#pinkhairedlily reads

[bleachbleachbleach]

Fic: 4 a.m. bloom

[Read on AO3]

Characters: Hinamori (POV), Hitsugaya Timeline: 4 months into Hinamori's vice-captaincy Word Count: ~6700 Tags: Pre-series, Rukongai, Junrinan lore, Shinigami/zanpakutou bond, I will continue to reify condor!Tobiume at every opportunity, Eldercare, For the sake of soul society, Gotei melancholia Notes: Written for @pinkhairedlily for the 2023 @hitsuhina-week Gift Exchange, combining the prompts “hinamori embracing leadership roles in her division” and “momo character study with a sprinkle of toshiro”! <3 (Though there are probably at least 4 tablespoons of Hitsugaya in this, rather than a spinkle.) I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Another homecoming. Hinamori recognizes that lieutenancy is more a beginning than an achievement, but some missions make that clearer than others. Tobiume is blooming, Hinamori has work to do in Junrinan, and Hitsugaya has some difficult questions for her.

Hitsugaya is a difficult question.

--

“I miss this,” she says, even though she hadn’t meant to. Then she has to ask, “Do you?”

“I don’t live here anymore, either,” Hitsugaya says.

Hinamori does not know whether that means of course or stop.

[sasusakuzines]

📝 CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT 📝

@pinkhairedlily 's piece brings the Uchihas to a Haruno reunion. Not all families mean home, but Sasuke redefines this for Sakura.

Follow Aya and read more about her here!

#HomewardSSZine #SasuSaku

[canariie]

this is such an overdue response and i apologize for that! real life has been hectic T^T

thank you thank you thank you for such a lovely fic! it truly set the tone for warmth through the holidays :) i love this idea that Momo keeps on wishing for the same thing again and again, and Toushiro as he gets older becomes bolder in asking what it is!

i loved how you laid out the foundation for the story in several parts where we can really see the growth in the relationship! from their innocence as young children in Junrinnan and then growing up and venturing to the human world together and then young in love and dating then ultimately being together as adults :) it really felt super well fleshed out in seeing how the two of them grew more comfortable around each other. it also felt like to me something that could easily be a filler episode or OVA style that I would love to watch :)

the delight in them trying to buy gifts for each other and not being fully honest in their feelings to then later when they're walking through in the human world was such a sweet sweet thing to read :))) & especially how toushiro tries not to be affected by Momo's sweetness but also really loves to see the snow globe every day :) & then him pushing himself to kiss her on the cheek and Momo accepting it!!

my favourite part was the last part where the scenery is like them being in the snow globe! i thought that was such a nice way to tie it together that they found their bliss and happiness with each other!!

thank you so much for this sweet gift @pinkhairedlily!! it truly put a smile on my face :)

what did you ask for? (to be with you)

A GIFT FOR @canariie | AO3 LINK

Hitsugaya stares at her as if she’s speaking in tongues. He turns his attention back to the more scenic sight, missing the look Hinamori gives him. She’ll describe it as longing, in a much later time when they’re all grown up. Today, as they finish dinner with his grandmother, she’ll break the news. It will be the first time that he'll become uncomfortable with winter. His seasons, previously enjoyed with performative nonchalance, will lose color and comparatively feel dull than any others before.

“Hurry!”

Hinamori can barely keep up with Hitsugaya’s strong, nimble limbs. She might be older (if we assume by height), but their ages might not be too far apart for her to be breathless like this.

It’s the cold, Her exhale immediately gets lost in the curtain of thick fog. She relies on her feet and muscle memory and the numerous indentations left by fellow dwellers to not veer off the trail. At the peak, there is a statue, and while West Rukongai does not necessarily worship, there is a belief that the stones molded into shape will grant your prayers, only that you have to climb it on the first day of snowfall.

Which turned out to be in the negatives today.

And yet, Hitsugaya is conquering the cotton killer fluff with a sleeveless undershirt and blind faith. He is warm where she is cold, and this natural affinity to adapt in harsh conditions stirs a foreign envy in her.

“Slowpoke!” His voice almost a howl. “We need to get back before my afternoon nap!”

“Shut up!” She yells back. It’s her folly, she guesses, to miss the crevice and slip against the crack. It’s a steep fall, her mind registers. I’ll probably die.

Calloused hand thrusts out from the icy veil to grab her wrist, followed by a grin so cheeky it can only be from someone indomitable.

When they reached the top, his sight was first grabbed by the sea of clouds while hers was the statue. It was simply a pile of rocks stacked on top of one another in dubious balance, but it managed to weather the biting wind, as well as the gasping heat and the torrential rains that came seasons before. Hinamori held her head down and prayed to this resilient structure.

“What did you ask for?”

“Be like this statue,” she replies, a bit lost in thought, “despite the changes.”

Hitsugaya stares at her as if she’s speaking in tongues. “You should have asked for a good harvest and lots of watermelons!” He sticks out his tongue in usual childhood annoyance and turns his attention back to the more scenic sight, missing the look Hinamori gives him. She’ll describe it as longing, in a much later time when they’re all grown up.

But today, as they finish dinner with his grandmother, she’ll break the news. “I’m going to Soul Society.”

It will be the first time that Hitsugaya becomes uncomfortable with winter. His seasons, previously enjoyed with performative nonchalance, will lose color and comparatively feel dull than any others before.

When Rangiku, his future lieutenant and his would-be confidante, finally sniffs him out due to his uncontrollable reishi, Hitsugaya sets in plan his destiny in Seireitei. After all, Hinamori wasn’t the only one to make a wish to that statue on that day.

A childhood plea but a sincere intention all the same.

To be together, even for a little longer. Despite the changes.

—--------------------

“Do you have a gift for me, Captain Histugaya?” Rangiku plays up her doe eyes at him.

He closes the file on his desk. “No, I don’t believe in consumerism.”

“Oh come on, it’s Christmas in the human world. You should at least live a little.”

“Said someone who left me with a mountain of administrative tasks to be done. Because of you, I can’t live a little.”

Rangiku claps her hands together and leans towards the door for an unexisting sound. “Yeah? No, I’ll be out in like five seconds tops!” She turns her attention back to him, though one foot is already near the exit. “Captain, I forgot I have a very important appointment to go to. Bye!”

He rolls his eyes, partly annoyed, but mostly relieved he can finally enjoy some moment of silence. Seconds into that serene atmosphere, consecutive knocks arrive at his space.

“Matsumoto—!”

“—Shiro-kun! Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?” Hinamori steps out of the doorframe, her small frame accentuated by the absent Gotei regalia. Her hair, usually held in a low bun, is loose, silky black strands settling just below her shoulders. She wears clothes which his lieutenant might describe as cozy conservative, and carries a wicker basket as if the season outside is the tranquil spring. Against the stark rigidity of his bureaucratic office, she stands in contrast.

“No,” he manages to say. It takes him a minute but he reaches her side, a few inches short below her height, and takes the basket out of her hands. “Is this lunch? Don’t tell me you feel sorry for me?”

“Well, Rangiku passed by our division and asked me to give you a lending hand,” she chuckles.

“And you were able to prepare all this food in under ten minutes?”

She shrugs and pretends not to notice the absurd logistics of her excuse, but Hitsugaya lets it pass. It benefits him to not ask questions and simply revel in her presence. 

It’s a spread of all his favorite things, most notably natto and watermelon slices, while she takes out a box of tuna onigiri, freshly baked cookies and green tea. Quintessential Momo.

Like the olden days, they eventually settle into that easy familiarity. With the basket emptied and thermos dried out, Momo pulls out another surprise.

It’s a miniature of the West Rukongai forest inside a glass ball.

“I had it customized.” She beams widely. “Go on, shake it.”

Hitsugaya smirks at the almost childlike gesture but indulges her anyway. Flurries of white envelopes all space, mimicking winter in the place they first called home. A snow globe.

“It’s—” he chokes up, “—it’s all right.”

“You should sound more awed, you know.”

“This is my best effort, Momo.”

He swears he hears Hyourinmaru laugh alongside Hinamori. It takes a lot of effort to stay unaffected even though his heart almost feels like leaping off the very same cliff he once saved her from. He takes several breaths, waiting until the snow settles on the bottom, before he takes out his gift.

“Here.” He pulls out a knitted red scarf from the bag and scoots closer to her. She must have sensed his hesitancy or he might have hallucinated the way she leaned closer to him so he could wrap the scarf around her neck. His fingers linger on both ends of the fabric. “Since you always have a cold bug.”

The scarf’s color bounces off Hinamori’s cheeks. In a quieter voice, “Th-Thanks, Shiro.”

Still holding on, he replies, “It’s Captain Hitsugaya to you.”

“—Hey Toshiro, I’m really sorry! I came back early to help—” 

They scramble away to the farthest corner possible in the short time Rangiku shows up.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” His lieutenant zeroes in on the bright color. “That’s a pretty nice scarf, Momo-chan. It perfectly suits you.” 

Hinamori rushes to the door in haste without glancing at him. “No worries, I was just leaving. I only brought him a meal.” She stops just before the doorframe swallows her. “Thank you, Shiro-kun.”

He can hear the smile in that last word, and ever so deftly, his lieutenant catches it too, even the subtle lift of his lips in cognizance.

“I thought you didn’t believe in consumerism, huh?” Rangiku presses.

“You mentioned helping?”

—--------------------

“This is a character development,” Rangiku brandishes Hitsugaya as if he’s a centerpiece.

“The last time I invited him, he stayed holed up in my room,” Ichigo echoes. “It’s a good thing you could come, Hitsugaya.”

He could only grumble. He hates crowds, but even more so crowds during Christmas. Humans are so obsessed with ephemeral things like celebrations. His displeasure, however, does not dampen their rowdy party: Ichigo, Orihime, Chad, Uryuu, Rukia, Renji. Rangiku, Kira, Shinji, and Hinamori. A mismatched group but still whole, before the world crashes down on them the next few months.

He carefully side-eyes his childhood friend. She looks better, happier even, ever since Shinji arrived. In place of her long hair is a short bob underneath a dark plum beret. She doesn’t wear the scarf he gave ages ago, not after he stabbed her, not after that time when he thought he lost her. The snow globe is tucked in the first drawer of his table. He takes a peek every morning and watches that side of the world stuck in time.

“You’re gonna fall behind.” It’s Hinamori’s voice. They’ve kept their distance, described at best as amicable, recognizing each other’s presence only through a nod of a head, so this is her first direct reference to him with the many layers of conversation peeled back bare.

Hitsugaya freezes on his heels while the rest of the people move forward. Someone ahead of them shouts, spotting a celebrity, and the number triples in seconds. He wants to go to her.

“Captain—” Hinamori resists the surge of movement. “Shiro-kun, what are you doing?” She shoulders her way against bulky figures, but she’s too petite and she stumbles backward to be engulfed by the sea of motions.

His instinct kicks in and he catches her, his grip finding anchor on her waist. He pulls her to the curb where there’s enough space to breathe. “Shinji or Rukia must have noticed our reishi separating from their group. They’ll find us soon.”

He glances at her and finds her unshaken. In the chaos, she lost her beret, and all of her hair is now swaying in the night breeze. “That’s all right.”

“It’s my fault. I don’t know what came over me.”

“No worries. It’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“To be away from the crowd. It’s more peaceful in this corner.”

Hitsugaya nods. “It’s good that you could come.”

“Ah I was peer-pressured mostly by Renji and Rangiku,” she softly laughs. “Captain Shinji also said it would be nice to go out and have fun.”

He sighs, “Too bad you couldn’t have fun now.”

She lightly shoves him, still laughing against her mittens. “Don’t be silly. I’m having fun now. I’m with you.”

He hears his own sharp intake of breath and his eyes hyperfixate on the minute details of her face, the way her eyes remain on the streets, how the changing lights reflect on her irises, her lips chapped from the cold, the little braid behind her ear. “Momo, you should stop doing that.”

She turns to him slowly, and he realizes how red her cheeks are. “Doing what?” She must be so cold.

“Making my heart—”

“Hey you two!” Ichigo shouts across the street. Beside him is Chad who basically towers over everyone and ultimately serves as their beacon for direction.

 “Oh they found us. You were right, Shiro.” She suddenly scrambles to get to them. 

“Wait for me, Momo.” Hitsugaya grabs her hand just before she ventures into the moving cluster of humans. “I might get lost again.” He sees Shinji catching his act, smirking as he confirms his long thought out theories about the two of them.

He plans to let go of Hinamori before they reach the whole group, but the tower clock suddenly strikes twelve, followed by a clamoring of bells and fireworks. Squeezed against warm bodies, it registers to Hitsugaya and Hinamori that everyone is kissing.

Someone nudges him forward. “Yo dude, you should kiss your date. It’s tradition.”

He’s suddenly weightless, reeled in by some force of gravity. In hindsight, he should’ve let go of Momo, shoved her backwards, or redirected his body as if in battle. But this is human world, and he is riding on some ephemeral happiness, and so he stumbles against her, shoulder to shoulder, and his lips graze her cheek.

He waits for a slap, a reprimand, but Hinamori looks out of breath as well. He loosens his grip, gives her an out if she wants to, but it’s her fingers that wrap against his this time.

“They’re looking for us.”

“Momo.”

“Hmm?”

“I— Someone pushed me—”

“I know. I saw.”

“Huh?

“I saw it, Shiro-kun,” she smiles, “so please don’t say sorry.” 

She saw, Hitsugaya thought, which meant she had every chance to move. “Huh?” This won’t be the last time he’ll be out of words in front of her.

“Merry Christmas, Captain Hitsugaya.” Then she lets go of his hand.

—--------------------

“Humans are sure fond of merrymaking.”

They find themselves in the same place many years after, when the worst was finally over and the aftermath of the battles have become simply a memory, navigating the maps of human bodies and still finding a place beside each other. Hinamori thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle—to come out of the wreckage and remain unchanged (in whatever this is, she adds in her head).

They decided, on a whim, to visit the human world. Spontaneity is a foreign concept, both of them so used to rigidity of routines and structures, but somehow there has always been an exception in moments where it concerns the other. The group they went with before is leading their separate lives. They are busy making memories and seizing the present, heightened from the cusp of losing the privilege of existing. 

It is this sentiment that they are riding tonight—the possibility of missing a chance—though this, they may never admit out loud.

“Are you regretting it now, Shiro-kun?”

“The crowd, yes,” he replies in all honesty, brows furrowed, lips in a tight line. Then he glances at her and everything softens with a rare smile. “That doesn’t include you.”

“Good, I really wanted to see the fireworks,” she reasons.

“Haven’t Shinji taken you several times?”

“They’re always different. They change colors, sometimes they have patterns too.”

He chuckles beside her, and something behind him catches her attention. Stragglers hang thin strips of paper with their handwriting on the bare branches of a large tree. Hinamori tugs on Hitsugaya’s sleeve, and he catches her off guard by holding her hand and pulling her to the activity area.

“I might lose you,” he says under his breath. (Did you know, Momo, it was the same words he uttered when he faced Aizen and when he battled without Hyourinmaru? He could never lose you.)

She looks at the writings holding the people’s many wishes into the universe for the coming year. Human lives are short compared to those like them who could live out centuries. The intentions varied from simple (‘I want a boyfriend!’) to more complex ones (‘I want to be finally happy’). Hinamori considers how happiness is subjective across souls, and how, right at this moment, she could describe herself as happy.

“What are you writing?” Hitsugaya asks her. “I already put mine up.”

“Huh?” She surveys the papers in front of them. “That’s unfair, I didn’t get to see it.”

“I don’t think you need to see it.” He turns a shade of red. “It’s personal.”

She relents with a sigh. “You probably wrote longer nap times.” She turns her back on him as she quickly scribbles the first thought that comes. Hitsugaya tries to appear uninterested but she can see him in her periphery stealing glances over her shoulder. It’s a good thing that she remains taller than him.

“Ha! Done!”

“Well, that’s unfair,” he echoes.

Their banter gets interrupted by a loud trumpet, followed by a clock ticking down to midnight.

“Oh, it’s happening!”

The lights on the ground turn off to emphasize the dark night sky. 

“Ten…night…eight…seven…”

Hitsugaya chooses to set his gaze on her. “Did you remember that tradition..?”

“Six…five…four…”

“Yeah, I remember.” Hinamori tears her eyes from the sky and stares back at him against the darkness.

“Two…one… Happy New Year!”

“Can I kiss you?”

She sees Hitsugaya’s face lean in just as the fireworks start their ephemeral performance. The air is crisp with winter air and firecracker smoke, and she’s combusting when his lips find hers underneath the bursts of light.

He pulls away in mere seconds, and she can see the gears of his mind work towards an overdrive. He is second guessing and wondering if it was enough, if he could ever be enough, and she wants to tell him—

“Yes.” And she pulls him to her again and kisses him back with certainty. When it’s all over, the people have scattered, the sky has retreated to its shadows, and she’s still in his arms.

“Happy New Year, Momo.”

—--------------------

Hinamori finds it’s the afterparty she looks forward to the most. Long after all the plates have been washed, the cups flipped to dry, and the doors locked, the silence basks in the traces left from the evening’s friendly noise.

They managed to clear majority of the clutter, but strips and pieces of litter remain scattered about—ribbons, gift wraps, firecracker ashes—a nice chore best reserved for the first day of the new year.

“Our dear hostess must be tired.” Hitsugaya’s hands ease on her shoulders and massage the tight knots that have accumulated over the day. 

“Come on Shiro. I know the kids drained your energy today.” She stifles the bubbling laughter from a recent memory of when Renji’s and Ichigo’s respective toddlers ran amok across the courtyard and Hitsugaya had to chase them off his rock installations.

“They’re not toddlers.”

“And they’re also still kids.”

The winter breeze lands on her skin and she shivers at the contact. Her husband pulls her to the kotatsu, entangling her legs with his underneath, a fairly good excuse to just snuggle and burrow and pretend to hibernate (at least until the weekend’s over).

They’re sitting across the wide windows where they’re afforded a rare view of a perfect night sky, a blank charcoal slate after being painted with bursts of colors from earlier festivities. The moon and stars are cruising in a silent voyage to an audience of two. 

Well, three.

Hotaru manages to crawl on Hitsugaya’s lap and juts out his nose for a boop. He brings with him Hinamori’s red scarf, frayed from several wears, and is now his favorite blanket. She reaches over and indulges their blind, snow-colored cat. Seemingly happy, his paws start making biscuits while his purrs lull them into a much awaited slumber.

Soon enough, the heavens open up to a muted shower of snow. It is a familiar sight, a nostalgic picture of their childhood home, a picture contained in a glass globe from a long ago gift.

Hinamori almost falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, but her eyes quickly catch the stroke of bright light across the sky.

“Momo, make a wish,” Hitsugaya whispers against her hair.

A moment passes. “Done.”

“So, what did you wish for?”

She looks at him, baffled. “You always ask for that!”

“I can’t help it if I’m curious.”

“No.”

He changes tactics. “Okay, I’ll offer you an olive branch. One wish of mine to one of yours.”

“That’s unfair. I always wish for the same thing.”

“Since when?”

“Since we went on that mountain.” Hinamori considers the length of time she knows him, the gravity of memories and circumstance, and the very privilege of having that prayer answered. “I asked for the very same thing I’m wishing for right now.”

She sees how he recalls the moment, watches how the playfulness of his features soften into that of understanding and gratefulness. It had been that long.

“To let us stay in each other’s lives, not for a while, but longer, maybe forever-kind-of-long.”

To be together, even for a little longer. Despite the changes.

“Hmm.” He smiles and then chuckles. “Did you know I asked whatever god there was that day to let me stay with you? It was selfish and unreasonable, especially knowing you really wanted to go. After you left, it sought out many other mountains. I looked for the rest of the shrines, all the genuine and the makeshift, and prayed the same prayer. It turned out I managed to get through to at least one god.”

She could only stare in disbelief. “Wow.”

“What—you never thought I had it in me?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “You were always so tenacious, Shiro.”

“We have this year.” He leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips. “And the next and next and next and next.”

“And the rest of our lives.”

@hitsuhina-week

[canariie]

in law out(ing)

Rating: T

Synopsis: But what puzzled Toushiro more (and it was really too early for this), was that he was holding two fishing poles and wearing rubber boots.

“Why are you here?” Toushiro whispered venomously.

“Get ready! We’re going to the living world to fish!” Shinji responded cheekily, thrusting a pole and pair of boots in Toushiro’s unexpecting hands, as if that were answer enough.

“And why are we doing this?” he asked dubiously, inspecting the tools in his hands.

“Because we got to go when the fish are ‘bout to wake up!” Shinji rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to bond today! I got a whole list of activities for us to do.”

Toushiro muttered, “Is this your idea of bonding?”

…

Toushiro and Shinji have a day off to bond together (at Momo’s behest).

Word Count: 4290 words

Setting:  established relationship, many decades after the last Bleach chapter  

Prompt: @hitsuhina-week‘s Hitsuhina 2022 Gift Exchange

Authour’s Note: I’m so sorry that this is late! This is for @pinkhairedlily who requested Toushiro asking Shinji for Momo’s hand in marriage!

I kind of stepped back from the prompt a little bit but I do sincerly hope you enjoy it! I will admit, I am nervous because this is my first time writing Shinji and thinking of him (which is a lot harder than I thought), but it was a fun process.

Also shout out to Fuji Kaze’s Shinunoga E-Wa for being the unexpected mood setter!

— 

“Hitsugaya-taicho, I have a favour to ask…” Momo drawled out, as she snuggled into her boyfriend’s side. It was a cold winter night and the two were sitting in bed, reading their respective books. Momo had introduced Toushiro to the concept of reading before bed and he had to admit that he had been enjoying the latest titles she bought for him in the real world. Before they went to sleep, she would eagerly ask him what he thought until he would have to gently remind her to go to sleep if it were too late.

But tonight, it seemed like she had other things on her mind. Ah the captain’s title... Hinamori must really want something.

“What is it?”

“I know there is a captain’s day off at the end of the week…” she said softly as she traced patterns on his collarbone. “I think it’d be nice if you would spend it with Hirako-taicho.”

“No.”

“But Hitsugaya-kun,” Well there goes the title—it was nice while it lasted.

“I already have plans,” he defended, continuing to read his book.

“What plans?”

“To…read,” he said, turning a page for emphasis.

Momo arched her eyebrow. “Rangiku-san told me that you were excited for the day off so you could catch up on archiving old reports…”

“Those are valid plans for a day off.”

The book was gently taken from his hands, and he looked up to see Momo leaning over him as she held his face in her hands. “Toushiro,” she whispered with such intensity that it made his mind stutter, especially as she leant over, her long hair cascading around him like a curtain.

“I know you two have not always seen eye to eye...” He scoffed, but Momo continued undeterred. “However, I think if you spent a little time with each other outside of work, you could get to know each other better.”

She moved closer until Toushiro could see sparks flicker in her brown eyes, and feel warmth shoot down his core.

“You are my most important person and it would mean the world to me if you got along better with my captain.”

Toushiro raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Momo rolled her eyes. “The last one didn’t count.”

He said nothing, but Momo knew he was thinking it deeply over. She kissed his cheek. “Please?”

Toushiro knew that Momo knew exactly what she was doing. But even he had to admit that her words stirred something inside him. Toushiro sighed in defeat.

Momo smiled, knowing she had gotten him to cave in. She dipped down and kissed him deeply, melting into him and making him see warm sparks behind his eyes.

“Most important person, huh?” he breathed when they separated.  

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, what of it?”

Momo yelped as Toushiro pulled her waist down, until she was cradled by him in his lap.

He bent down, his eyes deepening to a dark emerald. “You have always been my most important person—even before I knew it.”

Momo blushed, a silly smile on her face as she tucked her face into his neck.

He sighed in faux lament, “But—know that you owe me.”

She smiled with a knowing glint in her eyes, pulling his face down towards hers. “I’m sure I can think of a way to make it up.”

---

Toushiro grumbled as a loud knocking persisted at his door. It was his day off and he had been hoping to sleep in. He glared out his window, where it was still completely pitch black outside—but that did not deter the loud noise.

“What is it?” Toushiro growled as he stumbled out of bed and pulled the door roughly aside.

He had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

The fifth captain, Shinji Hirako, stood in front of him with a maddingly toothy grin. But what puzzled Toushiro more (and it was really too early for this), was that he was holding two fishing poles and wearing rubber boots.

“Why are you here?” Toushiro whispered venomously.

“Get ready! We’re going to the living world to fish!” Shinji responded cheekily, thrusting a pole and pair of boots in Toushiro’s unexpecting hands, as if that were answer enough.

“And why are we doing this?” he asked dubiously, inspecting the tools in his hands.

“Because we got to go when the fish are ‘bout to wake up!” Shinji rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to bond today! I got a whole list of activities for us to do.”

Toushiro muttered, “Is this an idea your idea of bonding?”

“This is mandatory for all officers in the Fifth Division. But I’d never wake my darling lieutenant this early—I’d give her another hour at least.”

Toushiro scowled deeply. “Don’t call her darling,” he said darkly—before slamming the door shut.

---

Toushiro had never seen the water so early in the morning. It was twilight, the sky blurring into a gentle blue. There was a sense that the sun was edging onto the horizon, but it still felt far and distant.

After they had stopped for coffee (which the older captain had the decency to pay for since Toushiro was still in a foul mood from being groused so early in the morning without warning), even he had to begrudgingly admit, that it was quite serene.

He did not expect the fifth division captain to have an itinerary for the day. Toushiro’s plans for the day was to just hop over to the Fifth, ask the captain to accompany him for tea (in front of Momo so she could see that yes, he was making an attempt at interaction) and finish that up in an hour and a half max—so he could go and work on archiving old reports the rest of the day.

Because to be frank, Toushiro would have rather spent the day off with Momo. They hadn’t had time alone to go out for a long time and that for him was a much more desirable way to spend his time off.

Instead, he was sitting in a fold out chair, clutching a fishing pole on a wooden dock at five in the morning as Shinji explained the wisdom of fishing.

“The key is to be patient. They’ll come to you but ya got to wait—otherwise you’ll miss your chance,” the blond captain explained as he raised his pole and swung, the line flying through air before making a gentle plop in the water.

Toushiro restrained himself from rolling his eyes but followed similarly.  

“When ya reel the rod, keep the line taut. If you do it too quickly, the fish can break away and ya lose the line,” Shinji demonstrated by pulling taut the line of the string. The older captain was lounging in his chair, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and leg crossed over knee, the perfect pose of relaxation.

“If we rush,” Shinji continued, “we get ahead of ourselves—which only hurts in the long run.”

Toushiro found himself drifting back to the war in the sky as he stared at the ripples in the water. It had been years, but time only eased the pain—it did not erase it. Though they were high up in the clouds, fighting an invisible battle, at that moment it was a grounding in reality.

He had been younger, rash and naïve. He thought he could kill Soul Society’s traitorous felon.

He was gravely mistaken.

Toushiro despised Aizen with every aching bone in his body. But he loathed himself more for being goaded into swinging the first blade. Feeling rage boil into him, all he could see was red as he rushed at Aizen first.

“When did you get so wise?” Toushiro asked sarcastically. He pulled at the rod—nothing yet.

Shinji laughed shortly. “Years of exile—gives ya time to think.” He took a sip of coffee. “We tried many things, wore many hats—all to survive. And one of them was fishing.”

Shinji leaned over and stage whispered, “We weren’t exactly earning money in conventional ways,” he tightened the lock of the pole shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion, “so we learned new skills.”

“Unfortunately, Hiyori can’t sit still for a minute—so she was banned from all fishing trips,” Shinji explained with faux diplomacy.

With his brief interactions with the short woman, Toushiro was not surprised.

And back in the battle, she had paid for her rashness. Though they didn’t know each other, the enemy of an enemy was an ally—and in that moment he could feel blood run cold seeing her severed half fall through the sky. In the end, it was all a cruel reminder and prelude to his own downfall.

Shinji watched the tent captain, whose eyes were distant and out on the horizon. He had a feeling of what was going through the young man’s head. It reminded the older captain of a time, very soon after the first war had finished, that those eyes held a similar pain.

Shinji stifled a yawn as he headed back to the Fifth Division headquarters. It was late into the night and he had just returned from the World of Living. Kyoraku-soutaicho insisted on a channel of constant communication with the Vizards that were still in the living world, so he sent Shinji on diplomatic visits. But the blond captain knew that behind smiles and pleasant reason, it was just to keep aware of possible treachery. Though many of them were working for the Thirteen Division Guards, there was always some underlying suspicion.

Well—it didn’t bother him too much. It was an excuse to go to the Living World during working hours.

He opened the door and immediately wished he had arrived later.

The white-haired captain didn’t notice Shinij. He was standing behind Momo’s desk, who was fast asleep, a brush in her hands and head resting on paperwork. Shinji watched as the young boy placed a blanket over her shoulders, barely touching her, before shifting the candle flame away from her.

The lone light of the room casted dark shadows over Toushiro’s face, obscuring his eyes from Shinji.  

He looked up, and at the sight of the Fifth captain his teal eyes went wide, like a deer in headlights.

“Can I help you?” Shinji asked to cut the tension in the room.

And just like the flicker of the shadow, the tenth captain narrowed his eyes, the shock completely gone. “Are you working her late?”

Shinji wanted to roll his eyes but held back, knowing that probably wouldn’t bode well with the other captain. “No. I told her those could be finished tomorrow.”

Toushiro nodded, still holding his glare at Shinji. A moment of silence. “I dropped off the reports for you to sign,” he said shortly, which made Shinji think if it was deliberate the young captain came late, since those weren’t due for a couple days. Toushiro made his way towards the exit, arms tucked into his sleeves, leaving no more room for conversation.

“Aren’t ya going to Matsumoto’s party?” Shinji asked. The tenth division lieutenant had invited people to go out to drink to celebrate the news of Renjii and Rukia’s engagement.

The white-haired boy stopped. “No.” Toushiro looked over his shoulder. “It’d be better if I didn’t go.”

Shinji waited until he left before he made his way over to his vice-captain, gently shaking her awake.

“Hmm, Taicho?” she mumbled, sleep still evident in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask ya the same thing,” he responded, pulling the brush out of her hand. “C’mon—let’s take you home.”

Momo made no protest as she stood up, her short hair sticking out in various directions that reminded Shinji of a dry paint brush.

“Someone from tenth division dropped the reports over—you won’t have to go tomorrow morning to pick them up.”

“Oh okay…” Momo looked down, pursing her lips in confusion. “Taicho, did you put this over me?” She asked as she shifted the blanket, looking at it forlornly.

He looked at her, contemplating how much to say. “No, I didn’t.”

“…okay,” she said, sounding more awake but further away than before.

Seeing how her shoulders deflated, he gently led her up out of her seat. “How about we stop by to say hi at Matsumoto’s—and if ya don’t want to stick around, I’ll walk you back,” Shinji remarked as he blew out the candle.

For Shinji, who was returning to an old post after many years, he knew it wasn’t his place to be involved. He was just relearning the ropes with a new lieutenant following behind his back. Besides getting over the urge to resist looking over his shoulder, he and Momo were still learning to be in each other’s presence.

There were bumps in the road, of course. (He still never could forget the dubious look she gave him when he suggested to cut her hair—the first time that she had shown such strong disbelief outside of her usual polite diplomacy.) The beginning was just making sure not to step too far out of line with each other. But the line gradually faded, and they fell into a routine together. Now, he considered himself lucky to have a competent soldier like her working beside him.

A slight tug at the pole broke Shinji from his revere, pulling him forward at the edge of his chair.

“Look, look!”

Toushiro could only watch as Shinji steadily reeled in the line, the fish thrashing about and sending waves through the water. It slipped out of the water just as the sun broke the horizon, the scales of the fish glistening in a yellow glow.

“See—what’d I tell ya?” He grinning holding up the fish before depositing it in his bucket.

Toushiro looked to his own pole and pulled on it, but only string came with the bait missing from the hook.

“Well…we can’t be prodigies at everything,” Shinji said flippantly.

---

Toushiro didn’t know what sort of itinerary the Fifth Captain had for the day. The white-haired man was dragged to random locations around Karakura Town: the barber shop (“this is where I learned to cut hair!” Shinji pointed out while he sat for a quick trim), the hardware store (“Kensei needed a new grate for his BBQ” the blond man defended at Toushiro’s raised eyebrow), a bookstore (Toushiro looked away in embarrassment as Shinji picked up Yadamoru-taicho’s magazine subscription) and the post office (“Need to check my PO box if anything’s come in,” he claimed, peering in the box and pulling out a wad of bills). Shinji seemed to have a secret agenda because he kept on picking things up at small shops along the way. But if Toushiro hadn’t known better—it was as if the man were doing his errands for the day and just having him tag along.

The bell chimed as they entered an unassuming record store. There were rows of wooden boxes, teeming with layers of records. Faded posters were pasted on every inch of the wall to the point that one couldn’t recognize the original wall colour. An old man smiled warmly at them from behind the counter as Shinji greeted him like he were family.

“This is one of the greatest secrets in this town—the man, Jiro-san, knows every single thing about every record in this store,” Shinji said with distinct glee in his voice before starting to peruse the albums. “I try to bring Momo here every other month—to get new music for the office.”

Toushiro felt his interest pique. For the most part, he had remained silent for the day as Hirako had talked enough about random facts and snippets of his human life to fill the gap. Besides offering a few signs of acknowledgment, Toushiro was happy to have Hirako lead the conversation, so he didn’t have to.

But hearing Momo’s name reminded him that this man had a close relationship with her—and it started at the time that his own relationship with her was strained.

He remembered those initial childish feelings of jealousy, seeming to try to find fault in everything of the new captain. From his asymmetrical haircut to his unsettling smile and tongue piercing, Toushiro didn’t understand how such a sleazy looking character could lead a division, let alone bring Momo out from her lowest point. He knew that it wasn’t smooth in the beginning. But Toushiro watched from a distance as Momo seemed to brighten more and more until she was back to her cheerful self—now with the addition of brazenly admonishing her captain. He was in awe of how quickly she became confident but more so, how comfortable she was with this foreign character.

“How often did you come?” Toushiro asked, trying to not to show too much interest.

Shinji continued on as held an album up, inspecting its tracklist. “Well, Momo wasn’t initially a fan of listening to music in the office. But once I got her started on some Ella Fitzgerald, she started to dig it more. Now she sometimes comes on her own to get records. She’ll surprise me with her own choices—I tell ya’ she’s got an ear for talent. I even got her to agree to go to a jazz festival with the rest of us this summer.”

Toushiro had his back turned, looking down at the labels but not quite seeing their names.

“How did you get her to open up?”

Shinji raised an eyebrow, looking behind him to see the white-haired man staring intently at the music. If he hadn’t seen the rigidity of his back, it may have seemed normal.

Shinji sighed.

“I was just there,” he simply said. “I didn’t leave.”

He watched as the younger man tense up further, before briskly putting down the album and walking out of the store. “I’ll be outside,” Shinji heard called out before the ring of the bell chimed in the silence that ensued at the sudden departure.

Shinji wasn’t surprised, and looking back maybe he could have chosen his words better. But he knew this was something long brewing and coming. He pulled out his phone, typing out a quick text message, as he called out to the store owner. “Jiro-san, I’ll be taking these! You keep me informed of any new vinyl shipments when you get some! My daughter will pick them up.”

--

Shinji found him outside, sitting on the bench in the park, with his hands tucked deep into his jacket. The only signs of life were the soft white puffs of air that he breathed out from above his scarf. Shinji walked over, the grocery bags swinging against his knee and it was only when he was in front of the man that Toushiro seemed to come out of a daze. Toushiro wordlessly accepted the coffee Shinji offered before his turquoise eyes brightened in recognition at the packet in the older man’s other hand.

“Those are the ones that Matsumoto likes…”

Shinji sat down and opened the orange packet. “Yeah, these cookies are really addicting. I introduced them to Momo last time we visited the World of the Living and we haven’t stopped eating them. She must’ve given them to Matsumoto.” He gestured the open packet to the young man, who took the cookie quietly.

They drank their coffee in silence. The golden string lights around them began to flicker as the sky turned to dusk, and like clockwork, it lightly began to snow. Families emerged around the winter street food vendors, talking animatedly as young children ran around, leaving prints in the snow build up.

Shinji could tell Toushiro wanted to say something because his eyes would flit over to him and he’d open his mouth before closing it. But Shinji paid no mind and continued to drink his coffee. He was in no rush at all, he was just waiting for what he knew the young man would say.

“I was jealous of you,” Toushiro finally confessed in a low voice, “of how you were able to make her smile again. You picked her up—when I was the one that hurt her the most.”

Shinji knew there was hurt on both sides. It didn’t take a genius to know that while his lieutenant was adjusting to being back to work, there was still something missing. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked outside at the snow. When there were joint meetings, he would catch her looking towards the tenth company, her sad eyes following the young captain around.

“It wasn’t only me,” Shinji replied. “Matsumoto was always there. Kira & Renji too.” He paused and looked at him straight in the eyes. “But she really wasn’t her full self until you two reconciled.”

“Hirako…”

“Forget your self-pity parade—it’ll do ya no good,” Shinji said, not unkindly. “I’ve been there—it damn hurts, I know. But ya hurt the people you care about more with your absence than with your actions.”

Toushiro stared at Shinji as he took a long sip of coffee. “Get up and move on from your past mistakes; that’s what it means to be a man.” He found himself remembering the way he held Hiyori’s body in his hands, feeling like his world was on a precipice. Never had he ever felt in that moment, the strongest desire to reverse everything, to reverse time itself, before they had changed, before he had ruined their lives forever. It was only when she had hit him with his slipper at his bowed head, that he could see the stupidity in his own wallowing—something he had seen in the young captain too.

“But ya have to promise me one thing—you won’t leave her again,” Shinji spoke with such solemnity that Toushiro’s emerald eyes hardened in determination.

“I won’t.”

The blond man shrugged his shoulder. “Then ya don’t need to apologize to me for nothing.”

Toushiro regarded the man for a long time, before nodding in acceptance.

“Thank you Hirako…for everything.” He had said it so quietly that Shinji thought he almost imagined it.

He smiled in smug satisfaction. “I now give you permission to marry my daughter.”

The young captain scowled, his face turning dark like a thunder cloud. “She is not your daughter.”

“Regardless, you still have my permission,” Shinji waved away.

“Hiarko-taicho!”

The two captains turned to see the fifth division lieutenant running towards them through the crowd, her long hair flowing behind her. Shinji held back a smirk as he watched the young captain stare at the girl in her human clothes, a warm red coat on top of a white dress.

“Hitsugaya-taicho…? What are you doing here?” Momo asked, a furrow in her eyebrows as she looked in confusion between her boyfriend and captain. “I thought I was just meeting Hirako-taicho? You sent a text saying to dress up?”

Shinji applauded himself inwardly for the look on the young captain’s face was priceless.

Before he could say anything else, Shinji gently led his vice-captain away. “Momo, you finished all the reports right?”

“Yes, I made sure to do so, but Taicho why did you call me here?” She looked back at the 10th captain, biting her lip in concern. “Is everything alright with Hitsugaya-kun?”

He could feel the smile slide onto his face at the expression of worry on her face. “Nothing wrong at all—just some good man to man bonding.”

Momo raised an eyebrow dubiously at her captain to which he replied. “I played nice—don’t worry.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Go spend the rest of the evening with him. I’ll see you in office on Monday.”

She looked up, her brown eyes in question as she smoothed out her hair. “But what about working tomorrow?”

Shinji threw his thumb back and rolled his eyes in faux exasperation. “You’ve worked enough to take some time off. He’ll sulk if I don’t let you off.”

Momo broke out into a huge grin, her brown eyes twinkling like the glowing lights. “Really?” She paused, as if reconsidering. “But what about the other reports?”

“I’ll go and finish them—you’ve worked enough.”

“Thank you Taicho!” Momo beamed which made him ruffle her hair again as she protested. “You’ve picked a good one—he cares for you.” At this, Momo blushed until her face turned as red as her coat. “Thank you Taicho for agreeing to spend time with him,” she said earnestly. “It really means a lot to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “Ya owe me—I get to choose the music for the next two weeks!”

Momo flashed a brilliant smile. “You got a deal!”

Toushiro smiled as his girlfriend rushed back to him with a bounce in her steps. “I just got a text from Matsumoto saying she booked us a place for tonight? Did Hirako have anything to do about it?” He asked as he tightened the scarf around her neck that had come loose in her run.

“Hirako-taicho,” Momo corrected. “But yes, he said I can have the weekend off so we can spend time together in the human world! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Toushiro took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “Come on—let’s get out of here. There’s a bookstore I want to show you,” he said smiling as her eyes widened in glee, before jumping into a long set of questions on how his day was. And as he answered them, he thought that maybe it wasn’t that bad a day after all.

—

Authour’s Note: So, when I first received the prompt I had to think about it a lot because to be frank, I don’t think Toushiro would ever actually ask Shinji for Momo’s hand in marriage. I think Shinji would just appoint himself to give it hahaha (I also believe that it is referenced that Shinji refers to Momo as his daughter in the novel We do KNOT always love you. I’ll try to find the link soon and update it here)

I’m nervous with this one but I hope people at least enjoyed seeing how the two closest men to Momo see each other (and in a way respect each other) when it comes to her well-being. I definitely enjoyed writing Shinji! It gave me a reason to be antagonistic towards Toushiro in a playful manner but give advice in a straight forward, not unkind way. But I definitely think I still need to practice writing him. I also really enjoyed writing all his errands haha

Hope you enjoyed it!

[dadada0203]

Open Your Mouth by @pinkhairedlily is the SasuSaku true crime-esque story I didn’t know I needed in my life. It is totally different from any other SasuSaku story I have read…I can’t wait to see what happens next! ❤️❤️❤️

[motheryoon]

aaahhh!!! okay i’m also very honoured to be tagged but unfortunately i know even less people🥹tagging @pinkhairedlily @psalloacappella @sparklyfaerie 🤍🤍

But it’s okay, Sasuke finds, even if he doesn’t say the words. They know how to read his eyes, his gestures, his silences. They have opened him, learnt him, memorised him like he was their favourite childhood storybook.

Last Line

Rules: Post the last line you wrote in your current WIP and tag as many people as there are words.

Tagged by: @corneliaavenue-ao3

and did somebody say fun dream sequence in a 2K fic that's slowly growing!

tagging: @sunshine-states, @lafgl, @thenicestthingiveseen, @alphacrone (don't give me that look – you've been on a murderous roll!), @addawithbalmiki, @secretkeeper13, @narukoibito, @yellowocaballero...yeah, i'm going to stop there. but feel free to cheer yourself on, if you want!

[pinkhairedlily]

That was the only time, as I stood there, looking at that strange rubbish, feeling the wind coming across those empty fields, that I started to imagine just a little fantasy thing, because this was Norfolk after all, and it was only a couple of weeks since I'd lost him. I was thinking about the rubbish, the flopping plastic in the branches, the shore-line of odd stuff caught along the fencing, and I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, maybe even call. The fantasy never got beyond that - I didn't let it - and though the tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing or out of control. I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, to drive off to wherever it was I was supposed to be.

[pinkhairedlily]

I keep thinking about the river somewhere, with the river moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how I think it is with us. It's a shame, Kath, because we've loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can't stay together forever.

[pinkhairedlily]

I first got hold of Kazuo Ishiguro by reading The Buried Giant, and his works usually have major existential themes throughout. I picked up Never Let Me Go next, and I went into it blind. So I wasn't aware that it was categorized as a sci-fi novel at some point.

*spoilers after here*

Ishiguro's novel style doesn't reveal all aspects of the worldbuilding on the first chapters. Others would take two or three chapters to establish the world and the rules. He would just drop bits and clues, but don't tie them all together at once. He'd do it in the end, but like in Buried Giant, he'd leave all the understanding to you and what you make out of it.

So in this book, there were mentions of donations and carers, and what seemed to be a boarding school, but you don't get an idea what they are there for. You start off seeing them as kids growing up and going through the motions of life albeit in a boarding school.

They form friendships, and these were the kinds that you could relate too in some distant parts of your childhood memory - when your friend let you borrowed a good pencil or when you usually ate lunch together but because you spoiled the ending of a book they were in the middle of reading, they decided to eat with someone else. I see myself in Kathy, how I mostly walk on eggshells around my 'Ruth' friends, how I tend to leave things undiscussed and find them resolved with familiar acts and gestures like a tap in the back, a signature hold on the elbow.

There were themes of love and romantic relationships but not too on the nose. You'd get an idea that Kathy and Tommy were on a better wavelength in the initial parts though, they just had that connection. That's why it makes you wonder why Ruth and him became together first.

And on the last third, it starts to come together - that they were clones simply used as donors for incurable diseases. They don't have families or relatives. And Hailsham closed, so now they don't really have anything left to tie them down in a world raised to basically use them.

But they grew up with aspirations, they loved art and music, they made essays, they made paintings and drawings. They started to have dreams, they fell in love and missed out on it too, they made friends and got betrayed. So if clones were so perfect and feared for their superior abilities, why are they experiencing the same painful realities we go through as well? That premise really broke me, and once you go back to the memories of Kathy in Hailsham, it breaks you even more how she's trapped in a loop of helpless predicament.

And you know, what's even more realistic? The fact that they did not fight against their fate. Call it fatalism or amor fati, but what can they actually do when the institution that reared them already fell, and time has passed, and the opportunity and passion aren't there anymore. There's a sort of weariness and disillusionment that comes over them like it does to us when we're in our late 20s or 30s (of course there are exceptions). And this energy is likewise channeled in how Ishiguro tackled love and missed timings.

Finding love in the middle of your life isn't the same when you found it in your youth. There's a nuanced calm, but the lack of surging and swelling emotions are apparent. "It could have been different if we did this before." There are no emotional professing of confessions or teary declarations before the grand farewell. A smile can be all there is.

And most of the time, it's what we're granted all the same. A smile and wave for the finality of it.

After that we kissed - just a small kiss - then I got into the car. Tommy kept standing there while I turned the thing round. Then as I pulled away, he smiled and waved. I watched him in my rear-view, and he was standing there almost till the last moment. Right at the end, I saw him raise his hand again vaguely and turn away towards the overhanging roof. Then the Square had gone from the mirror.

[pinkhairedlily]

Writing Commissions Open! 🌸

Hi everyone! It's me, Aya (aka pinkhairedlily in twitter and tumblr and pseudolily in AO3).

I have opened several slots for commissioned snippets, ficthreads, and one-shots. This is prompted by my FIV+ cat undergoing full mouth extraction to mitigate her gingostomatitis flareups, and the procedure, with all the maintenance meds, is actually quite costly.

If you're interested, please fill out this form (https://forms.gle/8HbYAoLGZnrkSjxx5). All details are included there, but feel free to read after the keep reading line. If you'd like to donate instead, you can always buy me coffee. ☕

Reblogs and shares are greatly appreciated. Thank you all!

PORTFOLIO

AO3 | Twitter | Masterpost

I mostly write for three fandoms with preference for certain pairings:

Naruto (SasuSaku, MultiSaku, flexible)

BTS / Bangtan (any pairing)

Bleach (strictly HitsuHina)

SFW and NSFW genres I've written in: alternative universe, modern AU, age gap, psychological thriller, slice-of-life, angst, fluff

RATES AND SLOTS

Snippet (less than 1k words) - $3 / PHP 150, five slots

Ficthread (1k-2k words) - $6 / PHP 300, four slots

Full-length oneshot (at least 2k words) - $10 / PHP 500, three slots

SPECIFICS

STRICTLY NO EXPLICIT DOMESTIC/VERBAL/PHYSICAL/SEXUAL ABUSE, NONCONSENSUAL, AND INCEST PROMPTS.

TERMS

50% downpayment. 50% upon completion.

SNIPPET

1-2 days after downpayment

Up to two revisions

FICTHREAD

A week after downpayment

Up to three revisions

FULL-LENGTH ONESHOT

Two weeks to a month after downpayment (subject to the prompt)

Up to four revisions

Additional $2 for each chapter

PAYMENT OPTIONS

GCASH - For Philippines only. Please DM me in Tumblr/Twitter or send me an email in pseudolily520@gmail.com.

Kofi - https://ko-fi.com/pseudolily

Paypal - paypal.me/pseudolily

Idk if this will work but I guess there's no harm in trying. Thank you for all your help! 🌸

[pinkhairedlily]

UPDATED THE LIST YAY 💛

✅ completed Ember Vestiges

✅ TWO (2) new works for HitsuHina

WIPS I have marinating so be sure to drop by again in the near future!

SasuSaku

Divorce AU

Arranged marriage AU based off my Twitter snippet

Sarada's first errand (inspired by Old Enough Japanese series)

RTN! Time Slip

HitsuHina

Multi-chaptered HS/Fantasy AU pianist Shiro x trapped fairy Momo

KakaSaku HORROR Week :>

My garden of words | A masterpost

Hello, welcome to my blog! Here's a compilation of all thoughts I've thunked so far hahaha. On a more serious note, I'd like to convey my sincere gratitude to all of you who have appreciated each one. 🥰💛

Fandom: Naruto

Ember Vestiges

Modern AU, mystery/thriller, 🔞 ❋ Explicit, 4 Chapters, 14.6k words, Completed

For an estate that bears the monicker of Ember Grounds, it houses a family connected in cold indifference. Or so Sasuke thinks. He finds out soon enough that if there’s one thing in common running through the Uchiha veins, it is scorching love, burning everything in its path.

Abandoning this nest six years ago was still the most dubious decision he has ever made. Now he's back, against his own will, to watch his former lover (or perhaps the love of his life) marry his brother.

Student Council President Sakura

Modern AU, high school/university setting ❋ Teens and up, Ongoing ❋ sasusaku, kakasaku, narusaku, naruhina

All Sasuke wanted to happen in his high school life was to consistently rank first, have uninteresting interactions, and leave for college abroad. His plans foiled when he met Naruto, a boy with similar circumstances, and further spiraled when he allowed Sakura in. Haruno Sakura - Student council, competitive, bossy, stubborn….and hopelessly in love with a teacher.

This is a story of friendship as much as it is a story of love.

one certainty amidst a thousand doubts

Wedding AU, blank period setting ❋ General, one-shot, 4,484 words

It wasn’t in their plan to stay for an extended period in this village. It was supposed to be a stopover for supply replenishment, and a one-night reprieve in this arduous journey. Especially since the town wasn’t really special. It was just a farming town for flowers.

Or where Sasuke and Sakura learn to confront the elephant realizations they have been skirting around for some time now, and what happens in the end is nothing short of ordinary; it signals the turning page to forever.

Open Your Mouth

Serial killer/Crime AU ❋ Explicit, 8 Chapters, 20.6k words, Completed

Rising detective, Uchiha Sasuke, gets thrown under public scrutiny as he is handed what is about to be his biggest case. High profile elites and next generation heirs from the largest corporations have started to disappear despite the tens of bodyguards and massive information networks.

As he delves deeper in his investigation, all leads point to renowned dentist Haruno Sakura – beautiful, demure, and shy. Surely, she’s not the killer?

if the curve of you was curved on me

Modern AU, 🔞 ❋ Explicit, one-shot, 2,680 words

There's a snowstorm outside Sasuke's room, and an entirely different turbulence is gathering in his loins, courtesy of a half-asleep, pink-haired lady miles away from him. But then, gravity works in reverse with them - the greater the distance, (the fonder the heart grows) the more urgent the need.

Why are you awake? I thought you liked to sleep in? It's not your warm body beside me.

chouchou musubi (butterfly knots)

Canon compliant, 🔞 ❋ Explicit, one-shot, 1,674 words

It is a refuge, Sakura thinks, a wanton abandonment in the soft pillaging of his lips and fingers, the tiniest of skirmishes yet she’s surrendering all of her. And instead of words, they exit as fire through her pores, the most sensual of flames, setting both of them alight in unabated heat.

my love, until the end (mahal ko hanggang sa huli)

For SS Angst Day ❋ General, one-shot, 628 words

A soft chime like the beginning of spring, that is how he describes her laughter, and it reverberates within his soul to escape against the walls of the room. It dissipates in echoes, but he’s grateful for the resonance if only for the sound to further linger.

clandestine mess of waning and wanting

Modern AU, 🔞 ❋ Mature, one-shot, 462 words

So he complies as if transfixed in a moment of disbelief or make believe where she is his, and he is hers.

Brushing off the dusts

Canon compliant, 🔞 ❋ Explicit, one-shot, 1,443 words

The couple takes advantage of the (seemingly) vacant library section for a quickie.

He waits for her to break the spell

Modern AU ❋ General, one-shot, 2,808 words

And she holds on to his hand and intertwines her fingers with his against the rough surface of the seawall. She scoots closer and lays her head on his shoulder, a bit broader than what she might remember, and he hopes to gods that she is memorizing his scent just as he is memorizing the curve of her head on his neck and the feel of her now long rose strands against his cheeks.

Cacophony

Canon compliant, 🔞 ❋ Explicit, one-shot, 1,599 words

They’ve been like this for months now – his missions starting to get shorter and shorter, the impatience showing through each time. She thought at one point that it was probably a response from his past – the lack of physical intimacy and this was the resulting mechanism. But she eventually deduced he wasn’t like that. If this was all psychological trauma, then there were plenty of alternatives.

And yet he saves himself like a feast for her. “It’s your fault you holed up in here instead of coming home.”

In every universe, always you

Various settings, For SasuSaku Month 2021 ❋ Ratings vary, 16 chapters, 24k words

Can you stand and face your fears, my love? I will, for you I can stand in one place, my love, and never move As the fire burns around us in the dark One part is the world and one's my heart -Doomsday, Ryan Adams

Alternatively, An exploration of emotions, what-ifs, and could have beens in every other universe possible with Sasuke and Sakura at the center of each orbit.

Or in other words - a compilation of drabbles and one-shots for SasuSaku Month 2021.

Alone With You

Modern AU, KakaSaku ❋ General, one-shot, 2,462 words

Kakashi was the misunderstood pariah, and she was the school’s takane no hana. He comfortably pined for her from afar until prom when all he wanted was – at most – a dance.

Twenty Years From Now

Modern AU ❋ General, one-shot, 2,695 words

They were lovers in the past, but their dreams separated them - Sasuke has become a lawyer and Sakura a world renowned pediatrician. Finally reunited after several years, how would love stand the test the time?

Fandom: Bleach (HitsuHina)

drowning in you

Canon-compliant, Post TYBW Arc, 🔞 ❋ Mature, one-shot, 4,030 words

There’s always bound to be a moment that changes the trajectory of an elaborate sidestepping of the truth. That finally comes for Hitsugaya and Hinamori through a drunken almost-one-night-stand, office confrontations, and the unbecoming that feels like drowning.

my first hitsuhina lemon lol

the nights have monsters (but i'm with you)

Canon-compliant, Post TYBW Arc ❋ General, 3 Chapters, 11.4k words, Completed

In an era of peace, the peacekeepers are restless.

Hinamori Momo struggles to transition into a life after war. Sleepless for most nights and burdened with survivor’s guilt, her feet lead her to the person that could give her comfort, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. It’ll only take a few nights before her walls of pretense start to crumble, and she’ll be left to face the remains of her ghosts. 

What is this feeling? Could this be...?

Various settings, for HitsuHina Week 2021 ❋ General, 7 chapters, 10.1k words, Completed

Hitsugaya and Hinamori navigates through their collective history, newfound experiences, and unfamiliar emotions across different universes and timelines. Nevertheless, can they arrive at a single resolution?

Or, alternatively,

A collection of drabbles for HitsuHina Week 2021

The Spring He Came Back

Canon divergence, Alternate reality ❋ General, 12 chapters, 25.6k words, Completed

Momo found herself face to face again with her childhood best friend after he left town ten years ago in the middle of winter. She waited every spring and fervently hoped for his arrival.

Fandom: Bangtan Boys/BTS

i'll be with you (but it'll be a different kind)

Neighbors AU, yoonkook and yoonjin ❋ General, one-shot, 2,813 words

Yoongi broke the vinyl and burned the music sheets of his love letters. A month later, his neighbor played one of the songs he made for Jin.

Jeon Doe, Yoongi called him. "I'll be your friend for the end of the world."

(a short study on the process of moving on)

skinny love, just last a year

Modern AU, yoonjin, namjin ❋ General, one-shot, 929 words

Yoongi understood that from the get-go he was a placeholder – that was the most he could be in Kim Seokjin’s life.

Goodbye to the clearest eyes

Modern AU, minjoon/minimoni ❋ General, one-shot, 2,951 words

Will you let me stop time, your hand in mine? Bring me closer as it all gets ripped away And I said goodbye to the clearest eyes, I won’t be with you, but I won’t be far away They said strangers change your life. Maybe that's what happened when Namjoon gets mistaken as an uber driver by a blonde stranger with hazelnut irises that disappear when he smiles.

OTHERS

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Dreamweaver

Prompt: Culture | AO3 link here | Connect with me on Twitter. (Belated) Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth | This is quite long so please bear with me.

“What are your dreams like these days?” her mother asks as they removed the stripped abaca fibers from a bamboo beam beside their house after days of drying. Already separated by their thickness, the mother and daughter start to rub the strands with their hands to make them more pliant and softer for weaving, much like washing clothes on a sunny day beside the blue green waters of Lake Sebu.

Sakura looks around and finds all other women in their tribe busy with the same motions. Their small units of conversations are enough to drown her reply. “Foggy. Like the lake at four in the morning.” Sakura resumes rubbing the fibers and sets the thinner batch beside her to be reserved as lengthwise threads. “I always walk on water. But I can’t find her.”

“Perhaps, it isn’t your time yet,” her mother gives her a reassuring smile and finishes rolling her batch into balls of fibers to be used for crosswise threads. “Maybe she’ll visit me, or your grandmother. Now be a dear and get the last batch from your aunt’s house.”

Sakura explicitly grimaced at the request. Her aunt’s house is located on the completely opposite side of their place, a thirty-minute walk that ends with a clear view of the lake and clumps of water lilies.

“Don’t you want to see the flowers?”

“Nay, you know they only bloom at dawn.” But she sets off anyway with nothing but the hard ground, the flattened grass, and the flowering weeds. She arrives at the house after a sweltering walk of some twenty minutes or so (because she wants to go home quickly and eat dinner and entirely avoid her father).

Begrudgingly, she takes off the fibers from the house beams and ties them neatly stacked on each other. She almost sets off again without taking a break, but the sun has begun to set and its golden rays start to cast off an ephemeral play on the reflection of the lake. As her eyes follow the myriad of the show, she is disappointed by the break of the owong, a small dugout canoe, against the water, the lapping of waves sending the flickering sunshine into disarray.

Her eyebrows furrow but gone too soon when she sees a pair of onyx eyes stare back at her on the canoe. He mirrors her shock ever so slightly, and he starts to look away, gesturing to his companion to turn around. His fingers course through the strands of his hair, absent of the usual striped tricolored bandana of red, black, and white hues.

Sakura almost tethers over the edge, summoned by an overwhelming feeling of curiosity, and her mouth opens in a wordless no. Her stomach lurches when he glances back in time with a stare that lingered for a minute too long.

She is quite certain she’ll see him again.

She comes home just before the sun fully dappled their place in purple and pink tones, and she gets an earful from her mother who grew impatient of waiting to finish the day’s weaving tasks. This she doesn’t mind as her thoughts conjure up his face, his eyes, and his smile just before he truly looked away for the last time.

Over dinner, however, her thoughts start to fray.

“Sakura, I have found a good match for you.” Her father devours the grilled tilapia on his plate, a portion from his harvest earlier this day. “They are a big tribe at the opposite side of the lake. But they have a sizeable dowry, the only remaining eligible son has handsome features, and you’ll marry into a great clan.”

She finds the morsel of food difficult to swallow, but she nods anyway because this means her marriage will rid both clans potential land conflicts. She agrees because this is her duty as the T’boli chieftain’s daughter.

Over the years, their tribe has grown smaller from internal clan wars, a fight over resources, and, more often than before, outside developments. She must do what she can within her capabilities to ensure her tribe’s survival. Her mother gives her a comforting smile across the table as if this would be enough compensation for the realized burden on her barely-out-of-puberty shoulders. Shy a month from nineteen, she has been passed another great mantle of responsibility.

But filial duties aside, maybe she can learn to love her husband the way her mother loved hers.

That night, she stands atop the same ground she was on this afternoon. She finds the same owong in the middle of a still Lake Sebu, its blue green waters deathly silent, and its surrounding land rid of lamps and candles, and while it is midnight, the water lilies are in full bloom with the bright moon on top of a starless night sky. Dreams suspend realities and so she jumps off the cliff and walks towards the waters, her bare feet almost touching the lily pads but never creating ripples on the surface.

The owong is empty, much to her dismay. She climbs on it, settling on the middle where he stood, and tries to take his remnants in – maybe he left his smell, his footprints, or strands of his hair, and maybe she’ll carry parts of him in her new life.

She wanted to know him – how foolish! A stranger meeting her eyes and yet she feels remorseful. Nonetheless, she sobs, unwilling to accept her fate, especially when she hasn’t met her yet, her first great responsibility.

While time is suspended in this dimension, she raises her head, aware that she will wake up very soon, and takes in the last vestiges of her dreamlike memory. On the other end of the lake, she sees her, a tall woman with her hair curled into a high bun, face framed with strings of beads, arms raised to her sides like an embrace, the sleeves open and dancing with the wind Sakura cannot see, the long tubular skirt molded in between the waters and her ankles. For a split second, she almost hears her voice.

“Fu Dalu!” Sakura yells as she sits up on her bed. Her heart is beating fast, and she’s barely breathing. So this is what it feels like.

The name she called out she triggers a morning audience in her quarters, her mother beside her, brushing her untangled rose strands intending to make her calm. The other female tribe members sit near the door, awaiting instructions for weaving.

“Has the goddess of weaving talked to you?”

Sakura glances at each face of her family before she rests on her mother’s expectant expression. She really couldn’t blame them. The dreamweaver before her met Fu Dalu when she turned thirteen and made tens of weaving designs before she got married off with a childhood friend. Her mother started when she was eight and was pursued by her father when she was of marriageable age. And here she was, already considered too old to be married, and still no dreams with the goddess of weaving.

She shakes her head and focuses her sight instead on her hands which are tired of drying abaca, tired of separating fibers, tired of dyeing them, amid the sighs of her fellow clan people. She wants to spin the threads, but she is devoid of this blessing.

Her face is still regretful when she is called to welcome the man arranged for her. Color her surprised when the same pair of onyx eyes stared at her when they disembarked on the shore.

“Datu Kizashi, this is Uchiha Sasuke, our second born, and Sakura’s betrothed.”

His eyes leave hers for a few seconds to shake hands with her father, and then he finds her again, a smirk playing on the ends of his lips. She doesn’t withhold her smile, but she hopes they will see it as nothing more than a courteous response to their guests. Internally, different kinds of somersaults have taken place; not at all liberating, just a fluttering sensation that threatens to overwhelm. Would this still be called a responsibility when she is literally engaged to the stranger she wanted at first sight?

They discuss her dowry over at lunch amid the feast of steamed crabs, shrimps, grilled fishes, and sauteed water spinach. Five whole roasted pigs have been brought in separate three separate canoes as an offer to the tribe. Sakura is barely listening, too distracted by his undivided attention on her, and the clarity of his voice.

“I agree with my father that we should do a moninum,” Sasuke says.

“But that will extend your preparation by two years,” Kizashi starts to protest. Sakura feels the weird pain that comes from the implication she, a dreamless weaver, is being quickly discarded.

“And two years I will commit to her devotion,” the raven-haired man replies. “I hope your daughter accepts me fit for her hand in marriage.”

“Fit for you? Oh even the Bathala knows you are far more deserving. We are happy to oblige.” Her father’s words change direction. Sakura knows he knows it isn’t worth to complain against a bigger clan like the Uchihas.

As they prepare to leave, Sasuke stays behind with the silent instruction for his men to go back first to their canoes. Sakura’s family respectfully gives them space albeit not alone together but enough distance for them to not overhear their conversation.

In hushed tones he says hello. “I was spying yesterday.”

“Did you like what you see?” she asks, avoiding his gaze.

“I like her better at this distance.” His fast hands slip her a gold bangle with engraved looping lines, and he gives her a smile only her eyes can see.

And off he goes, back to the other side of the lake.

Sakura wears the bangle on her left wrist as she sleeps that night. And Fu Dalu finally reveals herself. She is covered in moonshine, her eyes twinkling as if all the stars are gathered there. Sakura stands upright in the owong in the middle of the lake. The goddess places both of her arms in front of her, revealing the colored threads that connect to Sakura. They shimmer under the night sky but soon disconnect from her body to spun into an intricate pattern in shapes of diamonds and stars in shades of reds and whites.

This is her first weaving design – that of the afternoon sun when they first met each other.

The houses come alive in a flurry the next morning, and for the first time in a long while. Sakura allows herself to hum as she threads the pattern on the legogong, a backstrap loom, the bangle still on her wrist, regardless of its weight on her weaving hands.

The first of the six feasts to be done over the course of two years is arranged a fortnight later, the second on the following two months, and every time, without fail, he goes to her side to engage her in conversation. He shows her his sword, a work of his own, and the handle which he personally engraved with a clan seal. In turn, she discusses her weaving design and the night Fu Dalu came to her.

“Will it be all right to ask something so obvious?” she asks.

He angles his head to her so his full attention is on her, and he urges her silently with his eyes.

“Will you take another wife?” She expects him to cast his stare down, but he doesn’t. After all, he is from a wealthy clan, and the number of wives dictate how rich a household is. Surely, he is one to display his abundance.

Instead, he smirks, and his arm moves but stops in the middle of the space between them. “I am not bound by the rules expected of my older brother. I am a second born with the sole duty to marry good and defend my family. Unless you would want me to?”

“It is your right, I suppose.”

“And my right to choose to refuse.”

The t’nalak piece has been completed within those two months, thanks to the hardworking hands of the women in her community. The last part is the semaki, a process where a cowrie shell is rubbed against the fabric to condition its threads and dyes and add the completed look of a sheen. Sakura takes a cowrie shell from a basket and gives it to the youngest daughter of her aunt to make the first motion. Elated from the distinction, the girl starts the burnishing motion and eventually followed by the hands along the length of the fabric.

Fu Dalu appears to Sakura the second time in the same place, but the sky is completely devoid of a moon, the usually still lake is laden with waves, and the goddess herself is weary.

The threads still move across space to connect to Sakura’s body, but they are slowed down with a combustion of flames around the lake. Surrounded with blazing fire and angry waters, Sakura tries to keep steadfast inside the confines of the owong, trusting her connection to Fu Dalu, and the fact that this is but a dream.

But she wonders if it is still a suspended dimension when she hears the trill of muhen amid the cackling of fire and the swell of the waves, the god of fate whose sound signals an imminent omen. A bird suddenly swoops down in her owong, temporarily fraying the threads that connect her to the weaving goddess, and she wakes up with the last burning image of an eagle’s eye.

She calls for her mother in the loudest voice she can muster. Notwithstanding her unkept appearance, she goes out of her quarters and calls for her family, anyone, but she finds them gone. A good half hour transpired before they come back to her, seemingly distraught, and once they see her out and about, they advertently avoid her questioning gaze.

“Sakura.” Her mother comes to her with her hands on her shoulders. Sakura is not sure whether the action is to steady her daughter or herself. “The Uchiha clan is at war.”

Her father explains the repercussions to her when he arrives that afternoon from hunting. “We might have to suspend your moninum with Sasuke. The clan at the lower mountains contested the land since they’ve been displaced by a plantation. If their clan doesn’t win this, we might need to prepare for the worst.”

“What’s the worst thing, Tay?” Her voice is trembling.

“We might leave this place and seek refuge somewhere. I’ll find a son to marry you with, Sakura. The next worst thing above that is if we stand our ground and fight and fall to our deaths.” Silence befalls their household.

Sakura forces in the whimper that threatens to escape her lips. She must not show fragility at these crucial moments. She is the datu’s daughter. She must remain brave.

“I apologize, inday. I should have married you off earlier to a good family, and you could have escaped this misery that awaits us.” Overt fatherly affection is rarely experienced, particularly from a chieftain, and to be the recipient of that in public, that actually meant something.

So Sakura didn’t have to hold back the sobs anymore. She is afraid, not of death, but of the possibility that she will marry someone else other than Sasuke only to find he survived. Must fate tempt them like this?

However, she is now a dreamweaver, and it is her role to weave into life Fu Dalu’s images. With a heavy heart, she resumes her position on the legogong and draws the eagle’s eyes over the threads. Black, deadly, nothingness.

The day the emissary delivered the message, Sakura found no strength to continue the weaving. The t’nalak is halfway done with the pattern clear enough to be replicated so her mother takes over the finishing process. Her daughter, wanting to be rid of grief, travels to her aunt house to look over the lake where they first met.

The Uchihas won, but they couldn’t find Sasuke. He hasn’t returned the night after the war’s conclusion.

The emissary still delivers the same message the following week and the next. Sakura drags herself to finish the t’nalak eagle piece with semaki, the gold bangle on her wrist heavy like lead as she rubs the cowrie shell against the fabric.

She hopes she doesn’t dream of Fu Dalu again.

As if it is spite, the goddess reveals herself to her again in the same place but different entirely. There is no more chaos, but it is the lake teeming with life. Rays of sunshine abound the horizon, the birds fly out and about in teams, and ripples form on the surface. Somewhere, Sakura hears the sound of families rising to another day of life.

But she cries and covers her face with her callused fingers, not wanting to see the threads that connect her to the goddess’ hands and the images they conjure for her to spin and thread and weave.

She hopes for the fire and the storm to swallow her, for the muhen to trill and signal her own death, but it doesn’t come.

Nor do the threads.

Only then does Sakura realize she is not standing on the owong, but on the lake itself, and there are no threads spinning in front of her with Fu Dalu at a distance but that the goddess herself is sitting beside her, her eyes the same onyx color like Sasuke’s.

Fu Dalu’s hands, callused and wounded all the same, hold a single stalk of a water lily bloom.

When Sakura wakes up, it is still four in the morning. She hastily dresses herself in awkward silence and slips out of their house to go to her aunt’s place. It is empty right now as her aunt’s family paid visit to a relative on the adjacent town. She arrives just in time for the dawn to break.

Cold to her bones, Sakura waits amid the fog. For what, she doesn’t know, but the water lilies have started to open their bulbs one by one, sharing their full unabashed beauty to the ones who rose the earliest.

“What are you trying to tell me, Fu Dalu? What do I need to do?” Sakura asks herself.

The fog clears up a bit, and she catches her breath. An owong starts to make its way across the waters with the same passenger but a slightly different countenance. A scar has carved across his right brow down to his left jaw, and while fortunate of having this shallow cut, he casts her an apologetic look as he rolls his sleeve up. A bandaged stump has replaced his left arm.

But the only thing she sees clearly, and the only thing that matters really, is his onyx eyes against the backdrop of the blooming water lilies just as her sight starts to blur with tears.

TECHNICAL NOTES:

T’bolis are indigenous peoples who reside in the mountains of Cotabato in the Philippines. Their cultural centers and dwellings are usually situated in three major lakes, one of which is Lake Sebu. Apart from being a source of their fishing economic activity, the lake and its naturally blooming water lilies akin to lotus flowers have become a tourist attraction in Mindanao. The pink water lilies, dubbed as sunrise flowers, only bloom from five to nine in the morning, then close up in the afternoon.

Datu – the highest position in a community held by a male household head. But a T’boli society will have one or more datus with varying degrees of authority, wealth, and status.

Marriage – Polygamy is allowed in a T’boli society; the number of wives gives a distinction to the abundance of resource a man has. Arranged marriage is also the norm, with the process starting even from childhood, puberty, and adolescence. Once married, a celebration called moninum can be optionally conducted which is a series of six feasts done alternately by the families. Did a little creative license here where the six feasts should ALL be completed before being considered as fully married.

Dreamweavers – Only the females in a T’boli community can be weavers, and they can only weave once they are visited by the goddess Fu Dalu. It is a spiritual undertaking as much as a community work. This results to a highly prized cloth called t’nalak, often worn in important life events (e.g. birth, wedding, death).

Muhen – bird god of fate whose trill signals imminent misfortune

Owong – dugout canoe which the T’bolis use for fishing and transportation. It can hold up to three people

T’boli and the rest of indigenous peoples in the Philippines face multiple challenges in today’s society. They are consistently displaced in their ancestral domains by government-directed developments (e.g. land conversion, mining agreements, forest management agreements), militarization, and illegal economic activities (illegal logging and quarrying by large corporations). This also exacerbates the already existing internal land-grabbing and resource conflicts, and clan enmities within the communities.

As their culture is rooted in their environment, they find it difficult to maintain, nurture, and practice their cultural identity. In this context, dreamweavers cannot focus on months’ work of weaving if they are running away from military operations every other day.

Further, commercialization of these products has cheapened the value of their own craft. There are instances where these designs are stolen by profit-oriented entrepreneurs and sold without the knowledge and consent of the tribe. Another case is an unfair agreement where weavers are contracted to make the t’nalak but are not given the commensurate money for it. They fail to have leverage against these exploiters since they are not educated in the ways of our society. They have a different worldview and orientation, one which we may struggle to accept if we continue to perceive them through our lenses.