#me staring real hard at the animal crossing villagers and seeing who jumped out at me

[roychewtoy]

WAYSTAR CROSSING

[sleepy-sunlight]

Hey have you been busy or have you not been getting many requests? I miss your writing! If you have the time could you write something where the inquisitor has a child (around 5 years old) and the child stays with Cullen and the others at Skyhold whenever the Inquisitor is away? Thanks, I hope you've been doing well 💞💞

I’m a mix of busy and living for the next time I sleep so it’s been a bit messy life-wise but I’m trying to start things back up! Ideally, I’m trying to set up a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule where I post a prompt on one of my three blogs each day because I should be totally free during those days!  

Anyways, thank you for your patience, and have a fantastic day!

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Cullen grew up the second oldest of four. Most of his early childhood was spent parceling out responsibilities for watching over Branson and Rosalie with Mia.  

Branson was the epitome of what his mother had liked to call a ‘wild child’. He’d climb up to the tallest trees in Honnleath and when he found himself too high to properly come back down his solution was to swing from the branches until they broke. One could only guess how well that turned out.  

Rosalie on the other hand was a fan of collecting every insect or small animal that crossed her way. Cullen could still remember the yelps his mother would try to hide at the sight of Rosalie holding a long, winding centipede in her palms. The worst was a feral fox cub that’d subsequently became loose in the house. That’d been an eventful evening.  

Neither sibling was ‘ideal’, but he supposed even he had his own faults.  

Nevertheless, it made Cullen oddly ideal with children. For all his military abilities and fighting talent, most were astonished at how in the snap of one’s fingers, Cullen could stop even the worst wailing from a child. Josephine once said she’d “pay him double his Inquisition salary to babysit her siblings.”  

Cullen had responded with “what salary?”  

Considering money was Josephine’s department, the subject was swiftly dropped.  

However, that didn’t take away from the actual babysitting Cullen found himself in.  

Very few, after all, expected the Inquisitor to have a child.  

Your child’s name was Olivia – just five years old and more of a firecracker than you were. Her hair was often in braids, so for all her running and scrambling about, she wouldn’t get caught on anything. For her birthday Varric had given her a little yellow ribbon, and she’d wear it to sleep if you didn’t insist otherwise.

She was a troublesome little thing, but she was one of the few bright things in your world, and you clearly treasured her. She’d race to you as fast as her legs could carry her when you’d return to Skyhold and every time you’d scoop her up in your arms and swing her until you both were left dizzy and stumbling throughout the courtyard. No matter where you went you always came back with something for her, and whether a fanciful toy or simply a flower, Olivia adored it.

She even had a secret hiding place for all the presents you brought her. She’d shown Cullen one evening and despite knowing just about every detail of the gifts, he’d still ask like it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on them.  

Curiously enough, Olivia had a fondness for the Commander. Often times when you and Cullen would take walks along the barracks Olivia would follow behind, holding loosely onto the end of his shroud. She liked it especially when each of you would hold one of her hands and swing her back and forth. It was… domestic in a sense. Far more than Cullen ever expected for himself.  

He’d hardly even expected to meet someone like you – so full of life and passion for all that you did. You were a breath of fresh air in the coldness he’d so well known. Cullen hoped Olivia hadn’t noticed how he stared but she was nosy – she took that from you.  

She’d been given plenty of opportunities to be nosy since you’d left, asking Cullen specifically to watch over her.  

“I won’t be long,” You’d told him the evening before you left. “But there are reports of red templars making advancements towards a village and I-”  

“I know,” Cullen hesitated but set a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t know if his smiles helped you at all, but he offered one anyway. “You don’t need to explain. I’ll help however I can, including taking care of Olivia.”  

You let out a sigh of relief and laughed. “Thank you I-” You couldn’t figure the words and so instead hugged him, winding your arms around his neck. “You’re the best.”  

He was left stunned for a moment. It wasn’t like he’d experienced much affection in his life once he’d left for the Templar order – so much as a hug was almost foreign to him.  However hesitantly, he managed to return the gesture. His hovering hands shifting to hold you tight.

He forgot how much he missed such a simple thing as a hug.  

You left shortly thereafter both of you a little sheepish but warmhearted, nonetheless. Olivia followed you to Skyhold’s gates, holding your hand but still stumbling to keep up despite her best efforts. When you knelt to meet her, she nearly ran right into you, only caught by your grip shifting to her shoulders.  

“Woah there, soldier!” You laughed softly. “You know you can’t come with me.”  

Olivia immediately began to pout. “But I’ll be good! I promise!”  

“It’s not a matter of being good, it’s dangerous.” You smiled warmly, squeezing her shoulders. “Even for the toughest kid around! You got to stay here, keep everyone safe.”  

Before Olivia could object you spoke once more, lowering your voice to a whisper. “In fact, I’ve got a super-secret mission for you. I need you to personally look after Commander Cullen – keep him out of trouble.”  

Olivia shot a quick glance to Cullen who stood a little way off, pretending to look at a set of reports.  

“Okay! I know you like him!”  

Cullen had to work very hard not to look up and see your expression in that moment. But he supposed he wouldn’t want you to see how red he’d become either. At the very least, he heard a gasp.

“I-It’s ah – it’s our little secret though! Don’t forget, okay?”  

Olivia nodded. “I won’t!”  

“Promise?”  

Olivia huffed. “I promise!”  

You chuckled. “Alright, alright. I love you, Olivia.”  

Cullen looked up to see Olivia jump up to hug you, burying her head in the crook of your neck and failing to hide the tiniest sniffle. She always hated seeing you go.  

“I love you too.”  

With a wave of your hand, you and the rest of your team left. Olivia refused to budge an inch before you disappeared beyond sight. Even then she only moved a few steps forward, perhaps in hopes to catch one last glimpse of you.  

“Miss them already, do you?” Cullen approached the child steadily, making his heavy boots clearly known to not startle her. He even spoke quietly.  

Olivia gave a meek nod, wiping at her eyes quickly.

Cullen pretended not to see – if she was anything like you it’d only make her more embarrassed.  

“I miss them too.” Cullen said. “But while they’re gone… would you want to sneak a few extra treats from the kitchen? I won’t tell if you don’t.”  

Olivia perked up just a tad. Cullen offered his hand that practically swallowed Olivia’s when she accepted it. But she smiled.  

“Okay.”  

She hid an entire extra loaf of cinnamon bread in Cullen’s shroud. It was awful, thinking of the sugar and sticky cinnamon that was sure to attract insects of all sort, but worth it. She giggled the whole time, and still considered it an ‘extreme scheme’ even though no one cared and at least three kitchen-maids watched them the entire time – pretending to hide little Olivia from everyone else.  

She didn’t even bother to have the bread cut into slices, sitting in his office breaking it apart in chunks and pieces.  

“I can cut it if you want, you know.” Cullen told her, his brows furrowed.  

“No, I like it this way. It’s a surprise every time!” Olivia raised her head to the Commander, swinging her legs in the seat across his desk. “Do you want some? I’ll share, but you can’t tell Varric! He’ll get jealous.”  

“Why would he-” Cullen immediately remembered Varric’s proud title as Olivia’s ‘partner in crime’ and found the answer for himself.  

Admittedly Cullen would’ve said no. He never had much of a sweet tooth. However, Olivia clearly wanted to give him a piece and already had two corners of the bread pinched between her fingers to give him. It was just something a person couldn’t say no to.  

“I’d love a piece.”  

It was just as sugary and sappy as he’d imagined.  

“Oi, metal britches!”  

The yelling came a few hours later, when evening started to paint the sky overhead and the sun dripped in through his windows. It didn’t take a genius to recognize Sera.  

She nearly kicked the door in, and as if that wasn’t enough, slammed her firsts against his desk with enough ferocity to shake the very earth. The mischievous glint in her eyes was anything but good.  

“As appealing as the name ‘metal britches’ is, could we try another name next time?” Cullen frowned. “Perhaps my real one?”  

“Nah, I like this one better. Listen, I’ve got this great idea for an ambush on this Orlesian snobs – and I know you hate Orlesians just as much so I was thinking I could get your head of your ar-”  

Cullen nearly jumped out of his seat trying to stop Sera. “Reserve the language for when children aren’t around?”  

“Wha-” Sera wrinkled her nose only to twist her head and see little Olivia, watching Sera with the utmost awe. Olivia happened to look up to Sera with her ‘fun-loving’ pranks. It brought comfort when you were gone. “Oh! Pipsqueak! I was wondering where you’d run off to!”  

She peered over to see the last bits of the cinnamon bread. “Mind if I swipe a piece?”  

“Mm!” Olivia eagerly gave Sera the rest. Of all the people Sera loved to torment, Olivia was never one of them. If anything, she had a soft spot for the child.  

“Oh no that ain’t necessary but you’re a sweet thing for offering.” Sera leaned in to Olivia, pretending to whisper, but only brought her voice louder for Cullen to clearly hear. “See, I was trying to get Mr. Boring over here to have some fun for once, but I don’t think he’s gonna budge.”  

“Cullen!” Olivia exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks.  

Sera stopped her further protests. “I know, what a bore! But I’m thinking if he won’t have some fun – why don’t we?”  

“Now Sera-” Cullen rose from his seat. “The Inquisitor asked me specifically to look after Olivia while they were gone-”  

“We’re not going to Halamshiraal get your knickers out of a twist!” Sera snorted. “I’ll bring her back in one piece, but a kid can’t sit around all day!”

“I…”  

Olivia was gripping excitedly at the edge of her seat, and if her toes could reach the floor they would’ve been tapping too. Anyone could see she desperately wanted to spend time with the ‘fun rogue’. Cullen could be fun too – it just didn’t include putting buckets of water over their ambassador’s door. Less dangerous fun.  

“Nothing reckless,” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I see so much as a scratch on Olivia, I’ll have your quarters repurposed to a storage closet.”  

“If I get a hair on the squirt’s head out of place, I’ll banish myself, does that make you feel better? I won’t get in the way of your crush on the boss.”  

“I do not-”

Sera and Olivia were already gone before he could even finish, giggling as the elf lifted the girl onto her shoulders and scrambled out. It was almost fascinating how quickly he could come to regret a decision.  

They were gone for a few hours, when night arrived and a chill soaked into the floor Cullen began to pace, anxious and ready to go searching top to bottom for Olivia.  

He only made it to the grand hall when he found the two of them. Sera, snoring with her head fallen back in her ornate seat with Olivia, sleeping sound in Sera’s lap. A blanket was slipped over the two of them, and just a few feet away in another chair was Varric, watching the fireplace crackle.  

“Don’t you worry Curly, I kept them distracted.” Varric laughed and took a sip of his wine. “You’d be surprised how much Buttercup loves a good story.”  

Cullen let out a sigh of relief as he made his way to Olivia. She was clutching onto to Sera and her head was laid lazily on her stomach, a slow rise and fall lifting her up and down. She looked so comfortable; it was almost hard to wake her up.  

“Was she a handful?” Cullen asked.  

“Olivia or Buttercup?”  

“Either one.” Cullen scoffed.  

“Buttercup is a given, but Olivia is always a pleasure. It’s nice to have someone actually enjoy my rough drafts – they’re just what put Sera to sleep.” Varric laughed to himself. “Everyone’s a critic.”  

“I’m surprised the Inquisitor didn’t take you with them,” Cullen remarked. “Dorian, Blackwall, and you are typically their regular party.”  

Varric simpered. “As old as Blackwall looks, I’m older – and you’ve got to give the elderly a break.”

“You can’t be beyond your late thirties.”  

Varric raised a glass amusedly. “Or maybe I just age that good. Either way, mentally, I’m in my sixties. I like to have the occasional night in!”  

“Does that mean Olivia could call you ‘grandfather’?”  

“Don’t you dare put that idea in her head Curly.”

Cullen turned his attention back to Olivia with a laugh. He gently scooped her up in his arms, and Sera only mildly objected in the form of halfhearted tugs at his gauntlets. The second Olivia felt the fur of his cloak she sank against it; even attempting to wrap herself up like a blanket.  

“Thank you for watching over her, Varric – even if only for a short time.”  

The dwarf shook his head. “No trouble. You just make sure that one gets some shut-eye.”  

Cullen took Olivia to your quarters – It had a grand enough bed that you shared with your parent when they were here anyhow. The few times Cullen had entered early, Olivia would be snuggled up among the silk sheets like a burrowed rabbit. She’d never get out if you didn’t make her.  

He pulled back the blankets and set her down gently. The second she recognized just where she was, Olivia grappled at the sheets and pull them up to her chin – even her cheeks were smothered against her pillow.  

Cullen would’ve left to return to his own room when Olivia reached out for his hand and ruined that plan.

“Can you stay, Mr. Rutherford?”  

She only used that name when she wanted something out of him. It worked every time.  

Cullen paused briefly, relenting as he sat down at the foot of the bed. “Of course, Olivia.”  

“Can I ask you something?” She mumbled, eyes only a tiny bit open and words slurring.  

He smiled softly. “Of course.”  

“Do you… do you like them?” She clearly peeked one eye open at this point. Olivia was far from subtle.  

“Like who?”  

“You know… my… parent…” Olivia sat up, rubbing at her face groggily but far too curious to sleep just yet.

Cullen’s heart jumped into his throat. He swallowed hard, and even then, his chest heaved like a drum. “Why ah – why would you ask that?”  

“I see how you stare – and how they stare. And I…” Olivia brought her knees up to her chin. “I want you to be a part of our family.”  

The rapid beating of Cullen’s heart stopped, his fidgeting fingers stopped, and his panicking brain stopped. All that remained was a warmth, gentle, and protective like a lantern in a dark night. It never felt so easy to say exactly what he meant.  

“I think I’d like that too. But I’ll have to be a bit braver before I can tell them.”  

Olivia saw his faint, nervous smile and leaned over so that she drooped over his shoulder. She did her best to drape a bit of the blanket over him but even at her best, she only managed to cover his knee. A valiant effort.  

“I’ll cheer for you then,” Olivia yawned. “so, you can get brave. Would that help?”  

Olivia truly was just like you. Maybe that was why he found himself adoring her just so much. You were always so encouraging and supportive – even at your worst, you found a way to brighten someone else’s day. You passed the kindness in your heart down to Olivia, and it showed.  

Perhaps when you returned Cullen would finally tell you all the things that’d be brimming inside of him. How he cared for you like he’d never known before and wanted nothing more than to simply do the same for you. For the first time, he felt like he could.

“I think it already is.”  

Cullen would’ve thought Olivia already fallen fast asleep were it not for the little grin spread across her face.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Boys are raise to be men. Intro

Series Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Things are different outside the city. When Bucky moves out of the city to live closer to his father’s best friend, Steve, he meets a peculiar girl from a strange family. She’s loved by everyone in the village and like him, she’s missing a limb. And, to Bucky’s surprise, she’s determined to make him part of her life.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1135

Author’s note: I am not disabled and I couldn’t ever imagine what it’s like. If you have anything to not about that aspect of the story, please send me a message so I can fix possible mistakes or misunderstandings in upcoming chapters. Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates.

Flowers blush up through the fields as spring comes around the corner. Wildflowers weave their way through the weeds and let themselves be gently pushed around by the wind. It’s almost time for the cows to go outside again and the town is anticipating it with all that it has. Seeing those animals buck around like they’re just calves is the most wonderful thing. The dim streets start to look like a fairy-tale as the flowers in the gardens bloom and trees slowly gain their leaves back. People douse themselves in lighter colors and the whole town seemed to wear a smile from the moment the first crocus peeked its head through the cold earth. Y/n skips her way through town, holding the hand of a child, who is holding the hand of another child, who is holding the hand of another child, et cetera. The group skips to the town center where the market is held. As per usual on a spring Saturday, all the children have two dollars each and are told to get themselves something for lunch. When everyone reports back to Y/n, they go into one of the fields and sit down for lunch. After that, they’ll play games and/or read until four pm. When four rolls around, Y/n forms a line again and she walks all the children home. It isn’t hard to get them home fast in a village as small as this one. You can get from one side to the other within a half-hour walk. It’s small and quaint, and Y/n has thought about leaving, about going back to the city and trying to make it in the world. Yet, she always realizes she won’t get it any better than she has it right here. Life just moves at a different pace here. A pace much more comfortable. A pace much more accepting. A pace much more loving.

‘I’m home,’ you shout through the house as you get in. You take off your boots by the door and hang your jacket. Someone calls back to you, welcoming you as you step into the living room. No one there. You always enjoy coming home. Though, at age 24, you are more than old enough to move out, you enjoy life with your siblings and stepfather who you consider to be your real dad. You enjoy each other’s company. Besides, how could you ever make a house feel as homey as your mother made this one feel? The stairs creak with the thumping of feet coming down it. That could only be one. Peter. The two of you share a nine-year age gap but have been inseparable since you met. You enjoy each other’s company, even when you’re doing completely different things. Most times, Peter does his homework at the flower shop you work at. Everyone knows your family and the rough summary of how it came to be as strange as it is. See, you two aren’t blood-related. In fact, none of you are and your stepfather carries a different name. ‘You really have to learn to lift your feet,’ you jab at Peter with a grin. He follows you to the couch and sits down beside you. ‘I got that from your mother,’ he jabs back. ‘But that woman had the biggest feet I have ever seen,’ you joke back, ‘you’ve got ballerina feet. It doesn’t make sense.’ ‘At least I’ve got two,’ he chuckles. You roll your eyes and take off the prosthetic on your left calf and hit him gently with it. He laughs and tries to shield himself from the thing. ‘What’s all the commotion,’ your stepdad calls as he walks down the stairs. ‘See Peter, that’s how you walk down the stairs. Quietly,’ you inform Peter matter-of-factly while you reattach the prosthetic, ‘by the way dad, the new prosthetic works like a charm. It’s almost as if I’ve got two feet.’ You stick out your leg to show him the metal contraption. He nods with a smile and heads over to the kitchen. Peter jumps to his feet and runs after him. ‘Hey dad, can I come to work with you this Monday? I don’t have any classes,’ he says, taking a seat at the dinner table. You follow the two and sit down with Peter at the table while your dad starts dinner, which means he puts the oven on. ‘What plan you got kid?’ ‘Y/n gave me one of her old prosthetics, one that she grew out of, and I’ve been messing with it but I think I could make it work better if I had the right tools.’ ‘Son, Stark industries is a serious business, not a playground,’ he tells Peter firmly while taking three pizzas out of the freezer. ‘And the kitchen’s for making dinner, not warming up junk food,’ you tease him in return. ‘It’s your company dad. Surely, you have a space that Peter could use for one day.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Just because my name is on that company doesn’t mean I can do whatever,’ he argues. You cross your arms and stare him down. It takes less than a few seconds for him to crack.  ‘God, you really are your mother’s daughter. Fine, Peter, you can come along Monday. But only if Y/n cooks dinner tomorrow.’ ‘I make dinner nearly every night, why would tomorrow be the exception,’ you ask him, not really wanting to know the answer. Something tells you it won’t be a positive statement. ‘Because Pepper asked if she could come over tomorrow and I don’t want her to think I’m incompetent,’ he admits. You get up, walk around the dinner table to your father, and place your hands on both his shoulders. ‘Tony Stark, you are quite literally the most genius man on earth,’ you speech, ‘you literally gave me my leg back. You are not incompetent. You just need a few cooking lessons.’ ‘Thank you, Y/n,’ he says with a smile but there are tears in his eyes, ‘you are so much like your mother.’ You feel tears poking in your own eyes. ‘No, don’t that now, I’m going to cry,’ you say wearing a proud smile but your voice beings to shake, ‘why would you do that?’ Tony laughs and pulls you into his chest, his arms gently around you. Peter looks at the two of you, proud of how far you’ve come. It took a few years for everyone to come around but you all made it in the end. And now you’re a family. Would you believe it? All these single pieces form a perfect little family together. Everyone with their own baggage and own hurt but you have each other and that’s all you could wish for.

[specialagentlokitty]

Bucky x reader - three years apart

This is for @sdavid09 Halloween writing challenge the Prompts are Movie: Casper and song: bring me to life

A/N: so I was a bit stuck on this so I decided to throw in some Soulsmate stuff inspired by an anime I love “Your Name”, Its not really Halloween or spooky but I really love how it turnt out!

Oh how the world was so cruel at times. So horrid to connect two souls together. You loved the idea, until you realised that you both weren’t in the same year.

The first time it happened you didn’t know what to do. One night you went to sleep in your bed, and the next you woke up to completely different room.

Your heart raced as you slowly sat up, eyes looking around the room, it was a nice room you’d have to give it that, but it wasn’t yours.

You slowly stood up and glanced around, eyes landing on another door you carefully walked over and slowly pulled it open.

Stepping into the bathroom and determining it was safe, you stepped in front of the mirror and nearly screamed.

How can you see into my eyes like open doors?

Leading you down, into my core

Where I've become so numb, without a soul

The eyes looking back at you weren’t your own. They were cold blue, tired and worn. Almost emotionless.

“Wh... what... h.. how...”

The voice was gruff and deep, void and nearly all emotion.

My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

You stood there in front of your shambles town, the distant memories playing through your head on repeat.

It was the only thing that kept you happy, but at the same time it was what tied you down to this place.

A memory of someone you once knew and loved, who doesn’t know what happened to you.

Your ghost simply just standing here alone day in and day out.

Until you find it there, and lead it, back, home

Bucky stood in front of the mirror, starring at the lively (E/C) eyes that stared back at him. He was confused to say the least.

“What...?” He whispered.

A phone started ringing making him jump, heading back into the bedroom, he picked it up and examined the name.

Wake me up inside

Bucky never recognised it so he ignored it and after the call ended a text came through.

‘You’re going to be late for work!’

Work? Bucky didn’t know what was going on let alone where this body worked. He gazed around the room completely lost until his eyes landed on a uniform, and a tag that he picked up as he walked over.

(Y/N).

Wake me up inside

You turnt away from the Murrow and stood in the bathroom door completely lost.

“Bucky?” Another Male voice called walking in.

A blond man came in and just stood there, when he noticed you, or rather the man’s body you were in he smiled.

“Ready?”

“For.. what?”

The man laughed and shook his head, crossing his arms.

“Training.”

“Oh.. right... yeah..”

So that was his name.

Bucky.

Call my name and save me from the dark

You woke up.

Bid my blood to run

Bucky woke up.

Before I come undone

The life you lived was just a memory of some faint dream.

Save me from the nothing I've become

Now that I know what I'm without

Weeks slipped by, and you both learnt what you could about each other. You left each other notes in your phones about what you did.

Things you could and couldn’t do or say. What you had to get done during the days. You made it easier on yourselves.

You can't just leave me

Then suddenly the changes stopped.

Both you and Bucky waited a few days but nothing happened, that’s when you both decided to search for one another, how hard could it be.

Breathe into me and make me real

You knew where Bucky lived, or at least the city. So you headed there, you always wanted to go to New York.

Bring me to life

And Bucky decided he was going to head to your town.

Wake me up inside

It was a long trek for you both, trains and busses mainly. But as you made it to New York you couldn’t help but stare in wonder and amazement at everything as you slowly made your way around.

You knew Buckys daily routine now, so you got on the subway to Brooklyn and carefully stepped off as you arrived. Eyes scanning the station as you left when a familiar figure looked in front of you.

“Bucky!” You smiled.

The broody man turnt around and gazed at you with an emotionless look. He stared at you for a moment.

“Do I know you?” He asked.

“I...” you trialled off.

Did he forget already?

You didn’t know that for Bucky this was three years before the swap. You didn’t know you were three years behind him. You thought you lived in the same time.

The sound of the announcement of a train departing cut your thoughts and you watched Bucky head towards the train so you trialed behind and stood there looking at him sadly.

He quickly spun himself around to face you.

“What’s your name?!” He ruses out.

Ripping your necklace off, you reached out, and he did the same fingers brushing each other’s as the doors started closing forcing you to bring your hands back.

Wake me up inside

Call my name and save me from the dark

“My names (Y/N) (L/N)!” You yelled just as the doors closed.

Bid my blood to run

Bucky soon arrived near your town. There was a bus stop about 20 minutes walk away, so with a smile he happily walked there.

But as he got closer his smile dropped, caution tape and faces where everywhere. He sprinted towards them, nearly crashing into them as he stopped, his fingers curling into the metal as he looked below.

A destroyed village, pieces of a life that was once there.

“It was destroyed by an earthquake...” a soft voice whispered.

It was a voice Bucky recognised instantly. Having spoke in it so many times before.

Slowly he turnt around, the sun setting over the horizon and there stood you, figure barely able to be seen.

Before I come undone

“(Y/N)...”

Save me from the nothing I've become

“Bucky...” you smiled softly.

Bring me to life

Bucky felt his heart breaking. He’d grown so close to you, he’s grown to love you.

“How...?”

“I died that night.” You whispered, “three years ago an earthquake hit. No one knew about it, absolutely no one.”

Bring me to life

“You died...”

You nodded your head and took a step closer so you were toe to toe with him.

Frozen inside, without your touch

Bucky could feel the coldness radiating from your ghostly form. He tried to reach out but his arm went through you, cold over taking it until he pulled back.

“Why an I see you...?”

“It’s called twilight. A moment everyday in which the boundaries of two words collide. It’ll be over soon.”

Without your love, darling

“It.. it can’t be!” He rushed, “I... love you...” his voice cracked.

Only you are my life

You smiled softly, raising a hand to his face before letting it trail down to the necklace on his neck.

“You kept it.” You laughed softly.

Bucky furrowed his brows, eyes turning down to look at the necklace. Then it clicked.

Three years ago.

Among the dead

You came to see him before you died.

I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems

The golden rays of sunlight started to fade, and you smiled sadly.

“It’s nearly over.”

Both of you stood there watching the sun setting, and just as the final rays hit the earth you spoke again.

“I love you too Bucky.”

Got to open my eyes to everything

Buckys eyes shot open, he spun around to you but you were gone. He stared there for minutes.

“Why am I here?” He asked.

He looked around but nothing came to mind, so with a small shrug he headed back to the bus stop.

You trailed after Bucky, he may not be able to see you, but you wanted to stay with him.

Don't let me die here

You would try to talk to him, but he’d never hear you. It had been weeks since that day but you never forgot, he did. Until tonight.

“Bucky..” you whispered, “Bucky...”

Your soft voice reached his ears, but he couldn’t place it, or where it was coming from. He simply went to bed.

“Goodnight Bucky.” You sighed.

“Goodnight (Y/N)...” he grumbled half asleep.

Bring, me, to, life

Buckys eyes opened, but he wasn’t in his room.

It was yours.

And he remembered, tonight was the night you died.

‘Save me Bucky... please...’ your voice radiated in his head.

“(Y/N)!” He yelled.

Wake me up inside

All day he planned to save you, every single minute was carefully planned.

Wake me up inside

He wasn’t going to just save you, he was going to save everyone.

Call my name and save me from the dark

As he ran, the day early ending his mind went blank again.

‘What’s your name?’ He thought, ‘what’s your name?!

Bid my blood to run

Before I come undone

Your eyes slipped open, the morning light hitting your face as you looked around. Everyone was crowed up the hill, the town below you in shambles.

But you could remember anything.

Save me from the nothing I've become

You moved to New York and everything seemed like a memory. A nameless face in the back of your mind.

A name that never came to mind.

Something you couldn’t find.

Bring me to life

It’s like you were chasing something you knew you need but didn’t remember.

Bring me to life

As you walked down the quiet street you felt it, the small pull that made you stop alongside a man who also stopped.

The pair of you slowly turnt to face each other.

“Do I know you?” He asked.

Bucky looked you up and down, why did he feel pulled towards you? Why did he feel like he knew you from somewhere?

What was your name?

“Perhaps you do.” You mused, “you do look like someone I know. But I can’t remember a name.”

“What’s your name?” He asked, “I’m Bucky Barnes.”

Bring me to life

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

[yandere-sins]

33 &/or 1 with CursedKing!Claude, (how he’s Cursed it’s up to you!)

In the end, I didn’t bring up much about the king-factor, but I hope you can still simply enjoy a manipulative, cursed Claude! Thanks for requesting! ^-^

“This is a place frozen in time, haunted by old memories. But don’t worry, we can change that soon enough.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««    

You couldn’t help yourself from looking back over your shoulders every few steps. The voices of the villagers, hunting after you even when you disappeared into the safety of the woods, still haunted your bones and reigned over your walking pace. Technically, you had been walking for at least two hours now, but you always feared that the next moment you knew, you’d be chased again by these people spouting nonsense.

You were no magician, you never had been.

Sure, you liked your herbal tea and the occasional spice in your food, but that didn’t qualify you as a being that everyone wanted to burn on top of a stake, right? Whoever stuck it to the elders that you were a user of forbidden arts should be the one burning at the stake, but not you, since you never had been anything else but a model citizen.

But here you were now, shivering, cold, at a loss of what to do. There hadn’t been a lot of time to pack, just to get dressed real quick and stuff your bag with the pure essentials from your home, the flickering of the torches drawing closer and closer until you had to jump out of the back of your house and run before they noticed. Going back there wasn’t and option now either.

All you could do was advance, and for that night that began to fall over you, find a safe place to rest until the morning. It was a challenging track to conquer, over roots, and through the thicket, and you knew that latest when the darkness covered everything, you’d be unable to navigate freely. The urgency drove you to move forward even if your legs began to hurt.

If anything, it was pure luck to find a cave so far out as you were. It wasn’t bound to a huge mountain, but rather, belonging to a cliff. With a small entrance, hidden away under roots and grass, it was perfect for someone like you, searching for a save hideout. You pushed away the thoughts of having to share your bed with countless bugs, using all your strength to divide the roots and slip inside.

You were surprised to find that behind the entrance which you had to bend down to enter, was a long, man-sized cave, going deep into the mountain. There was no torch or lighter you could have used, but you decided that if you managed to go as deep as the light from outside still allowed you, even if you were found, they wouldn’t be able to see you. Venturing forth, you used the roots sticking out from the wall to navigate, astonished when the cave made a sharp curve.

There, it would have been perfect to hide behind, as they would neither see you nor the curve, but just to be sure you walked onwards, not wanting to risk that this was a tunnel rather than a cave. The roots stopped halfway through your exploration, earthy, yet solid walls under your fingertips instead. Without seeing any lights yet, you were surprised to find cold stone- no, smoother than stone, marble, under your touch.

Through what seemed like vines, you saw the sparkles of light behind them, and you were almost disappointed, thinking you’d be thrown out at the other side of the cliff now. Carefully, you collected the plants between your fingers, pushing them aside, having to blink a few times as your eyes were hit with a brilliant light, just like the sun.

It took some time to get used to it, before you could see properly again, your jaw falling open in amazement of the architecture that spread before you. A building that seemed like a giant, round dome, with ceilings so high, you believed you had never seen anything as tall as those. There were golden, sparkling decorations everywhere, next to the very marble pillars and floor length windows. Though outside, there didn’t seem to be anything, just light which flooded the room.

Too caught up in taking in this wonderous building, you didn’t even notice the person standing in the middle, turned with their back to you. It caught you off-guard when you finally took note of their presence, making you halt immediately, body tense, ready to turn and run should this be another villager alerting the others.

But it was odd. While your life had been pleasant as it was, you had never been one to look for great wealth or power. But this person looked how you imagined a king or at least a noble person would, even from their back. You were pretty sure they couldn’t hear you since they were in the middle of the room while you had barely made five steps inside, but maybe your staring caught their attention, and they turned around as they noticed you.

And god, was he gorgeous.

He was everything you expected an angel to be. From the sweet, welcoming smile that he showed after an initial hesitation in his gaze, to the brilliant green eyes examining you from afar. The colors of his clothes were vibrant, shining even, just like seemingly soft hair that appeared well taken care of. “Oh, hello there,” he greeted you sweetly, and you weren’t sure about what to do.

Perhaps that was the moment you should have just turned and run again, but no matter what, he couldn’t be someone from your village, and you weren’t appalled by the thought of having a conversation with him. “It’s rare someone manages to find this place. What’s your name if I may ask?”

Crossing his arms behind his back, he began to approach you slowly. Even then, it wouldn’t have been too late to bolt, but if he ended up being a noble, you did not want to offend him. Unsure of how to act, you lowered your gaze, giving a quick, awkward bow to him, while your body was still half-way turned, ready to leave. “Oh, really,” he was quick to laugh, shaking his hand dismissively. “There’s no need for such formality. I’m Claude.”

“[Name],” you sheepishly introduced yourself back, finding it almost impossible to look directly into his eyes, with how beautifully they were shining. “How did you get here?” Claude’s questions continued, and you pointed back. “I came through the tunnel, the entrance was hard to find, but I thought I just found a cave until I reached this place.”

“Tunnel...” he mumbled, brows furrowing in confusion as he looked behind you. Unsure how to interpret his reaction, you too looked back, eyes gliding from side to side as you couldn’t manage to find the vines or the entrance you had come from. Confusion and panic rising, you stumbled back, but when you touched the place that you were so sure of was your exit, all you found was solid marble under your fingers.

Claude, too, helped you search for the unknown, tapping the wall to see if there was a hollow space behind it somewhere, maybe a mechanism keeping it hidden, but neither of you could find it. “H-How...” you asked, unable to understand what was going on. “Very strange,” he admitted thoughtfully.

But when he noticed how freaked out you had become by the situation, he took a step back which your body imitated subconsciously, holding out his arm to your back and softly leading you into the middle of the room. Even though you looked back at the non-existing exit, you let yourself be directed towards the small table standing there, Claude being so courteous to pull out the chair for you.

“I swear I came from there,” you assured him, and he nodded understandingly. “I believe you, but it’s a strange place indeed.”

He gallantly poured you a cup of tea as you slowly took off your backpack, settling in with his hospitality, finding yourself quite thankful for something warm and soothing to drink after the day you had. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?” you questioned him as he sat down across from you, sipping his own tea.

“Hm, you could say this is my home... or no, more like, I have to be here.”

His words were nothing short of cryptic, but it seemed to be a sensitive topic. Your first reaction was to lift the mood, you both rather tense around each other still. “Sounds like you’ve been cursed,” you noted, grinning and looking up at him, expecting him to detect the jest in your voice.

But his expression only grew cold as he stared at you. The seconds seemed to pass slower than you liked, making you doubt your own words. “Interesting that you’d know that,” Claude noted, putting down his cup. “I always thought only magicians could make out the magic that surrounded this room, but you are not a magician, are you?”

The mood seemed to do change into one that made you wary, your own cup settling on the table as you pushed your chair back carefully. “N-No, I am not.”

“Then how do you know? Know about this place; know how to get here... the curse. Did someone tell you? Someone like the magician who put me here?”

You were up the moment he stood, the table between you shaking with the sudden eruption around you. Putting up a brave smile to try and soothe the situation, you couldn’t help looking around you for an exit you might not have seen yet. “Can you find one?” he asked, and a look into his eyes gave away his feelings of helplessness and desperation. “Because I cannot. The time never moves on, never changes here. But maybe you can find an exit that I cannot.”

Claude circled the table as you did, never letting off your eyes from each other. “Wouldn’t you consider helping me? My poor, lost soul? Nothing here can hurt you, but if we want to escape, we should work together.”

“You’re scaring me,” you finally admitted as you two came to a halt. It was undeniable that something... weird was going on. But all the talks about curses and magician made you uneasy. Especially with the sparks in his eyes, as he looked at you like a key to his misery, and yet, the desperation of a wounded animal.

“I’m scared too, you know. I’ve been here for so long, and the others, they--” he cut himself off, biting his lip. “O-Others?!” you exclaimed, barely able to trust your own ears of what you were hearing. “Let’s not talk about them,” he tried to ease the tension of his own words. “Listen,” he instructed, putting his hand down on the table to show you there was no harm coming from him.

“This is a place frozen in time, haunted by old memories. But don’t worry, we can change that soon enough. You and I, we can find a way, what do you say?”

“I want to know what happened here before me. What happened to the others that you met?” you insisted, growing more and more suspicious the longer you looked into his eyes. “They didn’t make it. None of them. They couldn’t find an exit either. But you are different, I know it, you can find an end to this curse, but we need to stick together. We have the same goal, [Name].”

It was terrible that his words made sense, and you looked around you, trusting him for a moment to not do anything rash. There didn’t seem to be any door though you’d have to try the windows first before you could make a decision of not seeing any exit. “Okay... let us try,” you agreed, and he heaved a heavy sigh. This time when he rounded the table, you let him, but it surprised you when he hugged you tightly, his arms tender and warm, despite you having to doubt his realness.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into your ear, and you could only count his actions as a sincere notion, considering you weren’t able to read his face from your position. He was lucky to have found you, another soul lost in the grand scheme of the world. It might have been right that he was cursed and trapped, but so were you now, though this time it was his doing and not the curse’s. “Don’t worry, we will find a way out. We have each other to rely on, right?” his smile returned to his face as he pushed you away, and you were able to gain back a bit of your trust in him.

To you, he was just a poor soul, trapped in a curse needing your help. And to him, you were just another poor soul to keep him company in this curse he’d never be able to break anyway. He just preferred to keep you instead of sending you away, his life endlessly boring all alone in this cursed world.

The only joy that remained for him was to see how long you’d last him. His brand new human amusement. Claude had high hopes for you to become his favorite one so far.

[cruzrogue]

The Rise of the Lamb

So very AU. The part of the past that Felicity Smoak has kept tight lipped. Even before Cooper Sheldon. She had a torrid affair with the darkness which led to having her handle across all that was the dark web.

Nothing, no one could stop her then. With a broken college heart, she swore off the darken ways. That is until she walked away from another broken heart that the league of assassins created.

Her light dimming. Turning her back to a living ghost. The animal spirit of a fox. It is time for the Goddess within her to awaken again.

It was not an end. If the league of shadows wants to play. She’ll ignite the true shadows of world to seek and hunt her prey.

Watching the patrol of this area pass by. Felicity Smoak waits silently. Keeping the aura of her wrist mainframe from emitting a glow. Switching a filter on her spectacles it allows her to see in the dark as she jumps down from her perch to land quietly before the door that holds what she requirements.

Easily unlocking the coded door to enter swiftly and take back something of importance to her that the police confiscated from the foundry.

Her first act of being back to a persona she thought she’d never be again. It is bittersweet. Taking important memorabilia from SCPD’s criminal storage. She rubs the fabric between her exposed fingertips. Taking the hood that meant something to Oliver is now to be imbedded into her own disguise. This way a piece of him will always be with her.

As quickly as she came into the evidence room she is gone.

  ~~~*~~~

Back at the loft that the Queen siblings shared. A lingering sadness with an abundance of an eerie silence have the occupants keeping to themselves. With some dramatic changes. Felicity steps out of what was Oliver’s room. Like in the past, Felicity shed her outer appearance. Taking back her once darker look. Shedding the large bright wardrobe that remains at her townhome.

It is easier to move in with Thea. It is the least Felicity can do for Oliver. Keeping his sister close. Making sure the young woman gets back on her feet. The turmoil of what Ra’s Al Ghul did. It is a living nightmare. Thea at the verge of death only to be pulled back and now be cursed with an urge to kill. Blood lust.

Even with Thea’s father’s sporadic visits. If the man doesn’t get in her way. She’ll pay him no mind. He is useful in keeping Thea occupied. It adds to helping Felicity go about her tasks.

“Thea, I’m heading out. Make sure the door is locked behind me.”

“Out again?”

“Yes. I have a few things to do.”

“With the team?”

Felicity just gives the younger woman a blank look.

“Felicity?”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t wait up.” Not waiting on a reply Felicity leaves Thea’s place.

 ~~~*~~~

“I’m not sure what to make of this new look, Ms. Smoak.”

“Wasn’t asking for your opinion.”

He huffs but asks with some joking flair if she’ll be wielding a bow in memorandum to her ex-lover. It gets him to move back suddenly as Felicity gets up close that she doesn’t need to speak above a whisper. The icy glare of her eyes speaks volumes. She still murmurs a few words that has Malcolm Merlyn frozen in place. He must hand it to her. Yet again, she is one of the most incredible, interesting, and remarkable individuals that Oliver has surrounded himself with.

If he didn’t witness some maneuvers of hers a few nights ago. He would not have believed she could be more than just the central wits of the Arrow team. It only brings him to wonder if Oliver Queen knew the real woman he was longing after. She can take control and give him a stare with choice words like she did when she drugged her lover.

Not backing down from her stare out of principal. As she may be an enigma. He is still the trained man that the league had once held. No stranger to combat. Especially mind games.

They’re at a standstill.

It is Felicity who breaks it, “Your daughter had a rough day. I doubt your presence will make it any better.”

“I disagree. I think my cheery disposition is a craving she’ll take as comfort.”

“If you mean narcissism. Sure.” Felicity is already on the move, “Don’t wait up.”

Malcolm doesn’t get a chance to answer as she’s already vaulting off the roof.

 Verdant’s basement still had the bare bones of what is needed. The foundry is quiet. Especially since the SCPD raided the club. Felicity just silently walks around the almost empty place. Allowing the memory of some of the hardest moments she’s had here. The Arrow isn’t in action anymore.

With the calming rhythmic noise of her servers coming to life she starts to add to its capacity. Using it as the center hub of every other server she has connected to just on this side of the Hampshire.

She doesn’t react as a voice is heard out of an unlit corner. The bright bubbly woman she’s drowned out would have screamed. This darken demure that is now in place can show irritation. That is if she didn’t have one of the silent alerts giving her a slight advantage.

“You’re operating again?” He doesn’t need to ask if it really is her. The long lethargic stretch of time is what he questions, “Why now?”

“Hello, Bruce.” He pulls back his mask and looks around to what looks like an abandoned hideout. “What brings you to Starling City?” He doesn’t mention that she’s the one who invited him here. “What gave me away? Was it tapping into one of your satellites?”

He chuckles lowly. Both know the only reason is because she left him a calling card. She’s too good. If she didn’t want him to find it. He wouldn’t have.

“You left your calling card.”

She doesn’t smile. She hasn’t since leaving her heart in Nanda Parbat.  

“I suppose I did. Didn’t think I’d get a live bat appearance.”

“I am a little disappointed.” She just keeps her eyes on him, “You took to working for Kord, Queen, Palmer, even a stint at Tech Village. Not once even entertaining my offers.” She can’t help but roll her eyes. “We could have done some amazing real work together.”

“We crossed paths enough in my youth. I know drama when I see it.”

“Yet, you settled for working closely with a toxophilite.” Watching as the corner of her mouth curl upward. It has him inwardly groan. It seems that man’s archery skills has an positive effect on her.

He raises a hand in defeat. “I get it.” He takes a seat near her side, “Are you really going to wage war on a formidable foe?”

“I am not going to lose him.”

“You may already have.”

“Oliver is a survivor. He is one of the strongest men I have ever known.”

“You mean stubborn.”

“With some of you. It always means the same thing.”

Their history is complex. He met her in his journey to becoming the Batman. She was still a child. An amazing kid-wonder. Though that is a tale-in-itself. Now she needs help.

“What do you need from me?”

“I want you to stand aside and let me do my thing.”

Observing how she is pacing this obsolete work area. He at least can fund her better equipment. He knows at least she’ll accept that kind of help.

She seems lost in thought. Maybe thinking of a few instances that they’ve worked on some life altering causes, “Felicity?” That gets her attention again, “I asked you to not interfere once and…”

“And if I intervened earlier. She would still be alive.” That memory agitates her, “It isn’t my guilt to carry around, but you loved her Bruce. If you had some help…” He just nods at those words. It’s a death that will always haunt him.

“I know.”

“If I need you.” She pauses. It is hard to ask for help, “I’ll reach out.” Not needing to turn around to see that he has left on those last words.

For now, he will respect her wishes.

[kbstories]

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.)

Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Remember that banquet Luffy promised? This is it.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Partying

Set in Wano. Spoilers for all of Wano. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

“What do you think?”

Lipstick glides over thin lips, the wax malleable and smooth as it leaves a coat of rusty red in its wake. Killer makes sure it’s perfectly even before he glances elsewhere. In the mirror, Kidd’s face is all scowled impatience.

One last run-down – eyeliner, mascara, lipstick: done, done and done – then Killer grabs the mask waiting for him. “Alright, let me see.”

Their eyes meet and Killer sighs. Metal over skin-and-bone, Kidd’s arms are crossed; his shaved brows push together further. As if Killer doesn’t indulge his every whim by the regular.

“I’m looking. Show me again.”

Kidd grumbles, “Watch.” He opens his arms, reveals an unbuttoned shirt tucked into his favorite patterned pants, glinting gold over black under a double-belted cinch at the waist. So far, so very Kidd.

No, the point of discussion is the frankly massive coat slung across his neck: Nice soft-looking suede on the outside and glossy-grey fur on the inside, it hugs Kidd’s shoulders in all the right places to then cascade down his back in a display of near-ridiculous opulence.

Extravagant, over-the-top, flashy. It’s hard to tell which type of animal had to die for this. There must be a lot less of ‘em now, with this monstrosity in the world.

Kidd is swiveling it back and forth with critical glances to the mirror, the coat wooshing with the motions. Killer takes in the fluid glide of fur over Kidd’s exposed chest, the contrast of impeccable couture against jagged scars. Loses himself for a moment or two imagining how it would feel like to run his hands over both.

An appreciative hum. In Killer’s educated opinion, Kidd looks damn near sinful.

“Yeah?”, Kidd asks and Killer nods. “Yeah. Heh, told ya the detour’s worth it.”

Perhaps it was, although sifting through Onigashima’s treasury whilst bleeding all over heaps of shiny expensive everything might’ve been a case of skewed priorities. There’s no need to talk about what-could-have-beens, though – they’re here, they’re rich and they’re long overdue at Strawhat’s banquet.

Killer’s practically done, tight jeans under a shirt that’s done up to the third button and left to flare open otherwise. It’s not his old favorite (that one stopped fitting him a good year ago) but similar enough, patterned in geometric black-and-white shapes. Definitely one of his fancier ones, not that anyone will care one way or the other where they’re going.

It’s… been a while since it’s been anyone other than them and their crew. Pirates are pirates, allied or no; Killer eyes the scythes neatly stored next to the bed.

Kidd is touching up his lips one last time, the same shade as Killer’s. “Bring ‘em. That Roronoa guy keeps throwing you weird looks and I’m not allowed to kill him.”

Yet goes implied. Killer isn’t wearing his mask and so he doesn’t roll his eyes. “He’s got every reason to”, he reminds his captain, focusing on the heavy clasps of his weapons to keep the memories at bay. The red mark on his chest stings, stuck in the limbo between a healing wound and a fresh scar for a few days still.

A testament to his failure that Killer won’t hide. If Zoro hadn’t stopped him that day his hands would be stained with blood that cannot be washed off, not entirely.

Kidd’s eyes are on him, dark. “I don’t care.”

Resentful as always. Killer reaches for him, digs his fingers into the fluffy lining of that coat and oh, the fur is as soft as it looks. “I do, though.” A firm tug, one Kidd follows until Killer can kiss him, careful not to smudge anything.

“No killing of allies today, ‘kay? We just came back from a war. The crew’s tired. I’m tired.”

“Mh” is all Kidd has to say to that, a grumpy huff against Killer’s lips more than anything. Kidd does give him a proper kiss, however, and Killer knows he won this one.

All he can ask of Kidd is to try, anyways – with two equally hot-headed captains and a whole host of morons around to rile him up, there’s bound to be blood eventually. The trick is to make sure everyone’s drunk enough not to take it too personally.

A pinch to his ass tells Killer he was caught scheming. Kidd smirks, tells him, “We’re getting wasted tonight”, all triumphant like it’s the best idea he’s had all week, and Killer doesn’t miss the emphasis on we.

“Two Emperors down! Strawhat better bring the good stuff tonight or this alliance is over.”

Killer groans, “Kidd”, but he’s smiling, too. Before he can be called out on it, Killer shoves his mask into Kidd’s hands, metal clanking against metal. “Make yourself useful. We’re late.”

Kidd’s laugh is more of a cackle than anything else – “Yes, darling”, said in that sarcastic lilt Killer knows all too well – yet Kidd complies. His hands, organic or otherwise, handle the mask they’ve built with care and precision. Soon, Killer’s vision is narrowed down to dots, the audio filter of his helmet kicking in soon after.

Killer rolls his neck and hums, satisfied. “Ready?”

Kidd throws a final look at himself in the mirror, grinning into the collar of his new coat.

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

*

The banquet is a sprawling, messy affair that swallows the entirety of the ramshackle village the Strawhats picked as their home in Wano Country.

From the moment the Kidd Pirates get there they are surrounded. Wherever Killer's eyes roam there are knots of people drinking, eating, laughing and crying, sometimes simultaneously – there, at the heart of it all where the crowd is thickest, burns the largest bonfire Killer has seen in a while, perhaps ever. Smiling faces all around and for once, it doesn’t make Killer’s stomach drop because they’re genuine.

Survivors of SMILE just like him, caught in the rush of real emotions for the first time in who knows how long. Killer has a pretty good idea how that feels like.

Next to him, Kidd is so tense he’s stalking, gaze intense, oozing Haki to keep people away; Wire’s hand is clenched to bloodlessness around his trident while Heat exhales a bit of smoke with every breath and yeah, Killer gets it. Can’t help it himself, either, scythes kept close to his sides to make sure they’re there.

The thing is: They don’t do these kinds of things. Parties, yes, many and often but not like this. Killer can count on one hand the amounts of times the population of any island was actually happy to see them, much less willing to send them off with one big feast.

Actually, he wouldn’t need to count at all because it’s simply never happened. Even filtered by his mask it’s… a lot to take in at once.

The entire damn country is here, it seems, all breathing a collective sigh of relief so monumental the air itself carries their joy. For all that the Kidd Pirates were in this for revenge and glory, Killer can’t deny it’s rewarding to see a nation so ravaged by an Emperor’s greed do whatever they want for the first time in decades.

Finally, a few familiar faces start popping up. Some of the samurai greet them with nods of their heads, overly formal like the people from Wano tend to be; here and there they spot the distinctly branded yukata the members of Trafalgar’s crew are wearing and, rarer but all the more noticeable, those animal people Strawhat dragged along from somewhere.

Minks? Or something? Killer is inclined to say it doesn’t matter if they didn’t have the habit to jump on them out of fucking nowhere. Looking for bone-crushing hugs and wet-nosed kisses, of all things, and– Oh no, he did not sign up for this.

Much less for whatever that group of cat minks are gearing up to, staring at the holes in his mask with eyes nearly swallowed by black, round pupils. Killer is absolutely, solidly convinced he doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about.

“Captain.”

And yeah, his tone is a little more alarmed than he truly means it to be. It gets Kidd’s attention, though – himself having fought off a dog mink enamored with his metal arm not too long ago – and he barks a laugh even when he ramps up his presence to an almost stifling degree.

“C’mon, I feel Strawhat up ahead.”

To nobody’s surprise, they find him smack dab in the middle of everything. Strawhat and his crew are lounging around the bonfire, there’s no other way to describe it: All broad smiles and flushed faces amidst the chaos, completely in their element, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the closeness to the bonfire or the vaguely impressive amounts of empty bottles lying around already. They’re certainly boisterous enough for it to be the latter, even Jinbei.

And no, Killer hasn’t quite processed that turn of events yet. The strangeness of seeing someone of that caliber wheeze into his mug with laughter as his (new?) captain takes a disturbingly big bite out of an even bigger chunk of meat is… not helping things, in that regard.

What a bunch of weirdos. In the safety of his mask, Killer allows himself a small smile.

From here the flames seem to reach for the sky, tinged in warm pinks and oranges by the sinking sun and there, very faintly, Killer can make out the first stars. He can’t remember ever seeing them, not with the factories running over night as well.

“Spikey!!”

Ah. Killer’s head turns with Kidd’s and it’s a good thing, too, because there’s a stretched arm coming for his captain – Kidd bites out, “Nope, no, Strawhat”, red eyes going wide – and Killer manages to side-step it in the last possible second. One, twice it wraps around Kidd, fancy coat and all, and then the rubber recoils.

“Killer!”

Oh my, Killer thinks mildly as he watches him go. Behind him, half their crew is flabbergasted and the other half is in stitches. “Captain’s gonna be in such a mood”, Heat says to Wire, and it just sends them into another fit of chuckles.

For Killer, finding a drink becomes his top priority. So much for keeping things peaceful.

>>Chapter 2.

[whitecatindisguise]

The Sundrop Alchemist (18)

We’re getting close to the end, guys. Just few more chapters. I’m happy and sad at the same time, because I really like writing this story.

Anyway, onwards with this chapter.

Summary: The truth about Varian’s family is finally revealed. Hugo must save his newly-earned brother before it’ll be too late.

AO3 link is here.

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Chapter 18: Truth Revealed

Varian didn’t remember the way back to the tower. He felt like in a daze, blindly following Mother, her hand gripping his wrist a little too hard, the fact he was completely oblivious to. His mind was spinning, reliving the events from the past week. 

Meeting Hugo, leaving the tower, the Snuggly Duckling, running from the guards and almost drowning in the cave, wandering through Old Corona, the lanterns, Donella and everything that transpired in her base, escaping with Hugo… and finally those two red-haired brothers and a mad dash through the forest in an attempt to escape. If it wasn’t for Mother… Varian shivered at the thought of what could have happened if they caught him. 

He felt a gentle thug on his hair and blinked, emerging from his thoughts. They were back at the tower, the boy didn’t even register how they got inside. He was sat at the chair, Mother unbraiding his hair. It felt familiar, something they did several times throughout the years. Yet, Varian had this feeling inside, something telling him this wasn’t right, that something was off.

The last of his braids came off and Mother hummed in approval, before standing up and brushing off her dress. 

“Now, let’s start on the dinner, shall we?” She said, making her way towards the kitchen. “I am starving. Don’t you, Flower?”

Varian stared at Mother’s back, still not exactly out of his daze. There was something he was forgetting, a thug at the back of his mind. Something important, he knew. But he couldn’t quite place what it was about. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Flower.” Mother spoke up again, her back turned to him. 

“Just… I think I’m forgetting something.” He replied, biting on the inside of his cheek. 

“How about helping me with the dinner?” She suggested in a tone not quite the one he remembered. “You don’t really expect me to prepare it all by myself?”

“I don’t think that’s it…” Varian muttered under his breath and the woman huffed in annoyance. 

“Varian, how many times should I tell you to speak clearly?” She shot him an angered glare. “You know I hate it when you mumble.”

“I’m sorry…” The word “mother” somehow didn’t sound right and he wondered why. 

“I’m sorry, who, Flower?” The woman prompted and Varian suddenly felt strangely annoyed. 

“I’m not in the mood right.” He shot back through his teeth. “But I guess being kidnapped, tortured and held hostage for a week doesn’t really give me a right to feel tired, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know what got into you, Flower.” Mother raised one brow and he could see she was getting annoyed too. “Is this the way to speak to your Mother?”

“Maybe I don’t want to speak to you?!” Varian replied, feeling more angry with every second. “Did it ever occur to you?! Or you are so self-absorbed you don’t even care what I feel?!”

“That’s it!!” The woman shouted, face scrunched in anger, its colours almost the same as her dress. “Go to your room, now!!”

“YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER!!” The blonde cried out, and suddenly, the tower was silent. 

They stared at each other, and Varian could swear, the woman stumbled a little at his wording. But, as fast as it happened, her posture was back to its usual regal-like, as if nothing happened at all. She chuckled and smiled at him. For some reason, Varian felt she was nervous and the smile was fake. 

“What are you talking about, Flower?” She asked and Varian suddenly remembered. 

He remembered the bookstore in Old Corona, the drawing in the history books, all the facts pointing to a single conclusion…

“I am the lost son.” He whispered, eyes widening in shock. 

It all made sense now. How he looked so similar to the small boy on the drawing, the lanterns that were sent out on the day of the lost son’s birthday, HIS birthday, the age, the same as the boy’s…

“Varian, I hate it when you-” The woman said and he cut her off almost immediately, brows furrowing in anger.

“I am the lost son of Old Corona’s village leader, aren’t I?” He repeated, this time louder, his gaze staring into the woman in anger. “You stole me from my real parents! You lied to me! You- you kept me in this tower so you could have my powers for yourself!” He threw his hands apart, trembling with anger. “The people you warned me about, the ones who would use my powers for their own benefit. You are just like them!”

Mother- no, not Mother, his kidnapper, stared at him in shock. It seemed she was weighing her options, now that the cards were on the table. Suddenly, her whole posture changed. 

She pushed her shoulders back, making herself bigger than normal. Her mouth turned into a malicious smile, eyes glaring at him with such power, he instinctively took a step back. 

“Oh.. you think you are so smart, aren’t you?” She sneered, taking a step in his direction, making him move back. “That you figured it out and now you’ll just go back to your parents-” She spat out the word as if it burned her tongue.”-and live happily ever after. With this little friend of yours, what was his name? Henry? Huey? Oh… that’s right…” Her gaze turned malicious and Varian felt a shiver go up his spine. “Hugo…”

“What did you do?!” He cried, trying to not sound terrified. She laughed and he felt another shiver tremble his frame. 

“I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s left on a well-deserved holidays. His own room, who cares if the doors are locked and the window has bars?” She replied nonchalantly. “He won’t leave it for at least few years, knowing his crime record.”

“You sent him to jail?!” Varian shouted and the woman sent him a death glare. 

“Be thankful I didn’t kill him on the spot.” She sneered and in two large strolls she had him pinned to the wall. “Now, be a good boy and sit still. Mother needs to pack.”

~~~~~~

Hugo’s head lowered and he stared at the cracked floor. How stupid of him to forget about The Stabbingtons. He heard a lot about the two brothers over his years as a thief. He knew they were ruthless and didn’t forgive traitors. Still, he was too confident and proud to think he could trick them, escape with the loot and not face any consequences. 

He should be thanking whatever god was up there they only decided to knock him out and give him up to the guards. They could have easily killed him, especially right then, when he was tired from all the running and had no weapons on him. But his fate wasn’t what troubled him, if he was to be honest. 

The Stabbingtons knew about Varian. Somehow, they learned of his existence and, what was even worse, about his powers. Sure, the kid was resourceful and could easily knock a head or two with his frying pan, but The Stabbingtons weren’t regular thugs. Varian wouldn’t stand a chance against the two. His blood froze at the thought of the boy on the brothers’ mercy. And he couldn’t do anything from behind those bars. 

Suddenly, he heard shouts at the end of the corridor. They were barely audible at the beginning, but soon he was able to distinguish words and, what was even more surprising, the familiarity of the voices. Shocked, he approached the bars to his own cell and looked towards the source of the shouting. 

To his surprise, the guards were leading the same two people he was just thinking about. The Stabbingtons were shouting threats and insults at the guards, while trying to somehow escape. All to no avail, and they were quickly shoved inside another cell, directly opposite Hugo’s. 

“What are you doing here?” The bespectacled teen questioned, confused by the whole ordeal. It was hard to imagine Varian beat the brothers up and left them for the guards to find. 

The brothers were silent, so he decided on a different approach, taking up his usual nonchalant tone. 

“What? Did the kid give you a hard time?” He smirked and crossed his arms on his chest. 

“Hah, the kid was scared like a baby of the monster under its bed.” Burnsie replied with a huff of annoyance. “It was the damn lady.”

“Lady? What lady?” Hugo questioned, genuinely interested now. “You mean his mother?”

“Mother? What a joke!” Patchy barked a deep laugh. “Gothel would never have a kid of her own. She hates kids like dogs hate cats.”

“She tricked us. First she told us about the kid and his powers, and when we almost got him, she knocked us unconscious and led the guards to us.” Burnsie explained. “She probably wants the powers all to herself. Wrecked witch.”

Hugo felt the gears turning in his brain. If Mother and Gothel were the same person (and, at this point, it was safe to assume they were) then Varian was in deep, deep trouble. Especially, if he really is the lost son. During the time in Donella’s base Hugo not once heard the kid mumble about it, and it seemed very probable at this point. If Varian somehow let it slip to Gothel, then who knew what the witch would do. Hugo wasn’t stupid, he heard about Gothel several times. And none of the things he knew were good. 

A sudden chitter made all three of the prisoners jump in surprise. Hugo looked down and his eyes widened at the sight of the familiar raccoon. 

“Ruddiger?” He called and the animal chittered in response, coming closer and pushing something inside his cell. He picked it up and noticed it was the key to his cell. The clever raccoon must have stolen it from the guards. But if Ruddiger was here, then that must have meant- “Goggles is in trouble, isn’t he?” 

Ruddiger chittered anxiously and pointed at the key and at the door. Hugo wasted not another minute to open the cell and follow the raccoon. 

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?!” He heard guards calling after him. Crap, he’d have to lose them before he can go after Varian. 

Suddenly he heard a loud war cry and the guards were pinned to the wall by one of the pub thugs, Atilla, if he remembered correctly. He stared in shock at the scene, when he was suddenly grabbed by the shirt. With a hook. 

“Hook Hand?” He questioned, eyes widening. “How did you guys know-?”

“The raccoon led us here. He was pretty persuasive.” The man explained and set the teen roughly on one side of the plank, the other facing up, leaning against the barrel. Ruddiger scrambled up his shoulders and gripped him tightly with his claws. “Now, head down, arms in, knees apart.” Hook Hand instructed. Hugo, baffled, followed the instructions and then he heard another cry and looked up. 

Vladimir was flying through the air, having just jumped down from the second floor, and fell right on the other side of the plank. With a terrified yell, Hugo was shot up and over the prison wall, landing safely on the other side, in the haystack. 

“What was THAT?!” He cried, shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness. 

“Come on, McCoy! Before they open the gates!” Another thug, Toll, called out. Hugo saw he was holding the reins of a horse and he immediately understood the intentions. He jumped up the horse’s back and grabbed the reins, shooting a quick thank you to the man. 

“Come on, Ruddiger. Let’s save our princess.” He smirked and urged the horse to run. 

[ezilys]

Emmay #9

Favorite Emmy headcanon

It all began in a conversation with @kyoukalay

and I said OMG IM SURE EMMY LOVES ANIMAL CROSSING

And then we went crazy about it. So yep, kind of collab

enjoy

(thx bby @kyoukalay for the

erm

the plot ._.

I just write what you said so ._.

yup.

Thx. ._.)

@kirbapy ~~

Emmy ALWAYS loved Animal crossing.

She has every game from the GameCube to the 3DS and she spent so much hours on these games she lost the count. When New Horizons was announced, she screamed so much she lost her voice the next day and scared the poor professor.

A few days after the release, Emmy and Luke were in the professor's home, playing together. As the fan she was, Emmy had the special Edition and Luke had the Pokemon one, since he LOVED Evoli.

The young boy was casually sitting on the professor's armchair while Emmy was laying on the couch, supporting her body with her elbows since she was on her belly. They were chatting about what their island.

Luke's was named "MisthIslandy" and his objective was to recruit the cutest villagers of the game. He didn't played as much as Emmy did, so his island was still in construction, but he wanted to respect the "real life" aspect of the game and waited to have all of the houses and shops without time travelling. Emmy, on the other hand, time travelled so much she was in December, while being in April in real life. She worked so hard on "Karate Island" that Luke was surprised how beautiful it looks : a huge sport gym in a cute island. Her mission was to recruit only sporty villagers, and so she went on mysteries island to find them for almost an hour now.

"Hey, Luke, look what I found !" she said after a while, showing him her Switch. Her character, a real copy of her, was standing next to a rather cute blue frog. When the boy saw it, he jumped of the chair.

"Oh, it's Lily ! Emmy, I was searching for her for so long ! What kind of luck do you have ?"

"Hehe. I won't tell you my secrets, baby."

"I'm not a baby !"

"Of course you're not." She said, smiling as she took her Switch back. "I'll recruit her and give her to you only if you find me Peewee."

"Peewee isn't even cute."

"If you ever insult my villagers I'll let Lily on this island and you won't get her."

Luke looked at her with his puppy eyes and started begging her to no do this. As he did, Flora, who just got home from the groceries, went to their side after putting what she brought on the kitchen table.

"Are you still playing ?"

"Yup ! I just found a froggie girl that Luke wants. Would you mind telling him to stop clutching at my legs whining, please ? Because if he doesn't stop I'll leeave the Island."

Luke quickly got up and went to the chair. "You promised !"

"I didn't. I said, get me Peewee, I'll give you Lily. That's the deal."

Flora stared at Emmy's character running around the mystery island with wide eyes. She also liked that game and actually got it a few days after its release, but didn't play as much as these two.

"How do you do to switch your items so fast ? Do you open your inventory at all ?"

Emmy stopped, slowly turning her hand towards her. "What ? Are you serious ?"

"Flora, it's the basics ! Don't you play at the game ?" Luke asked, laughing.

"I do, but I just unlocked the shop..."

Emmy head fell on the couch, smiling. "Go get your Switch. I'll help you."

When the professor got home after work, he found his assistant with the two kids, playing as they were when he left. When he asked if they even ate today, Emmy hummed in response, making him giggle. They could be so childish sometimes.

He sat besides her.

"Look professor ! Emmy got me Lily !" Luke said, beaming. Emmy showed him the little frog on the screen, already in her house.

"She seems so weird in my island, surrounded by sporty babies. Such a cute little thingy..."

Emmy leaned on the professor's arm, putting her switch in his hands; "Hey, look, I just completed my museum ! I told you I would do it this week."

Layton wasn't very familiar with the concept of Animal Crossing but Emmy started explaining everything to him and even though he never played any games, he felt like he's known it forever. He naturally moved the little Emmy to the musem and started wandering in the alleys.

"Oh. I thought representations of the dinosaurs wouldn't be realistic, but it sure is a good work. Look..."

And then he started showing them every skeletons and talkking about it. Luke and Flora were listening with interest, but Emmy soon began to feel bored by the non-stop chatting professor.

"Hershel !" she cried after a few minutes, taking her Switch out of his hands and pouting. "Blathers is  already as boring as possible, I beg tou, pleaaaase, don't act like him or I'll get mad in seconds!"

A startled Layton looked at his assistant, before putting his hand on the brim of his hat, smiling.

"I thought you liked him because he disgusts insects just like you."

"I hold nothing to him. I'm just glad SOMEONE shares my horror of those hellish thingies. BUT ! Before you arrived, I was heading to another island. Let's do that, hm ? You'll be my lucky charm."

"For what ?"

"I'm still searching for another villager. Since this little guy right there," she pointed at Luke. "stole me a house in my OWN island with his squishy friend, I can't recruit all of the characters I want but I still want to get one today. Even if I have to stay awake all night."

At that, the little Emmy dashed to the airport. When the loading screen went out, she quickly started searching for the mysterious villager.

"So, who did you got ?" Flora said.

Emmy frowned, but soon her eyes lighted up before she screams.

"I GOT KID CAT !"

"It's not fair ! How do you do to get every villager you want ?" Luke cried. "I always got the wrong one !"

Emmy was beaming next to a crushed professor, since she jumped from the couch before letting herself fall in it with joy. But at the moment she fell, everyone heard a little crack beneath her.

Emmy looked at Hershel with worried eyes before slowly getting up. She didn't see that her Switch was on Hershel's lap...

Luckily for her, the right Joycon took all the damage and her console were still functionning. But it  turned out before she could speak to her villager. She ended on the floor, whining at her loss, with a laughing Luke and a worried Flora.

The next day, Layton came home with a new Joycon and a little Charly plushie for his little childish assistant.

[neo-kajatrash]

Short WoW fic below the cut:

If anyone’s interested :/ It’s about my boy Ruszell, and my other boy Karuon. 

Fall from Venture Co.

“I’m gettin’ real sick o’ your attitude, boy!” the older goblin growled, pointing a knobby finger at Ruszell and taking a threatening step closer.

Ruszell held his ground and glared right back at him, turning his round nose up and baring his sharp teeth. The messy brown hair that wasn’t tied up in his ponytail fell over his forehead, and his bright pink eyes glinted with annoyance and frustration. He leaned with his elbow on the handle of his pickaxe, wearing only his working pants and boots, with his shirt tied around his waist and suspenders hanging over his hips. Sweat from the day’s work glistened on his earthy green skin in the evening sunlight, which cast long shadows across the grass in front of him.

They stood at one of the smaller entrances to the Venture Co. Mine--just a few feet from a tall cliff that dropped down to the plains of Mulgore--and were only now just taking their afternoon break. A few other goblins were taking their break as well, but they all sat closer to the entrance near the log piles enjoying the shade the mountain provided and talking amongst themselves. Just beyond the rocky clearing was the beautiful dry valley, stretching on for miles below and practically glowing in the setting sun. From where they were, they could see much of Mulgore and its peppering of pine forests and rivers--along with the tall silhouette of Thunder Bluff far away against the cloudless sky.

Ruszell hadn’t eaten yet, so he was getting even more annoyed that this old goblin he only just met a few weeks ago was trying to start something with him. His large, turned-up ears swiveled towards him angrily, multiple piercings swaying from the movement.

“Ahh, shove off!” he barked back. “I’m only just lettin’ you lot know that I don’t belong here with all o’ you. I’m supposed to be all over Azeroth, traveling and adding to my map--if it weren’t for my dragon being stolen!”

“So you’ve said,” the older goblin grumbled, dark eyes narrowing. “About a million times over! What makes you so much more special than any of us? Too ‘good’ for this work, huh? I swear if I hear about your so-called ‘adventures’ one more time, I’ll--”

“You’ll what, old man?”

The goblin stopped and glared at him for a moment, wrinkled face twisting with anger. But then he seemed to relax slightly, and his voice lowered.

“I’ll get rid o’ ya... so we don’t have to hear it no more. Anyone ever tell ya you’re unbearable to be around, ya lousy conceited git?”

He took another step towards him, clutching his own pickaxe in his hand. Ruszell stiffened a little, ears flicking back for a moment as if remembering that only a few steps behind him was nothing but a sheer cliff.

“Ahh, shut ya trap,” the hunter argued back, glancing around a little uncomfortably. “What, ya gonna kill me? Just cause I’m better than you, and you’re jealous? Huh?”

“...Ya say ya had a dragon, right?”

Uneasy now, Ruszell swallowed and lifted his pickaxe. He glared harder at the goblin as if daring him to take another step closer, but it was obvious by his trembling ears he was getting nervous over his threats.

“Yeah,” he answered through his teeth. “A rocket-enhanced, two-headed wyvern.”

“Well then… you better hope it’ll show up now and save ya, then,” the older goblin said with a crooked, malicious smile.

In a bit of a panic from the miner’s aggressive tone, Ruszell lunged toward him--but the old man was too fast. Without warning the goblin swung his pickaxe and flung the young hunter’s own tool out of his hands, sending it clattering backwards down the cliffside. Ruszell’s eyes widened at that and he tried to jump past his attacker to avoid him, but the fed-up goblin quickly swung again. He caught the younger goblin’s bare side with the end of his pickaxe, sending blood splattering over the grass and drawing a shocked and painful shout from its victim.

“Aauughh!! Damn!”

The injured goblin fell to his hands and knees, breathing hard and wincing as sticky blood seeped over his skin. Head bowed, he quickly lifted a hand to grip his wound, as if it would help.

After a short second of suffering he looked back up at his enemy, seething furiously with pain glimmering in his eyes. But instead of fighting, he started to scramble desperately further from the cliff, towards safety--and possibly towards another goblin miner who would help him... However the old man just chuckled darkly and leaned down to grab him forcefully by the neck. Dragging him up with strength that the younger goblin didn’t expect, he walked back towards the cliff and only stopped when Ruszell was hanging over the edge by his outstretched arm.

Scratching hard at the old man’s strong hand around his throat and thrashing his feet as he choked, Ruszell’s eyes were now only filled to the brim with mortal panic. His face paled when he glanced down at the lightly forested plains below, watching as his own blood dripped down his leg and sailed towards the earth.

“P-Please!!” he gasped as he struggled in the air, pink eyes wide and ears pulled far back. “Don’t… I-I’m--s-sorry…!”

“Heh… too late, little boy…” the older goblin hissed, still holding his pickaxe in his other hand. “I’d tell ya you’ve learned your lesson for next time… if there was to be a next time.”

“L-let me go…!” Ruszell pleaded pitifully, heart pounding and chest rising and falling with panicked breaths. His whole body trembled with the threat of death so close, and he had no way to escape. Was this really how it was all going to end?

“Poor choice of words,” answered the old man with a smirk.

The miner suddenly released his grip, watching with satisfaction as the younger goblin plunged downwards. Crying out with fear, Ruszell tried in vain to grab the dusty cliffside with scrambling hands on his way down… But soon the old goblin couldn’t see him anymore, and only just heard his screams echoing in the dry air.

After a good moment of just staring out at the plains, the old miner just sniffed and hoisted his bloodied pickaxe over his shoulder.

“Good riddance, kid.”

The large black and white tauren sighed tiredly and glanced around, running his fingers through the loose black hair that fell forward between his curved, front-facing horns. He huffed through his ringed nose, pierced ears flicking for a moment to ward off small flies. As he put his hand back down and stroked his braided beard once, his bright green eyes searched the place for any more herbs he needed.

Karuon decided he was all stocked up on gathering, and shifted his bag over his shoulder as he turned around to go back home. He walked casually through the few pine trees as he made his way north, glancing up at the darkening sky. He figured he’d be back to Bloodhoof Village by the time the sun set below the towering mountains that surrounded the valley.

However, he wasn’t expecting to suddenly catch such a strong whiff of blood. Turning his large head and making his beaded necklaces sway with the movement, he stopped in his hooved tracks and stared with wide eyes at something a good few feet away that he never expected to come across. It was a shirtless goblin on his back, clothes torn and caked in dirt and blood--as he had obviously fallen from the cliff and rolled a long ways down. It seemed as though his arm was broken badly, and his face was turned away towards the rocks, ears and body limp as death. Karuon felt a spell of grief and horror at seeing such a terrible sight on such a nice afternoon… but he had nothing to do with this poor dead goblin, and opted to just leave him where he was. Either someone else would find him, he thought a little guiltily--or the animals nearby would soon have an easy meal.

But just as he was about to move on, his floppy ear perked up at a small sound. A sound of slow, pained breathing. This goblin was alive… and now Karuon knew he couldn’t just leave him here. Even if he was to die soon, at least the tauren druid would be sound in the knowledge that he tried his best to help him. He’d never heard anything very good about the people of his stereotypically untrustworthy race, and he had to admit he didn’t love the idea of even touching the dirty little guy… But that wasn’t enough to dissuade him from kneeling down and carefully picking him up. Surprised at how light he was, he cradled him safely in his arms and tried not to hurt him more than he already was. Red blood from his mouth was smeared over his cheek, as well as from multiple cuts on his face and body. The goblin was all sticky with dust and sweat, too, which made Karuon’s large nostrils wrinkle--but still he was determined to do what he could for the small, injured thing.

The sun was slowly disappearing along the mountain range when Karuon returned to the village, and he hurried to his tent near the outskirts before anyone could see what he was holding. Gingerly laying the unconscious goblin down on a thin rug over the soft, grassy ground, the tauren turned and closed his tent door by fastening the beads on the edges. Then he sat down near his hurt guest with his legs crossed, sighing to himself and mumbling that his home would smell like dirty goblin blood for a while.

In the pale darkness cast through the fabric of his tent, Karuon took a moment to just stare at the goblin. He’d never actually been so up-close with one before--besides walking past the good few that usually bustled around Thunder Bluff for trade, but they never paid him much mind. Their ears were so big, and their green bodies so small and stocky, with such long faces and large hands and feet… the tauren couldn’t help but stare.

But when the injured goblin stirred a little and coughed blood over his stubbly chin, Karuon was suddenly reminded why he brought him here in the first place. He quickly took a rag and a bucket of water from the other side of his tent and cleaned the little guy up, managing to wipe away all the blood and dirt he could. He was still scored with cuts and bruises, especially the large gash on his side--not to mention his broken bones and the little, unhealable tears in his ears--and for a moment Karuon felt bad that he didn’t have a potion or a healer to help him quicker.

As he stared down at the goblin again, the tauren figured he could go to a shaman he knew of in the village. Sure it would be an awkward conversation, this late in the evening… but wasn’t this a matter of life or death he was dealing with--goblin or no? Besides… he couldn’t deny that he liked having an excuse to speak with the shaman he had in mind.

Ruszell’s face twisted and he suddenly smelled all sorts of grass, earth, and leather around him. He was warm but shivering, and his weak ears slowly straightened against the ground. It took him a moment… but when he finally remembered what just happened to him, his eyes flew open and he shot up.

Immediately wracked with the pain of broken ribs and a broken arm, not to mention the dark bruises that were forming all over, he grunted and groaned and fell weakly back to the ground with a soft thud. He choked on blood for a minute before managing to swallow it, gritting his teeth at the splitting headache that made him feel sick. He couldn’t move his arm and the thought made him panic a little… Then with fearful breaths he finally opened his eyes again, and looked around at what looked to be the inside of a tent… or a home… Where was he?

It was just then that Karuon returned and ducked back into the tent, with a promise from the shaman that she would meet him here soon to heal the little stranger. He was surprised to see the goblin awake so soon, and he was also a little proud of himself that he’d managed to help him this far. However, the goblin did not seem grateful; he tried to scramble painfully away on the grass and lifted his hand in defense--snapped arm useless by his side.

“Back off!!” he shouted in goblin with a broken, scratchy voice, baring his sharp teeth stained red. He trembled and breathed hard against his cracked ribs, confused and afraid of this strange place. But just now he noticed how he’d been cleaned up… and when he stared into the tauren’s green eyes, he saw no malice.

Karuon frowned and hurriedly lifted his hands to show he wasn’t armed, staying a good distance from the goblin and still standing.

“Don’t worry…” he said softly in orcish. “You’re safe… You fell a long way, little goblin.”

Ruszell’s hand dropped and his eyes welled up with shocked tears as he sat back on it in the padded-down grass, realizing just how close he was to death--and yet he’d been spared from it. His ears drooped back and he looked up at the stranger with chattering teeth and clouded, pain-filled eyes.

“...Th-thank you…” he answered in goblin, feeling his pride crumble as he admitted his gratitude.

Karuon didn’t know what he said, and now he wasn’t sure this goblin could even speak orcish. He wasn’t expecting him to look so fallen apart, though, and he wondered if he really understood this was a safe place.

“...So, this is the one in need of healing?” came a deep, female voice from behind Karuon, before he could say anything more. When he moved aside, the shaman peered at the frightened, beaten up goblin curiously and entered. She slowly kneeled down a couple of feet from Ruszell, who was having a hard time processing what was happening as he was mostly just wincing and huffing and distracted by the pain. Giving him a calm nod of greeting and a soft “hello,” the light brown tauren woman held her hands up towards him and emitted the only healing spell she currently knew, palms glowing.

Ruszell didn’t know how to respond or feel--but all he knew was that the terrible pain all throughout his body was fading away. His bones slowly mended and he gasped and coughed with freed lungs, shocked but feeling so much better. After a long minute of this, the shaman stopped and put her hands on her lap, sighing tiredly with the mana she’d exerted.

“...How unexpected, that you should be found...” she said with flicking ears, watching with gratification at her own abilities as Ruszell stood up cautiously and dizzily with perked, yet newly-scarred ears. He gazed down at his healed body with shock and relief, moving his arm and flexing his fingers--which just moments ago he couldn’t move at all.

“Thank you, for this,” Karuon said quietly to her.

Ruszell finally looked back up at the two tauren with misty eyes, amazed that they would bother to save him and feeling more lucky than ever.

“...I… I-I don’t got no money…” he confessed in orcish with trembling ears, holding out his empty palms as if to show them. He assumed they expected payment for this, and he worried that since he couldn’t, they might try to take something from him or maybe track him down.

“For saving your life?” Karuon asked with a casual wave of his large hand, glad that the stranger understood. He stepped closer to the two of them with a soft thud of his hooves on the grass. “Leave your healer’s payment to me, goblin. All I ask is that you go to Mulgore’s capital now--and with this, they’ll lend you a ride back to wherever you came from.”

He reached out and dropped a couple of coins into the goblin’s outstretched hands, much to Ruszell’s surprise. As Karuon did so the shaman woman looked at him with a lovely soft expression, and he easily yet somewhat bashfully returned it.

“No… I owe ya my life,” Ruszell finally said with a weak voice, taking their attention away from each other. But he slunk around the edge of the tent towards the exit while still facing them, hand over his rapidly beating heart to show his sincerity.

“I’ll be back one day… To repay you… Believe me…”

And with that, he was gone.

The lucky goblin quickly made his way by foot in the darkness along the clear road to Thunder Bluff. As he walked, he untied his shirt from his waist to button it up again, and pulled his suspenders back up over his shoulders. As he did so, he stared up at the quiet, dim stars with watery eyes and a shaky sigh... He now viewed his rescued life in a completely different, much more humble light.

[cerillosvillage]

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Fourteen: Turpentine 

I crossed the tracks/ I crossed the line/ I doused my heart with turpentine

The witch's home was the most desolate place Ib had ever seen, and the most creepy. The ride had taken him two whole days by following Cinna's instructions, which were exceptionally hard to follow out in the flat, empty desert. The threat of Nelan and her dust storms loomed heavy over him every moment of those two days, but the sky remained blessedly clear overhead. He could see the wall of dirt hanging over the landscape to the Northwest, though.

The witch's home was a single large tent made of a fabric that had no doubt once been dyed in bright patterns, but which had been bleached by the sun. When he first spotted the tent, he thought that it had been surrounded by a picket fence - an odd feature for such an exposed structure. But as he grew closer, he realized that what he thought were white posts were bleached bones lashed together with barbed wire.

Five tall wooden stakes were erected in the yard-like space in front of the tent, inside the bone fence. Cattle skulls sat on top of the stakes, and desiccated crows were nailed just beneath them.

Ib was no stranger to death; as a mercenary he saw - and was the cause of - a lot of it. But something about this tent set him on-edge. He got the feeling that not all of the bones that made up the fence were animal, or that they had all died of natural causes. He would never admit to it, but he was a little afraid that he might join them.

There was a lake just beyond the tent, which Ib was glad to see had not just been a mirage, but he dared not drink out of it, even though most of the canteens he'd packed were empty.

A silence like none he had ever known blanketed the place. There were no voices, no animals, not even any wind. Just hot, still, dead air. He dismounted from his horse and brought it inside the ring of animal bones, fixing its reigns to a post and hoping that nothing bad would befall it. Silently - to speak felt like it might shatter the place apart like a glass bubble - he pulled aside the tent's flap and stepped inside.

He hadn't been sure what to expect from the witch, but it definitely wasn't what he saw. A trim, elegant woman with skin like burnt ochre stood near the far wall of the tent. She was exceedingly beautiful, with high cheekbones and a hooked nose, and long dark brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Her skin shone like it had been rubbed with bits of mica.

And she was shirtless, clearly in the process of dressing. He saw her in profile, the shape of her breasts and a series of tattoos like the phases of the moon that ran down her side.

He was so taken by surprise that he couldn't help but stare for a moment. Etiquette - what little he had - soon kicked in and he cleared his throat, mumbled an apology, and turned back around to face the tent flap.

"I'll only be a moment," she said in a voice that reminded him of rich black coffee. "I'm usually quite good with my timing, but you arrived a bit earlier than I had predicted."

Again he mumbled something, staring down at the overlapping rugs that made up the tent's floor. After a long stretch of time in which he had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder - and which he felt was some sort of test on her part - a hand touched his shoulder. He jumped slightly, turning to look at her. She had made no sound while she was dressing or approaching him.

She wore dark colors, blacks and browns, in gauzy fabrics that hung in pleats. Her entire body was covered, her hair and neck hidden by a loosely wrapped head scarf, with only her face and hands showing. On her face was a bemused expression, almost a smirk.

"Are you Badb?" He asked, not sure why he was feeling so embarrassed. He'd seen plenty of women naked, but in this he felt like he had come across something he was not supposed to see.

"Yes. And you're Ib, aren't you?" She replied. The edges of her mouth curled up like she was enjoying some private joke.

Had he mentioned his name already? He wasn't sure.

She released his shoulder and moved towards the center of the room. He followed her, though he felt like his body was moving without him.

"I've been sent by the Cerillos village," he said. "I was lead to believe you might be able to help us with--"

"With Nelan, yes," Badb completed his sentence, nodding sagely. She drifted towards the western wall of the tent. The tent was dim, lit only by a small oil lamp, so it took Ib a moment to realize that the thing she was standing in front of was a rack of weapons. His thoughts flashed to the bone fence outside.

"So you know about her."

"Yes, I know about her. She's quite the troublemaker, isn't she? She has problems when she lacks direction."

He wasn't satisfied with that answer. It felt like she was keeping things from him on purpose. He had never liked cryptic types.

"So, can you help us get rid of her?" He asked, not bothering to hide his frustration.

She plucked a curved sword from the rack and unsheathed it. The familiar sound of metal sliding past metal put Ib in mind of battlefields. He immediately regretted the tone he had used with her.

"Of course." She said as she resheathed the sword. He wondered if she had taken it out purely as a warning.

"...But it will cost you."

"Money's of no concern," he said. "I have a considerable amount - gold, jewels, goods - name your price, I'm willing to pay it."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. There was something predatory in that smile. "Oh, it's not money I'm after."

Ib sighed. "Cinna warned me about this," he said. "Very well, if that's what it'll take…" He made for the buckles on the side of his kilt.

Badb laughed. "Oh, no, I'm not looking for that," she said. "Besides, even if I were, you're not my type. I like men who put more care into their personal hygiene."

He bristled at that. He put plenty of care into his hygiene. But he wasn't going to talk back to her.

"You don't want gold, you don't want sex -- what do you want?"

She thought for a moment, tapping her fingers to her lips. She continued to look at him the way a cat looks at a bird. She was definitely toying with him.

"Ajra's love," she eventually announced.

"Wh-- her love?" He blinked in confusion.

"Yes. Specifically, her love for you. If I give you what you need to defeat Nelan, you give up your chance for Ajra to ever love you."

It was like the wind had been knocked out of him. He staggered, found a chair, and collapsed into it. Give up Ajra's love? Did he even want Ajra to love him? He had never wanted love from anybody. He had grown up without ever experiencing love of any kind - be it from a mother or a friend or a sexual partner. He'd never thought about love. It simply never factored into any of his plans for himself.

But Ajra…

He'd been interested in her before he'd even thought of trying to meet her. The stories he heard about her had impressed him. He wanted to meet her, to look this woman who had formed such a powerful cult in the eye and ask her how she did it.

And he couldn't deny that he was attracted to her. The first time he laid eyes on her, he got the distinct impression that she could crush him if she so desired, and he'd wanted her to. He'd wanted to fuck her, to feel her arms around him and to hear her make soft noises for him. But then he got that, and he found he wanted more. He wanted her to stay the night. He never wanted anyone to stay the night.

Ajra's love. Could it be that that was what he was looking for? He'd never used the word before, but as soon as Badb said it, it all made sense to him.

But this witch was trying to take it away from him as soon as he had figured out that that was what he wanted. Obviously his answer would be no.

Wouldn't it? He could have Ajra's love. He could take her away from the village, he could be the loyal follower she always wanted, and he could give her so much. He could give her an army, he could give her strategies, he could elevate her to the power she always wanted.

Except he couldn't. She would never leave Grax, and Grax would never let Ib give her an army. Besides, she seemed somehow beholden to the village. She refused to leave it, even when she lost her followers and the village returned to its original people. And if she stayed, she - and everyone else - would be killed by Nelan.

Ib wasn't sure if he wanted her love. But he knew he wanted her to be happy. She would only be happy in the village. And the village would only survive if he received whatever he needed to defeat Nelan. And in order to defeat Nelan, he had to give up any hope that Ajra might one day love him.

He hung his head.

"There's no real choice, is there?" He said softly.

"There's always a choice," Badb replied. She had come to stand before him.

He bit his lip. She was right. He could just leave. Forsake the village, find someone new to follow, forget about Ajra. He could do that.

He just didn't want to.

"I'll do it," he murmured. "Whatever I need to do… just tell me how to defeat her."

One of Badb's hands brushed his forehead, smoothing his hair back and out of his face. Her other hand cupped his chin, bringing his face up to look at her. She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

He wasn't sure, but he felt like he lost something within him in that moment.

"You made the right decision," she whispered before straightening up.

"Here," she picked up the curved sword and held it out. He stood and carefully took it with both hands.

"This will defeat her?"

"This will enable you to be able to defeat her if you so choose," she said. Again with the cryptic answers.

"It'll be dark in a few hours," she continued. "You are welcome to stay here for the night, and use the lake to refill your water. And don't worry about the storms. You'll be free from the dust at least until you return to the village."

Ib felt heavy, and tired. He didn't particularly want to spend a night in the witch's tent, but all of a sudden he could hardly keep his eyes open. He only barely managed to shuffle over to a pile of cushions she indicated to him before he collapsed and fell into a fitful sleep, punctuated by dreams of Ajra's body turning to a choking dust.

[hilltopsunset]

Animal Crossing: New Horizons – A Great Game Gated by Absolutely Horrendous QoL Issues

I know Animal Crossing: New Horizons has now been out for over a year and half at this point, but I didn’t invest much time into the game when it was released back in March 2020; I got it for my then-girlfriend for her birthday on release, let her make an island on our shared Nintendo Switch, and basically just tagged along here and there while she did her thing. It wasn’t until a few months ago I finally decided to get my own Switch, and bought ACNH as my very first title. I was in an easygoing mood, and the game suited the laid-back vibe I was looking for; I also wanted some sort of creative outlet, and designing an island sounded like fun.

And it was! And is! I continue to play on a daily basis—right now I’m trying to breed flowers to get all the purple varieties, because I have the lofty goal of using all the flower types to create a sunset gradient out of yellows, oranges, pinks and purples. It’s going to be super cool, and I am so excited to work on that project more. Besides that, I obviously haven’t yet captured all the fish, bugs, or sea creatures because I haven’t been playing through all the seasons (because I’m not time jumping, because I’m not a cheaty-face) and while I was honestly super lucky with the villagers provided to me by the RNG gods, I do have a list of villagers I would eventually like to replace with others, just for the sake of variety both in personality and animal types.

Ok, so, I lied. A little bit. The pace of the game at the beginning is extremely slow—you can only do so much on day one before you’ve run out of island to explore and resources to gather—so I did do a little bit of time-jumping at first, basically until my island was developed enough to provide plenty of errands on a real-time daily basis (basically once I had the vault pole and ladder so that I could explore the whole island, I was happy). After that, I reset time back to present-day and haven’t skipped at all since.

Watching my Island grow has been super satisfying, and it has now been fully-developed for so long, it’s hard to remember what it was like when I first stepped foot onto Effret (named after the world in the novel series I’m writing). I went into designing my island with the philosophy of trying to leave as much of the natural shapes and structures as possible without sacrificing artistic needs or travel efficiency. But while I did try to generally plan some basic format to the “village” part of my island, I wasn’t mathematically exacting enough in a few cases, which led to a few inconvenient path-management situations, bringing to light one of a plethora of quality-of-life issues the game suffers: inability to move structures by small increments.

If you do want to move a structure, you need to move it someplace where there are no occupied ground cells, meaning you can’t nudge your store one cell up, like I want to. Instead, the process has to be:

1. Notify Tom Nook of the desire to move the store 2. Pay 50,000 bells 3. Select a completely unoccupied location onto which the store will sit temporarily a. This step also requires that your island is not so developed that you actually even have someplace you can move the dang thing temporarily 4. Wait until the next day 5. Perform steps 1-4 a second time, this time placing the store in the desired location

While it’s admittedly not the absolute worst thing, it is a bit annoying that it’s a 3-day process rather than just a next-day situation, the way that it could be if that minor adjustment was made; just make it so buildings can be re-placed within cells the building already occupies. That should not be so much to ask.

Unfortunately, this was the first of many, many gripes I have developed over the past few months of playing, and I find myself frequently muttering the phrase “this should not be so much to ask” repeatedly until the muttering because incoherent yelling. But rather than harp on all these issues in this general review, I actually plan on writing a separate article completely dedicated to the deluge of dilemmas I’ve detected so far. As a brief introduction to that article, here’s a concise list of some topics I plan to touch on: inventory and item stacks, local and online multiplayer limitations and issues, menu traps, shopping limitations, lacking villager dialogue, item placement difficulties, and custom design woes.

Despite these frequent and often incredibly annoying and/or time-consuming troubles, the game overall has been a charming experience that I look forward to every day. Most of the repetitive nature of the game doesn’t feel like a grindy second-job the way that other games can. It requires patience rather than skill, and it’s nice to have a game I can go to when I want to relax…as long as I don’t go fishing. Fishing is probably the most stressful part of ACNH, even though I have caught a cacophony of costly creatures with my constant casting; I once made 750,000 bells in a single transaction with the beaver villager who buys fish for a boosted amount. It was nutty. But there’s this reward for catching 100 fish in a row, and I wasn’t even paying attention to it until I was at about 90 catches in a row; of course, 6 fish later, I encountered a big boy that barely nibbled my bate before it bolted, and now I’m left staring at this “96” every time I look at the goal. Also, my girlfriend and I have a sort of silent agreement whenever we play together which we never discussed, where if either of us casts a fishing line, the other basically stops everything and goes completely silent to provide optimal fishing focus. That’s true love right there.

Speaking of accomplishing things without really giving it a concerted effort, I wasn’t even really trying to hit the 5-star island rating, but one day I was walking around and found a cute little white flower I had never seen before. Lo and behold, this flower called the Lily-of-the-Valley only spawns if and when an island has maintained a 5-star rating. Imagine my surprise! So I guess you could say I’ve beaten the game at this point. It also means I can now get golden roses, which I’d like to include in my sunset flower patch! Which reminds me: I haven’t yet watered my flowers, I should go do that soon.

In summary, I’m having a lot of fun with ACNH, and I’m excited to experience some non-summer seasons. It’s been a couple weeks into the beginning of Autumn, and I’ve accumulated some nice DIY recipes I still need to work on; those trees better prepare themselves for extended vigorous shaking. I do think I’m beginning to eke into the “end game” where there seems to be a noticeable lack of content, but I don’t particularly mind; I find the few daily chores engaging enough to hold my interest on a daily basis, and I’m not trying to play the game for several hours on end each day. It’s more of a nice way to wake up (check for new flowers, grab some bells from my bell tree, check out the daily visitor) and something to look forward to when I get home from work (scope out the stores, shake some trees for furniture, tend the flowers).

Personal rating: 4✹/5✹

I know there are little content patches still being released from time to time, but honestly what I’d rather see is a patch that addresses the multitudinous gripes I detail in my next article. Stay tuned for that! I’ve got opinions, let me tell yuh…

[ehyde]

The Golden Spirit in the Dark Forest

A spirit has lain sleeping, unmoving, in the woods for longer than anyone can remember. For the girl who's by his side as he wakes, nothing will ever be the same, as she learns he is both far more kind and far more terrible than anyone in her village imagined.

(Based on @kanafinwhy‘s idea that every ghost story and cryptid in Kouka can be traced back to Zeno. This is a story about Zeno during the long time he spent alone, seen through the eyes of an ordinary young girl. Thanks to @luckyfilbert for beta reading!)

Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona Wordcount: 5,570 Characters: Zeno, original characters Pairings: none Warnings: body horror, graphic depiction of violence (all related to Zeno) Rating: PG-13 (see above) AO3 link

The morning sun, filtered through the dense evergreen forest canopy, still hasn’t driven away the dewdrops resting on the undergrowth as Sani races along the narrow trail. As she brushes past ferns and horsetails, tiny sprays of water droplets fan out behind her, sparkling in the mottled sunlight. By the time she reaches the crest of the hill, the bottom of her skirt is damp, too, but she hardly cares. She’ll be out long enough for the summer sun to dry it off, and her parents will be none the wiser. She’s not supposed to come this far into the woods alone, but the best blackberries grow in the valley beyond the guardian’s tree.

Sani shivers, and it has nothing to do with the cool morning breeze. She’s almost at the guardian’s tree now, and she’ll have to walk right past it to get to the blackberry bushes. It’s not dangerous. It shouldn’t be frightening. The tree itself is an ancient nutmeg-yew, uncommon but not exactly rare. An ordinary tree. Just like the spirit who lies beneath it appears to be an ordinary boy. But the roots that twist around him, over him, under him—Sani doesn’t like to think about that. Doesn’t like to think about how every year’s winter buries him in snow and ice, only for spring to leave him looking as peaceful as ever before, the soft rise and fall of his chest visible to anyone who pauses long enough to look. The guardian spirit has lain trapped beneath his tree for longer than anyone in the village can remember. Some stories say that he’s an evil spirit, bound there. Other stories say he’s a god. Sani’s father always said that the truth probably lay somewhere in the middle, and he warned Sani never to get too close—and to always leave an offering, just in case.

She rounds the bend in the trail in time to see a beam of sunlight catch the spirit’s face at just the right angle. Dewdrops cover his soft skin and his dandelion-yellow hair, and they sparkle like diamonds. Sani almost wants to step off the trail and reach out and touch him, but she holds herself back. Instead, she bows toward the spirit and pulls a riceball out of her basket, setting it on the ground near the tree as an offering. Of course it’ll just get eaten by bugs, or maybe squirrels, but it would be bad not to leave anything at all. That taken care of, Sani steps back. A shadow shifts, and the guardian’s face loses its ethereal cast, taking on a colder, haunting shadow. Quickly, Sani turns away and races ahead along the trail and doesn’t look back.

The morning sun is finally starting to warm up, and Sani's basket of berries is half-full, when she hears a voice calling out. Echoes carry it back and forth across the valley and she can't make out any words, but it's definitely a human voice, not a bird or animal. Has her father come searching for her? Sani scrambles up the hill back onto the trail, scratching herself a little on blackberry prickles as she climbs.

“Hello?” the voice calls out again. “Someone’s there, right?” No, that isn’t her father. It doesn’t sound like anyone Sani knows. She keeps to the shadows and inches along the trail. A stranger visiting the village could be exciting, but might also be dangerous. “If I could get…a little help…?”

Sani blinks. “Did you fall and hurt yourself?” she calls, looking around. She’s almost past the guardian’s tree now, which means she’s not that far from the village; she could probably help someone walk that far. “Where are you? I don’t see anyone.”

“Ah, Miss…”

The voice is right behind her. Slowly, Sani turns around. There, still lying beneath his tree, still wrapped in roots and vines and covered in a thin blanket of last year’s—maybe many years’—fallen leaves, the forest’s guardian spirit looks up at her with wide, bright eyes.

“Aaah!” Sani jumps, falling backwards over a fallen branch behind her, spilling most of her basket.

“Sorry, sorry! Zeno didn’t mean to scare you!” Slowly, shakily, Sani stands up, but she doesn’t step any closer. “Looks like a big tree branch fell, it’s got Zeno pinned down real good! If you could just help shift it…”

Sani bows to the boy and his tree again. “Guardian spirit of the forest—” She remembers one particular story about the forest guardian. “Are—are you trying to trick me into taking your place?”

“…huh?” The spirit blinks. And Sani doesn’t think he’s acting. He really looks confused. “Guardian…?”

Sani takes a deep breath and darts across the trail. “It’s not a tree branch,” she says, brushing away the layer of leaves and dirt so that the boy—the spirit—can see for himself. Hastily she steps back out of reach.

The spirit shifts his head a little—only a little, as the roots that grow around him allow for hardly any movement—and his eyes widen. He tenses within the confines of his prison and his breathing comes faster. He’s trying to move, frantic, but all he can do is twitch beneath the tight coils of the ancient tree. Sani stares in horrified fascination.

Finally, he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again, he seems perfectly calm. “Ah, Zeno must have been asleep for a long time.” He sighs. “It’s a good thing you were close by! Zeno saw that riceball, and thought maybe there was someone close enough to hear. Did the miss drop it?”

“That…it was your offering…”

The spirit closes his eyes. “That thing you called Zeno. Guardian spirit. Zeno isn’t…that.”

Sani takes another step back, shaking. “Then…then you are an evil spirit.”

“Ah…”

“Or—”

“Well, one thing Zeno is, is hungry! If that riceball is for Zeno, could the miss hand it a little closer?”

She shouldn’t get that close. But the riceball is his offering, and keeping it from him could be even worse. And she was right next to him just a minute ago, and nothing bad happened. She steps closer, bending down to pick up the riceball. “It’s dirty,” she begins, but the spirit doesn’t object. Sani holds it out, then realizes that she’s going to have to actually feed it to him. His arms are pinned in place. And it’s hard to believe he’s an evil spirit trying to trick her when she’s watching him spill bits of rice down his face as he bites off messy pieces. Somehow, she gets the impression he’d be a messy eater even with hands and utensils. “Um,” she says when he’s finished. “Would you like some blackberries too?”

The whole time the spirit eats, Sani studies the network of roots covering him. Here and there bits of thread peek out from under them, remnants of fabric long since worn away by the weather. A glint of gold catches her eye, too: a necklace she never noticed before, its chain tangled but surprisingly unbroken. The medallion itself is half buried beneath the biggest root. Wider than her leg, that root presses against the side of the spirit's head and crosses his chest and stomach from shoulder to hip. “I don’t think I can get you out,” Sani confesses, when the spirit, his face dripping with purple juice, has eaten the last berry.

“It’s a problem,” the spirit agrees. “But Zeno’s been in worse spots!”

Sani stands up. She’s decided. Setting the spirit free won’t be bad. Won’t be dangerous. “I’ll go get Father’s axe,” she says.

“Ah, wait—” the spirit calls after her, but she’s already running back down the trail towards the village.

After what she saw in the woods, Father's workshop seems far too normal. The forest guardian woke up! How can Father go about his day like nothing's different? He's talking to a customer—the village mayor, actually, who Father is going to build a new house for—which means that he just might be distracted enough that Sani can grab his axe while he's not looking. She tiptoes across the dusty room. The big axe is heavier than she thought! Maybe she should take the little hatchet instead. Or a saw? No, it would take forever to cut through those big roots with those!

But as Sani lifts the axe down from the wall, she loses her balance and drops it. She jumps back as it falls to the ground with a thud. “Sani, what are you doing?” her father turns to ask her.

“Nothing!” He only looks at her. “I—I need this.”

“What possibly for?” the mayor asks.

“Um—”

Father sighs. “Really, Sani, what for? If it's a project you want to make, we can work on it together in the evening. But you should be helping your mother right now.”

“It's not that!”

“Sani…” There's a warning note to his voice now.

“The forest guardian woke up!”

Father blinks. “…what?”

“I know I'm not supposed to go that far in the woods by myself but the blackberries are ripe so I did, and the forest guardian, he's awake, only he's still stuck in his tree and…and I was going to cut him out,” she finishes.

Father and the mayor give each other a look. “Your daughter has quite the imagination,” the mayor says.

“She wouldn't make up a story like this,” Father says, before Sani has a chance to protest. “We’ll go investigate,” he says. “Sani, wait here.”

Everyone in the village knows the path to the guardian’s tree; Sani doesn’t need to show them the way. But she follows anyway, and when they get there, the spirit doesn’t look at all surprised to see the two men. “Hello there!” he greets them. It’s hard to remember how peaceful he looked when he was asleep. Awake, the reclining pose he’s forced to keep looks awkward and uncomfortable.

The mayor makes the sign against the evil eye. Father just looks at the spirit for a long time. “We know you’re not human,” he finally says.

“That’s right,” the spirit admits.

“You’re a monster,” says the mayor. “A demon! I don’t know what you said to young Sani that she would try to set you free!” It’s only then that Sani realizes neither her father nor the mayor brought anything that could cut through the roots that bind the spirit in place. Maybe the spirit expected that—his left hand is free now, and there are scratches in the ground and fresh dirt all around it. But Sani doesn't think he'll be able to dig his whole body free the way he got his hand out.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “Why shouldn’t we free him?”

Father takes her hand. “Sani,” he says. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. It may look helpless, but a spirit like this is powerful.” Sani glances down at his free hand again. Is that really true? “Setting it free would put everyone in the village in danger.”

“But—”

“Look, Sani. The tree itself has bound him here. A creature like this goes against nature, and even the forest knows it.”

“I…” Sani thinks back to the uneasy feeling she’d always gotten whenever she walked past the guardian’s tree before. Were the spirit’s smile and cheerful words just a trick after all? But he was so happy just to eat a few blackberries!

“Zeno can’t even say you’re wrong,” says the spirit. “But I won’t hurt your village, or anyone else. I swear it. Zeno doesn’t even know where your village is!”

The mayor shakes his head. “We cannot set you free.”

“Ah, that’s what Zeno guessed.” He looks past the two men and into Sani’s eyes. “It’s okay! This tree watched over Zeno for a long time, so it would be a shame to hurt it just to get Zeno out. But things will turn out alright in the end!”

Father turns his back before the spirit finishes speaking. He grabs Sani by the hand, pulling her away, and Sani casts one final glance back at the spirit before she’s forced to follow. The spirit is smiling, but his eyes are scared and afraid.

When they get home, the mayor forbids anyone from approaching the guardian's tree. From even entering the forest. Sani doesn’t understand. Father and the mayor should know what they’re talking about, so if they say the spirit is dangerous…but Sani is scared for him, not of him. That night when she goes to bed, she twists herself up in her blanket and holds as still as she can and tries to imagine what it's like to be held so tight, but she can't do it. She squirms free of the blanket and cries herself to sleep.

The next morning is gray and cloudy, and whispers follow her throughout the day. “I heard you spoke to the forest guardian,” her father’s apprentice, Dae-won says. “Is that true? You’re braver than I thought!” He’s two years older than her and has always treated her like a child, up until now.

“It wasn’t like that,” says Sani. “He wasn’t trying to do anything bad.” She doesn’t think.

“Still,” says Dae-won.

“It was easy to talk to him,” says Sani. “He was nice!” She doesn’t want to think that was a trick. “I don’t know why everyone’s so sure he wants to hurt the village. He was friendly, he really was! I want to go back and see him again,” she confesses.

Dae-won looks away. “Sani,” he says. “The mayor…probably has a good reason to think he’d want to hurt us.”

“…Dae-won? Do you know what it is?”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re only twelve…no one ever dared you?”

“Dared me to what?”

“To try to wake the guardian up.”

“No…” Sani pauses. She thinks about everything the spirit must have slept through, rain and thunder and freezing cold and who knows what wild animals. “But it never worked, right?”

“That’s just it,” says Dae-won. “Nothing worked.”

It takes a moment for Sani to understand what he means. “Dae-won—you didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“I just poked him with a stick a little!” He pauses. “Garan used a knife. And he bled but then it was like he’d never been cut at all. I don’t know what else…how far back…I mean, all the boys do it.” Sani takes a step back. She wants to ask how could you? but she remembers the mix of fear and fascination she’d once felt—still feels?—towards the sleeping guardian and she wonders, if a friend had dared her—what would she have done?

“They're scared of what he'll do in return,” she realizes. The offerings Father always insisted they leave…were they an apology? “It's not fair! They're punishing him for something they did!”

“It’s not like they mean it as a punishment,�� Dae-won says. “They’re just being careful, just until he falls asleep again. Then it won’t matter anymore.”

“What if…what if I dared you to help me free him?”

Dae-won lifts his hands in protest. “No way,” he says. “No way.”

“Coward.” Sani makes to leave, the turns back around to shout “you’re just as bad as them!” before she storms away.

That night, she takes Father’s hatchet (after admitting the axe was too heavy after all) and sneaks out into the woods by herself. She’s never been this way in the dark before—that’s always been against the rules too, dangerous for practical reasons that actually made sense. But the clouds that darkened the day are gone now, and the moon is nearly full, and it’s not hard to find her way. “Guardian spirit!” she whispers as she gets closer. She’s not sure why she’s whispering.

“Zeno’s still here!”

She jumps again, still startled by his voice. “I came to get you out!” she says. By now the spirit has dug both hands free, but that’s as far as he’s come. He can’t bend his arms enough to dig any further. She lifts the hatchet, about to start chopping some of the smaller roots, when the spirit raises his voice to stop her.

“No, wait!” he says. “Zeno meant it, yesterday. If you cut through all these roots, the tree would probably die.”

“It’s only a tree…” Sani frowns. “Or is it? Is it a spirit too?”

“Hah! It’s only a tree! But it was Zeno’s home for a long time, right?”

“Well…you could cut it down and build a house and then it would still be your home!”

“Ah, you’re clever!” says the spirit. “But also…this tree is probably older than Zeno, so Zeno wants it to stick around.”

“Then how do I set you free?”

The spirit casts a hard look at Sani’s hatchet and she thinks maybe he's reconsidering. “Ah, no, Zeno can't ask you to do that.” He sighs. “It'll take a while, but Zeno’s sure to get out eventually.”

“I guess I could help you dig, too…” says Sani. She kneels down beside the spirit and starts working at the dirt underneath his arm, loosening it with the back end of the hatchet's head.

“Say, did the miss bring anything to eat?” the spirit asks as she works.

Sani gasps. “I forgot an offering! I'll bring plenty of food next time!”

“Maybe the miss can bring a blanket, too,” the spirit suggests. “It's pretty chilly out here at night!”

“…really?”

“Well, maybe the miss isn't cold because she's working hard!”

“No, I mean…you were covered in snow every winter…”

“…oh.” The spirit falls silent, and Sani returns to her work. She thinks that if she can just pry a little more dirt out, make a little more space, he'll be able to free his whole arm. Then the hatchet slips in her fingers and the blade cuts a deep gash just below the spirit’s shoulder. He yells, startled, and warm, sticky blood wells up beneath Sani’s fingers.

“I’m sorry!” She jerks back and drops the hatchet, but as she stares at the bloody gash, it closes up on its own. Just like Dae-won said. She keeps staring. Finally, far too late, she asks “are you alright?”

He nods, staring at her like he's waiting for something else. Then, finally, he looks up at the sky. “The moon’s setting soon,” he says. “Miss should probably go home before it’s dark!”

“Oh! Let me just—” A little more digging, finishing what she’d started before…that…happened, and the spirit’s arm is free. “Now you can do more yourself.” She still doesn't really think he can dig himself out. The really big root isn't holding him against the ground, but against the tree trunk. But even so, with one arm free he doesn't have to hold so still. Right away he reaches for his golden necklace, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he grips it tight. “Um…I'll come back tomorrow night,” says Sani.

The spirit looks up at her. “Leave that hatchet here,” he says. “Then Zeno can get more done.”

It’s true. With a tool, he could do a lot more than with just his hands. She wishes she could, but she shakes her head. “Father would notice if it was missing. Sorry! But I promise I'll come back!”

Sani stumbles through the next day half asleep, waiting for night to come again. She goes to bed and closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep until her parents have gone to sleep too—but when she opens her eyes again, it's morning. Will the forest guardian think she forgot about him? She gathers up as much extra food as she can sneak away, to make up for both the forgotten offering and her absence. In the afternoon, as she helps Mother chop firewood with that same hatchet, she thinks about how much easier it would be if the spirit just let her chop through those tree roots. She could free him all in one night! And…it’s not like he could exactly stop her from doing it. But she doesn’t want him to be mad at her when he’s free.

“The miss came back!” As far as Sani can tell, the only progress the spirit has made in the past two days is to untangle all the roots and vines from his face, so that he can turn and lift his head however he wants. She thinks she'd want to be able to look around, too. “Zeno thought maybe the miss got in trouble.”

“No, I just…”

“Or…or was scared to come back.”

“I wasn't scared the first time!” Sani protests.

“Well…” The spirit looks down at his shoulder, at the place where Sani cut him by accident.

“I already knew about that,” Sani confesses. “My friend said—” No. If she tells him—but he's looking at her expectantly, and she has to go on. “My friend said it was a game that older kids played. To try and wake you up.”

The spirit closes his eyes for a long time. Sani can't tell what he's thinking. “Please! Don't hurt the village!” she begs. “They didn't mean—” His hand grabs hers. Sani freezes. She didn't realize he could move that far, or that she'd come so close.

“Your village is safe,” says the spirit. He looks up at her and smiles. “Yep! It's better if Zeno stays away from people, right?”

“I—I brought you an offering this time. Dumplings. And apples! Oh, and a blanket, too!” She sets the basket of dumplings where the spirit can reach them, sets the blanket aside for now, and gets to work. But there's not much more digging to be done. Roots have spread out under him, too, and getting the dirt out won't pry their wooden grip apart. “I'm going to have to cut them,” Sani says. “Or you'll be stuck here forever.”

“No.”

“Please!”

He reaches for her again, a gentle touch. “Miss, I promise. Nothing is forever except Zeno himself.”

Sani looks away. “Father and the mayor and everyone else hope you’ll just go back to sleep.”

“Ah…probably not. Zeno doesn’t think he’ll sleep like that again.”

“How did it happen?” Sani can’t keep back her curiosity. “Were you cursed? Did someone bind you to the tree?” She casts a curious glance at that golden necklace, which lasted all those years unscathed. Does it hold some kind of power?

“No…Zeno just felt like taking a nap. Miss, have you ever wanted to lie down and just never move again?”

She inches back. He won’t let her cut the roots, but he’s sure he’ll get out eventually. Is he trying to trick her into taking his place after all? “No,” she says. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Zeno doesn’t either, not anymore.”

“Then—”

“Zeno’s sure he’ll wriggle out eventually!”

“Even if—even if I can’t do any more to help, I’ll bring offerings every night until you’re free!”

“The miss is so cute! But clouds are coming in, best to get back home before it starts to rain.”

Sani glances up at the sky. The moon is shadowed and nearly invisible. “Right!”

“Ah…maybe this time the miss can leave the hatchet?”

“There’s nothing you could do with it anyway,” Sani says, shaking her head. “And if Father finds out I came, he’ll never let me come back.”

As Sani makes her way back down the trail, she wonders if she really can come out here every night. It might be a long time until the spirit agrees to let her chop through the roots—if he ever does at all. He lay sleeping for maybe a hundred years and didn’t even know it—so maybe waiting like that won’t bother him? But even if her parents never learn she’s sneaking out at night, winter will come eventually. With the snows, the trail is nearly impassable, and if the spirit is still here…he’ll be buried in it again and he won’t sleep through it this time, he said so himself. She squeezes her eyes shut to hold back the tears threatening to flow. If that happens, if it comes to that time, she’ll set him free no matter what he says!

As she opens her eyes again, she pauses as a shadow shifts in the woods ahead of her. The forest guardian is safe and friendly, but that doesn’t mean the forest itself isn’t dangerous. But it goes still, and she takes another step, holding the little hatchet out in front of her. Casting her eyes around the darkness to see if there’s a fallen branch she can wield. It was nothing, she tells herself. Just a shifting cloud.

Then the moon cuts through the darkness and two eyes shine back at her. A scream escapes Sani’s lips. Mountain cats don’t come this close to the village—but men haven’t been hunting in the woods for days now. Maybe one grew bold.

It’s between her and home. Slowly, Sani takes a step backwards. The eyes watch her. Grow closer. She turns and runs and doesn’t stop until she comes to the guardian’s tree.

“Miss!” the spirit calls, as Sani falls to her knees in front of him. “I heard you scream, and I couldn't—”

“There’s—a mountain cat—” She dares to glance back, and sees nothing. But she knows she didn't outrun it. It’s playing with her. You can't outrun a mountain cat.

“Miss,” says the spirit. “I can protect you, but you'll have to help me.”

“The roots—” she begins.

“No time. Now give me your hatchet, and don't look away.” She holds it out and before she can question him he brings it down, not on the thick roots binding him but on his own leg. Sani screams. Another sharp chop and a jerk of his leg and it pulls free, because his foot—because his foot, on the other side of the tight twist of roots, is cut off and spilling blood and—

Don't look away, the spirit said, and Sani wants to but she can’t, and as she stares, the dark night hiding far too little, tendrils of flesh reach out across his ankle, knitting back together. “I'm fine, see? Miss?” Sani realizes she's crying. “Miss, I need you to do the rest,” says the spirit. “I can't reach.”

“…no!”

The undergrowth rustles in the distance. “Miss, do it quickly,” the spirit urges.

Gingerly, Sani takes the hatchet. Lifts it. Swings it down toward the spirit’s shoulder and squeezes her eyes tight at the last second. Afraid to look, she slowly opens them again—only to see a shallow, off-target gash already closing back up. The spirit makes no sound, but he doesn’t hide the pained look on his face, either. Then all that’s left are the warm droplets trailing down Sani’s fingers.

She understands. If she doesn’t do this fast, it’s worse than doing nothing at all. Sani knows how to wield the little hatchet, has known since she was small, working at her father's side. Swing, chop. Swing, chop. But this is a person. She's killing someone, says the blood dripping down her face, say the soft flesh and the snap of bone, nothing at all like cutting through solid wood. Then the spirit twists forward and his shoulder is free, his shoulder is whole again. He's alive. “You did good,” he says, reaching up and patting her head with a hand that moments ago lay dismembered on the ground. “Now keep going.”

Swing, chop. Swing, chop. His thigh, and she has to grab his leg by the ankle and pull to free it. Swing, chop. Swing, chop. She’s past thinking now. Swing, chop. His—his neck. He never stops looking at her. Then finally all that’s left is the great root that snakes across his chest. Swing—

“I can’t.”

“Keep going,” the spirit commands. “You’re past the worst already.”

“No, I—” She swings the hatchet again. It bounces off his chest like striking iron. His skin looks different, rough and scaled, glittering under the hint of moonlight. What have I done? What is he?

“Ah,” says the spirit. He shifts, stretches, and that great root starts to bend, and for a moment it seems like he'll push it aside as easily as grass. Then his eyes widen. “Miss, get back!” He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her past him just as the mountain cat leaps. Pain shoots up her arm as she falls to the ground. Behind her, there's a thunderous crack amidst the growls and the snarls, which turn to shrieks and squeals, and there's a crash of branches, and then—

“Miss. Miss, it’s safe now. It’s gone.” Sani tries to stand and winces at the pain. “Your arm,” the spirit says. “It’s hurt?”

She falls back to her knees and finally her sobs come freely, the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She's not crying for the pain in her arm, but for the boy trying to comfort her even after—after she—

He gently lifts her chin up to look at him, wipes the tears from her face with rough fingers. Her vision clears, and her eyes meet his. “What are you?” Sani whispers. “How are you—?”

“Better not to ask how Zeno’s still alive,” says the spirit.

“How are you smiling?”

“Oh! It’s that Zeno was finally able to use his powers to protect someone.” He helps her to her feet, then turns to look mournfully at the tree. That great root is splintered like a twig. “Zeno should have let the miss chop it up from the start,” he says. “It’s only a tree, in the end. Better that than for the miss to carry this with her.”

This is a broken arm and a chipped hatchet and blood-drenched clothing, but it's more than that and they both know it. Sani looks down at the blood on her hands. “Don't think about that,” says the spirit. “It doesn't matter.” He reaches for the blanket—it mostly escaped the bloodbath—and drapes it over his shoulders like a cloak. Then he pulls Sani to his side, supporting her weight easily. “Come on, Miss,” he says. “Let's get you home.”

The sun has just crested the horizon as they leave the forest behind, and as Sani glances up at the spirit’s face, his fading scales catch the light, looking so much like the dewdrops that rested on his skin only days ago. A lifetime ago. Below, commotion fills the village.

“They're looking for you,” says the spirit. “Can you make it from here on your own?”

“No!” She holds on tight with her good hand, panicked at the thought that he’ll leave before she can—before she can what? Make things right?

“Miss, it's a bad idea for Zeno to come to your village.”

“But—I can find you real clothes, and food, and…” It won’t happen. They both know that. “Where will you go?” she asks.

“…north, maybe. It’s been a long time…” He laughs. “It’s been a long time since Zeno was anywhere!”

The spirit stays by her side as they keep walking. Then there are shouts below, and running, and her father stands before them on the path. The spirit stiffens. Father is holding his big axe. “What have you done to my daughter, you monster?” He lunges at them, and the spirit’s scales are gone, and Sani knows all too well what that axe will do.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Then she freezes. Looks down at her hands, still caked with dried blood. Don’t hurt him. “He—a mountain cat attacked me, and he saved my life,” she says. “He’s not a monster,” she says. “I’m the—”

She hears the spirit’s sharp intake of breath beside her. Father has lowered his axe and is reaching out to her, and she runs to him, then turns back to look at the spirit. He’s smiling at her, but he still looks sad. “Mister, your daughter is a very brave girl,” he says. “A good girl. She hasn’t done anything that anyone should punish her for. Miss,” he says, “you set me free. So, because of that…” He pauses, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or not. “Because of that, Zeno will be on his way!” Then he bows to them both, turns, and walks back up the trail until his bright golden hair is once more lost in the darkness of the woods.

Had the guardian of the forest ever returned to Sani’s village, he would not have found her there. It’s not her home anymore, it can’t be, and after a few more years of pretending it is, she leaves. She heads north.

Zeno does return though, eventually—after all, he returns everywhere eventually. A hundred years later no one remembers him, and the villagers hang white ribbons from a dead tree and tell tales of the heroic maiden who banished the evil spirit of the forest. Two hundred years later, they still tell that story, though the tree and the whole forest have been cut down and turned into farmland. Five hundred years later, the village and all its stories are gone.

[mythologygirlfanfic]

Phoenix Down: Chapter Two

Summary: Her parents must have really wanted a son if they named their only child - a girl at that - Marco. (OC Reincarnation/Rebirth story) Or

An obsessive gamer girl is reborn and now has to navigate the world of One Piece as a female version of Marco the Phoenix. Shenanigans ensue as she drags everyone around her into her delusions do to the trauma caused by the loss of her precious games. So what if she gives her so called brothers a few heart attacks when she pretends to be dead until one of them yells, if not a little dramatically, “PHOENIX DOWN” with an accompanying eye roll, before ‘reviving’ along the way. That’s just part of the fun. The poor Whitebeard Pirates are in near constant exasperation with their sister’s sure, but that doesn’t mean they love her any less. Now, if only she could convince Ace that MMOs were a real thing.

Rating: T

Hellion.

That is what the old biddies in her village called her at least. Well, everyone in the village called her that, but they were all pretty much old biddies, so fuck them.

(Well, not really ‘cause that would be gross. Marco shivered at the thought.)

Who knew that trying to engage this dreary town in a riveting game of Splatoon would lead to her immediate and irrefutable exile from the only place she knew in a world she knew was much more vast and dangerous than most people could even comprehend.

She regretted nothing .

Nothing except maybe not being able to beam the mayor in the face with a balloon filled with pink paint and glitter. Marco had been stopped by the villagers before she could chuck that particular balloon, one of the bastard having snuck up behind her and tackling her to the ground before others jumped on her as well in some sort of impromptu dog pile. It had caused the young woman to be the one to get a face full of the mixture instead of her intended target. It had been a bittersweet defeat.

Now, here the pale blonde stood, not even a full day after what the fiasco the villagers irritably had started calling the ‘Day of Reckoning’ under their breaths, loading the little dinghy her parents scrounged up for her. She was so sure that Original Marco had lived a childhood of bloody strife. Her she was though, getting the boot from her home for simply throwing one too many paint balloons.

True, it had technically not been her first offense. Also true, that it hadn’t really been the worst thing she had done either, but for the people of her home island, it had been the last straw. Marco was pretty sure it was just because the sticks they all had shoved up their asses, that they were all just allergic to fun. The kids of the village could at least appreciate her genius, some having even thrown a mini protest over their favorite playmate’s severe and unjust punishment. Well, until they were threatened with dish duty. That had gotten Marco’s followers to disperse rather quickly. The little traitors.

(She carefully did not look into Mom 2.0’s tearful eyes and decidedly ignored the fact that Papa 2.0’s own looked even more droopy than before, like a basset hound whose favorite bone was being taken away. Marco even ignored the small pain in her chest when she thought of leaving them, that she would miss them.)

The farming life hadn’t been for her anyway. Her boobs made her back ache after all and the physical labor of tilling the land just didn’t justify that pain. Honestly, why did nearly all the girls who spent more than five minutes with Luffy have to have huge tits? (And the original Marco had, they had fought a war together. Screw the fact Original Marco had been a male.) Sure, they weren't as large as say Nami or Robin’s, but they were still annoying as fuck.

She was looking for a quest to complete anyway.

Quest objective: find Whitebeard and join his crew.

This quest sucked. It sucked balls. Hard .

She had been randomly sailing around the seas of North Blue for months. Months . And the teenager couldn’t even say it hadn’t truly been random sailing as she was in no way a navigator. She had slapped herself multiple times for not studying maps, but she hadn’t been planning to set out to sea by herself either. Honestly, Marco had thought Whitebeard and his band of jolly sons, more akin to a massive raid party, would be the ones to find her. You know, at home. On the island she had been born on.

Marco once again cursed the mayor and the citizen of Uptightville. She would have preferred they all would have left themselves, like all the potential critter friends she ignored in Animal Crossing , then have had them figure out the best way to get rid of a shitty neighbor was just to exile them from the town. (She briefly found herself lamenting who her virtual town had more than likely gone completely barren by now, before the thought become to unbearable and she had to shake it off. Sort of like the one Taylor Swift song.)

It hadn’t been all bad. If Marco ignored the fact she had almost starved, dehydrated, gotten nearly eaten by various sea monsters, and other things that had caused some minor bodily harm, the young woman could think of a few things to be grateful for. She finally got to update her appearance!

On the first island she had unceremoniously crashed into (Seriously, she didn’t mean to fall asleep! The sailing had been so boring to the point she had started talking to her own reflection on the water’s surface.), she found herself chopping off most her long, blonde hair. She had cropped it into a sort of mohawk, with the sides of her head shaved and a strip of slightly longer locks remaining on top. Of course, she only did this when she was certain Mom 2.0 didn’t have some sort of radar that would let the older woman know what her daughter was doing. Marco liked her limbs where they were and she wouldn’t put it past the lady to somehow find her due to some sort of messed up need for vengeance.

She had also acquired (Maybe, sort of stole) some new clothes. Nothing against what she had been wearing, the overalls were as comfortable as hell, they just weren’t exactly the best clothes to be traveling the wide up sea in. Marco now proudly donned a light blue corset and with blue shorts that rode maybe a little too low. The young woman had decided to forgo shoes, more so because she had been chased from the store before she could grab a pair. And, hey, this outfit was probably even less practicable than overalls, but if she was going to be a pirate, a pirate in the World of One Piece at that, she was going to looks bad fucking ass while doing.  

She was 18 and partly delirious when she found him. Found the man that had been Original Marco’s Oyaji. The man that would be her Oyaji too. Or at least, she hoped he would as she pulled alongside the massive, whale shaped ship. She was a little surprised that the Moby Dick had already been made and set sail, for whatever reason she was sure Edward Newgate would have had another ship, at least up until Gol D. Roger’s execution. She was happy to see it though. The large whale always looked so happy in the series and it looked even more so in person. If a just a tiny weensy bit intimidating. That and it also brought on the age old question of why it was blue? Had the gigantic man never read the novel? Did the novel even exist here? Wait, she had never read the novel, so this was a moot point.

Marco didn’t waste anytime.

“Make me your kid-yoi!” Her load exclamation caught everyone’s attention as they stared down from the large whale shaped boat at her little dinghy. It had certainly caught Captain Whitebeard’s as she could almost feel the older man’s gaze piercing through her. He was younger, his hair not completely white and his mustache just a tad less magnificent. It was like Mario and Dr. Robotnik’s facial hair had a baby. How much time did the man spend styling it?

“Eh? What was that brat? I didn’t hear you.” Edward Newgate was an incredible man, for that the young blonde girl was certain. His voice carried all the way down to her as if the roaring wind and crashing waves against the hulking vessel he rode upon allowed it passage. The captain before her didn’t even have to yell. Marco admitted she may have been a tad jealous at that.

Marco set her shoulders back further standing as straight and tall as she possible could. Her posture was so stiff it was starting to hurt, yet she had to make this man, the one fated to be the strongest on all the seas, this man with such an enormous legacy, take her on. “I said, make me your daughter-yoi!”

“Why should I?”

Okay, now she was sure the older man was messing with her. Still, she responded, “Because you’re like the final boss after a particularly hard dungeon that one has to level grind for like hours to beat-yoi.” At the confused silence that greeted Marco, she decided to take pity on the poor uncultured souls that would never really know the joys and sorrows of dungeon crawling and elaborated. “I think you're badass-yoi.”

Whitebeard threw his head back and laughed.

[kuriquinn]

Miso Soup Everyday

Summary: This is supposed to be a certainty – the one sure thing in his entire life. Yet he can't fight the same mounting apprehension he experiences when crossing into a dimension he's never visited before.

Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the fandom. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organisations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelisations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016—)

Warning: Spoilers for everything in Naruto (up to Chapter 700).

Canon-Compliance: This work is loosely part of the Legacy of Fire series. It is and is not canon-compliant (for reasons that will be made clearer in my as yet unnamed and unwritten Sakura/Sasuke Blank Period Pre Pregnancy Get Together travel fic. Yes, it’s kind of complicated.

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn

Honestly, it’s a bit of a role reversal.

When they were children, Sasuke was the aloof one—cool and confident, perpetually at ease in his role as the storied prodigy of Konoha. He was the genius of Team Seven, overshadowing Sakura’s presence as if she was only an afterthought. Naruto and he had their rivalry between them, so it was all too easy to consider Sakura as a barely requisite third wheel. Insecure and needy, she trailed after him like a puppy.  

That’s no longer true.

These days, it’s Sakura (alongside Naruto) who is the beacon of hope in the community, the hero little children crowd excitedly around when she walks through the streets. Sasuke is the one people don’t think of—or rather, prefer not to think of. He’s the third wheel of the Sannin’s heirs, whose reputation is maintained only by his connection to the other two. He might have helped to save the planet, but it’s Sakura’s name that opens doors.

And if that doesn’t work, her fist splinters them.

Since returning to Konoha, Sasuke has noticed the whispers and stares that follow them when he and Sakura go anywhere together. Initially, he thought the behaviour was directed at him—judgement for his past deeds and the dark legacy that will hound him until he dies. Except, the general tone of the whispers is usually deferential. He knows from years of wandering that people are more likely to avert their eyes than risk his attention. Thus, it’s Sakura to whom they look—she holds the admiration of every inhabitant of the growing village.

What’s surprising about it, though, is how much he doesn’t mind. As a child, the idea of being second to anyone was unacceptable, especially compared to his teammates: Naruto, because he was the village screw-up, and Sakura because she was just support—an admirer to cheer on his successes and, in the early days of their team, to highlight just how far Naruto was beneath their collective skill level.

It’s all different now.

Sakura is the one who stayed in Konoha, working hard to earn the respect and awe of the village. These days she walks confidently in the sun while Sasuke is content to watch her from the shadows.

It’s ironic, actually. In three short years, a civilian-born girl with no bloodline talent to speak of achieved more widespread respect than the Uchiha clan did in three generations.

He wonders what his parents would have made of Sakura. He likes to think they would have approved.

Father would have been terse and silent, but even he wouldn’t be able to deny her incredible talent. Mother would warm to her instantly because her temperament was rather similar. And his brother…

Sasuke can’t help a rueful, bitter smile at this. Itachi would have probably figured out Sasuke’s feelings for her before Sasuke himself did.

He’s aware enough of his shortcomings these days that the admission comes easily. He understands that he’s cared for Sakura since their Academy days—lack of natural talent aside, she intrigued him, even if he didn’t show it. Humans are visual creatures, and her hair alone meant he couldn’t pretend she didn’t exist the way he could with other kids. On top of that, she was intelligent enough to beat him on every written test, though she never sought to compete with him.

This, too, is ironic. Perhaps if she’d approached him as a potential rival, he would have seen her value earlier on.

Instead, his childhood memories of Sakura are of a pretty and shallow (yet kind) girl trailing behind him. Even then, she had a remarkable tenacity and dedication, bringing him Valentine’s Day gifts every year and patiently enduring his constant rebuffs. Sasuke didn’t even realise until much later—until that last fight with Naruto—that with every passing year, another chunk of his heart fell into her waiting palm.

Knowing that should make his plans today easier, but it doesn’t.

He’s had nightmares since the end of the war—dreams which take up the space in his head where revenge was once so prominent. Most often, they are of that day long ago when he almost snuffed out her light. Sometimes, Sasuke still feels the phantom heat of the Chidori in his palm, can still see her back bared to him as he moves closer.

He knows now that if he’d landed that blow, he would not have survived the war.

As mad with grief and rage as he was, having Sakura’s blood on his hands would have shattered his already damaged psyche beyond repair. The loss of Itachi coupled with the truths about his brother’s life had thrown him off the deep end; responsibility for Sakura’s death would have kept him there.

He doubts she realises this, even though they’ve spent more time together since his return—partaking in quiet dinners or long walks when her schedule allows for it. There’s even the rare sparring match that leaves him bruised but proud. She doesn’t ask him why he’s around so often or allude in any way to how she feels for him.

If she still feels for him.

She as good as told him in her letters that she was tired of waiting. Likely, it’s too late for anything, regardless of his belated hopes. And yet, despite this, Sasuke has been vacillating about the matter since he came back to Konoha. Until today.

At least he hopes.

It’s become habit to pass by the clinic to pick Sakura up after work. She falls into step with him with more ease than she ever did when they were young. Sometimes, they meander through the town while she chats about her day. Sometimes, they find an out-of-the-way restaurant to get a bite to eat. Sometimes, when she’s exhausted, he simply walks her home.  

Today, though, he leads them along the river toward the lake. They’ve walked this way before, but he’s never led her down the embankment. She doesn’t ask where they’re going, which he takes as encouragement.

The dock where he spent so much time alone as a child looks almost exactly as it did then. The wood is slightly warped, causing it to tilt downward toward the lake a little, but it’s still sturdy. There are burn marks on the edges from lessons long ago. He stares at them for a beat, allowing memories to take him out of the present for a few moments.

Beside him, Sakura is still as well, but it’s a comfortable quiet. Now that they’re older, she’s more intuitive about his reticence. As children, she would talk his ear off as if terminally afraid of a drawn-out silence, filling it by any means. Sometimes, he appreciated this because it saved him the effort of having to maintain a conversation (especially when they were around other people).

Most of the time, though, he just wanted her to leave him to brood in peace.

These days, whether it’s because of her own wartime experiences or her work with those who have suffered its effects, she knows exactly when to simply linger quietly. And, as usual, he appreciates her waiting for him to open the conversation. It takes a little more effort today to find a way to start.

“This where I learned to perform Katon,” he tells her finally, his voice even, despite the way his stomach spasms with nerves.

“Oh?” she inquires, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees her look up at him, surprise and curiosity flickering across her features. He seldom, if ever, talks about the past—even more rarely does he speak of the time before they were genin.

Sasuke nods, staring out across the calm waters. “My father taught me. It was the only thing he was able to show me before he…died.”  

Even so many years later, the pain is still as raw as it was the day of the massacre. The blinding rage is gone now, however. When he notices small, strong fingers tentatively wrap around his right hand and give a brief, reassuring squeeze, his instinct is to return the gesture, instead of pulling away.

“The technique was created by the Uchiha clan,” he goes on, sticking to facts because this is what he knows for sure. Facts are unchangeable, not hinging on chance and sentiment. “My family honed it over the years and, even though others have learned to master it, they could never achieve the exact effect that we could.”

He perceives her nod at this, but senses confusion as to why he’s bringing this up right now. She won’t ask, though, intuitively accepting that he has some purpose. Not for the first time does he think she trusts him far too much than he deserves—far more than he even trusts himself.

But today there is a purpose, and if he could ignore the nagging doubts at the back of his mind, he might be able to get to it. This is supposed to be a certainty—the one sure thing in his entire life. Yet, he can’t fight the same mounting apprehension he experiences when crossing into a dimension he’s never visited before.

“Would you like me to teach you?” he asks, inwardly cringing at how tentative he sounds, despite his efforts to be casual.

Luckily, Sakura is too caught off-guard to notice. “You’ve never asked me that before.”

“I never recognised the opportunity,” he admits. Too blinded by rage and revenge, it never occurred to him as a kid that the teammates he considered dead weight might improve faster if he helped them.

Sakura knows this too and doesn’t argue the point. Instead, she says, “I’m not a fire type, though.”

“That shouldn’t stop the apprentice of the Fifth Hokage.”

Sakura scoffs. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Hn.”

“All right! You’ve got it!” Sakura declares, making a show of rolling up her sleeves and facing the lake. “Stand back and watch me! Shannaro!” She flexes her fingers, preparing to form the requisite hand seals, and then glances back, a ghost of doubt on her face. “Um…any pointers?”

Sasuke’s mouth twitches at this.

He gives her a demonstration and the same advice his father offered.  

She masters the technique faster than he did. Not on the first try, like Itachi, but within hours. He puts that down to her excellent chakra control and the fact that, as a jōnin, learning to master new techniques quickly is a prerequisite. There’s a huge difference between her abilities and those of a seven-year-old with self-esteem issues.

Thanks to her instant healing, there’s no obvious signs of damage—her cheeks aren’t burned, and her lips haven’t chapped from the flame. But the tips of her hair are singed a little and her skin is rosy from the heat.

After expelling the last fireball, Sakura coughs, smoke wafting briefly from mouth and nostrils, but when it dissipates, her eyes are dancing.

“How’s that?” she challenges, hands on her hips and chin jutted out.

Sasuke smirks. “As expected.”

“Oh, come on! That was amazing and you know it! Mine might even be better than yours!”

“Tch.”

She laughs at that.

“I think I burnt my tongue. My taste buds aren’t going to work properly for a week!” Her face becomes inquisitive. “What’s the occasion, though? Or did you really just want to avoid another gourmet dinner at Ichiraku with Naruto?”

As Sasuke has come to expect from her, Sakura provides him with an out. He’s not entirely sure how long she’s been doing that, or even if it’s intentional, but he appreciates it all the same. Today, however, he will not make use of it.

“That’s an extra benefit,” he allows, earning an amused, somewhat conspiratorial grin. He pauses, momentarily at loss of how to say what he needs to say. Eyes trained on the surface of the lake, he steels himself and continues.  “This technique…in my family, it’s a rite of passage.”

He lets that sink in.

“Oh, yeah. I think you mentioned that once,” she says thoughtfully. “Or Kakashi-sensei said it. It’s like a coming-of-age tradition, right?”

“Aa,” he affirms and, trying to lace his words with meaning, confides, “It’s only passed on by close family members.”

“Right. That’s why your father taught you. I think that’s a nice tradition.”

Sasuke winces inwardly because she clearly doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. It’s not a failing on her part, but his own inability to articulate the point properly. The words are there, but for some reason, they die somewhere between throat and lips. Demons and malevolent gods he can take, but this five-foot-four woman with pink hair makes Sasuke nervous. And it’s not because she can crush his skull with her little finger, either.

“Until one can perform the technique properly, one cannot truly claim the name Uchiha,” he explains, hoping the inflexion of the words conveys his intended meaning.   

But Sakura still doesn’t get it.

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a child,” she says lightly. She’s probably imagining him struggling to learn the technique, terrified of failure. She wouldn’t be wrong, either.

The knots in Sasuke’s stomach get worse and, if she doesn’t realise soon, he’ll have to spell it out for her. He’s half-angry about that because she’s supposed to be smarter. She should intuit what he’s trying to say and save him from making an utter fool of himself.

“Not only a child,” he corrects, again elaborately casual. “You performed it perfectly.”

Please…just…listen to what I’m trying to say.

There’s a heavy pause, and then Sakura’s breath catches in her throat. The silence between them suddenly isn’t so companionable now, but fraught with a tension like the entire world is holding its breath. Sasuke doesn’t look directly at her as she parses his words, using that blinding intellect of hers to understand what he’s trying to ask. Still, he glimpses her face from the corner of his eye and this is how he watches her expression blossom with understanding.

Success.

He turns to her.

“I have no right to ask anything of you,” he says plainly. “Not after everything.”

“Sasuke—”

“Sakura, let me…” he trails off, jaw working and his own voice catching as the words get lost again, but damn it, he has to get this out! “I don’t know if I can be what you want, what you’ve hoped for. Or if I can give you everything that you deserve. And it’s possible I’ve waited too long.” He swallows. “But when I think of family—even at my lowest point, where I’d given up on the idea—you were the only one I could ever see myself with. The one that I…”

Again, words fail him, and Sasuke wants to swear in frustration. He needs her to know because maybe the faster he gets it out, the better the odds will be. Sakura deserves so much better—always has—and could have anyone else. She should have anyone else, but he’s still hoping that she won’t want anyone else.

“Say it.”

Sasuke is rather jarringly brought out of his rambling, insecure thoughts by a cracking whisper.

Sakura stares up at him, tears welling in her eyes. Why is it him who always makes her cry? He expected her to be flustered or awkward, but instead, she looks the same as she does when bracing for a physical blow.

This confuses him. “What?”

“I need you to say it,” she tells him, barely above a whisper. “Just once. Say it and mean it.” Her fists clench. “I’ll never ask to hear it again, if that’s what you want. But before I can say yes—to the future, to trying, to…to all of it—you have to say it.” She takes a shuddering breath. “If you can’t, then I…I…”

She trails off as if the idea is too hard for her to even enunciate, too painful to consider—for either of them.

Sasuke has never been good with words. What he feels for Sakura, he doesn’t want to—can’t, really—put into words. There is no collection of syllables or sounds that are accurate enough to describe the girl who gave him her heart when they were children. The woman who waited for him for years, who forgave him for trying to kill her, their best friend, and their entire village. He’s wandered the world, looking for redemption, and it’s only since returning here that he’s realised he had it the whole time.

He wants to tell her all of that, but he doesn’t think she’ll understand. Not now, not yet—not while they’re still getting used to being around one another. Maybe after a lifetime, if she’ll give him that, it will come easier—his words and her ability to trust in him.

But for now, she wants something so simple, something almost infantile, as if a set phrase is a guarantee, a safety net, or a reward of some kind. He knows this, but struggles to give it to her, because it’s so insufficient. And everything about him to date, when it relates to her, has been insufficient.

If he does this wrong, she’ll turn away—it’s why she’s giving him this ultimatum in the first place. In their time apart, she’s developed into a strong, independent individual with unapologetic self-respect and unmalleable resolve. She knows what his hopes are, the unspoken wish behind one of his ultimate goals. But Sakura won’t become the vehicle for his happiness unless she’s sure she’ll benefit from it as well. It’s only fair and Sasuke admires her even more for it, but right now, it’s making him want to turn tail and run.

“Sakura…” He really, really wishes he was better at this.

Just do it already, you ass.

And why isn’t it surprising that, in this moment where the rest of his life might change for better or worse, Sasuke can clearly hear the voice of his idiot best friend telling him what to do? It almost makes him want to check to make sure the halfwit isn’t lurking somewhere nearby.

Regardless of its source, the advice is right. No more good can come of waiting.

Sasuke bends down so that his forehead presses against Sakura’s, bringing them eye to eye. She tenses up and her pale cheeks flush with colour, her lips parting in surprise. If this position prevents Sakura from seeing the colour rising on his own face or noticing that his hand is shaking as it gently takes hers, all the better.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he says in a low voice, “but I want to spend it with you.”

Her lower lip trembles at this. “Because…because you love me?” Sakura prompts, the question a whisper but with a mettle to it. It’s a firm reminder that she will not let him off easy in this moment.

Sasuke exhales through his nose in defeat, eyes closing in affectionate resignation. “Because I love you.”

When he opens his eyes, Sakura’s are (if possible) wider than he’s ever seen. The utter shock etched into every other feature is simultaneously amusing and worrisome. He wonders dimly if, against all odds, this is finally what breaks her.  

Putting some distance between their faces, he gently taps two fingers beneath the rhombus-shaped seal on her forehead—partially to make sure she’s still cognizant, but also to drive the message home. Sakura has never completely understood the gesture before in the handful of instances he’s demonstrated it, but now understanding flickers into place—that this is not just today, and not only because she asked him, but that he’s wanted this for so much longer.

Glassy green eyes are now overflowing with tears, the droplets winding down the curves of her cheeks and quivering jaw. Mild panic sets in—why is she upset? Shouldn’t she be happy?

“Sakura, why are you cry—mmph!”

Fingers fist in his shirt and a pair of soft lips are planted very firmly against his own.

Sasuke stands frozen for several seconds. Dimly, he supposes he should’ve expected this, because isn’t this what’s meant to happen when two people acknowledge feelings for one another? Essentially, he asked Sakura to spend the rest of her life with him, so it shouldn’t come as a shock that there would be a physical confirmation of this. Only, he didn’t quite expect it to happen so fast. Well, fast, he thinks, is relative. They have been building up to this since childhood, but he’s still not sure—

“You’re supposed to kiss me back,” Sakura mumbles against his mouth. If he wasn’t blushing before, the embarrassment hits fully now.

Still, the permission takes at least some of his discomfiture away.

Slow and tentative, Sasuke returns the kiss. It’s clumsy and uncertain because he’s never done this before, but she makes a small, approving noise at the back of her throat and he guesses he’s doing something right. Sakura tastes like smoke from the Katon and something sweet he doesn’t have a name for. He suspects he could spend the rest of his life trying to figure it out without success, an idea doesn’t bother him at all.

She fits her mouth over his, softly pulling his bottom lip between hers, and Sasuke’s senses fade out. Something like relief passes over him, as if a weight has been pulled from his very soul. The last, tightly coiled vestiges of doubt and anxiety which have gathered in him for years are now gone, and the only thing in the world is her. That, in itself, is mildly terrifying, but in a good way.

Achingly slowly, Sakura pulls away from him, reaching up to brush his hair away from his left eye. Her fingers stay in place, keeping the strands from falling back while her thumb traces a gentle arc from eyebrow to temple. He leans into the touch and she grins at him.

“Well?” she prompts. “What do you think?”

“…Hm?” It should concern Sasuke that his brain takes a second or two to catch up.

“Better than Naruto, right?” she wants to know.

The post-kiss haze vanishes. Sasuke sputters out a wordless response because that’s not how these things are supposed to go. His people skills might be rusty, but he’s pretty sure it’s far from normal to remind the man who just confessed his feelings for you about his (very unwilling) first (and second) kiss with their mutual best friend.

Sakura is laughing, at him or at the situation, he doesn’t know. He should be annoyed about this—and if she ever tells anyone about it, he will be—but the tears in her eyes are from mirth, not pain or sadness and, for once, he doesn’t regret putting them there.

“Yes, by the way,” she tells him happily, leaning into his chest. “Yes to all of it.”

終わり

Thanks for reading my story, and I hope you enjoy it! Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! If you want to support my writing, I accept ko-fi donations and have started posting original fiction on my patreon account, Kuriworlds I encourage you to check it out!

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[sasusakufestival]

Miso Soup Everyday

Summary: This is supposed to be a certainty – the one sure thing in his entire life. Yet he can’t fight the same mounting apprehension he experiences when crossing into a dimension he’s never visited before. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 2 – Prompt: “Insecurity”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be incinerated by a giant fireball should you be found plagiarizing.

Warning: Spoilers for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699.

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn

User: kuriquinn 

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Honestly, it’s a bit of a role reversal.

When they were children, Sasuke was the aloof one – cool and confident, perpetually at ease in his role as the storied prodigy of Konoha. He was the genius of Team Seven, overshadowing Sakura’s presence as if she was no more than an afterthought. Between his rivalry with Naruto and the attention Kakashi lavished upon him, it was all too easy to consider Sakura as a barely requisite third wheel. Insecure and needy, she trailed after him like a puppy.

That’s no longer true.

These days, it’s Naruto and Sakura that are beacons of hope in the community, the heroes that little children crowd excitedly around when they walk through the streets. Sasuke is the one people don’t think of – or rather, prefer not to think of. The third wheel of the new generation of Sannin, whose reputation is maintained only by his connection to the other two.

He might’ve helped to save the planet, but it’s Sakura’s name that opens doors.

And if that doesn’t work, her fist splinters them.

Since returning to Konoha, Sasuke has noticed the whispers and stares that follow them when they walk together. Initially, he thought the behaviour was directed at him – judgement on his past deeds and the dark legacy that will hound him until he dies – except the general tone of the whispers is usually deferential. He knows from years of wandering that people are more likely to avert their eyes than risk his attention. However, it’s Sakura to whom they look; it’s she who holds the admiration of every inhabitant of the growing city.

What’s surprising about it, though, is how much he doesn’t mind. As a child, the idea of being second to anyone was unacceptable, especially in comparison to his teammates. Naruto because he was the village screw-up and Sakura because – back then – she was just support. An admirer to cheer on his successes and, in the early days of their team, to highlight just how much Naruto was beneath both their skill level.

It’s all different now.

Sakura is the one who stayed here, working hard to earn the respect and awe of the village. These days she walks confidently in the sun, while Sasuke is content to watch her from the shadows.

It’s actually ironic.

In three short years, a civilian-born girl with no bloodline talent to speak of has achieved more widespread respect than the Uchiha clan did in three generations. He wonders – especially today – what his parents would’ve made of Sakura. He likes to think they would have approved.

Father would’ve been terse and silent, but even he wouldn’t be able to deny her incredible talent. Mother would warm to her instantly, because her temperament was rather similar. And his brother…

Sasuke can’t help a rueful, bitter smile at this. Itachi would’ve probably figured out Sasuke’s feelings for her before Sasuke himself did.

He’s aware enough of his shortcomings these days that the admission comes easily. He understands that he’s cared for Sakura since their Academy days—lack of natural talent aside, she intrigued him, even if he didn’t show it. Humans are visual creatures, and her hair alone meant he couldn’t pretend she didn’t exist the way he could with other kids. On top of that, she was intelligent enough to beat him on every written test, though she never sought to compete with him.

This, too, is ironic. Perhaps if she had approached him as a potential rival, he would’ve seen her value earlier on.

Instead, his childhood memories of Sakura are of a pretty, shallow, yet kind girl trailing behind him. Even then, she had a remarkable tenacity and dedication, bringing him Valentine’s Day gifts every year and patiently enduring his constant rebuffs. Sasuke didn’t even realise until much later – until that last fight with Naruto – that with every passing year, another chunk of his heart fell into her waiting palm.

Knowing that should make all of this easier, but it doesn’t.

He’s had nightmares since the end of the war; dreams which take up the space in his head where revenge was once so prominent. Most often, they are of that day long ago when he almost snuffed out her life. Sometimes, Sasuke still feels the phantom heat of the electricity in his palms, can still see her back bared to him as he moves closer…

He knows now that if he’d landed that blow, he wouldn’t have survived the war.

As mad with grief and rage as he was, having Sakura’s blood on his hands would’ve shattered his already damaged psyche beyond repair. Losing his brother coupled with the truths about Itachi’s life had thrown him off the deep end; responsibility for Sakura’s death would have kept Sasuke there.

He doubts she realises this, even though they’ve spent more time together since his return—partaking in quiet dinners, long walks when her schedule allows for it, or the rare sparring match that leaves him bruised but proud. She doesn’t ask him why he’s around so often, or allude in any way how she feels for him.

If she still feels for him.

She as good as told him in her letters that she was tired of waiting. Likely, it’s too late for anything, regardless of his belated hopes. And yet despite this, Sasuke has been vacillating about the matter since he came back to Konoha.

Until today.

At least he hopes.

It’s become habit to pass by the clinic to pick Sakura up after work. She falls into step with him with more ease than she ever did when they were young.

Sometimes, they just meander through the town while she chats about her day. Sometimes, they find an out-of-the-way restaurant to get a bite to eat. Sometimes, he just walks her home.  

Today, though, he leads them along the river toward the lake. They’ve walked this way before, but he’s never led her down the embankment. She doesn’t ask where they’re going which he takes as encouragement.

The dock where he spent so much time alone as a child looks almost exactly as it did then. The wood is slightly warped, causing it to tilt downward toward the lake somewhat, but it’s still sturdy. There are burn marks on the edges from lessons long ago. He stares at them for a while, allowing memories to take him out of the present for a few moments. Beside him, Sakura is still as well, but it’s a comfortable quiet.

Now that they are older, she is more intuitive about his reticence.

As children, she would talk his ear off as if terminally afraid of a drawn-out silence, filling it by any means. While sometimes he appreciated this because it saved him the effort of having to maintain a conversation (especially when they were around other people), most of the time, he just wanted her to leave him to brood in peace.

These days, whether it’s because of her own experiences in the war or her work with those who have suffered its effects, she knows exactly when to just linger quietly. And, as usual, he appreciates her waiting for him to open the conversation.

It takes a little more effort today to find a way to start.

“This where I learned to perform Katon,” he tells her finally, his voice even despite the way his stomach spasms with nerves.

“Oh?” she inquires and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees her look up at him, surprise and curiosity passing across her features. He seldom, if ever, talks about the past; even more rarely does he speak of the time before they were genin.

Sasuke nods, staring out across the calm waters.

“My father taught me. It was the only thing he was able to show me before he…died.”  

Even so many years later, the pain is still as raw as it was the day of the massacre. The blinding rage is gone now, however. When he notices small, strong fingers tentatively wrap around his right hand and give a brief, reassuring squeeze, his instinct is to return the gesture instead of pulling away.

“The technique was created by the Uchiha clan,” he goes on, sticking to facts because this is what he knows for sure. Facts are unchangeable, not hinging on chance and sentiment. “My family honed it over the years and even though others have learned to master it, they could never achieve the exact effect that we could.”

He perceives her nod at this, but senses confusion at why he is bringing this up right now. She won’t ask, though, intuitively accepting that he has some purpose. Not for the first time does he think she trusts him far too much than he deserves – far more than he even trusts himself.

But today there is a purpose, and if he could just ignore the nagging doubts at the back of his mind, he might be able to get to it. This is supposed to be a certainty – the one sure thing in his entire life. Yet he can’t fight the same mounting apprehension he experiences when crossing into a dimension he’s never visited before.

“Would you like me to teach you?” he asks, inwardly cringing at how tentative he sounds despite his efforts to be casual.

Luckily, Sakura is too caught off-guard to notice. “You’ve never asked me that before.”

“I’ve never recognised the opportunity,” he admits. Too blinded by rage and revenge, it never occurred to him as a kid that the teammates he considered dead weight might improve faster if he helped them.

Sakura knows this too, and doesn’t argue the point. Instead, she says, “I’m not a fire type, though.”

“That shouldn’t stop the apprentice of Tsunade Senju.”

Sakura scoffs. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Hm.”

“All right, pretty boy, you’ve got it,” Sakura declares, making a show of rolling up her sleeves and facing the lake. “Stand back and watch me! Shannaro!” She flexes her fingers, preparing to form the requisite hand seals, and then glances back, a ghost of doubt on her face. “Um…any pointers?”

Sasuke’s mouth twitches at this.

In the end, he gives her a demonstration and the same advice his father offered.  She masters the technique faster than he did. Not on the first try, like Itachi, but within hours. He puts that down to her excellent chakra control and the fact that, as a jōnin, learning to master new techniques quickly is a prerequisite. There’s a huge difference between her abilities and those of a seven-year-old with self-esteem issues.

Thanks to her instant healing abilities, there’s no obvious signs of damage – her cheeks aren’t burned and her lips aren’t chapped from the flame. But the tips of her hair are singed a little and her skin is rosy from the heat.

After expelling the last fireball, Sakura coughs, smoke wafting briefly from mouth and nostrils, but when it dissipates, her eyes are dancing.

“How’s that?” she challenges, hands on her hips and chin jutted out.

Sasuke smirks. “As expected.”

“Oh, come on. That was amazing and you know it – mine might even be better than yours!”

“Don’t push it.”

She laughs at that.

“I think I burnt my tongue; my taste buds aren’t going to work properly for a week!” Her face becomes inquisitive. “What’s the occasion, though? Or did you really just want to avoid another gourmet dinner at Ichiraku’s with Naruto?”

As Sasuke has come to expect from her, Sakura provides him with an out. He’s not entirely sure how long she’s been doing that or whether it’s intentional, but he appreciates it all the same.

Even if today, he will not make use of it.

“That’s an extra benefit,” he allows, earning an amused, somewhat conspiratorial grin. He pauses again, momentarily at loss of how to say what he needs to say. Eyes trained on the surface of the lake, he steels himself and continues.  “This technique…in my family, it’s a right of passage.”

He lets that sink in.

“Oh, yeah. I think you mentioned that once,” she says thoughtfully. “Or Kakashi-sensei said it. It’s like a coming-of-age tradition, right?”

“Hm,” he affirms and, trying to lace his words with meaning, confides, “It’s only passed on by close family members.”

“Right. That’s why your father taught you. It’s such a nice tradition.”

Sasuke winces inwardly because she clearly doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. It’s not a failing on her part, either, but his own inability to properly articulate the point. The words are there, but for some reason, they die somewhere between throat and lips. Demons and malevolent gods he can take, but this five-foot-four woman with pink hair makes Sasuke nervous. And it’s not because she can crush his skull with her little finger, either.

“Until one can perform the jutsu properly, one cannot truly claim the name Uchiha,” he explains, hoping the inflexion of the words conveys his intended meaning.   

 But Sakura still doesn’t get it.

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a child,” she says lightly. She’s probably imagining him struggling to learn the technique, terrified of failure.

She wouldn’t be wrong, either.

The knots in Sasuke’s stomach get worse and, if she doesn’t realise soon, he’ll have to spell it out for her. He’s half-angry about that because she’s supposed to be smarter. She should just know what he’s trying to say, and save him from making an utter fool of himself.

“Not just a child,” he corrects, again elaborately casual. “You performed it perfectly.”

Please…just…listen to what I’m trying to say.

Sakura’s breath catches in her throat.

The silence between them suddenly isn’t so companionable, but fraught with a tension like the entire world is holding it’s breath.

Sasuke doesn’t look directly at her as she parses his words, using that blinding intellect of hers to understand what he’s trying to ask, but he glimpses her face from the corner of his eye. This is how he watches her expression blossom with understanding.

Success.

He turns to her then. “I have no right to ask anything of you,” he says plainly. “Not after everything.”

“Sasuke –”

“Sakura, let me…” he trails off, jaw working and his own voice catching as the words get lost again, but damn it, he has to get this out! “I don’t know if I have the capacity to be what you want – what you’ve hoped for. Or if I can give you everything that you deserve. And it’s possible I’ve waited too long.” He swallows. “But when I think of family – even at my lowest point, where I’d given up on the idea – you were the only one I could ever see myself with, the one I…”

Again, words fail him, and Sasuke wants to yell in frustration. He needs her to know because maybe the faster he gets it out, the better the odds will be. Sakura deserves so much better – always has – and could have anyone else. She should have anyone else, but he’s still hoping against hope that she won’t want anyone else –

“Say it.”

Sasuke is rather jarringly brought out of his rambling, insecure thoughts by a cracking whisper.

Sakura stares up at him, tears welling in her eyes – why is it him who always makes her cry! He expected her to be flustered or awkward, but instead, she looks the same as she does when bracing for a physical blow.

This confuses him. “What?”

“I need you to say it,” she tells him, barely above a whisper. “Just once. Say it and mean it.” Her fists clench. “I’ll never ask to hear it again if that’s what you want, but before I can say yes – to the future, to trying, to…to all of it – you have to say it.” She takes a shuddering breath. “If you can’t, then I…I…”

She trails off as if the idea is too hard for her to even enunciate, too painful to consider – for either of them.

Sasuke has never been good with words.

What he feels for Sakura, he doesn’t want to – can’t, really – put into words. There is no collection of syllables or sounds that are accurate enough to describe the girl who gave him her heart when they were children. The woman who waited for him for years; forgave him for trying to kill her, their best friend, and their entire village.

He has wandered the world, looking for redemption and it’s only since returning here that he’s realised he had it the whole time.

He wants to tell her all of that, but he doesn’t think she’ll understand. Not now, not yet – not while they are still getting used to being around one another. Maybe after a lifetime, if she’ll give him that, it will come easier – his words and her ability to trust in him.

But for now, she wants something so simple, something almost infantile, as if a set phrase is a guarantee – a safety net or a reward of some kind. He knows this, but struggles to give it to her, because it’s just so insufficient. And everything about him to date, when it relates to her, has been insufficient.

If he does this wrong, she’ll turn away; it’s why she’s giving him this ultimatum in the first place. In their time apart, she’s developed into a strong, independent individual with unapologetic self-respect and unmalleable resolve.

She knows what his hopes are, the second of his ultimate goals. And even though he doesn’t deserve it, he won’t lie and say it isn’t one of his motivations. But Sakura won’t become the vehicle for his happiness unless she’s sure she’ll benefit from it as well. It’s only fair and Sasuke admires her all the more for it, but right now, it’s making him want to turn tail and run.

“Sakura…”

He really, really wishes he was better at this.

Just do it already, you ass.

And why isn’t it surprising that, in this moment where the rest of his life might change for better or worse, Sasuke can clearly hear the voice of his idiot best friend telling him what to do? It almost makes him want to check to make sure the fool isn’t lurking somewhere nearby.

Regardless of it’s source, the advice is right. No more good can come of waiting.

Sasuke bends down so that his forehead presses against Sakura’s, bringing them eye to eye. She tenses up and her pale cheeks flush with colour, her lips parting in surprise. If this position prevents Sakura from seeing the colour rising on his own face and neck or noticing that his hand is shaking as it gently takes hers, all the better.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he says in a low voice, “but I want to spend it with you.”

Her lower lip trembles at this.

“Because…because you love me?” Sakura prompts, the question a whisper but with a mettle to it, a firm reminder that she will not let him off easy in this moment.

Sasuke exhales through his nose in defeat, eyes closed in affectionate resignation.

“Hm. Because I love you.”

When he opens his eyes, Sakura’s are (if possible) wider than he has ever seen. The utter shock etched into every other feature is simultaneously amusing and worrisome; he wonders dimly if against all odds, this is finally what breaks her.  

Putting some distance between their faces, he gently taps two fingers beneath the rhombus-shaped seal on her forehead – partially to make sure she’s still cognizant, but also to drive the message home. Sakura has never completely understood the gesture before in the handful of instances he’s demonstrated it, but now understanding flickers into place.

That this is not just today and not only because she asked him, but that he has wanted this for so much longer.

Glassy green eyes are now overflowing with tears, the droplets winding down the curves of her cheeks and quivering jaw. Mild panic sets in – why is she upset? Shouldn’t she be happy?

“Sakura, why are you cry – mmph!”

Fingers fist in his shirt and a pair of soft lips are planted very firmly against his own.

Sasuke stands frozen for several seconds. Dimly, he supposes he should’ve expected this, because isn’t this what’s meant to happen when two people acknowledge feelings for one another? Essentially, he just asked Sakura to spend the rest of her life with him, so it shouldn’t come as a shock that there would be a physical confirmation of this. Only, he didn’t quite expect it to happen so fast. Well, fast, he thinks, is relative. They have been building up to this since childhood, but he’s still not sure –

“You’re supposed to kiss me back,” Sakura mumbles against his mouth. If he wasn’t blushing before, the embarrassment hits fully now. Still, the permission takes at least some of his discomfiture away.

Slow and tentative, Sasuke returns the kiss.

It’s clumsy and uncertain because he’s never done this before, but she makes a small, approving noise at the back of her throat and he guesses he’s doing something right.

Sakura tastes like smoke from the Katon and something sweet he doesn’t have a name for. He suspects he could spend the rest of his life trying to figure it out without success, but that idea doesn’t bother him at all.

She fits her mouth over his, softly pulling his bottom lip between hers, and Sasuke’s senses fade out. Something like relief passes over him, as if a weight has been pulled from his very soul. The last, tightly coiled vestiges of doubt and anxiety that have gathered in him for years are now gone, and the only thing in the world is her.

That in itself is mildly terrifying, but in a good way.

Achingly slowly, Sakura pulls away from him, reaching up to brush his hair away from his left eye. Her fingers stay in place, keeping the strands from falling back while her thumb traces a gentle arc from eyebrow to temple.

He leans into the touch and she grins at him.

“Well?” she prompts. “What do you think?”

“…hm?” It should concern Sasuke that his brain takes a second or two to catch up.

“Better than Naruto, right?” she wants to know.

The post-kiss haze vanishes.  

Sasuke sputters out a wordless response because that’s not how these things are supposed to go. His people skills might be rusty, but he’s pretty sure it’s far from normal to remind the man who just confessed his feelings about his (very unwilling) first (and second) kiss with their mutual best friend.

Sakura is laughing – at him or at the situation, he doesn’t know. He should be annoyed about this – and if she ever tells anyone about this he will be – but the tears in her eyes are from mirth, not pain or sadness and, for once, he doesn’t regret putting them there.

“Yes, by the way,” she tells him happily, leaning into his chest. “Yes to all of it.”

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終わり

I hope you enjoyed the story! As part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go vote, like and/or reblog, it would be majorly appreciated!

クリ