aurum

i ... write, i guess ♪ any pronouns ♪ (very new to this) https://ao3.org/users/kindredgraves

[kindredgraves]

guys.... kakasaku but its howl's moving castle au .... do you see the vision DO YOU SEE THE VISION

[kindredgraves]

you know that one evangelion(?) audio...

someone: but when an emotionless wind-up doll like you starts being sympathetic i'm DOOMED!

haku: i am not a doll...

someone: you ARE! you'd do anything you're ordered to, don't you? you'd (k-word) yourself if zabuza told you to wouldn't you?

haku: ...of course

this idea popped into my head with root!skr but like it fits haku a LOT... or so i think even tho it's been ages since i watched/read naruto and forgot a lot about canon

[sulkylious]

what is it with pink haired characters and being able to punch through concrete with their bare fists

[fixationcentralart]

Akatsuki Sakura my beloved

[maruti-bitamin]

collecting stars

[kindredgraves]

for some reason i've been thinking a lot about naruto x mha and i read this one sakura-centric fic where she lands up in the bnhaverse and everything and now my brain conjured up the image of her with blood all over her and she's snarling, “i am no hero.” which is TRUE. she isn't a hero, but she's not a villain either. she's a kunoichi, and therefore her morals are... different and like she ends up discussing it with someone and she's all like, “see the thing about being a ninja is that you kill. that's it, it's simple. death is normal in our line of work, either kill or be killed. of course, it's not all situations fit that category, but when you're in... certain factions, that's the only choice you have. you can't help everyone. you can't always be good, that's impossible. there are times where you will have to make choices that seem cruel, though i would go with the lesser of two evils. in my line of work, it's not even about saving humanity — not until you're fighting against a god, i suppose. where i come from, people like me... we're all tools, one used for the needs of selfish territories. it only matters when it's your village, not when it's someone else's. in my world, there are no heroes — except, for one, I suppose."

[kindredgraves]

wip

Slowly, but surely, crimson liquid starts to push through her lips, tricking down her chin. He can't do anything but watch, watch as his pseudo-sister practically dies right in front of him.

Yet, she still has the nerve to smile at him, even with the blood pouring down out of her and down her chin. She has the nerve to curve her eyes into infuriating crescents, she has the nerve to pretend like everything is alright, like he isn't watching her die.

He can't bring himself to look away — so he watches her, oddly transfixed as he does. The thing is, nobody needs to compel him to watch because he doesn't want to look away.

He can't look away, can't forget the repercussions of his actions and inactions. He can't look away, because he owes her this much — to watch her suffering cease, only for his to intensify. He owes it to her.

It is punishment. He's well aware of it.

“Shisui,” she croaks out, gurgling as crimson flows out of her insides. Her body is nothing but debris — dismantled, all she could be are ruins of something extravagant. Her clothes are soaked in blood that could either be her own, or someone else's. Either way, she bathes in the crimson liquid as if she belongs there, as if bloodshed doesn't make her queasy no matter how long she's been doing it.

“Sakura,” he whispers back, partly horrified and partly resigned. This would happen, no matter how much he'd try to not make it so, it would happen and it is happening.

He is powerless to stop it.

Her pink hair is mostly invisible underneath layers and layers of dry blood, and there is crimson dirt underneath out fingernails. Her green eyes shimmer with something putrid, and she breathes spitefully until she can't anymore.

“Shisui,” she gasps, lips pulling apart as if by force. Her face twists into a snarl, and she sneers as a flame of recognition lights up in her eyes. “Goodbye, brother.”

Shisui watches, horrified and transfixed as his pseudo-sister draws her last shuddering breath, and falls.

She falls. She falls, but her fall does not pause to land on her knees. (She does not kneel, she will never kneel.)

Even in death, she is defiant.