#i lucked out and found a decent replacement pair on sale right after i started noticing their decay but i'll still look into repairs

[sol-flo]

they should make odometers for shoes tbh

[sporadic-writer]

Lost Wallet

Summary: being a good person pays off in the end

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: um none I think? Maybe swearing but if you're bothered by that you got bigger issues than a fanfic lol

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New York City, a place with a higher population than most of the states in this country. People of all kinds live together in one crowded, yet anonymous cluster. It is a city where anything is possible and people can be themselves. Hence why you became a cliche and moved here after college and finding a job. The city felt right for you to live in, that and Venice is sinking and less feasible for a recent college graduate not in the 1%. Everyone lives their own life as many pass by every hour. Although, one afternoon changed things for you.

You were enjoying a lovely Saturday, no work luckily and you were heading back to your place in Chelsea, walking from Central Park and just passing Times Square. Normally you would take the train, or a cab, but walking sounded nice. The day isn’t too cold, and the city seems calm today. People pass normally, not swarming with sight-seers and such. Music played through your ear buds as you were in your own little world, until you saw some guy's wallet fall to the ground just as he was passing you to go towards the sea of tourists and ongoers. No one seemed to notice, including him, and you didn’t want it to get stolen by some jerk. Picking it up quickly you turned to his direction.

"Hey wait! Your.. wallet.. God damnit." He was no where is sight. Upon noticing his lack of presence, your yell faded quickly. Despite turning back to possibly catch up with him, it was as if the crowd swallowed him up. How does someone vanish like Houdini at 1pm on a Saturday? Even in this city he shouldn't be gone this quickly.

Stepping to a bench at the side, you huffed and opened it up to see if there were clues to help you return it. You were relieved to see it at least wasn't an out of city tourist whose wallet you'd have to return via snail mail. A gym membership card, ooh a fancy gym for that matter, some other cards, and a metro card tucked into the slots were the only details about who the guy was. It was the name however, on the ID that gave you pause. It read Sebastian Stan, *insert details and address here*, and you did a double take to make sure this was legit. Yes, the cards in the wallet matched his photo ID. A famous actor lost his wallet in the last place to do so. At least you aren't an asshole. You would return the wallet in the same condition you found it in, contents included. But now it felt more challenging and weird. Main goal, return wallet without looking like a stalker fan.

Thinking to yourself, drowning out the street art vendors yelling out over your music to make sales, you thought about were he could be. “Alright... I noticed no bag, so the gym’s probably out. He could’ve been getting food or going to a meeting. Ah god I’m gonna have to go to his place like a creep.” Hailing a cab, you went off to..? Right. To the Upper East Side. Oh of course.

Flash forward to the cab pulling up to the specific address. To make it a little less intimidating, the building was at least not in the heart of the Upper East Side, just off to the side. However, it still made your Chelsea flat look like a box in the subway. Walking inside you made your way into the main lobby/entryway and tried to not look lost. Sadly, there was no way to figure out which apartment was his. No letterbox or list of tennants to buzz people up. Asking seemed odd to do, maybe he keeps it quiet here, so asking for his apartment could land you in the loony bin or given a restraining order. Best option, chill in the lobby and wait for him to make an appearance before someone kicks you out.

After nearly 2 hours, you start to think that maybe it isn’t worth it to wait. He’s a celebrity, surely this is no issue for him. Cards can be replaced without any delay. You wouldn’t wait this long for anyone else. Well, you would wait for anyone else, but this amount of time wouldn't be needed. Mind you, anyone else would have a normal public mail box and/or apartment number for proper returning of lost items. Now, what to do with the damned wallet? You sat and pondered while fiddling with the wallet in your hands. Deep in thought you didn’t notice the owner approach you.

“I don’t think that belongs to you.” Looking up you saw him, dressed the same as when he passed you earlier that day. He had a kind expression on his face.

You stood up and responded. “Um yeah.. you dropped it earlier outside Times Square. I tried to trail back and find you, but no luck. I’m not a creep I promise, just wanted to return this. Big fan, but not a weirdo. Just wanted to make sure no one took your stuff or potentially robbed you.” As you finished you stuck the wallet out to him. He took it and put it back in his pocket. “Everything is in there and I don’t plan on spreading where you live to the public.” Trying to be light and not show your nervousness you chuckled at the end.

He simply smiled and nodded before saying, “I appreciate you returning this and not letting it get into the wrong hands. Sorry I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh, it’s Y/N. And really it’s no big deal.” You smiled and started to take a couple step to the door. “Now that that is taken care of, I’ll let you get back to living your life. It was really nice to meet you.” Waving lightly you walked away. It made him laugh as he heard you grumble to yourself about not getting a photo or something. The words, "no one will believe this," were enduring. He caught on that you were a fan, but a polite and respectful one.

Before you fully went through the doorway he caught up and said, “I’d gladly take a picture with you. Or something to thank you.”

“No no that isn’t necessary. You weren't even supposed to hear that... I didn’t want to ask you that and seem like I holding your address and wallet hostage for a meet and greet. I truly just wanted to make sure your shi- stuff got returned.” Your smile was sincere and it made his heart warm at a genuinely real and decent person. Plus, he caught how you tried not to swear and actually found it kind of cute.

“Y/N, please you did this, now let me say thank you. No need to be polite. I want to.” His words were determined, yet not pressuring. You could tell he was just as sincere as you were. Blushing slightly, you agreed and he continued. “Good. Now how about a cup of coffee? Or maybe a late lunch?”

You were almost at a loss for words. Unfortunately, your mouth and brain weren’t connected as you replied. “Holy shit are you asking me out? Wow.” Then you realized what just happened and your eyes widened. “Oh god. Ignore me there. I’d love that, but while waiting for you my friend texted me and needs help with some paperwork applying for a job similar to mine. So, maybe rather than coffee and lunch, how about a beer and dinner? Make the most of a nice Saturday night? Unless you’re busy?”

Ease filled you as he smiled. “Yeah sure. I haven’t had a normal night out in a while.”

“Awesome. I can meet you here around 7ish? I know a chill dive bar between here and Midtown with good food and drinks. No one would really bother you.” It was shocking how calm you actually were at the moment. One minute you were returning a wallet, nervous to be taken as a stalker, and now you were planning to meet up with a movie star.

Your thoughts were broken as his words hit your ears. “Yeah that works for me. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks again for bringing this back to me, for real!”

“Like I said, it’s no problem. I’ll see you later I guess.” You smiled and turned to the exit again. As you got a few steps outside you heard him call your name.

Turning to him, trying to keep hair out of your eyes, saw him smile at you. “By the way. I was asking you out.” Then he had the nerve to pop back into his building as if nothing happened. All while you were smiling and stunned in the street.

"I have a date with Sebastian Stan." Wow not the compensation you thought you would get for returning a wallet.

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Thank you for reading! :) like and reblog!

Feedback is appreciated.

[vesperlionheart]

STAG

For @sariasprincy because she wanted this waaaay back when and I finally got around to attempting my hand at Dark!Tobirama Sakura. :D

He watched her pull her hair up, catching it with her fingers when it started to slip free. She ran her free hand over her neck, starting at the base where the peaks of her bones stuck out, bent as she was over the river. He felt just as trapped as the fish in her net, watching her pale fingers follow the curve of her neck, suddenly too dry and hoarse for words.

With silent fingers made skilled from year of weaving, she tied up her hair to keep it out of her eyes, and then looped it again into a bun she fastened with a hair stick that could have been a twig for how crude it looked. A few stray curls framed her face, rebellious and free as she straightened and let the sun fall over her profile once more.

Nothing else adored her figure, no metal or stone or bead or weaving decorated her as she set about hauling up her catch from the nets. A moment later he realized why that was so odd. She wasn’t dressed as the other women in his village were ought to do. She didn’t even wear skirts, but instead waded into the water with clinging damp trousers that rolled up just above her knee.

Someone called to her and she caught the thick rope out of the air before twisting it around her fist and digging into the shifting river bed. She set her shoulders and turned the shape of her body away from the source, then he saw her move, pulling the weight up from under the water.  

“I told you, brother, the freshest fish in the land right here. Even at market they’re not still wriggling,” Hashirama laughed. “You fancy some for dinner?”

“That,” Tobirama began, still somehow unable to look away, “should be obvious considering this was the reason for your troublesome expedition.”

It took some effort, but he manage the swallow, blink, and force his face away in that order. He caught sight of a pair of scarred fishermen wading out of the water with cages under their arms and the sight was enough to ease him back into his casual displeasure. He did not want his brother to get any ideas about their expedition being somehow enjoyable. If Hashirama ever got that into his head there would be no end to the nagging.

“It does you more good than you’re willing to admit to get out of that tower of yours,” Hashirama huffed. “You stay cooped up in your stoney prison all day and all night for months and years on end of course your personality is going to grow stale. I’m afraid I can’t take you anywhere that might make you happy.”

“I’m perfectly happy at home with my books and my work,” Tobirama lied.

Hashirama reached for his brother and drew him into a side hug, smushing their shoulders together.  “You work far too hard for such an unfavored wizard.”

“We can’t all marry princesses with lands as vast as east is from the west and grow fat for our daughters. Some of us must contribute to this wretched earth.” 

 Tobirama felt his lip curl as he pushed out of his brother’s hold and then straightened the front of his frock. It was pale gray with the crest of a black stag across the heart. A single pendant on a gold chain, vibrating with stored magic, hung down from around his neck.

Unlike his brother Tobirama dressed in muted colors of black and gray and didn’t decorate himself with many metals or jewels unless it served a function he could justify. If need arose, he could use the Hag’s Eye to unleash a simple lightning strike. All Hashirama’s ring could do was glitter.

Most days he never needed much more than his cantrips. It had been many years since his initiation into the Philosopher’s Guild and his promotion to Providence Wizard. There weren’t many others who were of his caliber anymore, and even fewer who could make him believe they were even a challenge. It had been so long he forgot what his limits were, sometimes.

“You said you wanted something different for dinner, so lets get some fish before the best tails are taken!” The cheerful Lord exclaimed, pushing past his brother and hailing down a pretty help maid who was setting up baskets for sale.

“Who even says such ridiculous things?” Behind Hashirama’s back Tobirama mocked his older brother in a higher voice that wasn’t nearly as flattering as the original. “Before the tails are taken. Pssssh.”

He froze when he heard a petite snort just over his shoulder.

Spinning on his heel he couldn’t help but raise his guard. Someone was close enough without his notice and as powerful as he was, he wasn’t without his enemies. 

The long tails of his sleeves flapped out at his side as he raised his hands for fire magic, but it was only his face that heated.

The lovely vision of a woman he had been transfixed on earlier stood with a crate under her arm, resting on her hip.

“Mister,” she called with a smile so bright and white it should have been a warning. “Will you buy from me today?”

-

“Of course I know about you. Anyone in the seven hills who has ever had to pay with copper knows about you,” Sakura laughed in an exasperated way. She leaned back on the end of the bar’s edge with her elbows. She let the leg she had crossed over the other bounce teasingly. “Why, you thought you were being subtle?”

“We have not been formally introduced. I know not your family and you-”

Sakura held up a hand to stop him and like some sort of strange magic he did. She was bewitching and pretty, but after enough encounters he was almost positive there was something more than just her own womanly charms that bound him so.

“We don’t do that sort of thing around these parts. No one under this roof doesn’t have to slave for his bread and home, mister wizard.” There was a rough tilt in her words, something rural and easy that made her words fit the landscape better than his own polished ones. She spoke like a local and he was, as always, the odd sheep out. He didn’t…hate the sound of her voice, even if she said a few things wrong or addressed him incorrectly.

“High Wizard or Tower Wizard would be more appropriate,” he corrected. In spite of his self imposed confidence, he felt himself tug on the end of his tunic and fret with the hem of its fabric. Something possessed him to worry if it was properly pressed and not wrinkled in her presence.

“Makes no difference to me,” Sakura said. She reached for her ale and drank deep before replacing it on the bar by her side. “I’m not working in the rivers today, so why bother me here mister high tower wizard?”

He could tell the way she said it none of his names were title, only worthless words in her mouth….her pretty perfect mouth. She shook himself free of the thought and pressed on with his business.

“You’re untrained, but you are not without the gift.”

Sakura stilled but then eased back into the bounce of her leg. She glanced over her shoulder and pointed to her empty tankard before wiggling two fingers. When the bar keep turned away to fill her order Sakura turned around as well.

“That wouldn’t be quite true, sir. It’s not legal to train the magic folk unless they’re sworn to a crowned figure. No one here has any magic.”

“Nature conforms to no man.”

“Yet it grows for the wizards and their towers,” Sakura countered quickly.

“You’re not as untrained as you first appear, I believe,” Tobirama pressed. He dared a step closer.

“Depends on your definition of trained and untrained, sir. I’ve never practiced magic in no tower or school, but I work the rivers and the fields when its time and I sew with the women and wash with them too. I can fix most of the carts in town and deliver most of the livestock too if the need rises for it. I’m half decent as a midwife because of necessity and some say I’m not shit at cards neither. Maybe I’m not magic trained, but I get by.”

Two tankards were set down behind her arm and she reached to drink from the second one.

“Are you unwilling to learn and develop your gift?” he asked.

He almost cringed, watching her down the first drink in a single breath. He thought she might offer him the second drink, but then she reached for it too replacing her empty tankard with the third one.

“No such thing, told you, we know it’s illegal. Any gift in any babe is prayed out of them right away. No exception.”

“But you’re not from around here, are you?”

Sakura didn’t drink, but stilled with the tankard close to her chin. She seemed to be staring down into it, watching something in her amber colored reflection.

“Oh?”

“Your accent is unusual, and I might not have noticed it at first because all rural accents seem to sound the same, but there is a difference. Where were you born?”

Sakura laughed, reaching out with the toe of her bouncing leg to touch his knee before turning around in her seat to finish the last of her drink. With her back to him she left the money on the table and then slid off the stool. Once on her own two feet, her petite stature became all the more apparent. Tobirama towered over her.

“I’m sorry mister tower wizard, but that’s too fun a story to not save for later when you actually get to know me.” She sauntered to the door and then turned on a half spin before ducking out. “Next time offer to buy my drinks you dumbass.”  

-

She was magic, he was sure of it. She was as rough as anything unpolished is bound to be when found in the wilds of nature, be he would be the riverbed that shaped her into her greatest potential if only she would let him.

But she was as vexing as she was enchanting.

She didn’t talk to him when she was working, and if she was selling she wouldn’t say anything to his questions and queries unless he purchased something, and sometimes she made him purchase more than he was willing to use just to get her responses. What was he supposed to do with four dozen river crab? He didn’t even like crab. No amount of butter was going to change that.

When she was at the pub she liked to play cards and he could usually get her to talk to him if he played with her, and he wasn’t bad, but her luck and perception was blessed by some higher power, be it fay or the Unknown or some organized god.

She spoke best after winning when he bought her alcohol.

He had learned where she came from, or as much as she knew anyway. Left behind as a baby in Oberon’s Forest and raised by working men, she had been trained to close off the part of her that gravitated towards things unexplained for fear of causing her foster family grief. The things she couldn’t help, like the suggestion and calming of emotions was something she had never been able to stifle.

“It’s funny how that doesn’t work on you,” she said once.

“I’m far too stimulated around you to be calmed by something so passive as a cantrip.”

She asked him to explain his words but he bought her another drink instead and then asked for his wine to be paired with a nice cheese and bread. She laughed and almost fell out of her chair, but it wasn’t because the beer, because it never was. She could drink a horse’s weight in ale and still do cartwheels.

In the past three months he had left his tower for a small town in his providence more times than he had in the six years he had been stationed there. He wasn’t sure that was a good or bad thing yet, but he knew it wasn’t going to change until he got what he wanted.

“You’re always asking me questions, why don’t you ever answer mine?” Sakura complained.

“You never ask me anything,” he said. His heart felt a little heavy.

“You never let me get a question in. You just start talking about yourself all on your own. Here’s a secret for you, honey, I never listen when you do that.” Sakura pulled her chair closer to his and he didn’t flinch, but his breathing might have skipped.

“I think I am insulted.”

Sakura waved her hand between them. “Don’t be, it’s the same as with everyone who’s stuck up. I don’t listen to any of them none either.”

“You think I’m stuck up?”

Sakura reached out and traced the embroidery of a gray stag on his black tunic. “Yeah, a little. Not the way your brother is because that man’s a eyeful of concentrated sunlight in the middle of summer if you know what I mean, but you got it with your wine and your cheese and the subtle ways you correct how I speak.”

His tunic wasn’t thin, but he could feel her finger on his skin under where she traced her pattern and it made him painfully aware of the fact that he had never had a woman trace any patterns on his skin with the exception of maybe his mother, maybe?

Sakura splayed her hand over the stag design and then looked up. “Who is it?”

He managed to still form words. “Who are you referring to?”

“The stag. Who is it? He’s on almost all your clothes.”

“He’s the horned king of the woods, and the creature I conducted my graduate thesis on in the academy. He’s not as well known, but he’s believed to be the one who carries the magic filled from life into death in his great antlers.”

“Poetic.”

“I was told he was morbid.”

“I wouldn’t mind being carried off that way.”

“I doubt you have to worry about that anytime soon.” He reached out and touched her face, proud of himself for daring so. There was a faint scar that had only been bleeding and deep two days ago when one of the crab traps snapped and shattered. “You heal unnaturally fast.”

“I eat my vegetables.”

“You are still clumsy,” he sighed, finding another cut behind her ear that wasn’t as well healed.

He used a cantrip to knit the skin back together and reduce the scarring. She pulled back when he was done and ran her hand over the skin, marveling at the feel.

“You can just do that?”

“Among other things. If you were willing to learn you could manage as much I’m sure.”

Sakura grinned and then dropped her hand. “No thanks. I appreciate the offer, but it doesn’t matter as much if I just have you to heal things for me.”

He didn’t like the way he felt when she said it, even though he knew he would of course do what he could if she were in need. Maybe it was his pride she hurt. “Don’t count on me so much. I wouldn’t always be there if you needed it. I have other duties I must see to, duties that call me away to far lands.”

“You’re fast,” she said around a yawn.

He didn’t think that was a fair thing for her to say, because of course he was fast. He had mastered the Misty Step decades ago and could travel across the different realities and astral planes with just a bit of help. If she called he would be there, like it or not, but she didn’t need to know that and count on it. 

It wasn’t like he was exclusively beholden to her whims or anything like that.

Sakura put her money down on the table and Tobirama scrambled to find his own money pouch for the food and drink, but she was already walking away. He dropped the silver coins and then a single gold in tip, scooping up her coins and jogging after her to grab at her wrist. She struggled at first but he huffed, calling her annoying for fighting him before pushing the copper and silver pieces into her hand.

“You know these were all originally yours, right?”

“You worked for them.”

Sakura snorted. “Did you ever eat the crabs?”

He fought the sneer at the thought of having to consume the hideous, crawling creatures. “They’re perfectly comfortable in their habitat at the tower until I have need of their…buttered meat.”

Sakura laughed, accepting the money. “I think I take advantage of you.”

“No one takes advantage of me unless I let them. If I did not wish it, not even your pathetic dredges of magic could sway me to deposit a single copper in your palm, but be as it is, I may do as I please.”

She stopped in the doorway, looking up at him, and he though he saw her react to something relating to him; maybe his words or maybe his face. She was still like a doe caught in a wolf’s sights. A terrible thought pressed into his mind when he thought of her like that. How easy would it be to just spirit her away into his tower without doors?  His tower where only those he took could leave and enter, how would she fare?

“It’ll be cold soon, please keep yourself well,” he whispered, leaning in to brush the end of his thumb over the skin he had healed. When she blinked he was gone.

-

Night frost came much sooner than anyone expected, and the villagers rushed like mad to make themselves ready and save what they could of their late harvests. Snow was still weeks off, not until the next month if the pattern of years was to be believed, but the cold was ever present, crawling down the throats of youths and making stupid men sick.

Tobirama took to donning his wolf furs when he went out on more and more errands for the Lords and King who seemed just as eager to put his magic to use for them. With the cold seasons more monster came out from the woods and waters to try and grab what they could of man meat before long sleeps. There had been several smaller Basilisks and even a Chimera he had been tasked with. Most populations on the edges needed to deal with simple were beasts and he hated being called out to deal with something a trifle wizard could handle.

It was several weeks before he could find the time to slip away and find her again.

Men still fished, but he found Sakura outside a woman’s barn with her hands and wrists still dripping in blood. She stared off into the distance not really seeing anything.

He stopped at her side and waited for an explanation.

“Can you bring anyone back from the dead?” Her voice cracked like wrinkled paper in her throat and made him wince.

“No, that is the forbidden magics that I am sword to protect the world against. I can start a stopped heart and force air into empty lungs, and sometimes I can save people who have started to die, but I can not resurrect the dead, no one can.”

Sakura turned her hazy eyes in his direction, searching for his face. “Why?”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he felt like there was no answer he could give her that would put her spirit to rest so he reached out and magiced the filth and blood off her hands, then wiped her tears away with his own two thumbs, holding her face as she started to waver.

“You are weary. Rest.”

He tugged her into his arms and she let him. The wolf fur cushioned her head and she snuggled into it, helping him affirm his choice to don it in the first place. He brought her back to the place she lived, the place she sometimes called home, even thought he wanted nothing more than to spirit her away to his tower and claim ignorance when others came calling.

No one else was home so he set her in the bed and then went off to find out what had happened.

One of the women in the village had a sick birth and no one had been able to stop the bleeding. Sakura had been present along with the elder healer, but even Chiyo said there was nothing either of them could have done.

“She’ll blame herself, but she shouldn’t.” The wrinkle of a woman glared at Tobirama and shook her finger without fear. “See that she rests her heart and doesn’t take this into her spirit. She’s not meant for such levity. It’ll consume her.”

But when he went to visit the next day she was in the garden, salvaging what she could from the last frost and readying the earth for what would come next. Some of the teasing was gone from her voice when they conversed, but it was not as he feared.

“Were you close?”

She didn’t move for a while, still hands and knees in the dirt. “No, but…I never lost anyone like that before. It made me feel terrible.”

“You did all you could.”

“I don’t think so. If I knew magic…”

“There are limits.”

Sakura stared up from the dirt. “Do you have limits?”

“Of course,” he lied. It was what she needed to hear. “Aside from that, even if it was possible, there are things I am forbidden from doing in the King’s Country.”

Sakura snorted and went back to her weeds. “Ah yes, the King’s Country, because he owns all of this and all of us. How could I have forgotten about that?”

“You would hate it,” Tobirama admitted with almost a smile. “I don’t think anyone could tell you what to do.”

Sakura sat up and laughed, her teeth gleaming in the filtered light as her whole body shook in mirth. She grabbed her sides and forced herself to settle enough for words. “No, but I’d like to see them try.”

“Be my apprentice then. Come live with me in my tower.”

Sakura braced on the ground and stood, crossing the patches to get to where he stood. She reached up on her toes and traced her dirty thumb over the bridge of his nose, then she poked the tip of it. He didn’t flinch.

“Sorry mister wizard sir, but I don’t think I will.”

Tobirama reached up and brushed the dirt off his face then flicked at her own button shaped nose.  He almost smiled, finally feeling content with Sakura’s emotional state. “I’m probably better off. You’d drive me crazy.”

“I think I do that already wizard sir.”

He thought it might be a nice time to lean in and kiss her, but he wasn’t sure why or even where the idea came from. She looked especially beautiful with no good reason. She wasn’t dressed in anything elegant or especially fine. She was dirty and a little untamed like usual, but she was still too much for him. His heart hurt to lock her away and keep her to himself.

The ink on his wrist stung and he hissed, looking down at that tattoo he and his brother shared. Sakura noticed the distress on his face and reached fo this hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“My brother summons me. I must answer.” It would be a simple thing for him to travel through nature or air to get to his brother’s side, but he hesitated to touch her shoulder and look down into her eyes. “Please stay safe. It is becoming dangerous with the cold season upon us. I will return shortly.”

“Of course.” She managed a smile for him. “Be safe.”

After visiting his towner he took off looking for a tree he might fast travel through. The burn on his wrist throbbed hotter and he ignored it out of spite. He didn’t have any great reason for it, but he wasn’t very happy with his brother.

The summons that burned dulled to a warm throb as distances were traveled in a single step. He emerged from the tree and brushed the last dustings of dead leaves off his shoulders. The tree was fat and short making it perfect to walk through, if only he weren’t so tall.

It took almost an hour more, but he found his brother in the war room and frowned at the sight of so many other wizards around the far walls. Some stood up straighter when they saw him, others didn’t bother to hide their sneers. Tobirama didn’t spare them another glance as he cut through to his brother.

“What of it?” he asked, showing off his wrist where the mark dulled from throb to nothing. “You summoned me from on far with no warning.”

“As all others were summoned. I thought it best you be here to see for yourself.”

Tobirama edged closer and saw a map of all the providences under the crown. His tower was at the edge, close to the wilds. Oberon’s Forest was just past that.

“What do the colors indicate?” he asked, pointing to the fog of color that rested over parts of the map. A minor magic some simple mage made possible, no doubt.

“We’re not sure, but those areas are off limits. I called you out of there against the council of others. They thought it best to leave you there.”

Tobirama looked again and saw the fog hang over his tower as well as Sakura’s village.

“What is it?”

“Blight.” The answer came from Tsunade, a relative witch who was also known as their best medical expert. Her expression was hard as she faced him.

“Livestock or timber?”

Tsunade didn’t flinch as she admitted, “Livestock, and it’s spreading to the people. No one is allowed in or out. The Emerald Order is putting up their barrier as we speak. My antidote won’t be ready for another three days of curing.”

He felt something dark sprout in his heart. “How long have you known about this?”

Tsunade didn’t flinch when a lesser man or woman might have. Hashirama wrung his hands, looking nervous among the wizards.

“Brother, I-”

“How long!?” Tobirama’s eyes flashed with red magic.

“It’s been contained to Oberon’s Forest for years and hasn’t spread since it’s discovery four ago. I’ve only started working on the antidote when the forestlings brought it out with the recet attacks.”

Tobirama turned and Hashirama caught him by the elbow. “Where are you going?”

“To warn someone.”

“You can’t.”

Tobirama turned the full force of his glare onto Tsunade who stood like stone, but her eyes were on the map that glittered with green light.

“Don’t you dare stop me!” he warned.

She didn’t look to him as she spoke. “There is nothing to stop. The barrier is already up.”    

It’ was a month later when they let the barrier down. Even with her antidote, the blight adapted. And even if he had reached her the moment he found out about the blight, Sakura’s exposure to the woman’s death had been caused by the blight. It rooted itself in her and Chiyo before he even knew about it.

When he was let back, her body was already cold, but not yet buried. Over two hundred different lifeless forms stretched out in the open graves he was expected to help close up.  

Hashiram was no comfort. “I’m sorry, there was no way you could have known and there’s nothing to be done about it now. Be at peace, brother. ”

There was no peace to be found.

Tobirama took her body back and set it on the stone in the pit of his tower where the walls collected icicles. It would keep her from decomposing, but that was the limit of his magics. He hated himself for how little he could do as he turned stone into gold and glass, making a casket he could see her through.

‘There was nothing you could have done.’

Tobirama donned his darkest cloak with the wolf fur and took no fire with him into Oberon’s forest. He still produced a candle that, when waved over his head, summoned a will o wisp to it’s wick to light the way. The pull of the sprite guided him deep, deeper than any mortal man dared. The forest lost its sound as he trespassed among the ancient roots. Creatures moved, but they were as silent as the grave.

When his light went out Tobirama stilled and waited….and waited…..and waited.

The breath on his neck made him turn just as he thought he might wait the rest of his night among the dead branches. Behind him. A dark creature loomed among the trunks, barely fitting when it shouldn’t have fit at all. It was black, but blacker than the night sky with its sick moon hanging low and full. Where its body stood Tobirama saw only void.

The horned king of the wood bent his head towards Tobirama and his antlers glittered like dark onyx. Among the prongs dozens of ghosts were speared.

Tobirama knelt in the wet soil, burying his hands in the earth until it soaked under his fingernails. He breathed deep, grounding himself on something greater than his own power. “I’ve come for her.”

The stag lowered his head even further until Tobirama could see the ghosts it carried.

“What you ask may not be grated without a price. You know not the price for what you seek.”

“There is no price too high for this,” he swore. “I have come to claim my own.”

“Then you may walk, child, but take heed, you may yet pay for it in unexpected ways.”

The stag touched his massive face to the ground and Tobirama stood. He stepped onto its head and ran up the length of his face, running for whole minutes before he reached the first ghost. He felt his heart pinch with something sick and turned, finding her there, beautiful as ever, even in death.

He carried her spirit in a ring and then poured her back into her body before the dawn could break. He held her form in his arms among the shattered remains of her coffin, swearing up and down to every old god he knew the name of that if she didn’t return to him he would tear them from their thrones and turn the world over in black fire.

But Sakura breathed deep as the sun filtered through the windows and down the mirrored channels into her chamber. Tobirama felt shattered by the color of her eyes as she looked up at him and then smiled once more.

“Sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” she croaked, barely managing a sound.

Tobirama didn’t care, he kissed her and folded her up into his arms.

-

And that’s how he wished his story would have ended, but nature would not be so undone without consequence.

Sakura was well known as a dead woman, so in his fear he kept her in his tower and dedicated all his days’ hours to her entertainment. He taught her how to disguise herself and even though her magic couldn’t hold up for more than ten minutes, he risked it some nights when the moon peaked out.

“You need to exhaust yourself on cantrips every day,” he grumbled to her. “If you don’t your limits will never change. Push against them.”

“I’m trying,” Sakura sighed. She rubbed her eyes and sank into a nearby chair and then proceeded the slump even further.

Tobirama’s heart pinched and he ran for her before she could fall off her seat. She giggled when he caught her.

“Don’t be so neglectful,” he chastised even as his face heated.

She managed to roll her eyes, but then closed them when her head fell onto his shoulder. “Weren’t you the one telling me to push myself just now?”

“I was mistaken?”

Sakura chuckled. “You’re never mistake.”

“Of course I am. You’re obviously exhausted and your master is a brute pushing you beyond your limits. How dare he breath.”

“Maybe he should answer some of that mail that’s been piling up. Someone else seems to need your help,” she said around a yawn.

“Worthless plebs crying for attention. No, I’m much better off terrorizing you.”

She weakly reached up to poke the tip of his nose. “Silly.”

Tobirama didn’t mind how his face warmed or his is belly seemed to fill with the buds of something just as warm. He pulled her closer and carried her up to her room.

Halfway up the stairs he stopped dead in his tracks. Sakura was asleep in his arms but her pale pink hair spilled over his elbow and not even shadows could hide who she was.

“It is true.”

Tobirama hunched over her form protectively. “Don’t speak to me.”

Hashirama’s face crumpled in hurt. “Brother, how could you! You were sworn to uphold the order of the world, not defy it so shamelessly! They spoke of necromancy but I-I defended you. I-I said you would never.”

Tobirama took another four steps, stopping just one shy of his brother. The stairwell was narrow, curving up and around itself up to the higher levels. It would be impossible to pass if Hashirama didn’t step aside, but it seemed as if the elder brother had no intention of doing so.

Tobirama didn’t care if his eyes flashed with red magic at his last surviving brother. “Move, you are in my way.”

Hashirama took a single step back, giving himself more hight over Tobirama while holding up his hands. “Brother, don’t do this. You know you need to put her back. The others need not know, but the balance must me found again. She had her time.”

The image of her under glass on a stone table made his heart stab with cruel viscousness. The very idea made him tremble. “You would have me render her lifeless once more…”

His voice was a deadly calm.

Hashirama took another step back onto the landing.

“The others don’t know, I won’t tell them. I can’t bring myself to see you like this, you’re not yourself anymore, my dear brother.” Hashirama’s face was wrinkled with stress as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. “You are my only and best brother. You’re the greatest wizard in the land and you’ve stumbled but that’s fine. Please…just…”

Hashirama fell boneless on the floor, his eyes fogged with what all the corpses had after days of being dead. His skin was taunt across his tanned face as Tobirama stepped over the body of his last and only brother.

 Stray bolts of ruby colored magic crackled across the stone. Tobirama didn’t look back as his cloak trailed over Hashirama’s lifeless body on his way to the bedrooms.

Sakura slept peacefully on in his arms, not even flinching when he kissed her eyelids in reverence. She was perfect in his arms as he followed her into bed.

“I will never let you be parted from me again,” he whispered. “Never.”

[taylorscottbarnett]

First: Go to hell you bourgeois. Sorry I get a little annoyed at the same tired advice from rich people that never look at their situation or millennials with any context and seem to think they have a magic bullet that will fix everything stemming from their knowledge at their brilliant success while never recognizing the heaping amounts of luck and privilege not granted to most peasants -- err, I mean common folk, ummmm, people.

Youe highnesses, may I present a rebuttle of your vastly oversimplified idealistic veiw of exactly what you did right and what millenials are just too stupid to realize?

Coffee: Let's go with the average of $92 a month. That's $3.06 a day.

Shoes: First, you realize that when it comes to dress shoes certain things have to match right? But I digress, the article states the average person owns 12 pairs. Your claim that women may own more shoes -- have you considered that they have to match what the person wears? You go to work in shoes that don't match the rest of your outfit and see the looks you get.

Besides that however, do you realize people generally don't buy 12 shoes a year every year? They might OWN 12 pairs, but it's not a continuous recurring cost every single year.

I buy tennis shoes usually two pairs at a time. I have three pairs of "dress" shoes, one black, one brown, one of those a recent purchase, about a year old. The other is oh, three years old when I was going too see Wicked and realized I didn't actually own any dress shoes. Lastly one pair of marching band shoes I've owned for, oh, 16 years, mostly for things needing slightly better shoes than sneakers, but not that dressed up.

In addition, I have a two pairs of running shoes, and three pairs of tennis shoes. I also own a pair of hiking boots that are nearly a decade old, and a four year old pair of snow boots.

Know why? Those tennis shoes I bought on sale, and if I alternate shoes by week they don't wear out as fast, meaning I dont have to buy shoes again when they might not be discounted.

Jeans: for years I only owned, oh, three pairs of jeans. I spent the last two years adding more to my wardrobe. I've maybe 8 pairs of jeans, ranging from work clothing, to casual. I've 8 pairs of pants from Swiss Tech I picked up over the course of a year when they went on sale. They tend to make up a large portion of what I wear to class. Two pairs of dress pants. Some of those are 6 years old. Some are 1. Thing is, when you can alternate clothing, you can put off doing laundry until you have a full load. Saving you money in the long run in terms of detergent, water, electricity, and wear and tear on your clothes from use/washing -- meaning you don't have to replace them for ages. I'll wear those clothing for an average of about 8-10 years each. A pair of my black jeans are nearly a decade old and apart from a rip at the knee when I fell off a stage and busted by knee last year they are in great shape. Screw you.

Your seven percent a year profit from investing is screwy as hell you know that? That's an average over decades. Between 1926 and 2014, returns were in that “average” band of 8% to 12% only six times. The rest of the time they were much lower or much higher. It also doesn't account for luck. Those gains only materialized if you happen to have owned stocks on the best performing days.

According to JP Morgan if you missed the best ten days from Jan. 01, 1999 to Dec. 31, 2018, your overall return of 7% becomes oh, about 3.5%. Average inflation for that time period was 2.18% total accumulative inflation was 50.72%

Take the average inflation away from the overall return, and if you missed just the 10 best days of the market over a 20 year period (or you know, for my generation happened to be like 10 at the start of 1999) your return is a paltry little over 1%.

It takes money to invest and have a decent, diversified portfolio, assuming you invest only in mutual funds so you dont have to buy one share of Amazon at oh nearly $2,000, even if you are only investing via an app like Acorns.

And about that coffee: I'm a barista. I spent 4 years saving my tips and putting them towards 15k in student loans at 7% interest. Along with a $100 month payment. I also got lucky, I helped take care of my COPD stricken aunt. I lived rent free, and could afford to put an extremely large amount of my income towards those debts. I also would turn around and put the tax deduction savings from the interest payments towards paying off debt.

My customers went a long way towards me paying off my loans. A married couple for example tipped me a dollar each. They got a large coffee each. That's $6 total from their family budget. It was also about $520 in tips to me a year. Did that $6/day mean a lot to them? Probably not. Did the coffee before work? Definitely. Did the $520 a year mean a lot to me? Absolutely.

Acorns lists Americans spending an average of $92/month on coffee. $3 a day. Does it mean a lot to them? The cost probably not. Does the experience enrich their soul? Help them survive at work? Keep them from quiting or setting fire to their boss? Absolutely. Does this save them money in the long run? Probably.

So maybe the next time you are giving advice, consider that not everyone happend to found a learning software company in the late 80's that got lucky and was sold to Mattel making you multimillionaire. Or happened to be sent to an expensive boarding school for your education. (While I don't know what it cost your parents, it's current tuition is listed as $53,000 /year).

Or attended a school that only cost only about $2,500 a year, (that's $15,808.15 in today's dollars) as opposed to the $52k it is today.

Then again ecconomic Conservatives have a big tendency towards blowing their successes out of proportion while minimizing failures. (After all, you claimed Donald Trump was "Smart as a fox" pretty much even a glance at his string of lies, deceit, scandles, shady dealings, multiple business failures, twitter feed, or his extremely obvious incompetence in deal making or negotiation with Republicans or Democrats in Congress, never mind other political scandals since taking office, would easily confirm Trump is a trust-fund baby, carnival barker, who's much better at lying, cheating, and screwing over people than actually being a businessman.)

[itsworn]

Hot Rod Builder Finally Has the 1932 Ford 5-Window Coupe of his Dreams

Turbulent. America was booming during the 1950s. Oh sure, the country experienced some angst, especially with the fear of the Ruskies blowing us to smithereens. Then came the 1960s, which saw a gradual escalation in turmoil and tragedies. The assassinations of JFK, Martin Luther King, and Bobby Kennedy. Civil rights and riots. Vietnam. Anger grew within several segments of the population, starting with the younger generation.

In a way, hot rods from the 1960s somewhat reflect that angry attitude. More V8s sported wild induction systems, from blowers to fuel injection, while “sports wheels” created by American Racing, Halibrand, and the like often replaced steel rims, depending on the owners’ budgets. Drag racing influenced hot rodders as well; they borrowed the idea of installing Moon-style fuel tanks in front of the grille. Whitewall tires fell by the wayside around 1962, as blackwalls came back in vogue, with a heavy rake being sometimes accentuated by fat drag racing slicks mounted in the rear.

Yes, slicks like the Dragmasters mounted on Drew Strunk’s ’32 coupe, which oozes 1960s all over. To be fair, the Ohio resident occasionally runs the car on steel wheels and bias-ply rubber; but we felt compelled to ask him to keep the five-spoke rims and slicks for our photo shoot. The latter proved rather epic due to heavy rain, obviously not the best conditions when driving purposely smooth tires.

“I might have a solution,” Drew said. “My pal Rob Mullins owns a great building, which we might use for your article.” Following a quick phone call and approval from Rob, we hit the road. Drew skillfully kept the Deuce under control during the very wet 20-minute journey. Our destination was Mullins’ man cave, originally a church built in 1901, restored by the man himself and decorated with memorabilia reflecting his passion for vintage drag racing. It doesn’t get much better than this.

The vibe of the place nicely complements the blue ’32, assembled with period correctness in mind. Drew has an acute understanding of hot rodding’s history, having been raised by a father deeply involved in the hobby for a half-century. Jack (the dad) credits family members for his own interest in the hot rod scene. He told us, “I grew up spending most of my summers with an uncle and a cousin, who rebuilt and dolled up old cars. I used my allowance each week to buy the little 25-cent hot rod books and plastic model cars, and learned everything I could.”

Now in his early forties, Drew has fond memories of his childhood, when his dad wrenched on hot rods for fun. “As a kid, I remember sitting in the front seat between my parents in his ’32 five-window coupe, barely able to look over the dash. And I was taught how to weld at 7 years old.” You can say that hot rods played an essential part in his life. Building models, cruising, car shows, and dad’s buddies in the driveway talking cars… It was a great time to be a child.

Later in life, Drew held several jobs: welder, truck driver, mechanic, auto accessory detailer, parts counterman, and delivery driver. They paid the bills; but it wasn’t until his father retired and decided to start a full-fledged hot rod business that he found his dream job. Based in Cincinnati, Ohio, the company is called Dropped Axle Productions and has built an excellent reputation in the Midwest, thanks to its quality project cars.

Drew focuses on fabricating custom chassis for traditional hot rods, though the father-and-son duo also performs a ton of other tasks, from chopped tops and filled roofs to panel repairs and complete restorations. They additionally manufacture their own laser-cut boxing plates, suspension brackets, plus brake and clutch pedal assemblies. While hot rods remain the shop’s focus, the small crew of two often works on offbeat vehicles, some quite memorable. The list includes a severely chopped split-window Volkswagen Bug with a Chevy Corvair flat-six powerplant, and a funky ’62 Renault Dauphine, which lost its four-cylinder rear engine to welcome a Chevy 350ci V8 up front.

Fun stuff for sure. Yet, Drew kept dreaming of a ’32 Ford five-window coupe, and started the search for one in his early twenties. We don’t need to tell you that Deuce coupes have been a hot rodder’s favorite forever, and their scarcity makes them expensive. Consequently, the young Strunk considered using a fiberglass body, until his dad found the real deal on the Internet: a steel shell located in Kansas City, Missouri. “We drove straight through, 12 hours one way,” Drew said. “The guy who had it for sale was going to use it for a clone of the American Graffiti coupe, but the body was in such bad shape that he wasn’t able to salvage it himself. He ended up using a fiberglass body, and I managed to buy a true steel body in the end.”

The roof was “atrocious,” he said, and he almost did not purchase the chopped shell for that very fact. Thankfully, a friend of his dad who owned a roof section in decent shape came to the rescue. It required some work, though the surgery gave the opportunity to chop the top even more, resulting in each post losing a slice of 4 inches compared to stock. The 85-year-old tin, featuring a roof insert courtesy of a Chevy Corvair top, now displays that perfect hot rod attitude.

As luck would have it, a second main component emerged shortly after, in the shape of a genuine ’32 frame. It was seriously mangled; but on the plus side, it could be fixed and—most importantly—it was free. Drew put it in Dropped Axle Productions’ jig, before picking a few items from the shop’s shelves, specifically crossmembers (flattened an inch) and a drilled front axle, which he moved forward to lengthen the wheelbase for a better profile.

Notice the lack of frame horns in front. Drew elected to shorten and pinch them so that they could hide behind the stock grille. In the spirit of drag cars, several components have been drilled for weight reduction and aesthetics, including the lever shocks, most any bracket, plus the framerails. There are a couple of nods to Drew’s grandfather, in the shape of the cowl’s vent handle that came from his mother’s oven (!), along with the mighty ’62 Cadillac V8. Grandpa was a fan of these powerplants.

The engine features a handful of desirable parts, starting with the intake manifold. “I searched high and low for the Offenhauser 3×2 model,” Drew said. “I finally found one without the heat riser at a local swap meet. It wasn’t cheap but well worth adding to the car’s overall look. I also admired the dimpled valve covers offered by various cam companies back in the day. I hunted for a pair, but to no avail. I finally took it upon myself to make the dimples on stock valve covers. Once I was happy with the profile, I sent them out to the chrome shop.”

Finding a camshaft for the Caddy proved a bit challenging, although Schneider Racing eventually offered a blank properly machined. (“I wanted the nastiest sounding cam and I got it.”) He also custom made the motor mounts featuring a cast-piece appearance, then riveted them to the frame. They have become quite popular since, having been duplicated by others on their hot rods.

The exhaust system, purchased from lakeheaders.com and welded by Drew, does not muffle much of the V8’s growl. “I’ve made several babies cry as I started the coupe at gas stations. Needless to say, I get dirty looks from mothers.” Kids might be scared just staring at the car, which looks mean just standing still.

With enjoyable road trips in mind, our man made a concession by installing a modern Tremec transmission with an overdrive, thanks to a Wilcap adapter. The lack of stock fuel tank visually unclutters the back of the coupe and thereby shows the N.O.S. Halibrand rearend, scored from a local racer who never used it. It was a killer find that obviously pleased Drew, since he had put it on his “must-have” list early in the game.

On average, our talented craftsman concedes building a car “on the side” in his own garage each year, and then selling it to finance the next project. But to be clear: This one, built on a surprisingly tight budget, is not for sale. It’s a keeper. Considering the scarcity of Deuce coupes, who can blame him?

How is this for a man cave? With the weather not cooperating, we photographed Drew Strunk’s blue Deuce in this great garage, owned by one of Drew’s friends, Rob Mullins. The name sounds familiar? Rob is heavily involved in the Gasser hobby, as he has a few historical survivors.

From this angle, you can see the curved spreader bar made by the owner, as he explains: “I shortened the back of the frame so I could install the bar. To match the curvature of the body, I heated up the back side of the bar and quenched it with water until I got the desired shape.”

Who needs a hood when you run such a beautiful motor? Notice the headlights of unknown origin—they might have come from a French car—mounted low, a look made popular by the Rolling Bones crew on the East Coast.

“When it came to the engine, I was undecided,” Drew recalled. “My grandfather always spoke highly of Cadillac engines. As a tribute to him, I chose a 390-inch 1962 Cad.” Grandpa would be proud: It’s a beauty. And it’s angry.

Behind the rare Offenhauser manifold with three Stromberg 97s sits a Cirello magneto. The name has been associated with drag racing since the 1960s, when Cirello equipped many nitro cars. The Cirello family still services magnetos to this day from its shop in Costa Mesa, California.

Having been employed by hot rodders for decades, Buick drums nicely fit the theme of the car. They complement a rear brake setup from a Ford pickup truck.

Ancient 9.00-15 Dragmaster slicks were swap meet scores, which now wrap around 15×8.5 American Racing five-spokes. Drew elected to use 15×4 magnesium reproductions in front, along with BFGoodrich 5.00-15 rubber by Coker Tire.

The panel under the rear lid, which has been punched with 150-plus louvers, houses a pair of unusual Art Deco-styled taillights that originally equipped a ’37 DeSoto. They flank a vintage Sacramento Capitol Speed Shop license plate frame.

As the trunk lacks a floor, you can clearly see the Halibrand quick-change and pinstripes on the axle tubes. That fuel tank came from a late-’50s/early-’60s F5 jet fighter. It was originally used to store coolant for the engine. A trimmed ’58 Ford decklid serves as bulkhead divider between the seat and the trunk.

Recognize the seats? Drew doesn’t (and neither do we, in fact), though he believes they might either be from a plane or a British sports car. More unanswered questions remain regarding the all-aluminum steering wheel, which was signed by Norm Grabowski shortly before he passed away.

No less than eight Stewart-Warner gauges from the 1940s adorn the cool dash. We especially dig the 150-mph “Police Special” speedo. “Most were eBay finds, although dad allowed me to raid his stock pile for two of them.”

These windows were chopped just the right-amount. Actually, the ’32 had already lost a 3-inch slice when Drew got it; but he decided to remove an extra inch for a mean attitude. As the body has not been channeled, cabin comfort remains acceptable for sub-6-foot-tall folks.

While the car occasionally sits on vintage steelies and bias-ply rubber, Drew was happy to run the ’32 with the five-spokes and old slicks during our photo shoot—until it rained, that is. He did rather well on the road, especially considering the V8 delivers about 400 horses.

Drew typically works on a personal project every year, though not all of them can be considered “traditional.” Some belong to the “Dare to be Different” category, including a V8-powered Renault Dauphine and this chopped Volksrod, motivated by a Corvair flat-six! (Photo: Fabien Bécasse)

Moving the I-beam 2 inches forward makes the coupe appear sleeker and less stubby. Yes, the color is the well-known Washington Blue, which Ford offered in 1932; a dose of matting agent contributes to the semi-gloss finish.

The post Hot Rod Builder Finally Has the 1932 Ford 5-Window Coupe of his Dreams appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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