#they’re either wearing tents or tension bands

[uchihauahas]

Not a single character in Boruto is wearing clothes that fit them

[foodieforthoughts]

Ok I know I said I’d wait but 🤷🏼‍♀️ I’m no good at waiting lol. So here’s another...

You and Henry have been dating for a while but, you have young children, (lets say 5 yo, twin girls) that he hasn’t met yet. He’s ready to meet them when you’re comfortable enough so you set up a day for them to get to know him. Maybe you could add a flash forward where you’re all a big happy family, and they ask you if they can call him dad, or if he would be ok with that.

I’ve just turned into a great big ol softie lately lol.

Aah! Papa Henry is my favorite 😁 and I'm sorry about getting to it so late. The other WIPs were screaming from my drafts 😅

Warning: Teeth rotting fluff

*A/N: everything is fictional*

Title: Footprints in the sand

You watched as your daughters ran behind Kal in the sand, trying to get the bear to wear a leash. Henry stood in he middle of the invisible circle they were running in, with his hands on his waist and a brilliant smile on his face. Your in-laws were sat on the sand a few feet away with beers and Mama Cavill's famous avacado-ranch chicken wraps.

You looked down at your hand and to the wedding band on your ring finger. You were worried that your daughters wouldn't take a liking towards Henry, you had prolonged their first meeting for too long. But then one day, Henry had mentioned in the passing how it hurt him to not know them yet, even though you both were in a steady relationship for more than a year.

"Henry," you had calmly placed a hand on your boyfriend's muscular thigh which he nervously bounced while driving to the daycare centre. You both were on your way to pick up the girls after work and had a nice evening planned for them to know each other better. "They're going to love you." You had reassured him the best you could, although you were worried about their reaction too.

Your twin daughters, Lily and Eve, were absolute opposites of each other. While Lily was outspoken, Eve was the quiet kind. They were both devastated when you had separated from their father with Lily refusing to live with you for quite sometime. When you had sat them down and explained to them about your relationship with Henry, Lily had refused to acknowledge it and walked away while Eve had nodded meekly.

"It is important that they like me." Henry had turned the corner on the street to the building which housed the daycare. "I've never been so nervous in my life."

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to worry." You had squeezed his thigh and gave him a smile as he had looked at you.

Despite your calm outward demeanour, your heart had raced as your girls had accompanied you outside to the car where Henry was waiting. You had felt Eve's grip tighten in your hand while Lily had pulled hers out of yours. Henry was no good either. He had smiled but you could see the tensing in his shoulders and the strained smile on his lips. He had knelt down in front of them. Eve had situated herself behind your leg while Lily had stuck to your side.

"Girls, say hello to Henry." You had tried breaking the tension when Henry had looked up at you. Both of your daughters had weakly called out a 'hello'.

"Hello," Henry had extended his hands towards both of them. You had involuntarily held your breath until your daughters had tentatively taken Henry's hand and shook it. Henry had beamed up at you, the relief in his eyes evident as he stood up and opened the back door to his car.

You had decided it was safe to start off by letting the girls bond with Henry at the comfort of your home. After a stop at an ice cream parlour, the four of you had returned home and sat down in the living room. The girls had started out small by asking if Henry was a superhero. He had laughed and had showed them pictures of himself in the superman costume. They had gone ahead and talked about Kal which had gotten both the girls excited. They had played with the dollhouse with Henry's ginormous figure sat on the floor cross legged with them. When you had asked if he would like some coffee, the girls had pulled him towards their house set and 'brewed tea' for him. You had watched with warmth fluttering in your chest as the girls taught Henry how to hold the tea like royals with the pinky sticking out.

When it was late after dinner, Eve and Lily had sat with Henry on the floor watching a cartoon show with Henry asking them ridiculous questions about it and they had laughed while explaining it to him. You knew they were past bedtime but you were afraid to break the beautiful moment they were sharing. Your eyes had watered when Eve had leaned on Henry's side, holding onto his hand while she sleepily watched the show. Henry had looked up at you with surprise, his eyes going wide but his smile stretching across his face.

"Do you love mommy?" Lily had asked, turning in her place to look at Henry.

"Yes I do."

You were worried what Lily was going to say next as she chewed on her lip. "You won't hurt her like daddy? Because I can't see mommy sad."

You had quietly sniffled, trying to blink the tears brimming in your eyes. Henry had quickly glanced at you before smiling at your daughter. "I won't hurt your mommy. I promise." He had extended his hand, palm facing up, and Lily had placed her tiny ones in his with a smile.

"Hey, love." Henry sat down on the sand with you, his tshirt wet and a big smile on his face. A wet Kal ran towards you with Lily and Eve behind him. The two of them sat down on the sand, laughing as Kal shook the water out of his fur.

"Junior giving you trouble?" Henry placed his hand on your belly, your baby bump prominent under the sundress. You felt your son kick at the feel of his father's hand and as Henry felt it too, he ran his hand soothingly over your bump. "I think the girls like me."

You leaned your head on his shoulder, watching as Lily and Eve dug out a sand castle. Three years since they had first met and Henry was still skeptical whether they really liked him. Every six months, if his schedule allowed it, he made it a point to fly everyone out to Jersey to spend time with his family and let the girls know they were members of the Cavill clan now.

"Dad?" Lily called out all of a sudden, looking at Henry. "Uhm... can we call you dad?"

With widened eyes you looked up at Henry who was equally stunned. He seemed to be at a loss of words as his mouth fell open. He wanted them to address him as dad since he always introduced them as his daughters. But he had told you how he wouldn't force them and give them time, waiting forever if that's what it took. You watched as his eyes filled with tears at the realisation of what Lily was asking of him. You squeezed his hand in yours, feeling a fluttering in your chest. Henry nodded, swiping discreetly at the tear escaping from the corner of his eyes.

"Yes ofcourse, you can call me dad."

You had laughed as both your daughters had lunged at Henry with bear hugs with him enveloping them in his arms. Henry had smiled at you, his nose now turning pink and his blue orbs sparkling with the restrained tears. Hearing the happy squeals, his family had joined the five of you, making you realise that your family was finally complete.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Took me a sold five minutes to spell ‘ecstasy’ in the title)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7  8  9  10

Warnings- Angst

Chapter 11- Ecstasy To Aching 

The heavy ticking of the round faced, analog clock mounted over the bedroom door stirred the silence, drowning the steady beating of her heart and the loudness of Y/n’s murky thoughts. Even in the darkness, with heavy floral drapes blocking out the moonlight and all the lights in the house turned off, a consequence of it being past one in the morning, she could make out every detail of the bedroom. Her bedroom, even if the occasion of her occupying it had recently become scarce. Y/n had decorated the room herself, when she’d just moved in with her Aunt Bev. Her mother had hated that Y/n had chosen to leave, despised the court for giving Roger sole custody and abhorred the fact that in the end, because Y/n certainly couldn’t travel the globe with her father, she’d settled with her ex-sister in law. 

Rolling onto her side, facing the wall opposing the awning window to the left, Y/n couldn’t see it, but she knew for a fact that the lilac wall was peppered with band posters, sentimental pictures and those ridiculous plaques with inspirational quotes strewn in cursive. Sometimes Y/n couldn’t believe that she had been that kind of teenage girl. The kind that was so oblivious to the jaggedness of life that she thought hers could be remedied with some pretty words framed with flowers and hearts. Even then, she should have known better, she’d seen the marriage that she’d idealized fall apart, watch her mother spew venom at people she’d been taught to love and watched her father get in a cab, only to leave for months on end, more times than any little girl should have. But she had hope. Hope that things would be different when she was finally old enough to make it count. Hope that she hadn’t realized would dwindle before she could put it to use. 

Sighing quietly, Y/n shifted again, the rustling of her duvet no match for the persistent clock. It went without saying that sleep had been hard to come by since she’d gone to Santa Clara. She’d gotten in two days ago, and in those two days, a collective ten hours might have been a generous overstatement. It was like Y/n couldn’t turn her mind off, it was always going, usually replaying every moment spent with Keanu, desperately trying to figure it out, find where they were going wrong. But she couldn’t, for the life of her, Y/n just couldn’t. Well, at least, she couldn’t accept it. Accept part of the blame, accept that their way of doing things wasn’t the best, accept that maybe, they really had no place being together.

They hadn’t even spoken since she’d left, and while Y/n had, several times, considered calling him, she’d let the thought pass her by. Or rather, she’d forcefully pushed it away. What if he didn’t want to talk? What if she called and didn’t know what to say. 

She wished he wanted to talk. 

Keanu.

Blinking slowly, Y/n exhaled slowly. It was getting hard to pretend it didn’t hurt most times, but still, she cared for him. She cared too damn much. He was dangerously gorgeous, and his baritone was reminiscent of fine whiskey over rocks. His calloused touch, gliding over her hips, skimming her curves, was incomparable and Keanu’s brazen, quiet charm never failed to draw her in. There was so much about him besides that too, they way he made her heart beat a little faster by just whispering her name, they way his embrace could brighten the darkness and how it felt to kiss him. His taste; tobacco and mint, the way his tongue slid over Y/n’s when his lips fused with hers, it was……..perfect.

Y/n’s breath hiccuped at the realization that finally dawned upon her, and her eyes burned. Even after everything. After she’d realized that they were probably headed down a one way street to gut turning heartbreak; she’s fallen in love with him. 

She loved Keanu.

There, flat on her back, staring blankly at the clear ceiling, Y/n could barely register the quiet tears that escaped the corners of her wide eyes. Loved? When she wasn't even sure if he cared. And then, because she could never really get away from him, even if she was out of town, Y/n’s phone vibrated on the nightstand next to her, illuminating the darkened room.

The ringing seemed to go on forever and Keanu was beginning to think that Y/n had already turned in for the night. Still, he kept the faith, hoping that she’d pick up. He wanted to hear her.  He needed to hear her. It had been going on two days since they’d last spoken as time stretched forward, the gnawing feeling, the sheer insecurity, had only grown. Y/n was miles away, and every minute passed was a minute more of her putting him in the rear view. 

Even if they were a mess before, the moment Y/n had left, Keanu’s affections for her had been reignited with vigor. He couldn’t tell if it was plainly physical or not, but if his unsavory, juvenile actions had been anything to go by, he couldn’t discount the thought. Though, Keanu wouldn’t have gone as far as saying that he didn’t miss other things too; her laugh, the playful way she’d roll her eyes when he told a stupid joke and the warmth that would spread through him when Y/n laid her head on his shoulder. 

“Hello?” The line connected and her voice rang through breathy and soft. If Keanu closed his eyes, with just that one word, he could fuel his fantasy and ease his weary mind, and she was there. 

“Hey,” he whispered, husky and low, sitting up against the headboard, running corrective fingers through disheveled hair, “Did I wake you?”

Keanu could have sworn he caught her sniffing quietly, but Y/n spoke before he could think to ask about it, “No,” she dismissed, and could hear the faint sound of Y/n moving around between the sheets. Maybe he should have gone with her, that might have made things better, right? “I actually couldn’t sleep.”

Moistening his lips, Keanu wondered if it was because of him. If Y/n had been laying in bed, mind running rampant with thoughts of him they way his head with images of her. “Yeah, me too.” He sighed when she didn’t make a move to stir the new bout of silence, not really sure of what he should say next. The mood was confusing, he wasn’t even sure if she actually wanted to talk to him. If she wanted to talk, she might have called. And she hadn’t called, so maybe she didn’t want to talk. After his not so stellar behavior a few days ago though, he couldn’t blame her. And of course, that had just turned into something else they had neglected to address.

“I miss you,” he tested tentatively. It wasn’t a lie, he did miss her, yet still, Keanu was surprised that he’d chosen to admit it. He often thought that it was probably better to guard his feelings, to keep them close so there wasn’t the chance that they could be used against him. He didn’t want to be hurt like that, so instead, by default, he’d hurt her like that.

It took a while, and Keanu could feel the weight descending on his chest, she didn’t feel the same, she wasn’t missing him. Saying that was a mistake. The sirens were about to go off, he was about to shut down their brief conversation, when meekly, as always, she was able to still his quickened breaths, uttering in return, “I miss you too.” 

Clam. 

The sigh of relief that escaped his parted lips caught Keanu off guard and he was immensely relieved that the feeling was shared between them. “What have you been up to?” Y/n, seemingly sensing the impending awkwardness, probed gently.

“Not a lot,” an air of pseudo-nonchalance carried in his tone as Keanu toyed with the tightly stitched hem of his thick, warm, coverlet, the navy strips barely visible by the moonlight filtering in through the pulled curtains, “Just clearing up some things at Arch. I hung out with some friends earlier tonight. But that’s it. What about you, how’s your aunt and Santa Clara?”

“They’re good,” Y/n glazed over everything she’d done since she’d gotten there; how she’d caught up with her aunt over dinner, how they’d gone shopping and everything else. And after that, the ice between them seemed to start thawing and they fell into easier, more comfortable conversation. Two hours had passed, and it was only when the clock at his bedside indicated that it was nearly half three in the morning when Keanu heard Y/n yawn, a soft groan traveling through the line followed by and very sleepy, though absolutely adorable, “I’m tired.”

“I should let you get to sleep then,” Keanu chuckled. He was only just starting to feel the wear of the day past himself, and as it turned out, a lengthy chat with Y/n was just what he needed to loosen the tension in his shoulders.

“Mmm,” Y/n hummed, probably not even completely registering the words leaving her mouth, her mind in too much of a sleep deprived haze to keep up, “But I don’t want to,” she whined playfully. 

Truthfully, Keanu didn’t want her to either, but it was getting closer to four am and he didn’t want Y/n to spend too much of her time back home asleep, missing out on doing things with her aunt, and he was supposed to meet his sister the next morning too. “Well,” he worried on his lips for a moment, thinking some more, “Can we switch to Facetime?” 

Y/n hesitated for a minute, but eventually complied, “Sure,” she giggled, probably wondering where he was going with that. In just minutes, Keanu was looking at her, the image blurred from the darkness, though he could see that her hair was a little messy, less so than his, and she was wearing her pajamas, “What next?”

“Lay down,” he urged, easing on his own pillow and propping his phone on the bare spot next to him, watching intently as Y/n eventually followed suit, using a little stuffed animal and an extra pillow to keep her phone from falling. “Okay,” he sighed giddily when they were both set, “Now we can go to sleep together.” Keanu watched, smiling softly as Y/n dragged her lower lip through her teeth, before reaching over and fiddling with the sheets, “What are you doing?” He chortled, amused as he caught bits of the covers in the frame.

“Tucking you in,” she defended, adjusting the sheets again. Out of instinct, and definitely not by her request, Keanu started doing the same. By then, he didn’t need Y/n to mention something before he started mirroring her habits; chewing on his lip while he thought, circling the rim of his coffee mug with his finger, and now tucking his phone in. “Goodnight Keanu,” she managed between slow, sleepy blinks. 

“Goodnight Y/n,” he hummed, his own eyes heavy and slipping closed as Y/n finally succumbed to sleep, the call still on.

5 days later Coming in through the private terminal, Y/n knew that Keanu had adamant on picking her up, though she hadn’t expected to see him so soon, awaiting her just as she approached the escalator, struggling to carry her luggage. Squealing, she beamed as he pushed off the glass railing, approaching her quickly, only for Y/n to drop her bag and pull him into a tight hug. Through a deep inhale, she breathed his musky scent, reveling in the comfort of his arms. “I missed you,” she breathed into his neck as Keanu briefly lifted her off the floor. 

“I missed you too,” he grinned as he set her down, his hands still maintaining a firm hold on her waist. Just for a minute, Keanu started leaning down, about to kiss her, when he caught himself, realizing that they were already on the receiving end of some inquisitive stares, thinking better of it. Suddenly, the air between them felt clumsy and awkward, like it had before Y/n had left.

So nothing had changed.

Letting go of a nervous, silently pained breath, Y/n pulled away, a little upset when Keanu made no move to keep her to him. “Let me get this for you,” Keanu offered, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and easing her carry on off her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Y/n sighed, letting the space between them build naturally as they walked. The ride down turned out to be as uneventful as she’d expected, though the real drama came when she and Keanu were headed towards the exit. It had started slow and unwelcome, one pushy camera man at the first waiting area they passed, another two joining him as they walked. But eventually, somehow, they had multiplied,  and before long cameras were shuttering and being shoved in their faces, and while most of them just wanted her and Keanu to stop for pictures, some of the shoves came  with invasive questions. 

“Are you two dating?”

“How’s the movie coming along?”

“Are the rumors true?”

“Did you break-up with Luke for Keanu?”

They took it in stride, like two professionals who knew what they were doing, not for a minute entertaining the paparazzi as they bustled towards the automatic doors just up ahead. With everyone surrounding them though, the door seemed almost unreachable, and while Y/n had grown used to being bombarded by nosy paps who’d do anything in the name of the gig, she found it especially unbearable that day, especially since part of Y/n longed for the reassurance that she Keanu wasn’t going to give. If he wouldn’t take her hand on the beach, he certainly wasn’t going to do it when they were surrounded by cameras. 

Her breathing quickened and her heart thumped erratically against her ribs. She didn’t like that, not in the slightest. Even if Keanu was just a foot away, Y/n felt completely alone, as if she were the only receiver of those pushy, invasive questions, while Keanu, as always, looked perfectly unaffected, not uncomfortable in the slightest. Y/n wished that just for once, he could be as bothered as she was, care as much as she did. 

By the time they had left the building, two security guards had escorted them to his car, and it wasn’t until they were safely inside his Porsche, did Keanu lean over the consul in an attempt to kiss her. Y/n wasn’t willing to make it that easy though, he was fine when they were alone but avoided being with six inches of her in public, it couldn’t work like that, she wasn’t something that he could just play with when he was bored. So, instead of letting him near, Y/n pulled away, her head jerking back. “What’s wrong?” Keanu furrowed his brows with real concern. 

“You tell me,” Y/n’s lips pursed, and she stayed like that, huddled against the passenger door, "You're the one acting……"

"Acting like what?" Keanu stood his ground, shifting in his seat to face her properly. Y/n could tell he knew exactly what she was talking about, though wasn't as willing to admit it. 

"Like you don't want people to know about us," she folded her arms across her chest, imposing a physical barrier between them, unwilling to waver as much as Y/n knew Keanu wanted her to. 

"Come on Y/n," he chuckled humorlessly, his tongue quickly darting out to nervously moisten his lips, "You just got back, you really wanna do this now?" 

Y/n thought that Keanu almost sounded exasperated, still though, she pushed, "So I'm right?"

Shaking his head, his ran sticky fingers through his hair, disturbing its wind tousled neatness, "I never said that."

"You never say anything," emphasis lingered in the last word, "And you don't have to either, the way you act when we're out says enough."

When he reached out for her hand, Y/n pulled away, and if it were possible for her to recoil further into her seat, she might have, "Come on babe," Keanu sighed heavily, "You're blowing this out of proportion, you know how people will talk if they find out."

By then, stinging tears had gathered in her eyes, and Y/n knew that he was trying to downplay and dismiss her suspicions, and the worst part? It was working. She knew he was lying, the problem wasn't the press, the problem was him. It was them. But he was never going to want to talk about it. So instead, he'd sell her a lie, one she'd readily swallow if it meant she could keep him. "So you want us to just…….hide?"

"Just for a while," there he went with a another lie, "Maybe when you're older, or when we're in a better place," that time, when Keanu reached out, Y/n begrudgingly let him take her hand, relaxing ever so slightly when his thumb traced her knuckles, "I'm just trying to protect us. Protect you."

She didn't want to believe him, but she loved him. God, she loved him. Knowing full and well that he probably didn't love her back. And because of that she'd take whatever he sold as the truth, for as long as she could. Y/n would forgive the pain he'd cause and ignore the warnings. She'd do a lot, if only it meant that she could prolong the inevitable. 

"Okay," she breathed tearily, feeling the warmth slowly trickle down her cheeks. Reluctant at first, Y/n eventually let her resolve crumble as Keanu reeled her in.

"Come 'ere," he mumbled, Keanu's free hand tangling in her hair and his hold on her wrist loosening. "I missed you," he added quietly, laying his lips on his, in a salty, bittersweet welcome back. In unison, their mouths worked, and Y/n let her eyes slipped closed, tilting her head and cupping his neck. 

As they continued Y/n let the weight of Keanu's untruths sink in, hoping that like everything else, it would lighten as time wore on. 

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​  @danceoftwowolves​

[felineincognito]

Just A Tentative Theory

So I'm new to the Larry and 1D fandoms -brought in by Harry and Loui's solo careers- and I've just binged so many proof videos in literally the two months I've been a part of this thing. Along with all of those I've seen a fair few proof vides of other ships within the fandom, some really biased and others that almost make sense.

Not hating on or discrediting other ships!! This is all just based off my own observations and what I’ve been able to piece together from all of the content I’ve gone through. And I'm sorry it's so rutting long and rambley at bits, I am running on so little sleep I wanna cry and caffeine fumes.

So... this is my babyfan theory and feel free to comment or run with it just remember I'm new to all this and had to get this idea out?

So what if in the beginning, when Louis and Harry met on X-Factor, you have these 2 sweet young boys who like each other but don't really have a lot of hope of anything working out because they're both contestants shooting for the same prize so they harbor these innocent little acquaintance crushes like you'd get on someone you sit down the row from in class in highschool or something right? But then they get made into a group and all of a sudden they're all up in each other's space and they're bunking together and they realize they really do like each other but neither have much experience in relationships yet or more intense emotions so they keep it fairly quiet. They figure that with the press they're getting with the show and the stress of wanting to do well and everyone feeling each other out as a group they really would rather their little romance be just theirs for a little while longer. And of course people in charge of publicity encourage this mindset, telling them that if they come out as a new/forming couple or let it be known they like each other (or just boys in general) that way there would be more attention on that (not all of it good either) than their actual talents or performance(s) and the other boys would be pushed to the sidelines in favor of them and that's just not fair to the other 3 now is it?

Then they don't win X-Factor and they think that's it until they get brought in to make a boyband even though they didn't win because they're just that f-ing popular. But this thing between them is still new and fragile and they haven't had time to work out just what it is or if it's something that's going to last and the label swoops in with a legal gag dressed up as a temporary fix. They don't tell anyone about them, don't do anything overt in public, maybe be seen/paired off with a girl or 2 as a red herring for the press, giving them time to just figure this all out and see if they really will work. And they take it because they're young and this is the chance they've always wanted and there are 3 other lads who will suffer if the two of them turn this down. So they sign and they try to follow the scripts and listen to what their handlers and managers tell them but they're cheeky kids in puppy love and it's almost like a game to see how far they can push it and just what counts as too much when all of the boys are so tactile and affectionate with each other.

And they really do fall in love. In the whirlwind that is the first couple of years, the song writing, the tours, the hours put in at the recording studio and every single press conference and public appearance in between, they fall in love. And it's great and it's good and somewhere along the way they think this might be it for them and they're ready to come out but then the label hits them with the gag they signed and they realize just what it means. They realize that they basically signed away their rights to talk about it or show their love or share it with their fans because it might hurt their image, affect their popularity and hurt their profits. But that's okay, because they have each other and they're in love and the girl Louis is 'dating' isn't so bad and she's cool about the whole thing.

But then it gets hard. The press is making Harry out to be this womanizing sex symbol and pushing for Louis and the girl he's with to start getting serious because supposedly they'd been together while Louis was on the show and really it's about time isn't it? And during all of that the Larry Stylinson fandom has been born and they're putting the pieces together and the lads are cheeky things who are hurting because they can't tell the world they're in love and while Niall supports/ships them (at least from how he acts in proof videos I've seen) Liam agrees with management about not being open about it while Zayn is an odd mix of the 2. So they push it and they let things slip and they give the fans enough to put it together without violating their contracts and yeah management pushes back and takes measures so they don’t seem as close and to hopefully quiet the rumours but overall it's okay again for a while.

Then Harry starts figuring parts of himself out. And he wants to start wearing pretty shirts, bright colours and flashy patterns and painting his nails but they tell him he can't because those are girl shirts and it's too femme to paint his nails and wear bright colours and pastels and it hurts because he just can't be himself. And he wants out. He's tired of being scared he's going to mess up on stage or people won't like their songs enough for the label's liking and he just wants to be able to love Louis without worrying about what everyone else thinks and their little codes and touches just aren't always enough anymore.

So they start to fight. Louis is too scared to leave because he doesn't think he's good enough without the band and they're both still so young and have only been in this world for a few years how can they be sure they'd make it? How do they know that they won't just crash and burn and that will be the end of it? So they fight and they hurt each other and they're already living apart and barely seeing each other outside of work related or group functions because of management and Louis kind of lets himself fall into the illusion of the relationship he's being made to partake in and Harry finds himself growing closer to the other lads and pushing his limits with his wardrobe and public persona.

Now the next bits are where my theory starts to get a little more wobbly because like I said I'm new and my info digging skills are not as good as others in the fandom. A lot of it is based off of videos by freddieismyqueen (before she took them down), larrystylinson 28, Larry Stylinson's Utopia, s e p t e m b e r 2 8 and FireproofLarry.

So in the midst of the fighting and the hurting and both being so scared for so many different reasons they kind of fall apart. To Harry, Louis has chosen his career over their relationship and Louis is hurt and upset that Harry can't/won't see where he's coming from on all of this. And this is where Zarry comes in.

Throughout the Larry jealousy videos one of the things that stuck out to me was that there were a lot of Zarry moments and they seemed closer to the end of the 1D timeline. Before that most of them were just the references to Harry with girls, him being 'flirty' with interviewers or fans or just general cheeky sort of passively possessive moments probably played up to irk management and give the fans more to go off of. But then we get to the points where Harry and Zayn interact more on stage and Louis starts to look right pi**ed and just watches without doing any sort of possessive holding or touches or cheeky little looks and whispers like we're used to. No, Harry and Zayn start flirting on stage or being closer during interviews and Louis is angry and passive aggressive. And in the background Niall looks like he has no idea what the heck to do about all of this and Liam is just done with their cr*p.

So Louis gets his head out of the dirt and tries to make it up to Harry. And it works because this lad is head over heels for Louis and Zayn is left behind. But maybe Harry doesn’t realize that things were a little more on Zayn’s end. Maybe it hurt a little more than expected when the two lads finally figure themselves out. Or maybe Harry and Zayn really were just friends and the ‘Zarry’ moments just ruined his friendship with Louis and he felt it ruined his friendship with Harry too because Louis sees Zayn as a threat now so there’s bloody tension and such all over the place. (personally I’m leaning towards the last and that Louis’ jealous streak probably came out and he had a few a**shole moments because come on guys, he’s only human and they went through a lot as performers in the public eye and if you listen to a lot of his interviews there’s a lot of insecurity issues he’s dealt with over the years)

Then that blessed September 28th happened and it helps their relationship because honeymoon phase yo. But that’s 2013. Life goes on and it gets hard again and they’re pushing it again and life happens. Zayn leaves and it hurts the band because they’re in the middle of a tour and from what I’ve gathered he kind of just shut them out of his life. And so Harry is hurting because losing a friend is hard and Louis is upset that the band is falling apart and the media is having a heyday with the story and they’re in the middle of a blasted tour and that good old jealous streak comes out with Harry being so upset over Zayn leaving. So he’s scared and hurting, and mistakes are made.

Now we know that Liam confessed to a drinking problem at one point and there have been references of Louis having his moments as well. And Louis and Harry still have to ‘date’ girls and Louis is always the long-term one so it would stand to reason that he would have a decent rapport with the girls he’s seen with, that these would be people he learns to be comfortable with. And overindulgence in the presence of someone you trust or are familiar with when you’re hurting can lead to lapses in judgement. Which is probably how we got little Freddie. (And that is all being said of him because we don’t need to drag a child into all this drama people)

Louis being unfaithful, even if it wasn’t intentional, right after Zayn left would put a strain on their relationship and would cause another off period. But they’re still fools in love and married at this point so they try to make it work and they kind of come together again and they figure out how to move forward. But Louis is going to be a dad and their contracts are almost up and Harry still wants out.

So the band splits and Louis is so scared of what comes next and he’s trying to make it all work and the songs he’s released get good responses but not as much as he’d hoped and X-Factor doesn’t pan out and the other 4 are off living their lives. Zayn’s music career is a success and Niall waits awhile but his music is popular fairly right off the bat as well and Liam at least is still in the public eye and Harry is making waves. He’s wearing clothes he couldn’t before and he’s wearing all of the bright prints and flashy colours and those pearls happen and he’s in a movie ya’ll and he’s good at it.

And it takes Louis awhile but he finds his sound and he starts to make music he’s happy with and proud of and he’s finding himself. But he’s still with that old label and the same management.

So here’s where it gets closer to the present. Harry has a thing with Kendall but they part on good terms and I’m guessing it has to do with he tried for appearances sake and she gets it and probably low-key ships them but understands being discreet and giving them time to work it out.

So Louis wants Harry. Harry wants Louis. Louis is probably bound by another form of that dratted legal gag. So Harry waits. Because Harry isn’t scared anymore and he’s figured himself out and he’s happy with himself and he’s in a place where he can be himself and can encourage others to do the same. He gets it now that he’s older and seen more of the industry outside of their 1D bubble and he’s had to handle stuff on his own and he’s killing it.

Louis writes songs about them and being young fools and how love hurts and you have to be either young and dumb or just f-ing brave to go through with it. Harry writes songs about the stages a relationship (specifically theirs) goes through and they have their little rendezvous and Harry fosters this community of love and acceptance of others and Louis talks about finding yourself and being happy with yourself. And Harry has found himself, is happy with himself and Louis is almost there and he’s got that pesky legal gag anyway.

So Harry waits and he’s okay with that because in the end they love each other and he knows where Louis’ heart is and no matter what they have each other, He’s waited this long he can wait a bit more to tell the world just how much he loves this stupid wonderful man.

[dishonoredrpg]

As the first signs of winter begin to crest over Tyrholm like the waves over the coast, the city itself is quiet. To call it entirely mute would be a lie -- life goes on, as it always does in the wake of unnameable tragedy, but most say very little. They keep their heads bowed, jaws clenched, teeth grit. They scrape together the most of what they can, unable to shake the feeling that this particular season of rain and ice will be unbearable. In that sense, they are right: The Undying God has already cursed them with two storms and the threat of flooding, and the knowledge that what occurred at the hands of Septimus’ forces against Koldam’s meager army brings no comfort to warm them. It’s been three weeks since Vasily’s crown was placed on display in the entry call of Castle Tyrholm, silver in hue rather than gold. Rumors say that Septimus has taken to it with an uncanny fascination in the last handful of days, and those rumors are confirmed to be true when he makes the announcement that in honor of his son’s undeniable victory against the heathens of Koldam -- farmers, you’ll remember, traders, weavers -- a GRAND TOURNEY is to be held.

It’s as much a celebration as it is a display of power, and the attendees have no choice but to participate.

TRIGGER WARNING: Death, slight gore, self-immolation, attempted murder

The day begins with a ceremony held in Castle Tyrholm’s Sanctum, attended by the royal family and fellow nobility. JUDGMENT reminds onlookers and listeners crowded into the pews during their sermon that arrogance undermines even the greatest of men and women, to be grateful for what She has given, and not to take more than is necessary, even on a day of celebration. Indulgence, after all, can lead to drought. Septimus’ eyes glaze over as soon as they begin speaking, and barely waits for the choir to begin its hymnals before he is standing to exit. THE EMPEROR and JUSTICE follow shortly -- THE WORLD and THE CHARIOT remain and see the service through.

The Gallows might seem a strange place to host a tourney, but it is here that Septimus has chosen, and so here it will be. The hastily-built jousting arena is overlooked by a tall scaffold, in which stairs lead up to the temporary thrones -- the best seats once can get, besides the stadium seating usually used to watch executions, now full to the brim with noblemen and merchants. THE EMPRESS and Septimus remain seated for a fair portion of the event, watching as men in heavy armor use long lances to hook rings or knock each other off their horses. Decorated as always in lavish blues and golds, most spaces covered by large tapestries or tents, it’s difficult to remember that yesterday three men were hung here. The only reminder is the rope hanging from crossbeams nearby, swinging in the wind. Jaunty music plays constantly from a band, save for when Septimus raises a hand to indicate he would like them to stop. 

Nobles step carefully to avoid the mud -- servants trod right through, carrying platters of hot food as quickly as they can without risking injury. The rain is not torrential, but it is consistent, and as the day continues onward, the weather grows colder. THE MOON offers draughts and concoctions from their small tent, surveyed only by DEATH -- onlookers and passersby who accept take a swig of the golden-hued liquid in little bottles and find themselves warmed down to their core. The heat doesn’t seem to recede quickly, either, making them amenable to conversations with DEATH about court policy and conflict; they are, after all, ever the opportunist. Those who know their face keep walking, maybe even pick up the pace, but they manage to snag a few new listeners, and those who stay soon have grim sets to their mouths. 

THE MAGICIAN, meanwhile, has taken to wandering the crowds -- making idle conversation, although most of it isn’t particularly pleasant. They’re confronted with TEMPERANCE and the two are suddenly made to endure a conversation so awkward it’s painful, dancing around the right words. TEMPERANCE glides through it like a duck across the water, head raised high and mouth turned up into a smile. THE MAGICIAN doesn’t seem so fortunate, and struggles to find the right words up until they both wander too close to the jousting ring and find themselves covered in mud from the spray of horse hooves. The crowd cheers; it’s hard to tell if it’s at them or the way a knight falls from his steed and hits the ground wrong.

Still, the main event has yet to occur: THE CHARIOT and THE EMPEROR are to spar in honor of their Kingdom, and their King’s glory, and, of course, Septimus assures in his brief speech, words slurred from wine -- for The Undying, who gifted them all that they feasted on and their victory over Koldam. The loser of the spar would receive the silver crown placed in the display case as a gift. Just as the two settle into the ring to begin, the space constricted and the mud up to their ankles, daylight breaks through the clouds.

For a moment, everything is warm. Fleetingly bright, fleetingly hopeful. As though they are not here because THE EMPEROR cleaved a man’s head from his shoulders. The crowd watches in anticipation, at the edge of their seats. They are disappointed; the battle is over before it really begins. Slowed by muck and the weight of water on their armor, it doesn’t take long for THE CHARIOT to knock THE EMPEROR down onto his back, their blade at his throat in moments. Onlookers yell in amusement. Septimus might cry out the loudest of all, his daughter and wife watching on in embarrassment. The crown is placed on THE EMPEROR’S head by THE WORLD as the crowd chants THE CHARIOT’S name. THE LOVERS stands close by, prepared to pull THE WORLD back if her brother decides to snap like a feral dog.

Just like that, the day more or less seems done. Septimus rises to make his final closing speech, fumbling for what he’s scrawled down as notes.

And then a scream breaks through the crowd. Just one at first -- and then another, and another. The smell of rotting flesh cuts through the air; whatever freshness the rain had brought is quickly dispelled. A horrifying sight greets them all as a man, set entirely alight with flame, rushes towards Septimus. There is a dagger in his hands. In the clustering crowds of servants and commonfolk, three other people have already caught fire, their bodies lighting up so quickly that it seems there is no other possible source besides magic. The burning man gets as close as the stairs up to the scaffolding, begins to climb, and they all watch as Septimus remains rooted in place. Unable to move. Terrified.

The singing of a blade is not loud. Usually it is silent. There might be a ringing, from time to time, a harmonious tune, but there is no noise when JUSTICE raises their sword and swings it downwards. And then: the hot, sticky sensation of fresh blood. Metal in the air. The burning man falls in two pieces, cut at the core, from the scaffolding. The flames soon extinguish in the mud. The sunlight disappears once more behind the clouds. What occurs next is quick; Septimus and the royal family are escorted out by THE FOOL and their guardsmen, THE EMPRESS making no moves to hesitate or even wait for a second would-be assassin to appear.

THE SUN and THE DEVIL are reprimanded harshly when they are summoned to the throne room that evening -- you should have known, where were you, Septimus says, his voice trembling. His hands are still shaking, and he can barely lift his head. Should have seen it coming. Next time-- he stops himself from speaking before he can finish his sentence. THE HIGH PRIESTESS and THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE emerge from the shadows, and the air grows colder, in spite of the blazing fire at the end of the hall. A storm has settled in, now, and this is familiar. The rain that beats against Castle Tyrholm’s windows is furious and loud. Still, THE HIGH PRIESTESS does not raise her voice when she speaks.

There will be no next time, Your Majesty.

Something in Septimus seems to settle. He nods, and stands. In the full light of the flame he might have looked imposing, but now, in his old age, it is clear he is neither a deity nor a warrior. Just a man hunched at the shoulders wearing a crown that has become too heavy for him. He turns to THE FOOL, instructs them with determination. For the next month, no one enters Castle Tyrholm or leaves without permission or knowledge. An investigation is to be established. Leads are to be followed, no matter how minuscule. Whoever the burning man was, and whoever he allied himself with, they’d know. Sooner, of course, rather than later. He notes to keep an eye in particular on THE HIEROPHANT (damned Inferni, Septimus curses as he storms from the room).  When he exits the throne room he pays no mind to THE STAR, absentmindedly strumming a tune in the nearby reception hall, head bowed. Their head raises as soon as the King’s advisors exit, ceases in playing as the heavy doors slam shut behind them. None of them speak to one another. Castle Tyrholm, much like the city it watches over, has been silenced.

And that’s our first event! Welcome to CHAPTER I. The tourney is not altogether a failure, but the murder attempt on Septimus is, and as a result of the catastrophe, Castle Tyrholm has fully launched into panic. No one is safe from interrogation or investigation, now the responsibility of THE FOOL, overlooked in part by THE HIGH PRIESTESS at the behest of Septimus. There have been rumors of a coup, yes, but nothing quite so intense as setting the King on fire, in public, in an effort to prove a point which no one fully understands. With winter settling in, the prospect of leaving the city has become even more difficult, and tensions are still rising as the slaughter of Koldam weighs heavily on the shoulders of those who were not there to witness it. Gossip and fear-mongering stalk the halls -- forget the tourney. This means something.

You can now begin interactions! It’s recommended you date your threads, although not required. This plot-drop spans the length of a month, which is clarified below. The tourney takes place on the SIXTH OF THE TENTH MONTH. 

I also ask that you make sure you keep your submit boxes open -- you might find a gift waiting for you in the next few days! If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to DM or send an ask to the main. 

CALENDAR: FIRST OF THE TENTH MONTH -- THE 3RD OF THE ELEVENTH MONTH SEASON: WINTER

[fizzypunks]

An Ache Deeper Than This

fandom: naruto wordcount: 3.7k/oneshot rating: teen (sensuality) summary: shikamaru is feeling old and achy on the way back from a mission, and neji gives him a massage.

AO3

note: written because im stressed and just wanted fluff lol

<>

 “We’ll make a camp here for tonight,” Neji said, looking up to the sky and the setting sun. Twenty-five minutes till sundown, and two more days left till their team reached The Village Hidden in the Leaves.

 Two days till home, after over two weeks of mission. Shikamaru could have sighed in relief, but he didn’t -- though he was relieved, he felt like he’d been whittling down his stamina a lot more these days, and he didn’t want to sound too happy at the prospect of rest. He’d save his sighs and complaining for      slightly bigger things than settling down for the night.

 Hinata stopped a couple of branches behind them, and a quick glance showed that she was surveying their area. Her eyes relaxed, with a little smile shot toward Shikamaru. “No one’s following, and there’s no one flanking.”

 Shikamaru smiled back — he never had to be concerned about their surroundings, not when he was with two Hyuugas.

 Lee looked into the same sky, the same direction, and patted Neji on the back. “That is a good call, Neji! The night is swiftly on its way, and we are in a good location to set up camp! We have done a great deal of traveling!”

 Neji laughed, looking down to the grass below his branch. “Indeed, Lee. I’ll leave the tents for you.”

 “Leave it to me! It will be ready in half an hour!”

 Lee dropped to the forest floor, followed by Kiba and Akamaru. Neji and Shikamaru shared a bemused glance. Of this promise, they had no doubt it would be fulfilled, and fulfilled fast.

 ~

 When Shikamaru wants to complain about pains, aches, and other physical issues that seem to follow him around like a persistent pet, he has to remind himself to not call it a factor of old age. That just wasn’t possible. He knew it, and if he were to say it, it would make him sound more whiny than he cared to be these days.

 It’s just the way of a ninja -- who cares if he’s 21, he’s been an active shinobi since he was 12. He’s lived through war, too many S-rank missions to count, and plays an active role fulfilling academy duties such as dodging hyperactive students with weapons. He’s a seasoned shinobi, and he has the scars (and joints) to prove it.

     You’re not old, you’re a ninja.  

 That still doesn’t make the aches and tightness in his shoulder any better -- knowing the cause doesn’t prevent it from happening. Short of retiring, which he didn’t see coming any time soon,      this     was going to be his life. He was going to have to get used to it.

 Maybe he can grumble. A little bit.

 “Nara,” came the calming voice to pull him from his thoughts.

 Shikamaru looked up from the log he was backed against, eyes focusing in on the Hyuuga in front of him. The sky blended into his long, restrained hair, and the calm fire lit behind him brought a glow to his white robes. His hands were in his pockets, and from his flat expression, it wouldn’t be easy to assess his demeanor.

 Shikamaru smiled, which in turn brought one from Neji.

 “Nara? You haven’t called me that in a while.”

 “You haven’t complained in a while, either, so I figured I’d check in.”

 “You’re such a good squad leader. Thanks, captain.”

 Neji’s eyes shifted to the side, a self satisfied smile replacing the gentle one before. “Don’t call me that.”

 Shikamaru laughed, propping his arms over the back of the log. He liked this. He      missed     this. He sees Neji often enough, but by misfortunes way, they often take on different missions. This shared mission, it would seem, is a blessing. Even if it was more trouble than it was worth, but it was also an incredible peace of mind to be side-by-side with him and not just waiting to be reunited.

 That was more common than not, too.

 Neji sat down on the same log Shikamaru rested against, just to the left of him. His robes were sullied with the regular wear and tear of a mission, and due to the nature of their combatants in the land of earth, the edges of his pants were singed and blackened.

 Shikamaru reached out and rolled the material between his fingers, watching parts of it break off. “Did you consider that maybe there’s nothing to complain about?”

 Neji looked down to him, then sighed. “This mission is long, got derailed, took longer than anticipated, and no one has slept in a bed in two weeks. I’d consider that… troublesome.”

 Shikamaru chuckled, dropping the hem of his pant leg. His eyes turned toward the fire, where Lee, Kiba, and Hinata roasted veggies. “Hmm. You have a point.”

 Neji rested a hand on Shikamaru’s shoulder, and Shikamaru tried not to flinch. He thought he must have done a good job, since Neji didn’t comment on it. He just squeezed, gazing out to their friends at the far side of camp.

 “When we’re home, it’s possible we might have to take on another S-rank. Kakashi already told me that he got word of missionaries out in the Mist, and he doesn’t want to send genin or chunin.”

 Shikamaru couldn’t help it this time, he had to sigh - he      had     to, in some way, let out his frustrations, and nothing was appropriate except for the soft tufts of tension that need to be released from his body.

 This life was clearly not made with him in mind -- he could do it, but it was a pain.

 “What a drag.”

 Neji squeezed again. “Indeed.”

     Man, my shoulder hurts -- what the fuck did I do to it?  

 Kiba and Akamaru were wiped too, because Lee was animatedly talking to him and Kiba was only nodding in agreement. Hinata, with a bowl of food in hand, was more engaged in the conversation, smiling and nodding along as Lee continues his story.

 They were far enough that the two of them couldn’t hear any details, just tones, just exclamations. It was sort of heart-warming, if Shikamaru ponders on it. Walking away from a mission that took blood and sweat and tears (Lee’s, admittedly, but tears nonetheless), only to be sitting with your friends and teammates in a tranquil evening of rest.

 It’s nice, seeing everyone you love alive.

 “So, which shoulder is it?”

 Neji’s hand was still resting on him, atop his jacket, and Shikamaru was again removed from his thoughts.

 “Hmm? What?”

 Neji shot an annoyed glance downward. “Where are you hurting? And don’t tell me you’re not, you’ve been favoring your left arm and side all day.”

     Ah    ,      to think a Hyuuga wouldn’t see… that Neji wouldn’t know. Should’a figured.  

 “It’s not that bad.”

 “But it hurts?”

 Shikamaru laughed, looking up to Neji and trying to be annoyed and finding that he couldn’t. Neji could frustrate him, call him on his shit, or generally be a pain to deal with on missions, but Shikamaru couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. “... A little bit, I guess.”

 “Take off your jacket,” Neji said immediately, like all he needed was a reason.

 Shikamaru obliged, and he removed his flak jacked with all the care in the world. Sitting down, having a chance for his body to relax and not move, had set his muscles into a calm state that did not take kindly to being interrupted.

 The sharp pains running down his back, his scapula, and his neck were renewed. He gasped when his jacket was freed from his shoulders. “Damn it,” he sighed, setting it off to the side.

 “I thought you said it wasn’t that bad?”

 Shikamaru shook his head. “It isn’t,” he insisted, but he didn’t try to sound convincing.

 It was Neji’s turn to sigh. In a quick and quiet motion, he stood, hitching a leg around the log so that he could sit behind Shikamaru. Shikamaru sat on the ground, a long leg on either side of him.

 Shikamaru immediately tensed when he realized what Neji had in mind, and looked over his shoulder with an expression he hoped wasn’t too surprised. “      Neji    ,” he said, not quite a whisper, but through tense lips. “They’re…”

 Neji took it all in amusement. “Kiba and Hinata are nearly asleep, and there’s no force in the world that will make Lee observant enough to notice.”

 His hands came up to lay gently across Shikamaru’s shoulders, no force behind them, just intent and awaiting action. Shikamaru wanted it in his heart, his muscles begged for a massage that would bring an end to their ache, but the type of person he is has      never     made him feel relaxed in the face of public displays of affection...

 They’ve been together for three years, and everyone knows this, and he will      still     feel himself grow stiff at the thought of being open or vulnerable in public. His ears still would warm if he’s caught in the middle of a kiss…

     It’s a damn curse.  

 Neji’s hands, all soft angles and long digits, rose up the sides of his shoulder, encouraged to do so with the silence Shikamaru granted him, rather than complaints and arguments. They climbed just to the length of skin between his shoulder and his neck. He leaned down, head dipping to the right, his lips ghosting the shell of Shikamaru’s ear. “Can I let down your hair?”

 Shikamaru’s face felt warm -- too warm, too fast. He nodded, eyes forward in anticipation. It was dumb, but he’s just... never been the type to be vulnerable in public -- and      never    on a mission. But he nodded all the same, because Neji’s hands were convincing in any circumstance, and maybe this little log, far away from camp, was private enough.

 The sounds from the campfire kept steady, a gentle scene of friendly stories and muffled laughter.

 “Thank you,” Neji whispered, and he quickly did away with the band in Shikamaru’s hair. He combed through the mass, making sure to not catch in any knots so it could lay flat.

 “That’s nice,” Shikamaru sighed, surrendering to him despite their circumstance.

 Neji carded through his hair, gently and with great care. He was slow, and the feeling was like a calm shore lapped at by little waves. And when he brought his fingertips to trace long paths down his head, Shikamaru definitely didn’t mind at all.

 “Don’t stop…”

 He pushed the lengths to drape over Shikamaru’s right shoulder, and Shikamaru opened his eyes, not having remembered closing them at all. Neji began pressing the tips of his fingers into the knots in his shoulders. “How about after a massage?”

 Ah, yes. That’s what he was supposed to be doing. “Oh… yeah, yeah.”

 Neji chuckled, and the sound was like a hit to the gut. “I’m sorry I distracted you,” and before Shikamaru was able to disagree, he pressed his thumbs into tender muscles. “Now, relax.”

 “Mmm,” Shikamaru winced, thumbs grazing over inflamed muscle and painful nerves.

 “Tell me where.”

 “Right where you are is      perfect    ,” and this was the way it was, he was already sinking back into Neji’s hands, eyes fluttering shut again with each passing second.

 Neji’s hands were familiar, gentle and rough in a perfect harmony that was known only to Shikamaru. He’d never experienced a place that felt safer than within the hold of these hands, and      this    embrace.

 His shoulders fell, by inches, but in magnitude it was like the tensions of a bridge held taut on ropes too worn      finally     giving away. He didn’t even know how      bad     they felt, not until he could move them without also being in discomfort. The tenderness remained, but that, too, was lessening with every squeeze.

 “Your muscles are so tense…” and he pushed a thumb deep into his scapula, a tight roll of knots lighting up under his thumb.

 Shikamaru whimpered, head tilting in favor of his left, and tried to unscrew his eyes as the pain passed. “I know… well, I know      now    , but I didn’t realize I was this --”

 A press, and a loud      pop     between his back ribs.

 “--      hnn --    tense…”

 “You should stretch with me at home.”

 “We’ve tried that…”

 “If you try with me, I’ll make sure you don’t corner me again.”

 Shikamaru smirked, the memory bringing a spark of heat to his stomach. Ghost pains of kneeling behind Neji on his bare knees came back like a blaze, but he didn’t hate it. “Suit yourself.”

 Neji chuckled again.

 When he gets past the stupid part of his brain that insists he’s doing something he shouldn’t, and publicly doing it despite it being easily viewed, Shikamaru admits that it’s not that bad. Granted, their teammates were still a distant thought that didn’t pay them any attention, but still -- he enjoyed the fact that he was able to get away from the pain in his body.

 Neji’s hands are like home, coaxing and pulling him into comfort. He opens his eyes just a sliver, peering out from his sleepiness and tranquility. The lights are little points, blurry beads and circles.

 The ground is hard, he wants fresh clothes, and there’s a creaky forest around them, but with Neji…

     I don’t need anything else.  

 “Neji…” He whispered, leaning toward his thigh. He beckons with a finger, “C’mere.”

 Neji’s hair fell, flowing down into their space, and it was like a curtain, a place that existed between the two of them; another place so familiar, his bones would recognize it no matter what. Neji eyed him from the side, quiet, attentive and awaiting. Shikamaru raised his arm to wrap around Neji’s neck, not to tug or pull or alter in any way except to say      stay    .

 “I owe you.”

 Neji shook his head, but kept his silence with a knowing smile.

 “I do.”

 He kissed Neji’s cheek, ‘cause actions are better than words.

 Neji’s hands start to knead into the conjunction of his shoulder, still under loose restraint of Shikamaru’s arm. A shooting pain issued from each contact point-- little avalanches, little aches releasing themselves from the flesh like tumbling boulders. It hurt, but then the pain gave way to better feelings, fewer pains.

 “Your hands… are so warm,” it was like he couldn’t stop the words. His voice was hoarse and too relaxed for his own liking, since it wasn’t in his house or his bed, and those too tumbled like an avalanche.

 Neji leaned into the skin he was just kneading, lips open in a kiss that only skims the surface -- like what a breath is to a shout, a droplet to a swift river.

 But then he starts to suck, and pool blood into the spot Shikamaru knows will be covered by his jacket. It brings heat to his face as he closes his eyes and leans back into the body behind him. His legs twist, just a bit, and he doesn’t have quite enough will power to not let the tension build in him -- his hips shift, his feet doing all they can not to dig.

 Shikamaru grabs at both calves beside him, squeezing.

     “Don’t do this to me    … they’re over there…”

 Neji’s lips dance further into his shoulder, and a finger tugs his shirt down over the muscled expanse to expose more skin. “I’m watching, they aren’t looking…”

     “Hinata…    ”

 “She never uses it unless she needs to…”

 “Please… you’re gonna… make me too excited…”

 “Hmm,” he laughed, little ripples dancing on his skin. “You look nice like this though…”

 Another wet kiss, another shudder down his spine and straight to his crotch --

     “You’re a fucking menace    ,” Shikamaru hisses.

 Neji laughs and the vibration carries across his skin, and Shikamaru starts to think that this entire thing was a ploy just to mess with him. But then he retreats, slowly and with a small parting kiss to the skin now blooming with a bruise.

 His hands return to their original work, kneading away the tension. “Suit yourself.”

 The hot coil in Shikamaru’s stomach sits in wait, and the hidden breath stuck in his chest came out in a nervous exhale. His heart wasn’t racing but it still surged, and now it too was trying to reconcile returning to normal -- so annoyingly fast did it happen, already bringing him to a state of being needy and tired and yearning.

 Shikamaru rolled his head back, laying in Neji’s lap. “I fucking hate you.”

 “I’m just trying to relax you, it’s not my fault you’re so reactive.”

 They fell into a peaceful silence after a quiet hum of acknowledgment -- before so long, the deep-rooted pain in Shikamaru started to ease, soothed by the heat of Neji’s chakra as he focused on chakra points.

 The sound of silence also came from camp, where talking had slowed and the fire started to sizzle. It was in embers, and the group surrounding it was finally quieting down for a restful night.

 Watching the camp, and enjoying the sense of family that surrounded him, Shikamaru crossed his right hand across his body to rest it on Neji’s. “I wonder if this is what life is gonna look like.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “For years, we’re going to be going on missions, and we’re all going to be waiting for the rest of us to come back. I just wonder…” And he couldn’t take his eyes off the rest of them, nor rip his hand away from Neji.

 “You’re very… sentimental today,” Neji said, leaning into his ear and using his spare hand to run his fingers through his hair again. “Are you okay?”

 Shikamaru nodded, ignoring the goosebumps Neji’s breath brought to him. “Yeah, I’m good. Just feeling old.”

 Neji laughed. “I’m not going to address that since I’m older than you, but if you want my opinion -- yes, I think we’ll be like this.” And then a small kiss, pressed to his cheek. “I think there’s very little in this world that we haven’t dealt with.”

 “I guess you’re right.”

 And because Neji knows what’s at the heart of the issue, the part that’s      really     scary, his voice dropped and Shikamaru was certain he was the only one who could hear him. “And I’ll keep coming back to you, and waiting for you to come back to me.”

 Shikamaru’s grip grew stronger, whiter, like all the pain in his body suddenly relocated into his heart and he had to hold on to      something     to not get lost in it.

 “You better,” Shikamaru said, voice swallowed up in his intention. He didn’t realize how heavy this was.

 “And you’ll come back, too, right?”

 Shikamaru knows he can’t even promise it, yet he feels it in his gut. “Yes,” he responded immediately, forcefully, and his grip became stronger to emphasize.

 The shape of Neji’s breath was a smile, and then a hum. “That’s all I want to hear.”

 Shikamaru leaned into him, and couldn’t help but relish in all the ways Neji was attending to him, giving him all of his attention and assurance. The hand carding gently through his hair was grounding, just like the feeling strong thighs encasing him was comforting, and the deep familiarity of his hair and the floral scent that always clung to it...

 “And,” Neji continued, still as quiet as a whisper. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

 “Gods damn it, Neji,” Shikamaru laughed, shaking his head against the other, ignoring the stoking of the fiery heat within his stomach. “Thank you for being serious for a minute, I guess.”

 “I’m always serious.”

 “Even when you switch topics like that?”

 “Especially when I switch topics to      this    ,” and tugged his hair just a little bit, just enough.

 “Hmm, I guess you can show me,” and he lifts his hand from Neji’s to turn him, by the chin, in his direction, lining up their lips. “Since you wanna be difficult, I --”

 “HEY!”

 Shikamaru dropped his hands, dropped his eyes, dropped his very intentions with every rapid degree of heat that graced his cheeks.

 He looked toward camp in a snap of the neck, feelings stupid for his wide eyes and kick-started heart. Kiba is waving toward them, a clear grin across his face as the others behind him are shuffling to clean the fire.

 “LOVEBIRDS! WE’RE CALLING IT A NIGHT!”

     Why is he so loud?  

 Neji’s body shook with little tremors of laughter, and he knew that Shikamaru would have sounded too annoyed to answer. So he called out. “Sounds good, I’ll be on watch first!”

 Shikamaru knows what he’s doing. He does it all the time.

 Kiba flashed them both a grin, but something about it wasn’t pure and it made Shikamaru want to dig a hole and live in it permanently.

 “Sounds good!”

 “I’ll wake you in two hours.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” he said, turning his back to help put out the fire. But before he did, he shot a look to Shikamaru with a smirk. “Just keep it down, all right? Akamaru’s a light sleeper.”

 And then Shikamaru definitely wanted to be swallowed up by the ground, hitai-ate and all.

 Normally, Neji would be over there, helping, but there was little to do and what there was to be done, was very quick. Lee and Kiba relocated to their tents after their foods were put back in bags, and Hinata to her own tent after she doused the fire with dirt. Neji and Shikamaru stayed as they were, in the few minutes they took to watch their teammates, and it was almost awkward if it weren’t for their friends lack of subtlety.

 They let them have their moment, no questions asked. Shikamaru felt his heart swell again, filled with the unspoken and unconditional love he has with this family. It was a pleasant ache.

 Just a few minutes, and suddenly the dark nature was rich and comfortable and almost absolute around them. A familiar sight in the many years of camping out on missions, the consistent scenery and scents as known to him as the back of his hand. The woods were calm and quiet, and they were alone.

 “So,” Neji started, hands slowed but strengthened, intention growing from his fingertips in every movement. “Not going to bed?”

 Shikamaru relished in the darkness, in the kisses trailing down his neck yet again.

 He smiled into the soft pecks trailing down his neck, this time, and didn’t even pretend to stop them. “It’s a little too early to call it a night, don’t you think?”

 “See, you’re not getting old.”

 “I’ll show you how alive I am,” and Shikamaru kept that promise.

[crimsoncityhq]

The night has been advertised by multiple commercials in the civilian’s homes, and even dead bodies littered on some residence lawns. It’s dusk on a Thursday in February. The gates to the Fire and Ice Festival are lowered after hours of waiting in the biting Chicago tundra, and the crowd, over 4,000 strong, rushes in. Most are expecting a night of drunken freedom, cozied up by the outdoor heaters that promise a warm welcome, but some foresee the chaos bound to erupt across the lawn.

The first act takes the stage, and anyone who isn’t inebriated, courtesy of the open bar, is perceptive enough to realize that, no, that’s not Kanye West. Instead they are mesmerized by the lyrical lip syncher Dante Yeast—he looks enough like him, it’s better not to question it. One would think that the O’Sheas, Vasiles, and the Fausts all gathered in one spot would spell disaster, yet the evening rolls on without a hitch, despite the tensions slowly building in its periphery. Fausts members, too, are scattered across the ocean of bodies, but some faces are missing, figureheads who pull the strings.

 Maybe they’re absorbed by the crowd; maybe they thought better of attending, but there’s a sense of unease that settles in the air. It’s not quite right, but no one can put a finger on why. Another beer, and the thought is lost is the swell of the music—if they didn’t know any better, they’d think the bass replicates the sound of distant explosions.

You’re free to start plotting. You can start posting starters/threads tomorrow, February 20th, 2020 at 7:30PM CST !  Part II coming February 24th ( Plot Slots can be found below the cut ! )

We’re going to allow each person to choose two plot slots for two characters max .If there are any leftovers, we’ll let members know when they can sign up for thirds.

You’ll notice that some of these plots are public, so feel free to have your character react to them/ notice them even if they aren’t happening directly to your character. However, if something feels like it happened privately to another character, please check in with their Mun to see if it’s okay for your character to know.

To be clear: these are not the only things that happen to your character during this plot drop and you are more than welcome to cook up your own trouble.

To sign up for a plot slot message the main! You can start doing that as soon as right now!

CHARACTER A, CHARACTER B, CHARACTER C, are approached by the venue to play as impersonators for the opening act of the show. However, it turns out…they are the show along with other noteworthy impersonators. 

CHARACTER D & CHARACTER E end up camped out at the ticket box office on the other side of the lawn seats. They want a refund for the musical event after their cards were erroneously charged the next day on ADAM & EVE. Much to their surprise they come face to face with CHARACTER F( Faust ).

AUTUMN DAWSON is shitfaced prior to arriving at the music festival. They try to crowd surf before the opening act, and would get immediately dropped if NATHAN BURR didn’t catch their fall. 

CHARACTER I & CHARACTER J purchased tickets to meet the bands backstage. They are led by the security detail of the event to two tents filled with a scent of gunpowder. Upon further inspection, they find a crate of fireworks. Do what you will.

CHARACTER K jumps on stage to hijack the mic and accidentally falls and breaks their ankle.

CHARACTER L & CHARACTER M are dosed with PCP by a stranger serving up “free” cocktails. Everything is a blur and they both snap back to reality an hour later, but they’re in the middle of an intense fist fight.

EFFIE FAUST & CHARACTER O engage in a mud wrestling contest that is being judged by no one whatsoever. 

CHARACTER P & CHARACTER Q make out in a port-o-potty, but realize shortly after they’re locked inside. It’s up to CHARACTER R to either let them out...or tip them over.

CHARACTER S is mistaken as Pat Benatar. ASLI DEMIR drunkenly convinces them to go on stage to sing LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.

 CHARACTER U & CHARACTER V go hard on the alcoholic beverages & psychedelic treats  at the start of the festival, by the end of it neither of them know where their shoes or wallets are. 

CHARACTER W finds their soulmate in a drunken stupor and grinds on them for the better half of two hours, only to realize the grindee is ZHI ROU, who has been uncomfortably shifting away from them this entire time. 

CHARACTER Y breaks all of their glow sticks and covers themselves in the liquid. It’s all fun and games until that shit starts to burn. CHARACTER Z does their best to quench CHARACTER Y with every bottled water they can find.

 CHARACTER A1, CHARACTER B1, & CHARACTER C1 are hired security guards for the event. They have no clue who hired them to do it. 

INGRID VASILE  starts to overdose on COCAINE. LEV VASILE notices their struggle and assists them to the med tent. DOMINIC MURPHY is around the med tent and notices the commotion. 

 CHARACTER  F1 tries to charge their phone using the musical equipment & gets electrocuted. Also it starts to play the most recent song listened to on their phone which is SONG OF THEIR CHOICE. 

GRIFFIN DYER is held up at security when they try to enter the venue, because they tried to smuggle in a small animal. CHARACTER H1 isn’t really security and jacks the animal instead.

SERENITY MICHAELS starts to question their sanity when they see a small animal run in circles in front of them and jet off towards the direction of the port-o-potty. 

RACHEL BYRNE feels something small and furry scaling the back of their dress, and, assuming it’s someone’s hand, slaps DAHLIA CAVALLI in the mouth before the small animal scurries away and they have to apologize.

CHARACTER L1 chases the small animal and just when they are sure they’ve caught it, the animal bites them on the neck. CHARACTER M1, who is higher than a motherfucker and hallucinating, sees CHARACTER L1 cradling their neck and automatically assumes a vampiric transformation is happening. CHARACTER L1 has to survive the following attack from a stranger with a pocket knife.

CHARACTER N1 is on their fifth drink at the venue. They hear a loud slurping noise, only to find the small animal lapping their beer in hand. Out of surprise they scream which causes the animal to shit on their hand and run away. CHARACTER O1 looks on in amazement, wonder, and terror as CHARACTER N1 wipes their hand on an unknowing CHARACTER P1. CHARACTER O1 is conflicted if they should say anything but takes a Snapchat video of the whole scenario anyway. It goes viral on Tik Tok the following evening.

The small animal finally gets caught by SANTIAGO PEREZ in a battle that lasts 10 minutes. The small animal is then given to CHARACTER R1 whom they assume is the owner. 

CHARACTER S1 is lost to the world, and passes out directly in front of CHARACTER T1 that had just spent twenty minutes in line for a cup of water. The cup of water is spilled on top of CHARACTER S1.

NAOMI WASHINGTON & CHARACTER V1 become instant buddies when they chant to the sound of “SHOTS” around the crowd. IRINA KOSHKIN takes this literally and pulls out their gun ready to fire. 

CHARACTER X1, CHARACTER Y1, CHARACTER Z1 all show up to the venue wearing the same exact outfit. You have declared them your number 1 enemy for the entirety of the music festival. 

CHARACTER A2 is high as fuck and thinks they’re making a flower crown for CHARACTER B2…..except it’s a crown of shrooms instead. CHARACTER B2 wears the crown, but has to swat CHARACTER C2 away who keeps trying to eat them. 

CHARACTER D2, CHARACTER E2, CHARACTER F2 suffer from dehydration. They try to find help at the med tent, but they can’t find where it is. 

ROSA LEON gets handsy with the bartender at the open bar and leads them away for a quick fuck, allowing RYAN HAYES and CHARACTER I2 to raid the bar freely.

 CHARACTER J2 is the aforementioned bartender and realizes a moment too late their station is being cleared out. Instead of returning to their position, they throw on some neon bracelets and join the party.

 CHARACTER K2 is doing some sick backflips in the middle of the crowd and are called out by the currently performing act mid-set for drawing attention away from the stage. CHARACTER K2 does another backflip to retaliate, but accidentally kicks CHARACTER L2 in the face.

JESSE VALENCIA hijacks a ELECTRIC BLUE STRATOCASTER from the backstage, and they are not caught. 

DAVUT DEMIR feels like they’re being watched and finds a silhouette with a rifle narrowed in on them perched upon a nearby building. They quickly retreat to find OPHELIA O’SHEA and P2 and warn them about the occurrence, who realize there are multiple snipers surrounding the pavilion. 

CHARACTER Q2 swears they heard a sound of explosions over the music, being in front nearest to the stage. They grab the microphone and scream, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.” CHARACTER R2 & CHARACTER S2 start to openly panic. 

CHARACTER T2 (O’Shea) gets into a physical altercation with CHARACTER U2 (Vasile). They don’t stop until one or the other is knocked unconscious. 

ANDREA REED & BIRDIE MENDOZA try to leave the event, but notice that they’re trapped in the auditorium. CHARACTER X2 makes it to their vehicle, but is stuck in place by the surrounding vehicles around them. Unable to escape fully, they return back to the venue. 

CHARACTER Y2 hates their life at this music venue, because they’re stuck behind a rather sweaty individual. Their sweat keeps hitting them in the face, and at one point, they catch it in their mouth. It incites a ferocious bout of vomiting, and CHARACTER Z2 is trying to help, thinking they’ve been drugged, but CHARACTER Y2 can’t even explain what it is that made them sick.

 TATIANA BLANTER is hit with a spare bullet, but no one is able to find where the source is. As no one around seems to have their gun out. CHARACTER B3 conceals their weapon perfectly. 

 NOVA DEVERAUX suffers a panic attack due to the crowd gathered, and clings onto CLARA DAVILLA who is unable to get them to the med tent.

 CHARACTER E3 feels something warm splash on their face. They are unsure if it’s warm beer or urine. They’re pretty sure it’s warm beer, but remain conflicted the rest of the festival. CHARACTER F3 offers the shirt off their back for CHARACTER E3 to wipe the liquid off their face. 

 CHARACTER G3 is doing photography for the event, but realizes midway through the show that the performers aren’t who they say they are. They spot a face they know to be Faust affiliated in the crowd and scurry off toward the exit, only to be stopped by CHARACTER H3 (Faust) at the door.

MILES ST CLARE is the first to notice the lack of Fausts at the start of the music venue. They make their way to the police station in hopes of figuring it out, but instead they encounter burning police cars and chaos.

[crqstalite]

rhosyn knows to keep on a brave face. it’s the only thing she’s known how to do for years, the only thing she’s had to do for years.

a bright smile at a wedding that wasn’t her’s. tentative, fake out kisses with a man she didn’t want to be her’s, a laugh on their lips instead of saliva. putting on a performance for those in the court, in the kingdom. giving them hope in the form of their hero becoming their queen. the grey wardens were still alive at the end of the blight. she wore the armor proudly, navy blue and the shine never really wearing off. the gowns come later, shades of pink she didn’t even know existed, a corset holding her neatly in the dainty little things. and yet, even with her lung capacity greatly reduced, she still smiles.

the policies confused her sometimes. sometimes neither monarch would understand but she put on a face that was one of regality instead of teenage loss. she passed on the few etiquette lessons she’d taken onto her now husband. they’d visit cities hit hard by the blight. little children without parents, wartorn families without children, mothers or fathers. she was expected to say hello, wave and look nice for the paintings. none expected her to stay and help in her trousers.

the balls were fun at the very least, her king spinning her around in the ballroom -- no air of tension, nothing romantic about it. they were two friends, genuinely enjoying each other’s company and the music that rose from the band. sometimes she’d listen in to conversation around, but she was more focused on who could keep up -- and who’d stumble and step on a toe first. then leliana would visit once everything died down, dressed casually but a grin on her face when she eventually saw her one and only love again, slipping through the door in the early evening and slipping back out again in the wee hours of the morning.

she believes, this is where she was meant to be. this is what she was always going to live up to. the crown rests gently in her fire red hair, golden and shimmering as the portrait is received. they glance at each other, wide grins on their faces. maybe this is what they fought for. and what they won, in the end.

but then, the years start to pass. one year becomes two. two becomes four. the crown grows heavier on her head as the pregnancy of a tense nation begins to grow. mages, templars, conspirators against her and alistair’s lives after anora’s claim to the throne was erased. her brave face is accompanied by a layer of makeup to cover the scars, lips impossibly red as she weaves in and out of social circles. spying, always listening. blackmail only a letter away to keep people from attempting a coup of her rule. they’ve decided so quickly their perfect queen is not all she seems. that the chantry is not her one true love -- and that she’s decided mages are people, just as anyone else in the court is. that concerns people.

and yet, she still smiles. she does not joke, she does not offer these same grins to the servants. a cold smirk, if that. every time the control feels like it is slipping from her grasp, she yanks harder on it. then she feels safe once again, until it inevitably falls once more.

alistair worries for her as she begins a slipping regime. it’s evident in his hesitant touches, the warmth he pours into every gaze, and she makes it worse by jumping. the trust had once been there, at one time she would’ve let him hug her as if they were siblings, but her paranoia is fraying the few ties she still has left. it’s been five years, rumors are beginning to circle that she’s infertile. that there will be no heir to speak of.

it takes a toll on her.

leliana’s visits are far and few in between those days. she begins to leave her bedroom door closed and locked, no sign of the bard following, knives hidden where she knows they are. she fends off one attempt in those four years, blood coloring the rug that had been imported from orlais when the body hits the floor. she shudders as the memories come rushing back from that fateful night in highever. blood soaking into her small clothes as she opens the door to call for guards. screams that aren’t there. a cry for help that lodges itself in her throat.

she does not accept alistair’s offer to stay with him in the following nights. she understands his intentions. she believes she trusts him. she thinks. things are so fuzzy these days. all she knows is that she needs to do something, needs to do anything. that one noble is cheating on another, that another is embezzling funds from a chantry. what support she could get if she plays her cards right, that’s all that matters to her. she discovers who sent the assassin. it does not matter that he is worried, she can fend this off herself.

everything, she can do herself. she does not need his assisstance, for she is not helpless.

her fist comes down hard and fast. the estate is liquidated, they are stripped of their position, effective of that morning. he seems surprised she even knew it was him. she retorts that rhosyn cousland is not a fool, and no one would treat her like one either. he spits on her name, and she spits back. fearful eyes are turned downward once the man is taken out in chains, no one looks at her directly.

ice feels like it encases her. she feels more and more alone as her wife’s letters stop being as frequent. alistair is reaching, reaching for the young and bubbly woman he’d married as she runs further and further away from the throne. replaced by someone else, someone who didn’t care who lived or who died as long as it kept the fragile peace fereldan was in.

a storm whirls inside of her, torrents of rain when she can finally be alone. heart pounding as she cries and cries and cries where is the old me? where is the one who would’ve relished the feeling of someone’s arms around her? please, please, maker give her back to me. this isn’t me, i want her back. please, please. please, i beg of you.

then kirkwall. kirkwall had always been a mess, she’d heard, but the explosion of a chantry, the murder of grand cleric by a dissenting apostate? one that she’d conscripted into the grey wardens years prior? her position is questioned by her advisors, was it worth supporting people who were capable of that? she isn’t completely sure. but she doesn’t want to say otherwise. not to seem weak now, when people were already in an uproar in the court. she would have to see what the champion and now viscountess’ opinion of the events were, if she heard from the free marches.

the music continues to play. loud and fast and more chaotic as she focuses on the spiraling conversation of someone who disapproves of her. someone who mentions they have plans for her. another assassin then. she would remain prepared tonight, one of her sharper blades by her bed. she nearly catches the name before alistair spins her away, dress catching on her shoe. she’s frustrated, pressing her lips into a thin line. his concern etches into her soul, a brotherly worry for someone he’d watched fall apart for years. she doesn’t meet his eyes, the honey gold-brown eyes that would betray her true feelings to him.

she cracks, a fracture running along her stability. barely there, but enough to give her pause. she needs a drink, she pulls away into the crowd. words comfort her, cushioning her retreat. what did alistair know? she was pulling strings, and they were all the right ones. what mattered if she felt a little jaded sometimes?

they were still alive. most of that, unapologetically was because of her. because she managed to convince him to make the hard decisions.

she still wanted peace. even though it was more common she would choose a less savory way of reaching her goal.

that she’s afraid. afraid of losing control again. afraid of losing the safety of having a say in everything that occurs in her country, in her life. if she no longer has it, what happens? will people die again? will it be her fault?

she doesn’t want to think about seeing alistair, dead in the same position as the dozens of bodies she’d seen in highever all those years ago. she won’t let it. that is why she does this, if not to preserve her own life, then his.

then the song. the careful melody that never stops playing just inside her skull. she doesn’t know what it is at first. it’s annoying, nothing that’s played or said over it takes it away completely, like the ringing in her ears after a loud battle. except it isn’t, and she eventually cracks.

her blood runs cold when she discovers that it’s a faint calling. pulling her. the connection that she could never sever. alistair hears it, she does. they’re fearful, she’s fearful. this, she can not blackmail into quitting. this, she can not stab a blade or shoot an arrow through it’s heart. it is marching, marching, marching along with the beat of her heart.

she decides that her control will not end with this. that she has come this far, survived a massacre. that this could not be the end of her. that she would not submit to such a thing. determined, she packs her bags one afternoon. pulling on armor she didn’t think she’d don again. it’s fits snugly, tighter than she remembers. but a sense of familiarity floods her. pulling the heavy crown off her head is a relief, a loss of the pain of ruling leaves her for a moment before rushing back and receding again. red hair falls to her shoulders in the mirror, for a moment it shows the blue eyes shining like sapphires instead of icicles, soft, warm, inviting. kind.

happy.

then alistair is there in the doorway, her trusty dog by his side cocking his head as he trots inside. her illusion breaks as she sets her face. confused, terrified. why the armor, why is she leaving so suddenly? rhosyn, you didn’t even tell me.

she can not let their lives fall apart because of some stupid calling. the notes are playing louder as the blood rushes in her ears, throbbing on the sides of her head. he asks her quietly if she thinks she can really find a solution as she paces around the room (where is her bloody helmet? what had she done with it last?)  -- something people for centuries have simply accepted. she doesn’t know. maybe. but if there is one, she will. she has to.

he asks her if this is worth it -- leaving fereldan right after the mage rebellions have begun attempts to form properly. that sends a stake through her chest, leaving fereldan proper. her mabari whines at her side, nudging her knee as she finally looks into his eyes. golden brown, small wrinkles around the corners. caring, soft. worried about her, and finally not taking no as answer when he holds her hand in his firmly when she turns to pull away.

there is no anger. there is only a faint sadness. he knows he can’t turn her off this path, not now. so he won’t try.

she opens her mouth to start again, if only i had the time, i could do this and you and me would not have to worry, alistair, i am doing this for us and-

he hugs her, arms tight around her smaller form. at first she’s stunned. her eyes wide, panicking. no one had touched her in such a manner for some years now. she had expected some pushback, but instead she feels the ice thawing the longer she rests there, tears welling up in her eyes as she leans her head against his chest.

she’s not ready to die. she knows that she still has years but she doesn’t want to die. pretentious, maybe arrogant but she can’t. she can’t. not before she’s made a proper difference.

she was supposed to die in highever. she didn’t.

she was supposed to die in the blight. she didn’t.

if she were to die from a calling, one thing that she couldn’t control, couldn’t opt of, she isn’t sure what she’d do. she feels so out of control, spiralling as things fall apart around her. her own relationships, not having seen fergus in at least a year by now with no correspondance wishing for it. she misses leliana dearly, there has been no raven for sometime now. the politics are becoming too much, mages versus the templars always on everyone’s minds. her support of the arcane earning her more enemies than allies. she could only protect the circle so much before everything went to hell.

that she could not yank back into place. this had been many years coming now. she could not glue her and fergus’ relationship back together. she couldn’t force leliana to respond or to even find the woman anymore. it’d been a long time since a raven had been by properly.

but alistair -- he had always been by her side. even as she tried and tried and tried to distance herself from everyone. he kept gently tugging her back, chipping at the shields she’d set up around her heart.

and so she cries. hugging his form and clutching the back of his shirt, don’t let me go, not now.

rhosyn is good at brave faces. by then they’re an art form. but the hug that lingers when she steps out of the castle that evening, under the cover of darkness and a black cloak, it breaks her masks into shards. her face is free of the caked on makeup, her head is lighter without the crown and she can move nimbly once more without the petticoats and corsets underneath. her bow is dutifully on her back, her dog running after her.

but her brave face is long behind her. she no longer needs it. flames lick her insides again.

[wootensmith]

Eulogy

Relating the events at Din’an Hanin had been awful. Cole had evaporated before they’d entered the camp, wisely choosing to do his work while invisible. “They will only see this body,” he’d told the Inquisitor, cupping his ears. “It’s the wrong shape.” “It isn’t,” she’d protested. “You see something different than they do. Their sorrow will be like a fog. I know. I cannot help them if they see this shape. A few days, and the fog will clear a little. I will let them see me then.”

He’d patted the horse he’d been riding and handed the reins to Solas on the bank of the frozen river. “I’m always here,” he told the Inquisitor, uncomfortable with her obvious unease, “We just help in different ways. You and Solas are familiar. Memories of happier times. The last Arlath’ven when all they saw were those like them. Safe. We all wear masks, that’s what you said, Solas.” “We all have a face we want to show. And one we do not,” he agreed. “Be my mask, Inquisitor. We’ll help together.” She hesitated, but after a glance toward the tiny Dalish camp, nodded. Cole blinked out.

Solas found her fingers with his own. They were damp with a light sweat though the air was frigid and dry. She squeezed his hand and then let go. “This isn’t the first time I’ve borne bad news to families,” she told herself. “But it never seems to get easier.” “No. It would be a cruel leader who discovered that it did.” She stared at the camp another moment. “We could wait for the caravan,” he offered. “No!” she cried. “No. Their first knowledge of it should not be the dead faces of their family.” It broke her paralysis and she led her horse toward the camp. Solas followed with the other pair of horses and felt as if he was pushing her into a nightmare.

“Inquisitor,” Hawen had called in greeting from beside a large fire, the calm smile withering from his face as she approached and he caught a clearer glimpse of her expression. He rose from his seat, glanced at Solas, trying to read the temperature there. A quick wave to the halla tender who hurried to take the reins from both Solas and the Inquisitor. He paused and began unstrapping the Inquisitor’s staff, but she shook her head and the halla tender retreated. Some of the tension seemed to drain from Hawen as he realized she was not expecting an attack. Solas wished he could warn him, that he could tell him the hour for preparation had already passed, not to drop his guard. The Inquisitor’s expression was pure misery.

“Aneth ara, da’len,” stammered Hawen. “We have come from Din’an Hanin, Hahren,” said the Inquisitor. The crackle of the fire nearly overwhelmed her words. Hawen shot a sharp look over her shoulder toward the river, looking for those he would never see. She held out the small scroll case that they’d found in the depths of the Emerald Knights’ tomb. “I have sent replicas to our kin, but the original— the original should stay with you.” Hawen’s hand shook a little as he took the case from her. He didn’t open it and let it dangle from his hand as if it were a forgotten, inconsequential thing. It is, Solas thought, an ancient grief, long worn thin when the wound he will receive will be so deep, so dire. “Why—” Hawen looked over the Inquisitor’s shoulder again at the empty riverbank. “Why has it come to us from your hand, da’len?” She took a deep breath, her familiar magic tugging urgently for some sign he was still with her and Solas pressed a warm hand into her shoulder blade. “Because the cost to retrieve it was so very high, Hahren. Ours are the only hands that remain to deliver it.”

Hawen stared at her shocked for what seemed a long, long time. The fire popped and one of the halla bleated behind Solas. “All?” asked Hawen at last. The hitching breath the Inquisitor took made a deep wound in Solas’s chest. “All,” she answered. The Keeper teetered and Solas stepped quickly forward to catch him. “Perhaps this would be better in your aravel, lethallin,” he said, pulling the man slowly toward the sturdy wooden door of his home. The Inquisitor followed them in silence.

Solas lowered Hawen to sit on the edge of an elaborately carved chest and moved toward the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. Arbor blessing… prophet’s laurel— He crushed the plants into a small stone bowl, listening as Hawen tried again to understand the disaster that had come upon him. “How?” he asked. “A trap? Some— some beast using the tomb as its den?” The Inquisitor glanced toward Solas and he paused his preparations. Do not take this onto yourself, Vhenan, he willed her. “No,” she said, and her voice had steadied. “They were attacked. A band of Venatori— a cult from Tevinter—” Hawen spat on the floor of the aravel. The Inquisitor ignored it and kept on. “The— the magister who caused all of this trouble since the humans gathered for the Conclave, he sent them to Din’an Hanin to search for an eluvian. Taven was heavily outnumbered—” “But your people were meant to be there. You promised protection Inquisitor.” “They were there. Inquisition soldiers fought and died alongside your clan. There are two caravans leaving Din’an Hanin today, both weighed down with grief.” “And you? Why aren’t you among them?” snapped Hawen.

Solas watched the tiny muscle at the corner of her jaw twitch. It was the only sign of how deeply the question touched her. Something only he could see. A flutter beside him distracted Solas and he watched a few leaves of vandal aria drift down into the stone bowl. Cole, he realized and lit it with a wave. “Alas, I arrived too late to aid them. I could only bring justice to their killers,” she said. The fragrant smoke from the bowl drifted and hung in thick puffs, soothing and sweet. Something to calm Hawen. “The task that delayed you must have been mighty, indeed, to keep you from helping your own blood, da’len,” said Hawen. His voice was ragged and rough. Though he was turned from Solas, the shock and anger were clear enough. The Inquisitor looked back at Solas, her guilt about to spill from her. “They did not call for help,” said Solas before she could. “They were taken by surprise. We had no reason to suspect they were in danger until we arrived.” Hawen twisted on the chest to face him. Solas was startled at how much the devastation had aged him in mere moments. They are so fragile, he told himself.

“The— the remains…” Hawen trailed off. “They will arrive tomorrow,” said the Inquisitor. “So late? You have arrived far ahead of them. They should be attended—” “I thought it fitting that Loranil accompany them. It meant a small delay. They are guarded and— and have been shielded from curious eyes.” “Loranil. Yes. It is good that he will return to us.” “For the funeral,” agreed the Inquisitor. “For good.” “If it is his will to do so.” Hawen shook his head. “I allowed him to accompany you because I believed you would keep him well.” Her posture changed, the pulse in her jaw stilled. There was a prickle in the air, like the charge before an impending storm. “And so I have.” “If Din’an Hanin is any indication of how you care for my people—” “No, Keeper. It is an indication of how you care for them.” Her voice was calm and Solas could not fault the justice of her statement, but the cold fury in it made even he flinch. “It was not the Inquisition who sent Taven to the Emerald Graves while the rest of the clan tarried here, its food stores dwindling, its youth running after lost memories. It was not I who sent your warriors away and made camp in the open to tend old tombs that none but wraiths visit. I have kept the Inquisition well. And if I had your clan in my keeping, I would have shielded them as carefully. Loranil is free to return to the Inquisition when he chooses.” Hawen leaped up, his face curled into an angry snarl. “Dread Wolf take—” “Peace!” cried Solas. “This cannot help anyone. It is your grief speaking. We will withdraw and give you time with your people. When your fallen arrive, we will be nearby to guard the rites. If you have need of us beyond that— you have only to ask, lethallin.”

Hawen’s expression did not soften, but the Inquisitor’s did and she did not resist as Solas pulled her from the aravel and out to the halla pen where the horses grazed unconcerned. The other elves watched them uneasily but Solas only took his pack from the horse and led the Inquisitor toward the nearby falls. Neither said anything, only passing the chilled canvas of the tent between them, chopping the frozen dirt to seat the slender support poles and fumbling with frozen fingers to secure the fabric. It was only halfway done when the terrible wail erupted from the camp behind them, echoing over the plain. The Inquisitor froze. She had been turned away from him, tying the canvas to the ridgepole. He watched her shoulders draw up and in at the sound of the first wail. At the second, she released the fabric and pressed her hands over her face. The tent slumped. He ignored it and sprang up. Another wail shattered the air before he reached her. “Tel’abelas,” he urged her, even as she flinched away from the sounds of grieving behind them. Her shoulders shook. She didn’t pull away when his arms closed around her, but she didn’t respond to him either. “This is not your doing,” he told her. “What does it matter?” she finally asked. “It was done. They’re dead. I was not there to aid them. There is no— no better here. Only loss.” It is what goes undone that troubles her most, he realized. That is the difference between she and I. She’ll leap in for fear of not doing enough even if it means a mistake. And I— I will hesitate for fear of making things worse. Let things follow the course they are on until I’m certain. Until too late.He was suddenly dreadfully certain she’d hate him if she ever knew how long he’d slept, how long he’d waited. She jerked at the sound of another grief-stricken cry from the camp and he held her more tightly.

At last, the sorrow of the camp quieted and fell beneath the roar of the falls. The chill crept in and she pulled away from him, returning to her work. The tent was soon in place and she ducked inside while Solas gathered some sticks for a small fire. They were damp with snow, sputtering and smoking even with the fire spell to aid them. Cole appeared with a small armful of logs. “The old ramparts,” he said softly, handing them to Solas. He watched as the fire slowly kindled. “She already knows that part,” he whispered suddenly. Solas looked up. “She already knows who you are. Careful, patient, clever. She cannot hate you.” Solas frowned and poked at the flames. “You should focus your efforts on the camp. They have a greater need of you than I tonight.” Cole crouched down beside him. “So few. So little to be done. They sleep, one by one dropping into better days. The hurt is like a coal buried in ash. I would not blow upon it. Let them dream.” He glanced toward the tent. “All she lacks is the name, Solas. The last tumbler of the lock. Then you would be free.” Solas stood up. “Perhaps I no longer wish to be, Cole.” He stepped toward the tent and halted as Cole spoke again. “She would be free, too. You’d never have to wonder again if it was the mask she loved.” Solas turned to look, but Cole was gone. He hesitated another moment before lifting the tent flap.

The Inquisitor was a few pages deep into her report to Leliana, the quill scratching just above the gurgle and rush of the falls outside. She looked up as he entered. Her eyes were dry and her jaw had loosened. “Ir abelas,” she said as he pinned up the flap and sat beside her. “I didn’t mean to be so— dismissive earlier. The whole day has been…” The light from the flames swept across her face, illuminated her utter weariness. “I feel like a cornered fennec, snapping at anyone who gets too close. Hawen, Cassandra, you. None of you deserved it.” He put the ink pot carefully aside and pulled the pages from her lap, placing them carefully behind them. He folded her hands in his. “It is foolish to mistake honesty for cruelty. I hope I have learned that lesson well enough to avoid a repeat.” His face was hot with remembered shame. “Cassandra has already accepted the truth about Din’an Hanin. You did not wound her. If Hawen felt a sting from your words, then it is only because you laid bare what he already knew and had hidden from himself.” “It was unkind of me to say those things to him when he is so overwhelmed by loss.” “Perhaps,” Solas admitted. “But I would wager he allows Loranil to return to the Inquisition if that is what the boy wants. And— Hawen will be more willing to accept the course of action you think best. I fear he would have resisted had you not questioned his decisions.” She shook her head and avoided his eyes. “That is worse. I did not intend to manipulate him with guilt.” “If it saves them—” “It will not. I can give them a home. I can supply them for the winter and send them to my clan. I can even protect them on their journey. But I cannot give them purpose. Without some— drive, some reason to continue— they are just enduring until they die off. The very last of their clan. Would you go on, knowing you were the last?” She met his gaze again. His own loneliness echoed like a bell in his chest.

“You believe it is only shared blood that makes a clan, Vhenan?” he asked, avoiding her question. “N—no. But shared experience, memory, stories, surely. Without a common experience—” He pressed a warm hand to her cheek. “I promised you a list to match yours. And there are countless reasons to love you. But do you know what I loved first?” She shook her head. “From the beginning, the very first time you spoke to me, you treated me as your own. Called the Dalish ‘our’ people. Ours. Even when I resisted. When others slighted me, you reacted with hurt and anger. Where others threatened me, you defended. And listened when so many had dismissed me. Always claiming me as part of you, as kin. And I watched as you did the same with others. You did not spit at the sight of a Tevinter mage. Or scorn the counsel of a dwarf who lies as often as not. Nor even turn away a Qunari you knew to be a spy. And now, all these months later, you have shared memory and experience and stories with each of them. With me. Are we not your family as much as clan Lavellan?” “Of course. But Hawen—” “Will find even more in common with your clan than we have. He will go on. They all will. Perhaps the few that remain will allow their clan name to dissolve, be absorbed into yours, but they will find a home and safety again. Don’t allow grief to cloud your vision as well as theirs.”

She shook her head. “Our lives in the Marches have been so different from what it must have been here—” “More different than the lives of a slave and the leader of a powerful military force?” he asked, tracing the vallaslin on her brow. “I suppose not.” “Yet you have had no hesitation in accepting me. In keeping me. Your clan will keep Hawen’s just the same. They will survive this, with your help. And some day, they may find their grief has quieted. And that they are not alone. That there are reasons to keep drawing breath beyond just enduring.” “Until then?” she asked. He watched her face in the flickering light of the campfire, debating with himself. After a moment, he said, “I was the last, my heart. Or— I believed I was. Of my family. Of the people I thought of as my own. For a— lifetime. And I did go on. I cannot tell you how, except to say it seemed an eternal nightmare. And meeting you— was like waking into dawn. There will be an awakening for them, too. Someday. Their fate— is in their own hands.” “But what they’ve lost—” “Is not something you have the power to return. I do not know if Cullen was right when he told you that you could not save everyone. He would not be the first to underestimate you. But I am certain that no one can be saved from all harm. Not even by you. It is something they must pass through, as we all do. You know this. But I know how your mind leaps and searches.” He opened his arms to her and she folded herself against his chest. “You wish to do something, to change something. Sometimes, there is nothing to be done except to wait and watch. Action is not inherently superior to inaction. An offer of protection is all that you can offer to them. Whether they accept it or not is not up to you.”

She was quiet against him for a long while. It was only when the fire had dimmed and she rose to close the flap against the falling snow that she finally spoke. “Ir abelas, emma lath,” she said. “It was— careless of me to ask what you would do in their place. To push you back to— bleaker times.” “How could you have known?” he asked, unfolding the bedrolls rather than meeting her gaze. “We have not discussed those parts of my life. There is nothing to forgive.” To her credit, she did not press him for more. It did nothing to alleviate the guilt he felt at not offering. He waited until he could see her hovering at the edge of sleep beside him, where the waking world and the Fade would blend into one another in her mind. It was only then that he managed to gather the courage he needed. “Vhenan,” he whispered. “Yes?” she murmured, her eyes still closed, her hand still limp beside his shoulder. “When I survived— I had no reason to endure. I thought it sheer chance. When the ruins were silent and everyone had gone, I found myself still breathing. All that was left was to watch and to wait.” The vallaslin wrinkled as her brow contracted in soft concern. After a moment, when she did not fully wake, he continued. “If I had known who I would meet at the end of all that waiting and watching— I would have leaped more and looked less. Whatever happens, know that you were worth enduring millennia for. Ar lath ma.” Her fingers twitched. “This is a good dream,” she whispered. Solas knew the illusion could not last much longer. He kissed her temple. “Stay asleep, my love.” For I have work of my own to accomplish tonight, he thought, and rose from her side.

[swordswoman97]

Matchmaker Matchmaker Chapter 2: Here Comes the Rain

(Chapter Title comes from “Here Comes the Rain” by Eurythmics

          “I can’t believe you said yes, Gramps. He’s a maniac.” Marie said, glaring around the street festival they were waiting for Callie and Octavio in.

           “Your cousin seems to disagree. Besides, you know how hard she can be to say no to.”

           “No, I don’t. In fact, I find it quite easy to say no to her.”

           “Either way. Now, where are they?”

           They stood waiting for a few more minutes before Marie finally noticed Callie running towards them. “There you two are! DJ should be here any minute. Remember what I said about the racism thing. And don’t mention his arm, just don’t.”

           Marie opened her mouth as if to argue, while Cuttlefish just nodded, looking for the final member of the awkward party. Soon enough, Octavio made his way through the crowd and Marie’s eyes widened, Craig’s jaw going slightly slack. Despite what either had been expecting, Octavio was in his octoling form, looking like a completely normal old man, minus the fact he was wearing long sleeves and a slightly higher collar in warm weather, and the fact that he was at least a foot taller than any of them.

           “Marie, Craig,” He said, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest.

           “You actually showed up. I was expecting you to bail.” Cuttlefish said, glancing at his arms before looking up at his face.

           “I made a promise. And unlike some people, I keep my promises.”

           “Well, everyone’s here! Let’s get going!” Callie said, leading the way. Marie glared at Octavio before following her, leaving him and the Cap’n to be in the back.

           The group walked through the festival, Callie pointing out various things of interest but being primarily ignored. Marie and Cuttlefish were keeping eyes on Octavio, who seemed more interested in the sky than the festival.

           “Jeez DJ, never seen the sky before?” Callie asked with a laugh, pausing to look at him.

           “Not freely for a hundred years. And I wasn’t exactly allowed to enjoy it during the brief time I could see it.”

           “Someone’s still mad about the snow globe.” Marie looked at Octavio, a sweet smile on her face but her eyes making her hatred clear.

           “Oh no. I was only locked in a space too small for me to move and frequently left without food for days at a time. Why would I be mad?” Octavio asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

           “Anyway…” Callie interrupted, trying to kill the tension. “There’s a stage up ahead where bands some of the local kids have made are performing! Let’s check it out!” With that, she took Marie’s hand, dragging her along, leaving Octavio and Cuttlefish little choice but to follow.

           On the stage an urchin and an inkling pair were performing. “They’re not too bad. Especially with the less than stellar tech.” Octavio commented.

           “Yeah! I think they’ll do well!” Callie said moving her head to the beat. “But I’m getting thirsty. Come on Marie, let’s go get some drinks. You two want anything?” Upon receiving answers from the men, she dragged Marie off towards a truck selling drinks. Leaving the pair of men alone.

           “So, why’d you say yes to this?” Craig asked, glaring slightly at Octavio.

           “Your granddaughter is very hard to say no to.”

           “Puppy eyes?”

           “Yep. She’s quite good at that.”

           “I suppose some things transcend species.”

           The pair sat in silence, Octavio glancing up at the sky and frowning. “Did anyone check the weather? Cause it looks like it’s going to rain.”

           “I think Callie did?” Craig looked up, raising an eye brow. “It’s fine. They’d cancel the festival if there was rain in the forecast.”

           Octavio hummed in disbelief, continuing to watch the sky. Not too long after the girls returned, but before they could say anything, he hissed in pain. Not the only one, People began crying out in pain as rain began to fall, people running for shelter of the tents and shops.

           “Cancel if there was rain in the forecast ehh?” Octavio asked, once they were in the shelter of a nearby café.

           “How is this my fault? I don’t control the dang sky!” Craig said, slamming his cane against the ground.

           “You two! Calm down. The weather is always unpredictable, they probably weren’t expecting it. While we’re here, since we’re kind of stuck inside, how about we just get some lunch? I’m sure we’ll all feel better afterwards,” Callie said in an attempt to soothe the situation.

           “Fine.”

           Once they got their food, they all sat down at a nearby table, eating in silence. Callie racked her brain trying to figure out something to say. This wasn’t going well, though she figured it was probably partly the fault of the rain and Marie. She’d have to find a way to keep Marie away on her next attempt.

           “Hey, have y’all heard that the bassist from Squid Squad is in a new band?”

           “Diss pair, right? Isn’t their whole thing that they don’t interact when making music?” Marie asked.

           “What?! That doesn’t make sense?! How do they manage to make anything that actually works?!” Octavio asked loudly, drawing many around him’s attention.

           “I don’t think it’s supposed to. That’s the point isn’t it? Not working?” Marie responded, before glaring as she remembered who she was talking to.

           “I cannot believe that works.”

           “Might just have good planning skills,” Craig added. “Or they’re just claiming that to draw people’s attention and they don’t actually do that.”

           “Maybe. What’s the other member?”

           “Warabi. A DJ apparently.”

           “Warabi, Warabi. The name sounds familiar,” Octavio mused, tapping his cheek with his spoon. “But I can’t place it.”

           “They’re an octoling.” Marie said, completely deadpan, looking up for Octavio’s reaction.

           “Of course! Weapons check person! We kept having trouble finding them a work partner! Kept scaring them off, though I could never find out how. They were such a pain in the tentacle!”

           “Well obviously they found someone willing to put up with them.”

           “Apparently,” Octavio suddenly grew quiet, as if mournful. “At least my people are happy up here.”

           Both Callie and Craig opened their mouths up as if to say something but were interrupted by Marie’s phone. “I should take this,” She said, standing up from the table. “At least it looks like the rain has stopped.”

           Marie walked outside, and Callie stood, saying something so quick neither could understand before walking towards the back of the café.

           Craig looked at Octavio, looking away before speaking. “What do you mean, at least they’re happy?”

           “Craig, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but hundreds of my citizens are fleeing our home to live up here. If that isn’t a sign people don’t like it down there, I don’t know what is.”

           “What about you? Do you like it down there?”

           Octavio didn’t respond, ignoring Craig’s attempts to get him to speak. Once Callie and Marie returned, he said something about having to get home, tossing some cash on the table to pay for his food, before walking out.

[tarralin]

A Turn of Events

Fox Hunt, Chapter Ten

(Board gifted by @under-sengoku-skies)

Find Master List, Ao3, and Ko-Fi links in blog bio!

Thank you @rainyluneotome for beta reading!

~*~

RM’s time at Kasugayama passed slowly, if not a little on the boring side. Shingen’s constant flirty playboy act grew old after the first full day but at least it meant he was still interested in her. He’d set her up in a lavish room that seemed more suited for a visiting dignitary. Opulencency had always been a sign of great wealth and RM knew such resources could be useful. For that, she’d deal with the cheesy talk and keep in his good graces until the other boss-- the actual owner of the castle whom she hadn't met yet-- came back from a skirmish among his territories.

Sasuke became a quick friend and accompanied her through the local town when he wasn't being more scientist than ninja and poring through the notebooks she’d brought him. She almost got a genuine smile from him the few times she dropped modern culture references.

Yukimura hovered constantly. Every time she turned a corner or questioned a maid, he was there-- suspicion clear in his eyes. She tried to remain polite and friendly, but his endless badgering depleted the minuscule amount of patience she possessed before her thirty-sixth hour in the Sengoku.

“What’s your problem?” She snapped at breakfast the second morning. “Can’t a girl have a single moment's peace?”

His eyes knit together indignantly as he set his bowl down. “Look, I don't what kind of sorcery your family practices. Your sister managed to lure the Devil himself into her spell, so I can only imagine what you're trying to work on Lord Shingen.”

From the corner of her eye, RM watched Sasuke’s gaze drop to the floor as he massaged his brow in humiliation.

Did he really just… He did. Homeboy did. And he believes what he says, too. You've got to be shitting me…

I'm in Hillbilly Hell.

RM took pride in the fact that she managed to keep her thoughts to herself, instead glancing at Sasuke as she rose to her feet to leave the room. “I'm not even going to touch that. I'm likely to damage Homeboy’s feelings beyond repair if I did.”

Breakfast the third morning of RM’s residence arrived without word from Shingen’s retrieval team. She made it her personal mission to be as complicated as possible for any who crossed her path...

But he got the ‘Extra Salty’ package.

“Angel, why must you wound me with the discarded robes of a page-boy? Are the garments I've provided not to your liking?”

RM never glanced up, focusing solely on her hashi as they swooped between her lips and the plate. If there was one she learned growing up with four brothers, it's that tiny jabs on their pride hurt men the most. Choosing to wear a page's attire instead of the decadent kimonos he'd supplied was just the first attack on Shingen. “You expect me to trust your judgment? Now? I'll pass. I’ve already spoken with the castle seamstresses on alternatives, thank you.”

“My men may be delayed, but--”

“They're not delayed, they're dead!”

Shingen’s eyes narrowed slightly and RM finally glimpsed through to the warlord instead of the playboy facade he insisted on fronting. “You've said something similar before. Why?”

A cruel chuckle slipped from her as she leaned back onto her heels. “You sent a team after a target you had a rather impressive lack of intel on. A team of only four people that, as I've mentioned, are probably dead because, guess what? You messed with the wrong fucking princess!” RM popped the rubber band on her wrist as she felt the anger stirring higher, an old habit that never really dulled the flames like it was supposed to, but it did redirect her thoughts to her favorite anger management activity. “Do you have a rifle range?”

Shingen’s eyes flicked between the band and her eyes in a bewilderment RM was accustomed to seeing when she snapped between topics. “Uh, yes, at the troop camp. I’m planning an inspection this evening--”

RM jumped to her feet and strolled from the dining area without another word.

~*~

It wasn't until she was in the middle of camp that she realized she hadn't thought this idea of hers all the way through. This time period’s firearm of choice was a matchlock musket. Ammunition consisted of powder cartridges that had to be manually loaded for each shot and even a ram rod to pack the bullet down the barrel. I was wrong, I didn't survive the fall. The wormhole killed me and I'm in Sharp Shooter’s Hell!

She was peacefully observing the firing line reloading their rifles for the next round when she spotted a familiar red robe coming her way through the haze of gunsmoke. Oh fuck, identify compromised… Abort! Abort!

She’d just ducked behind a tent when Yuki’s voice carried across the remaining distance. “What in the Hells are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.”

He gave an eye roll that could rival MC’s famous gesture of irritation. “I asked what you were doing here, not wish you a good morning. And where is Lord Shingen?”

“I left him at the castle. I’m likely to blast his face off if I see it again today. Which is why I'm here-- I need to shoot something that won't end with me in the executioner’s sights.”

Yukimura scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I don't really have time to babysit--”

“Then don’t,” she sidestepped him without further comment, letting out a piercing whistle that gained the attention of the gathered riflemen that had just started lining up their shots and pulled out her signature southern belle smile. “Hey, go take fifteen. You've earned it!”

Yukimura remained in place as the men passed by, making no attempt to hide the indignation splayed across his features. “Care to tell me why you just dismissed the squadron?”

“Already did,” she sighed as she gathered the loaded pistols close together and within her reach, checking each match chord as she did. Good, still lit.

She’d observed the gun squad enough to guesstimate the recoil of the musket. There wasn't much of a breeze today to interfere with bullet trajectory and her accuracy was never in question. So, aside from that initial terror of handling antique weapons, she was as confident as she could be. How often would she get to fire a five-hundred year old musket while still in its prime?

Kneeling in final preparation, she took her shot and a sliver of satisfaction rose within her just as the cloud of spent powder lifted on the wind. One down…

RM repeated the same routine with each preloaded rifle, only switching to the next furthest target once changing to the next gun. The familiar ritual of lining up a perfect shot helped melt away the morning tension. She’d always had trouble focusing on one topic for extended periods of time when her brain took in every little detail around her and was always running at full speed. Shooting was one of few activities that slowed it back down but, much like her brain, it was fast paced and she blew through her targets in near record time.

She huffed out a breath while she waited for her ears to stop ringing. What to do now? I could go see if the seamstresses have any of my clothes ready…

The ringing subsided but there were still whistles calling out around her. Glancing up, she found the gun squad had returned from their impromptu break and caught her show. They were applauding so passionately she couldn't just leave without giving them a showman’s bow and wave. “Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week!”

“And who has declared that?”

At the chilled voice, the smiling men scrambled to stand at attention in a perfect line. Her own military instincts kicked in with the general panic of commander on deck and she immediately fell in rank at the end of line, giving the closest man a quick once over to match his stance. An icy wind blew through the rank line as gravel crunched under the determined steps headed her way. The flash of platinum hair in her vision was nearly as blinding as the glint of steel that followed and laid flat on her shoulder at the base of her neck.

“Yukimura! Why is there a woman here? I thought it was clear that entertainment was not  allowed in camp.”

Breaking rank, RM raised a brow in the newcomer’s direction. “Well, I'm not jumping through flaming hoops or anything.”

“Not that kind of entertainment…” Yuki snapped as he joined them, ears turning a darker shade of red. “She’s a friend of Sasuke’s who ran into trouble and Lord Shingen has welcomed her as a guest. I'm still trying to figure out why she's here, though.”

“I told you I needed to shoot something, not my fault you didn't believe me.”

“Why would I believe the sister of the Oda Enchantress?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake… Look, if either of us turns out to be a ‘vile enchantress’, I can promise it’ll be me!” Yuki stepped back at her words as if he’d been bitten by a snake. RM turned back to the man in front of her and batted the sword off her shoulder. “Sorry to be a disruption. I’m leaving.”

She didn't make it a step before the sharpened edge was pressed to her throat. “ ‘Sister of the Oda’, did I hear that correctly?”

“Technically, I'm sister to the Princess but, yes, you heard right.” She ducked under the sword only to feel it in place again. What’s this guy's problem?

“Y-you were victorious in battle then, Kenshin?” Yuki moved between the two, successfully taking all the attention of the blond man.

“That mockery could not even earn the title of battle.” Finally sheathing the blade, the one called Kenshin turned on his heel and marched off as if he hadn't just tried to give her a new windpipe.

“Just get back to the castle,” Yuki snapped over his shoulder before following after the blue clad commander.

With an eye roll, RM started back the way she came until the rifle line caught her attention again. The poor guys remained stock still at attention and several shades paler in the face, no doubt due to the scene that had just played before them. “At ease, boys!”

Each man blinked several times, even turning to each other for a moment but remained mostly at attention. RM sighed before forcing herself to pull out her long abandoned lieutenant voice. “I said ‘at ease’! Reload while you're at it!”

There was the desired effect as the men visibly relaxed and returned to their previous tasks. There, that’s better, thank you.

She really did try to walk away from the camp but the hand-to-hand drills just seemed… off. They can't honestly be pairing the brutes against the kids…

She couldn't walk away until that was fixed.

~*~

“Is that your fifth bottle already?” Sasuke warned her of his employer’s trigger happy attitude and extreme alcohol tolerance, but damn if she still wasn't impressed as she and Sasuke joined Yuki and Kenshin. The blond in question simply tipped back another cup full as if she hadn’t spoken. Where does he put it all?

“Sake doesn't effect Kenshin much, aside from potentially shortening the lifespan of those around him,” Sasuke informed.

“So, nothing new then?”

“Sad that you know that already,” Yuki rolled his eyes before they snapped back to focus on her, pink flushing over his features. “Seven Hells! What are you wearing?”

RM beamed a smile and spun a quick twirl for full inspection as she dropped into criss-cross on a free floor cushion. “This is what the seamstresses have been working on for me. The garments Shingen gifted are gorgeous and beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I could barely breathe! I’m a gymnast, I need to move. So, they whipped me up some things similar to the ninja here but in Takeda colors. Oh wow, looks kind of like yours, huh?”

“Yukimura, where is Shingen?” Kenshin piped up as he poured another cup of sake, ending the previous discussion.

Yuki’s gaze wavered between her and Kenshin a moment as he cleared his throat. “A… messenger arrived with news he’s been awaiting.”

RM perked at that. “From Azuchi?”

“Would I be here if I accompanied him?”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes as she chucked a nearby pillow at Yukimura's head. “If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked you.”

“Yuki, must you upset your angel so much?”

RM turned to the entering voice, ignoring the sputtering tomato across from her, and instead pouring a generous cup of sake for the Tiger. “You've received news from Azuchi?”

Whatever joking mood Shingen had been in vanished with her question as his eyes lost their glimmer. He didn't speak until after downing the contents of his cup. “I have.”

Well, that tone never means anything good.

“I sent four men to capture Oda's princess but they never made it to Azuchi.” To iterate his point, Shingen dropped four headbands onto the table before her. “Instead, a squadron four times that size attacked the castle three nights ago. My mitsumono have learned a young guard took a death blow intended for Date Masamune.”

His eyes dropped back to the table, avoiding RM’s gaze completely. She tilted forward pointedly, forcing him to look at her. “And?”

He downed another cup of sake, savoring the burn before continuing. “The princess was injured. Rumor is she hasn't woken since the attack.”

Now, it was RM’s turn to swish the burn of sake at the news. An injury wouldn't be a problem normally back home, but here? Infections… Unhygienic practices… Hell, were there any kind of pain managements during this time aside from biting down on something?

After downing another cup of sake, she jumped to her feet and started from the banquet hall.

Yukimura was on her heels after a silent command from Shingen. “Where are you going?”

“Azuchi.”

“You can't go to there!” Yukimura grabbed her arm in attempt to slow her pace. The contact had her swirling, pivoting behind to shove him into the wall and pinning both arms to his back while her weight immobilized him. She ignored the deathly silence that fell over the banquet hall.

“Let's get one thing clear. I've been here of my own choosing this whole time, waiting for my sister who was supposedly being brought to Kasugayama. Well, now we know she's not coming because she's injured. I have medicine from home and I'm taking it to her. So stay out of my way; I'll be gone by dawn.”

It didn't take long to gather her belongings as she always kept things mostly in her pack in case she had to make a quick getaway. After stuffing her newly crafted clothing into the bag, she glanced about the room for any valuable trinkets she might be able to trade that wouldn't be missed. Everything looked as if it belonged in a museum to her and she ended up wrapping a random hand full of sparkly things into a coin bag. Only thing left to do was pull a vegetable sack over the rucksack as not to pull attention with its obvious untimely design.

She had just shrugged her pack onto her shoulders when a nervous shout reached her ears from the hallway, followed by the distinctive shatter of a ceramic vase. What the-

Poking her head in the hallway only earned more questions. Why is Sasuke in the rafters? Why is Kenshin chasing Yuki? And what in the hell does he plan to do with that sword?

“Sasuke!” Yuki called to the ceiling ninja. “Get down here!”

“Alliances are broken all the time, Yukimura. Good luck in the afterlife!” With that, the ninja hopped across the rafters and out of sight.

“What the--” she raised her brows to Yuki but the swipe of steel interrupted her.

“This is normal.”

“This is normal?” RM laughed at the absurdity as Yuki dodged another feral swipe from the blond, dropping her rucksack back onto the floor. Maybe these guys knew how to have fun after all. “Then why are you running?”

“Just because I'm used to it doesn't mean I have a death wish!”

“Ha! Okay… then I'm borrowing this!” Without another word, RM snatched Yuki’s katana from the scabbard at his waist to meet the God of War’s blow.

~*~

“She… She’s what?”

Shingen didn't hear that right. He couldn't have. There was absolutely no possible way he heard what he thought did from his loyal vassal.

“She stole my sword and is meeting Kenshin blow for blow. With the look he had on his face, I thought he was about to fall over dead from shock at first. Then, she went on the offensive!”

Shingen watched as Yukimura’s eyes cycled through a number of emotions as he relayed the turn of events. Shock and surprise giving way to a kind of wonder and acceptance. He hadn't missed the way his vassal’s eyes lingered after the newcomer’s footsteps or his overbearing nature the last few days. Yuki always had trouble being honest with himself but his extreme actions were all the sign Shingen needed. However, aside from a few comments of her being ‘Yuki’s angel’, there wasn't much that could be done.

Shingen grinned up to Yukimura. This new development may be just the push the two needed. “Yuki, make sure your angel doesn't leave the compound. We'll bring her with us tomorrow to the combat inspection we didn't get to complete today.”

“What? Why?”

“To see what else she can do. She may be a good fit as a new mitsumono.” He hated lying to the lad but the plan required it.

Yuki rolled his eyes at that. “I doubt she’d be interested in that.”

Shingen shrugged. “Maybe not, but we'll see the extent of foreign capabilities while we have one with us.”

That seemed to pacify the little lord for now as he finally conceded with a nod. “I'll make sure she doesn't leave… but stop calling her my ‘angel’!”

Not a chance. Shingen was still chuckling to himself long after Yuki left. 

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Dating Lena Luthor (a crush on you would include)

Request: Can you please do a lena luthor having a crush on you would include 

a/n: I mean listen I’m fully aware having a crush on you implies not dating just yet, but I have a very inconsequential title system I feel compelled to stick with now sooo, just disregard that little oopsie LOL

these are always super fun to do!! tbh I’m in a little bit of a funk right now so these types of posts help me get my imagination going again. Thank you so much for reading y’all! And thanks for your patience if you’ve been waiting for a request to be filled... I am definitely a person who loses track of time lol. I’m so happy I have a hobby I can kinda speak for now though, and that’s all thanks to you folks! Have an awesome day everybody!! :D

- - - - -

much to your surprise (or perhaps not at all, if you were really to think about it properly), Lena is a very tenacious person and as such, there are some things that get her attention and she just has to chase it

you’ve come to realize that so it’s turned out, you are in fact one of those things that have piqued her attention, and you’ve been a happy mixture of flattered, confused, and bashful

Lena, in her not so subtle interest in you, still refuses to say anything specific regarding her feelings, and instead you find your answers in the things she does and in the roundabout way of sneaky compliments she gives you and her well-timed flirting

it didn’t take much for you to figure out she liked you, but it also took quite a lot to convince you that you weren’t just projecting your wishes into some unfounded fantasy - most of the Superfriends (even Winn, especially Winn) could see through both of your behaviours, and they’re all both parts exasperated and absolutely amused by your song and dance of total avoidance

but really, who could blame you that you didn’t quite believe your luck that Lena Luthor, the absolutely brilliant, wonderful, incredible woman you have the honour of knowing would possibly reciprocate your feelings? It was a marvel, indeed - you won’t question a miracle when you recognize one

Lena having a crush on you involves a lot of games, and the biggest one particularly is waiting to see which one of you breaks and admits your feelings first - it’s more fun than it is exhausting, and you suppose Lena thinks the same way, if the way she smiles at you meaningfully sometimes like she has a secret is any indication

there are a multitude of changes both major and trivial that you’ve started to take notice of the more time you spent around Lena. For one, you’ve become a more familiar face in the office and Jess, her secretary, smiles at you more often in your slightly embarrassing frequency of dropping by unannounced

you realize it’s just slightly unnerving that Jess is friendly enough to you that you now have a casual rapport with her enough to have playful small talk

you know that when you see Jess smirk whenever she hears the tell-tale opening of the elevator indicating your arrival that she’s in a particularly talkative mood, and you have to brace yourself for whatever trouble she’ll cause this time

“you know you don’t have to check in every single time you get here. Ms. Luthor’s given you total clearance, but I’m flattered you think to grace me with that remarkable face of yours” “well, it’d be a bit rude of me to just walk past wouldn’t it? Besides, who else is going to feed your caffeine addiction, neither of you know how to take care of yourselves” “look at you, charming and well-mannered - Ms. Luthor definitely knows how to pick them”

you know almost for a certain fact that you blush more whenever Jess makes remarks like that than when Lena outright flirts with you, but you suspect it must be because you’re just that transparent and you should probably really tone down your puppy-like eagerness when it comes to seeing Lena

you also have the ever increasing suspicion that Jess and Lena are on some mission to make you blush as much as possible - in all honesty, there is more proof of the affirmative than not and you’re positive they have schemed to embarrass you in good nature to some capacity

Lena’s become more comfortable with her terms of endearment, and you’ve nearly forgotten your own name and have begun to think your name is “darling”, or “sweetheart”, or some variation of it

you will never admit that you respond to it with unfailing attention

Alex nearly passed out from laughing so much when Kara and Maggie were discussing home remedies during one game night and you answered in distraction when one of them mentioned “honey”

you drowned yourself in whatever drink of choice was closest to you and Lena eyed you with that dangerous look of hers that was all parts mischief, teasing, and some deeply attractive want that you didn’t want to name just yet

you spend a good portion of your time dragging Lena out of her office and also bringing the food to her - you’ve been vocally adamant about not leaving her office until you watch her consume something, and Lena, you realize, has become more susceptible to taking her sweet time just for you to stick around longer... and you entertain that

for all of her talk about distractions and not being able to afford any missteps or mistakes, the soft smile she gives you whenever she sees you, outside of work or not, is more than enough to make your heart flutter with happiness

hanging out with Lena, surprisingly, is a lot of spontaneous, unplanned excursions that you both are more than happy to indulge

you’re pleased that you both share an equal appreciation of the godly gift that is coffee, and as such, you often find yourselves in some hole-in-the-wall cafe and bookshop, sitting side by side pressed against each other on the floor of the astronomy section or in the humour section

a lot of your time together consists of stupid jokes and also riveting discussions of the human condition and of life

you have far too much fun exasperating Lena, but you know secretly it’s because of the fond smile she gives you despite rolling her eyes and groaning at your lame jokes

“hey Lena, where do dogs go when their tails fall off?” “I don’t know, (Y/N), where do they go?” “the retail store”

“Lena, how is imitation very much like a plateau?” “I’ve no clue, but I suppose you’re going to tell me aren’t you-” “they’re both the highest form of flattery”

Lena Luthor inspires a childlike wonder in you, something you’d thought you lost as you got older - you spend a lot of time convincing her to do vaguely reckless things like climbing fire escapes or sneaking onto roofs

somehow, you’ve managed to get her to spontaneously break out into song and dance with you in public, and you wonder just how it is you’ve coerced Lena into making a total fool of herself with you

she entertains your inclinations; perhaps it’s because you’re an enabler, perhaps it’s because she enjoys it, perhaps it’s because you let her do things she’s mostly tentative to do, or maybe it’s in solidarity and to not abandon you in your silliness - regardless of what it is, Lena always joins you in your antics

you don’t say it, neither of you have, but there’s a mutual understanding of comfort and vulnerability you know is shared and you know you can be safe in

Lena is playful with you, often stealing your hats when you’re out and she puts them on herself, or taking your sweaters when you’re just at home and she wants something comfy to wear - you never deny her the little things... she looks much better in your clothes anyway

as good as she looks in your band shirts and oversized hoodies, she looks just as magnificent in her dresses and gowns that she wears whenever she takes you to one of her events

quite long ago, you’ve stopped calling it dragging you to these galas and instead just took it for what it was: more time to be around Lena

for as much as you think she looks great in literally anything and for how irresistible she finds you and has explicitly mentioned of your usual, casual street look, she is adorably speechless whenever you show up to accompany her in your formal attire - you’re as equally blown away every time you see her, and you think she looks like magic

at some point you’ve stopped wondering about the platonic-or-not nature of her holding onto your arm and introducing you to everyone she encounters at these events, and instead have opted to consider how natural it feels when she’s pressed up against you like this

most of these nights involve a lot of socialization and champagne, and you know that Lena is never intoxicated to the point of forgetfulness at these events, but still, when the evening is done and you spend the night at either of your places, there’s always a softer vulnerability and a palpable disregard of inhibition that neither of you call out but know very well is a tension that pulls you together

you’ve lost track of specifically when, but you find yourself entangled in her when you fall asleep, sometimes on her couch, sometimes in her bed and you wake up and try to respect boundaries, but she just brings you closer anyway whenever you try and who are you to deny her sleepy, mumbling wishes?

for your own sake, you try to ignore the happy sigh she makes whenever she rouses from sleep and nuzzles closer to you, but it’s more effort to deny the inevitably of falling for her when she just makes it so easy to feel relaxed and unreserved

you’ve always figured that Lena Luthor was trouble, and you never realized the extent of that truth until you started writing again and she made a damn poet out of you

the woman makes you soft; she always has, and you’ve stopped fighting that reality and instead opted to perpetuate it

she half-heartedly chastises you whenever you sneak a picture of her on your phone or on one of your cameras, but she always smiles bashfully whenever you show her and you can both see, clear as day, the evidence definitive and candid, how happy she is

there’s far too many close-calls in the form of emotional freefall - that is, if you’d kept a tally of who was close to kissing the other first, you’d be at a loss of knowing who was more culpable (you’re becoming impatient, and this once, you think to concede this particular battle)

it’s a fair fight; Lena’s had to catch herself more than once whenever you leave her office and she, distractedly, almost kisses you. You almost kiss her one night in the middle of your dancing in the kitchen foolishness and you forget for a moment she’s not actually yours to kiss - you think you saw in her eyes something that wordlessly said the contrary, and you almost believe it was worth finally crossing the line for

your friends are tired of your shit, frankly, and they’ve convinced you perhaps that Lena is too. Alex never fails to lament that it’s absolutely rich if you don’t think you’re already dating, to which Lucy also helpfully supplies, don’t make any moves just yet I’ve got stakes in a bet that says Lena will make the first move, and even Kara’s got a piece to say, which is of course worlds more comforting than Alex, Lucy, and Maggie’s bickering when she tells you that Lena is happier with you, and I think she’s more than fine with whatever pace you’re willing to take

you are never one to keep a woman waiting, however, and you think it’s time to steel up and get your shit together

you’ve planned an exceedingly romantic evening, the works for someone who deserves that and so much more - dinner in a quiet restaurant, candlelight and flowers, all thanks to some connections your friends have pulled together

Lena shows up then and you’re floored by how radiant she looks always. She’s become the person in your life who has to remind you to breathe, and simultaneously gives you reason to live and to experience, and you’re finally set in your belief that she deserves to hear your truth

you finally admit to her and say out loud everything you’ve kept quiet and hidden all this time, and though you’re relieved, you’re also wide-eyed and admittedly petrified when Lena says nothing and is equally as wide-eyed as you are

“please don’t get me wrong when I say I’m shocked, this is just a little bit of a turn for me and I’m frankly a bit embarrassed-” “no, Lena, don’t apologize- I don’t ever want to pressure you into something you’re not willing to partake in and I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable-” “(Y/N), it’s not that... not at all. It’s just- I’d kind of already presumed we were dating...” “what? But- how long? Really?” “I suppose I’m partially to blame for not explicitly addressing our circumstance either-” “are you saying I could have kissed you all this time?” “well, I am most certainly not opposed to the suggestion, I merely thought you just weren’t ready-”

if you were asked to retell the story, you wouldn’t mention how close you were to knocking into the table in your haste to finally kiss Lena, and frankly though you feel a little bit robbed by your own hesitations, you finally feel a long-desired sensation of profound relief, a weight of uncertainty lifted from your chest

even still, it hadn’t felt official - at least, not until you and Lena walked into L-Corp one morning holding hands and Jess, hardly looking away from her computer screen, merely muttered something that sounded suspiciously like oh my god, finally, and you nearly tripped on your own foot at her off-handed observation

[uncannyvalley-fic]

Last One Standing, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“Um, not that we’re not thrilled to be part of… whatever this is,” Ember says as the hipsters lead the way out of Ace of Cups, “but you haven’t really told us who you are.”

The tallest one stops, and the others, as though they were beads on a string, crash into him.  He whirls around. “My goodness, you’re right!  I am Enos DuFray, and I am the leader singer and lead guitarist of the band, and we are called Barstow & Daughters.”

Ember scans the group. “... and daughters?”

“Yeah, none of us have daughters,” the guy with the gold-rimmed glasses says.

“We got the name out of a band generator on the internet,” Bowler Hat adds.

“I hear all the best bands do,” Ember says.

In short order Enos introduces the rest of the band: Keegan (Bowler Hat), Gustav (gold-rimmed glasses), Downton Abbey (a skinny guy with a British flag tattoo and a handlebar mustache), Elmo (wearing shorts with suspenders), and Jefferson City (whose entire outfit, including the scrunchie around his man bun, is navy).

“And you are?” Downton Abbey says, leaning in while he twirls his mustache.

“Oh!  I’m Ember, and this is Mr. Zephyr,” Ember says.

“And apparently, we’re your new roadies,” Mr. Zephyr says dryly.

“Awesome.  First order of business is to get our truck up to the fairgrounds,” Enos says.

“You guys… can’t drive?”

“No,” Gustav says.

“None of you can drive?” Ember repeats.

“How did you get to be fully-functional adults?” Mr. Zephyr asks, incredulous.

“Hey, man, there are plenty of places with expansive public transit systems,” Jefferson City says.

“Of course,” Mr. Zephyr allows.

“Uh, well, okay.  Where is your truck?” Ember asks.

“It’s down some dirt road,” Enos says.  He turns around and points. “Over… there.”

“We’ll go… sort that out,” Ember says, looking at Mr. Zephyr, who nods in agreement.

They walk for a bit in the general direction Enos pointed, away from Ace of Cups and over a ridge just beyond the park, making their way down a small hill into the forest beyond.  There’s no truck - and no sign of any dirt road -, but Ember stops short as he sees what’s in a small clearing below town.

“Is that… a spaceship?” Mr. Zephyr asks, panting just a little as he comes up behind Ember.

“I think… I think it is,” Ember says, and they stand there, mouths open, staring at the giant spacecraft in the middle of a newly-cleared area of the forest.

Jo takes a chocolate chip cookie from the catering table and wanders over to look at the giant bracket posted listing all of the bands and the configurations for the “battles,” and, not for the first time, thinks how absolutely seriously Beckett seems to take something so mundane as a series of concerts by nobody bands.

Nobody bands with wild names.  Jo has never heard of any of them, but their names are things of beauty.  The first match-up is between In Meat and The Alpine Fertility Squad.  After that, Orion and the Force Abroad goes head-to-head with Gray Silk Blowtorch.  The names devolve from there, going long into the night, ending with the final pairing of Barstow & Daughters and Leaping Adam and The Absent Justification.  She notes with some satisfaction that the ABBA tribute band Leon’s a part of doesn’t perform until the next morning, when she’ll be back at work.  She doesn’t want to miss Leon’s performance.

From one of the stages comes the sound of an out-of-tune violin, and Jo cranes her head to look at the band.  She isn’t sure if it’s In Meat or The Alpine Fertility Squad, but whoever they are, they sound terrible.

When her cookie’s gone, Jo brushes off her hands and starts patrolling again.  She catches sight of Levi and GaaP every now and then; GaaP seems to have made herself an honorary security guard, and her face lights up as she talks to Levi, bouncing along beside him.  Levi, to his credit, seems genuinely pleased to be walking and talking with GaaP.

Jo makes her way around the field, seeing nothing that needs to be handled by someone in a security role, and is about ready to head back to the VIP tent for a bottle of water when she hears an angry chorus of voices.  She turns towards the sound of a rising argument, weaving through speakers, chairs, tents, and other assorted equipment, and rounds a corner to see two groups facing off, arms waving and voices irritated.  As far as she can see, there’s no actual fisticuffs, but judging from the way the (so-far) verbal combatants are squaring off, it might not be too long before a real fight breaks out.

“Excuse me!” she says loudly, walking directly into the middle of the spat. “What’s going on here?”

Her presence seems to break the flow of the fight, and all of the yelling individuals fall silent.  At last one of them, a tall, statuesque woman with a hawk-like glint to her eyes, says, “Just a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Before Jo can query as to how a “misunderstanding” turns into a yell-fest, a short man in what looks like a majorette costume barks out, “Oh, yeah, Juliet?  It was a misunderstanding that you stole our bass player?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear him put up much of an argument,” the hawk woman - Juliet - replies, holding up both of her hands.

“You drugged him!” the majorette man spits.

“We gave him two bottles of Heineken.  Don’t be such a drama queen, Paolo,” one of Juliet’s band-mates, a similarly tall man in obscenely short lederhosen, says, rolling his eyes.

“And where is he now?” Paolo demands, spreading his arms wide as his voice rises dramatically. “In prison!”

“Not because of the Heineken, you moron,” Juliet says. “He was dealing meth - something he started, by the way, when he was with your group.”

“Okay, let’s take a bit of a time out here,” Jo says, waving her arms to motion the two groups a little further apart. “Obviously tensions are running high.”

“You can say that again,” Paolo mutters.

“Is there some way we can resolve this matter?” Jo asks, looking from Juliet and Lederhosen Man to Paolo.

“You can find us a bass player,” a woman standing next to Paolo says.

“Okay, see, now, that’s progress,” Jo says. “I think there’s a bulletin board over by the food booths where local musicians are posting their numbers and information for any of the bands to contact them for help.  Why don’t you start there?”

Paolo nods begrudgingly.

“Is there anything you need?” Jo asks, turning to Juliet.

“Just for these guys to leave us alone,” Juliet says.

“Don’t you need a bass player too?”

“No - Morrow can play bass too.  We used to be a bass-heavy band, now we’re just bass-light,” Juliet answers.

“Oh.  Uh, well, great.” Jo scans the groups. “I don’t want to have to eject either of these bands from the competition, so keep it together, okay?”

Everyone gathered around her nods a bit sheepishly.

“Awesome.  Get in touch with the security staff if there are any more issues.”

Jo waits until she sees both bands disperse before she leaves the area.  She sees Levi and GaaP moving towards the far-off stage at the end of the event grounds and turns to make her way back to the front of the field to start patrolling again.

Behind her, the out-of-tune violin starts playing “Musetta’s Waltz.”

Mary and Leon arrive at the Battle of the Bands (and Pancake Breakfast) a little after four in the afternoon.  Leon’s quickly swept up into the joyous embrace of his fellow ABBA tribute band members - three adorable older ladies in similarly eye-catching spandex jumpsuits - and Mary’s left on her own.

She takes a leisurely stroll around the festival, hoping to catch sight of Jo or any of her other friends.  Instead she sees ensembles of all kinds preparing themselves for performances.  An all-trombone quintet rehearses in a quiet nook, a band that seems to be made up entirely of pairs of twins is practicing dance moves with their instruments to the tune of “Ignition (Remix)” and what looks like bad KISS cosplayers are strumming their mandolins with all the fire and fury of Viking warriors.

Then she catches sight of a group practicing under a small tent rather than on one of the stages, as though their performance isn’t coming up for awhile.  It’s not their music - generously layered acapella - or their outfits - pastel knee-length dresses - that causes Mary to take a second look.  It’s the fact that all of the members of the ensemble are ghosts.

She approaches cautiously, but none of them are paying her any attention.  They’re too focused on their arrangement of “Exes and Ohs.”  She stays a short distance from them, and softly asks Clearwater, “What’s up with that?”

“What, you think ghosts can’t like pop music?” Clearwater asks.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Mary says. “I’m just confused as to how they managed to… organize themselves.”

Clearwater thinks on that. “We’ve seen ghosts do some remarkable things before.”

“And everyone seems to be treating them like they’re human,” Mary says, noticing a stagehand talking to a member of the ensemble at the side of the practicing singers.

“World’s a weird place,” Clearwater says. “Maybe that guy’s a geist.”

Mary snorts at the near-pun of “guyst.”

The stagehand moves away, checking something off on a clipboard, and Mary continues to watch the ghost girls sing and twirl and two-step-shuffle.  They’re surprisingly good.

“Clearwater, are there any… spells or artifacts that would cause a group of ghosts to seem corporeal?”

“Sure, I bet there’s lots.”

Before Mary can ask any further questions, she hears a voice from behind her. “Mary!  You’re here!”

She turns to see Jo striding towards her, and smiles. “Hi, Jo.  How are you?”

“Ready for a break,” Jo says. “You want to have a girls’ night?”

“That sounds fantastic,” Mary says. “Just you and me, or do you want to invite GaaP and Clementine?”

Jo resists the urge to roll her eyes at the suggestion of Clementine and merely says, “That would be great.  GaaP’s been following Levi around all day, so I’m sure she’ll have lots of great stories to share with us.”

“We’ll get some wine and Chinese food and put on a silly movie,” Mary says.

“Are we going to braid each other’s hair and paint our toenails?” Jo asks with a smirk.

“If the spirit moves us,” Mary says, grinning.

Clementine, her hands still raised in preparation for some sort of attack, turns around slowly.  Standing in the locker room, staff raised like a spear about to be thrown, is the woman she saw outside Ace of Cups.  She’s slender, pale, dark hair brushing her shoulders, clad in a puzzling ensemble of a tunic under a vest, leggings, and some sort of burlap-looking arm wraps.  She sports leather bracelets and a wide leather belt and leather boots that are, to Clementine’s eye, absolutely luscious.

“Okay, so, you’re definitely not with that hipster band,” Clementine says.

“Sorry, what’s a… hipster?”

“Oh, sweetie, I wish I didn’t know,” Clementine says. “Um, could you possibly… lower your weapon?”

The woman jumps, seemingly unaware that she was still holding the staff to Clementine’s throat, and brings it down. “Sorry.  I just… everything here is… new.”

Clementine tilts her head.  There’s something about the woman’s posture, the lines of her face, her voice, and her general appearance that’s incredibly familiar. “Have we met?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’d remember meeting you.”

“Are you from Beckett?”

“What’s Beckett?”

“Here.  It’s this town.  This incredibly bizarre town.”

“Oh.  No, I’m not from here.”

“Are you here for the Battle of the Bands and Pancake Breakfast?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Did you escape from one of the cults on the outskirts of town?”

The woman shakes her head.

“What do you know?” Clementine asks, a little frustrated.

The woman shrugs. “I don’t know.  I think I hit my head when I landed.”

“Okay, so, what’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

Clementine sighs. “Yeah, of course no one who just walks into this town is going to be normal.”

She holds out her hand. “I’m Clementine.  It’s nice to meet you… whoever you are.”

The woman shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Clementine.”

“We need to give you a name,” Clementine says. “It’s weird not to have a name.”

She thinks. “How about… Jane?”

“That’s not my name.”

“I know, but you don’t have a name.”

“I’m fairly certain I have a name.  I just can’t remember it.”

“Well, I can’t just take you out of here and introduce you like ‘This is nobody, she has no memories and also dresses like a bag lady.’”

The woman frowns. “What’s a ‘bag lady’?”

Clementine sighs again. “Do you remember any names?”

The woman thinks about this. “I think there was a woman I know named… Amy?”

“Perfect.  You’re Amy.”

“No, I’m not.  I know someone named Amy.  I think.”

Clementine throws up her hands. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m very possible.  I’m standing here.”

Clementine’s phone lets out a chirp, signaling an incoming text message.  She pulls it out. “Oh, great.  An invitation to a girls’ night.  My friends will know what to do with you, okay?”

“You have friends?” The woman raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Clementine says, a bit testily. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No,” the woman says, cracking a bit of a smile. “You seem difficult.”

Clementine prepares an angry retort, but the woman continues, “I think I like that.  I think I’m a bit like that too.”

[fizzypunks]

an ache deeper than this

fandom: naruto word count: 3.7l/complete rating: t

AO3 summary: shikamaru is feeling old and achy on the way back from a mission, and neji gives him a massage.

 “We’ll make a camp here for tonight,” Neji said, looking up to the sky and the setting sun. Twenty-five minutes till sundown, and two more days left till their team reached The Village Hidden in the Leaves.

 Two days till home, after over two weeks of mission. Shikamaru could have sighed in relief, but he didn’t -- though he was relieved, he felt like he’d been whittling down his stamina a lot more these days, and he didn’t want to sound too happy at the prospect of rest. He’d save his sighs and complaining for      slightly     bigger things than settling down for the night.

 Hinata stopped a couple of branches behind them, and a quick glance showed that she was surveying their area. Her eyes relaxed, with a little smile shot toward Shikamaru. “No one’s following, and there’s no one flanking.”

 Shikamaru smiled back — he never had to be concerned about their surroundings, not when he was with two Hyuugas.

 Lee looked into the same sky, the same direction, and patted Neji on the back. “That is a good call, Neji! The night is swiftly on its way, and we are in a good location to set up camp! We have done a great deal of traveling!”

 Neji laughed, looking down to the grass below his branch. “Indeed, Lee. I’ll leave the tents for you.”

 “Leave it to me! It will be ready in half an hour!”

 Lee dropped to the forest floor, followed by Kiba and Akamaru. Neji and Shikamaru shared a bemused glance. Of this promise, they had no doubt it would be fulfilled, and fulfilled fast.

 ~

 When Shikamaru wants to complain about pains, aches, and other physical issues that seem to follow him around like a persistent pet, he has to remind himself to not call it a factor of old age. That just wasn’t possible. He knew it, and if he were to say it, it would make him sound more whiny than he cared to be these days.

 It’s just the way of a ninja -- who cares if he’s 21, he’s been an active shinobi since he was 12. He’s lived through war, too many S-rank missions to count, and plays an active role fulfilling academy duties such as dodging hyperactive students with weapons. He’s a seasoned shinobi, and he has the scars (and joints) to prove it.

     You’re not old, you’re a ninja.  

 That still doesn’t make the aches and tightness in his shoulder any better -- knowing the cause doesn’t prevent it from happening. Short of retiring, which he didn’t see coming any time soon,      this     was going to be his life. He was going to have to get used to it.

 Maybe he can grumble. A little bit.

 “Nara,” came the calming voice to pull him from his thoughts.

 Shikamaru looked up from the log he was backed against, eyes focusing in on the Hyuuga in front of him. The sky blended into his long, restrained hair, and the calm fire lit behind him brought a glow to his white robes. His hands were in his pockets, and from his flat expression, it wouldn’t be easy to assess his demeanor.

 Shikamaru smiled, which in turn brought one from Neji.

 “Nara? You haven’t called me that in a while.”

 “You haven’t complained in a while, either, so I figured I’d check in.”

 “You’re such a good squad leader. Thanks, captain.”

 Neji’s eyes shifted to the side, a self satisfied smile replacing the gentle one before. “Don’t call me that.”

 Shikamaru laughed, propping his arms over the back of the log. He liked this. He      missed     this. He sees Neji often enough, but by misfortunes way, they often take on different missions. This shared mission, it would seem, is a blessing. Even if it was more trouble than it was worth, but it was also an incredible peace of mind to be side-by-side with him and not just waiting to be reunited.

 That was more common than not, too.

 Neji sat down on the same log Shikamaru rested against, just to the left of him. His robes were sullied with the regular wear and tear of a mission, and due to the nature of their combatants in the land of earth, the edges of his pants were singed and blackened.

 Shikamaru reached out and rolled the material between his fingers, watching parts of it break off. “Did you consider that maybe there’s nothing to complain about?”

 Neji looked down to him, then sighed. “This mission is long, got derailed, took longer than anticipated, and no one has slept in a bed in two weeks. I’d consider that… troublesome.”

 Shikamaru chuckled, dropping the hem of his pant leg. His eyes turned toward the fire, where Lee, Kiba, and Hinata roasted veggies. “Hmm. You have a point.”

 Neji rested a hand on Shikamaru’s shoulder, and Shikamaru tried not to flinch. He thought he must have done a good job, since Neji didn’t comment on it. He just squeezed, gazing out to their friends at the far side of camp.

 “When we’re home, it’s possible we might have to take on another S-rank. Kakashi already told me that he got word of missionaries out in the Mist, and he doesn’t want to send genin or chunin.”

 Shikamaru couldn’t help it this time, he had to sigh - he      had     to, in some way, let out his frustrations, and nothing was appropriate except for the soft tufts of tension that need to be released from his body.

 This life was clearly not made with him in mind -- he could do it, but it was a pain.

 “What a drag.”

 Neji squeezed again. “Indeed.”

     Man, my shoulder hurts -- what the fuck did I do to it?  

 Kiba and Akamaru were wiped too, because Lee was animatedly talking to him and Kiba was only nodding in agreement. Hinata, with a bowl of food in hand, was more engaged in the conversation, smiling and nodding along as Lee continues his story.

 They were far enough that the two of them couldn’t hear any details, just tones, just exclamations. It was sort of heart-warming, if Shikamaru ponders on it. Walking away from a mission that took blood and sweat and tears (Lee’s, admittedly, but tears nonetheless), only to be sitting with your friends and teammates in a tranquil evening of rest.

 It’s nice, seeing everyone you love alive.

 “So, which shoulder is it?”

 Neji’s hand was still resting on him, atop his jacket, and Shikamaru was again removed from his thoughts.

 “Hmm? What?”

 Neji shot an annoyed glance downward. “Where are you hurting? And don’t tell me you’re not, you’ve been favoring your left arm and side all day.”

     Ah    ,      to think a Hyuuga wouldn’t see… that Neji wouldn’t know. Should’a figured.  

 “It’s not that bad.”

 “But it hurts?”

 Shikamaru laughed, looking up to Neji and trying to be annoyed and finding that he couldn’t. Neji could frustrate him, call him on his shit, or generally be a pain to deal with on missions, but Shikamaru couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. “... A little bit, I guess.”

 “Take off your jacket,” Neji said immediately, like all he needed was a reason.

 Shikamaru obliged, and he removed his flak jacked with all the care in the world. Sitting down, having a chance for his body to relax and not move, had set his muscles into a calm state that did not take kindly to being interrupted.

 The sharp pains running down his back, his scapula, and his neck were renewed. He gasped when his jacket was freed from his shoulders. “Damn it,” he sighed, setting it off to the side.

 “I thought you said it wasn’t that bad?”

 Shikamaru shook his head. “It isn’t,” he insisted, but he didn’t try to sound convincing.

 It was Neji’s turn to sigh. In a quick and quiet motion, he stood, hitching a leg around the log so that he could sit behind Shikamaru. Shikamaru sat on the ground, a long leg on either side of him.

 Shikamaru immediately tensed when he realized what Neji had in mind, and looked over his shoulder with an expression he hoped wasn’t too surprised. “      Neji    ,” he said, not quite a whisper, but through tense lips. “They’re…”

 Neji took it all in amusement. “Kiba and Hinata are nearly asleep, and there’s no force in the world that will make Lee observant enough to notice.”

 His hands came up to lay gently across Shikamaru’s shoulders, no force behind them, just intent and awaiting action. Shikamaru wanted it in his heart, his muscles begged for a massage that would bring an end to their ache, but the type of person he is has      never     made him feel relaxed in the face of public displays of affection...

 They’ve been together for three years, and everyone knows this, and he will      still     feel himself grow stiff at the thought of being open or vulnerable in public. His ears still would warm if he’s caught in the middle of a kiss…

     It’s a damn curse.  

 Neji’s hands, all soft angles and long digits, rose up the sides of his shoulder, encouraged to do so with the silence Shikamaru granted him, rather than complaints and arguments. They climbed just to the length of skin between his shoulder and his neck. He leaned down, head dipping to the right, his lips ghosting the shell of Shikamaru’s ear. “Can I let down your hair?”

 Shikamaru’s face felt warm -- too warm, too fast. He nodded, eyes forward in anticipation. It was dumb, but he’s just... never been the type to be vulnerable in public -- and      never    on a mission. But he nodded all the same, because Neji’s hands were convincing in any circumstance, and maybe this little log, far away from camp, was private enough.

 The sounds from the campfire kept steady, a gentle scene of friendly stories and muffled laughter.

 “Thank you,” Neji whispered, and he quickly did away with the band in Shikamaru’s hair. He combed through the mass, making sure to not catch in any knots so it could lay flat.

 “That’s nice,” Shikamaru sighed, surrendering to him despite their circumstance.

 Neji carded through his hair, gently and with great care. He was slow, and the feeling was like a calm shore lapped at by little waves. And when he brought his fingertips to trace long paths down his head, Shikamaru definitely didn’t mind at all.

 “Don’t stop…”

 He pushed the lengths to drape over Shikamaru’s right shoulder, and Shikamaru opened his eyes, not having remembered closing them at all. Neji began pressing the tips of his fingers into the knots in his shoulders. “How about after a massage?”

 Ah, yes. That’s what he was supposed to be doing. “Oh… yeah, yeah.”

 Neji chuckled, and the sound was like a hit to the gut. “I’m sorry I distracted you,” and before Shikamaru was able to disagree, he pressed his thumbs into tender muscles. “Now, relax.”

 “Mmm,” Shikamaru winced, thumbs grazing over inflamed muscle and painful nerves.

 “Tell me where.”

 “Right where you are is      perfect    ,” and this was the way it was, he was already sinking back into Neji’s hands, eyes fluttering shut again with each passing second.

 Neji’s hands were familiar, gentle and rough in a perfect harmony that was known only to Shikamaru. He’d never experienced a place that felt safer than within the hold of these hands, and      this    embrace.

 His shoulders fell, by inches, but in magnitude it was like the tensions of a bridge held taut on ropes too worn      finally     giving away. He didn’t even know how      bad     they felt, not until he could move them without also being in discomfort. The tenderness remained, but that, too, was lessening with every squeeze.

 “Your muscles are so tense…” and he pushed a thumb deep into his scapula, a tight roll of knots lighting up under his thumb.

 Shikamaru whimpered, head tilting in favor of his left, and tried to unscrew his eyes as the pain passed. “I know… well, I know      now    , but I didn’t realize I was this --”

 A press, and a loud      pop     between his back ribs.

 “--      hnn --    tense…”

 “You should stretch with me at home.”

 “We’ve tried that…”

 “If you try with me, I’ll make sure you don’t corner me again.”

 Shikamaru smirked, the memory bringing a spark of heat to his stomach. Ghost pains of kneeling behind Neji on his bare knees came back like a blaze, but he didn’t hate it. “Suit yourself.”

 Neji chuckled again.

 When he gets past the stupid part of his brain that insists he’s doing something he shouldn’t, and publicly doing it despite it being easily viewed, Shikamaru admits that it’s not that bad. Granted, their teammates were still a distant thought that didn’t pay them any attention, but still -- he enjoyed the fact that he was able to get away from the pain in his body.

 Neji’s hands are like home, coaxing and pulling him into comfort. He opens his eyes just a sliver, peering out from his sleepiness and tranquility. The lights are little points, blurry beads and circles.

 The ground is hard, he wants fresh clothes, and there’s a creaky forest around them, but with Neji…

     I don’t need anything else.  

 “Neji…” He whispered, leaning toward his thigh. He beckons with a finger, “C’mere.”

 Neji’s hair fell, flowing down into their space, and it was like a curtain, a place that existed between the two of them; another place so familiar, his bones would recognize it no matter what. Neji eyed him from the side, quiet, attentive and awaiting. Shikamaru raised his arm to wrap around Neji’s neck, not to tug or pull or alter in any way except to say      stay    .

 “I owe you.”

 Neji shook his head, but kept his silence with a knowing smile.

 “I do.”

 He kissed Neji’s cheek, ‘cause actions are better than words.

 Neji’s hands start to knead into the conjunction of his shoulder, still under loose restraint of Shikamaru’s arm. A shooting pain issued from each contact point-- little avalanches, little aches releasing themselves from the flesh like tumbling boulders. It hurt, but then the pain gave way to better feelings, fewer pains.

 “Your hands… are so warm,” it was like he couldn’t stop the words. His voice was hoarse and too relaxed for his own liking, since it wasn’t in his house or his bed, and those too tumbled like an avalanche.

 Neji leaned into the skin he was just kneading, lips open in a kiss that only skims the surface -- like what a breath is to a shout, a droplet to a swift river.

 But then he starts to suck, and pool blood into the spot Shikamaru knows will be covered by his jacket. It brings heat to his face as he closes his eyes and leans back into the body behind him. His legs twist, just a bit, and he doesn’t have quite enough will power to not let the tension build in him -- his hips shift, his feet doing all they can not to dig.

 Shikamaru grabs at both calves beside him, squeezing.

     “Don’t do this to me    … they’re over there…”

 Neji’s lips dance further into his shoulder, and a finger tugs his shirt down over the muscled expanse to expose more skin. “I’m watching, they aren’t looking…”

     “Hinata…    ”

 “She never uses it unless she needs to…”

 “Please… you’re gonna… make me too excited…”

 “Hmm,” he laughed, little ripples dancing on his skin. “You look nice like this though…”

 Another wet kiss, another shudder down his spine and straight to his crotch --

     “You’re a fucking menace    ,” Shikamaru hisses.

 Neji laughs and the vibration carries across his skin, and Shikamaru starts to think that this entire thing was a ploy just to mess with him. But then he retreats, slowly and with a small parting kiss to the skin now blooming with a bruise.

 His hands return to their original work, kneading away the tension. “Suit yourself.”

 The hot coil in Shikamaru’s stomach sits in wait, and the hidden breath stuck in his chest came out in a nervous exhale. His heart wasn’t racing but it still surged, and now it too was trying to reconcile returning to normal -- so annoyingly fast did it happen, already bringing him to a state of being needy and tired and yearning.

 Shikamaru rolled his head back, laying in Neji’s lap. “I fucking hate you.”

 “I’m just trying to relax you, it’s not my fault you’re so reactive.”

 They fell into a peaceful silence after a quiet hum of acknowledgment -- before so long, the deep-rooted pain in Shikamaru started to ease, soothed by the heat of Neji’s chakra as he focused on chakra points.

 The sound of silence also came from camp, where talking had slowed and the fire started to sizzle. It was in embers, and the group surrounding it was finally quieting down for a restful night.

 Watching the camp, and enjoying the sense of family that surrounded him, Shikamaru crossed his right hand across his body to rest it on Neji’s. “I wonder if this is what life is gonna look like.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “For years, we’re going to be going on missions, and we’re all going to be waiting for the rest of us to come back. I just wonder…” And he couldn’t take his eyes off the rest of them, nor rip his hand away from Neji.

 “You’re very… sentimental today,” Neji said, leaning into his ear and using his spare hand to run his fingers through his hair again. “Are you okay?”

 Shikamaru nodded, ignoring the goosebumps Neji’s breath brought to him. “Yeah, I’m good. Just feeling old.”

 Neji laughed. “I’m not going to address that since I’m older than you, but if you want my opinion -- yes, I think we’ll be like this.” And then a small kiss, pressed to his cheek. “I think there’s very little in this world that we haven’t dealt with.”

 “I guess you’re right.”

 And because Neji knows what’s at the heart of the issue, the part that’s      really     scary, his voice dropped and Shikamaru was certain he was the only one who could hear him. “And I’ll keep coming back to you, and waiting for you to come back to me.”

 Shikamaru’s grip grew stronger, whiter, like all the pain in his body suddenly relocated into his heart and he had to hold on to      something     to not get lost in it.

 “You better,” Shikamaru said, voice swallowed up in his intention. He didn’t realize how heavy this was.

 “And you’ll come back, too, right?”

 Shikamaru knows he can’t even promise it, yet he feels it in his gut. “Yes,” he responded immediately, forcefully, and his grip became stronger to emphasize.

 The shape of Neji’s breath was a smile, and then a hum. “That’s all I want to hear.”

 Shikamaru leaned into him, and couldn’t help but relish in all the ways Neji was attending to him, giving him all of his attention and assurance. The hand carding gently through his hair was grounding, just like the feeling strong thighs encasing him was comforting, and the deep familiarity of his hair and the floral scent that always clung to it...

 “And,” Neji continued, still as quiet as a whisper. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

 “Gods damn it, Neji,” Shikamaru laughed, shaking his head against the other, ignoring the stoking of the fiery heat within his stomach. “Thank you for being serious for a minute, I guess.”

 “I’m always serious.”

 “Even when you switch topics like that?”

 “Especially when I switch topics to      this    ,” and tugged his hair just a little bit, just enough.

 “Hmm, I guess you can show me,” and he lifts his hand from Neji’s to turn him, by the chin, in his direction, lining up their lips. “Since you wanna be difficult, I --”

 “HEY!”

 Shikamaru dropped his hands, dropped his eyes, dropped his very intentions with every rapid degree of heat that graced his cheeks.

 He looked toward camp in a snap of the neck, feelings stupid for his wide eyes and kick-started heart. Kiba is waving toward them, a clear grin across his face as the others behind him are shuffling to clean the fire.

 “LOVEBIRDS! WE’RE CALLING IT A NIGHT!”

     Why is he so loud?  

 Neji’s body shook with little tremors of laughter, and he knew that Shikamaru would have sounded too annoyed to answer. So he called out. “Sounds good, I’ll be on watch first!”

 Shikamaru knows what he’s doing. He does it all the time.

 Kiba flashed them both a grin, but something about it wasn’t pure and it made Shikamaru want to dig a hole and live in it permanently.

 “Sounds good!”

 “I’ll wake you in two hours.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” he said, turning his back to help put out the fire. But before he did, he shot a look to Shikamaru with a smirk. “Just keep it down, all right? Akamaru’s a light sleeper.”

 And then Shikamaru definitely wanted to be swallowed up by the ground, hitai-ate and all.

 Normally, Neji would be over there, helping, but there was little to do and what there was to be done, was very quick. Lee and Kiba relocated to their tents after their foods were put back in bags, and Hinata to her own tent after she doused the fire with dirt. Neji and Shikamaru stayed as they were, in the few minutes they took to watch their teammates, and it was almost awkward if it weren’t for their friends lack of subtlety.

 They let them have their moment, no questions asked. Shikamaru felt his heart swell again, filled with the unspoken and unconditional love he has with this family. It was a pleasant ache.

 Just a few minutes, and suddenly the dark nature was rich and comfortable and almost absolute around them. A familiar sight in the many years of camping out on missions, the consistent scenery and scents as known to him as the back of his hand. The woods were calm and quiet, and they were alone.

 “So,” Neji started, hands slowed but strengthened, intention growing from his fingertips in every movement. “Not going to bed?”

 Shikamaru relished in the darkness, in the kisses trailing down his neck yet again.

 He smiled into the soft pecks trailing down his neck, this time, and didn’t even pretend to stop them. “It’s a little too early to call it a night, don’t you think?”

 “See, you’re not getting old.”

 “I’ll show you how alive I am,” and Shikamaru kept that promise.