#FLAK TOWERS

[krakrava]

Flak tower aesthetics

#street photography #street #street art #vienna #wien #city life #city scene #city photography #flak tower

[deliciouswombatwombat]

A German Flak Tower in Vienna. This was one of six towers in Vienna that were extremely well-protected and topped with anti-aircraft guns. As indicated by their name, their purpose was to protect areas targeted by Allied bombers. Some became strong holds when cities came under attack by ground forces.

#flak tower

[ukdamo]

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits: the flakturm in the Augarten, Vienna.

#vienna #war #WWII #bombing #flakturm #flak tower #park

[mercurygray]

Release, for Fred & Brady? 💙

I hope you don't mind, Killy, but I decided to use this as a second part to this piece.

She'd made a terrible mistake.

It wasn't that she'd kissed him - or been kissed, however you wanted to think about it. It wasn't even that she'd run away afterwards - she stood by that decision, even if her knees still hurt from the jump down, and her hands were still sore.

It was that he'd gone out this morning and she hadn't said a word goodbye.

She'd offered to take the early morning shift making the donuts, so she wouldn't have to see anyone, but Mary had places to be in the afternoon and wouldn't swap, so she'd been on coffee duty with Tatty, just outside the briefing room. She was one of them now, part of their good luck charms and superstitions. Hambone would only take a donut if she passed it with her left hand and Curt always spilled the first sip of his coffee, for the angels, and John - John always said good bye and she always said good luck and he'd always say "I won't need it" with one of those small smiles of his.

But not today. Today he hadn't said a word - only glanced at her, and then just as quickly looked away, and he'd gotten in the truck without a word to anyone, his face stormy and closed.

She felt like she had been left holding something - a package that didn't belong to her, a parachute. Good …luck. But what if he needs it today? Superstition closed those loops - if they'd spilled their coffee and made their jokes and wore their sweaters backwards and carried their lucky snow globes then they'd done all they could possibly do, and the rest of it was with God, or Fate. She'd spent the day in nervous watchfulness, waiting for the sound overhead that would let her know that they were back, that it was time to count them in, that she could finally give him back this thing that she'd been carrying for him all day long.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen - everyone back home. A minor miracle, even if someone's engine was on fire, and she could hear, from the far side of the airfield, the rising whine of the siren calling out the fire brigade and the ambulances.

Up in the control tower, she knew that Mae and Cord and Anita would be talking to the pilots on the radio, assessing and evaluating, relaying the information back to where it could be acted upon, and after they got out, those that could get out were bussed over to interrogation, and then they'd come to her - end the day as they had started, with a cup of coffee and a donut, so that Major Bowman and Captain Brennan and Phoebe and the rest could ask them how it had gone, where the flak was worst, how many bombs they'd dropped and whether they'd dropped true, whether the luck they'd carried with them had truly been lucky.

They were always quieter now then when they'd gone out in the morning - no jokes, no laughter. She'd heard Captain Brennan call what they did 'returning to themselves' and so they were. Here was Dickie, and here was Curt, small smiles and grateful gulps of coffee and bourbon as Doc Stover checked them over on the way in. Egan, putting on some sort of smile like he thought she and Tatty would believe him untouched by this.

And here he was.

She was glad there was a table between them. The things she wanted to do wouldn't have stood up to close observation - to grab his arms, observe the cuts on his face from the raw edges of his mask, brush his hair out of his eyes. And her lips longed for his skin - to kiss every last inch of him, to be close the way they'd been close last night in his plane, with the sunset dying around them, and see if it would make him smile the way he'd smiled yesterday, since he certainly wasn't smiling now.

He tossed back his bourbon and didn't even glance at the coffee, and her heart was the heaviest it had been all day.

Phoebe had his table - nine men. Someone was missing and she couldn't tell who. The room emptied; he grabbed his bag and headed back outside, and she did something she wasn't supposed to - she followed him.

"John! Wait!"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him around the side of the hut, and when she kissed him, it was like pulling the release cord on that parachute, because everything was falling, but slower and steadier, and his hands were light on her hips, and when they stopped, foreheads touching, she felt like she was on solid ground again.

"Fred." There was a touch of wonder in his voice.

"I'm sorry," she said, her words coming out in a jumble. "I'm sorry I let you leave like that this morning and I'm sorry I ran away and I'm sorry I'm scared." I don't like breaking rules, but I'll do it for you. "But don't you ever forget to say good bye again," she threatened with a waver in her voice that made him laugh, and tighten his hands on her waist. "Now, you - you can't be jealous when I dance with everyone else. And you can't be angry when someone else makes me laugh. And I can't always sit with you, or hold hands with you, or even kiss you. But I'll be yours," she said, feeling like she was flying and falling and foolish for all of it. "Your …best girl."

"And Curt's," he added, with a waver of laughter in his voice, his eyes as blue as oceans. "I'd fight him but I know I'd lose."

The truth of that was worth the laugh. "And Curt's."

"And since when do you call me John?" She punched him in the arm for that, but the truth was the truth, whether she liked it or not. "But Curt doesn't get to do this," he said, and kissed her again. She closed her eyes, as light as air, and thought of sunsets and sunrises and all the luck in the world that had brought her here.

#asked and answered #basilone #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #freda torvaldsen #john brady x oc

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

cw: alcoholism, bad coping mechanisms, referenced violence, emeto

previous /// Wildefire Masterlist ///

°•°•°

Alexei trudged back to Chopper’s with the sunrise to his back, dried blood crusting the seams in his arms. Some was his, some was the mark’s, a loan shark he'd made quick work of, though it had taken most of the night to catch him alone.

He was exhausted, hopefully exhausted enough to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, hopefully exhausted enough to dream of nothing. He doubted he'd be that lucky. 

This was all he'd ever hoped for in the last two years. Of being free, of life going back to business as usual. So why couldn't he sleep?

Making it away from the Tower, from Uriah, had been some big, stupid, out-of-reach fantasy. And in that fantasy, as soon as Lex was free, it was all better. Things were back to normal. The last two years were a bad dream. Easy to bottle away and forget about.

But in the real world, it wasn't so simple.

The contracts should've been easy. They were familiar, ironically safe, but sometimes he'd forget if he was taking down a mark for Chopper or for Uriah. Those moments made him stumble, force himself to press a hand to his throat, remind himself that the collar was gone, that the only one who controlled him anymore was him.

Not that he did a good job of it.

He'd all-but handed the steering wheel to Chopper, taking any job the older man so much as mentioned, if only for a way to distract himself, to try to find a rhythm, but the rhythm he found was nothing steady.

Track, kill, collect. Drink himself to sleep if he got sleep at all. Repeat in a day or two. Look over his shoulder every time he was out of the building, feel his heart start to race at every stranger who stared too long.

Once he'd sobered up enough to track his surroundings, he found he couldn't even attempt sleep unless the lights were on, or else he'd wake up back in the cell. The door couldn't be closed, because then he was trapped, but it couldn't be open either, or someone could sneak up on him. He couldn't be around people, because any of them could be a spy for Uriah, but he couldn't be alone or the damned silence would choke him.

And as it turned out, pretending he could be okay, pretending he'd never been taken in the first place, didn't help anything.

The other Neath freelancers knew it all. People he could've called friends once, who he should've been able to fall into step with, now looked the other way or fell silent when he passed by. They could see the Tower in his scars, in his flinches. They knew how Uriah had owned him.

He'd done the impossible and escaped both, but it still hadn't saved him.

He still wasn't safe, and he never would be.

Not until Uriah Fox was dead.

The thought gave him some solace as he sat awake that night, back flat against the wall, sipping on a bottle of something he hoped was strong enough to knock him out.

Fox had to die so he could sleep, so he could go outside without being seen and caught and trapped. It was the first long-term goal he'd had since being taken, the first goal that wasn't just avoid angering the guards, avoid pissing off Uriah, survive one more day.

Lex staggered to his feet. How late was it? Was Chopper still awake? He had to do this now, he had to get this done now, he didn't care if he was tired, he didn't care if it killed him. He stumbled down the hall, just sober enough to stay on his feet, and that was all he needed. The light was on in Chopper's office. Good.

The older man was leaning back in his chair, sifting through a handful of papers. His eyes darted up when Lex passed the doorway, expression turning from neutrality to mild concern.

“Cinder…”

“I need a contract,” Lex said.

“You just got back from a contract. Sleep.” Chopper laid the papers in front of him. “And take a shower, for fuck’s sake. I can smell the blood on you.”

“I can't sleep,” Lex muttered, rubbing at a splotch of dried blood on his arm until it began to flake away, tiny pieces floating to rest in the ground like a macabre snow. “Are there any hits out for… for higher ups in the city?”

Chopper frowned at the question. “Higher ups?”

“CEOs.” He'd play this as casual as he could, in spite of the tightness in his chest, in spite of how the knowledge that Uriah was still out there was locked around his throat.

Chopper sank back in his chair with a heavy sigh, pulling open a filing cabinet. “Slim pickings. Not many people have the guts or the funds to go after them.” He pulled out a folder. “Why the sudden taste for golden blood? You can't possibly be low on cash already, unless you…”

He trailed off, eyes landing on the bottle still clutched in Lex’s hand, and he knew what he wanted to say. Unless you already drank it all away.

“Does it matter?”

Chopper opened the folder. “I guess it doesn't.” He scanned the pages within in silence for a moment. “Looks like we've got some attorneys… project manager, company director… any of those shiny enough for you?”

Lex grit his teeth. “Are any of them Uriah Fox?”

The folder snapped shut. “Uriah Fox,” Chopper repeated. “You want to kill Uriah Fox?”

His fist tightened around the bottle. “What do you think?”

“I think you should know the code by now. We don't make it personal.”

“I can't fucking sleep, Chopper. I can't…” He let his head drop. “I can't keep doing this. I need… I need him to be gone, I can't—” He pressed a palm into his cheek, cold metal on hot skin. “I don't need a contract to do it. I'll do it on my own. With or without your help.”

Chopper let out a sigh, laying the folder on the desk. “I'm afraid I can't let you do that.”

Lex's stomach churned, uneasy at the way he said it. What did he mean? Weren't they allies? Hadn't it always been us against them?

“You understand.” Chopper spread his hands, something apologetic on his face. “Fox is one of my top investors. It's a conflict of interest.”

Investor. Lex took a stumbling step backwards. Investor, pester, sequester, how had he not seen it? How has he not realized he'd been hiding in the fucking lion's den this entire time? How could Chopper do this, side with Uriah, didn't he realize what he'd done to him? That he'd come for him, take him back, let him rot in the Tower, even further underground than a grave would put him?

Chopper pushed himself up. “I don't want you panicking over this. I'm perfectly capable of maintaining both relationships.”

“You… Y—” Lex hunched over, emptying his stomach on the linoleum tile.

“Fuck, Cinder,” Chopper muttered, moving around the desk. Lex staggered backwards, wiping acrid bile from his chin with the back of his hand, eyes wide and locked on the older man.

Maintaining both relationships. He knew what that meant, he knew Chopper would have no issue handing him over to Uriah if only he was asked to. How had he thought this was a safe haven? (raven) How could he have passed out drunk here, let his guard down so severely? (clearly) He'd been lucky. He'd been so damn lucky Chopper hadn't seen fit to give him up in the last few weeks, and fuck, it would've been easy. Lex had made it easy, by being stupid and trusting and complacent (adjacent).

“Sit down. We can talk about this.”

We can calm you down and keep you in place long enough for Uriah to come barging through the door.

“You're not thinking rationally. I know you haven't been yourself lately.”

You haven't been the same since your return from hell. 

“It was a bad idea to set you back to work so soon.”

You came back ruined.

Lex's back hit the wall, and he flinched away from it as if it were another enemy. He couldn't stay here, it wasn't safe, nowhere was safe.

“Cinder…”

He whirled around, head spinning, heart pounding in his throat, not safe.

“Alexei.”

He barreled through the door, feet hardly moving fast enough to keep him upright as he made a mad dash through the front door and stumbled out into the cool night air.

Nowhere was safe (waif, chafe, strafe). Chopper had dozens of freelancers on his payroll, hundreds of allies (spies, cries), thousands of eyes that could watch for him, nowhere was safe, he couldn't sleep (cheap, creep).

He didn't stop running until he was several blocks away, practically collapsing against the wall of a locksmith shop. What now? He couldn't stay awake forever, couldn't stay vigilant, and it was only a matter of time before he passed out and someone took the opportunity to snatch him or report him and fuck, fuck, he hadn't escaped, he'd never really escape, nowhere was safe—

…was it?

He forced himself to inhale, shuddering breaths fighting against the way the world was spinning. There were like-minded people out there, people who hated Uriah as much as he did, people who wouldn't hand him over to Titanium, if only out of spite.

Enemy of my enemy.

He sucked in air, his heartbeat slowing down, if only a little.

"You don't have to go out and face the world alone.”

He still didn't believe that, didn't trust any of the rogues, but he could trust in their shared goal.  He'd saved them once, weathered Uriah's anger to protect them from his own fire, and maybe they were still grateful enough that they'd be willing to watch his back and let him rest.

He pushed up from the wall, squinting into the darkness. The rogue's safehouse was miles away. He couldn't even be certain that they'd still be there, but it was the only plan that made sense.

Lex took a swig from the half-empty bottle, still clutched in his fist, hoping the liquor would beat back the fear that still clawed at his chest.

He had a long walk ahead of him.

•°•°•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump ,

#someone refrenced the title poem as i was editing this #spooky #anyway i feel like I've used the title before but i love it sooooo #wildefire #assassin whump #alcohol #alcohol whump #emeto #messy recovery #whump writing #bad coping mechanisms

[shuttershocky]

about DPS being king, it also feels Hypergryph introducing more mechanics that counter high dps bursts operators tends to not be received well by the community? Like emperor's blade directly targeting the highest damage dealer with forced retreat and damatzi cluster requiring blocking and high sustain rather than burst damage both seemed to have their wealth of people who complained about them. Is this a design failure on their part?

These are inevitabilities of trying to work around the absurd damage dealers put into the game, and yet DPS is still amazing. Emperor's Blade was specifically made to counter Surtr (forced retreat is the only mechanic capable of killing her through her immortality talent) and yet one of the easiest solutions to Emperor's Blade on release was to kill EB with Surtr over multiple deployments.

These things draw a lot of flak because they're quite hard to play against (and often finding alternative clears with less commonly used operators involves a lot of work and clever thinking), while also making players feel like they're being punished for the overpowered operators that HG released in the first place. When DPS is inherently king in a Tower Defense, it's pretty difficult to try to counter DPS while making units that do less damage have an easier time than the OP units that led to this in the first place.

Just look at POO's massive power armors with literal millions of HP, just to counter all the big DPS units from over the years. They have so much health that you can't kill them with these units that do spectacularly high damage on manually activated skills, you just stall them forever and AFK for 2 hours as you eventually kill them with an automatic defense.

That's a pain in the ass to deal with. (Just don't take the HP risks and leak the Gundams and Dorothy instead).

#arknights

[sirtotallynotatimetraveler]

Hello! I didn't even know COCOON won the Game Awards and only found out while checking out your blog after seeing that you liked one of my stimboards.

I'm still in shock about that... but congratulations to all the games that were nominated, but didn't win!

~ Random COCOON fan who's also interested in Hi-Fi Rush, another game that didn't win.

Oh hi! I wasn't expecting an inbox message from someone after liking their post. I was really interested in the game after it was won against Pizza Tower so I wanted to see some fan post of it on here to see how much of a following it has, and your post was first to show up on the results for the game haha.

I'm glad to know that there are some fans for this game, as not many people have heard of Cocoon until the Game Awards, and I feel glad for all of the Cocoon fans who have been following the game since its release and seeing it win an award unexpectedly. I'm sorry for all the flak Cocoon gets just because it won against Pizza Tower dude. The game doesn't deserve the hate it gets. But I hope to play when I get the chance.

I've been a fan of both games Limbo and Inside for a while and I was shocked to find out that one of the people who worked on those games worked on Cocoon, so that already has piqued my interest.

I hope in the end that more people realize that the awards don't determine whether one game is better and worth playing than the other. All of the games nominated in the indie category and beyond have their own good qualities and fun gameplay, and an award doesn't add to or take that away.

-Sincerely, a Pizza Tower fan who is also a Hi-Fi rush enjoyer heyooo. (They Won for best audio at least!)

Anyways, here's some art of all the nominees and the bug protag themself.

#my art #pizza tower #cocoon game #viewfinder #dredge #venba #peppino spaghetti #doodle answers #i tried drawing all the characters in their art style haha #I don't know what gender the protag is for Cocoon so they have a skirt and top hat as formal wear #viewfinder doesn't even have a character as the protag so they are just a sentient floating camera haha and are also gender neutral dressed #long reads

[thatsrightice]

Milk run.

I didn't get airsick on the whole mission. I sang most of the way. Colonel Jeff hadn't expected this extra mission. I now had twenty-seven of my twenty-eight. With the mission we were scheduled to fly on the way home, I would have the twenty-eight I was supposed to fly.

United States, here I come.

On the next day we finished the triangle. Another milk run.

We bombed an airfield and a marshaling yard in Béziers, in France.

We did a good job. Little flak and no fighters.

I sang all the way home. Twenty-eight missions, A full tour.

Jean, here I come.

I thanked my lucky stars that I still had a few more weeks as a captain. At that time the Higher-Ups had decided that field grade, majors and up, were professional and had too much knowledge to waste. When they finished their missions, they either had to fly another tour or take a ground or training job somewhere in the ETO. If I were a major, I would have to stay in the ETO; as a captain, I could go home.

When we left the French border and saw the English coast, I heard the pilot talking on radio for landing instructions at Thorpe Abbotts. The voice from the control tower was that of the new Air Exec, Fred Price.

I broke into the conversation. "Hello, Colonel Price, this is Captain Crosby, with twenty-eight missions."

"I read you, Croz." There was a note of triumph in his voice. "I read you loud and clear. But it is now Major Crosby." He puts emphasis on my rank—my new rank.

The rest of the crew came on intercom. "Congratulations, Major."

"Thanks a lot."

No rotation home for me.

— Harry Crosby in his memoir, A Wing and a Prayer

#I knew this happened ​my heart broke for him when I read how it happened #you don’t wait until he’s so close to being done #quotes #mota spoilers #mota #masters of the air #harry crosby needs a hug #harry crosby #a wing and a prayer

[forasecondtherewedwon]

how to cook the loch ness monster

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Harry Crosby/Joseph "Bubbles" Payne Rating: T Word Count: 2178

Summary: If there’d been one, why not two? It was a big sky. Such a big, big sky, and Crosby clamped his eyes shut and listened hard to hear another plane, or one man breathing inside it, or little bubbles of air bobbing in a snow globe.

Or, Bubbles' plane lands after Rosenthal's.

Crosby lived in a wacky reality where heroes outnumbered regular guys a hundred to one. He was one of the regular guys and didn’t mind it. They’d never forget him when they were handing out beers for a toast, but he’d never be the subject of that toast, and that was alright. He wasn’t an ace pilot or blessed with a movie-star face—or both, like Major Cleven—but he was always present, mostly punctual, and able to plot a course about as well as the next navigator. Unless that navigator was Bubbles, whom Crosby admired very much.

And it was possible to admire a man who was simultaneously quick at the chart and possessed of unorthodox beliefs and superstitions. The snow globe was only the tip of the faux-winter iceberg; Bubbles had spoken more than once about taking a leave, the two of them, to go up to Scotland and see if they couldn’t catch themselves a lake monster. Not only did Bubbles believe Nessie could be reeled in, he believed she could be barbecued. Crosby had seen his papers. Where other men wrote letters, Bubbles made calculations based on meat mass and grilling area. They were precise, and this didn’t alarm Crosby, because it was exactly the sort of thing Bubbles was best at. If they could’ve coated the bombs in seasoning, Bubbles would’ve flamed and flavoured every airbase and railyard in western Germany.

Really, Crosby never saw himself as a hero, not even as another character in that kind of story, unless it were something a little more offbeat. He did sometimes think he was a Watson type—a Watson to Bubbles’ Holmes. Bubbles always knew what was actually going on, and Crosby staked his faith on it, tripping along two steps behind but eager to see the solution revealed, and glad for the friend.

When he was promoted, he thought, Well, how the hell ’m I supposed to Watson him from here? They’d always been in two different planes, but at least they’d been off on the same adventures, facing the same risks. Crosby hadn’t signed up to be a long-distance Watson. There was nothing for it though; you didn’t just throw a promotion back in your superior’s face and insist you be allowed to get shot-up and flakked to shit with the rest. You didn’t do that to yourself, to your wife, to the rest of the men who didn’t have the luxury of an offered post on-base. You sat in your office, and thought of the jeep at your disposal, and wore a jacket instead of a parachute.

There was so much time to think while Bubbles was gone, flying to Münster. Crosby rubbed his hands together—slowly, repeatedly—and remembered coming back from the dead, as he and the rest of Blakely’s crew had been treated. It had been like getting home after a long day of work. He’d been exhausted, vaguely proud when the boys alternately praised and mocked his navigation skills. He hadn’t felt like he’d survived in any special way until he’d seen Bubbles. Then, of course, he’d realized. There might never have been another instance of Bubbles spotting him in a room and making a beeline, never another embrace with the slap of Bubbles’ hand on the back of his leather jacket. Never another Bubbles and Crosby, his name first.

Finally, the squadron was almost due back. He joined the others waiting on the tower, falling into the anxious formation of sailors’ wives looking out to sea. Crosby would’ve killed for a pair of binoculars. He wished he’d checked his office, but he hadn’t, not anticipating that this would be the hardest part of the wait: the final margin of time in which the planes could reasonably return. He crossed his arms and chewed his lip and wondered if he’d get better at this too, like he’d gotten better at coming up with coordinates.

His ears did what his eyes couldn’t, picking out an aircraft’s mechanical hum. But the fellows from the 390th reported no sign of the 100th. Crosby wasn’t a violent man—a ridiculous assessment of himself to hold on to, maybe, being at war—but he wanted to deck whatever man had said it, and deck him again for being wrong when Rosenthal came into view. Rosenthal made contact with the tower, and an ambulance was dispatched. Still, Crosby stayed aloft. He gripped the railing. If there’d been one, why not two? It was a big sky. Such a big, big sky, and Crosby clamped his eyes shut and listened hard to hear another plane, or one man breathing inside it, or little bubbles of air bobbing in a snow globe.

At last, a second, distant drone. He opened his eyes. First, he tried not to hope, then he hoped so hard he thought he’d be sick. He turned to Major Kidd and tried not to sound like he was begging.

“The nose? Can you make out the nose?”

Kidd lifted the binoculars back up to his eyes.

“Red…”

Crosby smacked his hand down on the railing in triumph and let out a wet laugh, pinched the end of his nose when he felt a prickle of emotion.

He could’ve stayed and waited to see if there would be more planes, but he remembered he had access to a jeep and tore towards the stairs.

“Where the hell’s Croz going?” Colonel Harding barked.

Crosby heard Kidd explain in just two words: “She’s Gonna.” Crosby loved those words, thought they were the best words ever invented.

He zipped the jeep out onto the hardstand with a speed and a turn that tossed him against the door. He was too oblivious to his surroundings, and realized he had to floor it because he’d pulled out in front of the ambulance headed to Bubbles’ plane. He didn’t consider that it could be for Bubbles, that Bubbles might be dead or dying after going all that way and coming back again. No. He would be fine, Crosby decided, giving a wave to Rosenthal as he raced past him without stopping. They would all be fine.

Getting as close as he could to the men straggling out onto the runway, Crosby threw the jeep into park and tumbled out. He dodged a pair helping one another towards the ambulance that had just stopped behind him and ducked under the belly of the plane. She’s Gonna looked… well, she looked like she’d been through a war. Crosby came out the other side staring up at the pointillism painting the Luftwaffe had made of the wing—medium: bullets on metal. And then there was Bubbles.

He was examining the plane, same as Crosby’d been, remarking on the damage to another crewman.

“Wing, shming,” Bubbles pronounced. “You got two a’ them, only one a’ me.”

“And the wings don’t know their east from their west,” Crosby said.

Bubbles spun ’round. If Crosby’d never gotten to see him smile like that again, it would’ve been too bad. The other airman knew to give them space.

“Hey, buddy,” Bubbles said.

They hugged hard, and when Crosby drew back, it wasn’t possible to hide that a few tears had leaked from his eyes.

“What’s this for?” Bubbles demanded. “I didn’t make you wait like you made me!”

“You’re the last plane,” Crosby pointed out.

“Yeah, outta two!”

They both sobered at that. Tentatively, Bubbles hugged him again. His head tipped gently against Crosby’s.

“It was pretty bad up there,” Crosby guessed.

“It was hell,” Bubbles answered.

They kept their hands on each other’s shoulders as they pulled apart, and Crosby inspected his friend’s face with a frown.

“You broke your nose?” he guessed, taking in the swelling at Bubbles’ bridge, the blood that seemed to have been half-wiped from his mustache, and the bruising rolling in like grey-violet thunderclouds below his eyes.

Bubbles touched his nose and winced.

“Damn flak. Blasted us off-kilter and I went down face-first. Got the blood on the charts, if you wanna see.”

“I believe you,” Crosby promised. “Why don’t you see if they can do anything for you before you go into interrogation?”

“Maybe straighten my nose up, but I gotta feeling the rest a’ my face is gonna have to stay the way it is.”

“Ah, you win some, you lose some, pal.”

Crosby couldn’t help taking another look at the beat-up plane before he clapped Bubbles on the shoulder and steered him over to the medics.

—

Everybody headed for the bar after interrogation, but Crosby hung back when Bubbles did.

“I think I just want the quiet,” Bubbles explained. “And a shower. Wash all this grime off a’ me.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Crosby assured him.

Bubbles’ gaze darted down, then sprang back up.

“Would ya stay with me?”

Crosby was more stunned by how close Bubbles’ earnest expression was to fearful than by the request, but he found himself echoing, “Stay with you?”

“Never mind.” Bubbles tried a smile that didn’t stay in place. “Why dontcha go have a drink, Croz?”

“Nah.” Crosby thought about making an excuse, even a joking one, but he didn’t. There was no appeal in falsifying a reason to stay with his best friend when the fact of Bubbles being his best friend stood alone. Might as well be clear. If something did take them away from one another—Bubbles shot down over there, Crosby killed by a bombing back here—he wouldn’t think, At least Bubbles never saw the depth of my sincerity about our friendship.

Bubbles had said he wanted quiet, and he got it in spades; the barracks were a ghost town. Rows of empty racks where the same men would never sleep again, empty cubbies for kit bags. There were only the things the men had left. Crosby noted tidy decks of playing cards, novels that had been tossed down with splayed pages to save a place that wouldn’t be returned to. There were cigarettes other men might smoke, and vacant hooks where other jackets would hang. Worst, he saw letters that would go unanswered, left on pillows or tucked between the pages of a book. He glanced continually at Bubbles as they walked to the showers, knowing he would’ve been the one to write the letter telling his family that he hadn’t made it back, just as Bubbles had done for him.

Crosby rested against a sink as water from a single nozzle pattered in the communal shower. He didn’t want to think about how quiet it was, how the shower was a thin and lonely sound, but that was impossible. The room used to ring with conversation, groan like an amphitheatre of ancient Greeks watching a tragedy when the hot water ran out. Bucky hadn’t often adopted the role of disciplinarian, but if the hot water hadn’t run out and they’d lingered too long, he’d started singing to make them leave. Crosby smiled at the ground as he remembered.

But then Bubbles made a sound. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it bounced off the tiles and reached Crosby’s attentive ears, primed by the bombers. He walked into the showers and saw Bubbles rubbing a standard bar of soap across his upper back. He’d mentioned getting thrown around during the flakking, and now Crosby saw more bruising. It wasn’t the end of the world, but Crosby winced to think how tender Bubbles’ skin must have been, and that his shoulders must’ve ached deeper than that judging by how stiffly Bubbles moved.

“Bubbles?” Crosby asked, so his friend wouldn’t be embarrassed—not by his nudity, but by Crosby standing there.

Bubbles turned his head and offered a weak smile.

“Still here?”

“You asked me to be,” Crosby said simply, softly. He nodded at Bubbles’ injuries. “Hurts?”

“Not too bad.”

“Let me,” Crosby said, shaking his head and rolling up his shirt sleeves as he advanced.

“It’s not altruism,” he added before Bubbles could say anything. “I suffer too if you stink.”

“If someone comes…”

“They’re not,” Crosby said. They stared at each other sadly. “Gimme the soap, Bubbles.”

So Bubbles hung his head under the spray, and Crosby took the soap. He ran it across the back of his friend’s shoulders as lightly as he could, and when even that made the muscles in Bubbles’ back tense up in pain, Crosby worked the bar over and over between his palms and washed Bubbles’ watercolour skin with his bare hands, touch so delicate it tickled his fingertips. Bubbles’ shoulders began to convulse. Then the sobs came, and Crosby took a step forward and rested his cheek on the back of Bubbles’ neck, slick with suds. His heart was pounding as the water soaked his hair and his shirt stuck to Bubbles’ wet skin. He didn’t try to explain his behaviour to himself, or start writing this scene out in his head as it happened, as he frequently did. Crosby wrapped his arms around Bubbles, strapped himself to his best friend like he was his parachute, and held on.

#my writing #Masters of the Air #MotA #Harry Crosby #Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne #Harry x Bubbles #MotA fic

[tlatia-the-radiant]

Continued from @forgottnseccnd's post here

There were many questions plaguing Tlatia, but there was one that stood out.

Why?

The situation she had been presented with had too many question marks, too many pieces of missing information. Why had Aurelius waited so long? Why did he seem to be in so much pain? Why reach out now? She'd thought that finding the Ursa Major would answer some of her questions, and it did, but only ones like What sector has Aurelius been in all these centuries? and Will I even be able to find him? In exchange, it had offered up even more questions to ponder. Why were there no bodies from the attackers? Why would they leave weapons behind? Why were there no bodies in the hangar, but so many in the Great Hall?

Too many questions. Too few answers. Every footstep just highlighted how strange this was.

An entire Star Fort, garrisoned by Astartes, completely scoured of life. Many were Psykers, but the Sisters of Silence were never called--Krole would've told me if they were. Plus, there isn't a single non-Astartes body-

"Look. Body with flak armour," Xenhuan called.

...nevermind.

"Actually... make that bodies, plural," Xenhuan amended. "There's six of them."

"Died defending their positions, lasguns in hand," Cotaya said, stepping over a decapitated Astartes. "Poor sons never stood a chance. Not on a battlefield like this."

"The Stars were desperate," Citalicue guessed. "Threw everyone they could into combat."

"That wasn't Aurelius's style," Tlatia replied.

"The armor's customized. Not a rush job, either. These were veterans," Xenhuan observed, kneeling over the bodies. She paused for a moment, then chose to continue. "For all the good that did them."

"Show some respect for the dead, Xenhuan," Laura half-chided, half-ordered. "They died defending their position. That's as honorable a death as we'll receive."

"It's still a death," Xenhuan sighed, pushing herself back to standing.

"Don't Guardsmen usually operate in squads of nine?" Cotaya asked.

"Usually, but tell me one thing about this battle that seems typical," Laura countered.

"Good point."

"Let's move," Tlatia ordered. "The day isn't getting any younger."

The team continued on, past more ruined fighting positions and makeshift barricades. A few notches cut into the walls spoke of hidden emplacements for ambushes. The lack of a silver finish and the rough rockcrete spoke of emplacements constructed in haste.

"Stars above, is that a destroyed Rhino?" Nau asked, pointing to a twisted piece of slag with plasma burns down the side.

"Sure looks like it," Laura confirmed. "The Stars Repentant must've set up an anti-armour position nearby."

"I think I see it. Near the banner at the end of the path." Citalicue had been a member of the Scouts before she became a member of the Tecuani, and her eyesight was sharper than a monomolecular edge.

The six warriors gathered around the colossal sword-spear, with the banner of the Second Legion still fluttering in a light breeze provided by the constantly-recirculating air. It was at least twice Tlatia's height—perhaps even more.

"That's a big spear."

Xenhuan was nothing if not observant.

"Look at the bodies," Laura pointed out. "Fighting positions, sandbags, towers... all clustered around this banner. Heavy boltors, multi-plasmas, lascannons, all set up to defend it. The fields of fire aren't clear, though. This was put together in a hurry." She looked at one body--an Astartes, prone, finger still on the trigger, with a comrade beside him with his chest facing the ceiling. Her first thought was of the dead gunner drills the support teams sometimes ran. "Not to mention, bodies strewn everywhere."

"This banner was important to them," Cotaya murmured, looking up at the delicate embroidery that had survived so many battles.

"It was more than just important." Tlatia laid a hand on the auramite shaft, tilted backwards just slightly. "This was Aurelius's personal sword-spear. That banner was the first one made for the Stars Repentant, during the Unification Wars on Terra. He stood here. Fought with it."

"I can see why they fought to the last," Cotaya replied. "Stars... look at this. Chainsword strike cut through ceramite plate. How in the hel..."

"Russ." Tlatia dropped her brother's name the same way she spoke of the Captain-General. "The Emperor's Executioner."

"There's more bodies here than we saw anywhere else," Laura noted. "And the halls beyond here look... barren."

"This was their last stand," Tlatia breathed.

"Why?" Nau asked. "Why here? If this was their last stand, where's the Primarch?"

She cast a glance at Cotaya, kneeling beside the banner.

"I think I know why they made a stand here," Cotaya said. Her voice held an edge of black sorrow.

"Why?"

She held up a small femur. "This isn't an adult's bone--along with about half the bones in this pile."

The conclusion didn't take a genius to piece together.

"Civilians," Citalinue whispered. Her voice rose as she began to count the bones. "Palnakyo Wolves! There have to be at least sixty dead here!"

"More," Cotaya grimly confirmed. "Seventy-two children alone."

The team fell silent as the full extent of the crime hit them like a ton of rockcrete.

"Let's go," Tlatia murmured, voice hollow. "There's nothing we can do for them."

The team continued on.

The market sector, somehow, was more depressing than the Great Hall.

The Wolves had not stopped at killing the Astartes of the Stars Repentant. Decayed clothes, made of both silks and cotton with bleached bones within, were scattered throughout the marketplace, like macabre decorations for the overturned stalls. Torn fabrics fluttered in the breeze. Some trinkets remained, but none would've been worth more than a single Throne Gelt. Everything more valuable than that was gone--stolen, Tlatia assumed. Once again, bolt-shells littered the ground, but there was only a single gun, clutched by the broken form of an Astartes thrown through a shop wall. Xenhuan darted over to check the magazine.

"Empty," she reported.

The Wolves are nothing if not thorough.

With every step, her heart melted just slightly more as a spark of white-hot anger slowly turned into a flame.

Dreadnoughts. I'll inter them all in dreadnoughts, deprived of weapons. They deserve to never feel the wind in their hair or the sun on their skin ever again.

Whatever deity existed, it must've partially heard Tlatia's thoughts, because the next corner the team turned they came face-to-visor with a destroyed Stars Repentant Mark IV Castaferrum-type Dreadnought.

Each and every Astartes only barely managed to avoid recoiling. Citalinue and Cotaya made signs of protection. Xenhuan swore. Laura fully froze.

"N... Norim?" the First Captain whispered.

"You know this thing?!" Xenhuan hissed. "How-"

Tlatia placed a hand on the upstart Marine's shoulder and shook her head.

Laura darted towards the Castaferrum, peering close. Half of the casket was shredded, exposing wires and servomotors and even the mangled pilot within. Melted metal had seared the exposed skin.

"Norim?" she asked, voice wavering. The Dreadnought shuddered.

Every single member of the squad raised their weapons. "Laura! Get back!" Xenhuan shouted, turning up her flashlight's intensity until it was closer to a spotlight. Cotaya hit her boltor's mag-release and swapped in a magazine of armor-piercing rounds. Nau grabbed for her plasma pistol.

"L-LAU-R-RA?" the Dreadnought struggled.

"Norim! It's me! Laura, from the Dawn Legion? By the sun, what have they done to you?"

"LAURA. I... CANNOT SEE YOU."

The First Captain swallowed hard and set her boltor down, wiping away the heavy layer of dust on the Castaferrum's visor slit. Her hands shook just slightly as she reached up and pressed the releases on her helmet, letting her dark brown hair fall freely.

"Can... can you see me now? Norim?"

"I CAN." The Dreadnought's waist rotator joint creaked painfully loudly, echoing off the shattered stone. "AS BEAUTIFUL AS EVER, LAURA."

"Now is not the time, Norim!" Laura hissed. "What the hel happened?"

"THE SPACE WOLVES." Norim said this like it answered everything. "I CANNOT MOVE."

"We'll get you out of here," Laura promised.

"NO. THE PRIMARCH FIRST."

"Norim, we don't even know if he's alive--"

"THE PRIMARCH LIVES. YOU MUST RESCUE HIM."

"I'm not going without you!" Laura growled. "You... idiot!"

"Just end his misery if you care so much," Xenhuan spat, rolling her eyes. Laura turned a glare that would scare a Bloodthirster on her sister, and crouched like a prowling tiger.

"I should shoot you where you stand," she snarled, hand hovering dangerously close to her pistol.

"We are wasting time," Xenhuan argued. Her brow was furrowed. "Put him down--"

Like a flash, Laura drew her pistol on Xenhuan, and Tlatia jumped in between the two.

"Laura! Stand down!" she ordered, before turning to face her other errant child. "Xenhuan--what the hel is wrong with you?"

"If we're going to find your brother, we can't waste our time with broken Dreadnoughts," Xenhuan argued. Tlatia tried to speak, but all that came out was mild shock at her daughter's callousness.

"PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PUTTING ME DOWN," Norim requested.

The Primarch took a moment to compose her words, then spoke. "You, Xenhuan, will leave Laura alone. I will let her explain to you--later--why Norim is important to her. For now, you will drop the topic, and you will not speak of it again until Aurelius is safe and onboard the Dawnbringer."

Beneath her helmet, Xenhuan scowled. "Understood, mother."

"Good. Now--Citalicue, help Laura get Norim moving and functional. The rest of you--with me. We're following Nirisch's directions into the maintenance corridors."

"Right into the Zone Mortalis," Nau murmured, checking her ammunition instinctively. She looked back at Nroim's broken casket and shuddered. "Lovely. Let's go."

#chronicles of the lost legion #ooc: norim was written with help from the person behind Aurelius! they're lovely to work with 19/10 experience honestly #40k #warhammer 40k #wh40k #ooc: posted with minimal editing because it is 0245

[fallen-in-dreams]

CHAPTER NINE on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 9,004.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

Enjoy. ^_^

Tumblr version:

… Chapter Nine: Little Bits and Pieces of Lies. ...

.:.

When I heard that sound When the walls came down I was thinking about you About you

-- Skin, by Rag’n’Bone Man

.:.

The shift change was a few minutes late.

The guard sighed into the paper wrapping in his mouth, puffing out a few smoke clouds, trying and failing to form it into something recognisable. Last week, Yaeko had tried to show him how to make rings, but he wasn’t very good at it. Impatient, he looked back along the ridge of the tallest tower on Suna’s borders. The walls of his village were large and imposing above him. On ground level, he could still trail his eyes along the entrance where Yaeko was supposed to pop out of five minutes ago.

Bloody woman.

This was just a bad night overall. He had no idea how this particular kunoichi had ever made it as a genin, let alone her current rank of chunin. She was always late. She didn’t own a clock and slept like a log. He’d gone to wake her numerous times only to be kicked in the head, or somewhere more precious, as she startled into consciousness.

I shouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.

As a newly appointed Jounin, guard duty was supposed to be off his roster. But things had not been going according to plan for several years now. He ran a hand down the front of his flak jacket. There was just no getting used to how much more comfortable this uniform made him feel. The rank came with perks, including not having to do guard duty, but the village had been short-handed recently, with the increase in missions and training of more genin squads than usual. So, he’d volunteered. At least for a few shifts before his new team had been organised. There was nothing to do until then, anyway. Rumour had it, open war was upon them, and his specialty was in high demand, even in this Cold War.

He was a sensor.

This was why he felt it; a sudden spike of chakra that was barely there if you weren’t paying attention. He waved a hand sign to two nearby patrol guards, and they paused, also waiting to see what was going on. If it was another attack, they would be ready. The fires that had spread through their home had come from inside, but anything was possible.

All three guards tensed at the soft flash of light. A figure that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

The newly appointed jounin sighed in relief as their visitor stepped into view. Just beyond the gate there was a blind spot of darkness at night-time that even moonlight couldn’t fill. If you never did guard duty, you’d never know it was there.

“Sorry about that,” she said, looking anything but.

The guard stood to attention. “Lady Temari, everyone’s been worried.” He frowned, eyeing the way she was holding herself; her iron fan weapon was doing most of the holding. “And, if you don’t mind me saying, it looks like we have reason to be.”

Temari grunted at him. “I don’t need a medic,” she said, when he opened his mouth to speak again. “I just need to get home. I have to report straight to…” She winced.

He’d met her in person a few times and if there was one thing he’d learned about the oldest of the sand siblings it was that she hated being treated like she was useless. Nobody helped her. She helped herself. That was the rumour too. By the looks of her, she’d used up all her chakra just to get back and it was clearly embarrassing her. She shifted her stance, attempting to look more imposing. Her face was flushed and there were bruises and gashes on her person he was sure were hurting more than she let on.

No need to drag this out, I guess.

He nodded to her, and she visibly relaxed. “Understood.” He motioned to the patrol guards who were still standing in the same wary stance from before Temari had revealed herself. “I can’t leave my post but–”

“No,” she said, “you.”

Was this because he was a jounin? The other guards were chunin. A number of reasons came to mind, but he didn’t know what the big deal was.

“Come on,” she interrupted his thoughts. Temari started towards him, using her fan like a cane.

He nodded again and ordered one of the patrol guards to take his place until he returned. The blonde grimaced as he slid his arm around her. She stumbled and swore under her breath. They took a moment before he suggested using his own brand of the Body Flicker Technique. She seemed amenable.

“What do I call you, Mr Jounin Guard?” She asked as he manoeuvred them better so he could form the signs properly.

“My name is Arata, my lady.”

.:.

It was only an hour. It felt longer. Gaara carried Sakura’s sleeping form into her room after her breakdown, tucking her into the bedsheets, unable to leave her. For an hour. He just sat on the side of the bed, watching her, and resisting the urge to brush the errant strands of pink hair from her face.

She looks so peaceful right now. And he should leave.

But Gaara couldn’t move. Under normal circumstances, he’d feel like a pervert or creeper for hovering while she slept. But he wasn’t paying attention to her body. Not like that. Not right now. Besides, she was tucked up under the blankets. She was hidden. He just couldn’t bring himself to stand up. To move away from her. It felt like he’d be leaving her behind, or something. It was a ludicrous feeling, he knew, but one he felt, nonetheless.

It was an old story, for himself, how much he’d been worrying over her. Objectively, she was supposed to be his fiancé, so his concern was warranted. But there was a line he’d told himself not to cross. He’d never had cause to worry about that until now.

Gaara sighed as Sakura stirred suddenly. She pouted in her sleep, and he found himself smiling. Whatever she was dreaming about, it wasn’t horrid at least. Without thinking, he reached over and brushed those strands of hair away from her eyes and she sighed, settling down.

Don’t think about that.

Gaara looked around the room. It was a spare room, of course. There were too many rooms in this place. Growing up, he’d wondered if all the rooms were for invisible entities, just like the one that lived inside his head. He’d been too scared to check. After his father started trying to kill him, everything changed. His fear went away. When he returned to the family, he checked them one night only to be disappointed. They were just empty bedrooms.

There was a lesson in there, somewhere, about not fearing the unknown.

His eyes skimmed over what Sakura had done with the room, which wasn’t much since she owned so little. The back of the door worried him. What were all those numbers for? He narrowed his eyes. They were a tally. He didn’t understand it.

Finally, Gaara decided to leave. His presence wasn’t doing anything, negative or positive.

Sakura groaned at the same time he felt a flare of chakra that didn’t belong to her, himself, or Kankuro. It was too weak to identify, and he immediately thought of that Root shadow and, what is he up to now? But it wasn’t him.

Gaara took one quick glance at Sakura to make sure she wasn’t disturbed, and quickly left her room.

Kankuro came bumbling out of his room at the same time, with a stunned look on his face. Spotting Gaara, that expression twisted into a coy one. The redhead had just come out of Sakura’s room, after all. Gaara shook his head to silence his question. There were more important things right now. Kankuro nodded silently, and then barrelled down the stairs ahead of his brother.

The weak chakra flare was closer and stronger now.

“Temari.”

He followed his brother down the stairs and into the study at the forefront of the mansion. Surrounded by comfort and a conference table that his sister had once dubbed a war table, Temari stood in the centre of the room. She was alone. But there had been someone with her a moment ago. Gaara and Kankuro both let out a sigh of relief at the sight of their sister. Kankuro made a move like he was going to rush over to her and then stopped. The tears in her clothes, caked blood, and bruises were all obvious. She wasn’t standing under her own power either, her iron fan signature weapon doubling as a leaning post. Her right hand trembled ever so slightly, out of synch with the trembling of her left leg. Gaara swallowed heavily, trying not to imagine all manner of things she’d been through.

She’s alive, he told himself. And that’s all that matters.

Clearing his throat, Kankuro brushed off his hesitation and moved forward. “Temari, I–”

“Settle down,” she interrupted. “Don’t make a fuss.” She moved toward the largest chair in the room, controlling her trembling as best she could, before stumbling. Both of her brothers stepped forward now, moving to help but Temari held up a hand to stop them. She inhaled sharply through her nose and then sank into the thick, leather lined chair with a deep sigh of relief. “Just give me a moment.”

“Do you need a–”

“No.”

Gaara gave Kankuro a pointed look. But his brother just brushed him off.

“Where is the rest of your squad?”

“They’ll be here in the morning,” she said, not looking at them. “They’re worse off than I am. They’ll need the night to rest before making the journey back.” She closed her eyes for a few blissful, quiet moments before forcing herself to sit up. “I thought I should get this information to you as fast as possible.”

Gaara took the scroll from her outstretched hand, meeting her all the way so she wouldn’t strain herself. He gripped it tightly but didn’t move to open it. She raised her eyebrows at him and glared until he sighed and unrolled it. Kankuro moved next to him to read over his shoulder. After a moment, Kankuro made a distinctly unimpressed noise and moved away, while Gaara reread it carefully. Slowly. Again. And again.

“That’s some intel, sis,” Kankuro said, taking one of the other plush chairs and crossing his arms over his chest.

Temari nodded. “They’re on the move again and the daimyo is moving to intercept. Our spotters have lost their whereabouts.”

Gaara let that sink in. The night that Danzo took over Konoha, the Fire Daimyo called an emergency meeting with all the other daimyo. It was a strategic move to prevent the others from acting on the insurgence. The usurper took over with no consequences on the political and inter-village level. The old man had to know that not all the kage were happy about this betrayal. Gaara was not the only one. Even the Raikage had, allegedly, fought with his daimyo over it. But there was nothing to be done beyond complaining, behind the scenes. To publicly condemn Danzo’s actions, given they were sanctioned by a daimyo, would be too risky. It might even be seen as an act of war.

(It was moments like these in which Gaara missed Naruto most of all. He wouldn’t have taken this lying down.)

So, the Leaf Resistance received no help from anyone. Not officially. They fled their village, those that managed to, and roamed the five nations. Officially, they were deserters and were to be either killed or captured on sight. But the past few years had been very quiet on that front. Because they had received help. Gaara had given it to them. When he could.

That’s a complicated can of worms.

“Should we tell Sakura?” Kankuro asked Gaara.

“Sakura?” Temari sat up straight in the chair, wincing at the movement. “Sakura Haruno is here?”

Kankuro snorted. “Do you know any other Sakura’s?”

It was Gaara’s turn to wince. “She is here.”

His sister looked anxious all of a sudden. “Why?”

Kankuro snorted again, this time a little louder. “Because we have a traitor in the council.”

Temari’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gaara said. Sakura could wake up. They could gather the attention of the Root shadow outside. He felt the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes.

“Why is she here?”

“Danzo sent her,” Kankuro said. She scoffed but he continued. “He and our esteemed council decided it was high time Gaara is married.”

Temari raised her eyebrows at Gaara, and the redhead scowled at the light twitching of humour at the corner of her mouth. She stamped it down, though. “If we can’t trust the council–”

“We can trust Ebizō,” Gaara interrupted. “I have a deal with him,” he added, when his siblings looked sceptical. “And you forget all he’s done for the village.”

“We don’t forget, Gaara,” she said, pressing a hand to her side again and wincing. “We simply overlook it.”

“What deal?” Kankuro asked.

Gaara glanced up at the ceiling. “If he retires now, that will leave the council in chaos. I persuaded him to remain, to groom Councillor Ryūsa for the position.”

“And what does he get in return?”

Gaara didn’t want to say. It wasn’t horrible. It just wasn’t the most ethical bribe he’d ever made. Lord Ebizō had initially gone into retirement because of Lady Chiyo. He’d stopped caring about the cycle of ninja problems because of his sister. And now she was dead. Ebizō had always been the more rational of the two. If things didn’t improve, his retirement would become impossible. Or permanent, if he was ever attacked, out in that oasis all alone.

“Come on, Gaara!” Kankuro said. “You can tell us.”

“I know that. It’s just…”

“You keep him in the loop,” Temari guessed. “Even when you feel the need to hide things from other council members.”

“It is a mutual exchange of information,” Gaara said. He waved a hand between himself and his siblings. “Us, Baki and Ebizō are the only ones I trust.”

“You trust us enough to not tell us about Ebizō until now?”

Temari frowned. “Shut it, Kankuro.” She turned to Gaara. “What about Sakura? How does she fit into all these machinations?”

“She doesn’t.”

“How could she not?” She pointed to the scroll still in Gaara’s hands. “She deserves to know–”

“No.” Gaara returned her icy stare.

“Why?”

Gaara eased off on his stare but didn’t back down. His ability to protect the village lessened with every person who knew about that. He did not believe for one moment that Sakura Haruno would shout it at the top of her lungs, let alone pass the knowledge along quietly to the last people who should know. It wasn’t the point. But he’d promised Naruto to keep her safe. To keep anyone from the Leaf that ever came into his care safe. He did not know when or why it would happen, but the blond had been adamant. And Gaara would not deny the wishes of a dead man.

He closed his eyes, lightly rubbing a slight pain on his chest. Gaara moved to the third chair, feeling exhausted.

But was his silence truly keeping Sakura safe? What would she do if he told her? Would she try to escape and get herself killed trying to track those people down? She was so broken. It was clear to anyone who spent even a short amount of time around her. Could he believe she wouldn’t do something reckless, heedless of her own safety? And how was she even going to find them anyway? Nobody had, for two years. Gaara’s communications with them had been mostly one-sided. He had no idea, right this moment, how to contact them until they broke that silence themselves.

(But of course, he had been trying to, with no luck so far.)

He had no answers for any of that. But Gaara wasn’t an idiot. He knew she would find out eventually. His plans were in a delicate balance right now and pulling one thread from it could bring the whole thing down.

“We need to find out who the council traitor is first,” he said, his voice stronger than he felt. “That is our main priority.”

Temari looked like she wanted to argue more but thought better of it. She sighed and settled further into the chair, almost like she was trying to merge with it. Silence. The siblings all sat, twiddling their proverbial thumbs. Kankuro wanted to talk more about the state his sister was in. Gaara wanted this discussion to get to the point so he could order her to go see a medic. Temari just wanted a hot bath.

She sighed wistfully. “I didn’t know she was still in Konoha.”

Kankuro nodded, biting the inside of his mouth. “Nobody did, apparently. Fire’s best kept secret. Probably some sick game Danzo is playing.”

“How is she?” She asked.

Gaara understood that Temari was more empathetic to people than her reputation let on, but he was surprised by the concern in her voice. He wondered if it was because of what had happened to the Leaf as a whole. Or maybe she was being protective in remembrance for another Leaf shinobi she continued to pine for, long after his death. Gaara remained quiet, contemplating that while his siblings continued talking.

“How long has she been here?”

“I dunno. Maybe three weeks.”

“What has she been doing, missions, hospital–”

“The council wants her in the wedding plans.”

Temari scoffed. “Old farts.”

“I know right? That’s what I said!”

Their discussion moved from what Sakura was doing to what they planned to do with her. This façade of an engagement. How Gaara had been delaying the preparations. And landed on the pinkette’s thievery.

“Plus,” Kankuro pointed a finger at the air, “I’m pretty sure she’s been stealing ink bottles from Gaara’s study. She asked me for some once but that doesn’t account for how much more I’ve had to buy.”

Temari didn’t look convinced. “Why would she want ink?”

“She claims it’s for journal writing. Or maybe it was for writing letters. I don’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gaara interjected as Temari moved to reply. He wasn’t worried about whatever it was Sakura was using the ink for. He had a feeling it was personal, anyway. And if he could help by turning a blind eye, he would. His siblings looked mollified and fell silent. But eventually, Kankuro had to speak. It was a compulsion.

“She’s looking better though.” He waggled his eyebrows at Gaara.

Temari glared at him. “If I could get up without pulling something right now, I’d smack you.” She sighed as her brothers’ expressions grew grim. “About this thing with Danzo…”

That was another can of worms. Temari knew the alliance they had was just for show. But she was behind on why they were going along with it.

Kankuro lost his smile. “His shadows are up to something.”

Temari looked confused for a moment, then it dawned on her. “There’s a Foundation member in the village?”

“I forgot that’s their official name,” he replied, pulling a face. “But yeah, a Root member followed Sakura on this mission of hers. We’re keeping him out of sensitive areas of the village,” he added, when Temari looked scandalised. “And Gaara has a couple of Anbu trailing him at all times. The fucker gets around, let me tell you.”

Temari nodded, then sighed. “It seems I missed a lot.”

“Does that mean you’re staying now?”

“Kankuro,” she said snappily.

“Temari,” he mocked her.

“I have to–”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped. “There are other ninja in this village who can–”

Temari groaned, her voice rising as she interrupted him. “So, you’re fine with others getting hurt and maybe dying in my place while I sit here, holed up and doing nothing of value?”

“Yes! Yes, I am!”

She gripped the arms of her chair painfully, seething and glaring at him as he glared right back. Then she winced and clutched at her side. Temari took a deep breath, her face tinged red with anger. “Well, that’s just–”

“Keep your voices down,” Gaara said, echoing his earlier sentiment. He agreed with Kankuro, but as the Kazekage he couldn’t voice the fact that he’d rather send multiple squadrons out than risk his own sister. Even in front of family. Temari sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling and Kankuro stood, now pacing behind his armchair. This wasn’t the reunion Gaara had been hoping for. But tension was a given among siblings, no matter their relationship. He waited a few minutes for tempers to settle and opened his mouth to speak again, but Temari beat him to it.

Her eyes had drifted in the direction of the internal staircase. She looked determined. “I want to see her.”

“She is asleep,” Gaara said, ignoring the way Kankuro smirked and waggled his eyebrows, clearly remembering where his brother had been when Temari had returned. “I do not wish to disturb her.”

And she was so exhausted, Gaara doubted she’d be lucid enough for an impromptu visit, even if Temari did wake her up. He had no idea how tiring the events of every day was for her. Especially one as jam packed with work at the hospital as the current day had been. Not to mention how she’d tired herself out with that meltdown. She needed to rest.

Temari nodded slowly. “Okay. In the morning, then.”

“You should get healed up,” Kankuro told her. “You’re no good to anyone in this state,” he added, when she growled at him.

“Kankuro is right,” Gaara said, and she sighed. “You could barely walk into the room and are clearly in pain.”

She glared at them both.

“Temari–”

“Fine. If…” She looked away, her cheeks turning red, “someone could help me to the medical core… thanks.”

Kankuro strode over to her immediately and Gaara stood and ducked to lift her slowly so she could stand. She winced again and he almost called his sand to help but decided to manually move her. They hobbled toward the front door.

Kankuro tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got this. You need to rest. You look worse than you did yesterday.”

That was true. His own sleep had been even more strained as of late, as well. Gaara nodded reluctantly and moved out of the way as his brother shifted to guide their sister better. She would not be carried like she was a child, so he kept her upright and grunted under her weight. Perhaps it was her way also, of punishing him for those earlier remarks. Temari spared Gaara a soft look and he smiled at his sister.

“It is not weak to accept help when you need it,” her admonished as Kankuro took her away. He knew she’d heard him. He could only hope she understood.

.:.

The sound of heavy rain startled her out of her cosy dreams. Light streamed into the room and she blinked heavily, a warm smile on her face. There was no rain. It existed only in her mind. But that was okay. She’d slept well, all things considered. Surprisingly enough. Maybe it had something to do with how she’d exhausted herself the previous night. Sakura had cried herself to sleep a number of times over the years but never did it leave her feeling so refreshed, come morning.

Or maybe it was Gaara.

Even if it wasn’t, it made her feel warm. Safe. Content. She snuggled into the bed sheets and poked a tongue at herself, giggling softly into her pillow as she stretched out as far as she could. There was no logical reason for it but she felt ridiculously happy.

Ridiculous.

Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to question it. Sakura closed her eyes and rolled over, away from the sunlight. But the warmth of it on her back was comforting. All she cared about was that post-dream feeling she’d missed having for a very long time. This was what mornings were supposed to feel like. No headaches. No post-nightmare illusions. She wondered idly if the Prazosin she’d stolen from the hospital had anything to do with this but it was probably too early for the effects to kick in.

Not that it mattered, really. She sighed once more before holding her breath, eyes wide.

There’s a new chakra signature in the building.

She sat up quickly and froze, heart racing.

Who is that?

The familiarity of it struck her but she couldn’t place it. They flared and it spiked a few times as though in warning but it came with no war cry or burst of aggressive pulses. No hand signs were being woven.

Just saying, hello or I’m home. What the hell?

But they’d made it through the sealing barrier and whomever they were, Kankuro was with them so she knew it wasn’t an intruder. Sakura laid back down, following Gaara’s chakra as she sensed him leave his room and join Kankuro and the new (but not really new) person down stairs. She smiled. Her housemates had a really predictable sleep schedule.

She knew that Kankuro fell asleep pretty fast, when he was alone. In that case she simply had to wait for about ten minutes of silence, to be sure there were no conscious occupants of the room. Sakura smiled at that, though she was always careful to silence her room as best as possible. It made her wonder if Gaara (or Temari) had ever called him out on how loud he could be.

Gaara was another matter. He clearly still had a residual level of insomnia so if she wanted to sneak down to the first floor (for example), she had to make it look like she was going for a midnight snack. If he found her, she needed an excuse. She liked the snacks they stocked, so it fit.

Or icecream, she thought, remembering the previous encounter she’d had with Gaara. It still burned her with embarrasment. The council wanted to take the kunai back but she felt a weird sense of ownership over it that her anxiety let get out of control. She hated that her weakness was so obvious and that she’d overreacted to the thought of the kunai being taken away. She could still remember the uncontrollable bubble of emotion that raged right over her as she lost control of herself and her common sense.

She sighed.

I need to get up.

Sakura couldn’t lie in bed forever, and she was curious about this new chakra signature. After she quickly showered though, the anxiety had kicked back in so she decided to find out who they were later. Her hand had hovered over the door nob but she wasn’t ready to go out there and face any of them. The owner of the chakra had come upstairs and she realised with startling clarity that she knew who it was.

She still had memories of the tough, no-nonsense kunoichi that had clearly won the heart of her friend. Shikamaru. The thought of him made her eyes moist but she kept the tears from forming. Years ago, there’d been something special between Shikamaru and Temari, mixed in with their mutual griping. And while it hurt her heart to think of them never seeing each other again, she was glad the other kunoichi had survived.

Sakura pressed the palms of her hands against the door, instinctively pushing down her chakra past where she had already done so and listened to the sounds of Temari moving through the house, entering her own room. Followed by a few light crashes like she was tipping something over.

She’s okay?

Sakura wanted to go check but this was enough for now. She pulled away from the door, getting a face full of the messy scribbles of daily kanji she’d been adding to the back of it. She glared at them. No. She could add to it later. The clock on her wall told her it was almost breakfast time. Unlike dinner, breakfast seemed mostly an individual affair in this house.

But six o’clock was too early for her.

Sakura didn’t feel tired anymore though, so she decided to do something else. There was only one other thing that had been on her mind lately. But while she’d already perfected her ink bird creation and sent one scouting around the village, there was little Sakura could do without alerting either the Root shadow or other ninja to any escape attempt. It still felt important to her to use the creatures and find a path out, no matter what happened. But she also needed another provision, if she was ever going to accomplish this. Sakura needed poison. The land of wind had many avenues with which to explore this combat option, but very few that Sakura had any access to. After rattling through a long list of possibilities in her head, on how to do this, only one option stood out as even remotely feesible. She was going to have to find a venomous animal. A local one. A native. Something very dangerous. It was an exciting prospect.

The difference between poison and venom was simple: the former was used to refer to toxins that were injested (eaten, etc), and the later was applied to organisms that bite or sting to inject toxins. The way the foreign substance was introduced into the body was the key. She needed venom.

Sakura knew some poison jutsu learned from Shizune, but did not own any tools that could help. Everything she ever had on her person was highly regulated, even the travelling bag. Objects like her charcoal and a few trinkets she’d collected that had no combat value had only been allowed because they were inocuous and the Foundation members who poked and prodded it weren’t personally aware of any intimate connections they might have.

She had Sai’s charcoal, which he’d left behind in his apartment and was overlooked when Root ransacked the place. A ragged toad figurine that Naruto had startled her with once as a practical joke and she’d found in rubble near his destroyed apartment. A twig from Yamato’s Wood Release from that time he’d used his technique to help her save her dying plant; it had still been in her parent’s house, waiting for her. A fingerless glove of Kakashi’s, minus the metal plate; she’d found it not far from the last known location of his body. And a scrap of material she’d torn from Sasuke’s mostly burnt Konoha headband that was going to be thrown out after a Root member was caught keeping it as a trophy. These items had each been carefully collected over time, starting with the charcoal during her first time free of the Root headquarters.

Sakura ran her fingers over the travel bag without opening it. The urge to do so was strong though. But no, they were best left covered and out of sight. She had trinkets and nothing useful for what she planned to get out of her stay in Suna. She hadn’t gone out of her way to procur weapons or poisons that Danzo hadn’t assigned to her or she hadn’t stolen, in years.

The preparation this kunai was going to need was more complicated than simply dipping it in venom, so her resources were limited. Trying to get everything she needed would draw too much attention.

I can handle this.

She’d had larger stumbling blocks. She just needed to focus on the things she could do more easily, right now. But that venom was non-negotiable.

Sakura had already practised giving instructions to the ink birds she sent on reconnaisance, so she imagined telling one to bring her a poisonous snake wouldn’t be difficult. She just needed the right tools for this job. Ink based tools, to be precise.

Sakura knelt down on the floor of her bedroom, tucking her feet under her bum and opened the stopper for the ink well, laying out the scroll as usual. She didn’t need to reference the book to get the image and proportions right this time. Practice made perfect but only if you were capable of it. She would just have to deal with what came out of this. But the repetitive motions had afforded her more leeway. She could even experiment with the shape more than before. She ran through the familiar movements, bringing the bird to life first and she smiled as it cawed at her.

“Sshh!” She held a finger to her lips and it obediently dipped its head in a show of what this weird version of anthropomorphism would call compliance. It had been loud, but there was no noise from outside her room. No feet rushed to find the source of the noise.

Sakura sighed in relief. “Keep quiet, okay?”

The bird dipped its head once more and flapped its wings.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat. The bird was larger than the rest as she’d modelled it after a vulture (bad artistic skills notwithstanding), though it was still smaller than the real birds of the species. She needed it large enough to catch a viper snake but not so large that many people would be drawn to it. It occurred to her that maybe this bird wasn’t enough. Wherever it found a snake (and Sakura was mostly sure there were some in a sanctuary within Suna itself, but maybe not) it had to grab it without alerting any humans in the area. Or any jutsu that could alert humans.

So another ink animal would be needed to accompany it.

Snakes had numerous natural predators, not the least of which was other snakes. It was perfect.

The size concerns for the ink snake were the same for the ink bird. She settled on forming a few generic looking snakes to test, as she’d done many times for the bird, but didn’t need to do it as much. They were a far simpler design. The snake she settled on reminded her of the viper in the book she’d borrowed from Kankuro and she was proud of how much better she was at that.

Still no better than a five year old’s drawing, mind.

Sakura tested the snake by telling it to leave the kazekage mansion for a few minutes before returning. Her heart raced as she watched it go, her eyes drifting to the clock on her wall as she counted out the seconds. She waited, with the ink bird impatiently hopping around and pecking at her floor (what was up with that?), and waited. Eventually, the snake slithered back in through the open window and she had to muffle a woop of excitement.

“Yes,” she said with a soft hiss and held her hand out to the snake. It moved to her without hesitation and coiled around her wrist, moving gently up her arm. She’d never held a real snake before so Sakura had no idea if these smooth and dry sensations were from the texture of the ink or just her imagination. It felt so soft though, as her poor attempts at scales were not even scales. But she couldn’t stop grinning.

The ink bird hopped over to her and tapped at the ink snake which caused the faux reptile to raise up and hiss at its attacker. It was more of a gurgling sound that only sounded like hissing if you really wanted it to.

“Hey,” she snapped. “Settle down.”

The bird gave her a baleful look that only made her chuckle at it. How did the damn thing have so much personality?

Maybe it stole mine.

That thought caused a new round of giggles from her. Her creations were so sloppy compared to what Sai could’ve done but the immensity of pride she felt over them could not be quashed. She hadn’t created anything for herself in so long, it felt like a lifetime since the last moment she’d ever felt this proud of herself. Sakura couldn’t remember the last time but logically it was from before Danzo’s takeover. Perhaps in the midst of battle or an accomplishment while studying more difficult medical jutsu.

It didn’t even matter.

She felt so free in that moment. So weightless.

I feel like I can take on the world.

If she could recreate these things then her plans were going to be so much easier.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, and both bird and snake facsimiles turned to face her. “I need a venomous snake. A real one. But…” She didn’t want it dead but Sakura also had no experience dealing with live snakes. They were dangerous, even if you chopped off their head. She could use the ink animals to subdue it but there’d always be that underlying fear that it would break loose and bite her. It was not rational for them to bring it back alive.

Sorry.

She sighed. “Let’s try for a viper – they’re native to the desert. Work together. Find something within Suna if you can, but stay out of sight.” She paused. “And kill it first. Quickly. But keep it constrained at all times, and bring the carcass to me, but only if I’m alone, like in this room. Just… don’t be seen.”

No reaction. Their lifeless eyes just stared at her. It was kind of creepy, but she’d prefer these to her look-alike mirage any day. “Now,” she barked.

They moved immediately; the bird hopped up to the window and waited for the snake to slither up to it. Under their own, respective power, they disappeared. Gone through the open window. Sakura watched them vanish, now feeling morose. Her mood dimmed. She had no idea if and when they would return, but despite this, was confident none of this would be in vain.

.:.

There was no excuse to delay it any longer. The day had begun. And like it or not, she had to return to her previous obligations. For now. Fresh on the high of having finally sent her ink creatures out to capture and kill a snake for her venom, Sakura dressed (having already showered), and then tentatively made her way downstairs, knowing all three of the sand siblings were waiting for her.

They were in the kitchen.

Sakura smelled the fried breakfast from the top of the stairs and on the last step, her stomach gurggled painfully. She walked into the kitchen and stopped immediately, her body tensing as one of the figures in the room turned and threw themselves at her. Normally, she’d have ducked out of the way and counterattacked but Sakura found herself rooted to the spot as Temari embraced her. The pinkette didn’t hug her back, despite all the alarm bells ringing in her head, reminding her she probably should. It was a weird way to feel torn. But she did relax into the blonde’s hold and waited her out instead of trying to push her away.

“Come on, Temari,” Kankuro said eventually. “Let her breathe and eat something before you attempt to suffocate her, at least.”

“Sorry.”

Sakura plastered a fake smile to her face as Temari pulled away. The blonde winced immediately.

Bad fake smile.

She was ushered over to the island in the middle of the kitchen, next to Gaara, who gave her a small smile that she easily returned. It seemed they were all waiting for her to do or say something.

“Thank-you,” she whispered, when Kankuro handed her a plate ladden with fired bacon, eggs, and tomato.

“Anything you want to add?” He asked, and she chose some extra bacon and some onion. Lots of it.

Sakura smiled around her food as the siblings fell into silence, thankfully not all staring at her now.

Well this is fun.

.:.

After breakfast, a knock on the door signalled the arrival of Matsuri and Yukata, who had taken over supervisory roles of escorting Sakura to the wedding planning. Gaara had been able to get Sakura out of most of these ridiculous days, but the council had insisted she attend a few days a week, and today was one of those days. He watched her face fall when she realised, but then lighten up when Kankuro flung the door open to reveal her new escorts.

Matsuri and Yukata greeted Temari warmly, clearly having not realised she was back, then did their duty and escorted Sakura away.

Silence fell in their wake. Not that there had been a rabble of noise before then.

Kankuro whistled. “Well, that was interesting.”

Temari’s confusion was evident. She was biting her bottom lip and staring at the door like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Gaara felt the need to tell her everything. So, he did. In short, stilted sentences, but leaving out all the intimate moments he’d had with Sakura. Just the highlights of the important things.

Temari let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, fuck me.”

Kankuro laughed and coughed at the same time. She ignored him.

“This complicates things,” she said. “How much have you told her about this fake engagement?”

“He’s been avoiding her,” Kankuro said.

“I have not.”

The brunette just laughed.

“She joins us for dinner every night,” Gaara said. “And… I may have. A little.”

Except for moments like last night. Which they didn’t need the details of.

Temari snorted. “Well, if it’s from some misguided sense of not wanting to get close to her since this marriage thing is clearly a sham, then stop it.” She held up a hand to stop his retort, if in fact he meant to reply when he stood taller and opened his mouth slightly. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that by avoiding her, you might be doing more harm than good? That it could be interpreted as her not being good enough. That you might as well be strangers?”

“Aren’t you overreacting?” Kankuro asked.

“No,” she snapped.

The emotion on her face startled her brothers. Gaara remembered Temari had been on good terms with Sakura several years ago but that hardly equated to the level of protectiveness rolling off her right now. Again, he wondered if it was misdirected concern because of that Leaf shinobi she had grown close to.

“I cannot speak to the reality for those on the front lines,” Gaara said. “She went through… something. I don’t know.” He sighed. “She is not the woman we recall.”

“But–”

“But,” Gaara began, drawing the word out. “I have no intention of allowing harm to come to her for as long as she remains our guest.”

“You should tell her that.”

“I want to,” he said, and sighed again, running a hand over his face. “She is strong but fragile. Anything I say may set her off. She seems so delicate. Like a battered flower more than the emotional teenager from my memories. Last night, she broke down over a kunai that was meant to kill her. I do not wish to add to that.”

“Look,” Temari said, “I can’t say what everyone under Danzo’s tyranny has gone through, but from my own personal, subjective and limited experience with anything to do with that regime, I think that whatever you can imagine she endured, the reality was worse.” Her brothers shared a confused look as she continued. “I’ve heard rumours; nothing that can be corroborated. The Foundation are very good at brainwashing techniques. The really barbaric kind of techniques.”

Kankuro groaned. “What does that mean?”

“Danzo is an expert in sealing jutsu,” she continued, ignoring Kankuro and addressing Gaara. “Rumour has it that he implanted every Root member with his own personal sealing jutsu. I can only imagine what kind of invasive things he’s done to others, including Sakura.”

“Where did you hear all of this?”

“Around.”

“No wonder she is the way she is,” Kankuro said. “I’d have run off by now, in her place.”

Gaara knew from his own experience that a broken mind was easier to predict than most people believed. She had nowhere else to go but back to Konoha. It was familiar. And she likely had no idea the Resistance even existed. What else was she going to do? And he knew that runaway Leaf ninja were not spared quick deaths. It still boggled his mind that she was still a part of all that though.

“Anything’s possible,” Temari said, leaning back against the island in the middle of the kitchen and crossing her arms. “The human psyche is really complicated.”

Gaara didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but these things needed to be said. “She needs therapy.”

“Therapy?” Kankuro was confused.

Another thing he had to explain.

They both gave him strange looks.

“Maybe you could be her therapist,” Temari said. She raised an eyebrow at Gaara when he baulked. “Or maybe I’ll do it.”

“She’ll have to be willing,” he said.

“How to convince Sakura-san to go to a mind medic. Hm.” Kankuro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was clearly drawing this out for dramatic effect. “Well, I’m drawing a blank.”

Temari scoffed. “You’re always drawing a blank.”

“There’s no such thing as a mind medic,” Gaara said.

“Oh? I guess I just assumed…”

“Then what was all this talk for?”

“Civilian therapist.”

“Eh, I don’t know about that, Gaara.”

The redhead scowled. “I want to be honest with her. But… I don’t know how.”

“How she’ll take it?”

He nodded. “The civilian therapist said not to force or manipulate her into it. She has to do it willingly. And knowingly.”

“You spoke to a civilian therapist on her behalf?”

Gaara felt his face heat up. But what he was so embarrassed over, he didn’t know.

“Well, at least it’s a start.”

That was that, then. What they needed to do was convince her in a way that didn’t back her into a corner.

“How much of this do we tell her?” Kankuro asked.

“Only what’s necessary,” Gaara replied. “We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“And we need to kill that Danzo bastard,” Temari said. She rolled her eyes when Gaara raised a non-existent eyebrow. “Don’t try to convince me you’re not planning on it. This isn’t the world that Naruto wanted. And it’s his vision you’re trying to uphold. Everything you’ve been doing behind the scenes, apparently with Lord Ebizō’s approval, has been leading to Danzo’s head on a spike, right?”

Gaara sighed, nodding.

“Then it’s like I said: we need to kill that Danzo bastard.”

“Hell yeah!” Kankuro let out a whoop.

“Let’s hope it all goes according to plan.”

“Don’t be a wet noodle, Gaara.”

“Don’t forget we still have one or more council traitors to deal with first. We can’t move against Danzo until they’re disposed of.”

Temari smiled. “You really are a wet noodle, Gaara.”

He shook his head but couldn’t suppress a smile. They fell silent for a moment. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the air.

“This feels strange,” Temari said. “Talking about Sakura like this behind her back,” she added, when her brothers looked confused. “I know we don’t mean anything by it, it’s just… after everything that’s happened. I think we’re all a little broken.”

Gaara stood up straighter, unable to prevent the pang of guilt he felt at the reminder that he still sent Temari out there in this climate. His sister was too stubborn to just sit on the bench and wait it out. She had also lost someone she loved, just as Sakura had. The Nara boy whose given name Gaara could never remember. Temari didn’t even have the closure of knowing who killed the Leaf ninja, let alone how it happened.

He was just gone.

And that is why she still goes out there.

“You should ask her on a date,” Kankuro said suddenly. He blushed as they both turned to stare at him. “Well, he should.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Temari said, impressed. “He could do it under the guise of getting to know her better because of the engagement.” She poked Gaara’s arm. “Which you will do, regardless. Date her, talk to her, and try to figure out how we can help her in the meantime.”

He sighed and nodded. Gaara wasn’t opposed to the idea, but there were so many ways this could go wrong.

“This is cool,” Kankuro smiled widely. “And if they really hit it off, maybe it won’t be fake anymore.”

Gaara just rolled his eyes.

“In the meantime,” Temari said, rubbing her hands together in a mock evil genius gesture, “go get that date organised.”

“When I return tonight,” he promised, before turning on his heel and leaving.

His siblings watched him leave.

Kankuro gave Temari a one-armed hug. “Aaww, he cares about her.”

“Get off me.” She shoved him away, ignoring his yelp when Kankuro fell over. “Brothers.”

.:.

Where the hell are they?

Sakura had just returned from her day of hellish wedding plans and one of the few things that had gotten her through the day was the hope to see her ink creations returning with a dead snake in her bedroom.

Weird kink.

“Perfect for someone so fucked up.”

Sakura glanced toward the door to her closet where the mirage stood, a maniacal grin on its ugly face a shiver running down her spine. She tried standing up to the damn thing, but it made no difference. It freaked her out. Old and new pain.

“Just admit it: your little experiment failed. You took drugs to sleep better but you’re as fucked up as ever.”

“Shut up.” Sakura started pacing her room. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just a mindless, stupid, ugly mirage.”

Not mature, but she didn’t care.

The figure floated toward her, and she stepped backward.

“You’re regressing,” it said. “Letting your fears barricade you in this room. Because you know you don’t deserve anything better.”

“You’re wrong.”

It cackled.

Shaking, Sakura moved toward the window and turned away from the ugly mirror that was the mirage. It was like turning your back on an enemy when you know they have a kunai in their hand. Her own kunai was currently tucked in the window frame. She stroked the handle as it sat in the grooves of the frame, lovingly. There were no distinguishing marks, because it had been procured for a man whose final mission was to sneak into the hidden sand village for assassination, but she liked the blandness of it.

And soon it’ll shine. Soon it’ll sing and shine and kill. With poison.

She smiled at that, forcing herself to ignore the mirage, hoping it had disappeared behind her back.

The sunset was still a little while away, so she just stood and watched the light patters of the bright rays as they slowly changed colour to signal the end of the day. A soft breeze made her shiver, but she embraced it. Even the occasional shadowy hint that her Root stalker was nearby didn’t lessen the contentment she felt as she stroked the kunai. Over and over again.

Blessed silence.

And then the sun fell from the sky.

When she finally heard Gaara return and climb the stairs to his room, Sakura pushed away from the window, leaving the kunai behind. The mirage watched as she grabbed the stick of charcoal from her travel bag and wrote the kanji for twenty-four on the back of the door before leaving the room. She wasn’t going to get anywhere just hiding out with her broken psyche. It grinned at her, like it was silently challenging her to do what she was about to do. Or telling her she was too chicken to even try.

I’ll show you.

She drew a deep breath and then threw her bedroom door open. Adrenaline drove her. She moved, forcing herself not to overthink it. If she stopped and ran through the ramifications of what she was about to do, in her mind, she would not be doing it.

Now or never.

Sakura knocked on the door. His door. No hesitation. No fear. Even as she clasped her hands together in an attempt to control the trembling. Noise from within. She gulped. And forced a smile to her face as the door swung open.

Gaara looked a little surprised to see her. She supposed if her chakra wasn’t currently suppressed instinctively, he’d have sensed her coming.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Sakura cleared her throat. “Can we talk?”

Gaara moved to let her into his room and closed the door. “I was hoping to speak with you soon.”

“You were?” She was surprised.

Gods this is nerve wracking.

He looked a little nervous now too.

“We should spend some time together.”

What the hell was that?

Her eyes widened. He just blurted it out. The edges of his ears were tinged pink, and his face was slightly flushed. It was cute. He was cute. Incredibly so. She had to hold back a grin. Her heart was racing. In a good way.

“Like a date?”

He nodded. She didn’t think anyone’s face could get that red, that fast. It made her swell with pride. Maybe she could have a little fun with him after all. If he was up to it. If he even knew what that meant. But no matter how excited he was making her; Sakura still felt a bundle of nerves eating at her stomach.

“Okay,” she said, trying not to stutter. He let out a sharp breath and a genuine smiled lit up his face, making her face warm. She tried to return the smile as nonchalantly as possible. “Yeah. I’d l-like that.”

Did someone raise the thermostat? It just got incredibly hot in here.

.:.

#GaaSaku #fanfiction #my fanfiction #A Beautiful Lie

[thunderstruck9]

Rudolf Hradil (Austrian, 1925-2007), Apollo-Kino und Flakturm [Apollo Cinema and flak tower]. Watercolour on paper laid on cardboard, 37 x 55.5 cm.

#rudolf hradil #austrian art #wien #vienna

[wumblr]

gotta use my "i have very specifically warned i was going to be crass when this situation occurs" card but it's so funny when C-level executives jump off skyscrapers it's like... you HAD to be SOoO dramatic. like... the jenga tower? come on. was it even his turn? bed bath and beyond the mortal coil ass... i'm always stunned at the lack of foresight among suicide of the rich, it's like bro... plenty of stuff to do. pick up a bed bath and broom... world falling apart and you wanna hop off so you don't have to take the flak for 20% layoffs? world falling apart, it's your fault in the most mundane and stupid way, mall chain store capitalist, and you can't even accept responsibility? weak. wow. like i knew they were weak but WOW. like... oh jenga tower weak, huh. whole new type

[ukdamo]

Nefertiti in the Flak Tower

Clive James

If there was one thing Egyptian Queens were used to It was getting walled up inside a million tons Of solid rock. Nefertiti had a taste of that Before the painted head by which we know her – That neck, that pretty hat, those film-star features, The Louise Brooks of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms – Emerged to start a tour of the museums That finished in Berlin, almost for keeps. It could have been the end, but for the flak tower: With all the other treasures, she was brought there And sat the war out barely shivering, Deep in an armoured store-room built by slaves – An arrangement with which she was familiar. The guns sent up eight thousand shells a minute, Some of them big enough to turn a whole B-17 into a falling junk-yard, But the mass concussion, spread through so much concrete, Was just a rumbling tremble. In each tower At least ten thousand quaking people sheltered, Their papers having proved them Aryan. When the war stopped, the towers fought one more day Because the Russians couldn’t shoot a hole To get in. Finally they sent an envoy. The great Queen was brought out and rode in state Back to her little plinth and clean glass case. In Berlin in the spring, I cross the bridge To the Museumsinsel just to see her And dote on her while she gives me that look, The look that says: “You’ve seen one tomb, you’ve seen Them all.” For five long years the flak towers stood Fighting the enemy armies in the sky Whose flying chariots were as the locusts: An age, but less than no time to Nefertiti, Who looks as if she never heard a thing.

#poetry #clive james #WWII #nazis #flak tower #museum #museuminsel #berlin #nefertiti #bust #portrait #egypt

[captain-price-unofficially]

10.5 cm FlaK 38 gun and crew atop the Berlin Zoo Flak Tower, Berlin, Germany, Apr 1942

#april #wwii #home front

[psychiclounge]

love ur opinion on the haunted cathedral level. it's my personal favorite next to the theatre house ♡

!! thank you :"D the opera house is so good also... like i said w the mage towers ik the gold levels catch a lot of flak but i think with the exception of some of thieves' guild they're solid, fun levels with some really great visuals. also i love using the opera house textures when i'm texturing my own fms, all the backdrops and wallpapers are so fun sdlfkjsdf