only the leading man would carry his lady out of a collapsing building

The Flip Side

Summary: [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 9 – Prompt: “Community Service”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be forced to scrub away graffiti with a toothbrush if you are found plagiarizing.

Warning: AUish. Deals with evens from the Naruto Movie Road to Ninja. OOCish. Because RTN version of our beloved characters. And not edited, because I didn’t have time.

AN: Sasuke was very interesting to write in this one. It’s like, the total opposite of who he is. And it was soooo hard to write Sakura! I have such a hard time imagining a world where isn’t utterly smitten with him!

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Sakura arrives at Training Ground Three bright and early to find the familiar sight of Sasuke and Menma glaring at one another.

Under normal circumstances, she would brush it off as just being their never-ending competitiveness – they are so alike in temperament and skill that they have always been natural rivals. Since the three of them were assigned to Team 7, it’s just a constant string of one-upmanship. Sakura had to become Tsunade’s apprentice just to keep up with them (although she usually tells them it’s to get a break from the constant testosterone).

Today, though, when she approaches the boys, she gets the sense she’s stumbled onto something else.

“Hey…” she greets, inwardly preening a little when Menma is the first to glance her way.

“Sakura,” he says quietly, nodding in her direction.

Sasuke straightens up and turns around, brightening at the sight of her. “Hey, kitten. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Sakura glowers at him.

“Stop calling me that!”

Geez, he has to start right away in the morning!

“Ah, Sakura, there you are!” Kakashi declares, straightening up from the ground where he’s been doing push-ups. She wouldn’t have seen him except for the white shock of hair. “It’s odd that you’re late. I remember when we ran missions together you were as dedicated to punctuality as the White Beast of Prey!”

“He still talks about himself in the third person?” Sasuke inquires with a yawn.

Menma nods. “It would seem so…”

“He’s right though,” Sasuke agrees. “You’re never late.” An expression of concern passes over his face. “Are you still tired from being stuck in that other world?”

“I’m fine,” she shrugs him off. “I only found out from Lady Tsunade and Shizune just now that I had to come here. They wouldn’t say what it was about, so what gives?” Menma frowns, looking down at his feet, and Sasuke scowls. “Have I missed something?”

“Not at all, my most esteemed and youthful student!” Kakashi declares. “For your sake, I will gladly repeat the mission! You see, in light of the recent attack on the village, Lady Tsunade has decided that you’re all to be placed on probation!”

There’s silence. Then –

“Well, it’s better than I expected,” Sasuke muses.

 “EHHH?!” Sakura exclaims. “What? Why?”

Kakashi rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Well, I imagine it has to do with the fact that one of you almost destroyed the village, the other went AWOL during an all-hands-on-deck emergency situation and the third defaced Hokage Rock. I’ll let you fine young people ponder who exactly did what.”

Menma tenses, still looking at his shoes and Sakura’s gaze softens.

Since being back from her strange visit to another world, she has heard bits and pieces of what happened from Ino. How Menma somehow came to possess the Nine-Tailed Fox Spirit that everyone thought was sealed inside his mother, and how it corrupted him. If it weren’t for the other Sakura and Menma – No, wait, they called him Naruto, didn’t they? – he might have been lost for good. As it is, he’s being treated like a pariah lately while the village tries to come to terms with what happened.

And he’s not the only one…

Whatever happened while she was gone, the girl that everyone thought was her went missing during the attack on the village. Instead of organizing evacuations and directing field medics to help the villagers, her doppelganger was nowhere to be found. But everyone thinks that it was Sakura who abandoned her post.

So that explains the first two offences, but not…

Her brain catches up with what Kakashi said and her head whips around to stare at the Hokage monument, just visible through the trees. Lord Hashirama’s sombre expression has been altered with several slashes of paint, and Lord Tobirama’s face is speckled with blue and red that makes him look like a prostitute. She didn’t even notice this morning, because she was in such a hurry to meet with her master.

If Menma was battling his doppleganger and she was in another world, that leaves –

“What the hell, Sasuke?!” she demands, rounding on her teammate. “Why would you spray paint all over Hokage Rock, you stupid ass!”

Sasuke is unbothered by her outburst and instead offers her his usual flirtatious smile. “So I could ensure I spent more time with you, of course. I told we haven’t seen each other in a while – ow!” She bashes him on the head, only just reigning in her strength from turning it into a skull-crushing blow. “Come on, Sakura, I didn’t – ow – do anything to your father’s face – ow – you know I wouldn’t – ow – !”

“You two are an embarrassment,” Menma sighs.

“Embarrassment or not, the Hokage has tasked us with an important array of community service tasks,” Kakashi says. “With the village recovering, we’ve been put in a precarious situation. Anyone who might try to take advantage of Konoha in the interim needs to know we’re still able to do our jobs! So all of our away missions must continue! And while our shinobi forces are dealing with that, it means there are fewer people here to fix the place up.”

“And by fewer people, you mean no one,” Sasuke says.

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The Duo

Summary: Alex and Rylie abandon their old group as it fell violent, only to come face to face with another group because of an accident. 

Author Note: This story is about me and @fuck-yeah-lets-do-negan-ff (go check her shit out) surviving the zombie apocalypse. Sorry this took so long to write, I got side tracked. But its here.

Characters: Alex, Rylie, Negan, Dwight. 
(Alex is @fuck-yeah-lets-do-negan-ff )

Warnings: Language, Medical talk, Angry Alex, Crying.

Master List

Chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: After an accident, Alex wakes up, but Rylie wont. 

Chapter Three: Fault.


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Dawn to Dusk (1/?)

I said I was writing a Gramander AU fic where Graves ran the mafia and here is the first chapter. He *spoilers* hasn’t actually started running it yet but you will see what goes down there next chapter. Hold out for it please, I swear it is all planned and it will be better than what is here, I am just very very tired and the clock has just struck three am as I write, which means this was all written in about 3 hours. Also, can you tell I am not a very practiced writer? Please give constructive criticism if you want. Without further ado, here we go. Chapter one. 

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

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“The inheritance ceremonies for those pure of Magic, whether Dark or Light, is a matter of some dispute amongst those not directly involved in the process. What is known can be summarised thusly; that there are two types of magic to be inherited: the Lordship and the Heirship, that the former outstrips the latter in magnitude and variety of Magics, and that the inheritance thereof is precipitated by th emergence of a certain trait distinctive to each bloodline of import. The training of these magics and the exact skills they impart unto the fortunate few who gain access varies considerably ‘tween Families, and are unknown to those uninitiated in such deep magics as these. Surely the hopes our our community rest upon these few people’s shoulders, those who hold the balance of Law and Order; indeed it is this author’s belief that the restriction of their use is causing the present unrest in our glorious Britannia. Of the strengths of our cousins over the oceans I know not, they ever hold secrets in their hearts…” - Excerpt, “On the protection of the Wizarding Community and Our safe continuance within the Fiefdom of Lady Hecate.” by William Urquhart

1922.

The chill of a New York October hit Newt first. As he stepped off the boat, his blue coat wrapped tightly around his thin frame, he instinctively huddled down into himself, one hand hand tightening around his cases handle. Passing through customs was a matter of activating the muggleworthy section of his case. Thankfully, Newt’s magic was not acting up for once in his life, and he got through without any unexpected plant growth or animal attraction. He loved all animals, he really did, but when one got accused by wealthy women of carrying catnip around to entice their doubtless horrifically smothered cats away for the fifth time, one got rather tired of all the attention that a posse of animals following him around brought.

A shudder shook his shoulders. He should find some kind of lodging for the night, before the sun sunk too low and he was out on the streets after dark. Newt ended up wandering the wide boulevards, passing by the imposing Woolworth Building that housed MACUSA to pick up his wand permit from a sour faced man on the sixteenth floor, and in a stroke of good luck, found board from a flyer in the lobby there. By sundown, Newt had moved into a shabby room above a bar. He could taste copper on the back of his tongue as he settled his friends into their homes for the night. His dear creatures seemed to sense his failing body; Pickett whined on his shoulder, gently patting his hair and clinging to his ear and the mooncalves whimpered at him, gently nuzzling their oversized heads against his legs. Even Aziza let him administer the weekly tonic that stopped her breath filling with transmittable disease without much complaining.

It was, much to his surprise, Dougall who was the least worried, which gave Newt some heart. He had just stared at Newt, the blue of his eyes shining with foresight, and then wandered off quite happily. Perhaps that meant some kind of remedy for whatever was wrong with his magic would be found in New York. Once he had settled his baby Occamies in the hatchery, his limbs abruptly seemed to fill with lead and he headed off to bed, exhaustion pulling at his frame. Collapsing into the cot by his shed, his eyes closed into an inexorable sleep so deep he missed the wave of magic that uncoiled from his torso, its passing marked only by the sudden lack of tension in his slumbering body.

Director of Magical Security Percival Graves did not have that luxury. From his office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (or the DMLE for short), he was wrecked by a shudder as his magic tried to calm the frantic energy it was getting bombarded with. It failed miserably, his own magic was far too unsettled at the intrusion to try to calm down that of his unknowing assailant. All he could do was weather the storm, and as the assault on his magic diminished he began to breathe more freely. What in the name of Hecate was that? The ribbons of fractured light fluttered into the visible spectrum as the urgency of the foreign light was swallowed by its seeming joy at having found what it had been searching for.

Sitting back heavily in his seat, Graves raised one hand to caress a golden-rose band of pure power, dispelling his own magic as navy-black smoke to surround the tangle currently trying to curl itself into his core. As it calmed under the buffering of the Graves Heirship Magic, it disintegrated into small rivulets and slid deep into the astonished man, saturating itself utterly with Graves’ magic. That magic seemed to lift weight from his shoulders, his crushing loneliness checked somewhat by the flecks of sunlight running through the Dark. His magic gently folded back inside himself as he hoarded that precious Light to himself. This had been no accident. Someone out there has magic that was completely complementary to his, someone who, from the taste of their magic, was scared and alone and didn’t understand what was happening. His lips curled up one one side, his eyes darkening to near black as he dispatched a few wisps of his own power to settle back into the unknown wizard. He would find them.

Newt awoke feeling a hell of a lot better than he had since entering the outback of Australia, where he had spent a thoroughly unpleasant two weeks baking under the sun in full dress, studying the habits of Fire Salamanders. He felt well-rested, his magic was purring like a happy nundu, and he had arranged to meet the supplier of some dittany plants in the afternoon; leaving his morning free to spoil his creatures and let them play a little. Charlie, the mischievous bugger, had been quite eager to get out and play ever since the halfway point of the voyage from England.

He absently fed and doted on all his creatures, his children really, as he transfigured a little minefield of fake golden nuggets for Charlie to enjoy hunting down. The five little occamies whom he had yet to name chirruped and nuzzled into his body while he cooed at them as he let them climb up over his shoulders to watch the ecstatic niffler stuff his pouch full of transfigured fake gold. Charlie liked shiny things, he didn’t really care about the worth of the treasure so would be just as happy when the transfiguration wore off and they became glittery paper once more. The clock struck midday while he was mucking out the mooncalves’ enclosure, the owl eyed creatures eyeing him through the twilight of their habitat as if weighing up the likelihood of more cuddling and games of ball once he was done with clean up.

Sadly, he was due to meet his supplier at 1pm, and had to reluctantly leave. He bundled himself into his best outfit for it; that is to say, he put on a new shirt, polished his boots and ensured the cleaning charms on his waistcoat and peacoat had done their job. He carefully locked his case as he left the room, leaving it under heavy disillusionment and notice-me-not charms to ensure nobody would think to steal it away. Heading off to the little underground bazaar where they had arranged to meet, Newt considered the letters they had exchanged. When he had inquired of his usual contact about getting actual dittany plants rather than just the distilled essence thereof in a quest to become more self-sufficient, they had gone quite quiet for some time. Only two weeks after his initial enquiry had they directed Newt to the person he was going to meet that day, and the tone of their letter had been somewhat odd, as if they were not quite happy with their choice. Upon initial reception of the letter Newt had written this apprehension off as disgruntlement regarding his choice to switch suppliers, but as he approached the door to the market in the side of a dingy alley, his instincts flared wildly. This was not safe.

Nevertheless, something urged him on. The flame of his magic tugged him forth, as he dropped down a ladder and entered what he had come to realise was most certainly a Black Market in a daze. Once he saw what was happening inside, a burning rage took hold of him. Stalls were set up in a labyrinth of illegal goods; plants from every nation, artefacts that he was sure were cursed and worst of all, tortured creatures in tiny cages being used for their blood and bones, their feathers, fur or horns. Newt could feel them crying out to him; his magic swelled and ignited as he swept through the crowd, soothing the terrified animals and freezing the sellers as he went. Silence fell for a moment as he halted in front of a brutalised fwooper on an open perch, its feathers half plucked. The poor tiny bird cringed in his hand but remained silent, utter terror cloaking its mind. The tension broke.

Pure magic emitted from him in a wave as he was lit from within by the force of his fury. Sellers of all species tried to portkey away in vain and the magical blast shattered glass, ripped through the wooden stalls and threw the immobilised black market dealers to the floor. Newt himself was shaking with anger as he picked up the ring of keys from the terrified hags belt and unlocked the cages of all the birds she had confined. As he opened the last one to reveal four half dead jarveys and one rotting corpse, he lost any remaining semblance of control. His magic, gentled by the grief-inducing sight, swept the room, burning locks into melted sludge and sliding doors open to free the creatures imprisoned behind bars, trying to heal their wounds and calm their minds.

He did not notice the arrival of the Auror department. They had had their eye on the market for a long time for the trade of illegal goods through the USA, but the surging spikes of power emitting from the subway tunnel it was located in was unusual enough that headquarters was contacted. Graves perked up at the patronus report. A wizard with a power unlike anything Auror Slayde had felt before had entered the market - that had to be the man behind the mysterious magic last night. Rising from his desk, he immediately issued orders via communication mirror for anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards to be put in place while he got a team together. As he swept through the main office space for the DMLE, he hit an alarm and barked his orders.

“Slayde has blocked off the Black Market in quadrant four, we have reason for entry. Shafiq, Fleamont, Brandt, gather your teams we are doing a sweep and clean. Ricci, Moore, I want your teams on frontal assault. We have powerful pissed-off wizard in there and I don’t want to risk anything. I will run point. Let’s go people, we move in two minutes.”

The department behind him was a mess, people running this way and that as the four man teams lined up, summoning their dragon hide armour and secondary wands in preparation. Within the time limit, they were ready to portkey out to the coordinates Shayde had given.

Once in the field, they fell into their practiced habits, the frontal assault teams joining Graves and the cleaners waiting further behind, expanded sacks at the ready to tag and bag the contraband they would find. On Graves’ signal they moved. Senior Auror Johann Brandt blasted the boor open and they immediately entered the disused sewer-cum-market, only to halt at his outstretched arm, falling silent. Now Graves was certain it was the magic from the previous evening, the little tendrils he had sent out to mark the source of that power were reacting to his presence, urging him closer to the man who from the back seemed silhouetted by Light magic so powerful he felt compelled to- to sweep him close and let their power mingle, become one whole rather than two halves, to meet the magic that could complete him and bask in their glory.

A breath on the back of his neck brought him down to the realities of the present. With a hand gesture, Graves indicated the teams forward to collect the contraband items and detain the immobile sellers. He himself approached the wizard. As he stepped closer he took a gamble and carefully unleashed a little of his aura in the other man’s direction, just enough to get his attention. The copper head spun round from where he was intensely focussed on the small animal cradled in his hands to stare into his eyes, their colour the blue of the sky as the sun rose. Graves took another pace and unravelled more of his power at him, making sure to keep it away from the Aurors in the background. Familial Magic was rare and he was not known to be the Heir of the House of Graves; it would not do to reveal himself now.

As he entered the wizards personal space, the man turned fully to face him, his visible magic obviously attuned to the lure Graves was putting out. Graves barely had time to take in the blood trickling from the other’s nose before he collapsed  forward into the Aurors arms, whispering pleas into his ears to save the creatures as that beautiful magic cut out with the man’s consciousness.

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Next Chapter

Endless Nights

Other parts are under the One Night section: http://greysukay.tumblr.com/MyStories

This was quite hard to write as I didn’t want to be insensitive with any of my words or my take of an event. Sorry if I have…

WARNING: sensitive material involving sexual assualt.

You deserve this. Did you really think you were going to get away with being so frivolous and carefree your whole life without consequences? This is your comeuppance.

“I’ll be gentle if you don’t scream,” his stern and hissed voice whispered into her ear from behind, making her shudder. Her eyes were shut so tightly and in that moment it was the only part of her body that she had control over. She felt him loosen his grip from her mouth and although she wanted to move and fight, something was blocking her muscles from doing so. He aggresively pushed her against the wall, crushing her front against it, her jaw painfully knocking sideways.

Your brain is working perfectly fine, you can think for yourself and that means you can move for yourself. Fight back, fucking fight back you idiot, move your arm, move anything Amelia.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t move a muscle, she was essentially paralysed. Her pulse was racing faster than she’d ever experienced and she could hear every mechanism of her insides in her own ears as if they were amplified. Although she could not feel them, she could tell tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her brain conjured up images of no significance to her or the situation- a child holding some candy floss, a winding staircase, an abandoned forest with thick fog forming- anything to remove herself from her body and her skin.

She dared to glimpse behind her for a second to see the man opening his belt in a hurry. She gulped back nothing but air, her saliva had abandoned her mouth in desperate search of safer places, the nausea bubbling in every crevice of her being.

This is your chance, make a noise. Do something.

Still, her body did nothing her brain ordered it to. She felt nothing. She looked down to see her skirt being lifted up and in a final ditch attempt to prevent what was about to happen, she summoned every cell of energy to move her arm to stop it. It felt like three tonnes of lead was attached to her shoulder and it made her body collapse to the floor, her knees giving into the numbness and her head slamming against the concrete.

You are ok. This is not real, don’t worry. That painful pounding in your head is not an injury, it’s just a bad hangover. The hands on you are not hands…

She could just about make out where the concrete below her was, as she lay face-down on the ground recovering from the fall. He knelt down, covering her body with his own and forcefully pushing himself into her. A pain seared through her insides, the mechanisms going into overdrive in her ears and telling her to scream. All that escaped her mouth was a whimper. As he satisfied himself within her with his forceful violating thrusts, her face was shred against the small loose stones scattered in the alley. Again, one more futile attempt to escape washed over her, crawling up onto her knees and elbow before promptly being dragged back into his arms.

“Hel…”

He cut her voice off before the word “help” had even been formed, reaching a hand around to her mouth and shutting down the sound. She took a bite of his hand, finding the tiniest part of fight left in her. It did nothing but encourage him to bite back, a dull sensation in her shoulder sending shocks of panic into her heart once more.

You’re going to be ok.


Owen walked through the deserted midnight streets, hands in his pockets, returning from his search of Amelia. Having looked for her in the bar, he’d followed the barman’s advice and took a stroll down to her apartment to check if she was there. As he approached her building, he noticed her lipstick on the ground. He picked it up and confirmed it was Amelia’s from the patterned case it came in. He thought it was odd, but decided to carry on walking.

He buzzed her apartment number several times, he checked his phone for sign of life, he texted her, he whatsapped her. He tried every communication before calling her.

“Come on, I just want to check you’re ok,” Owen muttered to himself as he heard the dial tones in his ear. After the third or fourth one, he could hear a ringtone from a phone echoing louder and louder from the alleyway to the side of the building. He thought it must have been coincidental but walked that way in spite of his suspicions.

“Amelia?” he asked, making his voice clear and strong.

No answer came but he could still hear the sound of the ringtone. He hung up the phone to see if it would stop and it did. He redialled her number and the ringtone sounded again. He desperately searched for the source, finally working out how to keep the ringing going whilst using the flashlight.

“Amelia!” He barked, more forcefully.

His heart was beginning to pound. Nothing was ok about this situation- she wasn’t in her apartment, she had clearly been drinking, she wasn’t answering to her name but her cell was ringing somewhere in a dark abandoned alley… He shut his eyes as tight as possible and took a deep breath, composing himself.

She’s going to be fine, she’ll just be slumped over in a corner giggling to herself because she dropped her phone or something… she will be fine.

“Amelia…” he gasped as he saw her bare skin in the shimmering glow of the phone’s torch. Gulping back the feeling of nausea as he saw her petite frame wrecked and face-down on the concrete, he ran over to her, kneeling by her side and checking her pulse. It was erratic and her pupils were going wild as he checked her responses.

He attempted to control his adrenalin, needing the flight or fight response to go into auto-pilot and overide his desire to punch the nearest wall. It had only been a few weeks since he had been running across a war-torn desert, discovering deeply wounded soldiers but this… this, he had not trained for. He covered her exposed body parts up, sorrow and guilt powering his muscles as he did so. She was passed out but alive.

She’ll be ok. She’ll be ok.

He gently and slowly moved her over so she was lying on her back. Her face had scratches from where it had been rubbed against the harsh ground and her head was bleeding from within her hair.

“Amelia,” he said, tears stinging his eyes from rage, hurt, pain, sympathy, pity… too many emotions flooded his circulation and he broke down, desperately biting is bottom lip to keep it contained. “You need to wake up Amelia.”

A slight groan signalled her awareness that someone was there. He dialled 911 and waited, constantly talking to her and reassuring her he was there.

Owen?

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Friday, I'm in love

TITLE:  Friday, I’m in love

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: one shot

AUTHOR tomcuddlesfic

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom

GENRE: romance / fluff / 

FIC SUMMARY: OC dances in her flat. Little did she know, someone was watching.

RATING FOR THE WHOLE FIC: T

Author Comments: The summary sounds creepy but i assure you it’s not. tell me what you think :3

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