#ak4rin

[prudenze]

"Sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons."

the kid's eyes just moved up and down while the other was speaking, clearly not on tsumiki fushiguro's good side. the strawberry milk long gone and only keeping it so she could interrupt and suck the air when she was starting to speak again. a very loud slurping noise of an empty milk box popping up every other second to minute. this was not her worst behavior yet but it was awful nevertheless.

it was some sort of protection for herself and the handful of people she did actually trust and care about.

" I don't care about who you are or why you're here or why you think you can lecture me. you're not my guardian nor anyone else that matters to me. "

the annoyance clear but the qords rather mature for a kid. " you know where the door is, right? "

@ak4rin

[viteoublies]

❝ do you know where we're going or are we just trying to get lost now? ❞ / ahmya

FOREWORD INCOMING !!   selectively accepting !!    dont remember from @ak4rin

“ eh ? ”

ahmya turns her head sharply toward the voice, glasses catching a thin strip of light as she fixes her stare on the woman beside her. she holds the look for a long, silent beat—too long—before her gaze drifts away. she turns once, then a full turn again, slow and deliberate, as if the world might rearrange itself into something sensible if she rotates enough times.

her face scrunches, irritation pulling tight between her brows.

“ i thought you knew… i haven’t read a sign since we left. i’ve been guessing. ”

she says it flatly, almost defensively. she doesn’t add the truth—that she’s been navigating by scent alone, relying on the thick threads of emotion that cling to certain streets like fog. but the smell here is unmistakable, sour and sharp in the back of her throat.

[waraningyo]

“   if you need anything i’ll be there for you .   ”

the reassurance in her words is comforting, to say the least. lately, what with her recent promotion screening to grade 1 and all, nobara’s sort of been running herself ragged with proving that she can handle taking on more, and it’s all become a bit … much? at present, she’s only seventeen and there’s only so much she can handle: can take on in mission workload. she only has so many nails to drive through a curse and doesn’t anyone know how much of a painstaking endeavor it is to craft her dolls? do they even care? jujutsu society has never truly cared for the upkeep of its wards, though, much less bodily: much less mental.

its higher-ups care about what they can glean from their techniques in this sorcerer-curse war. she knows it’s one she willingly walked into, but still. in any case, she’s swore that she’s managed the fray of her nerves well … that is, until ever astute akari notices other than normal behavior when nobara doesn’t even notice that her cup’s overflowing one day while in the common room while she’s at the coffee maker, its content hot and all too soon at sloshing over the rim onto her hand — —

“ ouch! ” she pulls it back quickly, frazzled, more annoyed at herself for her lack of attention than she is annoyed at the weariness that’s settled into her bones. the prospect of increase in pay is great, but she’d be lying if she said she isn’t tired?

before she can even process her thoughts: akari is there, taking her handkerchief and nobara’s stinging palm, dabbing at her burn with a gentleness that says she cares. lead by an elbow to sit down on the couch in front of the television, nobara lets all the weariness of the exhaustion she’s been poorly containing slump her shoulders as she sinks into the couch, blowing stray strands of ginger out of her face.

“ you didn’t have to do that, ” she says, something like sheepishness seeping into her voice, eyes not meeting akari’s: all too aware of the dark circles underneath them that’d been concealed with makeup. she can’t wait for her scheduled spa day at the end of the week, that’s for sure ... gaze meets the assistant manager’s again and gratefulness reflects in a small smile. “ ... but thanks. ”

some show is playing on the television, some j-drama she likes, but she can hardly find the care to pay attention to it so she doesn't: and it quickly fades to white noise as she focuses on other. instead, she sinks further into comfy couch cushions, into soothing and calm, relaxation a temporary balm but a balm nonetheless as she focuses on her upcoming spa day.

her head tilts back, eyes closing. after a minute, one opens again to akari replacing the water in the vase of flowers on the coffee table and nobara thinks about how such a sentimental gesture somehow fits her?

mostly, she thinks about how it isn't an out of place thing for akari to do. after another minute, nobara waves a hand out for her attention.

“ oh — you look like you could use a spa day, too, nitta-chan. if you want: you could join me for facials, massages, and manipedis at spa laqua? my treat! you can say no if you've got work to do, but i wouldn't mind you taggin' along. ”

[viteoublies]

cutting out paper snowflakes. / ahmya

FOREWORD INCOMING !!   always accepting !!   wintertime scenarios    !! from @ak4rin

ahmya blinks behind her glasses, her expression unreadable beneath the dark lenses as she watches carletta and akira work. the younger women sit hunched over a small table, fingers carefully teasing apart a delicate fold of paper. the thin, crisp sound of it peeling open fills the quiet room, followed by the faint flutter of cut edges unfolding into a lace of tiny shapes. carletta’s snowflake is perfect—too perfect, really—and ahmya’s own effort feels clumsy in comparison.

she opens hers slowly, hesitant, and the paper sags unevenly in her hands, revealing something more akin to a crumpled spiderweb than a snowflake. her brows pull together, and she leans back slightly to get a better look, though it hardly helps. the distance doesn’t sharpen the lines or make the pattern any clearer.

" tsk, " she mutters, the sound soft but full of quiet frustration.

carletta glances up at once and meets the flat, unimpressed stare that sits just above the rim of ahmya’s glasses—the silent do you want to die look that says more than any words could. after a heartbeat, she wisely looks back down and reaches for another sheet of paper, pretending to be very invested in it.

" i’m not artistic enough for this, " ahmya says finally, the tone clipped but resigned. she doesn’t admit the truth—that her far-sighted eyes can’t make sense of the fine folds so close to her face, and that pride keeps her from holding them at arm’s length. instead, she flattens the ruined snowflake on the table, pretending to study it like it’s just a lost cause of talent, not vision.

" what do yours look like? "

[zenintm]

⋞ @ak4rin ⋟ ⌿ cont. from here.

‟     That's   exactly   what   a   𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨   sorceress   like   you   would   say.        ”       He   shrugged   and   made   a   vague   gesture   with   his   hand   before   resting   it   on   his   hip.   

 ‟         You   should   care.   You're   a   woman   and   you   should   look   pretty        ...     because   that   face   of   yours   really    𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩   𝙙𝙤   𝙖   𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮   𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙   𝙟𝙤𝙗   .        ”

[viteoublies]

CHAPTER INCOMING !!       continued from here   !!   from @ak4rin

ahmya tilts her head, studying the woman in front of her with a faint, knowing look that borders on weary amusement. clearly, she’s been misunderstood again—not exactly surprising, given how often it happens. the realization draws a long sigh from her, slow and deep, leaving through her nose as her shoulders sink just slightly.

she flicks open the fan in her hand with a soft snap, the sound delicate but final. the painted fabric catches the light as she extends it toward the woman, the gesture smooth and deliberate.

“ they’ll use it against you, that’s all, ” she says, her voice even and composed, a quiet authority threading through the gentleness. “ you can use this to hide it for now, but you need to cry in my office if you are going to cry at all. ”

the words could have been scolding, but they aren’t. her tone softens further, quieter now, like she’s offering something she doesn’t quite know how to name.

“ i don’t have to be there, ” she adds, eyes flicking away for a heartbeat behind polarized glasses. “ it’s just private. ”

the fan remains outstretched between them, a small shield of courtesy and understanding, and for a moment, the weight of her calm fills the silence that follows.

[viteoublies]

❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜

FOREWORD INCOMING !!   always accepting!!    meme im too lazy to find   !!   from @ak4rin

the air around the graveyard is heavy— not with mist or rain, but with that quiet kind of stillness that clings to places where grief has lingered too long. the wind barely moves through the trees, only rustling when it dares, and the headstone before her sits clean, freshly tended despite its age. two names carved into the stone, soft under the dim light, and below them the cruel symmetry of dates— born and died the same day.

ahmya stands just close enough that her shadow touches the grave. if she could have driven herself, she would have come alone. she doesn’t like witnesses for moments like this, doesn’t like to be seen when the calm she wears like armor threatens to crack.

she feels the presence behind her, quiet and respectful, but still there. her hand rises, brushing hair away from her face, a motion more to steady herself than to fix her appearance.

" it’s fine. it’s been... ten years at this point. i don’t remember their faces anymore. "

the lie tastes like salt and rust, and she doesn’t even bother making it convincing. her voice strains at the edges— too smooth, too rehearsed. and when the silence stretches after, she doesn’t correct it. she just looks at the stone, and the faint reflection of her own eyes in the polished surface, pretending not to see the two small shadows that never really left her side.

[springmournings]

drinking alone is grim. i do it, but it doesn't feel good. / utahime

condensation forms on the side their glass in a sign of passing time. she wonders just how long @ak4rin has been sat here, simply watching ice melt away after they refill it. utahime pulls at her bag, arm shrugging it off so that she may sit. it's set on top her lap and she worries at strap, watching how they sit slouched over in a wrinkled jacket.

she makes eye contact with the bar tender and she nods, they return with a second glass of ice. “ thank you. ” she pours herself a drink. “ i prefer beer usually. ” she purses her lip then, watching the way ice danced inside. after a sip her features twist, the skin tightening from pulling at her scar.

it burns at the back of her throat, heat after a swallow and she sets it down. “ but, it always better with company. ” much easier to down. a look to nitta with a sorrowful turn of lips and she knows the how it's heavy. the case piles ever growing, the body bags. curse work is consuming. utahime reaches and fills their glass again, then her own. she holds it in her hand between them, expectant. a promise in liquid form. “ you can always call me. ”