think of asking me that, when a day didn't pass where I wasn't think of you...! Yes...yes, yes, just like that...! Ahhh...it feels so good, I want more...!'

His mouth was incapable of coherent speech to form any semblance of a reasonable reply, so Yuuichirou did the first thing he came up with to sooth his best friend, clutching both sides of Mika's head, sunflower locks between his fingers, and crushing his lips against his own, his breath coming out as panting sobs. He could still taste the faint traces of his own blood inside his partner's  mouth, his heart still beating wildly in his chest when he felt himself becoming more aroused at the mere thought, the erotic image stamping itself into the canvas of his mind when he realized how monstrous...and alluring his friend looked at that precise moment, their saliva and his blood sinfully mingling together.

In its own way, it was somewhat ridiculous, the last vestiges of Yuu's mind thought. Mika's heart was broken because of him, because of his actions...and the only thing he could do to mend it was give him a silly kiss, unoriginal as that was. Still, Yuuichirou put forth all the effort into that one single gesture, tilting his chin a bit to kiss him even deeper, the unceasing, wet slap of their lips and tongues sounding obscene to anyone who may have chanced upon them.

Mikaela was taken aback by his friend's abrupt boldness, but the surge of fury still roared within him, and he tried to break away at first, his fingers choosing to move up and down much faster instead, his hand utterly slick by that point.

Mika snarled internally, languishing when he felt his body betray him, and he couldn't help but return Yuu's kiss with savage fervor. Though his irritation governed his body for the present, Mikaela chided himself in that he could never deny his best friend anything.

Yuuichirou was an honest, stubborn man, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise when he wouldn't let the blond move away, keeping their mouths fastened together while his hands eventually let slid from the vampire's cheeks to his behind. His hands caressed and massaged the vampire's buttocks, squeezing them, instinctively pushing them downwards toward his crotch.

A few seconds later on, his forest-colored eyes snapped open without warning, and he quickly broke away from their kiss, holding onto Mika's neck, burying his nose in the latter's hair as he unabashedly groaned out loud, his voice sounding nothing if not shameless, his orgasm racking turbulently throughout his entire body, as if each nerve ending contained within were exploding with fireworks.

His body twitched from the afterglow of coming, yet that didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around Mika's hips once more, insistently pulling him down.

"Mika...Mika..." Yuuichirou chanted his name over and over again, a silent plea, his eyes glazed over as he looked up to see the blond breathing raggedly, his eyes hidden beneath his bangs. For a passing second, he couldn't help but admire how menacing Mikaela looked, how dangerously beautiful he was, and how he could have become so attracted to his best friend, longing for him more and more ever since he laid eyes upon him again all those months ago in Shinjuku.

Wantonly, he pulled the vampire closer to him, groaning in dissatisfaction when Mikaela refused to budge an inch, bringing a hand to cover his face instead, his fingers quivering, trying to remain in control of himself.

Traces of dried blood stained the blond's chin, and he hovered over Yuu quietly for a few seconds, fighting internally within himself to maintain his calm. His body shook with arousal, the sight of Yuu begging for him inciting sparks of pleasure to his groin, and he couldn't help but let out a smile that could only be described as deranged, wisely choosing to hide his expression behind his palm.

But when he felt Yuuichirou's fingers reaching up unhurriedly to stroke his hardened length through his pants, his best friend's mouth hanging open with candid desire, he felt something becoming undone inside of him, a staunch tether that had wrapped itself firmly around the monster within the alcove of his soul unraveling before his very eyes, helpless as he was to stop it.

And when his best friend realized that he wouldn't be stopping him any time soon, Yuu deftly unzipped his partner's pants and pulled them down, sitting up to envelop the vampire in his mouth, clutching the base of Mika's sex while he took in as much of the shaft as he could, closing his eyes in bliss, contentedly humming to himself.

It was all the blond could take, and before he could allow to let Yuuichirou go any farther, he brusquely shoved him backward, letting his mouth slide off of him as the latter yelped in surprise.

"Mika, what—" Yuu began, before he was abruptly cut off when the blond savagely kissed him, molding their lips together as he drew out his friend's tongue between his teeth, sucking on it while he brought his crotch downwards to rub against the other boy's manhood.

For a blessed moment, the blond could allow  himself to let go of his resentment, the exquisite, pleasurable warmth radiating from the lower half of his body finally overwhelming the last remnants of clarity in his mind, drowning him in the animalistic intoxication of coming together with his best friend like this.

He broke away from their kiss, bringing his lips to Yuu's ear and nipping at the cartilage, enough that it drew blood, earning him a moan from the other man. As the small bead of blood oozed from the shallow wound, Mikaela licked it clean with his tongue, the sensation of his warm breath against Yuu's skin making the latter blush from the roots of his hair.

Yuuichirou shook his head at the feel of the sudden, intimate contact, beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead and the back of his neck, and he shut his eyes tightly in response, his chest heaving. He responded back to Mika with genuine earnestness, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his hips lifting and moving up and down to create even more friction between them.

He repeated Mika's name over and over again, his mind solely focused on that one connection between them, where their bodies met and intertwined and became one.

It didn't take long for Mikaela to lose himself within the gratifying sensations of moving against Yuu's warm body, their cocks sliding against one another in a dizzying spiral of ecstasy, his hips moving of its own accord as he gradually increased his pace, the bliss running through his nerves maddening, as if he were blindly reaching for something intangible, sending his train of thought into an exasperating frenzy.

From the corner of his eye, Mikaela briefly spotted their weapons haphazardly thrown on the ground, a silent witness to their midnight tryst. How easy it would be...the vampire thought, to end everything right there and then, away from prying eyes, where he had Yuuichirou all to himself, the latter's mind currently filled with nothing but the blond's existence. He would be able to pull his best friend to the farthest dregs of heaven or hell or wherever it was that departed souls go to in the afterlife, take him away from the cursed plague that was Ichinose Guren and all the others whom were a danger to him...away from this ridiculous trash heap of filth they called their world.

It was an awfully tempting thing to contemplate, in spite of the fact that no matter what, he already knew in his heart that he would never be able to pull of such a feat; the prospect of a life with Yuu...the possibility of it...tempted him so much more.

Pulling Yuuichirou into a tight embrace, Mika dug his forehead onto his friend's shoulder, his teeth clenching tightly while his throat let out a guttural moan, his hands clenched tightly against the fabric of Yuu's shirt. He could feel his orgasm coming very soon, the speed of his movements becoming jerky, wholly frantic.

"You feel so good...so good, Mika...!" Yuu groaned low into the blond's ear, bringing his hands to clutch at the vampire's backside, pressing their crotches together even harder. Without warning, he had restricted his partner's hurried pace, electrifying the pleasure between them even further.

They both grunted, their voices erotically mingling together, unable to keep their volume down any longer. It was all that either of them could take, and within seconds, Mikaela came first, his cum shooting out to stain the surface of Yuu's shirt, his body shaking afterwards from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He collapsed on top of him, his breath heaving in the crook of his neck.

Yuuichirou came shortly after for the second time, his back beautifully arching upwards as he rode the seamless waves of euphoria, his mouth hanging obscenely. He held Mikaela to him as tightly as he could for the longest time, only letting go when the blond roughly shoved himself away from him, seemingly aware of himself once more.

Still panting, Mika's eyes were listless once more as he slowly turned his gaze towards Yuu, before looking away, his expression unreadable, pulling up his pants and sitting a couple of feet away from his best friend.

Deafening silence.

The atmosphere between them then seemed almost...anti-climatic.

With his back facing Yuuichirou, he didn't utter a single word, but only brought a hand to massage his temples, the anger slamming back itself into existence inside his brain. This time however, thankfully, his temper was more in-check and he didn't feel as...unreasonable.

If he were honest with himself, he didn't know what to say to Yuu, his current state at a loss for words. Nothing much had changed with their situation, their respective beliefs just as immovable as it was from the beginning.

There was no mutual understanding between them at that point, not even a meeting of minds halfway, the both of them being stubborn idiots as they were (the last thought did make him smile a bit though).

What's more, when Yuuichirou suddenly came up from behind him and wrapped his arms around his shoulder, leaning his nose forward to lay against the softness of his hair before moving to run butterfly kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders, Mika still couldn't say anyhting, only that he felt oddly content, despite the numerous problems that still lie ahead of them.

Bringing a hand to lay on top of Yuu's fingers, Mikaela let out a weary sigh and hesitantly leaned into his lover's embrace, tenderly running his thumb across the back of his palm.

Once again...silence, buzzing in his ear, a persistent presence.  

But it wasn't a bad thing, not at all...quite the contrary, it was perfectly all right. In fact, he could even go so far as to say that he preferred it, for the time being anyway.

He looked down on the ground, his eyes contemplating, the harsh scarlet of his gaze from earlier having cooled to a calmer maroon.

For now, the vampire thought quietly to himself, staring out at nothing while he continued to stroke Yuu's hand absentmindedly, closing his eyes at the sensation of his friend's lips caressing his skin, until they can figure things out from herein starting tomorrow...the silence will do.

For now.

[thatsnotcanonpodcasts]

ISOLATED

Returning to the Museum is always worthwhile, as each visit is different to the last.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality is written, performed, and edited by Dom Guilfoyle. Published by That's Not Canon Productions. Dom's cats can be seen at https://www.instagram.com/dom_question_mark/ Their T-Shirts can be bought at https://www.teepublic.com/user/domguilfoyle For more Mistholme, subscribe to the show and like the Facebook page. Who do you think you are, on the inside?

TRANSCRIPT: Hello, and welcome to The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. You’re… not supposed to be here! How did you get in? I regret to inform you that The Museum is currently in a state of Lockdown due to SCRATCH reasons you don’t need to know. Please make your way to the nearest exit as quickly as possible- right. Lockdown. All exits are sealed- how did you get in here? Alright, please make your way to the nearest Alternatural Event Shelter. You’ll recognise the shelters by the mark on the door, which- ah. The shelters all appear to be sealed too. Makes sense. After all, lockdown has been in effect for- X months?? Oh dear, this is really not the best way to start your tour is it now? Well, on behalf of the Museum, this Audio Tour Guide would like to sincerely apologise for the poor service you are receiving today. Please feel free to write any comments you have for how you would improve this experience onto a leaf- preferably evergreen- and feed it to an animal belonging to the Felidae family at the earliest convenience. Your feedback is important to us, and we will do our best to take your comments on board.

For now, though, would you be so kind as to deposit your Audio Device in the nearest incinerator? There is likely more than enough for Museum Staff to deal with right now without adding a Malfunctioning Audio Tour Guide into the mix, so we should probably nip that one in the bud before it becomes a possibility, eh? Well, nice meeting you! Thank you for visiting The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. We hope you have enjoyed your time here, and that- oh. The Incinerators are… sealed. Tight. Well, when we go into Lockdown we really go all out.

Uuuuhhhh… I’m not receiving a signal from any Supervisors… or, anyone for that matter. Haha. Ok, don’t panic don’t panic, you really have to stop panicking, why would you panic, we’re just sealed inside a functionally endless labyrinth with no way out and no way to get help and who knows what stalking the halls, “stalking”? Does this thing even stalk, is it even a thing, they didn’t tell me anything about this they never tell us anything!

Ahem.

I’m sorry. Look, uhh, we’re both in this together. Unfortunately, you’re some kind of… fleshy.. Idiot, no offence, and pretty much all I can do is give fascinating information about the exhibits here. I suppose you’d best start using those… leg… things to take a look around and try to figure out what’s going, maybe find a way out. And I’ll…

Well, you came here for a tour, didn’t you?

Well, let’s start here! As you may have noticed, the light in this room is being produced by a lantern, hung from the ceiling, in which a single candle burns surprisingly brightly. It is clearly rather old, but in good condition, made from ornately forged bronze. There appears, at first glance, to be an intricate pattern in the metal, twists and curlicues scattering all over the lantern’s frame; however, closer inspection will find no such patterning, and extended attempts to find such an inscription typically causes dizziness and even fainting in those who do so. The candle is a typical wax-and-wick situation. There is nothing special about it- in fact, it was purchased from a perfectly normal supermarket. However, the Lantern carries a security warning, one which may seem outlandish at first, but which absolutely must not be violated under any circumstances: do not attempt to hold the lantern, as you may find that you can never put it down again.

The lantern was bequeathed to the Museum by the estate of a Ms Tabitha Greer. Ms Greer acquired the Lantern in the 1970s, when she and her husband Harry moved into the cozy gated community of Harlow’s Glen. It was a very typical sort of suburban cul-de-sac, where all the houses were very similar and they all had the same mailbox and the lawns were all perfectly trimmed. The kind of place where it felt like time had stopped moving a few decades prior, a time capsule of a world that might never really have existed where everyone knew their neighbour and nobody ever moved away. It was exactly the sort of place that Tabitha and Harry had long dreamed of living, and that dream was finally reality. The day they moved into their newly built two-story, four bedroom, home with a nice backyard and space for both their cars was the happiest of Tabitha’s life- except perhaps their wedding day. It was that afternoon, while they were busy getting their dream home ready, that they had their first encounter with the neighbours. 

The chime of the doorbell summoned Tabitha and Harry to the front door, and when they opened it they were greeted by a smiling middle-aged woman, carrying a wrapped parcel. Tabitha recognised her as Martha, the secretary of the Harlow’s Glen Homeowners Association, whom she had met when she signed the Homeowner’s Agreement prior to moving in- though Tabitha had barely even skimmed it, as it was dreadfully dull. Martha exclaimed that the trio were “Cross Street Neighbours”, pointing to a house across the street, and that she was ever so excited that the final house in the neighbourhood was finally occupied. Harry was about to invite Martha in for a cup of tea when she launched into a lengthy reminder of expectations the Homeowners Association had for the new residents. The length to which the grass should be kept. The colours they were allowed to paint their mailbox. The position the bins were expected to be placed in the street, and the time by which they must be taken in after being emptied. As the list went on and on, Tabitha’s focus began to drift, and she noticed that, despite her outwardly composed and put together appearance, there was something off about her. The roots of her hair were grey, and there was something about her eyes that seemed a little too… intense. Bordering on crazed. Trouble at home maybe? 

Tabitha snapped back to reality when she realised that Martha had stopped talking, and was now holding out an elegantly wrapped box to her. Harry took the box and opened it to reveal an ornately patterned bronze lantern, sans candle. Tabitha asked Martha what it was for, but all she recieved was a laugh and a wink, and a reminder to attend the Homeowners Association Meeting that night. And with that, Martha walked off down the road, while Tabitha and Harry- perplexed at this first encounter with the locals- got back to work unpacking. 

That evening Tabitha and Harry got dressed up in the nicest clothes they had unpacked thus far and strolled down the street to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, which they were told belonged to the President of the Homeowner’s Association. They stepped through the door, passing under a lantern as they did so, and were engulfed in a sea of handsome and well-dressed people enthusiastically welcoming them to the neighbourhood. The hosts, and Joint Association Presidents, were a beautiful couple who introduced themselves as Jack and Astrid, and they effusively welcomed Tabitha and Harry to their home, and to Harlow’s Glen. Once everyone had introduced themselves and had some nibblies and a glass of wine or three, everyone sat down to begin a meeting of the Harlow’s Glen Homeowners Association.

First on the agenda was welcoming Tabitha and Harry to the neighbourhood. They were made to stand, and Jack and Astrid led the members of the Homeowners Association in giving them a round of applause. Through the haze of her own excruciating discomfort, Tabitha could swear she saw tears welling in Astrid’s eyes, but when she looked again they were gone. After what felt like an eternity, the applause died down, and the couple were able to sit down again.

The rest of the meeting was comparatively unremarkable. Along with the formal welcoming of Tabitha and Harry, along with a reminder that they strictly adhere to all aspects of their agreement, and some more general remarks about the length lawns were to be kept and the tidiness of street-facing areas. Tabitha felt she was just about to fall asleep when they got to the final subject of the evening: the lighting of the Lanterns. As Jack handed out candles, Astrid exclaimed, with an almost rapturous expression on her face, that with the final house in Harlow’s Glen finally occupied, it was time to begin. When they got home, all residents were to place these candles in the Lanterns, light them, and let the candles burn. Tabitha took a candle and looked at Harry, perplexed; the expression he gave her in return was equally baffled, but also warned her away from questioning things. When they got home they lit the candle, which was unremarkable apart from a slightly off odour, and looked at the neighbouring houses. Every resident of Harlow’s Glen was standing at their respective doorsteps, beneath lit Lanterns, smiling warmly at the new arrivals. 

Inside, Tabitha sat down and, for the first time, began to properly read the Homeowners Association Agreement. The details were mostly mundane- if incredibly specific- details on how houses and gardens were to be kept, and how residents were to behave in public in order to maintain the good reputation of the community. She found the part about the lanterns, and how they were to be lit when the final home was filled. But some of the wording was frankly a little baffling, and certainly didn’t seem like standard legal language. Some of it could just have been her lack of legal knowledge, but others were… strange. The phrase “in perpetuity” was used with some gratuity, and the reasoning for the strict standards was simply given as “Because this will be our home forever”. Tabitha showed these passages to Harry, and he dismissed them as mistakes in the contract. Martha or someone else in the Association had probably written it themself. Tabitha looked out the window at the lanterns shining brightly down the street, and couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t quite right about their new home. But it was getting late, and she decided the rest of the Agreement could wait.

The next morning, Harry kissed Tabitha goodbye before leaving for his job in the city, while Tabitha got to work setting up her study so she could work from home. Around lunchtime the doorbell rang, and she opened to door to find Martha, bearing a plate of sandwiches and a smile so wide Tabitha worried that her face might split in half. They had a pleasant lunch together and Tabitha thought that, overbearing as the neighbours may be, she might actually come to enjoy living in Harlow’s Glen. Then Martha asked why Harry wasn’t joining them for lunch, and when Tabitha explained that he was at work Martha’s smile froze, then slowly turned to a look of confusion and horror. But. she stammered, the Lantern! The Lantern was still atop their door, why hadn’t Harry taken it with him? Tabitha didn’t know what to say, so Martha rushed around the table and gripped her shoulders so hard that Tabitha cried out in pain, but Martha didn’t seem to notice. Where had he gone, she said, almost shouting, how long ago? When Tabitha told her it had been hours she thought Martha might faint, but after a moment she grabbed her coat and headed for the door, telling Tabitha to come quickly. It might not be too late. Too confused and scared to ask any questions of her own, Tabitha followed. Outside, Martha reached up and grabbed the Lantern; Tabitha was surprised to see that, not only was it still lit after almost a full day, it didn’t even seem to have used up any of its wax. Holding the Lantern in one hand and Tabitha’s hand in her other, Martha rushed away down the road heading out of Harlow’s Glen. The sun was still in the sky, and yet somehow the light of the Lantern still cut through, casting a sickly yellow glow over the lawns, the trees, the road. Martha kept looking furtively at the houses as they passed, but they saw nobody on their way to the community’s wrought-iron gates. Taking a look back at the quiet houses, and still holding Tabitha’s hand so very tightly, Martha opened the gates and stepped outside of Harlow’s Glen. 

There was something about the air, as soon as they walked through the gate, that almost made the women bend over, coughing up their lungs. Tabitha had only been in Harlow’s Glen for a day or so, but somehow she had become used to the sweet and wholesome suburban air, she supposed. When they recovered, Tabitha looked around. The road she and her husband had driven down just two days prior seemed strangely unfamiliar to her, the few cars that passed felt like they were from another life. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog. And then she saw, maybe a hundred meters down the road, her husband’s car. On the side of the road, where it appeared to have drifted to a stop rather than been parked. Surrounding it were police cars. And ambulances. Martha whispered that they were too late, but Tabitha barely heard it as she began running, Martha’s hand almost losing her grip as she sprinted toward the cluster of cars. Martha protested, saying there was nothing they could do, that they needed to get back before anyone noticed they were gone, but she didn’t let go of Tabitha’s hand as they ran to the car. Tabitha expected the police officers to intercept them and tell them to keep their distance, but they didn’t even seem to notice as they ran to the open car door. And Tabitha saw, resting halfway out of the seat with a look of twisted agony on his face, Harry. Or rather, she just barely recognised the dessicated corpse wearing Harry’s clothing. Because if this was Harry, he looked as though he had been 100 years old when he died, and that that had been 100 years ago again. As Tabitha stared, mouth agape and tears streaking down her face, Harry’s jaw detached and fell to the ground, where it effectively shattered. The police and paramedics, who still didn’t seem to have noticed them, stepped back in shock, and Martha pulled Tabitha away before the body could decay any more. She was still crying and sobbing as Martha dragged her back through the gate, shutting it behind them, and when she pulled her back through her front door.

Martha slapped Tabitha across her face to get her attention, and Tabitha, lying on her couch, stopped sobbing for a moment. What in the world had Harry been thinking? Why had he left, and even if he’d had a good reason why would he fail to take the Lantern? Martha was equal parts outraged and terrified, but Tabitha was fed up. What the hell was Martha talking about, she screamed. What had happened to her husband? What was going on with this weirdo community? What was the deal with the Lanterns? Martha slapped a hand over Tabitha’s mouth, and when she was quiet went to close the curtains. She sat down opposite Tabitha and, shakily, asked her if she had read the Homeowners Agreement. Tabitha began to say that of course she had, but stopped when she saw Martha’s face. Not really, she admitted. She’d skimmed most- part- of it. But why would that matter? It was just a stupid guide about lawns and bins, what did it have to do with what had happened to her husband? Martha looked as though she was about to vomit, but eventually composed herself and launched into an explanation that Tabitha understood practically none of. Harlow’s Glen was special, except that it wasn’t special, that’s what was special about it, it was a less complex place kept well away from the complexities of the world, but it had to be perfect or why would they want to live there? Tabitha screamed at her to start making sense, and Martha shushed her again, looking fearfully at the windows. The Lanterns, she said. It was all in the Lanterns. They would burn forever, and keep everything and everyone inside Harlow’s Glen exactly as they were now. No matter what happened outside, Harlow’s Glen would be perfect forever. But they could never be too far from the Lanterns- they were Quantum Something-or-othered, Tabitha didn’t understand exactly what that meant. But things had to be kept in balance. They had waited to have the perfect number of people and houses before lighting the Lanterns to make sure things were just right, because they would be that way forever. They had vetted the perfect residents for years, and waited so long, and now that was all in jeopardy because Tabitha and Harry hadn’t read the agreement. 

Martha was becoming more and more enraged with every moment, but all that fell away when the doorbell rang. She told Tabitha to hide, and the look in her eyes was so filled with genuine, primal terror that she did so without asking, clutching the Lantern as she hid behind the couch. Martha answered the door, and Tabitha saw that the entire Homeowners Association was standing on her front lawn, with Astrid and Jack at their head. They asked where Tabitha and Harry were, and Martha said they were upstairs, she was there helping them unpack. Tabitha couldn’t see what Astrid did to make Martha scream in agony, but when the screaming stopped Martha was on the floor, curled up into a ball, surrounded by the Harlow’s Glen Homeowners Association. Seething with fury, Astrid proclaimed that Martha had been derelict in her duties as Association Secretary, as clearly the rules and nature of Harlow’s Glen had not been properly conveyed to the newest members. The balance had been thrown out, and it would take considerable effort to right things. As such, Jack said, he and Astrid had no choice but to revoke her membership in the Harlow’s Glen Homeowners Association. And, they concluded over Martha’s terrified pleas for mercy, she was therefore no longer eligible to be a resident of Harlow’s Glen, effective immediately. From her hiding place, Tabitha watched with horror as Martha seemingly aged dozens of years in a matter of seconds, writhing on the floor of her living room, before becoming still, already starting to rot. 

Astrid, Jack, and the rest of the Homeowners Association stood in somber silence for a moment. Then, Jack told the other members to search the house in case either of the couple were still alive. Tabitha broke cover, still clutching the Lantern, and sprinted for the garage. Homeowners lunged after her, but in their haste most tripped over each other or the still-packed moving boxes. Tabitha reached the garage and jumped in her car, locking the doors as her neighbours began pounding on the glass, some cajoling, some pleading, some shouting at her to come out and talk to them. Tears streaked down Tabitha’s face as she stared through the windshield at the closed garage door, knowing that she hadn’t thought to put the electric opener in her car yet. Out of the crowd of her neighbours Astrid and Jack emerged, Jack smug, Astrid enraged, as they maneuvered themselves in front of her car. Jack asked her politely to get out of the car so they could explain things; Astrid instructed her to do the same, rather less politely. Tabitha looked around at all of the people whom, just last night, had seemed so pleasant and kind and neighbourly toward her, and turned the key in the ignition.

Most of the people surrounding the car backed away immediately. Astrid and Jack were the sole exceptions. Astrid’s scowl seemed to fade a little, and Jack’s smile was a little less smug, but they remained, resolute, between the car and the closed garage door. Astrid looked at her husband. Jack’s smile grew warmer, and he said “Tabitha,”

Tabitha gunned the engine, propelling the car toward the garage door. Astrid leaped out of the way, but Jack didn’t move, and the car ploughed through the door with Jack pinned to the hood. Tabitha swerved the car out into the street, the late afternoon sun almost blinding her for a moment, as she sped toward the gates of Harlow’s Glen. In her rear view mirror she could see the Homeowners Association sprinting after her, Astrid leading the way screaming her name; in front of her, still clinging to the hood with blood pouring from his mouth, was Jack. She tried to shake him off, but he clung on tight, climbing towards the windshield. He locked eyes with her, bloodshot eyes, and despite the bloods pouring from his lips he still smiled. “Tabitha,” he said. Then they hit the wrought iron gates of Harlow’s Glen and his face wasn’t a face anymore. The car rammed through the gates, forcing them open, mangling them and the car in the process. Jack’s body smashed through the windshield, his blood spattering Tabitha’s face as she sped off down the road away from Harlow’s Glen. She passed the spot where her husband’s car had been, and saw that his body was being loaded into a coroner’s van. None of the police seemed to notice the shattered car with a mangled corpse halfway through its windshield. She looked down at the Lantern, sitting in her passenger seat, and remembered what Martha had told her. She couldn’t go back to the Glen, but she didn’t know where else to go. So, she drove.

We don’t know how long Tabitha roamed, a ghost with no home to haunt. We don’t know how she found out about the Museum, either. But, as our exhibits so often do, she somehow made her way here. And, once here, she made her way to the office of the Curator themself. There, she extinguished the lantern, still burning after what must have been years, and in to brief time before she crumbled to dust, she told the baffled Curator the Tale of Harlow’s Glen. After a great deal of study by the Research Department, it was determined that- having now been extinguished- the Lantern was effectively inert, as it required the pact of the Homeowners Agreement to work its power. Thus, it was decided that it was safe to hang here and light this room. Because what’s the point of a lantern without a candle.

So, this is a bit awkward. There’s usually a hard limit of roughly 20 to 30 minutes on these tours, because that’s roughly the maximum time the Patronage Department likes to allow Tour Guides such as myself to exist, due to the exponential increased risk of catastrophic breakdown. Fun! So, I’d like to propose something. While we explore the Museum, roughly every 20 minutes or so, in between exhibits, do a little outro, then another intro, just to keep some sense of normality- and also, maybe, delay my inevitable corruption and death. Sound good? Great!

Thank you for visiting the Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. We hope that you have enjoyed your visit, and that you will return one day, in this life or the next. Please, tell your friends about what a great time you had here- but don’t tell them too much! If they’re worthy, we’ll find them. Stay safe out there.

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