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Entry tags:
- ! mod event,
- arknights: shalem,
- bleach: grimmjow jaegerjaquez,
- bleach: jugram haschwalth,
- danganronpa: fukawa toko,
- encanto: bruno madrigal,
- ennead: set,
- fe3h: claude von riegan,
- fe3h: felix hugo fraldarius,
- ffvii: vincent valentine,
- genshin impact: tartaglia (childe),
- genshin impact: the traveler (lumine),
- hades: zagreus,
- htwmho: rudbeckia de borgia,
- jjk: fushiguro megumi,
- jjk: itadori yuuji,
- naruto: uchiha sasuke,
- orv: han sooyoung,
- orv: jung heewon,
- shadow and bone: the darkling,
- stranger things: steve harrington,
- the last of us: joel miller,
- vld: keith
(no subject)
I. PUSHING UP DAISIES
cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror
The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.
It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:
II. DO NOT PASS GO
cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity
Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.
If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.
When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.
III. TO THE RESCUE
cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror
The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.
It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:
► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.
► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.
► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.
if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured
II. DO NOT PASS GO
cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity
Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.
If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.
When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.
► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!
Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!
III. TO THE RESCUE
As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.
The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.
The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”
Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”
It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.
The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.
The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”
Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”
It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.
so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!
ooc note
► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!
Spoilers again, possibly throughout from here 😬
Horrible? She hasn't done anything wrong. She hasn't been kind, true, but until Komaru most of her kindnesses were returned with kicks. Why should she make an exception now? And for what? Lessons on fixing sprained ankles?
Sakura had shown her that in this very tent. Smiled and encouraged her. Even after she yelled at her over the app. Even though she was doing a shit job.
She had memories like that of the others, too. Two years of thawing her out, of good times with the whole gang, and it meant nothing to them at all.
Tears well at the rims of Fukawa's eyes.]
Fine. Y-you're right, you d-don't owe me anything. And honestly, I don't care about the details. If you made a p-promise to your "sensei", or you're fighting crime in a spandex catsuit — I don't care!
But I won't allow anyone to be hurt. You understand? [The quaking comes out riotous now. Her hands are jittering at her side, clenching and unclenching. She fights to speak through a throat grown thick, through teeth that chatter, a twitching curl in her lip.] If you're hiding something and someone ends up killed over it, I'll never forgive myself. I won't allow it to happen again. Even if I fail, even if pay the price. Even if...
[That thickness grows to a steel ball. She could almost choke on it. Nearly does, swallowing it down. And there the tears go, flushing down livid red cheeks.]
Even if everyone despises me for it, I refuse to let anyone else die b-because I was too st-stupid to think twice! Never again! Not ever!
dragon rompers strikes again
(hurt people hurt people. she knows that. but sometimes knowing and understanding are two separate things.)
it's the courage that softens her, eventually. finally. and then sakura sighs, comes over to her with a box of tissue and holds it out. ）
Now who's trying to be heroic? Dummy.
（ but her tone is gentle, the insult more exasperatedly fond than cutting. then: ）
I'm not interested in hurting people. For right now, you're going to have to trust that. If you want to know more about me, then earn it.
them dragons just keep romping around
Huh?
[There's a poignant pause. Her face is still plum red, but the fraught expression has fallen.]
B-but...you're not mad? [She should be furious. That's the next step of this escalation, she'd be blowing her top in her shoes. Instead Sakura has stepped off the ladder and pulled Fukawa off with her.] I basically called you a murderer.
[All right. Fine, she'll take a damn tissue. Fukawa presses it to her nose, stifling any disgusting overflow before it starts. Her breath makes the tissue flutter as she speaks.]
...I d-don't think you're dangerous. [Chances aren't zero, of course, but they are low. She's feeling very stupid all of a sudden, and too tired to deny it.] More than one person must have s-seen you during the escape. And you didn't c-come...you could have snapped my neck at any time.
no subject
（ she sighs, and sinks down into one of only three chairs in her makeshift little 'waiting room'. she takes a second chair, swings it past her out of its neat line-up and then nudges it towards fukawa with a foot.
in a gently corrective tone — ）
I am dangerous. But just because someone is capable of harming others doesn't mean they want to, or will. I'm a doctor first. Preserving life is important to me. But sometimes that's meant fighting for it in battlefields as much as operating theatres.
（ she drags a hand through her hair, working it out of its tail. some of it is still stained with the black ink she'd used, and she's been too damn tired to sit and try to scrub it all the way out. for now, she's just living with it. ）
no subject
She dabs at the tear tracks now. Her voice has gone stuffy and pathetic.]
R-reality can be worse than anything you imagine. [It's nice though, to be considered brave. It's not a badge she feels she's earned. It's more like a noose strung around her neck. Defeated, she drifts into the chair, sweeping her too-long swathe of hair to the side.] It w-wouldn't matter what happened to me anyway. Cowardice j-just keeps you on the chopping block. I'd rather die trying to do something than wait for the blow on my knees.
[A few years ago she would have said the opposite.
She continues to clear the mess from her face as Sakura lays out the bare bones. Her eyes stay on the girl this time. None of this suspicious tension. At least she admits that she could be a killer. Playing innocent now would be just plain obnoxious.]
So you st-studied medicine first? [She pauses with a flinch.] Nevermind. I probably haven't "earned" that.
[She sighs, rubbing at her temple and thinking the confession over as Sakura teases her hair loose. There's still inky streaks in it. She hadn't seen it before, shadows and ponytail and what not.]
R-rubbing alcohol will get that out. [Fukawa makes a quaint gesture to the mess.] Or h-hairspray. I used to get p-pen ink all over myself, and it always did the trick.
no subject
she could use a clone, she supposes, but after a moment she comes over to fukawa and holds the concoction out to her in a silent request. if fukawa takes it, she'll settle on her knees in front of the chair facing away from her. quietly, ）
No. Medicine came after. But I liked it more.
no subject
[Fukawa's hands extend to the gauze, then retract. Then extend again, slim fingers plucking it from Sakura's hands like she's gathering up strands of fresh spun silk. To think that she'd let her grimy hands anywhere near her hair is gobsmacking, yet here they are.
Fukawa's heart stutters as Sakura assumes position just in front of her knees. Her mothers had been merciless when it came to her hair, and turned more furious still when she fussed over it. It makes her nervous to start. If she's not brushing anything out maybe she won't risk pulling too hard?
Gentle. That's the key. Pretend this is like petting a baby bird.
Fukawa gathers the first lock with no small timidity, taking the wet gauze to it lightly. Sakura has very soft hair. Even streaked up like this, she can tell it's well cared for.]
So you started t-training young, then. [They're close to the same age. There wasn't much time to gain expertise in multiple subjects without a childhood leg up.] Was it out of necessity?
no subject
More cultural practice than necessity. I was born just at the end of a war, and grew up in relative peace.
no subject
Where Sakura pictures Ino, Fukawa imagines Komaru. They haven't done something like this. Oh sure, the little brat has wrestled her into the bath against her will once or twice, but they haven't done anything so tender brushing each other's hair. Fukawa would feel stupid asking anyway, and she's not sure what Komaru would think. It seems like the sort of inane, overfamiliar, girly bullshit she'd be into.
Though...it's not so bad. The ink is coming out well, which is good. She won't get called a liar. And it's soothing work. Something quiet and private. She parts Sakura's hair in another section and applies the gauze with a touch more confidence.
There's still traces of the sniffles in her, still heat in her cheeks. Maybe that's lingering for another reason.]
A war? [So it was a lingering paranoia in the community? Train the children well, lest peace fail to last?] I guess that m-makes sense. Plenty of countries had mandatory military service once you reach a certain age.
So, if it was p-peace times, were you tasked with maintaining it?
this entire thread has me just 😭😭😭
（ she was unremarkable in almost every way. more burden than help on those early missions, it feels like. she'd worked so hard to put it all behind her, and even now, sometimes... she still feels like she's chasing naruto and sasuke to catch up.
she shifts how she's sitting, moving so she can draw her knees up against her chest and cross her arms.
after a moment of silence — ）
Thanks, by the way. For helping. When I was younger, I was pretty vain about my hair... I guess some habits are hard to break.
I KNOW I've been crying about it all day, every day 🥺❤️❤️
When Sakura shifts she mistakes it as her own fault, dropping the hair at once. But she's only changed positions. She looks much younger all balled up like that. Knees pulled in tight to protect her soft middle, arms buckling them in.
Why the move surprises her, she can't quite say. They're already in the middle of a much too intimate exchange. Why should the sight of her drawing in like a pouting child make such a difference?
Fukawa resumes her combing. All the worst mess is closest to the root. She refolds the gauze and works closer to her ear, brushing back one face-framing lock from her cheek. Lightly, carefully. Her nails are uneven, she'd hate to scratch her unwittingly.]
I g-guess it's nice to have one vanity. [She doesn't acknowledge the thanks. Doing so is beyond her at the moment. Is she breathing too loud? She has to lean forward to better see this side, one of her own unruly locks dropping off her shoulder to dust the other girl's back.]
You should consider y-yourself lucky. Not all girls can make do with short hair.
[And it's a pretty colour too. Just as poetic and pink as her namesake. Some people just have it all.]
bangs hands on table WHY ARE GIRLS!!!
（ she laughs, the sort of haha that's meant perhaps a bit lightly, as a cover for something else. she doesn't mind acknowledging the silly girl she'd been, the wild fantasies she'd held to herself. after all, without that girl, the woman she is now wouldn't exist. ）
But it's funny you should say that. I used to keep it much longer than this. For that same boy, of course. It turns out, when you spend all your time worrying about what you look like, and not enough time worrying about what you're going to do in life-or-death situations, sometimes you have to make a choice.
（ she reaches a hand up, brushes her fingers through the shorn hair at her nape. she's kept it short since that first chuunin exam, almost as a promise to herself. she still looks after her hair, of course, but she cares less about callouses and broken nails and scars and dirt and grime than she used to. now, her primary concern is whether or not men will take her seriously as a professional, not whether or not they find her attractive. ）
Sairose Ronan saying "Women" gif
Th-that's actually much more believable than any secret agent crap. [She almost sounds fond saying it. The way her mouth quirks at the ends would give more away, but while Sakura's got her back to her it's hidden safely out of sight.] Chasing a sense of r-romance is a greater factor in more behaviour than anyone would l-like to admit. Whether its the fantasy, or the literal connection...
[Herself? Nearly everything she did was in service of Byakuya-sama's will — the only reason she even went to Towa City was because she stowed away on his flight. She'd gone the extra mile for countless boys before that. Her novels were all escapes from the dank pit of her existence, creating a world where even the wretched and reviled are worthy of tenderness. Admiration. True love.
And she's not the only person who acts that way. Love wove in between the killings and the crucifixions of Hope's Peak. Whether as something to be manipulated, to be protected, or even a fantasy to destroy everything for.]
So something did happen. [Figures. It always does.] Did this boy come s-save you after all?
[Maybe too tender a question, but this is her favourite subject. How can she not pry?
She leaves the section at her ear now, patting the side of her head.] I need t-to do the front. Can you...
[Tilt back?]
same energy tbh
Not the way I wanted.
（ it wasn't like sasuke ever threw her to the wolves. they were teammates. he had helped her and looked out for her and she had been greedy for the affection she read into his actions even when it seems like it had all been her imagination after all.
but when it mattered, when it counted... she can still remember him telling her and kakashi that saving them from the grip of infinite tsukuyomi had been incidental, that they were useless and unnecessary.
green eyes flick up briefly, and then away. whatever is happening here is a delicate accord, and she realizes... she'd missed having a girl her own age to talk to. she doesn't want to ruin whatever this might become by being hard-headed. sometimes, you need to be willing to be vulnerable first, and finally: ）
I don't think he ever cared about me at all. I was just a nuisance.
（ it's the first time she's ever said it aloud. but... between what happened after the war, his leaving the village and now here in stygia... as much as she knows about trauma now and how it shapes people and follows them all their lives... if he felt anything about her at all, there would have been some indication of it by now. he has no trouble speaking about naruto and the depths of their bond, but he's only ever been cold to her. ）
no subject
Hard to do when the story carries on. The fantasy has gone sour enough to clamp Sakura's mouth shut. She tells it in five words instead of fifty, and that's all Fukawa needs.]
What? [So did he abandon her? After she'd dedicated her life to studying martial arts for his sorry ass?
Their eyes meet again in that brief flick up, and Fukawa realizes she's already broken her only ground rule. She grunts and resumes the work with more vigor. Not rough: just swifter, with a petulant scowl set in place.]
M-Men can be so callous. [Easy now. It's not even her own story and she's getting riled up.] Even if th-they don't like you back, there's no need to treat somebody like a...l-like a hot turd on asphalt!
[Where the hell do they get off behaving like that, anyway? What happened to chivalry? Basic human decency?
She works in silence for a while. Then there's a bitter mutter from behind gritted teeth.]
The f-first boy I ever liked was the only one in my class who would talk to me. I found out he was moving away, s-so I wrote him a letter confessing my feelings.
[She refolds the gauze to a bare patch. It's turning grimy but Sakura's hair is already showing vast improvement.]
He pinned it to the bulletin board the next day. Everyone k-kept laughing at me, quoting parts of it back like it was the funniest joke they'd heard. When I asked him why he did it, he said he'd always hated me. [Such a sad sob story for such a little girl. It's been nearly ten years and she still gets choked up thinking about it.] The other k-kids had been making fun of him for spending time with me. My company had made his life a complete hell.
He said he was glad he'd n-never see me again.
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Sounds like an asshole. An entire class of them, actually.
（ such crass words for such a professional woman, but hey, she means it. men certainly can be jerks when it comes to feelings, and it isn't as if she means only sasuke. they are truly and unilaterally terrible about it.
funny, how it's easier to be mad on someone else's behalf than on her own. oh, sasuke never humiliated her like that — she doesn't think he would, he's not that sort of person. he used to be sweet and gentle, once upon a time. ）
You deserved better than that. I'm sorry that was how he repaid your feelings.
cw: child murder, blood, self-harm
She could finish the story. She'd seen that same boy again weeks later, after he'd moved to Shikoku. Waking on cool tile in a classroom she'd never been to, a dark and foul splatter all over her body. Pooling on the floor. His body suspended on the wall, two pairs of scissors punched through his hands. A lover's crucifixion, his blood smeared in crooked kanji beside him. It was her first real introduction to Syo. The first time washing up had turned into a horror show, how blood became unbearable in any amount.
He was the first notch to appear on her thigh. She could give Sakura a run down on all thirty-seven. So many beautiful boys who wouldn't give her the time of day. Names in bold on the nightly news thereafter.
She doesn't say anything. Her lips twitch. She swallows audibly, resumes cleaning her hair. It's nearly done. Maybe not perfect, but with another wash or two she should be good.
Her pulse picks up anew.]
I d-did have... [Her jaw clamps shut. She has to swallow a second time, work the twist out of her mouth.] C-can you...is th-there anything you can do for a scar?
[The brand from the Gallows. Her stolen sweater sheathes it well, but she wants the risk of recognition gone. Only now those raised lines on her leg tingle, clamouring for attention she's loathe to give.
Syo would be furious if she messed with them. She'd probably think Fukawa was wiping the scoreboard clean.]
A b-b-burn mark.
'ah, the rompers are at it again'...
The brands?
（ normal healing hasn't worked, but she still has a few strips of that creature's skin... ）
I think I probably can. Here — （ she reaches up, takes fukawa's hand gently and gives her wrist a brief press of thanks before she stands up smoothly. she has a little medicine cabinet she keeps stocked with a variety of things, and the badiliscus skins are there, pressed between sheets to preserve them. she takes one out, as well as an unguent that smells like camphor and a combination of herbs, and gestures fukawa to come join her at the small working desk. ）
Here, show me.
banning myself from dropping more stupid rompers nonsense until december
[Thank god she doesn't have to say more.
Her sigh of relief is interrupted by the brief touch. A silent gesture, but a potent one. In the absence that follows her hand drifts over the ring, cupping with the same pressure Sakura had given. Her eyes trace the surety of Sakura's movements. The way her hair falls around her chin, her neck.
She comes when she's beckoned though. Wordless and quick. Fukawa slips beside her and teases the knit sleeve up. On the back of her forearm is the foul scar. The blisters had died down but the letter "F" is still a furrowed trough on her skin.]
I g-guess everyone's come through here already, huh?
no give me forbidden romper lore
（ she takes fukawa's arm gently, examining the brand in its settled keloid, the surrounding skin for any sign of infection. satisfied, finally, that the brand itself is the only thing that needs care, she snaps on a pair of gloves and sets out to clean the area with disinfectant wipes.
once she's done with that — ）
Do you mind if I use my healing on you? It'll help speed it along.
only if you give me arcane naruto knowledge in return!!
Th-that's so creepy. [She looks at the husks and shudders.] D-dead skins...
[Her constitution is so delicate, why is this her life one macabre display after the other?
She endures the preparation with only a minor grimace. The worst is yet to come, and this is far less intrusive than cleaning Sakura's hair had been.]
Healing? [Fukawa's brow furrows.] ...Yes? That's why I came here, isn't it?
[Maybe it's custom for doctors to ask permission twice where she's from.]
'chakra was given to ninjas by alien gods' how's that
Well, yes. But when I talk about healing, it's a little different from my work as a doctor. More like how most people here see magic. I know not everyone is comfortable with that sort of thing — you wouldn't be able to see it, for instance. My, um, 'magic' doesn't seem to work on the brands themselves, but I can ease the pain and encourage it to heal.
（ she tips her head to one side, meant to brush her shoulder against her hair where it's halfly in her way, and then continues, almost shyly: ）
If you'd like.
Excuse me ALIENS???!!!
Is everyone here s-some kind of secret wizard?!
[Dimitri had pulled this same stunt on her in their jail cell. And then there was "Zagreus" and his flaming feet, and that carrot-top canker sore who'd vanished into thin air.
Fukawa sighs.]
And I th-thought my reality was ridiculous. [She is going to have a permanent migraine at this rate. Still, at least it's something useful. And she'd have a front row seat, and it's sort of...she can't put a word to it. It adds an extra layer to the proceedings. Maybe it's the dark of night sequestering them or the exorcism of so many fraught emotions, but magic paints the act with a degree of secrecy.
So there's a teeny crook at the corner of her lips. Curious and a bit self-satisfied.]
Go ahead, I guess. Work your w-wonders.
i wish i were kidding
but sakura nods, accepting that permission, and passes her hand over the brand. chakra is invisible, of course, but that doesn't mean it can't be felt. hers has the bright, biting cold of a day torn between the dominion of winter and summer, still pools that reflect fractals in thin ice. it's alternately serene, the warmth of the sun as it chases off the remaining vestiges of snow, and bracing like the breeze that comes from the north and carries all the memories of a cutting cold.
and lastly, it's a little like... scraping the frost away from the first delicate budding plants of spring. lush and verdant and full of summer's promise.
it does as she said — soothes the pain, chases away the fire along the nerves where they've been burnt and damaged. the brand itself... she's not sure why she can't do anything about it, only that she can't, but at least there are other ways around it.
once she's finished with the chakra, though, she does gently apply the salve, and then wraps the girl's arm in the badiliscus skin. from there it's just a matter of applying another bandage overtop the dressing to affix the dressing properly, and once she's done she steps back, peeling her gloves off with the practiced ease of someone who does this sort of thing... well, often. ）
There. How's that feeling now?
damn that manga went places
It doesn't hurt. There's a numbing effect after all the meteorological phantasms. Any remaining pangs pale to the way it pried at her before.
She's left speechless in the space thereafter. The salve pales in comparison, and the dried skins take more gently to her arm than expected. She'd thought they would chafe. Next comes the bandage. She can see some of the same tactics used for the sprains here, but then how many ways can you wind a strip of fabric?]
...G-good.
[Fukawa flexes her hand. She pats at the dressing with timid fingers, then slips the sleeve back over it. Thank goodness she has an excuse to keep covered up. With the chilly weather incoming no one's going to tease her for the thick woolen sweater, nor the skirt brushing the back of her calves.]
It's n-not stinging anymore. [Her lips press thin. A touch sheepishly:] Th-thank you...
[Considering what it took to wring those two words out of her last time, it should be counted as progress. Fukawa fidgets on the spot, feeling quite childish suddenly.]
What's it cost? I don't have a lot of m-money right now.
not all of them were good places tbqh...
grips you, i feel that
you 🤝 me: 'our canon makes no fucking sense sometimes'
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