#I hope Kishi would cry

[skania]

I gotta say, Sumire is an anomaly. Kishi is actually allowing this girl to keep a clear-head at all times, to figure shit out faster than Shikamaru, to ask the right questions and say the right things all while remaining emphatic and emotionally mature.

If it weren't because he still doesn't let her in on the action, I'd suspect he isn't the one writing her lmao

#and you may say: kishi has already shown he has it in him #and you would be absolutely right #but that's the thing #he only shows this with female characters that don't show up often #the more they show up the more likely it is that kishi is either going to reduce them to a crying mess #like karin during the war arc #or just have them be dead weight #even my girl ino suffered from this once during the hidan arc #but somehow sumire has managed to avoid this fate even though she shows up every chapter #it's surreal #fandom: naruto gt #hope I don't jinx it lmao #the juxtaposition between sumire realizing what was going on right away and salad just falling on her knees and sobbing like her mom #kishi only knows how to write 1 kind of female lead lmao

[sneezemonster15]

Writing Sakura and Hinata in character would make ppl think you hate them for being in the way of your yaoi ship. They gonna put you in the mysoginist box as Kishimoto because "How dare you give those innocents pretty girls any flaws?! They just want to love their men, they are doing nothing wrong!"

I'm tired of reading fics where Sakura is understanding as soon as she learns about SNS secret relationship. Tired of people showing Hinata being understanding and moving on fast and finding a new man (often Kiba) as if she wouldnt cry herself to death because Naruto-kun dont love her.

Wished fanfic writers explored more about Sakura's loneliness and her regret and frustration. On one side, she is happy to be "married" to Sasuke but on the other side, deep down, she is probably feeling fucking lonely and stupid because he is never home and ppl probably talks behind her back about her husband who is never home and who probably cheat on her, and how she looks so miserable.

Like, lets be realistic.

My headcanon is that Sasuke hopes that the distance he puts between them will finally makes Sakura snaps and "cheat" on him while he is absent. He realized he will never be free as long as she dont realize herself bc she is too selfish to notice her "husband"is unhappy by her side.

I find it very ironic when female fans fight for these two ladies. Like when they self insert into these women, what do they get out of it? It's so masochistic. Ss and Nh have no love to speak of. None. But the force of wish fulfilment is so strong with these fans, they would gladly ignore or dismiss everything canon. And while I understand people would do a lot to preserve something that gives them so much pleasure, including denying things left and right without an iota of introspection or soul searching, the fact that they deny something that actually is of worth (SNS), that is emblematic of selfless love and devotion, that is a result of one of the most heart rending, impactful and meaningful love stories ever written in the history of fiction, it just breaks my heart and inflames it with rage at the same time. I just get very emotional. It's cruel to my boys. It's fucking unfair. They don't deserve this. It's fucking disrespectful to them. And when antis just run their mouths without understanding their story or their characterization or what it means to people who do understand them, I feel like ripping them apart. But also, requesting them to be more....human? More emotionally generous? More honest? To search within their own hearts as to what it really means to be that lonely and to finally find love in the other that everyone else denied them, including their own families? Anything that works.

How can they be so cruel to my boys? It's their story at the end of the day. Like what did Kishi even miss? He went to hell and back, he left no stones unturned to tell their story. But fans would just....dismiss it and demean it and disrespect it and call shippers delusional and horny and whatnot...and for what? Hinata and Sakura? Those two, that in almost any other media, would definitely be condemned for their actions and general behaviour, not just towards the boys but others? But because they weren't here, for obvious reasons, they are being venerated as some female role models that they are actually the opposite of?

Mind boggles. It ain't done man. Not if I have a say in it. Not here.

I agree that Sakura feels lonely and bereft. But she still hasn't done anything to change things. Which shows that she doesn't want to, because having Sasuke as a trophy is way more important to her than being loved and respected. Or even liked. She married his status, and she would rather live with the glory that 'achievement' bestows on her than doing anything to actually make herself and her family truly happy.

Both Sakura and Hinata are too self absorbed to notice how unhappy their husbands are with them. And neither one cares. If they really loved them, they would have strived to actually know them, because neither Sasuke nor Naruto are dishonest people. Naruto almost always wears his emotions on his sleeve. Sasuke also lets it show when he is happy and fulfilled. We have seen both of them when they were happy and now, when they are sad and dejected. And we can tell the difference. And if these ladies had bothered to do that, they would have never gotten married to them. But they weren't written to be that way. Not in their characters. From the start. So now we have this mess of a situation and no one is happy. Well, Hinata is. Because she is just way too selfish and oblivious and dumb to understand anything that doesn't directly concern her.

#ask #naruto #sns #sasunaru #narusasu #sasuke #anti nh #anti ss #anti hinata #anti sakura #anti ending #anti boruto

[sasukesun]

People should understand that many popularity pools are easily manipulated, there are people who buy votes, bots or simply agree to vote for their favorite character, while other people, not being part of the fandom or no longer interact and don't care about it, for example if we go by popularity characters like Kakashi, Sasuke and Naruto should be in the top three, because those were their places in polls for the manga being broadcast and the last time I checked Minato was in the top 1. However, I hope Sakura wins because if it's Kishimoto who writes the story, we'll surely have a good comedy and her fans will cry when they see that Kishi isn't Esaka.

exactly, plus this isn’t a poll about popularity but rather a poll about which character people would like to see more of… i even said some time ago i almost wanted sakura to win so kishi would clown her more. haven’t her stans learned the lesson? i guess they are unable to

#ask #anonymous

[ponury-grajek]

Part 1 (or part one and only, I don't know but this may have a continuation)

I'm making a new canon to Narutoe, no need to thank m

edit: there is Part 2, lol

#naruto #madara #hashirama #tobirama #izuna #mito #madahashi #hashimada #tobiizu #izutobi #probably? I don't know where this is going #uchihafucker #as an official tag for tobirama #I hope Kishi would cry #madara uchiha #hashirama senju #tobirama senju #izuna uchiha #mito uzumaki #naruto founders

[captnjacksparrow]

Hi. Hope you are alright. Sorry about those SS NH crazies bothering you unnecessarily. What douchebags!

Anyway, I thought I would pick your brain about this : One of the reasons I feel Kishimoto sensei made the story on purpose about Sasuke and Naruto and their bond almost exclusively without exception, is how he deliberately not only didn't give any romantic development to Naruto and Sasuke with any woman, but sabotaged the one sided infatuation of these women ruthlessly. Like not only he gave flimsy and surface development to these two female characters who are in love with the Bois (I don't believe Kishi can't write romance, I also don't believe he can't write at least halfway decent female characters, he just chose not to) he went ahead to crush those feelings with the storyline. Sasuke rejecting Sakura like yesterday's trash. Everytime. Naruto, my sweet baby bless him, didn't even acknowledge Hinata. Like at the end of Pain arc, Kishimoto could easily have shown one scene, just one where Naruto just asks Hinata if she was okay, she almost died for him I mean. But no. Totally ignored her after Neji died too. These two moments when she proposed to him, were heavy with story and plotpoints, it would have made sense if there was a reaction from Naruto's side to Hinata's feelings, any reaction. But like sensei chose to not even write them. It's so funny.

I felt like sensei not only deliberately wrote the women in a bad light, he made something akin to the development of something romantic, just to later deliberately sabotage them. Like he was trying to tell us something?? Wink wink. Also, since I don't consider the ending part of the story anyway, so I don't really care.

What do you think?

Sorry about those SS NH crazies bothering you unnecessarily. What douchebags!

Thanks Anon. I am willing to have a civil conversation and arguments with them but it seems some of those peeps don't even have such common sense.

I don't believe Kishi can't write romance,

You are very right Anon.

He can write a genuine, organic, non-toxic and cute romance.

ShikaTema, MinaKushi, DanTsunade, YahikoKonan.

My top example would be Shikamaru and Temari. In real world, that's how majority of romance would be. Despite not being from a same village, let alone a same team, their development was believable, non cringey and non toxic. Their conversations were always formal and yet a slight tinch of tease which leans towards romance.

So I will not believe he can't write romance.

I also don't believe he can't write at least halfway decent female characters

Except for the fact that he made the women characters revolve around men and blatant objectification of their breasts, he wrote some wonderful women in his Manga. He even made some of them as Kages for their respective villages.

Say Hello to Tsunade, Konan, Temari, Granny Chiyo

Also say hello to Ino, Mei, Karin (They are not as great as the ones above but their jutsus are just amazing and powerful like Hell. No wonder Hashirama sought Ino, Sasuke sought Karin, Mei literally burned Sasuke's Susanoo)

Kishimoto sensei made the story on purpose about Sasuke and Naruto and their bond almost exclusively without exception, is how he deliberately not only didn't give any romantic development to Naruto and Sasuke with any woman, but sabotaged the one sided infatuation of these women ruthlessly.

Couldn't agree more with this excellent point of yours, anon.

All it takes is 1 or 2 panels.

Sasuke and Karin seemed to have a non-toxic business relationship. Although Karin was extremely flirtatious, when it comes to business, she would not cry and pray like the Pink Trash. Instead she would stand up on her feet and do what she have to do.

If I have to build their relationship by making Sasuke to reciprocate, I would just make a panel or two in the Bridge scene. Instead of abandoning her, I would make Sasuke to go back and take her with him by saying, 'Sorry, I was wrong. I will never abandon you hereafter'.

This 1 scene is enough. It shows Sasuke really cares about her well-being despite all the mess and was willing to take responsibility. It doesn't sound OOC at all. We really don't need any more corny romance after that. It's already understandable.

But, it's just like you said. KISHI SIMPLY CHOSE NOT TO. **Evil Laughter Intensifies**. 😈😈😈😈😈

He may have written both Sakura and Hinata with a better ambition, a strong attitude and cooler Jutsus to compliment their love interests. (Konan and Ino says Hi!!)

But HE SIMPLY CHOSE NOT TO. **Sarcastic Laughter Intensifies**. 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂

(Sakura and Hinata left the chat!!)

There is this widespread theory that if Naruto acknowledged Hinata’s love and Sasuke did the same with Sakura, then it will diminish the bond between Naruto and Sasuke. Well, despite having a teasing relationship with Temari, that didn’t stop Shikamaru from forming a natural and well established bond with Naruto. By the time of the War Arc, we could see Shikamaru really wanted to help Naruto with all his knowledge. Kishi could have done the same with Naruto and Sasuke.

But HE SIMPLY CHOSE NOT TO. **Cackling Laughter Intensifies**🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

There are many scenes between Naruto and Sasuke which could’ve been avoided and it will never affect the story, not even a bit. 

A purposefully ambiguous unfinished sentence ‘Naruto... I’, followed by an intense stare with a mere centimeters away.

Uncharacteristic privacy breach.

Mysterious obsession to save a person who can be killed by a certain person alone. No one can touch him. 

Intense gaze, despite all the mess and pain, with no sense of another person around.

An utter useless but funny scene which makes no freaking sense.

Look, I never considered that ‘Accidental Kiss’ as something important. I know it was a joke. It was never the USP of SNS ship. But what’s the point of bringing that incident at this point of time? Why waste this many panels on something useless which will never help the story and could have been used on other female characters who really needed some development?

Please remove all these panels. It would not interrupt the story at all. Of course Naruto with his plot armour don’t need to be saved by specifically Sasuke. Give that scene to his Dad or other Hokages. 

Objectively speaking all the other panels are completely useless to the storyline if they are just ‘Friends’. I will jump out of this ship and fandom altogether.

But KISHI SIMPLY CHOSE TO. **Heart Eyed Smile Intensifies**. 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

I felt like sensei not only deliberately wrote the women in a bad light, he made something akin to the development of something romantic, just to later deliberately sabotage them. 

I have to say, Kishimoto can

Write a decent woman character with strong presence like Tsunade.

Write a believable romance which never feels forced like ShikaTema.

Write a natural and established bond as Friends like Shikamaru and Naruto, Kakashi and Obito.

Instead Kishimoto purposefully violated all his writings & did a complete 180 degree and painfully gave us some trashy and annoying bishes, undeveloped and off-putting & puke flavoured ships, an Over-The-Top intense friendship with purposefully ambiguous scenes which point towards romantic side. 

Like he was trying to tell us something??

I can only fathom out three reasons

Kishi must be a lunatic who likes to screw up every readers.

Kishi must be a closet Bisexual who had a gay love on someone like Sasuke. Due to circumstances, they have to marry someone else. So, he might be projecting his own life.

Kishi must be educating women like Hinata and Sakura, that if you love a man obsessively who never acknowledged your love, just move on and have a life. That man might be interested on someone else. Otherwise you will be the lonely housewife who has to wait for him forever.

#ask #naruto analysis #anti naruhina #anti sakura #anti hinata #sns #sasunaru #sasunarusasu #anti sasusaku

[suddenly-i-kin-oikawa]

Y/n Haikyuu Chronicles

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Childhood Friends AU ♥

Kids (3-10)~

You’ve lived next to each other for as long as you two can remember

Although he’s about 3 months older, you’ve always been close

You’re the one who got him into dinosaurs, btw. He didn’t want to watch Jurassic Park with you, but he’s always been a bit weak for you, lmao.

He had to physically pull you off of Yamaguchi’s bully’s and to this day you are proud as hell of it. 

When you guys have a sleep over, he always says he hates cuddling and goes to sleep with his back to you, but always ends up waking up wrapped around you anyway

For like a year and a half you were taller than him, but then this asshole got his growth spurt

He’s so soft, omg, he always remembers your favorite snacks so he can get you them

He saves you spots next to him

Holds your hand so “You don’t get lost like the idiot you are”

(Super easy to fluster at this age btw, especially when he’s called cute)

Tweens (11-13)~

This is when you guys first started getting teased for being friends

You offered to only hang out with him after school because you knew he hated the attention

He rejected that idea and called you an idiot

Not too long after that is when he started snipping at everyone, to your great amusement

(”Aw, look, it’s Kishi and n/n, are you guys going on a date?”) (”Oh, look, it’s the kid that said he could date anyone he wanted then started crying when he got rejected.”) (”Oh my gosh, Kishi no.”)

Eventually everyone just left you two alone, though it didn’t stop some kids for forming a betting pool about your relationship

This mf sprouted like a god damned tree, you are unable to count just how many times he’s rested his arm on your head or looked down at you smirking. 

You fix that though with a good elbow to his side when he gets cocky, the bastard. 

Whatever, enough about his growth. You got taller as well, just nowhere near him. Your more feminine aspects starting coming in as well, which got you some attention from boys before Kishi scared them off.

This time is also when you two started volleyball. You as the boy’s manager and sometimes practicing with the girls and Tsukishima bragging to you about his big brother who played for Karasuno High.

You remembered your friend mentioning that he’s never been to one of his brothers’ games before, so you decided to get two tickets so you could surprise him!

That was the first time Kishi’s ever ignored you for that long.

It was the last day of school when he showed up at your house with your favorite snacks, drinks, your favorite (of his) dino plush, and a playlist.

You called it your Kishi Care Kit, he called you a nuisance

He spent the summer making it up to you

Teens(14-18)~

He did not want you to become manager of the team, at all. That’s probably the closest he’s ever come to begging

You still did it though, lmao

In your defense, you maybe kinda was still scared he’d leave you like he did in middle school again. 

Anyway! This was also a good way of making new friends! Once you, Kishi, and Yama clicked, you never really bothered the make other friends.

This might also be your potential abandonment issues talking, but we’re not gonna go into that

However, no matter how many Kishi said you could do what you wanted, he found himself getting possessive.

Walking up to you and yanking you away from whoever was talking to you

Standing ominously behind you until the other person left

Verbally ripping apart the others person, you name it

Him being your childhood best friend, you might have ignored for a couple months but eventually you got tired of his hot and cold act and you two clashed

While you two were going back and forth, he said something he shouldn’t have and hurt you. You knew sometimes he was blunt, and borderline mean, but never to you. It hit harder then you thought it would.

You left before he could say anymore. He hurt you in middle school, and he did it again a year later. You should have left after the first time to save yourself the heart ache. 

Throughout the entirety of your guys lives, you’ve always been the one to go to him after a fight. Not that you were wrong all the time, but you know your best friend. He probably one of the worse people to ever fight with because he doesn’t apologize. 

Even after he ignored you for months on end and gave you those gifts, the words sorry never left his mouth.

You’ve always gone back to him, because he knew you would understand his short comings when it came the that flaw of his.

You’re not sure if you want to understand anymore

Almost three months later and countless awkward practices, he knocked on your window a little past 3 in the morning

You let him in, and you two are sitting across from each other. He’s staring at you while you hug Rex (the plush he gave you) and look anywhere but him.

15 minutes are silence goes by before he says anything.

“I’m so sorry, n/n.”

You hadn’t heard your nickname since before 7th grade

He apologized to you for multiples things

What happened in middle school, acting like he didn’t care, ruining your chances at making friends multiple times, what he said to you during that fight. It all comes rushing out and all you can do is stare at him because he’s rambling and his voice his cracking and are those tears?

You don’t bother trying to stop yourselves from hugging him.

Once he’s calms, you ask him why

Why did you leave me? 

Why did you ignore me?

Why did you hurt me?

He explained everything, not leaving a single detail out. And then it was quiet again.

“I love you.”

“You do?”

“How could I not?”

Time-skip~

You two dated throughout high school, collage, and are still going strong

Of course, you’ve had your ups and downs, but you pulled through.

Your both busy with your respective careers, or the beginnings of one, but you always make time for each other.

You always sleep in his arms at the end of the day, you book tours  at his museum specifically asking for him, and make it to as many of his games as you can. He also makes sure to wake you up with breakfast every morning with a kiss, eat lunch with you when your breaks sink up, and give you gifts 

Just to remind you

It was when he blocked his rival scoring the winning point when he told you to look under your seat at the end of the game

You, confused, did so, embarrassed he was doing this on live television

Then you saw it.

And you had never said yes so fast.

@alto-march-of-death​ .... Im back 👉👈 WITH A GIFT I hope it’s not too bad, I wanted to surprise you so I couldn’t really ask for you opinion. I have been working on this for A WHILE and I’m so glad it’s done

#Tsukishima #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #hq tsukishima #tsukishima imagine #tsukki x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima headcanons #tsukki #tsukishima x y/n #tsukki imagines #tsukki x you #tsukki x y/n #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyu x reader #imagine #hq headcanons #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #hq #Y/n Haikyuu Chronicles #y/n Chronicles

[astrandofgold]

take me as i am

chapter 6: fell in love in the only way i knew

Here it is, the latest chapter! It’s only been….forever? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for so long because I wasn’t quite sure how to finish it off, but I finally figured it out. This one focuses on the sweet, with some minor suggestive content. The song I referenced is Q&A by Kishi Bashi, and I’m absolutely obsessed with it! Also, is it even a story about Higgs if there isn’t a part where he plays guitar? 😂

___________________________

A well-worn blanket, a pack of beers, and a guitar. That’s what was strapped onto Leo’s back. The guitar was awkward, but she’d be damned if she hadn’t carried worse cargo. And besides, Higgs had promised her, with a chuckle, that he’d play for her if she managed to carry it all the way to their destination, of which, was now within view of the two former porters. Out of the corner of her eye, Leo caught Higgs giving her a side glance, smirking. She rolled her eyes, flipped him off, and grinned, trekking forward.

Higgs had to hand it to Leo, the girl had some real grit. It was one of the many reasons why he was smitten with her. She reminded him of himself, and she carried that spark in her that he had misplaced long ago. Higgs mused to himself, thinking about how she was helping him find that spark again. Life had a funny way of placing into his hands the very thing he never dared to dream would come into his life. He could still see his daddy sneering down at him, telling him all the lies that shattered his young child’s heart. The scars still remained, littering his body like constellations. Each one formed the story of a boy wincing at the sound of a cracking belt, a boy covering his face with his arms as tears silently fell, a boy tending to burn marks in the cover of the night. A boy that grew up believing he was as ugly and worthless as his daddy was.

Despite that, Higgs was starting to come around on the concept that maybe he wasn’t as ugly of a person as he was led to believe. If it were true, then why the hell would Leo be with him? Maybe she was batshit crazy to be with him, the thought had crossed his mind more than a few times. But regardless, he was happy that she chose to stick with him. He remembered the night that he finally revealed his scars to Leo, she held him close, placing gentle kisses on each one, eyelashes glistening with fragments of tears. He didn’t know what she saw in him, but he definitely knew what he saw in her. As Leo coughed, Higgs was brought back to the present moment as he focused his attention and realized that Leo’s orange eyes were peering curiously into his own blues.

“What’re you thinking about, babe? You’ve been staring off like that ever since we passed the hot springs.” Higgs smiled gently in response, then chuckled. “I’m thinking about the fuckin’ food I’ve been carrying on my back for the last half hour. I’m starving!”

Leo scowled at him, teasingly smacking his toned upper arm.

“Dammit, Higgs, didn’t you eat right before we left? Where the hell do you store all that food?”

Higgs turned a mischievous eye to her as he patted her head, the height difference becoming strikingly apparent.

“Well, darlin’, you tell me where you think I store it all.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”

“And it’s not mine that you’re adorably short. I’m so glad we’ve had this conversation, but now I’m gonna eat something.”

“No, Higgs, just-just wait a second! Look, that’s the spot right there!”

Leo quickened her pace just a little, walking down the slight hill to a spot next to the riverbank. Small, white flowers grew in the lush grass, giving the area an aura of safety. This portion of the valley hadn’t seen timefall for quite some time, yet had a consistent supply of river water, which led to a unique ecosystem developing. Fauna had begun to return to the valley floor, birds chirped in the taller grass, and small deer ran in the woods where Homo Demens had once declared their base. Higgs still shuttered to think about his time there, as infrequent as it was. Surrounded by men who were just as delusional as he had been, who sought to bring about the same thing he had wanted. As he glanced over to the woods with the ghosts of his past, he let out a sigh of relief knowing that they hadn’t succeeded in their goals. He never would have been here with Leo, watching life return to the mountain base. It almost reflected his own healing, and he wryly smirked at the thought.

____________________

The sun was setting as Leo and Higgs reveled at their picnic spread, the worn Bridges blanket hosting a multitude of food items. Higgs couldn’t even begin to figure out where Leo had sourced it all from. She stood there, hands on hips, grinning at the selection. She was resourceful, and Higgs knew that the local preppers gave her gifts on occasion, but some of the stuff was unheard of. Chocolate? Fresh fruit? Those words alone would have caused Mules to come running from across the region to have a go at claiming it as their own. A wave of satisfaction and pride spread throughout Higgs as he thought about his partner’s success, and the fact that she chose to share it with him. He knew he was one lucky bastard.

The meal consisted of attempts at trying to throw bits of food in each other’s mouths, a few delectable favorites hand fed to the other followed by laughter, and one episode of Leo rolling her eyes when Higgs blew right through an entire loaf of fresh bread that she had procured all the way from the Timefall Farm. The light in the sky changed from yellow to orange, and now bathed the valley in soft shades of lavender as mist slowly filled the basin. Leo gasped as the flicker of a firefly appeared near them, low to the grass, but unmistakable in its glow. One after the other appeared, and soon, Leo and Higgs were surrounded by a field of light. Higgs unwrapped his arms from where he had been holding Leo as they watched the light show, and leaned over to grab the unforgotten guitar from the case. He knew Leo had been waiting for this moment with much patience. Her bright eyes, made even more orange by the fireflies, flickered with anticipation.

“Now don’t get your hopes up. It’s been a long time since I’ve played one of these things, and, well…you never know.” Higgs messed with the tuning, strumming until he seemed satisfied, a peaceful smile washing over his face. Leo, despite his protestations, had always thought Higgs attractive. But now, here in his element, surrounded by the glow of the evening and hair falling over his face, with his blue eyes shining, she thought he was absolutely beautiful.

Higgs broke the silence with a hesitant strum, getting the feel for the strings, forming a melody. It was a full, warm sound, and reverberated in Leo’s heart. Higgs looked up at her as he played, beaming.

“It’s somethin’ I heard on the network the other day. I think you were humming to it, and it kinda reminded me of you.”

He continued playing, and Leo laid on her back, folding her hands underneath her head as she listened. The stars twinkled in the sky, something she would never take for granted after a lifetime of chiralium-filled skies.

“You are the answer to my question

You are my accomplice in a crime…”

Leo sat up and looked over at Higgs, a smile breaking out on her face as she processed that Higgs was singing to her. He was absolutely beaming as he sang, the happiest she had ever seen him.

“You are my wing woman and did I mention

We were together in another life?”

Higgs wasn’t one to vocally voice his emotions, Leo knew that. He showed them through actions, through caring touches, hands on the small of her back, fingers gently moving strands of hair, lips whispering on skin in the dark of the night. Leo was surprised when she felt drops fall on her arms. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Higgs looked up at her, eyes earnestly exploring her own. He held her gaze as he sang the next line.

“…in that dream, you probably were my wife.”

With a final strum, the notes gave way to the quiet noise of the night. Crickets chirped, wind gently caressed the two bodies, and the nearby stream bubbled. Higgs set the guitar down next to him on the blanket, and Leo could see he had a hint of blush on his cheeks. Leaning over, slowly and softly, Higgs reached out and caressed Leo’s face. Thumb running over her cheek, over her lips. He wanted to take in every bit of her that he could. Blue eyes met golden eyes, each hungrily taking the other’s features in. Higgs moved in closer until his nose brushed against hers, lips a breath away. Leo closed the distance, softly kissing him, brushing her fingers against his neck, then running them into his hair. He gave a hum of pleasure at the motion, and broke the kiss, only to rest his forehead against hers.

“Leo, I-I love you…I know I don’t say it much, but I do. I really fuckin’ do. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, and…I don’t deserve you. I just don’t—“ Leo cut him off with a finger to his lips, eyes brimming with tears.

“Higgs, please….please listen to me. I want you to know that every morning, you’re the first thing I think about. When I open my eyes, you’re the only thing I want to see. At night, I want the feeling of you holding me to be what stays with me as I fall asleep.” Leo couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as she earnestly gazed into his eyes, and she gave a laugh amidst them. “I want to live a thousand lifetimes with you by my side, and….I never want anyone to take your place. Higgs Monaghan, I love you. I fucking love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are my everything.”

The next moment found Higgs and Leo tangled in one another, clothing rapidly abandoned. Tender hands grasping to bring the other closer still, lips writing their own unique love stories on skin. Hands running through hair, hands running down hips, hands staking claim on bodies that willingly offered. Passionate prayers left Higgs’ lips and spread to the sky, prayers offered up at the alter of Leo’s body. Higgs was by no means religious, but at that moment, he found god in the form of the woman gasping his name from underneath him.

___________________________

Lying under the stars with nothing between them and the balmy night air, the two wrapped up in the blanket. Leo rested her head in the crook of Higgs’ shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, placing his chin on the top of her head. The night was peaceful, and Leo had never felt safer than she did in Higgs’ embrace. The rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic and soothing, quickly lulled her to sleep. As he lie there, drowsily watching the stars twinkle and absentmindedly rubbing Leo’s shoulder, he thought about how his life led him to this point. How this woman, making soft sighs as she slept, accepted him and loved him with an incredible fierceness, showing him a facet of life he had never known. In that moment, as night in the valley settled and he drifted off to sleep, Higgs knew that for the first time ever, he had a long life to look forward to.

#don’t look at me #i’m not crying #I AM NOT CRYING #Higgs x Leo #higgs monaghan #death stranding #death stranding fanfic #slight smut #My writing #death stranding oc #take me as i am #Leo x Higgs

[polite-pandemonium]

a love like ours (is terrible news)

[LISTEN] - a love like ours (is terrible news) - a soft vibes royai (roy/riza) playlist focused on themes of longing, devotion, and just a glimmer of hope. also, angst, because them. lyrics under the cut - I tried really hard to find songs that both resonated with their relationship (or how I interpret their relationship) and that all had a similar flow.

1. if patience doesn't kill me | alison sudol I want you now / with a note in your pocket / and a lump in your throat / and our lives in the air / it feels close to you somehow / to say your name out loud / if patience is a virtue / I abound 2. brandy alexander | feist though I know what I love most of him / I'm walking on needles and pins / my addiction to the worst of him / the low moon helps me sing/ I'm his brandy alexander / always get him into trouble / I hide that I am flattered 3. saviour complex | phoebe bridgers baby, you're a vampire / you want blood / and I promised / I'm a bad liar with a saviour complex / all the skeletons you hide / show me yours and I'll show you mine 4. ivy | taylor swift so yeah, it's a fire / it's a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it / so yeah, it's a war / it's the goddamn fight of my life and you started it 5. words | gregory alan isakov and I'll send you my words from the corners of my room / and though I write them by the light of day / please read the by the light of the moon 6. repeat until death | novo amor don't go / you're half of me now / but I'm hardly stood proud / I said it, almost / I can't seem to let myself leave you / but I can't breathe anymore / I can't seem to not need to need you / I can't breathe anymore 7. nobody else will be there | the national meet me in the stairwell in a second for a glass of gin / nobody else will be there then / why are we still out here holding our coats? / we look like children / goodbyes always take us half an hour / can't we just go home? 8. salt and the sea | the lumineers all alone scared in your room, would you swear there's nobody home? / on the bed laying awake as you prayed he'd leave you alone / I'll let the darkness swallow me whole / I need to find you, need you to know / I'll be your friend in the daylight again / there we will be like an old enemy / like the salt and the sea 9. I'm with you | vance joy I saw you standing there / sandy blonde hair, the way it came tumbling down, just like a waterfall / and if you need a light / I'll be the match for your candle / darling, I'm ready to burst into flames for you / well I've been on fire dreaming of you / tell me you don't / it feels like you do 10. how can I | laura marling I put up my fists now until I get what's mine / it should have been you but it was anyone / you see, I never miss my chance to run / I will go anywhere with you / I will go where you ask me to / how will I live without you? / how will I love? 11. porchlight | the antlers keep me from vanishing at any cost / flip on the porchlight if you sense I'm lost / and we'll find a way back together / "if ever untethered, I know you'll know." 12. cracking codes | andrew bird you just have to look into my eyes / you don't need a secret code / no need to play at being spies / and though I may speak to you in tongues / we don't need rosetta stone / to know how this song is sung and that what I say is true 13. thieves | she & him we are two makers / just made this mess / two broken hearts don't beat any less / and I know and you know, too / that a love like ours is terrible news / but that won't stop me crying over you 14. marigolds | kishi bashi I wish that I had met you when your heart was safe to hold / when you were simple and fancy in that field of marigolds / I wish that I could grow up with you / I want to see the world the way you do / I want to fall off the edge with you / I want to fall with you

#royai #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #fma #fma: b #reposting because I worked too long and hard on this for it to not show up in the tags!!!!

[its-tie-kir-ra]

I had always heard people liking it. My friend told me it made her cry and I was looking to binge a long show since I was taking an ATLA fandom/fanfic writing break. And I started to like Kakashi and wanted to look at stuff, but started to get spoiled on stuff. So I watched as much as I could for weeks. And it was good.

Anyway. One, I have not learned my lesson. Two. I have spoiled several more developments since I first asked you. But I'm still doing this. I'm just gonna be smarter about it.

***

The Sasuke vs. Naruto could have had the power to destroy everyone. Wreck us. But no... When I think of the potential, it makes me so angry. A world so rife with conflict and interesting world building, which it had for a time and then just veered in one direction HARD. And not as mad, as the author had to write 20 pages a week with no help for years. Like, that sucks and now it makes sense.

***

I was screaming at everyone to drop him. I was screaming at that one fight at the waterfall. (But then I just remembered that I had two Sases when I was in elementary. They were really not nice to me and I was still like a puppy for them for years.) But now, I really need them to drop him like a hot potato. I don't care.

Now I'm watching the show from a standpoint of "the writer wrote it that way" that's why that's happening, etc.

P.S. I haven't watched Shippuden. I would appreciate no spoilers even though I already found out that medical nin stuff a few days ago.

oh i'm sorry for spoiling it! normally when i see "i finished naruto" i assume that they mean the whole thing, because in my mind, shippuden isn't really a sequel, it's the rest of the original story.

i was shocked when it took such a downward spiral in quality. like i'd always heard things, like the filler, but the way people talk about the filler like that's the whole issue. "it's a great series, just skip the filler" is a line i hear constantly, and i'm still baffled that that's the only complaint i hear. i was at a anime expo the month just as i started it, and when i told people they were like "OH IT'S SO GOOD! YOU'LL LOVE IT! JUST SKIP THE FILLER!"

i found myself getting even more frustrated in shippuden. it's where a lot of my passive feelings towards the series (oh this isn't a masterpiece but it's not the worst thing I've watched, i can see why kids would like it) turned into straight-up rage (CURSE EVERYBODY WHO TOLD ME THIS SERIES WAS GOOD).

and you're absolutely right, the bad writing is a result mostly of Kishi not having the time to actually flesh out the world. he has a lot of really interesting ideas that i like a lot, and i'm sure if he took the time to think about it, the series would've turned out way better. if it weren't for his blatant misogyny, i would feel sorry for him.

a lot of the love for Sasuke comes from people who have finished it entirely, so idk, maybe you'll change your mind towards the end, lol. i find him mostly just very frustrating.

hope you enjoy the rest of the series? lmaoooooo. looking forward to what you have to say when you're done.

#anti naruto #anti sasuke #tyquira asks #naruto hate train

[the-darklings]

—𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓'𝒅;

—PART XV. | BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBER’D

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 20k+ (the longest yeah boi ever)

summary: “One day you will thank me for this.”

warnings: PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-destructive behaviour (aka your girl is absolutely going through it but it will get better), angst, swearing, some suggestive stuff happens in this one.  

notes: might have taken 3 weeks & lots of rage but WELCOME TO CHICAGO PART 1! 

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 13 | 14 | . . | 16 |

gif credit (x)

“Father, please—”

“Quiet.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. That’s the worst thing. He doesn’t have to. One word and it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room.

You look towards Gianna but she looks only at her father, her expression blank.

Cassian is tense as a bowstring next to her. There is conflict in his expression but he is Camorra. He is sworn in and regardless of the friendship you’ve built—

“You will depart this household at once,” Giovanni says and steps closer towards you. His eyes are pitch-black. “Let’s see how long you last, viper. Your protection that was so kindly bestowed upon you by my son is hereby terminated.”

“Father, I can vouch—”

“I said quiet,” he speaks again, colder this time, and Santino’s mouth snaps shut at once. “You have done plenty already. I’ve just about had enough of your decadence, boy.”

Then, Giovanni D’Antonio’s head slants towards you again and he regards you like he’s considering whether it would be easier to kill you here and now or later.

“Hector.”

A dark shadow moves from behind the Camorra head, always the obedient dog, and halts at his side. Step is staring at the floor, stricken. Julian’s eyes are full of sadness, his shoulders curved downwards. Dario’s lips are pressed into an unhappy line, his knuckles popping from under his skin. None of them move or interfere. They know better than that. They are Giovanni’s men. They owe no loyalty to you.

“Yes, capo?”

“Get her out of my sight.”

Hector moves without hesitation. You don’t try to fight him when he grips your forearm, his cool rings pressing into the flesh of your skin.

Your eyes find Santino’s across the room. His jaw is clenched so tightly you can almost hear the grind of his teeth but he’s silent.

Something crumbles in your chest.

You had hoped that maybe—

“Move it, sweetheart.”

You turn to go.

“If you take so much as another step, Santino,” Giovanni’s merciless, soft voice reaches your ears and you almost halt. “The consequences that will follow will be of your own making.”

Silence greets every echoing step after that and no one tries to stop you.

Alone.

Again.

.

[NEW YORK CITY, 3.5 YEARS AGO]

Your eyes crack open and for a moment all you can see is blurred, muted colours above you.

The Continental room ceiling greets you like an old friend.

The sour odour of herbs and old sweat mixes in the air when you try to inhale and your face scrunches in disgust.

Your skin feels dirty and cold to the touch. You’ve spent the last several hours on the floor no doubt sweating out the toxins in your body while going through several fits.

Wrong dosage. Again.  

Trying and failing to roll onto your side, you huff a weak breath. Your throat feels raw and dry and you ignore the painful cramping of your stomach.

The elixir wasn’t clear enough again. You’ve spent almost two days trying to distil it till it was clear enough to mix and used the best alcohol you could find in the city—

Shit.

It doesn’t matter, you think and close your eyes again. You’re still delirious but there’s always tomorrow.

Welcome back, Kishi murmurs lovingly into your ear the moment darkness appears behind your eyelids.  

Your nightmares begin moments later.

.

You heave painfully, your shoulders curving harshly as you gasp for breath.

Wrong fucking dosage.

And too many zootoxins. Goddamn viper venom. Goddamn stupid chemistry. Acetylcholinesterases must be having a field day ravaging through your body as you stay curled pathetically over the toilet, losing whatever little water you had consumed in the last several hours.

Pathetic, Kishi hums from beside you, his ghostly hands caressing your hair soothingly. No wonder he left you. No wonder he doesn’t love you.

“Shut up.”

You suppose the blood you see should concern you.

It doesn’t.

.

You’ve kept the dress you wore to his wedding.

It still smells like him.

It torments you as much as it gives you comfort.

.

Foxglove is a remarkably beautiful flower.

It’s also a rather deadly, beautiful flower.

Cardiac glycoside.

Interesting.

You scribble a new formula, your brain aching but still functional after your last failure.

Too obvious? Perhaps. It lacks finesse, sure.

But you don’t care much for finesse anymore.

You just want results. And you will get them. Even if it means bleeding yourself and this world dry to get them.

You hate so beautifully, Kishi compliments with a sigh, his dark eyes glimmering in the low light.

You simply prepare yourself for another count of agony.

Such is the price to pay for power.

.

The dress doesn’t even smell like him anymore. It’s been months.

You still like to pretend that it does.

.

John.

You turn the viper ring on your hand.

John.

He’s not coming back, Kishi tells you from beside you and you both ignore how his throat spills blood. He doesn’t care about you. No one does.

“I know.”

His rough fingers caress your cheek.

You might be crying but you can’t be sure.

You’re at the bottom of the pit and there is nothing but darkness and quiet here.

Even if you wanted to get up. You don’t think you can.

You don’t want to, either.

Easier…

Easier to let things wither and die.

But I’m with you. I will never leave you, little viper. I will hate you forever.

Kishi rolls over, his fingers wrapping around your throat, his mouth a sneer, and his eyes dark. His throat is open, gushing, and red rains everywhere.

His hands tighten around your throat.

You don’t try to stop him.

.

Freezing water splashes against your face and body.

You wake up with a strangled scream, scrambling across the dirty floor.

A puddle of sick lays not too far from you and you blink away the wooziness, trying to locate a weapon. Your heart sits in your throat as you attempt to find the culprit, too, and your eyebrows knit when your eyes snag onto two men standing before you.

“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” Winston drawls, a hint of coldness lacing his scornful tone. “Saves us the trouble of cleaning up.”

Charon says nothing but the bucket in his hand paints him as the guilty party.

You try to wipe the water from your eyes but it takes several tries to lift your hands to your face due to muscle weakness.

“What—”

A weak croak and you pause, forcing your unused vocal cords to work.

Winston looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of you and approaches the window, pulling back the curtains with a swift jerk. Light explodes across the room and you flinch, ducking your head down as you block it with your palm.

“What are you…doing here?” you finally force out, your throat sore and blood stinging your tongue.

Ulcers from the chemicals. Great.  

“Considering that no one has heard from you in days, and you won’t let anyone inside without a threat of violence,” the manager explains, every word as icy as the last. “That left me with little choice but to check on you myself by forced entry. Do you plan to waste away here forever?”

The window opens with a crack and you shoot a glare towards Charon who moves around the room calmly. He opens doors and windows, letting the room air and you scowl at them both, still curled on the floor.

Your body aches and your muscles feel shaky with exhaustion. You haven’t left your room in days though. How funny it is that you feel more exhausted now than when you used to do jobs back to back with little sleep and danger around every corner.

“Get showered and dressed,” Winston instructs sternly, glancing at you only briefly and something in your stomach twists. Are you truly that repulsive to him that— “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. Charon, handle the rest.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Winston only manages a handful of steps before your choked words stop him dead, “You’re not my father. Don’t order me around.”

With your head bowed, you imagine your glare is even more vicious when he eventually does look back at you. His own expression is cool, composed as always, and he hums thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not,” he agrees easily, his expression as hard as his voice. “And be glad for it. Because I reassure you that if you were, I would not be putting up with this behaviour. Ten minutes, dear.”

Then he’s gone, and the distant clank of his shoes fades down the corridor.

You wish that didn’t sting but it does.

.

The first sip scorches through your throat and you choke down a mouthful, pulling the glass away from your lips with a grimace.

“What the hell is this?”

“Bruichladdich.”

Ignoring the agony in your mouth, you scowl at the man before you, and force yourself to take another sip. Winston’s frown deepens as he watches you shrewdly over his glasses. You don’t care much for it. With how strong this drink is, it will probably knock you out with a few more sips and that’s the goal. Better than whatever the hell this is.

Intervention, little viper, Kishi speaks from beside you and this time you almost jump for a different reason. Kishi and his torture belong in the pit with the rest of you. Not here.

The lounge is suspiciously empty as you and Winston sit facing each other on twin leather sofas. In fact, only Charon lingers by the bar and you know that Continental lounge is rarely this quiet.

“May I ask what it is, exactly, that you’ve been doing as of late?”

The question is restrained but something simmers in that gaze as he pins you under his heavy scrutiny.

“Working.”

Winston’s eyebrows jump. “Oh! Working. Is that what you call it?” he wonders coolly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks to me like you’re just poisoning yourself repeatedly.”

Scoffing, you lower the glass and ignore the frailness of your own grip. Your longer than usual nails tap against the glass and you force yourself to swallow over the pain in your mouth. Your tongue keeps poking at the little wound inside your cheek and a sting of copper follows swiftly after.

Your hands are as cold as your feet. Your hair still damp from a quick wash in the sink—because there is no way you could have forced yourself to shower today of all days—sits around your head like a crown of black ice.

Just like when I drowned you over and over again, Kishi recalls happily and you grit your teeth, turning to face the fireplace and soaking in its warmth.

“That’s how Mithridatism works, Winston,” you inform him, your voice still a husky, raw mess and you swallow another mouthful even though the drink goes down like a hot knife. Better to feel this pain. Something to ground you. “It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware of how it works,” the man barely waits long enough for you to finish before speaking and you fall silent. “It’s an art of discipline and brilliance. Given a different set of circumstances, I might have even praised you on your foresight. However, given how idiotically reckless you are being that can wait.”

Your grip on the glass tightens and you drag your attention back towards him.

“Why am I here?”

“It’s your birthday,” he says tightly, his eyes flashing. “But you had no idea, did you?”

Oh.

No—no, you didn’t.

Time has become…nothing.

A stream of existing and not existing. Of being lost, adrift.

You miss the sun.

You miss the dream that you could belong. That you could be a part of something and have companionship and trust.

You miss him.

John. Your John.

You miss him so much it makes you feel sick with longing for something that will never be yours again. He’s happy. Happy without you.  

“I know what I’m doing.”

Quiet, hollow words. You both know that.

“You’re killing yourself.”

There it is. The thing he’s been trying to avoid voicing out loud.

His words devour everything. Even Charon goes quiet behind the bar and you stare at the manager blankly.

Raising your trembling hand, you drown another gulp of your drink before placing the glass on the table and standing unsteadily to your feet.

“No one would care anyway.”

You step past him.

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” he calls after you, his mild words full of something you don’t dare to class as concern. Not from a man like him. “Don’t let it consume you,” he adds, quieter, when you fail to respond.

You don’t reply to that, either.

Nor do you believe him.

.

You find flowers in your room the next day. You had planned to get them for research into a potential paralyser formula that’s been knocking around your mind for a while now.

There is no note attached to them.

But you don’t need it to know where they came from.

You suppose it should make you happy.

But there is nothing inside your chest.  

.

Some nights it feels like your bones are made out of all the nightmares living underneath your skin.

Some nights you think you will swim.

Other nights you think you will drown.

And you know all about drowning.

.

Humming weakly, you shake the vial in your hand till the liquid inside goes from dark blue to red.

Finally.

It’s a potent, haunting sort of colour. Thick and striking as it rolls in the confines of the glass it’s encased in. It reminds you of—

Just like when you tore my throat out, Kishi mutters in wonder, leaning his face closer as he squints at the vial. Shoulder to shoulder. Your only companion. I bled red just like it.

He’s still bleeding. He hasn’t stopped bleeding. He will never stop bleeding.

And you can still taste it in your mouth. Except you’re no longer sure if it’s his blood or yours.

Toying with the pencil between your fingers, you roughly cross out Baba Yaga and write Kishi on top of the crumpled sheet of paper instead.

Then you tilt your head back and drown it whole.

.

There is everything and then there is nothing.

.

.

.

Distant voices. Urgent. Hands on you. Shaking, pulling.

Then nothing again.

.

“—cannot go on like this—”

“—there is nothing you can do, sir—”

“—dead soon—called—only option—”

“—use her—can’t—he will not—”

“He will.”  

.

You wake up bathed in sunlight.

It almost makes you cry because for a moment you can’t help but think that you’re dead.

A faint rustle of paper reaches you, and you slant your head weakly.

Winston sits on an expensive leather armchair, his legs crossed and pen between his fingers.

This isn’t the hospital wing that lives beneath the ground floor of the hotel.

You know this room.

You just can’t believe the man next to you is sitting here with you.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” is the first thing to leave your mouth. A half-forced whisper on your tender throat. “I wasn’t.”

It’s true.

But you have no idea how to convince him of it.

The air seems thick with a thousand unsaid things and Winston lowers the newspaper from his face, taking off his glasses and placing both on his lap.

His expression is empty as he examines you.

You curl further into the clean, crisp sheets around you as the silence continues. An IV is attached to your arm and you cringe at the sight of it. Your skin is suddenly so itchy you want to tear it away from you but know better than to try.

“I know you weren’t,” the man voices, at last, his words steady. “You were punishing yourself instead. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You believe that you’re not good enough—that you are deserving of pain. Better to make yourself hurt than to let anyone else do it. Am I wrong?”

Your eyes sting but you don’t speak, staring at his gleaming shoes.

“Are you hoping that you will drown everything else out?” he questions but it’s not accusatory.  If anything he sounds like he’s trying to engage with you in a way no one has before. “Never give someone else the power to destroy you. Hurting yourself will not erase what happened to you at Tokyo nor will it bring Jonathan back,” he continues, his voice grim after several moments of deafening silence between you.

You flinch at the name, your eyes closing in shame as moisture clings to your lashes.

Curtains flutter in the slight breeze.

Why did he bring you here?

“You will be staying here from now on.”

Your eyes fly open and your head snaps to him as panic fills your veins. “No—you—you can’t kick me out,” you mumble thickly, trying to rise, your fingers tangling between the sheets. You try and fail. “I pay for my stay. I—I haven’t broken any rules. You—”

Please, don’t throw me out. Please. I have nowhere else to go.

Winston’s expression creases. “I am not throwing you out,” he pacifies quietly but a shadow seems to have settled across his weathered features. “You are welcome to come back whenever you can afford it again.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and noting your confusion the man continues with a twist of his lips that would be biting normally, “When was the last time you picked up a contract, dear? It’s been months. Viggo Tarasov never gave you much to begin with and now…well. Your account ran dry two weeks ago. You likely have another two weeks at best before the Russian comes looking for you. He will expect you to pay up. It’s rather good that you already have your next job lined up though.”

That gives you a pause.

“What?”

Some of your panic has retreated but in its place blooms unease.

Winston tuts and stands to his feet. The newspaper is still in his hand and he slips his glasses into his pocket.

The look he gives you next makes you feel like you will have no choice but to comply with whatever he says next.

“You already know where you are,” he tells you knowingly, his eyebrow arching slightly. “Your employer is ready to see you.”

Santino D’Antonio hasn’t changed since the last time you saw him.

Which was before John and his wife. Before the wedding.

It was the night you decided to take a leap and hope for the best with your decision to come back to New York. Not like you could stay in Rome. Not with Camorra protection null and void.

Not with Tarasov demanding payment as usual.

Last time you saw him, Santino offered you to go to Paris with him. His own version of an apology. For not doing more to stop Giovanni. But no one could. The entire room could have stood in defence of you and it still won’t have changed a damn thing.

Last time you saw him, he had taken your hand in his and with that familiar arrogance and burning eyes and kissed your knuckles, asking only one question, “Come away with me, cara mia?”

You had refused him then.

And you would still refuse him now.  

You will always refuse him because he’s not John.

That thought makes something deep down ache.

The Italian rises when he sees you emerge onto the terrace.

Your arm is hooked around Winston’s as you walk. Normally, you might have commented on how seeing the manager of all the people here is hilarious. You know that there is no love lost between the two so the fact that they have gone through the trouble of collaborating on this…

Do they really think you’re that helpless?

A lost cause?

You don’t have enough energy to ask.

Every step closer is a metamorphosis of expressions though.

Santino seems to go through a thousand emotions in those several seconds it takes you to cut across the terrace. Your steps are shaky, your muscles aching, and you’re sweating.

A tart bitterness still coats your tongue and your grip on Winston tightens.

The older man presses closer—just a touch—but the silent comfort that gives you is immeasurable. Surprising.

Ares stands behind Santino and her expression is stoic as she takes you in. Unlike Santino, her emotions are guarded.

They both look ready for a funeral. The atmosphere that greets you is near suffocating.

You sit down awkwardly, practically falling into your seat as Winston sits down beside you. Santino is the only one left standing but he seems frozen in place.

You see his fingers flex, his Camorra ring gleaming in the golden rays of the sun when he finally lowers himself in the seat opposite to you.

It’s too late for lunch but too early for dinner. Wine and fresh coffee are always present on the heir’s table though—this you know to be an absolute that never changes.

“Ciao, cara mia. A pleasure to see you as always.”

You blink. Right.

“Santino.”

Those brilliant green eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong with your vo—”

Winston clears his throat loudly and Santino falls quiet, frowning deeply. He tugs a napkin free and drops it on his lap carelessly, peering at you.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife but you simply stare at the table.

“I have a job offer for you, bella,” the man begins amiably, folding his fingers on the pristine tablecloth before reaching for a glass of wine beside him. He’s frustrated, angry even. The cords of his neck are tense and the subtle clenching of his jaw betrays him. The way he taps his fingers repeatedly against the table and doesn’t seem to notice even more so. “One that I think you will find most beneficial.”

New York is so damn noisy. The traffic reaches you even up here. It’s a serenade of concrete, shouting, rushing people, laughter, arguing—

“Bella? Are you listening to me?”

You blink again, squinting at him. “Sorry,” you mutter shortly, ignoring the way Winston is dead silent, Ares is glaring at some distant point over your head, and Santino is gripping the wine glass so hard you can almost hear the cracking glass from where you sit. “It’s been a rough few days. What,” you exhale, your voice raspy and try again, “What exactly did you want?”

The Italian’s head slants, his demanding gaze drilling into you with enough intensity to keep you focused for at least a second.

“A job,” he repeats, slower this time, his voice colder, too. “I will require you in Chicago in two weeks time. In peak condition. Which you are currently not,” he adds the last part with such deliberate slowness that your bristle, something flickering in your gut.

It lasts only a second before fizzling out.

Yet between the rays of the sun blinding you both, it’s hard to miss the way he latches onto that brief moment. His navy suit accents the severe curve of his shoulders and the unmissable tension there.

“Not interested.”

A furnace, a volcano—Santino D’Antonio looks ready to shatter this world under his too-expensive shoe. Something whispers to you that it’s not anger directed at you, however.  

Winston speaks before the Camorra heir can. “You need this job. It’s not a question of want or preference, I’m afraid.”

But you don’t want it.

Santino is just another reminder. A stark reminder that you don’t belong anywhere.

John didn’t want you, Camorra didn’t want you, Tarasov only needs you as long as you’re making him money, Winston is just doing his duty as the overseer of New York.

You belong in the pit with Kishi who seems absent for once.

Maybe it’s the brightness of the sun. He fears the light as much as you do now.

“It’s an undercover mission,” Santino endeavours to explain even though his voice is strained, deepening his accent. “Information gathering only. There are several individuals who have been, ah, causing problems for our trade as of late shall we say. It will be low risk, clean exit but no loose ends. What say you?”

He’s lying.

That’s for one.

Your eyes meet his stare and he leans closer like that can somehow keep your attention on him by doing that.

He’s lying.

So he either thinks you’re an idiot or he’s being purposely misleading due to Winston’s presence here. There is something else going on that he doesn’t want the manager of the Continental to know.

That calculating glimmer in his eyes is telling enough.

“No.”

You’re tired.

Downright, bone-weary type of exhausted.

Swaying, you stand to your feet.

“Tarasov is going to hunt you down—”

You don’t let Winston finish, turning to go. “I don’t care.”

A loud scrape of a chair fills the air and loud footsteps stalk after you. Deliberate. Furious. You ignore them, continuing on your way albeit sluggishly.

“And what are you going to do, hm?” Santino hisses from behind you, his fury spilling over. “Will you go cry a bit more about how your precious Johnathan left you? Will you just give up and go lock yourself away again?”

Your feet halt but you don’t turn around.

“D’Antonio.”

Winston’s warning is icy but Santino doesn’t heed it. That fire rages in him too brightly, scorching everything in its path. “When have you become such a coward, I wonder, hm? I knew a fighter, a tornado of a woman, now you can’t even look people in the eyes. Pity. To think that you have given up so easily—”

Fire doesn’t frighten you—it never has.

It’s a second, a breath, a heartbeat—

A blade stills against the curve of that elegant neck, and you stand face to face, seething when your eyes meet. It’s an echo from years ago, of your first meeting, and just like then Santino D’Antonio leans into danger, into the cold promise of death, into you and smirks. “Ah, there she is,” he purrs, enraptured, his voice a silky caress. “Are you going to kill me, cara mia?”

“I’m considering it.”

He raises his hand casually, stopping the guards who are no doubt ready to do their jobs and remove the threat—remove you.

“Yet you know that you cannot,” he dismisses, his voice still silky, smug. “For if you do the wrath of Camorra will rain down upon you till there is nothing left. Besides, it might be in bad taste to kill your host and friend, no?”

Friend?

You lean closer and Santino’s lips part at the proximity.

“I’m not staying here.”

His eyebrow cocks up and despite the residual anger you feel radiating from him, he still manages to sound effortlessly pompous when he speaks next. “You can’t afford to go back to the Continental,” he points out sharply and tilts his head, unruffled despite the bite of the blade against his pulse. “But if you prefer to sleep with the scum of this city then, by all means, be my guest.”

He’s right.

You have nothing. No home, no safe space to call your own, just nothing. John was your home once but he’s gone now, too.

For one hateful moment, you consider slicing Santino’s throat open just to have a quick out. But the truth is that you can’t.

He’s helped you too many times.

He helped John. He helped you. He gave you security when no one else could. He offered his hand despite everything—despite the fact that you still refuse to warm his bed to this day in spite of his clear eagerness for it. He keeps helping without pushing you.

For that alone, you know you owe him.

Ripping the blade away from his neck, you spin on your heels and stagger away, your skin damp with sweat.

Blood is rushing loudly in your ears and your tongue feels dry and bloated in your mouth as you stumble into the apartment. You manage a few steps before slumping against the wall, your breathing laboured. Wiping clumsily over your face, you take a moment to appreciate the suffocating silence your departure has left behind.

You linger just long enough to hear Santino’s clear, bitter command that rings like a death knell across the terrace.

“Postpone everything. We are staying in New York till this is sorted.”

.

You’re holding on.

But barely.

Just barely.

Maybe not even at all.

.

Winston leaves twenty minutes later.

He stops by the guest room you have claimed as your own and watches your prone figure on the bed.

You don’t turn to him, don’t say anything, either. You want to be angry that he’s as good as threw you out. That he’s forced you into this situation. That you found your clothes moved into the sleek closet behind you but not your solutions or poisons.

They don’t trust you.

They might believe the fact that you weren’t trying to end your life, but they don’t trust you not to do more harm.

The anger you felt only minutes ago in Santino’s presence has fizzled out and died. Darkness has cocooned you in its embrace once again even though something restless still scratches under your skin as always.

Even now, there is no peace.

“Let me come home.”

You don’t realise your slip up till you hear the older man exhale; a weary, ragged sound. You wonder what he must be thinking. If there’s some code he has to follow in a situation like this.

Home.

What sentiment.  

What’s the protocol for this?

“Your death will not be on my hands,” he says at last, cruel and kind all at once. “One day you will thank me for this.”

And then he leaves.

.

Ares knocks on your door by the time dinner rolls around.

You don’t answer.

She comes in anyway. Her stare as hard and uncompromising as always, and the dour expression on her face only makes you blink and press your cheek back into the pillow.

Dinner?

You don’t move.

She signs again.

Sits on your bed and repeats it.

And again.

You don’t move.

Eventually, she leaves and you’re relieved that she’s gone.

A distant, angry voice sounds from somewhere in the apartment several minutes later but it cuts out quickly.

Somehow the silence that follows is even louder.

.

You could leave. You should.

But there is nothing for you out there but death.

No weapons, no solutions, and a weak body.

You won’t last a day.

For one foolish, pathetic moment you consider calling John just to see if his number is still the same. If maybe—

You curl under the covers and sink deeper into the dark.

.

Ares comes to call you for breakfast the next day.

You pretend that you’re asleep.

She brings you a tray of food and leaves it on the table.

You don’t touch it.

.

You pick at some of the food eventually.

But you don’t leave your room, spending endless hours curled under the covers, thinking.

Let Tarasov come.

It’s finally perfect. The poison you’ve created just for him. Just a touch more lethality and it will be ready.

You can’t wait to see him erode into nothing.

When he is dead—and one day he will be—you will delight in every second of dizzying triumph that will follow the stilling of that dark heart.

One day, he will die with terror in his heart that wears your name.

.

John. John. John.

.

Kishi has been absent for so long that you’re surprised to see his grinning face appear in your nightmares.

Hello, viper. I’ve missed you so dearly.

He cups your cheeks, grinning wider, wider—

His face morphs. Raven hair. Dark, thoughtful eyes that you love—

John leans forward and sinks his teeth into your neck.

Blood spills down your chest.

Your scream is silent.

.

Hands try to hold you down as you trash, your skin slick with sweat, and clothes sticking to your skin.

“Wake up,” a voice urges. “Open your eyes!”

You do. A scream climbs up your throat but you force it down, your eyes frantically seeking the figure above you.

A familiar pair of green eyes stare down at you. Wild with an emotion you have no name for.

His fingers hold you by the forearms but his grip relaxes when he sees you’re lucid.

Gasping for breath, you twist from underneath the covers, shaking his arms off and dash for the bathroom. Your knees crack against the gleaming tiles and the content of your stomach empties itself in a brutal lurch. Next several moments are full of your suffering. Tears sting your eyes from the pain, and you bite your lip, your limbs still twitching as your stomach rolls.

You feel him hovering behind you.

“Cara mia?” there is a question in that breathless address but you ignore him. “Are you well enough to stand, at least?”

He sounds frustrated but his voice is still calm—just barely.  

Footsteps draw closer to where you lay half slumped over the toilet, your eyes closed.

You feel so drained that even tears won’t come. The skin of your neck feels dirty and torn. Faint traces of the feverish nightmare still cut into you and you shiver.

Hot fingers settle on your shoulder, light and cautious, and you snarl, jerking away from the touch. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re unwell,” Santino shoots back tightly, his eyes blazing and body rigid. He’s clad in only a clean, white shirt and trousers but you don’t care to ask what the time is. “What is happening? Is it the poison? Did you take something—”

“Shut up and get out!”

“You need—”

“I don’t need you!” you scream; a raw, awful thing that leaves you gasping. You want to claw at your own skin but can’t—shouldn’t. “I don’t need anyone,” you add in a broken, quiet whisper and it’s like that awful hotel room all over again.

His expression darkens, strains. For the first time, Santino D’Antonio looks unsure of what to do. It’s like that finely honed arrogance with which he carries himself has abandoned him. Here, in this cold, dark bathroom he simply glares down at you.

“Very well, bella,” he says, his words biting, low. “Wallow in your misery alone if you must. But we are eating breakfast together.”

The last part isn’t up for negotiation.

A brief spark of anger ignites, nothing more than a tiny ember. Egoistical prick.

No response greets him.

He lingers for a few, expectant moments but you don’t move. The only dialogue between you is your shallow breaths and the weight of his overbearing regard.

Go, leave. Everyone always does.

You don’t feel yourself drift away.

.

The next morning, it’s the blinding sun that awakens you once more.

You’re back in your bed.

At first, you think that last night was a bizarre dream until you rub your face, and catch a whiff of vinous scent staining your skin.

Santino.

There is a feeling—

It flees as everything else does now—too fast for you to grasp onto it.

You don’t get up for breakfast.

.

You don’t get up the entire day.

Or the day after that.

.

It’s been at least a year and a half since Tokyo.

Yet it still feels like you’re drowning.

Maybe you’ll never stop.

.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Your eyes crack open and you lick your cracked lips, turning towards the doorway.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him inside this room aside from that night when he woke you up from your nightmares.

He’s been sending in Ares to deliver you food and water, to try and engage.

“What?” you mumble, blinking sluggishly.

Santino stalks into the room and aggression lines his every step. He’s trying to control it, keep calm, and his hands buried inside his pockets say a lot. Behind him, Ares walks in with a tray of food. She moves closer towards you and places it on the bed before sitting down at the foot of it, the tray now between you.  

Much to your surprise, the heir of Camorra does the same.

He looks beyond uncomfortable, his mind clearly somewhere else, but Ares starts first by picking up a mango slice from one of the many plates, and placing it inside her mouth. She chews slowly and stares at you expectantly as she does.

She’s clad in dark burgundy today as is Santino and you know that colour holds a special significance at Camorra but you can’t think of one right now.

They’re both not used to this, you realise distantly, making an effort for someone.

This is weakness. This is something that’s ruthlessly crushed and disposed of at Camorra. Such...inability would never be tolerated.

Yet they’re trying.

Santino is scowling at a wall but he’s chewing his fruit obediently. Ares is doing the same.

It’s awkward.

No one speaks.

And yet—

Your fingers stretch towards the strawberries.

Santino’s eyes snap to your hand, focusing on the motion and you still briefly before pinching one between your fingers. Your head barely lifts from your pillow but you bring it to your lips, nibbling on it cautiously.

It’s delicious. Sweet and zesty taste explodes against your tongue the moment you bite down on it. It’s taken days for the wounds inside your mouth to close but now the full extent of your taste receptors seems to have come back.

No one speaks but the tension in the room seems to ease a touch as you continue nibbling away.

You manage three strawberries that morning.

Every single one of them feels like scarlet, gushing victory.  

For the first time in months, you don’t taste blood in your mouth.

You only taste the sweetness of life.

.

It’s hours later, long after they’ve both left, that information crawls up from the back of your mind.

An heir apparent and his right hand wearing burgundy outside of Camorra duties. No deaths, no coronation, no birthday or births to warrant that very deliberate choice of dress code.  

This is something else.

Burgundy they wore in a show of favour, companionship, respectful implication that they consider you an equal and are seeking an alliance.

All while you laid in bed with greasy hair, dark circles under your eyes, stale breath and vacant eyes.

Something deep down flutters at that. You try to grasp onto that spark with whatever little strength you still have left but it’s so hard.

Everything is so hard now.

.

Warmth.

Your nose presses into it, curling against it and you sigh faintly. There is something so comforting about having someone else in the bed with you—

Your eyes snap open and you scramble backwards, your legs tangling in the sheets.

Santino lays on the other side of the bed, one hand resting behind his head. He’s relaxed, his clothes immaculate as always—pale blue, cotton shirt and trousers, no doubt all designer—and Rolex gleaming around his wrist as he taps his fingers on his chest in a careless rhythm. His eyes drag slowly from the spot he was observing on the ceiling to you, and a slight smirk curves his lips.

A spark again and it flares enough to work your tongue.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks at the sharpness of your question and you don’t miss the trace of surprise in those green depths.

“This is my home, cara,” he says pleasantly, his voice a lovely roll of syllables, and you’ve forgotten how effortlessly charming he can be. “I am resting.”

“Get out.”

It’s hardly a demand. It sounds more like a strangled, detached whisper.

His eyes roll at that, effortlessly dismissive and condescending.

“Hm. No.”

You claw deeper to dig out that ember of your old self back. The one who would have sliced his skin for using that tone. Thrown him off the bed without warning and threatened him for good measure, too. If only to see that smug gleam in his eyes after. Listen to him throw a deliberate, heated comment about how attractive you are when angry while his eyes drag over your figure with obvious desire.

The same dance.

Always trying to get under your skin.

Even now.

“Get out.”

His eyes spark. Eager. Coaxing.

He sits up unhurriedly, his chin lowering as he looks you right in the eye.

“Make me.”

A deliberate challenge. Everything since you’ve come here has been deliberate. From his actions to his words. He’s trying to get a reaction. Even more so than he used to before. Before it was about him and his ego. Now you have no idea what he’s trying to achieve with his goading.

“What are you doing?” you demand even though it sounds faint and takes more effort than it’s worth. “Trying to piss me off on purpose?”

He leans closer and your eyes narrow when you come face-to-face. This is the closest he’s been to you in months. Since Rome. Since before whatever little control you had got buried with your heart at John’s wedding.

“Yes, cara, indeed I am,” he admits easily, shameless as always, facing you unflinchingly because it’s who he is. He never shies away and expects the same from you. “Be angry with me. Rage, yell, scream till your lungs give out. Anything is better than this.”

A knot forms in your chest at his angry, disgusted hiss at the end. At the way he waits, agog—waits for that fire to rise up and match his own.

Play with me, come on, those eyes say and you stare at him flatly, your mouth tilting downwards.

“What do you know about it?” you breathe quietly, and there is a muted sort of rage there. It prickles your skin, and your fingers knot in the sheets beneath your palms. “Poor little D’Antonio with his mean daddy who won’t shower him in praise. You have it so hard. Mansions and cars and a mountain of wealth. Freedom to do whatever you want.”

If he wants to play this game, you will indulge him.

His expression smoothens, growing colder at your words, and he leans back a touch, his chin tilting. The moment of almost ends and the cool, collected heir is all that’s left.  

“So quick to pass judgment, cara mia,” he points out softly, icily. Still, his eyes drag over your weary features and there is determination there. “Join me for breakfast.”

“Why?”

His lips curve and he leans forward without warning again, his breath tickling against your ear. “Because I asked nicely and I rarely do that, no?”

You shove him back with your hand and he hums, seemingly entertained.  

“Asshole.”

He stands to his feet, not a stitch out of place, and stretches to his full height, glancing at you before offering you his hand.

You ignore it, pulling the covers back yourself as you stumble to your feet, trying to find your balance.

“Better,” you hear him acknowledge, and flip him off without looking back as you stride towards the bathroom on shaky legs.

His chuckle sounds immediately, pleased, and you make sure to slam the door shut extra loud behind you.

You didn’t have to get up. You didn’t even think you had it in you to do so.

You cup your hands around that ember inside your chest protectively and soak in its warmth.

Just for a little while.

.

“You’ve gotten worse.”

Stabbing a fork into the fluffy pancake on your plate, you don’t answer.

The sun is bearing down on you both, warming your neck as you sip on your juice without engaging him. It tastes good. Freshly squeezed and organic no doubt—only the best for the Italian prince.

Santino exhales forcefully. He’s not used to being ignored and he doesn’t like it.

Good.

“You weren’t like this when you were staying with us,” he tries again and you ignore the resentment you can hear coating his words. “He did this to you.”

Your head lifts, your mouth a hard line, and find Santino half leaning across the small table towards you. He always does that you realise suddenly. Like he’s being dragged closer by an invisible rope.

He’s right though. Even if you hate the fact that he is.

Camorra for all its awful brutality and endless ambition had been a safe haven. It had been routine and focus and purpose. Most days you were so busy you had no time to think about anything else. You were hunted and wanted to change that.

So you shed your skin—the skin that was soft because you hadn’t realised just how much John had shielded you from before—and became a hunter yourself.

The Hunt had been a poetic slaughter—a baptism of blood.

Giovanni D'Antonio allowed you space under his roof because you had been relentless. So relentless to return the favour that with time he might have even offered you a place in his ranks and tried to buy you out from the Russian.

Camorra had been a twisted hope of belonging somewhere.

It had been friendship and hope.

Had.

“Why burgundy?” you ask him instead because it’s been plaguing you. “I have no position of power for you to seek an alliance with me.”

He blinks, exhaling, and then his mouth quirks. His features soften a touch and you ignore the fact that he appears beyond pleased with you.

“You remembered.”

Only because his family and the endless list of traditions and laws infused into the very foundation upon which that empire of blood and bones stands is fascinating. You’ve always been eager for knowledge because that’s what keeps you alive and both heirs had obliged you happily.

Many things they kept from you because you were still seen as an outsider but it hadn’t mattered.

Santino never lacked enthusiasm when it came to you wanting to know more about Camorra.

Because he’s proud of his family. Because he’s proud of his position in it. Because if he’s capable of love you think that Camorra might be the only thing he truly loves.

But articulating all that seems exhausting so you offer him a half-hearted shrug in response.

Still, this seems to have brightened his previously foul mood and he rests his chin on his folded fingers, his elbows digging into the table as he peers at you. His ring glints in the sunlight, momentarily distracting you.

“My intention is exactly what you think it was,” he reveals calmly. “I need you to come with me to Chicago, cara mia. This job is rather important to me personally.”

“Important enough to lie Winston about it.”

His smile is slow coming this time around and all teeth. A sinful, wicked soul residing inside a shell of a man with golden skin, dark curls and piercing eyes. Handsome, dangerous package. A temptation very few have resisted, you know as much.

“Perhaps,” he purrs gently and you force yourself to lower your eyes back to your food. “But I need someone like you. An individual who can deliver and be discreet about it. Besides what Winston doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, no?”

I need you.

You wonder if he’s realised that he’s said it twice in a span of less than five minutes. There is no emphasis on words or deliberate pauses. No indication at all that he’s said them on purpose. In fact, he appears entirely focused on your conversation, his voice smooth and steady.

“What is it?”

He seems even more pleased with your show of interest.

“It wasn’t entirely a lie, bella,” he says breezily, leaning back in his seat as his hands lower back onto the table. “It is undercover. Every five years operational managers from our world meet for a conference of sorts. Everything from food to clothing to weaponry is discussed. Hands are shaken, deals are struck, ah you know how it goes, cara, no? This year this very special event is being held in Chicago. We will attend it.”

You stare at him as you chew and swallow before forcing another bite of pancake into your mouth. You feel full already but you’ve only eaten half of one. You can—need—to eat more. Easier to do so with this distraction, with those eyes tracking every bite you take.

“You need me to kill someone.”

Not a question and those round, pleasant features draw into something remote, downright chilling. In that look, you see something else, something bloodthirsty. It makes you remember the words you associated with his name before your first meeting.

Charming. Power-hungry. Not to be trusted.

Fitting even now.

No, looking at him right now, it’s more fitting than ever.

“Yes,” he admits lightly with a pleasant little hum but his eyes rage. “And I want him to suffer.”

Interesting.

“I could go in alone—”

“No. You will never make it. This is a High Table related event and the security there will be unlike anything you have ever encountered,” he rebukes, and his words wash over you with the intent that tells you he’s been waiting for this moment for a while. “My name is your ticket inside. But most importantly Continental style rules apply. No bloodshed. It’s neutral ground for trading. No one can know it was you or the consequences will be...severe.”

There is more he’s not telling you.

“What do I get in return?”

Santino D'Antonio raises the espresso cup to his mouth and watches you over the rim like he’s already won. “1.5 million USD, cara mia. Agree and it’s yours. You have till twilight to decide.”

.

Charon stands beside Winston as the manager goes through the documents in front of him.

The concierge notices you first, his glasses reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace as you approach.

Winston’s attention follows several seconds later and the man straightens when he sees you, slipping his glasses off as you halt before him.

You haven’t seen him in days. Almost two weeks, in fact.

He takes you in with a critical eye before gesturing to the unoccupied seat opposite to him.

Slipping smoothly into the space you both observe each other for several moments.

“So,” Winston begins, his tone loaded. “Is signor D’Antonio dead or did you finally grow weary of his company?”

That almost makes you smile.

“Neither.”

A twitch of his expression but it’s so slight that you can’t quite read it.

“Yet here you are,” he notes calmly and something lingers in his tone, in his gaze, too. “Out and about. Looking better as well.”

Do you?

You don’t feel like it but you haven’t been feeling much of anything lately.

“I need access to my room,” you decide to cut to the chase and tap your fingers against the table as your eyes slide around the room. Few pairs of eyes skitter away under your attention. Good. This is the legacy of your bloodshed. “I need to prepare.”

Winston exhales and his regard changes. “You agreed then?”

You don’t look at them but you can tell both men are tracking your every breath. “In theory.”

You don’t elaborate further because Winston knows better than anyone that business and confidentiality are key.

“Wonderful. Though I would take this moment to remind you what kind of man you are dealing with.”

Your eyes slide back to him and you do smile this time even if it feels hollow. “You mean the very same one you threw me at?”

Winston’s expression doesn’t so much as shift. “Do you expect me to apologise? Because I have no intention of doing so,” he voices curtly and you don’t feel surprised by his words. “I took a gamble that paid off. But Santino D’Antonio is vain, bloodthirsty and arrogant. You would be wise not to trust him.”

Typical Winston. Always three steps ahead of everyone else.

A small scoff escapes you at his words and you lean back into the comfortable, plush seat. “Believe me,” you state coolly and tap your foot against the floor, once and then again. It takes a lot of energy—just like this entire trip has with your weak muscles and heavy head—but you force yourself to do it anyway. “He’s at the very bottom of the list of people I would ever trust. I know what he is.”

Just as monstrous as the rest of you. Maybe even more so.

But you’re not here seriously considering his offer because he asked nicely or offered you a mountain of money that will feed Tarasov’s greed.

You’re here due to the unspoken thing you can’t help but wonder if he’s even aware of.

The initial two-week deadline is up in less than two hours and yet he’s made no other preparations. Has taken no extra precautionary measures in case his plan backfires and you don’t agree. Despite how he keeps stressing that this job is so important to him, he’s waiting on you.

In Camorra, there is no such thing as “irreplaceable”. If someone is unavailable or incapable other options are sought out with startling ease.  

He believes that you will do it.

It’s not about his need for you.

It’s that belief.

It…

It makes you want to fight, too, and you don’t know why but you want to at least try.

Winston takes a sip of his drink, considering you and bobs his head once. “Good. It’s still better than being alone.”

He reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a keycard, sliding it across the smooth mahogany table. Something in your chest ceases at the sight of it, at the fact that he’s had it on him this whole time.

“You figured that I will agree.”

It’s not a question but he still replies with a calm, “Not at all. I hoped that you won’t disappoint, of course,” he notes and there is a brief glimmer of a smile before it’s gone. “And you haven’t.”

You’re both quiet for several moments after that. Charon says nothing as always.

Your unsteady fingers wrap around the card eventually, and you stand with a nod in their direction, straightening.

“Charon. Winston.”

The older man salutes you with his martini. “Bonus fortuna.”

You turn to go and wonder what it means that men like Winston and Santino D’Antonio have more faith in you than you do.

LaGuardia airport appears in your sights half an hour later.

Santino’s men greet you at the entrance of the airport.

Private check-in, private everything. Security is nonexistent when you’re flying with a man of such power and influence.

Ares greets you outside the private jet and you watch a slight grin transform her steely expression into something a bit more cordial.

He is waiting for you inside. Good to be working with you again, pretty viper.

She goes slower than usual so you catch everything, and you appreciate it because you’re still learning ASL. Not to mention the fact that it feels like your brain is just barely functioning.

“Likewise.”

Climbing up the stairs, you nod at the flight attendant who beams back you when you pass her to get inside.

Even the vast, luxurious space can’t seem to contain Santino D’Antonio and his larger than life presence. Every line crisp and tidy, he hardly looks any different than usual. But tinted shades hide his eyes as he stares out of the window. Those long, graceful fingers tap restlessly against the table and you take him in for several stolen seconds.

His head snaps in your direction when you enter the plane and he stills at the sight of you.

You can’t see his eyes as you approach but feel the intensity of his regard all the same. “1.5 mil was it?”

You both know it’s not about the money. It never has been with you. But it’s easier to pretend that it is. If only because that’s safe and familiar.

Santino slips off his sunglasses with a slight chuckle, looking up at you from beneath his lashes as you plop down tiredly in the seat opposite to the heir. It’s like sitting down on a cloud.

He folds the shades and hooks them on his shirt pocket with practised ease. He seems to have a penchant for making every little gesture appear effortlessly elegant and pretentious at the same time.

That little quirk of his lips remains though.

“Indeed it was, cara mia,” he says and extends his hand towards you. “A deal is a deal.”

You grasp his warm hand in yours with the intention of shaking it but as always Santino acts on his own accord. He lifts your palm to his lips and kisses your knuckles instead, his heated breath tickling your skin as he peers at you. That ghost of a smirk is softer this time, and you pull your hand back with a roll of your eyes.

He considers you for a moment before glancing over your shoulder and nodding only once. Behind you, the crew prepares for take-off.

“How long were you going to wait for me?”

Santino’s head slants in thought but his expression is serious. The switch surprises you somewhat but you wait, ignoring the fatigue in your bones.

Ares passes you both with a wave and two guards behind her, heading towards the back of the plane without so much as a backwards glance and you blink.

Deliberate again. Clearly, Santino has something he wants to discuss in private.

He appears deep in thought, going between looking out of the window and you as the jet leaves the ground below. It’s a smooth and trouble-free take off because Santino always hires professionals of the highest degree. Certain things are routine with this man and there is a certain degree of comfort to be found in that.  

“You lied to me.”

It’s been long enough that his voice startles you and your muscles tense, your mind immediately flying to all the weapons you have on you.

He seems to notice the way your body locks up just for a moment before relaxing again and his gaze darkens.

“What?”

“When I check in after you left Rome,” he begins and you suddenly understand what this is about. “You told me that you were back at the Continental safe and well. Working.”

You did.

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort tightly, guarded. “I was working.”

“Oh? Is that so? Work.”

Ignoring the scorn in his voice, you give him a fair warning, “If we are to do this job together,” you state icily, a warning ringing through your words. “Then you don’t ask me anything. Better yet, don’t talk about the past at all.”

That dangerous flame licks across his features, tightening his expression. For a prolonged, charged moment you simply survey one another. He saw it after all. How terrible it can be.

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the flight to Chicago.

.

The presidential suite is as grand as all other places Santino usually stays at.  

The spacious, high-ceilinged room is located on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking over the beautiful ravine that is Lake Michigan.

The sleek, white walls somehow manage to add dimension to an already large square footage by still remaining welcoming. Decorated tastefully with glossy cabinets, lavish loveseat and colourful armchairs to not detract from the massive canopy bed sitting in the furthest corner of the room. The velvety covers and plush cream pillows have never seemed more inviting and your eyes linger on it the longest.

There’s just enough bold colour sprinkled through the room to remove the clinical factor such bright space might bring to mind, and you peek an adjoined en-suite bathroom hiding behind one of the doors you walk by.

It’s curious how despite Santino’s life back in Italy being rooted in tradition whenever he stays anywhere else, he always chooses modern, contemporary designs.

This is the height of luxury—a welcoming card, cuvee white brut champagne, fresh fruit and chocolates already laid out in a neat manner—and behind the connecting door to your right lies this room’s twin image.

“We can discuss further details tomorrow, bella,” Santino says but doesn’t look at you as he does so. “You should rest.”

You wonder if he can tell that you’re standing upright by sheer will alone. There is a tremble in your knees as you move and your steps are heavier than usual.

You’ve grown weak.

The muscle that has been forged through years of brutal training has softened and diminished.

When did you allow yourself to become this?

When did you let Kishi win?

Never give someone else the power to destroy you.

But you have done exactly that. No matter how much you’ve been trying to dress it up, this fact still stands.

You have been punishing yourself.

It should make you feel something, you imagine. Furious, upset, determined, sad.

Anything at all.

Instead, you just feel tired.

Tired and cold, and like something has been raked right out of you, leaving a hole behind that might never be filled. A hole that you can pour happiness and hope and sadness into and it still won’t matter. Because nothing can fill what’s bottomless. Nothing can fix something like that.

You want to try but—

But you’re not sure if you’re strong enough.

Nodding your head, you head towards the bed without a word.

Santino slams the door to his half of the suite with enough force to rattle the hinges.

.

Water slides down your throat, scratching and tearing at your vocal cords as you choke on your screams.

You’re jerked back by the hair and Kishi smiles, caressing your cheek with stiff, cold fingers.

Your hands are dirty, viper, he hums lovingly and grabs you by the back of your neck, you are dirty. Time to get you clean.

You jolt into wakefulness as hands drag you forward abruptly and your forehead connects with a solid chest instead.

“Calm, shh, you are awake,” a voice urges with gentle but instant fingers digging into your shoulder blades. The comfort of that touch is so familiar that deep down it makes you gush with agony, some distant loss you can’t name. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

“John,” you sob, blindly clinging to that warmth, to silent strength there. “John.”

The figure freezes, tenses. A few shallow breaths follow and then a hand settles on the top of your head. Those muscles relax gradually and careful fingers stroke your hair. Soothing. Slow.

“Don’t—don’t leave,” you beg weakly and cling tighter, tighter because you love him so much and it hurts— “Please don’t leave m-me.”

That grip tightens and holds you closer, cocooning you in warmth. For once, the ever-present chill in your soul seems to ebb, fade just a little.

“I won’t, amore,” he reassures softly. “I won’t.”

You believe him.

.

You dreamt of John last night.

Of comfort and him staying. Fingers smoothing over your hair in that achingly familiar manner he used to touch you with when it was just you two alone. When you managed to mangle that iron-like willpower of his by leaning into him, seeking him out.

Remembering that warmth makes you both devastated and happy. It’s like a soothing balm against wounds that refuse to heal. But it’s also a knife cutting deeper and deeper.

You swore to yourself that you would let go but—

That, too, is hard.

A folder slides across the table surface and towards you, hitting your hands and you jump in your seat, rigid.

Ares shoots you an apologetic look as she goes to stand in the corner of the private breakfast room, clasping her hands in front of her, and you squint at the folder, forcing yourself back into reality.

“What’s this?”

“That, cara mia, is information about your target,” Santino explains over the rim of his espresso but his tone remains dispassionate. There’s something odd about him today but you don’t care enough to ask him. “Read it carefully.”

Opening the manila folder, you move several pieces of paper aside, blinking at the pictures of a stern-faced man. They’re black and white but they reveal a male who looks no more than five years older than Santino, his features handsome in a hard, rugged sort of way. His short hair is either brown or black and though all photos are too far away to be able to tell for sure, his eyes appear dark, too. Brown or hazel if you had to make a guess.

He’s handsome, but there is something about his features that makes you think of Tarasov. Makes you think of enough charm to get by but preference for brutality instead.

His face tells you that trusting this man would be unwise.

“Who is he and why do you want him dead?” you question after a moment of analysing the pictures.

Rafael Conte

A part of you can’t help but wonder what this man has done to evoke the wrath of the Camorra heir. Though, as always, it likely has something to do with greed and egos.  

Santino doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he spreads jam across his toast but there is something…violent about the way he drags the blade across the perfectly toasted surface. Something about the way his hair is unstyled today and a few messy, loose strands fall into his eyes. Something about the way his movements are jerkier than usual, less refined.

He’s back in a full three-piece this morning but a voice at the back of your mind whispers armour. Because this is different from those two weeks you spent at the penthouse. He rarely wore a suit at all during that time. There was something more open and casual about him then.

“Oh, you aren’t killing this man,” he finally speaks and you frown minutely at the way he lowers the butterknife back onto his plate a little too loudly, then sighs, and looks up at you with forced calmness. “We will be using him to get to your actual target. We need to be very careful about what we do here, cara mia. This man can lead us to the man he serves, and it’s him that I need you to dispose of.”

Still frowning, you look back towards the pictures. Santino’s attention lingers on your face but you ignore it.  

“Why wait this long?”

“What do you mean?”

Your head slants and you regard him with a knowing, calculated look. Santino doesn’t answer you, however, he simply stares back, and the look in his eyes challenging. You know he wants you to engage and so you do. After yesterday, after that fleeting memory of warmth, you feel like you have the strength to do so.

“Why wait for some obscure event with a ridiculous level of security when you could get rid of this man on a Tuesday afternoon while sipping lemonade in your parlour?”

Because that’s easy and clean. Because he won’t have to lift a finger and get needed results unless—

“Tell me, bella,” Santino begins, interrupting your racing thoughts and his index finger traces the rim of his cup lazily. “Have you heard of an organisation called the Black Dragon?”

Your tongue works quicker than your mind. “John—”

The words die in your throat; a feeble, pathetic crumbling of syllables.

The temperature inside the bright, sunny room seems to fall by several degrees.

Santino’s fingers are still, his attention focused on his cup. His toast remains untouched.

Forcing down the lump in your throat down, you force out a strained, “He’s told me about them before. Private organisation. Janitors of the High Table, right?”

“Indeed,” he intones coolly in reply and taps his fingers again, more agitated this time. “We are here to kill its current leader. A man by the name of Andre Boutin. The issue, however, is that if you search for a definition to word ‘paranoid’ in the dictionary that man’s name will be under it.”

He lifts the cup back to his lips again but those bright viridescent depths zero in on you. A shadow lingers across his features, and once again you can’t help but feel like he’s not being completely honest with you—there is more to this than he’s letting on.

“He never leaves his secret little lair unless the High Table forces his hand,” Santino continues and cuts a neat piece of his toast before biting into it. It doesn’t surprise you that like a true, refined heir he chews and swallows before speaking again. “Hm, but he will have to attend this event. Signor Rafael is his right-hand man. Aside from the standard proceedings, there will be…exclusive invitations into certain circles. We are to get Rafael’s attention and penetrate his. That’s the only way to get to Boutin, bella, and it’s crucial we do so. Tomorrow will be our only chance.”

“No traces?”

His eyes narrow and he nods his head once, dead serious. “None, not even a whisper of one,” he says solemnly, his heir ring tapping against the ceramic of the cup once, twice. “You are to be beautiful but harmless. I know Rafael personally. I will get you close enough.”

But he never places himself in the firing sight. Never dirties his own hands. Just how desperate is he to see this man dead to do so now? At an event that will have so many eyes from the highest circles of those under the High Table on you no less.

“You mean you need me to act as your whore,” you deadpan and go on before he can interject. “You need me to fool them, pull the wool over their eyes. But what if someone recognises me?”

Santino looks like he’s biting back a sigh and inclines backwards into his seat, staring at you. Those loose curls fall into his eyes and for a moment they distract you. “I would prefer if you did not use such…phrasing, but I suppose in a sense, yes,” he tells you and you stab a piece of melon with extra vigour before placing it between your lips. For the briefest of seconds, the man before you focuses on that tiny little movement before his attention shifts. “I also recognise the, ah, dangers. It does seem likely someone might but I’m not trying to hide you, carissima. You have spent a year with my family. You by my side is no longer a novelty. It might even be expected in certain circles.”

He pauses at that, his lips parting like that realisation is just hitting him, too.

You by his side is nothing new. You by his side. He says it with such ease, such boldness—like it’s as obvious as the sun rising every morning.

A silence that follows those words is different somehow. Almost like you have both become intimately aware of each other’s presence in your lives and all the time you have spent together.

“You don’t want this attached to your name,” you say frankly, at last, forcing casualness into your words. “Only a handful of guards with you. All this secrecy. This goes beyond killing a lackey of the High Table. What did this man do, Santino?”

Because he would never take such a personal risk unless he had no other choice. But that’s also why he needs you. A clean, untraceable kill. Even if people were to suspect him there would be nothing to stick on him personally. Clever, unprincipled bastard.

“That,” the Italian mutters, his voice wooden. “Is of no importance. You are here to kill Andre Boutin and that’s all that matters. Do you think you can you do that for me, bella, hm?”  

This is personal. That much you do know.

But something about this challenge fills you with determination to hold onto that warmth from last night.

Maybe wherever John is, his spirit is still looking out for you.

So for now at least, you decide to let the topic go. He does have a point after all. You’re not getting paid to ask questions.

“Sure I can,” you demure slyly and smother your grin against the glass of juice in your hand. Santino blinks, seemingly taken off guard by the unexpected teasing, at your spark of energy. “Anything specific wardrobe wise you want me to wear? Aside from the obvious.”

Something bold yet tantalising enough to make most people in that little get together hate you and want to fuck you in the same breath. Such is Santino D’Antonio’s way. He has to court attention at all times. You cannot be seen as less. When it comes to appearance Santino never spares expense. What a spoiled prick.

His gaze sharpens at your words, and that heat returns as he scrutinises you.

He hums quietly, his eyes dragging over your figure before saying, “Green. Wear something green,” he instructs lightly and when he meets your stare next, you do feel something inside you settle and still. “But I need them to look at you and feel like they can’t breathe.”

Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.

He hasn’t.

You had wanted to say that to Santino last night but couldn’t.

John hasn’t—

But hasn’t he?

It’s a destructive cocktail of anger and bitterness and doubt churning deep inside your chest. A part of you misses John with an intensity that shakes your bones; fracturing them and unmaking them with swift, expert proficiency. Another part of you hates him. He let you believe that he loved you but then chose another woman over you the moment a possibility of a normal life came up. Better drop the dead-weight. Better to erase the messed up, traumatised weakling from his life. Be done with it.

No, John hasn’t robbed you of anything.

He gave you a different sort of fire.

A flame of rage and longing all fusing together to create something far more devastating.

But last night…

You’ve almost forgotten what that’s like—being carefree, smiling, doing something so simple yet freeing.

Santino D’Antonio had given you a moment of yourself back without realising it. You’re not quite sure what to do with that knowledge. With the memory of your messy dance and that whisper of wonder in his eyes as he took in your smiling expression.

A knock resonates again your door and your head slants in the direction of the sound. “Come in.”

Ares pokes her head in first before stepping into the room already dressed in a tailored suit. It’s a dark, patterned number mixing black and deep grey tastefully. The black shirt she wears underneath is neatly pressed, and the pin she bears under her throat in an illusion of a tie is of Camorra making. She looks amazing and carries herself like she knows it, too. Dark makeup around her eyes accents the piercing nature of her blue eyes and you click your tongue.

“Trying to outshine me?” you joke but she doesn’t reply, taking in your appearance as well. Smiling, you run a hand down the body of the dress and towards the shimmering skirt. “What do you think?”

Her eyebrows jump up deliberately, staying that way as she signs with her eyes still on you. You fulfilled the brief.

You’ve certainly tried.

Your hair and makeup have all been done by expert hands because you didn’t trust your own. Not right now. Not with muscle weakness and the tremors.

You’re glad that this mission is not an active job that will require fighting your way out of a situation. Right now, you can admit—even only to yourself—that you would be more of a liability than an advantage in a physical fight. You can’t be seen shedding blood at this event and perhaps this is the best kind of job to ease yourself back into things.

That dedication to see an assignment through was bred into you by John, and now that you’re here no matter how empty things might feel, a part of you wants to see it finished no matter what.

It’s refreshing.

Wanting something.

“Where is Santino?” you ask her, turning to go, double-checking all your weapons—what few you could sneak in—are all on you. “I haven’t heard him in his room.”

Ares waits for you by the door as you approach, shrugging. He went ahead. He will meet us there.

“Is Piero with him?”

Ares nods and you both leave the room together, heading down the hallway.

Another security measure. Every invited person is allowed to take but one guard with them. Two, if they come with a plus one which in Santino’s case is you. A measure introduced to appease the inherently paranoid nature of the people attending but also avoid any potential…disagreements. When you have one guard you are far less likely to start making a nuisance of yourself.

A car is waiting for you outside when you and Ares exit the foyer, and you know the venue is only fifteen minutes drive from the hotel. You’ve made sure to analyse the site as much as possible.

A hotel and casino in one, Paradise has served as a hotspot and neutral meeting ground for anyone seeking an audience with Chicago’s Outfit and their Boss. The word is that you either make a deal with them or you don’t leave Paradise alive.

You suppose it’s just your luck that Chicago Outfit and Camorra have a long-running alliance from as early as the bloody 20ties era. Back when Italians have first set their sights on powerhouse cities like New York and Chicago amongst others, waging deadly wars amongst each other for territory.

An enemy of a friend is always good to have, Santino had told you with a secretive little smile and a dangerous air of viciousness thick in the air.

You can’t help but wonder if this has—to some degree—been planned for even longer than you first suspected.

If this gathering only happens once every five years and always in a different city and continent, just how long has Santino waited to put this plan into action?

Chicago. A city ruled by an Italian-American crime syndicate and ties to Camorra.

The Black Dragon. Janitors of the High Table. Trained killers who answer only to their leader and the Table.

You. A mission to kill the current leader Andre Boutin. A man who always hides as if fearing something.

What did this man do?

How do the puzzle pieces fit together?

The car rolls to a stop and you blink out of your stupor, glancing ahead and see Ares turn towards you from the front seat.

Ready?

You bob your head once and inhale deeply, letting the oxygen sit in your lungs for several seconds while she exits the expensive vehicle and opens the door for you. You take her offered hand with a silent squeeze of thanks.

From this moment on, you are no longer you.

Your heels hit the damp pavement and the Vipress steps out.

Ares shadows your side as you trek up the extravagant staircase to the Paradise hotel, ignoring the flurry of snowflakes that settle in your hair. The attendants greet you both, checking your name on the guest list, then weapons, and you’re both ushered inside with polite, stiff nods. Your coat gets taken at the door and you dip your head in a cool, disinterested manner—just enough to appear polite.

Ares is a silent phantom by your side.

The gathering has started already. S will be waiting for you by the staircase to the ballroom. You both need to be seen.

Should we not go straight for the target?

S believes appearing innocuous first is your priority.

Your eyes sweep over several individuals around the foyer who shift at being caught staring, clearly uncomfortable at your signing, and you suppress a remorseless smile. Good.

Santino wasn’t exaggerating though, most people around are unfamiliar to you. These people are the wheels that keep the underworld business rolling but they are not Tarasov or Giovanni. These people are at the top of their own food chain but under the Table, they are specks only.

The grand staircase leads up a level where the hotel rooms are located and downstairs where the ballroom and casino can be found.

Ares moves a step behind you as you descent slowly, taking your time with the gown and the shoes. A dull twinge of weakness still locks your knees and you force yourself to focus on your every move.

Just like the woman behind you warned, Santino waits a little away from the main staircase, chatting with the burly, brown-haired Piero in hushed voices.

He’s striking tonight.

Admittedly, Santino always looks good—he takes special pride in his appearance, you know that much—but today he made an effort and it shows.

The suit he wears is as dark as the richest night, tailored to fit him to perfection, and the light reflects a peculiar shine of the material whenever he moves. His hair is neatly combed and those unruly curls pulled back but you can already see a few rebellious strands trying to free themselves. The white shirt he sports under the suit is blinding and a satin bowtie rests around his throat, pulling the dignified image together.

His black dress shoes might as well be mirrors.

Santino looks like an arcane, sinful dream and you know many recognise the Camorra heir as he stands there with an air of effortless arrogance.

His eyes flicker away for a second, scanning the room and snag on you just as you reach the final step, your dress skirt dragging down the polished marble and falling against your legs as you walk with deliberate slowness towards the heir.

Santino doesn’t have to fake his reaction and that’s good—too many eyes on you.

He stills and you note the slight downwards dip of his shoulders as if whatever oxygen he did have in his lungs has fled.

His lips parted, he watches your approach unblinking and with pulse-pounding sort of intensity. He doesn’t bother masking the raw desire in his regard, either, and there is a nudge of surprise when you feel a flicker of warmth in your chest in response.

You’ve missed this. Being seen by someone. Being desired openly and without shame.

Not pausing, you walk right up to him and wrap your arms around him, resting your nose against the smooth skin of his neck.

Santino goes stiff with surprise and you tilt your head so your lips brush against his ear, “There are eyes on us. Wrap your arms around me right now,” you direct quietly and pull him closer with a smile. “Touch me as if we’re lovers.”

He does.

His right arm snakes around your waist before trailing up your back, his burning fingertips brushing against your bare shoulder blades. His breaths are shallow but he leans in and presses a brief kiss against your shoulder as his hand drags back down the arch of your spine. Slow, wanton. You have to suppress a genuine shiver despite your best efforts to play your own little act.

Pulling back, you remain right against him, meeting his stare and Santino’s eyes wander over your features, guarded.

The reservation is surprising. Is he gauging what he can get away with without you snapping at him?

He gave you a brief, a job to do. You intend to fulfil it. The last thing you need is to be caught as well. That means playing the part to perfection.

“Looking quite handsome, darling,” you tell him with the slightest curl of your mouth. Your fingers skim over the velvety material of his bow tie and you glance at him from under your lashes. “Am I to your liking tonight?”

He licks his bottom lip and his sizeable pause generates amusement deep down that you don’t let anyone see. For once the man with a silver tongue has nothing to say.

“Yes, amore,” he says thickly and his stare doesn’t stray from you. “You are breathtaking.”

Clever bastard.

He might as well be undressing you with his eyes but that’s the point.

The black gown you wear glimmers like a thousand little jewels—and indeed every inch of the light material is stitched with little gems that depending on light reflect silver or dark green. The dual-chrome aspect makes every step you take a visual feast and thin spaghetti straps made out of strings of tiny gems glitter in the light as well. The cut at the back of the dress dips all the way to your lower back and Santino’s fingers press into your skin. Tracing, lingering.

Leaning back slightly, you reach for your clutch, pulling out a silky piece of cloth that matches the reflective green of your dress.

Santino’s hand still rests securely against your lower back, and you peek at him as you place the handkerchief in the otherwise empty suit pocket. With delicate fingers you smooth the pocket square into neat lines, dragging your palm deliberately down his chest after. You stare at each other for several moments, ignoring everyone else around.

Well, not you. You’ve already counted the exits and the guards present with every guest in the nearby vicinity. Taken stock of most of their weapons, too.

Who is the biggest threat? John’s low voice questions in your ear and you take note of that as well. Keep them in your sight.  

Santino, on the other hand, looks like he can barely recall where he is.

“Shall we?”

Before he can answer another voice speaks first.

“Santino D’Antonio. It has been a while,” a deep voice calls with an accent you can’t quite place. It almost makes you think French but there is a sprinkling of something else there. “Giovanni couldn’t be bothered to attend himself?”

There is an accusation in that question and you control your expression. Letting surprise show now won’t be in your best interest. You are a shell, a plaything, a snake in the garden.

Still, not many would have the guts to speak like that about Giovanni D’Antonio—and to his son no less.

You only turn towards the owner of the voice after Santino does, and his grip on you tightens briefly before relaxing. You’re still practically hip to hip and behind you, Ares and Piero slip closer; a subtle manoeuvring.  

Tucking yourself into Santino’s right side, you give him room to shake hands with the man who comes to a stop before you. He’s taller and broader than you both and that handsome but stern face makes your instincts prickle in real life even more so than the pictures did.

“Rafael,” the Italian greets smoothly, and yet you can hear the subtle contempt in his tone as he drops the man’s hand. “Always a pleasure to see you. Father could not attend. Business with the Triad, I’m afraid.”

You have no idea if that’s true or not but regardless Santino says it with enough conviction that even a priest would believe him.

Your mark doesn’t look convinced though.

Rafael Conte in his immaculate grey two-piece suit eyes Santino with cool disdain that hides behind a ghost of a smile. Clearly, there is no love lost between the two. So much for knowing the man personally.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” he states flatly, and his dark eyes slide towards you. He looks you up and down like a butcher assessing livestock and you work to keep your expression open and friendly, shy even. “Your plus one, I assume.”

“Wonderful, is she not?” Santino poses icily and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Rafael’s eyes linger on the skin of your thigh that peaks from between the slit in your dress. Then they drag towards your hips and deep plunge of your neckline before he finally meets your stare. The entire assessment lasts no longer than a scant few seconds but whatever he observes he seems to find lacking.

“Not your usual type,” he intones in deliberate, clipped Italian. “Couldn’t find an attractive model to fuck instead?”

The air crackles with tension as two men stare at each other, silent.

This isn’t going like expected, so reading the situation and its potential deterioration, you decide to gamble, “Actually,” you begin sweetly, in equally deliberate Italian, and Rafael’s attention snaps to you. “Most nights I fuck him so thoroughly that he doesn’t want to leave the bed the next morning. Isn’t that right, Santi?”

You’ve never called him that before and you sense the minute twitch of his muscles in reply.

His fingers sink into your hip firmly but his words are calm, genial. “I have nothing to complain about,” he admits mildly, turning to look at you and you meet his reticent gaze with a slight, coy smile. “You always impress, principessa.”

Turning back towards your mark, you find those inky eyes focused on you and blink innocently.

“This one has a mouth on her,” he says, his words terse and he looks you up and down again. “Might get her into trouble one day.”

Santino smiles but it’s more of a predator baring his teeth in warning as he presses you closer to him. “Ah, it’s a rather delightful mouth I reassure you, and I could never resist a bit of danger, Rafael. You know how it is.”

The muscular man scoffs. “Your lack of self-control is well known, D’Antonio,” he notes briskly, and the sarcastic bite of his deep voice is offset only by the easy smile he flashes you both. It softens his forbidding expression but doesn’t hide the contempt. “I certainly hope you’re here to do some actual business instead of wasting everyone’s time. But do enjoy your evening,” he adds with a purse of his lips.

He brushes past your party without another word, every step purposeful and you can practically hear the grind of Santino’s teeth beside you. Placing your hand on top of his, you pull his attention towards you.

“A dance, darling?”

He doesn’t reply, simply wrapping his arm tighter around your waist and leading you both towards the ballroom where the main event is being held. Behind you, Ares and Piero fall in step behind you.

The room itself is massive and decorated in tasteful greys and silvers—Chicago Outfit’s colours, you recall. A canopy hangs across the ceiling, a million tiny fairy lights creating an illusion of the night sky. Your gaze swings towards the massive dance floor where a glistering chandelier hangs suspended above the already dancing guests. In fact, the vast space is already full of people milling around and chatting business. Champagne, whiskey, bourbon and wine are only a couple of the drinks you spot being poured around the room. Later, when the masks fall away, you know everything from cocaine to ecstasy will be served just as openly.

Across the room, you spot the entrance to the private casino section but know that it won’t be in use till later. After these civilised people do their song and dance of being normal.

Santino cuts straight towards the dancing guests, only giving Ares and a vague tilt of his head to indicate that the plan is now in motion.

The said plan was always to catch Rafael’s attention here. Running into him this early had never been part of your previously discussed play.

A strain weighs across Santino’s face when he pulls you on the dance floor just as the live band finishes playing a song and starts another.  

His arm settles around your waist and you step closer towards him, your fingers lacing together.

He settles you into a rhythm smoothly and you spin across the shiny floor with other patrons.  

“What was that?”

His quiet, indignant question doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his attention remaining on the attendees and you fight back a sigh.

“I was getting his attention,” you murmur in reply, giving his palm a measured squeeze. “Now we’re on his radar. He will watch us twice as often. We will dance and dine and have a great time,” you explain evenly and that familiar focused calm thrums through you. When your eyes meet next, you add a meaningful, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Hand in hand, you spin in a slow circle and his eyes find yours.

“Trust is not a currency I deal in often, cara mia.”

You part, your palms grazing as you circle each other, and you hold his heavy stare.

“See how this whole trust thing works is that you have to give some away before any can be given back,” you remind him when he pulls you back to him, and this time you stand close enough to smell his cologne and count his eyelashes as they flutter when he fleetingly looks towards your lips. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

He notices the mocking edge to your words and his eyebrows arch slightly when he draws you closer.

“Are we not friends, bella?”

You give him an honest answer. “Hardly.”

Something flickers across his expression but it’s gone in an instant and his answering smile is uncaring, forced.

“Such a cruel tongue you have.”

Smiling pleasantly, you hum, “I keep it especially sharpened for you.”

This time, the sharpness recedes and something more honest is left in its place as Santino dips you and unlike last night, this time you’re ready for him. Perhaps the awkward practice paid off after all.

The world tilts and then he pulls you back to him, an array of colours blurring your sight, and for the briefest of seconds, all you can see around you is him. Him and the crooked dip of his grin as he peers at you.

“I have missed this,” he admits in the space between you but even over the dancing guests and the music, you hear him. “This you. Could she perhaps be persuaded to stay, hm?”

It would be so easy, you can’t help but think, allowing yourself to tangle in his web. Allowing yourself the privilege of forgetting John and Kishi and Tarasov—of forgetting every dark shadow that haunts you. He almost makes it easy. Easy to breathe and forget. But you now know what it is to be broken apart when you allow someone else to complete you.

Never again.

Never with a man who will no doubt exchange your company for someone else’s soon. Winston had a point. Santino’s favour is bound to come with an expiration date. One day, he will grow bored of you or resentful because he’ll realise that you will never give him what he truly wants.

One day, inevitably, he will let you down. Replace you. Leave.

It’s simply who he is.

Pivoting on your heels, you turn your bodies in a different direction, your steps unfaltering as you move across the floor.

Santino blinks, his silent scrutiny letting up as he squints at you.  

“Are you trying to lead, cara mia?”

“Not trying,” you murmur slyly under your breath, a slight smile lingering across the seams of your mouth. “Succeeding.”

The soft set of his lips part and this time his grin shows teeth, dimpling his cheeks. He swiftly pushes your bodies apart, spinning you, and your skirt flares around your legs before he yanks you back to him, your bodies colliding. His arm envelops you immediately, keeping you pressed to him and the warmth of him seeps into you as he watches you through hooded eyes. His thumb caresses the bare skin of your lower back and a shiver crawls down your body as your warm breaths mingle.

You’re out of breath due to acute exhaustion still gnawing at your bones but—

“I could give you anything you want—anything at all. Power, money, jewels, pleasure,” he whispers faintly, leaning closer, and you fight to ignore the sultry drag of those words. “The world. All you need to do is ask.”

With his power—with the power he might still inherit—you imagine he could.

But—

“And what would you want in return? For me to be your pretty, obedient pet?” you whisper back but your voice lacks all the heat his has. Something far more critical twists your words and you meet his gaze, your faces inches apart. “Warming your bed whenever you feel like it until something more exciting comes along? No, I know how this game works, Santino. Men like you collect women and use them to appease your overinflated egos until we’re no longer interesting to you. Then you throw us out like trash. Even though the problem is rarely us but rather your inability to emotionally connect with another human because all you want or care about is fleeting excitement of the chase. Cheap sex on the side. Sorry to disappoint you but I’m no one’s pet.”

His jaw clenches, a ripple of emotions flitting across his features.

“I don’t want a pet.”

Low, wary.

But you push because you don’t believe him. Trust his word even less despite the fact that any and all promises he’s made so far, he’s followed through with.  

“Then what is it that you want?”

He stops. You’re the only two unmoving bodies in a sea of movement.

Those vivid green eyes glow with something you have never seen before as he studies you.

It is desire but—

He reaches up and caresses your cheek; nothing more than a whisper of a touch.  

“You.”

A breath rushes out of you.

A lump forms in your throat but you don’t move or speak. It’s like you’re both locked in your own private little bubble and the sheer intensity of Santino’s gaze leaves you with no escape. Your muscles seem to have stiffened up with disbelief. He’s always made it clear what he wanted but…

“Santino D’Antonio! It’s good to see you again.”

He exhales and whatever it was that you saw only moments ago is gone, leaving a far more familiar sight of a proud Camorra heir behind.

He turns to greet an unfamiliar man approaching, his grip on you loosening but not dropping entirely, and you remind yourself that you are nothing to him. Nothing more than an object of desire, a trophy to win, a conquest his damn pride won’t allow him to drop till he succeeds.

You hate the fact that for a second—just one—you had believed him.

Your eyes flicker over the crowd, a blur of faces, before a large man next to a bar catches your attention.  

Rafael Conte takes a slow sip of his drink that dark stare boring holes into you.

Your lips curl.

.

Santino does talk business.

He really has covered all his basis and found a legitimate reason to be here—be here and appear unsuspicious as well.

Camorra is one of the wealthiest families in the world and there are plenty of individuals eager to do business with them.

Santino talks—ruthlessness and charm weaving effortlessly—shakes hands and deals business. Number start blurring somewhere in their millions.

You stay by his side through it all. His grip around you is resolute, secure. It’s surprising how natural the fit is, comfortable. Especially because any and all foreign touch since Tokyo makes your skin crawl with disgust. You’ve only ever fit this well beside John but thinking about him now stings terribly so you push the thoughts of him away.

Instead, you focus on your role entirely. Submerge yourself in it so wholly that you can almost believe that’s truly all you are: your job.  

A mindless girl who is desperate for any scrap of attention from the powerful, handsome man beside you.

Fingers ghosting over his neck, leaning into him, giggling in his ear and playing with his fingers—you embody the desire you’re supposed to represent. Santino’s replies are rarely verbal but any and all attention from you always seems to distract him, shattering his concentration.

His fingers rub circles against the swell of your hip in response, and other times he wraps his arm around your shoulders. His cool Camorra ring grazing the skin of your arm as he traces random patterns on your skin.

People stare discreetly. You know by this point more than a few have recognised you. No one dares to comment though.

You imagine that to them you look completely caught in each other. Sharing breathing space and suggestive whispers; heat and something carnal, something only lovers could ever fully grasp.

Buying into the rampant tension between you must be easy.

You succeed in your mission.

Two hours in, a waiter approaches a spot where you and Santino sit—you draped over his lap and arms around his neck while he discusses weaponry with some Romanian crime syndicate representatives—and delivers a scrap of paper with a simple message.

Join us for poker and business, D’Antonio. Your plus-one can come along as well.—R

.

You’re in trouble.

Big, fat trouble.

Not because Santino is gambling three million away—though you imagine losing that won’t be in your best interest—but because this intimate setting is even more intimate than you ever would have suspected.

No guards, for one.

The game itself is between six players—counting Santino—in a small closed-off booth section of the casino. Your game is not the only one ongoing but you doubt this kind of money is being thrown around anywhere else. Every man playing seems to have brought their plus ones as well, including Rafael himself. A tall, stunning woman with glossy black hair, beautiful brown skin and shrewd almond eyes.

The problem is that unlike you, these women don’t have to pretend. Their interest is genuine, and when twenty minutes into the game you notice zippers being unzipped and hands starting to wander, you feel something inside your chest shrivel up.

Santino’s grip on you remains and you find yourself clinging to him for a different reason. At first, you play at being shy, burying your face against his neck. He notices, dragging his long fingers down your leg gradually, trying to calm you, as he considers his cards silently and takes another drag of his cigar. He’s purposely trying not to draw attention to either of you. It both amazes you and gives you a sense of reassurance. Perhaps there are some lows that even he won’t stoop to.  

The only issue is that Rafael Conte won’t stop staring at you.

He knows that you’re not too drunk or high enough to stop your hands from exploring. He’s been keeping track of your leisurely sips of champagne the entire evening. If he doesn’t suspect something is not right yet, he will soon. He’s smart. The same chilling, ruthless smart that reminds you of Tarasov.

If you don’t do this…

It all would have been for nothing. Another failure. If Rafael suspects something is amiss, if he thinks that you are here for any other reason other than being Santino’s lover—

You will never get access to Andre Boutin.

Fuck.

Something cold and slippery rolls inside your stomach at the muffled groan a man closest to you lets out, and the woman wrapped around him titters.

I—

You can do it, John reassures you gently, gripping your shoulder but you blink and it’s Santino’s hand on you instead.

Your eyes meet in the dim light and his hooded gaze is solemn, cautious. He, too, can see how this situation is escalating. Either you adapt or retreat.

All this preparation. You can’t help but wonder if he would still force you—

Fuck this.

And John.

And Santino.

And Kishi and Tarasov and every other asshole that’s ever hurt you.

They can all go to hell.

You’re more than this.

You didn’t survive Tokyo and John’s abandonment just to break apart now. To fail yet again.

Enough.

Enough.

It’s not real, it’s just an act.

Shifting, you practically straddle Santino and feel his breath hitch when your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head back for better access. Your lips press against his jaw, neck, your other hand tugging on his bowtie till the silken material comes loose between your fingers.

His pulse pounds against your mouth and you kiss that golden skin, sucking on it, your lips tingling. You’ve never been physically this close to him before and the heat of him envelops you, his free hand sliding up your back and settling against the arch of your neck. Those strong digits sink in, firm and eager, but he doesn’t push you closer until you lean into him further. You’re chest to chest. Your fingernails scratch against his scalp deliberately and a small sigh escapes him, warming the blood in your veins.

“D’Antonio.”

Tugging on his shirt, you undo the first two buttons in a second, peppering eager little kisses against the curve of his collarbone. The scent of his musky his cologne sinks into your senses, making your head swim and your lips part, your tongue swiping against the skin—

Santino’s hand tangles in your hair and he pulls you back, his wild stare pitch black. With your fingers buried in each other’s hair, you gaze at him for a heated moment, and he at you. Reaching out, you let your fingertips lightly trace up his neck, pausing on his adam’s apple. You draw a lazy circle with the tip of your nail and his breaths grow heavier. Leaning even closer, you let your fingers trail up his chin before your thumb settles on his parted lips.

He’s staring up at you like he has never seen a sight more divine, more sublime, and the heat between you is sweltering.

You’ve forgotten what it is to feel like you’re burning, igniting, coming apart.  

“D’Antonio.”

This time his self-restraint doesn’t hold, he jerks you to him till you’re fully on his lap, your foreheads almost touching as you eye each other. His fingers slip from your hair, dragging downwards till he’s grasping the side of your face, his own fingers mapping the shape of your lips as he guides you closer. Like a magnet, you follow his pull. Your mouths hover over each other and the tip of your nose nudges against his cheek, mirroring his eagerness. You grasp onto his hair firmer, those strong strands like silk in your grip. If you pull hard enough, if you kissed him, would he moan—

“D’Antonio, do you mind?”

The haze lifts and you see Santino blink as if snapping himself back to reality, his breaths are laboured, heavy, and you know that you’re hiding him from sight. This slip-up, this moment of hungry eyes and needy touches, is for you alone.

He looks you up and down, as if memorising the sight of you like this—so close to being his—before licking his lips and swallowing as he gathers his composure. His elevated breathing and blown pupils betray him, however. His appearance is dishevelled in that gorgeous, seductive sort of way and a stab of satisfaction follows the realisation that you did this to him.

He slides you carefully to one side and you release your grip on his hair, wrapping both arms around him instead as you smile slightly.

The Italian doesn’t look away from you, giving Rafael only a distracted, “Hm?”

“Make your next play, then feel free to fuck her if you must,” the man drawls, and you focus on Santino and his hair and his eyes because the careless way Rafael speaks about you sets your teeth on edge. Keep calm, keep calm, this is not Kishi. “In fact, after that little display, I’m pretty sure I won’t mind a sampling myself. See if she’s really all mouth.”

Your nails sink into the back of Santino’s shoulders and it takes sizeable effort to keep that bashful smile on your face. The heir finally looks away from you, his attention turning towards your mark, his features hardening.

“Come again?”

Rafael Conte chuckles, a rumble of a sound that unsettles you. “Don’t be shy, D’Antonio,” the man speaks, amused. “You do mine and I’ll do yours. What do you say? Unless mine is not to your liking? I can get another one in here. Two? I’ve heard you’re into that.”

No one else in the room so much as shifts or protests. This is a typical party code for them. Swapping deals, drugs, women, and whatever else they please.

Your skin crawls, those words dousing whatever heat your moment with Santino has managed to awaken in you.

Don’t let him talk about me like that. Don’t let him touch me. Don’t, don’t, please don’t—

Those words burn at the back of your throat and you grit your teeth to hold them in. You can’t risk breaking character like this but—

Kishi grins from the shadowed corner of the enclosed room and you suddenly feel sick.

Santino is quiet for a moment.

You watch his side profile with a halted breath, and another beat of silence follows before a slight smile finally tugs one side of his mouth upwards.

It’s a dangerous, dark thing and your stomach twists into knots.

Please—

“No one touches my woman,” comes his silky, cold declaration and those long fingers rest on the bare skin of your thigh; possessive, protective. “No one.”

The terror and revulsion in your veins ebbs, ebbs, his words echoing—

You don’t care about how untrue they are. That you both know that you’re not his in any sense of the word nor will you ever be.  

The conviction, the threat, the protection—those are real.

For the first time since Tokyo, since John, you don’t feel alone.

A peculiar sort of hush falls over everyone at that.

“In fact, hm, why don’t you go and freshen up, principessa?” he suggests and lifts your chin with his index finger so he can look you in the eyes. “I’m almost done here. We can go back to the hotel after. I’ve missed those pretty sounds you make when I’m inside you. Yes?”

He can see it.

And feel it, too.

The way your skin has gone cold and clammy. How a tremor shakes your muscles. How you grip onto him but your eyes keep skipping towards every shadow in the room. How your serene, sensuous demeanour is no doubt splintering right in front of him.

He’s giving you an out.  

Your nails sink into him briefly and you force yourself to act, force yourself to continue on.

Cupping the side of his face, you press a lingering kiss to his cheek. There is nothing sexual about it. Only a distinct feeling of gratitude that strums through you with the same intensity your earlier interaction did.

Your eyes flutter close briefly, the tip of your nose pressing into the smell of his aftershave, and you image to everyone else it might look like you’re simply clinging onto him, unwilling to be parted.  

Standing on stiff legs, you straighten your spine, and don’t flinch as Santino continues the performance, staring up at you, lowering his cards so he can touch your knee. He rubs a soothing circle there and his lips twitch.

“Don’t take too long now, hm?”

Your hand trembles when you reach for him, and you hope that the darkness of the room helps to mask it. Despite that, you still manage to swipe back unruly strands of his hair that have fallen into his eyes. Like a refined feline, he arches into your touch, a faint smirk appearing, and you rearrange your facial expression into something unassuming.

Trying to speak fails, so you simply dip your head once, and pull away from him. It takes everything you have to keep your footsteps steady and unhurried as you exit the small room.

The world around you splinters.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Look at you.

“Shut up.”

It’s a choked, weak mess of an exhale. It hurts to talk and you grip the sink harder, your knuckles straining under your skin as you wheeze.

Your frightened eyes reflect in the mirror and you note how your expression crumbles in despair. Just hours ago, you had looked at your reflection in the hotel room mirror and felt beautiful for the first time since Tokyo. Since something was tarnished and stolen away from you.

Now mascara smears under your eyes and your waxen expression betrays you.

You need—

John.

You need John.

I need you. I need you. Where are you?

Kishi sinks his bony fingers into your arm and you flinch, jerking backwards. The incandescent bathroom lights scorch behind your closed eyelids, and you grapple for the running tap, letting the freezing water pour over your hands.

It hurts more, petrifies you more, but it also keeps you lucid, coherent enough to hear the bathroom door opening behind you.

“So—sorry, it’s busy! Could—could you please use—”

“The Vipress.”

You freeze.

You’re trembling but your head tilts upwards, and in the mirror reflection you see Rafael Conte leaning against the bathroom door with his arms folded over his chest.

Those dark eyes narrow and the grin on his face makes you become terribly aware just how unprepared you are for this type of confrontation. He’s taller, stronger, and heavier.

While usually, that would hardly bother you—both John and Cassian have taught you plenty of ways to take down individuals who severely outclass you in a physical sense—that was then.

The husk of a person you have deteriorated to is not as confident in her skills.

How he even found you is beyond you. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, didn’t bother finding Ares in the crowd of people because she was instructed to mingle and collect information. You purposely didn’t go in the casino bathroom or the one right outside the ballroom. You went through the bother of trekking halfway across the hotel just to find a secluded bathroom far away from the main event.

Just your goddamn luck.  

Keeping him in your sight, you straighten.

Where is Santino?

“The viper that never strikes twice. I wondered why D’Antonio would bring you,” the man says after you keep silent and his smile turns more cutting. “But then I realised that this might be something more than just business.”

“This—this is neutral ground,” you force out, trying and failing to keep your voice even. “There is nothing—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man snaps, stepping from the door and you twist around, glaring at him. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know he’s up to something. You will tell me what, or I will send your head back to Viggo Tarasov as a present.”

Your hand flies down but he’s faster.

A pistol appears in front of your face just as your fingers wrap around a blade strapped to your inner thigh.

“I don’t think so,” the man growls and steps closer. “Drop it.”

The water from the tap keeps running noisily, and you try to calculate how quickly he would be able to pull that trigger. Would you be able to throw your blade faster? Or would he react quicker?

Don’t let him corner you, John warns sternly, or you will lose.

You let the blade drop. Rafael marches towards you, shoving the barrel of the pistol under your chin, tilting your head. He glowers at you, the heavy set of his eyebrows pinching. “Why are you here?”

“Get fucked.”

His palm connects with your cheek, a flare of agony numbing the right side of your face. He jerks you closer by the hair, pressing the barrel painfully into your cheek.

“I will blow your fucking brains out, princess,” he warns harshly, and shakes you once, your teeth clenching. “Is D’Antonio really worth dying for? Answer me!”

Your knee drives between his legs and you duck when his grip on your hair loosens, ignoring the painful tear. You strike his arm, the pistol slipping but he grabs it just before it falls, kicking you in the stomach as you slam against the sinks with a loud thud. You gasp in pain, trying to grab onto the edge of the basin to straighten yourself, but your weak muscles struggle to obey and Rafael grabs you by the throat. He slams you into the mirror and then again.

And again.

The mirror cracks and you choke down a sob of pain, everything blurring.

“You know,” the man pants, and his grip on your neck tightens, choking you. “I expected more from John Wick’s partner. His little protege. But you’re pathetic.”

He slams you against the mirror again. “Tell me what D’Antonio is doing here,” he demands, giving you another shake and you feel something wet staining the back of your head. “Tell me or I will drown the truth out of you.”

A handkerchief gets pushed into the sink, trapping the still pouring water, and you let out a whimper of pure terror.

No—no—no—

Rafael grasp you by the back of your neck, and you kick at him but your muscles are frail with exhaustion and panic, failing you when you need them most.

The man hits one of your legs and you crumple, your face flying towards the half-full sink as you let out a sob. No matter how much you struggle or try to push yourself back, you’re not strong enough.

Another brutal shove downwards.

You’re never—

The bathroom door slams open with a deafening bang.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

A slight chuckle against your neck. “D’Antonio. Slow as always.”

The grip on you loosens and you slump to the floor. Footsteps step over you, but Rafael’s gleaming shoes don’t miss your trembling digits. He steps on them on purpose and you flinch as the sink overflows, spilling water all over the white tile floor.

“I will skin you alive for this.”

You can’t remember ever hearing Santino so furious before.

“Sure you will,” Rafael remarks and the mirth in his voice is clear. “You know my father always told me to never trust you D’Antonio’s. He said that you all have the devil in you. Especially your psychopath father and that frigid bitch you have for a sister. You’re just the leftover people tolerate because they’re scared of your father. After San Diego, I knew my father was right.”

“What’s the matter, old friend,” Santino wonders in Italian, his voice honey and rage all at once. “Can’t handle a bit of competition, hm?”

Your forehead slides across the tiles when you turn your head, a wall of tears blurring your vision as you try to blink them away. Violent shivers wreck your body as water roars in your ears and your body convulses. Blinking, you try to tighten your bruised fingers into a fist. It’s then that your eyes snag onto an object an arm length away from you.

“I sure can. Because I don’t fear weak fuckers like you,” Rafael shoots back coolly and you hear the cocking of the pistol as he aims it at Santino. “I would be lying if I said that I will not enjoy this.”

Santino.

A meeting in a church.

“I always get what I want.”

A favour without a charge.

“I’m not doing this for him but for you.”

An offer of help.

“You can stay with me, cara mia. My home can be your home. It will not be for free but no harm will come to you.”

Burgundy suits.

“I need you.”

Arms around you, something in his eyes you have never seen before—something genuine.

“You.”

You slam into Rafael with full awareness of what this will mean.

“Fear me.”

You plunge the poisoned blade deep into his neck.

. . .

an: can you believe Santino D’Antonio really hit that high this early on and then....just never been able to hit it since lmao. amazing. anyway whooooooooooooo babey!!!! if you read this in one sitting, please pat yourself on the back, soldier. sorry that I didn’t have time to reply to everyone about the last chapter. life has just been a big ‘ol mess as you all know, and I’ve been really busy and blocked so if this chapter reads funny....well then......though, as always, I’m super excited to hear your thoughts. :D

as always you’re all incredible, amazing, and the best so please take care of yourselves! <333 

#john wick #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick fic #santino d'antonio imagine #riccardo scamarcio #fanfic #fic: children of ares

[wanyinchen]

(I may have accidentally deleted the ask and the post whoops sorry, anon!)  HOLY CRAP YES PLS OMG TALK TO ME MORE They literally are the best team ever? Like I am such a sucker for found family tropes you have no idea. The idea of these four people, so different from one another and are, in varying degrees, considered as outsiders found a bond with each other so strong  and I- AHHHH I CAN’T NOT LOVE THEM. I’ve always imagined them to be all orphans and then finally, they found these people who could and would always be their home, and where they could feel safe, loved and cared for, a family. I-I’m weak-*chokes back the tears* I have always had a hard time making friends in my younger years and I was a bit of a loner at childhood, and now as I am older and found friends who I could laugh with and keep secrets with, who I could be myself with and who I could always be with, I FELT THAT WITH TEAM GAI, OK? THEIR TEAMWORK AND CLOSENESS?? YEAH BABY! Sure I could relate on Nart or some other character but something clicked in me with Rock Lee and Gai. Like holy crap these are not the type of characters I usually love but there’s something about these two adorable bowl-cut, spandex wearing angels that compel me to them so much. Hardwork, effort, and dedication is something I very much value but not always “do”, they’ve become one of my inspirations to do better and be better and all around help me make good decisions with the question “would Lee and Gai be proud of me if I do this?” fuck I am such a loser but I just hecking love them so much. Rock Lee is the love of my life and I love him to bits, this kid is super precious and so sweet and so polite, like omg I want him, he literally is boyfriend material and I just super love him and whoever ended up with this sweetheart, I congratulate you, you have eyes more powerful than all the ‘-gans’ in the world and you have caught the greatest treasure. Neji is a complex character, a true genius but always considered to be inferior from the main Hyuuga family just because he was from the branch family, he was this happy kid and then was so jaded by his dad’s death, like I just want to hug him. He had such a compelling character arc and development, evolving from this bitter (and with reason!) and angry kid to this mature teen who empathizes and loves his team and cousin very much. He became somewhat more mellow, gentle, and approachable now that he found a true family with team gai. HE SHOULDN’T HAVE DIED, IT WAS A BS PLOT DESICION AND I WAS LIKE CRYING AND WHAT???? FOR WHAT?? IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE, HIASHI SHOULD’VE DIED INSTEAD FFS. And then there’s my queen Tenten, the one who aspired to be like Tsunade, the greatest medical nin and the strongest kunoichi, but along the way, with her DAD’S (Gai’s) help, she discovered that she just wanted to be a great and strong kunoichi at her own right and at her abilities(!!!). Despite her clear insecurities, hotheadedness, and not getting what she wanted at first, she still strived to be better, and perseveres to keep up with her team mates. And hello? Space time ninjutsu is super cool? Like summon a shit ton of weapons all at once out of mid air and heck?? How was this not exploited and utilized by Kishi?? Give me a solo Tenten sword fight with a powerful enemy?? She’s a weapon’s mistress FFS, how come Sasuke and Orochimaru gets sword fights when SHE, the thing she specialized on, didn’t get to have one?? Fuck what this is BS I swear AND HOLY ROCK LEE I need all of my kids to be legit taijutsu masters and is actually shown to be unparalleled at it compared to other nins and kids since its KING MAITO GAI himself teaching them taijutsu holy ass is that too much to ask for??? Wait, let me gush about Gai, he’s literally my favorite character. He’s the best dad, I want him to be my dad. I really love my father but I want Gai (and Dai) to be my dad, ya know what I mean?? He’s so supportive, loving, and he really just gives his all in caring for you. He’s forgiving and firm and crap I want a mentor like that. He’s such a excellent sensei and are one of the best adults in Naruto. He’s so unconventionally handsome and attractive?? He’s so confident?? He’s so amazing?? He’s so emotionally intelligent?? He defies the unjust expectations set by others and said “fuck you” to it?? And he’s super crazy strong? Like literally feared and famed, I bet enemy and rogue nin just tremble at the mention of his name, a peep about “The Noble Blue Beast of Konoha” would have enemies wetting their pants. He’s one of the elites and is one of the strongest in the Konoha? Heck the world?? He went from this below mediocre adorable runt to this feared and very powerful jonin?? And he did this without ninjutsu, hacks, and any kekei genkai?? Only through pure hardwork and dedication?? He developed the Strong Fist style?? Yeah break dem bones, my king!! I only stan legends. He is literally the light of my and Kakashi’s life. Whether you ship kakagai platonically or romantically, dude you better believe that Gai is one of the most precious people of Kakashi. Kakashi literally trusts no one more implicitly than Gai. Like this hella paranoid and self-sacrificing silver haired dog boi trusted Gai to watch his ex-anbu traumatized ass and be there for him at all times of trouble??? And Gai being there for Kakashi so unfailingly for all of their lives??? For all the dark times in their lives, they'll always have each other no questions?? They're each other's constant?? They love each other so much?? No one knows them like the other??? Uhh hello?? Like why do some writers write Gai as this weird ass buffoon idiot who goddamn annoys Kakashi 24/7? And then Kakashi doesn't even like him and pushes him away, super annoyed?? What. Are we talking about the same characters?? They are each other's best friend. Goddamned soulmates. Eternal rivals. They all have such untapped potential that I am breathing hard in frustration. I still stand by my claim that we should’ve had Team Gai as protagonists like fuck. This is the hill I will die on, I want them, I want to see their bond, I want their stories, I want to witness their development?? Like why nerf these beautiful characters I hate it here WHOOPS, HAHAHAHAA! That was rather ineloquent and vulgar, uuhh forgive me! I hope I could talk to you again, anon! Thank you for enabling me and helping me warm up my brain in answering my summative essays, I feel like writing again! And pls send asks, i wanna make new friends

#kakagai #team guy #might guy #rock lee #tenten #neji hyuga #kakashi hatake #i could talk about them for days #sorry again anon! HEHEHEHE #i said what i said #hahahaha #asks

[icharchivist]

@infullmoon

more discussions about the leaks under the cut :3c

YOU'RE SO RIGHT AND THE THOUGHT OF THAT IS GOING TO MAKE ME CRY!!

it is honestly such a good timing and i sure hope you're right!! It'd be really cute.

The uncap art for Vane has only been leaked in parts so we don't know what the full art will be but people have been theorizing he may be with the Chickadee on that art which, i think, would be adorable. (also i looked back at Vane's Halloween lines and ofc i won't say much bc spoilers but the Papa Vane's vibes from them... muah.)

(also i think tha's a thing too is that, characters aren't allowed to have more than 5 lines per holidays lines and the kishi already all got their 5 lines - which makes me think that they are likely to get Holidays alt to compensate the absence of new lines - re: Halloween Vane)

but yeah what i mean is that everything is set up to some good Papa Vane content and while holidays units don't tend to acknowledge the plot of their saga much, i think that even if they keep it vague, as long as he's having fun with the kids it will be enough to set it after StW and make sure it's well, some recovery and relaxation after the drama

anyway so point is you're right and i'm going to cry because this is the most precious thing ever and i genuinely cannot wait

#ichareply #infullmoon #ichafantalks gbf

[365days365movies]

March 13, 2021: Kwaidan: The Woman of the Snow (1963)

Y’ever see Interviews with Monster Girls?

Absolutely one of my favorite slice-of-life anime from the past few years, and I genuinely want to rewatch it! Might do so after this, honestly. The conceit of the series is that the main character, a biology teacher named Takahashi, is trying to better understand and help with the issues of the “demi-humans” that attend the school.  There’s the vampire girl, Hikari; the dullahan (best character), Kyoko; the math teacher succubus Sakie; and Yuki Kusakabe.

Yuki, as implied by her name is a yuki-onna, also known as a snow-woman. Now in the show, she’s a shy girl who’s always cold, and she’s great. But in mythology, the yuki-onna is...different. A tall woman with long black hair and blue lips, the serene snow woman appears to travelers in blizzards, and freezes them with her icy breath.

While the yuki-onna does have a soft side, she’s best known for her vengeful nature. The only stories that I’ve heard of come from the anime, honestly. There’s one with two woodcutters, an old one and a young one. Old guy gets frozen, young guy doesn’t. Don’t quite remember the reason for that. In another story, the yuki-onna is brought in by a kind young man, and she melts in the warmth. I know there are others, but those are the ones I remember.

Oh, and there’s a Pokémon based on this one, too. Pokédex entry says this about it:

Froslass, the Snow Land Pokémon. An Ice/Ghost type. Legends in snowy regions say that a woman who was lost on an icy mountain was reborn as Froslass.

Seeeee? OK, enough background, let’s get to the movie! Film ain’t gonna watch itself, y’know. The second of four tales presented in the film Kwaidan, listed here:

The Black Hair (黒髪, Kurokami)

The Woman of the Snow (雪女, Yukionna)

Hoichi the Earless (耳無し芳一の話, Miminashi Hōichi no Hanashi)

In A Cup of Tea (茶碗の中, Chawan no Naka)

Here we go again! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (2/4): The Woman of the Snow

We start, well...in the snow.

An eye glares at us through it, eerily, and we’re told of two woodcutters, Mosaku and Minokichi (Tatsuya Nakadai), an old and young man respectively. They travel from their village to the cold mountainside, and are one day beset upon by a fierce blizzard. As they trudge through it, eyes are watching them in the background. It’s extremely eerie, to be honest.

The old man is lost in the blizzard, but the young an struggles through it. As he does, he looks up and sees eyes in the sky, as if made of the moon itself. He finds himself trapped on one side of the river, and also managed to find the older man once again through it all. They make it to the hut of a boatsman, who’s already left down the river before the blizzard. But the wind is strong, and the door swings open as the wind wails, as if a voice were crying on it.

The younger woodcutter settles in for the night, and then OH NO

FUCK ME DUDE THAT’S GODDAMN TERRIFYING

The older woodcutter’s dead as SHIT, frozen by the breath of the Yuki-onna (Keiko Kishi). But she seems to like the younger man, smiling in a way that has scared him and me off of water for life. Like, it’s intense enough that even liquid water would remind me of this terrifying spirit. Same with the dude. But here’s the thing: I can tell you guys about this. He can’t.

See, she spares the younger woodcutter’s life on one condition: he can NEVER tell ANYONE about it. If he tells anyone, INCLUDING his mother (she specifies that), she WILL come and kill him. And odds are gonna be that that’s exactly what he’s gonna do, the great numpty.

She leaves, and the blizzard eventually subsides. The man is found and nursed back to health by his mother. A year passes, and Minokichi doesn’t say SHIT about what happened. One day, he’s cutting wood in the forest, against a sunset that is definitely a set-backdrop, but still looks gorgeous. He walks past a beautiful woman, and asks what she’s doing out there. The woman is on her way to the city of Edo, and is hoping to secure a job there.

However, the two get to know each other on the walk, and start to talk. He introduces her to his mother, and we learn that her name is Yuki, and I REMEMBER THE REST OF THIS STORY NOW. It’s from Tales from the Darkside: The Movie!

YEAH. I’ve seen Tales from the Darkside: The Movie, and I haven’t seen The Godfather, I KNOW. Anyway, the film adapted this story into a short called Lover’s Vow, and replaced the yuki-onna with a...gargoyle monster, I think? Its never made completely clear. Anyway, the same thing happens, where he witnesses the creature kill somebody, and it spares his life if he doesn’t tell anyone of the encounter. He agrees, then later on meets a woman with whom he falls madly in love, and THEN...well, hold on a hot sec, here. That’ll spoil the movie.

Anyway, just like the story, this woman is the yuki-onna. I mean, c’mon, her name is Yuki, for Chrissakes. The two fall in love, and eventually have sex in a field. We had friends over, and I was gonna watch this movie at the time, and it’s a good thing I didn’t because that’d be awkward!

They marry, have three kids, and spend about ten years together. However, soon after this, Minokichi begins to realize who exactly Yuki is. The light on Yuki’s face reminds him of the night that the yuki-onna came. Without thinking about it, he tells her about that night, which he’s never told anybody about.

Here’s the thing, even during the day, we’ve seen eyes in the sky. Because she’s always watching him. and watching his actions. And as he tells the story of the yuki-onna’s visit...well...

Yeah, it’s her. After that dumbass is done with his story, she revealed herself, and spurns him for breaking his promise not to tell anyone, in exchange for his life. And he just broke that goddamn promise. And how she’s gotta kill him, and take the kids away from him as they transform into snow children, but like in Tales from the Darkside: The Movie, right?

Well...no, actually. Because, to my surprise, their kids together is what stops her. Because he broke his promise, she can no longer be a part of their lives. But she loves the children, and also loves him. She tells him that he better raise them right, and with care. If he ever mistreats then, she’ll kill him. And then...

She’s gone. Minokichi leaves the sandals that he was going to give Yuki outside, heartbroken at the loss of his wife, and at his own idiocy. She accepts his gift.

And that’s The Woman of the Snow! VERY cool. Pun...lightly intended. See you for Number 3: Hoichi the Earless! That title worries me! See you there!

#kwaidan #怪談 #masaki kobayashi #the woman of the snow #yukionna #yuki-onna #Tatsuya Nakadai #Keiko Kishi #Yūko Mochizuki #usermichi #fantasy march #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year

[tres-spades-hotel]

Day 4 - Fortune. Fantasy. Masquerade.

Hello, hello, hello! So, I never posted the last four days of #kbtbbweek2020 and this is because I had to send my laptop away for two weeks to be repaired. And then I was distracted by my uni work so I never ended up finishing these!

But I have now! Here’s the first story released for 2021, I hope you all have a wonderful and safe year.

*

When I was a child, I found a baby dragon starving by the side of my house. My father and I took her in and nursed her back to health. She told us that she is no baby and had been living for nearly fifty years. Her name is Alexia, and she has this rare condition which prevented her from growing into a full size dragon. Alexia is 50 inches in length and most of that is her tail. She is a silver Cryoback Dragon and my best friend.

My father ran a dragon sanctuary in the countryside. We take in wild dragons, old dragons, injured dragons and even healthy ones. I spent my entire childhood and the beginning of my adult life with the dragons. I played on their tails and cuddled with some of them at night, watching the stars.

Then, my father died, and I inherited his property. I became the Lady of the Dragon House.

‘Lady Vivian! Sir Eisuke and his friends are returning tonight! Here is the letter he sent.’ My handmaiden and friend, Chisato, hands me the document and I see my husband’s handwriting.

Vivian

I am on my way back. Prepare a feast.

Eisuke

Ever the one to be short and curt, but I feel pride and affection in his words.

‘Chisato! Have the maids begin cooking!’ I run from the rooftop down to the gardens where Alexia likes to bathe in the sun.

‘Alexia! Eisuke is coming home from the war!’ I shout out and all the other dragons perk up.

‘Really?’

‘He’s victorious then?’

‘I hope the dragons he took with him will be returning.’

I skip down the large stone steps to a big blue dragon laying lazily on the ground. He watches me as I run to him.

‘Cobalt! Did you hear?’

‘Yes, I did. But do not forget your duties.’ He says and nuzzles his big nose against my face.

‘I know, I know. Oh, I can’t wait! It has been months since he left.’

‘That tough purple man will be fine. He is far too stubborn.’

‘Hm, that reminds me of another who is far too stubborn.’ I laugh and he snorts at me. Cobalt is a retired military Saptillar dragon, with cobalt blue scales as beautiful as a glittering sky. He lost his captain and his crew and first came to the sanctuary because of the trauma. He isolated himself so much and Eisuke told me not to bother, but with time I was able to get through to him. Now he is as protective as he is wonderful.

‘Vivvy! If we’ll be having a celebration, you should get Eisuke a gift.’ Alexia chimes from the chairs behind me.

‘Maybe, but I’m sure he’ll be tired. I can only hope that he isn’t injured or badly wounded.’ I say, concerned.

‘He is the captain of the Ichinomiya Secret Force. When he comes back, he’ll gloating about how he saved us.’ Cobalt retorts.

‘Ha, I’m sure the others will do that for Eisuke. Oh! I need to start preparing their rooms. They’ll be back tonight so you all should prepare for a ton of food coming your way!’ I say, and the dragons start roaring in delight.

*

‘My lady! Come quick! I can see Kenzaki’s form in the sky! That must be them!’ Sakiko shouts out and a large horn is blown to signal the returning soldiers.

I fix the hem of my dress and run down the outside stairs just in time to see Eisuke’s dragon, Kenzaki, touch down safely on the ground. All eight dragons and all eight men with their crews have returned home.

‘Eisuke!’ I shout out as his feet land on the ground. His dark purple officer suit is completely untouched, as clean and unwrinkled as if I had just ironed them. When his beautiful eyes land on mine, he smirks at me.

‘Well, aren’t you going to greet me?’ He says in his usually confident voice and I breakdown into tears. My feet run to Eisuke and my arms wrap around his torso as tight as I can. I sob into his chest as he returns the hug.

‘You’re such a cry baby aren’t you, love?’ He whispers but I feel his affection laced within those harsh words.

‘Only because you made me worry.’

‘I told you, didn’t I? That I would come back to you. Victorious.’

Eisuke pulls my face away from his chest and his chilled lips press onto mine. I hear cheering and laughter surround us, but I let my husband be the focus of my heart.

After the festivities, we hear the government announce the end of the war. Eisuke and I take a stroll out by the edge of the sanctuary.

‘Let’s sit for a while Eisuke. You must be tired.’

‘Fine.’

We sit on the fountain edge and Eisuke takes my hand into his lap.

‘How have you been, Vivian?’

‘Well, ever since you left, I was praying for your return. For months, I tried to supress my worry and anxiety and continued my duties here. I looked after the dragons, fed them, looked after the staff, servants and maids, and do you know, I started teaching the children of the maids as well?’ I say and ask.

‘I know. You said in your letter. I hope you’re not teaching them how to be silly and strange like you.’ Eisuke teases, pinching my cheek.

‘No! Of course not. I’m teaching them English, History, Mathematics and manners.’

‘Oh? Very serious subjects. Maybe I should join you and begin teaching as well.’

‘On what?’

‘Strategy. Business. How to look after a dragon. Useful subjects. ‘

‘Are my subjects not useful?’ I pout and he chuckles at me, poking my puffed out cheeks.

‘They’re useful. But don’t forget who you should be giving all your time to.’

‘You?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, now that you’re back, we can do that! The both of us can start teaching: you with practical subjects and me with desk work subjects. Oh, and the others can probably help out too! Ota can teach art, Soryu can teach defence and how to tame a dragon, Baba can teach cooking and Kishi… um..’

‘He can teach the kids how to have a proper night’s sleep. Or how to turn a garbage bin into a bed.’

‘He did what?’

We look at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. After a few minutes, we listen to the rushing water behind us.

‘Eisuke, I’m glad you’re home.’

‘Me too, Vivian.’

#kbtbb #kissed by the baddest bidder #eisuke ichinomiya #eisuke #kbtbbweek2020 #kbtbbweek

[captnjacksparrow]

I just got into the fandom and I love it so much. However, there are parts where I just cringe. I’m going to be completely honest when I say I can’t see SS being a thing, a healthy one at that. A rumor said that Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him. I just... find it utterly bullshit. Hell, even I do ship narusasu, I tried to be open minded and not fall too far off canon or the characters. I don’t understand how Sasuke had those feelings for her when all he did was shown the opposite and it felt genuine. He seem always annoyed and pushes her away. She kept forcing her feelings on him when he makes it clear that he’s not interested. I don’t hate the ship because it’s not my ship but because it’s extremely toxic. It feels one-sided (Sakura’s side) more than anything and it’s makes it hard to believe he had those feelings for her. I mean, on the second episode of season five, she confessed and poured out her heart and he blew it off. I cringed hard and was beyond disappointed because she’s making it about herself. That’s literally how I feel about their damn “relationship”. She made it about her and her only. When he’s hurting, it’s about her. It’s so annoying and it makes me see how self-centered Sakura. When she said she understood Sasuke, I wanted to scream (I nearly did but my family is sleeping and I don’t need a lecture.) She doesn’t know Jackshit about Sasuke besides he’s the only survivor of his decease clan, he’s a loner who cares only about himself, and he’s attractive. She’s just like every other fangirl expect she’s on his team. I’m trying my best not to hate her but Damn she’s really pushing it. Anything that annoyed me was that she made it seem like they were dating, again making it about herself and her feelings. She sent Naruto to get Sasuke for her benefits, so she can keep him. Again, disregarding Sasuke’s feelings and what he wanted. Naruto should’ve said “I’ll bring him back because HE wants too, to keep HIM safe, not for you.” I just can’t with this ship. I’m still wondering why the hell is it even a thing? Also find it beyond pitiful how she stayed with Sasuke in Boruto when he left for 12-13 years?! No note. No checking up. Nothing. Hell, Sarada doesn’t know how her own father looks like or the truth of her mother. Both of them were miserable and I find it absolutely ridiculous when SS shippers still say “they’re in love” or they’re OTP. If that’s what true love looks like (good thing it’s not), then I’d die single. I can’t be the only one who thinks this ship is just as bad as Harley Quinn x Joker.

First off, Thanks for this lovely ask @larrycherry04 ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I've always wanted to write about this and your ask is the perfect timing.

Disclaimer: SS shippers, Sakura fans!!! Don’t read  this post!!

Me being an SNS shipper, I am just going to write this from a non-SNS perspective. Meaning, I am going to consider Naruto and Sasuke are just friends or rivals. 

Bear with my lengthy answer.

Where do I even begin?

A rumor said that Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him.

I think this rumor is from a light novel called Akatsuki Hiden or whatever shit. But for me, it looks like a pathetic attempt to convince those horny women shippers who would pay any money to read a romance which mirrors their own love life where they desire an ‘unreachable & handsome’ man who has this ‘cool & overbearing’ aura and carries this ‘bad boy badass’ vibe. They would do anything to get the attention from this boy. Until this point is where the reality ends. 

What they really wants to happen and fantasize is somehow that handsome man, one day, will look only them and recognize their love and becomes a ‘soft’ guy who would bring the heavens for them and treats her like a princess. That fantasy led them to buy these novels and believe everything while completely disregarding the canon material. And those novels are aimed at these type of women.

You must have been wondering now, ‘I have seen these type of shit somewhere’!!!!!

That’s right.

50 Shades of Grey, Twilight, Beauty and the Beast, 100′s of K-Drama, C-Drama follow this shit romance trope and it’s regrettably fucking popular. 

In other words, Don’t believe anything apart from the canonic resources. 

Let’s dissect the canon materials about SS.

TEAM 7 

This is how it all started

Does anyone see anything positive here???? 

Well, I am not.

Sakura wanted to impress Sasuke. Since, Naruto always picks fight with Sasuke, she badmouthed Naruto in the hopes that Sasuke will recognize some common ground with her which may develop into a friendship. But she shot her own foot. 

[Regardless, I hated her here and she never redeemed herself, for her being completely insensitive & oblivious towards Sasuke’s life, the boy she loves]

Technically, Sasuke should have said ‘You’re Annoying’ towards Naruto for kissing him before the class and tying him up later. Here, Sakura is simply badmouthing another guy. He, somehow, find this very annoying than anything Naruto did earlier. 

Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him.

Am definitely not seeing any feelings here.  

ZABUZA ARC

Alright, much later, somehow Sasuke started to integrate into team 7 and started to see them as a Family. No denial here. He started to care about everyone in his team at some point. Which was evident from the way he thought to himself, ‘That was Sakura’s voice... What is Kakashi doing?’

But does it means he hopelessly fell in love with her??? Nope. 

It’s just a team camaraderie where he was worried about his teammate. If he has special feelings towards her, he should have said ‘I must go save Sakura’ or something along the line. 

But, later in that episode, he went on to die for Naruto and even at his dying moments he didn’t think about Sakura or Team 7. It was all about someone else.

Even seconds before falling into Naruto’s arms, Sasuke was smiling with no regrets. 

It was funny very later that after he got up from his temporary death, rather than consoling her like ‘Sakura, Don’t cry. Am alright’ or anything, he was asking ‘Where’s Naruto?’. LOL.

Even much later, when Sakura was asking him about a date, he bluntly said ‘I refuse’.

So, you’re telling me, throughout this arc, a boy blinded with hatred can able to pout, play childish games, train and die for a boy but when it comes to Sakura he can’t show his feelings???

Sorry, I don’t see romance here. Not in this arc.

Whether you agree or not, every parent has their favorite child, every child has their favorite parent. Even within your family, you always have a special person.

For Sasuke, Itachi was that person in his real family. Sakura was not that person in his Team 7 family. It was Naruto.

CHUNIN EXAMS ARC

This arc is where those SS shippers celebrates a lot and I know why. Remember earlier I talked about that shitty 50 Shades of Grey romantic trope??? The following scene vaguely falls under that pattern.

A guy loses his control because of a cursed seal and beats up the guys who hurt one of his teammates which happens to be a girl and calms down after seeing the girl. 

That Infamous back hug. 

I understand why SS people lose their mind with that scene. And I don’t blame them. I am going to throw their own proof at them.

So, this First databook, tells us that he finally sees both Naruto and Sakura as comrades and his heart softens from the path of revenge, a little bit.

Definitely, Sakura’s tears or love towards him stopped his rampage. But nothing says about whether Sasuke loves her back.  

Much later, Sasuke also stops his cursed seal on his own after thinking about worried Sakura and a screaming Naruto (Who don’t know about this seal thingy at that time). 

Well, whatever. That databook has another funny fact, that too in the same page. 

LOL. Weird!!!! This accidental kiss unravels Sasuke’s heart ❤️❤️???? 🤣🤣🤣

So, influencing Sasuke’s heart can be attributed to both his teammates,according to this databook. Atleast upto this arc. There are no special feelings for Sakura alone, guys. 

Proof?

If Sasuke really considers her in a romantic light (this is after that back hug), he doesn’t have to do this at all. Believe me, Love is all about subconsciously or purposefully enjoying or feeling little touches. Those touches can be through eyes, memories or physical. Sakura is delighted with his touch because she loves him but Sasuke just see her as a comrade and keeping his distance but this time very politely.

If Kishi really likes these couple, he doesn’t have to make this scene at all. It’s not just this one instance, he rejected her twice very bluntly before this saying ‘Don’t cling to me!!!’, ‘Sakura, you’re heavy!!!’. 

If you say her back hug is a token of romance, then I can say ‘this’ kiss is also a token of romance. You can’t ignore one while keeping the other.

Anyways, at the end of the arc, Orochimaru is the best judge to identify who can change Sasuke’s heart. And that person is not Sakura.

DEPARTURE

she confessed and poured out her heart and he blew it off. I cringed hard and was beyond disappointed because she’s making it about herself. That’s literally how I feel about their damn “relationship”. She made it about her and her only. When he’s hurting, it’s about her. It’s so annoying and it makes me see how self-centered Sakura. When she said she understood Sasuke, I wanted to scream (I nearly did but my family is sleeping and I don’t need a lecture.) She doesn’t know Jackshit about Sasuke besides he’s the only survivor of his decease clan, he’s a loner who cares only about himself, and he’s attractive.

You know what, Larry??? You are 1000% right. 

But, atleast, I thought she was genuine in the first part of the proposal, like saying ‘Revenge is not good’.....bla bla.. Because, Revenge will never satisfy a person completely and I agree. Then she took a 180 degree by saying ‘Take me with you, Sasuke-Kun. I’ll make you happy’. This is where I lost it entirely. ‘Alright Bitch, So you really don’t care about his revenge or health. As long as you have the chance to get inside his pants, you are okay with it. So you are okay with Sasuke going to Orochimaru as long as you are with him..... Fucking Shit!!!!’  This is not okay at all. 

How did Sasuke respond?

“Why should I have to tell you anything”

“I’m telling you to keep your nose out of my business”

“Stop bothering me over everything I do”

Ummm..... where I come from, this screams ‘Irritation’ to me. Added to it, throughout the whole conversation he never saw her face. There was evidently no pain or anything from his face. On top the cake, here comes the cherry

“You really are...annoying”

This is where he saw her face throughout that painful confession before knocking her out. Umm... When you love someone or atleast feel for someone, you will look in their eyes and speak some farewell words before you leave. Or atleast show some pain??? There’s visibly nothing from Sasuke’s face. 

Alright, I know what SS wankers will pull out here. That Databook 2 with some vague words. I am going to throw this at them. 

Again, like I acknowledged before, he considers her as a comrade and part of a family. So, her existence also eased his loneliness. But you have to look at the word choice here. “The one that filled his lonely existence was Sakura”. It’s not the ‘Only’ person. Before he left he said ‘Thanks’. Meaning, Thanks for all these days. That’s all between us. 

This piece was about the Team 7 picture. So he acknowledges, he was not alone during his genin days because of his companions and Kakashi (so it’s not just Sakura to ease his loneliness). Whatever he said to Sakura was real. 

So can we safely confirm “You’re annoying” is real????

But what’s really interesting is the way Sasuke projects himself before Naruto. I am going to refrain myself from attaching all those rollercoaster of emotions flowed throughout the fight in VoTE 1. Otherwise, it will become an SNS post. 

However, this particular scene caught my attention.

Ummm.... Initially Sasuke walks without looking at Naruto. Then he looks back and answers him. 

Naruto was pretty much asking the same question as Sakura. “Why does it come to this?”

But Sasuke pauses and surprised for a moment and asks him pretty much “Why do you care about me?”

Why couldn’t Sasuke do the same with Sakura???? Kishi can pretty much make a panel or two rather than making some insulting panels.

Anyways, If they throw the databook, then I can also throw the same.

Alright, can someone explain the highlighted sentence for me???? Because I want to confirm whether I have a blurry vision.

Here, Sasuke is trying to punctuate Naruto as a different person from the rest of his companions. ‘his companions as well as that with Naruto’, I mean, Come on!!!! Naruto is also one of your companions along with Sakura. Why differentiate????

‘The village, companions, Naruto,....’ . Again....He is differentiating his home (village), companions (his friends), and Naruto. So who is Naruto for him? What is the need to make exception for Naruto? It’s very clear he is placing Naruto at a high pedestal for some unknown reasons.

Before this Databook dissection, remember I said something about saying Goodbye, ‘ When you love someone or at least feel for someone, you will look into that person’s eyes and speak some farewell words before you leave‘

Sasuke is doing exactly that here in this scene without saying anything.

Am sorry SS shippers, you can scream all you want about Sasuke knocked her out and left her on the bench. But there was no emotional distraught when he left her. Sasuke seemingly spent a longer time staring at Naruto than looking at Sakura when she confessed. 

OROCHIMARU HIDEOUT

Well, there is nothing I can say about here for SS. He pretty much saw her and said, “Sakura, huh?”.. And that’s all. He didn’t give two shits about her. 

His attention was completely on someone else. 

UNDER THE BRIDGE

She sent Naruto to get Sasuke for her benefits, so she can keep him. Again, disregarding Sasuke’s feelings and what he wanted. Naruto should’ve said “I’ll bring him back because HE wants too, to keep HIM safe, not for you.”

Naruto pretty much said the same thing in this arc, Larry. Naruto, in part 1, was happy for Sakura feeling the same about Sasuke as him, that is ‘To bring him back’. And also sad that his crush really loves someone else. But after Sakura gave up on Sasuke and faking her confession, Naruto decided, ‘Alright, I want to save him personally. I don’t care about our promise anymore”. 

This is where, SS ship goes into a crazy ride and it’s not a positive one.

Sasuke was on a rampage. He lost the ability to differentiate between his friends and foes. He stabbed Karin. And when he find her alive, he was about to Chidori her. 

And then comes the pink princess, full of lies and deceit. And Sasuke being impatient and disgusted with her lies, he does this

Well, in part 1, she had a degree of power to change his heart. But not here. He, instead, got riled up more and even tried to kill her without a warning and that too by not looking at her face. Pathetic!!!!

This scene screams ‘Trust issues’ from both sides. 

Did it stop here???

Fucking Shit!!!!!! Is there any people who still ship this nonsense?. If you are a Sakura fan, you should hate her for the lack of trust and backstabbing the person she loves, 

If you are a Sasuke fan, errrrmmm.....I have nothing to say. You know what to do. 

There is nothing positive here, that can make me ship them. He is killing her like a Mosquito.

If you truly loved someone in the past, even in your darkest moments, you will be honest and you cannot fake before that person.   

Proof??

Here, Sasuke had a clear resolve to kill his brother, Itachi. He lived for this moment for about 8 years and immersed himself in Darkness for 3 years with Orochimaru. He could have run away, dodge or look away from Itachi. But Sasuke simply couldn’t!!! You know why?? Sasuke loved Itachi once more than anything in this world. At this moment, he is letting all those defense loose and embracing the moment and see what Itachi was about to do. Because somewhere in his heart he trusts Itachi. 

But killing Sakura doesn’t make Sasuke feel anything. She is just another victim like Danzo or Karin or all those Samurais or a fucking mosquito!!!!

So you are telling me that Sasuke had feelings for her but kept it hidden all along and still tried to kill her like a pest???

Give me a fucking break!!!!

And you all know, who changed Sasuke’s heart here in this scene. It was not Sakura. There’s absolutely no reason for Sasuke to listen to that person and what’s more, Sasuke even made a promise (despite being in darkness, he had it in his heart to listen to that person) to destroy Konoha only after killing that person .. 

WAR ARC

Well, this is the arc where Sakura behaves like a rabid dog on heat waiting for Sasuke and shamelessly trying to wag her tails. But Sasuke didn’t give two shits about her, not once or twice but multiple times.

MOMENT 1

An explosion was about to kill the whole shinobi alliance and this dude wants to save Jugo, his companion and Naruto, the person who will challenge his Revolution, his rival and the one whom he wants to kill. Why only Naruto??? Why not Naruto and Sakura???

Pink cherry Queen doesn’t even crossed Sasuke’s mind.  Because he already threw her away in part 1. 

MOMENT 2

Alright Bitch!!! The entire shinobi alliance was dying on the other side of the battlefield. And this asshole is doing a clownshow before Madara just to get inside Sasuke’s pants????

I mean, Come On!!!! 

Well, if Sasuke truly likes her, he should be the one to have catched her or atleast should have asked her, ‘are you alright??’ 

I am sorry, where are the romantic feelings???

MOMENT 3

ROFLLLL🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

For the first time, Kishimoto is trolling those Sakutards through Sasuke’s words, what we, readers were right about all along. He is calling her useless here. And still these fake feminazis trying to ship her with him???

Don’t you guys have any self respect??? If so, this should be the moment to jump out of this trash ship.

MOMENT 4

Geez!!! You are still on this ship????? 

He clearly doesn’t want to save her at all. The hawk can clearly lift 3 people. Sasuke is not even making an effort here. 

And you are still yapping that he is blinded by darkness??? 

MOMENT 5

This is the moment SS calls it as ‘eyesmex’... While in reality, he was just looking at her and silently thanking her for helping him out. Do you know what is a real ‘eyesmex’??? I will attach it at the end.

If you guys pull this as true love, then he should have stayed in the same love till the end. But Sasuke has other ideas. 

This is the one of the funniest thing in this arc. LOLLLLL

Instead of being relieved that Sakura was saved, Sasuke was wondering about Kakashi’s Susanoo.....and Sharingan. 

Do people still think he cares about her????

MOMENT 6

Am cackling here, while dissecting the sorry state of this ship guys 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣!!!! If something good happens to me because of SS , it’s just the way you guys are making me laugh by making a clown out of yourself!!!!

Do you guys know something? There was a man named Itachi. Before massacring his clan, the very first person he killed was his ‘supposed’ Girlfriend, named Izumi. I wouldn’t say Itachi loved her like a lover boy. It was just one sided on her part. He just talks to her when he finds a spare time and considers her a good friend. 

Do you know how he killed her? 

By putting her in a ‘Tsukuyomi’. And what kind of Tsukuyomi, you ask?

Can you see how he fulfilled her dreams gracefully before he was going to kill her???

Why didn’t Sasuke do this???? Why particularly select a murdering genjutsu????

MOMENT 7

He said it, finally.

He don’t love her at all. There was no hidden feelings. He admitted from his own mouth. 

One day later, after the final VoTE battle ends.... After exchanging some intense feelings and even crying tears of happiness with Naruto....

Sasuke tells Sakura, ‘Sorry’....

Ummm.... That’s all???

All those negative shits happened before cannot be solved by just simply saying ‘Sorry’ and ‘Thank you’. If someone has an ounce of self-respect, they should know this is not OKAY at all...🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️

Am Sorry, but Sasuke was just being politely blunt, kind of insincere towards Sakura and turned his attention somewhere else in a matter of minutes. He was not even bothered by Sakura’s tears here. Instead staring at someone on his left. Remember I talked about touching the person physically and visually?

Sasuke is subconsciously or purposefully touching someone on his left through his eyes. Definitely it’s not Sakura. You know who it is. Remember SStards’ infamous ‘eyesmex’... I seriously believe this is a perfect example of ‘eyesmex’.

All these intense looks and feeling pain still doesn’t serve Sakura, even after pulled out of darkness. If there is a moment, where SS wants to shine, then this is where it should be. He should have told her, how he missed her all along, how he felt about hurting her, should have wiped her tears and some corny shit. But instead, Sasuke went for a long ass monologue for his friend and talking about sharing his pain. 

What about your kween’s pain???? 

You don’t have to ship SNS. But you should know where Sasuke’s priorities are. 

It’s not Sakura. 

Sasuke said ‘Sorry’ to Karin too. ‘Thank you’ to Kakashi as well. 

And what’s even more pathetic is, still Sakura wants to get inside Sasuke’s pants by accompanying him. Bitch, you can help your village, console your best friend Ino who lost her father, try to surpass Tsunade, improve your skills or whatever... Why bother him???

So, if you really think ‘Thank you’ as a token of love, then I can’t help it but term Sakura as a rabid dog who waits for her master to come home and throw some bones whenever he finds time. Your standards for a romantic love is piss poor and you will suffer just like Sakura in Boruto with just emptiness. All Sasuke did was poke her forehead just like Itachi which symbolizes keeping someone at a distance. He also said the same words to her just like Itachi said to him many times ‘Mata kondo da’ meaning ‘Maybe next time’. And we all knew that next time never came for Sasuke. 

Now all we see is a Sasuke as an absentee father in Boruto for which I don’t blame him. He was never a marriage material in the first place. Sakura and the Manga Editors forced him and she is paying for it. 

Hell, Sarada doesn’t know how her own father looks like or the truth of her mother. Both of them were miserable and I find it absolutely ridiculous when SS shippers still say “they’re in love” or they’re OTP.

All I want to say to SS shippers is, Your Ship Has Sailed Already. You cannot expect Sasuke to go lovey dovey towards Sakura with a 12 year old daughter around and for fuck’s sake, this is not a romance manga, it’s a battle manga. So stop dreaming about this kind of non-existential romance and pull yourself altogether.

#naruto analysis #ask #sasunaru #sasunarusasu #anti sakura #anti sasusaku

[shikadainara]

an in-depth breakdown of b*ruto episode 178

sorry i’m late i was lost on the path of life

tl;dr yeah ok i can have my hopes and dreams about what specifically i would want but. BUT. honestly yeah the episode was more or less what i expected would actually be in it from the preview, so i can’t complain. i still sobbed!!! that’s all i really wanted!!

time to rewatch it! (warning: long post. LOL)

obviously this is nothing new but i still can’t get over how nice the exterior to the nara household is, good for them. i don’t think i noticed the solar panel before? good for them!

i’m entertained at how the episode does open with shikadai tying his hair as he walks, i just think it’s neat. i love how the camera frames it like seeing a nara with their hair down is something forbidden we’re not mean to see

temari has purple slippers i dedicate her commitment to her favorite color. (also i am Just Saying... purple........ the bisexual flag--)

yeahhhh ok so. i get the need for wanting to frame the narrative like this, but this really doesn’t make any sense. shikadai is 12, and is also a chuunin, like... he should know by now that his dad is always kinda a mess on this day of the year, and why that is. and even if he honestly really did just forget, the fact that he’s still asking his dad why he’s not at work while looking at the way his parents are dressed... did this not clue you in or what????

the fact that shikamaru’s up and ready (i really don’t think he gets much sleep on this day, every year...), and it’s shikadai who’s just getting up. i do think it’s cute that we do get to see a tiiiiiny bit of temari’s parenting that doesn’t involve being an out of character irrationally angry woman when she tells shikadai to not come crying to her when he’s late in getting ready, yeah that definitely sounds way more like her lol

temari says she told him about all of this the other day (shikadai blatantly forgot, he tries to pretend he didn’t but she doesn’t press him for it)... that does make me emotional thinking like. she is pretty painfully aware of how hard this is on shikamaru, and days in advance told shikadai about it, to try to make sure he understands what his father is going through........ she really does care about him so, so much.

i said this based off the preview, but... i would like to interpret that temari is purposefully doing the dishes(/rest of house chores) to give him space to grieve....... 

the fact that while explaining what today is, shikamaru has to get up, leave the room, and talk while not facing his family, as if he wouldn’t be able to say the words as easily while looking at them........ god. that. that hurts.

\

tsunade being the one to give this speech kinda feels random? like yeah she was the one that was kage during the war but...? i do feel like it would have been more fitting to have naruto say the speech since the whole entire point of the war was to protect him (and bee) but ????? ok

no one in the uzumaki family talks during this episode which is fine by me LOL. i would assume the memorial is on the day the war ended (which would also make it naruto’s birthday/memorial of the kyuubi invasion) but if it is, it’s never stated. maybe it’s the day the war started, idk

the collection of people up front feels pretty random??? kakashi as the previous hokage, sure, guy i guess because of how important his contribution the war against madara was and also because he is kakashi’s husband, shizune kinda has to be there if tusnade is, but... iruka? like yeah he is vital to the narrative, but to konoha? he is the headmaster of the academy i think now so i guess...? but then? ibiki??? anko??? i say this as someone that REALLY loves anko, she was my favorite character as a kid and i still love her but,,, huh? SHE WAS KNOCKED OUT DURNG THE WHOLE WAR!!??!?

then you see everyone that was in naruto’s class + team guy + sai except hinata is in the crowd. which of course to the narrative, to us the readers, those are the main characters (if you ignore how more or less everyone was super shafted throughout all of part 2) but!!! team guy’s only real connection to the rest of them is that they took the chuunin exams together, and neji and hinata were are cousins. that’s about it. was it that specifically all of these characters made such a contribution to the war compared to every other single shinobi from konoha that lived ??????

shikamaru staring up to the sky did made my heart clench... no matter how different he is now than he was when he was a 12 year old genin...... i do feel like he’s never entirely ditched his true self of just wanting to stare at the clouds all day.... i’m not entirely sure what the intent was here, but i’m sure there’s supposed to be some symbolism here. the sky is actually nearly entirely clear (the way is framed, there’s only a tiny cloud in the corner,) and then he closes his eyes and hums. maybe it’s supposed to be about the closure he gets in this episode...

\

ok and then here’s ao cool whatever. since i only skim through b*ruto for the characters that i care about i do not really careeeee since i won’t watch again until something interesting happens to said characters that i care about LOL

?? who voiced the receptionist they sound familiar but i can’t place it at all

katasuke is the bitch that made the scientific ninja tool for b*ruto so he could cheat in the exam right

what is ao doing here. is he supposed to be doing something evil. it sure looks that way

... who is the glasses orange scarf guy??? he kinda looks like a mix between udon and ebisu and aoba but i know he’s not any one of them lol

\

TEMARI AND KARUI STANDING NEXT TO EACH OTHER... i don’t think in any media they’ve ever??? ACTUALLY TALKED TO EACH OTHER???? BUT THEY SHOULD BE CLOSE FOR THE OBVIOUS REASON....... I’LL TAKE THESE CRUMBS THOUGH THANK YOU

OKKKKK admittedly like. in terms of Pleasing Me, Personally, it’s a damned if you do, dammed if you don’t situation like.... they do kinda HAVE to acknowledge that neji died during the war so. i appreciate that hinata like........ cares. i guess. i’ll try to not post the whole rant about why neji’s death was (logistically how he died aside) narratively and thematically absolute bullshit, kishi (i believe) saying that neji died so he could play cupid for naruto and hinata like!!! fuck off with that shit!!! maybe if it wasn’t for the goddamn “naruto-kun’s big warm manly hand” line i would feel a little bit actual sad but no.

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOSHINO AND CHOUZA HELLO!?!?!?!? COULD YOU REALLY NOT HAVE PUT THEM IN THE CROWD??

ino also has an unnamed mother that the anime made up that i believe was only in like a single episode (and was cameoed in RtN i think?) but she should still be like. Alive. so her too.

MITSUKI PLACING FLOWERS IS SO FUNNY TO ME LIKE YOU DO KNOW YOUR PARENT’S SUBORDINATE/DOUBLE CROSS TRAITOR WHATEVER DID CAUSE THE WAR RIGHT BFIOBU*EHW$

\

aaand. here’s shikamaru and ino’s conversation. i’m not sure if i can put this into words, but... just... the way that they talk to each other, the weight of 15+ years of sadness about this, the way that they just!! fully know what the other is going through, the way that they’ve known each other for their whole lives and survived through everything together, the way i feel like they’ve avoided talking about this topic as much as possible over the years, hell even during this conversation the way they’re almost bickering to avoid having to directly confront their feelings, but it is unavoidable....... 

i also do wonder what their relationship with each other’s parents were while growing up: shikamaru does refer to inoichi as “inoichi-san” here, contrast to how their kids all call each other’s parents just “uncle” or “aunt”

siri play sad naruto flute.

ok since i did go back to rewatch the episode from shippuden right before watching this one for the first time i do wish a liiiittle less of the episode was about this flashback with the same reused footage like i get that they do have to put it in here but Still.

THE FACT THAT SHIKAMARU IS SMILING WHILE RECALLING WHAT HAPPENED, AND THAT THERE’S A LAUGH IN HIS VOICE........ I WANT TO CRY AGAIN

ino saying that it was so unfair how cool they looked in the end, and then giggles...... ino............. this must be so, so painful for her to recall, and yet.........

IT IS SO FUNNY HOW THEY SKIP OVER THE IMAGE OF SASUKE THERE AHAHAHAHA god i hated that so so much i can’t believe that’s manga canon. the line is perfectly fine and makes me cry just DO NOT RELATE IT TO SASUKE!!!! literally the only time they “”interact”” is when ino is introduced and ino just, for lack of a better word, glomps him???? THAT’S IT??? i feel like they might’ve changed it just because, well, you know the endgame pairings. but still. bye sasuke

damn you know what i do kinda wish they didn’t skip over the “get rid of that box before your mother finds it” part i AM curious as to what it was i mean it’s implied it’s something adult related so SP probably couldn’t show that on TV BUT!!!

ok ok all week i tried to not imagine what shikamaru and ino’s conversation would be since i wanted to go all “surprise me!!” BUT??? BUT. SHIKAMARU ASKING INO IF SHE THINKS THAT THEIR FATHERS HONESTLY, TRULY BELIEVED IN THEM?? HE’S BEEN THINKING ABOUT THAT ON EVERY SINGLE DAY THIS YEAR THESE PAST 15+ YEARS, AND SURELY IT’S ALWAYS BEEN AT THE BACK OF HIS MIND ALL THIS TIME!?!?! of course. OF COURSE HE WOULD FEEL THIS WAY!!! HE’D HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING FOR SURE OR EVER FINDING OUT!!! like of course we as the readers know that shikaku and inoichi absolutely 200% felt that way but... from his perspective... you know what i don’t even think this idea ever crossed my mind HOLD ON THAT IS THE SOUND OF MY HEART SHATTERING--

and then he just... smiles. says that he won’t let that get him down, since it’s not like they’ll ever find out anyways. sure, it’s been 15+ years, he has had to have largely come to terms with everything by now, but...... still....

then he talks about the idea that the day will come and leave everything in the hands of their sons (now looking over at team 10′s turn to place flowers) just like their dads did... it is worded like a question, but showtaro morikubo’s absolute masterful performance does. it does portray a tone like he is absolutely 100% sure that it’ll happen, one day...

i’ve said this before but. i KNOW shikamaru has definitely spent so much time thinking about this. sure it hasn’t ever really been brought up on-screen (yet), but....... i want to see him talking about a direct contrast on what his grand plan through life he thought of by age 12, ending with him passing away by old age. obviously he did a complete 180 on they type of person he wanted as a wife LOL. it is kinda brought up at the start of shikamaru hiden while he visits the grave, says he hasn’t found anyone he’d give his life to protect... (well. now he has a son where if you see the recent chapters he is very, VERY protective of.) but i would like to see this change in his character be directly be brought up and examined

........ that being SAID. i sure hope neither of them actually like. die. i’m GOOD, thank you. they sure as hell can’t until they’re ready to pass things down to their sons, at least. until then, absolutely zero narrative reason to do so, but...... still. we don’t need to make everything an EXACT copy of what happened in naruto you can let them live kthx

they both say “what kind of half-baked response is that!” and then laugh just. I LOVE THEM SO SO MUCH TEAM 10 IS FOREVER

/

there is some symbolism in how ao walks over from a really dark shadowy area into the light when he decides that he has to pay his respects...

i do like how he does reflect on how he really should have come here earlier, but better late than never i suppose

i was expecting a... more elaborate explanation for how he lived??? especially since he was standing RIGHT NEXT to shikaku and inoichi... he just. happened to survive for whatever reason while every single other person died on impact

that survivor’s guilt does hurt to see

i do like seeing how he chooses to do something with his life, aside from being a shinobi, and live it to the fullest for the sake of everyone that died in the explosion. that’s nice

/

ino saying “i’m sure are fathers are happy!” AAAAAAAAAAA

IN HINDSIGHT....... I ABSOLUTELY SOULD’VE PREDICTED SOMEONE WOULD DROP A “YOU LOOK SO MUCH LIKE YOUR FATHER” AT SOME POINT IN THE EPISODE...... and. i did kinda chuckle, because like, no shit duh lmao. i’m sure shikamaru heard that all the time as a kid!!! and hell, i’m sure he still gets it from time to time over the years up to this day. BUT LIKE... SHIKAMARU’S FACE. HE LOOKS LIKE THAT, RIGHT NOW, IT’S ACTUALLY SOMETHING HE REALLY, REALLY NEEDED TO HEAR. LET ME CRY

hearing shikamaru say oyaji, and then the way his tone suddenly shifts to something very... quiet and somber? when he says “nara shikaku”..... something about that. man.... also it’s hard to see but there is a sweat drop on his face as he says all of this...

“sometimes, i end up wondering...” don’t lie to yourself. you think about this so, so much........

the flashback where ao says “listen to me calmly” when he says the bomb is coming this way sure reminds me of ino telling shikamaru to stay calm as she tells him that his son has a bomb around his neck

THE ADDED PART OF THE FLASHBACK WITH THEIR VERY LAST MOMENTS...... THE WAY THEY’RE SMILING AND JUST??? BELIEVE IN THEIR KIDS IN THE VERY END. just like how it’s described in shikamaru hiden where the narrative says that shikaku was a shinobi until his very last breaths-- actually, no. in the very end he was a father.......

“THEY BELIEVED IN YOU, WITHOUT A HINT OF DOUBT.”

AAA?A?AAAAAAAAA?A?A?A??A!??!!??!!

INO STARTS TEARING UP BUT I CALL ABSOLUTE BS THAT SHIKAMARU WOULDN’T ALSO JUST BURST ONTO TEARS ON THE SPOT, HE MAY BE 32 WHATEVER YEARS OLD NOW BUT... HE IS STILL SUCH A CRYBABY AT HEART, HIS ENTIRE CIRCLE OF LOVED ONES KNOW THIS.

you know who DID start crying though??? ME

/

i do wonder, is this the same hillside that shikamaru went to after asuma’s death...? (only in the manga tho, the anime had him on a rooftop instead)

is that??? someone watching them in the back left?? when shikadai finds him? i cannot tell what that is

i am. trying to follow temari’s logic of telling shikadai to go find shikamaru and... not also going with him?? i mean i figured from the preview that, yeah it does look like it’s only the two of them, but... i can’t come up with a reason. not a super big deal but. obviously my heart yearns for that shikatema content that’s ok i can write my own fanfic i guess!!!!

also like...... i imagine it can’t be THAT hard to find him, i’m sure that he only has a small handful of Spots Good For Coping(™) when he just needs to be by himself, that i would Think his wife would know where they are. and said wife would tell shikadai. but idk

after all of this, shikamaru wants to just treat his son to go eat out whatever he wants...!! what a good father

....... now like. the logic of “temari is currently making dinner and that’s why she’s a) not there and b) told shikadai to go fetch is father” would make perfect sense. but... if they’re going out to get food then... no?? shikadai would interject to say so if that was the case..... that makes this all make no sense seriously what the hell is she doing

i do wish that like. shikadai like.... uh. actually learned about more shikaku?? this scene is more brief than i thought it would be idk i felt like it would be part of the middle of the episode and not at the end, oh well. he’ll find out in due time

THAT BEING SAID...  STILL. THE ENDING WHERE HE JUST CARES SO SO SO SO MUCH ABOUT SHIKADAI!!!! WONDERING IF HE’S WATCHING HIS BACK!!! I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEMMMMM

/

not quite sure whatever ao is doing at the end of the episode???? IS IT EVIL??? i mean like that it’s him catching a leaf seems like he’s going against konoha but i mean konoha fucking sucks so. that is not evil i guess LOL

whatever not like i’ll care to actually find out!!!!! anyways let me know when the nara family (or anyone adjacent to them) does anything so i can care LOL

in conclusion. good shit.