#unfortunately my anxiety refuses to let me record my own voice without wanting to die

[luna-the-cretar]

So I was eating this absolute nightmare of a texture experience that was my dinner (my mom had made gumbo, except she had literally none of the ingredients she usually adds, so it was literally just oily over-seasoned rice and sausage. It was bad. It’s usually better than that, idk what was up with her), and I was describing to my brother what Derek was doing when Frost had the oily mouth in episode 2, and he made the mistake of asking me something related to the Yuletide oneshot.

Which prompted an hours worth of blabbering from me about essentially nothing. I was just blabbering about the Yuletide oneshot. At one point he was like “I like on how you said you weren’t going to go into it, and here you are, going into it”, which prompted me to say “well, you asked questions about it, so this is really your fault”, before continuing to blabber on about the Yuletide oneshot for another 20 minutes

I mean, to my brothers credit, I guess, he did quietly listen as I just. Talked. About LOA. I literally never get to talk about my current hyperfixations to anybody, so if they get me talking, they can’t get me to shut up. Not until either have to or force myself to.

[kamwritesshit]

A Prick of Fate

I've finally written something after a while.

This is my take on the Soulmate AU. The pairing is a surprise. Enjoy.

Word count: 4,000 words

Warning: Contains uncensored swearing and mentions of death

He's found his soulmate.

At least, he thought so. Why would he, someone seemingly soulless and blank, have a soulmate in the first place? His hand hovered over the paper airplane but his eyelids begged to drop and drag him to dreamland. Still, he forced his eyes to adjust to the view of the eerily white minuscule aircraft. He blinked a few times, unsure out of exhaustion or uncertainty of the item in front of him. He forced himself to sit and pick it up. The paper pricked his fingers and he retreated as the airplane was dropped onto the comforter, landing gracefully. It looked almost revoking.

He took a sharp intake of breath at the pain and he watched as an unfamiliar name carve itself into his skin. He tried not to gasp at the sight of blood, especially how red it was and how it was glistening despite the dim lighting. He resisted the urge to scream when the name was almost finished writing itself, as the pain increased and increased. He bit on his lip but made sure it didn't bleed. Wouldn't want to add on the extreme he was already experiencing. He might as well be giving birth to a child, albeit he has no right to say or even think that considering, well, he's a biological man.

Arisugawa Homare, it wrote. What a stupidly long name, was his intial thought. Who was this girl and why was he assigned to her? Actually, he shouldn't immediately assume it's a girl. Let him rephrase that: who was this person and why was he assigned to them? Couldn't they have thrown the stupid paper airplane some time later in life? He hoped, whoever they are, felt the pain of his name being carved into them for all of eternity. Though, he thought, maybe this was bound to happen either way, and he'd endure the same pain he suffered before. Still, he gritted his teeth at the lingering pain.

"...Arisugawa...Homare..." he mumbled through his gritted teeth. He didn't know what to feel, most likely because of the surprisingly overwhelming pain. Was he really angry? Or was he somewhat relieved that this happened sooner than he thought it'd happen? He only managed a deep sigh as to not upset himself with a pained gasp or even a cry. He looked at the fated spindle which pricked his fingers. There it sat, still as ever, appearing innocent and harmless when it was the one that shot a thousand bullets into him. Well, mostly his right hand and arm, but he swore he felt the anxiety pound in his heart.

After an hour or so, finally, the pain was completely gone. His breathing slowed to its usual speed (not that he noticed it sped up in the first place) and he noticed that his heart had calmed down. He lied down again and daren't touch that...thing once again. Just as he was about to get comfortable, his whole body tingled and he felt insanely hot. Is this actually the aftereffects of the discovery of your soulmate? Sweat dripped from his forehead and he started to breathe heavily again. This amount of pain — as much as he'd hate to admit it, he didn't like it one bit. And he was actually hurting. He immediately sprang up and in the blink of an eye, he was out the door.

He needed to see the doctor. He doubted that these signs were typical for someone who recently discovered who their soulmate is and so he must go, pathetically enough. He ran in the shadows, a skill he honed god-knows-when and hid himself from the public eye. Surprisingly enough, the town was hustling and bustling, even at midnight when even the skyscrapers should be asleep. Nonetheless, he raced through the crowd, breathing heavily to restrict himself from screaming. The pain was surging, pumping, bleeding in him now. It hurt. A lot. More than he ever thought it would. He could not stress this to his own mind and body enough. To his surprise, the running didn't made it any worse. At least something was in his favour.

He ran and ran, searching for a clinic, so he could at least tumble down and beg for help, though he's quite untalented at the latter, considering he has been living by himself all this while and hasn't died yet. The former, however, was how he has been living his life. Constantly tumbling down onto his bed to sleep, sleep, and sleep. On some days, he's just tumble onto the cold hard tiles of his bathroom from exhaustion. The fact that he managed to land a job at the local convenience store is shocking enough to both him and his peers. He had heard piercing insults being whispered among the staff – "He's so lazy." "He doesn't even like to smile." "If he wants to sleep all the time then this isn't the fucking place." – but he doesn't care. At least, he pretends to.

Finally, after a few minutes of unconfined sprinting (albeit it felt like hours), he found one and thanked whatever deity watching over him for its deserted surroundings and seemingly lonesome interior. He walked in and sat down quickly, as he was already swaying by the time his first planted his foot on the smooth tiles of the establishment. He didn't bother opening his eyes as his head was starting to spin. Great. The one thing he thought was to his advantage turned out to eat at him in the end. Should've stole a bike, at least. He heaved and heaved, he felt like his lungs were going to burst. He couldn't even stand up to ask for some assistance regarding his situation.

"Oh dear. Can somebody lend a hand, please? He's quite out of sorts," he heard a voice call out, but not to him. He attempted to open his eyes then to see whoever it was that took notice of his presence and, of course, his pain. But he found it difficult as he curled up even more in his seat, similar to that of a cat asleep. Except a cat being asleep is no way in any pain unlike what he was experiencing. He liked that about cats; they never have to experience this excruciating pain humans have to go through. Or, for some humans, the pain they'd feel knowing that they'll never go through it. He felt lightheaded then, as if he waddling through dreamlamd when wide awake. He never felt that before, seeming as he's quite the heavy drinker.

He felt himself being lifted off his cosy seat and onto a stretcher of some sorts — he knew for, again, it was another skill honed without memory of why and when. He flinched, flinched and flinched, thinking that this may be how he ends. But then he recalled; no one has ever died from being pricked by the fated airplane. Even so, he thought he could set a world record. First man to ever die by pricking his fingers on the paper airplane of his fated soulmate. It sounded flashy enough for people to believe and gossip about, and maybe there was a chance for him to be known for the right reasons in this world.

His world was spinning, spinning, spinning, even with his eyes tightly shut and still. He felt the world beneath him rattle and shake, like an earthquake the average child would be frightened of. Too bad he was the...not-so-average adult. He lurked in the shadows, slept 24/7 if work wasn't there to interrupt, received the paper airplane of destiny and slightly killing himself bit by bit in the process of attempting to cradle it in his hands. He still thought he deserves a world record. He tried blinking but it was to no avail. Not only did the blinding lights made him want to shut the world out but the pain. It's still there and it wants to kill, kill, kill. At least, he assumed so.

"Don't worry, we'll..." he had heard initially, but the rest of their words fell on his deaf ears. He saw colours spiral around in the darkness he was witnessing but there was no sound; he expected for the colours to crackle and explode, like fireworks do at summer festivals. Summer festivals. He hasn't been to one yet. Mostly because he doesn't see the point in going. It's like any other event and celebration. Pointless and fleeting. He wished oh-so-much that the pain was the latter. Fleeting. But it seemed as if his body disagreed. It wanted to hurt itself, for whatever reason, not help him find his soulmate like its original purpose was.

He passed out, million sharp eyes on him, yet none could penetrate his thoughts or his pain.

⛌

"Hey, can you hear me?"

He had heard, which should answer their question already but unfortunately, he has to answer since they wouldn't know that, considering they weren't...him. The lights were on full brightness as usual and they threatened to knock him back to sleep as they shone and stabbed his eyelids with their rays of filtered light. Still, he forced himself to at least attempt to open his eyes at the strangely calm voice of whoever's calling out to him, which would probably a doctor or nurse. He blinked, blinked, blinked; and then he was looking straight at a bar of light — the typical LED. But he didn't care about that. It was blinding, thus it was bad.

"You're awake. Good. You're lucky that someone was there to call for our help. Or who knows what might've happened," someone else's voice piped up pointingly at him and he could feel his usual irritation with most human beings awakening. Still, he nodded slowly, his restless body refusing to cooperate with him. He began to sit up but a sharp pain wounded him in his chest and it forced him back down, almost knocking him out again. The two whom he interacted with rush over to check up on him and make sure he doesn't accidentally kills himself. He started coughing and swore he could see a bit of blood spill over the bed(?).

"Oi, stay still! You're still in bad condition, we just managed to lessen the pain for you," the man, he saw now, scolded and sighed. He obeyed and it's as if he has turned to stone. He tried not to let his eyelids fall and drag him into dreamland once again, but he thought again; preventing himself from doing had lead him here in the first place. So maybe he should let them shut the whole world out and venture his own for a few hours. At least he can ignore the pain and, if he were to die, he'd spend his last moments in his beloved little universe.

He stayed still for what felt like hours, when really it was a few minutes. Still, he felt...reinvigorated somehow. Born anew. He felt the pain lessen and lessen and lessen, to the point where he had forgotten how pain feels. He hoped the process didn't lead to a much, much more painful punishment and it didn't. Just like that, the pain was gone. Huh, he wondered. He shouldn't have underestimated the authority clinic doctors have. He waited a few minutes to open his eyes (he realised he has been shutting them this whole time — must be out of habit) and when he does, nothing seemed to be going wrong for once. He saw the light but it wasn't as blinding as it was before. He was strong enough to sit up and not have pain pin him to the bed again and again.

"I assume you're okay now," the lady, he now saw, offered a smile. He didn't know how to do that but he attempted at the very least, as thanks for saving his life. Actually, was his soul on the verge of death in the first place? It must've been, considering how much it hurt. But then again, he doesn't really know how a near-death pain feels like. He slightly shivered at the thought of a pain more agonising than what he had experienced minutes ago. He could see that the lady was trying not to frown and bring his mood down than it already was. He heard footsteps and fully expected the man to walk in and scold him again but it turned out to be another person, who seemed much calmer than the man or the lady.

They didn't pay attention to him at first so he took the time to fully observe and read them. They had silky and long platinum hair, which almost matched their long-fingers hands which looked smoother than a mirror. They had glassy yellow eyes that were almost cat-like, though the glasses seem to be surpressing that fact to make them look less intimidating. He couldn't see what his name tag read but it started with "Yuki". Before he could stare at them more, the person strutted over to him and sat down on a chair as their eyes landed gently on their patient. He wondered if this doctor thought what everyone thought of him; erratic, lazy, depressed, and much, much more.

"Good morning. My name is Yukishiro Azuma, as you can see here. It seems like you're all fine and dandy now, aren't you?" they spoke (revealing to be a 'he') oh-so-softly and smiled, seeming much more feminine than the lady. But he wasn't one to judge. They all saved his life and that's all that matters. He nodded in response; he really liked how calming this man was and he didn't want to ruin it for the both of them. But sadly enough, Yukishiro Azuma wasn't Arisugawa Homare. He almost forgot about that name, although it was one of the things that brought so much pain in the first place.

"Fufufu, you're quite obedient, aren't you? Don't worry, you weren't the first to stumble into our doors like that. We have more than enough experience," Dr. Yukishiro elaborated and he felt somewhat sad he couldn't snatch the world record he kept daydreaming about. Nevertheless, he continued to nod as a response and hope it conveyed 'Thank you so much for saving my life, can I go home now?' as strongly as possible. Dr. Yukishiro chuckled and stood up to walk away, marking the end of their conversation. But before he disappeared, he dropped one last line.

"There's someone who wants to see you. And I think you might want to see them too," he said and then he was gone. He was left dumbfounded who would want to meet him at such an hour? Actually, what time was it anyway? The doctor said good morning so it must be morning. He got off from his bed and walked out of the room, escorted by the lady from before (Tachibana Izumi, the name tag read). His eyes immediately landed on the only other patron there, and they seemed to be asleep, with their head knocked backwards and leaning against the wall. He could feel the chill of the walls just by looking at them being sound asleep.

He walked slowly towards them, as he didn't want to seem too excited for they were his initial saviour. As he slowly inched closer, he took notice of their...unique haircut and colour. He also noticed the quite formal attire they donned, making them seem like a teacher or professor of sorts. He sat down beside them, unsure of whether he should wake them up as they were sleeping so peacefully. He always felt angry and annoyed whenever his neighbours would wake him up in the middle of a deep, deep sleep and thought they wouldn't want the same thing. He tried not to lean on their shoulder from the usual drowsiness that was coming back to him. But that dispersed quickly when he saw what was written on their arm.

Mikage Hisoka, it read. He could feel the anger surging through him now and the adrenaline he initially felt from running across yards and yards of road tar pulse back into rhythm. Luckily enough the pain wasn't there to haunt him for the millionth time for the last few hours. He placed his hands gently on their shoulders and he slowly inched his way up. Up, up, and up until...

"What the hell are you doing? Get your hands off him!"

The man from before. Mikage sighed and he let his hands fall limply to his sides. A shame, really. He might not remember how and why he knows how to do it but what he does remember is how to do it swiftly, without a trace left behind, but it seemed as if that skill was slowly fading away from memory. Or perhaps, it was something else, considering the person he tried to choke was his soulmate, not just any other person. His soulmate. The person he'll be forever bonded to. He cringed at the thought of it and slightly shivered, remembering the pain he felt because of this stupid soulmate thing in the first place.

"Whether you like it or not, he's your soulmate. You can't do jack shit about that," the man barked – Furuichi Sakyo, the name tag screamed – and approached him. Furuichi (Doctor? Nurse? Something in between?) gripped Mikage's shirt, a big portion of it in his balled fist, and stared daggers into his eyes. Too bad for him though, his eyes were already too blinded by the LEDs to be blinded by a few metaphorical daggers. He didn't feel threatened, no, not at all. Somehow, he was used to this. He only blinked a few times and Furuichi let go furiously before strutting back into the abyss that was the clinic. To his dismay, the man beside him had woken up, stretching his arms and yawning very loudly.

The man – actually, Arisugawa Homare – looked to him and smiled radiantly, as if he took the sun and shoved it into every fibre of his lips and possibly being. Mikage was unsure if he liked it or not. That smile and the eccentric aura and vibe he was giving off. He saved his life but at the same time, he was the one who put him through so much pain in the first place. He was conflicted. He only replied to his smile with a confused yet longing gaze, questioning his every intention. Why did he threw that paper airplane? Why did he help him? Why was he so radiant and eccentric? Mikage wondered this questions as if they will never be answered.

"Hello, my darling soulmate. It seems you are well once more," Arisugawa finally spoke for the first time when his darling soulmate wasn't preoccupied with heaving and on the verge of death. It was a bit jarring, to say the least. This teacher-slash-professor-looking man, who was gentle and careful with his words (not as much as Dr. Yukishiro but still), one who inflicted so much pain even if indirectly, with a haircut worse-looking than a mop, was his soulmate. He wanted to kneel and ask the fates — why was he destined to be with this man? Because for one, he was one would describe as "heartless" and "unloving", though he begged to differ.

"Is something the matter?" the mophead asked and widen his eyes in confusion. Mikage noticed his shrinking and slit-like red pupils, like bloody icicles on a particularly icy and dangerous day. They attracted him like a magnet, slowly pulling in and then all at once, he found himself lost in his eyes. The red surrounded him like dark clouds on a thunderous night and the questions he had were being dragged out of him. He screamed but there was no echo to screech in response. And with that, his soulmate understood. "I see. You wish to know why I threw the fated airplane," the other man snapped him back to reality and he nodded furiously, more furious than he ever had done in his life. Arisugawa chuckled and shifted in his seat.

"You see, dear Hisoka, I was naive. I insisted of entering a relationship with a woman before discovering who my fated soulmate is and that, as it should, lead only to ruin and heartbreak. As I was reminiscing on the fragments of memories we had shared, I was surprised to find my hands folding a paper airplane. And without further thinking, I threw it out my window and it flew into the world, oblivious yet all-knowing. It flew right to you and, I'd assume at the very least, your name was carved into my arm the very moment mine was carved into yours," he narrated as he caressed the name on his arm oh-so-lovingly.

As always, he was speechless. He didn't know what to say. He's constantly at a lost for words but this time it felt wrong somehow. Almost guilty for being silent. They only knew each other for, what, a few hours excluding the ones when he was knocked out? And yet he was speaking as if they knew each other for a decade. Mikage wanted to state that they barely knew each other but somehow, he found himself not wanting to break the other man's heart a second time. He was...sympathetic. And somewhat compassionate. He didn't necessarily liked it but it wasn't something he hated either. Maybe this soulmate thing was doing something good for him after all.

"I acknowledge your worries. We do not know each other well, unlike most fated soulmates; but I accept you with open arms. We shall take the time to befriend each other and fall in love. I am willing to bare my soul but in exchange, so will you. What say you?" Arisugawa offered and looked into the other's eyes, impatiently searching for an answer. As much as he hated to admit it, Mikage could easily get lost in his eyes and swim in an endless sea of red, but he knew he had to think of an answer. His eyes might be enchanting but his heart was still conversing with his mind.

'What do you think, Heart?'

'I have felt nothing for decades and you're asking me to feel for someone I barely know?'

'But maybe it'll be worth our while. It's time for some change.'

The whole lobby was silent, save for their breathing and pounding of hearts. Mikage's heart refused to halt but his mind was out of the woods. People always told that you should always go with the preaching of your guts and follow the singing of your heart. But he was soulless and blank. But maybe it's time to write something on that blank slate and fill it with some soul. His heart sang yet again.

'...I suppose.'

And with that, his arms were thrown around the taller man, he felt less than empty but he couldn't say that he was feeling something, unfortunately enough. But as soon as his soulmate rubbed his back reassuringly, he could feel...warmth. If warmth was what he was feeling. He held onto him tighter, as if his life depended on it. Maybe all that pain and adrenaline was worth meeting him. Worth feeling these other feelings. Worth a change of pace.

"Deal," he promised, as another paper airplane dashed out the clinic door, searching for its unsuspecting victim. And Mikage hoped, with all the compassion his steel heart could muster, that the recipient and sender know that the pricks and pain and adrenaline will be worth their while, as cheesy as that sounded in his head. He might've had no right to think that, since he had never open up his heart for anything but, like his soulmate, he was willing to try. If he'd try, then so will anyone else.

Screams could be heard in another room.

[thefreckledone]

Satori (Between the Lines) - Part 16

Sakura meets her own gaze in her mirror, taking a deep breath. She’s practiced her speech a couple of times now, with each iteration only getting slightly less awkward. She latches onto a memory of her mother speaking to artisans and politicians, gaining footholds in territories formerly unopened to the Haruno clan.

Haruno Mebuki is living proof that a person can be formidable using only their words. Sakura aspires to be the same.

She clears her throat, forcibly stilling the nervous shuffling of her feet. “Jiraiya-sama, I am approaching you today with a proposition.” She schools her features, trying to embody her father’s steady calmness. “I believe it to be mutually beneficial.”

Sakura takes a deep breath. “I am here to petition you for apprenticeship.” She pauses, catching the way her lips twitch toward a frown. It’s awkward to speak while watching herself so keenly, but she knows Jiraiya will regard her with even deeper intent.

Her nerves hum with anxiety. This petition is a long shot, a gamble that Sakura sincerely doubts will pay off. None of the Sannin have ever taken on formal apprenticeships. In the time before his betrayal, Orochimaru took on a single genin team, of which Anko was a member. He also collaborated fairly often with the shinobi involved in research development; but he never took on an official apprentice.

From the whispers around the Intelligence Division, Anko was slated to become his apprentice officially before he left; in fact, a date was already selected. A week and a half from the day the Hokage discovered his unsanctioned research labs. So Orochimaru never took on an apprentice.

As for Tsunade-hime, she worked closely with the medic-nin in Konoha before and during the Second Shinobi World War. She never took on a genin team or apprentice though and she left the village shortly following the War. Sakura’s heard that Tsunade-hime trains medic-nin and doctors wherever she travels and that she is accompanied everywhere she travels by a relative of her deceased fiance. The companion is basically an apprentice, though she was never registered as such in Konoha’s public records.

Jiraiya though…of the three Sannin, he’s perhaps the hardest to assess. He’s the only one who’s remained a fixture within the village; an ever-traveling fixture true, but a fixture nonetheless. He led a single team in Konoha and took special interest in one of those students. Of them all, Jiraiya is probably the one who came closest to formal apprenticeship, however, the Third Shinobi World War derailed it all.

And Jiraiya’s would-be apprentice thrived through that hardship, ascending to the role of Yondaime Hokage.

Sakura exhales shakily, meeting her own gaze once more. Such thoughts only serve to make her more nervous. Instead, she turns her thoughts toward Celandine, his absolute anguish as he forced himself to speak to her. Sakura doesn’t know his reason for it, why he would dare to skirt his master’s orders, but Sakura knows the desperation she saw in his face and the terror that cracked his voice. For Celandine’s sake, for his sacrifice, she’ll give this her best try.

Sakura refuses to linger on the fact that Celandine has yet to reappear since then. She can only assume the consequences of his actions and her imagination is unfortunately quite vivid.

So she refocuses on her attention to her notes, taking it from the top. She’ll do her best to be prepared to combat any counter arguments from one of the keenest minds of Konoha.

No pressure.

And so, it is with a stomach full of fluttering kikaichū that Sakura approaches Jiraiya’s office a few days later. It’s located in the Intelligence Division and Sakura truly isn’t certain if it’s merely a converted closet that Jiraiya is given when he’s actually in Konoha. It’s smaller even than the room she worked in at the beginning of her field assignment and it seems a poor fit for a man as large as Jiraiya. He doesn’t seem to mind it, but Sakura does notice that most of her encounters with him take place out in the village rather than in his office. 

In fact, she sincerely doubts that he’s actually physically here at the moment; rather, it seems likely that he uses a simple seal that lets him know when a person comes by so he can teleport back.

Sakura knocks on the unmarked door, feeling the slightest tug on her chakra before a voice calls, “Sakura! Come in!”

Sakura pushes open the door, cocking an eyebrow at Jiraiya’s unkempt appearance. He just offers a crooked grin and no explanation.

“What brings you by my illustrious abode today?” he asks.

Sakura stares at him, drawing upon all her courage. She digs her nails into her palms for a moment, centering herself. The worst thing Jiraiya can do is say no; Sakura will just have to figure out how to handle Celandine’s shadowy master some other way. Sakura takes a deep breath and begins to speak, “Jiraiya-sama, I stand before you with nothing but my own skills and prowess today. I submit myself humbly before you for judgment. If you deem me worthy and teachable, I petition you to take me on as your apprentice.”

Sakura breaks his surprised gaze as she prostrates herself before him. She has just recited the formal plea for mentorship as detailed in the Second Shinobi World War. There was little manpower available for teaching; children sent out for the slaughter as Konoha, Ame, Suna, and Iwa engaged in acts of mutually assured destruction. Those children who survived their first brush with war sought out teachers anywhere they could and a formal rite emerged. The use of these words demanded a response; it could not be deflected or avoided. Jiraiya, as a shinobi who made his name during this War, had to respond.

“Stand and meet my gaze,” Jiraiya says, all the joviality of his voice gone.

Sakura straightens and suppresses the urge to wince. Jiraiya scowls down at her, visage absolutely foreboding. She isn’t sure what exactly she said that set him off, but it is apparent that he is quite angry.

“Why do you request such a thing?” Jiraiya demands. “Do you even know what you’re asking?”

“I do,” Sakura replies, passing on his first question for now. She doesn’t want to get Celandine in trouble; she doubts that he acts within the proper channels of Konoha. “I’ll be officially and publicly linked to you and all that entails. If this information leaks to other nations, my name may be added to yours in their bingo books. I can be used as leverage.”

Jiraiya’s jaw ticks and he closes the book he was reading rather loudly, his dark eyes flashing with a storm. “You’re better informed on the consequences than most genin; why the hell are you trying to pursue this? You know the costs to yourself!”

Sakura doesn’t flinch at his language; she’s heard worse in the company of Ibiki and Anko even though they try to censor themselves around her. “There are benefits to apprenticeship as well,” she says softly. “By that same merit, I’ll be afforded protection by association with your name.” Jiraiya’s eyes narrow at that and Sakura sees suspicion replace the anger in his gaze. “I’ll have access to opportunities I could not otherwise receive; make connections with people far out of my reach.” Sakura scuffs a foot along the floor. “I plan to make Haruno a shinobi name, much like Hokage-sama did with Sarutobi. As things currently stand, I will not get far.”

Jiraiya leans back, crossing his arms across his chest. “And what do I get out of such an arrangement?”

Sakura’s thought on this quite a bit. She knows that she doesn’t have much to offer Jiraiya; she’s a civilian-born Academy student. She has no delusions of grandeur. Without a doubt, she’s receiving the better end of the deal. But from speaking with her parents and Shibi-oji, she knows that there are some things that she can offer.

“Connections,” Sakura replies. She taps her shoulder, where the crest of the Haruno clan is emblazoned. “The Haruno clan is a flourishing merchant clan; we have footholds in all the major shinobi villages and most of the elemental nations as a whole. Haruno Mebuki and Kizashi, my parents, are constantly expanding our clan’s influence; in the time since oka-sama took up the role of trade broker, the Haruno clan has successfully entered seven new territories, three of which were openly hostile beforehand.”

Jiraiya hums. “And what connections would a merchant clan bring me?”

Sakura resists the urge to fidget. It isn’t exactly open knowledge in Konoha, but because of her association with the Intelligence Division, Sakura knows that Jiraiya serves as Konoha’s Spymaster. Technically though, she isn’t supposed to know that. Sakura compromises by speaking a different truth, “My family can secure regulated goods; items that would not be shared willingly with foreign shinobi. Nations underestimate civilians; it isn’t difficult to ferret out secrets.

“More than just that, I will ensure your knowledge isn’t lost. If you take me on as your apprentice, I will take on your teachings, your legacy, and carry it forward even after you’re gone. All those things you’ve learned will be passed on to the next generation.”

Jiraiya still looks unconvinced. Sakura braces herself, deciding to play her last card. It isn’t much, but she thinks Jiraiya is the sort to respond to raw truths over prettied lies. “I don’t have much to offer you right now. I’m a no-name, no-rank nobody in the eyes of Konoha as a whole and it’ll stay that way for more than a handful of years. But I don’t want it to stay that way. I want to create a legacy, to learn more about ciphers and use that knowledge for Konoha’s sake.” Sakura takes a deep breath, throat dry. This is a much more one-sided conversation than she expected. “I’m still reconciling myself with the likelihood that I’ll one day die for Konoha. I’m not there yet, but I will be by the time I graduate. If I’m to die though, I don’t want that death to be meaningless; losing my life as cannon fodder.” Sakura holds Jiraiya’s eyes even as her own burn. She is not yet desensitized to speaking of her mortality. “I’d rather my death have meaning.”

Jiraiya sits silently for a long moment, assessing her with inscrutable eyes. Finally, he rubs at the bridge of his nose, breaking eye contact. “I’d rather your life have meaning. I’ll take you on.” There’s a bitter twist to his lips. “I’ve never done this officially, but I think I remember how the responding rite goes. I have judged your skills and prowess and find them worthy and you teachable. You shall be my apprentice; you shall share my triumphs, my teachings, and my sorrows. Do you accept?”

There’s a roar in Sakura’s ears, a bell tolling her relief and the change she’s wrought with this single conversation. She is peripherally aware of the fact that Jiraiya is now standing, towering above her with an arm outstretched. She takes his offered hand. “I do.”

“Then I, Jiraiya, the Sannin, the Toad Sage, take you, Sakura, the nameless, the rankless as my apprentice.” Jiraiya sighs, dropping her hand. “Let’s head over to the Kage Tower; we’ll need to repeat the rites before witnesses and submit the official paperwork.”

“Thank you, Jiraiya,” Sakura says, still dumbstruck. In her heart of hearts, she never expected such an outcome. After all, who is she in comparison to the likes of Jiraiya or even his almost apprentice Namikaze Minato?

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Jiraiya says, expression still edged with sadness. “Seriously, don’t mention it.”

Jiraiya looks certain that he’s signed her bounty notice, but Sakura knows the truth. This deal, while dangerous, is the only thing that will keep her safe from Celandine’s unknown, shadowy master.

At least, she hopes so.

0“We’re so proud of you, Sakura.”

Sakura beams beneath the weight of her parents’ gazes, resisting the urge to preen. They are seated in one of the finer dining establishments of Konoha, celebrating the mid-year student evaluations. Sakura placed first in all academic-based category and about mid-range for the physical-based. She’s even managed to beat out some of the clan children in physical performance, which she’s never done before. She’s surprised to see how much she’s improved, undoubtedly a result of Ino, Shino, and Torune’s attention to her training and form. Even Shibi-oji offers her brief lessons and, paired with the scarily self-directed study from Ibiki and Anko, it’s paid off.

“You’ve done so well,” Mebuki says. She’s dressed elegantly, hair loose and unfettered, spilling over her rich maroon kimono. “I am only sad that we won’t be present for the demonstrations next week. Yamanaka-san mentioned that he will ‘crystallize’ the memory and share it with us. Still, it is unacceptable to be kept away.”

Kizashi’s eyes twinkle as he leans forward. “What your mother isn’t telling you is that she tried to reschedule the trip; she made four members of the Suna branch cry before the branch head put her foot down.”

Sakura laughs, uncertain if her father is joking or not.

“I will be having words with Sabina when we arrive,” Mebuki grumbles, shaking her head.  

Sakura stops laughing; apparently, it wasn’t a joke. Sabina is Sakura’s second cousin and, from her fuzzy memories, a stubborn, gruff woman unafraid to state her views. Sakura has no doubts that they’ll have it out. When she glances anxiously at Kizashi, he offers a wink to reassure her.

“It’s their way of saying they love each other,” Kizashi says with a wry shake of his head.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when we raise the taxes on luxury goods from Fire,” Mebuki says, poised even as she plots.

“And on that note…” Kizashi says, raising his eyebrows as the server brings up their dishes. Mebuki immediately stops, reclaiming fully her role as the impeccable Haruno clan head. The server, an Akimichi considering his facial markings, places the dishes smoothly and quietly, starting with Mebuki.

Sakura smiles as a dish of rice and umeboshi is placed in front of her. It’s a larger portion than usual; a treat for her success at the Academy.

Mebuki waits until the server finishes, offering a word of thanks before directing a soft smile at her daughter. “Sakura, you’ve done well. This is not the career we ever imagined you would pursue,” She exchanges an amused, knowing glance with Kizashi, “but we decided before having children that we would allow them certain freedoms. After all, we spent years fighting for our own; how could we not offer the same to our children?

“We may not have planned for it, but it is apparent that you are passionate in your pursuit. We’re so glad to see you succeed and, even more than that, to see you happy.” Mebuki lifts her cup toward Sakura. “Congratulations Sakura.”

“Thank you,” Sakura says, face hurting from the force of her smile. “Truly, it would not be possible without the sacrifices you’ve both made for me. I know the path I’ve chosen is an unconventional and difficult one; you’ve already fought for me countless times. I can only hope that I can live up to your expectations.”

They smile at her and Kizashi raises his glass, face uncharacteristically solemn. “I’m not much for speeches, but know this: we love you, Sakura. Now, let’s dig in.”

Sakura stifles a snort at her father’s pithy speech and follows his advice. They settle into a comfortable quiet, conversation easy and mellow among the three of them. Sakura savors this time, one of their rare family dinners. It’s different from the dinners she has in the Aburame household, it’s more polite and refined, but it isn’t better or worse.

It’s just different.

She’ll have time to ponder over the different types of family dinners over the next few weeks as she’ll be staying with both the Yamanaka and Aburame, switching off between them. Sakura worried that she’s inconveniencing them, but from the way that both Torune and Ino complain about the fact that she isn’t staying with him/her for the whole time…well, her worries are quickly assuaged. 

Sakura smiles as she reminisces over the way Shino groaned about Torune and Ino’s dramatics, before she is abruptly drawn out of her memory by a loud voice.

Sakura glances around, frowning as the voice grows increasingly angry. Her eyes catch on a large man, his body corded in large muscles. He doesn’t have the build of a shinobi though, perhaps that of a craftsman, maybe a blacksmith or welder. His face is ruddy with blood, eyes dazed from alcohol, but tongue still far too sharp.

Sakura’s surprised at the vitriol spilling from his mouth and she shifts in her seat to see the object of his ire.

It’s Naruto.

Naruto is tucked away at one of the corner tables of the restaurant with Chōji. Naruto looks shamefaced but resigned and Chōji appears white-faced and terrified. He’s dressed smartly in shinobi-wear and Sakura even notices that Naruto bears the Akimichi crest on the shoulder of his shirt. She isn’t sure if he’s borrowing the shirt or if he’s officially a ward of the Akimichi, but that isn’t the most pressing matter.

No, the grown man now screaming insults at a child is the issue.

Sakura glances at her parents. Mebuki watches the unfolding situation, lips curled in disgust, but Kizashi meets Sakura’s gaze, expression unreadable. He reads the question in her eyes and nods slightly.

Sakura’s hands go clammy as she stands from her seat. She hates drawing attention to herself, but no one is interfering with this man, averting their gazes from the incident instead. 

Sakura is not willing to be a bystander, especially as she remembers how quickly Naruto leapt to defend her following the Nara fiasco.

She glides across the restaurant, not marching or storming, presenting herself with a grace she doesn’t feel. Sakura knows that confrontations, especially public ones, are all about presentation. This man has already offered her a great advantage by being drunk and disorderly. Sakura notices that her parents flank her, several paces back.

They support her actions, but they’ll allow her to initiate.

“Sir,” Sakura says as she gets close enough. He doesn’t seem to hear. Sakura raises her voice. “Sir!” He rounds on her, eyes bulging. “You are causing a scene. What cause have you to quarrel with this child?”

The man narrows his eyes at her. “This is none of your business, girl. Scram!”

Sakura feels no fear despite the way this man looms. She can see at least five openings where she could incapacitate him. She meets his unfocused gaze calmly. “You’ve made it my business by screaming your hatred within this public establishment.” Sakura sweeps a wide hand, looking around the restaurant to invite the other patrons to see her side of things. She sees some scattered nods. “These boys were enjoying a quiet dinner before you interrupted.”

The man sneers. “Do you know what that thing is? It’s a monster.”

“It would be wise for you to hold your tongue,” Kizashi says coldly, stepping up beside Sakura. He clicks his tongue. “Considering your previous actions, wisdom does not seem your strong suit.”

The man rears back, affronted, before starting forward.

“Stop,” Mebuki says, her voice the softest of all, yet full of poison. The entire restaurant falls silent. “Satetsu Akome, you bring shame upon the iron-workers of Konoha. How would Guildmistress Tamahagane respond if she heard the fool you made of yourself in public, in an Akimichi establishment no less?”

Despite the drunken flush, Akome pales. “You wouldn’t dare–”

Mebuki’s eyes flash even as Kizashi shakes his head, mouthing the word, “Idiot.” 

“You dare presume to command Haruno Mebuki, the head of the Haruno clan?” Mebuki asks. All of the color drains from Akome’s face. “I will be speaking with Guildmistress Tamahagane of the slights you paid to a child, to the Akimichi, and to the Haruno. You will see consequences for your recklessness.”

“That seems a more than fair recompense,” a new voice rumbles.

Sakura starts, turning to see the broad, imposing figure of Chōza. She’s only seen him jovial, so the fierce scowl on his face is a stark contrast. He nods to a few of the servers, who step forward and grab Akome.

“Take him to the Uchiha and report him for drunk and disorderly as well as threatening the Hokage’s peace,” Chōza says. He pays the man no more attention after that, turning instead to Naruto and Chōji. His countenance softens entirely. “Are you well?”

Naruto nods absently, eyes wide as he stares fixedly at the Haruno clan. Chōji looks shaken, but he nods hesitantly as well.

Chōza turns his gaze to Sakura and she’s surprised by the gleam in his eyes as he assesses her family. “I thank you for the action you took. A server told me what was going on and I was coming out to intervene only to find that it was not required.” His expression is shrewd. “Thank you for caring for my ward.”

“Satetsu Akome does not deserve his mastery, if this is the way he behaves toward innocents and superiors,” Mebuki says, lips twisting. “After I speak with Tamahagane, I doubt he’ll keep it.” She turns her gaze to Naruto, expression carefully neutral. Sakura is surprised that her mother is concealing her feelings and cannot help but wonder what she feels the need to conceal. “I am sorry that you were subjected to such bile.”

Naruto nods, staying silent. 

Chōza claps. “In any case, allow us to repay your hospitality with our own. Come, finish your dinner; everything you eat tonight is free, including the dessert.”

“You hear that Sakura,” Kizashi says, a teasing edge to his smile. “All you can eat dango.”

They all laugh, tension breaking, just as Kizashi intended.

“Whatever you like,” Chōza says. “Even if it isn’t on the menu.” He winks at Sakura.

This seems to break the trance holding Naruto still as he springs forward, clinging to Sakura’s hand as he begins to speak a mile a minute, eyes sparkling as he recounts her actions of mere minutes ago. Already, he exaggerates it, painting her as more of a hero than she actually is. Still, it makes everyone smile and they end up sitting together, sharing in all sorts of delicious food.

And yes, Sakura eats far too much dango.

Sakura tries not to dwell on the interest in Chōza’s eyes every time she caught him looking at her. She has no doubt he’ll recount the incident to Shikaku. And unlike Naruto’s story of heroism, Sakura does not know how she’ll be portrayed.