#i mean its sakura but its her past lives

[samoankpoper21]

Save Me I'm Yours - Jo Togame

Sequel to Numb

Huge thank you to @cherryblossomwitch26 and @calculust-prime 🫶🏽 I'm sorry if this isn't as great as the first one 😅

Jo Togame x chubby! reader

Content warnings: cursing, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks!), p in v, creampie

Genre: slight angst, smut, smut with plot

Word count: 2.5k

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED 18+! MDNI!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Watching the rain fall heavily in droves you sighed. You hated rainy days, not for the typical romcom reasons but because rainy days meant unpredictability for the clinic: some rainy days you saw dozens of patients, others meant you saw at most 5; today was the latter. You were also reminded of your nasty spat with Togame, not having seen him since. Deciding to close the clinic early you trudged upstairs to your attached apartment finalizing on a bubble bath; might as well take advantage of this shitty weather and relax.

With the rain having stopped, Togame looked to Choji. "Choji, I need to go. There's someone important to me-"

"Is it that beautiful girl you told me about?" Smiling bashfully he nodded. "Kame-chan, make sure you make things right with her."

Togame ran towards the clinic the sun beaming down slightly warming him. He was excited to tell you about the revelation that he and the rest of Shishitoren had, wanting to tell you about how they finally got their sun back and how, later on down the road, he wanted you to meet Sakura, his new "friend" and the rest of Furin. "Y/N! Y/N!" Attempting to slide the doors of the clinic open he realized that the rainy weather probably didn't bring much patients in. Taking 2 steps up at a time to your attached apartment he turned your doorknob shaking his head and smiling at the fact you never locked your door. Stepping inside your living room he calls out, "Y/N?" Seeing your bedroom door cracked he made his way towards it. Placing a hand over his beating heart he peeled your door open slowly.

"Y/N!" Wrapped only in your towel you turned to see a panting Togame, eyes warm, hair loose from his braid, noting that something was different, a fragment of his former self. Turning back around to your drawer you ask, "What are you doing here Jo?" Smiling he went into detail about the earlier events: how he met this annoying acquaintance named Sakura whom he came to respect, how Sakura made him realize how far he's strayed from his ideals, and finally how Choji was "back from his funk" after having a "conversation" with Furin's leader Hajime Umemiya. A small smile graced your face as you listened; whenever Togame was excited his manner of speech was a tad, just a tad bit faster. Taking a shaky breath closing your drawer with your back still facing him you ask, "That's all great and all Jo but why are you telling me this?"

"Wh-what do you mean why am I telling you all this? You're the first person I think of whenever something happens. Why do you think I always come to you?" Biting your quivering lip you finally turn to him praying that the tears lining your eyes wouldn't fall. Swallowing the lump forming in your throat you finally meet his eyes, your expression deadpan. "I told you the last time that once you go back to Shishitoren that that was the last time you and I would see each other." Seeing him clench and unclench his bruised, skin rubbed raw fists your eyebrows shot up. "Are you here so I can patch you up again? Is that it?" Togame knew you were hurt, he's attuned to your emotions after years of being together. "Y/N, I'm saying that Shishitoren has finally found its sun again, that we'll continue on the path that we were originally on." Turning to your drawer rummaging for a pair of panties you walked past him saying, "Well I guess I should go say thanks to Umemiya-san then." Grabbing your wrist preventing you from going any further he stutters out his eyes scanning your face frantically, "Wha-why would you say thanks to Umemiya-san?"

"For knocking some got damn sense in your head!" Inhaling deeply he lets out a breath, his hold on your wrist tightening slightly. "Y/N-"

"I heard about all the shit you've done: 'skinning' people for not being strong enough, that's practically picking on the weak! You guys might as well call yourselves SHITTYtoren! If that's really what your stupid devotion to power means, to bully those who aren't as strong as you all, then we can't be friends." His grip tightening, head tilted, he drawls out, "Friends? When were we ever friends Y/N?"

"Let go of me Jo. I want to get dressed and express my gratitude to Umemiya." Pulling you flush against his chest you squeaked looking up into his emerald eyes, his right hand finding purchase on the roll above your love handle. "Answer my question Y/N," he breaths against your lips. Gulping you quip, "T-the fuck do you mean? We've been friends since we were little."

"Wrong." Tearing your gaze away from the intensity of his stare you retort, "I don't have time for your games Jo." You stiffened when you felt his forehead press against yours, his eyes closed Togame inhaled slowly, taking in your scent, this moment. "I know I've hurt you, you know I'm bad with my words, and I realize that sorry won't fix this but please forgive me. You are so much more to me than a friend." Feeling your lip quiver you look up meeting his soft gaze, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed a bit of saliva. "Don't look at Umemiya-san," his heart pace quickening at the realization that you're still in your towel. "Don't look at Sakura," he whispers against your skin, goosebumps forming in his wake. "Only look at me." he licks at the exposed column of your neck, you bit down on your lip trying to contain the moan wanting to escape. Planting your hands firmly against his chest you pushed against him slightly creating space, you were feeling a small tinge of suffocation. Biting your trembling lips looking away from him you whisper, "You really hurt me Jo. I don't even know-" Taking a cautious step forward he closed the distance between the two of you. You wanted to run, make him suffer for all the negative emotions he put you through the past weeks but your heart kept your feet planted. Keeping your face downward you felt his breath tickling your forehead. Gently tilting your face towards him he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, your eyes closed leading him to peck your eyelids, your cheeks followed, and finally he whispered out, "'m sorry Y/N. Let me show you how sorry I am sweetheart." He gently pecked your lips the tears you were trying to hold finally breaking free from the dam. Swiping your tears with his thumbs Togame murmured, "My poor baby. I know I'm a bad man, such an asshole to my beautiful baby." You gasped, eyes flying open, when you felt the wet swipe of his tongue against your cheeks, licking at your tears peppering kisses. "'m sorry."

Once the tears subsided you reached up cupping his face bringing his forehead against yours. "Y/N?"

"Let's just stay like this for a bit...please?" Noticing the goosebumps now decorating your skin he chides, "You should hurry up and get dressed. Don't want you getting sick." He pressed a kiss on your forehead about to pull away when you stop him. "Y/N?" Looking away with a blush dusting your cheeks you quickly peck his lips, almost laughing at how wide his eyes got. Groaning running a hand down his face you silently gasped when you saw the pure lust in his eyes. "'s not fair. You can't start something and not finish it."

Smirking you quip back, "Looks like you're gonna have to beg for it." He gently walks you backwards until your legs hit your bed frame making you sit. Dropping down on his knees in front of you he sat not moving. "To-Togame?"

"You did want to see me beg."

"Eh?!?" Togame scooted closer to you grabbing your right ankle planting a firm kiss on it. Slowly dragging his tongue against your calf your lips were caught between your teeth, his head turned slightly planting another kiss on the inner corner of your knee. You gasped when he finally looked at you, his pupils blown out, hair tousled when he nips and sucks on your inner thighs, pleading, "Forgive me Y/N." You could feel yourself getting more aroused as he continued his slow sensual ministrations along your left leg. Pushing your towel past your hips he begs, "Please?" With this new switch in power you couldn't help but revel in the fact that you had this aloof 6',1' man on his knees in front of you, worshiping your half naked body in all its glory, rolls, dips, and all. You could feel your wetness seeping through your thighs, squirming at the new position. Tilting his chin up you ask, "What do you want Togame?"

"Want-no need ta show you how sorry I am."

"Show me then." Togame peeled your legs open groaning at your slick folds, watching your pussy clench and unclench around nothing, your clit at attention. Wrapping his arms around your thick thighs he inhaled slowly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Gawd he missed this. You. Licking a long, slow stripe he stopped at your clit, his tongue circling the tiny bud, Togame groaning at your saccharine taste. He sucked and licked his way towards your entrance, his tongue circling and swirling against your folds. "Mmph, Togame, more." Tightening his grasp on your thighs he pulled you more towards the edge of your bed causing you to lay back as he began slurping and eating you out like a man starved. Gathering some of your slick with his middle finger he slid it into your entrance while drawing circles on your clit with his tongue. Adding his ring finger after feeling your walls opening up he glided his fingers in and out of you in a slow pace watching as you buck and rock your hips, some of your sweet juices spilling into the cup of his hand. "Togame please stop teasing me." Sucking on your clit he added a third finger wanting to burst at how your pussy stretched, intoxicated by how long and drawn out your moans were. Moving and scissoring his fingers in rapid succession he bent them forwards and upwards against that spongy spot in your pussy. "O-oh Togame! Right there!" Tangling your fingers in the depths of his black trenches you dragged your pussy up and down his face and fingers. "Fuck sweetheart you're soaked. Listen to her." Falling silent for a brief moment your pussy tightened around his fingers as you listened to the squelching noises coming from below. "Fuuuck Togame."

"Come on sweetheart, cum on my face."

"To-Aaaaaah!" your legs shook as your thighs trapped his face in place, fingers pulling roughly at his black trenches as your orgasm hit you hard. Attempting to catch your breath you slowly unhooked your legs from his grasp. "Sorry." you offer sheepishly.

"Don't be sweetheart." you watched intently as he slowly licked his digits clean, his tongue circling the tips of his fingers. Traveling the length of him you took in his bulge, your mouth already salivating. You missed his taste, his scent. Him. Sitting up reaching for the waist band of his sweats he gently swats your hand away. "Nuh uh sweetheart, today is about you."

"But I want to make you feel good."

"You will don't worry." Slowly stripping himself of his shirt, boxers, and sweats you rubbed your thighs in anticipation, licking your lips when your heard the loud smack of the tip of his cock hitting his stomach. Pushing yourself up towards the headboard he climbed in between your legs prying your legs open. "Damn," he whistled. "You're so fucking beautiful." Grabbing his cock by the base he rubbed it up, down, against your folds tantalizingly slow. "Togameee." you whined. Slapping his tip against your clit you jolted. "Can't believe you thought we were just friends." he spat out. Alternating between slapping and rubbing his tip against your clit he continued to tease you. "Here I was thinking I was yours and you were mine."

"Togameeee-" Without warning he slid into you, his hips flush against yours in one go, your mouth agape, his jaw clenched. His thrusts were slow and languid, each one punctured deep into your gummy walls. "Here I was thinking you were smart because of all those damn books you read but it looks like you couldn't even tell how I felt about you. How I've always felt about you. 's ok, 's probably my fault anyway." Lifting your hips up a little higher, he leaned back against the haunches of his feet pounding into you, the new angle making you gasp at how deep his thick, long cock was reaching, his ever observant gaze watching your breasts bounce and sway. "To-Togame."

"Tell me you're mine Y/N." You couldn't get the words out if you wanted to, his cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly made you into a moaning mess. "Y/N," he demanded (pleaded). "Need you to tell me you're mine."

"To-Togame pleeeasse." Smirking he drawls out, "What's wrong sweetheart? Dick so good can't think straight?" Moaning as a response he kept your hips in place as his hips snapped against yours furiously. Through lidded eyes you watched the sweat drip down his forehead, his luscious black locks falling in front of his face, pecs and abs flexing at each powerful thrust he was delivering, veins more prominent. Locking eyes with you his jaw clenched as he felt your gummy wet walls squeezing him oh so good. He wanted, no needed, to hear you say it before he came. Cupping your chin firmly he demands, "Don't make me tell you again Y/N. Tell me you're mine." Feeling the tightness in your belly threatening to snap you yell out, "Yesyesyes Togame. I'm yours, all yours, only you!"

"Good girl." With those two words you screamed as the tightness in your belly snapped, your vision white, ears ringing. Togame's jaw clenched as your pussy squeezed him tighter, he groaned his release into you, hands a bruising grip on your hips, your walls painted white with his hot, thick, cum. Laying there panting trying to catch your breaths you felt wet lips peck and suck at your collarbone. "Togame," you giggled. "Stop that." Pulling out of you slowly he made his way to your bathroom wetting a washcloth wiping you and him down tossing it on your bed stand once he was done.

Pulling you against his chest he chuckles, "Soooo SHITTYtoren huh?" Groaning hiding your face in your hands you beg, "Oh my gawd please don't tell them I said that." He barked out a hearty laugh, your heart warming at the sound. You reached up caressing his cheek, he took that same hand planting a kiss on the inside of your palm. "I love you." Togame affirms.

"I love you too."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───>>

A/N: Hello! Thank you for showing so much love to the first part of this ^^ to be honest this second part was actually inspired by BTS' Save Me ^^ I wasn't thinking of the first part, I was more focused on the second part lolol Anway make sure to check BTS out! Enjoy~!!

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Ch��vez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[rayshippouuchiha]

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3963223

Fic rec! It's chefs kiss. Give it a shot! I think you'll love it.

It's a romance crossover with Jjk (Gojo x femNaruto) but their breakdown of Naruto and life in a shinobi culture rampant with misogyny and the entire horror show that was Naruto's life is amazing.

The author has done a really amazing job with Naruto and Satoru as well. Its a slow burn. They have just started dating but the tension is off the charts. The author has also created such a wonderful relationship between Naruto and the jjk kids, not to mention explored Naruto's feelings on the Leaf and her parents.

They are also emphasizing Naruto's issues with Minato and how she is Kushina's child through and through. Just...how much Konoha destroys children and how much they suffer later in their lives.

It's Naruto with daddy issues to put it crudely, but by God I have never seen someone break down Naruto's feelings over Minato so beautifully before.

Oh. And her yearning for Kushina. Can't forget that.

It's a canon break down though when it comes to the past and characters everything. So yeah Sakura isn't the best in this.

But Naruto's character and her relationships with everyone is beautifully explored. Everyone has issues and hangups and trauma. So many people mean well, but there way of showing it is absolutely garbage (cough Kakashi cough)

It's not easy being an orphan girl in a village like Konoha. But Naruto is actually learning how to break away from these issues. (Honestly the entire fic is like a love letter to this character and it shows.)

The story also challenges Naruto's own mentality on what she considered ok and normal- after being raised in a place like Konoha- and acknowledges how toxic her bond with Sasuke was.

There is also the entire debacle that is Naruto's fears on motherhood, just aggghhhh! Give it a shot!

oh i will be checking this out asap

[theheirofthesharingan]

Random question, but let's say that Itachi lived right? Like all the way to Boruto, do you think Itachi would probably be that one, almost, father figure to Sarada in a way? Considering since Sasuke has always been away from the two of them (Sakura and Sarada) if Itachi decided to stay in Konoha instead of traveling with Sasuke? Also I wonder how Itachi would react to Sasuke being with Sakura as well, I wonder, what do you think?

Interesting question.

To answer this, we need to consider some major factors that were crucial in shaping their lives.

If itachi lived, he should have the development he did during the war i.e. realizing treating Sasuke like a baby was a bad choice he made all along.

Sasuke doesn't know Itachi is alive. Why would he leave the village in the first place if Itachi was alive?

Itachi doesn't know where Sasuke is. Why else would Itachi stay in the village if he could be with his brother?

Konoha has somehow cleared his name and acknowledged its own crimes against the clan.

Still, I'm going to answer this question with the ideas that are independent of each other and don't need each other to exist (if that makes sense?)

I think Itachi would be a terrible father figure to Sarada. He didn't grow up to lead a normal life full of love and comfort. He was a Shinobi who was trained to kill. That's what he did all his life and he never had the time to be anything other than that. He loved Sasuke a lot, but his expression was thoroughly violent, although under extreme duress, and in a slightly easier life he'd have served better. He doesn't know how to be a normal person. He doesn't understand how to be something that's not a Shinobi and a killer. He was conditioned since his childhood to live a certain way and the change in the lifestyle would not change anything for him. I personally don't see him being able to guide Sarada or be a positive/healthy influence in her life. He can't give anything to her, or anyone, for that matter.

He's way, way too damaged as a person. Even if you include therapy sessions those won't erase his past and what he feels about himself. He can't offer anything in a bonding that isn't with Sasuke. He'd still feel some affection towards Sarada. He has no reason to not like her, but he can't be a parent figure to her. I mean, isn't that the whole reason Sasuke, too, isn't a 'good father' to Sarada? He too is damaged beyond repair.

Some anti-SS content under the cut. No slander or bashing of the characters, but my opinion on why Itachi might not approve of Sakura as his brother's life partner. I'll tag the post accordingly. Please don't read if you're a fan of the pairing.

He will not be overly thrilled about Sakura being in Sasuke's life. Sasuke didn't love Sakura and Sakura never loved Sasuke. She was obsessed with an image of his she found alluring and his absence in her life fed that longing further, making her feel she loved him. He was a trophy for her she was to win in the contest of her rivalry against Ino.

In other words, she had no genuine feelings for Sasuke.

Sasuke, too, never felt any affiliation towards her. Yes, there were some moments he cared about her deeply, but he's genuinely kind and caring towards people. If he loved her he'd be more open about his feelings.

When Itachi met Team 7 in the Kazekage Rescue Arc, he paid no attention to Sakura. His attention was solely on Naruto and was happy to see Naruto had grown so much from the last time they met. There was a reason he entrusted Sasuke with Naruto. And he wouldn't be too pleased to know that Sakura once tried to kill his brother for whom he bore the worst pains and sins in his heart.

That alone would infuriate him. However, it wouldn't matter to him if Sasuke really loved Sakura, because I don't think the Itachi that bid farewell to Sasuke in the war would claim any stakes on him. If Sasuke loved Sakura he would be okay with it, but not trust her. Itachi's brain works in different ways. xD

Itachi would also understand there's a reason his brother doesn't want to be with his family. And his lack of affection towards them would tell him everything. He decided things for Sasuke when he saw him as a child in the past, but won't make the same mistakes again.

I think he'd like Sarada, but won't be extremely fond of Sakura. Though I don't see him being good with kids at all.

[jediofbooksandsnacks]

This is from something saved in my drafts under the title Only An Afternoon. It is, generally speaking, a hot fictional mess but! I decided to post a snippet to celebrate Kogami's birthday. It happens during when he goes to pick up Akane from the detention center and deliver her to the CID. I mean, what must have been going through his head? Delivering her to the place he had escaped from? Just: *chef's kiss*

Enjoy your fictional cake my fictional blorbo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was 7 minutes to 11 am when Kogami arrived at the detention center.

The SUV was a loaner from SAD, a car that boasted all of the tech from a few years ago. The self-driving setting often didn’t work. The AC was perpetually on the fritz. Plus, the radio was stuck on one Sibyl-approved station that played the greatest hits of the past three decades, all padded by fill chatter from the DJ. At least the radio had distracted him as he drove over. When he parked, he clicked it off before he shut down the car. Silence surrounded him, both a blessing and a curse.

It was probably a curse. Consider this: a former Inspector turned Enforcer turned renegade turned SAD agent picking up his own former Inspector turned psycho-prisoner turned statutory Enforcer for delivery to the CID. Irony lived in there, somewhere.

A tug on the handle popped the car door open. Sunlight bathed him in midday gold as he got out, the discord both startling and astute. A breeze tugged at his hair, the same breeze carrying the falling flowers from the sakura trees down to their doom. Nature mocking her with its own beauty as the MWPSB doors inevitably swung shut behind her. Another irony. Soon he could start a collection.

The door closed with a thunk. The fingers of his right hand twitched for a cigarette.

Maybe just one. Hell, he’d smoked in the office, in his MWPSB room, even in her own car. Maybe it would calm the unsettled feeling in his stomach. No sense delaying it till later.

The one thing that held him off lighting up and sucking it down with determined gusto was this: Akane would know. It was dumb, but there it was. Gods, he was just like a kid back in school, not wanting to do anything to make his favorite teacher mad. Which said some fucked up stuff about how he thought of this relationship.

That door didn’t open until it was 11:06, and when it did—

Professionalism in an emergency was the whole point of his job. He’d helped crying children escape from a burning bus, taken action to aid troops advancing within a killing zone, hell, he’d even escaped his own CID captors in SEAUn. Yet, nothing had prepared him for seeing Akane come out of that hellhole and emerge into the shade of the detention center monolith.

He stood. His heart pounded in his chest. Goddammit it all to hell. He really would need a cigarette when this was done.

Brown eyes went wide when they saw him as surprise took over. There were no words he could think of at that moment. In fact, everything he wanted to say existed in the curve of the shadow on her face and was contained in her eyes. Finally, he said, “I’m here to get you.”

It was not the most gallant thing he could think to say, but this was not exactly the most gallant of situations.

Akane’s face relaxed into a smile, a smile thankfully not separated from him by a pane of bulletproof glass and under the dim lighting from the cells’ interior. Aware that he, too, was absorbing absolutely everything about her, he broke his eyes away. The pavement looked cracked beneath his shoes. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” A broad smile beamed across her face as she took the steps downwards, her hair blowing in the mild breeze. “I’m kind of hungry.”

“Is food all that’s on your mind right now?” The double entendre took a second to catch up, good god dammit. But it was a reasonable question, after all: the deal that had been struck, the machinations behind this, everything was so far unclear to him. Honestly, he’d give anything for a line into what was going on at the CID and save the sexual harassment call from HR for later.

Sunlight traced the lines of her face and was dimmed by her grin. Maybe it was jealous that he was there to pick up a more powerful force of nature. “Treat me to something.”

He had to stop himself from letting his mind wander into the gutter. As he cleared his throat, he reached for her duffel. “Yes, ma’am.”

[dayseternal-blog]

Rouge naruhina please?(sorry of it sounds rude!!)

Sure! Well, I hope these are what you mean by rogue NaruHina, like NaruHina not following orders, breaking the rules, going against Konoha, etc.:

well, first, there's the one you recommended to me

“Naruto: The Mating” by SeventhShinobi - Rated E, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Now, Naruto has discovered the an ability called “The Mating.” Come see what he’ll do with his new found power

and then there's also

“My Favorite Night” by @peppercornpress - Rated M, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata harbors deeper feelings for Naruto after three years of being his roommate. Facing hostile relations from her old clan, another odd phenomenon with the moon, and Naruto still hopelessly pining after Sakura; Hinata makes the painful choice to end their sham of a relationship and try her luck in another hidden village. Unbeknownst to her, this move kickstarts a series of events that forces her and Naruto to confront their past, present, and future.

“Distorted Minds” by Cheating Death - Rated E for graphic violence, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Her lavender eyes slowly opened, her vision blurry and distorted for a few moments as she tried to look around. It was then that she realized that she was suspended a few inches off the ground, her wrists cuffed in cold, metal shackles that hung from the ceiling

“White Dog Night” by Nate Grey - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Kiba gives his life to save Hinata, and she and Akamaru must unite to save each other. But with the biggest threat to their lives being her own clan, the only safe place for a shy girl and her little white dog may be outside Konoha’s gates…

“November - Crime AU” from “Still Falling For You” by @chloelapomme - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. When Hinata arrives next to Naruto, she looks for Pain. However it seems Konoha’s enemy is gone. She then turns towards its hero, expecting to see a smile. But she only sees darkness in his sky blue eyes and she doesn’t know where it comes from.

Chapter 1 from "Between the Trees" by @utsus - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Prompt: I'd break a sacred oath to see you.

“Justice” series by autumnsolstice9 - Rated G (?? I think it should be T), Canon-Divergent, 15-parts of related one-shots, Complete. Hiashi wants to give Hinata the caged bird seal. Hinata wants justice.

“Two Lonely Children” by hinatasgreatestfan - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto finds Hinata on the streets during a rainy night. What changes will this seemingly innocuous event lead to?

“A Hyuga’s Honor” by funkychicken67 - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata Hyuga has been gone for 7 years. Naruto and all thought she was dead until one night when she returned more powerful than ever.

"Lost Souls" from "NaruHina Month December 2022" by @sessakag - Rated T, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. They set off on a journey that’d one day bring them back to their place of birth, and on that day, they’d enact the plan that had given them a sense of purpose.

"A Woman's Heart" by Ookami88 - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Naruto lies in hospital in coma. Sasuke is locked in prison for his crimes. Hinata comes up with a plan that will ensure her beloved man’s happiness, no matter how much it’ll cost her.

That's all I could think of! If anyone knows others, feel free to add on!

[padmerrie]

Happy Birthday, Kakashi! No matter what universe you're in, you'll always be the best dad. <3

ᓚᘏᗢ    ᓚᘏᗢ    ᓚᘏᗢ    

“Ah,” Kakashi said over his shoulder as he stood over the stove.  “I was wondering when my little intruder would emerge.”

Sakura eyed the bacon crackling in the frying pan.  “You thought someone broke into your house and your weapon of defense was to serve them a home cooked breakfast?”

“Are you questioning my methods?”

“Not if it means I won’t get to eat any of this.”

“Then help yourself to some coffee, friend.”

Sakura shuffled over to the coffee pot, twisting her wet hair into a loose knot.  She opened the cupboard above the sink and considered the collection of mugs.  Eventually, she fished out one tucked away in the back.  She set it down on the counter and made a beeline to the coffeepot.

Kakashi gave the cartoon dog flipping him off and saying “Fetch this” a sidelong glance.  “Bacon will be done in a minute.”

“Great.”  Sakura topped off Kakashi’s mug - a simple yellow one with the words “Go Sports Ball!” written in bold red letters - before heading to the refrigerator.  

As she pulled out the cream, Tabi trotted past her and leapt onto the counter next to Kakashi, paying no mind to the steaming opportunity sitting tantalizingly close to the counter’s edge.  Instead, he planted himself by the stove and stared at the bacon sizzling in the frying pan.  Hypnotized.  

Kakashi glanced at him.  With his free hand he took a crispy strip of bacon from the plate on the opposite side of the stove, took a bite, then offered Tabi what was left.  Just like that, the cat snapped out of his trance and chomped at it, narrowly missing Kakashi’s fingers.  

“Wow,” Sakura said, standing by the open refrigerator door, stunned.  “That was so… civil.”

Kakashi prodded the bacon in the frying pan with his spatula and said sagely,  “All great relationships need a strong foundation.”

“Relationship?” Sakura said, popping open the carton and pouring cream into her mug until its contents turned from an inky black to warm, golden brown.  “When did that happen?”  

“About three weeks after Sasuke left for college.  Lives were at stake.”  

“Bacon, huh?”  Sakura thought about Ino and imagined her presenting her library crush with a platter teeming with bacon.  “Usually they say trust and communication are the pillars upon which healthy, lasting relationships are built.”

“You can’t buy trust and communication at the grocery store.”  Kakashi turned the burner off with a flick of his wrist and set down the spatula.  “Can you grab the butter?” 

Sakura reached back inside the fridge, returning the carton to the top shelf and pulling out the ceramic butter dish.  When she turned around, she nearly dropped it.

“How-?” she stammered, staring open mouthed at Tabi now perched on Kakashi’s shoulder. 

Kakashi strolled past her, coffee in one hand and the platter of bacon balanced on the other.  “Don’t tell Sasuke,” he simply said, and turned the corner into the living room.

Sakura let out a laugh of disbelief and shook her head.  She bumped the refrigerator door close with her hip, picked her mug off the counter, and followed Kakashi to the dining table. 

Laid out across the table was a whole lot more than bacon.  

“Was I really in the shower that long?” Sakura asked a little sheepishly as she took a seat.

Across from her, Kakashi shook his head, bringing his mug up to his lips.  “It’s ok.”

Sakura tried to smile, but even the heavenly smell of buttered toast and bacon couldn’t make her forget why she was there.  

She had thought she’d surrendered her dignity when she showed up at Sasuke and Naruto’s dorm with little more than a suitcase and a short list of options.  This belief had been mortifyingly disproven when Sasuke informed her that his suitemates - people Sakura had grown to like over the past month and thought liked her in return - wanted her out.  Even now, the truth still stung… but could she blame them?  She didn’t go to Yale, a fact she had to point out to Sasuke when he insisted on trying to change their minds.  Kind as the offer was, she didn’t think she could take any more humiliation.  That is, until Sasuke insisted she go home.  And by home, he meant his home.  His and Kakashi’s.  

Looking at the food laid out before her, she felt an all-too familiar pressure building up behind her eyes.  Distantly, she heard Kakashi set his mug down.

“Sakura,” he said, firm but gentle.

Sakura slowly looked up, meeting Kakashi’s intent gaze from across the table.  

“It’s ok.” 

Kakashi and Sasuke weren’t blood-related, Sakura knew this, but over time there were moments where she noticed that they shared the same eyes, where the force of their conviction threw open the windows to the soul and she’d catch a brief glimpse of a beautiful, unspoken truth: Sasuke may have been an Uchiha, but he inherited his heart from Kakashi. 

After a moment, Sakura nodded.  “Ok.”

A wisp of a smile sneaked up in the corners of Kakashi’s eyes.  “Ok.”  

bookends au

[tobiasdrake]

Let's talk about the plan for Sakura!

Junko definitely set her up to fail. Like. There was no intention to let her actually win the Killing Game.

Sakura's family dojo was being used to blackmail her into carrying out the first murder. This was specifically to get things started, according to Sakura's suicide note. As in, the intent was that Sakura wouldn't get away with it. She'd be caught in the Class Trial and executed, but now everyone would be freaked out and this would make them more likely to kill in the future.

Sakura was installed in this group for the same reason Mukuro was: As a sacrifice whose death would get the Killing Game moving. Sakura kills someone, then Mukuro dies, then Sakura dies. Then, with all the plants swept from the board, the Prisoner's Dilemma of Murder actually begins for real.

Which is corroborated by the fact that it's even Sakura in the first place. Like. Junko wasn't being subtle with her choice of who to pressure into being the spy. She picked the terrifying muscle woman who can easily break anyone in half to be the first killer. The one person everyone is most likely to suspect of foul play before she's even done anything. She wanted Sakura caught.

Mukuro and Sakura were meant to be the Tutorial Level. With Mukuro's death happening on the rails Junko meant for her, much to Mukuro's surprise. And Sakura's survival going off the rails, much to Junko's surprise.

And Sakura knows that. She knows she wasn't supposed to live past case 1. She's the one who says in her letter that her job was to "move things forward". She knows that she's supposed to be dead already. She's been living on borrowed time ever since Sayaka launched her sneak attack on Leon.

Sakura is here to die. Her job is to die. She's been destined to die since the moment she and Monokuma began conspiring.

It's actually really ominous, looking back on case 1. Hina and Sakura share an alibi for Sayaka's murder: Hina was scared and was secretly having Sakura stay in her room for safety. Sakura, the spy whose job is to find someone to kill.

If it hadn't been Sayaka, it would have been Hina. Sakura was in the process of building trust with her when, suddenly, she didn't need to do that anymore. Her job accidentally completed itself. And instead of a prospective victim, she found herself with a devoted and cherished friend.

That's wild when you think about it. You could say that because of Sayaka, hope was able to blossom in a relationship meant for despair.

And from that hope, Sakura was able to find her own agency. Of course, she died. She was always going to die. She was always meant to die.

But she died doing what Mukuro never got the chance to. Well, except in IF. Sakura died just as she was meant to, but she got to be the one to decide what she would die for. She found her own meaning to put into her death. She got to go out on her own terms, and to do so while scoring a powerful victory against Junko that the latter wouldn't even know happened until it was too late.

Sakura was meant to die in order to kick off the beginning of the Killing Game. Instead, she died to kick off its end. She did exactly what she promised to do: She challenge the Mastermind, and she won.

(And spent her final moments savoring Hina's favorite candy, basking in the love and friendship she wasn't supposed to have, with the biggest smile on her face. That still makes me tear up every time I think about it.)

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group H Round 3: #H8 vs #H2

#H8: Zombies make really good music

#H2: Girl is sent to family hotel in the country

Details and poll under the cut!

#H8: Zombieland Saga

Summary:

Sakura Minamoto dreams of becoming an idol. Unfortunately, reality hits her like a truck, and she dies in a sudden traffic accident. Ten years later, she wakes up in Saga Prefecture, only to find herself a zombie with no memory of her past. While still coming to terms with her demise, she meets a man named Koutarou Tatsumi, who explains that he has resurrected her and six other zombie girls from different eras for the purpose of economically revitalizing Saga by means of an idol group. Assuming the role of an abrasive manager, Koutarou begins scheduling events; the girls go along with it, eventually deciding to name their idol group Franchouchou. An absurdly comedic take on the idol genre, Zombieland Saga tells the story of Franchouchou's heartwarming struggle to save Saga Prefecture while hiding their zombie identities and rediscovering their past lives.

Propaganda:

ITS SO GOOD OHMYGOD. First of all, the music? Amazing. The 3D animation they use for the dancing isn’t the best, but the songs are all bangers. The story is also amazing—it’s just the right blend of silly and serious to really get you to love and care about the characters. And it WILL make you cry. It’s a really cool take on zombies and really uses the full potential of its premise really well. Its dub is also actually good. The acting is great, and the jokes are translated perfectly.

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty or Death, Child Abuse, Gender Identity/Sexuality Discrimination, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore

#H2: Hanasaku Iroha: Blossoms for Tomorrow

Summary:

Ohana Matsumae is an energetic and wild teenager residing in Tokyo with her carefree single mother. Abruptly, her mother decides to run away with her new boyfriend from debt collectors, forcing the young girl to fend for herself—as per her mother's "rely only on yourself" philosophy—in rural Japan, where her cold grandmother runs a small inn. Driven to adapt to the tranquil lifestyle of the countryside, Ohana experiences and deals with the challenges of working as a maid, as well as meeting and making friends with enthralling people at her new school and the inn.

Propaganda:

It’s a really great one season show about a teen girl figuring out who she is and what she wants out of life. She makes friends and creates a home for herself despite having no dad and a lackluster Mother. She grows and blossoms into a better, kinder person who enjoys life. It’s a genuinely sweet anime, and everyone in it is trying their best. It’s a feel good show, and if you need a smile, give it a shot. Frankly, it’s very much character-centric, and you can’t help but root for them and feel for them when they suffer.

Trigger Warnings: Mild Emotional Abuse in the past. The Mom isn’t abusive physically, but she does suck and neglects her kid emotionally, so maybe Child Abuse?

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #57 (part one)

Journal Entry #56 (part three) // STORY INDEX

Victor

So, uh... it's been a really long time.

I'm embarrassed to say, I actually had to check to see when either of us last recorded anything. Turns out, the last entry was Yuri's, and he posted it way back in the middle of March, the day I got my glasses.

It's the seventh of June today. Oops. Talk about major radio silence.

But, just because we haven't posted anything, that doesn't mean our lives haven't been eventful for the past three months. Yuri and I have had quite a lot going on, and maybe our lack of updates is a testament to that.

We were consumed by planning, packing, and preparing Yuri's immigration application for part of the time. Somehow I forgot how much work is involved in an international move despite having already done it before, a little over two years ago. This time is different because it's not just me. It's also Yuri and our dogs, and we've got the purchase of a house thrown into the mix as well, just to make things more complicated. Add that to my and Yuri's respective recovery, continuing drama with the extended family, and some much-needed relationship repair with a few of our friends, and you'll see we've got a very full life indeed.

I'm happy to report that I'm fully recovered from my accident. I was in physio for my arms up until the end of April, but the physical therapist said I could stop the day I told her I was able to lift my own body weight — all 86 kilograms of it — on the pull-up bar at work. I showed her the video Tomiko made of me doing it with just one arm, and the PT said it was obvious I could manage my own physical rehabilitation from that point.

As for the post-concussion symptoms, I'm no longer getting any headaches or random bouts of nausea, and I'm not nearly as light-sensitive now. The first day I was able to go up the mountain again, I had to wear ski goggles because the light reflecting off the snow made my eyes hurt. I really don't like wearing those, and I was glad when I was comfortable enough to take them off.

Yeah, my return to the slopes... that was an event. It probably deserves a whole entry of its own, but let’s just say Yuri, Sakura and Sakura's husband Takeshi made such a big production of it that it's not a day I'll soon forget.

Yuri said he had to be there, so I bundled him up in his warmest clothes, and then Takeshi and I wrapped him in a blanket and hauled him up the mountain on a rescue sled that Takeshi borrowed from Mountain Patrol. Sakura followed with our gear.

Takeshi situated Yuri in a good position to see everything, while Sakura and I got ready, and then it was time. We only did a few runs on one of the intermediate trails, but that was fine by me. I was admittedly nervous, and I didn't think I was ready to practice on the slalom course or the expert slope.

My first run was awful in my opinion, but I felt like I was getting my form and my courage back by the middle of the second one. When I pushed off for the third run, I felt the old, familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my body and everything was as fluid and natural as if I'd never been away.

By the end of the third trip down the mountain, I was ready to stop for the day. It'd taken way more energy than I'd anticipated, and I was looking forward to going home for a hot bath and then maybe some cuddling and a nap with Yuri. He was exhausted too, mostly from waving his arms around and yelling himself hoarse, cheering me on.

Anyway, you guys all know that I could go on and on forever about snowboarding, so I'll stop here before this entry really does become all about that.

I should tell you about the relatively new thing in my life, which is my glasses. I wasn't sure I'd be okay with them at first, mostly because I didn't like having something constantly touching my face, but I got used to them pretty quickly and now I barely notice them at all. For the first couple of weeks, I wore them throughout the entire day, at the suggestion of the optometrist, and only took them off if I was driving or snowboarding. Now I just put them on if I'm doing something where I need to see clearly close up, like playing games, using the computer or reading.

I'm thrilled that Dr. Ishida was totally right when she said my ability to read was more about vision than intellect. Since getting my glasses, I'm going through books like crazy. I didn't realize how entertaining reading could be, but I guess that's because it's difficult to have a good time doing something when you can only do it for five minutes before you start to feel like your eyeballs might fall out from the strain. Now, I can read for hours at a time if I want to, and it's awesome. Did you know there's a genre of action novels? Kind of like action movies, but you read the story yourself and create the movie part of it in your imagination. It's great.

Yuri likes my newfound ability to read just as much as I do, I think. There's also a genre of historical novels which he happily introduced me to, and then he convinced me that I should read to him at bedtime. So, that became our thing up until I left. We'd curl up in bed together and either I'd read some of his current book to him, or he'd read some of mine to me.

It's been hard for us to read to each other lately, though, since I left Japan on the fifteenth of May. Mom and Julian let me stay with them for a few days until the transaction for our house closed on the eighteenth, and then I moved into our forever home. Except, it didn't feel like our forever home without Yuri there. If I thought leaving Yuri behind in Japan was painful, settling into that spacious house all alone might've been one of the most heartbreaking experiences I've had in recent memory.

Okay, I'm not technically alone. Sachiko the ghost is here, but sharing the place with her hasn't turned out to be as fun as I imagined.

For the first three or four days, I didn't see her at all, and when I finally did find her, she scared the crap out of me by making the tea machine levitate. Apparently, she was mad that I'd used her favourite mug for my tea.

Robert and Kim had left a few dishes in the house, including two mugs, and I'd used one of them because it was conveniently there. How was I supposed to know which one was Sachiko's? Up to that point, I didn't even know ghosts could drink tea, much less that they'd have a mug preference.

I think Sachiko and I are going to need time to get to know each other. She doesn’t seem to trust me, and after the tea machine incident, I’m kinda wary of her too.

The first night I spent in the house, I barely slept at all. Yuri and I chatted on FaceTime until his mother told him to get off his iPad and come have lunch, and then I was on my own. Noon for him was midnight for me, and there were a lot of hours between then and morning when I'd be able to talk to him again.

That was probably super confusing, wasn't it? I guess I should back up a bit and properly explain what's going on.

Just as Yuri and I both feared, he couldn't leave in the middle of his nutrition rehabilitation therapy. We found out that even with Dr. Kasongo's string-pulling to get him onto Dr. Kim's patient caseload, there still might be a months-long waiting time for him to see the doctor and the other professionals for the treatment he needs. He's already on the list, but since there's no way for him to transition seamlessly from one care provider to another, Dr. Kasongo suggested that it'd be better for him to finish his therapy and get his eating routine stabilized before he moves to another country. We agreed with her recommendation because he's been making such great progress, and we didn't want to derail it with a long interruption of his care.

It was a tough choice, but we ultimately decided that I’d travel home by myself to deal with the house closing, and so I could walk my mom down the aisle at her wedding. After the wedding, I'm planning to spend a week in Brindleton Bay with Grandpa Michael, and then I’ll return to Mt. Komorebi to be with Yuri until he's ready to travel. It isn't ideal and neither of us particularly likes it, but as they say, needs must.

The other half of the plan was for Yuri and the dogs to move in with his parents while I'm away. Neither his parents nor I felt comfortable with the idea of him staying alone, and since Mrs. Okamoto is on a leave of absence from work so she can devote her attention to taking care of baby Kinai, that means Yuri will never be without someone nearby if he needs anything. He complained about having to live with his parents temporarily, but I think he's secretly relieved to be close to his mother and to let her help look after him.

It's fascinating to me, how Yuri and I slipped so easily into our old habits that we had at the beginning of our relationship. We'd originally met online in November, not long after Yuri turned twenty and just before I turned twenty-one. His birthday is the twentieth of September and mine is the second of December, in case you may not recall. By February of the following year, we knew for sure that we were in love and wanted to be together forever, and I literally spent the next three years hoarding my money and learning Japanese so I could eventually travel there to be with him. Anyway, During that time, we talked on the phone or on FaceTime least twice every single day, and there were usually lots of texts and pictures and the occasional email or video exchanged in between.

Needless to say, scheduling our calls was important because of that pesky twelve-hour time difference between where I lived and where he lived. We used to talk at seven in the morning and seven at night. We took turns contacting each other, and to avoid confusion, each of us would call when it was morning in our time zone.

Morning calls were harder for me because I was going to college when we first met and then working once I'd graduated, and I could never talk too long as I was getting ready to go out for the day. Yuri's morning calls were better since he worked from home and could still get things done while chatting with me. Plus, it was evening for me then, so I had plenty of time.

Time isn't as much of an issue for us now, since neither of us are working. I resigned from my position at the fitness center in Kiyomatsu, and of course you already know Yuri is on medical leave until at least September. We still begin our video calls at seven o'clock, though. It's nice to have that consistency.

Something we've started doing in this new version of our long-distance relationship is eating together. I’ll usually have an evening snack while he has his breakfast, and sometimes he nibbles on a little something while watching me have mine.

Anyone viewing this might get the impression that we’ve become totally obsessed with food and eating over the last few months. That might be kinda true. but you gotta realize that for Yuri’s therapy to be effective, we always have to be mindful and use a lot of positive reinforcement around eating. So yeah, maybe we do talk about it a lot and maybe I do make a big deal of it even if he eats one small bite of solid food, but one bite without fear or stress is way better than being too anxious to eat at all, and I’d prefer to keep the forward momentum going.

When I first got here, Yuri was still having almost exclusively formula feeds at breakfast time. Then, one day last week when he called me, he appeared on screen with some sort of juice at the corner of his mouth, and when I asked him if he'd been eating, he proudly showed me the tiny bowl of pitted cherries he was snacking on.

"I like these," he said. "I ate seven of them so far."

A quick count revealed three left in the bowl, which he finished during our conversation. Ten cherries may not seem like a lot, but for Yuri, it's huge.

"Have you eaten anything else for breakfast?" I asked.

"Rice crackers with apricot jam, and Yuki let me try her cereal," he said, and then hastened to add. "I used my own spoon."

"You're doing great," I praised him. "Do you even know how proud I am of you right now?"

"Thank you."

"Are you having your formula too?" I asked.

He slid his chair back and lifted up the hem of his shirt so I could see the tube snaking out from under it. "I need the protein. But, guess what?"

"What?"

"I didn't have formula at lunch or dinner yesterday. I ate everything on my own. Oh, and I tried sparkling water."

"Did you like it?"

He wrinkled his nose cutely. "No."

"Better stick with regular water, then."

He nodded. "Mama's making salmon onigiri today. I'm going to try to eat a whole one."

"You like those," I recalled. "You've eaten a whole one before, so I know you can do it."

"Hopefully I've got room for it after my milkshake," he said.

I'll confess I was rendered momentarily speechless by that. I stared hard at the screen, wondering if I'd heard him correctly. "Your... milkshake?" I stammered after a second or two. "As in, actual milk and stuff? But, aren't you—

"Lactose intolerant?" Yuri said. "I'm not, actually."

"What?" I blurted.

"Trust me, I was shocked too."

"But, how...?"

"Remember, Dr. Kasongo scheduled me for all those food tolerance tests? You know, to see if I'm allergic to anything, or to see if I have low tolerance for gluten or sugar or... whatever?"

"Yeah," I said. "Mostly, I remember being stressed out because she scheduled it for after I left, and I couldn't go with you."

"I would've liked for you to be with me, but it was okay," he said. "Papa came with me, and it wasn't as scary as I imagined. We got the results yesterday."

"And you're really not lactose intolerant?"

"I'm really not. My nutritionist thinks it may have been a psychological intolerance more than a physical one."

"Meaning what, exactly? Like, dairy products made you feel sick because you convinced yourself they would?"

"Something like that," he said. "Mama says she thinks it might've been partially her fault. She says she tried to get me to drink milk and eat cheese when I was little, but it always gave me an upset stomach, so she eventually stopped trying. I guess we all just assumed I was lactose intolerant after that. Then, any time I had anything with milk in it, it was more my anxiety that was making me feel sick than my body's actual response to it."

"Huh," I said. "So... milkshakes?"

"Strawberry milkshakes. They're delicious and they're packed with calories." He beamed, clearly pleased with himself. "After my appointment yesterday afternoon, we all went out for American food.”

“That’s where you had the milkshake, I guess?”

“Mm-hmm. Mama and I shared a salad, but I tried one of Yuki’s French fries. Papa and Yuki both got milkshakes with their meal, and Yuki talked me into tasting that as well since we found out it wouldn't hurt me."

"And you were okay?"

"I was a little nervous afterwards and I thought I might be sick, but I kept telling myself not to panic. When I settled down, my stomach settled down too."

That was major progress. The old Yuri likely would’ve panicked, and he would’ve been throwing up and miserable for the rest of the day. Of course, he still might have had pain and an upset stomach regardless of what he ate or drank, but it made me wonder what percentage of his problems in the past were due to real digestive issues related to his illness and what percentage were caused by his severe anxiety around food.

He keeps telling me that he doesn’t like his psychologist and that he doesn’t think their sessions are doing any good, but I’m convinced somebody in that equation must be doing something right. Three months ago, Yuri wouldn’t have gotten within ten meters of American food, much less tried fries or a milkshake. Just the smell of deep-fried food would’ve been enough to make him nauseous back then.

Honestly, I don’t think he even realizes how far he’s come since he first started his nutrition rehab back in March.

"That's awesome," I said. "You’re doing amazing. And you’re having another go at milkshakes today?”

He nodded. "Papa bought strawberry ice cream. Did you know he knows how to make milkshakes at home?"

"I didn't know he knew how, but it's pretty easy anyway. Not much different than making a smoothie."

"Oh. So does that mean I could have extra strawberries in my strawberry milkshake? Or some other fruit?"

I laughed. "If you wanted to."

"When Papa comes home for lunch, I have to tell him." He looked excited. "This could be an adventure."

"Let me know how it goes."

He grinned at me. "I will."

I have no words to describe how happy it made me to see Yuri like that, and for the first time in a while, I let myself believe we were approaching something like a normal existence.

If he keeps going this way, he might be off his feeding tube entirely by the end of the summer. Then, we'll be able to come back here together and settle into the life we're both dreaming of.

I'm not naïve enough to think it'll be all smooth sailing after this, but I'm optimistic enough to believe we’re finally going to make it through the worst of the proverbial storm.

[hotarutranslations]

stuffin

Evening

I went and saw Kudou Haruka-chan's live🪽

She really did her best! Thanks for your hard work--!

The fans watching over her were kind, When asked who was meeting Duu for the first time, We were happy when there were people raising their hands,

There were also wonderful things to see☺️🫶🏻

With the band in the background, bathed in the lights, the sight of her singing alone,

Maybe its because I've seen here a ton as an actress,

It looked like a scene from a work! It was cool!

(asking if it was fun)

(My hair is too long and I ended up tying it in a bun, don't worry about its awkward look, ok)

With various meanings, the MC was interesting🧐🧐

This Duu, isn't good at MC's lol

Maa and I thought about what to say for the second show🧐🧐 lol

But including everything, this is a stage the current Duu has made, and she sent straight out to us

She did her best, right---🌏🪽

Her drama is starting in April, lets watch it everyone, definitely👱🏼‍♀️🤟🏾💖

95

Today I,

Updated Tokyo Sports note Series✍🏻 I'll tell you more about the 13 in Morning Musume '24

Special Interview✍🏻 "I want to develop my influence" "Doing my best without change isn't enough" Ishida Ayumi's Steady Ambitions 【Tokyo Sports Editor/More Than 5000 Characters!】

These 2 have updated!!!

In the series I wrote about everyone and, I talked about my own changes in the interview

Please definitely read it🪽

🩵🎫e+ 🩵🎫TicketPia

Also the finale has been decided

May 27th (Mon) Nippon Budoukan .🌏👏🏻

The Ticket FC Advance Reception is undergoing! I'm looking forward to being able to meet!

📺Hello Pro Dance Gakuen Season 11

April 18th 11:30PM~ A Learning From TSUKUSHI-san Adventure🕺

In season 10 we challenged breakin', its reairing continuously! On the 15th, 17th, 19th, 20th, 21st, 22nd, #1~#6 all at once! Check out HP for info!

Sendai Broadcast "Ara Ara Kashiko" Every week (Sat) 10:25AM~ Ishida Ayumi Goes~!

I appear once a month as part of the AraKashi Family

The previous shows, and makings, are on OX VIDEO STORE!

Also on YouTube

Sendai Broadcast Ara Ara Kashiko

📺"HinaFest 2024" Before Special ~NamaTake Member Great Gathering 2 Hour SP~

CS TV Asa Channel March 24th (Sun) 12:00PM~

Thank you for following.. Instagram💙🩵

💿Releasing February 7th

Morning Musume '23 25th ANNIVERSARY CONCERT TOUR ~glad quarter-century~ at Nippon Budokan

Thank you for waiting for the Blu-ray&DVD! Its finally releasing--!

Its already nostalgic but, It has an amazing medley, really Please enjoy it many times

📚Releasing on February 7th "Hello! Project BEST SHOT!! Vol.26"

Ishida AyumixOda SakuraxNonaka Miki📸 Fukumura MizukixIshida AyumixOda Sakura📸

✍🏻Tokyo Sports note Series I'll tell you more about the 13 in Morning Musume '24

Announcement of Series Graduation in March

🪩Spring Tour Has Been Decided Morning Musume '24 Concert Tour Spring MOTTO MORNING MUSUME

We'll be going around the country from March 16th!

🪩HinaFest March 30th and 31st at Makuhari Messe

🪩JAPAN JAM Morning Musume '24 will be performing on May 3rd!

⚾️《LIVE DAYS！～Exciting Big Exhibition Match～》 June 2nd(Sun), after the Hokkaido Ham Fighters vs. Yokohama DeNa Baystars match, Morning Musume '24 will be having a special mini live!

.👗👠 Aoyama Clothing x Morning Musume '24

📻Morning Musume '24 Morning Jogakuin ~Houkago Meeting~

Airs Every Saturday, On Radio Nihon at 12:00AM~

Past Broadcast Episodes Are Available →Program Details

Yamazaki Mei's Panda-san Daisuki!! ~Expressing Love Towards My Favorite Panda-san♡ ver.~ in Adventure World

Yamazaki Mei's Panda-san Daisuki!! Mei-chan's Holiday. Adventure World with Oda-san and Ishida-san

see you ayumin <3

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SUPEERR sorry for the late update! i went through a hellish week but I really wanted to go on with the story 😭 i wrote down the setting so the ending’s kinda set in stone, so buckle your seatbelts and prepare yourself for a ride.

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker [CAN THE OTHERS REDO THEIR NAMES I CANT FIND YALLS ACCOUNTS IM SCARED OF TAGGING THE WRONG PEOPLE IM SO SO SORRY IM NEW TO THIS]

⚠️ 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ PLOTTTTT. This chapter onward will mark the beginning of heavy themes. There will be mentions of death, manipulation, discussion of political issues, and profane language. Discretion is advised.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

And when the rain stopped, you two were back to the same scene, but with your hand on his sleeve.

You and Miles walked down the same Brooklyn road, your fingers pinching the corner of his jacket while he led your bike on with his free hand. Your shoes crunched against the autumn leaves, each step like a snapping twig, marking your each step.

Even at its darkest, Brooklyn never slept along with its sisters. The bright windows, the music playing from the underground bars, and the other couples maneuvering through the night like mice on the run. Still, everything seemed lazier and slower— and you didn’t know if it was just Miles or the atmosphere in general. Miles rambled on and on about his childhood show, going on about how his seven-year-old-self thought olives would be the greatest thing to snack on after seeing Jerry pine after it so much, and how after plopping it into his mouth changed the entire course of his life.

“Ever since then, I never ate another goddamn olive for the rest of my damn life.”

You laugh at his dramatics, at the way he shakes his head, but despite the dramatic way he moved, Miles never shook the arm your hand was clinging onto— you needed it more than his story-telling.

“I mean, olives do look like grapes, so I kinda understand the confusion.”

“That’s the biggest foul, really: that olives look like grapes.”

“It is kinda one hell of a foul. Mine’s the fact that raisins also look like grapes.”

And the image pops in his mind like a bubble. “… Jesus. Why the hell does everything look like grapes?”

“Ionno.” You shrug. “Same thing can be said about your head, though.”

He feigns offense, parting his mouth into an ‘o’ while leaning back. “Stop projecting your grapefruit-lookin’ ass.” Miles shoots back, earning a sharp swat from you. “Fucker, you’re the one built like a bamboo shoot.”

"You're the one talkin taller than your own height, you lil, dehydrated, un-sunned potted plant lookin' ass."

You gawk at the full-blown insult, earning nothing but a guffaw from Miles who shook his head.

"I'm just kidding, my girl, m'just kidding." He swiftly pulls you closer, pulling you in with his hand over your shoulders. "You know I'm just playin' with you, ma, you're the prettiest in my eyes." The way he sweetly coos tugs at your heartstrings, your tiny giggles muffled while he sways you around.

"Apology accepted," You snicker. "Riley Freeman.”

“… Future child bride.”

“Future enemy of the state.”

“Thas why you daddy don’t want’chu.”

“At least I got a daddy.”

And the squabble just went on and on.

Tiny jabs of flirting disguised as well-crafted insults, and subtle touches concealed as playful punches. The two of you were crazy in the sort of way that only the two of you can drive each other insane.

Ironically, you loved these sorts of moments with him— just two people simpering down the streets in good ol' New York. But in the back of your mind, there was still that lingering guilt that endlessly knocked against your psyche, begging you to tell the truth.

But the truth wasn’t the hotel, or the life you were living. The truth was a decaying matter locked in a finely decorated cage, where everyone could smell the stench, but they instead choose to ignore it all for the sake of preserving peace.

Miles would never do that. He wouldn’t turn around and shrug his shoulders just for the sake of preserving whatever peace or comfort New York had— he would absolutely fucking riot to disturb the comfortable.

But the thing was, all you had left was that peace, and the slightest piece of your dignity scrapped up like leftovers of a meal.

“Hey, ma.” Miles snaps you out of your thoughts, earning nothing but a small hum from you.

“… Do you know anythin ‘bout about parallel universes?”

You pause for a moment, processing that question like a printer— eyes slowly traveling to meet his as if to confirm if what you heard was correct. Miles shifts a bit, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“.. What?” You airily query, brows knitted together in confusion. He laughs at the way your mouth hung like a lost toddler. “Parallel universes? Ionno, I just heard ‘bout it from my dorm mate.” His fingers reach to scratch the nape of his neck. “Something ‘bout there being another version of us in another universe n shit like that— slight changes, maybe?”

“.. I’ve heard about it from my Physics professor, but I never really delved much into it.”

“Well, I’ve been thinkin a lot ‘bout it.”

Your nose scrunches. “But.. Why though?”

“Well,” The two of you start walking again, with the pace much slower. “It made me wonder if there’s another us in another universe.. Doin’ shit like this.” His hand gestured at the both of you, soon dropping by your side. “You n me, just walking and talking. I wonder if we also like each other in another universe.”

It sounded cheesy. Being lovers in more than one world.

But you liked the sound of it. Lovers.

“I probably hate you in every other universe.” You teasingly laughed while lightly pushing him away.

“Well, maybe there’s somethin’ special ‘bout me in this universe that made you fall for me.” He smoothly chimed, leaning a bit closer. You try to hold back a smile, but it still seeped in the corners of your lips.

“Ionno ‘bout that.”

His grin only widens. “You know you love me, ma.”

You stare a long stare.

I do.

“Shut up.” You mumble, pacing faster when Miles reaches out to hold your hand. “Maaaaaaaa.”

“What do you want, Miles?”

And he looks at you with those eyes of his. The kind that dragged you into this whole mess, the kind that made you crawling back in four days. Subtly, he leans down to your level, eyes in line with your own. Only then, so gently, he presses his lips against yours for a second.

"I wonder if that happens in every other universe too?"

You blink at the act, somewhat speechless.

“I’d be missin out on a lot if I don’t get to kiss you like this in every universe.”

You try to snap back at him, but you could no longer find anymore ammo to fire. Miles sets your brother’s bike aside, kicking the stand down just to take both of your hands— placing them over his shoulders.

"How about you? What do you think?" He suddenly asks. "Who would we be to each other in another world?"

There were a million thoughts blundering your mind, a sort of disarray you weren't used to— the thing was, you didn’t even know who the two of you were supposed to be to each other in this world. Everything seemed all blurry in the future, and you couldn’t even think of one for yourself.

But for once, you couldn’t help but think of what could be.

“Would you rather hear me romanticize, or would you rather hear me be realistic?” You asked of him.

Miles took a moment to think. “I think it’d be nice to hear what’chu think is romantic.”

You leaned in a bit towards his side. “You really think so? What if I end up soundin’ childish?”

Placing a gentle hand over your arm, he simply replied. “You’re young, ma. It’s okay to be a child.”

Turning more towards him, you begin to flit your fingers up toward his jaw. “Then…” Your eyes trailed away from his. “In another universe, we’re just us.” You mumble, your fingers tickling at the back of his neck.

“In another universe, I’ll be doing painting commissions at random shops to save up for Christmas. I’ll be working at that café we saw. You’ll be there, and we’ll meet up and I’ll be the one to ask for your number.” Your hand runs down his sleeve just to intertwine your fingers with his.

“What do you mean you? You can’t do nuthin, I’ll be the one asking for your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “It’s another world, Miles. We ain’t entirely sure if we’re going to be the same people.”

“You’ve got a point,” He piques. “But—“

“Let me finish.” You sigh, and immediately, he snaps his jaw shut. “… I don’t have to escape every night just to see you, nor do we have to meet exclusively every Friday and Saturday. We’ll see each other everyday, and you’ll go to my house— and my mom will make us food while going on and on about us dating, and my dad’s going to scold me to keep the door open just so he can keep an eye out on you.”

Suddenly, all the fantasies you’ve mentally illustrated for yourself every night to dwell upon came running out of your mouth.

“Maybe, I’ll have a few childhood scars, and I’ll paint my nails any color I like— I’ll get a new set monthly, and I’ll let you choose the color. We’ll walk to school together, and I’ll never miss any of your basketball games…. We’ll just be,”

Normal.

“Us.”

Realizing your rambling, you shift away a bit, somewhat embarrassed of all the stuff you’d blurted out. It’s like you could sense him trying to piece together what you’d just said. With a cautious hand, he wraps it around your waist before nuzzling his head into your hair.

"What's stopping us from being like that in this world too?"

You hold onto him a little tighter.

“… It’s getting colder these days, huh?”

Noticing your hesitance to break open, Miles decides to simply play along for now. “Yeah, it’s getting colder, ma, so you,” He softly pulls away, placing both of his hands over your cheeks. “You should start taking care of yourself or else you might start a whole new bubonic plague.”

“Why the fuck do you keep linking that to me?”

“Cause you’re a host of viral plague.”

“I’m not even sickly, damn it.” You say, while feeling an itch in your nose. “You’re just making shit up at thi— hACHOO!” You sneeze down to the ground, narrowly missing your sleeve. Miles takes a step back, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“… Maybe I should be a plague doctor for halloween, and you should be a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague.”

He pictures you with comically large bags beneath your eyes, frail lips, and a white dress with its frock lost in the wind— and he’ll stand beside you, with the large black beak of the mask poking at your hair, with a large black cape flying behind his back.

“… Isn’t halloween this Saturday?” You think back with a frown. “I haven’t celebrated that in a long, long time.”

That was a lie. You’ve never celebrated halloween before.

“Huh?” He snaps in shock. “You don’t celebrate halloween?”

He watches you shrug. “It’s a kid’s thing.” Was what your Father always told you, in the same tone you were currently speaking.

“Awe man,” Miles mumbles. “… I thought you got the hint that we’re going trick or treating for our date.”

“Trick or treating?” That too, you also haven’t done. “I-Isn’t it dangerous? My mother said people would poison the candy and plant shit inside the chocolates.”

“What?” At that point, Miles was piecing together an image of your family with each passing story. “That almost never happens— who can afford poisoning children in this economy? Shit, might as well just use it on yourself with all the bills you have to pay.”

And there it goes again. The economy.

And it strikes you a bit. That guilt of being brought up pristinely uncomplicated. Privileged, as most would call it. Your problems were rather personal, never financial. Growing up, you’d been living lavishly in the comforts of your manor, never having to worry about tomorrow or next month or next year.

And, admittedly, it was unfair.

“… Miles, can I, um, discuss something with you?” You silently query, unconsciously matching your pace along with his. Miles only hums.

“Look. I don’t mean to get political, and I don’t want to sound privileged— but honestly speaking, I kinda am, and I can definitely recognize it.” You confess. “I wasn’t.. Raised in a home where we had to be conscious about money. My parents are well-off, in the way I’m sheltered as hell, but I’m not blind. I can see the city crumbling apart. My brother says that it’s all because people don’t wanna work anymore, and I never understood why.”

He raised his brows. “That’s… Well, I’m not gonna judge your brother from that alone,” Miles states, keeping in mind that he still wants to appeal to your family. “But honestly, that whole view is kinda whack. Listen, nena,” He takes a deep breath. “Imagine working your ass off nine to five— and you’re still getting paid the minimum wage. Rent is due, groceries are expensive, and you’re tired as hell, but it’s all not enough. You can’t even spend any of the money on yourself.”

“Well,” You pique. “… My father said that if the people would just stop buying irrelevant things and save up, they’d be able to live.”

Miles grimaces. “Do only the rich deserve happiness?”

Your head tilts. “Don’t they say that money can’t buy you happiness?”

He shook his head. “They say that because they’ve got the money.”

He spots the confused look on your face. Relatively, he takes your hand and further conveys. “Well, as you said, it’s a capitalist world. Only the wealthy say that because they don’t know what it’s like to be down here,” His hand points below. “In the slums, starving to damn death. Money can fix that shit. Money can fix all this, but they choose not to.”

Your mouth hung open.

“… I never thought of it that way.”

“Mhm.”

“My whole life, my parents have always chalked it up to hard work— but the city never sleeps, so it’s impossible that nobody here ain’t doing nothing.”

And it all processes through you. “Huh, it’s all.. New to me.” Naturally, your hand drags up to pluck the skin off your lips. “I never delved into that sort of issue before. My parents have always been kind of.. Sort of,”

“.. Elitist?”

“I was going to say stuck-up, but that makes so much more sense.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda seein’ it, not gonna lie.” His clicks his tongue. “Look, ion really talk ‘bout this sort of thing much, but I like discussing these sorts of things with you— ‘cuz it’s interesting seeing how open you are to these kinds of topics, even if you were raised like that.”

You turn your head to look at Miles, and your brow twitches ever so slightly at the pang of anxiety drumming at your chest.

“We’re… Really the opposites of each other, huh?”

He hums. “But in a way, we’re still kinda similar.”

“How so?” You ask, a bit dubious of the remark. You were all this, and he was all that. You doubted any sort of similarities you two had, but Miles holds your shaking hand.

“If you and I were solely made to be opposites, we’d be nemeses by now.”

And you ponder.

How long would it take before you start hating me?

How long would it take before I stop seeing that loving gaze of yours?

How long would it take before you discover the truth?

From afar, you could already spot the Gristedes building, as though it were the portal parting your world from his. You eventually take the bike back to yourself, dragging it by the handles. As the edge of the block materializes, you turn to look at the boy behind you.

“I’m gonna have to go ride back now.”

And when he draws closer, a flick of your mind takes the image of Miles’ exhausted face, assuming it’d be similar to what he’d look like once he recognizes the truth about you. You wonder if he feels it too— this strange air between the both of you, going past tension, and delving into something deeper and darker.

You’re so unsure. So afraid of how fragile this entire thing was.

“Ain’t I getting a kiss, nena?”

“You’re so needy.” You huff, opening your arms anyway. “If you get the bubonic plague, you’re gon’ be the one complaining all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, nena, whatever you say— just gimme my kiss.”

And he penguin walks his way to you, leaning down like a kid in search of candy. Miles steps into your view, following wherever you turned— his hands making their own journey across your waistline. Your palms snake up his shoulders, heels faltering backward when he presses you up against a brick wall. Your hands fall down to grip his arms instead, head tilting ever so slightly before taking his lips.

He takes you like you were his favorite drink, digging his fingers into the side of your waist— his body melting like ice on a summer day. With his hand, he angles your chin much higher, while yours trail up his chest, parting your lips to gasp for air, only for Miles to steal it away from you.

And when you part, you’re left a heaving mess.

“Trick or treating on Saturday?” He asks again. “Please?”

“… I—“

“I’ll take a bite of every candy you’ll get just to make sure it ain’t poisoned.”

You laugh at his remark.

“Fine.”

It was strange, almost unfamiliar to you, to meet the gate of the manor at this time of night.

It had you questioning your choices, your rationality, and the soundness of your mind. Your mind wasn’t entirely sound to begin with, fortunately for you Miles liked that about you.

After bribing the security, tossing Antonne’s bike to the side, and creeping into the damn place, suddenly, you’re thrust back into the stillness of your family’s generational household.

The marble tiles, the limestone brick walls, and the grandeur steps that parted by the center were all normalcy to you— in spite of how you’d always deemed your family as ‘capable’ to Miles.

Instead of childhood photos and potted plants, you were greeted by the sight of marvelously carved statues and antique paintings. Rather than a home, it felt more like a museum to you— but in a way, it was also your fault for keeping everything too clean.

It’s unfair.

One day you’ll leave this very house and leave it under the care of Antonne who hardly bore any interest for managing things. Despite the way you’ve learned to force yourself to take interest in numerous fields of whatever-the-fuck, this manor was something you treasured along with the hotel. Your father was well aware of your passion, your skills in tidiness, and that was the reason why he appointed you as Antonne’s proxy initially, but you were greedy for more.

You were a little too greedy to want Miles and the life you’d desired for the longest time. You didn’t know what the future was like, and you’ve grown too sick of having everyone else decide your own future for you. This life of infinite spending and glamour was the only life you’d ever known, and you weren’t prepared to abandon it all. As your mother said, no one’s privileged enough to be born as wealthy as you, and you’d likely carry that sort of financial ignorant bliss to the grave.

But Miles didn’t have that.

His family didn’t have generational heirlooms worth thousands of dollars, nor did they have antique paintings bought from highly private auctions. His home only had two bedrooms, unlike your own which housed tens of them.

You and him were astronomically different in more ways than one.

One of these days, those differences might end up either empowering or deadly to one of you.

Step. Step. Step.

As you treaded up the staircase, your hand jolts away from the icy ivory-pillared railings, cussing a subtle “Fuck,” as you went on. In the dead of the night, the halls appeared eerier and darker— as though you could see your own ancestors walking past the red carpets with their frilly gowns and downcast looks of disappointment. Like you could see them shaking their heads just after seeing you there, wearing Miles’ hoodie.

A scandal capable of ruining the family name. As if Antonne wasn’t enough, you ended up falling for a boy you’d likely run away with had you ever gotten the chance.

Elopement. Dramatically cliché, and somehow it still exists in the twenty-first century— for the star-crossed lovers and the filthy rich. Or maybe you just have really bad taste in men… Or parents! Pick a struggle.

You carried your shoes along with your guilt while trudging down the corridor, knowing you’ll likely have to have someone secretive clean the mess up for you. Antonne’s room was in a separate hall, with Malachi’s closer to your own. Even then, like a mouse, you scurry in silence just so you wouldn’t get caught. When you finally reach your door, a thousand burdens escape from your shoulders, only to hear a faint click when you try to twist the handle.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Why won’t it fucking open?” You whisper to yourself. A few more Click Click Click Click Click’s and you manage to finally recognize that you’ve been locked out of your own damn room. You search through your clothes to find the key, only to realize that it’d been in the pockets of the hoodie you’ve left at Miles’ place. In your anxiety, you pull on the edge of your hair, cursing a million words.

I can’t wake up Malachi.

You place your hand over your mouth.

Your breaths begin to stagger, your exhaustion taking hold of you. You tug at your hair a little harder, as though your current goal was to rip your scalp out— and it hurt, it hurt like absolute hell, but nothing was up to par with the pain brought to you by your own mean mind.

But you think, and you think.

Then you lean back, take a breath, and sigh.

And the next thing you know, you’re stabbing through the lock with a knife.

Well, it was less of a stab, more like a saw to jam the bolt. It took a few several tries, but it did manage to unlock after a snap. You heave a sigh of relief, heading right in before gently closing it shut. Immediately off to rest your head against the flat of your door as a sort of celebration for your success.

“… Where have you been?”

You celebrated a little too soon, unfortunately.

Antonne stared at you from the sill of one of your opened windows, the gleam of the new dawn gleaming in pink and blue behind him, casting a long shadow that trailed past your fluffy carpet and dawned over your darkened face. Ever so slowly, he plucks the dying cigarette from his teeth, the intoxicating scent tugging at your nostrils. For once, Antonne’s taken you aback after the longest while. He looks similarly exhausted, with his unbuttoned dress shirt and disheveled hair, while also reasonably confused by your current appearance.

“I was out.” You shallowly answer, as if it weren’t too obvious. Antonne furrows his brows, only heightening the permanent arch he already endowed. At the sound of your words, he clicks his tongue and flicks the cigarette out the window.

“Was it that boy again?” He speaks a baritone lower, like something being dragged through gravel. His shoulders heightened as he rested his palms above the sill. You sense a sort of imposing façade.

“… Miles Morales?”

Your eyes flit open, ventriloquist-esque. Like a dummy brought to life to perform for the circus. At that moment, the two of you siblings began to notice the semblances mirroring your parents’ ways; the younger sister who weaponizes her own ignorance like her father, and the older brother who, like a dog, barks endlessly like their mother. Your body leans against the handle, placing all your weight down a single foot while preparing yourself for whatever Antonne’s spared to speak.

“… Fifteen years old, lives with his single mother, Rio Morales, who’s a nurse at Langone. He’s close with his uncle, Aaron Davis, and he keeps steady high marks at Visions Academy... And yet,” His gaze narrows distastefully. “Despite going to such an elite school, he continues on to live a shady life, having at least once or twice participated in vandalism, destruction of private property, and simple assault.”

Antonne eyes your reaction, but you only shrug.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He clears his throat.

“His father, Jefferson Davis, momentarily worked for father and applied for security three years ago.“ Antonne takes a step forward, the shadow over his face growing darker. “And on the opening night of Aureum, he signed up to take a shift at the evening party.”

Antonne stood eerily, and so did you. The tension a blur, cuttable with a single slice from the knife hidden behind you.

“Did you know about that too?”

“... What are you insinuating?”

Antonne yells out your name in a bellow, but you don’t flinch. Like a deer, round and wide, your eyes were hauntingly frozen, scrutinizing the way he heaved. He struggled to search for the words to describe you— crass, cruel, wicked, bitch. And it only mulled him downer seeing you look guiltless. With his hand, he drags you by the collar.

“You’re wearing the hoodie of a boy whose father died in the tragedy you’re fucking covering up.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 sent a picture || Just now

Aaron peers at the message at his phone, swiping it upwards, thinking it must’ve been some sort of scam or bot. He chugs down the final sip of his coffee, settling by the couch with a disgruntled moan. He rests his head by the armrest, placing his mug down by the table before him. As he stretches the ache off his limbs, another chime goes off from his phone.

He lazily plucks it from his side, wincing as the bright screen flashed him.

+17479256640 || Just now

This is your nephew, right?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“Shh." You pull a finger over your lips, hushing him as though he were a child. Your other hand drafts away from the lock, and you toss the knife to the side. The loud, clacking way it fell made Antonne jump. And he sees you, and the way your lips curled into this amused smile.

At that smile alone, he falters, remembering so suddenly every detail about the mother you two shared. Every strand of her beautiful hair which you endowed, the darkening of her gaze when she was having fun, and the deriding way she looked at the people she deemed inferior.

I don’t need a knife to kill you, Antonne.

That look you had, a smile which he now recognized as a sneer, was what true hatred was.

“Antonne, maybe you’re forgetting that I’m not covering up just any fuck up, I’m covering up your fuck up.”

And when you took a single step forward, all of what was left of Antonne’s confidence crumbled.

“The building collapsed because you forced the workers to rush the process of the construction— and when the media got a hold of what was happening, you ran to Switzerland with Richard just to avoid the consequences, and all of who dealt with everything was me.” You dug an accusing finger into his shoulder. “I took care of everything in your place, and I sacrificed so much for it. But when you realized how I might take over your spot in the hotel, you came back after three whole years— going through every detail of me that you could find as a weakness. Well, let me tell you one thing, my dearest brother,”

You whisper over to his ear. “You can’t beat me at a game you’ve never fucking played before.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“What the fuck?”

Aaron sits right back up, clutching his phone with strength he never thought he had. Swiftly, he presses the notification— greeted with a photo of Miles and some girl walking down the streets with their hands clasped together. When the text bubble reappears, another photo surfaces with the girl’s face being much clearer. A sense of familiarity strikes him, and he couldn’t quite place what it was.

He zooms into the picture, fingers grasping the bottom of his chin while scourging through his memories.

His eyes trace the details of your hair, every curve and curl— your eyes, downcast and very attentive of Miles’ presence. So aware of him, it’s as though he was all that was left in the world. And he looked at you the same way. For a moment, it was like witnessing Rio and Jeff once more, with those gazes smiles.

‘Pretty. The kind of pretty who knows what she wants, and she can use her own face to get it. When you say something stupid, she’ll let you know that what you said was stupid with just her eyes alone— and it’ll shut me up, and I love it.’

Those were Miles’ exact words. For the last two months, you were all he ever really talked about. Seeing you now, Aaron couldn’t help but raise his brows at the sight of your hand intertwined with his nephew’s. He ought to be lying if he ever said that Miles was exaggerating— you were definitely a looker. And that was what unsettled him the most. He had this gut feeling he couldn’t shake, a burden gnawing at his stomach.

He soon drags his thumbs across the keyboard, typing out immediately.

Aaron Davis || Just now

who’s this?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“… What’s happened to you?”

It was genuine. And it wasn’t just curiosity, Antonne was seriously wondering with worry.

“What have you done to the sister I grew up with?”

The sister he grew up with?

Antonne could still remember, every aspect and smile you bore three years ago. And he remembered as though it’d all disappeared just yesterday. You were a smiley little girl— always a little too smart for her own good, and always a little too cheeky. But you were shy, and often kept to yourself. Even during those days, you often hid yourself in the shadows, crawling into the corner of every room you entered with a book in your hand.

He recognized you then. Now you were a complete stranger.

Your hand drops, and you shove your shoulder against Antonne’s. “Grew up with? You never grew up.” You trudge towards the window, closing it shut as soon as you got to the handle. “Meanwhile, I had to be an adult as soon as possible because if not me, then who? Mom’s not here, Dad’s a mess, Malachi’s ten years old, Montrell’s in London, and you ran away.” Your body sinks down to the floor. “When I’m with Miles, I feel… Sixteen, like how I should be.”

“… But if you’d just give me the job—“

“I’m not giving you shit.” You spat. “Not yet, at least, stop fucking rushing.”

Antonne stood, watching you sit by the sill, hand over your nightstand to reach out for your vape.

And the way it exits, so lividly and hatefully, like how mother would smoke after every silent dinner.

You were everything like her.

No matter how much you tried to erase yourself from your mother’s legacy, it didn’t help that you were the spitting image of her.

Even in the way you struggled, you were still your mother’s daughter.

“You.. Remind me of...” Mother. The comment slips after seeing her image overlap with your silhouette. You already knew the ending of the sentence as soon as it exited his lips. As the smoke trickles past your teeth, you look up.

“… You want me to do what she would’ve done?”

The way the moonlight pooled before you reminded him of how the glass shards glimmered around your mother after she’d wrecked her own room.

“You’re already doing what she did,” He murmurs. “Doing stupid shit for stupid ideals.”

You grab whatever you can off of the nightstand, throwing it right at Antonne who steps back from the impact of the book. As you heave, he stared hauntingly.

“You think you’re the only one trying so hard in life? I’m also doing my fucking best. You’re basing me off of a mistake I did when I was seventeen.” He took a step forward. “You weren’t the only one forced into adulthood. Instead of playing soccer and going out on first dates, dad made me run a hotel. Sure! I didn’t do half as great as you’re fucking doing, but once you fuck up, dad’s going to abandon you too.”

“I know that.” You shakily admit. “I know that no matter what I fucking do, the hotel’s going to end up in your hands, and all I’ve got is a shitty arranged marriage bound to go down the drain and a few many nights with too much wine and regrets ahead of me.” You rub your hands together for the sake of warmth, your voice growing shakier as it settles to break.

“But what I want, what I really want— I just want dad to look at me and think, ‘oh, maybe she can take hold at least a part of the conglomerate!’ instead of selling me off!”

It’s as though the Hotel was Antonne’s toy, and you’d been polishing it all these years with great care, knowing damn well he’d leave it off to rot.

But you never wanted that toy in the first place. You wanted your father to see you taking care of that toy, in hopes he’d gift you one that you could take care of for yourself.

“The reason why he’s not giving you any of it is b—“

“Because he doesn’t want the Fisks to use me after the marriage, I know.”

You run your fingers through your hair, tugging as though it were about to fall of your scalp.

“I’ve found… A way to escape it.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 || Just now

Do you recognize the girl beside him?

You replied || Just now

No.

His knee jumps along to the drumming of his chest. He thinks of Miles, wondering if he’d been kidnapped, coerced, or attacked. He knew the boy— he’s strong enough to fend for himself against many things. He’s well taught, he’s a genius and…

He’s a fucking fool for his lady. Just like his father.

God, who knew that the lone weakness of the Prowler was a sixteen-year-old with a pretty face?

Ding.

+17479256640 || Just now

Sent an attached file

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

You and Antonne’s heads swerve at the sound of your phone’s ringing. Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself off of the floor, scrambling to get your phone. With another hit off of the pen, you answer the call.

“What is it?”

And in the background, you hear yelling— commands being thrown in chaos and panic. You look at the ID, finding out that it’s one of your father’s aides. With a hushed whisper and a jagged breath, he reports.

“The Warehouse is being raided, miss–“ A gunshot soars through the air, chillingly searing through a momentary silence. The man whimpers, his voice muffled by his hand. “Raided?” You repeat, voice coming to a hush. “Raided by who?”

And with his jaded breath, he answers.

“.. The Prowler.”

[ngmn2002]

Something to consider/not consider

Alright, letting this thing out... here we go. Assuming that sakura was /locked,kept/ in school since the very first day the school was built, doesn't that mean lots of things? Like... she maybe knows almost everything about the school? Anyway, following that line of thought... she saw every generation enter and leave the school since its first day. So that means she was also there the whole time the twins were students. Maybe she knows a few things about them?

Maybe some highlights? What kind of students they used to be or something like that? If she payed a close eye to the 2 back when they were still students? Whether she really knew a few things about them/ interacted with them/ living Tsukasa or not, the fact that she was there when Amane was fixing the clock, is a bit scary.

As she is also the one who appointed the mysteries (as it's kind of implied),

That means she is the one who put No. 1 in their place. ..... A huge thing happened with Amane and the clock, leading to some time pradox things, and a huge mess in the school. And, she is been there all the time. She MUST have known about all that happened that time and still does until now. Assuming No. 1 turned back time back then to fix things,

It doesn't affect powerful supernaturals or special people's memories that much.

Meaning that until this day, along side No. 1, Tsukasa, she still remembers all about that day. And who knows? Maybe she tried to take advantage of that time thingy Amane caused in the past some way or another? Maybe she is now after recreating what happened in that festival once again? Then get the clock to move? Gain something out of it? Something that maybe she failed to gain the time the mess happened in Amane's and Tsukasa's time? An extra gain in addition to destroying the yorishiro if No.1? Or... thinking a bit deeper... Maybe we should take she might be the one who is behind Amane trying to fix the clock in the past after all and not No. 1 themselves into consideration for a sec? To get that something of hers out of it? As a person who likes to get her work done in secret, and to play from behind the scenes to manipulate people into getting her what she wants,

using something special to achieve her plans, usually a rumor or/and the usage of 'special people suitable for her plan ; like Kou in No.6's case & Akane in No.1's;. and...

Or anything she has at hand for that matter. secretive boy is facing away I see, while Nene-chan… haha, interesting. A "rumor"

is all it takes her to lure Amane/or anyone else interested to gain something out of doing the work of trying to fix the clock to do it for her, and if any managed to do it, she will get the outcome she wants. Tsukasa told Nene the rumor in ch 102, didn't he? (that doesn't explain why Amane had a "time limit". Who told him about it? the rumor may be her doing, but someone else actually came into the picture.. maybe again.. No.1 chose Amane and gave him a deal of some kind.) OR/// the whole 'rumor' thing could be that Tsukasa really was only saying this to Nene-chan in a form of a rumor to get her to know about the magical clock. Following the line of sakura being the founder of that rumor/ As sakura was there since the school was built and the supernatural world is built on rumours and she is the one in charge of 'changing the rumors' now...

why not extend this and say she was on charge of the rumors since the day she was kept in school? So that makes her, the one who came with every single rumour we have since day 1. By now, while working for 'Tsukasa'/her sake actually.. she is very skilled at it. Of course she is, she has been in the career for more than 100 years. Isn't it funny? Hilarious even? The rumors were getting changed from how they originally were? Well, the person who inetially created them is actually the one who changed them. Why is it weird for that person to change them after some time? Of course, I'm just taking about the "school" rumors system. The rumors of things outside the school are not her game, like the red house 'rumor' for example or even the supernatural the minamotos deal with outside school. Speaking about the 'clock' rumor... she changed it a lot from how it originally was.

It didn't have any dark theme previously. Maybe to get people to try to fix the clock without fear "either you get what you want or lose 'nothing" "why not try it? there is nothing to lose.", or it could be that over the years, people strated to tend to like scary/dark themes and she was going with that. Hmm... why not both? It doesn't matter that much now to have people scared or not, Nene & No.7 (or even kou, haha, the poor thing was used in a reallllly dirty way by her) are there to be manipulated to do all she wants after all.

Now, going back to the point, she needed the clock for something, to gain it, she came with a rumor to encourage people to do the work while she does the harvest if any succeed (again, poor Kou). And, maybe she "somehow" noticed Amane's want to "control" time for some reason. Made the rumor to take advantage of him, or simply, as suggested before she created the rumor either way to get anyone with the desire to gain something out of moving the clock do it. Like... Tell 200 person under a tree, there is a treasure, wouldn't they all go there fast and try to get it?? Same as the rumor. Move the clock, control time. Who doesn't want that? And it's not like there is anything to lose. But of course, the "gain" will be "hers" at the end. Now, with Tsukasa in the middle, I don't think things went as she expected? He seemed to be watching over the situation very closely and also taking it into his advantage.

Maybe by that time, neither she nor Tsukasa knew each other. But with each of them working their way and using the situation to their advantage, they were like "enemies" getting in each other's way by trying to get what they want. Kinda like they are now; both want something different but share the same path. Hmm... But the difference is.. in the past they weren't on "good" terms and got on each other's way... while each didn't know about the other one, while now they work "to ge th er". Though, even now, while working together... 'trust' doesn't seem to be a thing they have in each other that much? /She is doing things of her own from behind his back and Tsukasa seems to be hinting that he knows/

At least that's how I see this scene. Seems even now while seemingly working together... They aren't really on "good" terms. One day, they may turn against each other and really show it, if she wanted to get something that actually stands in Tsukasa's way. Kinda exciting to think about. Though, I don't think AidaIro would really take such a path with things, still fun to consider seeing her facing defeat after coming against Tsukasa, right? If it somehow came true... hmm... how fun. Speaking about 'trust' once more... surely she doesn't put much trust in him, she simply goes her way, also, doesn't really care for him as a person. On Tsukasa's side, he doesn't hate her, calls her a "good assistant" for some odd reason (talk about me absolutely not agreeing with Tsukasa on something. kinda nice.) I sometimes wonder, if he really trusts her with his eyes closed... if he does... she wouldn't have said this to Nene

It makes me feel he is keeping a close eye on her? It's funny.. even if they didn't know about each other in the past, they don't really trust eachother now. If Tsukasa has an eye on her all the time... Doesn't that mean he knows all that happened in ch 103? Hmm.... Anyway, I would rather wait and see how much trust they put in each other for real.

Sooo... we have a festival (past & now)... Tsukasa / sakura wants to get something out of a thing happening during it (past & now), they were working separately (past), seemingly together (now), goal in the past (meet Nene? / ??? - ????), in the present (get the yorishiro destroyed/ something to do with Nene & Amane?/ ??? - get the yorishiro destroyed/ ??? ) Hmm...maybe both would get what they want and just move on without a word to each other about their 'personal gains' like the thing with No.6. haha, Tsukasa had no personal gain in No.6's thing while she did, maybe now... it's either both have things or only he does Tsukasa VS kind of Sakura in a past festival. Tsukasa & Sakura seemingly together in the festival after about 50 years. If that isn't funny. If that isn't funny. So, concluding, ''''maybe'''' -in the past- she had a thing to do with the mess that happened in the past festival & wanted to gain something out of it, made a rumor to use Amane/ anyone to do the work for her, failed at the end, -now- is trying to do it again now by making a mess and then get No.7 & Nene destroy No.1's yorishiro and at the same time get that something she failed to get in the past. Lowering expectations- she has nothing to do with the clock topic aside from making the rumor about it (or again it could be that Tsukasa told Nene the fact in a form of a rumor) and was having tea all the time in her room, but she knows about what happened back then and still does until now. The Tsukasa deal... ah... I'm wondering now how the 2 really met and 'when'. Was it back when he was still alive? Or after he became a yorishiro? Both can happen. Not that I'm really that interested to know how they met or to know anything about how they came together, really. I used to be, but not anymore. At least I do care about Tsukasa's side of the story, while she can be whatever.

Though... In some way... I really wonder if she knows he has the red house kami inside of him.. or noticed he is an unnormal boy during his time in the school. Hmm... When she went to him while a yorishiro... She knew fully what she was doing, right? She doesn't enter a game she knows whe will loose. As a girl who has been there since the very start, she studies all her moves before making them. Going to Tsukasa and making the wish to him, then seemingly working for him is a thing she had to do to reach what she wants. It's all planned carefully by her and not randlomly done.

Speaking about her rumours... How powerful is her dominance over them? Hmm... If she is really afraid of Tsukasa not being destroyed...

Couldn't she use a rumour like:

"Did you know? The school 7 mysteries... each of them has a thing called yorishiro. They are .... . It's said one day all of them will be destroyed, not only that, the yorishiro of No. 7, the leader, Will be destroyed with his own hands. And when all of them are destroyed, something huge will happen." Can't she do that? Tsukasa will be the last yorishiro. Betraying him at that stage is child's play. That way.. wouldn't she just control Amane and make him do so? Buttt... Duh.. AidaIro won't do that... The twins thing should be "wholesome " and not "forced" on any of them. And, I don't think rumors really work that much on powerful spernaturals like Hanako. No.2... really wanted what she was doing. Anyway... fun to consider since I think if the rumors would give her full control of the person she want to use, she wouldn't hesitate to use them in the ugliest ways.

Her want is to get out, right? At times... It comes to me that she has the "nowhere " place... Instead of going through all she is going through now... Couldn't she just go to the time she was "forced" to stay in the school and change the past and stop it from happening? A lot easier than what is happening now? But maybe.. the "past" is fixed after all. There is no such thing as changing the past. With Tsukasa... It was kou trying to change it.. but he actually made the present come true. So maybe... The past is set in stone and you can't do nothing about it. While with some miracle, you can change the "future".

Ah, speaking about her... it seems it came to her mind to pretend to be a student now? Looks like during all the +100 years she was having tea in her room, not bothering to deal with the 'outside' or to be a 'student', Hmm... she pretented to be a third year student since when? The same year Nene went to Hanako-kun for the wish? I see. Anyway, I want to keep this thing in mind ~

As well as this little thing <3

Tsukasa... again... show up soon please? I need to see what you have in mind.

[whalesandstars]

Hello, World

Wanderer & Nahida, Platonic [Angst, Hurt/Comfort]

Summary: [Jan 3, 2553 Hello, world I am Kunikuzushi, a robot made by a researcher named Raiden Ei. I am made with the purpose of pursuing eternity by recording the history of the world.] A series of electronic journal entries telling the journey of a robot, of joy and grief, as he met different people and went from being an artificial being to becoming a human-like robot with emotions. ============================== “Rukkha, I’d like to ask, what does it mean to live?” “The answer to that is something you need to find yourself in order for it to be a ‘true answer’.” “...I don’t understand.” “You will someday.”

Jan 3, 2553

Hello, world

I am Kunikuzushi, a robot made by a researcher named Raiden Ei. I am made with the purpose of pursuing eternity by preserving the history of the world. Following the task I have been given, I will proceed in recording events in this electronic journal.

Log 1:

On December 31, 2033, a war broke out between the inhabitants of a planet called Teyvat and those from Celestia, a galaxy with the coordinates 45.9703, -118.2472.

As an AI made at the time after the war, I am not able to retrieve earlier records aside from what my creator has given me. But here is the data stored in my database:

“The old Teyvat was described as a bountiful planet with beautiful landscapes and was composed of mountains, valleys, rivers, oceans, deserts, and underground caves. Its citizens were capable of wielding seven elements namely: anemo, geo, electro, dendro, hydro, pyro, and cryo. This unique ability was utilized to maximize an individual’s potential through amplifiers called visions, which was an ancient technology produced by Celestia and regulated by the leader presiding over each element called archons.”

[Searching database for ‘Celestia’ and ‘Celestial War’]

[Match found]

[Compiling search results]

Celestia oversees the progress of nations and vision holders in Teyvat, as well as enforcing order throughout the land. Teyvat and Celestia co-existed until a dispute and the destruction of a nation called Khaenri’ah caused the Celestial War that killed millions from both sides. Celestia retreated and surrendered control over Teyvat. However, the planet sustained extensive damage and its iconic landscapes were turned into barren wastelands. Survivors grouped together and created camps from ruined cities, scavenged items for daily necessities such as food and clothes, and fought monsters that remained in the land.

Log 2:

A decade after the war, a few cities, considered as the last bastions of humanity, thrived in terms of technological advancements, and a prosperous Teyvat emerged after a decade. My creator, Raiden Ei, is from a nation named Inazuma. She is a descendant of an archon and well-known researcher who created me in the image of her sister who died saving her from a monster ambush. My creator aimed to preserve her memories of her and of the past, creating an ‘eternity’ by recording history.

On the third of January 2553, Raiden Ei completed her 99th prototype, a robot which she named Kunikuzushi.

September 16, 2554

Log 1:

Raiden Ei passed away peacefully in her sleep. I am incapable of stating the cause of her death for she told me not to record it, but she did let me save this message in my memory:

“Go out and see the world with your eyes, record your own story, and live our life how you want it to be.”

As per her request, I buried my creator’s remains beside the Great Sakura Tree, where her sister also laid. As I stared at the two graves next to each other, I experienced a minor malfunction. There was something wet on my face and my optical units went blurry as I walked away from the tree.

September 17, 2554

I have broken down my creator’s final words in three primary tasks and aligned them to my original purpose.

Task 1: Wander around the world

Task 2: Record events in an electronic journal

Task 3: Live

The third task remains obscure. As an artificial intelligence, I am not alive and incapable of living. Sub-task has been created for this, which is to ‘understand what living means’.

To fulfill all these, I left the Shakkei research facility and commenced my goal of traveling around the world starting by going to the areas beyond Inazuma City.

September 20, 2554

I have arrived in an island named Tatarasuna where the supplies of Crystal Marrows, a valuable source of energy for Inazuma, are mined. This is also where most weapons are forged through the knowledge of the last surviving blacksmiths who aim to preserve their legacy by teaching youths about the craft.

>>Accessing system command log

>> Subtasks created

Task 1: Observe the humans of Tatarasuna and gather intel on how they live

Progress: 0%

Task 2: Learn blacksmithing

Progress 0%

The humans welcomed me without noticing that I am a robot. My creator has taught me basic human functions I needed to know so I am able to blend well with the people in that island. According to my processor’s calculations, the probability of me progressing with my third primary task will increase if I stayed here, so I accepted the humans’ offer for accommodation.

October 20, 2554

Log 1:

[Generating monthly report…]

[Running task check…]

[2 active subtasks found]

       > Task 1: 23% completed

        > Task 2: 75% completed

One month has passed. I am still living with the humans of Tatarasuna. I have stored information about the citizens: their name, eye and hair color, facial features, height, occupation, and personality. Those who have shared their goals have also been recorded.

[Katsuragi: To forge a blade that will surpass the quality of his grandfather’s work

Nagamasa: To see a peaceful and prosperous Tatarasuna, to clear the reputation of his adoptive mother.

Niwa: to continue Isshin Art and be a good father.

A sick child with no name: to be healthier and explore the world.]

Log 2:

Today, I have forged my very first blade. I expressed my inability to create a perfect blade (due to insufficient data) but Niwa insisted that it does not have to be perfect. Listing it down as a secondary command, I did the task and mimicked the simple knife on a nearby shelf; a plain blade attached to a wooden handle. I showed it to Niwa, who smiled and ruffled my synthetic hair while commending my work. According to my database, he seems to be displaying a human emotion called happiness. He also explicitly said that he is proud of me.

I do not understand the implications of his words but replied with “thank you” as per protocol whenever I received a positive feedback. A malfunction occurred again. My lips smiled without direct command from my processor. I ran a diagnostic but no error has been detected.

November 30, 2554

The sick child kept following me. He greets me in the morning and walks with me as I picked lavender melons for him and the pregnant wife of Niwa. He also asked me to teach him how to read and write while we ate lunch on a field 75 steps away from the workshop.

He is full of energy despite having an illness. He will flash a toothy grin at me whenever he greets me in front of my small house. He looked confused when I used a research analysis as an example for our reading sessions and seemed to be happy after I changed my lesson materials into children’s stories. He also jumped up and down while smiling once I gave him a handmade doll, which I asked one of the villagers to teach me how to craft. Although he easily gets tired, he still insists on catching crystalflies with me before the sun sets.

December 30, 2554

The child moved into my house. He also started calling me brother and us as family. I said that we cannot be brothers for we are not related but he explained that you do not have to be biologically connected to be a family and that all that matters is that you love and care for each other. Such words are foreign concept to me so I asked him what love and care meant. He replied that it is when you feel comfortable with them and that you do not want to see them sad. You always want them to be happy.

>>System command to compare parameters with the received information

>>Checking…

[Parameters matched]

I told him he is family to me too.

The people of Tatarasuna as well.

March 12, 2555

The boy died. I have tried searching for a cure but his health deteriorated too fast during the winter season.

Earlier today, I was picking lavender melons and some herbs to try and create a nutritious soup but when I came back to our house, I found him on the floor. I shook him to wake him up but he did not. It was the same with his creator. He has no pulse. He was not breathing. I accessed the first aid module in me and tried reviving him but soon, people came through the door I forgot to close and told me to stop. He was gone, they said. They were right.

While they were taking him away, I checked my subtasks. One of them stood out.

Task: Watch the sakura trees bloom this coming spring with the boy

I looked at the budding flowers on the branches outside the window as the task dissolved away.

March 19, 2555

7 days have passed since the boy died. I now stand in front of his grave, under the shade of a sakura tree whose flowers are just days away from blooming, holding a small bouquet of flowers the same way I did after my mother creator died. I placed the flowers on the tombstone and walked away.

I went through my usual routine before the boy lived with me, which involves waking up from rest mode, picking fruits, helping with forging, and mining Crystal Marrows. From my memory logs, I can confirm that I am doing the right tasks and yet people kept asking me how I felt or if I needed a break. This confused me. First, I have no need to take breaks because my synthetic body gives me more stamina compared to living beings. Second, I am not capable of feeling because I am not human.

Yes…I am not supposed to feel anything.

But why is there a weird sensation in his chest and a sting in his optical units?

I logged the times this occurred and based on my records, this happens when I wake up in the morning, when I pass by the places I usually go to with the boy, when I visit his grave, and before I sleep at night. I ran diagnostics daily but no anomaly has been detected. Maybe my diagnostic tool is the one having an error…

…because how cannot detect the cause of this ache and the excess moisture on my eyes.

June 6, 2555

[Request for subtasks log]

[Generating…]

Task 1: Observe the humans of Tatarasuna and gather intel on how they live

             Progress: 100%

Task 2: Learn blacksmithing

             Progress: 100%

I have completed my subtasks in this island despite the persistence of the anomaly in me.

The people of Tatarasuna lived a simple life yet they looked happy. Concluding from the information I have gathered, it seems that “living” involves two important factors.

You need to have a family or someone you care about.

You do not need to have a lot of mora or material possessions but you need to find something that makes you happy.

All these are abstract and subjective things I have yet to fully understand.

>>Analyzing options to further investigate these concepts…

>> Analysis done.

Results:

          Option 1: Continue observing the people of Tatarasuna

          Option 2: Search other places for cross analysis of information

>>Selecting Option 2

>>Prioritization set to Option 2

This will align with my main task of wandering around the world and recording events. My mother once said that different cities and nations have different cultures and values. If I visit other places, I will be able to study other kinds of humans and their way of life.

June 7, 2555

I told Niwa and the others about my plan to leave Tatarasuna and travel around the world. They expressed concern over my wellbeing but eventually agreed. They spoke about missing me and asked to stay for a week before I depart for my next destination.

Strange. The thought of leaving them gave me a weird sensation.

June 13, 2555

One day before I am scheduled to leave Tatarasuna. It is sunny as usual and I am able to continue my daily routine. I was in the middle of completing a task of delivering newly made clothes to the outskirts of the village when an explosion happened on the other side of the mountain.

August 19, 2555

I was not able to leave Tatarasuna.

Another war broke out.

An organization, The Fatui, who turned out to be allied with Celestia commenced a plan to recapture Teyvat and take revenge for what happened in the Celestial War. Reorganizing my tasks and prioritization, I stayed in Tatarasuna to help Nagamasa come up with a plan to defend the island and its people. Combat functions were not specifically installed in me but I was able to learn through the soldiers who aided the island and from the retired ones, as well as the books I read before in my mother’s library. I helped in forging blades when the situation was calmer and made a weapon for myself; a sharper and more lethal version of the one I used for my sword dance with Niwa.

We were able to stave off the invaders and defeat the monsters who attacked us.

November 11, 2555

We were ambushed in the middle of the night. A large troop came and was led by a Fatui harbinger; a man with blue hair whose face was covered by a mask and wields a newer version of a vision, a delusion. The dead body of the front line’s defense general, Nagamasa. Niwa instructed me to save as many people as I could but before I could run to follow his command, the harbinger found us. We were overpowered.

I am the only one left standing after Niwa, who was severely injured, is thrown to the side by the harbinger. The damage I sustained during the battle exposed my broken components, revealing that I am not human.

Something ached in my chest again after realizing that my lie has been exposed.

I do not want Niwa to hate me.

Niwa is surprised but he told me that he still views me as family despite me being not human and not telling the truth to him.

I smiled.

The harbinger just laughed at us and mocked us for playing house with a mere object.

Was that what I simply am?

An object?

Yes, I am an object but I will fulfill the tasks I was given promise I made.

>>Creating urgent tasks

>>Tasks created manually

     Task 1: Defend Tatarasuna

     Task 2: Protect my family

I fought with the harbinger despite not being a combat-oriented unit. I calculated my every move and searched for a way to outwit the enemy but the odds of winning was only 0.03%. By the time dawn was approaching, a red warning was already flashing at the side of my vision.

WARNING: COMPONENTS COMPROMISED

DAMAGE SUSTAINED: 85%

I can barely move and static is beginning to fill my vision as my knees fall to the ground, the purple liquid equivalent to a human’s blood dripping down my exposed and severed wires and from my head down to my eyes, obscuring the warning on my visuals. I wiped the dampness away and looked up to see the harbinger lunge at me…

…only for Niwa to shield me from the blow.

Purple and red mixed together.

Genuine and synthetic eyes met.

“Why?” I asked.

“You’re human. You’re part of our family. Remember that.”

He pushed me down a low cliff, sending me falling to the dark sea.

The last thing I saw is the harbinger piercing Niwa’s chest and Tatarasuna burning to the ground before I plunged into the cold water of the Inazuman sea.

WARNING

SYSTEM ERROR

DAMAGE CRITICAL

TRYING TO REBOOT…

REBOOTING FAILED.

ENTERING FORCED SLEEP MODE–

?? ???, ???

SYSTEM REPAIR INITIATED

?? ???, ???

VITAL COMPONENTS REPAIRED

?? ???, ???

REPAIR COMPLETE

SYSTEM FILES RECOVERED

REBOOT COMMAND STARTED

SYSTEM CHECK…

              > Processor: OK

              > Motor Function: OK

              > Memory Logs: OK

              > ???: OK

READY FOR REBOOT

REBOOTING…

Hello, world

I am Kunikuzushi, a robot made by a researcher named Raiden Ei. I am made with the purpose of pursuing eternity by preserving the history of the world.

Task logs detected:

Ongoing tasks:

> Raiden Ei’s wish:

          Task 1: Wander around the world

          Task 2: Record each moment and events on an electric journal

          Task 3: Live

Other tasks:

          > [Deleted] Task: Watch the sakura trees bloom this coming spring with the boy

          > [Failed] Defend Tatarasuna and protect my family

I opened my eyes expecting to see a village in flames but instead, what I can see is a small room filled with soft green light.

> Searching database for location matches…

No result found

I sat up from the soft mattress beneath me, making the white blanket fall down to my lap. I blinked before I let my optical units scan my fingers, hands, arms, and legs, searching for any trace of damage but found none except for the faint scars that formed on my artificial skin. Looking around the place, I recognized some common items humans usually use such as a table, closet, cup, and a few traditional paper books. Just when I was about to get up to inspect more of my surroundings, the door swung open.

A woman clothed in a long white dress appeared from the doorway, her green eyes, which matched the highlights on her hair that runs up to the back of her knees, are fixed on me. She smiled at me. She seems happy to see me. She said that she has been waiting a long time for me to wake up after she rescued me from the shore and repaired me.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

September 14, 2558

I have been asleep for 3 years after I fell from the cliff. The war has ended and although the connection from Celestia has been permanently severed, 80% of Teyvat has been destroyed.

The woman’s name is Rukkhadevata but we agreed that I will call her Rukkha and she will address me as Kuni.

Profile information:

Name: Rukkhadevata

Nation: Sumeru

Age: 200

Bio: (more information needed)

[Transcript audio record]

“I’m an archon guarding Sumeru…or what’s left of it. Do you know what an archon is?”

“According to my database, archons are revered to by the Old Teyvat as gods. They are capable of wielding elements and have been crucial to the survival of humanity during the first war. However, all of them died during the Celestial War.”

“Yet here I am, claiming to be one.” A giggle, “I can’t blame you for looking so surprised.” “Suprised? As an artificial being, I am not capable of such emotions.”

“And yet you feel. I saw your memory logs. Sorry for viewing them without permission. I need to check them to see if there is anything left damaged.”

“No need for an apology. Those files are not strictly confidential. Going back to what you said earlier, I would like to inquire more about it.”

“Sure. Let me ask you a question first. If given the circumstance that a casualty is unavoidable, if you have to pick between a single sickly old person and a group of young adults, who would you pick to save and why?”

“Considering life expectancy and being capable of helping in the restoration of Teyvat, it will be more beneficial to save the young adults.”

“I see. How about between the sickly child who lived with you and a group of healthy knights?”

“I…”

“You hesitated. By logical calculations, it will be wise to save the knights but you care about the boy more than a bunch of strangers. Care is a mix of love for a person and the fear of losing them. Both are emotions, and to have emotions is to be human.”

“But I cannot be a human. I am not an organic being.”

“True. You have wires instead of veins and you bleed purple instead of red. By physical attributes, you can never be classified as a human. But being a human is not having flesh and bone alone. To be human is to have humanity and that means having empathy and compassion. Itis to smile when you see the people you care about happy and in grieving when they die. The ache you felt when the boy died, that is grief.”

“...I see.”

“Kuni?”

“Yes?”

“You may not have a heart that beats but you have a soul that’s capable of feeling.”

September 15, 2558

Rukkha told me how she came to be. She was a genuine archon who was born when her predecessor, the original deity of Sumeru, had left a piece of her soul before she sacrificed herself for her people and died. However, the reincarnation created a new and separate entity and her abilities were reduced to only being able to make flowers bloom. She was locked away as a source of research, which was why it was presumed that all archons had perished, and was only freed during the eruption of the second war, the one started by the Fatui, after her nation was left ruined.

Today, Rukkha led me in front of an enormous tree named Irminsul and brought me inside its core, which was another tree but with blue inorganic-looking branches. She told me that it records the history of Teyvat. All information about people, monsters, and even robots, as well as historic events were all compiled in its leaves. But right now, after the last war that left Teyvat in ruins once more, all the tree’s leaves where all recordings were stored, had been lost. I can supply a tiny portion of my own records but we will need more to fully restore it.

[Transcript audio]

“That’s why I’ve been waiting for you, Kuni. When I was imprisoned, they asked me to connect with Irminsul. I wasn’t strong enough to establish a strong and long connection at that time but I managed to read one leaf. I saw the one capable of working with me in restoring the lost records…and someone who will be my friend. You.”

December 28, 2558

We left on a journey to restore Irminsul. Teyvat has been severely damaged, almost the same way described in my database during the aftermath of the first war, leaving us traveling through fallen cities and a handful of humans. With Rukkha’s ability combined with mine, we’re able to restore the projections of memories from different locations and we experienced them secondhand.

Jan 3, 2558

Rukkha made a small cake made with nuts as a birthday present for me. We ate it as she talked about the stars, seas, and mountains with excitement, which I think is the reason why the pastry tasted better.

After all, even the simplest of food can taste like luxury when with a friend.

June 10, 2558

The story of humans is a cycle of love and loss, of happiness and sorrow, of death and birth. As we explored all around Teyvat collecting memories, as Rukkha told me and showed me a wide range of emotions, I realized that life is bittersweet yet that made it beautiful. Even though flowers sprout in spring and fully bloom in summer then wilt in autumn and wither by winter, new ones are born in the next cycle of spring. Even though the sky lights up and sunrise becomes bright at noon, dims in the afternoon, and goes dark at night, it is still a masterpiece because it is able to paint different colors. Even though the lives of humans are fragile and are bound to end, just like how Rukkha viewed it, I find it beautiful.

[Transcription audio]

“Rukkha, I’d like to ask, what does it mean to live?”

“The answer to that is something you need to find yourself in order for it to be a ‘true answer’.”

“...I don’t understand.”

“You will someday.”

July 9, 2558

I should have noticed it sooner. When she mentioned that she saw a glimpse of me from the future, I should have realized it. Irminsul was only supposed to be recording the past and the present, not the future.

She has accessed the Forbidden Knowledge.

Apparently, the sages of Sumeru forced her to unlock pieces of information related to Forbidden Knowledge and now, she is suffering for things she never wanted. I feel agony. I feel rage towards those scholars who treated her like a tool and a stepping stone for their vain pursuit of knowledge.

It’s unfair. All she wants is to freely explore the world beyond her prison and to live like a normal human, yet she has been robbed of it. Now, she is dying because of Eleazar, which has no cure. She is kind, too kind. What has she done to deserve this kind of fate? It’s unfair.

I…I’m afraid. I don’t want her to die. I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want to grieve again for another family that I found.

Please…not again.

August 19, 2558

She smiles. Even as the black scales are eating away her body, even as the pain tormented her while I carried her on my back during our journey, she smiled.

October 27, 2558

She still smiles. As I cradled her in my arms in front of Irminsul, she was still smiling the same way she did when I first met her, when she tasted lavender melon, when she ran across a field chasing after a butterfly, and as she played on the water by the shore. Even though my chest feels like it’s being torn to shreds and tears fall from my eyes like a waterfall flowing towards the sea, she smiles. The corner of her lips are curled upward as she told me how human I’ve become and how happy she is to have met me; her companion in her journey to explore the world, a friend, a family.

She still smiles as she hands me one last gift before her eyes slid close.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Thank you.” I wrapped my arms around her.

May 17, 2568

Ten years have passed since Rukkha died. The ache was still there and I still see the ghosts of her smile and the journey we had as I continued my wandering across the world with her last gift tucked in my coat’s pocket.

Teyvat has rebuilt itself from the ashes of war even though it was still far from its former glory. People were starting to move on with their lives and I, too, had begun walking forward from grief and was currently traveling as a wandering historian who was sharing and recording the events in this planet while guarding Irminsul.

Life was not perfect, but it was better.

October 27, 2568

Rukkha’s last gift is a seed. Over time, it became a bud, growing little by little each day, until finally turned into a little twig. The tiny branch is now glowing and I am sitting beside it, waiting like it is an egg about to hatch.

What does it mean to live?

My mother wanted me to discover that.

I once asked Rukkha that question.

Now I understand what she meant by needing to find my own answer for it to become a true answer.

For a robot, to live is an impossible notion.

For a synthetic but human-like being, it is to love despite the inevitable loss. It is to admire the stars even though they will all disappear when morning comes. It is to welcome the warmth of having a family even though the fire will be extinguished by the cold snow of winter. It is to travel and see the world, to know the experiences and emotions that make humans laugh and cry, to treasure every moment, and to weave the story of others and yours into a colorful tapestry.

To live is to find your own answer,

And just like how the people of Tatarasuna and Rukkha guided him, he would do the same for this new life that was born.

“A name is life’s first gift and I’ll give it to you. From now on, your name will be Nahida.”

Jan 3, 2569

Hello, world

I am Kunikuzushi, a human-like robot with emotions, ready to record a new era with this little hand holding mine.

[cherryxxmoon]

– 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠

Rating: T Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke With the Uchiha, Sakura had grown up. After the bloody battle in which her grandfather and father had lost their lives and the Haruno clan had met its end, what at the time was only a little girl of not even six years old was welcomed within the castle walls as a guest, as a hostage.

Initially it had been necessary to prevent those still loyal to the Haruno from taking her into custody and thus claiming rights to the territories which had once belonged to the clan and that, following defeat, had been annexed by the Uchiha.

Then, as the years passed whatever semblance of influence her name might still have had had waned, largely due to the swift and steep rise of the Uchiha clan, which could now boast control of ten of the largest provinces in the entire country, the only ones able to rival against the current ruling family.

She was no longer a valuable hostage, but despite this she had continued to live in the castle, actively participating in everything related to the clan but never really being a part of it. Ostracized and estranged, Sakura had longed to be able to feel that she belonged to something, that she was not a single particle of something which now no longer existed, floating in nothingness, with no ties, no identity.

The possibility of being welcomed and accepted, rather than simply tolerated, had manifested itself when she had shown marked skills in combat and, with them, a desire to be able to learn, the latter ignited initially by the futile and childish motivations of a little girl eager not to lose her playmate once she reached the age when their gender difference would inevitably lead them to entertain themselves with distinctly opposite activities.

When one is a child, clans, territories, politics and power do not matter. She and Sasuke were not members of what had once been enemy clans. Sakura was not his prisoner. Sasuke did not see her as a means to be used. They were just kids, peers who lived in the same castle and therefore had naturally sought each other out and united, in the most spontaneous way possible.

"Why did you summon me?" The dark-haired was behind her back, thus purposefully choosing not to show her his figure, his face. Sakura was gracefully seated on the floor, knees bent and sitting composedly on her heels. Her gaze was turned before her.

"I heard about the request you made," Sasuke explained, although those words contained no real elucidation.

It was only natural the news would quickly reach his ears. The choice to train as a warrior naturally had implications, namely that those skills of hers would sooner or later be made available to the clan. Not that Sakura had anything against this. To fight and die for something would have meant being a part of it, feeling finally integrated, respected.

And she had done so by demonstrating great prowess in her exploits, distinguishing herself on more than one occasion on the battlefield, proving herself several times essential to achieving victory. This had secured her a certain fame, as well as the favor of Madara Uchiha, the current head of the clan. Probably having grown up in the castle had been essential to that last point, for the man's policy had roots precisely in the importance of relying on what was near and known, distrusting instead the rest. Sakura was not an Uchiha by name or blood, but alienated from what was outside the clan she had grown up with those precepts, so harpooned by the only reality she knew that she became loyal to the core. The affection accrued for certain family members, Sasuke especially, had only fostered the entrenchment of what would arose in any case, something which obviously those who ruled the clan could take advantage of.

"That doesn't answer my question, though," Sakura retorted, clenching her fists against her knees. The past few months had not been particularly easy. Not only were they in the midst of a siege which, if successfully ended, would guarantee them a crushing and essential victory, the annexation of new territory, and a new step toward total supremacy, but the dark-haired's behavior was proving unpleasant and confused.

It seemed almost as if the closer Sakura came to what she had been craving since childhood, the chance to have her own identity, the more Sasuke decided to distance himself from her, perhaps even unknowingly. That was why she had requested of Madara Uchiha that her position be changed, that she could leave the siege to join the army to the west, assembled for battle. And that was why being summoned by the dark-haired had taken her by surprise.

"You cannot make these kinds of decisions without consulting with me." At his words, Sakura barely tilted her head sideways, not sufficient to make out even part of his figure, but enough to show she was listening to him and that what she was hearing did not please her at all. "I'm in charge of this army. Not you."

"I never questioned this." She could not understand what the animosity shown by Sasuke stemmed from, when in the past they had been so close. It was a painful detachment but probably only for her. She had been extremely happy when with her small contingent she had been chosen to add to the troops under the dark-haired's command. The intimacy they had would have made the collaboration smooth and flowing. Or at least that was what she had believed and hoped. The reality of things was turning out to be quite different.

"You did that, bypassing me to address your foolish request directly to Madara." This was not a choice he could make without confronting the clan leader, so why would she let Sasuke intercede when she herself could have presented her proposal to the man? "He refused," the dark-haired then concluded, with what seemed to her to be a hint of satisfaction.

"Why?" Wasn't it more essential for the bulk of the forces to move into the open field, with a battle coming, than to stay there and take part in a siege whose outcome was now a foregone conclusion? Sakura was a skilled warrior, not to mention that her contingent could boast just under three thousand men; no small addition which could have sealed the fate of the battle.

"Because I told him it’s necessary for you to remain here," Sasuke explained, with the naturalness and resolve of one who was convinced of his words, of one who was certain he was acting in the right.

"Why, Sasuke?" asked Sakura again, unable to appear indifferent and composed, unable to prevent perplexity and annoyance from oozing through her words, from imbuing her tone of voice. "The siege is now in its last throes. You have already won, you don't need me here."

"That is not for you to decide. You are not here to strategize, to determine how and where to deploy warriors. You are here to fight." It almost seemed as if Sasuke was deliberately trying to provoke her, to make her lose her temper to the point of exploding.

"There is nothing to fight here," she pointed out to him, still keeping her fists clenched. It was not easy to remain completely still when her mood was altered. She longed to move, to give vent to her frustration with gestures rather than flaunt stiffness and composure.

"I don't care about your opinion. The decision is made and irreversible," Sasuke sanctioned, as lapidary as he was detached, really like a general intent on giving orders to one of his subordinates and not even one of valor, one to be preserved, but as if she were a soldier of the lowest possible rank.

"Why are you doing this, Sasuke? What have I done to you?" As was to be expected, Sakura was unable to maintain the detachment which with gestures the dark-haired himself had demanded, almost as if their bond was worthless, as if it had never existed. It was impossible for her, just as it was inconceivable to let him speak to her like that without asking for an explanation, to allow their relationship to slip away without confronting him before giving up.

"You overestimate yourself if you think there is something personal behind my decision. It's pure military strategy." At that point, not blurting out completely for the pink-haired was unimaginable. In fact, heedless of manners, composure and etiquette, Sakura got to her feet, turning to face the man standing behind her.

"Is that why you won't even look me in the face while talking to me?" Some of her anger and resentment faded as she found herself mirrored in those familiar dark eyes. Only for a few moments, however, as her anguish easily regained the upper hand when Sakura discerned anything but indifference in them, as if he felt nothing at all.

"I don't need to look at your face to give you orders. We are not equals. I ask and you obey." It seemed to her that she was looking and listening to a complete stranger, someone she was unable to recognize. That was not the Sasuke with whom she had grown up, with whom she had shared childhood and youth, joys and sorrows, frivolities and ideologies. That was not the Sasuke who would sneak into her room on stormy nights to hold the hand of the little girl terrified of painful memories resurfacing. He was not the Sasuke who had planted a cherry tree for her in the castle gardens so the pink of the petals might no longer make her feel so unique as to be an outsider. He was not the Sasuke who, on the evening before their first battle, had given Sakura her naginata as a gift together with her first kiss, with the promise that the next day they would see each other and find each other again, unharmed and safe. The Sasuke with whom she had been madly in love seemed to have vanished. In those cold, detached eyes there was not even a hint of him.

"What happened to you?" A question addressed more to herself than to the dark-haired and one she certainly did not expect him to answer. In fact, Sakura merely lowered her gaze, her fists still clenched in anger, but this time employing all her strength to keep the tears from streaking her face.

"I just understood the way of our world. It's time you began to do so too, Sakura," he pronounced her name in a way too familiar, too intimate; a mistake he evidently realized himself. The young pink-haired lifted her gaze abruptly, managing to catch just in time the slight lapse Sasuke had unintentionally fallen victim to and was quickly recovering from.

"What is this supposed to mean?" She decided that perhaps pressing the issue might lead him to surrender completely, to return to expressing himself to her as he had once done, intimately and naturally, aware that no one would be able to understand him, and perhaps hearten him, more than Sakura.

"I have finished with you. You can go," Sasuke sanctioned, again shrugging off the indifference he had displayed up to that moment, quickly leaving behind that semblance of humanity he had demonstrated, as if it had never happened.

"You may force me to stay, Sasuke, but you cannot impose me to stay away from you, to stop asking you for explanations. If you won't talk to me, if you won't even look at me, if you no longer have an ounce of respect for me, why don't you just let me go? Free yourself of my tedious presence and free me of what you have become." So that she could at least treasure what had been, keep that precious memory in her heart, without being corrupted by coldness, indifference and a resentment which she never thought could ever arise between them.

"I can't," the dark-haired concluded, frowning and curving his lips downward, evidently as vexed with himself as he was with her. "So stop making things harder and grow up."

"Am I the one who needs to grow up, between us? Or perhaps is the one who doesn't even have the courage to speak plainly to me, preferring to hide behind his rank, making a shield of his name and position to treat me as just another servant, as if that could erase—"

"What do you know about courage, Sakura?" he asked her, approaching her with a gesture so quick that she could barely feel the air shift, cupping her face between the fingers of his right hand, voluntarily trapping her jade irises with his own. "It is so much easier to be the one standing there judging and criticizing, heedless of what is going on around. It’s the other who has the hard choice. It’s the other who must have the courage to act for the best of both."

Sakura was taken aback not only by the swiftness with which he had reached her or the sudden closeness of their bodies, but also and especially by his words, which were as enigmatic in meaning as they were explicit. Grow up, he had just told her. And for Sasuke, growing up meant accepting the reality of the world in which they lived, where rules and precepts trumped instincts and feelings, where the continual pursuit of power, where honoring one's clan, was all that required their efforts, all that they had to vow their existence to.

Sakura had always been convinced she was ready for it, that it was all she wanted, that she needed nothing more than to feel she could belong to something, that her own efforts could prove useful to someone, that her worthiness, her existence as an individual, would be recognized.

"That is not courage," she whispered to him, bringing her hands to his chest, tightening her fingers around the fine fabric of his dark kosode. "It's resignation."

Almost as if moved by some unknown force which guided his gestures more than reason did, the dark-haired leaned forward a few inches, close enough to brush her face with his warm breath. Sakura closed her eyes, begging her body and soul not to delude itself with shivers of anticipation of something the man before her, the Sasuke he had become, could not and wouldnot grant.

"Resign yourself, too, then." And immediately after uttering those words, that sentence, Sasuke turned away from her, again sanctioning distance, condemning her to that sense of emptiness, to the coldness which his reticence inflicted on her entire figure, almost as if without the warmth the dark-haired could offer her, her blood refused to circulate.

Abandoned and alone, Sakura watched him walk away, distancing himself with body and heart, determined to continue according to what he had stubbornly imposed on himself and what he was selfishly forcing on her, pretending it was a last act of love and not simply the cowardice of a man unable to demand what he most viscerally desired.

"I will," the pink-haired assured him, whose little newfound resolve could not at all overpower and conceal her being hurt, upset, and anguished not only for herself, for the pain she was the one to feel, but also for the torment Sasuke was inflicting on himself, shouldering the burden he believed he had to bear and do so alone, without her. "If you will let me leave."

Sasuke suddenly stopped, yet continued to have his back to her. He was willing to distance himself from Sakura, to treat her with detachment and sufficiency, but he was equally not ready to deprive himself of her completely. Keeping her there within his grasp, yet without really seeking her out. To satisfy at least part of his innermost needs, even at the cost of inflicting on her the pain which having him there without really having him was causing her. And if Sasuke had chosen that path, Sakura would force him to walk it all the way, without shortcuts, without loopholes, without even the slightest smear.

"Do as you wish," the dark-haired granted her, after moments of silence, long instants of hesitation and doubt. She had naively hoped he would retrace his steps, that the clean and final cut was too much even for him, and that he would therefore choose to end the bosh. Instead, Sasuke had not wavered, sanctioning his decision by walking away and leaving her alone in that room, just as she would be from then on.

---

Sakura never imagined that, sooner or later, she would find herself seated at a war council, as a silent but welcome guest of a feudal lord. Not that she did not possess the merits, but whatever others might say, Sakura was not a fool and was not completely unaware of what an unpleasant reality the world she lived in was.

She was a woman. She was a skilled warrior, sure, a convenient and useful addition to one's army, but that was not enough to make her in the eyes of the men who daily surrounded her an equal to them. In fact, seated at the same table, they looked at her with suspicion, some even outraged at having to share that space with her, almost as if their lord was mocking them.

Seated at the head of the table, Madara Uchiha seemed to be untouched, as if the constant stares directed at him did not bother him in the least. Knowing him, that must really have been the case. He had never allowed the judgment of others to affect the way he ruled, following his own line, placing his decisions above those of anyone else. Whether others agreed or disagreed was irrelevant when it was his word which was absolute.

It was different for Sakura. She was unable to pretend the looks she received did not upset her. She felt tremendously out of place there and even found herself wishing the Uchiha clan leader had never summoned her.

They had been back in Otogakure no Sato for a little over a month, after their success against the combined forces of Senju and Uzumaki at the Battle of Amegakure no Sato, which had allowed the Uchiha to annex the area into their domains. The latter's power continued to grow by leaps and bounds, so it was not implausible to assume they would soon be able to oust the current ruling family, thus sanctioning the end of that war with the beginning of a new era.

"I propose the next move is to move directly on Hi no Kuni. After the resounding defeat, the Senju will have no way to defend themselves."

"I think we should first reorganize our forces. Now that we are certain we have the upper hand, we should not act rashly. The slightest mistake could be fatal to us."

"What mistake? Victory is now in our grasp! We must strike fast and hard, showing no mercy to the enemy! Only in this way will we ensure in the future no one will dare to face us."

Sakura naturally remained silent, listening to the exchange between the senior officers of the Uchiha army. Although she had been invited to participate, she was certain her own opinion should not be expressed and that certainly no one would be willing to listen.

Even Madara had chosen to tacitly assimilate the words of the other men present, expressionless and motionless, almost as if to give the idea he was not even present in the room. Yet the aura of authority emanating was impossible to ignore. It exuded from every fiber of his imposing and menacing figure, reaching out without fail to all present, and even the most massive men were intimidated by it, and no one dared to seek his gaze, even to seek approval.

"The Senju are not to be underestimated. How do you think they came to be the ruling family, despite all the insurrections of the last century?"

"Even they cannot hope to hold out any longer, not after—"

"I plan to seal a truce with the Senju." Everyone fell silent, hushed by the rumbling voice of the man seated at the head of the table. They appeared like frightened children, but that was before the implications of Madara's statement hit them, fostering astonishment and surprise.

"A truce— my lord?" Only one of them had the courage to ask, uncertain and hesitant. Perhaps he thought he had guessed wrongly, for there was nothing more unexpected than such a decision. It had been about four years since the conflict with the Senju had been going on, with occasional moments of respite, but with tempers always flaring. And the Uchiha had never been able to claim such a clear and overwhelming advantage as they did at that moment. An armistice was indeed unthinkable.

"I have already established contact with Hashirama. One of their representatives will be here in a few weeks," the clan leader continued, untouched by the looks of sheer bewilderment the men present ventured to reserve for him, as if their lord had been replaced by a mythological creature.

"But with the successful siege of Tetsu no Kuni there will be twelve provinces under our control. By now it can be said that the nation is ours—"

Sakura barely flinched from her position, fortunately without attracting anyone's gaze, without the witnesses being able to catch her discomfort, too caught up in the astonishment caused by that new twist. The end of the siege not only sanctioned a victory on the part of the Uchiha but also the imminent return of the troops stationed up to that moment near Tetsu no Kuni, that is, the contingent of the army that was led by Sasuke.

Their last discussion had been final and had sanctioned a definitive and irreversible parting of ways. They had never spoken again, and Sakura had left the siege to join the rest of the army and take part in the battle of Amegakure no Sato. A void which not even the time passed had been able to fill. Having now the knowledge what had been would never return, she had mistakenly believed that resigning herself would be easier. Instead, just evoking even the slightest memory of him was capable of inflicting a stabbing pain in her chest, more agonizing than any wound suffered on the battlefield.

Sakura was certain, however, that this would even be amplified once she and Sasuke found themselves in the same castle again. In those months apart, the dark-haired had been a constant thought, but not having him constantly nearby could be considered something of a palliative. With his presence everything would have been more complicated. Close and yet distant, Sakura would have to suppress the desire and need to make up for that imposed distance and still seek him out.

"It is," conceded Madara, still motionless and inscrutable, his arms joined to his chest. "That is why Hashirama has sought a truce, an agreement which will turn almost entirely in our favor."

If the right terms for a peace had been reached, Sakura was of the opinion it was right to pursue it, rather than to continue in a bloody conflict, suffering more loss of precious lives, only out of pride and desire to establish a hegemony based on terror.

"The Senju have never compromised so far and have never needed to seek alliances. It has always been others who have begged them for protection. What would be different this time? They may be in trouble, but they remain the ruling family. They have their honor. To grant peace without anything in return would undermine their dignity. It would be preferable to losing on the battlefield to this." Fugaku Uchiha was a man of few words, just like his son, so that he had expressed his thoughts with such minuteness and in such detail was unusual. So was the look, so quick as to appear unnoticed by anyone, which he reserved for her, before refocusing his attention on what was not only his lord but also his brother-in-law.

"An extremely correct analysis, Fugaku. However, not flawless. It just so happened in the past it was the Senju themselves who sought an alliance, and to this day the Uzumaki are the only ones who enjoy every privilege that being considered equal to the ruling family grants them."

"That was a single case. The only way the Senju use to establish that kind of bond is—"

"Marriage," Madara finished, interrupting one of the generals who had intervened in the speech. "With Hashirama's heir, his brother," he resumed, fostering the amazement of those present, whose eyes were now widened.

"We do not have enough valuable brides to warrant the respect of the Senju. They are just using this pretext to buy time with a false truce and attack us as soon as they are ready."

Madara Uchiha had never taken a wife and fathered neither sons nor daughters. Having no siblings, his direct heir was therefore his brother-in-law, the husband of his sister. Mikoto Uchiha was rumored to have been the clan's most coveted bride, and Sakura had no difficulty believing it, not only because of her beauty but also because of the position the man designated would hold. Two children had been born of that union, both boys, so there was no woman who could represent a marriage desirable and valuable enough to enshrine a peace with her existence alone. Those whose kinship was closer to the main branch of the clan were not enough for such a pledge.

"We have the most precious bride one could wish for instead. The Delight of Spring, the most beautiful flower which blooms on the battlefields." The realization of those words did not immediately strike her, but when it did it had the same impact as a bucket of icy water.

It was only natural that in the course of time Sakura had begun to acquire a certain fame among the armies and therefore was given epithets of all kinds, flattering and otherwise. A woman warrior was not, however, something recurrent in battle, so her presence was often easily recognized, thanks in part to her very distinctive features.

She understood, therefore, that Madara Uchiha was talking about her and imagined that was the only reason he had decided to allow her to attend the war council, along with the senior officers.

"She is not even an Uchiha, so why should he represent our clan with the Senju?" Words Sakura had heard directly or whispered behind her back which always managed to make her feel estranged and alone, never really part of anything.

"She grew up with us, fought with us. My sister loves her like a daughter, so it's time for her to act like one, with all the burdens which come with that. Sakura is part of the family, and if I have turned down every marriage proposal received for her, from those present included, it is precisely in anticipation of the arrival of a suitor suited to her value. I could never have wasted such beauty and strength on anyone who was not worthy of it."

Sakura lowered her gaze to her closed fists pressed against her knees. She had never really felt part of the Uchiha, so the clan leader's words should only have brought her joy. However, denting her happiness, her fulfillment at having succeeded at least in part in finding a place to belong, was the knowledge she would have to separate herself from the family she did not believe would ever consider her as such, that she would have to devolve her future to another person, to a man foreign to that core to which the pink-haired had vowed herself since childhood.

In her heart, then, there was only room for one name, one face, one individual. And it was only by his side that she would have wished to embrace the role of wife. Sakura had never considered such a chance feasible, so she had always ruled out the possibility of being able to marry in the future. It was not what she wanted, but now it was not what she could oppose. The role she had sought all her life had been established. If in order to consider herself part of something, an Uchiha, she had to sacrifice all of herself for the good of the clan, she would do it.

---

She was in her rooms, wrapped in a veil of sadness whose nature she knew but which she was trying to ignore, not to allow anything negative to poison her mind and risk dulling her judgment. Her wedding was to take place the next morning, thus marking the end of the conflict between Senju and Uchiha, along with the beginning of what was hoped would be a long and fruitful alliance, that the two clans could coexist as equals, sharing the power they had over the years mutually tried to wrest from each other's hands.

It was a night not freezing but cold enough to make her shiver on the porch. Still, she did not want to go back inside, did not want to slip between her sheets, did not want to allow sleep to take over, for the moment her eyes opened, she would be a new person, a protagonist of power intrigue. Before her would be a new road to travel. Behind her would be everything to which she would no longer belong.

She clutched herself in her night robe, letting a lonely tear line her face. The only relenting she could allow herself and only in the privacy of her own rooms, there where she would be for the last time, as dawn would bring with it a new home, a new name, a new life.

Whether she wanted to or not, her viridian eyes could not budge from the towering cherry tree which towered in the castle's inner gardens, among those avenues that held every memory of her childhood, every precious moment etched in her mind, in her heart, along with a face and a name.

"Sakura—" It almost seemed to her she could even hear his voice, as if her mind was playing a sadistic trick on her, reminding of all that had been and all that could never be again, just when those memories should have remained locked away in the deepest corners of her memory, sealed never to see the light again. "Sakura." When the pink-haired turned around, she could swear she was going crazy. She was not only fantasizing about his voice but even about his presence there.

Standing between her room and the veranda was Sasuke, his face distraught and his clothes unkempt, his raven hair tousled and his breath short. He had been running, indeed he looked as if he had just dismounted from his horse, as if getting to Otogakure no Sato rapidly was essential. Was this how her mind had decided to show him? She would have imagined the best way to torment her would be to mold him into a perfect form, ethereal and unreachable in all his usual glory. Instead, in that instant she found by projecting him in that way her mind had chosen the cruelest to torture her, wanting to instill in Sakura the idea that Sasuke would be ready to rush to her with desperate urgency in order to get there in time.

After a few moments of painful contemplation, Sakura closed her eyes, hoping once she opened them again that figure would no longer be there to haunt her, wishing instead that face would never leave her mind, that it would continue to obsess her to madness.

"Sakura— I came as soon as I could—"

"Don't. Please go away," she uttered in a barely audible whisper, a plea addressed to herself and to the sanity she was desperately trying to cling to but which seemed to slip away more and more every moment. "I know you are not here, that this is not you. The Sasuke you are now would not dare so much. He knows how to make the hard choice. He has already done so. Sasuke has grown up, he said I should too." Sakura opened her eyes, only to be greeted again by the vision of the one man who should not have been there and the one whose presence was her most burning desire. "I did."

"Don't do this to me now, as if I didn't feel miserable enough already." His tone was unrecognizable, but at the same time tinged with some shades of familiarity, such that it gave her the impression all those last years had been just one long dream and that both of them were still the children they used to be.

"This is you," she conceded to him, performing a bitter smile. "Bold enough to talk to me as if nothing had happened, as if you had done nothing, as if I were the cause of your sorrow and not vice versa."

"This—" began the dark-haired with unusual uncertainty, venturing a step toward her. "It’s not my fault. It's not my choice, it's not something I would ever consider." Now that he was completely on the veranda, Sakura could admire his face illuminated by the moonlight. Though tired and broken, Sasuke never lost the ability to take her breath and leave her speechless. "This is not what I want." At those words, the pink-haired turned completely toward him.

It had probably been years since Sasuke truly expressed what he wanted, that he did let his personal yearn corrode him, that he did not prioritize what concerned his clan, his honor, his duties.

"If we talked with Madara together, perhaps we could—"

"No," Sakura simply sanctioned, lapidary enough to leave the dark-haired speechless and perplexed. "It's my turn to do what's right, to make the hard choice." It was a fine line between what was necessary to bring that conflict to a peaceful end and what her heart fervently craved for. Sasuke must have known this. He had already been there and had acted according to his judgment. Now it was her turn. "I promised you if you let me go I would resign myself. And that's what I did. I could tell you that you left me no choice then, lay the whole blame on you and feed your desolation, but it’s not, Sasuke. This is now my decision."

Belonging to Sasuke had been natural, uncontrollable, and at the same time bothersome, painful, frightening, and unpredictable, for it lacked stability, the assurance that over time nothing would ever change. Pleasant and additive, dangerous and swinging. His mere presence managed to offer her a place to exist, not physical, not tangible, but the sensation her whole essence was real only because it was connected to another person's, to Sasuke's. However, it was a feeling as intense as it was fallible, capable of instilling an unparalleled wholeness except to fail in the blink of an eye. No one like him could lift her up and tear her down with such ease, and as much as belonging to anything other than him was a palliative, a consolation, it was something solid, with a foundation to cling to in the event of a disastrous collapse, so as to take away the unpleasant feeling she was floating in the unknown, aimless and nameless, with no identity.

"I choose to renounce you for the sake of my clan. And I have no regrets—" A break in her voice betrayed her, attempting to her resolve, her confidence, the firmness she was trying to express. "Despite everything, for nothing in the world would I deny what has been, even if it embitters what will be instead."

For several moments, what the two exchanged was only silence and a stare full of regret, of that affection they had never been able to get rid of mingling inexorably with the knowledge they would never be capable to express it, that it would remain there, unuttered and pulsing, a constant reminder of what they could have had if only they had led different lives, if they had been born in a more benevolent age.

Then, Sasuke advanced one step toward her and then one more, until he was so close to her he enveloped her with his warmth, with his mere presence, real and tangible, proof he was there, that Sasuke, her Sasuke still existed somewhere in that man's soul and in that circumstance he had taken over, pushing him up to her, mad and senseless to the point of riding like a madman to get there in time.

"If only you could be mine—" He brushed her face with unusual gentleness, almost as if between the two of them it was he who feared Sakura might vanish at any moment, slip from his hands if only he dared too much impetuosity.

"I was." I am, she was risking saying, in a mad rush of irrationality. Half lie half truth. She would never be anyone else's as she was Sasuke's, and she would no longer be his as she had been willing to be.

"You can still be—" It was sadistic and masochistic to inflict her and inflict himself that stab in the chest, to instill a false glimmer of hope which they both knew would never be fulfilled. Closer and closer, the dark-haired leaned toward her, so near he inebriated her with his scent, so overwhelming he ignited every fiber of her being with his breath alone. "Just for tonight?" An invitation so tempting tasting, so sweet sounding, that the next morning it would turn into her worst regret. Not for what was about to happen, but for what would never be again.

Part 2 here ( rating M )

[eyes-of-mischief]

weekly fic recs | 37

fandoms: dc, hp, jjk, naruto, sherlock

dc

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map by ebjameston

CPS Agent, pointing at Tim Drake: We need to take him with us Red Hood: He's fine where he is CPS: He's a minor Hood: Timbo, you a minor? Tim: Can't prove it CPS: I mean, I can. There are records – Tim, who has just finishing hacking CPS to remove his own file: Oh really, tell me more about these records

+++

A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood's lieutenant, and an intern who's promising to fix the IT systems at his office.

It's a weird day for Theo.

The Boys of Summer by TheResurrectionist

The bat bros are ride or die. And if that means searching for a very specific kind of pudding in the middle of the night so pregnant Babs doesn’t kill Dick, and fighting off the subsequent mafia hit job that follows, then they’re gonna fucking do that, you know?

it's all about light because all its been before is shadows by victoriousscarf

“Aren’t you supposed to be attacking me too?” the boy in front of him asked, even though there was already blood on his cheeks and he was favoring one side.

Talon tilted his head because he already knew the answer to that question was a yes. “You seem to be barely standing as it is.”

jjk

In the Silence, I Hear Your Voice by TheLamplightDetective

Toge felt Yuuta’s fingers drift against his, the barest moment of skin on skin, and his heart tugged harder, as if to pull his attention to this moment, declaring This. This is good. This is perfect. Hold onto it. How achingly unfair that it could all be destroyed in mere seconds.

It was easy, he had discovered, to thrive on dust and darkness, but only if you had forgotten the taste of the light.

After years being called a monster, Inumaki Toge has finally found a place to call home. But the past casts a long shadow, and the sight of a familiar face sends him spiralling back into his childhood, a place where he was a tool, a dog to be used, where his silence was the greatest gift he could give the world. This is the Inumaki curse, to be lost in the darkness - but his is not the only voice crying out to be heard. Inumaki backstory, with Toge/Yuuta romance.

jjk x dc

blaring trumpets (heralding thorns) by whatisthisnightmare 

Toge didn’t mean to get careless. But when all is said and done, he slipped up, and now he’s in a smelly alley watching a cosplayer shoot through the knee of a robber. Things could be worse.

Meanwhile, Red Hood would like the kid he saved to stop trolling him with Japanese food.

jjk x naruto

rain on my parade by unolvrs

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence, major character death)

The audacity of this world to give her Fushiguro’s eyes and Itadori’s hair—Nobara is left with nothing but memories of what-could-have-been, and she has never felt more alone.

(Or: Nobara dislikes the name ‘Sakura’.)

hp

Princeps by Lomonaaeren

Harry has worked for years as an Unspeakable to identify the best point where he might go back in time to change the impact of Voldemort’s war. Now he knows: he will have to return to his parents’ Hogwarts years and encourage the Slytherins to stand on their own instead of following a leader. He knows how to assume the post of Defense professor and how to reach the Slytherins. And from there, well, surely nothing can go too wrong.

Don't Fuck With Florists (They'll Fuck You Up) by MayMarlow

Unsatisfied with his post-war life, Harry decides to get to the root of all of his problems when that root was still working at Borgin and Burkes shop in the late 40s. He’s the Master of Death, damn it, he can do what he wants for once in his life.

Tom Riddle isn’t particularly happy about working at a small, dingy shop for magical artifacts, no matter how interesting those artifacts are. He’s even less happy when an insufferable stranger sets up the most obnoxious flower shop right across the street.

What follows would be a romantic comedy, if it weren’t for politics. sherlock x hp

Whispers in Corners by esama

Everything started with a stumble - his new life in a new world as well as his surprisingly successful career as a medium.

Symphony by esama

Despite all the magic in the world, Harry had never encountered magic like that of a genius mind. A whole family of them was bit overwhelming really.