#otp: rewrite this story

[zacksfairest]

god NO ONE asked for this but i dont care im feeling insane today.

the top five songs that make me gnaw on my hands the most for Lem/Addie are:

Rewrite the Stars

Merry Go Round

Akumo no Ko (English Cover)

Elaborate Lives (Reprise)

Written in the Stars

[miitgaanar]

The Howling

It's me! Again! When will someone nail my hands to the floor so I can't write self-indulgent garbage ever again!

Anyway, this idea was born of the hypothetical plot point I rambled on about many months ago in this post. It's haunted me ever since. Don't ask me if this is something that really happens in my little continuity. I genuinely haven't decided if this is a What If or concrete fact.

I don't suggest reading this. But, then again, I never suggest reading anything I write <3

***

The training grounds.  One hour.

The summons had been concise, almost curt in its brevity.  The chosen parchment had yellowed with age, the edges wrinkled and torn as if it had been thoughtlessly ripped from an old tome.  It had been left on her cot and folded over twice, likely to hide the simple message from prying eyes.  No name accompanied the words scratched onto the page, nor a wax seal to identify its sender—but it was hardly needed.  It never was.

He was already there when Addilyn Theron stepped onto the stone path leading to the training grounds, his long golden hair shimmering dully in the pale light of the moon.  Night had long since fallen over the city of Durlyne, the sky dark and clear of clouds.  A brilliant display of stars shone unimpeded from the heavens, countless in their number, rendering the lamplights lining the temple grounds superfluous in their placement.

It was little surprise that Lemuel Adelier’s gaze remained skyward as she approached.

“Sir?” Addilyn ventured, watching him.  He was hunched forward, leaning against the waist-high stone wall that separated the training grounds from the surrounding pathways, his forearms braced atop the rough-hewn surface.  He was still in uniform, though his plate armor had been removed.  Odd, considering the late hour.  “You asked to see me?”

Lemuel hummed in response, seemingly unsurprised by her appearance.  “How was the patrol this evening?”

Straight to business, then.  She resisted the urge to sigh.  “Fine, sir,” she said, coming to stand alongside him.  “Just the usual rabble.”

“Is that so?” he said flatly.  His eyes remained fixed on the moon, his features schooled into a mask of cool indifference.  “Bloodied your blade on your own bowels then, did you?”

Addilyn cringed, cursing softly under her breath.  She’d hoped that more important matters had garnered his attention, but little escaped his notice lately, especially where she was concerned.  It made what solace she still found in his presence seem thin and brittle.

“It was nothing, sir,” she insisted, averting her gaze to the ground.  “Just an unruly band of Geffie.  We put them down easy enough.”

Her skin prickled as Lemuel’s attention finally turned to her, his scrutiny nigh unbearable. She remained silent, unmoving in the face of his unspoken accusation.  A Semon’s blood had indeed stained her sword that evening, the man part of a gang of Gefendur intent on burning down a Ssaelit owned market stall.  They’d been dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly, but such was the daily life of a Lion these days.  Blood flowed easier than water within Durlyne.

And yet a cold dread pooled within the depths of her belly.  No one had seen her cut down the Semon, only the crimson gore that drenched her blade in the aftermath.  No one had noticed the flash of recognition in the man’s dark eyes as he met her gaze, the realization of who he’d stumbled upon dawning just a moment too late.

Lemuel couldn’t know that the Lioness had slaughtered yet another huntsman intent on her hide.  She’d made sure of it, killing the warning shout that sat upon his tongue before it could be given life.

“Addie,” Lemuel said quietly, wearily.  “You can’t keep on like this.”

“Keep on like what?”  Addilyn rolled her shoulders, all professional pretense forgotten.  “It was a routine patrol.  You’d have done no differently.”

“This isn’t about the patrol.”  He sighed heavily, the shadow of annoyance beginning to creep into his words.  He pinched at the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply before he continued, his voice soft and near inaudible.  “The wolves are closing in.  By God, I can feel them nipping at our heels even now.”

“What are you talking about?”  She glanced his way, the familiar claws of trepidation digging into her chest.  “Lem, what’s all this about?”

Lemuel sighed again, turning to face her fully.  There was a strange look about him; his jaw set, his gaze unflinching.  As if he had steeled himself for some long awaited battle.  “Have you ever thought of taking the Third Option, Addie?”

“Taking th—?”  An incredulous laugh escaped her then, the sound sharp and grating in the tranquil silence.  She looked up at him in utter disbelief, waiting for the derisive smirk to take shape, to hear the rumbling chuckle that always accompanied his playful jibes.  ‘You’re so serious of late, Theron,’ he would say, his golden eyes alight with mirth.  ‘We truly must do something about that.’

But the laughter never came.  His lips remained a thin line, the corners dipped downward in the beginnings of a frown, his aureate eyes harder than the stone beneath their feet.

“Y—You can’t be serious,” Addilyn said, her laughter petering out into a pathetic wince.  “Why would I ever consider that?”

“The Gefendur still hunt you,” Lemuel said gravely.  “They still call for your head.  Each time you step outside the temple gates, you take your life into your own hands.  And it’s only a matter of time before their demands reach the Lions, then even this precarious haven will have been lost to you.”  His eyes softened but a fraction.  “It could mean security for you.  Safety.  Protection under the law from both your own faith and theirs.”

“They’d never allow it.” Desperation clawed its way up her throat, undercutting the otherwise insouciant declaration.  He couldn’t truly think this was the right path for her.  The only path.  “I’m no wright.  They know I’ve no talent for spellery.  They’d have no use for me.”

“You’re a good soldier,” Lemuel reasoned.  He said it with such conviction, such genuine affection.  It was enough to cleave her heart in two.  “You have fought and bled and killed in the name of Ssael.  You know how desperate we are for seasoned Ssaelit soldiers, men willing to hold the line against our impending slaughter.  It’s reason enough to push the request through.”

“And what about me?” she snapped.  “What would happen to me?  You know what the oath calls for, what it would mean for me.  For—”  She choked on the word.  “For us.”

He looked away from her then, his features shuttered once more.  “You’ve no protectors left, Addie.  That you’ve lived as you have for this long is a miracle in itself.”

“And so I must kill Addilyn Theron?”  The words were sharp, venomous, each one a viper’s bite plunged into flesh.  “After everything she has accomplished?  After everything she has overcome?”  She scoffed, forcing the indignation to crush the despair blooming within her.  “You’ve always preached how we can’t give in to them, that to do so is to die a slow death under their heel.  And now you propose I do exactly that.”

“I propose you live.”  Lemuel rounded on her, his frustration boiling over at last.  Addilyn did not so much as flinch.  “And if Addilyn Theron must cease to exist to ensure your survival, that should be a small price to pay.”  He loomed over her, the moon’s faint glow casting his face in deep, menacing shadow.  “The Geffies will not grant you a swift death.  I’ve heard the whispers, the plans they have for you.  You’d be tortured, defiled, paraded about for all to see.  An example made of you, a promise of what is to come for us all should they achieve their loftiest goals.”

A trickle of fear began to seep into her veins, her blood running cold at the imagery put forth—though she continued to hold his gaze, her chin held high.

“Were you to bleed out in the street with a poisoned blade buried in your chest,” he rumbled, “it would be a mercy compared to what awaits you at their hands.”

“You ask me to die a slow death either way,” she said firmly, undaunted.  “That one is seemingly bloodless does not make it any less agonizing.”

“You are a liability as you are, Addilyn,” he spat, pounding his fist atop the stone wall with a dull thud.  At that, she flinched.  “To both Ssaelism and to Alderode.  The Lions have been keenly aware of this from the start.  Your only true protection laid in the word of a fucking Copper, and he has remained silent despite the encroaching scourge.  The Lions had not dared anger him, fearing bloody retribution, but without his looming shadow there is nothing to keep them from ousting you.”

A beat passed, one in which Addiyn felt an acute sadness settle upon her shoulders.  After all this time, after everything they'd endured, she never thought he would be the one to come to her with this.

“You can’t ask this of me,” she whispered, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.  It was the only way she could hide how they trembled.  “You can’t ask me to throw my entire life away.  To kill the woman that I am in the name of survival.  I can't live that lie.”

“Think beyond yourself, Addie,” he pleaded, a sudden softness overtaking him.  “Civil war looms, and we cannot afford even the smallest crack in our armor when they come for us.  We need you, I need you—but not as you are now.”

Addilyn recoiled as if slapped.  Lemuel’s brow furrowed in—apology? Sympathy?  She couldn’t tell.  She didn’t much care either.

“Sacrifices must be made if we are to survive,” he continued.  “Ssael asks much of us at His altar in this crusade.”

“And I am to be the sacrificial lamb.”  A small, derisive laugh burst forth unbidden, and Addilyn shifted to hunch forward over the stone wall, her palms flat against the rough surface.  The stone was cool to the touch, a balm against her feverish skin.  Out of the corner of her eye, she would swear she saw Lemuel flinch.  “How poetic.”

“Addilyn—”

“If Ssael cannot accept me as I am,” she cut him off, a steely resolve taking root within her, “if His followers cannot see the injustice in this, then what use would there be in such a compromise?  If the Gefendur truly want me dead, a pitiful oath will not stop them.  And I'll have flayed myself alive for nothing.”

“Don’t be foolish, Addilyn,” Lemuel warned.

“I won’t take the Third Option, Lem.” There was a note of finality to her voice. She could abide this torment no longer. “I won’t bind my chest and tie another unhappy woman into an unhappy marriage.  I am well aware of the expectations tied to that oath, as well as the scrutiny that comes in the aftermath.  I would drive myself mad with despair, with grief at what I had discarded.”  She glanced sidelong at him, desperate for him to understand.  “Why add to the weight of Alderode’s boot upon my back when the end result will be the same?  It’s heavy enough as it is.”

Silence descended, thicker than even the densest fog. It felt impenetrable, a chasm opening between them. A sharp pang of sorrow twisted at her heart, leaving her vision blurry with unshed tears. She didn’t know what pained her the most: that he had asked this of her, knowing what it entailed, what it meant for her—for them; or that it seemed, even now, she was simply not enough.

Lemuel’s shoulders sagged, an air of resignation about him.  He ran a hand through his golden hair, the strands near silver beneath the night sky.  His face was unreadable, an emotion she could not quite place crossing his features.  It made something within her squirm, an unfamiliar disquiet clenching at her gut.

Lemuel looked toward the training grounds, and there was the slightest crack in that unreadable facade.  “This was where we first met,” he said, a sad smile pulling at his lips, a faraway look in his eyes.

Addilyn’s gaze followed his own, falling upon the practice staves and shields littered about the ground.  A terrible melancholy fell over her.

“To think,” she began, her voice little more than a whisper, “that you’d still be fighting to be rid of me all these years later.”

Lemuel simply hummed, moving to stand behind her.  The air was still and crisp, the bite of a quickly fading winter evident.  There was a familiar comfort in this, in having him at her back.  Solid, warm, safe.

A hand came to rest at her hip.  She could feel each breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.  She allowed herself to lean back against him, to indulge in this moment.  To forget the wolves that sat ready to tear her asunder, if only for this instance.

His lips brushed the top of her head, an uncharacteristically tender gesture. The sensation sent a pleasant shiver skittering down her spine.

And then he spoke, the words soft and entreating—and filled with a grief she’d never once heard pass his lips. “Dan paesabi, da lledeol.”

It happened so quickly.  An immense pressure at her neck.  The stone wall digging into her pelvis.  Lemuel’s weight at her back, pushing her forward.  Trapping her.  Restraining her.

Addilyn clawed at the arm around her neck, only to be met with the thick leather of his riding gloves, her nails cracking and splintering against the well-tended armor.  She could find no purchase on the ground, no leverage to break his hold.  Her legs were pinned against the waist-high wall, held in place by Lemuel’s considerable strength.

And it was only then, as her vision began to fade, the dark abyss of unconsciousness rushing forward to claim her, that she realized Lemuel Adelier had betrayed her.

[vayneoc]

Template by arcandoria

[greenfleeze]

Cover art for Love, Romanoff Style: Redux

When Natasha accidentally drinks a love potion in Tony's lab, she decides to go after the one man she’s always wanted: Steve Rogers.

[bllrk]

you know when you loved a ship as a kid but now you're like god that was iffy but also they had the most compelling love story of the show or even the POTENTIAL? yeah thats me with marrish

[arrowverse-next-gen]

So I sneak out to the garden to see you We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew So close your eyes Escape this town for a little while

[sailorshadzter]

in my darkest of nights, you are the light which guides me home - a rewrite.

what if harry potter was not the final horcrux? a dark story of friendship, love, war, and everything between.

a rewrite of a story i wrote in 2014. a very dark story. please read at your own risk.

chapter 2.

chapter 3.

chapter 4.

[mermaidgirl-4565]

I just think it’s funny that my smut fic is starting with a massage not because it’s sensual but because my girl is overworked and her body aches and if you want to get her in the mood she’s gotta stop feeling the body aches first.

This is not the smut fic of my teen years. That’s for sure 😂

[dontmindme2600]

I have no beef with people who are only into something for like one or two characters but have little to no interest in the rest of the story- like I’ve been there, but seeing takes from those people about a story that’s actually genuinely well made gets stressful. Even worse when they try to “fix” it through fanfiction or something because it’s gets so obvious they’ve never bothered to think about the story beyond a single character or ship, yet are somehow convinced that canon is doing it “wrong.”

[writing-for-life]

Lupē

Finally, finally I manage a Calliope/Morpheus fic (the Sandman Rarepair Fest had to come along to kick me into gear). It’s just a short vignette, but I hope I did them justice because they will always be the OTP to me. The prompt is Hurt/Comfort.

You can read on Ao3 or here. And no matter where you read, your kudos, comments, shares and reblogs are so appreciated and help writers to get their stuff discovered 🖤

Lupē (616 words) by Writing-for-Life Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Calliope/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Calliope/Dream of the Endless, Calliope & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Reconciliation, Past Relationship(s), Rare Pairings, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite Summary:

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered. […] And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

Lupē

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the twisted spires of the castle. She had not returned here since that fateful day.

The Gatekeepers stood before her, eyes like onyx reflecting the aeons they had witnessed. Last time, they had been impassive, their voices cold as they denied her entry.

But tonight, something had changed: They recognised her.

"Calliope," the wyvern’s voice echoed through the mist. "You seek the Lord of Dreams."

She nodded, and her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow. "I come to speak to him."

Calliope's fingers trembled. She remembered the bitter words they had exchanged—the accusations, the tears. Later, Oneiros had been unyielding, her attempts to speak to him ignored. She was not even sure what would have happened had he acted differently then; the thought of bringing forth an apology entered her mind and was as quickly dismissed. She felt her hands ball into fists, bitterness resurfacing.

No, this is not the time.

The guardians exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. "Why are you here, muse?" the hippogriff asked.

She hesitated. "Our son's absence binds us, even in sorrow."

There was no more talk, no further interrogation. The gates just creaked open.

Calliope stepped across the threshold, and her footsteps echoed on the stairs and the marble corridors. With every step, her heart picked up pace until it was racing so fast she could hardly catch a breath.

The door was as she remembered—unchanged, the wood dark and polished, etched with symbols whose meaning she understood and yet didn’t.

Just like him.

But that wasn’t true. He had been changed when last they met. Familiar yet different, faint echoes of what once she loved—and hated.

Calliope pushed the door open, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, she wondered what she had expected to find. How she had expected him to greet her. And then she knew that this was exactly it:

His back turned on her, no sign of movement, frozen in space.

She crossed the room, her breath catching in her throat, unable to speak.

She didn’t have to.

"Calliope," he whispered, still not turning. There was a rawness to his voice, even in that whisper, that caught her unaware.

She reached for him, without any hesitation, and while it surprised her, it felt right. As her hand touched his shoulder, he flinched subtly, but he didn't pull away.

When he finally turned, his eyes held galaxies, and their shared history was etched on his face—the pain, the longing—it was all there, laid bare.

And it was hard not to see Orpheus in him. Hard not to remember how he had told him stories, his voice like a melody spun from darkness and light, stardust and moonbeams, while the boy’s laughter would echo through the halls of the castle, and his cries for more brought a moment of happiness to everyone who heard it.

And then it was gone.

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered.

She had sung dirges and sought solace in memories, but they only deepened the pain.

And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

In that moment, his eyes searched hers. “You came.” And perhaps, they were seeking answers and forgiveness.

“You called.”

And perhaps, they were also holding the faint glimmer of hope…

[danpuff-ao3]

Thanks for the tag @cindle-writes!

"Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free to pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗"

Tagging: @perverse-idyll @writcraft @lizzy0305 @ripeteeth @lqtraintracks @threadbearao3 and whoever else might want to play!

It was hard to narrow down, as I've written well over 100 fics in my time (most available on AO3, but I still have some secrets). This has been good to look at and think about in light of my recent writerly struggles. Gave me a nice reminder of what I love and what I've accomplished.

1.) Contempt | Devotion

I'm counting them together, since they're the same story from different perspectives. Nothing will ever top them for me. They are THE Snarry story for me. They've been my OTP for 20+ years, and those works are years and years of dedication (and devotion, ha) to this ship. It's all the feelings I've ever had about them. It's the version of them, as individuals and together, that most resonates with me.

It is, as I often say, the story of my soul. I ripped these words out of my teeth, out of my bones, and wrote them with my blood. It was an agonizing process, and one I would do again and again, because I could not be more proud of anything, and it still amazes me that I created this story. That I finally pulled it out of my soul and put it to words. All of the passion I have for them, all of my history with this ship, all of it is right there.

(Also shoutout to the other little ficlets in the series; this version of Snarry will always have my heart.)

2.) Collateral Damage

While Contempt is the Snarry of my dreams, Collateral Damage is the DRON of my dreams.

Draco and Ron are my secondary OTP, and while I could write and rewrite Snarry to death, I have a hard time revisiting Dron as the main relationship, because I feel like I put everything I had for them into this one story.

The fic is written in Draco's POV, which I loved and was such a treat. I loved exploring Draco and Ron as individuals, and as a couple, and considering them more than I ever had before. It was fun playing with some real enemies-to-lovers, and seeing it become something really passionate and loving and fun (but also angsty, because I'm ME, hello).

It's a tale of revenge and insecurity, and fooling yourself while you try to fool others. I tried to really love on Draco and Ron both, while also diving into their respective flaws, and while I already loved them, writing this fic made me love them all the more.

3.) The Curse of Anteros

Another Snarry, of course. This one is such a love story, in some ways, though there's plenty of questionable (objectionable) content there. But for me, that made it all the more romantic, this sort of love conquers all, even in the worst of scenarios. My boys survived toxicity, and a curse, and life.

It's also a concept I've played with for quite some time, inspired by a Charmed episode (which was itself inspired by a film called Ladyhawke). It was a fun exercise in watching them grow, and watching time move on, with their connection unchanged. The story spans decades, and really, I'm not sure I've written anything more romantic!

Also features art by my dear friend @mrviran which is phenomenal and I am still totally awed by what they created for this story!! It was fun inventing a creature together, too <3

4.) A Matter of Time

Another Snarry which also holds a special place in my heart. It was a unique experience of trying new things. For one, it was alternating POV, which I don't normally care for; for me it's hard to maintain flow along with maintaining character voices. But ALSO it was told in reverse chronological order, which I'd been dying to try! Also...the angst. I love it.

And the END!!!! The end kills me and I love it. </3

5.) Cruel Summer

I waffled with choosing 5, because I felt like it should be Orange Blossoms, and I think part of me was scared to put this one on the list. You know...devastating and dead dovey as it is. It's a Sirry fic, one that I'd been cooking up in my noggin' for a few years.

I wanted to play with a darker side to Sirry, and portraying a very unhealthy and troubling relationship which really only felt natural with all that Harry and Sirius had been through. I wanted to do them and the concept justice, which I really think I did, and I'm really proud of how it came out. There's more story to tell...the real story, I think, will be the aftermath, but we'll see if it ever actually comes to fruition. In the meantime, I really love this story, awful as the content is.

[zacksfairest]

more lem/addie thoughts. my laser eyes are at the ready.

"how do i get around Addie being part of the patrol in which Lem was supposed to die"

because it would have been a death sentence, and if we are assuming that no one outside of bastion and maybe one or two other members of the cabal were aware duane was the real target, they wouldn't have passed up the opportunity to be rid of her. this would have been a death in the line of duty, and no fault could fall on them for this.

and i don't think Lem would have wanted this, though would not really be able to order her off the patrol without it looking mighty suspicious, even if there's nothing actually going on between them yet.

after throwing this around in my brain for a few days, my simplest solution is this:

he slips something into her canteen/mug/whatever that makes her violently ill, and so she is physically unable to join the patrol and she is swapped out for someone else.

it's great bc it is a viable reason to get her off the patrol and out of (perceived) harm's way. but also it's great bc it's a final act of selfishness on Lem's part before he believes he heads off to his death.

yes this is the shit occupying my brain when i should actually be working

[miitgaanar]

Title: Blood on the Cobbles | Wherein the Lioness Falls Prey to the Wolves

Summary:

Unrest plagues Alderode, her Ssaelit citizens under constant threat of violence by their Gefendur neighbors. Even the city of Durlyne, the capital of the Ssaelit faith, is no longer a safe haven. Soldiers patrol the streets of the city, stretched thin by the constant attacks on the people they are charged with protecting. Addilyn Theron is one such soldier. A woman of the Semon caste, an accident of fate allowed for her to join the Lions of Mercy, a post she has proudly retained for nearly ten years—though it has not been without its hardships. Such hardships have only ever been exacerbated in times of strife, and it would seem now is no exception. Something torments Lemuel Adelier, Addilyn's commanding officer and trusted confidant. She had assumed it to be the burden of command, but his silence on the matter eats at her heart until it is nigh unbearable.The air is rife with hatred and fear in Alderode, and Addilyn can only hope that she can be more of a help than a hindrance to her esteemed captain.

Here it is, lads! My submission for the 2023 Unsounded Fanworks contest. It is terribly long, but I can only hope that it at least entertains :)

*****************

Heavy, gray clouds sat low in the sky above Durlyne, leaving the city bathed in an ashen and gloomy light.  There was a chill to the air, as if winter had dug its claws into the earth in a desperate attempt to keep its hold in the face of a looming spring.  Flower buds dotted the trees and lush, green grass had begun to sprout from the ground, but such delicate life might well be snuffed out should this chill persist into a full-on frost.

Not that Addilyn Theron paid any of that much mind, even as her breath appeared as a visible cloud before her and the brisk wind stung at her cheeks.  She had more important matters to attend to, like the wooden staff haphazardly swung at her head.

With hardly a thought, Addilyn batted the weapon away with a swing of her own wooden staff, the sharp clatter of wood on wood echoing loudly throughout the training grounds.

A harsh sigh escaped her, and she gave ground as yet another poorly aimed swing came toward her face.  “You swing that thing like an old woman would wield a broom against the lads stomping around her newly planted roses.”

Addilyn’s young opponent let out an aggravated growl, the girl’s lovely golden hair tied back into a braid that swayed wildly with each equally wild swing of her staff.  Sharp, vibrant green eyes glared up at her as she stabbed toward Addilyn’s abdomen.

“Oi!” Addilyn sidestepped the jab and swung down to trap the weapon beneath her own against the ground.  Her protégé tended to get a bit overzealous once frustration began to set in.  “Easy, Mikaila.  No need to get nasty about it.”

“Then just stand still for a second so I can actually hit you,” Mikaila Adelier bit out, grunting with the effort to free her staff.

Addilyn tsked softly, releasing the weapon and causing the young girl to stumble backwards.  In a single, smooth movement, Addilyn closed the distance between them, sweeping the butt of her staff toward Mikaila’s unprotected side.

To the girl’s credit, she recovered quickly enough, bringing her staff up with a startled yelp to block the attack.  Addilyn hummed her approval before shifting her weight to strike with the opposite end of her staff, aiming for Mikaila’s upper torso.

But Mikaila’s reflexes had always been sharp, and she ducked low, avoiding the blow with little issue.  Addilyn then stepped into a sharp spin, her staff a blur as she swung downward at Mikaila’s nearly prone form—only to have the girl roll out of her reach, the butt of the staff hitting the dirt with a dull thwack.

Mikaila quickly scrambled to her feet, her staff held out in front of her in a defensive stance, her gaze steady on Addilyn as she watched for her next move.

Addilyn twirled her staff with a flourish, her lips quirked into an amused smile.  “And how do you expect to hit me from all the way over there, Miki?”

“Arrogance is hardly a good look on you, Addie,” Mikaila retorted, circling around Addilyn so she no longer stood directly before her.  “It’s bad enough when Papa talks like that.”

Addilyn huffed a small laugh, tracking the girl’s movement with her gaze.  “Where do you think I learned it from?”

Mikaila rushed her then, swinging low toward Addilyn’s legs.  Smart move—incapacitate rather than go for a killing blow.  A good strategy for someone with her particular talents.  But Addilyn easily avoided the swing, stepping back and to the side as Mikaila attempted to redirect the swing into an uppercut to her head.

A thunderous crack sounded through the air as Addilyn met the swing with one of her own, pride swelling in her chest as the force of the impact reverberated up her arms.  The strength behind the blow was evident, even in one as slight as Mikaila.  There was a time where such a strike would have caused the young Soud to drop her weapon, her hold too weak to weather such an attack, but she stood firm before her now, her grip upon the staff solid and sure.

A smirk pulled at Addilyn’s lips, and she dug her heels into the earth to push back with her staff.  Mikaila stumbled backwards, nearly losing her footing as she struggled to maintain a fighting stance.  Addilyn moved quickly then, jabbing the base of her staff forward in a feint—only to then sweep the girl’s feet out from under her with the other end as she attempted to block.

Mikaila landed on her back with a soft oof, which was quickly followed by an aggravated groan as she rolled onto her side to scowl up at Addilyn.

“That’s not fair!” she accused, her girlish face twisted into something short of fury.  A few strands of hair had come loose from her braid, which only served to make her look more frazzled than fearsome.  “I had you!”

“If you had me, I’d be the one on my back attempting to soothe my wounded pride.”  Addilyn planted the butt of her staff into the dirt as her free hand came to rest at her hip.  “But you did well, though.  That last hit was a strong one.  And your reflexes are as sharp as ever.  You made me fight for it.”

“You tricked me,” Mikaila pouted, and Addilyn couldn’t help but laugh.  “You move too fast!  And that last move was dirty.  I thought you were going for my face!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Addilyn intoned, moving forward to help Mikaila up.  “I never thought the great Golden Delight would stoop so low—”

The world suddenly tilted on its axis, and Addilyn landed on her back with a shout as her feet slipped out from under her.  She blinked in confusion, staring up at the deep gray sky for a beat before she pushed herself up into a sitting position.  Beneath her, the ground had solidified into a smooth sheet of ice, its surface so clear that had Addilyn not known any better, she would have sworn that bone dry earth lay there.

She looked up in time to watch as a dull green glow faded from Mikaila’s hand, and a devilish grin began to split the girl’s otherwise angelic features.

“You brat!” Addilyn groaned, rubbing at her lower back.  There was going to be one hell of a bruise there tomorrow.  “I said no pymary!”

Somewhere off to the side, Addilyn could hear someone snicker.  Daring a glance over her shoulder, she spotted the young Will Argenti leaning against the wooden fence that separated the sparring area from the paths that cut through the Temple of Song’s parade grounds, practically doubled over with the effort to suppress his laughter.

“Great show, Addie!”  Will called, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mirth beneath a messy head of silver hair.  What an asshole.  “Exactly the grace and skill I’d expect from the Lioness of Durlyne.”

Addilyn chose not to comment on the use of her accursed moniker, and instead simply flashed her pinky at him.  Will only chuckled anew.

“Way to be sporting about it!” he replied.  His attention shifted slightly and he offered a small wave and a charming grin.

Addilyn rolled her eyes, turning to see that Mikaila had gotten to her feet and was sheepishly returning the wave.  A soft moan left her as her shoulders sagged.  Lemuel would give her an earful for this later.

“I’d be even better if you let me fight with pymary,” Mikaila said, coming to stand before Addilyn, her hand outstretched.  “I’m not good at this sparring stuff.  But I am good at pymary.”

A sigh escaped Addilyn, and she accepted the proffered hand, grunting slightly as the young girl pulled her to her feet.  It was odd to see Mikaila nearly match her in height, her blossoming womanhood only just barely hidden beneath the brown and green uniform Lemuel had lent her.  The days of the little wright draped in powder blue cloaks hugging at her waist were long gone, though those days had vanished far sooner than they should have—in a flash of spellfire and blood soaked steel.

“I’d much rather not have the flesh flayed from my body or my blood boiled from within during a simple sparring session, thank you,” Addilyn said lightly, a snide grin in place.

“You know what I mean, Addie.”  Mikaila bent down to collect their staves before turning to lead them toward where Will still leaned against the old, splintering fence, a barely suppressed indignation coloring her words.  “Even little tricks like freezing the ground or redirecting momentum could be useful in a fight.”

“It’s because we don’t want you relying too much on the pymary, Miki,” Addilyn replied gently.  “You never know when it might not be an option.”

“When wouldn’t it be an option?  You could bind my hands and gag me tight enough to bleed and it wouldn’t matter.”

“And what of a khert fire?  What if the lines become too agitated to cast?”  Addilyn said mildly.  The look Mikaila threw her was one of the purest vexation.  Addilyn offered her an obnoxious smirk in return, reaching up to ruffle her hair.  “I know more than you think I do, brat.  And my point stands.  There are times when your spellery might not be possible, even with your irritating little tacit casting tricks, and we don’t want you caught flat-footed should that ever come to pass.”

Mikaila scoffed, swatting Addilyn’s hand away from her head.  “At least let me learn to fight with both,” she pleaded.  “I know it’s Papa pushing for this.  You never minded the pymary much.  Couldn’t you just talk to him?  Please?”

Addilyn released a long, slow breath.  The truth of the matter was more complicated than she had let on.  The country was in a sad state, the disdain for Ssaelism and its faithful reaching a height that made living even within Durlyne itself treacherous.  Gefendur were known to make their way into the city, vandalizing Ssaelit businesses and defacing temples, but the animosity was growing as of late, and such hatred could not be sated with the shattering of a window or the destruction of a few statues.

And Captain Lemuel Adelier wasn’t keen on leaving such matters to chance, not when it came to his family, and so had tasked Addilyn with ensuring Mikaila had at least a rudimentary knowledge of how to break a man’s nose or shatter his kneecaps.  She was too well known, a symbol of Ssaelit resilience in the face of Gefendur loathing; the Golden Delight, blessed by Ssael himself, who had survived a Crescian blade through the heart—and then slew her father’s murderers even as her own blood stained virgin snow a deep and angry red.

It had afforded Mikaila a certain measure of leniency in the eyes of their fellow Ssaelit, her pymaric talents a parlor trick to call upon, her presence a talisman for their troops when sent off to fight against Cresce’s ever looming forces.

But what their favor did not offer her was protection, not in any meaningful or long lasting way.  It instead made her a target, and that was something Lemuel was desperate to mitigate.

And so it was now left to Addilyn to maintain this delicate illusion, to disguise a father’s worry as little more than practicality and a soldier’s caution.  After all, simply telling Mikaila not to practice pymary, even for her own safety, would be about as productive as attempting to shout the ocean waters into a state of tranquility.  Better to avoid the conversation entirely and compel her to learn how to exist without it under the guise of a learning exercise.

“It’s basics first,” Addilyn began after a beat.  “That is the rule of all forms of learning, yes?  Even with your spells and incantations.”

“But—” Mikaila tried, her bright eyes wide with desperation.  Addilyn’s heart broke a little at the sight.

“I’ll tell you this, little girl,” Addilyn cut her off, her hand held up to silence Mikaila’s protests.  “Work at the sparring, strive to master your footwork and your stances.  And then maybe—maybe—once you’ve managed to land a blow on something other than a scarecrow, I can convince your father to allow us to work in a bit of spellery.”

Mikaila’s distress morphed into a precarious hope, and she immediately launched herself at Addilyn, wrapping her arms around the woman’s midsection in a tight embrace.  Addilyn stumbled back a step, but only too happily returned the affection, a gentle smile pulling at her lips as she patted lightly at the girl’s back.

“Thank you, Addie.”  Mikaila pulled away to grin brightly up at her tutor.  “I promise I’ll work hard at it.  I’ll make it hard for Papa to say no.”

Addilyn snorted softly.  It had been years since Lemuel had taken on the role of father in the Adelier household, and yet still it struck a sour note in her ears at times to hear him referred to as such.  “As long as you work harder than young Will, I’m sure you will be a master swordsman before the year is out.”

“Oi!”  Will shouted, clearly now within earshot of their conversation.  “I won the last few bouts against you, Addie!”

“Only because you conveniently chose the most inconvenient times to assert your newly acquired prowess with the sword,” Addilyn retorted, coming up to flick at the young Renghul’s nose.  

Will flinched back, rubbing at the afflicted flesh like he used to as a boy.  He looked so very young, then, and Addilyn found that she rather missed the days of his skittish youth.  He was, for all intents and purposes, a man now, standing almost a head taller than her and broader than she could ever hope to be.  It was a Silver's curse to have adulthood thrust upon them at a time when other castes might have continued to enjoy some semblance of innocence.  Though Will's childhood had been snatched from him long before it was necessary.

A common occurrence in Alderode, it seemed. 

“Fight me on a day I haven’t been patrolling from sunup, or assisting Captain Adelier with training,” she continued.  “Then we’ll see who comes out on top, Little Lion.”

“Big words from such a small lass,” he scoffed, resting an elbow atop her head, a taunting smirk firmly in place.  “It’s been some time since that abhorrent sobriquet you so generously bestowed upon me applied in any true sense.  Perhaps it’s time we traded?”

“By all means, take the damned thing.”  Addilyn slapped Will’s arm from her head none too gently.  Both he and Mikaila snickered.  “I would gladly have you knighted our dreaded Lioness if it took the burden from my shoulders.”

Mikaila tugged at her braid so it came to rest over her shoulder, her fingers fiddling with it nervously.  “Has it been so bad?” she asked tentatively.  “To be so widely known?”

Addilyn bit back a curse, a terrible guilt beginning to pool in her gut.  It was careless of her to grouse so openly with Mikaila here.  Will understood the difficulties that had sprung anew in light of her recent public exposure.  She’d always been something of an open secret, something the men of the Lions of Mercy didn’t particularly wish to talk about outside of the barracks, mostly in the vain hope that she’d one day just vanish, not unlike that of a sour stench when given time to air out.

But things hadn’t been too bad the last few years.  At least not compared to the beginning of her service amongst the venerable Lions.  It had taken time—hours upon hours of training and patrols and shit shoveling—and more than a handful of skirmishes, but the outright resentment directed her way from her fellows faded.  Some of the soldiers warmed up to her, and any who hadn’t mostly just ignored her.  It had been that way for some time, and it was something she could have happily lived with, had God permitted.

It had begun with a jest, started by her esteemed captain one night when drunk on spirits and the high of a victorious skirmish with Crescian forces.  

“And here’s to our vicious Lioness,” Lemuel had slurred loudly, tankard lifted high for all the room to see.  “For without her mighty claws and keen eye, I might very well be less one head.”

It had earned a round of raucous laughter and cheers, the rest of the men just as drunk as their captain and in good spirits.  She hadn’t thought twice about it, nor had Lemuel, if his foggy memory the next day was any indication, and the spontaneous salute to her deeds had been all but forgotten.

At least, that was what she had thought.

Either prying ears or loose lips led to that small fragment of the night reaching the desk of an especially nosy reporter, and, some weeks later, a headline printed in incriminating black ink and large, blocky lettering filled newstands across Durlyne.

The Lioness of Durlyne, they had called her, with all of the mockery and revulsion that such a title could evoke in her fellow Ssaelit.  The words printed upon the page were damning, and had left her more shaken than she cared to admit.  The whispers began soon after, spoken in low tones in taverns and storefronts and ghers alike.

A Semon woman?  A soldier?  Within the ranks of our sacred Lions of Mercy?  

It was unthinkable, even on the heels of the Golden Delight and her hallowed battle in the snow.

All too suddenly, the open secret of her existence was no secret at all, and she went from tolerated to abhorred overnight, leaving her right back where she had started nearly ten years ago.

But Mikaila didn’t need to know any of that, didn’t need to know how hard the last few months had been under such intense scrutiny, to suddenly feel so alone in a place she considered her home.  Mikaila was adored, cute as a button and believed to be a conduit for Ssael’s blessing.  They were different, to that effect.  Mikaila was a novelty; Addilyn had never been anything more than shit to be scraped off the heel of a boot.

Addilyn sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she forced a reassuring smile.  “It’s not so terrible,” she finally said, her smile taking on a mischievous edge.  “I suppose some of us just don’t take as well to fame as others.”

“Aye,” Will said, mercifully catching on to Addilyn’s discomfort.  “I do fear she’ll outgrow us someday soon.  What is God’s favorite to a couple of grunts like us?”

Mikaila rolled her eyes, her anxiety replaced with exasperation.  “Blaspheme all you want, but you’ll not catch me testing God’s good graces.”

“Color me surprised,” Addilyn laughed, leaning back against the fence alongside Will.  “That’s never stopped you before.  Last I heard from your mother, you enjoy teetering on the edge of blasphemy with every chore she bids you to finish.”

“Sweeping the den is hardly important when there are techniques I still haven’t learned.”

“Were you half as dedicated to your footwork as you are to your spellery, I daresay you might have felled me today.”

“She might have felled Captain Adelier himself, in that case,” Will added with a solemn nod.

Mikaila muttered something incoherent, picking up the staves from where she had leaned them against the fence to place them back in the wooden trunk from whence they came.  Addilyn and Will merely grinned triumphantly.

“It’d be nice to try my hand at sparring with Papa,” Mikaila said, closing the lid of the trunk with just a little too much force.  “But that’d mean he would have to come home every now and then.”

Addilyn’s smile fell, the bitterness in Mikaila’s voice not lost on her.  “Has he not been home?”

Mikaila met her gaze, and Addilyn’s confusion must have shown on her face, as the young girl wilted slightly.  “Oh,” she said simply.  “I had just assumed—I mean, you and Papa spend so much time together.  I just thought—never mind.”

It would have been less of a blow had a hound kicked Addilyn directly in the gut.  For all the years she and Lemuel had danced around the complexities of their relationship, especially in the shadow of Duane’s death and the obligations it entailed, she had somehow never prepared herself for a moment such as this.  Mikaila was no longer a child and surely realized there was more between Addilyn and her father than the camaraderie the military tended to cultivate.  She was not naive in any sense of the word, which only made Addilyn feel all the more foolish.

The only question was how long Mikaila had suspected as much.

Addilyn’s one saving grace in light of such a revelation was the fact that she truly didn’t know where Lemuel had been as of late.

“If I’m being perfectly honest,” Addilyn began after a beat, doing her best to save face, “I had assumed he’d been going home the last few weeks.  I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him when he wasn’t on duty.”

“Oh,” Mikaila said again, looking thoughtful.  “I hope everything’s all right.  Mama said the last time he was gone so long was after—well, he had been helping with the hunt for the Crescians from that night.”

That made Addilyn pause, and suddenly her worry had morphed into a different beast entirely.

“Addie,” Will said softly, nudging her.  “I didn’t think it was all that important, but Mother told me that the captain has been meeting with Father over the last few nights.”  He stole a glance at Mikaila, lowering his voice further.  “It still might be nothing, but the fact that you didn’t know is a bit…” He trailed off then, finishing the thought with a grimace and an uncertain hand gesture.

It was odd, to say the least.  As much as she had not seen Lemuel when off duty the last few weeks, she continued to see plenty of him at all other hours of the day—whether it be sparring, training, or patrolling—and he had not spoken a word of any late night, clandestine meetings with the Argenti patriarch.

The unease lapping at her heart had all but swelled into a veritable tidal wave, leaving her nauseous and unbalanced with anxiety.

“They’re old friends, your father and the captain,” Addilyn said, but even to her ears the words sounded pathetic and brittle. 

“Aye.”  He nodded, his brow raised.  “But last I checked, so were you.”

She had nothing to say to that.  Her stomach tightened as her disquiet mounted.

“Taking a break, are we?” a familiar voice cut through the tense quiet.

Both Addilyn and Will spun around, muscle memory taking hold as they came to stand at attention with a stiff salute.  Though her head was bowed slightly, her eyes downcast as she pressed her two middle fingers to her forehead, she could just make out the approaching silhouette of her golden haired captain.

“Papa!” cried Mikaila, immediately running forward to greet him.  She stopped just short of the fence before straightening her posture into something similar to parade rest.  “I mean—good afternoon, sir!”

To her left, Addilyn could hear Will mutter to himself; something to the effect of “To speak of him is to invoke the specter.”

She had to bite back the snort that nearly erupted from her lips.

“At ease,” Lemuel Adelier said, an amused smile alighting his handsome features.  His golden eyes were ringed with dark circles, as if he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in some time.  “I see Theron has yet to teach you a proper salute.”

“Didn’t know that was part of the orders, sir,” Addilyn said, dropping the salute to place her hands on her hips.  “I’ll be sure to add it to the list.”

He quirked a single eyebrow at her, his smile shifting into a sardonic smirk.  “Dancing on the edge of insubordination today?”

Addilyn rolled her eyes, but replied, “Not at all, sir.  Simply taking note of my shortcomings.”

Lemuel hummed his dubious assent, coming to stand along the fence beside Addilyn.  He nodded his head in greeting at Will.

“Addie’s been busy training with me, sir,” Mikaila piped up, pride painting her words.  “There’s not been time for much else.”

“Is that so?” Lemuel cast Addilyn a sidelong glance, playing along with his daughter’s enthusiasm.  Addilyn simply offered a modest shrug in return as she leaned back against the fence once more.  “And how did that turn out, da aliaol?”

Mikaila grimaced slightly.  “Could have been better, sir.  But Addie said I did well.”

“Let’s see about that.”  Lemuel motioned for Will.  “Argenti, take up arms.  Go a few rounds with the lass.”

“Yes, sir.”  Will vaulted over the fence with ease, smiling brightly all the while.  “C’mon, Miki.  Let’s get you a real opponent.”

Addilyn kicked out at Will’s backside, earning her a devilish cackle from the man as he made his way toward the wooden chest containing the staves.  “Muol,” she laughed.

Lemuel chuckled softly next to her, a charming sound that seemed to resonate from his chest.  There was a gentle tug at her braid, and it took Addilyn a beat to realize he was the culprit, the offending hand coming to rest at her back for a brief moment before settling atop the fence.

“Truly, now,” he began, “how was she today?”

“A charmer, as always,” she said.  “She froze a patch of ground once I had her on her back.  Made me slip and fall right on my ass.  I’ll expect compensation, sir.”

“Hazards of the job, I’m afraid.”  He nudged her lightly, his mirth giving way to more solemn ground.  “Thank you for this.  Truly.  Leysa’s had her hands full with Simon as of late.  And we’ve both grown weary of fretting over what trouble this wee wright can stir up in the absence of a more traditional chaperone.”

The hollow clatter of wood on wood filled the air once again, along with Mikaila’s near deranged laughter.  Addilyn watched Lemuel from the corner of her eye.  He looked so tired; from this proximity, she could see that the dark circles were the least of it.  His long golden hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, had lost some of its luster, and his already pale skin seemed to take on a near ghostly pallor, making that long healed scar carved into his face stand out further.  A light dusting of scruff lined his usually clean shaven jaw, as if even that was too much of an effort to maintain at the moment.

A frown pulled at her lips.  It’d been some time since she’d seen him so harried, and even then he had made no secret as to its source, let alone attempted to conceal it from her.  That gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach returned, near painful in its intensity.

“Of course, sir,” she said evenly.  “She’s a handful, but no more than I’m used to.  I love the lass, despite her efforts to test my affections on the daily.”

Lemuel huffed a small laugh.  “A more sympathetic sentiment I’ll never hear,” he said softly.  His demeanor changed then, more captain than companion within the span of a breath.  “But I’ve not come only to check in on the glorified chaperoning of my wayward daughter.  We’ve a patrol in an hour.  I came to fetch you.”

“So soon?”  Addilyn’s brow lifted in surprise.  They’d just had a patrol that morning.  She’d figured that she’d be off the hook for at least a few days.  Her expression soured, the yawning pit in her gut large enough to swallow her whole.  “Has something changed?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” he replied lightly.  “Just some trouble in the northern part of the city this afternoon.  We’re spread too thin for the evening patrol, so we’re part of the lucky batch to pick up the slack.”

She sighed wearily.  “Piss and shit.”

He nodded.  “Soud and Semon.  Just the same.  Go get your gear and get the hounds ready.  I’ll break the news to Miki and meet you at the kennels.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, turning to hop over the fence and head toward the armory, the sound of Mikaila’s infectious laughter following her the whole way.

——————————————

An unnatural hush fell over the city in the evening hours.  It was an inauthentic quiet, the kind that descended over a battlefield as a battalion awaited the high-pitched whistle of artillery fire, rife with tension and a thick sheen of fear.  

People continued to bustle about despite this, enjoying the waning hours of sunlight that filtered through the slowly dissipating clouds in thin orange rays.  They averted their eyes from the shattered windows of the storefronts they frequented, the gentle crunch of yet to be cleared glass shards that littered the streets sounding with each step they took; shopkeeps continued to hawk their wares, pointedly ignoring the ugly writing scrawled across the sturdy brick of their places of business, the paint a deep red, the color of fresh blood seeping from a wound.

THE GODS DO NOT ABIDE YOUR GODKILLER

TAKE BACK THE COUNTRY, SLAUGHTER THE HERETICS

THE STREETS WILL RUN RED WITH MOULTEN BLOOD

It was vile, minacious in its intent, and had subdued the people of Durlyne to the point of fearing the shadows that flickered around corners and loomed in alleyways.

And yet Addilyn found that the sight did not stir the familiar feelings of enmity she had become accustomed to, her mind elsewhere as she sat astride her hound.

She and Lemuel had been patrolling the streets of the southern part of the city for the better part of an hour, their mounts alert and attentive.  It had been a routine patrol thus far, their mere presence seemingly deterrent enough for any who might have had malevolence hidden in the darker parts of their hearts, but Addilyn could find little solace in this fact, her gaze constantly drifting over to her captain.

He was putting on a front, of this much she was now certain.  The usual banter was there, but there was a hollowness to his voice, the words lacking the playful bite she had grown to cherish.  He sat straight in his saddle, the picture of a seasoned soldier, and yet there was a heaviness to his posture, as if a terrible weight sat upon his shoulders—one that he so desperately tried to bury beneath a veneer of authority.

The unease Addilyn had been fighting back finally began to spill over, and she could abide his reticence no longer.

“Sir,” she began, cursing the hesitance evident in that single word, “what’s going on?”

“Hm?” Lemuel glanced over at her briefly before making a show of looking around them, his tone surprisingly caustic.  “The slow and methodical extermination of our people, Theron.  Don’t tell me you’ve only just now noticed.  I’d be forced to question my nigh unshakable faith in you.”

“No, sir,” Addilyn replied evenly, biting back a rather cutting retort.  “I’m well aware of that.  The Geffies make it rather difficult not to be.”

“Then what seems to be troubling you?”

She paused for only the span of a heartbeat, steeling herself.  “You, sir.”

He simply scoffed, not taking his eyes off the street before him.  Maha continued to amble along, the hound unbothered by her rider’s newfound rigidity.  “Me, Theron?  A bold declaration.  Were I but anyone else, you’d be spending the night in a cell.  And the next week shoveling dogshit in the kennels.”

“You look exhausted, sir,” she pressed on, unbothered by his veiled threats.  They lacked the necessary edge to be taken seriously, more scathing quip than genuine reprimand.  “I just want to relieve whatever burden they’ve thrust upon you this time.”

“Looking to be promoted?”  He laughed, a flat and humorless sound.  “You should know by now that’s not in the cards for you, Private.”

Addilyn’s annoyance began to build, though it was hollowed out by her persisting trepidation.  He was deflecting, attempting to divert her attention to avoid the matter at hand.  

She pushed her hound into a slow trot, coming up to ride alongside him. 

“Mikaila said you haven’t been home in weeks.”  She tried to catch his eye, but Lemuel kept his gaze forward, steadfast and sure, his mouth set in a thin line.  “She’s worried.  I’m worried.  You look fit to drop, sir.”

“A captain’s responsibilities do not end with the completion of a successful patrol,” he bit out.  “You claim to see the sad state of things, and yet you do not grasp the resounding repercussions for those of us tasked with holding the line.”

“I grasp it all just fine, sir,” she snapped, not even bothering to tailor her anger.  “I patrol these streets with you, I see the ire firsthand.  Do not treat me like some fresh Semon recruit who has yet to even see his first battle.”

“Mind your words, Theron,” he said lowly, darkly.  “You forget yourself.”

“Something plagues you,” she continued.  “Something that keeps you up at night, keeps you from your family.”  From me.  The words went unsaid, but the weight of them felt heavy in the air between them, to the point that Addilyn almost cringed.

A brief silence fell over them, filled only by the panting of their hounds and the cacophony that accompanied the close of a city’s day.  The fading light reflected dully on Lemuel’s wan countenance, the setting sun dyeing his golden locks a foreboding shade of red.

“It is a matter well beyond you,” he finally said, the reluctance in his voice clear.  “Leave it at that.”

“Has it anything to do with your covert meetings with the elder Argenti?”

That got his attention, his head snapping to meet her gaze for the first time since she’d broached the issue.  A small measure of fury flashed in his aureate eyes—fury, and just the slightest hint of panic.

“Where did you hear that?”

“From Will,” she said, his reaction catching her so off guard that she didn’t even think to deflect.

“Damn that boy,” he snarled.  “A worse gossip than even his sow of a mother.”

“Better a gossip than a sneak-thief slinking about in the dead of night.  What has you so perturbed that you’d involve Argenti?”

“I told you,” he said coldly, “it is a matter beyond your station.”

“Then I ask not as a soldier, but as a friend.  A confidant.  I can’t just stand by and watch as you wither away into a husk of a man.”

“You try my patience, Theron.”

“Let me help you,” she pleaded.  “You’ve borne so much, especially these last few years.  I only want to help however I can—”

“Addilyn!” Lemuel finally snapped, his voice sharp and commanding, her name echoing faintly through the slowly emptying streets.  He brought Maha to a sudden stop before turning to face her, a quiet rage etched into his features.  “What fucking part of drop it are you not understanding?  Must I frame it as an order?  Or must I threaten you with a court-martial before the words finally register in that shit-filled head of yours?”

Addilyn flinched back, stunned into silence.  Not since her early days under his command had he spoken to her with such rancor.  It was something she’d never thought she’d hear from his lips again.

“You forget your place in all of this,” he continued, his frustration palpable.  “You forget the precarious precipice upon which you sit.  You’ve no friends here, save myself and a Silver who can hardly cast better than a battle-addled Plat caught in an ambush.  Or have you forgotten that your generous benefactor has long since abandoned you?”

Addilyn swallowed thickly, averting her eyes to the ground.  A small statue of Ssael lay discarded in the dirt, the head smashed to dust, as if a club had been taken to the stone in a fit of rage.

“A Copper’s favor is a fickle thing,” Lemuel said severely.  “And you enjoyed the fruits of their interest for longer than most.  Their boy recovered and now wanders Alderode with a prosthetic worth the sum needed to feed an entire ghers for six generations, as if he’d never lost the limb to begin with.  They were grateful for your heroism, and placed you here, in a den of lions, amongst which you must now fend for yourself.”

He reached out, clasping at her hand, his grip tight.  She didn’t dare to lift her eyes, lest he see the tears that welled there.

“You’ve few friends amongst us, especially now.”  His voice was quiet, his anger replaced by something gentler.  “And my influence means less and less with each passing day.  I beg you, Addie, keep your head down.  If not for yourself, then for me.”

A trembling breath was all the answer she could offer him, pulling away from his touch as she fought to maintain her composure.  There was a tightness in her chest, a pain like a crow’s talons digging into the space where her heart lay, and her face burned with the heat of newly forged steel.

He was right, of course.  She had overstepped.  Despite it all, he was still her commanding officer, and she a lowly Semon woman in far over her head.  She had no right to pry into whatever business tormented him so, no matter her intentions, no matter her concern.

Addilyn lifted her gaze to meet his own, an apology upon her lips—

—only to watch as a crossbow bolt struck Lemuel in the shoulder, the force of the impact knocking him from his saddle and to the hard, unforgiving ground.

For but a heartbeat, Addilyn had no idea what had happened.  She saw Lemuel fall, naught but a soft gasp escaping him as he hit the cobblestones.  Maha immediately began to bark uproariously, her hackles raised as she came to stand before her downed rider.  Someone screamed, and chaos ensued as the few pedestrians that remained on the street scattered, fleeing for the relative safety of their homes.

It was the telltale sound of a second bolt—a high-pitched whine, faint and barely audible over the furious baying of Lemuel’s mount—that shook her from her stupor, and she turned just in time to watch as the small projectile shot by her face, the sharpened tip cutting into the flesh of her cheek.

The pain barely registered, and she practically leapt from her saddle to rush to Lemuel’s side, a third bolt whizzing through the air where she had been seated but a mere moment prior.

“Captain!” she called, crouching beside him as he pushed himself upright.  He knelt low as Maha acted as cover for them, his eyes already scanning their surroundings.  “Are you all right?”

He reached up and yanked the bolt from his pauldron, wincing slightly at the movement.  “Fine,” he ground out, and he drew one of his swords from the scabbard strapped to his back.  His eyes briefly flicked toward her.  “You?”

“Fine, sir.”  Addilyn quickly unsheathed her own blade as a sharp yelp split the air.  Her hound had likely been struck by a bolt, though the beast continued to faithfully stand guard, growling viciously all the while.

“He seems to be at ground level,” Lemuel said, hardly even blinking as Maha whined softly.  He dared a glance over his hound’s saddle, shushing the animal as he soothingly patted at the thick black fur on her flank.  “Nothing from the roof, otherwise we’d likely be riddled with arrows about now.”

Addilyn was about to voice her assent, a succinct plan of action taking shape on her tongue, when a flutter of motion drew her attention to a point over Lemuel’s shoulder—an errant shadow in the alley across the way.

And with a sudden burst of movement, the shadow surged forth, taking the shape of a Semon man with a sword raised to strike.

Addilyn immediately jumped to her feet, the hilt of her blade gripped with both hands as she met the man’s swing with a wordless shout.  The bright, almost musical sound of steel on steel rang out through the now empty streets, and the man’s eyes widened in apparent shock.

But shock quickly gave way to something darker, and an almost malicious gleam lit up his black eyes.

“Keep the pissmop pinned down!” he shouted, pushing hard against her blade.  “The bitch is here!”

A brief flicker of confusion sparked to life in Addilyn’s mind, but it was quickly snuffed out as her attacker attempted to kick out at her knee.  She stepped back, dipping the tip of her blade downward as she moved.  His blade slid down the freshly-sharpened steel of her weapon and away from her torso, giving her but a moment to shift her weight and bring her sword up and over her head in a single smooth movement.  The blade cut through the air, burying itself in the man’s neck before he could even think to block the swing.

A pained, wet gurgle was all he could manage, and as she wrenched the blade from his flesh, he fell to the ground in a blood-soaked heap.  He wildly grasped for his neck, desperate to stem the bleeding, but a river of red spilled from between his fingers unbidden, the viscous fluid dripping steadily onto the cobblestones.

Another crossbow bolt hit the dirt somewhere behind her with a muted thunk, and Addilyn knew that Lemuel must have tried to make a move.

“Theron, take cover!” he shouted over the continued barking of their mounts, his head ducked low behind Maha.

Addilyn moved to comply, only to catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.  On pure instinct, she spun on her heel and raised her sword, only just managing to deflect a blow from a wooden club.  The strength behind the swing had been immense, and a pained grunt escaped her as the shock of the impact traveled up her arm and into her shoulder—but she maintained her hold upon her weapon and brought the blade up to block a second swing aimed for her head.

A Stenkonn stood before her, his cropped, black hair standing out starkly against his pale skin.  He was flanked by a pair of Semon men, one of which had bent down to retrieve his fallen brethren’s now bloodstained sword.

“So the Lioness does have claws,” the Jet drawled, a leering grin splitting his features.  He spat at her feet.  “If no Ssaelit is man enough to tame you, I will happily oblige, iwchig.”

A hot flash of horror surged through Addilyn’s veins, the implications of his words settling like a stone in her gut.

This wasn’t just a blind ambush on a Ssaelit patrol.  They were here for a reason.  

They were here for her.

The Jet moved first, charging at her with his club held high.  Addilyn parried the blow, her mind frighteningly muddled with shock as she attempted to wrap her head around the situation.  He didn’t allow her a moment’s reprieve, whaling on her blade repeatedly.  Each strike resounded with a loud clang, her sword vibrating violently in her hands as thick, heavy wood made contact with steel.  Her fingers were all but numb with the effort to maintain the death grip she had on the hilt, and her thighs trembled as she struggled to push back against his onslaught.

The Semon chose that moment to dash forward, the bloody sword of his dead comrade in hand, his eyes alight with a monstrous bloodlust.

He didn’t make it more than four steps before he fell to the cobblestones like a discarded sack of bricks, a small projectile protruding from his temple.

Addilyn thought it to have been a poorly-aimed crossbow bolt, the shot going wide as its wielder tried to take her out—but a sharp, staccato whistle suddenly split the air, and she realized it had been no bolt that struck the Semon.

“Maha, liimabi!” Lemuel shouted, and Addilyn heard the unmistakable sound of a battle hound taking off at a gallop down the street.  Almost immediately following the command, a terrified scream pierced the looming twilight, only for it to be drowned out by the ferocious snarling of a hound on the hunt.

And then Lemuel was there, running full tilt into the Jet’s side shoulder-first, shoving him away from her.  He stood before her now, putting himself between her and her assailant, both blades drawn and poised to strike.

“Prokul Soud,” the Stenkonn hissed, regaining his footing with some difficulty.  “Do all of your women have your balls in a vice?  Or just this one?”

Lemuel didn’t bother with a response, moving instead to strike at the Jet.  He was fast, strong, and each blow had the Jet stumbling backwards as he fought to keep cold steel from piercing his flesh.

The remaining Semon darted forward then, a mere dagger in hand, his eyes intent on Lemuel.  Addilyn dove for the quickly cooling body of the man Lemuel had felled, yanking the small projectile that had cut his attack tragically short from his skull.

She cradled the throwing dagger between her fingers, the feel of the blood-slicked metal an odd balm on her frayed nerves and, with a practiced ease and a dextrous flick of her wrist, flung the weapon at the Semon.

The dagger didn’t exactly hit home but instead buried itself in the man’s thigh.  He let out a surprised yowl, staggering as his leg gave out and he fell to his knees.

Addilyn scrambled to her feet, her sword still in hand, and ran toward the man.  She stopped just short of him, quickly kicking away his dagger before she raised her blade to his throat.  She hesitated, each breath a heaving gasp as her sword arm trembled, exhaustion and waning shock staying her hand.

He looked up at her, not an ounce of fear in his dark eyes.  Only a deep-seated loathing.

“Prokul iyanol,” the Semon spat and wrenched the throwing dagger from his leg.  He raised his arm as if to strike, a frenzied desperation twisting his features.

But she was faster, the tip of her sword finding the soft flesh of his throat and slicing cleanly through his dark skin.  Blood surged forth, splattering her face and gloves with the thick, warm fluid.  He slumped slowly to the ground, a soft choking noise escaping him as he drowned in his own ichor.

Addilyn bent down to retrieve Lemuel’s throwing dagger, wiping the blood off on her trousers.  Her hands continued to shake, but she pushed against the sensation, focusing on what still lay before her, what still needed to be done.  She clenched her hands into tight fists, the feel of a weapon in each hand grounding.  A reminder that she was still standing, still in control.

Steeling herself as she forced her breathing to slow, she tucked the dagger into her belt.  She then turned on her heel to face the last of their assailants, weapon at the ready.

But there was no need.  Lemuel had the Jet on his back, a boot planted squarely on his chest.  The man wheezed loudly, blood leaking from his nose and mouth as he struggled to take in air.  His weapon lay discarded a few feet away, the club reduced to a pile of jagged splinters.  

The man said something, too low and muffled by choking coughs for her to hear.  A wicked grin appeared, revealing a row of bloody and broken teeth, and before Addilyn could object, Lemuel promptly stabbed the man through the mouth, the tip of his blade coming out the back of the Jet’s skull.

“God damn it all.” Addilyn took off at a run.  The Stenkonn sputtered weakly around the thick, sharp steel, and Lemuel pulled his blade out before lifting it high above his head.  He then brought the razor-edged sword down again and again, hacking at the Jet repeatedly.  

“Captain,” Addilyn tried as she approached, slowing to a stop behind him.  

But he did not cease his unending slaughter.  The man lay motionless beneath him, his face a mess of bloody sinew and crushed bone.  Gore splattered along the cobblestones with each slash, chunks of flesh hitting the ground with a wet splat.

“Lem, enough!”  She finally stepped forward, grabbing for his arm before he could bring the blade down again.  Lemuel stilled, his breathing rough and ragged, his eyes unfocused.  Blood spatter covered every inch of him, tiny specks turning his golden hair a frightful crimson.

They stood like that for a moment, motionless and silent as the sun began to dip below the horizon.  Lemuel slowly came back to himself, the tension leaving him with each breath he took.  Eventually, he stepped back from the ruined body, shrugging out of Addilyn’s hold on his arm.

“Come,” he said, his voice low and monotonous.  He swung his sword in a wide downward arc, the offending blood sloughing off the steel and onto the ground in a gentle splatter of burgundy droplets.  He then sheathed the twin blades stiffly, the action more instinctive ritual than conscious thought.  “We need to signal the others.”

“We could have used him,” Addilyn said, her words coming out surprisingly hoarse.  “He might have known something.”

“What’s there to know?  Better he join his comrades now, save us the trouble of cleaning his vomit from the Inquisitors' floors.”

“He was a Jet,” she persisted.  “He could have known meeting locations, dates for future attacks, numbers—”

“Do you know what he knew, Addilyn?” Lemuel suddenly spun around, facing her.  “How long they’ve been hunting you.  How long they’ve sought out the Lioness.  What patrols she is assigned to and what taverns she haunts.”  His anger was a near physical thing, radiating off of him in white hot waves.  Addilyn almost stumbled back with the force of it.  “He knew that the Gefendur are hellbent on putting your head on a pike.  Would you have preferred we add the Ssaelit to their schemes?”

Nausea gripped at her, the acidic tang of bile burning at the back of her throat as her head swam.  “I—I don’t…”

“The Gefendur already want to wipe us off the map,” he said, the venom of a viper’s bite in each word.  “You were just the final straw.  An insult to their gods they cannot abide.  Were the Lions to hear of this, they would only too happily throw you to the wolves.  Pacify the rabble, while finally ridding themselves of the stain that is Addilyn Theron.”

There was a terrible roar in her ears; the sound of blood rushing through her veins, the pounding of her heart in time with the throbbing in her skull.  “How… how long have you known?”

Lemuel heaved a heavy sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose.  “A few weeks now.  An… acquaintance alerted me to the whispers he’s heard in less than savory spaces.  I’d been trying to find the source of the bleating, hoped to cut off the rot at the root.”  His hand dropped, and the look he gave her was one of utter fatigue.  “You must realize what this means.  They won’t stop with you, Addie.”

Her stomach dropped, and it was all she could do to keep from collapsing where she stood.

Mikaila.  The Golden Delight.  Ssael’s blessing given physical form.  The heart of Ssaelit resistance to Gefendur oppression.

Addilyn was nothing.  Had always been nothing.  She was a fly to be swatted.  A thorn to be extracted.  A beast to be put down. This had always been the eventuality.  An inevitability that lurked in the back of her mind and only ever surfaced to haunt her in the dead of night, when whispers were at their loudest and daggers at their sharpest.

But if the Gefendur saw her as a slight to their dead gods, what must they think of Mikaila?

If they would plot and plan her death—a Semon woman barely tolerated by her own faith—what would they do to the beloved Delight?

Addilyn could only nod dumbly, her hands trembling fiercely at her sides.

Lemuel approached her then, his hand coming to rest upon her shoulder.  The weight of it was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

“Come now,” he said, the timbre of authority returning to his voice, “I’ll retrieve Maha and send up the signal.  Go to your mount, he needs your care.”

Addilyn simply nodded again, unable to give voice to her acquiescence, before turning to seek out her hound, her mind a mess of horror and profound guilt.

——————————————

The moon had long since risen by the time Addilyn and Lemuel made it back to the training grounds, the sky clear and bright with starlight.  The events of the day had finally had the time needed to fully register, hours of cleanup and vague reports to the other patrols only offering so much distraction.  Addilyn had done what she could to assist, but Lemuel had all but forbidden her to speak on anything that had occurred.  It was as if paranoia had suddenly taken hold of him, his fear that her mere presence would spark a realization in the minds of their fellow soldiers absolute.

Though she supposed that fear was not entirely unfounded, not with the peculiarities that came with the Dammakhert.

It was a curious thing, realizing that your death weighed so heavily in the minds of people you’d never know, people that would have otherwise never even crossed your path.  Addilyn was no stranger to death; it had chased her through every path she had taken in life, though this was a new experience entirely.  

And yet it wasn’t her own life that so worried her, but that of the little wright who now raced to meet them at the Temple of Song’s gates.

“Papa!” Mikaila all but ran toward them, though skidded to a halt upon seeing the state of them.  Her already pale face blanched, and Addilyn’s chest constricted painfully.  “What happened?  Are you all right?”

“Fine, aliaol,” Lemuel said, lightly patting his daughter on the head as he passed.  “Naught but a scratch upon us.”

Addilyn made to follow Lemuel toward the barracks, avoiding Mikaila’s bright green eyes.  She couldn’t bear her scrutiny.  Not now.

But Lemuel came to an abrupt stop, addressing her directly.  “Stay with Miki.  I’m going to fetch young Argenti.”

Addilyn glanced behind her at Mikaila.  The girl had hung back by the gates, her uncertainty and apprehension clear.

“Why, sir?” Addilyn asked, turning back to Lemuel.  She was sure her own befuddlement must have been quite plain.

“I don’t want either of you here right now.”  The words were severe and allowed for no question on the matter.  “And I’d like at least one cock between the three of you when taking to the streets.”

“Lem,” she said softly, “surely you don’t think—”

“I’m not willing to risk it, Theron,” he cut her off, his eyes hard.  “Not now.”

There was a moment—brief and fleeting—in which she wanted to object.  There wasn’t a man among the Lions who would dare lay a hand on Mikaila, not on their Delight.  They wouldn’t risk the wrath of God—nor of Lemuel Adelier, for that matter—in such tumultuous times as these.

But she stilled her tongue, the caveat of his demand obvious.  He wanted both of them far from here, tucked away in his ghers and hidden from the prying eyes and ears contained within this veritable den of lions.

And it was then that she realized, even now, that Lemuel Adelier was keeping something from her.

She hesitated only a moment longer before finally nodding, the movement stiff and tentative.  “Yes, sir.”

She turned to head back to Mikaila, but Lemuel stopped her, a hand coming up to grasp at her chin.  She froze, her eyes darting around for anyone lurking in the dark, the presence of his daughter like a garrote tied about her neck.

But he simply hummed softly, his thumb brushing over her cheek.  She hissed slightly, flinching back, remembering the crossbow bolt that had very nearly killed her.

“Have Leysa look at that,” he said, releasing his hold on her.  “And tell her to give you my share of supper.  I won’t be home tonight.”

He then turned to stalk off toward the temple, not once looking back.

Addilyn stood there dumbly, only shaken from her stupor by the blonde-haired wright appearing at her side.

“Addie, what’s going on?” Mikaila asked softly, the trepidation in her voice like a knife to Addilyn’s heart.

And not for the first time that day, she lied to the young girl.  “I don’t know, Miki,” she said, her eyes locked on Lemuel’s retreating back.  "But I'm sure your father can handle it."

[lilacella]

✒️📖(FF) Writer ask game📃✏️:

1. ❤️ What's your OTP? (To write about or in general)

2. 🧡What is your favourite story you have written?

3. ❤️‍🩹Which story/fic of yours do you wish you could rewrite completely?

4. 🫸Something you would never write? (Trope, Ship, Genre, etc)

5. 💕If you have OCs, who is your favorite?

6. 📝What is your preferred mode of writing? (Laptop, Phone, Handwritten, etc.)

7. 🫶What is your favourite trope to write?

8. 🫠What is your least favourite thing to write aka what do you often struggle with? (Dialogue, action scenes, endings, ...)

9. 🤔When did you start creative writing as a hobby?

10. 💭How many WIPs or ideas do you have stashed away currently?

11. 💬Do you write in your native language?

12. 🥰Plug option: Which fellow writers do you recommend checking out?

13. 😏Smut, yes or no?

[mrghostrat]

heyyy first of all i absolutely love your fics (Streamer AU is my fave but the teacher one was so cute too and i can already feel the BNF one growing on me) and the accompanying art is just amazing too! *chefs kiss*

my question is: how do you organise your fic writing? is everything in your head? do you plan it out beforehand or do you just make it up as you go?

i‘m also an aspiring fic writer and fan artist but i really struggle with getting things started and was wondering if you had any tips!

oh goodness no, my head isn't trustworthy enough to keep everything in there, so i sprawl everything out into Notion. i've jumped around various note apps over the years but this one is working great for me currently

watch ur step i have adhd.

my writing pipeline is:

i think of a fic. a 1-2 sentence summary goes in the Fic Ideas note so i don't forget about it (which is otherwise just a note full of writing/otp prompts from tumblr for random inspo)

if i think about the fic more, or have a more substantial idea, it gets its own note where i brain dump everything that comes to mind. lines of dialogue, tropes, expansion on ideas etc.

ok, i'm writing this thing. let's do this. i make ANOTHER new note for the plot or timeline of the fic. i plan a rough outline of the story beats and the major plot events here.

more about this part of my process here. but essentially i rewrite the outline with more detail for each individual scene.

when i'm ready to start writing the actual thing (i don't write until i have the overall plan finished), i make a new gdoc for it and refer to notion on the side.

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (38)

Author’s Note: Long note ahead. 

You guyssss. I’m sorry for the delay. The Sasuke that I am writing is new territory for most of us. I write, then rewrite until it feels right. And I have never rewritten my own script as much as I did in this chapter. If you enjoy my writing, please take a chance on my live draft on Wattpad called Beneath the Hollow Grove. There will be romance, so the same chemistry between characters in my fanfiction is very likely to be appearing there. This chapter is dedicated to Teo and ttsukei. Thank you for your extra support and love. It means everything.

Approaching Sun will eventually come to an end (sad but rewarding at the same time). I am guesstimating a total of 42-45 chapters total. I never foresaw A.S. being as long as it is already, or taking as nearly as long as it has to finish it. To be honest, I started this years ago to improve creative writing with my OTP, and anticipated on ditching it when my ADHD got the better of me. But the community kept asking and I kept giving. You can thank those people if you have enjoyed it because this story was written 100% in return for their comments and support.

Also, if you enjoy my SasuSaku, you can find a one-shot I wrote before A.S. on Fanfiction.net/Wattpad by the name of “Sakura’s Letter.” It fits these A.S. characters well. 

Last but not least, there is a facebook fanpage for A.S. at the link on my Tumblr if you’d like to join. Hoping to share further A.S. resources there after the story is complete. 

Songs for this chapter: Technicolour Beat by Oh Wonder & Feel Something by James Young

Thanks always, ANerdinAllHerGlory

. . .

CW: Discussion of Suicide; read with caution

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37

Chapter 38: Methods of Atonement & Eternal Burning

Just when Sakura thought the insect-glow induced spell might diminish or expire between them, she glanced over her shoulder as she bathed in the warm cave waters to see that Sasuke watched her from the bank. He sat familiarly reclined with an arm over his knee, and where Sakura might have expected his countenance to have once again returned to the smooth planes and carefully composed eyes of guardedness, she sucked in a breath to see an expression wholly new to her. His mouth was parted in a silent reverence as he beheld the cleansing paths her hands traced over her collarbones, down her neck and through her hair. Had she even thought Sasuke capable of looking at another human that way? Well, it lasted until she reached up and over her shoulder to run water down her back, right between her shoulder blades where Sasuke’s fingers had traced the Uchiha symbol. His countenance slipped, a frown of consideration deepening the lines between his brows. 

Having an idea of his annoyance, she turned her back to him and smiled silently to herself when he stood, waded waist deep into the starry-lit water to join her. 

“Washing already?” he murmured in that low Uchiha disappointment that told Sakura he was pretending to pout. And his faux ire at such a notion was pleasant enough to warm Sakura from within and she prided herself on her self-restraint in this moment, because she wanted to smile like an idiot until her face split at the creases of her lips. 

With Sasuke’s strict abstinence of years and a single-sided willpower to outlast her own desires these last several months, Sakura was pleasantly astonished to discover that Sasuke Uchiha didn’t have such restraint in that moment. Turning her to face him, he stilled her efforts completely by touching his lips to hers. And the kiss was softer. Much slower than before. Like a whisper in a cave.

Sakura had always daydreamed about what sort of lover the untouchable Uchiha, Sasuke might be. She always expected him to be as Sasuke-ish about everything possible, including his love life. He would be the sort of man to keep his interactions with her formal in the public eye, respectable, reserved, and avoiding all physical contact that some couples easily flaunted for others to see. This was the reality that Sakura had long predicted and, therefore, accepted and did not anticipate Sasuke to be the sort of partner who, over the last couple of months, might secretly hold her hand while she slept, find excuses to be next to her, crave her touch in the private moments shared between them, and kiss her tenderly even after their bodies separated. As sad as that sounded, Sakura had predicted it, because despite how much she loved him, he was still going to be Sasuke, in the most adjective form possible of the word.

Which was why Sakura certainly had not expected the overwhelming passion of moments ago, the longing that passed between their mouths and the intensity of years’ worth of suppressed feelings into such a surmounting detonation. An explosion of celestial matter.

“It’s annoying,” he growled mischievously between their lips, tearing Sakura from her thoughts as she concentrated back on his current vexation. It had to be because Sakura had washed away the traces of Uchiha symbol he had marked between her shoulder blades. She laughed in response and continued to pull him deeper into the water, ignoring his attempts to stop her from erasing the evidence of his actions. Not even his devoted mouth making her breathless and his following steps as she descended into the river, was enough to prevent Sakura from completely submerging. And with her impossible human strength, she pulled him under after her. 

Sakura saw his eyes widen in the dim glow of ethereal lights, and she grinned wickedly in return, just before complete and total blackness consumed them. The water was brisk but not freezing, the balmy cave already warming the new layers of flood water. In the depths, void of sound and light, she felt Sasuke’s arm twine around the dip in her spine, binding her body to his, and the lack of all other sensation made the grasping touch alleviate every nerve in her person. Like a healing salve to an old wound Sakura hadn’t even realized she still possessed, Sasuke’s touch was the remedy to every feeling of loss, every doubt, and confusion she had ever had in regards to him. His possessive touch that clung to her body like she was now an extension of himself made everything in the past suddenly forgivable even if what had happened wasn’t okay. It was forgivable because it brought them to this. 

That look of reverence he had been appraising her with just a moment ago was completely replaced when they surfaced, an artificial glare of mild displeasure at being drenched completely eclipsing it. “Have I told you lately that you are the most annoying woman I have ever met?”

“Twice now in the last five minutes,” she giggled, wrapping her legs around his waist as Sasuke’s feet found the smooth underground surface once more. And that glare evaporated, turning back into veneration as Sasuke’s body reacted to her embrace. And Sakura realized that needed to say something now, before his knee found a chakra-controlled perch on the glassy surface of the water and he was pulling her up with him to take her between his body and the water below. She could see that he was already envisioning something of the sort in his mind.

“The last thing I want is for this between us to end,” she announced as she wound her greedy fingers through his wet hair—she had always imagined doing this very thing and it was so satisfying to finally be able to do so. “But we’re running out of time. I need to survey the area, and in the morning, I need to report to Katsuyu in Shikkotsu Forest and check on the men I’ve captured. Waiting for the off-hand chance that remaining members of Zenshin might discover our location won’t exactly get us anywhere.”

“You need food,” he whispered against her skin, and Sakura sighed as his wet hand slid up her back to reach the same spot where he had traced the Uchiha symbol earlier, giving up his quest and washing where she could not. She knew Sasuke would be sensible with her decision to move forward with her plans and reasoned that he would probably try to focus his attention back on his own mission of Kaguya once this electricity between them dissipated into a comfortable normal.  

And as his words settled, Sakura realized she hadn’t eaten in almost forty-two hours and her stomach grumbled loudly to Sasuke’s victorious smirk as he successfully delayed their departure by a few moments more. 

. . .

Sakura returned to the central cavern after a few private minutes to herself, the charred fragrance of something crackling over a fresh fire luring her from the enchanting tunnel of glowworms. The muffled roar of the waterfall was distant and had quieted significantly enough that Sakura could hear the crack of the fire as Sasuke roasted whatever little, unfortunate, and very possibly blind cave dwellers he had managed to find down here for them to eat. 

“What are those?” she asked, crouching beside him to assess the row of tiny fish now charred and black on the skewers. 

“Something between an eel and a fish,” he announced. “Neither and both. Living fossils only found in caves.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow as she investigated the freshwater fish. She couldn’t quite make out anything distinct about them now that they had been basically cooked to a crisp. Sasuke handed her a skewer and her ravenous appetite made her overlook the unfamiliar eel-fish quickly. 

As she ate next to him, Sakura began to feel the contrasting shift in Sasuke’s demeanor. He ate silently, avoided her eyes, and kept the small space undisturbed between them as he stared off into the black beyond the illuminated circumference of their warming fire. Sakura stiffened in response, simultaneously annoyed at the change and nervous at its meaning. She searched his expression for any clue as to what he might be thinking and felt her stomach dropping the longer he refused to return her regard. Could a few moments apart have already cleared his mind and reset his determinations somehow? How could he go from “We won’t be able to go back from this” and “Until death” to being all hesitant again? Sakura halted her spiraling train of thought before she came crashing down like one of the stalactites hanging off the ceiling. Maybe it was something else and she just needed to address him directly. That was healthy, wasn’t it? 

“What’s wrong?” she blurted. “You’re overthinking things aren’t you?” She was frightened that he would answer that with more silence or even worse, a declaration of how he had thought about what had happened, decided it was a mistake, and had changed his mind. But he laughed instead, that small, signature hmph of ejected air that had Sakura sighing in relief. 

“There’s no going back now, remember?” she continued teasingly, capitalizing on his small sign of amusement at her words.  “Because It’s too late to mope and reconsider how you’re not the best for me and blah blah blah.” She would do what many women often did when faced with uncomfortable couple confrontations. She would call him out on his thinking, his pattern of behavior that signaled her anxiety, and disguise it as a lighthearted chastisement and reminder. “We get to choose each other.” 

“I meant what I’ve said,” he answered seriously before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he fumbled for the words that always tangled in his throat. “But, I was irresponsible earlier and—I am sorry. What do I need to do for—Do you need anything?” 

Oh. That. Sakura's face instantly reddened at the words, because she immediately knew what he was referring to and what exactly he had been hung up on until now. There were no precautions taken in the moment, and Sakura didn’t know if Sasuke’s questions were because he was worried Sakura might be angry about his carelessness after the fact, or worse, he might fear the possible consequences of such an impulsive choice. 

Sakura assessed his own flushed face and he looked away again, firelight-reflecting eyes revealing the warring predicament she hadn’t been able to decipher up until now. She looked down shyly as well when she answered him. 

“You don’t have to worry,” she whispered, genuinely hoping to ease his concerns even if a small part of her wished he didn’t have any. “I had prepared before… before the brothel. Just in case.”

And as his eyes snapped to her face, Sakura saw him set his jaw in understanding and trap the words he was holding there. Sakura didn’t make any adjustments to her phrase or retract her statement, because it was the truth of it, and even if it wasn’t the exact answer he cared to hear, she hoped it would be enough reassurance for him. Before Sakura had left Sunagakure, she had prepped the bag of contraceptives, taking several doses before handing over what was left to Tabi, the girl Sakura had entrusted the supplies to before she left. She hadn’t planned on using her body as Sasuke had originally feared she meant to do, but Sakura also wasn’t naïve to think she might be completely untouchable despite her claims to Sasuke that she was. As a woman, physician, and ninja, she wasn’t going to be unprepared walking into a brothel; she had also reminded herself that it would be a wise choice to get started on them anyway after expressing her desires to Sasuke about being more. Regardless, the contraceptive had been taken and the doses were supposed to last months per measurement, so Sakura wasn’t too concerned about her and Sasuke’s actions tonight. 

When Sasuke stiffened and made to angle his body back toward the fire, Sakura reached out for his hand and gently grasped his fingers, a now special form of communication between them. In the beginning of their traveling together, the tender touches between them had been the first blessed crack in the ice constructed walls of Sasuke Uchiha—the big bang initiation that led to the them of now. And she hoped the gesture would work for her again as she used it once more to bring him back to the warmth they had discovered together behind those walls. 

Sakura focused on her courage, fighting to have the desire to stay on the topic while it was before them. Even if her preservatory instinct was to move on from the subject as quickly as possible, Sakura knew that the mature, responsible thing to do would be to discuss it. Thoroughly, so that they could come to an agreement, find common ground, and try to be on the same page heading forward. It was a condition to their partnership that they had long since established: communication. 

“Sasuke, I understand if you don’t want a family right now.” And he was looking away from her again as he, too, struggled to overcome the new discomfort of serious “couple” conversations between them. Sakura’s heart panged as she thought that maybe this nervousness meant that Sasuke Uchiha would never want children, even with her. She told herself to breathe, and not jump ahead, but she couldn’t resist voicing her fear: “Do you never–"

“It’s not a never,” he shuttered, finding her eyes with his own. “It’s just—my mission concerning Kaguya is unforeseeable.” He found her eyes and looked down when he saw the sadness his response instantly elicited in her face. He rushed to add, squeezing her fingers back. “But I promise to fight for that future. I’ll find the Otsusuki race. I’ll make the world safe so I can come back to you.”

Sakura nodded, her heart still feeling unsettled at such a promise. She reminded herself that by choosing Sasuke, she was choosing him and him alone. She wouldn’t force him to abandon his goals in order to be a husband and a father. “Even if we spend our lives like orbiting stars, passing one another in the night,” she had promised. “The miniscule amount of time I spend next to you will be more than I would want with anyone else.” It was her own vow to him, and Sakura had never meant truer words. Sakura knew what this life meant, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was worried, already concerned that she was regretting. And maybe in her heart, she was disheartened that their reality would be a difficult one. Sakura would be sacrificing several dreams, and she would have to make her peace with it all in time, because despite it all, she wanted Sasuke more than anything else. She also wanted a peaceful future, and Sasuke was the only person, in a combined effort with Naruto’s future leadership, capable of ensuring that it came to pass by fulfilling his side. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he shook his head, and Sakura saw him steel himself with a breath before forcing out, “I’m already sorry for so much. I think I’ll live our entire lives being sorry, Sakura.”

She gently squeezed his hand and shook her head as well. “I meant what I said too. I want this life with you, whatever it looks like. And of course, I eventually want a family with you, but only if that’s what you want, too. It comes second to everything else. Or not at all. Okay?”

He nodded in obvious relief and, to Sakura’s continuing list of surprises, pulled her to him. Her hands found his chest to brace herself and he inhaled the scent of her hair, whispering an apology in the crook of her neck. She kissed his lips sweetly with a comforting smile, but Sasuke took advantage and kissed her again, fervently, tenderly, consolingly in return. And Sakura decided to let him push her to the ground beneath him where his hand slid up her thigh. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sakura made the connection that Sasuke’s conversation skills were barely adequate, but that in the private moments between them, he would choose to compensate for it with the language of bodies. This, too, was not what Sakura had expected, but it made sense that the stoic, awkward Uchiha might choose to express himself with the dedicated dialect spoken with the only other person who could receive, comprehend, and appreciate that language. With her legs tossed over his shoulders, and her fingers in his hair, and Sasuke’s head between her thighs, Sakura submitted completely as he made her forget her current and future grievances. He devoted his apology to her body like an act of repentance, and Sakura decided she would take him, take the man who promised a lifetime of regretful apologies, if this was his method of atonement. Sakura didn’t know that apologies could come in the form of slow arousals, roaming tongues, and­­—holy shit, suction. The sound of his own name from her mouth was the only verbalization of forgiveness that Sasuke needed in their mutually exclusive vernacular.

.

.

.

Sasuke was a fucking idiot. He had thought this to himself as he fisted each and every eel fish coasting below his feet, as he tried to explain his thoughts to her about starting a family, and even now as he stared at her back as they lay tangled together in sleep for the second night. Adding to the list of self-deprecations, Sasuke cursed himself for foregoing the Uchiha symbol on his clothing several years ago as an act of penance. At the time, Sasuke had felt that in order to preserve whatever was left of his clan’s dignity, he needed to part with wearing the symbol until after he felt properly atoned. He didn’t want his past and image to represent the Uchiha, furthering the disgrace of his clan in the eyes of those who knew their history or was learning of it for the first time. But as he had traced the symbol between Sakura’s shoulder blades, Sasuke had had the realization that Sakura, the only other person to bear the Uchiha name, was now going to be the new face representing their clan. In contrast to himself, Sakura had always been unwavering in her goodness, unblemished by wrongdoings, and righteously leading a new generation of mental health advocates and creating new healthcare standards. Her reach would know no bounds and there wouldn’t be a better individual walking this dimension to wear the Uchiha crest, to start a new history associated with it. It wouldn’t be Sasuke leading the Uchiha clan into the future; it would be her. 

Which is why he was cursing himself now for not possessing at least one article of clothing with his crest so that he could be staring at her back in the firelight as she boasted the mark that identified her to the world as an Uchiha and as his. Did that make him a possessive bastard? Probably. But it was an Uchiha trait to be so and Sasuke was more Uchiha in both good and bad senses of the word than many before him. 

And, he thought privately to himself, if his actions of last night bore the natural consequences, there could be two individuals aside from himself demonstrating to the world what the Uchiha could be. Which is why he was a fucking idiot. Because fuck, he wanted that reality as much as his next breath of oxygen. He wanted to be staring at his family’s backs as a miniature raven-haired child clung to his wife’s hand through a busy Konoha market street. It was why he had made a mistake last night, choosing to recklessly chase his high with abandon because it was the dream he wanted—knew that at the end of the day, was what Sakura wanted too. And that’s why it had devastated him to make that apology to his new wife, prepared to do what he needed to do to not force the responsibility of a child on Sakura alone while he had no choice but to continue on his mission to find those who Kaguya feared, the rest of the Otsusuki race. 

He had even fucked up that apology, incompetently trying to form the words. How did he tell the woman he had just tied to himself in a cave of stars that he fucking wanted to watch her grow heavy with the swell of his child while simultaneously dreading the reality of what that would mean for her. And for him. He would miss it. He would miss all of it. He had promised Sakura a fifty-fifty partnership, and Sasuke had only just realized how badly he would fail that promise.

And these thoughts continued into the morning as the fissure in the ceiling went from boasting the brightest of stars above them to the thin purpling stripe of summer dawn, and Sakura rose from their tangled sleep, a new set determination in her shoulders to handle the members of the organization she had sent days ago into the home of her personal summon, Katsuyu. 

“What’s your plan?” he asked as she turned to face him, triple folding his borrowed black trousers along her hips to make them fit better. They still hung loosely around her calves and she rolled the arms of his long sleeved shirt until the cuffs were chunky and hit her wrists exactly. He raised an eyebrow appreciatively knowing that Sakura was just making do, but the vision of her sporting a modified version of his attire sent his mind back into a perilous orbit. 

“You’re not going to like your options in my plan,” she announced, oblivious to his wandering eyes. 

That statement was more than sobering and it instantly put Sasuke on guard. He frowned at her. 

She swallowed before saying, “You can stay here and focus on your—"

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he bristled as he interrupted her, getting really tired of hearing that phrase come out of her mouth—even though he had been the one say it a million times before this. He guessed that he deserved to hear it as often as he had said it. “I’m going with you.”

The absolute irony of his words hit them both immediately as he said it. 

The pink-haired kunoichi laughed and rubbed the back of her neck as she bluntly said, “Then your second option is to be very still while Katsuyu swallows you whole, and I release her summoning back to Shikkotsu Forest. It’s the only way for you to get there. Just like the rest of them.”

Sasuke’s eye visibly twitched. “And option three is?”

“You could walk, but it would take you weeks to catch up, not to mention how much work it would take to avoid the hazards of Shikkotsu Forest such as beasets, acid pools, and toxin seeping trees.”

Sasuke tried not to be miffed that she was suggesting it might be difficult for him to traverse Shikkotsu Forest, even though he had spent the last several years exploring similar dimensions, but he trusted that if she was saying that it was bad, then it probably very well was. “And you were planning on transporting these people back to Konoha, how exactly?”

“The same way I plan on getting you in and out.”

He groaned and she smiled innocently. 

They had to get these people back to Konoha somehow. Not to mention the dozens of Zenshin members Sasuke had tossed into a dimension two days ago, telling them to begin their walk northeast for about thirty kilometers where they would find a stash of supplies Sasuke kept there to sustain them while they waited for his return. He hadn’t bothered to explain that if they weren’t at the designated spot, where the dimension spaces crossed with the Leaf Village, they would eventually die in that dimension. At the time, he hadn’t quite cared what happened to them in there, and he selfishly hadn’t spared them another thought sense. Sasuke supposed that it was a tiny reason to speed things along so he didn’t have any unnecessary victims, even if they did deserve it, at the very least, for not being able to follow simple instructions. He just didn’t want to have to explain it to Sakura. 

And the next thing Sasuke knew, Katsuyu was being summoned and Sasuke was resigned to a slimy fate of the inching human-sized slug as it ascended his body. And that pink-haired woman of his had the absolute audacity to declare teasingly with a grin, “It would be easier if you were laying down,” but he only glared at her with his most severe displeasure, not having the time to respond or even scoff before the damn thing had consumed his face entirely. And as Sasuke was encapsulated in a bath of mucus, water, and salt—yes, it somehow got in his fucking mouth (probably when he lifted his lip to sneer at Sakura’s black-streaked cheeks and sadistic expression)—he realized with a newfound appreciation how endearing Aoda seemed in comparison. That was indeed one beautiful snake.  

And within moments, Sasuke found himself on his back, eyes projected toward a tree canopy so dense, the light struggled to penetrate below, creating a blue-green cast that darkened the forest around him. Travelling from the aphotic void of the underground sanctuary of seconds ago to the ear-piercing hum of the insect and amphibian infested jungle of a forest, left Sasuke feeling deafened by the abrasive cacophony. In a satirical form of irony, Sasuke suddenly wasn’t so opposed to the slug form currently detaching itself from his face and ears. Katsuyu, the source and embodiment of healing itself, even left the Uchiha feeling more restored than before which made Sasuke just the tiniest bit sorry for his initial disgust towards the creature. He bit back his urge to say something in condolence to the beast who had no initial indication of his discomfort to begin with, so Sasuke bit his lip, feeling all sorts of confused feelings in that moment. 

“Sasuke,” the slug spoke to him in her singsong of a voice, “Milady will be present shortly, appearing where my main body is two miles north of here. She asked me to deposit you here to help corral a man back to the central location. He has wandered to this location.” 

Sasuke instantly frowned at the slug’s words. He supposed some silent conversation had happened between Katsuyu and Sakura in the minute it took to transport him. That, or this was some clever way to distract Sasuke while she took advantage of the distance he still had to traverse. Hadn’t the kunoichi just told him that the Shikottsu Forest was a hazard maze? Well, she obviously had more faith in his abilities than she had let on when discussing option three, the annoying tease. 

Sasuke took in his surroundings more carefully, trees taller than the Hokage Monument towering to the sky as vines thicker than Aoda twisted up and around them. It made the forest where the Chunin Exams were held almost miniature in scale. Sasuke supposed it made sense that beasts of gargantuan size such as the three Sanin summons to have come from even larger habitats, environmental determinism and all that. 

A thick fog hovered above the ground, and Sasuke stood and leaned his head up to view the treetops above, breathing in as he activated his ocular jutsu, the tomoes spinning into both red and purple eyes. With his dual dojutsu, Sasuke surveyed the area more closely, peering beyond the fog blanketed trees in front of him, where the treacherous swamp and pools of bubbling black acid threatened to pull him into a fiery oblivion like the siren call of an eternally burning river in hell. Sakura had been right to warn him of this place; she had personally encountered Kaguya’s acid-sea dimension, after all. Acid didn’t stop burning until it could be scrubbed from the skin. Falling in a lagoon of it would be the absolute worst of deaths. Sasuke moved forward, toward the chakra network and watery outline of the soul he was supposedly sent to retrieve. Approximately fifty meters beyond the trees in his immediate vision, Sasuke analytically watched the flickering figure before him, their heartbeat speedily beating as they stood erect, still, and unmoving. 

Sighing, Sasuke moved toward the individual, slowly and silently, contemplating what exactly Sakura had expected him to do. It was indeed perilous, to navigate the small path that winded between acid reservoirs, and Sasuke’s footfalls were near silent as he proceeded with slow and deliberate caution. The physical form of Sasuke’s fixation materialized from the mist, a man who stood before one of the black, endless, gurgling acid ponds. The stranger’s back was turned to Sasuke and, unexpectedly, the man’s head tilted in Sasuke’s direction as he detected the Uchiha’s approaching presence. Sasuke raised an eyebrow privately at the man’s perceptiveness despite Sasuke’s silent footfalls. He had to be a ninja, then, without a shadow of a doubt, if he was able to sense him. 

Sasuke took in the man’s appearance more carefully: tall, dark hair, a tailor-fitted suit as if he were some sort of mobster instead of a ninja. Of course, that suit now displayed various tears and holes, the wearable evidence of days in the Shikkotsu Forest. Was he missing a shoe? 

“Reaper?” came his voice next, a resigned, melancholic breathlessness as if he were talking to himself rather than acknowledging Sasuke’s presence. 

Sasuke was getting that sort of association a lot lately. If the world continued to sense him as such before they even knew him, was he honestly doing a well enough job redeeming himself? He shook the thought away.

“But I haven’t done it yet,” the man whispered again, just before toeing the pool of acid with is remaining shoed foot. He screamed instantly when the acid ate through the leather of his sole and found his toes. He bent, ripping the melting shoe away. Well, that explained the first shoe, then, Sasuke assessed. And then Sasuke’s gut was sinking as the man straightened his back, finding the resolve to do it again, and the entire situation started to make a lot more sense to him. Just exactly why Sakura had sent Sasuke to retrieve him. The slug had known what the man was planning, what was about to happen.

The man was going to jump—all in, at once. He bent, sucking in a loud breath as if he were about to dive. And then propelled his body into the air. And Sasuke’s Rinnegan was activating before he could even register his choices. And within seconds, Sasuke’s body had replaced the man with himself feet above the black abyss of acid, and now he was on the planned trajectory of the consequences of this man’s suicide attempt. And before Sasuke could even question whether or not a ninja might be able to direct chakra and walk along the surface of acid like they did water, the Eternal Mangekyo of his right eye was spinning, and the skeletal arms of his imperfect Susanoo shot out and braced their hands on either side of the acid pond. Sasuke sneered in the man’s direction after he righted himself and stepped down onto the bank and stalked back toward the man who now lay sprawled where Sasuke had just been standing seconds before. 

The giant fist of the Susanoo shot outward, collecting the man into its glowing grip, the blazing yellow eyes of the Susanoo’s face inches from his own. 

The man cried out in surprise, probably believing that he had indeed fallen into the realm that came after death. But his next words gave Sasuke pause. “Who’s there?” Despite the man’s initial fear, Sasuke suddenly realized that he wasn’t seeing the Susanoo at all. He felt the grip that held him, the crushing digits of the chakra-controlled entity, but he cast his wide eyes about as if not sure where he should be looking. 

And then Sasuke saw it. The dirty bandage-wrapping that had fallen from his eyes at some point to rest around his neck like a prophetic noose. Because the man had been correct. It was the Reaper that had found him. Sasuke was going to finish the man himself because recognition hit the Uchiha in full force. He had seen this ninja before in the memories of that girl at the brothel. Before him was the ninja who had pulled Sakura into his lap and touched her black-dyed hair as if she had been his to do so. Rugo. That was the name Sakura had relayed to him over a campfire in a cave, and Sasuke had let the name sear a hole into his memory the same way the flames of that fire burned into his vision. He would never forget it. 

“You were right the first time,” Sasuke smirked, gladly becoming that deathbringer of his fear, the darkness in the Uchiha like an incurable itch that he sometimes craved to scratch. Even though it was when he indulged himself, that he got into trouble, Sasuke still couldn’t resist the urge when it came to defending his friends.

“Uchiha,” Rugo breathed, more solid but still another fearful recognition coming from his lips. “You might as well be.” He grunted as the Susanoo’s fingers tightened as if they were Sasuke’s own.

“That’s right.” Sasuke confirmed, that characteristic drawl he used with his enemies coming back full force out of Sakura’s company. “You should have been faster. There’s nothing that burns like the black flames of Amaterasu. It doesn’t stop burning until there’s nothing left. The acid would have been a mercy in comparison.” 

A steely calm came over Rugo’s face and Sasuke didn’t quite care for it. “I don’t know where she is. I had found her. Begged her to help me. And the next thing I knew, I woke up in this godforsaken place with those bastards for company.”

Sasuke registered his words with that signature “hn,” of acknowledgement, but nothing more. But internally, Sasuke was at war with himself. This was one of the men who had touched her. Sakura, his Team 7 teammate. And now she was more than that; she was his. This bastard had touched his fucking wife. The scene of that girls’ memories played over and over in his mind like his own personal hell of Sharingan genjutsu. But all he could hear was her. Those convicting words of her letter playing in his skull, still tucked against his chest as if it could be the second heart to operate and stand in place for his blackened one: ‘remember who you are.’ Damn, he really wasn’t trying hard enough honor his promise to himself, was he? Quite frankly, Sasuke didn’t want to. But Sakura’s order through the memory of mud and rain pounded in his ears as she yelled: “This isn’t who you are anymore! You can be merciful!” A declaration of weight whispered in a cave between bent heads came to him next: “You’re not a monster. Naruto and I will not let you be a monster.” 

Sakura had sent him here. Knowing everything she did, the woman he loved still believed it was going to be Sasuke who would be the best between the two of them to retrieve this man. And he was suddenly very annoyed with her unwavering faith in him because it suddenly made Sasuke feel like he had to be worth that faith. Damn slug should have just left the issue—let the man do as he pleased. 

Aw, fuck. Fine. 

Sasuke sneered as he dropped the man to the ground before him, his Susanoo of chakra retreating back into the essence of him. The man scrambled to his knees and Sasuke turned and began to walk off before he changed his mind. “You’re very fortunate that the woman you speak of spared your life,” he drawled. “It’s the only reason I do now.” And after the wide eyed, unseeing man blanched, Sasuke added: “But by all means—don’t let me get in the way of what you were doing.”

The man nodded once, that serious, resolved expression returning to his ashen face. 

But even as Sasuke put distance between them, his feet slowed when Rugo’s voice carried after him. “You’ve found her then. It’s the only way you would know how we got here. That’s good.”

Just keep walking, Sasuke told himself. Let the man do as he wished. He would tell Sakura that he hadn’t killed the man, at the very least. And what else could she honestly have expected of him? What was he supposed to do? Talk to him? She was delusional. Grab the stranger by the collar of his suit and corral him back toward her, the last person he wanted within a mile of her? Hmph. Unlikely.

“It must be wonderful,” Rugo exclaimed as he found a tree to lean back against. “To look at her. To watch that mouth and that hair.” The man let out a small groan. “I can only imagine it. She was the last woman I ever laid my eyes on. Not a bad view, for the last thing to see.”

Sasuke closed his eyes as the manipulative declaration designed to ensnare his rage hit his ears. And his feet came to an abrupt halt. He counted to three before he spoke next. “You really do have a death wish, don’t you?” Fucking bastard, testing his fragile resolve.

“You’re a fool to let her do what she did,” Rugo announced, and Sasuke wondered where all of a sudden, he found the fucking nerve. Probably was trying to get the Uchiha to run him through with his katana or burn him alive with unrelenting flame. “Now, Mozai will do more than just kill her. He’s vengeful, and he will make her pay for what she’s done personally. She’s done nothing but paint a bigger target on her back. And you let her.” 

Sasuke had never been so tempted to laugh. As if he could stop that woman from doing anything she set her mind to. The two of them were alike in that way. “And if he ever dares to come close enough, he’ll see her back for himself and learn exactly who she is now and who he dares to fuck with.” Because Sakura Haruno was an Uchiha now, and he would soon show the world that. She would wear his crest. Their symbol. He had already decided it, but it was without question now. He would beg her if he had to.

Rugo laughed, and Sasuke turned to see him bend forward over his knees. “It won’t be enough.”

“Then tell me how to find him,” Sasuke drawled again. “I’ll kill him right after I’m done killing you.”

“I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere. He is never in the same place, always moving.”

“There’s not a corner in this world where I have not been,” Sasuke told him. “I’ll find him soon.”

“That’s a relief. Good riddance.”

And Sasuke was a little curious to know why this man was even with them if he expressed hate for the leader. Rugo had said something about begging Sakura to help him? And Sasuke eyes flickered back toward the man’s bandages as Sasuke made the connections. He was blind. He was able to recognize Sakura in a brothel despite being so. She had been the last person he had seen before blindness… The war, then, Sasuke concluded. Rugo had been injured in the shinobi war.

“Is that why you’re set on killing yourself then?” Sasuke asked after a second of indecision. He was in the limbo of not caring, and being mildly curious simply because Sakura had been involved in some way. His interest was more along the lines of knowing one’s enemy and their motivations. “Because you lost your vision?” Sasuke scoffed cruelly. 

“You couldn’t possibly understand, so don’t pretend that you do,” came Rugo’s angry accusation. “You’ve been blessed with the visual prowess of gods. You get to see the people you love.”

Sasuke sighed. He really wanted to just walk away, but for some reason, Sakura was always involving him with people who needed some sort of reality check. Sasuke wasn’t Naruto, but damn if he didn’t always end up in situations where he knew exactly what that idiot might say to these men. Something about joining him on his journey to bring peace to the shinobi world as if he were some sort of Saint to be followed. And hell, it had worked on Sasuke and many more, hadn’t it? Sasuke sighed in decided annoyance. Sasuke wasn’t inherently good like Naruto, but he had learned a few things over the last few years to draw upon for this speech. Especially in the last few months. 

“I would give it up in an instant,” Sasuke told the blind man. “These eyes are a curse. They come with power and responsibility. If I could trade them for the life of peace that you could have, I would switch places with you this very second. Even with my vison intact, I soon won’t see get to see the people I care about most for a very long time. But if I were you, I could still hear her. Touch her. Not a second spent, would I miss these eyes and the mission that comes with them.”

And how true it all was. Because Sasuke had been literally blinded for a year after the war as he sat in a prison cell in Konoha with his eyes sealed and covered. But as he looked back on it now, it had been such a peaceful year, knowing that it was all out of his control and it was alright to do absolutely nothing for a year. And then she came. Every day, without fail. Just as his friend had attended his bedside in their youth, Sakura had come to visit him. She was only allowed forty minutes to check on him as a physician, and they didn’t talk much at first. But damn, if it didn’t quickly become the forty minutes of every day that he looked forward to. Now, he realized it might have been the only thing to carry his sanity out of that endless darkness. 

If he were blind like Rugo, then maybe he could be present. His lack of power would make it so. The job of hunting down the Otsusuki race would fall onto someone else’s shoulders. And in exchange, maybe Sasuke could be there every day. Wake beside her every day. Touch, taste, fuck, and hear her tell him that she loved him over and over. Have children with her. Hold their tiny bodies against his chest as he whispered his own declaration of love to them. Every. Day. Even if he had to tolerate Naruto’s nonsense daily for the rest of his life, it would be worth it. He would be the better man, and leave the fallen Sasuke behind.

“Get up. Come to the Leaf. Live a simple life. And if you must be ambitious, fight with us to create a world of peace for the next generation.”

And as Rugo’s sightless eyes filled with tears, Sasuke felt a little more like Naruto. Because he meant those words. 

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“Took you long enough,” one of the men spat in Sakura’s direction as she stared down the twenty-seven individuals who were now looking back at her as an enemy; there was a narrowing of the eyes, a hesitation in their shoulders, and the erratic exchanging of nervous looks, that was not displayed back at the brothel when they merely thought she was an instrument of sex. In the span of a few days, she had taught them the mistake of underestimating someone. 

They were gathered around a campfire, cooking some poor scrap of a thing they had managed to catch in these woods. They should consider themselves lucky that they hadn’t become the meals themselves here. If not for Katsuyu’s looming gargantuan presence nearby that warded away other predators, they undoubtedly would be. Many of them appeared haggard around the firelight and the dense tree coverage combined with the dimming sky already gave the appearance of night. Owls of monstrous size hooted in the distance, already eager for the night and the prey it would bring them. The members of Zenshin, in contrast, did not seem as keen. They sat huddled together as if in perpetual watch for whatever beast might pay them a visit tonight. 

“I’m sorry,” Sakura smiled brightly despite their stabbing glares, “afraid of the dark, are we?”

There were murmurs of varying degrees of bitterness and disbelief. There were even some choice words Sakura ignored completely as she moved into their company. They were like wolves, snapping and growling as she got near them, and like wolves, a few of them decided to charge her. 

The first man, the loudmouth of the group whose person Sakura had originally aimed for first back at the brothel, and then used his identity to fool his friends later, boldly sprinted in her direction. With murderous, bloodshot eyes and a gaping mouth, he brought his open hands together at the thumbs as if he meant to choke her, but Sakura quickly remedied his mistake. Her foot shot out, her monstrous strength sending him hurtling into the gigantic tree in their immediate proximity. There was a crunch and a splintering of wood, and Sakura felt more sorry for the tree than the man who would walk away fine after she healed him. Sakura couldn’t say the same for the poor, hollowed out tree. She winced, already prepared to apologize to Katsuyu for the violation of the sacred forest. 

“Araki!” came a feminine screech as the man slid down from the tree like one of Katsuyu’s many slug divisions, and he crashed to the forest floor with a groan. Recognizing the voice who had called out to him, Sakura quickly identified the white-haired, Boil Release Kekkei Genkai ninja whom Sakura had battled with days ago. She stood from where she was sitting among the men next to the fire and she pointed an accusing finger at Sakura as she screamed, “You bitch! That wasn’t necessary!”

“Hello, again,” Sakura waved and the girl growled as she fisted both her palms with radiating fury. “Mind if I sit?” Sakura asked unbothered, before coming as close as she dared to the group, a body’s space away from the fire and sat crisscross as a large scroll materialized with a poof in the palm of her hand. She unfurled it, a white, encrypted document that served as a dividing line between them. 

Staring back at their blank, confused expressions, Sakura got straight to the point. “This is the warrant for your individual arrests by both Sunagakure and Konoha as declared, signed, and sealed by the Fifth Kazekage and Seventh Hokage respectively. Each of you will receive a minimum of ten years in either correctional facility on the account of trespassing, kidnapping, attempted murder, or at the very least, illegal engagement in sexual acts for compensation.”

As she spoke, the outrage grew loud again but it fell on deaf ears as Sakura continued to read the document. 

“However,” Sakura added with the snapping of the scroll as it tightly retracted back into form. “You will be given the choice of where to serve your sentences.” 

The outrage quickly grew to silence as Sakura modified the original, documented warrant with her own condition.  

“You can serve your various sentences back in Sunagakure, where the Kazekage eagerly awaits you. While serving your sentence, you will become potential new test subjects for the Kazekage’s new Mental Health clinic, and simultaneously perform excavation indentures to further create the sand dungeons you’ll be staying in.”

Their faces paled, so Sakura informed them of their second choice. “Or, you may return with me to Konoha where you’ll quickly be enrolled in the Mental Health clinic already established, perform community service, and also qualify for parole based on good behavior and reform. Those are your two options.”

And of course, there was always that wise guy who had to add: “And what makes you think we will go willingly to either?”

“You see,” Sakura smiled again, leaning back on her arms as if she were content to rest there. As if it were just another night around the warm campfire for Team 7 as they traveled for a mission. She gestured to the buzzing forest around them that grew darker by the minute.  “Coming with me will be the only way to leave this place. You’re more than welcome to stay here and try to find your way out on your own. But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

They carefully considered her words after that. They exchanged petrified glances and shook their heads at one another. 

“Perfect,” Sakura clapped her hands together in artificial delight, retrieving a separate scroll from thin air and an ink brush followed after, plopping onto the ground as it was summoned. Sakura unfurled this one too, a red blank document that she instantly divided down the center with the following two headings: “Konoha” and “Sunagakure.” She glanced over their shoulders to regard Araki first, who still lay unconscious in front of the tree he had been hurled ungracefully in to. She wrote down his name first and said to herself: “Araki, Konoha.”

“You can’t choose for him!” seethed the white-haired female who had returned to a seated position at some point, but still stared into Sakura’s person as if she could boil her alive just from staring at her. Sakura made a mental note to stay out of touching distance from her. This girl didn’t seem the type to retain information from the lessons others taught her. 

“I can,” Sakura responded, “because he is going to need medical attention and will need to come with me in order to do that. Should I mark him under ‘Sunagakure,’ instead? If he lives from that, you can explain why you made that decision for him.”

The girl didn’t respond and so Sakura left it. “Ok then. Who else chooses Konoha?” There was a hesitation at first as no hands were raised. But a motion in the back caught Sakura’s attention. Not looking at her directly, a man sporting a familiar red, hooded cloak raised one of his mutilated and scarred hands. Sakura winced as she recognized the man who had attacked her, groping at her body before Sasuke ignited him with black flames.“Remember that I spared your life,” she had said to this man after interfering in Sasuke’s torture-attempt, and Sakura didn’t know if he raised his hand now because he felt indebted to her, needed further medical attention for his hands, or something else. But it didn’t matter, because like the first rain drop before the torrent of many, his hand was followed by the others.  

Sakura placed a fake frown on her lips despite her internal relief. “Not a single person wants to attend Sunagakure? Gaara is going to be so disappointed.” And Kakashi, she thought to herself, when he realized he was about to gain twenty-seven new fugitives to care for. She could already imagine the Hokage’s slack jawed surprise when she showed up with them tomorrow. 

Not a single voice responded, and Sakura grinned as she stood and dusted the forest floor from Sasuke’s oversized slacks. “Well, that’s settled then. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Morning?!” someone called out. “Why not now, before the sun sets?”

Sakura looked around as if she had only just noticed it was growing dark. The crickets of nighttime began to chirp, large amphibians exchanged mating calls, and some growling beast began its nightly prowl with a roar in the distance. “I think one more night will be good for you.” Just to remind them of their choices. 

And with impeccable timing, something he always managed to seem to have, Sasuke emerged from the woods behind her. His red and purple eyes seemed to glow from the shadows as if he, too, were some nocturnal beast of the Shikkotsu Forest come to pay them a visit. He stalked forward like a panther until he stood beside her. Those who might have had anything to say grew wide-eyed and gasped at his arrival, not coming to recognize him even as he stared each of them down. His gaze flickered to the red-cloaked individual in the back whose hands he had decimated, and his eyes seemed to rest on him longer than the others.  

“Did you find him?” Sakura asked the Uchiha and his eyes reluctantly slid to hers in the darkening woods. He dipped his chin in a silent nod before gesturing behind him with a tilt of his head. Slowly, as if moving at a much slower space, Rugo stepped out of the trees behind them. At his appearance, the voices around the campfire picked up once again and they mocked, belittling the man who had made promises of walking into the woods and not returning. One man even went as far as saying, “Should have been a man and gone through with it, Rugo. Mozai will kill you anyway—” but he stopped midsentence and began screaming. The rest of the group panicked, scattering like cockroaches away from the individual, trying to identify the source of his torment. 

But as Sakura glance to her left and saw Sasuke’s Sharingan, she knew instantly that it was him, taking it upon himself to silence the man with a torturous genjutsu. After the screaming continued for longer than what made her comfortable, Sakura sent a pointed look to her teammate. The shrieking died after that, but Sasuke added for good measure, “Be quiet. All of you—before you piss me off.” 

Rugo didn’t stop until he came within a few feet of Sakura, and even though she knew he couldn’t see her, he stopped and stared at her as if he could, as if by sheer will alone, he might be able to. Sakura held his unseeing eyes as she chewed her lip in thought about how she might be able to help him through this more, before he silently turned and headed back toward the fire, sitting alone and far away from the group. He looked morose, haggard, and was he barefoot? 

“I’ll be right back,” she informed Sasuke who turned to follow her anyway. She thought of asking him to stay behind and keep watch over the group, but she thought better of it. She had informed them of their options. They were free to make a run for it…if they dared to. 

“Where are you going?” came Sasuke’s peeved, clipped question once they were out of earshot. She rolled her eyes even as her medical mind whirred and calculated. Despite the gloom and perilous nature of The Shikkotsu Forest, it was also a goldmine, a plethora of hard-to-obtain plants and fauna that made Sakura’s eyes sparkle in delight. Now, some of these things were rather tricky to get your hands on, but it made them all the more tempting. 

H. Perforatum, for example, a yellow-flowering shrub that grew tangled at the base of large trees, was highly sought after for its medical properties; Shikkotsu Forest supposedly had it in abundance but no one dared to face the Shikkotsu Forest just to get their hands on it. Unfortunately, the trees here also often oozed toxic, milky-white sap that blistered the skin on contact, which would make the extraction complicated. But Sakura didn’t tell Sasuke that as she circled several bushes like one of Kakashi’s scent hounds on the trail. 

“I’m looking for a plant known to help with depression. I’d like to offer it to Rugo and see if it can be help to him.”

She didn’t see Sasuke’s blink of surprise, but she felt it in his silence. She knew he didn’t care enough about it to ask further. At least until she snatched her hand away from a tree just in time before a sizzling dewdrop of white fluid fell from a branch, narrowly missing her fingers. Sasuke frowned at her and she smiled innocently while moving on to the next tree. 

“Leave it,” Sasuke said as he peered up at the trees with a newfound trepidation. “He’s fine now.”

But Sakura discounted his words, plowing on until she saw it: the blue-green leaves and the bright starshaped, yellow flower clusters that Sakura had been desperate to get her hands on since she formulated the plan of coming here. It would be revolutionary in its use with her Mental Health clinics. And as she bent to pluck them greedily, she glanced above her head to watch for falling sap, but was surprised to find the purple hand of Sasuke’s Susanoo stretched above her. He stood cross-armed and aloof beside her, acting as if he had little regard for her tasks, but Sakura smiled to herself as the arm of charka reached out from his body with the intent to protect her from searing drops overhead. Seeing him do so reminded her of simpler times during their Genin youth, when Sasuke’s attitude was abrasive, but his actions always spoke his true feelings. 

“Was it his permanent vision loss that made him want to do it?” Sakura inquired as she loaded the pockets of Sasuke’s oversized pants with yellow flora. Katsuyu told me he was in danger of himself, and I couldn’t think of why else.” There were millions of Katsuyu divisions spread through the forest, keeping tabs on all of Sakura’s charges, and the slug who had come to transport Sasuke to Shikkotsu had told her of the situation after Sasuke had been swallowed.

“Hn.” Sasuke acknowledged as she shifted beside her and she nodded, understanding that Sasuke might not give any more details than that. Sakura wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from sending Sasuke, but she had hoped he would be able to handle the situation better than she might even though it was her expertise. Maybe it was an instinct, knowing that Sasuke might be the right person to talk to someone who had lost his vision. He had been able to convince him somehow, and for that she was grateful. 

Sasuke surprised her again when he spoke lowly. “I’ve told him to come to the Leaf and he agreed.” 

“They’ll all be coming to the Leaf,” she informed him, popping one of the yellow flowers into her mouth, tucking it into the inside of her cheek to ruminate. It was both simultaneously bitter and pleasant; sort of like drinking Black Tea. It would be better brewed like a tea, but chewing would have to suffice for now.  

Sasuke raised an eyebrow at her words. “And we’ll be taking the slug express back to Konoha, how, again, if you’re here? You left that part out.”

“Lady Tsunade is waiting for the signal. She’ll perform the summoning that will take us all back to the Leaf.”

“Hmph,” he smirked, not being able to hide his regard for her ability to thoroughly plan something out to this extent in the span of twenty-four hours. 

Sakura may have been a medic, but she was a ninja first. She wasn’t a mastermind strategist like Shikamaru, but she could hold a candle to many team leaders of her generation. A small pang of regret filled Sakura’s chest at the thought. She would never have a rookie team of her own to lead because she had dedicated her life to medical science. 

Knowing that she wouldn’t get the chance once they returned to the watching eyes and glaring scowls of their group, Sakura daringly stood up on her tiptoes and kissed an unexpecting Sasuke chastely on the cheek, before turning to return to the campsite. At his reddening expression and clearing of his throat, Sakura smiled innocently, those hands coming to rest behind her back as she leaned forward and tilted her head, a habit leftover from girlish youth. And maybe she was interpreting things, but the Susanoo didn’t disappear from above her head until they were well away from the deadly trees, and to Sakura, it was all she needed in return to know that Sasuke was expressing his own form of love back. 

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In the dead of night, when the detainees had all passed into sleep, Sasuke kept his eyes trained on them, making sure that their heartbeats and cadence of breath signified genuine sleep. To his surprise, it seemed no one had any indication or plans to run. Not that he cared in particular, but it still didn’t ease his uncertainty. He wondered what Sakura had offered them to get them to go along with their sentencing. Regardless of their snoring and dream-filled twitching—which could easily alert prey to their presence; he didn’t know how they could even sleep knowing where they were—Sasuke didn’t trust them. Despite Sakura’s assurances, Sasuke still watched them as if he were the predator of their fears. Maybe that’s why they slept so soundly, knowing Sasuke was there to keep watch over them. Maybe it gave them some sort of security knowing that the man who protected the ambitions of their target-turned-jailer was there to ensure everything went according to the kunoichi’s design. Maybe, subconsciously, they knew Sakura cared about what happened to them at the very least, and as a result Sasuke was forced to as well. Perhaps it was the same factor that made them all choose to return to Konoha with her. 

From a non-poisonous, outstretched branch, Sasuke watched two interactions initiated by Sakura on the ground below him. First, and expected, Sakura sought out Rugo, offering him the yellow flowers, explaining in whispers how to get the most out of the medicinal properties it offered. Saskue narrowed his eyes at the man, whom Sasuke still didn’t quite care for, as Sakura crouched before him and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t hear her or read her lips with his Sharingan because her back was turned to him, but Sasuke saw that Rugo only nodded in response to everything she said and asked and kept his respectable distance. Smart choice on his part with Sasuke present. 

Her second stop in the crowd below, however, had Sasuke leaning forward, his right eye glowing red as he made out the conversation below.

“Toka,” Sakura was saying, cross-armed as she stared down at the man who was reclined against a tree toward the back of the crowd. Sasuke recalled the stranger’s identity when she said his name, recalling the visions of the man clinging to the girl Sasuke had stolen the vision from. “We need to discuss something.”

“I don’t plan on discussing anything with you,” he sneered back at her, rolling his head back to the side to pretend to sleep against the tree roots. 

“Tabi is pregnant,” Sakura deadpanned, and Sasuke could tell by her posture that she had adopted the professional voice of the physician. Toka’s eyes shot open with disbelief and his mouth went slack. Even Sasuke’s stomach dropped a bit at the abrasive announcement, suddenly feeling more empathy about the situation considering the context of his and Sakura’s conversation last night. No man would want to learn of his partner’s pregnancy right before facing a prison sentence. 

When Toka recovered from the shock, he glanced nervously around at the others to see if anyone might have heard them. Sasuke could barely discern the furious whisper on Toka’s lips in response: “Why the fuck would you say that out loud in front of these people? You don’t understand the gravity of what you could have just done.”

“Does this mean you care about them, then? About Tabi and the baby?” she probed, unphased by his alarm. Sasuke wondered if Sakura did exactly what had triggered him just to assess his reaction. 

“Why does it matter to you?” he asked angrily in a murmur, still trying to keep his words private between them. 

Sakura turned her head in Sasuke’s direction unconsciously, and Sasuke’s eyes met hers, and she instantly looked away having realized what she’d done. And Sasuke frowned, because suddenly the conversation between his pink-haired teammate and the man sitting before her took on a new and uncomfortable context. Sasuke suddenly felt as if this were a personal topic for Sakura and she was asking from experience. As if she was hoping Toka would say yes, that he didcare. That he would do anything to go back to the mother of his child and make their family whole. To stop his foolish conquests and ambitions and be the man they needed him to be. Sasuke felt himself go rigid as he waited for Sakura’s response.

“Because Tabi told me you were different. I’m hoping that’s true.”

“I would only bring them heartbreak and pain. They’re better off without me.” Sasuke winced as the words that could have been his own landed directly as a blow to his chest. 

And then Sasuke knew. He knew Toka was not the only intended recipient for her next words. “They’ll be in more pain to know you had a choice and your choice wasn’t them. All because you thought you knew best. Because you thought you didn’t deserve them.” It may have been Toka’s first time hearing such words, but for Sasuke, it was another echoing reminder. 

He only stared at Sakura’s feet, and so she said, “I thought it might change your decision to come to Konoha. I’ve said that I won’t stop anyone from running if they want to risk the forest. Someone with a family waiting for them on the other side might just be brave enough to make it.” There was no response as she walked away from him, surveying the group one last time before making her way to the teammate she knew observed her every step from above. 

And when she came to settle in the treetop beside him, Sasuke couldn’t meet her eye. For the longest minute of his life, he held his breath as her gaze settled on to him. Slowly and with fearful anticipation, Sasuke glanced at her to find that Sakura had merely propped her back against the trunk where the branch met the tree and had closed her eyes to sleep. Sasuke wanted to reach for her, tug her against his chest as he had last night in a different environment of darkness. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry. To tell her that she was his choice because he was hers. But a family…it couldn’t be his choice right now. Not when he knew what was coming for them. Sasuke’s choice would always have to be his mission, but he prayed to whatever sentient being looked down on them, that he would find the Otsusuki race, eradicate them quickly, and get back to his life with his wife. 

Sasuke stared openly at her as she slept and he knew her decision to do so was to not force an uncomfortable conversation on him in the moment. Not after the trauma of the day. Not after witnessing a man attempt suicide and the conversation that followed, or from overhearing her discussion about families and choices with Toka. The day had been full of discomfort, and Sakura understood the Uchiha enough to know that now was not the time to have another. It was an indescribable mercy. And why she made a damn good doctor and rising therapist. 

And with this realization, Sasuke wondered when, in Sakura’s eyes, he had become like a patient with his own mental health needs as well. When did she start seeing him as someone who needed to heal instead of someone she needed to heal from? 

And Sasuke thought back to pools of acid and black flames that never stopped burning. And he thought of Sakura, the star in the sky of his darkness who still eternally burned for him despite everything. And Sasuke wondered when exactly he had started to answer that burn with a fire of his own. Even if he were galaxies away, he would burn eternally for her, like the black flames of Amaterasu.