#amakah

[amakah-blog]

Have I ever said how much I love tsukikami design?

[amakah-blog]

Too Simple MuraHimu

The snow had already pilled up a fair amount, but not enough to an Emergency State or some need of Food Storage. Was there an snowstorm approaching? She even thought about reaching to her phone and check the news.

Those were not common thoughts for a end of Sunday, but upon the enormous amount of candy and snacks, they kinda happened.

The cashier just passed them, one after another after yet another one, the scanner making small beeps while the gigantic man just observed with dead eyes, his cheeks moving lazily while he chewed a (already scanned) candy.

He should not do that, but the cashier's head didn’t even reach the guy's shoulder, so she just pretended to be a very nice and understanding person.

Watching this tragicomic scene, was Himuro.

No, not watching.

Trying not to watch.

And failing.

(It's not exactly easy to don't look at Murasakibara, as he occupied so much space just standing there).

He took his eyes out of that mass of messy fabric once again (snow coat, sweater, two scarves – one from Himuro – and, as long as he knew, two pants. One for snow and other because Atsushi didn’t think it was worth the trouble to take off his pajamas).

It was not that cold, anyway. Even though Atsushi's annoyed and pretty pink colored face keeping saying otherwise.

The scanner beeped apathetically a couple of times, unable to read the bar code. Atsushi opened his fourth snack, ignoring the cashiers struggle. A silly smile escaped from his face before he reminded himself that he was not looking.

The worse part was the one were he was not even embarrassed, trying to desperately cover his oh so strong and still unrequited feelings. Nah, it was more about pride, and this boy have a fine share of pride in him.

It would be a lot easier if it was more complex. All the issue with Taiga, for example. They only sorted all that because there was a lot of feelings and desires and all that passionate stuff. But with Atsushi... There was no passion at all. Not in a bad sense, of course it was just that... Atsushi never repealed his touch – too much work? Atsushi always heard him out – but yeah, no response besides munchs and grumps. Atsushi never said that he was gross or said that he didn’t want that – but again, it was not like he said anything at all.

It was just...

Himuro breathed on his fingers just because. The gloves were isolating anyway.

Something sparked at the corner of his eyes.

An rather old machine, one of those that you usually see a lot on old movies where the Tokyo Tower was still a project. Glass and aluminum and cheap colours, giving out plastic toys in trade for a couple of yens.

He fumbled his pockets a little while the cashier girl struggled to put all the snack on the bags. The gears were loud and rasping, not even trying to hide their age.

- Murochin, what is that?

Atsushi was glancing with some interest to the small and vivid red plastic balls. Just as a kid, always attracted by whatever was prettier and brighter. All the art and chemistry on snacks is not because.

- Guess a little Kappa and... a plastic ring. Do you want one of them?

- Why? - he asked very obviously, already walking away - This doll is ugly. Looks easy to crush.

- To share. It's nice to share stuff, Atsushi.

Under all the layers of fluffy and warm clothes, Himuro could see a confused and angry interrogation point. Grumpy and lost. Because, sharing? Really? What was that even. Not something that Murasakibara Atsushi was used, for sure. You know that SHARE mans that you will NOT HAVE your stuff maybe FOREVER, right?

Like food. Why would anyone even SHARE food? You should EAT that. All that.

- The ring. It's less ugly.

Himuro just had to stop walking, because his brain could not coordinate all those legs and arms and muscle movement and process Atsushi's answer at the same time.

Not like giving people rings was all that knew for them (Himuro and his brain). But there was a gap between giving a ring to a brother as a sign of brotherhood and giving a plastic-cheap-ass-coloroured-ring to a person whom you have being shooting affection and romantic intentions for some time already and that you was not so sure if loved you back even if you were pretty sure but still.

- Atsushi, if I give you this ring, would you go out with me?

He felt like his brain gave up on breathing also, what was probably not the brightest ideia.

- Eh...? What will that change?

- Change? Change how?

- That what I asked – he pouted – being boyfriends. Does it change a lot?

Himuro took a second to think, touching his chin, pondering. He looked to Atsushi who was now also standing on the cold oh so damn cold, Murochin, don't you see that it's cold?, waiting for an answer.

His full cheeks, kinda red, moving lazily and he chewed.

His clothes getting full of crumbs and sugar.

Himuro's scarf also.

Something around picturing when was the last time Atsushi even bothered to wash that sweater made Himuro realize.

- Not really. But then I will can kiss you whenever I want. And hold hands.

Atsushi took another bite, thinking a little.

- I don't like to hold hands. Sounds silly.

- No hands then. But I want to touch you. Lots.

Atsushi shrugged under his almost five centimeters deep of clothes-layer.

- Fine.

He handed over his enormous hand to receive the ring and dropped it into one of his pockets. Himuro make bets with himself for how long would take until this tiny plastic toy disappeared or broke.

- Does Murochin want to do some boyfriend stuff now?

- Not really now, maybe once we go back to the dorm. What do you think about watching a movie?

- Eeh. But we already do that.

Himuro smiled upon the bothered face of Atsushi. It was not a warm and lovely and diabetic sweet kind of smile.

More like a ''oh, there we go again. But ok, at least it's a little better then before'' smile.

The smile of a man who have not won a war, but realized that there was no reason at all to fight.

- But there may be some kisses this time. Atsushi just ate his snacks.

[amakah-blog]

Amarulla: I just can't see them thinking about love. If not even Lenallee cares about that, why would Allen and Kanda?

Kalhens: because this is a fucking fanfiction!

[amakah-blog]

Past Pain

Yullen Week: Scars.

Warning: Spoilers. The seals were heavy.

His hands were restrained, jointed on the fists. They gave him a strange clothing, well, the Order’s Prisoner Clothes, he assumed. It was very similar as the one he was forced in before, when he was attacked by Apocryos.

There was no mirror, but he could imagine the dark bags under his eyes, the eyes that were almost closing, the small eyes on the tired face.

He was giving his best.

Today was December 25th. No one told him, but Allen just felt.

Kanda, by his side, didn’t seem to remember. Even thought he did know the date, he probably wouldn’t care about the Exorcist’s birthday.

Well, theoretical birthday.

Today was just the day when Mana had found him, lost in the snow. No the day when he actually was born. Not that he… well, could remember the true date. Nor the fake one. Its was just something that Mana told him and that he accepted.

And now, the scar that Mugen gave him was itching a lot lesser than the scar from his own memory. The mark from him birth.

Kanda was honest. Just as he had been when saw himself being manipulated by the Earl to wake up Alma Karma. Allen knew all could happen to him if he tried to interfere between them, between an Kanda totally out of his mind and his preys.

And, voilá.

Everything went just as the Noahs had planned once more. Because, one way or another, his biggest scar wasn’t physical. It was the kind that comes and goes. The one that could not being seen.

He lowered his head, taking a look from Kanda, on the other side of the cell and he just couldn’t fight against a tiny small smile that showed up on his dirty, marked and tired face.

At least, Kanda was real.

Truthful.

And sincere.

[amakah-blog]

The Fallen Ones

Yullen Week: Absolution Warning: Spoilers.  No Drawing this time because someone spent the day reading No Game No Life non-stop, that’s why.

It all started with a fight. As always.

Allen woke up and couldn't help to notice the dark signs climbing Kanda's hands, following his veins. And, of course, he couldn't help to keep his trap shut either. What started with solicitude turned into sarcasm in front of the – very rude – silence of the swordsman.

They were soon getting a lot of attention.

Kanda tried to get out of the room, not counting that the stupid Moyashi would follow him. They started to yell, to trip on the citizens and to slam every damn door that stood on their way until one of them opened to a desert theater.

Old, abandoned. Had something of Martel in it, a deep melancholy with the kinda sympathetic rubbish. Maybe because of the familiarity, they finally felt comfortable enough to go down to business.

No more words or aggressive gestures towards furniture.

They were serious. Punches, hits. The sound of flesh against flesh and the faint smell of blood. They were... tired.

Kanda already had too much on his head without the non-stop babbling in what the Moyashi insisted. 

But Allen needed to talk about his pathetic situation. His master had disappeared – died?. He was seem no more as an exorcist but as an Noah- a dirty version of the Fallen Angel, or at least something on the way to that. The only thing that kept him as himself was... His personality? Oh well but, them, who was him, again? And who was the Earl? 

Everything is fine. Everything is toooottaly fiiinne.

He was a sinner, one of the worst and lowest kind. 

Not that Kanda seemed to care at all. As usual. But, wasn't it funny? He could feel, by every hit he took, what Allen was thinking. The brat decided to be a martyr, drowning himself on self-pity, just because he was some kind of indefinite thing. 

As if he was the only one. As if he expect to get some compassion from an aberration.

An stupid project of a Holy Warrior, some elevated apostle, that could come back to life to keep on fighting against the darkness. As if he wasn't a sin on his very existence, an taboo that had been broken by dirty human hands and their pitch-black technology.

They were both lost, and guilty way beyond salvation. The first kiss come with blood. 

Allen punched him, Kanda grabbed him- e throwed the pale body against the wall, as if Allen Walker wasn't any more important than a bunch of potatoes. The swordsman felt him lip being bitten, but the rage were already being changed by the urge. Their sins would find redemption between those bodies. It was euphory, hungry, thirst. Submission, control, madness, desperation. It was tortuous, but they didn't care.

Allen could hear a laugh in his head, the calling of the fallen ones. Kanda, ah, Kanda just wasn't giving a flying fuck to the black signs growing bigger on his arms.

They were lost, tearing clothes, feasting in lust, burning all shame into ashes. No one needed guilty while there were hand running thru bodies, the brathing faster and the members begging for pleasure. No one needed forgiveness while the mouths attacked so furiously, getting more mark to the already so, oh so many times, tainted and wounded in battles. All battles. Ah,  they had already sinked so low. Fallen so hard.

At least there, on the floor, sweaty and loud, they could at least be nothing more than humans.

Sometimes, this is all the absolution that one needs.

[amakah-blog]

I’m here

Warning: This may contain spoilers from Nights189-199

''Do you remember the place where we went on our first mission together...?''

Kanda had cracked. Alma was still there, between the bodies.

The battle,behind them, was just a mere background. Lifeless, frozen. No more than scenery.

Allen Walker wouldnt admit it out loud, not even for himself, but the swordman had a strange connection with him.

He could broke his mask. His very own, personal, mask.

One way or another, Kanda was always close. Them were always close. Demanding and sharing pieces of secrects. Silently, discreetly.

Of course, on the day he arrived at the Order, he didn't take notice or bothered to find a name for that. Allen, at that time, had no time to spare between escaping Mugen and convince Supervisor Komui about the existence of a letter. He was too busy in keep himself alive to even care about feeling something toward the japanese who wouldn't even shake his hand.

Now it was different. Its was clear, on the pieces of Kanda shattered on the floor. On the black eyes whose once had been so deep . On the hair, the blue and puspleshy hair. It was as clear as nothing had ever been before for Allen

Trust. Liquid trust, splashed in his face by a strange, tortuous smile. Implicit on the unusual favor. Yu Kanda was not very kind on asking stuff, even less when it could touch the past or make use of the 14th – the Noah- powers.

''Yes!''

But there was no other way. He needed to trust the cursed one. He could only trust the cursed one.

''They won’t find us for a while in there''

He choosed to trust.