#i contemplated ramen earlier and then was like no I’ll die

[whimsyprinx]

the fun part about periods is that there’s enough time in between them for you to forget The Horrors so by the time your period starts again you get to suffer The Horrors again as if for the very first time!

[bluexiao]

#the memory of you (chapter one) 

—it all starts when you saw someone who looked like someone you know in a game, only to come to know that it was him all along 

—(or) scaramouche gets transported to Earth and you have become a part of his story 

CHARACTERS. self aware! Scaramouche; gn! gamer! Reader

WORD COUNT. 1.7k words

THEMES. reversed isekai; self aware!scaramouche; fluff 

WARNINGS. mentions of his real name; lots of curses from both reader and scara; mentions of buying food for dinner because reader is hungry (just wanna put it out of there) 

NOTES. So here it goes! My irl gave me this ingenious plot and even the ending so credits to you, summer! May kazuha come home to you<333 also, this is going to be a three-part series, so do watch out for them! 

The Memory of You; Beginning / Mean / End 

“I’ll never forget you, Kunikuzushi.” 

“As you should.” 

“I love you.” 

“As you should.” 

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

The strike of lightning etches itself in your mind, your hands raising to close themselves next to your ears, preparing for what’s to come. The low gurgle of thunder passes by your sense of hearing ever so gently, thanks to your palms that shielded you from most of it, and by the time it had ended, you could only return back to what you were doing previously. 

Gaming. Of course. 

“That’s a loud one, looks like there’s going to be a storm,” you hear a voice from your phone’s loudspeaker—a friend of yours, someone also playing the same game as you were for hours on end. 

“Yeah, hope the internet won’t die down-Ah, shit,” you cursed, your muscles relaxing from the tension that ran through your back, “I’m dead.” 

“You’re dead?” 

“Yeah, I’m dead,” you leaned back on your chair as you placed a hand over your closed eyes with a heavy sigh. 

“Hey! Why did you leave me here!”

“You can do that, he’s almost dead,” you laughed under your breath, “I was one-shotted, my god.” 

“You should’ve revived Diona earlier.” 

You then hear the familiar ring of the sound effect, indicating the end of the round and prompting you to finally remove the hand over your tired eyes and look at the screen, smiling.

“Nice. I told you you can do it.” 

“Can’t believe you still died with C2 Raiden.”

You laughed, grabbing on the rewards and lowering the brightness of the screen whilst it loaded to exit you of the domain, “Probably just tired.” 

“You should stop playing already,” your friend says. You hum, contemplating your choices before sighing. 

‘Yeah, I probably should. I haven’t even eaten dinner yet.” 

“Genshin over necessities? Yikes, Y/n.” 

“Shut up,” you pouted, “get out of my world already, I’m logging off.” 

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

Opening the door of the convenience store and rushing inside, you find yourself shaking off the shiver on your skin, breathing hard, and placing your drenched umbrella on the empty umbrella stand on the side. 

Whoever said that it was going to rain so hard today? Trusting the Weather app on your phone… what a mistake. You should have brought dinner earlier before you played Genshin for five hours straight. 

You wipe off the rain on your skin and as you do so, you notice something else. 

You did not care about other people, especially when you order in places, but tonight, the store seemed empty, almost like it was emptied out, actually. 

But you shrugged it off, thinking that it was probably too late in the evening for people to buy in stores—you raised your hand holding your phone, 10 PM. Well, it’s not that late but nonetheless, it was not really noteworthy. 

You just needed something to eat. 

You walk to your usual aisle—a cup of ramen and a pack of bread. Yup, these will be enough. 

“Excuse me?” 

Before you could even step towards the cashier, you caught the eyes of a man standing next to you—not too near, but not too far. 

Or you probably caught his eyes. 

You looked around, and upon remembering and seeing that you two were probably the only ones in the store, you answered, “Yes?” 

You should not have. 

But of course, you did not know that. At the time. 

The first thing that you noticed about him was his smile—it did not match him. Well, he did have a cute face, but something about his smile feels off.

It feels fake. 

“Oh, nothing, I just thought I know you from somewhere. You look very familiar.” 

Your brow raises unconsciously, “You don’t look familiar at—“ you then halt in your tracks, and upon observing and openly staring at the man more, you come upon a realization. 

He does look like someone. His voice too. 

Though it does not fit his stature, you could swear you’ve heard it somewhere before. 

A smirk draws itself on his face as if he was reading your mind. That looks familiar as well. 

Out of curiosity and probably the incessant need for food and for this to end soon, you asked, “Who are you?” Could he be someone from your previous school? Or from work? Or was he a childhood friend, perhaps? No one’s really popping out of your mind. 

Well, except for one person. But this man could not possibly be him, right? 

Of course. He shouldn’t be. 

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

“You’re never going to believe what I’m about to say.” 

“What?” 

“I saw someone that looked a lot like him.” 

“Like who?” 

“Scaramouche!” 

There is a brief pause on the other line as you situated yourself on your desk, prepared to open the game after a long night’s sleep last night. Well, you did not particularly sleep early, but you did wake late. 

“You talk about him as if he’s real. For all I know who’s the ‘him’ you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, come on. I’ve been talking about the rascal for the whole week already, I thought you got my point.” You mutter, reaching for your cup of coffee, blowing on a bit of air on the hot drink, and taking a sip as your friend starts talking about Scaramouche and how much of an evil person he is. 

“—You really don’t learn, “I can fix him” way of thinking is not the way in life, my liege.” 

You almost dropped your cup of coffee at your friend’s words. Were you supposed to cringe or laugh? 

“Hey! That’s not even why I like him! And I never said that!” you bite your lip and click on the game ‘Genshin Impact’, eyes welcoming the opening animation that flashes through the screen. 

“And the guy just looks like Scaramouche, it’s not like I imagined it was really him.” 

“You totally did though.” 

You bite your lip, “Shut up.” 

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

He really does look like Scaramouche. 

That is the thought that continues to run inside your head as you look at the man in front of you. You had been observing him for the past few days as you two started to meet up. No one can ever make you go out lately and here comes this man who ironically looks like the man in your game and you’ve completely forgotten your dislike for going outside these days. Well, you’re just curious—you tell yourself. This is just to quell your interest in the peculiarity of this situation. And also the boredom you’ve been against these days.

Also, his name sounds a lot like his too.

“Mouche, you said your name is Mouche, right? Like legit? That’s a pretty unique name,” you commented, narrowing your eyes at him–anyway, are those contacts? Those are pretty purple eyes, you'd doubt those were natural… Wait, there are people with natural purple eyes, right? But they have a condition and all that. You’re quite tempted to ask if that was his case but you decided not to out of respect. 

And there was his hair. 

Even if he has a hat over his head, you could tell that he has dark purple streaks. If he told you he was Scaramouche even if he was just cosplaying, you’d believe him. 

“Yes, that is my name, why? Is there something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you avoided his eyes—ah, why does he look so much like Scaramouche anyway? This is so difficult. “It just sounds like someone I know.” 

“I already told you I know you, Y/n.” 

You struggled to keep your composure after hearing your name slip out of his lips. “Yeah, but you still haven’t told me anything where I know you from, we’ve been meeting for several days and I can’t remember anything at all.” 

That bit is true; with your afternoons being ripped away from you from the “meeting” that you have with him, just to have you be familiarized with him and for you to figure out who in the world he is. ‘A little game of thrill’, he says, but it surely ain’t fun at all.

“You’re just not thinking very well. I know you very well but you’ve forgotten about me? How dare–” he halts as soon as you avert your eyes back at him again. Agitated, he clears his throat, “haven’t I already proved myself to you?” 

You bit your lip. 

Ah right, he did that. How could you forget?

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

“You don’t look familiar at—” 

You ponder, and your demeanor changes, “Who are you?” 

“Someone who knows you very well.” 

You glared at him, “That’s very creepy of you. I don’t remember you at all.”

He pauses but regains his composure, “The first time we met you told me how my voice did not fit me at all.”

Your brow shot up almost instantly. That was what you had in mind. Could he possibly be reading your mind?

“Y/n, I’m not reading your mind. That is impossible in this world,” he pauses then, “But like I said, I do know you, Y/n.” 

You pursed your lips, throat tight and shoulders tensing. His voice. Why does his voice sound so… 

Familiar? 

Cursing inside, you opted to step forward, attempting to take your time whilst paying for the food you grabbed. You can eat while thinking, your mind is definitely not working when you’re hung—

Before you could even make it to the cashier, you slipped yourself on the drenched floor from the downpour from outside–”Ah, shit.”

You could only curse when the pain from your bottom traveled through your back, you could even barely think of shame when a hand extends itself to you. A pale but strong hand that you could have sworn you’ve seen somewhere, and by the time you took it, the warmth that radiated form his skin traveled its way to your neck and to you face—why is it so hot all of a sudden?

He clicks, “So clumsy,” he sounded annoyed, even his face indicated the same thing, only to revert back to his haughty facade, “this one I did not know.”

You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat. 

But you supposed it was just hunger. 

Yeah. 

Maybe? 

Reblogs are very appreciated~

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[cryingcow]

Character Story - Nishikiyama [RGGO]

The way the RGGO cards work is that cards with the exact same character name, despite different rarities, will all connect to the same character story. That’s why we have “Kiryu” vs “Kiryu (JHS)”, which have totally separate stories. So the fact that I have 4 different Nishiki cards, 3 of them featuring Mean Nishiki, and yet they ALL connect to this one story taking place in the year 1990 is kinda upsetting (especially cuz wanting to see more of Nishiki was legit my reason for picking up RGGO :/ ).

Not to say there’s anything bad about 1990 Nishiki, it’s just that this card / story might be one of the very first ones on RGGO given how brief it is and the sprite’s anime-ish style (as opposed to the more detailed Mine or Tanimura cards, or the latest Dragon Engine-styled ones). So compared to those, the story here is pretty simple. BUT on the bright side, I recently acquired and finished the Nishiki JHS card, so i’ll do that next before the Daigo one :D

(And because the original card is Rare and looks kinda plain, i took the liberty of choosing the coolest-looking Mean Nishiki card there is:)

(Ya’ll remember that time when Nishiki was sexily crying and sexily contemplating seppuku before he sexily gutted Matsushige, right? Right?? ¬‿¬ )

Story: The Dojima family does not take Nishiki’s insubordination and Kiryu’s return well.

.

CHAPTER 1

.

|One day in 1990 . . . |

Nishikiyama: “Phew~. I ate too much of the Extra Large Ramen Special . . .”

Nishikiyama: (Until recently, I was fighting for my life in this city . . . walking around like this feels weird.)

Nishikiyama: *looking at his pager* “Oh~ come on and answer . . .”

Nishikiyama: (Well now, I don’t even have Kiryu with me today. I should just go home and sleep . . .)

Thug A: “Oi, are you Nishikiyama?”

Nishikiyama: “Huh? And you are?”

Thug A: “Don’t make any wrong moves.”

Thug B: “Look at him. Let’s just do this quickly.”

Nishikiyama: “Huhhh? What are you talking about . . .”

Thug A: “No need for you to talk! You’re dying here right now!!”

{Nishiki defeats the thugs.}

Thug A: “Damn it . . .the stories were wrong . . . such strength . . .”

Nishikiyama: “Oi. Who told you about me?”

Thug A: “Ah? I-I don’t know . . .”

Nishikiyama: “I don’t know how much you’ve been told, but I’m a yakuza. I’ll do anything just to hear the truth . . . are you ready to spit it out after having a taste of my Yakuza-style listening technique?”

Thug A: “Yes, I-I get it! We were ordered to kill you . . . by the Dojima family. The family you’re with.”

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 2

.

|To continue, on that day in 1990 . . .|

[Shichifuku Street]

Nishikiyama: (The ones trying to kill me are from the Dojima family . . . what could it mean . . .?!)

Nishikiyama: “No way, is Kiryu also a target . . . ?!”

Mysterious Man: “. . . It’s Nishikiyama.”

Nishikiyama: “! Another one, you too . . . ?!”

Mysterious Man: “I have no grudge against you, but you’re going to die . . . !”

Nishikiyama: “Tch. It seems you have a different motive from the thug earlier . . . !”

{Nishiki defeats the hitman.}

Nishikiyama: “Haa . . . haa . . . Oi, were you hired by the Dojima family too?”

Mysterious Man: “. . . no professional would spit out his employer’s name. Stupid.”

Nishikiyama: “Hm. Your answer’s enough. After all, I don’t think there’s any mistake. First a thug, then a killer. This isn’t going to stop until I die . . . !”

???: “It’s useless, Nishikiyama. You’re like a cockroach.”

Dojima family executive: “It can’t be helped, we’ll have to kill you ourselves.”

Nishikiyama: “Haaa. I guess this really is a hit . . . !”

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 3

.

|To continue, on that day in 1990 . . .|

Dojima family executive: “Jeez . . . as much as possible I wanted you to die at the hands of an outsider that can’t be connected to me.”

Nishikiyama: “So is that why you started off with a thug and a hitman? Aniki. If you have any complaints against me, shouldn’t you have approached me directly instead of going in such a roundabout way?”

Dojima family executive: “Shut up. You and Kiryu turned against our patriarch during the ‘Empty Lot’ incident . . . but since Patriarch Dojima accepted Kiryu’s return, Nishikiyama, your rebellion was forgiven. Why the boss would forgive Kazama’s favorite, I don’t know. If any other yakuza walks out on his patriarch even once, he wouldn’t be free . . . !!”

Nishikiyama: “So because you didn’t like that, you plotted to kill me.  . . . I understand.”

Dojima family executive: “Huh?”

Nishikiyama: “No, it’s like what Kiryu said before. ‘Don’t run away, if you keep working hard then what remains is the way to go’. When I first heard that, I honestly couldn’t understand what he meant. But now I think I get it. That’s why I can’t run away either.  . . . you’re right, aniki.”

Dojima family executive: “. . . !”

Nishikiyama: “It doesn’t make sense to be allowed back in the Dojima family. But you have no choice but to accept it. However . . . Will you overlook Kiryu if I accept your punishment? Isn’t one person enough?”

Dojima family executive: “Heh, heheheh. It’s a special victory. Alright. Oi! Take this guy out!”

{Nishiki is dragged to a back alley and beaten.}

Nishikiyama: “Fuck . . . haa, haa . . . “

Dojima family executive: “Can’t believe you’re still alive like cancer. You really are a cockroach. Kiryu should be dead right about now, another executive is dealing with him. Now die already!”

Nishikiyama: “. . . ! You said Kiryu wouldn’t be . . . !”

Dojima family executive: “Idiot! I made that up! You and Kiryu, you’re both going to die!”

Nishikiyama: “. . . is that right. In that case, that’s a completely different story.”

Dojima family executive: “Wh-What the hell?”

Nishikiyama: “I’m sorry but I can’t let you get to him. I’m defeating you here and going over to help Kiryu!”

Dojima family executive: “Ha . . . ? Hahaha! What a joke! You think you can deal with these many people? You talk too much, die quickly!!”

{Nishiki defeats all the Dojima family members around him.}

Nishikiyama: “Oi . . . where is Kiryu . . .”

Dojima family executive: “Fuck . . .”

Nishikiyama: “Spit it out quickly . . . or I’ll make you . . . !”

Dojima family executive: “Hii! He-He’s at Children’s Park. But . . .”

Nishikiyama: “Damn that’s far . . .”

----

[Children’s Park]

Nishikiyama: “Haa . . . ! Haa . . . ! Kiryu!!”

Nishikiyama: “. . . that’s . . .!”

Dojima family members: “Guh . . . “

Nishikiyama: “This many people . . . he dealt with them all alone . . . ! Oi! get up! Is Kiryu safe?!”

Dojima family member A: “Ugh, N-Nishikiyama . . . ? They messed up over there too .  . . ?!”

Nishikiyama: “! So he’s safe!”

Dojima family member A: “Far from being safe . . . that bastard, at first he was taking the beating silently. ‘This is my burden’, he said . . . “

Nishikiyama: “!”

Dojima family member A: “However, Nishikiyama . . . he wanted you to be overlooked.”

Nishikiyama: “What . . . ?!”

Dojima family member A: “As soon as we told him we weren’t going to do that, he became . . . like a monster . . .”

Nishikiyama: “Man, that guy . . . he’s just like me . . . Oi.”

Dojima family member A: “Wh-What is it . . . ?!”

Nishikiyama: “Me and Kiryu, I think we’ve taken enough of your punishment. But if you still have any complaints against us . . . Come at me anytime. I’ll deal with you as I see fit.”

Dojima family member A: “. . . !!”

Nishikiyama: “Tell that to everyone. Now scram.”

----

Nishikiyama: *looking at his pager* “Come on, if my intuition is correct, it should come any moment now . . . Here it is. What did he say. . .? ‘1052167’ . . . ‘Where are you?’.”

Nishikiyama: “Heh, that Kiryu, he’s finally mastered the pager, hasn’t he?”

.

-END-

Masterlist

[someonewhowannadielol]

inevitable love (Yandere!Taehyung x SmolBaby!Reader)

You obviously couldn’t take care of yourself, so Kim Taehyung took matters in his own hands. Literally.

Warning: Harassment, loads of capitalism (kinda ironic that I hate capitalism, considering I’m an Econ student sigh), big dog chase idrk, y/n complains a lot lmao also she’s textbook smart but lowkey dumb,,, like me, I'm literally y/n anywaYS 

CHAPTER ONE (Honestly, its more of a prologue)

P.S Sorry, this one's mostly focused on Y/N, I promise Taehyung will make it in the next chap! 

Word Count: 1.4k

This was ridiculous. You had graduated from one of the finest business schools in the world, yet, here you were, sitting in your shabby studio apartment, listening to another rejection after the countless job interviews while watching the paint peel off the walls. You never really thought life would lead to this, you sitting here on your mattress, eating (probably uncooked) ramen, and crossing another job opportunity. The ramen wasn’t that bad, there were no complaints about it from your side anyways, because you couldn’t cook for shit and any food other than premade food was a waste in this household. You still have nightmares about the incident when you accidentally forgot to take off the plastic packaging off the sliced cheese before making a cheese sandwich in the microwave. Only to watch the microwave - and the cheese – explode in front your eyes. The poor baby.

Glancing at your watch, you realize that you have to head downtown to your job – which was paid under minimum wage, but it did make you better off than the homeless, and the jobless. You could still afford at least one meal a day (Was cup ramen considered a meal?) and the chef at the diner would sneakily give you food, sigh, he was so nice. Sometimes, you look back, and think where things went wrong. You were basically a child genius, always a couple classes ahead of your peers, you got almost got a perfect score on the SAT at the first try (it was a 1560!), you got your bachelor’s degree at the age of 18, instead of the usual 22. You look back and see how you used to think that you could afford a luxurious penthouse apartment in Manhattan and pay off your student loans within a year, while working in one of the best companies in world.

You did have the textbook knowledge, but who was there to teach you about the practical world? The real world? The textbooks didn’t teach you how to pay your water and electricity bills, they didn’t teach you how to hold your tears back when the landlord puts a suggestive hand on your waist, they didn’t teach you how to accept countless rejections, or how to use coupons while grocery shopping, or how to ignore the everyday catcalls, or how to walk through the streets at night. They didn’t teach you how to cope with the fact that your father died but you didn’t have enough money for a flight back to your hometown, they didn’t teach you how to not shout at your mother who got a new family, they didn’t teach you the reality.

So, here you were, two years later, serving disgusting men who harassed you, while wearing a skirt that was too short for your liking and heels that made your feet ache every single day. Somehow, it was worse today. Your hair wouldn’t co-operate, your mascara had officially dried out and no amount of contact solution could revive it from its flaky texture, your manager basically manipulated you to wear red lipstick, and these goddamn heels won’t stop hurting your feet.

At this point, I’m just going to die from the chronic feet pain, you thought.

It was just an endless day of serving, picking up dirty dishes, and of course, ignoring the occasional disgusting words of “endearment��� from your customers. You were just picking up the mess of ketchup left by a couple of rowdy boys who sat here 15 minutes earlier, repeatedly asking for your number. Interesting enough, despite all the catcalling, you can only recall four people asking for your number.

The first one had been a wannabe bike rider, he was tall, around 6’4 – give or take – and quite chunky with a full curly beard down to his chest. Despite knowing some people who would dig this vibe, you personally didn’t love the entire ensemble. In fact, you cringed whenever you saw these people perform their tricks on the streets (You cringed even more when you saw them fall and smash their head open. Yikes).

You remember, it was your third day at the newly acquired job, and while you weren’t all that ecstatic to start working here (You were already looking for other, more well paid jobs with more benefits), you still respected the job requirement and went up to the customer and asked, “What would you like to order, sir?” in your sweetest voice possible.

“Well, what’s on the special menu?”

Special menu? You weren’t informed about any special menu, maybe your manager forgot to tell you?

“I’m sorry, I’m quite new here, I’ll go confirm this special menu with my manager,” and just as you tried to go to your manager – who by the way had been keeping an eye on you since you got here, you could say she wasn’t exactly fond of you – scary biker dude grabbed your wrist, a little too tight to be called comfortable, and you couldn’t help but wince.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re the first and only item on the special menu. And I’d like to order that, with a side of Vanilla milkshake,”

Okay, crinnngggeee.

And then, as impossible as it seemed, you were forced to smile and laugh it off, even if it disgusted you to the core. And then, you were manipulated to hand over your phone number.

Just go with the flow, Y/N, just go with the flow. Block it later, no worries.

He was known to be a usual customer, but surprisingly, he didn’t actually ever come to the diner after that, nor did he call you. Now that you notice, no one you gave your number to, actually did call you. Whether it was the biker, or the druggie, or the 50-year-old man who promised to buy you a yacht. Eh, he was so old, he probably died on his way home. So, you never knew whether to take it as an insult, or a blessing.

Well, this day was almost over until 5 minutes before closing down, a bunch of people, who were probably high, because of the unmistakable scent of weed coming from them – came and demanded to be served. Of course, the manager could score any penny she could, so of course, you were forced to work overtime again. Without getting paid.

Finally, a little after 1am, you could take off these horrid heels and slip into the much comfier sketchers. Sure, you had glued them a couple of times, and sure, they kept on breaking because you’ve had them since high school, but it’s okay. You’ll live.

You were halfway down the route to your house, as you tried to rub your fingers together and somehow magically take away the freezing wind this cold night brought. As you walked, you attempted to feel your phone in your back pocket – annddd just when you thought your day couldn’t get any worse. You’d probably left it back in your locker or your apron’s pocket and for a second you contemplated whether it would be worth it to go all the way back at 2am to get you phone. You almost decided against it, but remembered that you would get the confirmation call from the job interview you gave on Thursday, anytime tomorrow. And so, you decided to go back. Well, this was one of the worst decisions of your life. Scratch that, it was the worst decision of your life.

You reached the diner in approximately 10 minutes, but obviously, everything was locked and there was no way you’d sneak in there because, phew, if you got caught you’d lose the only job you have. Just as you turned back, you saw the biggest fucking dog you’ve ever seen. You didn’t know much about dogs, except for the fact that you’re shitless scared of the big, scary ones – and this was definitely a big, scary one. His fur was coated with black, brown and red spots, about half your height, and had teeth that could tear a human in mere seconds.

You didn’t really know whether to run or gently walk away, making it think you weren’t a threat – you took a couple slow steps back while looking at it in the eye, but you’re a dumbass and suddenly decided to run. Somehow along the run you lost the dog. And one of your shoes. And your apartment keys. And your bag which contained this week’s paycheck.

Well, you were fucked.

A/N: Please do give feedback! Also, tell me if you want to be on the taglist for this!

[perspective-series]

Thomas Perspective (1/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Death threats, fear

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

A/n: Welcome to Thomas Perspective! It’s had a few different names in production (one of which was Outnumbered Perspective) but rather than stick to our alphabet we decided to give this story the title it deserves. Hope you enjoy!

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Thomas found that he enjoyed watching the humans go about their daily lives. Even if it was dangerous to do so. Usually, a borrower only really watched the humans long enough to get a feel for their schedule or as a quick check in to see if they were asleep so they could go out and borrow. But Thomas had found the four humans living in this building too interesting to simply stop watching them.

 Right now, he was looking through a vent that was right above Virgil’s bed. The human who lived on the first floor of the complex. Thomas found himself watching this human the most, only because he was at home the most. Only going to go to classes or sometimes he would go hang out with the other humans in the building as well. 

 Virgil was currently in bed, on his laptop doing...something. Thomas couldn’t actually see what it was. He leaned in a little closer, in order to try and see the screen better. Thomas frowned when Virgil’s head moved right in front of the screen and leaned closer accordingly. 

 Thomas’ eyes widened as he kept leaning forward against his will and soon the vent was gone. Replaced by the open air below. He closed his eyes and landed with a hard ‘oof!’ Thankfully, whatever he had landed on was pretty soft, so he shouldn’t have more than a few bruises. 

 He froze, when he realized the only thing he could have landed on was...He looked up, body going rigid. The human, Virgil, was staring at him.

Virgil let out an strangled noise of surprise, throwing his laptop to one side and throwing his body to the other.

 Thomas let out a similar noise as he found himself thrown off of Virgil and landing at the foot of the bed. He groaned as he laid there for a moment. It hadn’t hurt too bad, but if he wasn’t sure about that bruise before he was now.

“What the heck was that?!” Virgil scrambled to his feet, panicked at he tried to find the tiny thing on his bedspread again. His eyes locked onto it, and Virgil was relieved he didn’t have to deal with the paranoia of it going missing. 

 Thomas lifted up his head, eyes going up and locking with Virgil’s. Oh, this wasn’t good. He had to get out of there! Thomas pushed himself up all the way, now standing on the uneven ground he did his best to make a run for it. He wasn’t sure where he was trying to run to, he just knew he had to get as far away from the human as possible.

Oh geez, it’s fast. Thinking quickly, Virgil looked around for something to catch it. Spotting a cardboard box on his desk, he dumped the contents on the floor before turning it over on top of the creature.

 Thomas stopped when darkness fell over him. He blinked as his eyes adjusted quickly and frantically looked around. He put his hand against the wall, recognizing the material as cardboard. And a rather sturdy piece of cardboard at that. 

 Thomas put his head in his hands. This was it. Virgil had caught him. 

 ...Was this where it ended for him?

Virgil took a deep breath. He could do this. Adults took care of creepy things in their houses all the time. 

Slowly, Virgil lifted the box up to check if it was still there.

 As light flooded back and chased away the darkness, Thomas once again caught a glimpse of the human. The borrower backed away, shaking with every step.

Virgil’s eyes widened, only now getting a proper look at what had fallen onto him earlier. It was some sort of...little person, no bigger than his hand.

“...no way.” Virgil spoke in a quiet breath, reaching his hand out to grab it.

 Thomas’ eyes widened as he saw Virgil’s hand coming towards him and without thinking, he put his arms out in front of him and yelled, “No!”

The yell startled Virgil so much that the human yanked his hand back, dropping the box back down as well.

Virgil held his hand close to his chest, looking almost contemplatively at the box. “...you talked.”

 Thomas winced, no longer able to see Virgil but hearing him loud and clear. He had spoken, hadn’t he? Broke one of the borrower rules...well, several at this point.

 Thomas sighed, maybe if he kept this going, he could convince Virgil to let him go?

 ...At the very least, maybe Virgil wouldn’t kill him. “Uh...yeah.” He called out, hoping it was loud enough for Virgil to hear.

Virgil lifted the box with both hands this time, completely revealing the tiny as he stared wide eyed down at him. “You just did it again.”

 Pushing back his fear, Thomas nodded. “Yeah, I can uh...do that.” The borrower said, a bit lamely.

“I.. who...what are you?” Virgil tossed the box aside, inching closer to the bed as he sat on his knees. 

 Thomas bit his lip. It might be a bit too much to tell Virgil what he was. But telling Virgil his name should be fine, right? “You can call me Thomas?” It came out as more of a question.

“Thomas.” Virgil tried it out for himself, before realizing he should introduce himself. “I’m Virgil.”

 “I kno-” Thomas stopped himself, realizing that could go over badly. “I mean uh, cool.” Thomas bit his lip and looked off to the side, feeling a little awkward.

Virgil frowned, squinting suspiciously down at Thomas. “...why were you on my bed, Thomas?”

 Thomas tensed at not only the question, but Virgil’s gaze and tone. “Um, I didn’t mean to be! I mean, I hadn’t planned on falling on you or anything I just kind of...slipped.” 

Virgil looked up and around his bed, spotting the vent just above his head. Virgil turned back to Thomas, looking annoyed. “Were you spying on me?”

 Panic settled inside of Thomas and he took several steps back. Should he lie? It was technically true, but Virgil seemed very annoyed right now. Which was just one step away from being angry and an angry human was the worst kind to be around. “I, uh…” Thomas trailed off before getting another idea.

 He turned around and started running again.

“Hey!” Virgil all but launched himself onto the bed as he grabbed Thomas up with no hesitation this time. He glared down at Thomas, bringing him up to his face. “You were spying!”

 Thomas struggled within Virgil’s grip but of course it was useless. The fingers surrounding him weren’t going to give in. “Okay, okay! Yes, I was, but I didn’t mean anything bad by it! I watch everyone in the building!” Thomas’ eyes widened when he realized saying that wouldn’t exactly help his case. “I-I mean, well, I do but again, not in a bad way. I do it for uh...survival.” Thomas couldn’t stop shaking. Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut.

“Survival?” Virgil repeated. “What are you talking about?” After all, Virgil was just your average college kid who ate too much ramen and didn’t get enough sleep. There was nothing especially extraordinary about him, which made the idea of a mini person watching him through the vents all the more creepy.

 Well, now Thomas had a choice to make. Should he reveal that sort of information? Or die keeping it to himself?

 ...Yeah, he was gonna go with that first option.

 “Okay. I...live inside the walls of this building. I borrow things from humans in order to survive and I watch all of you so I can see if it’s safe for me to...get things. It’s-we’re not supposed to be caught, it’s dangerous.” Thomas pushed against the fingers again to make that last point.

“So, let me get this straight.” Virgil’s voice went dangerously calm. “Not only have you been stalking us, you’re also a thief as well.” He gave Thomas a slight squeeze.

 Thomas gasped as the grip got tighter for a second. He looked up at Virgil with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, just please don’t kill me!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Virgil growled. Of course, looking down at Thomas Virgil knew he could never, ever do it. Virgil was too much of a wuss to even kill a spider. And he understood that sometimes people down on their luck occasionally felt the need to turn to a life of crime.

That being said...this was Virgil’s home. His safe space. The idea that someone had been trespassing and taking his things was deeply unsettling to Virgil, and he wanted to ensure it never happened again.

 Thomas’ eyes widened and he found his struggles ceasing. He’s actually going to kill me. Thomas had been hoping Virgil wouldn’t be like that, he had seemed nice enough but...of course you could never know for sure. Humans acted differently towards his kind because they saw them as lesser beings. Some treated them like pets, others like pests. I guess I’m just a pest to Virgil.

 With downcast eyes, Thomas just barely held in his tears. “I-I don’t know...I just don’t-don’t want to die…”

Virgil paused, realizing he might have gone too far. He felt Thomas shake in his hand. “Aw, hey, come on…” Virgil winced, bringing his other hand up to try and awkwardly pat the top of Thomas’ head.

 “Ah!” Thomas tried his best to duck as he felt something come in contact with his head. He didn’t want this to be it. He didn’t want to die! “No, please! I’ll do anything, please don’t kill me!” Hot tears fell, staining his cheeks.

“Calm down!” Virgil held Thomas as far away from his body as possible, looking frantic. Oh no, what do I do… “I’m not going to kill you!”

 Thomas froze, slowly looking up at Virgil with tears still falling. “W-What?” Was this some sort of trick? A lie? “B-But…I-you-the spying...and-and...”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Virgil groaned, rubbing his free hand across his face. “Look, I’m still mad about that stuff, but I’m not going to kill you over this. So just...calm down. Please.” Virgil really didn’t know how to handle other people’s emotions. Or his own, for that matter.

 Thomas bit his lip. “Y-You promise? This isn’t some trick and you aren’t just going to kill me anyways?” He knew humans to be cruel and loved to play what they thought to be jokes, but was really just a cruel form of torture.

“No!” Virgil made a face at Thomas’ suggestion. “Ugh, no. I’m not trying to deceive you or anything, I promise. Really, I may act scary but I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” This also had to do with the fact that flies tend to fly fast and Virgil was an inherently lazy human, but he didn’t mention that.

 “O-Okay.” Thomas didn’t know why, but he believed him. It was true, that out of all the times he had watched Virgil, the one time he had seen him interact with a fly had been of opening a window to let it out.

 So, that was good. Virgil wasn’t going to kill him. But that still left a very important question. “Then, what are you going to do?”

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (3/?)

TW (3): This chapter contains a mention of:

1) intrusive thoughts and suicidal ideation (Dazai dialogue). 2) fair amount of blood and physical violence in the form of guns, explosions and slashing injuries, as a "fight" chapter. 3) some descriptions of physical injury including broken bones and slash wounds. I tried not to let it be too graphic. Please proceed with caution.

For those who prefer AO3 format: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121633/chapters/58072957

“Excuse me!”

The woman who now sat at the table, the one the old balding cop had vacated, looked up at me with a friendly, questioning gaze.

“Yes?”

I slammed my hands down on the counter, startling her into dropping her pen, and pushed my sketch of the green snake tattoo towards her.

“I need to make a report!”

“W-what sort of report?” she asked unsteadily, looking me up and down.

I could tell she was already evaluating my credibility but I had to listen to Detective Dazai. It was my only shot at saving Mrs. Yamazaki. I sat down in the same chair I had been in earlier and looked her right in the eye, my voice barely shaking as I gave her a slightly less nonsensical version of the story I had told her colleague earlier. When I finished, I got to my feet and bowed as low as I could.

“I’m not making any of this up and this is not a prank!” I exclaimed, head still bowed. “I, as a concerned citizen, am asking you, a member of the Yokohama Military Police for help. I’m begging you, ma’am: please, listen to me!”

“Okay, okay!” she exclaimed, waving her hands in the air as her colleagues turned to look at us. “I’ll listen to you! Please, sit down.”

Relieved, I sat. My legs were still shaking as I watched her get out a pen and a piece of paper and only when she started asking me for more details and slowly filling out her form was I finally able to breathe freely again.

It worked. I couldn’t believe it. That crazy detective’s advice had worked.

I was elated. I half-thought I was going to start crying with relief when the officer suddenly looked up and shot an anxious look out the window. Curious, I turned behind me and to my surprise, I saw Detectives Dazai (looking miraculously unhurt) and Kunikida passing by the station and going back across the street from whence they came. Seeing the recognition on my face, she turned to me with an odd look in her eye.

“Kusunoki-san,” she said, reading off her form. “Do you... know those two men? I thought I saw you talking to them earlier when I started my shift.”

“Not really?” I said, thinking back. “I mean, kind of? Armed Detective Agency, right? I actually talked to them about this earlier. Oh, but don’t worry! They insisted I talk to the police first before they got involved. They said that would be best.”

The officer looked contemplative.

“Yes, I would have to agree.” She frowned. “If they manage to solve your case before we do, again, my whole department would be completely humiliated. No, we can’t have that...”

She tapped her pen on the table as she thought to herself.

“Honestly, I have a few more questions I’d like to ask you, but I can’t ask them here.”

Once again, she looked behind her before motioning me forward, her expression grim. I scooted towards her in my chair, feeling slightly unsettled by the look on her face.

“W-why not?” I asked quietly.

“I know the man you’re looking for,” she whispered. “I believe he is a member of the Port Mafia.”

Not knowing who the Port Mafia was, I shrugged and her jaw hit the floor.

“You don’t know who the Port Mafia is?” I shook my head and she started laughing. “Wait, are you serious? What are you, some kind of shut-in? You don’t read the news?!”

As she sat there, laughing uproariously at her own joke, I twitched, trying to force a smile on my face as I waited for her to settle down.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Alright, let me tell you something about them since you don’t seem to know. The Port Mafia has been operating in Yokohama for decades. Decades. They have eyes and ears everywhere, perhaps even in this very police station. I want to ask you more but it’s not safe to do it here.”

She scribbled something down on a piece of paper and pushed it towards me.

“Meet me on the top floor of the South Pier Art Gallery in two hours. We’ll talk then.”

***

The rest had been a blur. I’d gone home, celebrated my win with a steaming hot bowl of ramen (topped with some of the veggies Mrs. Yamazaki had foisted on me) and watched some new seasonal shoujo anime titles to pass the time. Then, I took the train to the edge of town, found the gallery and blithely took the spiral staircase up to the top floor where they housed the stained glass window collection, not knowing what lay ahead. Not five minutes after I’d arrived, the young man named Akutagawa had appeared, killed the two curators lying on the far side of the room and blocked the way into the main entrance. When I ran for the fire escape instead, I found myself face-to-face with none other than Detective Dazai, who pointed a gun at me and instructed me to turn back around to face Akutagawa.

As I stood with my hands in the air, cold sweat running down my neck and my pathetic life hanging in the balance, I heard Dazai say something to me in a low, hushed voice.

“Sorry... this isn’t what I meant when I asked if you were doing anything later.”

As the memory of our encounter on the street floated back to me, something stirred to life deep inside my chest, something stronger than the panic that had been choking me since the start of this whole thing... It felt like anger.

“Is that right?” I asked. My voice was shaking but the words kept coming out. “You mean dates with you don’t usually end with somebody getting shot? What exactly did you have in mind then?”

“Oh? Are you interested after all?”

His tone was still light-hearted and flirtatious but I could sense his hesitancy; the gun against my skull pulled back just a fraction and for a second, there was hope. What if the gun fell away from my head entirely? Would I be able to make a run for it, make it back to my apartment in one piece? Akutagawa might try to rip my limbs off and I might still get shot at but what if I tried...?

Dazai didn’t say anything else; he was clearly waiting for my answer. I should tell him yes, maybe then he would feel less tempted to shoot me (why hadn’t he done so already?). However, something about the idea of spending more time in the company of this madman (that is, if I did manage to leave the gallery alive) was more nauseating than the smell of blood permeating the room.

“Not at all,” I replied coolly, “I don’t date guys who are two seconds away from blowing my head off.”

This time, it was Dazai’s turn to laugh.

“Well then,” Dazai mused, “Would it make you feel better to know I’d be joining you right after?”

I actually scoffed.

“What are you proposing, a double suicide?!”

“If you’d like.”

“You have a terrible sense of humor, Detective.”

I wasn’t sure if he could hear me over the deep growls coming from across the room. The monster coming out of Akutagawa’s cloak swayed slowly from side to side, clearly looking for an opening. Akutagawa hadn’t moved a muscle in some time but somehow this didn’t make me feel more comfortable. The sun was starting to set, the colors of the stained glass windows around us gradually darkening, making that cold, calculating gaze and quiet anger coming from the entrance more menacing than ever. Fruitlessly, I weighed my options again, looking around to see if there were any routes, any at all, that I could take to leave the gallery with my life. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find even one. I sighed, my shoulders dropping, that spark of hope fading with the last light of the sun.

“It was Dazai-san, right? Can I ask you a question?”

He didn’t answer, so I continued anyway.

“You talk about suicide so casually... You’re not afraid of dying?”

“Not really. It’s pain and suffering I’m afraid of, but dying?”

Dazai was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, he sounded peaceful, hopeful even.

“No. I think about Death so often that it’s as familiar as an old friend to me now. Finally getting to die... It would be comforting, almost like coming home.”

“Huh...”

Flashes of my previous life appeared before my eyes, from more recent to further back... Mrs. Yamazaki bleeding out, alone in her own darkened living room room. A young man’s body flying high into the air after an untimely collision with a speeding black car. The shadow of a burning building on the water’s edge, down by the pier, windows shattering as it was rocked by a sudden explosion...

And finally, an image of a ghoul, staring back at me from just outside my own darkened windows, with long, black hair cut in the same style as my own, drops of blood instead of tears falling down her cheeks, staining the fingertips she touched to them, the blackness of her pupils deep like bottomless wells... As I stared into my own haunted reflection that night, the night before I stopped going to class, I heard it—the darkness within calling out to me, the intrusive thoughts that tempted me to jump when I looked out through the windows of tall buildings...

I heard a distant roar. The shadow monster commanded by Akutagawa surged forward, jaws stretched wide and at the last moment, I turned my head to look Detective Dazai in the face. I smiled.

“I understand.”

Dazai stared at me.

“You do...?”

Without warning, an explosive force shook the gallery, enveloping me in clouds of thick, acrid smoke. I heard a crack and coughing violently, I looked down just in time to see the patterned floor below me give way, the cheap carpeting disintegrating beneath my very feet. There was no time for me to scream or think. I fell into the void below, my watering eyes catching one final glimpse of Akutagawa’s pale face, twisted in anger, as the darkness claimed me.

Wind rushed past my ears. I could feel myself picking up speed and I covered my head, wondering if tucking myself into a ball might mean less broken bones when I finally hit the bottom floor.

But I had stopped falling.

I was caught on something sturdy, with long, dense, wiry limbs. A tree? No, trees weren’t this warm... and they didn’t smell like gun smoke, books and ink...

“Got you,” someone grunted from just above me and I realized I’d fallen not onto a tree, but right into a man’s arms. I pushed my tangled bangs out of my face and looked up.

“Kunikida-san?!”

“I’ll explain later,” he gruffly, crouching down and setting my feet on the ground as the lights around us snapped back on. “We have to go, now! Can you run?”

No sooner had I nodded than he grabbed my wrist, his fingers closing over the fabric of my jacket, and tugged me after him, wasting no time in tearing off down the nearest corridor as soon as he was sure I could stand. Paintings whizzed by as we ran, abstract portraits blurring into colorful landscapes as we raced down the hall, my wrist locked in the detective’s iron grip. I could hear gunfire and yells, occasionally an otherworldly roar echoing from the top floor and I shuddered and pushed myself to run faster, to put more distance between myself and the beast making those horrible shrieks. As we ran past the spiral staircase to the corner of the central gallery, I abruptly realized the explosion had taken me from the top floor to the second—that much closer to safety...

Just when I thought my legs were going to give out, Kunikida abruptly stopped at the end of the corridor and I almost crashed right into him. His head jerked up and I caught a flash of green from the exit sign reflected on his glasses as he barked his next command.

“This way!”

I was brusquely yanked forward again, Kunikida’s long ponytail nearly smacking me in the face as he dragged me into a stairwell, the walls and steps narrow and lined with cement.

“We’re going down. Hurry!” he ordered, finally letting go of my aching wrist.

Ignoring the burning in my legs, I bolted down the stairs as quickly as I could, the tall detective hot on my heels as a crack echoed above us, like fireworks exploding in our confined chamber. Instinct took over and I ducked, throwing a hand over my head as I felt projectiles whiz past my shoulder.

“Get up!” Kunikida shouted and I obeyed, the sight of freshly gouged bullet holes on the wall ahead of me spurring me on. I was almost at the ground floor when I heard gunshots from very close behind. At once, I realized Kunikida was not with me and I whirled to see him several meters away at the turn, firing a small handgun up the stairs.

“Kunikida-san?” I called up, dashing back to him.

“Don’t come any closer!” he cried.

A sharp pain ripped into my cheek, tearing off bits of my hair and splattering my clothes with hot blood. I could feel the blood dripping down my neck in rivulets as I squeezed myself back into the corner and out of the way, a fresh hail of bullets raining down on us from above. I heard excited shouting; someone had followed us, their heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs—

“It’s the Port Mafia. You have to go!” Kunikida hollered, the echo of his voice nearly overwhelmed by the cacophony of more bullets firing into the stairwell. The impact scattered rubble everywhere and forcing me to guard my eyes.

“What about you?!” I cried.

“I’ll be fine!” he shouted. “Just get to the lobby, now!”

Red bloomed in the shoulder of his beige vest. He stumbled and pushed himself further back into the corner of the alcove, his bloodied hand reaching into his shirt vest and pulling out a small, lightly-bound olive green notebook. There was a determined look in his eye.

“What are you waiting for? Go!”

He ripped a page out of the notebook and I was suddenly blinded by a flash of green light. An enormous explosion rocked the stairwell and I stumbled to the ground as smoke flooded the air.

“Kunikida-san?!”

There was no answer. I pushed myself to my feet, staring in horror at the spot where he’d been.

“Kunikida-san...”

Was he dead? Had he died defending me?!

Frozen, I stood there, utter shock pulsing through me as my cheek continued to drip blood onto my blouse. But all too soon, the sound of footsteps began to pound down the stairs, snapping me out of my daze and I uprooted my feet, following Kunikida’s last order and made for the door to the lobby.

I had to live. If Kunikida was really dead, living was the only way to make sure his sacrifice was not in vain. Living meant I was saved.

Throwing my shoulder against the heavy door, I burst into the lobby. To my relief, a quick glance around the ground floor assured me that the lobby was deserted, with no security guards and no trench-coat-clad figures with guns anywhere in sight. Taking one last, regretful look behind me at the stairs, I immediately sprinted for the front doors.

“Hold it, Prophet.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a ribbon of black and red streak towards me. Before I knew what had hit me, something slashed deeply into my left leg and I hit the floor with a sharp cry of pain, the back of my thigh burning like it was on fire. I could feel the warmth of my own blood pouring out of the wound, pooling on the ground and soaking wetly into my ripped jeans. As I struggled to get up, I heard Akutagawa’s voice again.

“Surrender.”

Somehow, he’d gotten past Dazai and Kunikida. Or maybe the Port Mafia had already finished both of them off, giving Akutagawa a clear path to me... Gritting my teeth, I got up, staggering a little as I stood, my eyes meeting with Akutagawa’s cold gray ones. My legs felt weak. I could tell that I’d been cut very deeply but I continued running for the doors, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I made a bee-line for the dim light of the setting sun outside.

“Don’t ignore me.”

There was an unearthly roar and something hit the ground where my right foot had been barely a millisecond before, sending small chunks of flooring flying into the air as I dodged Akutagawa’s attacks. For one brilliant, shining second, I thought I was going to make it—my fingers brushed against the glass and metal front doors—

“Rashoumon! Higanzakura!”

Black and red wires tightened around my throat, wrenching me away from the exit before I could push open the doors and lifting me high into the air. I could barely breathe and I scrabbled against my bonds in vain, the skin of my palms and fingers stinging and bleeding with every attempt to pry the coils off of me.

What was this thing made of?!

Through watering and narrowed eyes, I watched as Akutagawa approached in measured steps, his hands in his pockets, that cold, impassive face coming closer with every passing moment.

“You run pretty fast for an injured girl, I’ll admit. Unfortunately for you, I was ordered to capture you. And I don’t intend to fail.”

The weight around my throat suddenly became crushing. Spots appeared before my eyes and I fought to stay conscious as the last gasp of air was squeezed out of me. Akutagawa’s ragged, darkened form faded in and out of sight.

No! I can’t die here...!

I clawed harder at the thing holding me, desperation setting in. I’d escaped him once before, I had to do it again...! Kunikida might have died for me and if I died now, Mrs. Yamazaki didn’t have a prayer. I needed to make sure she was really saved...! I needed to live!

I watched helplessly, my arms losing strength as another tendril of darkness grew out of Akutagawa’s black coat. Crackling with energy, its shape twisted to become flat and angular until I realized I was staring at an enormous scythe.

“Dazai-san guessed correctly. My orders were to capture you alive. However, whether or not you need to be completely whole was not discussed. I don’t think the boss will care if I cut off your legs. If I do that, you’ll never be able to run away from us ever again.”

“No...”

My voice came out as nothing more than a weak gasp. Unable to hear me, he drew the scythe back in preparation.

“Don’t!”

There were several loud bangs and the vise around my neck abruptly loosened. I felt a rush of wind above me as I fell through the air, shuddering as I landed on my injured leg, which buckled sickeningly beneath me, leaving me in a bloody heap on the floor. Rubbing my throat as I coughed, trying to bring fresh air back into my lungs, I looked up to see Kunikida, bloodied but alive and well, firing a small handgun from behind a large metal sculpture at Akutagawa. He had been forced to retract the demon and was instead raising it as a shield to defend himself against the blonde detective’s onslaught. His pale hand was spattered with red as he clutched at his shoulder, blood coursing down the back of his black robe and dripping at his feet.

I could barely believe it; Kunikida had saved me once again.

I watched him dive out of the way as Akutagawa sliced up the sculpture with his black sickle and duck behind another statue, firing constantly out of his small hand gun. Sparks flew as he traded blows with Akutagawa and he shot at Akutagawa until I heard the hollow clicking of his gun; he was out of bullets. Gritting his teeth, he flung it out of the way. There was another flash of green light and within moments, he was firing at Akutagawa again.

As they fought, I scanned my surroundings again, trying not to think about the amount of blood I was losing, wondering if any backup was coming. Kunikida was holding his own but with no one on the way, he couldn’t last long. I tried to pull myself to my feet and almost immediately slipped back down.

There on the floor, amidst the splatters of blood, was a soft layer of long black hair. It was all over the faux-marble tiles and as I brought my hand to my head, I realized that it was my hair—Akutagawa must’ve clipped most of it from my head when he tried to cut me in half. Looking back up to the main doors, I tried to stand on my injured leg and immediately regretted it.

“Shit.”

My leg was in bad shape; I could barely feel it and everything from the knee down was soaked in blood. Even worse than that, my breaths felt shallow and my head was spinning from anemia; I had to be close to going into shock and judging from the small pinpricks of pain, there were probably micro fractures in my bones. In spite of Kunikida’s best efforts to keep me alive, I had no clue how I was going to make it out of the gallery.

And then a flash of a different shade of red caught my eye.

Rolling towards me from the far side of the room, where the battle raged, was a bright red fire extinguisher. Parts of it looked damaged, and as I stared at it, I was struck by a dangerous idea. If I had no chance of survival, I could at least use my last moments well.

I scooped up the fire extinguisher into my arms and headed back into the fray.

“Kunikida-san!”

They turned to me just as I flung the pressurized device at Akutagawa.

“Heads up!”

All eyes in the lobby lifted towards the extinguisher as it flew through the air, seemingly moving in slow motion as it arced towards Akutagawa. Wordlessly, Kunikida raised his gun and fired once.

The atrium shook. Glass shattered and plumes of white powder filled the air, blanketing the statues in the lobby like snow. My ears rang; something was dripping out of them. The force of the blast must have knocked out my eardrums and I could feel myself flying backwards through the air. Without warning, I was propelled through the doors of the gallery entrance and I was awarded one glorious view of the outside, of the building bathed in a twilight glow, the very streets illuminated in flashing red and blue lights. I saw uniformed police officers swarming out of their vehicles, towards me, towards the wrecked building behind me...

And then I hit the sidewalk with a horrible crunch.

The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was a woman in black and white racing towards me where I fell, a golden butterfly glinting brightly in her hair.

[celticfeather]

Akatsuki Fic: Campfires

A brooding clan-killer and a man who prefers to see himself more shark than human are not the most likely, or friendly, of new partners. But hunted and hated, their backs on are the wall, and the Akatsuki starts to form a complex refuge for its members. Their missions blur the lines between men, beasts, and gods, and Itachi must either accept his complicity in evil, or contemplate revolt.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863

-Chapter 1: Dawn

The tongues of flames danced against the stars like heathens frenzied before a war, springing into the night with a fibrous crackling. The one called Pain stood like a preacher, tall and black,  his shadow painted by the leaping blaze onto the rockface behind him. His voice was low and commanding, yet vibrant, like velvet over steel. From everywhere and nowhere it echoed around the chasm like the voice of a god. “And if you join us, Uchiha Itachi, make clear your mark.” Itachi raised his arm and the thick kunai glinted black and orange. The metal fang plunged down, and with a jumping spark, the knife slit a ragged slash across his headband’s gentle leaf. “You are damned to the world, Itachi. May you find refuge in our Dawn, and together we shall light the world in the rays of a new peace.” No devilish cheering welcomed their new member. There stood a half dozen of his new comrades in black robes with red clouds, their dark eyes peeking out from high collars. Among them he noted the bandages of a Mist swordsman, and he recognized the grinning snake eyes of Orochimaru.

Now at least, damned by his nation as he was, Itachi had no orders to follow but his own. He would protect the Leaf from the shadows. And from this Akatsuki, whatever it was. He was washed with a strange sense of peace. It was not relief. What was done was done. Compared to yours, our pain will be over in an instant, his father’s last words echoed through his mind. He was unsure if they were sympathetic or the curse of a dying man. But it mattered not. The deed was done.

He wondered what had happened to Sasuke. The Hokage himself must be consoling him now. Maybe the boy would be sent to live with another family, or an orphanage. No, probably not, unsavory types would be waiting to adopt the boy. “Hey, you.” Itachi looked over, his thoughts of family broken. A man older and taller than he had prodded him on the shoulder. “Name’s Kakuzu. Follow the rules, don’t be brash, and I won’t kill you.” He gave Itachi a small leather pouch. “What is this?” “Ten thousand yen.” An unexpected gift. But since his days in Anbu, Itachi was reticent to show surprise around people he wasn’t sure he liked. “That’s for the month. If you need food or an inn, buy it. Petty theft is beneath us, and attention costs money.” Ten thousand yen was hardly generous for a month’s travels. In fact, an ordinary human would die of exposure. The inflation rate had been such that fifty years ago one could travel a few weeks on 10,000 yen. Now it would suffice for only a few bowls of ramen. “Hey now, Kakuzu! Let him live a little bit! No one lives forever! Oh wait, you do, heheHAHA!”

Kakuzu narrowed his eyes hatefully at the interruption. The high pitched voice sounded like it belonged to a teenager. Itachi looked in its direction, and giggles simmered from the orange mask. Kakuzu growled, and ‘Tobi’ yelped and wilted. Finding the boy sufficiently scared, he did not press his advantage. Itachi suppressed his unease: the disguised, giggling, Madara was also alive far beyond a human lifespan. It unnerved him to see him manifest this boyish farce after they had worked together only hours prior to massacre their clan. But Itachi‘s face was an aloof, slightly irritated mask. “Rumor has it,” a woman’s cool voice uttered to him, “Kakuzu fought the first Hokage.” “Is that so,” Itachi echoed. If true, this Kakuzu would be eighty-five years old at minimum. He only looked forty. It seemed that Orochimaru and Madara were not unique among those who experimented with eternal youth. He would have to tread carefully here.

Itachi studied the woman. She was older than him, early twenties maybe. Her hair was bluish. He had only now seen her leave Pain’s side, and she was the only female member of the group. He wondered if she and pain were romantically involved. It was strangely like an academy clique: the one woman had chosen the highest ranking man of the group. “Konan is my name,” she told him. “I hope you can find a home here.” “Uchiha Itachi. A pleasure.” She did not seem terrible. The mist ninja with the executioner’s sword and red face paint stepped forward to Itachi. He smiled his mangled, filed, teeth at Itachi, and extended his bandaged hand. “Looks like you’re the only other shoe without a mate, kid. Biwa Juzo.”

“Now,” the gravelly voice of Pain claimed order. “Our organization needs to gather funds if we are to achieve our goals. You have your partners and your missions-- you are dismissed.” (keep reading)

A long time later, Juzo was dead.

Itachi did not know if the swordsman understood he would die when he jumped to shield Itachi from the Misukage’s strike, or if it had been an impulse he did not live to regret. The Kage’s blast had shattered his sword, and sated its iron-hungry blade in its owner’s abdomen. Not risking a burial, Itachi had returned the hilt to Juzo’s hand and fled the Land of Water for his life.

He wondered if he was still there— if the crows found him. He hoped they had. If it were him, he would prefer crows to the Mist intelligence corp-- and especially Zetsu.

Itachi’s newest partner introduced himself a few hours ago. The eyes that now walked beside his were white and devoid of mammalian emotion, and Itachi had not yet noticed Hoshigaki Kisame blink. The ex-mist ninja was of hulking stature, maybe two meters, which brought Itachi’s highest hairs up only to his jaw. He might have been thirty, but he had a strange face and it was hard to tell. His skin carried a faint bluish sheen, and his cheekbones were slashed with what could best be described as partial gills. Itachi had once pondered a similar thought with Orochimaru: Were you born looking like an animal?

Itachi found the Mist ninja’s desire to be partnered with him ignoble. By the end of the bizarre introduction speech involving live shark births, this Kisame seemed to advocate fratricidal cannibalism. Respecting Itachi because he killed his family was a poor way to gain his admiration.

“Isn’t this a mission for state ninja?” Kisame’s voice broke his thoughts. “A jounin could handle this.”

“The Land of Iron has no ninja village,” Itachi said. “The Ishikawa tiger, too, is an endangered species, and I do not think the neighboring waterfall ninja would agree to hunt it.”

Earlier, the pair had debriefed each other on their strengths and strategies. Kisame, as far as he had trusted to self-report, had massive stamina, lethal dexterity with water style, and was skilled with the chakra absorbing sword he carried. Itachi had listed fire style, shuriken, and genjutsu as his advantages. It seemed a profitable marriage of skills. 

“Hm. Now, how to find the poor sap?”

“My tracking skills are… above average,” Itachi said. Red gleamed out from under his high collar. 

“Right. I’ll let you lead.”

His world flared in the expanded spectrum of colors and avian detail of the sharingan. Itachi looked at the tree limbs above them, where a bird’s nest balanced lithely on a swaying branch. In the nest’s carefully woven lining was a tiny tuft of orange fibers: a mixture of orange guard hairs and slightly lighter whitish underfur. Among the orange was a single black hair of the same length.

A few minutes later he saw some twigs broken by a large quadruped. Then he saw a smeared paw print with retracted claws. They continued into a shallow ravine. Kisame followed quietly, but a crackle came from his direction: his living sword was excited.

Itachi peered from the bushes and signaled to Kisame. Through a leafy window they spied a massive cat, far larger than an ordinary animal, nearing the size of a horse carriage. Bunches of muscles rippled on its haunches as it lapped a sandpaper tongue at the creek. Facing profile to them, it yawned, and fangs longer than kunai flashed in the light. Itachi reached into his robe to draw a single knife. A strike to the brain would be sufficient. 

“Allow me,” Kisame said, unshouldering the huge, blunt, Samehada from his back. “Pity to let such nice chakra soak the sand.”

Itachi tipped his knife back into his robe in consent. More than he would like to see this over, he would like to observe how this Hoshigaki Kisame operated.

Kisame alighted before the beast in the clearing. Surely the tiger was unaccustomed to being approached by anything living, especially not something smaller than it. It sprang with coiled fury at the man that dared, but its front claws met only earth. Shiny brown river pebbles sprayed loudly into the air and clattered back down to the ground.

Brandishing the thirty-kilo sword, a grinning Kisame landed spritely five meters from the tiger’s impact. With the darting grace of a tropical fish, he danced away from the cat’s frustrated strikes, his sword carving the air around it, but never cutting it, until the cat grew weak. At last it stared at the two men, panting, black lips curled back over yellow teeth.  

Kisame had to turn his whole head to look at Itachi. For, perhaps like a shark, he was incapable of moving his eyes much in their sockets. “Can you sedate it, Itachi?”

The cat’s pupils, black slashes on yellow disks, dilated to wide spheres as Itachi set the animal under a genjutsu. It was always a strange procedure with beasts. Genjutsu involved manipulating chakra flow to the brain, and in a brain that was not human, it was a coarse process. Itachi could not communicate complex images like he could with humans, so instead he instilled it with feelings of darkness and warmth. 

Kisame approached the sleeping tiger and drew the broadside of Samehada along its jugular. The sword’s scales rippled, and Itachi knew the cat was dead. Itachi revealed his kunai. 

“Could probably get some gold for the pelt, too,” Kisame said, slinging the purring Samehada to his back.

Probably they could. But Itachi was not Kakuzu, and he did not desire to carry a bloody tiger pelt around for a few extra yen. Itachi crouched over the carcass, and with careful incisions he removed its teeth. They clattered against each other in his leather pouch. Whatever some royal leech would do with them to cure his presumed impotency, Itachi did not know. 

“Someone’s coming,” Kisame warned him.

“Just merchants,” Itachi said. The rogues sprang into the trees. They heard the surprise of the men to find the freshly killed tiger. They’d feed the village! Get drunk! They invoked the gods for their luck. Kisame smiled devilishly but Itachi was unamused. Soon enough, the two rouge ninja were over the border of the Land of Rice.

Obtain the teeth, the scroll, the real or metaphorical scalp-- the object was the only variable. Then he brought them to a collection office. He gave the reward to Kakuzu and awaited further orders. The string of missions seemed to be the only constant in Itachi's life since the Uchiha massacre.

The sun yellowed and sank as they traveled. Juzo, his senior, was usually the one to suggest respite. But now that Juzo was dead, Itachi supposed this responsibility fell to him now. He slowed, halted, and sprang down from the tree to the clayish earth. A shaded wood surrounded them, and willow boughs trailed gently on a narrow, clear river with a sandy bank. The sinking sun painted dappled golden strokes on the surface of the water, and fish tail slapped from the waves. Kisame alighted after him. 

“What do you say, Itachi? Fancy a fish dinner? We’ll see who can catch the most.” Kisame’s gently rough voice was surprisingly only baritone for a man his size. As many fish as two elite ninja could catch? “What a wanton slaughter.” “I can eat a lot of fish,” Kisame said. “We’ll do first to catch five,” Itachi decided. “Fine.” Kisame strode to the bank. With a blur of signs and motion of his arm, a sphere of water rose, and a wriggling green bass shimmered inside. He released it from the water prison jutsu and the first thrashing fish tumbled to the earth, and he removed its gills with a stomp. Kisame raised his hand to snare his next victim. Itachi slid kunai between his knuckles like bear claws, three in his right, two in his left. He ignited his sharingan, and like an osprey he saw through the water like glass. He pinpointed the motion of five adult fish, observed the current, and noted the water’s angle of refraction. He jumped high, extended his arms, and let the kunai fly. Easily as wooden targets, each knife struck its living mark. “Impressive,” Kisame said with restrained mirth, dispelling a ball of water and depositing a fish on the bank. “But in my book, fish don’t count as caught when they’re pinned to the bottom of a creek.” There may have been a flicker of perturbance on Itachi’s face. But it must have been a trick of the light. Itachi was not annoyed.

Itachi shed his robe and with a few launching steps he pierced the chilled water in a shallow dive. The fish were weighted by the knives to the riverbed, their eyes wide and mouths open. He snatched the knives by the handles and kicked hard towards the surface. When Itachi breached, he looked to the bank to see Kisame perched on a tree root, one elbow on his knee, grinning widely. His five fish were lined up in size-order at his feet, each about the length of a sandal. “A bit too slow, unfortunately,” Kisame grinned. “I knew I lost the moment I had to dive in,” Itachi said, stepping drenched to the bank. Having to retrieve the fish was a technicality— losing gracefully was not a skill Itachi had to often practice. “No, Itachi. You lost the moment you humored a shark to a fishing match.“ Doubtful, Itachi thought. But he said nothing as he removed the knives and placed his five fish on the bank. “Would you go find some sticks to spit them on?” the victor asked with a gesture to the forest. Itachi did so. Upon returning, Kisame had gathered kindling and larger branches, and arranged them into a conical shape

 “Be a pal and light us up?” Itachi wove a sign and blew a thin jet of flame at the base of the cone. Which, aerating nicely, set the tiny pyre ablaze. “We both have our fields Itachi. You’re not terrible... for a leaf ninja.” Kisame said. The two rogues speared their ten fish in a radial pattern around the flames. Perhaps a bit too soon, Kisame selected a fish and sank his huge teeth into its head. A wretched, wet, splintery sound crunched across the flames as Kisame ate his catch skull, spine, organs and all. Maybe he was doing it to see if it would bother Itachi. Kisame grinned. Or maybe that was just his face. Either way the mist ninja’s huge triangular teeth made quick work of the food. Itachi bit into the side of his fish, now especially careful not to eat its needle thin ribs. Its flesh was moist, hot and salty, and he felt strength flowing back into his body. He allowed his spine to sink against the tree trunk he leaned against. He was cold and tired, and it felt good to have a hot meal around a fire… Even with company as reptilian as Kisame.

At that moment, a sudden jab of pain split behind Itachi‘s eyes and he coughed into his hand. He discreetly curled his fingers into a fist to conceal the blood on his palm.

“Eat a bone?” Itachi cleared his throat and swallowed the blood. “No.” Kisame grunted, his eyes flashing from his soaked partner to the icy stream. “Do you drink, Itachi?” 

“Not alone.”

“You might as well start the fun kind of sinning. It’ll warm you up.” Kisame tossed the greasy stick into the forest and reached for the next largest fish. As he bit a steaming, flaky hunk out of it, he reached for a waterskin on his body. He removed the cap, and passed it to the young man. “Kakuzu would not be pleased to hear what you spend your allowance on,”  Itachi said. “That stinge gave me his speech. He can try to punish me.”

  “Kakuzu has already killed two members of the Akatsuki.” Kisame laughed. “You’re kidding!” “Afraid not.” “Did Pain punish him?”

“No. Our leader has many killers, but only one bookkeeper.”

“Hm. Better hope we develop new talents then, eh?”

Itachi took a few swallows of the sharp but sweet rice wine and returned it to Kisame. Kisame sniffed the lip of the waterskin: he closed his eyes but made no remark. 

The fire flickered lower. Itachi had gathered a little pile of fish bones at his feet. Fish were pretty animals, not frivolous, with graceful spines and streamlined skulls. He counted three heads in his pile. He was comfortably full. Kisame had eaten seven of them, bones and all.

“I learned something today. I wasn’t sure you could use genjutsu on a tiger,” Kisame said. He picked his huge teeth with a shard of rib, then chewed on it as if it were a stem of wheat. He did this until it was pliable, and then swallowed it.

“Men and beasts are very different,” Itachi said.

“Are they?” It was a challenge rather than a simple reaction. Kisame’s contracted eyes studied him.

“Unquestionably.” Itachi held his gaze.

Kisame grunted but said nothing. Instead of glancing down in defeat, his hard eyes swept deliberately and coolly to the side. Thus, Kisame postponed a conclusion to their discussion, at least until he was certain he could win it.  The mist ninja sat with his hands clasped over his stomach. They rested by the fire until it elapsed into smoke and the spirited flames sobered into glowing black and red coals. 

“So Itachi, how does this work? Do we sleep on the ground? Take watches?” “In peaceful conditions, I don’t watch. But I do sleep in a tree for concealment,” Itachi said. “Leaf ninja,” Kisame muttered. “Sleeping in trees like a bunch of monkeys.“ In a flicker, Itachi had climbed the oak above them to its lowest fork. Kisame covered the ashes with a kick and leapt to the limb opposite him. They faced each other for a moment, chins down, listening in the silence for possible observers. Sensing no one, Kisame turned his back and fastened Samehada to the underside of the branch. The weave of his robe was tight and warm, and Itachi tipped his chin inside its high collar. His breath filled the cavity with warm air, and it was not uncomfortable. Crickets chirped. Neither of them said good night. 

Day 2----

Dawn corded its cold light through the pine needles and onto Itachi’s eyelids. As he parted their red curtains, he saw a young crow. It stared for a moment, curious at the oddly placed human, then shuffled its wings and darted off. Rising gently, Itachi stepped to the other side of the trunk to rouse his new partner.

Round fish eyes opened on his approach. “Did you know, sharks never fully sleep?”

Great.  

“Let’s get these teeth to the collection point,” Itachi said.

He led the way until the building became visible from the forest. As was often the case, the underground bounty office had its cover as a mortician’s practice. Morticians had plenty of space for storing bodies, and arriving there from the country with a corpse on one’s shoulder was considered only slightly rude. 

“Who goes in?” Kisame asked.

“I’ll go. You watch.”

Itachi entered the building: he tipped his chin under his collar until only his coal black eyes peered out. Itachi was not an immediately intimidating man. He was of average height, average build, perhaps even thin. There was nothing special about his coloration. But the representative at the counter knew the red-clouded robes, and rising from his collar, Itachi’s eyes gleamed garnet.

The collection man’s knuckles tensed a tendinous white as he stared at the approaching Akatsuki. Itachi halted, and hailed him as stipulated:

 “What rings the Dawn, and shall bring Man to his haven?”

“Our world glimpses Death’s yawn: the hoarse call of the raven.”

Good. Itachi placed his pouch with the teeth on the counter. The man inspected the smooth oranged teeth and accepted them. He set a case of cash on the counter and displayed it to the Uchiha. Itachi did not count the money: no contractor had been foolish enough to short change the organization since a recent incident involving Kakuzu.  

One million yen. Not bad for a glorified pet hunt. Now they just had to deliver the money to the Akatsuki’s ancient master of coin or one of his henchmen. The zombie pair were conducting a mission some forty kilometers away; they could meet them in just a few hours.

“I’ll carry that,” Kisame said when Itachi emerged with the large briefcase. Itachi gave it to him and they set off north. They traveled a quiet hour before Kisame spoke.

“I smell blood.”

Itachi had sensed nothing unusual. Kisame’s strengths were complementary to his indeed. With a gesture of his hand, Itachi instructed Kisame to lead. The shark-ninja’s sense of smell was better than his, but not at the level of a ninja hound’s, because in just another few long leaps, Kisame had grounded himself on a dirt cart path.

Hung upside down on a tree was a human body. The victim’s feet were tied together with a strip of cloth and jabbed through with a stake into the trunk. Itachi thought the man was less than thirty minutes dead. Blood dripped down from his death wound, down his sternum, his throat, to collect on the jut of his jaw and dye maroon swirls in the muddy water of the cart treds. 

“Huh,” Kisame surmised, wrinkling his wide nose. He looked at Itachi.

“This is the Akatsuki’s doing. One of us makes such displays,” Itachi said. 

Itachi cut down the corpse. He strode powerfully, urgently, along the path. Between the trees appeared a traditional inn with the peaked roof of mountain tribes, dark wood paneling, and pale stucco walls. An inn of the piquant sort, judging by the oiran fan and floral carvings on the upper balconies. A familiar black robe with red clouds lay discarded on a bench outside. “Do Akatsuki go to brothels?” Kisame asked. Itachi didn’t answer. On the ground outside the brothel was a circle drawn in blood. “He’s going to kill those women.” “So?”

Itachi rushed forward. 

At the instance of his arrival, an individual strode out of the building’s door. He was young, zealous, handsome, and walked with his smooth chest bared bared. His muscled arm was wrapped around the thin waist of a pale woman with long black hair. Mid sentence, he recognized Itachi. 

“Hey hey, Itachi! Wouldn’t think I’d find you at a place like this. Where’s your new partner?” Hidan greeted.

Itachi’s voice was low. “You paid these people for a service. Their deaths were not part of that.” Like a friendly dog Hidan smiled. A friendly dog, who just in case the friend was a foe, smiled to remind him he had teeth. “Well! I haven’t paid anyone yet, and I think Lord Jashin will appreciate their talent!”

The woman’s smile faltered. No sooner had she realized the danger, Hidan threw her against the wall and held her by the throat. He drew his pike. 

That damn Kakuzu. Maybe if he wasn’t squeezing Hidan’s purse, the cultist would not have extra incentive settle his debts with death. Or maybe Hidan would just kill anyone weaker than him regardless. Itachi’s patience for negotiation had elapsed. Flickering, he grabbed the girl and deposited her next to Kisame in the yard. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Kisame said, but Itachi had already flickered back to Hidan some ten meters away. Now Hidan’s teeth flashed impatiently when he spoke. “You’re annoyingly noble for a member of an evil organization, you know that?”

“Where is Kakuzu,” Itachi asked, though as customary for his questions, his voice lacked a submissive rise pitch at the end. The bothersomely rational waterfall ninja would surely restrain his partner from this idiocy if he were around.

“Think I need him, huh?” 

“Idiots require supervision.”

Shrieking, Hidan raised his scythe and sprang at Itachi. 

Sharingan! Hidan froze. Inside the fictional realm, Hidan was tied to a tree trunk. Itachi created a replica of the retractable pike he tried to use on the prostitute, and with its sharp point, Itachi punctured the man’s intestines. Drawing it out, Hidan flexed his fingers in convulsing pain and howled like a jackal. Itachi felt a presence in his realm he did not invite. A hulking black monster lumbered out from behind the trunk, humanoid in shape with flesh of black fire revealing a white skeleton. It had a skull like a goat and its glowing pink eyes regarded Itachi hungrily. Hidan’s trembling lips parted in rapture as he beheld it. With a bony talon the monster pressed Hidan on his sweating forehead. The brothel, the forest, the yard had returned. The genjutsu was broken. Itachi seized a reactionary few steps back. Hidan was not skilled enough to break out of that on his own. What was that skeletal monster? Did he just witness his god? “You,” Hidan said breathily. Trembling and weakened, he leant on his scythe as he stood. "You'll pay for that!" he swore, swinging the blade at Itachi's throat Itachi would have to fight Hidan without genjutsu. His ninjutsu wouldn’t kill him. And close quarters taijutsu was risky, since one graze could make that blood ritual of his troublesome. He would have to incapacitate Hidan. Chop off a limb. That was how he would win.

Hidan swung at Itachi with the graceless zeal of a chunin, and each time, his weapon only met the air. Itachi drew his tanto blade. Hidan smashed his scythe into the earth on another missed strike, which grounded him. Placing all of his strength in the blow, Itachi cleaved through Hidan’s tibia, crushed his fibula, and Hidan was gracelessly grounded, separated from the bottom half of his leg. Bleeding heavily, Hidan’s severed shin spun to a halt a few meters away. 

“FUCK!”

In the corner of his vision Itachi was aware of Kisame standing tense: he had been ready to act, but must have decided it unwise. Itachi paced forward, shortsword swinging, and when he swung it through the air, the blood leapt off in a fine spray to speckle a tree in red. The blade had cracked beyond repair: he had been reckless to cleave the two bones in Hidan’s shin in one strike. To the music of Hidan’s curses, Itachi began to wipe the soiled blade in the grass. He would have to bury the thing, better children did not find it.

The toothed crown of a plant, like a venus fly trap, emerged from the grass nearby. Zetsu’s head had materialized from the dirt and Itachi’s hands stilled in surprise.

“Hello, Zetsu,“ Itachi greeted the head.  

“Hello.“ Then, “They’re here, Pain,” the strange plant ninja said.

Pain appeared. Robe billowing, he stood between Hidan and Itachi. His presence was magnetic and every head turned to him. “What,” Pain growled, “is the meaning of this infighting?” “I was just... behind on my sacrifices...” Hidan breathed from the ground, and struggled to prop himself up. “When this prick insulted me, gutted me in a genjutsu, and then. Lobbed. Off. My. Fucking. Leg.” “Hidan. Killing civilians and leaving witnesses awards you with the bounty of the five nations. We can not afford this attention.”

“Sorry about that, sir,” Hidan muttered, looking diffusively at the ground.

Pain’s attention swiveled to the next unruly young adult. “Itachi, we are no heroes. Never compromise our goals by attacking our members.”

Itachi dipped his chin in an acknowledgement that was not quite submission. Pain strolled forward to the wooden building. The brothel’s matron, three prostitutes, and a few men stared out at the colorful flock of S ranked ninja from the porch and balcony. Pain extended his right arm. “What are you doing?” Itachi demanded. Pain unfurled his fingers. “Shinra Tensei.” The wooden house exploded in a rain of splinters and structure. Wooden beams and ceramic roof tiles hailed down around them. Itachi searched Pain’s expression for a reason. Instead, Pain’s ringed eyes fixated at the surviving girl who stood shivering next to Kisame. “Kisame,” Pain ordered. Massive Kisame took the girl, placed either hand on the side of her face, framing it in a gesture that seemed almost intimate. But a ligament in Kisame’s forearms twitched, and she was dead before her corpse hit the ground. 

Fire erupted from the uprooted gas pipes and ravenous flames quickly devoured the wooden house. The black beams stood like a skeleton among a roaring, moaning fire that devoured the wood and paper structure. The intense dry heat prickled against the moisture of Itachi’s scleras, but despite it, he could not blink. Pain rounded on Itachi. Backlit by the flames, he saw his own face reflected in the rippling fog-colored eyes that locked him.

 “Our enemies hunt us as we speak. Because of you, Itachi, too many saw too much. If I decide that anyone is disloyal to the Akatsuki, I will kill him.” Itachi stared into eyes more ancient, more evolved, and more knowing than his own. He learned then he was not free in his outlawry. Even he must tread the line between light and dark as closely as he dared. Should his steps toward the light be too obvious, he would find his own neck on the rope, and dead men can protect no one. 

—

Author’s Note:

暁 Akatsuki = Dawn

A step away from my usual work, but I recently fell in love with Naruto Shippuden. I have chapter two, Cannibals, about finished and will post it soon.

*Special thanks to myochiikurin for her hard work beta reading this chapter and the next!

I thought the life of Itachi and the others members settling into their lives in the Akatsuki was the most compelling and underexplored aspect in the Naruto universe, and thought I’d give filling the gap of this organization my try.

Feedback is greatly appreciated,

Celtic

Next Chapter on Tumblr: https://celticfeather.tumblr.com/post/188589156066/akatsuki-fic-campfires-ch-2-cannibals

(Follow on FF or Ao3:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/49992863  )