Author's Notes: Well hello all! Yes yes, I know I am very used to writing Yaoi fanfiction but I am still quite the fan of romance of many genders and saw fit to write a female OC/Kakashi fanfiction of my own, since so little exist out there. However, I need your help!

The rules are simple. I have three BEGINNING chapters of three seperate ideas for an OC and I can't decide which one to write about, so I am leaving it up to you to decide. Each chapter has it's own seperate plot, characters, ideals, style and general goings-on.

Please leave your choice of chapter in the reviews section, the chapter with the most votes will become an ongoing story at the start of next year. Please also remember that these stories are all M rated, and as always I will post warnings at the top of each chapter should it contain violence, swearing, or scenes of a sexual nature.

I will leave a brief summary at the end of each chapter, describing the plot more or less of the story and how I want it to play out to give you a better idea. After all, one chapter is not much to go by now is it? :3

Onwards!

Urchin

Everywhere… hurt. But it was neither agonising nor debilitating. It was like a blow that you don't feel until seconds after, and the shock was demanding and resonating through his skin. Like a barely healed scar that you pick without meaning to.

Kakashi kept his eyes firmly closed, fighting the thick fog shrouding his thoughts. He remembers… collapsing. In the forest. Or was it a field? After he killed his target. But his position…it was compromised. They chased him. A good score of them too, and they were fast too but he was faster…

Obviously not fast enough.

Hence falling unconscious. And the pain.

It wasn't the first time he's fallen unconscious. The body, though lax, never really rests when it's like that. In the back of his mind, he was expecting the exhausted headache and sudden drain to hit him like-

Oh God, there it was, like a tonne of bricks to the back of the head. He groaned; a small, choked sound in the bottom of his lungs. His mouth was so dry, and when he turned his head and clenched his eyes, the effort alone was-

"Mornin', sunshine,"

… Well, that was unexpected… There were two possible scenarios. He was taken captive and the cheery voice was actually mocking him, meaning the impending torture was sure to follow, or… he was dead. And this was afterlife.

Cracking an eye open, he looked blearily at his surroundings. Everything was old broken wood and rusted tin nailed together to give some semblance of shelter… like a shoddily built shed. The ceiling was full of holes, sunlight poking through and blinding him for a brief moment, before something, or someone loomed into view, kneeling over him and blocking the light. Is that you, God?

He tried to focus on the face, but it was so hard.

A hand rested on his forehead. It felt gritty, dirty.

"Hmm, no fever. I'm guessin' that's a good sign, eh Shinobi-sama?"

The voice sounded… high, feminine. A common accent, particularly from Rock, if he was right. Of course he was still trying to figure out where he was and if this person was a threat or not, but with a wash of relief, he felt no hostile presence. Things were becoming clearer. Obviously he wasn't dead, but it didn't rule out the fact that he could be held against his own will.

"I'll get you some water," the voice said, before the soft sound of feet against old wood could be heard. Sloshing water, metal, the steady hum of leaves in the breeze but no accompanying air following it. He was inside.

The underside of a can was shoved in front of his gaze, a drop of water rolled from the side, onto his nose. It shook, emphasising the noise of the liquid.

"Here ya go," the voice strained slightly when that gritty, dirty hand wormed underneath his head, shakily trying to force him up by the back of his neck. It managed, and he didn't have the strength to help either. He was supported – barely – on a pair of bony legs so his head was ever so slightly elevated, and that hand was back, tugging down the edge of his mask.

At first he squirmed and made a noise of protest, the muscles in his arm stiffly jerking when he tried to raise a hand to stop the intrusion on his personal space, but the voice chided him.

"Now, none of that," it said in a motherly sort of fashion, as though he were a naughty child, "you've been out for a long time, and this water'll do you a world of good."

Water. Water sounded fantastic.

Against his better judgement, he allowed the hand to carefully pull the soft cotton down, and that awful feeling was back again. The small palm was cupping his chin, and he could feel the clammy, distasteful feeling of dirt and sweat caked onto the skin, against the clean feeling of his own. He shuddered, and yet the disgust he had was replaced with an incredible sensation of relief. Drops of water moistened the crevice of his cracked lips, and he opened them obediently as cool metal rested against the bottom lip, tipping the contents slowly into his mouth.

It was like the elixir of life. And strangely, he began to think – with the glorious feeling of water running down his parched throat – if this really was heaven.

It was over far too soon, and his eyes focused just that bit more. The fog that surrounded everything diminished a little, and his eyes gazed around dazedly at his surroundings. He was exhausted; his eye felt swollen, needing sleep.

The space… was so incredibly small. It was a wonder how his whole body managed to fit across the floor, being as unnaturally tall as he was. It looked like stuff had been shoved out of the way just so he could fit. Everything was rusted old metal and dusty wood and timber. A small broken crate near to him held a blackened pot and old twisted cutlery. Looking down, he quickly realised he was on a small pile of blankets and cushions, worn, dusty and patchy in many places. They were frayed, and smelled musky.

Where the hell was this place…?

But that wonderful sound of sloshing water quickly caught his attention again and following soon after was the metal can under his mouth. Eyes clearer now, he could see the rust on the end of the can, taste the metal as it entered his mouth, but nothing had ever felt so good. Smelled as sweet as water did at that moment.

The process of making him drink was repeated several times, and slowly he could feel the moisture returning to his skin, his eyes and mouth. He heard the clink as the can was placed down, and the knees previously digging in between his shoulder blades slid from underneath him. His head was gently replaced on a ragged old cushion once more, and he blinked a few times to adjust to the new angle.

Gradually, Kakashi became more aware of his own body even though his eyelid was falling. The tingling in his muscles as the tight stiffness began to take hold, and after a short time, each and every injury he had.

They were numerous, and he was sure they were painful if he could actually remember to the fullest extent what happened. Most were slashes, across his shoulder, forearms where he tried to block their strikes, and one particularly painful one on his face.

However – and it could have easily been his imagination, brought on by being out for an extended period of time – when he grimaced he could swear he felt the pull of… stitches?

"Can you move, Shinobi-sama?"

The owner of said voice was hovering over him, a tangle of matted hair and a face so dirty he couldn't even tell if it was male or female. Presuming – by voice alone – that it was indeed a girl, her face was covered in grime, powdered with grit and streaked with mud with red-rimmed eyes and chapped lips. And her hair was much the same, dry, and caked together in filthy, knotty dreadlocks.

Her brow furrowed when he didn't answer, and she reached over him, pulling the edges of the blanket up over his body and tucking it in at the side.

"Get some rest," she said, watching as his eyelid drooped every so often, "I'm makin' food later, so I'll wake you up to eat."

The command was too tempting to disobey, and a bare few seconds later, he felt his body finally relaxing, sinking as far as it could into the ratty old cushions, thanking some far off deity he was alive.


Summary: Alot of this story has to do with the state of this OC. The main point of her was that she tries to survive even though she is in the midst of poverty, illness and starvation. She's extrememly empoverished and very emaciated, but her kindness does not go unnoticed by Kakashi and he sees fit to pay her back by offering her a home. The main plot is how she subtly changes Kakashi's views on the world with simple acts. It also has some issues with age-gaps in relationships and the difference between age-level and maturity. Most of the things I wanted to touch on was my OCs ability to listen and understand without judgement and how her own lifestyle dictates how she can stay so cheerful even under the harshest of situations.

As well as this, I wanted to bring up the issue of self-entitlement; the idea that because of one's station people believe they are entitled to things and it often turns selfish and jealous or hateful.

She's absolutely useless when faced against someone physically more powerful and violence is not something she is accustomed with. This story is mostly emotion-based and alot of it will circle the budding relationship with all these issues arising, such as violence, age, social grace, fear, hurt and comfort etc.