While she blinks at Sayuri's question, she's not entirely surprised by it. A lot of bitterness and trauma can be traced back to childhood, and one's parents in particular—-whether they themselves were the source of stress, or if a peaceful home was stripped away by their loss. Kirika purses her lips as she considers her own past; her origins have always been a mystery since the first day she arrived at the shrine, and she wonders if her answer will disappoint the other.

"I'm not entirely sure," she admits lightly. "I know I was very young, since I don't really remember them. It's possible that they abandoned me here as a baby."

Given  her  own  fixation  on  matters  of  the  past,  Sayuri  struggled  to  imagine  an  existence  defined  by  unknown  origins     —     her  entire  being  chiseled  from  the  scarred  fragments  of  a  life  stolen  from  her  by  the  merciless  hand  of  fate.      Without  the  love  she  still  harbored  for  her  parents,  and  the  grief  that  had  irrevocably  taken  root  in  its  shadow,  who  would  she  even  be?      Her  motivations,  her  anger,  everything  that  drove  her  forward  through  this  life  devoted  to  defiance...      all  of  it  had  been  born  from  what  had  once  been,  only  to  be  cruelly  taken  away. 

❝   Hmm.   ❞      Usually  oh-so-sharp,  her  voice  carried  an  unusual  pensiveness  as  slender,  manicured  fingers  reached  for  a  first  taste  of  sweetness;      a  welcome  distraction  that  bloomed  across  her  tongue  as  a  fruit-shaped  namagashi  disappeared  between  painted  lips.      ❝   Abandoning  your  own  child.      What  kind  of  parent  does  that?   ❞      

A  possibly  presumptuous  sentiment,  coming  from  someone  fortunate  enough  to  have  known  nothing  but  the  unwavering  love  of  devoted  parents     —     at  least  for  as  long  as  they  had  lingered  among  the  living.      ❝   People  like  that  stain  the  very  idea  of  family.      Pisses  me  off.   ❞      

❝ it’d make my life easier if you did. ❞ sumire grumbles, clutching her fractured hand with her uninjured one. ❝ i don’t want to spend all of my time explaining my technique to you. ❞ perhaps sayuri was a visual learner; the consequences of using her technique would be showed through the gore of her left hand. but her technique was powerful, and that was what had given her the classification of special grade.

A  time-out?      The  suggestion  coaxed  a  laugh  from  my  derisively  curled  lips,  emphasizing  my  reaction  to  the  idea  much  as  one  would  dismiss  an  especially  poor  joke.      Frankly,  I  did  think  of  it  as  little  more  than  an  unserious  product  of  pain-induced  rambling;      that  anyone,  least  of  all  an  opponent,  could  truly  consider  me  generous  enough  to  grant  them  even  a  moment’s  respite  seemed  a  fantastical  illusion  at  best. 

Instead  of  such  an  unexpected  display  of  benevolence,  I  merely  clicked  my  tongue  in  thinly  veiled  annoyance.      ❝   Quit  your  whining.   ❞      It  wasn’t  as  though  it  fell  on  willing  ears,  anyway.      ❝   If  you’re  still  wasting  breath  complaining,  you’re  obviously  not  hurting  enough.   ❞  

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋     . . .     where's  Light?

@mugenao     ／    Satoru  Gojō,  Jujutsu  Kaisen.  very  low  to  no  activity.  (hiatus)

@choyume     ／    Shinobu  Kochō,  Kimetsu  No  Yaiba.  very  low  to  no  activity.  (hiatus)

@harleyridin     ／    Claire  Redfield,  Resident  Evil.  medium  to  low  activity.

@akuroi     ／    original  character,  fandomless  (horror-based).  low  activity.

@majirimono     ／    Yoshiki  Tsujinaka,  The  Summer  Hikaru  Died.  low  activity.

I've  considered  putting  Shinobu  and  Satoru  on  an  official  hiatus  for  a  while  now,  even  though  that  decision  doesn't  stem  from  any  lack  of  interest  or  love  for  those  characters.  They  are  both  very  dear  to  me,  and  that's  exactly  why  I  made  that  decision:  I  don't  want  to  half-ass  things  by  trying  to  keep  them  active  when  I'm  currently  lacking  muse  for  them.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I'll  return  to  both  of  them  eventually,  though!  I  might  even  remake  their  blogs  once  the  muse  sparks  again,  who  knows.  For  now,  however,  you  can  consider  them  inactive.

As  for  Claire,  honestly,  I  simply  don't  see  enough  engagement  to  justify  her  status  as  a  high-activity  muse,  and  I'm  just  kinda  past  the  point  of  trying  to  chase  it.  Plus,  I  don't  exactly  feel  comfortable  within  the  RE  fandom,  so  taking  a  step  back  it  is.

Just  keeping  things  lowkey  with  Sayuri,  honestly.  Nothing  particularly  sparks  my  muse  at  the  moment,  so  we're  taking  her  from  medium  to  low  to  low  and  slow.

Bringing  back  my  sweet  angel  boy  Yoshiki  was  mostly  a  self-indulgent  decision,  honestly,  because  I'm  aware  that  TSHD  isn't  particularly  popular  on  Tumblr.  I'm  approaching  him  with  the  expectation  of  low  engagement,  so  he's  generally  listed  as  a  low-activity  muse.  Did  I  mention  he's  a  sweet  angel?

❝    ⠀FROM  NOW  ON,  EVEN  IF  YA  KILL  SOMEONE  AGAIN,  I'LL  CARRY  THAT  SIN  WITH  YOU.    ⠀❞

❝ you wouldn't want to deprive the world of the voice of gojo satoru, would you? ❞

𝐀𝐍  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖  𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃  𝐀𝐒  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄  𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒;  her  fingers,  manicured  and  murderous  in  intent,  rose  and  aimed  toward  him  in  an  attempt  to  either  satisfy  the  urge  to  throttle  him  by  reenacting  the  gesture  or  will  that  bothersome,  invisible  barrier  out  of  existence  through  sheer  force  of  irritation. 

❝   I’ll  do  the  world  a  favor  by  making  the  knot  extra  tight  and  wiping  that  stupid  grin  off  your  face.   ❞  

Good friends.

The words cause a blush to flood her cheeks, desperately trying to hide it behind a quick toast and a sip of the wine. When was the last time she'd called someone a friend? When she was a child? "I see. Yes. Friends." It comes out flat, a statement of fact, yet she found the words to be endearing.

𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄,  Sayuri  absentmindedly  thought  as  the  treacherous  flush  of  pink  crept  up  Nara’s  neck  and  cheeks     —     a  melodic  chuckle  poised  upon  her  painted  lips  while  she  merely  offered  an  easy  shrug  of  her  shoulders  in  return.  

❝   Oh,  you  know...   ❞  she  began,  voice  bordering  on  an  all-too-familiar  drawl  as  she  skillfully  circled  around  matters  of  a  more  serious  nature.  ❝   I’m  not  much  of  a  fan  of  the  whole  concept  of  physical  labor.   ❞  

A  pause  followed,  filled  only  by  a  leisurely  sip  from  her  undoubtedly  expensive  choice  of  drink;  savored  with  the  brazen  confidence  of  someone  who  didn’t  stop  to  question  whether  she  truly  deserved  to  dine  somewhere  so  refined.  ❝   I  have  my  own...  peculiar  means  of  gathering  riches.  Let’s  just  say  some  people  deserve  their  luxuries  far  less  than  others,  and  I’m  rather  enthusiastic  about  reestablishing  that  balance.   ❞  

“Evidently I wasn’t told soon enough,” I said, the weight of my lower back sinking slightly into the counter. “Guess if I’d been smarter I would’ve stuck to the nine to five. They always said that was the safest bet.” Though it’s not like I ever wanted safe, not really: I’d spent so many years under my grandmother’s conservative thumb that by the end of it all, safe felt like suicide. The refuge of home can only hold you for so long. “But I’m sure you’re not here to talk about hypotheticals…”

In the top left corner of the window, the moon glared silver. I raised my hands to the counter behind me and gripped its square edge, my thumbnail pressed into the skin of my knuckle. As quickly as her grin came, I mirrored it, wondering remotely if her smile would endure its charm even with my red inside it... but then her voice cut through me, glass-like and electric, before I could conclude any solid answer. 

“An exchange,” I repeated, hanging on to her every word. There was a cloying, sticky drawl to her voice. “What do you mean by exchange?” Though I was certain I knew exactly what she meant. Her dreadful creativity, surprising in neither its presence nor timing, was something I should’ve expected, invalid or not. It was almost impressive, honestly, the way she set her own dance against my music, proud and arrogant, like a bad dog threatening bite even when cornered to a dead end.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒    —     the obvious, blaring ones that separated natural predator from prey, as well as the subtler shades of moral divergence     —     Akikō and I appeared to agree on one thing: the tragedy hidden beneath the veil of so-called security.  

Truth be told, I could hardly imagine anything more dreadful than a life dedicated to schedules and repetition; my eyes, more accustomed to lingering in the shadows of alleyways than beneath fluorescent office lights, had followed those who squandered their lives in chiyoda-ku more than once with something remarkably close to pity. 

In my personal, free-spirited opinion, few fates seemed worse than such a slow death of individuality. 

  ❝   You don’t strike me the type to wither away in a soulless office building, Akikō-chan.   ❞  The suffix slipped from my tongue with practiced ease; the creation of something inviting and sweet by a mouth far more accustomed to venom. Then again, the sweetest nectar served little purpose beyond luring in those foolish enough to crave its taste.  ❝   Dying in a blaze of glory, a hero’s tragic demise... at least there’s some dignity in that, right?   ❞  

I leaned forward then, pointedly ignoring the wave of dizziness that accompanied that simple motion; the haze of fatigue spreading its greedy tendrils to claw at my slipping focus, as though my own body protested at even such a simple movement. Pathetic. 

Still, I smiled; the curve of my lips of equally artificial origin as the honeyed lilt of my tone, sweetness spun from deception and offered freely to my former nemesis. The cunning brown of my almond-eyes traced over Akikō’s countenance, trailing and piercing and quietly calculating.  ❝   You’re cute when you’re trying to deceive yourself.   ❞  The malformed compliment came forth with all the ambiguity of a caress that threatened to become a strike: after all, wasn’t bite just another word for touch? Intimacy, as I understood it, did not stop at the draw of blood or the lasting mark of bruises. 

This time, however, I wrapped the sentiment in something more palatable to the human perception; the lazy trail of my fingertips across the countertop’s smooth surface a playful one as I inched ever closer to where her fingers rested against its unyielding edge. Only my smile sharpened as it widened enough to reveal a glimpse of white canines.  ❝   You couldn’t kill me... not only for reasons that have anything to do with strength.   ❞  

My gaze drifted lower, past the delicate curve of her neck and down along her shoulder until it settled upon her wrist     —     light blue veins branching delicately beneath porcelain skin.  ❝   As for the exchange...   ❞  I hummed, voice dropping into something almost melodic,  ❝   I’m thinking of... a sign of your trust. A pledge of devotion. Something... visceral.   ❞