#humanity will crumble but The Ants will remain.

[cattyteeth]

Yeah ants may be better than us in every way shape and form but they don’t have chonny jash which scores 1 point for humanity but only 1.

#to the ant hill we’ve come from to the ant hill we shall return #humanity will crumble but The Ants will remain. #it’s a losing battle #we’re running outta time here #what if ants do have chonny jash? #what’s the ant version of cj? #anty jash??????? #man this is gonna keep me up at night #chonny jash #chonnyjash #cj #chonnys charming chaos compendium #cccc #cattyrambles

[niki-phoria]

Hello! It's one of my first times asking for something, so forgive me if it seems strange or if I spell something wrong! Feel free to ignore this too!

I was looking at your Jjk list and realized that our beautiful boy Yuuji doesn't have a story there yet, so I had an idea!

something like Itadori and Reader (gn or male) were in a fight together, and Sukuna ends up appering to deal with the whole situation, and as a result, he ends up hurting the reader on purpose to bother Yuuji, so he is left feeling very bad and guilty , so ends up “ignoring” reader, because he keep blaming himself

I only thought until this part (srry), I would like an ending with something cute and fluff ig? 👉👈 (i like angst with a happy ending)

WEREN'T WE THE STARS IN HEAVEN?

pairing: itadori yuuji x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 758

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, poorly written fight scene

notes: thank you so much !! i hope you like it :)) split this into two parts to make it easier to write lol, possibly ooc sukuna but i did my best, title from adrianne lenker - anything

part 02 here !!

shibuya is empty. desolate, even. eerily so. even after spending only a few months in tokyo, ITADORI YUUJI had grown accustomed to the noise. the bustling crowds and noisy tourists had become commonplace - almost a comfort at the end of a long night. if nothing else, at least the people were safe. 

until they weren’t. 

your lungs burn as you race through the remains of shibuya station. the walls are splattered with a mixture of blood and curse remains. there are no longer complaints from people about being trapped inside of the station. there are no longer stray groans from mahito’s transformed humans. there are no longer screams of terror. 

you feel sick.

you force yourself to run faster when you see a figure standing in the distance, near what remains of the bathrooms. water seeps across the tiles from nearby, probably damaged in the midst of a fight. “yuuji!”

he doesn’t have a visible reaction. your footsteps slow to a stop as you take in the sight of him. his clothes are ripped and tattered but there are no visible injuries on his body. beneath the flickering lights above, you can just barely make out the blood stains littering his clothing.

“yuuji?” 

he turns to face you, smirking over his shoulder. you take a step backwards, shoes slipping on a puddle of water on the floor. there’s a dark glint in his eyes - one that you’ve never seen before. “not anymore.”

“sukuna,” your breath hitches. 

he frowns, mockingly pouting as he begins walking towards you. “that’s not how you should address your lord.”

anger flares in your chest. your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. you grit your teeth, aiming towards sukuna’s jaw as you swing. 

he evades it easily, languidly pushing his hands into his pockets. “i’m hurt, y/n,” he mocks. “i can’t believe you would hit your own boyfriend.”

“shut up!” another swing. another miss.

sukuna laughs. he watches you with amusement; like you’re an ant beneath his foot he’s pushing around just for the sake of his own entertainment. 

he’s fast. almost faster than your own reflexes. your punches only ever meet air as he dances around you. “does it bother you?” sukuna asks. his breath ghosts against your ear as he leans in. “knowing that yuuji’s power comes from a curse. does it scare you?”

you swallow your insults, instead focusing your attention on aiming your punches at the right time. he frowns. “ignoring me now? that won’t do.”

sukuna raises his leg, swiftly landing a hit against your side. you’re barely given time to react before your body slams into the wall. 

the pain comes hard and fast. it’s agonizing. it feels like you’re on fire. every part of your body begs you to give up; to lay down and crumble into a ball on the ground. but you can’t. you won’t. 

blood pools in your mouth, dripping down the corners of your lips. debris surrounds you. you can feel pieces of rock and concrete digging into your hands as you push yourself up onto your hands and knees.

your attempts are quickly ripped away when sukuna kicks your side once again. you land on your back this time, staring up at the ceiling through blurry vision. your head aches. 

“pathetic human.” sukuna smirks over you. the heel of his boot digs into your chest, pushing your body down further into the rubble. your eyes flutter shut. if you’re going to die, you’re not going to give sukuna ryomen the satisfaction of being the last thing you see. 

the force of sukuna’s weight forces a weak cough out of your lungs. he raises his foot once again before he pauses, humming to himself. “i wonder what the brat would think of this.”

time seems to still as your consciousness begins to slip. you can feel yourself growing weaker. your breaths are shallower. it’s harder to get air into your lungs. your racing heartbeat has also slowed. it no longer pounds loudly in your ears. instead, a dull ringing has replaced the noise.

nothing feels real. yuuji is yelling your name. he’s on his knees; his face hovers over you. 

yuuji looks different. the black marks across his skin have disappeared, leaving only pale skin behind. hands that have the power to snap bones and destroy buildings are gentle as they cup your cheeks. he wipes away blood and dust and tears.

“yuuji,” you whisper. at least, you try to. and then-

the world goes black. 

shibuya is empty.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

#jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jjk angst #yuji x reader #yuji x male reader #yuji angst #yuji imagine #yuji one shot #yuji scenario #jjk imagine #jjk scenario #jjk one shot #jjk drabble #yuji x you #yuji x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk yuji #jjk itadori #male reader #gn reader #jjk soft hours #jjk soft thoughts #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #yuji fic #yuji fanfic #yuji itadori #jjk fluff #yuji fluff

[aifanfictions]

write a story about (y/n) being a part of the extermination team that was supposed to fight Meruem (from the anime Hunter x Hunter) and his ants but during the attack, when Meruem lays eyes on her, he instantly becomes attracted to (y/n) and starts courting her in front of everyone (Gon, Killua, the Chairman, the other exterminators).

Unexpected Allure

The underground palace was steeped in an eerie silence, an unusual calm before the storm. The extermination team, including (Y/N), had spent countless hours preparing for the confrontation with Meruem, the Chimera Ant King. They had honed their abilities, sharpened their resolve, and steeled themselves for what was expected to be an epic battle. However, the events that unfolded were far from anyone's expectations.

Meruem, a figure of unparalleled power and authority, stood before them like a mythical deity. His silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, and his crimson eyes held a mesmerizing quality, captivating all who met his gaze. But when those crimson eyes locked onto (Y/N), something extraordinary happened. His heart, a heart that had never before known vulnerability, began to beat with an unfamiliar rhythm.

In the tension-filled atmosphere, Meruem raised a hand, halting the impending attack by his Royal Guards. The members of the extermination team froze in their tracks, bewildered by the King's sudden order. Pitou, Pouf, and Youpi exchanged perplexed glances, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"(Y/N)," Meruem's voice carried an almost hypnotic quality, a voice that transcended the battlefield and resonated deep within (Y/N)'s soul, "come forward."

(Y/N) took cautious steps toward Meruem, her senses on high alert. She met the Chimera Ant King's gaze, and as their eyes locked, an inexplicable connection formed. His gaze was filled with a rare vulnerability, an emotion he couldn't name but couldn't ignore.

The Chairman, Gon, Killua, and the other hunters watched in astonishment as Meruem approached (Y/N) with a regal grace. He extended his hand toward her, a gesture that defied the expectations of all those present.

"I cannot ignore this pull I feel towards you," he admitted, his voice a mixture of sincerity and bewilderment. "Will you accept my invitation to converse, (Y/N)?"

(Y/N)'s heart pounded in her chest as she considered her options. She understood the gravity of the situation, but it was clear that Meruem had no intention of hostilities—at least for now. She nodded, her curiosity and the subtle intrigue of Meruem's newfound emotions compelling her to agree.

The other members of the extermination team watched in silent amazement as Meruem led (Y/N) away from the group, away from the battlefield, and towards a quieter chamber within the palace. The Chairman's stern expression betrayed a hint of curiosity, and Gon and Killua exchanged bewildered glances.

Inside the chamber, (Y/N) and Meruem found themselves in a surreal moment of unexpected connection. The King had set aside his regal demeanor and revealed a vulnerability he had never known. He listened intently to (Y/N), fascinated by her tales of the human world, her experiences, and her unwavering dedication to the extermination team's mission.

As they talked, Meruem's enigmatic facade began to crumble. He confessed that he had never encountered such depth in another being, and his fascination with (Y/N)'s intelligence, strength, and kindness continued to grow. He marveled at her ability to maintain her composure and grace in the face of adversity.

Outside the chamber, the members of the extermination team remained on edge, unable to fathom the surreal turn of events. Their meticulously planned mission had taken an unforeseen detour into a realm of the unknown, and Meruem was courting a member of the extermination team. It was a sight that defied all logic and expectation.

"(Y/N)," Meruem said, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability, "I understand the gravity of our circumstances, but I cannot deny the pull of my heart. You are a rarity in this world, and I am captivated by you."

(Y/N) couldn't help but be moved by Meruem's words. His sincerity, the depth of his emotions, and the transformation he was undergoing were both astonishing and captivating. She understood that in this strange and unforeseen turn of events, they might have a unique opportunity to find a peaceful resolution to the conflict.

The hours turned into days, and the connection between (Y/N) and Meruem deepened. They laughed, shared stories, and even discovered common interests. They explored the mysteries of the palace, discussing topics that ranged from art to philosophy, and from history to the beauty of the natural world.

One evening, as they stood by a grand window that overlooked a lush garden, Meruem turned to (Y/N), his voice filled with a quiet sincerity. "I want to protect this world, our sanctuary, and the moments we've shared."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes brimming with warmth. "You're already doing that, Meruem, simply by embracing change and seeking understanding."

Outside the chamber, the Chairman, Gon, Killua, and the other hunters continued to observe the unfolding situation, their unease giving way to contemplation. The battle they had anticipated had taken an astonishing turn, as Meruem and (Y/N) engaged in a dialogue of unprecedented depth and significance.

The sun set outside the palace, casting a breathtaking palette of colors across the sky, and Meruem and (Y/N) continued to explore the recesses of their hearts. Their connection, once born from an unexpected encounter on the battlefield, had grown into a profound and transformative bond.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Meruem realized that he was in uncharted territory, not just as a King but as a being who had discovered the complexities of human emotions. And (Y/N), a member of the extermination team, had become his anchor in this new world of feelings.

In the heart of the palace, amidst the soft glow of candlelight, their love story continued to unfold. They navigated the uncharted waters of attraction, admiration, and understanding, proving that love could blossom even in the most unexpected and improbable of circumstances.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the world watched in astonishment as the bond between (Y/N) and Meruem deepened, their love growing stronger with each passing moment. The once-mighty Chimera Ant King, a symbol of power and conquest, had undergone a profound transformation, becoming a protector of the palace and a guardian of the delicate bond that had unraveled his heart.

The story of Meruem and (Y/N) challenged the understanding of power, attraction, and transformation. It was a tale of unexpected allure, the kind that could reshape destinies and defy the odds. Love had found a way to bridge the gap between enemies, and in the heart of the Chimera Ant King, it had awakened a desire for change, a yearning for understanding, and a profound connection that transcended the boundaries of the battlefield.

In the end, their love story became a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the transformative power of emotions, and the capacity for growth, even in the most unlikely of hearts. It was a tale of two worlds colliding, a bond that had the potential to change the course of history and prove that the heart, no matter how powerful, could always find its way to a new melody—a melody of love.

And so, in the heart of an underground palace, amidst the chaos of a mission-turned-love story, the unexpected allure of Meruem and (Y/N) continued to echo like a poignant melody, reminding the world that love could be found in the most extraordinary of places and with the most unlikely of partners.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

#x reader #reader insert #meruem x reader #meruem x you #meruem x y/n #Fanfiction #Meruem #Y/N #LoveStory #Transformation #HunterxHunter #UnexpectedLove #Emotions #Understanding #Hopeful #Heartwarming #UnlikelyLove

[janetbrown711]

Too Young to be Singing the Blues

Mei hangs out at Pigsy's noodles for a day while MK has to go to school because of her suspension. Also because of her suspension, she has a pile of homework and has to deal with strangers looking at her left and right. What fun for her.

tw for mentions of police brutality, microaggressions, systemic racism, funerals, minor references to child abuse, death and all that fun stuff

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Ao3 Link

When the familiar dreaded tone of Mr. Piggy’s alarm went off in the morning, all Mei could think about was how much this sucked. Her guardian was frantic as ever getting MK up and ready and starting to make breakfast, all while Mei just sat on the couch and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You could see the whole city from here, since it wasn’t above the clouds. Cars and people moved about like ants from all the way up there. As she got closer she started feeling giant– like a god looking down upon their people to smite them or gift them or whatever gods did.

And then she saw it.

Surrounded by construction and people in fluorescent vests and hard hats was the crumbling remains of her ancestral home. The one she burnt down.

…She ran away from the funeral.

There were rumors her great, great, great x1000 great uncle Ao Guang and his side of the family would be there– and that the whole thing was going to be comparable to the funerals of kings and emperors. All Mei knew was that thousands were going to weep and cry loudly for the crime she had committed, and no one would be there to comfort her– not really. Not like how Mama and Baba could. Which was why she ignored the pressed white robes laid out for her and ran to MK, who was living in the park by where his apartment building used to be, and they cried together for a while.

And then they explored, but then the cops– secretly tiger demons– came, and so they hid at the noodle shop and yadda yadda, now she was here.

She had been given her lilies to wear in her hair for the funeral. Supposedly they were from that great, great, great x1000 uncle of hers, with a card of his condolences. She didn’t read it though. She hadn’t ever met the guy and wasn’t exactly interested– at least in these circumstances. ‘Sides, she had asked if he was a big old dragon, and they said he preferred his human form which was totally lame anyways so why’d she wanna meet some old lame-o? She found a better old lame-o to live with anyways.

Mr. Piggy had been nice though– when he wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t mean mean like other babysitters or maids or butlers had been– he helped her set up an altar for them in the corner of her room with photos of her Mama and Baba. It did take some searching, but they eventually found them in a flash drive that survived the fire by some miracle.

Most days she couldn’t stand to look at the photo though, but she knew if she didn’t at least burn incense, then they’d be doomed in the afterlife, and then that would be two things that were her fault, so she tried her best.

She wasn’t doing that right now though.

She still was looking at the crumbling fractures that used to be her home.

“C’mon Mei, we gotta get going in twenty minutes,” Mr. Piggy pleaded with her from the kitchen, and like the good little girl she was, Mei obeyed.

She was glad she wasn’t going to school today, but she really hated that Mr. Piggy was still making MK go. She also hated that she still had a ton of homework to do. But she was grateful she didn’t have to wear that itchy sweater or button up or skirt. No, today she wore capris and a tank top over a long sleeved green undershirt. It was funny how normal she looked in it– except for her haircut but it was good to stand out and look cute.

She admired the look in the mirror for a bit before glancing at her parent’s altar– quickly remembering she needed to light the day’s incense. She mumbled and tripped over prayers, trying to ignore the feeling of failure and judgment crawling on her skin.

When it was over, she only glanced at the pictures of her parents before leaving the room and going to eat.

More of that toast stuff, which was kind of fun. Breakfast was so elaborate back home, but ever since she started living with Mr. Piggy it was simple and easy– if a bit bland. But Mr. Piggy was one of those ‘busy businessmen’ unlike her parents, but Mei liked the business. Finally it felt like someone around here moved at her pace.

Mei barely got to finish today though, as she had to scramble to pack her bag with all of her homework and walk with Mr. Piggy and MK to their school before she’d help around the shop while also doing homework today.

Yippee.

Cold autumn air hit her face like a ton of bricks, reminding her why the stupid sweaters were part of the uniform in the first place. Still, Mei was determined to not be cold and so simply acted like she wasn’t– besides, the last thing she needed was another lecture from the pigman.

“If I gave you a piece of gum, can I not go to school Mr. Piggy?” MK asked, digging in his khaki pocket until he found a stick of mysterious origin since Mr. Piggy hadn’t ever gotten them gum ever.

“Not a chance kiddo, your education’s very important,” The pig man chuckled a bit.

“Oh and mine doesn’t?” Mei said sarcastically, which made the chef roll his eyes.

“Of course it does, which is why you have lots of homework to do at the restaurant.”

Frick.

Welp. Couldn’t say she didn’t try.

“S’okay MK. If you come back and any of them’ve been mean to you, I’ll just sock ‘em in the eye again,” Mei grinned, punching her hand. She could see it made her guardian uneasy but it made MK smile so she didn’t care.

“You’re so cool Mei,” MK elbowed his bestie.

“Yeah, it’s true, I’m the coolest,” She went to swish her hair, forgetting that she cut it and the two burst into laughter.

“Alright alright, settle down– we’re here you two,” Pigsy informed the pair of besties, turning the laughing to dramatic sighs.

Mei had one last idea though.

“Oh dear Mr. Piggy, don’t you know we’re all we have left in the world? After our parents died, we didn’t know of each other's fates for so long, and it was something truly frightful indeed. Shant you spare us the pain, the torture of separating us?” She sighed, hugging MK and using her best blinking puppy dog eyes.

The chef remained unimpressed though.

“Sorry MK, you gotta go,” He patted the boy’s shoulder and MK nodded in defeat and gave Mei a hug.

“I’m serious MK, if they’re mean, they will feel my wrath,” Mei whispered to him.

MK laughed, “you’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

MK chuckled a bit before letting go and heading inside, waving to his guardian and friend the entire way, until it was suddenly just Mei and Mr. Piggy.

…This was weird.

Mei glanced at the pig demon, but strangely his eyes were still fixated on the glass door, like he was lost in thought. Well– he had to be since MK wasn’t there, and it wasn’t like anything else was happening around those doors. After a while he noticed her looking at him and snapped out of whatever he was thinking with a snap.

“Let’s get goin’,” He phrased it half like a question and half like an order, but regardless they got moving to the subway.

Mei found the process of the subway exciting– much more exciting than driving by car– though she did miss the bus a little bit. Plus, there was kind of a weird smell to the place Mr. Piggy refused to elaborate on anything other than “That’s just how it is”.

Once they were on the train, things were usually fine, though if there weren’t seats, Mr. Piggy would get a little cranky. Not to mention strangers would give her head tilts and/or get too close and Mei much preferred sitting. Thankfully this time was such an occasion, and they sat by the door in peace.

An indecipherable voice mumbled something something street and they were on their way.

The girl and the demon didn’t talk much. Mei didn’t know what was going on in that pig brain of his. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to ask about it or not since whenever she did, people tended to shut her down or dismiss her. Which was fine, duh. She didn’t know a lot of things. That was fine.

After three or so mumbles, PIgsy and them got off the subway and headed out to the restaurant, where the pig lifted up the security shield before they both walked in.

“You can sit next to Tang’s stool at the bar while you work– I wanna keep an eye on you,” Pigsy instructed.

Today was gonna be so much fun.

Mei huffed and set down her heavy bag before plopping herself on the stool and getting out the big orange packet.

It read:

“MEGAPOLIS CITY ACADEMY DISCIPLINARY FORM: BULLYING AND HARASSMENT.

Bullying is defined as ‘seeking to harm, intimidate, or coerce (someone perceived as vulnerable)’, and is not allowed by MEGAPOLIS CITY ACADEMY and such behaviors blahblahblahblahblahblahblah…”

Mei’s glazed over the moment they hit the page and she immediately wanted to slam her head against the countertop.

“Mr. Piggy, this is boring,” She lamented, pushing the papers away.

“It’s been two seconds kid,” The chef laughed as he tied his halfway-apron thingy. “Can’t even try to give it a shot?”

“I tried my dig dang darnest yesterday, but I think this paper is no match for me,” She said, pushing it towards the chef, who looked at it after washing his hands.

“Wow that’s… yeah that’s one way to put things,” Pigsy cringed. “Maybe just trying skipping to the questions– I could actually use your hands to help clean up ‘round here.”

Mei blinked. “You mean I… don’t have to read the boring stuff? My parents always said I have to read the boring stuff, even if it feels like it's killing me.”

Pigsy had a weird look at that– something between panic and confusion.

“Well– I– uh–” He scratched his neck. “I mean– maybe don’t for regular assignments but this bullying stuff– umm…” The pig demon’s eyes were going all over the place. Mei just kind of ignored that and went to find her pencil case…

Her pencil case– where the heck was it???

She practically turned her leather bag inside and out fifteen times before she realized that nope– it wasn’t here and she totally forgot it.

Grrrrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaat.

Well now she was at a standstill.

Should she A) Confess the missing pencil to Mr. Piggy, which would get her a looooooooong winded lecture about ‘the importance of responsibility’, B) Pretend she did have a pencil, not do her work, then get a long winded lecture also about responsibility but also with honesty thrown in for extra flavor, or C) Run away and become one with the street rats.

Honestly, option ‘C’ wasn’t looking so bad. She could totally pull off “street rat”, and she’d look great covered in dirt and plus she apparently knew how to break noses– it would be great! If she went right now–

“Mei,” Pigsy snapped, grabbing her attention.

“Yyyyesss?” Mei gave her biggest “please-don’t-ask-me-what-I-was-thinking-about’ grin.

“Work?” He did that ‘I'm reminding you gently but I’m also getting annoyed’ tone used by many a teacher, nanny, and parents alike to Mei.

“Yes! Work,” Mei put on a serious face, and immediately remembered again that she still didn’t have a pencil. There was an awkward moment where Mei didn’t want to tell Mr. Piggy she forgot her pencils, but he wouldn’t stop watching her with a curious look.

Finally, he asked, “Kid, did you forget your pencil bag?”

Shoot.

“I– y-yeah…” Mei knew she was caught and mentally prepared herself for the lecture.

Mr. Piggy must’ve been thinking of something long and strict because he didn’t speak for a long long time before–

“Here.”

Oh god– was he going to hand her a ruler for her to hit herself with? It wasn’t common, but that one nanny’s form of punishment still haunted her when she did measuring in class.

With a wince she opened her eyes, surprised to find he was holding out a pencil.

She took it with hesitation, which got her more of that weird look from Pigsy.

“No– uhm– lecture?” Mei asked.

“What? For forgettin’ something? Sounds a little pointless,” Pigsy snorted. “Just get your work done– we’ll talk after the first wave comes through here.”

Right.

She was already getting a lecture. Now it would be a double lecture about responsibility and character and ‘don’t forget things’ and anything else she’d mess up today.

Work. She needed to work.

Okay Mei, not too hard– just reading the question and answering– no biggie.

Mei took a deep breath and read the first question:

What choice did I make to get me here?

Mei frowned. She hasn't made any choices yet. She got here because Mr. Piggy knew the train– okay, it probably wasn’t that literal.

The paper was about discipline, so it was probably about that.

…Well that made the question even more stupid! It was that stupid jerk face Qiang that made the choice to be a big meanie to MK. She simply gave him what he deserved– wasn’t her fault it was a “knuckle sandwich” as the cartoons said.

With a huff, she wrote:

“Stood up for my best friend MK against a jerk.”

Next question.

Was this a good choice or a bad choice?

Very good. MK was happier and safer with her protection.

“Very good.”

How did this action affect myself or others?

Hm… This one felt like a trap of some kind. A way to make her feel bad for what she’d done.

Good thing she knew she was right!

“Made MK happy and protected. Gave me a black eye and hurt my fists, but I felt preeeetty cool. Qiang broke his nose.”

She tapped her pencil against her chin before adding–

“Good.”

What would’ve been a better choice?

Okay this one was definitely a trap. They definitely wanted her to be feeling bad. Well she wouldn’t be giving them the satisfaction.

“Breaking his jaw too.”

Page one complete, and in record time (probably). Of course there were at least a billion more, plus Mr. Piggy and Headmaster Jiangxi needed to sign this. So… yay.

The next one was “fill-in-the-blank” style and it seemed to be–

An apology.

Mei growled as she saw that Tao Qiang was already written in the blank labeled “(person you’re apologizing to)”.

“You alright kid?” Pigsy turned his head away from where he’d been prepping beef and turkey for the day.

Mei just gave a long sigh and flopped onto the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sucks– just be glad they’re giving you the chance and not just–” Pigsy suddenly stopped himself and shook his head. “Just do your best, kiddo.”

Somehow that felt worse than the lecture part.

The next blank was for her to fill out and started with “I’m sorry for _____” with “(what you did that hurt them)”.

What was she? Four?

Muttering every almost-a-curse word she knew under her breath, she wrote:

“for breaking your nose and making you feel bad for hurting MK which you TOTALLY “””””DIDN’T””””” deserve”

Mei wasn’t sure how she was supposed to convey sarcasm, and quotation marks felt like the closest thing she was gonna get.

The next two blanks went as follows:

I know what I did was wrong. What I did probably made you feel ____ and ____

…Well that was quite the presumption. She wasn’t sorry at all. But whatever. She’d been playing their game this far.

Mei filled in the blank with “like a stupid baby” and “uncool”.

The one after that was long, and went–

“In the future I will __________”

Now there’s an easy one.

“go straight for the neck.”

The page then said “will you please forgive me?”

Mei just kind of blinked at it. A part of her thought about crossing it out, but that was more effort than she wanted to put in.

After that was a whole paragraph of lines asking her how she thought Qiang would react to such an apology.

…Probably like a little baby, like he had in the cafeteria. Maybe he’d punch her again and they’d get suspended again and maybe this’d create an unending cycle of suspension. Or maybe they’d just fight in secret in a basement somewhere. Now there’s a million dollar idea.

Mei sighed a breath of relief when she realized that one was over.

After that was more reading, and then a quiz of some kind and since she had zero interest in doing any of that, Mei got to doing more of her regular schoolwork, though it was barely any better. The reading was boring, the math was boring, the history was boring, and everything else was so mind-numbingly boring she hadn’t even noticed Pigsy started opening shop and customers were going in and out and ordering food.

Some of them looked at her strangely, others smiled, but one particular lady kept looking at her as she was texting furiously. Weird, but she was technically used to it as a member of the one and only dragon clan.

Plus… you know… only one left alive, and uh– she kind of probably made the news for running away? It wasn’t like she had any way of knowing but it was supposed to be a huge event and she did just kind of dip out like no biggie– which it like– wasn’t– but– yeah.

When her order was called, she did something strange– changing where she was sitting to the bar stool left of Mei, though since it was nearing lunch time Pigsy didn’t notice.

“Hello, young miss,” She smiled at her.

“Hi,” Mei smiled back, a bit confused, but polite as she did her history work.

“What’re you doing there?” The woman continued to ask questions.

“Homework,” Mei glanced at the chef, but his back was turned.

“Why aren’t you in school?”

Mei laughed a little. “You ask a lot of questions, lady.” She laughed a bit too.

“Are your parents around?”

Mei frowned. “No, why?”

The lady shook her head and tsked, typing something on her phone. “Do you know where they are?”

A knot formed in Mei’s stomach so she didn’t reply.

“Is… anyone watching you?” The lady asked, looking around the busy restaurant.

“Duh, Mr. Piggy,” Mei snorted a bit, trying to pick up her pencil again, but she just fidgeted with it nervously.

“The… chef?” The woman said, almost aghast.

Mei nodded as the knot tightened.

The woman typed a few more things, read something, looked at Mei once or twice, before dialing a number on her phone.

“I’m going to be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere,” She smiled but Mei just felt weird. She left the restaurant though, but Mei still couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

“Order for Li Xue” Pigsy rang the bell and finally turned to Mei, where his brow immediately furrowed.

“You alright kid? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Pigsy asked.

“Oh– well– I– uh–” Mei glanced at the door and Pigsy followed her gaze, where he scowled.

“Did someone say somethin’ weird to you?” He asked, looking back at her.

Mei shrugged. “I… guess?”

Pigsy huffed angrily. “Was it a grown man?”

“No, no– just some lady,” Mei shook her head. A tension left Pigsy’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem fully relaxed quite yet.

“You don’t have to talk to strangers, kid– especially if they start talkin’ weird, alright?” Her guardian looked back at the door.

She had no idea what he was referring to and so nodded. The chef nodded to himself and got back to cooking and Mei attempted to do her homework, but it still felt all too strange. At least it was over for now– or at least until that lady came back in.

“Hi sweetheart,” she smiled and took her seat next to her.

“Mr. Piggy says I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Mei informed her, trying to go back to her history homework.

“Does he now?” She frowned at the chef, whose back was turned yet again. “Well that’s alright sweetie, help is on the way.”

Wait, what?

“Help? What help? I don’t need help,” Mei tried scooting away from the lady, but the stool didn’t budge and there was only so much room.

“Oh you sweet child,” The woman placed a hand on her shoulder, which made Mei nearly jump out of her seat.

Just then, two, big muscley people walked through the open doorway–

Cops.

Pigsy looked at Mei, and upon seeing the woman sitting next to her with a hand on her shoulder, his eyes widened in panic.

The lady, upon seeing the police, let go of Mei’s shoulder and approached them, but before she could speak, Pigsy talked instead.

“Anythin’ I can do for you, officers?” Pigsy was clenching his jaw and Mei just wanted to hide under the counter with MK again.

“We got a call about an abandoned child at this establishment,” The officers looked around before locking their eyes on Mei.

“What– but that’s–”

“She’s been here a long time, officers. She says her parents aren’t around– I knew something was off the moment I noticed such a smart looking girl not in school and with– that hair?” The lady interrupted Pigsy. The lady then whispered something to one of the cops– a female one, who nodded seriously and started approaching Mei.

Nononono– not this again–

Mei looked at Pigsy desperately.

“Wait– there seems to be a misunderstanding– I’m her legal guardian through adoption,” Pigsy got out from behind the bar and stood by Mei, placing a calming yet firm hand on her shoulder.

The female officer looked at Mei. “How’s about you and I have a little chat, no?” she smiled.

Mei immediately shook her head. “I don’t wanna.”

“You don’t have to Mei,” Pigsy squeezed her shoulder. “If you have any issues, you can talk to our lawyer.”

The officer then looked at Pigsy and there seemed to be some kind of ‘shaping up’ –until the lady from before interrupted with a particularly loud comment to the male officer:

“You know, I wouldn’t trust a demon with a human child anyways– I mean she’s supposed to be at school, isn’t she?”

Pigsy growled.

“Yes, why isn’t your… she at school?” The officer asked, putting her thumbs around the shoulder straps of her bulletproof vest.

“I got suspended,” Mei answered for Pigsy.

The lady muttered something Mei couldn’t hear.

The officer got closer to Mei, which was when Pigsy got completely in front of her, but the officer didn’t care, as she was more interested in the homework on the bar.

Uh oh.

Please don’t read the discipline packet, please don’t read the discipline packet, please don’t read the discipline packet, please–

She picked up the orange discipline packet.

Flipping through it, she kept looking back at Mei, who was just about on the verge of tears.

“Miss Long here assaulted a fellow student in her school?” She looked at Pigsy.

“Defending a friend,” Pigsy stated flatly. “Again, if you have any issues, I can give you my lawyers card, but I assure you there’s nothin’ wrong going on around here, except that woman assumin’ a demon can’t care for a human kid.”

“From what she’s written here, it doesn’t look like defense,” She slid the packet closer to the pig demon.

No no no no no no no no–

“You don’t know anything about her,” Pigsy asserted.

“Sir, we’re gonna need you to calm down,” The male officer got closer to them, hand on his baton, and Mei felt very afraid.

“Calm down? You two’re accusing me of kidnapping my own kid-!” Pigsy argued.

“Adoption doesn’t make her yours, sir,” The female officer scowled. “She belongs to the state.”

This couldn’t be happening– Mei was not going to lose another guardian– not because of what she did– not again– she couldn’t– she can’t–

“Don’t hurt Mr. Piggy!” Mei shouted, her tears finally breaking free as she stood on her stool. All eyes in the room immediately turned to her.

Pigsy looked scared– really scared. But also very, very sad.

“Look kid–” the male cop started.

“N-no! He’s right, h-he’s my guardian– I-i call ‘im ‘Mr. Piggy’ as a joke– you can’t take ‘im! I-i don’t wan’ him to die!” Mei interrupted, stomping on the stool, causing it to shake a little and Pigsy immediately rushed to stabilize her, but Mei took the opportunity to immediately wrap her arms around his neck and weep into his shoulder.

Pigsy immediately hugged her back, rubbing her back soothingly before he said, “Look, if you have an issue, we close at 10, and I can give you my lawyer's information then. For now, I got customers and a child you’re scaring the crap outta.”

“We’ll need to see your restaurant licenses.”

Pigsy muttered an, “of course” before tilting his head towards the back. He still held onto Mei and Mei held onto him as the officers walked past them.

“It’s alright Mei, it’s alright,” Pigsy whispered as she continued to bawl in his embrace.

“B-but th-th-they– a-and– th-the tigers– a-a-and–”

“I know kid, I know,” Pigsy held her a little tighter.

“I-i-i miss MK. I-i miss Mama and Baba. I-i-i miss my home.”

“I… I know,” Her guardian sighed.

“I thought you were–”

“I know.”

“B-because they–”

“Yeah…”

“A-and they–”

“I know, Mei. I’m sorry.”

Mei cried more.

After a minute or two of just that, the officers emerged from the back.

“Everything appears up to code.”

Of course it did, the jerk faces.

“We found a card of your lawyer in the back. We’ll be in contact,” The female officer nodded at the two of them, but Mei wanted nothing than to burn them both to a crisp.

After that, everyone, including the woman who called the cops in the first place, left– as did most other customers– though Pigsy’s tip jar was a lot fuller than it was most days, so at least that was nice.

But that meant the first wave was over and Mr. Piggy was going to have to give that lecture about responsibility.

Mei forced herself to let go of the chef far before she felt ready. In truth, Mr. Piggy gave the bestest hugs in the whole wide world– probably because he was so squishy. Maybe also because her parents– or at least her mom– wasn’t big on hugs.

“You okay waiting a bit? I’ll just clean up a bit and then we’ll talk, okay?” Mr. Piggy looked at Mei after she broke the embrace.

Mei nodded.

Mr. Piggy wiped a tear from her cheek before going to clean as he had said, while Mei took back her seat at the bar.

She stared down at the orange packet with her stupid, stupid answers. Did she think she was funny or something? This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Just when it looked like Pigsy was going to finish up someone came through the doorway, but thankfully it was just Mr. Tang with his book bag and laptop as usual.

“Ah– classes get canceled today?” Mr. Piggy asked, still cleaning up a few more things.

“Yeah, professor’s sick– plus I heard there was a commotion over here,” Mr. Tang informed.

“Could you untie the flap? We’re gonna close for a bit,” Pigsy requested, and the scholar did.

Mei just picked up her pencil and started doodling circles and dragons in the corners of the paper, her stomach still tied into knots and weightless tears kept dripping down.

“So what happened?” Tang asked, taking his usual seat, which was the spot to the right of Mei.

Mei bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

Pigsy sighed as he dried off the countertops of the kitchen and was officially done cleaning. Mei kept her eyes and head low even though she could feel him looking at her.

“Lady called the cops on us– assumin’ I kidnapped Mei or something,” The demon told.

Mei could feel both Mr. Piggy and Mr. Tang’s eyes on her, and she just kept doodling and doodling until she pressed too hard, managing to rip a hole in the paper and snap the pencil lead. With a huff, she slid the papers away from herself and got off the stool, causing Mr. Tang to jump to his feet and grab her arm.

“Mei, are you alright?” He asked, not letting go.

“This– This isn’t fair-! Why isn’t this fair? Why are cops and headmasters and teachers a-and adults mean– it isn’t fair,” Mei exclaimed, snatching her arm away, but she didn’t go anywhere.

“Kid…” Pigsy sighed, stepping out from the kitchen again. “Do you wanna talk in the office?”

Mei shook her head.

She could feel Tang and Pigsy exchanging looks.

“Do you want to talk outside then?” He tried again.

Mei shook her head.

“...In the empty apartment?”

Mei repeated the gesture a third time.

“Mei, we don’t have that many options here,” Pigsy sighed.

“I-i know…” Mei considered her options again, but still none of them felt right.

Home.

Mei wanted to go home.

…but that was never going to happen.

Mei wiped her face with her sleeve.

She missed MK.

Silent but quick, Mei got up from her stool, and went into the kitchen area, where she promptly sat in the same hiding spot she’d been in just a week before. There was a bit of whispering before Tang and Pigsy sat on the floor too.

“Kid, I’m… sorry any of this happened. I know life oughta be fair, but it just isn’t– especially for my kind,” Pigsy scratched the back of his neck.

“Your kind..?” Mei sniffled, confused.

Mr. Tang looked at her sadly. “Demons, Mei.”

“Oh…” Mei recalled lessons from her boring history class about demons and stuff. Guess she didn’t really think of her guardian as a demon because he was so nice– but maybe that was a bad thing.

“Mei– you said you didn’t want them to hurt me– is that something you think about a lot?” Pigsy asked quietly.

Mei nodded.

“Is it because of last time?”

The girl nodded again.

“Well, those were tiger demons last time, these ones were just regular cops– though, they still–”

“Th-they wanted to hurt you– I could tell– He was grabbin something,” Mei interrupted.

Tang looked at Pigsy in clear distress.

“That’s… my fault, kid– I raised my voice, and I’m not supposed to–”

“No, Mei, it’s the police’s fault,” Tang didn’t allow that to stand.

“Why? Aren’t cops s’posed to be good and not hurt us and not be like big tiger demons?” Mei sniffled. “That’s what Miss Yang says, anyways.”

“In… theory,” Tang shared a look with her guardian that made her heart sink.

“Mei, do you remember the lady who we toured apartments with a couple days ago?” The chef asked.

Mei nodded.

“Remember how she said ‘are you sure this neighborhood is right for your kind’?”

“Yeah– that was mean.”

“Well, she was referring to demons, like me. And she’s not the only person who thinks like that– in fact, it’s not exactly uncommon, especially in cops,” Pigsy scratched the back of his neck, and Tang placed a hand on his knee.

“But that’s not nice! You’re not bad! A-and you're my guardian– why don’t they believe that?” Mei protested.

“Hatred, kiddo. People blame us for our ancestors and they think we’re all just evil cannibals and just– they don’t want us in fancy shmancy places like that apartment building or your school,” Pigsy looked away.

“But… why?” Mei hugged her knees tighter.

Pigsy didn’t seem like he could talk much more, which clearly upset Mr. Tang, who stroked her guardian’s knee with his thumb. After a beat, Tang looked at Mei and spoke.

“There’s a lot of complicated history behind it, but it really just boils to the fact that demons are different than humans, and since there’s more humans, they don’t like that very much,” The man sighed. “Plus, there’s a bit of complicated– likely even exaggerated– history about how bad demons used to be in the old days, and people carry these assumptions to now, even though it’s wrong.”

“Like that Mr. Piggy would kidnap me?” Mei glanced at the chef again, but his head was fully turned away.

“Yes,” Tang confirmed.

Mei thought about that a bit.

“But– but that doesn’t make sense because me ‘n MK aren’t demons, so why’re we getting punished?” She asked.

Pigsy let out a large sigh and looked at her. “It’s cuz I’m your guardian, kid. Those ‘expectations’ and ‘assumptions’ are bein’ passed down to you. And I’m… sorry.”

Mei frowned. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make things any easier. You said yourself I can be mean, and well– you aren’t wrong. I– I get angry and aggressive and it’s what they’re expecting–”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Mei,” Tang interrupted. “Anger is a natural emotion, but when everybody is looking for something to hate, anger is seen as an excuse for many people to feel justified in treating him– and by extension, you and MK– poorly.”

Pigsy rubbed his forehead. “Look, kid, what we’re gettin’ at here is… what you did was right, and– heck, I’m proud of you for defending MK and I’m glad you’re such good friends– and I’m really glad that you care about me so much that you’d yell at cops…”

“but…” Mei sighed.

Pigsy nodded slowly, “But… because of our situation, people are gonna look at us and think I’m a bad influence, and then they’ll do things like call the cops or child protection services and then they’ll take you away– separating you and MK permanently.”

Mei gasped. “B-but– but they can’t do that-! MK’s my friend– a-and I like you! They can’t do that!”

“I know, I know,” Pigsy touched Mei’s shoulder, making her look into his tired eyes. “I know it’s wrong, but… God– I hate saying this but… if we slip up like this– get into one too many fights, or get the cops called too often– then you’ll probably never, ever see me or MK ever again.”

“B-but those jerk faces– they can’t get away with this,” Mei shook her head as tears started to form.

“We’ll try our best Mei, but that’s just… not how this works right now,” Pigsy sighed.

“But that’s wrong! Th-they can’t do that! I won’t let ‘em!” Mei declared.

“We can only do our best, Mei. Like I said, society doesn’t like Pigsy’s kind and they’re gonna be looking for the bad,” Mr. Tang informed her sadly.

“A-are they gonna kill him?” Mei asked, startling the two men.

“What? No– no– they– um—” Tang paused and glanced at Pigsy, which sent the panic from earlier instantly back in Mei’s body.

“I-i don’t wan’ him to die– I’ll be good Mr. Piggy, I’ll be real good– I-i won’t fight or anything. I-i’ll be so good– I’ll protect MK b-but not like in a bad ‘get in trouble’ way– a good way that’ll keep you and MK safe,” She swore on her seven-year-old life.

“Kid, I’m not gonna die,” Pigsy tried to assure.

“B-but my mama and baba–”

Pigsy winced a little and nodded. “Yeah, I know, but look–” He cupped her cheek, forcing her head to turn to fully face him– “I promise that I won’t ever leave you, alright? And I’ll do anything– anything– to make sure you and MK are safe and happy and together.”

Mei sniffled, putting her hands on Pigsy’s.

They were so warm, smelling like herbs and meat and noodles–

Like a home away from home.

“You promise?” She asked.

“I promise,” He smiled weakly.

In the blink of an eye, Mei crawled out from the cupboard and hugged Pigsy as tight as she could. Tang quickly joined the hug too, and Mei didn’t mind that one bit since he was really nice too.

This time, Mei allowed herself to stay in the embrace until she was good and ready to let go and she looked up at her guardian with a weak smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Piggy.”

“Anytime kiddo,” The chef smiled and ruffled her hair a little, making her laugh.

Carefully and slowly the three of them got up and back to their usual places– though Pigsy paused when he saw the homework.

“So, about that correctional homework–” Pigsy reached for the orange packet, and Mei immediately pulled it away.

“I– uh– need to rewrite my answers… and I need another pencil,” She confessed. Pigsy laughed, opening his hand for the packet anyways.

“Dont get mad…?” Mei requested, sheepishly handing it over.

“Promise,” Pigsy assured before taking it and flipping to the answers.

As he read, he had a very amused look on his face before he suddenly burst into laughter.

“What? What’s so funny?” Tang demanded to know, and Pigsy handed him the paper.

“Is this true? Your only regret is not breakin’ that Qiang’s jaw?” Pigsy couldn’t stop grinning.

“Until you told me about the cops and stuff– but yeah,” Mei confessed with a laugh.

“You really got some fire in you kiddo– I like it,” Pigsy winked and Mei beamed.

“Thanks, Mr. Piggy. I promise I’ll tone it down though– I don’t wanna–”

“And you won’t kid, so long as we work as a team, nobody’s separating us, got it?”

“Got it, Mr. Piggy,” Mei gave the chef a big thumbs up.

“Good,” Pigsy gave a thumbs up right back. “Now… about those answers–”

“I’ll fix em, I’ll fix em,” Mei chuckled and her guardian handed her a new pencil.

“Attagirl.”

#lego monkie kid #lmk #freenoodles #mei dragon #pigsy lmk #tang lmk #my fics #mei lmk #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #idk how to tag things anymore #I used to #but that ability has long left the building

[floatingaroundinmymind]

Prologue for a fantasy story; feedback appreciated!

The world's savior was found on a Tuesday. 

On a single patch of green grass amid frost tipped weeds and crystalline ants lay a single man-sized egg in the village square. The children found it first and then the fishermen and farmer's wives. The elders spoke in hushed whispers, spun silvery tales of prophets and heralds to man, saviors in times of need. And so a gilded shrine was built to honor the Prince of Men, a nest with the good down, adorned with the finest silks and purest gold. 

And into the walls men carved such intricate patterns, eyes of the village to watch and protect the young prince--the grandest being an ornate carving of the imagined prince among his people. The women produced their fineries, dresses and robes, stockings and cloaks with which their skilled fingers distilled every ounce of hope. There was deliberation, talk of how to mold the new angelic host, of how he should come to know man and the world of men in the days since prosperity. 

Oh, but it was folly. 

Seed of discontent, sown by human or heavenly hands? Flower of malevolence in full bloom on crimson earth, beneath smoky skies; new ashen snow in frozen summer. And the egg, in a golden cage. 

No one was there when the egg hatched. The scant sunlight filtered in through the rocks above, seeping into cracks between yellowed blades of grass and craggy holes in weak, sputtering spurts of life. And as it hit the large, pale slabs of raw stone and shone on the streams of water which trickled off their crumbling steps, Aurea found they were alone. 

They crawled out of the egg, amniotic fluid spilling onto the previously untainted floor. The bare ground was cold and stark against the warmth of the egg and Aurea felt its solid, stony weight beneath her feet. 

The gilded cage sat upon a raised pedestal and through the golden slats, Aurea caught glimpses of greenery, the trickling of water dropping off into some dark abyss beyond the reach of both the sun's rays and their eyes. Aurea shrugged off the cracked bits of shell that clung to her body, the sticky residue from the egg clinging to each piece. 

Against the bars closest to the stairs were a wooden bowl, cloths of some sort, thick boots, and a folded set of garments upon which a crown of branches sat waiting, watching as if it too awaited their arrival. The bowl was large and filled with water for washing, the fabric beside it needlessly ornate for what amounted to washcloths.

Instinctively, she cupped the water in her hands and rinsed her face, felt the sticky fluid run off it and reached for a washcloth, wiping the rest off. Aurea's face reflected back at them in the ripples—blonde hair curling around the edges of their face and ice blue eyes searching for some sense of self in the not quite child nor adult face that stared back. Tearing her eyes away from the false self, the process was repeated with the rest of their body until the water remaining in the bowl had turned a dingy yellow, the remnants of birth clinging to the bottom. 

Cleansed as they were, the slight chill in the air had now grown to a freezing magnitude, aided by the dampness of Aurea's hair and the absence of the egg's warmth. It was then that she turned her attention to the garments beside the now dirtied washcloths. Stacked neatly there were four pieces in the set, accented by golden threads and vibrant purple hues with an off-white serving as the base, earthen browns meant to balance the more striking elements.  

She held the garments in her hand, noted on one there were holes for arms, a head and more confusing ones on another piece. Aurea stared at the large carving on the wall furthest from them, a winged herald among ground people. The regal figure was clothed in strange robes, trousers and fine boots—the very same set neatly folded before her.   

Aurea turned away from the carving feeling the stone figures' eyes lingering long beyond their rocky casing and attempted to dress herself. 

As she slipped on the clothing still she felt eyes watching. It was a low hum in the background that made its presence known louder with each passing minute. Half-dressed, Aurea turned back to glance at the stony faces on the wall and noticed on the opposite wall a pattern. 

Eyes.

There were eyes carved into every wall surrounding the great gilded cage.

They didn't roam—there was no life behind them. They simply stared at her half-naked asking questions that only the ancient hands of men knew, answers that the wind pretended not to know as it blew through the cavern. Their silent, ever-present gaze never once left Aurea and she could feel each pupil on her body, covering her whole being like a million unwanted hands touching, poking, and prodding at her like she was an animal in a cage. 

There was nowhere to hide. 

She turned, suffocated by the prying eyes, feet slipping on the water from before and reached for the gilded bars as she fell. The bars gave way and Aurea hit the ground—the cage door was open.  

The large golden door now lay wide open, the mysteries of the world outside the cage waiting. Its hinges were old and worn but still functional—the same could not be said for the lock whose chain was rusted brittle and broken, the result of many years left unattended.  

Still feeling the burning gaze of the carvings, Aurea finished dressing, threw on the boots and wrapped herself in the massive cloak provided, the fur-lined hood tickling her cheeks. They stepped carefully over the cage threshold and took in the cavern with caution and awe.

From atop the pedestal holding the cage there were a set of stairs which led down to level ground. On either side of the steps were countless stalagmites guarding a large lake which seemed to circle around the base of the steps, back into some far corner beyond sight. Far above even the cage, there were cracks in the cave ceiling through which small rays of light penetrated and water from some unknown source seemed to endlessly trickle in, dripping off the stalactites and down onto the stalagmites and into the subterranean lake.       

As Aurea descended the stairs, small pillars of white came into view. Dozens of old candles were littered at the base of the steps and led outward into a narrow corridor, ancient wax drips dried on their bulky stalks. 

Alongside the candles were dried bundles of herbs, some ashen and all bound with thin string, the likes of which Aurea could faintly smell mingling with the earthen scent of the cave. 

They followed the trail of candles in darkness through a winding path. The only constants discernible were the drip of water, the occasional streak of light and the sense of a gradual ascent. When the path opened up once more, there was a great out pour of light and with it a scant few steps which led to somewhere outside the cave.

The outer world was immobile. Beyond the threshold was a vast expanse of white blanketing the ground as far as the eye could see and hazy in the distance, a faint plume of smoke against the slowly darkening blue sky. Aurea stepped forward as if on impulse, one foot in front of the other as she stared at the source of the smoke and felt snowflakes float onto her nose and ears, dampening both with their presence. 

The wind's chill penetrated even the thick coat and trousers that Aurea wore and they had grown hungry, an ache seating itself deep in the pit of their stomach. The smoke in the distance was far, but close enough to reach, Aurea thought. And off she went towards the source.

*

"Wren, come tend the fire." 

Grandma sat curled by the fireplace on a much loved rocking chair. The wrinkled face still held the woman's countenance well, playful nature coming through in her twinkling ancient eyes and calm voice. Oh, but she was always like this, lightly complaining about the ache winter brought to her brittle old bones—Wren never minded. 

"Just a moment."

Wren moved slow down the stairs, the outline of her lithe form barely visible in the faint firelight and short brown hair swaying with each step. 

There was something comforting about the way Grandma called her each winter night, the loose routine they had settled into as Wren talked about the stars and Grandma taught her about the past, the olden days most had forgotten. Grandma had always said winter was the season for dreams and so Wren thought it seemed fitting that each passing winter felt a little like a dream itself—lazy and uncertain but with a hopeful tone. The slow meandering pace of the nights overshadowed the brief periods of sunlight called day as the long arm of time stretched itself thin again. It would be a matter of time before spring came and brought with it all the beauty of nature.  

Until then on tonight, like most nights, Wren was relegated to retrieving firewood from the storehouse and preventing the small flame that gave life to all inhabitants from going out. 

"Be careful, the wolves have been restless lately—strange men in the area. Be on your guard." 

"I know, Grandma. I learned from the best after all." Wren winked, patted her hunting knife in its sheathe and lit the lantern like always, the wick seized up in dancing flame. 

Shrugging on a thick coat and slipping into equally warm boots, she turned the front door knob and stepped out into the cold, started down the steps and towards the direction of the storehouse.  

It was a short walk from the main house to the storehouse indicated by loosely staked poles with symbols carved on them so one could navigate nearly blind if they had to. The lantern lit up the path as Wren walked, snowflakes dappling the black wool coat she wore. Undoing the latch and pushing the door open, she grabbed a few hefty pieces of wood and made her way back out, nightly routine nearly over.

The pale moonlight was at its peak now, an imperfect crescent that cast a lonely gaze over a stark white land covered in coniferous trees of varying shades and exposed rock.   

And there face down in the snow, far from Wren but just close enough, was a girl with blonde hair. 

#writblr #writing feedback #my writing #prologue #fantasy #ice age fantasy #kind of #its complicated

[verlaines-corner-archive]

i agree with pathetic fyodor anon about fyodor being a virgin, not only he overworks himself to the point of being careless about his own needs he also has one goal that keeps him detached from what he wants for himself too. therefore it must be hard for him to open himself up and create intimate relationships with others when he's only focused on an idealization, chasing his promised land.

"he probably doesnt even know how he likes to be loved since its unnecessary for his perfect sinless world, that's why he seems self-sacrificial to me rather than someone who is grounded and knows what the best for himself, he is setting himself aside and putting the world as his priority while his own self remain untouched and hungry, and all this sacrifice for a sinful vile world too it's sad to think about it actually”

I agree with you fully here anon, I’ve always thought the same of him.

His goal is definitely one that causes detachment, because it not only places no focus on himself, but none on the individual either. It groups people together, creates an “us vs them” mentality with one of the problems here being that Fyodor’s on the side that he wants to destroy, thus devaluing himself in the process as well. Which makes sense, we can assume that Fyodor hates his own ability, and that his goal is one of self destruction.

Of course him overworking comes into this as well, going until he can’t because his goal is one that is almost impossible, one that requires constant attention and sacrifice. Whether that sacrifice is of people, such as the countless henchmen he has at his disposal, or of his own health. Lack of sleep, not eating, and so on.

There is also the problem that due to the nature of how he goes about his goal and the goal itself, that he can’t actually afford to be vulnerable either. He has to be weary of everyone, because anyone could be out to get him. So he cannot connect, because the slightest bit of vulnerability could result in his entire life’s work crumbling down, taking him along with it. He can only rely on himself and his ability.

His ability is also one that inherently devalues human life. He is able to kill anyone, no matter how powerful, in one touch. Now we don’t know how Fyodor actually discovered his ability, but we could reasonably assume that it wasn’t pleasant. Abilities seem to manifest without warning at first and have been shown to be difficult to control. Given the nature of his ability we can assume it resulted in him killing someone at a young age, and who do kids have the most contact with? Their family.

Now I won’t go too far into his point, as once again we don’t know for certain what his youth was like, but we can assume that it was one of isolation. Which means that he never got the chance to reflect with another, whether that be about his goal, the world, or even his own ability. He has never had support, and all the support he does have currently is a result of his manipulation.

There is also the factor of his intelligence. He knows what people are thinking, what they’re going to do, maybe even before they do. He knows far too much, and due to this no one else is on his level. Even if he could understand them, they cannot return that understanding. 

There is also the obvious matter of his superiority complex, however I have always thought that to be more forced on him by circumstance as opposed to being something natural to him.

But even then the result is the same: the rest of humanity comes to mean nothing to him. They have been devalued fully, nothing more than ants that he can kill in a moment's notice. This all prevents any form of connection.

I would also agree with him being self-sacrificial. He gives his all to the goal of a peaceful world, and in a way that is incredibly selfless. The problem is that his goal - while noble - is one that is selfish. It removes the individual from the situation, only taking in his point of view and forcing what he thinks is best for the world on everyone else. 

Ultimately he believes himself to be doing the right thing, and I think that despite everything he does care for humanity, as sinful as it is. But it’s just a twisted deluded form of care, the product of a life of isolation and misfortune.

So yeah, there’s very little chance that that man has any form of experience, whether that be romantic or sexual, and I highly doubt there’s even been any platonic experience in there, at least none that has been genuine. He does not know how he likes to be loved because he has never been loved, and he has long since abandoned such things in favour of a new world.

#✧ library shelves ✧ #take it all with a grain of salt #'it has to be this way' started playing halfway through and that's so fitting #bsd #bsd fyodor #analysis #bsd analysis #bungo stray dogs #anyway hi welcome to me trying to voice my thoughts in a way that makes sense

[ironychan]

Boonmee was very excited to see the techalotl again.  Unfortunately, we arrived at the copse to find a macawk sitting in the crook of some broccotree branches eating it.  We had to convince her not to chase the bird away, and even if she had, there was nothing we could have done for the poor squirrel.  I guess that's just nature.  We're planning on eating what we catch, so the animals are allowed to do the same.

That put a big crimp in today's exploration plans, but I did take a closer look at one of the yellow flowers growing out of the broccotree trunk.  Its roots do seem to go right into the wood, so I tried to pull it out but all I did was snap the stem off.  In the process I disturbed a big brown beetle (Rock n Roll Crab) with a colourful geometric pattern on its back, which crawled out of the crack and buzzed off.  I'm going to call it a Moccasin Beetle because it reminds me of a beaded slipper I once saw in a museum.  Moments after it left, the ants arrived.  They marched into the crack and came out again carrying tiny, semi-transparent white objects, like grains of rice but smaller.  Took me a minute, but I realized these were beetle eggs.

That's not the only interesting bug we found today, either.  There are spiders (Octocrabs) hiding among the broccotree florets that look almost exactly like the buds.  They aren't interested in the ants much, but when bigger insects like flies land to taste the sticky juice, the spiders reach out with a pair of long legs and grab them.  We couldn't come up with a name for it besides Bud Spider, but Wang wanted to call it a Broctopus so Bud Spider it is.

It's interesting to see how all these organisms fit together: the tree's sticky sap attracts the ants and flies to feed on it.  The spiders eat the flies.  The parasitic flowers grow in the cracks in the bark, which also attract the beetles to lay eggs there so their grubs can eat the wood.  The ants remove the beetle eggs to protect the tree.  The tree buds and the ants are food for the techalotl, and the techalotl are food for the macawks.

That's not a complete ecosystem obviously, but it's the beginning of a food web and it's pretty cool to have seen it in action.  We still don't know what killed the other macawk in the grass, or what keeps screaming in the middle of the night, but I'm getting a feel for this future.

We also found a plant which was cause for celebration:

It's rhubarb!  We had rhubarb in the garden when I was a kid.  Mom used to make pies out of it but could never use it as fast as it grew and ended up giving it away to the neighbours.  My friends and I would break stalks off, wash them, and eat them raw like celery.  The point was to see who could stand the sour taste the longest.

So this is something we can almost definitely eat, but there's another reason we were incredibly happy to see it.  Rhubarb is an old world plant with no business growing wild in what used to be Canada.  It is here because humans brought its distant ancestors across the ocean millions of years ago.  I guess that makes it an invasive species, but after so much time I doubt that matters anymore.  The point is, the rhubarb is proof that we were here.  By now the pyramids have crumbled and the nuclear waste has decayed and even the lunar bases have been buried by regolith, but the rhubarb remains.

And that, o hypothetical reader, is worth celebrating.

#the last humans #speculative evolution #macawk #techalotl #moccasin beetle #bud spider #rhubarb #there are plants related to rhubarb native to the americas #but sssh don't tell them that they're happy #rhubarb will absolutely survive the apocalypse along with cockroaches and twinkies

[qocsuing]

Meruem: The Enigma of Evolution

Meruem: The Enigma of Evolution Introduction Meruem, the enigmatic Chimera Ant King, defied the natural order. Born from the union of a human and an ant, he transcended both species. His story is one of power, cruelty, and unexpected transformation.To get more news about hands free clitoral vibrator, you can visit herbal-hall.com official website.

Origins and Appearance Meruem’s humanoid build set him apart from typical ants.dildos Muscular yet compact, he bore two long antennae on his ears and a helmet-like shell over his head. Dark pigmented areas adorned his arms, legs, chest, and head. His powerful tail, armed with a stinger, symbolized his dominance.

Cruelty and Superiority From birth, Meruem displayed cruelty. His mother, the Chimera Ant Queen, sought perfection, and he embodied it. He considered himself superior to all life forms, showing no empathy for his dying mother. He killed and cannibalized fellow ants, reserving respect only for the strong.

Evolution and Nen Abilities Meruem’s evolution was rapid. His Nen abilities included Aura Synthesis, Metamorphosis, and the devastating Rage Blast. His aura manipulation allowed him to overpower opponents effortlessly. His intelligence matched his physical prowess.

The Final Confrontation During the Chimera Ant arc, Meruem clashed with the Hunters. His battle with Netero, the Chairman, revealed his true power. Moments of vulnerability crept in as he questioned his existence and purpose.

Conclusion Meruem’s borrowed castle crumbled, leaving behind a legacy that defied ant royalty. His story reminds us that even the most powerful beings can grapple with identity and morality. The Chimera Ant King’s tale remains etched in the annals of anime history.

[seemaminerals]

From Soil to Skincare: The Extraordinary Journey of DE

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Understanding DE

It is a soft, siliceous sedimentary rock that is easily crumbled into a fine white to off-white powder. It is primarily composed of the microscopic remains of diatoms – single-celled algae with cell walls made of silica. These diatoms lived in water bodies millions of years ago and left behind their exoskeletons, forming the deposits we now know as DE.

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In the realm of pest control, we have harnessed the power to create eco-friendly solutions. DE is widely recognized as a non-toxic, natural insecticide that is harmless to humans and animals but deadly to insects. It is commonly used in homes and gardens to control pests like ants, cockroaches, fleas, and bedbugs.

Applications in Agriculture

One of the key applications of it is in agriculture. We have recognized the immense potential of DE in enhancing soil quality and promoting plant health. When added to soil, DE helps improve water retention, aeration, and drainage. Its high silica content also contributes to the overall vitality of plants by promoting robust cell structure.

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[calle-dnd]

The Ordning

You met a friendly, but rahter strange, giant in an flying castle. He told you abot the Giants social structures. 

---

In an age before human and elf, when all dragons wereyoung, Annam the All-Father put the first giants upon the world. These giants were reflections of his divine off-spring and also children of the world, birthed from the marrow of mountains, the hot blood of volcanoes, andthe breath of hurricanes.Annam conceived the giants to be masters of theworld. He gave them great height so they would lookdown on all they ruled. He created a hierarchy for hischildren- the ordning- so that all would know theirstatus with respect to one another, and would know whoamong them stood nearest the knee of the All-Father.United in purpose, Annam's children built Ostoria, thefabled empire of the giants, where they lived according to the ordning. Storm giants ruled all from both below and above. They held sway over the oceans from under-sea fortresses and lorded over the land from castles in the sky. Cloud giants built immense floating cities andserved the storm giants as their strong right hands.Stone giants and fire giants settled on the mountaintopsand in the sprawling caverns beneath them, where theycarved and forged the greatest works of giant art andcraft. Frost giants defended Ostoria with the might oftheir arms, not just on the chilly peaks and glaciers buton every frontier. Hill giants sprawled over all otherlands, subjugating lesser creatures through brute force.

BEGINNING OF THE ENDAll told, the empire of Ostoria dominated the world forfour millennia before its decline began in a genocidalstruggle against the dragons that came to be known asthe Thousand-Year War.Dragons had lived in and around Ostoria in relativepeace since the empire's foundation. Conflicts betweendragons and giants in those days were personal, nottribal or regional, and usually involved bragging rights or hunting territory. Differences were settled by indi-vidual contests of might, wits, or skill. That situation persisted for generations, until the red dragon Garyx inflamed the greed and envy in its followers by rail-ing against the giants' prosperity, and they rose up in response.At least, that's what most giants believed to havehappened. No one really knows any longer what set offthe war. But once battle began, the long-standing peacebetween giants and dragons crumbled everywhere.Foes tore at each others' throats in all parts of Ostoria.There were no front lines or safe havens, only endless ambushes, sieges, and atrocities committed against gi-ants and dragons alike. Eventually, none were left alive on either side who had seen the war's beginning. Ageand brutality had claimed them all, and the few giantsand dragons then alive had spent their entire existenceat war. The Thousand-Year War didn't truly end so muchas it wasted away through attrition and exhaustion.The realm that could still be called Ostoria survived only far in the north. A few outposts and fragment king-doms, such as the fire giants' Helligheim and the stone giants' Nedeheim, clung to life in deep caverns and hid-den valleys. In the millennia that followed, even these places fell, and what remained of Ostorian territorybecame barren, shrouded in ice as thick as mountains. Since that time, many lesser races have attained great-ness and themselves fallen into obscurity. Few hints of the giants' once-great empire have survived the relent-less accumulation of years. But the giants remember. Their empire and their unified purpose are long gone, but a yearning for a re-turn to the greatness that was once theirs burns in all their memories.

--

THE 0RDNINGGiant society (such as it is) is defined in large part bythe ordning, a caste system imposed upon the giantsby their gods, chief among them Annam the All-Father.The ordning determines where a giant stands amonghis or her ilk. Traditionally, storm giants have stood atthe top of the ordning. Tall and powerful, they struggleto keep the weaker races of giants from despoiling therealms of small folk and sparking conflict. The greateststorm giants are powerful seers, skilled at identifyingand interpreting cosmic signs and divine omens. Thealoof and aristocratic cloud giants, one step below thestorm giants, rarely condescend to deal with lessergiants or small folk. Extravagance defines their cultureand their place in the ordning. Below them are the tyrannical,warmongering fire giants and the merciless,predatory frost giants. Fire giants rank themselves bytheir forging skill, whereas frost giants rank themselvesby their martial prowess. Near the bottom of the ordningare the xenophobic stone giants, who mostly liveunderground and regard the surface world as a realmof dreams. How well they sculpt stone determines theirplace among their peers. The lowest and smallest of thetrue giants are the hill giants, as gluttonous as they areloathsome. Hill giants are dullards who live in fear oftheir more powerful giant cousins. In hill giant society,the biggest rule.

--

Something must have happened because the Giants are moving about and chaos, disorder and mayhem is in their tracks. Zephyros doesnt know why and have tried to scry and contact other planes to understand the cause. He is troubled but also a bit crazed as it seems...

#dnd-fact

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Imagine this as the ending of “Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness”:

Doctor Strange is battling Wanda Maximoff, who has gone full dark due to the influence of the Darkhold. At some point, Strange gets through to Wanda...but it’s too late. Reality is falling apart and the entire MCU starts crumbling, similar to how Strange Supreme’s universe blipped out of existence due to him changing an absolute point. Strange begs Wanda for help and Wanda, realizing this is her fault, starts channeling an insane amount of chaos magic. 

As she’s trying to fix the universe, Wanda keeps muttering to herself, “No more...no more...no more...”. Suddenly, the universe starts to repair itself. But Strange realizes the new danger when he sees that Wanda can’t control the magic she’s channeling. Before he can stop her, Wanda shouts one last, “NO MORE!” and the movie just goes haywire. Wanda protects Strange and herself from her own magic but the damage is done.

Cut to the Sanctum. Strange and Wanda are surprised to see that everything seems to be normal. But when they go outside to see the world, they see the full extent of Wanda’s actions.

“CONGRESS PASSES THE ‘DON’T SAY MUTANT’ ACT AND GOES TO THE PRESIDENT FOR HIS SIGNATURE“

“MUTANT PROTESTORS CLASH WITH PRO-HUMAN RIOTERS IN SAN FRANCISCO“

Although it’s not explicitly said in the movie, what Wanda did was softly reboot the entire MCU so that mutants had always existed. All the events in previous MCU properties are still canon BUT they’ve been slightly altered to include mutants. For example: 

1) The mutants remained neutral during the Sokovian Accords, that’s why they’re not in “Civil War”

2) Some of Peter Parker’s classmates were changed to be mutants. In general, certain pre-existing characters are going to be revealed as mutants, such as Luis from “Ant-Man” and one of Clint Barton’s kids. 

3) The X-Men took part in the war with Thanos

4) Magneto is, once again, Wanda and Pietro’s biological father. Also, they have a new sister; Lorna Dane (Polaris). Unfortunately, all that changed was part of their backstory. Pietro is still dead due to Ultron.  

Basically...Wanda did a reverse “House of M” by creating the mutants instead of wiping them out. 

Wanda and Strange are the only ones left of the pre-Wanda universe. The movie ends with Strange saying, “What have you done?” and a zoom-in on Wanda’s face as she comes to terms with the consequences of her actions.

(SIDE NOTE: To get a better idea of what I’m going for, it’s what the Arrowverse did when Flash created Flashpoint. Everything was mostly the same, but the timeline was still altered in certain ways)

(SIDE NOTE 2: Just to clarify, ATJ Pietro Maximoff is the one whose backstory got retconned but remains dead. Evan Peters didn’t get retconned as the MCU Pietro since he’s not from the MCU. Same reasoning why we have three different actors playing Peter Parker)

#doctor strange #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #stephen strange #wanda maximoff #wanda maximov #scarlet witch #MCU #marvel #x-men #erik lehnsherr #magneto #quicksilver #pietro maximoff #lorna dane #clint barton #the avengers #avengers #xmen #dsitmom #marvel mutants #peter parker #multiverse of madness #marvel multiverse

[lailoken]

“From these sources [the mythological cycles of Wales and Ireland, the Traditional Ballads, the Witch Trial confessions, the oral traditions collected by folklorists, and comparative folkloric studies of the Celtic Faerie Faiths with corresponding beliefs/practices in other cultures,] we can collect the classes and characteristics [of faeries] which would have been available to the Elizabethan and Jacobean poets, and examine which they have chosen to use and which leave unnoticed.

The first class is that of the Trooping Fairies, who vary from the heroic fairies of Celtic and Romance tradition down to the small creatures who stole the Hampshire farner's corn. Different as these are in many ways, they vary by such insen- sible gradations that it is hardly possible to divide them into two types. The heroic fairies are of human or more than human height. They are the aristocrats among fairy people, and pass their time in aristocratic pursuits, hunting, hawking, riding in procession on white horses hung with silver bells, and feasting in their palaces, which are either beneath the hollow hills? or under or across water. It is a generally accepted belief that the Irish fairies are dethroned gods, euhemerized into an extinct race and superaturalized again into fairies;' and it is quite possible that the others of that type are the same, though Lewis Spence in his British Fairy Origins points out their close connection with the dead. They are masters of glamour and shape-shifting; they are amorous, open-handed, reward kindness and are resentful of injuries. Time spent with them passes at a different rate than when spent with mortals; seven days in fairyland is generally equivalent to seven years of mortal time, but occasionally it is the other way round. As a rule, though not invariably, they are dangerous to human beings, their food is taboo and people who fall into their power are carried away and often crumble into dust on their long-delayed return. There is sometimes a hint that the fairy beauty is a delusion, like that of the Elf Queen in the 'Ballad of True Thomas', who turned gaunt and haggard when he kissed her.

The ordinary fairy people of Britain dwindle down from these heroic fairies; some are life-sized, some on the small side of people, some are the size of a three-years' child, like Oberon in Huol of Bordeaux, some, like the Wee, Wee, Man of the ballad, are three spans in height, some, like the Muryans of Cornwall and the smallest of the Danish trolls, are the size of ants, and these seem to be particularly flower fairies; but their general characteristics remain much the same as those of the heroic fairies. They still ride, though sometimes their horses are dark grey, stunted and shaggy." They dance, and love music and musicians. They seem to be more donmestic, more of agricultural spirits, than the Celtic fairies. They are greatly concerned with-ortler and cleanliness, and can bring success or failure to the farms they visit. They give presents, which must not be revealed. Like the other fairies 'they are masters of glamour; sometimes the gold they give turns to withered leaves; sometimes worthless-looking rubbish turns, if kept, into gold or precious stones. Their most mischievous activity is the stealing of babies and nursing mothers, who, unless they are protected at the dangerous time of child-birth, are liable to be carried off and replaced by a changeling, an elf or a transformed stock. Their size seems naturally small, but they are capable of assuming any shape or size they please, or of going invisible, though a magic ointment, or¨ even a four-leafed clover, will penetrate this disguise. They can transport themselves through the air, and levitate others. Sometimes they ride grass-stalks, sometimes a magic wand is enough; often they ride in a whirl of dust. They vary in power and malice. Some, like Skillywidden, Coleman Grayo and the borrowing fairies of Worcestershire, are as powerless as Tom Thumb; some are benevolent and virtuous like Elidor's fairies; some have a longing for the privileges of Christianity, like the Scottish fairy in the story of the Bible-reader; some are blood-suckers, tempters and kidnappers.

The second type of fairy existing in Britain is the hobgoblin and Robin Goodfellow in all his forms, lidentified by the Jacobeans, and also by some later writers, with the classical 'lares'. These hobgoblins are rough, hairy spirits, which do domestic chores, work about farms, guard treasure, keep an eye on the servants, and generally act as guardian spirits of the home. Useful as they are, they are easily offended and often mischievous. They are not exclusively domestic, but are often associated with streanms, pools and rocks, like that other tutelary spirit, the banshee. On the whole they were regarded as honest and friendly spirits, though the weight of church authority was against them, as against the other fairies. Some of them were thought to be ghosts, others devils, and the words hobgoblin, bug or boggart gradually assumed a more dangerous sound.

The third type is of mermaids, water spirits and nature fairies, a small class in Britain since the Trooping Fairies had assimilated many of them. The mermaids remain the most distinct of these. As a rule they are dangerous people, though the Highland roane' are an exception, and the little mermaid rescued by the old fisherman of Cury, as well as the mermaid in the Scottish story who took such a benevolent interest in the diet and health of maidens. The river spirits were occasionally friendly, like Sabrina, but generally evil, like Jenny Greenteeth and Peg Powler.

The fourth group, which is closely allied with the nature spirits, is of giants, monsters and hags — Gogmagog, the kelpie and the blue hag of winter. They might hardly be thought of as fairies if the Brash, the Brag and the Grant did not link them with the hobgoblins. These are the main types of the British fairies land their traits would fill a book; but only a few of them were fully used by the Jacobean writers. The change of temper from the medieval times is shown by the traits they chose to write about, and their treatment of the folk-lore material at their disposal.”

—

An Anatomy of Puck:

An Examination of Fairy Beliefs among Shakespeare’s Contemporaries and Successors

by K.M. Briggs

#the anatomy of puck #katharine Mary briggs #the Gloaming Folk #faeries #fairies #the faerie folk #the fair folk #the fae #faerie faith

[labrats-and-clonetroopers]

“Fall” Skylar Storm Drabble, Lab Rats: Elite Force

Masterlist 

Lab Rats/Mighty Med/Elite Force Masterlist 

Request Guidelines 

Warning: discussions of death

___________________________

The world, her world, used to be so black and white. It should be black and white now still, if she would only chide herself a little harder, keep her focus. 

This is no time for doubt.

Doubt, nevertheless, remains. It cannot be ignored, building subconsciously since the day her world changed forever, the day she lost her powers. 

Before she had been a god. And like the Greek deities of human mythology, had raged through the cosmos, heralding golden ideologies of honor and heroism. Like giants coming down from the clouds, they build shelters and cities to care for the ants below, while simultaneously crushing a hundred under their clumsy foot, and laughing. 

Before, she was blind to the deep, morbid ironies of the strongholds she served. Now, now she is fighting to save something she’s no longer sure is worth saving. 

She looks at herself in the mirror and laughs, a broken bitter laugh. Everyone, depending on her, looks at her and has no question on who they see. But all she can find are splinters of the person she though she once was. 

How can she rise as a superhero, as the legendary Skylar Storm, when she’s finally learned what it means to be mortal? 

That was what saved her, when her mind was overwhelmed by the Annihilator. Her true, genuine friendships with Kaz and Oliver broke through if only a part of that iron will. She could not bring herself to kill them, and they did not abandon her when everyone else was willing to. 

The carelessness of the superhero world, something she never before considered, became a sore in her eye. And one by one, the true apathy she had been so conditioned to revealed the scope of its infection. The people they swore to protect they would kill for the slightest inconvenience, in the name of the greater good. But those justifications turn sour when normos are cubed for discovering Mighty Med when altering memories is more than a readily available solution. 

She herself never blinked an eye when she tried to explode Kaz’s head as a way to test her powers. Now, she cannot remember that moment without a twist in her gut. 

This is the institution that is crumbling before her eyes. The signs were old in the making, had she the vision to see them. But while man is well acquainted with the pattern of tragedy, her people had always dismissed their wisdom as being mere weakness. 

Powers ever growing, escalating, bringing this tightrope walk of peril to even higher stakes, but that golden crown, the abilities that separated the great and the lowly, were kept in natural, fragile balance. 

It cracked. Pioneers like the man dubbed “Brain Matter”, who sought to manipulate and create what had previously been random. He failed, initially, but there were others who manipulated this changing dynamic in different ways. Instead of relying on his unique traits, the Annihilator developed ways to wrench his foes of theirs. 

And then there came the greatest evidence of their blindness, the last rumble before the volcano’s eruption, the discovery that a mere powerless, mortal woman had manipulated the might of villains and heroes to bestow upon herself absolute control. 

It ultimately was only a single error on her part that was there to exploit, one chance to bring her downfall. Oliver and Kaz took it, succeeded. 

But while they struggled to contain the ambitions of Mr. Terror, there were those who saw that fracture in the balance and determined to shatter what remained. Mighty Med was destroyed, alongside the Secret Service Superhero Division and followed by Mighty Max prison. Rodissius’ children wreck unrestrained havoc in the streets, and Chaldera, her homeworld, is falling to rebellion and civil war. 

This is the fall of those who thought they were divine. 

She does not know her place in this new world, where saving civilians and saving superheroes are quickly becoming opposed purposes. In this chaotic void, survival is rising as the principle moral, the crowning jewel of ethics. 

And she, Skylar Storm, should be forging into the fray. 

But this world isn’t black and white. It’s muddied grey and brown and streaked scarlet with blood. The friendship of Kaz and Oliver burned to hatred. The sibling bond of Bree and Chase withered to apathy. Skylar’s loyalties are stretched far in different directions...

And she doesn’t know what this Skylar Storm, the one who’s been a hero, been a normo, who’s struggling to regain control over her powers, the one sinking low from the guilt of surviving while so many perished…

No, she doesn’t understand her at all. The girl in the mirror pieced together from creeds and comic book covers and yearbook photos…there’s a storm coming…yes a storm, and it’s falling on her head, on her head, on her head…

And this is the hero’s tragedy, not that they fail, but that everything they fought for has died anyways.

#skylar storm #lab rats #mighty med #lab rats: elite force #skylar-storm #post the attack #identity issues #fanfiction

[theharellan]

To Feel Another’s Woe

Set in early Inquisition, in the heart of the Mage-Templar War. Featuring Thora Cadash from @ourdawncomes​. Content warning for gore, descriptions of battle, and mild illness.

Now available to read on AO3!

He counts the battle in heartbeats. Every rush of blood through his veins is another spell from his fingertips, every sixty seconds counted it another sixty seconds survived. Minutes count more in this Veilless world, where the tide may turn in an instant.

Everything is different, even war.

Bowstrings slap the air, signalling a fresh volley of arrows. “Shield yourselves!” the Seeker cries. Solas blinks to Varric, stopping short of his shadow to draw a barrier over them both. His magic resists his dwarven companion, drawing more mana from his fingers before the spell completes, and with little time to spare. Arrows skirt by them, falling harmlessly to the earth, cutting only magic upon their descent. Varric wastes no words thanking him, vanishing in a cloud of smoke to retreat to a safer distance.

Tangled in the midst of half a dozen Templars, their Herald draws every last eye on the battlefield to her. Every blow is preceded by a shout, often followed by another torn from their enemies’ throats. Swords point towards her back, posed to pierce the gaps in her armour. Their wielders hesitate to join the fray, uneven grips a telltale mark of fresh recruits, but they will not wait forever. He seizes upon the moment, hand gripping his staff and grinding it into the dirt, its focus drawing his intent into the world. A thin orange line burns in the grass, smoke heralds flame which bursts to life at Thora’s heel, a harsh curtain drawn between her and half her enemies.

She does not flinch, nor shrink from the flame. Solas watches as her leg hooks around a rogue Templar’s ankle and trips him. He falls headfirst into the fire, inhuman shrieks silenced by a killing blow to the head. As she lifts her hammer from the bloody pulp of a skull, another soldier lunges. Solas slams his staff against the earth, calling winter to a warm August day. Ice crawls up his target’s leg, erupting from the damp grass stamped down by war. In an instant it claims him, sword aimed at their Herald’s heart now suspended harmlessly in ice. Cassandra arrives, blade red with archers’ blood, and slams the tapered end of her shield against a weakness in the ice. It shatters, the boy’s body falling limp in the grass, joining his fellows.

The hairs along the nape of his neck stand on end, an uneasy premonition answered by an unseen force reaching across the Veil. It parts the fire, reducing it to a ribbon of smoke that coils in blue Fereldan skies, and through the ashes steps a Templar, his shield held aloft. Spells glance off him, rolling ineffectively over his armour. Thora’s hammer fares better, shield straining against its face as they come crashing together. Sparks fly from where their edges scrape together, forcing his guard down for an instant. Long enough for the Herald to find her advantage.

She strikes her with the heel of her hammer and he staggers, stumbling forward with the grace of a drunkard on his sixth tankard of ale. “Now, Solas!” she shouts. He stops, stares. There are only seconds to discern her meaning, no wisdom floats to him from across the Fade to deliver her meaning. Visions of a war long since finished return to him, memories of dwarves that cleaved dreams. He decides, then acts. Solas stretches across the Veil to find his own truth, a different reality than the one these Templars seek to reinforce. The air around the Templar expands with dreams, then dissipates.

The effect is instant. Beneath his helmet he heaves, lungs flooded with magic like water in the lungs of a drowned rat. Thora brings down her hammer on his breastplate. Metal made brittle by magic crumbles at the impact, leaving a hollow crater in the center of his chest.

From a distance his eyes meet Thora’s, her head nodding in his direction. Behind her, the remaining Templars gather their strength and prepare their onslaught, but her attention remains divided. Her gaze darts to his left. Brown eyes widen in their sockets, alerting him before she can cry out: “Look out, Solas!”

He catches the greedy glint of steel against sunlight from the corner of his eye, thrusting towards him. In the space of a breath he surges backwards, Fade carrying him from the Templar’s reach. All the air rushes from him, back crashing against the trunk of a tree, stealing the air from his lungs. Skull cracks against the bark, vision blurring as the Templar advances. Dark words seethe from bloodied lips, cursing him in the name of her fallen brothers and sisters.

Solas’ grip tightens around empty air, realising only then that his staff was lost in his retreat. It matters not. Energy pools into his palm as easily as through a focus, but stutters in the presence of the cleansing aura. Sparks fly, grazing the Templar’s breastplate, earning him nothing but seconds. Once the task of dispatching her would be as trivial as crushing an ant beneath his thumb. Now, his magic wanes, flying further from his reach with every step the Templar takes. What a cruel joke his life would be if this is its final note.

But he has been backed into tighter corners than this by worthier foes. Undeterred by the fear which lays claim to his heart, he grasps desperately for more power, summoning every last scrap of ambient magic in the air. A hopeless thought eats at him as he wonders how it came to this, shooting cinders from his fingertips like a child conjuring their first flame. They fly from his hands, aimed at the dull human eyes which blink out at him from behind a helm.

Every muscle in his body tenses, unsure if he had missed. A shout of pain tears from her throat, and he has his answer. Gloved hands yank her visor back to reveal red-rimmed eyes, tears already streaming down her face to fight the ashes suspended in her eyelashes. “You’ll regret that,” she spits. The glow that wreaths her sword bursts, and he braces against the tree. Blinding light tears the colour from the grass and magic flies from the Veil to places beyond his reach. She purges the song from the sky, all the weight of the world seems to fall around his shoulders. He grips the bark at his back with white knuckles, until the grooves bore into his skin. If not for it, he might have collapsed. His lungs ache as though they are new, throat closing around unyielding reality.

The Templar sloughs off the dispel from her blade, now trained to kill. Somewhere beyond his field of view, Solas hears a shout. “You wasted precious time taunting me,” he says, words straining against empty lungs. Amusement flickers in his eyes, lips too tired to form any semblance of a smile. “I would be dead were it not for your pride. Now it is too late.”

He sees the question in the soldier’s eyes. Solas counts the seconds. He hears his rescue upon the wind.

Bones crack with a sickening crunch as the Templar’s knees snap backwards, crumbling from the force of Thora’s hammer. She falls like lead weight at Solas’ feet, legs bent at an unnatural angle. A feral cry chokes her, whimpering like a wounded animal which has not yet accepted its end. “Mercy,” she moans, the plated hand which moments ago reached out with violence now stretches imploringly towards his feet, desperate for the healing touch of magic. “Please.”

It isn’t Solas’ mercy, but Varric’s, which ends her life. The bolt pierces her helmet, puncturing it like paper, killing her instantly. “Poor bastard,” he hears the dwarf say, but in the heat of the moment Solas cannot find his pity. His heart hardens as the Templar’s life oozes onto the grass, and he thinks to himself that her blood and bones will do the world more good than her deeds ever had. The bitter thought goes unspoken, Varric’s remark remains unacknowledged.

In an instant, the chaos of battle is over. As he recovers his breath, he looks out over the field to see it riddled with fresh corpses, all of their making. Cassandra stoops in the dirt, wiping her blade in the grass as Varric retrieves his ammo from the bodies of their enemies. Thora’s hammer stands alone by the Templar’s body, its face crusted with a thick layer of blood, its handler nowhere in sight. In the grass beside it lies his discarded staff, its crystal focus shining dully, unaware the danger has passed. Solas bends to claim it, magic coaxing it the rest of the way to his fingers. The exertion proves more taxing than he envisions, the back of his head throbbing with the memory of his collision with the tree. He winces, nursing the back of his head, capping his fingertips with ice to soothe the growing ache.

“You alright there, Chuckles?” Varric asks, concern overshadowed by the hint of amusement which laces his question. “You hit that tree pretty hard.”

“I will manage, thank you,” he says. “Were it not for our Herald’s intervention, however…” He looks for her again, eyes darting around the area. This time he sights her in the shadow of a tree, one arm supporting her against its trunk. “Excuse me a moment.”

Solas steps out of the reach of his would-be killer’s corpse, winding towards the battlefield’s outskirts where their intrepid Herald lingers. “You fare better with a hammer than a sword,” he remarks as he nears her. Thora’s shoulders tense at the sound of his voice so close, and he stops short, uncertainty tinges his words. “After Haven I was unsure what experience you had in battle. I see now I was too quick to judge.” She had been clumsy in the snow, swinging at demons as though she had never held a sword in her life, and maybe that was the case. What she’d lacked in skill she more than made up with strength. The demons fell, though she made quicker work of the Templars today. 

Thora doesn’t answer, and for an instant he wonders if she’d taken offense. Dwarves of old were proud warriors, it may be that not everything he remembers of them has been bled from them by the Blight. She turns her face an inch towards him, the rest cast in the shadow of the tree. “I—” One hand flies to her face, fingers pressing against her mouth in anticipation. He watches, uneasy, as she swallows thickly and fights back whatever had threatened to escape. “Sorry.”

Before he has a chance to reassure her, Cassandra’s voice rings out behind them: “We should press on if we want to reach Redcliffe Farm by nightfall.” She stands where he last saw her, sword sheathed and shield shining, bearing no mark of the battle that came before. He does not linger on her, eyes returning to Thora whose attention has shifted as his had, allowing him a glimpse of her face. An ill look haunts her, grey tinges her usual warm complexion with dark lines drawn beneath her eyes.

A sharp intake of breath pierces the air as Thora readies her answer. He reaches out, hand brushing her shoulder before he interjects. “Another moment, Seeker,” he says. “I believe it best I examine the Anchor first. There is no telling what influence a Templar’s abilities have on it.”

The Seeker looks at him, her mood impossible to discern from beneath a dark, drawn brow. A small sigh that sounds like frustration escapes her lips. “Very well. Do what you must.”

“Thank you,” he says, inclining his head towards her. As he turns to the Herald, he sees emotion shining in her eyes as she looks up at him, perhaps trying to decide what to make of his diversion. Solas is not certain what to make of it himself. The easy answer is that it is in his best interest to protect her image, even if only from their companions, but it would be a lie to insist it’s the only answer. In her discomfort he saw a glimpse of the familiar, recognition of a feeling he had once grappled with himself— or so it seemed. He did not know. The Veil mutes all emotion, from the most fervent passions to the most tender sentiments. It may be a reflection he sees in her eyes, his own hopes and fears echoed back to him.

Whatever he sees in her he pushes aside for the sake of their present problem. Cassandra could not be held off forever. Lowering himself to one knee to accommodate her height, Solas extends one hand towards hers. “Give me your hand, please.”

She peels the glove from her left hand, offering it forward to Solas as she did on the day they first met. This time it lands in his waiting reach, rather than being yanked forcibly towards a Rift. He’d studied it well while she lay motionless in her cell, and then again in bed, but conscious it is a different creature. Her fingers flex and bend, clearly unaccustomed to the careful attention afforded to them. He strokes his thumb across her palm, smoothing them back to allow him an unobstructed view of the Anchor. It runs like a fissure in the earth across her skin, an otherworldly green occasionally flashes in the center, and through it he catches a glimpse of the infinite. “Does it pain you?” he asks. This examination is a façade to buy them a moment’s respite, but there is no telling what effect the Mark will have on her in the coming weeks. Already he fears there will come a day where his knowledge of it will fail him, powerless as he is now.

“No. At least not since you last looked at it. I... don’t think the Templars could touch it if they’d tried.”

“Curious.” Although he ought not be surprised, the Anchor and the Templars share more than a few similarities, tied together by a Titan’s heart and blood. “Regardless, I would advise caution. This may have been an anomaly.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had it described to me by mages before, doesn’t sound like something I’d want to invite on myself.”

Her comment sparks a question, one which has plagued him since she called out to him in the midst of battle. “You’ve fought alongside mages before, have you not?”

“Yeah,” her response is strained, and punctuated by a second heavy swallow, “how’d you guess?”

“You signalled for my intervention when handling the marksman. The uninitiated would not have thought to ask.”

The observation catches her off-guard, eyes darting from his face to her hand before she remembers who she’s addressing. “The Carta’s been known to hire apostates. Some jobs just needed that magic touch, you know?” A small smile turns her lips, weary eyes shining with a hint of mischief. “I’ve, uh, been known to smuggle a mage or two out of the Circle, too. Back in Kirkwall. Don’t... don’t tell Cassandra.”

He blinks, surprise registers upon his face as no more than a mild arch of his brow. “You believe she would be displeased?” Solas asks, working a barrier into the surface of her skin. It accepts the magic more readily than Varric, the Anchor glittering like an uncut peridot, recognising the spellcaster.

Thora shrugs. “They’ve got enough to deal with from me being Carta.”

“True, but there is more than the Chantry to consider,” he says. From his perspective (and in his experience) there will be little pleasing them, presenting an obstacle to be worked around rather than through. Even Cassandra seems to realise that. “The rebel mages may look favourably upon someone who has helped them in the past.”

“Maybe.” 

A frown tugs at his lips, her dismissal rankles despite telling himself she is not at her best. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in their employ?” He imagines the children of families blessed with the fortune to be born into money and magic, with coin enough to make the Carta think it was worth the Templar’s scrutiny. “I cannot imagine it is work you find yourself in by chance.”

“It’s not. I volunteered. I ran the same tunnels as the Mage Underground, and it— well, it seemed like the right thing to do.” She pauses. “It was the right thing to do.” 

“I see.” He doesn’t see, at least not entirely. Like the many lies he has told since walking into the Inquisition’s midst, it is woven with truth. Solas knows well the impulse to do good, or try to, whatever the cost to oneself may be, and he’d seen it in Thora before. Thanks to her, the people of the Crossroads will sleep with full bellies and warm blankets, but the world will thank her for helping them. The same cannot be said of the mages. Suddenly the promise made to him in Haven does not seem so empty. Her oath to guard his freedom from those who sought to take it no longer rings as a hollow platitude. “Whatever Seeker Pentaghast may think, I believe your conviction is admirable.”

She shifts self-consciously, the hand in his grasp straining against his gentle grip. “I’m glad you think so.” The simple effort it takes her to accept his praise seems a laborious undertaking, he wonders to himself if the sweat on her brow now shines fresh from the endeavour. Her acceptance is punctuated by a sharp inhale. “Listen. I… I wanted to thank you, you know, for this.” She looks pointedly at their joined hands. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It’s…”

“A natural reaction.” Their eyes meet, but it’s her gaze which falters first. “They were our enemies, but where we saw a threat to be eliminated others would have seen friends, family.” He does not look back, but his mind returns to the felled Templar behind him. No pity nor guilt moves his heart at the thought of her passing, she laid in a pool of her own violent choices. Still, he spares a thought for the woman her family will mourn. A woman who undoubtedly bore little resemblance to the one Solas briefly knew. “Our duty to ourselves and Redcliffe’s people demanded we face them, but it is not weakness to be affected by their deaths.”

A weak smile spreads over Thora’s lips, thin and touched by lingering unease, but it shines true in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says for the second time. “For understanding, I mean.”

He acknowledges it with a mild bow of his head. “Does it bother you, knowing that I have seen how this affected you?”

“A little,” she admits. “Better you than—” Her head nods towards the others, brow arched in their direction.

Solas looks towards them, catching sight of Cassandra as she paces aimlessly around the field, throwing glances towards their destination, always mindful of their journey’s end. Varric shows no such concern, reclining upon a rock, an unfamiliar tune whistling from his lips. He turns back to Thora with a question upon his. “And what have I done to earn the distinction?”

“Nothing.” The confession is quick, as though speaking it without hesitation will spare her his offense. “Cassandra’s put such faith in me, I’m just counting the breaths until I let her down somehow, and Varric…” She pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “I’ve read one or two of his books. I’m not sure I like the thought of making into one of them.” Thora at last looks up at him again, searching for something in his face. What quality she seeks, he’s unsure, though he is reluctant to grant it. Every piece he surrenders is a piece he cannot get back. “You? You’re just… odd.”

A surprised laugh chokes him. He does not need to look behind them to feel the Seeker’s head whip in their direction, discerning eyes measuring their progress. “An honest assessment, and perhaps well-deserved,” he says, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Should I take offense?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare and smiles, though this time the gesture spreads her lips wide, revealing two rows of white teeth. “I suppose that depends on if you think being normal is something to be proud of.”

To his surprise, he feels himself smiling back, her playful grin reflecting in his own. “I suppose it does.” He looks down at her hand, ears angling back as he realises any pretence of examination had since been forgotten. Seconds counted for more in this world, true, yet it remains remarkably easy to become lost in conversation. “Do you feel ready to move on?” Solas tries to discern the answer for himself from her expression. The long, drawn-out look has faded, forgotten as the excuse which kept them here a moment more. Recognising that settles uneasy in his stomach, raising questions better left for dreams.

“I think so.” She takes her hand back from him, flexing her fingers before she fits them into her glove. “I don’t know how much longer Cassandra will buy that excuse of yours, anyway.”

“You underestimate me.” There is a humour in his remark that surprises him, a wry twist to his words which he did not expect to find in the company he keeps. “Were I less adept at wasting the Seeker’s time, I would not be stood before you now. Still—” He rises, mindful of the wet patches of mud which now darken his knees. “We would not want to keep her waiting.”

She gives him a knowing look, the faint smile creasing the corners of her eyes fades as she turns back to the rest of their party. Varric is the first to notice their business concluded, or the first to acknowledge it, behind him he hears his voice call out, “Hand treating you any better?”

“Never better, actually,” she replies in a chipper tone, a friendly veneer which masks the unpleasantness of a moment ago, but Solas notes how she averts her gaze from the carnage they left in their wake. The shadows of war still seem to haunt her steps. She tilts her head towards Cassandra, deference clear even from behind. “Sorry for the hold up. I’m ready to go now.” Deference aside, it is at Thora’s word that their party picks up and moves, mere moments passing between her signal and the resumption of their journey. Solas alone trails behind, forgetting his feet beneath him. Only his eyes follow her, mind wandering, wondering, doubting if the Mark upon her hand is the most remarkable thing about her. She senses his absence, looking over her shoulder with a question upon her brow, saying nothing, but somehow he hears. Questions pile like snowflakes on a rooftop, building around him with no easy remedy to relieve their mounting pressure, but he picks up his feet and follows the answer into Ferelden’s hills.

Surrounded by the voices of his companions in the thick of conversation, the seconds lose their urgency, the minutes slip by without notice. As a joke in the air draws a new smile to his face, sixty seconds starts to resemble not another minute survived, but rather another minute lived.

#gore cw #solas #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #inquisitor cadash #( my writing ) #show that mercy to me ( thora ) #[ ok the title stays... for now. ]

[confusedhalfofthetime]

What about number 15. “I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.” sorry, keep you busy I know 😊.

Don’t ever apologize for sending me asks! I love it and I had so much fun writing this one. Let me know if you liked it x

Plot: Y/N needs to attend a family event and, surprise surprise, the Master is gonna have to pretend to be her boyfriend. 

Prompts: “I’m too sober for this” “You don’t even drink” “Maybe I should start”.

Warning: none, cuteness overload

You were totally, absolutely panicking. No, scratch that, you were going nuts.

Your steps echoed in the silence of the TARDIS as you paced the floor of the control room, picking at your lips anxiously.

-What the hell are you doing?! - 

The Master walked in with an exasperated look.

-I'm trying to work, you know? - 

He had been all around the TARDIS trying to fix a few leaks or something like that. You didn't even know a time-travelling space ship could have leaks but they sounded dangerous.

-I'm sorry, I'm sorry- you apologized without stopping your nervous walk.

The Master looked at you asking himself why the hell did he think bringing a human into his ship would be a good idea. He eventually gave in and asked you. -What's bothering you so much? -

You kept moving like a caged animal. 

-It's...you wouldn't understand- you stated waving him off.

-Y/N, I'm a thousand years old Time Lord, I think I can handle it- he said rolling his eyes impatiently.

You bit your lips. -It's my family- 

The Master signalled you to keep going.

-My parents called. They want me home for their anniversary-

-And? -

You sighed. -And I sort of...told them I was away...for a holiday...with my boyfriend-

The Master processed the information.

-...you're right there's nothing of this I understand-

You groaned in frustration. 

-They expect me to bring him with me tonight-

The Master blinked a few times, then he started laughing.

-Shut up!- you exclaimed covering your face with your hands. 

-No, I'm flattered, really-

To be fair, you and the Master were...partners. Kinda. You didn't exactly know how to define your relationship. You kissed sometimes, mainly when one of you was excited about something and you had sex rather often. The Master could be very sweet but you couldn't really picture him as anyone's boyfriend. Mainly because he would label it as something stupid and human, which usually were synonymous in his vocabulary. But you were fine with what you had, he was special to you and you knew you were special to him, even if he would never admit it.

-I'm screwed- you said collapsing on the counter.

-Just lie to them, say he was busy doing...human...stuff-

You raised your hands in the air. -I can't! They'll know it's not true, they already have their suspicions and they'll think I made the trip up just to stay away from them or maybe that I was abducted by aliens or something-

-To be fair, you kinda were-

You glanced at him with loath. -You're so useless-

-What else do you expect me to do? -

Suddenly, an idea made your eyes light up. You looked at the Master with a mischievous smile.

-What? -

You kept staring at him in silence.

-What?? Y/N what's...oh no-

Your eyes became pleading.

-No way, uh uh-

-Pleeeaase-

The Master turned around and started walking out of the room, still muttering how he would never agree to your crazy plan.

-I agree with your crazy plans all the time! -you bit back.

-This is different-

-No, it's not, it's just for one night- you managed to get in front of him and block his path.

-One night, nothing more-

-Y/N I'm no good with...- he gestured toward you. 

-Humans? Families? -

-Both-

You rolled your eyes. -You'll just have to make up a story about your fake job and your fake life, it's nothing you haven't done before-

His teeth started nibbling at his bottom lip. You could tell he was considering it.

-It might actually be fun- you tried.

-Do I get to kill any of your relatives? -

-No! -

-Then how much fun can it be! -

You took a deep breath.

-Okay, what about this. I promise I will make it up to you- 

The Master seemed interested.

-How? -

-However you want- you took a step closer, the implications clear in your voice.

The Master looked down at your lips, then he groaned.

-Fine! -

-Yes! - you exclaimed and kissed his cheek. -You are the best! - 

You hopped away, not hearing the Master whispering: -I'm gonna regret this-

Your parents' house had always been such a cosy place and you found it hadn't changed at all. You had missed it, in a sense. 

Your family was numerous so the small living room and the kitchen were already filled with people when you arrived.

The Master kept fixing his tie nervously while you rang the bell.

-Calm down-

-Don't tell me to calm down, I'm gonna be in a house full of humans and I won't even be able to compress a few of them into ants and stomp on...-

-Mum! -

Your mother squeezed you tightly, cooing about how much she had missed you.

-Oh, you must be Y/N's boyfriend...-

-Sacha, it's so nice to meet you-

You glanced at him as he pleasantly smiled and shook your mother's hand. You had seen him do this many times but you still couldn't figure out how a murderous aline could transform in such a lovely human being.

-The pleasure is all mine. Now, come in-

You were greeted by the whole family, hugging you and patting you on the shoulder as you introduced them to your boyfriend. The Master's facade never crumbled, not even for a second, no matter how intrusive your father's questions were.

-And where do you work? -

-I'm a risk analyst here in London- he said eating his food. You were sitting beside him, feeling a little tense. You trusted him, but you hoped your exuberant family wouldn't make him lose his cool.

-It's so nice to see our little Y/N finally finding someone! She's always been such a lonely kid-

-Mum...- you said through gritted teeth. The Master smiled at you with a soft look in his eyes. You knew once you were back in the TARDIS, you would never see the end of it.

-And now look at her! She's practically got heart eyes-

-Mum! -

The Master laughed. He was having way too much fun.

-So tell us, how did you meet? -

You looked at each other. You hoped he had a good story.

-We met during a workshop. A colleague introduced us and we hit it off pretty quickly. I knew she was special right away- he said.

You looked at him with a half-smile.

-So I asked her out for a coffee and then for dinner and then a movie and...here we are-

-Aw, how sweet- chipped one of your aunts. -We were starting to think little Y/N would remain all by herself forever, but luckily she found you-

-She'd be fine all by herself- he said in your defence. -She's a tough one- 

You were starting to like this.

After lunch, everybody moved either to the garden or to the living room. For a while, you lost the Master as you helped your mum with the dishes and talked about how happy you were with your boyfriend and how incredible your trip had been. Oh, if she only knew.

Once you moved to the living room, you were met by a scene you never thought could present to you.

The Master was being tackled by your little cousins who seemed to be having the time of their life climbing on his shoulders as he pretended to be some sort of monster. 

-Oh, no, I'm being defeated! - you heard him exclaim.

He was...surprisingly good with kids. You didn't expect that and you found yourself smiling at the sight, thinking that no one can pretend that well.

-Look at you, you're practically drooling- 

Your cousin Joyce was looking at you with a knowing smile on her lips. 

-No, I'm not-

-Oh, come on, he's your boyfriend, it's only normal- she said looking at him playing with the kids. -He's good uh? -

-Yeah- you said keeping that stupid smile on your face.

-Do you think you'll have kids of your own one day? I mean, you two seem pretty serious- 

You shook your head. -Nah, he's...not really the type-

-I wouldn't say so- she said glancing at them once again. 

Now the Master was finally up on his feet and the kids were running out to play. He looked tired but strangely happy. He saw you looking at him and smiled at you. You waved at him, but before he could walk toward you, your grandma stopped him and started talking. You tried not to laugh at the scene. A dangerous Time Lord was now having a conversation with an eighty-something-year-old woman. That was gonna be good.

Unfortunately, your cousin dragged you away, eager to know every "spicy detail" about your love life.

After about an hour, you and the Master were finally able to talk in peace. 

You were near the buffet when he leaned against the table with a dramatic sigh. Aand he was back.

-You're alive- you told him eating a chip.

-Surprisingly. How long have we been here? If we don't leave soon I'm gonna regenerate-

You smiled amusedly.

-You're doing great-

-Your grandmother is incredibly long-winded-

-She's 84-

-And I'm two thousand years old, so? She's practically a child to me-

-...weird- you said. -What did you even talk about? -

-She started rambling about how cute of a child you were and suddenly we were talking about her prosthetic hip-

You laughed soundly. -Oh, I can't believe I missed that! -

He glanced at you and you stopped. -Sorry- you said.

He sighed nervously. -I'm too sober for this-

You frowned. -You don't even drink-

-Well, maybe I should start! - 

You gave him a glass of wine and he took a sip.

-Disgusting- he said squinting his eyes.

You smiled. 

-You were pretty cute back there with my cousins-

The Master straightened his back.

-They were attacking me-

-Mh, you were playing with them-

-I was defending myself, those things are vicious-

-I should have brought a camera, I didn't know I would witness something like that-

-You're such a little brat-

You shrugged. -It's a gift, what can you do? -

-I have a few ideas in mind-

As much as you liked the turn the conversation was taking, you were interrupted again. 

The rest of the day went by pretty nicely if you had to be honest. You liked seeing your family again but mainly seeing the Master having to interact with them and you had to admit, he had been pretty amazing.

Once you were back in the TARDIS, the Master let himself fall on the closest chair. 

-That went well-

-It was the most exhausting experience of my entire life and that's saying something- he said.

You went to sit on his lap.

-Yes it was, but you were great- you said kissing him.

-Thank you- you added. -That meant a lot-

The Master looked at you seriously. 

-Don't mention it. But know that next time you'll have to find someone else to play your boyfriend-

-You wouldn't let anyone else do that- you teased.

-And that, my dear, is true- he said kissing you again. 

#doctor who #dw #sacha dhawan #dh!master #dh!master x reader #dh!master fluff #dh!master imagine #dh!master x f!reader #dh!master request #ask #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master imagine #prompts #master x reader #the master #the doctor

[kuriquinn]

Wait For Me

Blanket Fic Disclaimer

Original Prompt by: @toscafan

"Olá. Você poderia escrever uma fic onde após Sasuke voltar para a vila, Sakura vai em uma missão e é gravemente ferida. Então Sasuke percebe que seus sentimentos por ela cresceram quando ele a vê ferida no hospital. Talvez com um pouco de Naruto preocupado também. Eu imagino isso entre o período que Sasuke volta para Konoha e antes de eles partirem juntos em suas viagens. Suas histórias são maravilhosas :) eu sinto muito não escrever em inglês :( “

[Roughly:  Hello, Could you write a fic where after Sasuke returns to the village, Sakura goes on a mission and is seriously injured. Then Sasuke realises that his feelings for her have grown when he sees her injured in the hospital. Maybe with a bit of Naruto worried too. I imagine it between the time Sasuke returns to Konoha and before they leave together on their travels.]

Author’s Note: As promised during Evil Author Day, I am trying to finish some of my WIPs. I actually managed to finish this one (Prompt # 4), which is a total miracle given how I’ve been feeling lately. And the fact I think this one is like...two years old. So yeah, major backlog of stuff that needs writing. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: None but me and my editing software :)

________________________________________________________________

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

It shouldn’t have happened.

The words repeat themselves on a loop in Sasuke’s head, like a record player tossed asunder, skipping unerringly back over the same line in a song. In every momentary pause where the words begin to repeat, there is a breath, an extended moment of tension where his chest feels tighter and tighter.

She hasn’t been on active duty rosters since the war. Her field is medicine, not defense or combat or infiltration, and as strong and talented as Haruno Sakura is, she’s still human and prone to mistakes. Shinobi work isn’t like riding a bike. You have to continue to exercise your particular skillset daily, or mistakes can be made, leading to mishaps, leading to—

It shouldn’t have happened.

サスサク

When the call came in for a relief-force of medicnin, it wasn’t unusual. War or no, there are still major medical emergencies and disasters. In this case, reports reached Konoha of an earthquake 350 miles away. Though the village had barely experienced a tremor, the quake had apparently devastated the shepherding community living at the base of the mountain.

As a rule, Sakura should have stayed behind to coordinate everything from the village; with Tsunade on another of her gambling jaunts, she was the most senior healer.

But the devastated town was without its own medical corps, and the number of injured was overwhelming. Every able pair of hands was needed and naturally, Sakura volunteered herself for the mission.

“I can do the work of a dozen medics and they might need someone to lift debris,” she informed the Sixth Hokage when he seemed likely to protest. “I also trained the latest group of emergency medics going out there; they’re still relatively untested in the field. Better they take their orders from me than some random jounin that you assign.”

Kakashi knew better than to argue with his former student, but he was reluctant. For some reason, he was uneasy. There was little reason for it that he could discern, but after all his years as a shinobi, he had learned to heed his instincts.

“Please, Lord Sixth, there are many large families there, with children.”

Against that—with no concrete reason to give—he could not say no.

“Do you need anyone else beyond the emergency medics?”

“Any civilians with basic first aid training,” Sakura replied, pleased at the response. “Whichever doctors and staff can be spared. The general surgeons, perhaps, but no one with specialized training or technique that we would supper from losing.”

Kakashi nodded and made a gesture she recognized to mean an official granting of the request.

“Ideally, you’d send Naruto as well. He could use the Nine-Tails chakra to mass-heal the simplest injuries. It would make triage a lot faster.”

“That’s not in my power. I’m already on thin ice with the Elders for my executive order to pardon Sasuke. I doubt they’ll want him leaving the village any time soon.”

Sakura scowled.

Under normal circumstances she would argue—she had long ago made clear her dislike  and distrust for the village Elders—but every minute spent arguing was wasting crucial time.

“Can you try to convince them?” she asked as she turned to leave the office. “We should be sending out best for this.”

“We already are,” Kakashi said with ease, and there was a smile in his eyes. The one Sakura returned was only a little strained, mind already on her future patients.

サスサク

Sasuke was on a short, probationary mission at the time, in the complete opposite direction from the disaster zone. He didn’t even hear about the earthquake until two days later.

While handing his mission report to Kakashi, he may have been somewhat surprised to learn Sakura would not be around to greet him the way she usually did—and Kakashi’s eyes had a far too knowing gleam in them when he mentioned it—but it never occurred to Sasuke that she would be in any kind of danger.

At least, nothing she wasn’t capable of handling for herself.

For those two days, Sasuke carried out his usual routine, slowly acclimating to being back in service to the village. It still wasn’t his preference to be around so many people, and there was a constant sense of discomfort that lingered at the back of his mind. The sensation of eyes on him from all over, ANBU and civilian alike, heavy with judgement and fear. The only time that feeling abated, even for just a little, was when he was around Sakura, Naruto or Kakashi.

Still, he wasn’t willing or able to seek any of them out. They all have busy lives, and he earned that judgement and fear from the village. It would be an easy feat to leave and never return, but he didn’t deserve easy. Remaining here was part of his punishment, and so he would learn to live with it.

At home, when the constant surveillance became too much, he went to an empty training ground and put himself through various sword forms or engage in other exercises. In two years, he’s grown used to living and fighting with only one arm, but it’s the constant practice that keeps him lethal.

On the morning of the third day he is going through one of his complex sword kata in the training ground where Kakashi made them genin. He tells himself it’s coincidence and not sentimentality that brought him here this morning, even as the three posts stand vigil over his training like towers of memory.

Today he is working only on form and movement, not using any techniques requiring chakra, just trying to sharpen his movements into their usual lethal grace.

As he uncoils from a low final arc of his sword, returning to a resting position, there is a sudden cracking noise; his gaze snaps toward it, and he watches as—apropos of nothing—the wooden post to his far right splits right down the middle.

Sasuke immediately goes still, focussing his awareness around himself and the area, scanning for danger. There is no one in this place foolish enough to try something—even if he wasn’t lethal on his own, the ANBU escorts hidden in the shadows would have been alerted.

The wind continues meander, sending leaves rustling; the sound of birds and the distant crash of the river do not change. There is not threat that he can detect, nothing but a growing sense of foreboding.

And then the ground begins to shake.

As far as earthquakes go, it’s not the worst he’s experienced. He has no problem remaining on his feat as the ground roils and trembles. Even the trees surrounding him show no sign of shuddering.

It’s small and innocuous, nothing on the same level as the one Sakura was sent to help with.

His eyes drift, lingering on the cracked post.

Memory conjures an image of a gawky twelve year old with too-long-to-be-practical hair and luminous green eyes betraying strain and discomfort as she feeds their third teammate tied to the middle post.

It’s probably nothing.

But for some reason his focus on his exercises vanishes, replaced instead with a growing disquiet in the pit of his stomach.

It only grows with every moment as he returns to the village proper and, without knowing why, makes a beeline for Hokage Tower. All around him, people talk excitedly about the tremor, laughing it off and telling one another what they were doing when they noticed it. It’s just a facet of their day, something that—while uncommon—is not dangerous enough to merit panic.

So why does he suddenly feel uneasy?

サスサク

Sasuke arrives at the Tower at the same time as Naruto, a face which causes his inexplicable agitation to ratchet immediately higher, especially given his friend’s uncharacteristic frown and the absence of his usual joking greeting.

Without exchanging words, they enter Kakashi’s office and are immediately treated to the sight of their former instructor pacing by the window, a frown drawing his brows together. The coiled cord of the telephone stretches and relaxes with his back-and-forth movements. It’s so in contrast to his usual demeanor—lazily slouched in his chair—that Sasuke’s spine stiffens in response.

Kakashi eventually hangs up the phone and faces his students.

“There was a second earthquake,” he tells them gravely. “Right next to the refugee camp we set up. According to reports, about 180 million tons of mountainside have crumble down onto the camp. They don’t know if there are any survivors.”

Sasuke’s fist clenches and Naruto’s eyes blink into slits as he activates his senjutsu.

“I can’t sense Sakura’s chakra,” he says, a panicked note in his voice. “Usually I get a definite flicker from her, even at this distance…”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sasuke tells him. “She masks her chakra when she’s on medical missions to avoid presenting a target.”

He’s not sure how he knows this, since he can’t recall if she mentioned any such practice in their conversations since he’s been back, yet he knows it to be true. Still, this knowledge brings no comfort with it, because the uncomfortable pit in his stomach remains.

“She would be healing everyone after a huge disaster like that,” Naruto protests. “I’d definitely sense that. But I can’t.”

Which, admittedly, worries Sasuke a little despite his unshakable faith in Sakura’s abilities.

Naruto turns to Kakashi, his shoulders squared as if in preparation for a fight. “I’m going to check on her. Even if she’s fine, they’ll need help digging survivors out. I can definitely help with that.”

“Fine,” Kakashi says. The fact he doesn’t argue or mention the concerns of the Elders is telling. “If you leave now, you should get there within—”

Sasuke doesn’t stay to listen.

He’s already climbing the stairs to the roof where there is more open space.

He is by no means an expert at using his Rinnegan yet—every day heralds a new ability or application—but he has more or less figured out how to travel between far distant locations instantly.

“Oi! Sasuke! Wait up!” Naruto shouts from behind as Sasuke focusses himself on creating a pathway. He glanced the coordinates he needs on the papers covering Kakashi’s desk, knows where he’s supposed to go—

The space in front of him crackles, displacing the air, and then rips open, forming a portal of swirling violet energy. On the other side, he can discern a giant wall of rubble.

He wastes no time slipping through, trusting Naruto to follow directly behind him.

サスサク

The sight before them is a grim one.

Sasuke hasn’t seen destruction on this scale since the war.

Mountains loom around them, the closest one looking misshapen due to the giant shelf that has vanished as if scraped off with a giant chisel. Its remnants spill out in front of it, creating a smaller mountain of churned earth and rock, uprooted trees and other debris.

People gather around, civilian and shinobi alike, covered in dust and digging frantically at the rubble. Likely the lucky few who were far enough away when the second quake hit to avoid the harm.

There are almost no Konohanin, medicnin or otherwise, that he can see, suggesting a grim truth to him: they are all underneath the remains of the mountain. Dead, most likely, or trapped and dying as the seconds pass.

But where is Sakura?

She could survive being buried under such weight, and should have dug her way out by now. Stone and rock are like cottage cheese to her strong fists.

“Naruto!”

The two newcomers glance up as a Konohanin scrambles toward them. As he gets closer, Sasuke recognizes him as the kid Sakura has taken on as an assistant. Ando something or other.

“We need help!” the kid gasps when he arrives in front of them, dust-covered and exhausted. “We can’t shift the earth using doton because it could hurt the people underneath.”

The jinchuriki is already forming the signs to summon up shadow clones. If this has to b cleared by hand, he’s the best man for the job. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

“We’ll get through this without a problem!”

“Believe it!”

The clones are already spreading out across the landscape, like a sea of orange washing over the scene.

Sasuke stares down at the boy. “Where is Sakura?”

Ando goes pale beneath the fine layer of dust, eyes pained. “When the earthquake stared, she was trying to get everyone in the medical tents to safety. When she realized she couldn’t, she tried to create barriers to stop the worst of the damage using doton. But it was coming on too fast, and so she tried to slow down the avalanche—"

“Of course she did,” Sasuke murmurs to himself, teeth gritted.

“—but it wasn’t enough! The last I saw, she was destroying the rocks coming at her, but then she was buried.”

“And where were you in all this?”

There’s an accusation in his words that has made stronger men tremble, but Ando merely shudders and clenches his fists. No shrinking violets working with Sakura, that’s for sure.

“I was on water duty. The rivers here were all polluted by the first quake, and so I had to travel far. I saw it all from that cliff up there and hurried down here as fast as I could to help, but…”

He gestures ineffectively, clearly not knowing where to start.

“Sasuke!” Naruto yells all of a sudden, and Sasuke’s head whips toward where he is helping a woman with shredded clothing to climb from the rubble. She is remarkably stable on her feet, considering the situation, and Sasuke understands a moment later when he sees the white creature attached to her shoulder.

“Lady Katsuyu!” Ando cries and hurries over, followed closely by SAsuke.

“Where’ Sakura?” Naruto demands as the younger boy helps the quake victim to sit down. “Is she okay?”

“She’s at the very bottom,” Katsuyu says fretfully. “There’s an airpocket and she’ll still have air for a little while, but she’s gravely injured. Her entire lower body is crushed.” Sasuke’s heart constricts painfully. “I tried to help, but she insisted I attach myself to all the refugees, to keep them alive until help arrives. I fear she won’t be able to keep it up very long. Even my healing can’t save the people buried so long without oxygen.”

“Little fool,” Sasuke growls, the viciousness of the words surprising him more than the situation. Of course she’s more worried about the survival of her patients and the others instead of herself.

“We’re getting her out,” Naruto declares, summoning more clones. “We’ll get her and everyone else out!”

And Sasuke finds himself hoping this is another miracle that his friend’s mere presence and stubbornness will help pull off.

 サスサク

The task is arduous and time consuming.

Sasuke is bizarrely conscious of the speed at which the time passes—too fast. They continue dragging survivors out from beneath the rubble—all unharmed, but looking more and more shambled as the rescue efforts reach deeper into the rubble. Every so often, there is a red glow, and the unearth another person being Naruto has managed to sense and enfold in his healing chakra cloak.

Sasuke uses his snake summons for the first time in years, sending them from his sleeve to slither around and crush rocks blocking their path. He digs one-handed while Naruto and the clones make quick work of their chosen debris fields.

They have yet to find Sakura, or a person that as died of their injuries; all of them so far have had a miniature clone of Lady Katsuyu attached somewhere on their bodies.

Yet he can’t sense Sakura.

“Her chakra signature is everywhere,” he frets. “She’s channelling it through Katsuyu to keep everyone alone. I can’t get a proper read on her.”

“And you won’t,” Lady Katsuyu says in a tremulous tone. “The byakugou has disengaged—her strength has finally run out.” She shudders. “We’re too far away. There’s no way we’ll make it to her in time. And I can only linger here a few minutes longer without her sustaining me.”

“We’ll make it!” Naruto growls, tone and eyes harsh like that of a cornered fox. There’s a panic there, belying his words, because he clearly has no idea how they’re going to do that.

It’s that panic more than anything so far that makes Sasuke’s guts roil and a sickening nausea of fear well up within him. Because Naruto never gives up, he always has hope and he always has some kind of harebrained plan to fix a bad situation.

And if he doesn’t have one in this case, it means Sakura’s fate is sealed.

Which—

No.

“You have a clone with Sakura now?” he asks Katsuyu.

“O-of course,” the snail replies, almost surprised at being addressed so directly.

“You can share your chakra between one another. Can you share the chakra of someone else the same way?”

Naruto’s eyes widen as he catches on. “Yes! If I share my chakra with you and your clone, I’ll able to sense where your clone is and we can find Sakura faster.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Lady Satsuyu replies mournfully. “And besides, I can’t share your chakra, Naruto-kun. The chakra of biju is too volatile, and unless a blood contract has been made, like yours with the toads, it would become too volatile.”

“You wouldn’t need a contract with me,” Sasuke says. “My chakra is entirely my own.”

The slug’s head bobs to one side in consideration, and then she makes a noise of assent. “We can try.”

Sasuke holds out his hand, allowing Lady Katsuyu to inch closer, pressing herself up against his palm. There’s a beat of tense silence as they both concentrate, Sasuke infusing a burst of chakra in the tiny creature’s body.

She shudders from the force of it, her energy signature changing to a mixture of her own and his.

“It’s done,” she says, and he can feel a tiny twinge in his senses calling from far beneath the crumbled mountain.

Sasuke nods and begins to back away from the rubble. “Get beneath her.”

“I don’t understand,” Ando is saying. “How will that be any different from before? Lady Katsuyu was already able to direct us to Sakura.”

“He’s not just looking for Sakura’s location,” Naruto says with a grim smile. “He needs to know exactly where she is.”

“But why—?”

Sasuke tunes out the useless questions as he positions himself somewhere with a decent amount of clearance all around him. Bracing himself—he’s never tried this particular gambit before—he activates the Sharingan and reaches deep within his chakra reserves.

Instantly, violent purple energy manifests, bones and muscle and armor, as Susanoo encompasses him all around. The burning, ripping pain of it has almost become distant by now, and he focusses past it, still holding onto that shred of his chakra beckoning him from wherever Sakura is.

He turns his head, concentrating on the space in front of Susanoo’s empty right hand and activates the Rinnegan.

A portal twists into being from thin air, and Sasuke hardly waits before raising Susanoo’s hand and pressing the limb through the portal. He can distantly feel the weight of her against the flat of the hand as it materializes directly beneath her body, and then pulls her backward, shutting the portal immediately after extracting her to ensure none of the rubble baring down on her might follow.

As gentle as he can, Sasuke lays Sakura down upon the ground, Susanoo vanishing as her body touches the earth.

サスサク

Everyone is already kneeling around her when Sasuke touches back down, the chakra giant vanishing once more. Lady Katsuyu vanishes, no longer having Sakura’s strength to draw on, and Naruto is snapping something at Ando, probably to get help.

All of it washes over Sasuke in a meaningless, soundless wave as his eyes fall upon Sakura. His lungs tighten as he takes in her broken body.

Her legs are bruised and battered, crushed inward in some places and bones poking out of other places; it’s the same for her hips and several ribs. Her eyes are open and staring, a trail of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and nose.

The sight is terrifying.

For a short yet eternal moment he is back in the streets of the Uchiha district, surrounded by the bodies of his family. Just as he was then, he is frozen now—inutile and incapable of doing anything.

“Naruto…” he begins, not knowing exactly what he’s trying to ask.

“This is bad,” Naruto says, voice strained. His eyes are slits once more, his sage mode active as a red film covers Sakura’s body. “I can heal the big stuff, but so much has been pulverized…” He swallows as if in physical pain; Sasuke knows the feeling. “She needs someone that can do surgery at the microlevel. If I heal her right now, like this, I could do a lot more harm then good.”

It’s a measure of how far Naruto’s come that he recognizes this, that he knows not to simply ram through his power and hope it helps.

Sasuke doesn’t know what will help now.

Scenarios and plans speed through a mind more suited for battle tactics than life-saving measures, as he tries to think of any way that he can help her and wishing for the first time in a long time that Karin were here.

Wishing he had ever taken the time to learn more about the healing arts than how to kill.

All the while, the sight of Sakura’s shattered limbs taunting him as her blood seeps into the sand.

Sasuke blinks.

Sand.

The memory hits him out of nowhere, the way many of his recollections from before do. Waking in a hospital, distantly hearing people talking about a fight—sand versus strength.

“Tsunade,” Sasuke says, remembering how the Fifth Hokage dealt with something similar. Right around the time she healed his mind from Itachi’s merciless assault on it, she saved Rock Lee from a life of paralysis.

Naruto is frowning, once again on the same wavelength as him. “No one knows where she is.”

“I’ll find her. Get Sakura back to Konoha—”

“No…”

Both of them jump at the pained, feeble voice and glance down.

Sakura’s eyes are closed now, clenched as tight as her jaw when she speaks through gritted teeth. “There are still…people…” She tries to raise a hand, gesture toward the rubble. “Naruto…stay and…help…”

“Sakura, no!” he snaps. “You’re in a mess right now, I need to keep you going until—”

“…Too much…damage…wasting your…chakra…”

“Sakura,” Sasuke says tersely, and her eyes shoot open toward him. Awareness flickers behind green irises, along with some surprise, as if she didn’t realize or expect him to be there.

“Sasu…ke…”

He shivers.

There has never been a time in his life when he and Sakura haven’t been aware of the presence of the other. The fact she didn’t notice him is telling in the severity of her injury…as is her not expecting him to be by her side.

After all, when has he ever been?

What has he ever done for her?

“We have to get her out of here,” Naruto says. “Do you have enough strength for another portal?”

Sasuke nods, though he isn’t sure; he’s used his abilities twice now in quick succession. But for Sakura, he’ll try.

The space beside them rips open, once more opening onto the familiar rooftops of Konoha as seen from Hokage Tower. All they need to do is step through, and so Naruto goes to pick Sakura up, only for her to scream in sudden sharp agony.

Sasuke’s heart stutters, his concentration wavering slightly, allowing the portal to shrink and contract worryingly.

“She’s too hurt,” Naruto says, panicked. “We need to keep her on her back or…I might sever something important.”

There are no stretchers here, no immobilizing aids to move her. If he had any idea where Tsunade Senju was, he’d seek her out and return her here instantly, but he doesn’t have that time and neither does Sakura.

“I’ll bring her,” Sasuke says.

“But—”

“You stay here. Help the survivors.”

There’s something on his face that keeps Naruto from arguing further, but Sasuke is no longer paying attention. Once again, he centers himself, trying to divide his power between the portal and call up Susanoo in just the right manner.

It takes searing concentration to manifest Susanoo’s hand in the space between Sakura’s body and the ground, letting the chakra fill in beneath her and keep her steady and supine.

Sakura’s eyes are wide, trained on him in something like desperation, before they roll back and she lapses into unconsciousness.

Sasuke’s lungs constrict, but he forces himself to work through it, to slide Susanoo’s hand straight through the portal until Sakura is no longer lying among the debris of the dead but in the safety of their village.

Sweat breaks out across his forehead and the back of his neck, and he tastes blood in his mouth, but he manages to retract the chakra within him. He’s about to step through when—

“Wait!”

He grits his teeth, eyes darting back to the kid—Ando—who has returned.

“Let me come too,” he says. “I can keep her stable, or—or go get someone from the hospital, or—”

“Go!” Sasuke snarls, half from effort and half from irritation the boy is taking up valuable seconds.

A terrified expression breaks over Ando’s face for a moment, before he throws himself headlong through the portal.

“Find Tsunade,” Sasuke tells Naruto as he follows. He doesn’t have to hear the response to know he will.

サスサク

He has no right to be here.

The intensive care wing of Konoha’s hospital is a flurry of movement as doctors and nurses and medic-nin rush in and out of the surgery where they are working on Sakura. He lingers outside the doors, his own self-recrimination keeping him out here more than the ‘Staff Only’ sign on the door.

He doesn’t deserve to be here, to hear news of her condition. He left—he’s always leaving—and she’s always waiting. She’s always here and he realizes with a sudden disbelief that somehow, somewhere along the line something in him has taken that for granted.

Ever since the War, ever since watching her blossom into her abilities and to demonstrate power that makes her neigh indestructible, he’s been thinking of her as if she is. As if she’s a constant that will never change, that will always exist.

Like she’s immortal.

Except she’s not, she can die like anyone else.

It’s something taken for granted in their line of work, but medic-nin die the same as anyone else in the service. And Sakura would be the first to insist she is no more important than anyone else, that her life is the same value as any of their comrades. He knows if given the choice she’d sacrifice that same life without any regret—hell, he watched her try to do just that today.

That knowledge—and the reality of what is happening behind that door in front of him, the image of the light in her eyes dying—steals his breath.

Will that be his last memory of her? A broken body pulled from a wreckage?

Very real terror grips him then, something he hasn’t felt in years. A close, clawing sensation and his lungs constricting as something jagged forms in his throat. Nightmares of blood in the streets, blood in his hands and the rush of a waterfall in the background, the chirping of lightning in his ears—

“Sasuke.”

His head jerks up, the world around him returning, senses no longer going haywire to stave off the incoming panic.

Kakashi is standing beside him—when did he get here?—eyes somber. There’s a beat before he reaches out, hesitant, and lays a hand on his shoulder.

It’s as if a current is going through him, memories from long ago, that same hand on his shoulder. It’s the first time Kakashi has reached out to him since he left Konoha as a child.

“I’ve had news from Naruto,” his former instructor continues. “He’s found Tsunade.”

And somehow with those three words, every bit of tension in Sasuke’s body evaporates. He realizes he hasn’t been breathing and tries his best not to gulp for air, forces himself to inhale slowly through his nose, to not lose his composure.

Kakashi, of course, is not fooled. “Sakura will be alright. She’s strong.”

Sasuke wants to reply that he knows, he’s always known, but his tongue is still frozen. Instead, he returns his gaze upon the door, trying to sense what is happening beyond it.

He feels Kakashi remove his hand, but the man’s intense stare remains on him.

“I should go,” he eventually manages to say. Yet his legs refuse to move.

“You should stay. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re exactly where she needs you to be.”

Sasuke’s protest dies before it was truly born, and he goes back to trying to breath. Inhale and hold; exhale and repeat. It doesn’t matter what he needs or wants, after all.

Why?

Sakura is Sakura. Yes, they have always had a connection, a bond, but it’s the same connection he’s had with the rest of his former squad. You can’t go on missions or into battle with one another without developing a synchronicity. Even if the connections are different.

With Kakashi it’s the kindred spirit of someone who has lost everything almost the same as he has, with Naruto it’s a bond that can never be replicated for the most complicated of cosmic reasons.

And yet…with Sakura, there’s something different there.

He always thought it was nostalgia, the last lingering remnants of a weak child desperate for whatever scrap of affection was offered to him after losing his parents. Every moment he’s ever spent with her, he pretended like it didn’t affect him at all; and yet, there was always that eagerness he had to tamp down, wanting to see the smile on her face because he knew he didn’t deserve it.

A smile he missed in the years training with Orochimaru, then wandering the world in penance. He knows she’s had feelings for him since they were children, and has has spent most of his last years hoping against hope that she’ll let him go and move on.

That she’ll find someone else, someone worthy of her, someone who will keep her safe and guard her heart against pain. Because that’s all he can give her is pain; tht, and a soul that will never completely heal.

Except it wont matter, will it, if she dies?

She’ll be gone, and he’ll be empty again. No matter where he goes, he’s always known that somewhere, Sakura is out there, keeping him in her heart. He knows that even if she does find another, there will always be a part of her that thinks of him, just like he will always have a part of him that thinks of her.

But if she dies…if she doesn’t make it through this…

Suddenly he can see it.

Years stretch out in front of him, bleak and empty and gray. Visits to a gravestone of a life that could have been. Regrets and pain and an endless void of existing instead of living.

More of everything he endured as a child, only this time, without the tiny ray of sunlight that Sakura willingly gave him.

And suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t want that.

A world without Sakura in it, is not one that he wants to be a part of.

He wants her—needs her—to be happy. And if her happiness is him…if he could ensure that happiness somehow…

Well, he’ll do whatever it takes.

Sasuke takes a shuddering breath at the realization.

It feels sudden, like a switch has been flipped with realization, and yet at the same time he knows it has always been this way.  

He’s in love with Sakura.

The world returns then in sharp focus, ignorant to the realizations he’s just made. Kakashi is still eyeing him with concern. Perhaps wondering if he’s going to have to talk him out of leaving the hospital, even though Sasuke knows that he’s not going anywhere until he can watch her open her eyes again.

Until she smiles at him again.

Maybe not even then.

“I’ll wait for her then,” he says, shaken but still somehow managing to control the timbre of his voice. He leans against the wall, eyes once more resting on the door in expectation.

I’ll wait for her forever.

終わり

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#sasusaku #ssm18 #ssm18day14 #prompt: wait for me #fanfic prompts/requests #kuriquinn #one-shot #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #drama #romance #realizations