#having doubts about the ability to lead your village as its new head?

[mochidoodle]

I haven’t stopped thinking about them since I first saw them stand next to each other in kakariko village

[thebadgerclan]

One True Queen

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Summary: Long live the One True Queen...

Dress and crown reference at the end

It had been a bloody battle, but finally, there was peace.  The Lantsovs were dead, their bodies burned to ashes, the so-called Sun Saint’s head was on a pike outside the Grand Palace, the heads of her tracker and the Shu traitors alongside it.  Aleksander had finally achieved what he’d wanted for centuries: the Ravkan throne was his.  Already, he was proving the people wrong about what the Morozova rule would be like, shattering pre-conceived notions of his reign.

Aid was being sent to every city and village: food and clean water, medical supplies, farming tools, money was being allocated for repairs and improvements to major cities.  The war had been brutal, but Aleksander would not see his people suffer.  Both the First and Second Army were working to distribute aid to citizens, helping to rebuild villages, as well as being sent abroad to build relationships between Ravka and other countries.

But Aleksander could have done none of this without you by his side.  From the very beginning, you had been his anchor, his beacon, the sword in his hand and his shelter at the end of the day.  You had never questioned his ambition, never doubted his ability to lead.  You, unlike so many others, saw the changes that Ravka needed and saw that Aleksander was the only one who could bring them.  70 years ago, he’d made you his wife.  Today, he would make you his Queen.

The royal chapel had been razed, a monument to Grisha being erected in its place.  Three pillars of marble stood proudly: one engraved with the human heart, for the Corporalki, one embraced with a blazing fire, a crashing wave, and a gusting wing, for the Ehteralki, and one engraved with a hammer and poison vial, for the Materialki.  It was at this monument to Grisha and their power where you would be crowned Ravka’s One True Queen.

Aleksander stood beneath the canopy that had been erected, his crown of gold and obsidian on his head, a long black velvet cape on his shoulders, the sun in eclipse embroidered in silver thread.  The new Ravkan court was gathered to witness the coronation, and they turned to watch as you approached.  You wore a black ball gown, the sleeves flowing loosely to your elbows.  The bodice featured black beadwork that glittered in the sun, and Aleksander was in awe of your beauty as you approached.

You dipped into a deep curtsey, looking at your husband through your lashes.  Aleksander took your chin and gently pressed, indicating you should rise.  Pasha, his new second in command, stood at his side, a glimmering obsidian crown on a pillow that you eyed with interest.  Your husband smiled at you before he spoke, his voice clear and firm.  “Today, we gather to crown Ravka’s One True Queen, Y/N Morozova.  A brave and valiant soldier, a kind and just woman, and a beautiful and devoted wife.”

An Inferni appeared at your side, placing a cushioned kneeler between you and Aleksander.  You knelt gracefully, lifting your chin to look at him.  “Do you, Y/N Morozova, swear to defend and protect Ravka each and every day of your life?  Do you swear to uphold your duty as Queen, to serve your people, and to honor them?  Do you swear this on your life?”  “I swear it on my life,” you replied, a smile cracking over your features.  

Aleksander took your crown from Pasha’s grasp and settled it onto your head, black stones catching the rays of the setting sun.  The base of the crown was studded with the tracker’s bones, the last of Morozova’s amplifiers returned to the line.  It was symbolic, as you wore one of his ribs around your wrist, which was your true amplifier, and a gesture that would not go unnoticed.  Anyone who stood against the Morozova reign would be punished.  But seeing that it had only been a few weeks and the people were thriving and happy, that didn’t appear to pose an issue.

“Rise, my beloved,” Aleksander said, taking your hands in his.  When you were standing, your husband pulled you into a deep kiss, and for a moment, the court behind you faded away.  A few moments later, you turned to face the court, your subjects, and they all dropped to one knee.  “Long live Y/N,” Aleksander called.  “Ravka’s One True Queen!”  The court, still kneeling, bowed their heads.  

“Long live Queen Y/N!”  Aleksander took your hand and kissed it before looping his arm through yours.  He led you back to the Palace, the court rising and following as you passed.  The feast that followed lasted well into the night and early morning, with more food, drinks, and dancing to last a lifetime.  Your subjects came and pledged their loyalty, kissing your hand, and some kissing your hem.  But one thing was consistent, the cries of “Y/N, the One True Queen!”

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 11 (NSFW) (END)

Ch.1 Ch2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

If you are curious to know what my version of Alexia looks like, check here

All maids are dismissed from dinner at night.

The doors are kept sealed shut. It is clear whatever the Dimitrescus are discussing is not for ears outside of their family's to overhear.

You are thankful for the windows you have to focus on repairing while they talk. It keeps you from overthinking and that keeps you sane.

Once everything is fixed, the only physical sign of the nightmarish day you had is Cassandra's sickle, still embedded within what is no doubt a priceless painting.

You approach slowly, as though the weapon has a will of its own and can turn right around to finish the job of gutting you. Your fingers close around the leather handle. The first pull does nothing. The blade is so firmly lodged it won't budge an inch.

But you are nothing if not determined.

That is what you busy yourself with until you see a familiar fly come to land on your shoulder. It doesn't cut at your flesh, but it does bite and tug on your shirt. You understand the silent command to follow.

The insect leads you to the dining room. The table is cleaned, but the daughters are all still there, talking in hushed tones among themselves, poker faces adorning their expressions.

Three sets of yellowish eyes immediately fall to the sickle in your hand. Bela raises an amused eyebrow. The redhead whistles. "That looks sexy on you~"

"Can't imagine it would look as good in me." You give Cassandra a pointed look as you pull the chair beside her, but she only shrugs and leans back, motioning for you to hand it over.

"No... did you throw it at her?" Daniela guffaws. "And you missed?"

A sour grimace comes from the brunette. "I wasn't trying that hard..."

"What if I hadn't dodged?" you ask.

"...well. It's good that you did." Cassandra looks down at her manicured nails, as apologetic as she'll let herself be in front of her sisters.

"Do I want to know what was hit instead of Alexia?" Bela carefully asks.

"You really don't." Cassandra shakes her head and they leave it at that for both their sake.

"So." Bela speaks up after a brief moment of silence. "After our discussion with mother, we are to inform you that you're free to come and go from the castle as you please. Cassandra's key is as much hers as it is yours, now. But. Should any other maid escape using it or learn of our weakness, we'll have to do something nobody here wants."

"We'll have to brutally murder you to make an example. And whoever knows." Daniela cuts in and Cassandra gives her a glare. You aren’t looking forward to learning what their interpretation of the word ‘brutal’ is like.

"Yeah I... I could have guessed that." you reply.

"But I'm sure you're smart enough to not let that happen." Bela states. "This settles everything, I think."

"Not everything." Cassandra retorts, a shadow around her eyes.

"Cassandra, drop it. You heard what mother said." The blonde's tone grows harsh.

"What did she say, other than what we already knew?" comes the sharp bite back. "Why is she so vague every time one of us asks how we came to be?"

"I'm sure she has a good reason. What does it even matter about before?"

"Because I'm sick of having nightmares about people I don't remember!" Cassandra slams her hands onto the table. Both you and Daniela flinch back a bit.

You could have already guessed Alcina is not their biological mother. But a lot of puzzle pieces fall into place before your eyes now. And this new picture you're starting to see of the Dimitrescu family isn't a pretty one at all.

The tension between the two siblings is enough to electrify the air around the table.

"Did you ever consider it's probably for the best that you never do remember them?" Bela asks, her irritation ice-cold as opposed to Cassandra's sizzling fire. "Maybe there's a reason nightmares are all that's left."

You can see your lover's jaw clench. Cassandra's fingers curl into white-knuckled fists as she sits back down. "Don't you get these flashes? These almost-memories?"

"No." Bela says as she stands to leave. "I don't get them. And even if I did, I don't much care for leftovers."

"Daniela?" Cassandra asks, turning to her younger sister.

"I uh... I gotta go do a... thing. Bye now!" The redhead disperses into a swarm right there, before any more can be said.

Cassandra huffs in an exasperated, 'of course' manner. Only the two of you are left in the gigantic room, but you're not sure if you should speak up. You're not exactly confident in your ability to comfort others, nor can you tell where she and you currently stand. It doesn't look like either of you has the energy for any type of loaded talk.

You need each other, that much is as certain as the sun’s rise and fall.

And that's enough, for now.

-

-

Within the next few days, Cassandra and you take your time gravitating back together.

You let the thought of her ripping you in half slowly bleed away and she probably does the same with the notion of you using her weakness against her.

It starts with little touches, on your shoulder or your hand, as you make plans to spend a night or two in your house at the village once the temperature allows it.

Then one evening she comes to your room complaining about Daniela just like the old times and it feels only natural to rub her back like you used to.

Cassandra leans into you like a purring cat.

"Oh, you're so warm..." she sighs, resting her head atop your shoulder.

Absent-mindedly, you bring your travelling fingers up to her nape, pressing at a tiny knot of tension there with your thumb. A little moan slips past her lips –you're aware of just how close to touching your neck they are– and it hits you straight in the gut. You've missed drawing these sounds out of her.

Cassandra shifts against you and every minuscule brush of her lithe form on yours brings sparks to life. Her finger reaches under your chin to tip it her way.

"If you want us to stop here I need to leave now." she speaks with that impatience in the edges of her voice you recognize well.

"What happens if you stay?" you ask. It's not just your body warming at the thought of keeping her close.

"Don't tempt me, Alexia." Her lower lip just barely traces yours as she says it. "I'm not good at resisting and you know it."

You know it. Maybe that's why you tempt her with another almost-kiss in the first place. You could never deny how badly you wanted her and that certainly hasn't changed.

Cassandra crashes your mouths together hungrily, like she's been left without it for too long and now she can't go another second without having you. Her leg crosses over yours to lift herself into straddling you, two strong thighs bracketing your hips tight.

She's trying, you can tell, to not tear both your clothes off and have what she craves hard and fast and right there.

You keep a smirk to yourself when you slip your tongue into her mouth and unhook the buttons of her outfit extra slow. Her nails press into your shoulders. You refuse to speed up.

"Can you go any faster?" she breathily pants once you trail your lips to her neck.

"I can." you say. And lightly bite her.

She's one step away from ripping your shirt off, you can tell from how her fingers curl on the fabric. So you make the smarter choice and distract her with another little bite where you know she likes it best, just underneath her ear, then guide her clothes off of her.

Cassandra pushes you back into the mattress and kisses you again while her cool hands make short work of your clothes. You let her grind her hips into you for some measure of relief as you continue to suck and nibble on her flushed, sensitive skin. Her hands find purchase on your sheets when she no longer trusts her control to have them on you.

"Will you touch me already?" she growls into your ear. You can feel how badly she needs it from the way she shakes on every caress near her center, but this is your payback for that sickle throw.

"I am." you give her a smirk, then lightly push a fingertip into tight, wet heat to cut off her response.

"Ah. I— fuck Alexia!" You've never heard her curse before. And you can't figure out why it's so sinfully hot. “Oh, yes, darling, there!”

As much as she deserves to be tormented for the fright she gave you, you can hardly contain your own lust when she's moving on top of you like this, calling you ‘darling’ and hers.

Both of you come undone not long after, gripping at each other, her soft cries of pleasure filling the room until she lowers her head over your heart, completely spent.

Your fingers gently comb through her wavy hair. For quite some time, Cassandra looks so relaxed you think she has fallen asleep on you.

Until she lifts her head up and nuzzles your jawline, in a way she probably knows kills you every time she does it. Her teeth trap your earlobe. That spells trouble even before she speaks up:

"You didn't think one round would do it, did you? After all, I have yet to pay you back for sneaking into my room and stealing my key, darling…"

Well.

It turns out you won a battle and started a war that lasts throughout the night. And it's only the first, you're sure, of many to come.

For once in your life, you can't wait for what's next.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

---------------------------

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

[andypantsx3]

war paint | 2 | rumors

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

The city was nothing like you’d expected it to be.

You’d known of course, that it would be filled with people. You’d grown up only a day’s journey south of the capital - you had seen the caravans of merchants that passed close to your family farm almost weekly, the stream of soldiers that poured endlessly out from the city walls to spread out across the countryside.

But still none of that prepared you. It was loud, louder than almost anything you’d ever heard. Thousands upon thousands of people clamored almost on top of one another, running this way and that, chatting and yelling and selling everything under the sun.

You followed the main road through the city gates, carrying you deeper into the city. The castle stood on a high ledge overlooking the city, and the main road eventually wound into looping switchbacks leading up the steep climb.

It was hell after your long walk all the way to the city, made even more so by the tight fabric you’d eventually thought to wind around your chest under your shirt, but you endured it, eager to be done. The sooner you reached the top, the sooner you could speak to a castle guard about enlistment.

At the top, you found a small troop of soldiers guarding a portcullis signaling the entrance to castle grounds.

“Excuse me,” you greeted a guard, “where would I find the enlistment offices?”

He stared down at you. “A little small to be joining the kingsguard, aren’t you?”

You bristled. “I wasn’t aware that the army turned away able men.”

An eyebrow went up. “Able men, no. Able boys, though, are another thing. Are you sure you’re old enough?”

You stared at him in question, then realized what you must look like to him. Though nearly a spinster as a woman, as a man you must look almost like a child, short and fresh-faced and soft-voiced.

“I’ve had sixteen summers, though I may not look it,” you said, pressing up on your heels. You doubted he would believe you any older, considering how quickly boys grew after that age.

“You certainly don’t look it, no,” he chuckled. He gestured to his left, indicating a small building tucked into the outcropping of castle walls. “Office is over there, we’ll see if they believe you.”

You thanked him, pushing down your annoyance, and followed his direction to the building. The door was already open, and just inside sat what must have been the kingdom’s most harried looking clerk, scribbling away over scrolls of parchment, his shirt and hair rumpled as if he’d had no rest for days.

“Excuse me, sir,” you started, but he cut you off with a long, gusty sigh.

“No, he does not have two heads, nor is he in possession of claws or fangs. He is human by all accounts, was born here in the capital, and as far as I’m aware no winds from hell have ever blown through the city.”

You stared at him. “What?”

The clerk heaved another put upon sigh and looked up at you. “You’re here about Captain Bakugou, are you not? You boys always want the same thing.”

You felt your eyebrows go up. “Captain...who?”

The clerk blinked. “You haven’t heard of Captain Bakugou?”

You looked at him blankly. “Should I know who that is?”

He shuffled his papers meaningfully. “Why are you here then, boy, if not to ask about our Lord Captain?”

You leaned forward eagerly. “I’m here to join the kingsguard, sir.”

He looked you up and down skeptically. “You must be of age to join the kingsguard.”

“I am!” you said feelingly. You hadn’t anticipated this much trouble about your age when you’d planned this. You couldn’t let him stop you from joining the guard; you needed that initial fee to send back to your family quickly. “How can I prove it, sir?”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Have you any papers?”

You shook your head. “I’m from the country, sir. A farm. We don’t have any papers there.”

His mouth twisted. “What’s your name?”

“L/N,” you said. “My family name, sir.”

“And how old are you, L/N?” he asked.

“Just sixteen last summer,” you said.

He sighed. “I suppose you could be. And you mean to join the kingsguard, do you?”

You nodded.

He rustled around on his desk, digging through his papers before thrusting a half hand of parchment at you. It was covered with cramped lines in a dark ink, with a small space left open towards the bottom.

“This is your contract,” he said, “can you read or do you need me to read it to you?”

You took it from him. “I can read, sir.”

You scanned the paper quickly, eyes darting over the terms outlining your pay, your meals, and your housing. You picked out phrases like one year and a day, the length of your contract, and the concerning phrase in the service of Katsuki Bakugou, Captain of the Guard and Lord of Musutafu.

“You said this, um, Captain Bakugou...people think he has two heads?” you asked hesitantly.

The clerk waved a hand. “A rumor, nothing more.”

You wondered at that, why a man -- a nobleman at that, if the title of lord was any indication -- would stand accused of possessing an extra head, and from the sound of it, a set of fangs and claws. Was he horrifically ugly? You supposed it mattered not, if he were a good captain.

“Um, I sign here?” you asked, indicating the blank space at the bottom.

The clerk nodded and handed you his quill. You copied out your name in a messy hand, obscuring your first name in a riot of loose loops, and handed the parchment back to him. He looked it over and nodded, handing over a small seal in its place.

“This will get you inside castle grounds. You’re to head straight for the barracks to the east of the palace proper.”

You nodded, and stepped back out into the waning sunlight, following his direction back to the castle entrance. The dark haired guard who you’d spoken to smiled at your approach.

“Looks like we’ll be serving with each other after all, then?” he asked.

You nodded.

He held out a hand, “I’m Hanta Sero.”

“L/N,” you said, taking his hand and shaking it.

Sero gestured you inside the palace grounds, and you set off towards the east, following a wide cobblestone path towards a series of buildings set into the long shadow the castle cast at sunset. Your bindings itched now more than ever, and you looked forward to finding somewhere to sit, eager to get off your feet after a full day’s journey.

As you arrived at the front of the barracks, you were greeted by another soldier. He looked about your age, with large unruly spikes of yellow-blonde hair and friendly features, and he seemed to perk up considerably as you approached.

“I was wondering if we’d get anyone new today!” he said, smiling. “Welcome to the kingsguard!”

You raised a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m L/N.”

“Denki Kaminari,” he replied, gesturing for you to follow him. “You’re lucky you got here when you did! They just rang the bell for dinner.”

He led you into one of the buildings, down a long corridor that emerged into an enormous mess hall set with high ceilings and studded with dozens of tables and low benches. The din of many voices crashed over you, and you gaped at the hundreds of soldiers spread out across the room, chattering in clusters of brilliant red uniforms. A line snaked around the corner of the room, men of every stature tapping their feet impatiently as the queued up to receive their rations.

You were suddenly struck by what it meant to be here. These hundreds of men, you would be living among them, dining with them, sleeping beside them, training and fighting with them. You would need to remain in disguise for a year and a day, need to hide while you bathed, while you changed, while you bled. The thought was incredibly overwhelming.

“So where you from?” Kaminari said conversationally as you joined the line behind a pair of men chatting in low tones.

“Only about a day south of here,” you said, waving a hand. “It’s a small farm village, I doubt you’d know it. You?”

Kaminari grinned. “Born and raised in the capital! I’m a city boy through and through.”

You laughed. “Have you ever been outside of it?”

He shook his blonde head. “Only for the rare training and once on exchange with the city watch -- Captain Bakugou sometimes loans us out to Commander Iida. Last time, Iida made my troop do a perimeter walk around the city.”

“Commander Iida?” you asked.

Kaminari nodded. “Another of the nobles who took a military position, like Captain Bakugou. He’s much nicer, though. Strict, but he hardly breathes fire like our dear captain.”

You could feel your eyebrows lift. “Breathes fire?”

Kaminari laughed. “Well, he doesn’t breathe it. He mostly just yells his head off. Oh, but he can make stuff explode if he gets really into it. He’s got some amount of magic, like Prince Shouto.”

You nodded. Magic was rare, but not unheard of. One girl in your home village had been born with the ability to turn anything smaller than a cat into dust. The other kids had kept their distance from her, until she’d grown up quite beautiful. Last you’d heard, she was married to the village headman’s son and had a little girl of her own.

“The registration clerk seemed to have much to say about the captain,” you said. “Why are there so many rumors about him?”

The line moved forward as you spoke, and you followed. Your ankle rolled underneath you and you stumbled, colliding hard with the back of one of the men in front of you.

“Oh,” you said, backing up a step. “My apologies.”

The two men turned to you, the one you’d run into eyeing you angrily. “Watch it, pipsqueak.”

You frowned up at him, eyebrows drawing together. “Hey, I said I’m sorry. No need for that.”

Kaminari made a concerned noise beside you, but you paid him no mind as the man drew himself up in front of you. He was dark haired and blue-eyed, with the kind of manner that might have suggested he’d never seen a hard day in his life had the sudden spark of violence in his eye not told a different story.

“What’d you say, you little baby bitch?” he ground out.

Your hand balled into a fist, but Kaminari put a placating hand out in front of you. “Nishimura, it was an accident. No need to fight!”

Nishimura growled. “This little fuck thinks he can tell me what to do. I’ll teach him his place.”

What the hell was this man’s problem? Suddenly, it felt like all your emotions were welling up inside of you. Your exhaustion from walking all day, your frustration with your father, your anxiety at being trapped with these men for more than a year, all of it roiled inside you like the churning waves of an angry sea. The words bubbled up before you could stop them.

“Try it, asshole.”

Nishimura lunged, and he was on you before you could blink. The next thing you registered, the two of you were rolling across the floor, scrabbling at each other like starving animals. His fist caught you in your side and you grunted, hooking a foot into his stomach and forcing him off of you. You scrambled to your feet and backed away, knocking roughly into one of the low tables.

You’d never fought with anyone before, and if this is what it was like, you never wanted to again. Your heart beat frantically in your throat, every fiber in your body snapped to attention. You felt scared, threatened, and so apprehensive you might be sick.

Nishimura, however, did not seem to have the same reservations. He rolled to his feet and lunged for you again, catching you around the waist and bringing you to the floor. His fist drove into your stomach, knocking the wind from you. Frantic, and struggling to breathe, you curled your own fist, catching him in the side of the jaw.

He’d just managed to hit you in the stomach again when there was a blinding flash and a deafening crack like thunder split the mess hall. Nishimura’s eyes widened and he swore, pushing himself off of you as fast as he’d dove for you.

You coughed, curling an arm around your stomach, desperately attempting to take in air.

“What the fuck is going on?” a rough voice growled from behind you. Nishimura stepped back from you, stumbling.

“He attacked me, sir,” Nishimura said, his pupils dilating in something that looked like fear. Behind him, the friend he’d been talking with nodded, though his eyes remained fixed, unblinking, on someone behind you.

“Bullshit,” you gasped out, “you tackled me.”

Nishmura’s eyes darted back to you, but only for a second. You rolled to your knees, turning to look up at whoever he’d been addressing, only to freeze under a blood-red gaze.

Suddenly, all the talk of rumors finally became clear.

Though he had no fangs or claws or an extra head, there was no question who the man in front of you was. Captain Katsuki Bakugou was tall, powerfully built, with ash blonde hair, and a handsome face that could have been carved from stone. He stood at the entrance of the mess hall, looking as though he’d just returned from somewhere, dressed in a dark traveling cloak that mostly obscured the red uniform shirt of the palace guard. Power seemed to pour from him in angry waves, and the hard expression that twisted his features was enough to quicken your heartbeat.

“I don’t give a shit who started it,” Bakugou snarled. “I don’t need soldiers who roll around on the floor like squabbling fucking toddlers.”

Indignation washed through you and you opened your mouth to retort, but Bakugou rounded on you.

“You gonna talk back to me, pretty boy?” he demanded. “Say one damn word and I’ll fucking cook you in your skin.”

A volley of sparks lit off from his palm, and your mouth clicked shut.

He sneered at you before his crimson gaze flicked back to Nishimura. “And you, acting like you weren’t the one winning the damn fight.” He growled. “Both of you, one month of extra training. And if I see you so much as breathe in each other’s direction again, I’ll kill you.”

Your blood pounded in your ears as you nodded. Nishimura was similarly cowed, staring at his feet.

Bakugou’s eyes searched over every face in the room. “That goes for the rest of you. Now dinner’s over. Back to your rooms.”

There was a rustle of indignant shuffling behind you, but no one dared disagree with him. Looking satisfied, Bakugou turned on his heel, pinning you with one last hard look, before sweeping from the room. His boots echoed in the hall, easily audible over the stunned silence of the men around you.

You closed your eyes, the pain from your bruises and the gnaw of your empty stomach finally washing over you.

Fuck. This was not how you’d wanted to start your enlistment.

[sporksaber]

Ok, I love the role swap concept with zuko and azula, but I feel like they switch their abilities and personalities a bit too and I think itd be more fun without that. Where Azula is an antisocial and unstable genius who wants to gain power and zuko still struggles with being the less powerful and extremely empathetic sibling. So here's how I'd do it.

(Note, this is just for fun. I'm not saying anyone else's version is bad. But I've though about this so much and need it out of my head before I go off cuz make a whole comic and I do not have the time, i need to work.)

First off, Azula wouldn't call out in concern for the men like how zuko did. In my version she's allowed into the meeting because of the aptitude for strategy shes shown. She speaks up because it's an inefficient plan that uses up too many resources when there are other options. This enrages her father and leads to the agni kai. Azula is terrified and feels betrayed but has no idea how to handle any of it. She fights back during the agni kai, but in her panic she sets off a bolt of lightning. Ozai finishes the match and severely burns on her lower back. Azula is banished for her use of lightning on the fire lord (bc ozai fears she will no longer be easy to manipulate and might plot his death) and is forced to leave the next morning.

Some things to note: azula is eleven at this point. I changed the placement of the scar bc I think zuko's is very symbolic in a way that doesnt suit azula. Zuko's scar being over his eye and close to the light chakra shows the way his view of the fire nation and honour obscures his vision and how he is unaware of the truth of the world under fire nation rule. I set azula's over her spine because that chakra is based on survival and blocked by fear. It also represents trust which will fit into her arc with the gaang. Finally, she doesnt have Iroh to guide her. One of the things that bothered me was Iroh writing her off as evil despite her being a mentally unstable child. She did have to be defeated, but the way he talked about it was too dismissive. (Personally I think he was projecting his views of his brother and his perceived failures with him onto her.) Azula isnt sent to capture the avatar so she isnt given soldiers. She's completely alone without an advisor to look to or keep her calm.

Azula is given a manned ship with a disgraced soldier and an attendant when she leaves. The way I see it the soldiers zuko had were probably more irohs than his. The soldier is relieved to not be executed but hates being demoted to playing babysitter to a child at sea. The attendant views it as a punishment and hates Azula for it. Eventually the attendant will betray her and be killed for it. Azula never trusted the soldier and he eventually leaves to start a family in an earth kingdom colony. Azula doesnt miss him, he was no longer useful. The loneliness does get to her though.

Azula is obsessed with getting the underhand, so she had been successfully building connections and planting spies where needed.

(Zuko has been acting as a respectable crowned prince. He holds a zealous loyalty to his nation and father. He still faulters as Iroh tries to steer him from tyranny, but his sights are set on his father's approval and that alone. Afterall, if his prodigy could be discarded who's to say what would happen to him if he failed?)

This brings us to the start of the series. Like Zuko Azula witnesses the trap on the old fire nation battle ship go off. She investigates and finds that an air bending avatar is living at the south pole village. She decides she wants to speak with him.

Azula didn't believe the avatar existed before this point. Hiding didnt add up to her knowledge of the morality of airbenders, so she assumed the air nation avatar from the start of the war would be dead. She would know if one had appeared in the water tribe, as the south had all its benders killed and the north was compacted so close together it would be impossible to hide. Earth would be harder, but they were most likely to fight back and out act. And if in ba sing se they'd be used as a weapon or gotten rid of to preserve the peace of the city. Once the culcle progressed to the fire nation it would either be used to take over the other nations or enf the cycle for good. After all, there hasn't been an air bender for a hundred years even if the rumors of some acolytes surviving were truthful.

Azula kidnaps aang with far more ease than she should of been able to. Once he stops struggling she calmly offers him tea and promises to release him once their discussion is finished. He takes the tea and drinks it without question and besides a wary glare shows no more hostility. She thought him a fool, the tea could have easily been poisoned and promised are nothing but words. His naivete makes her job easier though.

She finds out that he was suspended frozen in the avatar state the last 100 years. And so, Azula informs him of the war and the fire nations crimes, advising him to master the elements if he wants to prevent all his new friends and the avatar cycle from certain destruction. Aang is conflicted, he never asked for any of this. Azula just gives a bitter smile. "The hands of fate were never designed to take requests, they move without regard to any life dependent on it. Dont waste your breath when there is nothing you can do."

Azula wants to see Ozai fail. If helping the avatar is what it takes then so be it. When his friends appear to save him she let's them leave without a fight. Theyll be useful in the future.

As the gaang's travels kick off she sets out to find out if the rumours about the acolytes are true. In this she finds a traveling circus. The youngest daughter and an old friend of hers was eager to escape and found Azula's life exciting. She didn't hesitate after being invited along, insisting that traveling would be easy for her and that she'd pull her own weight.

She encounters the gaang a few times as time goes by. The relationship is reluctant on the water tribe siblings part, they dont trust her and hold a decent amount of fear towards her. Her cold and calculating demeanor was unsettling, but the unhinged way she fought was terrifying. Her form was perfect and her attacks were precise, but the bigger the fight the more lost she became as she laughed and shrieked and occasionally snapped at someone who didnt seem to be there. The only worse reaction was when she zeroed in on one opponent, picking them apart both mentally and physically as she drove them to the ground. )

Things that'll happen as I move through an episode list:

Azula doesn't have her ship attacked do she diesnt run into zhao while doing repairs, instead going straight to ty lee.

Azula learns that the gaang is on kyoshi island and heads ther after them. She has been keeping track of the avatar as they move. Ty lee gets along well with the kyoshi warriors while azula buts heads with them. They dont want her there and azula hates it when people get in the way. Zhao appears to try to capture aang and Azula dips at the same time as the gaang. She tells ty lee she can stay but she insists on sticking with azula. This puts her on edge.

Ty lee gets captured by earth benders, when she escapes on her own she cements her usefulness to Azula.

They run into zhao trying to capture the avatar and azula tells him she'll capture him first. They both attack aang during the solstice, though azula's attacks are all purposefully set to miss and trip up zhao as much as possible. Aang is the best way to prove her father wrong and she's not going to lose that.

They rob the pirates that try to capture the avatar. Azula needs the resources and it gives her leverage over the gaang.

After almost killing ty lee for scaring her by popping up behind her Azula tells her why she was banished. (In more of a "my own mother thought I was a monster" way than an opening up about trauma way.)

Azula learns that zhao has captured aang and frees him. She then sets to reworking her information network as not all of them are scared enough of her to not fail her. She remedies it quickly.

Azula learns that zhao is plotting her assassination and decides it's the perfect moment to fake her death.

Azula enters the north pole to defeat zhao and gain any information she can. Ty lee rades a library during the confrontation. Zhao is surprised and infuriated to see her alive, Azula smiles as she sends him to his death knowing that she is not only helping the avatar but also that he gave her a perfect way to hide from the fire nation. (When news of his sisters death reaches hum, Zuko doesnt know what to think. She was always cruel to him, but she was still his little sister.)

The crown prince of the fire nation is sent to capture the avatar. Azula follows him as he begins his search. (Zuko begins to think he's going insane as he keeps catching glimpses of his recently deceased sister out of the corner of his eye.)

Ty lee keeps running into a girl she slowly befriends. She's gloomy and sarcastic and ty lee thinks Azula would like her. (Zuko's fiance Mai tells him that she thinks his sister is still alive.)

As Azula notices ty lee become more and more distracted as she absorbed herself into the cultures that surround them she decides it's best for them to split up. Ty lee diesnt agree, but Azula leaves anyway. She has work to do.

While traveling alone Azula cant escape the thoughts of her mother. Of her fathers betrayal. Of the life she lost because the idiot elders had no grip on proper strategy that even a child could create. She meets a boy that reminds her far too much of zuko with a mother far to similar to theirs. When she sends the bandits controlling the town running she knows it's more than just controlling a territory that compelled her. But at the same time she doubts not following through on the whim would have bothered her.

Ty lee meets toph and chat for a bit. Ty lee tells her about azula and how she left. When toph tells her she should forget her she insists that azula didnt really ditch her and that they're still friends. They talk about their friends and childhood.

Ty lee finds Azula and immidiently jumps at her, which she does not enjoy. Ty lee insists that she still wants to travel with her and Axula sighs as she let's her tag along to the next location, ba sing se.

Azula slips through guards and protocols as she tries to gain any information she can to help her once they reach the city. Ty lee befriends a guy named jet and his group, the freedom fighters. When he tries to get more than friendship she turns him down and it becomes much more awkward.

Ty lee becomes a street performer and chames everyone she meets as Azula researches the dai lee and how they keep control. After lashing out in frustration ty lee drags her out to enjoy the city's night life.

Azula learns of the presence of the avatar and location of appa. She frees him and sets to work taking control of the dai lee. She let's herself be briefly captured but her plan shifts when katara is thrown in with her. Katara is pissed just being around her and azula plays up a cool kind of annoyance. Katara briefly catches sight of the burns on Azula's back and offers to heal her, only for Azula to freak out and yell at her to stay away, backing against a far wall in a fighting stance. They are saved by the rest if the gaang and ty lee shortly after.

Azula goes back to try and salvage her plan only to be caught off guard by the appearance of her brother and his offer to return to the fire nation. Not willing to lose all possible advantages, she agrees. They battle the gaang, and when they are almost captured azula sends a bolt of lightning at aang, causing them to retreat. Katara can heal him more easily than she can maneuver them out of an execution.

Azula returns to the fire nation with her brother, mai and ty lee, starting the beginning of a large power play between her and her father. They are sent to lo and li beach house. The relationship between the siblings is tense, zuko has always been the child born with nothing who gained everything when his blessed at birth sister lost it all. Azula has always been cruel, but he cant help but let his heart catch on the moments when she's not. ("My own mother thought I was a monster, My father thought i was too difficult to keep around" "Don't let their words blind you, you need to be more careful, zuzu." "I learned the hard way to never turn your back to anyone, and the scars will always be there as a reminder if I need it." )

Azula runs into iroh, who is very disapproving of her presence. He warns her to stay away from zuko and to watch herself while at the palace. Later, zuko comes to her asking about their great grandfather. Upon being pressed he admits that he was sent a mysterious letter. He thought she was going to burn it when he handed it to her but instead the heat from the fire revealed a hidden ink. "Honestly brother, did you ever pay attention at all during lessons?" They find a autobiographical scroll of their great grandfathers life and the secret that their other great grandfather was roku. Azula scoffed at the idea of bloodlines deciding fate and quickly left. But Zuko remained conflicted.

During the day of the black sun Azula confronts Ozai. As iroh and Zuko fight the avatar. She learns that her mother left for zuko's sake and that she was never going to be fire lord. Azula tells him she'll be somthing even better and leaves the palace.

Azula and ty lee follow the gaang to the western air temple. Katara immidprntly attacks but is quickly rendered unable to bend by ty lee. Azula tells them that the only way for them to of gotten out was for Aang to be incapacitated, and she knew katara could heal him. Aang decides they can stay but have to stay distanced from everyone else.

Azula tries to teach aang fire bending but is slowly growing sick while aang is barely able to produce a puff of smoke. Unable to sleep and constantly on edge, it soon affects her bending, sending her spiraling as she loses control on the only consistent power she's ever had. Her and aang journey to find the true source of fire bending to try to help their conditions.

Still sick, Azula is itching to do anything away from the temple. Finding sokka trying to reach the boiling rock to find his father, she decides to go with him as she knows the prison well. Sokka declines but she goes anyway. They dont find his father, but they do find suki. Azula formulates a plan but they postpone when sokka's father arrives.

Azula comes up with a new plan, now reluctant to include sokka. He tells her to trust him but she insists she has no reason to. Her sickness has been getting worse and he tells her she needs to trust him, making her angry. Only when he catches her while they're escaping dies she finally begin to accept trusting him, if only slightly.

(While they're away ty lee tries to convince

Azula goes with Katara to find the man who killed her mother. Azula has no concept of why katara is so upset, which causes her to get angry. But azula tracks the man anyway.

Ember island players- azulas character has the scar across her chest. She's absolutely insane and "not entirely inaccurate, but I'd never come up with such a dumb plan." Shes also heavily implied to be more than close to ty lee, which azula has no reaction to even as the others freak out.

I havent decided the ending, zuko will probably turn to the gaang's side. I'll add more later and maybe write or illustrate a bit.

[okaywitheverything]

Konoha X Reader ♡1

A/N: So I’ve been really inactive I know but its because I have a lot of tests coming up. Here is fun series I wrote long ago which is sort of everybody flirting with you in Konoha. Hope you like it. Here’s part one of three.

"Yeah, it would be a nice change of space. I've been cooped in one place for far too long I feel. I've always had a nick for travelling and exploring." You answered with an adorable smile on your face.

"Is that the only reason? Pardon me for questioning you but I need to be completely sure about approving your request to move here to Konoha. I can't take any duty of mine lightly."

"Nothing less would be expected of you Hokage-sama. You truly are as intellectual, perceptive and ingenious as people say."

The Third Hokage laughed lightly at this. "As flattered as I am dear, I am not cutting you any slack." He replied smugly.

"I'm an okay Jounin-level kunoichi that feels the urge to start anew. Oh come on, I'm not an assassin in disguise! I could have fooled you if I actually wanted to." You replied as serious you could, slightly staring at him to try and intimidate him.

Don't think it's working at all.

"I'm actually in a disguise right now."

That's seemed to have caught him off guard. You smirked a little. "You haven't even checked my ID yet. The photo it has right now, doesn't match my current self. Wait! Don’t peek! Let's make this interesting. You'll see my abilities as a ninja as well. What do you say?"

Tempting the Hokage was probably not a good idea, but you have never been one to shy away from risks.

"Oh I'm not doubting your ability of deception. Say what, that door leads to a bathroom. If you manage to amaze me with a different disguise that matches whatever is in your ID, I'll let you move here, no more questions asked." He said, propping on his elbows, leaning forward. This old man was surely fun, you had to give him that.

"Alright, give me five minutes."

You looked at your appearance right now. Really big dorky glasses that hid your beautiful features under its frame. A really tight braid with middle parting of your hair. You looked oh-so-nerdy right now. But only you knew that on the removal of these two things, your entire appearance did a one eighty degree. And that's what you intended to do as of right now.   

 You looked at yourself with awe in the mirror. You never bragged about your appearance or thought of yourself as superior to basically anyone. 

But you weren't one to willingly drag yourself down, you remained confident with whatever you wore, whatever you had. Sure everyone had bad days, but to make a routine out of it? That was not you. Right now, your beautiful (h/c) tresses cascaded down your body to (whatever your hair length is).

Your cherry pink lips glossed more as you reapplied the lip balm. Your (favourite colour) blouse was the one thing that remained the same. You swapped your baggy pants with a similar (favourite colour) skirt that reached your mid thigh that matched your painted nails. You had removed your glasses already and replaced it with contacts. (Or just removed if you don't need contacts)You were thankful for all the accessories you kept in your (favourite colour) purse in case you needed to party anytime.  

But you really outdid yourself by taking out matching heels from the bag and replacing your flats. 

Guess the female purse is really a mystery.

You readied yourself and stepped out.

 Go big or go home, right? 

The Hokage looked up from some documents he was checking and Kami, you could have sworn you saw blood trickling down his nose. You instantly grew worried, was he having a seizure? 

You then saw him frantically grabbing your folder and snatching out your ID. His widened eyes darted back and forth from the photo on the ID to your  confused face. 

"Are you going to say something?" You said after few minutes of silence.

"I think I need to check the bathroom to see if you swapped places with someone. As shocked as I am to admit this, I was totally not expecting that. Keeping my end of the deal, as you have truly amazed me, I can only hope this will help our undercover missions. Anyways, welcome to Konoha!" The Third replied with a grin, a narrow strip of blood still gushing down. 

You responded with another charming smile of yours. However, before you could say something, the door abruptly opened revealing a large man with really long white hair and a lady close behind who had beautiful golden locks."Hokage-sama, did you hear about Oro- Oh! Hello there. I don't believe we have met. I'm Jiraiya, a renowned writer and appreciator of beauty and grace. And you seem just the kind of elegant lady that I was looking for."

 The man started but changed his composure entirely when his eyes met yours mid sentence. You tilted your head in slight confusion and saw the lady behind him come ahead while smacking the back of his head. However, as soon as she saw you, a slight pink tinted her cheeks.

 Maybe at the embarrassment of realising someone else's presence?You wondered.

"Hello I'm Tsunade. I haven't seen you around, you seem new." With pink cheeks, she put her hand forward which you gladly accepted giving her a small smile.

"Yes, I arrived here today. I'm (Your first name) (Your last name)." You replied.

You didn't realise at what point exactly did the white haired man had moved to the corner of the room during your conversation. You saw him squatted down, vigorously writing down something and mumbling incoherent words along the lines of 'new characters initials will be (your initials)'.

What surprised you was the river of blood gushing down his nose, blood almost thrice the amount you witnessed on Hokage's face earlier.

He seriously looked like he was about to pass out.

Is the weather here really this hot and cruel?  Good thing I'm wearing a mini skirt right now.

You came out of your thoughts when you heard knuckles cracking quite loudly and saw Tsunade glaring at Jiraiya that he totally ignored as his eyes only travelled between your face and his book. 

The Hokage, about whom you had completely forgotten until now stood beside Jiraiya, leaning to read what he wrote, giggling like a lovestruck teen.

 "Is this how you are supposed to behave?!" Tsunade pulled Jiraiya up by his ear, and to be honest she even scared you. "And you sensei, supporting him like that?!" She continued and you praised her confidence and unwavering voice.

If you hadn't witnessed the scene, you would never believe she was talking to The Lord Third. 

The Third sheepishly scratched his neck, embarrassment coating his cheeks. You felt you should excuse yourself before the situation escalated to another level. "If my request is approved, I'd like to look around the Village." You said moving towards the door. "Let me assist you with that. I know all the exclusive spots in the vill- Oww   ow what?!" You heard Jiraiya exclaim from the corner.

"Have you forgotten about the important matters we came to discuss here? It's not like I'd rather stay here than show her pretty ass around but we have some duties." Tsunade said making you blush.

'Pretty ass' caught you off guard. Both the curse and the compliment. 

You grabbed your folders and put them inside your purse and headed out, not before flashing a bright cheeky smile to all the three people in the room as you heard Tsunade say, "We hope to see you around soon." 

The two guards outside almost didn't recognise you as the same girl who entered the office. They exchanged quizzical glances while all you could wonder was how could they let Jiraiya and Tsunade intrude like that. Maybe because it was an emergency. You gave them both genuine smiles and shrugged to yourself while moving to find the exit. 

This wasn't how you planned on exiting and roaming, in such a short skirt but you had no choice because of the intrusion in the office. You didn't mind though, Konoha seems to intrigue you in a good way and you found yourself excited to explore, looking like a total bomb in that sleek, sexy (favourite  colour) outfit of yours.

A/N: this was just some meaningless drabble of sorts. Hope you enjoyed.

[arandompostarchive]

SALEM - Prologue

SAVED FIC - CMZ

None of these works belong to me, they are saved works from a different account. Thank you.

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

______________

You almost smiled as you were lead through town. The words “kill her” echoing in your head. The rope around you hands burned, and the straw of the cart below you was not a pleasant seat. But the smile never left your face. Not even for a minute.

Humans could be so… funny, sometimes.

Any other person would be petrified. The townspeople, even some you had considered friends, were chanting “witch” over and over again, until their voices seemed to blend together. Any other person would be scared about being executed for something they know to be impossible.

Any other person.

You smiled because they were right. You were a witch. Well, daughter of Nyx. Close enough.

You turned to one of the women next to you, a close friend of yours, Y/n. She had gotten tied up in your ‘court case’, standing up to defend you. Unfortunately, it seems to have backfired. You weren’t worried for you, Hades was a friend of your mother. You had nothing to worry about when it came to the afterlife. And Y/n was nothing but a good woman. As terrified of death as you were, there was no doubt the two of you would be staying in Elysium together for eternity.

“Good to see they finally got one, hm?” She seemed to appreciate the humour.

“Did they?” She turned to you. She had tear streaks down her face, her eyes puffy and red from the night she had obviously spent crying. You could hear her through the grates in the prison. You were sure she knew that, but she still acted as if she hadn’t stayed up until the early hours of the morning sobbing. And the more she sobbed, the more the reality of your situation set in.

Your mother had decided to stay with mortals for a few years before leaving you with your father, so the two of you were raised together. Y/n was everything to you. You loved her, and now you were certain you were both going to die. She’d never see the rest of human existence, not with you, not with anyone. It was obviously inevitable, but that didn’t make the shock of being burned alive go away.

A tear involuntarily fell down your face. You ignored it, putting on as strong a front as you could muster.

“Funny, they burn good women, and now they attempt to burn a demigod.”

You had tried to tell her about your… situation… when you were younger. She didn’t believe you at first, but with some small acts of magic and more interesting spells, she learned more about the existence of gods. Both Greek and (to your dismay) Norse. At first you wanted to share your gifts, help mortals advance. Your mother, and most of your godly siblings were rather divided when it came to offering assistance. So it was generally frowned upon, unless you were a god that needed to help them. Or hurt them, like your sisters Nemesis and the Moirai. Some of them even scared you with stories of gods and titans who thought the same way you did. And now, you finally see why.

“I suppose. So many good women burned. Good wives. And now us added to the pile. Seems our fate lies in the hands of the gods now.”

You looked around the cart. None of them deserved to die.

An older maid was staring quietly at the ground, praying. Another seemed to be a teenager, nervously glancing around at everyone else, stunned at the situation.The other two were about your age, whispering to each other words of encouragement, of hope. But the gods are crueler than you’d like to admit.

Y/n nudged your side, smiling softly. “Tell me we’ll be okay. That somehow we’ll get out of this.”

Your smile dropped. You swallowed.

“I… Y/n. You know there’s we can’t-”

“I know. But please.” Her eyes were brimming with tears again. “I just want to hear you say it.”

You nodded, a tear found its way down your face. In all the commotion, you had sort of forgotten this was goodbye.

“We’ll be okay.” It almost made you cringe.

“Again? Please?”

“We’ll be okay, Y/n/n. We’ll be okay.”

A shout interrupted you. A small plea that the cart driver had forgotten something and needed to return to the other side of town escaped your lips. No such luck.

“The guilty will step out, onto the grass.” A man opened the gate. He seemed mad, but his eyes held what looked like a flash of sympathy. Pity it wouldn’t help.

Your heels clicked against a stone, and you looked around. Mixed expressions. Some angry, some sad, some seemed almost confused. You reached behind you, offering your hand to Y/n. She took it. You were really going to miss her. Not that crying would help now.

You held on tight. She gripped your hand so harshly the skin of your palms turned white. The women before you had their turn, leaving behind ash and burned flesh. Y/n’s head fell onto your shoulder. You wondered how this would look to the gods who had faith in you. The ones that were entertained by you. Your mother would weep. She loved you with everything. It is not everyday she has a child, much less one with her abilities.

Y/n pressed her body closer and closer to you, melting into your side. You stroked her hair, calming her slightly. It wasn’t long before the two of you were up.

You made your way upto the charred wood as some villagers dumped more firewood onto the still hot cinders. They burned your shoes, the stench of burned rubber wafted up to your nose making you scrunch back. A still smoking shoe made you wonder if the smell was from a previous victim.

“Hey.” You turned. Well, as much as you could. One of the villagers— you thought he was a baker—was tying rope around you and Y/n. It scratched against your back, and splinters pricked through your dress.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for it to happen like this.” You gripped her hand, fire licking at your heels. Your grip tightened. So did hers.

“It’s not your fault.”

It tightened, and tightened, and tightened. Her screams, like the screams of the other, echoed through the hollow village After a while, her hand froze in place. Black scarring covered her hand and it felt hard as stone.

And you cried.

***

Learning to live on Earth as it advanced was a difficult transition to say the least. After your ‘death’, you took the position of another war god as well as a goddess of magic. You didn’t object in the slightest. Your magical abilities and fighting skills were far beyond the average, although you thought using magic on everyone you meet (besides helping every now and then) wasn’t exactly fair. Although you did meet a few worthy enemies, ones that required your magic use. That, was truly fun.

And now, you were free to live as a full god. With occasional nightmares. God status didn’t let you forget the more… human parts of you. So you went on living your life on Earth with people that were no longer your fellow humans. They were now, as Zeus so lovingly put it, “subjects to be toyed with”. Something you didn’t like, but so goes the life of an Olympian.

Several hundred years later you took on a new name, a new identity. Leave your mortal self completely behind you. Thanks to your status as a god, it was easy to find others like you that chose to stay on earth instead of Olympus or Asgard.

That’s how you met Thor, a fellow god and someone who had quite a lot of respect for your place as a greek war god. Typically Asgardians and Olympians weren’t the best of friends but, to both of your surprise, the two of you got along incredibly well, and through the years he helped you grow quite fond of Earth, or as he called it, “Midgard”.

You finally had a new life, a new name. Although Thor still referred to your Greek name every now and then, you thought it would be rather poetic to take Y/n’s.

You lived in peace. Making friends, watching them die, and eventually just having Thor by your side. It was years later, after Thor joined a new team, when Nick Fury first talked to you. He attempted to make it clear who was in charge, before you decided to whip out the fact that he was standing in front of a literal god. Of course, he’s Nick Fury. So he didn’t do much, although Thor vouched for the fact that you were no threat. Just a goddess trying to exist, even if you were a war goddess.

But, what’s better than one god on the Avenger’s team?

Two.

So (finally) Thor wore you down, and today. Today you were officially joining the Avengers with a rather appropriate moniker (in your opinion).

Salem.

[kuriquinn]

A Tender Harvest [one-shot]

Disclaimer

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994254

Pairing: SasuSaku

Summary:  Sakura and Sasuke help a village with their apple harvest, and Sasuke thinks about his relationship with Sakura. The thing about traveling together is it makes it that much easier to fall in love.

Author’s Note: So, I wrote this for the fanzine Seasons like a year or two ago and then completely forgot that it existed? And then I was trying to organize the mess that is my writing files and stumbled upon it again and figured, hey, why not post it? Especially since we’re coming up on Fall again lol. (Also, I don’t want people thinking I’m dead or something. I am working on some stuff for SasuSaku, but the creative juices haven’t been flowing as easily as they used to for this fandom…or, well, any fandom if I’m being honest. Kind of stuck in one of those “I should be writing original stuff” funks that hinders all of my fanfic efforts of late. But I am trying!)

Anyway, so here’s something (sort of) new for your enjoyment!

________________________________________________________________

Sasuke curses at the sudden lancing pain in his hand and yanks his arm out of the foliage to glare at his palm. In the centre, a wasp sticks to his skin by the stinger, its tiny wings and appendages flailing to remove itself. Sasuke gives a harsh flick of his wrist, dislodging the insect and sending it flying off somewhere near the ground.

He doesn’t kill it; if there is a nest nearby that would attract others, and there are enough of the little pests buzzing around the trees as it is.

It is early October, the hot autumn sun unimpaired except for some light haze and few bulbous white clouds in the distance. Crickets chirp, and the scent of wet earth inundates the air, mingling with sweat and the distant smell of a brush fire.

The little village where Sasuke and Sakura have been staying the last few days has an economy based largely around produce. Their apple trees, vineyards and rice fields require rigorous tending, as the yield is what keeps them from starving during winter months. They plant a lot, which means they harvest a lot, and any extra hands are welcome. Originally, Sakura and Sasuke travelled here because there was a need for a healer, but they chose to stay and help.

That’s a common enough pattern these days. Sakura keeps an ear out for places that need extra medical attention, and Sasuke fills his days with odd work. The routine is also an excellent cover for gathering information. People rarely ask them questions, too thankful for Sakura’s medical skills, and even without them, Sasuke’s arm usually discourages comment. There were enough men and women badly wounded in the war that no one needs to ask.

It also lends credence to his and Sakura’s wandering, since many people’s homes were destroyed by the war; first by the Zetsu army, and then marauders in the aftermath.

And we’ve encountered quite a few of those, too. Some friendly, some…not.

While Sakura makes house calls, he helps in whatever field where they need him. There were initially some who looked uncertain of his ability be useful, but he soon showed that his missing arm was barely a handicap.

Today he works in the apple orchard. It’s fairly large, maybe twenty acres, and there are a hundred or so people working alongside him. Clumps of men and women are scattered throughout, picking and packing apples in large baskets. A similar number of people sit just beyond the orchard, slumped or lying on the ground, or gathered around the few wagons with water. A few children squeeze into the tiny bit of shade provided by the wagons, but in this heat there’s barely any point to it.

The only ones happy in this weather are the wasps, Sasuke decides, frowning at his palm to see if the stinger is still attached. It’s not, but the skin is already beginning to puff up from the venom.

He shrugs it off—it’s not his first injury of the day, and he’s endured much worse in his life—and goes back to twisting the gleaming red fruits off their branches. It’s uncomfortable, but he finds he’s more irritated by the sweat drenching his clothing than the minor wound.

The orchard workers have had to work in shifts because of the rising temperature, and because Sakura insists that everyone who works needs to stay properly hydrated.

Sakura…

Sasuke became aware of her proximity about a half an hour ago, obviously finished with her work in the village and now arrived to help. Since then he has been vaguely conscious of her bringing people water or traipsing into the orchard to retrieve anyone who she thinks looks tired. No one bothers to protest the way she’s taken charge, either, and though it could be her status as a respected healer, he somehow doubts that’s the reason.

He remembers what she was like back in Konoha, carrying out important errands for Kakashi and running the hospital.

As always, on the tail of that thought he experiences a half-second of guilt for having taken one of their village’s most important resources on a mission of indeterminate length. The second half-second he buries that feeling, reminding himself it was her choice.

And he has no intention of admitting it out loud, but he can’t imagine how the past few months would have been without her by his side.

Well. He can imagine; he just doesn’t care to.

A bell rings in the distance, and someone shouts, “Break time! Change shifts!”

There are groans all around—relief from the orchard workers, and resignation from the vicinity of the wagons.

Sasuke ignores the call, intending to finish filling his basket before heading in, but even as he reaches for the next branch, there is a cough from down below.

When he glances down, he is unsurprised to find Sakura there, hands on her hips. “That means you too, Sasuke.”

“I’m almost finished.”

“No, you are finished. The foreman told me you started with the morning crew and didn’t switch out with the rest,” she informs him. “Just because you’re about the greatest shinobi alive, doesn’t mean you can’t get heatstroke. And just because I will take care of you if you get a fever and start throwing up everywhere, doesn’t mean I’ll like it.”

Sasuke’s mouth tugs upward a little.

It’s been an interesting dimension to their travels, Sakura speaking to him so frankly. There were a few days when they first set out together that she was still stuttering and wordlessly following his lead in everything; a few bandit encounters and a shouting match later, she found her backbone again.

Now, the only time he sees her flustered or nervous is because he’s caught her gazing at him, or when she realises she’s said something with unintended innuendo. 

“Annoying woman,” he murmurs into the tree, but the words have long since graduated from contempt to affection.

With an affected air of reluctance, he picks up the basket he was filling and raises an eyebrow at her. She grins, and says, “Come on.”

Sasuke trudges after her toward the nearest wagon, sets down his basket, and heads for the water barrels. Children pour it into cups for the workers, some darting among the amassing crowd to pass them out. This is how Sasuke ends up with one of them, and he is quick to put it to his lips.

He takes several slow mouthfuls, to minimize the risk of brain freeze, and takes pleasure in the way the liquid dissolves the dry, gummy feeling in his mouth and throat. The second cup he is offered, he pours over his head, enjoying the sensation of the cold rivulets cutting through his sweat-streaked hair and down his neck.

Sakura lingers nearby, the look on her face conveying an ‘I told you so’, which he patently ignores before joining the line for lunch. The women of the village pass out rice balls and beef skewers; he accepts gratefully, and then he searches out the nearest bit of shade he can.

There’s an old momiji tree several yards away from the larger group of workers, its leaves already turning red and gold, but still providing enough cover from the sun. He heads for that and is unsurprised when Sakura joins him.

As they pass, he notices people shooting them knowing glances or smiling in something like approval. Several young girls whisper conspiratorially. When he was younger, he would have purposely ignored such scrutiny, at times not even realising what the whispers meant. Though he still pretends obliviousness now, he now fully understands the reason for the unspoken interest.

The implication that he and Sakura are more than just travelling companions doesn’t bother him the way it might have before. In fact, he finds odd comfort in the thought. These days, they are on the cusp of something more, something inevitable. They’ll get there eventually, but he finds himself in no great hurry to do so.

Not because he doesn’t care for her—there’s no question that he does.

But too much of his life was spent hurtling from one state to the next, never content with his current existence and always wishing for more. With this—with Sakura—he wants to take his time and experience every moment.

He’s pretty sure Sakura is of the same mind.

As they sit, she sets down the plate she was balancing between her forearms, and two cups. He takes the latter, still more thirsty than hungry, and drinks deep.

Noticing his blink as a bitter taste hits his tongue, Sakura says, “There’s cold tea mixed in. That quenches thirst better than just water alone, and the electrolytes will keep you going.”

“Hm.”

They eat in companionable silence, yet another new quality to their relationship. Part of it is that now Sakura has an appetite that rivals his own and doesn’t like to waste time talking when she could be eating. The rest stems from the indescribably pull that has always existed between them, an ease one only experiences with the most trusted of kindred spirits. Words would mar that somehow, and neither seems willing to do that right away.

It is only when her meal is finished that Sakura reaches into her pack and produces—of course—two bright red apples.

“I may have snuck a few,” she admits with a smile.

Sasuke snorts. “You’re in an apple orchard. I think you could be forgiven.”

She laughs at that and bites into one of the fruits, making a tiny noise of pleasure at the flavour that has Sasuke swallowing uncomfortably. A rivulet of juice drips down her chin, and he finds himself tracking its progression.

Sakura notes his attention before he can look away, and her cheeks darken.

“Sorry!” she says, a little flustered, and puts aside the apple. “You probably want some too, right?”

There is something I want.

The thoughts present themselves unbidden as Sakura digs around in her kit for a knife, and starts to peel the second apple over her empty plate. His cheeks a little warmer than earlier, he looks away and pretends disinterest.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I haven’t even finished my lunch.”

“Then it will be ready when you are,” she quips without stopping.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her carefully dispose of the peel and then cut the apple into eight equal slices. Anyone else would think she was babying him, but he knows this is just her way. She genuinely enjoys doing this. He is, of course, perfectly able to cut up his own fruit, or eat an apple as is. But he doesn’t like apple peels, and never has.

He wonders when exactly Sakura noticed that about him.

She holds out the plate of apple slices to him, beaming, and he remembers a similar scene, many years ago. Of her worried and smiling face, her nervous chatter and her hand holding out a plate of apples. And then the clatter as the plate and fruit itself were knocked to the floor.

This time he accepts, forgetting that he hasn’t finished his lunch, and bites into the first slice. The white flesh is sweeter than the apples he usually eats—he prefers them tart and sour—but it’s perfectly in season and tastes good. 

Sakura’s lips part in surprise, and the motion causes him to nearly miss as he pops the rest of the fruit into his mouth. Thankfully, she doesn’t appear to see; instead, her eyes flick toward his hand, mouth firming.

Damn. I meant to keep that hidden.

Sakura barely waits for his hand to be empty before taking him by the wrist. “You’re hurt!”

The skin of his forearm and hand is crisscrossed with welts and scratches, as well as several wasp stings from when he was reaching into the trees. He’d forgotten about them, but with her attention, the dull hurts flare to life.

“It’s nothing,” he tells her, trying to take his hand back, but she doesn’t relinquish it.

“You always say it’s nothing. I’ve stopped believing you.”

“I guarantee everyone else working in the orchard has the same thing.”

“And I’ll get to them. But you’re here right now, and knowing you, you’re going to throw yourself back into work right away, so it won’t be until this evening when I get my hands on you again…” He raises an eyebrow at her. Her eyes widen. “That…didn’t come out right…”

He can’t help the slow smirk that pulls at his mouth, and she scowls at him.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, twin spots of rouge flaming even darker across her cheeks but holds his hand closer to her. Green chakra flickers between her fingers, seeping into his muscles and tendons, easing the sharp aching of scraped skin and pulling muscles.

While she heals, her expression relaxes, embarrassment giving way to concentration. He’s noticed that about her: when she uses her medical ninjutsu, everything else appears to fall beyond her awareness.

Still, there’s a tiny smile upon her lips and the fading colour across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones that has nothing to do with the autumn swelter. 

When she releases him, she is unabashed and cheerful again. “Better?”

He flexes his fingers, studying the newly healed skin, and nods.

“Thank you.”

Sasuke straightens and reaches for another apple slice, frowning at a mild pinching sensation behind his neck. He hasn’t even rolled his shoulder once to disperse the tension, before Sakura is leaning toward him again, eye filled with concern.

“You’ve strained your neck,” she says, and it sounds accusing, as if she thinks he deliberately kept it from her.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have! I know what that looks like.”

“I haven’t done anything strenuous enough,” he replies, a little indignant because he knows his body’s limits.

“Spending the day with your arm raised overhead and twisting fruit off branches requires different movements than kenjutsu or taijutsu,” she lectures. “If you don’t take care of it now, you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Stop being so stubborn! Lie down and I’ll fix it for you.”

“No.”

“Sasuke…!”

She is growing annoyed, not understanding the reason for his refusal. He is easier with her lately when it comes to touching or being touched. It’s happened often enough—huddled together in the shelter of a tree when it rains, elbows bumping when they crowd into communal meal halls, or checking each other’s wounds.

If they were alone, he would let her ease the knots from his neck and shoulders, but right now they are in front of an entire village of people. Some of whom are viewing the interchange with blatant interest and amusement, others barely concealing the smiles on their faces.

The back of Sasuke’s neck feels warm. He dislikes such attention.

A look creeps across Sakura’s face, the one that Sasuke knows he will have no recourse against, and he has to act before it fully manifests..

“If you don’t lie down right now…” she begins, her voice rising with each syllable.

“Sakura,” he says, his tone soft but firm in its finality.

Her expression freezes at that, and she blinks, coming back to herself. Then, glancing around, she spots what he has been aware of for a while—the audience of workers pretending not to be observing them. 

Her look of surprise is almost comical, and her cheeks flood red once more.

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t going to— not in front of—” she stammers, all apologies and embarrassment and avoiding eye contact. She jumps to her feet, nearly slopping tea over them both. “I have to get back. They, um, probably need help cleaning up, and I have to go out and check on the other workers, and you…well, you’re right…we can, um, your arm…I’ll just…”

He’s enjoying her fluster more than he should and opens his mouth to speak—to say something smooth in delivery or laden with implication—so that it continues.

But she’s biting her lip as if to physically stop herself from stammering, and her eyes are shining just so, even as they dart about trying to avoid his gaze, and as has become a frequent occurrence, Sasuke discovers every word in his vocabulary suddenly vanishing from his brain.

It takes him several seconds longer than he expects to remember at least one.

“Later?” he suggests.

Sakura stops her fidgeting and meets his gaze. This time he doesn’t bother hiding his small smile from her.

That unnameable something passes between them, bolstered by the rustling leaves and dense heat around them.

Then she smiles back, a gentle and pleased upward curve of her lips, and nods. “Right. Um…later.”

She hurries away after that, tripping a few times before her posture straightens and he watches her transform from his Sakura to the no-nonsense, hyper-confident medic and director.

Sasuke finishes his meal and eases to his feet, ready to head back into the orchard. On his way, he passes one of the workers who is staring Sakura with an air of awe.

“Your girl is something,” he says, impressed.

Sasuke considers Sakura once more, as she directs a group of villagers to go around picking up discarded plates and cups.

In his mind’s eye, he sees a skinny girl with long pink locks, hands on her hips and lecturing him or Naruto or Kakashi for some misbehaviour or other. In a blink it’s replaced with the brave kunoichi, bruised and battered, caring for him when he was ill, or holding him back from throwing himself into danger.

A girl who wouldn’t give up on a boy filled with darkness, even when he shoved away what she offered, be it a plate of apples or her heart.

It’s not the first time he wonders what he did to deserve her.

But he doesn’t reveal any of this to the worker. Instead, he shrugs and says with complete certainty, “She is.”

終わり

________________________________________________________________

I am trying to figure out how to fit this one into the Legacy of Fire series, but it mostly depends on me writing a completely different fic to allow that to happen, so this can exist in the same series as Miso Soup Everyday and You Are Cordially Invited. So for now it’s not part of the series...

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn’t something you’re comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

栗

[zachsgamejournal]

PLAYING: Breath of Fire IV

I think we’re closing in on the end. But in good ole BoF fashion, the last leg is taking the longest. Also, Nina is totally the main character of this game.

NINA

I’ve only ever beaten BoF 3, 4, and 5--though I’ve played 1 & 2. It’s a constant that Ryu is the main character, and that Ryu is the player. Ryu is never (to rarely) given dialog because the player is meant to imagine the voice of Ryu. And while this definitely works for BoF 3 and 5, Nina is clearly the main character in 4.

1. We Start the Game as Nina

In both BoF 3 and 5, we start the game as Ryu, and that’s basically where we stay for the whole adventure (occasionally controlling other characters). BoF 4 has us start with Nina. It’s a simple distinction, but sets up my next point.

2. Nina Makes All the Decisions

My screenwriting professor said the main character makes the decisions that drive the story. In this sense, Ryu is extremely passive. He’s mostly just along for the ride. It’s Nina that offers to help him, Nina that decides he should tag along, and it’s Nina’s quest he joins. Later, Nina decides to rescue Cray. Nina goes to her father for help. Nina asks the gods for assistance. Nina insists they save Ryu. Nina encourages Dies not to abandon Ershin. Nina insists on the helping that furry...thing. All the while, Ryu is just like, “...sure.”

I vaguely know how the game will end, so we’ll see if this all holds up.

3. It’s Nina’s Quest

The game starts with Nina and Cray on a mission to find/rescue her sister. While Ryu is integral to the plot, he doesn’t have a lot of skin in the game. Nina is also royalty, and this game has some Games of Thronesian politics going on. While Ryu’s actions carry little weight beyond the act itself, everything Nina does has the ability to affect policy and international relationships. We see this when the Empire pressures the Alliance to cede territory post Nina’s rescue op failure.

Also, Nina just told Ryu that she loved Cray. Ryu isn’t even the love interest in this game.

I’m actually really happy that Nina is the star. Female characters aren’t normally given the respect they deserve. Maybe instead of Breath of Fire, they should have called this “Wings of Destiny”...cause Nina has wings.

Back to the Plot

So, Ryu went super-Dragon and killed some imperials. The gods have offered to help Ryu, (as long as he plays hide and seek first), and Fou-Lu has escaped the village in which he had started to feel at home.

Nina and the team discuss things and decide that if it’s Ryu’s destiny to meet up Fou-Lu, they might as well confront him proactively. They seem to be under the impression that the empire is using Fou-Lu gain power (if they only knew).

Ursala is the Imperial captain that captured us, but now she’s our captive. The team asks her to help them get into the Empire. She’s confused. It was her mission to bring the dragon to the Empire, so this kind of works out...She agrees and is now a playable party member.

I like her.

Heading back to the warp gate, we learn that it’s broken because of our previous activities (and because we were attacked by Captain Jackass). Ursala tries to make us feel bad, but she works for an evil Empire--so jog-on. We have to head north and need a sandflier but don’t have the cash. This is comical, cause I put in a cheat for infinite Zenny way back when...

We’re supposed to ask a merchant sandflier for help, but we’re too late. Ursala immediately jumps to action and without a word, Scias follows her lead. They take the merchant ship like a band of pirates and it turns out to be a French-accented froggy friend from before that sexually harassed Nina, Marlok. He tries to make use feel guilty, which works on Nina and Cray--but the rest of us know he’s a POS. He offers us a bond to buy a ship, expecting that we’ll do great things and thus able to cash in on our success.

We get to a checkpoint, but it’s blocked. Ursala wants to fight the guards, but Nina is against it. We do the non-violent solution of trampolining over the wall. We get to a ship yard...I only now realized in the game that the oceans aren’t water--but mud. weird...where’s all the water? So the only seas are up north.

The captain doesn’t want us on without the blessing of the sea god. We got to coastal cave and find the Sea Dragon there...I think. We get his blessing and are good to go. The captain now doesn’t want women on board. The women insist that they are tough and have been through a lot. The muscle the dude we keep fighting shows up, and it’s implied that his defeat would prove we’re tough. Ursala shoots him and falls off the mass of the ship. So  a new test of courage is needed. Ursala and Nina must stay within the hull of the ship over night with ghosts and bugs. They succeed.

As we travel across the sea, we fight muscle dude again (he was much stronger this time). And then the wind stops. The sailors think this area is haunted, maybe by a god. We go check it out. The dungeon is interesting, but frustrating. You have to walk across planks to get to the other side, but the planks break and drop you down into the hull. There’s a light over your head to warn you when you’re about to fall, but I still fell a lot. In the hull, as you walk, skulls that are spread about rattle and vibrate: it’s eerie and entertaining. Eventually we find a rock creature that thinks of itself as a god, but it’s just a rock powered by god-power. So we kill it.

No remorse.

The wind returns and we make it across the sea. After traveling through a jungle, we meet a furry thing. I feed it some food and it seems happy...I think. At the end of the jungle we find a treehouse and are attacked by more furries. The previously furry comes to our defense and we meet Beyd. He has married one of the furries and maybe these are his children? Cray had my reaction and was like, “Well...uh, anyway--how do we get to the empire?”

One of the furries gets sick and Nina vows to save it (cause she’s the main character!). This brings us to an interesting, but not super fun mini game. We get to sail the boat, but you have limited supplies. Every second you’re on the seas, the supplies get used, but they’re used faster if you row. Rowing is necessary because the wind doesn’t always blog in the direction you need. So you have to decide whether to burn supplies by rowing, or wait for the wind to change directions. There’s places to find and treasure to discover. It is, kinda fun...

While we’re out here collecting medicine on the high seas, I also find the sea god: SCORE!

We save the furry and are guided to some islands that are available to walk across when the tide is low. So we venture a cross some tropical keys. It’s pretty. The group gets tired and Nina insists on taking a break: cause she’s the main character. After our rest, the tide has risen and the group is trapped. Cray is pissed and Nina feels responsible.

This is an interesting part of the game cause the group has to survive on an island and reflect on their mission. Ursala warns it could be months or years before the tide recedes. Chill Ursala. The group explores the island and finds both water and and great fishing spot. We’re gonna be fine. Just delayed.

Scias likes the island, as he just sleeps all day. After a while, Cray chills out and apologizes for his temper. While Ryu is casting a line, Nina reveals that she’s in love with Cray, causing Ryu to trip. Nina reflects on her feelings, unsure if they’re true and doubtful that Cray feels the same.

The tide recedes and the team escapes. We come to a riverlands that requires some log riding and log dodging. It’s cute, but I want to get out of here...

Fou-Lu, after escaping the village, receives a direct hit from the hex canon. They apparently used the friendly lady that help Fou-Lu as a “sacrifice” to power the canon. EVIL! Fou-Lu survives and arrives at the capital. He meets statue guardian that recognizes him as the first emperor. Fou-Lu orders the guardian to destroy the imperial city. Fou-Lu is pissed, and just doesn’t seem to think humans are worth it...

As the guardian destroys the city, Fou-Lu cleans up loose ends, finally killing the general that ambushed him on the night of his awakening, and then killing the current emperor. The Emperor first tries to act subservient to Fou-Lu, but then stabs him with the “dragon slayer” sword. It doesn’t work and Fou-Lu laughs in his face.

Similar to Breath of Fire 3, the game has reached a point where it doesn’t have more story to tell, but wants to add hours. So there’s tons of little quests and obstacles that have little to do with the overall plot. It’s sad, because the minigames and mini-nations they’ve created are really interesting.

I tried to think back to how Final Fantasy 7 handled this. I think, for the most part, the game doesn’t make its endgame clear until much later. Most of the game is, “What should we do now?” So I don’t feel there’s as much a “rush” to get to the end. Also, much of the game is about tracking Sephiroth, so you’re really looking for clues as you find obstacles, vs having an end destination and just running into a million reasons why you can’t get to it. You feel out of control and inconvenienced. But these obstacles would make really interesting and fun side quests. Having them as options would absolutely make them more interesting.

Another thing that Final Fantasy 7 really succeeds at is making each new area a new piece of the puzzle. You’re always learning history about the world or a character. So while it might be a brief obstacle, it’s also an interesting deeper dive into the world. Breath of Fire’s diversions don’t feel as enlightening.

Still, BoF4′s diversions still feel like progress cause we inch closer to the goal...it’s just that we’re not getting much character or world development in the process.

Combat

I do prefer the combat over BoF3 (and many RPGs). I like that the other characters are always on-call in the battle, and it’s easy to switch out (more so than Final Fantasy X -- how I remember it anyway). I’ve done zero grinding, and I’m pretty proud that I’ve survived so far. After crossing the sea, it seemed like the enemies were getting ahead of me, but I got better at using the spell combos (which are cool!). So surviving a few battles usually meant getting a few levels up. When I first played the game, i was cool with grinding, but I’m glad I don’t have to now. The only thing that is cheating: I gave myself 99999+ zenny. So I’m able to stock up on healing supplies. Though it helps, I’m sure a few hours of grinding would have me being just as well stock on healing supplies.

Is it better than Breath of Fire 3?

I’m a little torn. Breath of Fire 4 is “epic”. There are multiple nations that have a strong sense of culture and history. The mythology around the dragons is of the galactic scale. World War is in the balance and my party includes two members of royalty and two semi-gods. The world feels huge even if the story is pretty linear.

In contrast, Breath of Fire 3 had three nations--that I could tell: Wyndia, Eastern Kingdom, and across the sea. Strangely, Wyndia had gangster cities, gangster markets, and amoral lab that was accidentally making mutants. While eastern kingdom seemed pretty chill and peaceful--but lacked a ruling entity. Hmmm...

Where Breath of Fire 3 feels “better” is that it feels more personal. The story starts small: a lost dragon-boy found my starving thieves. We live in a small town and solve small-town issues. This slowly grows to include local gangsters, a kingdom, and a dragon holocaust before we battle God. I like Breath of Fire 4′s characters, but I feel like I have a stronger bond with BoF3′s. Also, I felt like BoF3 tried to explore the grey area: killing monsters that had feelings. I felt emotionally challenged in the different scenarios. Whereas, BoF4 is always: “We’re the good guys, and we do the good things!”

[somedrunkpirate]

Ineffable Husbands but it’s a Noir Detective Story

The Angel Of Greenwich, my @do-it-with-style-events​ fic has started posting! The first chapter is up now :D

“Well, you see, Mr Crowley. It would seem that I have been framed for murder.”

— — — — — — — —

A Noir murder mystery set in the 1920's with art from @tayasigerson​. Private Detective Crowley has to find the truth about the body found in a bookshop, while trying not to fall in love with the man who hired him. His success might be doomed from the start.

Read on ao3 or continue reading below! 

Crowley takes a slow drag from his cuban cigar.

When he breathes out, the smoke momentarily obscures the man sitting in the chair in front of his desk. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes are flickering from the window, to Crowley, and back again.

This, in itself, is not unusual. There are few men with the ability to not appear anxious within these quarters. But what is out of the ordinary is the way Crowley found himself— affected, lets say, by the stranger’s presence. There is something about those golden curls and sky blue eyes that captures his interest immediately. Like there is strength there, beyond the tartan patterns and soft wool, a sense of power one might be lucky to have revealed to you, in the right circumstances.

The man’s gaze locks with his, and Crowley takes another drag, a shiver coursing down his spine. Obscured in the dark, Crowley lets his lips curl.

It is a rare occurrence indeed for the Devil's curiosity to be piqued without a word of a case uttered.

Somewhere in the abscesses of his mind a silken voice whispers a warning. But he has not come this far by heeding such things. Crowley leans forward, out of the shadows and lets the orange glow of the street lanterns outside grant him an otherworldly appearance.

The man shivers.

Crowley grins. ”Well, my good fellow. What brings you to Hell?"

“To— To Hell’s Kitchen?” the man asks, cowering a little further. His eyes are now divided between Crowley and the exit, as if he’s gauging how long it would take to scurry out to safety.

“If you wish to call it that, sure,” Crowley allows, making a wide gesture with his hands. “Whatever we’re cooking up in here, it is not the kind of thing men like you usually involve yourself with. So I ask again. What brings you to my office, Mister…”

“Fell,” Mr Fell says quickly. “I run a bookshop in Greenwich Village.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

He would have expected something more… elevated. His wealth is easily visible in his clothing—the quality, the details, the custom fit —though only for those who know how to look for it. He does not advertise his means, but it is clear to Crowley that he is a man living in excess. At least compared to the majority of New York’s denizens. Mr Fell huffs. “Yes, quite.” He straightens a bit, puffed up and defensive, though subtly so.  “It is a lovely neighbourhood.”

Already, this man is full of intrigue. Crowley allows his grin to widen, leading forward further.

“I’ve heard quite a few things about that Village of yours. Is there anything about its… reputation, that causes you to seek out my help?”

“No, no,” Mr Fell shakes his head effusively. “No, at least. Not quite.”

He falls silent and takes a shuddering breath, and with it his shoulders hunch again.

A car passes by and he flinches. The headlights illuminate his face for but a second, yet it is enough to see deep stains underneath the man’s eyes, accentuating an expression of horror mixed with a sense of shock.

It tells a tale of having discovered something horrific beyond measure, Crowley knows the look very well. But what the nightmare entails depends on the person. For one, it is adultery, for another it is standing at the edge of destitution. There is only one reason why wealthy men come to Crowley; they are too ashamed to bring their problem to the police.

Mr Fell shakes his head again, and takes a deep breath. He leans forward with another furtive glance to the window, the orange glow a shimmer in his hair, and then catches Crowley’s eyes.

At once Crowley realises this is not a case like any other. This is no upper city smuck trying to hide his trysts from the public eye, or an insecure husband wanting his wife followed down the streets.

There is no shame in his expression. Only terror, desperation and utter determination.

Mr Fell takes another breath, licks his lips, and says, “Well, you see, Mr Crowley. It would seem that I have been framed for murder.”

— — — — — — — —

A slight drizzle has begun to fall from the sky. Crowley curses under his breath, thinks momentarily of the recent death of his trusty umbrella, and works quickly to secure the multitude of locks that guard the front door of his establishment.

One of the locks takes some abuse in order to close. Crowley slams the old thing into place until he hears the tell tale click.

“I am truly sorry I cannot answer all your questions at this time,” Mr Fell is saying. “But they did not want me to leave for long. It is better to take you with me.”

Crowley turns to see Mr Fell folding open an umbrella. They fit under it perfectly, standing a little closer together than propriety demands. Mr Fell doesn’t seem to notice.

“I assure you I will provide you with all the information once we are in less of a hurry. He should come—“ Mr Fell interrupts himself when they are suddenly engulfed in light.

Crowley snaps his head around, blinking in the face of it.

Headlights.

“Ah— There he is. He’d hidden himself, I see. I suppose in this neighbourhood he did not want to be obvious.”

A police car drives slowly out of the alleyway opposite from Crowley’s office.

“The cops let you come here while a body lays in your shop? How in the hell did you manage that?” asks Crowley, trying not to sound as shocked as he feels. The New York police force has made it quite clear that they do not want Crowley to touch any of their cases with a six feet pole, never mind involve himself while the blood is still fresh.

Mr Fell huffs, and bounces a little on the heels of his feet. “I asked,” he says primly. “But they only agreed with a chaperone, so I wouldn’t scurry away. As if I would!” He sounds hilariously flabbergasted at the idea, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him. “I want this to be solved as much as anyone. It is my shop, after all, and of course justice must be served.”

Crowley makes a non-committal noise and the car pulls up beside them. If this isn’t all performance, no substance, Mr Fell’s additude promises a lucrative case for him. As opposed to the adultery cases that take no more than a couple of hours to prove that yes, indeed, your spouse has a lover. Or even the minor white collar crimes with clients more stingy than you would think of people wearing a three-piece suit.

The most important ingredient of a case with long working hours, as a murder inevitably will end up being, is the emotional investment of the client. And Mr Fell, at least, seems to be invested. Now it is just hoping he is not because he is trying to cover up his sins.

Mr Fell opens the passenger door of the car—the sound brings Crowley back from his thoughts.

Crowley slips in the back quickly, taking a moment to look at the agent driving: young, overworked judging by the bruises under his eyes, and harried.

“Thank you, sir,” the agent is saying to Mr Fell. “We ought to be back as quickly as possible. I am still not sure—“

“My lawyer will arrive not too long after we return and clear it all up with your superiors,” Mr Fell interrupts— not impolitely, just with a quiet certainty that seems to calm the young officer a fraction.

Crowley personally doubts the reality of Mr Fell’s promise. He wonders if Mr Fell truly believes that he can hire a private detective without drawing the ire of the force. The rich have thought stranger things to be possible, Crowley supposes. If he’s lying, however, then he’s proven himself to be good at the art. Interesting. Investigations are easier when the people involved portray their truths in their brows and eyes, if not in their clumsy words, but Crowley likes a challenge.

“Alright then, sir.” The officer says and begins to drive. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, falling onto Crowley’s figure. “And apologies for not introducing myself. I’m officer Pulsifer, detective in training. You are—“

“Anthony J Crowley, private detective,” Crowley says, with a sly smile. “I assume you know of my reputation.”

“Yes, sir,” Pulsifer says, “I’ve read the articles on the Pen-diamond case, and of course the disappearance of Kelly Donovan. Your work is highly inspiring, sir.”

Ah. A fan in cop’s clothing. Crowley suddenly knows why Mr Fell was able to take such unorthodox steps.

“You flatter me,” Crowley says, “it is rare to hear such positivity from men of your… kind.”

Pulsifer looks away, but his shoulders straighten as if to bolster himself. “Your methods are effective, sir. The Mummy of New Jersey, for example.”

Crowley barks a laugh and says, “Oh that one, that’s been a while.” He shakes his head, chuckeling. “Don’t let your superiors hear you say anything of the sort in the future, Pulsifer, if you want to make Detective one day.”

Pulsifer seems unable to find a response and the drive continues in silence— or at least, verbally so. Mr Fell seems unable to sit still, wiggling in his seat and tugging at his sleeves. Occasionally his eyes flicker to the mirror, and catches Crowley’s gaze only to look away again when caught. Crowley doesn’t hide his staring. He’s supposed to solve a case after all, and Mr Fell is one half of the puzzle.

After one too many glances, Mr Fell’s eyes narrow at him, lined with suspicion. Crowley raises his eyebrows in question. If Mr Fell is regretting his choice already, he much rather have it out now, saving him another altercation with the Detective of the week.

They hold eye contact for a moment, and then Mr Fell harrumphs under his breath, shaking his head a little, and begins to stare out of the window with intense concentration. Crowley doesn’t follow his lead, and continues looking at Mr Fell with the same intensity, as if he could tease out the mysteries just by watching. He doesn’t come up with anything conclusive, and yet he cannot drag his eyes away.

The rest of the travel proceeds in much the same fashion—Crowley looking, and Mr Fell quite purposefully not looking back. Neither of them are willing to budge first.

“Sirs?” says Pulsifer, hesitantly. “We’ve arrived.”

The car has stopped driving. God knows how long they’ve sat there.

“Ah, thank you Pulsifer,” says Mr Fell smoothly. “Your service was most appreciated.” He leans over to shake the agent’s hand, and steps out of the car.

In doing so, Crowley is finally released. A huff of breath escapes him, and he pushes the door open with a deviant click. Once outside, thick raindrops fall onto his brimmed hat. He imagines taking it off and letting the water wash out his strange thoughts, but he casts that idiotic idea aside as well.

“Mr Crowley?”  

Mr Fell is looking at him, his head tilted to the side. “Are you coming?”

The question pushes Crowley back into his surroundings and he realises that the rumble of noise is more than the rain: it is a crowd of people. About three dozen onlookers form a half circle around the front of a building— the sign above is only barely visible between their battered umbrellas. Some have grabbed barrels and boxes to stand upon and get a better view.

They’re at Garden Street, his mind provides belatedly. He’d subconsciously recognized the tell tale Dumbbell tenement buildings of the East Side, and the vague smell of the docks being brought by the wind. A strange place to open a bookshop, and even a stranger place to live for a man like Mr Fell. He sticks out as much as his shop does: the rows of tenement apartments suddenly broken up by one large family sized, three story home. He can just see a tree peeking behind the building, meaning there is some sort of garden behind it as well.

Crowley has the vague sense that if the body had been found in any other building on the same street, it wouldn’t nearly have pulled in the same crowd.

“It has become quite the spectacle,” Mr Fell says with a sigh. “The body has already been carried off. I’m not sure why they linger yet.”

“Tragedy attracts, Mr Fell,” Crowley says, omitting ‘certainly when it occurs in conjunction to people like you’, as offending his client at this juncture would not be beneficial. Instead he says, “You must know that, or all the books you sell are children’s tales.”

“Fictional tragedy is quite a different thing.” Mr Fell huffs. “Haven’t we seen enough of it in the real world? I do not understand why—“ he trails off. “Well, no matter. Maybe this is a tragedy that can be solved. I just wish they would have some respect for those who have left us.”

“Don’t condemn the people for their curiosity. Now, you plan to sneak me in?”

Mr Fell’s eyes widen. “Sneak you in?”

“If you haven’t heard, the police do not appreciate me stepping in on their territory. What do you propose?”

“I am going to ask, Mr Crowley,” Mr Fell says and promptly walks towards the shop.

Pulsifer had already started to shoulder-tap his way through the gathering, but his progress is incremental. Mr Fell only has to clear his throat once the crowd part like the sea before Moses. Crowley falls into step behind him, as the people close ranks once they pass.

A hush goes over them as the source of their gossip enters their vicinity. Only a few watch with suspicion— at least, few look with suspicion at Mr Fell. For Crowley, of course, suspicion combined with intrigue is predetermined. Some gasp and whisper ‘The Devil is here’. But the man implicated with murder is welcomed with a hint of relief. “I told you he wouldn’t have left for London,” someone murmurs, though the anonymous voice is shushed quickly.

Mr Fell stands before the shop with his hands clasped behind his back, smiles a sunlight smile at them, and wishes them a good evening.

At that, the crowd slowly begins to disperse.

Crowley does a splendid job not gaping at him.

“And now, we will ask the officers to let you aid in the investigation,” Mr Fell says brightly.

In the moment, Crowley cannot help but believe that if Mr Fell wanted anything, the universe would make it happen.

— — — — — — — —

And it does.

The traditional “What is the meaning of this?!” when Crowley shows up near New York’s finest is smoothly transitioned to a “Just stay out of our way,” as Mr Fell manages to convince the detective that it is no issue for Crowley to be here. He enacts a politeness infused verbal sleight of hand involving concerned looks, earnest eyes, and some kind of high society magic.

Because, as Mr Fell explains, they have taken away the body, after all. They were even already starting to wrap up for the night! So there shouldn’t be any harm in a second pair of eyes. A guest couldn’t mess up a crime scene that was about to be reopened anyway. And besides, the best agents of New York are so skilled that they surely couldn’t have missed anything important. This is merely a precaution to make doubly sure even the little details are in order, don’t you think so Detective?

“Everything is in order. We don’t miss things, Mr Fell,” Detective Mulligan grinds out. “You’ll see. You’re wasting your money on that slicker. If you are as innocent as you claim, you should trust us to handle it.”

“I do so, Detective Mulligan, but you must agree that Mr Crowley has extensive knowledge about… the darker side of this fine city. If my suspicions are correct, then his aid could be a boon to all of us. You must have heard of the recent burglaries. There is trouble breeding in this area, and according to the papers, the officers have had difficulty finding leads. I only wished to provide aid, Detective. I know that taking on consultants is outside of your budget, but it is within mine.”

Crowley hides a smile with his hand. Well well, that answers why Mr Fell approached him. Perhaps his client has a theory of his own.

Detective Mulligan grunts and then throws a glare at Crowley. “We’ve searched the place top to bottom, but if there is anything you learn, you come to me. You hear, son?”

“Of course, sir, right away sir,” Crowley says mockingly, and salutes. “I’m always prepared to aid the valiant warriors of justice.”

Detective Mulligan glares some more. Mr Fell sniffs disapprovingly. Crowley grins at them both.

This is going to be delightful.

Mr Fell and Mulligan continue to speak— though it is not much of a conversation, and more Mr Fell attempting to ask questions on the investigation and receiving only grunts and huffs in return. Crowley, who has prior experience with the detective, knows to ask the crime scene these inquiries instead. A wall has much more to say than Mulligan in his most verbose of moods.

The bookshop is very much a bookshop: tomes of all shapes and sizes line the walls, and bookcases form a small maze, only broken up by a circular space in the middle of the room, the wooden floorboards lovingly engraved with bohemian looking patterning. The shop is cosy, if dusty, and clearly beloved by its owner, but the totality of the decoration isn’t to Crowley’s interest. Though later those details might become of import, as of now, his focus is the entrance space right before the door, where a large gold and red carpet not only welcomes new clients into the shop, but has welcomed Mr Jones into the afterlife. The carpet is drenched in blood: a large stain about one third of the carpet marrs its graceful weave.

Crowley clears his throat. “Mr Fell?”

“Yes?”

Mr Fell turns away from Detective Mulligan, at full attention. Detective Mulligan glares behind him.

“As you said, the officers have been very… expedient in their process, so I cannot inspect the body myself. But if you won’t mind, could you describe, as detailed as possible, what the body looked like when you found it?”

Mr Fell goes a little pale and swallows hard.

Crowley keeps his voice calm and neutral. “Did he lay on his stomach, or on his back? Was his head towards the door? Did you see any obvious wounds?”

“I—Uhm,” Mr Fell says, wringing his hands together nervously. His eyes take on a bit of a glazed effect, as if he’s looking deep into himself as seeing what is before him. “He was on his stomach and—yes, towards the door. As if he was leaving. His wounds were—on his back. It was, there was so much blood. His coat was brown, like a barn owl, but now—it isn't anymore. I knew he was gone.”

“Did you see what kind of wounds he suffered?”

“No, I—I’m not sure. I didn’t come closer. I panicked.”

“Did anyone else see the body up close?”

Mr Fell’s eyes flicker to the Detective, and then to Officer Pulsifer. “The police, of course, maybe a few other people as well. I’d left the door open, some of the youths were walking in.” Mr Fell’s lips twist with disapproval. “Curious little buggers.”

Crowley turns to Pulsifer. “Any specifics of the wounds that you saw?”

Pulsifer straightens to attention. “He appeared to be stabbed many times, sir. We believe he--

“Officer.” Detective Mulligan’s voice interrupts Pulsifer with force. “The details of the case shall not be shared with outside parties unless I say so.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry sir.”

“Mr Fell, where are your business records?”

“In the office, but shouldn’t you wait on my Lawyer until--”

“If you are cooperative, and give me permission now, we all do not have to work through the night. If you are innocent as you claim, there is no harm in it. I only want to ensure there are no financial motives to this crime.”

Mr Fell presses his lips together, but at length he sighs. “Oh well. Have at it. My office is the second door to the right.”

Detective Mulligan huffs. “Officer, you keep an eye on the Devil. If I come to find items missing, your head will roll.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Pulsifer replies.

Before Mulligan steps through the aforementioned office door he stills and turns again. “And, stay away from the negatives. We do not want another Powell situation.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Pulsifer repeats, flushing, and taking shuffling a little further from the camera laid to rest on a table off to the side.  

Crowley becomes aware of a shadow on his six. He sighs and attempts to focus once more. But there is another set of footsteps behind him, and Mr Fell joins him by his side, bouncing on his heels and his hands clasped together. He is looking at the blood with wide eyes of sadness.

Crowley suppresses a sigh, knowing his questions will likely exacerbate the emotions. One of the reasons why he prefers cold cases is that when he speaks to people, the balm of time makes them significantly less… fragile.

He takes his detective journal out of his pocket and branishes a pencil, writing down the date and time in the corner. He then clears his throat and schools his face into one of sympathy— but not too much. His expression must be cool and calm, to convince the client that they have nothing to worry about: he has it under control.

“If you will pardon me, but I have to ask. Who was the victim?”

“Hmm? Oh— Yes, you are on the case, I see, that is right.” Mr Fell shakes himself a little bit, and drags his gaze away from the carpet. “Mr Jones— Greg Jones if I’m not mistaken. Something with a G in any case. A very pleasant fellow. I am terribly sorry to see him gone, and in such a way too. It is unbearable to think about.”

“How did you know him?”

“He was a patron of the store. He came in for the first time, what would it be, eight months ago? To get a book for his oldest daughter’s birthday, I believe. I should have the record somewhere.” Mr Fell’s eyes flicker to the side, presumably where those records reside in the office. Crowley makes a note of it.  

Mr Fell continues, “He returned the very next day, to my great surprise, as I do not have much of a children’s section, so I had sent him along with a collection of Greek myths. But apparently the young of today have a fascination with the gory, so the book was well received. His daughter’s approval inspired him to explore my collection for himself, and became an avid collector in a scant few weeks. He was one of those rare patrons I could recommend anything to and he would enjoy it thoroughly. Enthusiastic, very much so, though a little uninformed at times.”  

Mr Fell pauses, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips. “He once asked me for the original print of Gilgamesh, and I had to explain to him that this shop does not carry any stone tablets, but I could order the oldest translation I could find on paper.” He chuckles a little, shaking his head, but then trails off with a soft sigh. “He was a good man. He did not deserve this.”

“My condolences,” Crowley says, a little distractedly. Enthusiastic, he was? Hmm. “He had a daughter, then, any more relatives?”

Mr Fell’s eyes widen and he slaps his hand over his mouth, anguish coming over his features. “Oh god, the children! His wife! Have they been informed?”

Crowley redirects his attention to Pulsifer, who is very obviously not trying to get caught eavesdropping. “Have they?”

“Yes, sir. An officer has been sent to tell the family the tragic news.”

“How did they respond?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir, I wasn't there.”

“Pity.”

Mr Fell makes an affronted sound. “Mr Crowley, do you consider the sensitivity of their situation before you prod your nose into private matters? To hear such news as that, it is not to be witnessed by strangers.”

“Prodding my nose into all kinds of matters is in fact my business, Mr Fell. If you are innocent, as you say, would not the next logical suspect be someone close to him, within the family perhaps?”

“You do not mean to accuse the wife?”

“I do not accuse anyone without the evidence, Mr Fell, evidence I cannot have if I do not ‘prod’. The response of the wife is important: she might be aware if her husband thought he was in danger. He might have acted nervous or paranoid in her presence. She might even suspect a cause, or be one herself. Gambling debts, enemies in business, spousal conflict, family tensions. All private matters are of much interest if you wish to remain a free man.”

Mr Fell’s expression of impropriety lessens in gradients as common sense falls onto his shoulders, hunching them with its weight. “This is all just truly horrid, but you are right. I’m not aware of any enemies or nefarity within Mr Jones’ life. He works on Wall Street so there is money to his name. But not so much as to inspire such an act, I would assume. He was an accountant in one of the high offices. He rarely entered the stock market itself. It was much too loud for him, he said.” Mr Fell shakes his head. “I can’t see how such a timid and sweet fellow could have invited his own murder. He does not seem the type to involve himself with things of that nature.”

“You never know someone as well as you think,” Crowley says. “We all have secrets.”

“Secrets dark enough to be killed for?”

“That is exactly what we are going to find out.”

Crowley leaves Mr Fell with a perturbed expression on his face. He is able to take down some details of the scene before another officer bounds down the stairs. Subtlety is truly not their strong suit.

“Nothing much changed sir,” the officer hollers towards Mulligan, who peeks out of the office with a binder in his hands. “Though the new window has been put in, looks like they’re about to start painting. Other than that, same as a fortnight ago. Bit more dusty.”

“No sign of disturbance?”

“Not that I could find sir, but it is very dark up there and a flashlight can only do so much. There is no electric light installed.”

“What happened a fortnight ago?” Crowley asks. The officer seems about to answer in pure reflex, but a glare from Mulligan silences him.

“A burglary,” Mister Fell says, completely impervious to Mulligans’ now redirected glare. “Someone broke into my home.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Through the second floor window?”

“Yes, climbed in with ladders and tossed the place.” Mr Fell huffs. “It was only luck that saved me. I was away for a family dinner that had run late, so I stayed over for the night, only to return to find my home in ravages!”

“What was stol—”

Mulligan steps in with a grunt and says, “You can continue on your own time, Mr Crowley. We are busy. Now, Mr Fell, you must delay the construction of your room for the rest of the week, so a team can return in the morning and search with light.”

“Oh,” Mr Fell says, lips falling into a pout. “I have been waiting for days now and—“ He stills abruptly, a blush blooming on his cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry. Of course I shall delay, a murder has occured! It is just that I had planned to move back home again this weekend, and for a moment I forgot that—  You must pardon me for my momentary crassness, the reconstruction has been one of the most frustrating experiences in my life till thus far— though I suppose I should not complain. Mr Jones’ fate is so much—“

Mulligan interrupts him gruffly. “Thank you for your consideration, Mr Fell.” He lumbers up to the table, letting the binder fall heavily on the oakwood. “Now, is this the order?”

“The order?” Mr Fell carefully avoids the carpet to come towards Mulligan. “Oh yes, the order. Indeed. I tried to cancel the--”

Crowley lets the conversation become more like a radio play in the background, tuned down as to barely hear the words. He’ll have time plenty to ask Mr Fell about his business practices, but his time on the crime scene is limited. Certainly in this state. He assumes Mr Fell is not going to keep the carpet for long, judging his pale complexion every time he looks at it.

He walks around the carpet. There are scuffs on the floor, and part of the carpet is bunged up like someone slipped on the corner, but there is little he can do with it, as it just as well could have been one of the many people stomping all over the scene.

But there is something about the stain that tugs at Crowley’s attention. It’s a warped oval, approximately the size of a small man all on its own. With his magnifying glass, Crowley tries to find more stains in the red edge. It is a troublesome endeavor in the low light, but Crowley finds no evidence of discoloration. He hums to himself and then tilts his head up. The ceiling is pristine. The floor around the carpet is also spotless; even if the blood was displaced by people walking, there at least would be smears left behind.

Crowley clears his throat and asks out loud, “Where is the blood?”

Mr Fell and Mulligan snap into silence.

Crowley turns to them, revels in their respective confusion, and raises an eyebrow.

“Ehm, sir,” Pulsifer pipes up, reluctantly. “The blood is on the carpet.”

Crowley only just succes in swallowing a laugh. “Thank you, officer. You are not, wrong, per se. But where is the rest of it? The stain is large, but it is only one. If the victim was stabbed multiple times, as you said, wouldn’t there be a spray, as well as a stain?”

Pulsifier and Mulligan respond in exact opposite manners: the first gapes in obvious revelation, whereas the other locks his jaw and crosses his arms in stubborn denial.

“The ceilings are high, Mr Crowley,” Mulligan grinds out.

“Excellent observation. Maybe the act was not done in an arch.” Crowley pauses to mimic the movement, “but rather in straight lines. Which would be a good theory, only that then there would be variations in the blood stain, and there still should have been more on the floor. Mr Jones would be hit from behind, but it would not kill him instantly, he would move, kneel. The subsequent stabbings would be from different angles. But the stain is uniform, as if it happened all at once.”

Pulsifier nods along with wide eyes. “So what if he was not? What if he had been pushed to the floor first?”

Crowley tilts his head. “Good idea, Officer. That would be more consistent. The perpetrator would stand over the victim, and be stabbing downwards. His wounds would be directly bleeding onto the carpet, slowly and uniformly enlarging the circle. Though he would need to have not been moving during the attack. There are no signs of him crawling to get away.”

“So he was hit on the head first, then stabbed,” Detective Mulligan says gruffly.

“Was there signs of a head wound?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

Crowley looks at Pulsifer, who is very much avoiding his gaze, and then at Mr Fell, who is looking green around the gills.

Detective Mulligan closes the binder with a defiant slam. “We are one here. All that is left is for you to come with us and to answer some questions at the precinct.”

“Is that necessary to do now?”

Mulligan ignores his protests in his customary brutishness and starts to nudge Mr Fell towards the door, hand almost closing around his elbow.

“It is almost past 1 o’clock,” Mr Fell adds, flustered. “Surely this can wait.”

Crowley is about to step in— stupidly so, he’s treading on thin ice, but there is something about the way Mr Fell’s eyes widen that has Crowley unable to stand by and do nothing. But he is saved by the arrival of a man, busting through the doorway.

“Hold on a minute!” he says loudly. “Are you arresting my client?”

“Sir! Watch out! The blood!”

Pulsifer’s warning comes only just on time as the man redirects his feet from landing in the middle of the stain, to only the edge of it. Crowley flinches inwardly as he leaves a dirty footprint. But the commotion has drawn Mulligan away from Mr Fell, who cleverly takes the opportunity to slink away from the entrance, coming to surreptitiously hide behind Crowley instead. Crowley writes down ‘improvised shield’ in his notes for later charging fees.

“What is the meaning of this!” Mulligan shouts. “You are trespassing a crime scene!”

Crowley snorts quietly— it is interesting to be on the other side of this for once.

“I assure you, I have more legal rights to be here than you can imagine,” the man says. He puts his leather briefcase on the floor and takes off his hat, revealing a middle aged man in a suit that has seen better days, and a beard that has never seen a proper barber. His eyes are bright, though, and his bushy eyebrows are raised in a manner that betrays utter confidence. “Now, do you have sufficient evidence for an arrest?”

Mulligan, in the face of the second smooth talker of the evening, forgets to protest the stranger’s presence and instead goes on the defensive. It is a mistake. “It is the first few hours of the investi—“

“Is my client a suspect?”

“Naturally, he is. A body was found in his establishment.”

“And who called the police to report it? My client! Have you any cause to contain my client until his questioning, on account of a notion that he will attempt to flee, or otherwise refuse to cooperate?”

Client, ah—The lawyer. The cast of characters is complete.

Pulsifer pipes up before Mulligan can. “So far, Mr Fell has been nothing but helpful.”

The lawyer claps his hands together, victorious. “There you have it. There is no reason not to let the questioning be on the morrow, fresh and early. It is preposterous to think that at a time such as this, the truth would be interpreted in its full honesty.”

“Mister—

“Shadwell, Witch hunter by night, Lawyer by day. Though I do not charge over-hours in any direction.”

He holds out a hand. No one takes it, but it does not fluster him in the slightest.  

Crowley turns to raise an eyebrow at Mr Fell, who seems to be watching the proceedings with amusement, judging by his badly repressed smile.

“Mister Shadwell,” Mulligan says through gritted teeth. “Mr Fell would only be asked preliminary questions…”

“Mr Fell, at this moment, is not under arrest, and has no need to be contained, and has promised to be cooperative and come tomorrow morning….” Shadwell trails off expectantly.

“I promise to be co-operative and I shall come tomorrow morning,” Mr Fell says immediately with fervour, and then adds slightly too innocently, “I can bring scones?”

Shadwell continues with a smile, “So therefore we are going to leave this discussion here. It was very good making your acquaintance, Detective.”

Mulligan makes a grunting noise that would be more appropriate in a zoo than in a bookshop-turned-crime-scene, and stomps out without another word.

Pulsifer, who seems to have realised that he did not do his boss any favours, hesitates a beat too long before following him out, allowing Shadwell to zero in on him.

“Now, you there,” he says. “Thank you for showing your superior that my client is nothing but trustworthy—“

Pulsifer swallows hard. “I don’t think I said—“

Shadwell ignores him entirely. “You have done me a great favour, and in return I will teach you some tricks of the trade. You want to become a detective, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I have participated in many investigations in my day, both in the pursuit of murderers of the human persuasion, and otherwise.”

“Otherwise, sir?”

“Monsters, cursed children, witches, the like. Did you know that witches can be recognized by the presence of a third nipple? And that is not all, mobsters too, have a proclivity towards deviant nipplage. I think it is due to their fundamental evilness, as creatures of the dark their bodies change to meet it. If you learn how to look, they cannot hide their horrid nature from you!”

Crowley clears his throat. “Don’t fill what little brain the city has allocated to the solving of crime with that kind of drivel. Disregard it immediately, Pulsifer.”

“Do not listen to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, good officer, what he says has no credit whatsoever. This is why I advised you against involving him, Mr Fell! He does not even know about the nipples.”

Pulsifer swallows, tugging at his uniform collar as if he’s feeling faint, and takes a step of retreat towards the door. “Thank you, for the advice, good sirs, but I must be going, Mulligan will expect me to do the paperwork for today so—” And then he quickly slips out of the door.

Crowley snorts, that might just be the cleverest thing the officer has said so far. Maybe not all hope is lost for him just yet.

While Shadwell seethes to Mr Fell about Devils and Witches and other such nonsense, Crowley reviews his meager notes. The first hours of a sudden investigation are never to his satisfaction. It has been a while since he’s done an investigation on this scale, but even if it wasn’t as intriguing as it is turning out to be —even if Mr Fell himself hadn’t been like he was —Crowley has no choice but to jump on the opportunity.

“I know, Mr Shadwell, but I do believe this is best for the case,” Mr Fell is saying, his sentence tumbling into a deep yawn. “Assuming, of course, that Mr Crowley wishes to continue.”

“Yes, I’ll take the case.”

The relief on Mr Fell’s face is almost too bright to look at. “Oh, thank you. You have proven yourself very astute, what with all the blood and stains and such. I assume I’ll have to sign something.”

“Indeed.”

Crowley takes out the paperwork and makes a few adjustments now he knows more about the case. When he is done he gives it to Mr Fell, who promptly gives it to Shadwell to read over.

“Why 70% upfront?” he asks, with narrowed eyes.

“Standard procedure with framing cases. If I end up discovering that your client, in fact, is trying to use my labour to cover it all up, I shall give my information to the authorities. With this measure, I won’t be completely without wages, as the officers will not reward me under any circumstances.”

They work out the details for another 20 minutes, with Mr Fell occasionally yawning in the background. Eventually Shadwell reaches over to shake his hand and the deal is done.

Mr Fell gives him the money without complaint, only asking “Are you safe with all that on you?”

Crowley merely smiles, showing his teeth. “I can protect myself.”

“Oh, of course,” Mr Fell says, eyes flickering away. “You must be—You do have—in your occupation.”

“Indeed.”

Mr Fell yawns again.

Where Crowley would rather stay and ask more questions, a small part of him twists at the sight—his eyes are getting puffy, and he’s starting to tremble a little bit. So without his explicit permission, his mouth begins to speak, “ I have all I can glean from the scene without light, and it is getting quite late. I propose to make an appointment for tomorrow. After your talk with the officers?”

“That would be perfect,” Mr Fell says, brightening up a little. “At what time would be preferable?”

“Interviews such as these tend to be long winded, so I would say late afternoon, to be certain.”

“Alright. Is there some place with passable tea where we could meet? That way if I am done earlier, I could wait for you in comfort.”

“Finnegan's should be agreeable. Just on the corner of Washington Square Park.”

“I shall be there.”

Crowley snaps his journal closed. He takes one look around the room, and then another longer look at his client, who flusters a little under his gaze.

“Well, then,” Mr Fell says. “Until tomorrow.”

Crowley sends him a sideways smile, and tips his hat. “Indeed.”

He carefully steps around the stain and exits the bookshop. Mr Shadwell’s continued complaints following in his wake only to be cut off when the heavy door falls closed.

Crowley sighs. It's still drizzling and the air is cold enough for his breath to puff out in gentle clouds of mist. Even  with his hands  stuffed deep in his pockets —the folded up bills a comforting sensation between his fingers —the walk home is not, say, pleasant but necessary nonetheless. He goes over the events of the evening, organizing his impressions into a new web of clues. He has the name of the victim, at least, which is where he would normally start. He knows he will not. He could blame the alleged framing for his unorthodox approach— but he can’t deny that there is a more subjective affliction pushing him to start his path with someone else.

The web grows and grows as the maze of New York expands under Crowley’s feet. Dark alleys and broad streets filled with secrets of one kind or another; a large mirror to the smaller network of this particular case. Relationships, motivations, interests, ambitions, all connected to the death of an alleged good man, in the shop of a presumed other. Crowley lights up a cigar and smiles. Tomorrow will be a day of hunting for knowledge about the man: the centre of the web and the centre of his mind. Curiosity a hungry spider tugging on a singular thread.

Who is Mr Fell?

[auarchivist]

This picture can kind of fit into any one of various AU's. It showcases some of the characters I like to write and draw as well as a few original characters of mine.

((WARNING: long post incoming))

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It isn't everyday that James can get everyone together in one place, so when it did finally happen he planned on making the most of it with a little photo. It took a bit of moving around, but they managed to get everyone in the shot. FRONT----    From the far north is Paula, ever the joker type she finds good humor in almost anything. When she's not out in the wilderness or at home with her faithful blue ox, Babe, she can usually be found having tea and good conversation with her closest friend, Kitty. Out of all of the youngins Kitty has taken in, Hazel is by far the fondest of the bear woman, even going as far as to call her "Auntie Paula". A title Paula seems quite happy with. When it came to the new faces of their little group, Paula was always one of the first to warm up to them, but don't let her sweet nature fool you. Personality wise, she may be a teddy bear, but she's still a bear and she's got the strength to back it up.    Up next is the ever chaotic coyote Huehuecoyotl better known as Huey. Despite what people say about him, Huey is more than just an oblivious fool. In fact, he has often surprised those that doubt him with his random moments of genius. That being said while there is a method to his madness, its still madness. He can often be found at the village of Hatfield ,where all see him as the spirit of the village, hanging out with Calamity or helping James with his research on Moguels and magic. If not, then he is more than likely stealing a scarecrow somewhere.    Zim found himself at a low point, not too long ago, after finding out his mission to conquer earth was in fact just a lie by the tallest to get rid of him. Without goal or purpose and dealing with the realization that he might actually be a bad person, he fell into a state of depression. But all that changed when his ship crashed and he met Erma and the Williams family. Now he has turned over a new leaf, and is determined to achieve greatness by aiding those he can. Despite this though, Zim is very much still the ego filled, deranged megalomaniac he has always been, but now with more noble goals in mind. Despite his shortcomings in socializing Zim has managed to make close friends with Spinel and Catra and even forming a relationship with Erma's old babysitter Felicia (how he managed that is a mystery even to him).    Felicia has been familiar with the paranormal for a few good years now. From being the Williams go to babysitter to dating a former Irken Invader. She has taken all the weirdness in her life in stride, almost unfazed by any of it. Cool and level headed under pressure, a quick thinker and a good dose of bravery has made her infamous to those she has faced on ill terms, especially among the Irkens.    The young girl Erma is certainly a unique one, being a hybrid of human and Yokai descent, people in very high places have had their eye on the little girl for a long time, and for good reason as she is a well and true powerhouse of a child with abilities straight out of a horror movie. Despite this she is very much still a child and when she's not at school or at home watching a slasher flick, or the latest episode of Warrior Unicorn Princess with Gir, she can usually be found with her friends, Hazel Hali and Kaio (last two not listed).    Frosta has certainly had an adjustment period to go through and to be perfectly honest, who can blame her?  After all, its not everyday you lose your home planet. Luckily she has not had to face this alone and has adjusted rather well. All things considered. Nowadays, she lives with glimmer out in the country mastering her ice powers and trying to make friends. Turns out being former royalty can be a blessing and a curse when it comes to socializing.    When Kitty found Hazel one cold, snowy night she had every intention of finding her a proper home elsewhere come morning. But that very night, with the fire roaring, and the child asleep by her side as she quilted, any such notions went flying out the window when morning arrived. Sense then Hazel has been living with Kitty and James slowly and surely coming out of her shell (pun intended) and has become very fond of her new found family. Its clear to those that know her well that she still has some inner demons to work through.    Spinel is the one person that could possibly hope to match Huey in terms of randomness. After Zim stopped her injector plans, with the help of the crystal gems (if you asked Zim he did it all on his own) Spinel stayed on Earth to help fix the damage to beach city and afterwards the two were practically inseparable. The Irken was surprised to learn that the Toony Gem was in fact quite the genius in her own right.  Spinel helps him with a number of his experiments when she's not helping defend the local villages or hanging out with the others. She's even become quite popular with the local children, due to her zany sense of humor and neat tricks and abilities. Which has led to her taking up a side gig as an entertainer. Couch----    Despite appearances Dr. James Algernon was, in fact, human at one point in time. When he was a young boy and the "black ick" had spread across the continent James had the good fortune of running into a young Kajortoq and since then the two had grown to be quite close (much to Paula's teasing). Of course one day old James let his curiosity get the better of him, and he came to an abrupt and brutally painful end.  On the bright side, he did prove Chupacabras were real..and that they could get rabies. For most folks that would be where their story ended, but it seems no one informed James of that fact. As he somehow managed to have his soul inhabit the body of one of angels bizarre puppet dolls, made from wood and the bones of some kind of canine. An expert in the fields of psychology, anthropology, biology, and things retaining to the occult and mystical Dr. Algernon is driven by two things, his love for those he considers family and his borderline obsession with understanding the workings of Magic, both of which have blinded his hindsight and common sense a few times in the past.      The anxious feathered snake Quetzalcoatl, better known simply as Corn, is a quiet soul. Ever sense he was a little hatchling raised by kitty, Corn has always been more at ease alone or with the people he knows well. He earned his nickname when it was discovered the serpent boy had quite the green thumb, especially when it came to growing corn. He has certainly appreciated the additional help he has gotten recently in the form of his adopted sibling figure Hazel and his kindred spirit Wrodak.  Both of which he has become rather attached too.    When Kajortoq was little she was best known for two things, having a lovely singing voice that could heal the sick and for acting way older than she actually was. Now a young adult, she is still known for those things but as of recently she has become known for being the new wielder of the Red Tezcatlipoca. This is an ancient and powerful artifact that takes the form of a burning red wood-stove poker, and can harness the power of the Earth's molten core. It is also said to embody "the virtue of Judgement". Despite her cold exterior, many who know her can vouch that beneath that is a kind, nurturing women. Which has lead her to being what some would call the "mom friend" of the group. It is not too far away from the truth either, as she is already looking after three youngins, Corn, Hazel, and Charles, and has taken Catra under her wing.    Many do not know what to make of Ozama Angeline, or Angel as she is known by her friends. The powerful spirit seems to be a genuinely sweet girl despite her appearance, But the fact that she comes from the "Mictlan Woods", a Realm notorious for being a place for the lost and unwanted souls of the dead; and filled with strange doll and puppet beings made of bone, cloth and other materials (some seemily made by Angel herself), made people a tad hesitant to trust her. But over time people have grown to accept the patchwork girl being around (for the most part).  Nowadays when she is not in Mictlan she can be found tagging along with her adopted human sibling figure, Charles and his friends.    Charles is the very definition of "Problem child" which is no surprise given that his parents were from rival villages, leading to them abandoning him to perish in the cold of winter.  He was found by Angel and Amaroq (not shown). This alone would have lead to the boy having issues, but then it just so happened that he was chosen to wield the Black Tezcatlipoca, a black mass that when left on its own, nearly covered the world in an endless sleep, before being sealed away by Xipe Totec and the three siblings (Xochiquetzal, Ixtlilton and Xochipilli). When he first started using the "black ick" he planned to simply use it to end the villager's feud, but given the fact that he's a kid dealing with the people who abandoned him just for being related to someone from another village, and he now had control over a powerful magical artifact, he got a little mad with power. If it weren't for Kitty and the others' intervention, things could have gotten much worse than it already had. Nowadays he lives both in Mictlan and with Kitty, and while it took awhile, everyone has come to accept him as a member of the group. He has even managed to make a few friends. back----    An expert in illusion magick, Wrip is a master of disguise, all with the help of the magick bottles she makes herself.  If that doesn't work, this resourceful rabbit often uses her skills in flattery and persuasiveness to get her way. A  trick that works on most, save for her significant other Vinkle.    A long time ago Vinkle was charged by the local villages to reign in the illusive rabbit, Wrip.  Whos untethered nature upset them somehow. The finer details of what transpired afterword's is unknown to all, except for them. As what they have told others has, in their words, "creative licenses" but in the end, whatever happened left the two falling for each other and forming a relationship. At first glances it would appear that Vinkle is not all that bright, given his quiet and seemly distractible nature, but in reality he is simply a man of few words and is surprisingly quite perceptive of things.    Catras life has been, to put it lightly, rough. Her childhood was spent as a soldier in training in "The Horde"  with Adora, both of witch were raised by the dark sorceress Shadow Weaver (because that's a name of someone I'd trust around kids).  It was clear to all that while Shadow Weaver loved Adora like a daughter, she merely tolerated Catra, delivering torturous punishments  on the Magicat for any discrepancies caused by either of the two. This harsh treatment would leave psychological, mental, and emotional scars on Catra.  This would lead to her falling into a downward spiral, into villainy, leading to her hurting and driving away the few people in her life that still cared about her. Now after defeating Horde Prime and the exodus to earth, Catra continues her journey of redemption and luckily for her it is not a journey she's taking alone. From Kajortoq who has taken her under her wing, to her two close friends and co-former villains, Zim and Spinel, and finally Glimmer one of the few people in Catras life that has stuck around (and to who she "secretly" feels very deeply for).    Glimmer, the former princess of Brightmoon, was once hailed as a hero of the rebellion and their battle against the Evil Horde. (Why they called themselves "The Rebellion" despite not being concurred by the horde yet is anyone's guess.) But close to the end of the war she lost her mother Queen Angella.  This set her down a dark path, where her anger and grief led her to being manipulated by Shadow weaver. The conniving sorceress convinced Glimmer to activate a powerful device that paved the way for Horde Prime to find Etheria. After his defeat and moving to earth, Glimmer now tries to fix her reputation among the other Etherians as well as redeem herself. Since coming to Earth the former Princess has had a very rocky relationship with her old friends, not only for activating the device, but also for staying with Catra who she has grown very close to (and who she secretly holds feelings for) She has also begun looking out for Frosta, who still greatly admires the sparkly princess.    Icobod, the resident Book worm/stick in the mud of the group, is extremely knowledgeable in a few magical and academic fields. He is also a rather superstitious bird and is obsessed with omens, taking even the most simple ones with the utmost seriousness. Growing up in Hollow, Ichy hid his moguel nature, spending much time in his human form, fearing scrutiny by others if they knew the truth. This lead to him growing distant, even amongst his friends. Nowadays he had grown more comfortable around others, with the resident Irken taking a liking to the "large birdman of science" as he calls him. Another thing worth mentioning is that he has a considerable crush on Wrip that he has not entirely gotten over.    The adoptive little sister of Icobod, Chalchiutlicue, or Calamity as she prefers to go by, is in many ways his polar opposite. With a laid back, free spirit nature, she enjoys spending time out in the wilderness with her friend Huey. Make no mistake though, Calamity may be laid back, but when the time is needed she is more than willing to do what she feels needs to be done. She is also one to usually follow her gut, trusting her instincts despite others input. This has actually contributed to her becoming the wielder of "Tlalocs Tuning fork" a large intricately designed tuning fork that grants the wilder the power to control water provided one sing a certain haunting lyric. When Catra first joined their group, Calamity was very wary of her, but nowadays she has found in some ways a kindred spirit in the Feline Humanoid.    The Newest member of the group, Irina is quite the brawler, seemly always having some kind of bruise or some other injury on her. Despite this the foul mouth canine has quite the cheery disposition, witch goes well with her morbid sense of humor. Her favorite hobby. it seems, is poking fun at Calamity, the only person around who seems capable of matching her wit and despite the Lizard girls statements to the contrary, she always seems happier with the Canine girl around. Nor can anyone deny the glances the two shoot each other when they think the other isn't looking.      Last but certainly not least is "Wrong Hordak", or Wrodak as usually he goes by. When the former drone was cut out of Horde Primes hivemind he was a sobbing wreck as he saw himself as impure and lacking a purpose. Later on though, he saw through Horde Primes lies and aided in his downfall. Nowadays he is happy to be of assistance wherever possible. Usually helping Corn tend to his plants, or with Zim and Jame's research into the occult.               ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kitty, Corn, Calamity, Icobod, Huey, Wrip, Vincle, angel and chareles are from "No Evil" by Betsy Lee it can be found on YouTube and I highly recommend it especially if you love fantasy and Folklore as much as I do (witch is a LOT) Catra, Glimmer, Frosta and Wrodak are from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power on Netflix by Noelle Steven Felitia and Erma are from the Comic series Erma by Brandon Santiago Zim and Gir are from Invader Zim by Jhonen Vasquez Spinel is from the Steven Universe movie and Steven Universe Future by Rebecca Sugar Hazel is from infinity train by Owen Denis

[bloodycassian]

A new Hope

ACOTAR - Cassian x (no gender) reader. Reader is an Illyrian trying to better the future of their people. 

Cassian would not doubt that the world ending may be caused by Rhysand, once he learned of his newest relationship. Cauldron hope that Rhys would be able to explain it better than Cassian was to Rhys. 

“She has a great sense of fighting ability. Rhys listen - she’s just as much of an asset as Feyre is!” He shouted as Rhys walked away. 

“An asset or an ass you can look at Cass? I have tolerated quite a few of your less than admirable partners here but I will not have an Illyrian. The Three of us are enough as it is. Besides we dont even know what clan they’re from I wont-” Rhys paced at the top of the step, his anger building the more Cassian tried to persuade him. 

“Rhys just meet them! Meet them and you’ll understand.” Cassian’s voice was quiet at the end,  almost pleading. The high lord paused, glancing at his friend. Rhys had never known him to use that tone unless it was utterly serious. He weighed the risks in his mind. Deny his Army General a simple pleasure or risk losing valuable secrets about his home territory to possible enemy Illyrian clans? The choice was obvious in his mind, but Cassians’ persistence on the matter made him reconsider. 

Rhy’s sighed, his power draining from his taut muscles. He waved a hand at his friend. “If I feel even a glimmer of note taking in their mind I will -Cassian, I will wipe it clean.” His friend’s face lit up with gratitude. 

Cassian bound up the steps and clapped his high lord on the shoulder, his wings flaring with excitement. “You know not all us pure bred Illyrians are such lying assholes.” 

+

You knew that someone would have to winnow you. The experience itself was much much different than how anyone described it. It made flying to the balcony almost impossible. Your head swam in dark spots and stars that weren’t actually there. Cassian’s warm hands righted you before you tumbled over your own feet when hitting the landing. His strong corded arms wrapped protectively around your middle, making sure you were adjusted to your feet again. 

Your stomach rolled. Never from your entire life of flying had anything made you that woozy before. “I think I’m good now - lets just fly next time.” You breathed and nodded to Cassian for approval. It felt like your entire body had been squeezed into a hole and pulled out the other end. 

“I had the house make breakfast-” Mor chirped as she walked in from the stairs. Food appeared on the enormous table. You turned, and vomited over the side of the balcony. 

+

A few hours later, Cassian was beaming at you from across the table. All were laughing at a story he had just gotten done telling, and this place truly felt like a home for him. You could understand why he wanted so much better for you, for all the Illyrians. Better was possible, especially with such a forgiving high lord that was willing to help with ruling over the war camps. 

“Very charming dear boy, but I believe we were here to interview your new pet.” The tiny woman at the end of the table finally spoke. Her eyes shone of a strange silver white that you had never seen before, and she did not eat. She was unsettling, and the rest of the table quieted. Amren, was her own person in the most definitive way. Cassian had warned you of her. You cleared your throat.

“I believe we have enough open minded Illyrians to begin our own camp, a new group where there are no rites, and females are not clipped.” You had practiced it in your head over and over on the days leading up to your meeting with Rhysands inner circle. 

Cassian was grinning like a smug cat at the high lord and lady. Feyre could not hide her shock, and Mor took a long sip of her wine. Rhys leaned back in his chair, intrigued. “Wouldnt that mean a slaughter of these people? If the others found out. You would be painting a target on your back from the start.” No judgement, only pure questions and curiosity. 

“We are trained, and are willing to shed blood if it comes to it.” You stated, willing your voice not to quaver under his questions. You could feel the power in his mere presence alone, and did not want to see it in action. You took a breath before revealing what you had been hiding until this moment. You glanced toward Cassian, who nodded in encouragement. You rolled up one of the sleeves covering the back of your hand. “I am willing to lead them.” Your dark onyx siphon glinted in the light. Utter silence coated the room, shock echoing throughout. Amren’s mouth dropped - then began beaming at you.

You rolled up the other sleeve, revealing the siphon on the opposite hand. “I am willing to protect them. We just need your help.” You stared at the high lord, who’s eyes were wide and jaw clenched. You didnt want to know what that meant. There was a soft chuckle from behind you.

Azriel was smiling wide as he stood next to you, taking your hand. “Welcome to the club. No way Rhy’s is letting you go now.” 

+

“No winnowing. You can fly back with me or not, but I am going to vomit up that lovely dinner.” You pulled on your jacket, happy to be out of the hot seat at the table. So many questions from every angle besides Amren, who had just summoned a cup from the house and drained it. 

“You’ll have to get used to it sometime. Rhys’ seems very interested in you.” He nudged your shoulder lightly, his wings flaring out - as if to taste the night breeze. “And not at all grateful to me for finding you.” He grumbled. 

You rolled your eyes and stretched your arms, preparing for the long flight. You refused to stay the night, despite Feyre insisting. Nerves would probably make it impossible to sleep anyway. Not to mention the thought of sleeping in the same place as Cassian. He was… too tempting. 

“Maybe we stop and camp if you’re still not feeling great.” He started for the ledge, then in a swift stride disappeared into the darkness. You glanced behind to the empty, already cleaned dining room. Magic house, must be nice. You felt a twinge of sadness as you leapt from the balcony.

A howl of adrenaline ripped through the air as Cassian hit an updraft just before the outside of the Illyrian mountain range. His heart soared, the cold wind kissing his skin and making him feel the best kind of alive. You circled with him, the soft glow of the campfires below were warm, but not inviting. You knew those fires were lit for the ones without even tents to call a home. Shame crashed through you. 

Children of your kind, sleeping out in some of the most vicious winters that Prythian had to offer. It made you shudder. You had done all you could for the mothers of some of the children. For the ones willing for change. You knew that it was an uphill battle to create them a new home, but it would be worth it. It would pay off eventually. 

If it worked.

Cassian banked toward you and matched your speed, his powerful wings within touching distance of yours. There was a long moment of silence between you. The wind and the rasp of your wings against your clothes the only sounds. Your face stricken, you tried to force a smile at him. “You dont have to go back, you know. We can figure something else out if you don't want to stay at the House of Wind.” 

“What would that show my people?” You snapped back at him. The offer was kind, yes but Cassian might not know how bad certain camps had gotten. Especially the smaller ones. Males had begun usurping smaller villages and kicking children and females out of their own homes. That was on the good days, on the normal days there would be puddles of blood in the dirt roads the morning after the raid.

“I just mean maybe we should.. Stay out together?” Cassian trailed off. You felt your cheeks flush with color. “I mean if you want or if you dont its fine we can-” he started rambling as you descended together, landing just outside the flickering light of the village. 

“You mean the great Night Cout General wants to share a tent with a war camp Illyrian?” You teased, pulling your coat tighter against the cold. The wind on the ground seemed to whip more harshly after landings. As if it was punishing you for being in its way. 

Cassian boomed with laughter, “I havent heard of sharing a tent in years. I cant deny it is appealing.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. His dark hair curled around his neck, bringing out the color in his dark cheekbones. He stepped toward you, blocking the wind. “Youre appealing.” His voice dropped to little more than a growl, his eyes were dark glancing from your lips to your eyes. 

Your stomach flipped, tying knots up to your slamming heart. His wings flexed out, hands reaching for yours tentatively. The calluses on his palms were warm, and tough where a sword would lay. They matched his personality. You were ready for this. After looking at his full dark lips so long you were beyond studying the shape and curve of them. You were ready to see if they matched him as perfectly as his hands did. 

A high pitched whistle sounded through the camp. Cassian groaned, his hands tightening on yours. Your eyes widened as you spied the cause of the interruption. A band of males were circling a fire, a few of them with weapons. Some with nothing more than a few scraps of clothes. 

“Shit” You breathed, starting toward the group. You didnt know what you would do, but nothing would touch this village, the camp you worked so hard to preserve. You felt your siphons thrum with power. You would eviscerate them if they would not listen, you knew that much. You had hopes with this side of the village, that this would be more civilised than the south side where the fighting rings were. 

Cassian grabbed your wrist before you could get farther. “I will help. Show yourself to them. Let them feel fear of the siphons. If they dont listen I can.. I will help you.” His eyes hid nothing, icy rage filled them. 

You spun and kissed him, quickly. Quickly before he could pull you in, and get lost in the feeling of pure him. He faded to the shadows, the whisper of his wings the only thing telling you he was monitoring. Even facing a band of murder frenzied Illyrians, you could barely get the smile off your face.

[belit0]

Make sure he never comes back.

Rated: T

Pairings: I’m not spoiling that in this first edition, so if anyone is interested in more from this story, I’ll give that away ;)

I got inspired from a writting prompt, and this was born:

The Land of the Uchihas imposed itself disgustingly throughout the entire Fire Nation, dominating and conquering with force and terror. Small kingdoms and peoples who tried to rise up against their power were subdued, humiliated, stripped of everything they ever possessed. Those who accepted the inevitable with peace and without a fight, found a more relaxed destiny, without being treated like animals for the rest of their lives.

At the beginning of their reign, the Uchihas had been a stable clan, which showed no interest in expanding beyond the lands they owned. Owners of great luxury, they lived in harmony with their exuberant wealth. Reserved, secretive and stoic, no one knew that mysteries were unveiled within the great gates of their village. They did not admit foreigners or people from outside their clan, but neither did they attack anyone who dared to approach them. They were peaceful.

Everything had changed when another clan of the Fire country, the Senju, decided to dominate all the lands around them. Ruthlessly, they murdered all their opponents without a hitch until they encountered an imposing and unexpected enemy, the Uchihas. They would not allow their legacy to fall so easily into the cruel hands of those barbarians. These two groups shared more pain, agony and history than just the dispute over ground; they were related.

With passion and vigour, both families fought their way through a heated struggle that lasted three sunsets and four moon deaths. By the end of the war, the leader of the Uchiha, Indra, all powerful and praised by his followers, had fallen to the sword of his brother, Ashura, leader of the enemy clan. Before receiving reprisals from the surviving Uchihas, he himself fled, ordering a hasty retreat, rejoicing in the victory he was taking from the encounter. The death of his older brother, his only brother, meant nothing to him, and pleasure ran through his veins in the knowledge that he had fallen before the grace of his weapon.

However, Indra’s son, Uchiha Madara, heir to the leadership that his father’s death brought, had seen his progenitor’s death from the front line, and had been unable to act to save him. At only sixteen, the dark-haired teenager had been paralysed by the terror of the scene. His uncle, cold and disheartened, pierced his father with his sword, from his chest to the other end.

When the Senju retreated, panic crept into his system, and Madara ran to the dejected body of his only direct family. He knew he had a younger brother, but he never knew what had become of him. He had not had the pleasure of meeting him, but he had always fantasized about the situation. For some reason, the clan was forbidden to talk about it, and the information was not accessible. He withdrew the blade from the man’s chest, and tried to cover the bleeding wound. It was a clean, side-to-side incision. The amber liquid ran down the torso, soaking the hands of the young man, who was frantically trying to save his father from eternal darkness.

“Son, cease your action. My departure is inevitable.”

Squinting, Indra watched his eager offspring, who struggled to keep him alive. His time was not long, but he was proud to have instilled such passion in the child he had raised. If only he could have saved his other son…

“Father! Don’t abandon me! I beg you…”

“…Child, perpetuate your walk on the path of compassion…justice…evoke the love that I profess to you when the road becomes difficult…do not follow in the footsteps of Ashura…and find him…find your brother…Izuna…”

His last breath left his lungs, as his eyes closed for the last time.

“FATHER! NO!”

After Madara took power, darkness rained down on Uchiha’s land. No one understood what had changed inside the boy, who was once a sweet and gentle kid with the entire clan. Now, he showed himself to be an archaic person and refused to receive contact with anyone. He had inaugurated his first act as a leader by commanding a fierce invasion of the Senju Lands. Not only had they been victorious, but he had cut off Ashura’s head himself and impaled it on the doors of their village as a warning.

Whoever messed with Madara would meet the same fate.

For years, this leader’s empire just grew and grew. His tyranny soon flooded every corner of the nation, forcing, coercing and subduing anyone who crossed his path. The characteristic symbol of this bloodthirsty family, the malevolent red and white fan, spread out gloriously and infamously in the form of flags, plaguing every place where a town or village once resided.

At the age of 23, Madara was staying in the capital of his kingdom, coordinating from the comfort of the main palace the few remaining invasions to completely dominate the entire region. But his mind found little interest in conquest. In fact, establishing himself as the supreme king of the area had never mattered to him. Since his inevitable assumption of power, his only goal had fallen on his father’s last words.

‘Izuna…’ was the only word that resonated in the back of his mind. That name, that beautiful name, meant hope.

“Lord… Are you here with us?” One of his advisors brought him out of his absence, and forced him back into reality. He was meeting with the honorable members of his personal council. Also present was the captain of the military troops belonging to the capital, who directed orders to the barracks located throughout the country in the smaller Uchiha villages that had been founded after each conquest.

Madara observed other unknown faces, but he played down their importance. The last time he had been able to recognize all the members of his clan was when his father was still the leader. Walking the length of the long table where the meeting was taking place, all eyes were on him, waiting for an answer that he was unaware of. He had been fantasizing throughout the discussion. With his arms folded over his chest, one leg crossed over the other, his head held high in front of him, he responded monosyllabically, a sound that always saved him when he was caught off guard.

“Hm.” Nervous glances met each other over their teacups as the murmur echoed again from the meeting room. Easily, he was absent again in the freedom of his imagination, fascinated by the ease with which he could enter that world of fantasy. A world that usually belongs only to children. But his childhood had been corrupted by a lost brother… Izuna.

When the session was over, Madara was motionless in his seat. Imitating his action, the captain of the military forces, remained unmoving in his position, accustomed to that routine. Both waited for the room to empty before speaking.

"My lord, I am afraid to announce the lack of progress in the mission you have given me. My fittest men and I have ridden without ceasing for weeks and…”

“Are you telling me there’s no sign of him?”

“My lord… my convictions… I dare to declare that your brother must have died by now…”

He could not finish speaking, for from where Madara sat, a knife flew without warning, and was mercilessly thrust into the man’s eye. He was an expert in cutting weapons, and never missed a chance to practice on live targets. No one could talk about his brother in that way. Ever since he became a leader, Izuna’s quest was an ever-present mission. The entire Fire Nation had been scoured, searched for in every corner by that young Uchiha that no one knew about and had never been seen.

But Madara was no fool. He knew what his clan thought. He knew that they thought him insane for searching so hard for a person who resembled a ghost. The resources devoted to tracking down his brother were incalculable, to the extent that the Uchiha were at a financial low, never before reached by his predecessors, thanks to him.

He could hear the servants rumouring about how he had lost his mind. He could hear his men doubting his ability to carry them through. His family, the legacy his father had given him at the cost of his blood, was now beginning to turn its back on him. All they wanted was the total conquest of the region. To receive the unpleasant title of supreme leader. None of that mattered in his life, for what he wanted most was to regain what he had never been able to have.

Despite the differences he had with the people he was leading, as he no longer considered it right to call them relatives, he was aware that he needed his position as a ruler to get the help of the clan, and thus find the whereabouts of Izuna. His brother’s story was still a mystery. No one knew what had become of him after his birth, no one had seen him, no one could describe his appearance. A needle in a haystack. And although in the back of his mind the word ‘dead’ flickered with dazzling lights, he refused to pay attention to it. He would spend his whole life searching for him if necessary.

—————————————-

Facing a new dawn, Madara’s horse rode bravely before his commands, guiding the military formation that followed behind him. The Uchiha travelled at great speed from the capital to one of the newly opened villages, located almost on the border of the land of fire and wind. Carrying swords, bows and arrows, shields with the clan’s emblem, they hurried through the rising heat, wearing gleaming black armor. They covered the entire torso, shoulders, and the front and back of the legs. Combat sandals, suitable for the need for skill, could be seen on the warriors’ feet.

The leader of the troop, distinguishing himself from the others, wore a long black cape attached to the shoulders of his armor, identifying him as the head of the squadron. After coldly annihilating the former commander in the meeting room, Madara had decided to personally take charge of the military section. His long dark hair cascaded down his back, dancing uncontrollably in the face of the horse’s revolutions and the wind. The urgent hurry was due to the announcement of a runway that had arrived in the capital that morning, carried by a messenger hawk. The leader of the location to which they were travelling, reported having found conclusive information about the famous “Izuna” and demanded the immediate presence of Madara to verify the veracity of the facts.

When they woke him up and he personally read the message that the pale and breathless maid had brought him, his heart beat as fast as when he saw his father die in front of his eyes. Putting together a team and having them travel that distance from one moment to the next was risky and extremely rushed, but the expectation consumed him and the urge to find out what that clue was was too much to hope for.

When he was forced to rest because the night was falling on them, anger took hold of him in such a pure way that he had to get away from the whole group so as not to kill them on the forest floor. He made up his personal sleeping space at a great distance from his men, knowing that it was unlikely that he would encounter any thieves or outsiders in the area as it was under his power. He stripped off his armor and did not even bother to set up a proper shelter for the early morning hours. Wearing the black clothes, he always wore under his war protection, he placed the shield of his torso on the grass and laid his head on it, using it as a pillow.

He relaxed by looking at the green leaves on the trees, feeling the breeze playing with his loose hair. Before he knew it, he was fantasizing. He thought of arriving in that village and meeting a young Uchiha, his brother. His only remaining relative, who would accompany him for the rest of his life. He would not have to be alone anymore. Eventually, amidst emotions, happiness and dreams, darkness lulled him to the land of rest, and he managed to sleep.

But he had made a mistake in thinking that he was alone.

———————————–

When he woke up, he felt happily renewed, ready to reach that blissful place and discover that mystery. But unfortunately, he was not in the forest. The sounds of nature did not reach his ears, the morning breeze did not blow on his senses. Something was wrong. Reluctantly, he wanted to open his eyes, only to realize that, even if he tried, the world was still dark around him.

He did not allow despair to grow inside him, years of war, fighting and training had shaped him into a warrior fit to face any scenario. He tried to move his hands, to bring them to his face to confirm that his eyesight was covered by something, but discovered that he was chained. Handcuffs were tight and constricting, hugging his wrists. He tested the range of motion, and noticed that he could move his arms at least a little forward. He was not totally restricted.

He lifted one leg, confirming the theory that he also had shackles on his ankles. Again, a small range of motion was granted to him. He was sitting against a cold, solid wall with all his limbs tied off and deprived of his sight.

He could only hear, smell at the very least. The rage of being held against his will one step away from finding information about the man he had sought for so many years consumed him in an inexplicable way, but he could not afford to act recklessly and ruin his chances of escape because of his impulses.

He waited, waited and waited, still in the cold, secret place, unanswered and boiling inside. He had no idea how much time had passed, what time of day it was, what had become of his troop. The unknowns overwhelmed his head when a sound took him out of his anxiety. Without conveying any emotion to the outside world and determined to be indecipherable to his captors, he heard footsteps coming down a long staircase. Then the person walked down what he thought was a corridor, until it got closer and closer to him. The footsteps stopped, and the rumble of a heavy titanium door being opened was heard throughout the room where he was being held.

“I apologize, my King, for the lack of decorum on the occasion… unbecoming of our usual action. But… before one such as you, Lord Uchiha, we cannot take risks, I hope you understand.”

A female voice spoke from somewhere in the room. He could tell that the woman was standing in front of him by the direction of the sound, and from the information provided, she was some kind of thief; probably, a group of them. He would remain silent, and would not offer compromising information to his enemy. Not because he cared about his clan, but because of the custom of wartime. Once again, he felt like a teenager, where he was targeted because he was the leader’s son. Today, however, he was the leader.

“Did the cat eat your tongue, My Lord?”

Internally he found it amusing to think that this should be taken as an insult. The woman he was dealing with seemed to have no desire to mistreat or torture.

“…Man of few words… Blessed. The payment for your ransom should be coming any minute, Lord Uchiha. You will be free then.”

With that said, the woman’s footsteps were heard again, moving away from him calmly. The door resounded thunderously after a few seconds, and as it closed, the footsteps continued down the corridor that he sensed following. The footsteps disappeared behind the many steps a moment later.

Abduction for profit’ had been delayed by something as banal as materials. He felt insulted, anger threatened to show itself, to glow through his strength and to tear off the chains that kept him confined to that place. But that, he had to admit, as incredibly tempting as it was, was also incredibly stupid. When the Uchiha paid the ransom, he would be released peacefully and could finish the journey to the village quietly, assuming that the group holding him was large enough to rule over that area.

He.Just.Had.To.Wait.

And so, it was. He ate the ration of food that was given to him some time later, and felt the hours go by inside him, until eventually sleep overcame him. He was startled when he was awakened by a slight kick in his calf. His body was asleep and cramped, thanks to the lack of movement due to the restriction of the chains. He needed to move, his energy and his mood were deep within him.

Reluctantly, he came back to life when he heard the voice of the same woman speaking to him again. Without warning, he felt a delicate touch over his eyes, and the blindfold that deprived him of his sight was removed. By reflection, he held his eyelids tight to the sudden invasion of light. It was not very strong, for the room where he was imprisoned was dreary and poorly lit, but after being in the darkness for an indefinite time, even the smallest illumination felt enormous.

When he managed to focus his eyes again, he could appreciate the woman in front of him. She was short, with long, long pink hair, reaching down to her lower back. Emerald eyes looked at him intently, and a purple jewel in the shape of a rhombus adorned her forehead. A long black cape with strange red details covered her body, but it opened at the front of her figure to reveal the tight black shirt and dark trousers she wore underneath. The sleeves were so long that Madara could not see her hands, which made him uneasy as he could not see if she was carrying weapons.

“…O my King… My Lord… I have news…”

Slowly, the pink-haired woman moved one of her arms. Alerted, the Uchiha looked intently at her hand, anticipating an attack or an assassination attempt. To his surprise, when the sleek limb was revealed under the long sleeve of her cloak, the only thing that appeared was an envelope. Specifically, marked with the symbol of the Uchiha clan.

Confused and amazed, Madara held the object in the hand where the woman had placed it, as he could not deliberately move them. It was a letter, and it was open.

“I suppose it is a pity for you… My Lord… but we, on the other hand, are wonderfully rich.”

On the paper, it read as follows:

“To whomever this statute has the pleasure of addressing

We cannot ignore the assistance given by you in the removal of Lord Madara

As a token of our gratitude, we sent twice the amount you requested, in exchange for one last favor

Please

Make sure he never comes back to us.

                                                                       -The Honorable Uchiha Council”

The words his eyes saw broke the last barrier of self-control he had left, and he couldn’t help but explode at that very moment. His family had taken the opportunity of his abduction to get rid of him. They were using this group of thugs to see that his presence was eradicated. It was an insult to his father, to him. To his brother.

The chains on his wrists came off the wall when, with a battle cry, the Uchiha used all his strength to free himself. Finally, being able to move his arms, he allowed his anger and contained ferocity to run through his veins, without any restrictions. Outside of himself, he lunged at the woman in front of him, and straddling her, he placed his hands around her neck. The force he exerted was too much, and the pink-haired woman soon began to lose the color in her skin and the air in her airways.

“I JUST WANT MY BROTHER!”

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.4 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: Not much to say here except I hope y’all enjoy the chapter!

Your kind words and reviews mean a lot to me, so please don’t afraid to leave a message/comment!

Summary: The return of a friend may bring a new approach to hardships.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, mentions of death/killing/blood

Words: 2,079

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

This was taking way too long.

When you first thought to look through Rauf’s seemingly countless journals, notes, archive books, and who knew what else, you thought you could fly through them and possibly get your answers in the first week of research.

Clearly, that was not the case.

It was day twelve thousand and who the fuck knows, and you still had no leads of where your mother was. Let’s just say Rauf wasn’t one to make typical journal entries. They were all cryptic, or strictly professional. You wished he would take after a poet and write every little feeling down, that way this process would be easier on you and everyone around you.

‘Everyone around you’ being Jaskier.

“Gods be fucking damned!”

Jaskier blinked at your hunched over figure by the window of your room, having just walked in from the tavern below. “Nice to see you too.”

You threw the current notebook you were reading on the floor with a little more force than necessary. “This is pointless.”

“Now, I wouldn’t go that far.” Jaskier walked over and picked up the book, placing it gently on the table next to the pile of ever-growing papers. He sat beside you on the window sill, placing a hand on your knee which had been bopping up and down from frustration. “You need a break.”

“I need a drink.”

“That too.” Jaskier placed a kiss on your cheek and patted your leg before standing up, grabbing his lute and opening the door to your room so you would follow him downstairs. “I have a surprise for you in the tavern — but don’t get your hopes up. It’s not a pony.”

Your frustration had died down enough by Jaskier’s presence that you actually had to stifle a laugh at his words; wordlessly, you followed the bard down to the tavern where he was supposed to be preparing a performance. Though he was relatively famous elsewhere, the people of this village didn’t care too much for his shows — or maybe they had just gotten sick of them. Still, he managed a deal with the inn owner to lessen the cost of your room if he played shows every other night.

Your mind was still clouded by thoughts of your frustration when the two of you made it to the tavern floor. You had almost forgotten that Jaskier mentioned a surprise — that was, until, your eyes immediately fell upon it. Or, him.

You gasped at the stark white hair that was facing the opposite direction, sitting at a small table not far from you. Your voice came out in a breath of disbelief, “Geralt?”

The witcher turned around, and at the sight of you and Jaskier, he stood from his spot. After months of not seeing him, he somehow looked bigger.

The size of your smile nearly surprised you, but you didn’t suppress it as you rushed over to him. “Oh, gods. It’s been a while.”

He merely nodded, but couldn’t suppress his smile either. “It has.”

Jaskier stood between you two, placing his hands on both of your arms, “As much as I love this reunion, I do have a performance to give to this lovely group of people. Save a drink for me later, yeah?” Geralt simply nodding, and Jaskier sent you a wink before settling on the makeshift stage in the tavern.

You patted Geralt’s arm before sitting at the table across from him, where a drink was already set down for you. “Jaskier was right. It’s definitely a surprise to see you here, but about time. You look…different, somehow.”

“I could say the same.” Geralt nodded, and for the first time in a while, you noticed just how old his eyes looked. Not in a measure of age, but instead a measure of his knowledge. His lips quirked up slightly at the way you were staring at him in something short of awe. “You look good. Calmer.”

You snorted, lifting your drink to your lips, “If only I felt that.”

Jaskier’s voice filled the tavern’s walls, his lute accompanying him in a flawless duet. You looked over your shoulder, watching him practically prance around despite the lack of care from the tavern folk.

Geralt’s voice made you turn back around, “He looks better.”

You nodded, taking a sip of the drink Jaskier had no doubt chosen for you. In the months that you and Geralt convinced him to stay put, he had definitely gained back his energy and strength. Right after the three of you left Novigrad, it sent a pang to your stomach just to look at him. He was so fragile, so tired, and generally sad. It was strange to see Jaskier like that, and even though he had the same charm about him, it was dull. But he got better, and now he was pretty much back to his normal self.

Geralt’s voice brought you back to reality again, “You two have gotten closer.”

You nearly choked on your drink, but kept the cup high enough to cover the obvious surprise etched on your face. Geralt only smirked.

When you gained your composure, you managed a shrug, “There’s a lot you missed.”

“You know that witchers have sensitive hearing, don’t you?”

You frowned. Of course you knew that. Geralt could hear bandits that were further than you could even see — not to mention how he heard Jaskier’s faint heartbeat that night at your guild.

You blinked away the flashes of that memory, instead focusing on the cup in your hand. After you nodded, Geralt watched you with nothing short of amusement.

“What?” You snapped, already annoyed by his presence. You forgot how full of himself he could be — even more-so than Jaskier.

Geralt nodded, “Hearing heartbeats helps in more strenuous situations. I can tell where people — or creatures, are. I can tell when they are lying. When they’re afraid.” He shifted his eyes to Jaskier, who continued performing. “And then there’s the opposite side. The one that spikes a heartbeat because of a human’s strongest emotion. Love. The one that happens when he looks at you. Or you look at him.”

Your jaw was open wide enough to catch flies. You tried to ignore the word he used: love. Instead, you focused on the general summary of what he said. “You knew?”

“Even without the hearing I would’ve known.”

Your eyes widened, face heating up even more at the way he smirked playfully at you. But for you, nothing about this was playful. It felt like an attack. You almost wanted to punch Geralt in the face, to hide behind your own skin. Somehow, Geralt’s simple ability felt like an invasion of privacy. But still, you laughed.

“Piss off, witcher.”

Once you cooled down, he spoke again — this time, without the glint in his eye that made you want to stab something. “Jaskier told me you’ve been doing your share of research.”

You scoffed, “Trying to. Did he go into details?”

“No.” You tilted your head. Jaskier had, for lack of better words, a big mouth; still, he must’ve known you would want to bring this up with Geralt yourself. You made a mental note to thank him for that later.

You swirled the drink in your hand, keeping your eyes trained on the way it moved in your cup. “Before my uncle died, he told me my mother was alive. That he didn’t kill her when he took me from my village. So…I’m trying to find her.” You looked back at Geralt, who listened with his typically stoic face. “It’s been harder than I thought it would be. In all of his notebooks, he didn’t bother to mention any clues about finding her.”

“Have you tried going to the village he took you from?”

“I was too young when he took me away to remember where it is. And he didn’t write it down. Trust me, I’ve looked. Multiple times.”

“Hm.” Geralt sat back in his seat, a frown finding its way on his face. After a moment, he spoke, “What about that other guild leader? The one in Novigrad.”

You tilted your head in consideration. Arnet was the one who gave you Rauf’s belongings, the one who knew Rauf best — it was completely possible that he would know where your mother was, or at least where she used to be.

Still, you shook your head. “No.”

“No?”

“I could go back. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d let me in. But…the chance is too slim.” At Geralt’s frown, you continued. “I might have thrown away my guild patch. He wouldn’t trust me if I didn’t have it.”

You slumped back in your seat, downing the rest of your drink with a heavy gulp. That night that Jaskier was still unconscious in bed, you ripped the patch from your cloak like it was poisonous. Because in a way, it was. You didn’t want to have anything to do with it, not after you spoke to Arnet for what you thought was the last time. And even though Arnet could be the key to finding your mother, it would be a big risk to try and talk to him without the patch. He would be suspicious, for sure.

But instead of slumping back like you did, Geralt leaned over to the satchel that was beside him, digging around for something. With a grunt, he pulled out the very patch that you thought you would never see again, and put it on the table in front of you.

Your mouth dropped open, “What? How?”

The glint in Geralt’s eye returned. “I found it in the room in Novigrad. Took it before we left. Thought might come in handy.”

“Oh my gods.” You grabbed the patch from the table, almost not believing it was there. You never thought seeing the familiar embroidering would give you such joy. It wasn’t the same disgusting reminder as it once was — now, it felt like you were holding the key that would further your journey in finding your mother.

“Oh my gods!” You repeated, letting a joyous laugh escape your lips as a wide smile filled your features.

Geralt quirked a brow ever so slightly, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “You’re welcome.”

—

“Never did I think that as soon as we saw Geralt again, I would be saying another goodbye to you.”

You and Jaskier were back in your shared room, not long after the three of you had shared a round of drinks in the tavern. After you each retired to your respective places, you broke the news to Jaskier. And although he was just as excited as you were to find new information, the truth dawned on both of you soon enough.

“I won’t be gone for nearly as long.” Your voice was almost empty of emotion, and you hated yourself for it. Goodbyes were never a thing you needed or cared for. But right now, it would hurt too much to actually say it. In fact, it hurt too much to look at Jaskier, which was why you put all your energy into packing your small bag.

“Y/N.” Jaskier’s hand found its way on your wrist, pulling your attention away from the bag that was not as interesting as you made it seem. You turned to Jaskier, trying to ignore the tug that made its way in your chest.

Jaskier placed a hand on your cheek, letting you fall into his touch. He nearly whispered, “I know you have to do this. But I will miss you.”

His tone of complete sincerity made you swoon. His hand guided your face towards his own, but just as your lips were about to meet his, you pulled back slightly. “You better not follow me this time.”

Jaskier smiled a mischievous smile and moved his hands to your waist, pulling you against his chest. “And what if I did?”

“You’d better hope those training sessions have come in handy.”

“Hm.” This time, you let him connect his lips to yours, tasting the drinks that you shared in the tavern. Your hands were finding their way behind his head when he pulled away. “Do you really think I could beat you?”

You smiled, twirling his hair beneath your fingertips. “No.”

And you kissed him again.

———————————————————————————————————

That last ‘no’ was the epitome of ‘no ❤️’.

Let me know your thoughts!

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Three

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns​ yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings.  He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her.  Will he get more than he bargained for though?

I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake​ for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4​ for being an amazing beta reader!

The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One  Two

Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown

By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.

What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.

For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.

It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.

Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.

And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…

The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.

He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.

He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.

And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.

At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.

"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."

"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.

"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"

He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."

"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.

"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"

"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."

"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."

"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"

"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"

"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"

She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."

"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.

**********

After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.

He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.

Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.

"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.

"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."

"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.

"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"

"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.

"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."

"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."

"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."

"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?

"Please, just follow me. You will see."

He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.

The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.

With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.

The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.

"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.

The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.

"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.

"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.

"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"

"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."

"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"

"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."

"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.

"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."

"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."

"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."

"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"

"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."

She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.

"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.

How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…

When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.

He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.

"Emma? You look vexed, love…"

"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"

Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?

"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"

"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"

"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"

She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."