Feb 20, 2016
day seven: free
more like day seven: shitty scribbles thatve been sitting in my art folder for weeks
anyway this was a fun week, see u next year!
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from China
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seen from Canada
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seen from Canada
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seen from Canada
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seen from Brazil
seen from United States
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day seven: free
more like day seven: shitty scribbles thatve been sitting in my art folder for weeks
anyway this was a fun week, see u next year!
day six: time
a redraw of this pic from seven months ago! not much time has passed yet hly shit improvement. also kinda my take on their :re designs
Day 7
Prompt: (Free Day) Pain
Pairing: One-sided Hinami/Eto
Notes: Much angst. This idea punched me in the face when I saw the calendar illustration with Eto’s hand painting Hinami’s lips. Somewhat vague, as even though we have a pretty good idea, we still haven’t been shown exactly what Hinami has done in Aogiri. Only how she got there and who she is now. Nor have we seen much of them interacting directly. Written before :re 59. Weird, stylistically un-stylish format. Also operated on the belief Hinami knows Takatsuki is Eto. I think it’s safe to take that from her diary, though if she knows Eto is the Owl, I’m unclear. And inclined to believe not quite. But I digress.
Hinami does not regret any of her choices. Life is composed of goods things, bad things, things to learn, and things to lose.
Her freedom is lost to her now. Perhaps her freedom was lost the moment she took Takatsuki’s card. Reality has embraced the metaphor in the form of her Cochlea cell.
Yes, life is…Life is a tapestry threaded by light and dark. Her mother told her to live. That includes facing the dark parts, trying her hardest and feeling everything.
Hinami thought she was lonely before. In Cochlea the loneliness eats away at her from the inside out like some kind of cancer. Onii…Sasaki-san keeps it leashed somewhat. When she sees him, she can feel the worth of her not quite intentional sacrifice. He seems okay too. Maybe a little dented, a little misassembled, but okay.
He spends time with her. Nonetheless, he’s still lost to her in many ways. Lost to who he was. In any case, he can’t stay. She doesn’t hold it against him.
Hinami isn’t the girl Kaneki nurtured anymore, either. Not totally. She is better for this, she believes in her bones. She’s sharpened her senses and steeled her resolve. She chose to be warped to match this spinning-nowhere world. She gave herself to the pain and the shadows (and the bandages), and they encased her in a cocoon (especially the bandages).
She endured this metamorphosis that dragged every ugly thing into her consciousness and bled all her weakness into the open. Exposed. Malleable.
(thank you, Takatsuki)
She’s emerged stronger, far stronger, though never strong enough. For everything taken was something gained even so.
(Eto…)
Whatever progress was made, Hinami is still a beast in a windowless cage. One day they will come to harvest her kakuhou. She’ll become a quinque just like her peaceful, undeserving parents.Terror laces her every waking moment. Which are frequent, naturally. She’d never sleep if it weren’t for the suppressants that sap her vigor.
She bears her fears all alone, a void yawning inside of her. The list of those she misses is endless.
The list of those she craves is much shorter. The person who smells like green apples and crisp ink. The person who took her hand and let her to where the sidewalk ended, pushed her off the crumbling cement with a kind face.
“You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman, Hina-chan,” Takatsuki had said with a slight smile strung by spades.
Hinami had only closed her eyes in response, and in turn her lids were dusted over in coral powder.
“You could be a character in one of my books, Hina-chan,” Takatsuki continued as she brought a brush to Hinami’s lips. “You’re a lovely specimen. You wear your sorrows like a shawl and carry on even though this world has broken your spirit. Your gaze has become as dim and cold as a winter sky. The somber current of your voice sweetly drips all your struggles.”
Hinami slowly opened her eyes. “Would I be a main character?”
“Of course. Readers would devour every word of you.”
Takatsuki skimmed the brush over her lips and back again, the bristles soft as she coated them in black. Hinami watched submissively, playing hide and seek with thoughts she wasn’t proud of in the corners of her mind. The space between them was full and intimate in the absence of everyone else.
Hinami clasped it, resigned to the fact that this was the closest she’d ever get to a kiss from the author. At least logically it was better this way. Safer.
“All of your main characters die, Sen,” she sighed.
“Oh my,” Takatsuki giggled airily. She didn’t pause in her task. “They do, don’t they, cheeky Hina-chan?”
The memory replays in Hinami’s mind, every detail vivid. Takatsuki’s motions so methodic, the oily film filling the cracks of her lips. She isn’t particularly sure why she wanted that kiss, nor why she wants it still. Why she still touches her own fingers to her currently unpainted lips and imagines a pair that taste like ice.
Perhaps she feels like some of Takatsuki’s power would transfer to her. No matter how strong she becomes or how many things she gives up to gain an upper hand, she will never possess that level of power.
Maybe because as depressing as it is to admit, she longs for the sense of direction Takatsuki instills in her. When there was nothing, every option a diluted shadow, there was she at least. As long as Takatsuki was there, there was a path to follow. A guidebook to the end. A guidebook nonetheless. The tragedies she wrote write were hardly exclusive to her novels. Hinami couldn’t hate her for it if she tried.
So, really, really…She wants her now more than ever because…
Really, it’s because Hinami has been hurt. By everything. She’s been hurt over and over and over again.
Her parents were snatched away from her. Her sister is unreachable to her now with a home her own choices have left her no place in. Her brother looks at her from behind the glass like she’s some sad stranger. She lost her companions along the way. She has become something she didn’t want to have to be. Pain taints her memories and tows her along her the route her days have taken, razoring her edges.
She knows pain in every shade.
HInami knows pain has painted Takatsuki’s heart as black as Takatsuki painted her lips. No matter how powerful she is, she can smell it reeking off her.
Yet Hinami also knows she’s beyond any comfort she could offer, far too likely beyond wanting it altogether, too high on all that bitter power…but all the same, something inside her wants to ease that pain. Soothe and be soothed. To hold onto her because she too understands, to interlink fingers stained in blood and kiss away the hurt that’s soured one soul and staled the other.
It’s stupid. It’s a pipe dream at best, justification for an attraction she has conflicted feelings about at worst. It’s not as though Takatsuki behaves remotely like anything wounded. It’s not as though trying to ease her Onii-chan’s pain was ever successful either.
Bitter Taste
prompt: taste pairing: Matsumae/Hairu rating: Teen for mild cannibalism length: 1456 words A bit of an alternate ending scenario where Matsumae and Hairu get to meet one more time after their final encounter, Based on a fan theory I read once.
2nd Chance Part 1
“Sorry, MM!”
Matsumae expected the end after hearing those words. In truth her life had been, far beyond anything she could ask for. Perhaps asking for too much was what had caused them to be hunted within the first place. But now was not time for such thoughts, she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.
Well, she tried the closest approximation to doing so, anyway. She felt a tearing away of her quinque and then nothing. Wetness, coldness and then nothing. Nothing. Nothing…
Death was darker than she expected it to be, until she realized the what the implication was that she could still sense all of these things. The sound of her own shocked breaths brought her back to consciousness, along with the stray rain that fell into the transport truck that had carried her bother now that there was a large hole in the side. She opened her eyelids and felt the flesh inside of her eye roll forward and regenerate, and she imagined for a second she was one of the few people to ever look at the world with completely fresh eyes as she blinked tears and blood out of her sockets.
Mirumo Tsukiyama, looking rather casual for a man who had just torn a truck nearly in two in one blow appeared within Matsumae’s field of vision, soon occupying all of it as he offered his hand. She looked to see his large koukaku quinque dissolving from it’s bladed spiral.
“Matsumae, I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your rest but I think you’ll find the situation urgent” Mirumo said, seemingly unaware as usual of how to read the room.
“It’s no problem at all sir,” Matsumae said, wiping the tears off of her cheek. She stared at his hand in silent confusion, and tried to politely show him she could stand on her own. When she stumbled, Mirumo caught her.
“It’s no problem at all, Matsumae,” He said.
“Shuu-sama, I…”
Appearing in her view then, was a boy similiar to Matsumae but much younger. “You didn’t fail anybody, Matsumae.”
She must have died then, Matsumae figured, because she was surely in heaven.
Little did she know hers was not the only car containing a corpse that was interrupted that day.
2nd Chance Part 2
They had been in hiding for weeks before Matsumae dared to go outside. Not to hunt, of course, the family (it was strange calling the three of them that were left from the ruins of the Tsukiyama household a family), had learned its lesson in that regard at least.
No, Shuu-sama had torn his suit and she volunteered happily to go to the corner store to buy sewing supplies.The rain started to pick up again, just like that day that seemed a lifetime ago. She unfolded the umbrella delicately, and as she held it above her head. She watched raindrops fall off the black and white patterned edges of the umbrella like they were dewdrops on a spider web on a fresh morning.
Matsumae wasn’t one for expressing sentiments like this usually, it was a little too classic romantics period for her as shuu-sama might say, but things change when you were looking at the world through new eyes.
It was those same eyes that noticed movement in the alleyway. A clamoring of garbage cans and a disturbance where there had been quiet before. She immediately thought of the time when Shuu-sama thought there had been an alleycat loose on the Kirishima family grounds and chased it all day with a collar and cat food. If it would please him in that tiny apartment the three of them now shared, she didn’t mind taking a detour from her path.
It was not a cat Matsumae found, but rather a cat fight. (She should probably stop with the humorous asides, it didn’t fit her professional demeanor). A female low-level ghoul with a weak kagune was kicking around another ghoul that could not even manifest her kagune. Matsumae was just about to turn around since her investment in this fight would not bring any further advantage to the Tsukiyama family.
Instead she found herself at last minute, closing the umbrella and using it as an instrument to block the lower class ghoul’s kagune. Incredibly crude, but Matsumae had reently survived getting her kagune ripped out with a chainsaw and had only been able to eat Re:’s paltry offerings and not the regular feasts she was used to at the Tsukiyama household since then.
Still, she far outclassed this ghoul. When the ghoul saw she had been stopped with only an umbrella, she realized it too, withdew her bikaku kagune, then turned tail and ran.
Hah.
“Turned tail,” Matsumae commented to herself, then shook her head. “Is she just going to leave the corpse?”
Matsumae wondered aloud as she turned and tucked her straight back hair behind her ear. In a hoodie in front of her, sprawled out on the ground, breathing in heavy panic was the fresh ghoul. Matsumae decided to be polite, as she already had been rude enough to interfere and picked an arm up from the corspe gingerly holding it in front of the new ghoul’s face.
“Nice to see you again,” the ghoul said quietly in a voice Matsumae had to strain to hear.
“Do I know you?” She observed the features of the ghoul, pink hair that had grown long and ragged, a face that seemed to be held together by stitches. Still, it was porcelain and doll-like. Matsumae didn’t understand why she hid it all under the hoodie she was wearing.
“Do you want this?” Matsumae intoned her intentions to make them clear.
The ghoul reached out, and then immediately grabbed her own hand and withdrew. She was forcing herself, even Matsumae could tell because her entire body was shaking with hunger. One eye’s veins bulging and stressed with the telltale mark of kakugan.
“You’re not eating?” Matsumae said in a quiet, confused voice. It was a remark meant mostly for herself as she was searching through her thoughts, as she began to piece it together, “A one eyed- what a rare delicacy. Wait, you were with the CCG? Why didn’t you die? And what’s with your-”
As a thousand questions filled her head, she decided to cut it off right there. “Nevermind, goodbye.”
One finger tugged on the back of her sleeve as she left. Like Shuu-sama used to when he was just a child. Hairu spoke with a quiet, but just as childish voice, “Please Miss Rose you have to help me. I know you might find this hard to believe, but I’m actually human. I was raised, every single day I was told, in order to remain human i had to kill ghouls like you. And yet, I want to eat that. Part of me wants to shove it in my mouth, but I know I can’t. Because if I do I’ll lose my purpose.”
“If you’re in that much pain then just eat,” Matsumae said. It sounded cold, but it was just meant to be firm.
“No way!” Hairu broke out into laughter, “There’s no way that I could ever eat another person’s flesh. I can’t be a ghoul. I’ll make a quinque out of you for even suggesting that.”
“You’re being immature, why don’t you just give in already?” Matsumae said, once again sounding cold to the figure who had fallen on her knees sobbing in front of her. The same one who had played a hand in the destruction of her pervious life. The one who would surely cut her down were their situations reversed.
But Matsumae had been wrong earlier. Hairu Ihei did not seem beautiful like this. People were not snow, or rain, they did not grow more beautiful when they fall.
Perhaps it was that thought, or a more wisftful one she had made when they exchanged blades in the past, that if circumstances were different they need not be enemies. Like if they met while being born again in the next life. It seems like this was the closest compromise reality could offer to such a foolish wish.
“If you don’t have the nerve to eat it on your own, then allow me to serve you,” Matsumae said, her eyes turning pitch black as she occupied Hairu’s entire field of view now. She leaned in, taking a generous bite from the arm she held. Then all at once before Hairu could react, locked their lips together, and forced the meat down her throat.
Hairu tasted her first human meat.
It tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the taste of her tears staining Matsumae’s mouth.
day five: smell
touka is prolly rlly gross in the morning. coffee breath is actually terrible and yoriko is too nice
fragrance // hinami → touka
for tgfemslashweek! the prompt is smell.
contains // ~2100 words, one-sided touka/hinami, and a little touken.
excerpt:
What would Mother want her to say in this situation?
“I understand. Thank you. I’m sorry for the trouble. Goodbye.”
Hinami opens her mouth, but the syllables are too large. Her eyes begin to sting. Touka doesn’t notice; she just sighs, heavily.
“Hinami,” Touka says. “You’re staying with me.”
Discussion reaches her, through Anteiku’s walls and floors. Hinami wants to cover her ears, and instead clutches her wrists, over and over and harder and harder, until they are pale.
“She’ll die out there,” Touka protests.
“She’ll be fine,” someone else responds. “That ward was way worse when I was a kid. And look now. I turned out just fine.”
“You’re fine because of Anteiku,” Touka snaps. “Besides, you’re totally different from Hinami.”
The sound of her own name makes Hinami flush. She really shouldn’t be listening to this. She really should just…leave already, and stop bothering everyone. Hinami’s eyes dart to the spare room’s window, and Touka’s voice comes back to her.
“Don’t leave again. Alright? Don’t go, at least not without telling me first.”
“Okay,” Hinami replied, feebly.
“You promise?”
“Y-yeah…I…promise.”
So Hinami stays, making herself breathe slowly and deeply as she hears Touka stamping down the corridor. When the door opens, Hinami draws herself up, stiffly. She shoves her hands to either side of her hips, and then, remembering her mother, repositions them into her lap.
What would Mother want her to say in this situation?
“I understand. Thank you. I’m sorry for the trouble. Goodbye.”
Hinami opens her mouth, but the syllables are too large. Her eyes begin to sting. Touka doesn’t notice; she just sighs, heavily.
“Hinami,” Touka says. “You’re staying with me.”
Hinami’s sense of hearing is acute, and still Touka needs to repeat herself before Hinami understands it.
“Really?” Hinami gasps, and Touka blinks, and then smiles at her.
“Yeah. Really.”
Hinami leaps up. The tears that she tried so hard to stifle emerge anyway, in streams. She races and wraps her arms around Touka, with relief.
“Thank you,” Hinami cries, “thank you, thank you, Oneechan,” and Touka stiffens, and then slowly embraces her back. Hinami buries her face against Touka’s body and —
In that moment, it happens, again.
That smell.
Sweet, and strong.
Hinami fills her lungs with it, relishing. Around her, Touka is resting her chin on Hinami’s head.
“I already promised, didn’t I?” Her voice is kind. “I’ll protect you.”
:::
“I’ll protect you.”
That was the first time Hinami smelled it, the first time in her life. It’s a mysterious fragrance, one that she doesn’t realize is unusual until the day she is helping Irimi fold and put away the newly-washed aprons into everyone’s lockers.
“How did you know this is Touka’s?” Irimi asks, with some surprise. “You barely looked at it.”
“Oh! Just by the smell!” Hinami says excitedly. Irimi has been trying to help her home her skill for weeks.
But, rather than complimenting her, Irimi’s brows furrow. She buries her nose into the fabric.
“We just took these down from the line,” she says. “You still smell something?”
Hinami wanes. “Um…just a little. I really like Oneechan’s smell,” Hinami explains, somewhat defensively. “It’s really nice and sweet.”
Irimi laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Touka smells more bitter than the coffee we serve,” she says. “If you want something sweet, you should follow that Ape around right at the beginning of his shift, after he puts all that crap in his hair.”
Irimi doesn’t leave any room for disagreement, so Hinami just swallows and mumbles assent.
Later, though, at home, Hinami starts on their personal laundry after Touka leaves for an evening shift. She takes a shirt down off the line on their balcony, stares at it, and nibbles her lip.
Maybe Irimi was right. Maybe Hinami made a mistake. Maybe what she was smelling was Koma.
Hinami thinks a little longer, and then buries her face into the cloth, and inhales, deeply.
Sure enough, it’s sweet.
:::
It’s nothing like living with her parents. It’s — tougher, for sure. Hinami is even more careful than before not to draw attention to herself. She watches the window for hours before she can bring herself to go out, and if someone passes by with a suitcase on the street below, she stays on the couch, clutching her knees.
“You didn’t get more coffee?” Touka asks when she returns home, and Hinami cringes.
“S-sorry,” she murmurs. “Today, outside, it didn’t…it just didn’t feel like…” She shakes her head. “I’ll get it tomorrow, I promise.”
“I needed it tonight,” Touka groans. “I have a big test tomorrow.”
Hinami grips her wrists and stares at the ground. “I’m sorry, Oneechan. I’m really, really —”
“Stop. Enough already.”
Hinami looks up, preparing herself to meet an exasperated expression. But Touka has a kind smile. “It’s not a big deal. But you can’t be afraid forever. Come on, let’s go together.”
Despite herself, Hinami leaps up. “Okay!”
As long as Touka is with her, everything is fine, everything feels fine. Touka drapes one of her jackets over Hinami’s shoulders and they head out. At the grocery, Himami trails behind with a basket as Touka flicks coffee and some other cheap snacks toward her at random. These Hinami puts away dutifully back home, while Touka presses them both a cup of coffee. As Touka studies, Hinami watches, playing with the strings of Touka’s jacket and paging through the chapters of books Touka sets aside.
“You think you’ll go to school too?” Touka asks, and Hinami jumps.
“Ah — um — I don’t know. I just…was looking.”
“Well,” Touka says, “if you decide, just say so. Yoshimura will help sort out the papers, probably. He helped with mine. It's…well, there are annoying parts, but it’s pretty good overall. Probably the best part for you would be that you could make more friends.”
“Oh,” Hinami says blandly. “That would be great.”
Though, I don’t really need more friends.
She is perfectly fine like this — living with Touka, cleaning the house and running errands during the day, spending time together at night. Touka makes Hinami coffee whenever she senses Hinami wants it; she teaches Hinami how to cook stew; she lets Hinami have her old books when she could instead be selling them for more money. Touka doesn’t ask for her jacket back, either, and Hinami keeps it, drawing it close around her as she watches people pass by outside.
It’s nothing like living with her parents. It’s — tougher, for sure. No matter how many things she tells herself during the day, her dreams leap up at night to bite her, and she wakes up with tears on her face, searching her hands over and over for blood.
“Hinami?”
Touka is at the door of her room, a blanket over her head and shoulders.
“Oneechan,” Hinami gasps. Touka is frowning.
“Again?”
“Sorry,” Hinami says. “Was I — was I loud? I’m sorry.”
Touka scratches her head. “Come on,” she says, turning back into her room, and Hinami hesitates, and then scrambles up.
Touka’s room smells just like Touka; even the first whiff of it is enough to make the dark seem warmer. There’s not much room on Touka’s bed; when they lie down, it’s shoulder-to-shoulder. Touka slings a blanket over, and Hinami tucks herself underneath it, drawing the hem up over her mouth and taking a deep breath.
“Better?” Touka asks, and Hinami nods.
“Good. Don’t worry,” Touka yawns. “I’ll protect you, remember?”
“I remember,” Hinami whispers.
“Goodnight,” Touka murmurs, turning over to her side. Soon, her breathing is steady. Hinami turns toward her, and places her forehead gently between Touka’s shoulder blades.
It’s warm here. Touka’s inhales and exhales make a soothing rhythm.
“Goodnight,” Hinami says quietly. She closes her eyes, and musters just a little bit of courage.
“Goodnight, Touka.”
:::
As long as they’re together, everything is fine.
“Oneechan,” Hinami calls. “Oneechan!”
Touka jumps.
“W-what?” she gasps. “What is it?”
Hinami stares at her, aghast, and then points. Touka looks down. The cup she’s pouring coffee into is overflowing; streams are dripping from the counter to the floor.
“Shit,” Touka hisses. She sets the coffee pot down with a heavy smack and looks for a towel — but Hinami already has one, and is wiping the mess up, and stamping out the rest with newspaper.
“Oneechan,” Hinami says, “are you alright,” and Touka rubs her eyes.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry,” Touka sighs. “It’s just…I have…an exam.”
“Oh,” Hinami says. “You have another exam?”
“…what?”
“Last week you said you were done with all your exams for a while,” Hinami says. She wrings the towel out into the sink. “Remember?”
Touka frowns. “Yeah, I did say that. Well…yeah, um…unfortunately I have another exam after all.”
“Maybe I can help you,” Hinami offers. “You’ve been working a lot at Anteiku, but…I don’t know…maybe if I go there instead, and cover your shifts —”
“Thanks,” Touka interrupts, “but it’s okay.” She smiles wanly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine soon.”
But she spills coffee again not just once, but three more times. She returns back home forgetting their food from Anteiku. She makes coffee for Hinami that is burnt. And...and...
One night, when Hinami can’t sleep, she walks towards Touka’s room and is surprised to find a light spilling out from beneath the door.
Hinami double-checks the time. It’s three. She swallows, and then raps, gently.
“Oneechan?”
There’s a sharp rustling — a strange clap.
“Hinami,” Touka says. “Come in.”
Hinami pushes the door open. Touka is in bed, wrapped up, with her bedside light still on.
“You’re not…studying, are you?” The clapping noise sounded like a book.
“Ah…no…I just couldn’t sleep. You too?”
“Yeah,” Hinami admits, and brightens when Touka pats her bed.
“Come on.”
It’s warm here. But Touka is staring into space, and then sighs and reaches to turn the light off.
“I can get it,” Hinami says, when Touka strains over her, but Touka pushes herself a little further, and flicks the switch herself anyway. Darkness falls; Touka mumbles a goodnight, and turns over onto her side.
It takes another hour for her to fall asleep; Hinami knows it, not just because of the breathing, but because Touka is so tightly wound up into her blankets that Hinami is left chilly, despite the jacket. She folds her arm underneath the pillow, shivering, and winces when her fingers cram against something hard.
It’s a book. She squints in the faint streetlight beaming through the curtains. The characters for the title are complicated, but she could recognize the name of the author anywhere.
Hinami’s finger traces.
Taka…tsuki…Sen.
:::
It’s nothing like living with her parents, and yet it’s exactly same. There’s something the matter with Touka, so Hinami sucks in a breath, and goes out to Anteiku. Touka will be happy to see her, probably — she can help Touka remember their dinner — and then they can walk back home together. This is all that she’s thinking when Yoshimura points her to the back room, all that’s on her mind when she pushes open the well-oiled door. Touka is there, back turned, and Hinami’s mouth opens, and then, suddenly, closes.
There’s a strange atmosphere in here. Normally, Touka would notice her immediately, and turn and greet her. Instead, she’s stooped over an open locker.
Changing, Hinami thinks, and even then knows that it’s wrong. Touka’s locker is on the far side. The locker that she’s in front of now —
Touka bows forward. She inhales, deeply, and then buries her face into the fabric.
Hinami swallows and steps back. She waits a minute longer, and then opens the door, more loudly.
“Oneechan,” she calls brightly, and Touka jumps, and slams the locker shut.
:::
What would Mother do?
Hinami rubs her chest, draws the jacket closer, looks around the room, fixing every object in mind until she can see it even when she closes her eyes.
The light is still coming out from beneath Touka’s door, and Hinami waits longer, longer, telling herself that this makes sense, it’s strategic. When Touka’s breath steadies, she swallows. She makes one last glance out the window, and then stands.
She has so little clothing. It only takes a second to gather it, and a couple more to tiptoe into Touka’s room and turn off the light. She writes out a note, with just the essentials. In the apartment’s entryway, she looks at the door, and steels herself. She takes off Touka’s jacket, takes a deep breath, and hangs it in the closet.
It’s cold. Hinami pulls on her own jacket.
There’s only one last thing to do now. She closes her eyes, and musters just a little bit of courage.
“Goodbye,” Hinami says quietly. “Goodbye, Oneechan.”
Day 6
Prompt: Time
Pairing: Saiko/Hairu
Notes: No NSFW content, but one somewhat suggestive scene present. I feel like this should have a ship name.
Saiko lunges for Hairu and strikes out toward her jaw with the heel of her palm, fingers curled tightly inward. Hairu sidesteps to avoid the blow and counters with a swift kick toward her stomach. Saiko barely manages to scrabble away and stumbles clumsily, breath puffing through her teeth.
Hairu grins and springs like a cat, tackling her down to the practice mat. Saiko struggles under her, pushing at her shoulders and vainly trying to wiggle free. Hairu grabs both her wrists in one hand and pins them behind her head.
“I win again,” she declares sunnily.
“Ugh.” Saiko goes limp with defeat. “Of course you do. It’s no fair, you’re bigger and stronger than me.”
“Nope,” Hairu says, teasingly poking Saiko in her button nose. “Not an excuse. Since you’re smaller than me you actually have a lower center of gravity. If I knock you down you’re less likely to be injured and more likely to get back up.”
“Well I can’t get up at all when you’re on top of me,” Saiko murmurs, her lips curving up in a playful smile.
Hairu pauses. Their sessions always seem to end like this. Saiko pinned to the mat underneath her, her face flushed with the effort and a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Cornflower tresses falling out of their pigtails as soft pants leave her petal like lips…
“Hairu?” Saiko prompts with a curious tilt of the head.
“You don’t seem to be in a hurry to make me move,” Hairu says carefully.
Saiko’s lashes flutter. She shyly casts her gaze to the side and when she speaks, her voice is as quiet as a blossom drifting to the grass but the smile remains with rapt edges.
“I’m not…”
Hairu takes her chin with a much gentler touch than the punch she’d cracked it with not even an hour ago, tilting it up. She lowers her own until their lips skim.
Saiko reciprocates hastily, warm and tasting like the salt and grease on the potato chips she’d eaten earlier.
Hairu tentatively draws back. This is new…nice, but new.
Saiko’s puckered lips melt into a smile, roses blooming in her cheeks. This is new for her too.
Before they can talk about what just occurred, the door swings open and Haise steps over the threshold with Shirazu on his heels.
“Oh,” he blinks at them, surprised. “I didn’t realize you were back again, Ihei. Would you girls like to train with us too?”
“I’ve had enough exercise for one day,” Saiko declines, shifting her gaze back to Hairu. “Wanna come over and play Mortal Kombat tomorrow?” A hopeful glint glitters in her depths.
“Yeah.” Hairu smiles and finally gets off of Saiko. She stands up and extends her hand to her. “Of course.”
Saiko takes her hand and Hairu hauls her up to her feet. A few moments pass and she lets go even though she doesn’t want to.
So they were interrupted. It blows, but it’s okay. They have tomorrow. They have time.
“Fatality,” gloats a guttural voice as the all-caps letters flash across the screen dripping animated blood.
Saiko cackles victoriously and pumps her fist. “And that’s how the Yonebayashi does it!”
Hairu sighs petulantly and sets down the controller. “That’s the third time in a row you’ve beaten me.”
“You’ll get better with practice,” replies Saiko. “But good enough to beat the Yonebayashi? Well…” she trails off, chuckling darkly like a cartoon villain.
Her lips look too pretty lifted up in that easy smile. Before Hairu knows it, she’s kissing them again. Saiko responds like that’s what she’s been waiting for all day. She closes her eyes and deepens the kiss, tilting her head as she slips her tongue between Hairu’s teeth.
Bubbles of delight tickle Hairu’s chest as she eagerly lets Saiko suck her breath away, sliding her hands over the shorter girl’s hips. Saiko tenderly cups the nape of Hairu’s neck in one soft, pudgy palm and threads her spare fingers through her hair.
They break the kiss in unison, a thread of saliva connecting their mouths. It severs as they incline their foreheads to touch. For a moment they simply breathe together.
“I drew you,” Hairu murmurs. She’d had an art block for awhile. Sketching Saiko had finally pulled her out of it.
“I drew you too,” Saiko says. “As a magical girl.”
Hairu laughs, flexing her fingers on Saiko’s hips and then squeezing affectionately. “Oh yeah?”
“Yup. You have a lightning wand and your color scheme is peach and pink. You got your powers from an elemental sprite.”
“I want to see it.”
“You will,” Saiko promises fondly. “When it’s done.”
“I can’t wait.” Hairu brushes her lips over Saiko’s cheek.
Saiko hums a small noise of contentment. “So what do I look like in your drawing?”
“Well you aren’t a magical girl,” Hairu admits. “I drew you giving me a thumbs up. You’re my motivational girl, Saiko.”
Saiko flashes her the gesture in agreement and Hairu pushes her lips to the pad of her thumb. Saiko then wraps both arms around her neck and flops back to the cushions. All of a sudden Hairu is on top of her and it’s the end of their sparring matches all over again.
They’re nascent in this currently undefined intimacy, wading in the waters of a shared sparkle.
Looking into Saiko’s face, Hairu slowly slides her knee between her legs. Saiko’s lips part with the delicacy of a butterfly’s flutter and then her teeth press to her lower lip. She splays her fingers and runs them down Hairu’s shoulder, across her collar. She cups her breast and gives it a tentative squeeze.
Before they can explore each other any further, a door down the hallway opens and shuts. They separate as quickly as possibly, throwing themselves to the opposite sides of the couch as footsteps tread closer.
Mutsuki appears, offering a nod of greeting as he winds his way around to the kitchen.
“Saiko, do you know if there’s anything in the fridge?”
“Hmm, not sure,” Saiko calls. She offers Hairu a sheepish smile.
So they haven’t figured out their relationship yet. That’s okay. They have time.
Hairu’s funeral is a small, quaint thing with more white camellias than attendants.
She doesn’t matter as much now that she’s a corpse. Ui is there. Arima makes a brief appearance. Mutsuki accompanies Saiko for support.
She thought sobbing over Shirazu had dried up every tear left in her, but Hairu’s closed casket unleashes a fresh flood.
She sobs until her throat is gummy and ropes of snot dangle from her nostrils, the smell of incense and bouquets recycled in her gulping breaths. Mutsuki holds her stoically and lets her unravel.
All sensations of Hairu hit her at once in a violent backlash. The harsh sting of her sparring kick, the Hokkaido dialect in her relaxed drawl, the taste of melon bread she’d kissed off her lips, the surprising warmth of her lithe embrace.
They hadn’t even started yet and the time had already run out.
budding // matsumae x hairu
for tgfemslashweek! the prompt is taste.
contains // ~2200 words, matsumae/hairu, some blood.
excerpt //
Ui’s brow is furrowed when she gets back. He has a lot of things to say, stuff about breaking formation and no excuses and do you even realize how many innocent people have been kidnapped this far? His cigarette is bobbing wildly.
But Hairu isn’t listening. Her eyes are narrowed, her mouth twisted into a grimace.
After so long of not tasting it, defeat is bitter in her mouth. It’s overpowering. It steeps.
“Hairu.” Ui’s voice cuts through. “You need to improve.”
“I will,” Hairu grumbles. “I will.”
At their first encounter — she’s sure she has it. She can practically taste it on her tongue.
Every move she executes is perfect. One masked ghoul falls, and then another, and then another. Someone in the squad whistles.
And then, just when Hairu is raising her arm to plunge her quinque into some sniveling monster’s neck — someone appears, in a flash.
No!
Hairu is quick, but it’s too late — Aus’s blade buries into the cement. She withdraws it, sucks in a breath, lunges — but once again, it’s not enough. The ghoul is gone, with Hairu’s quarry in tow.
Hairu huffs.
Next time, she thinks, and when the squad picks up the trail again, she’s prepared. She’s practiced, against everyone available that dared it, and then with the stumpy dummies that become the only ones she can get to face her.
Her timing is impeccable. Her speed is incredible. She is the Garden’s best and when she picks out the dark-suited ghoul from before, she separates them out from the rest, pursues mercilessly, and yells with frustration when she turns a corner and sees only a dense wall of kagune, all gnarls and thorns and failure. She hacks away at it, reduces to twigs in less than a minute, and is rewarded only with an empty corridor that echoes back her snarl of disgust.
Ui’s brow is furrowed when she gets back. He has a lot of things to say, stuff about breaking formation and no excuses and do you even realize how many innocent people have been kidnapped this far? His cigarette is bobbing wildly.
But Hairu isn’t listening. Her eyes are narrowed, her mouth twisted into a grimace.
After so long of not tasting it, defeat is bitter in her mouth. It’s overpowering. It steeps.
“Hairu.” Ui’s voice cuts through. “You need to improve.”
“I will,” Hairu grumbles. “I will.”
:::
By the next time they’re out again, she’s prepared, and plotted, carefully.
I just need to get through. She focuses, hiding her panting as the masked ghoul stops and turns around to face her. Their dark eyes gleam in the mask’s eyeholes. Their arm lifts, and —
There!
Hairu lunges, with Aus’s blades poised outward; and this time, when the kagune detach and start to writhe, Hairu catches them before they intertwine shut. They spring and fall apart in clatters, and Hairu charges through, thrusting straight for the center of the dark suit. She shouts with triumph, and —
Aus bounds back, with a clang. Hairu stumbles, catches her footing. The dark-suited ghoul —
Has another kagune. Or rather — a couple more. A perfectly-shaped shield, and a perfectly-shaped sword, which the ghoul is leveling at her calmly. The idea of it, of a ghoul with such a human thing, surprises Hairu so much that she spits out a laugh before she strikes.
It’s for nothing.
The ghoul evades her every motion, or else parries it, with an otherworldly ease. Soon, Hairu is brushing sweat from her face, even as the ghoul’s mask betrays no hint of effort whatsoever. With a furious shout, Hairu heaves Aus down, trying to win with sheer strength, but the ghoul just catches her blow and holds it. The shield barely splinters.
The ghoul’s back is pressing up against a wall. Their face is just centimeters away.
“You’re improving,” the ghoul says, and Hairu blinks in shock, and then snorts.
“I’m not interested in what you have to say,” she growls. She tries to push Aus a little deeper, and is rewarded with a tiny splinter of Rc cells skittering to the ground. The blade brushes the mask’s brow.
“You’re improving,” the ghoul repeats. “Have you found a reason to fight?”
“It won’t matter to you in a minute,” Hairu replies.
Her teeth are gritted into a smile. Her quinque is close now, so close, to splitting that mask in half. Their bodies are so close that Hairu can hear the ghoul swallow, can hear them hiss with effort. Hairu can smell roses. And then —
“Hairu!”
It’s just the right distraction. Her focus ruptures, and the ghoul shifts, tilting Aus so Hairu ends up slamming it into the wall.
And then, before she can curse, the ghoul is gone.
:::
After the debriefing, Ui’s brow is furrowed. He waves off Hairu’s accusation (“You distracted me!”). He has a lot of things to say, stuff about we met our objective and retreat after abductions were handled and what’s the matter with you? His cigarette is bobbing wildly.
Hairu barely hears any of it. The few words that reach her ears put a taste in her mouth more sour than the one she had earlier. Ui sighs.
“I know you’re excited,” he says. “But that ghoul — I recognize her, now. Matsumae is too high a rank for you to take on. So, take it easy. Please,” he says, when Hairu opens her mouth to protest. “I know you were the best in your class, but you’re still new. At this stage, you prove yourself by being obedient. Not by being reckless.”
“Fine,” Hairu mutters. “Understood.”
:::
At night, she tosses and turns the situation over and over again in her head.
She’s sick of Ui always doing this. Always — cutting her down. Even today he had just bowed his head graciously when their squad had been complimented, even though he knew that Matsumae was the leader, knew that the reason the abduction had gotten foiled was because Hairu had flushed her out.
If this is the game, she thinks, then, fine.
She can earn their praise in obedience. Their squad goes out and Hairu makes a point of it, wresting victims back from their attackers mission after mission. She catches up to Matsumae when it’s relevant, and sometimes, still, they fight; but when Matsumae backs off, Hairu does too, and then merely watches, wordless, as Matsumae retreats.
It’s agony. Matsumae, it’s clear, is confused as well. The fluidity of her motion turns jagged; she seems to be waiting. One time, Matsumae doesn’t draw back.
“Have you lost it?” she asks, and Hairu frowns.
“Your reason,” Matsumae elaborates.
“I’m not talking to you,” Hairu tells her, curtly. “Orders.”
Matsumae’s mouth is visible beneath her mask; she smiles.
“I understand that well enough,” she answers. “It’s unfortunate at times, isn’t it?”
Hairu hesitates. Something in that voice is…lacking. Lacking aggression. Suddenly, the air between them isn’t charged with bloodlust and the beckon of victory.
It’s just…normal. The kind of atmosphere between two talking people.
“You were doing so well,” Matsumae tells her. “Have you given up?”
Hairu purses her lips. She turns and walks off to rejoin her squad, feeling Matsumae’s eyes on her nape.
If Matsumae attacks, Hairu thinks, I’ll be justified.
But she doesn’t.
:::
Hairu retreats. She bows her head at all the right times. She swallows down her protests. She smiles kindly during debriefs. She forces her gaze away from Matsumae’s silhouette, suppresses all thoughts of her and her rose-scented trail and ways that Hairu herself can emulate Matsumae’s serenity. When Hairu loses her footing and gets a ghoul tooth embedded in her forearm, she doesn’t even wince.
Ui’s brow seems to furrow even deeper then. That, she has to admit to herself, is almost worth it.
Almost.
“Well?” she asks, some weeks later, and Ui blinks at her.
“Well, what?”
“Well,” Hairu says. “Haven’t I been doing a good job?”
She waits, patiently. Ui stares at her, and then bursts into laughter.
“What is it that do you want?” he asks. “A promotion for doing your basic duties?”
“What? No!” Hairu cries. “That’s not it at all!”
But the cigarette is already coming out again. Before he can even get started, Hairu spins on her heel, and storms away.
:::
She’s sick of this.
And she knows what she wants.
Weeks of tracking the abductions has given Hairu a good idea of Matsumae’s preferred type of hunting grounds, and she heads out, hours sooner than their squad plans to. It only takes skimming two districts before she finds their ideal prey, and only half an hour after that when she perceives people shadowing the drunken idiot around.
Masked ghouls. Matsumae should be near.
Silently, Hairu unclasps her suitcase.
By then, it’s too late.
“Dove-san,” she hears, and Hairu gasps, and leaps back, just in time to avoid the smash of a sword-shaped kagune directly where she had been hiding.
Did she know I was coming?
Matsumae has her sword and shield already; she spins the former, almost lazily, letting Hairu get steady and onto her feet. Nervously, Hairu looks toward the other masked ghouls further on, and then cringes as she fends off a blow, almost too late.
“Focus,” Matsumae says, and Hairu snorts.
“Really? An order? From you?”
“You seem to enjoy them,” Matsumae says, and Hairu laughs.
“Well, it’s true that I’m not a failure who has yet to bring back a body for their master,” she replies brightly. “They getting hungry?”
“Quite,” Matsumae says, and lunges. Her blade thrusts, and Hairu dodges, easily, and with a smile.
This, Hairu realizes with glee, is it.
Their weapons sing. The feeling of the air sliding between them is smooth and swift and satisfying; even when their blades meet, it’s with a slickness like running hands through freshly-washed hair. Hairu beats Matsumae back against a wall again, and Matsumae makes her way out of it again, and Hairu pursues, with her heart rising and drumming and dancing in her chest.
This time — this time —
Her timing is impeccable. Her speed is incredible. She is the Garden’s best and Ui can say whatever he wants but this is what Hairu deserves, not the sticks that the CCG throws for her, but an opponent like this, like water and steel and with a scent of roses that seems to get stronger as Hairu finally, finally spots sweat start to glisten on Matsumae’s face. As Matsumae brushes it away with a glove, she stumbles. Hairu’s smile is so wide it hurts.
There!
One push — and Matsumae is even further off-balance. Hairu yanks her arm back, and aims, just as Matsumae looks toward her in shock.
This time — you are mine!
Aus descends, straight onto Matsumae’s unshielded skull.
Hairu is quick, but it’s too late. The blade cracks through the mask, and Matsumae dodges out of the way before it can sink any further. As Matsumae straightens, the mask pieces tumble from her face, and...
And...
Hairu wasn’t sure what she was expecting, really. Scars of some kind, maybe — or blood — some indication of monster. But Matsumae — doesn’t look like what a ghoul should look like. Her eyes are dark and rich as ink; her gaze encompasses. Hairu’s breath catches. Matsumae...
...is beautiful.
Her daze ruins everything. Matsumae’s wrist flicks, and a gnarled mass knocks Aus from Hairu’s hand. Hairu hisses, and Matsumae kicks out her leg, dropping Hairu to the ground.
Hairu starts to scream, and then stops, just in time, whimpering as her teeth bite down and tear her lip. The other masked ghouls will just come running if she cries for help. She reaches for Aus’s hilt —
— and then can’t move any further. Matsumae has grabbed her arm. Matsumae’s fingers tighten slightly, and Hairu can’t budge a centimeter.
Matsumae’s other hand moves to Hairu’s throat, and Hairu trembles.
“You performed admirably,” Matsumae murmurs. Her mouth — a ghoul’s mouth — seems so much like a human’s. Even her lips have the faintest gloss of color.
This is it, Hairu realizes. Her mouth is dry and filled with the taste of iron from where she bit herself earlier. Ui was right. Matsumae is too high-ranked, too powerful. She’s practically exuding power.
And now — now that Hairu’s squad has prevented Matsumae’s group from taking any bodies at all to their starving master —
“No,” Matsumae whispers.
“What?” Hairu gasps. Matsumae’s nails stroke the bone of Hairu’s throat, up to the curve behind her ear.
“What you’re thinking is incorrect,” Matsumae says. “I won’t take you to them. You are mine.”
Her eyes are dark and rich as ink; her gaze encompasses. Hairu’s breath catches. Without thinking, her lips part, just a little, and Matsumae leans forward, and kisses her, gently.
They inhale, together. Their bodies come a little closer; the strands of their hair intertwine. Then Matsumae pulls away, but not before her tongue softly laps up the blood from Hairu’s bitten lip. She releases Hairu’s arm and starts to retreat, but it’s too late. Hairu is already lunging, and with one swift motion she drags Matsumae’s face back to hers.
:::
Ui’s brow is furrowed when she gets back. He has a lot of things to say, stuff like where the hell were you and we couldn’t find the masked ghouls without you and did you even catch her? Cigarette ashes are practically frothing with saliva in the corner of his mouth.
But Hairu isn’t listening. She smiles back, blandly, hands folded behind her back. At the last moment she had bitten Matsumae’s lower lip, and the sharp taste of it lingers on her tongue. It’s overpowering. It steeps.
:::
Hairu had sighed as she kissed her, drawn in a long and fragrant breath, and the droplets had bloomed on her tongue with the flavor of roses.