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So you apologize.
You see your adoptive parents stop, you see your mother hurriedly scoop you into her arms and you see her mouth moving as she speaks to her husband. You see yourself snuggle into her arms, your wide hazel eyes staring up and maybe past her to this you: the one watching your life frame by frame. The movie of your time on this earth. You want to stay here for as long as you can, basking in the warmth of her memory. It's gone too soon, just as it was when you truly knew her. You loved her when she was there, she was warm and happy and her smile lit up your day like no other. Only a year. You spent only a year in her embrace until she left, her departure an eruption of anger and loud voices that left you in tears. By the time you'd stopped crying, she was gone leave you and your father and his gambling addiction behind to rot. Rot in the sins of his own making, the ones he gives to you as the money flies out the window, bill by bill, debt by debt.
He calls you cold-hearted, your father, watches as you drop and drop and drop everything that once interested you. Distanced, different. That's what they said you were. Really, you were just searching for something, anything that would hold your interest long enough to bring you some reason. The plants stayed the longest, it was for survival at that point with you and your father so dirt poor that they filled your belly when a regular home cooked meal couldn't. Or wouldn't. Negativity becomes your playground, your heart quickly numbing and desensitizing from it even as school rounded the corner and you went. You shouldered your backpack, your books, your studies, your fears and the wall around your heart. It wasn't a purposeful wall and it didn't protect you from friendships, those you welcomed and fed off of. Ate up the smiles around you because you knew the darkness of your home would be void of them.
Mikoto Suoh is the one subject that does not fade. He is your red fire in the nights where the cold leaches into your bones and you have naught but a ratty blanket to hold against your chest for warm, the rough mittens on your fingers scratching at your nose. You admire him, you admire the crown of gold atop his head and the heavy title that comes with his name. So begins, the following, your footsteps in the prints left by his. They were much too big and you were much too small but that didn't stop you for a second. You pranced after, and for once there was a sunlit sky above you instead of the dreary rainy days and the plattering of the drops against the roof, collecting at your feet and soaking into your socks.
Don't worry! It becomes your slogan to the king. You don't know if he ever believes you or if he ever stops worrying - if he did to begin with, but you keep saying it. You say when he comes to your bedside after the fight that landed you in the hospital. It had been a short thing, considering you were naught but skin, bones and a smile big enough for you, the king and Kusanagi Izumo. It was hardly a fight, more along the lines of you being beaten up in the street, broken bones and bloody nose in all. It hurt, everything hurt and yet the smile remained and you promised that one day you would be a part of the Red King's clan, that someday you'd follow him like you had always wanted to. You don't know where the thought was born from, maybe it was in the schoolyard when he was tall and quiet and strong. Everything that you had wanted to be, everything that you knew you couldn't be. Maybe you could find it in him.
You keep your promise to become his vassal and it ends too soon.
Oh, Anna. It's a fleeting thought, a strong one despite it's smoky quality. You still feel bad for missing her birthday, for being unable to be there. You remember the pictures and you hope your family can hang them somewhere to remember all the good times they all had together. You hope that Anna will look at them and remember that you loved her most of all. Your little sister. You hope that Misaki will look at them and smile, laugh about the time you fell off the skateboard and skinned your knee.
"Don't worry!" you say one last time and the memories cease, your eyes peering into Misaki's just long enough to see the tears form before the darkness closes in. You were smiling when you died.
also, @the reader, you're beautiful
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tatara + name
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your shipping stuff goes here~
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<a href="http://heartsigh.net/index.php?showtopic=4221">click here to reply to my shipper</a>
so i have a lot of thoughts on saru w totsuka, because obviously by the time s1 happened saru was already in scepter4, and i think totsuka would have been one of the people who realised saru didn't really fit in with homra as he was. saru doesn't hate totsuka at all, never did, never will, and he was probably pretty messed up when he found out that totsuka died, even if he didn't show it, because after all he was still one of his old clansmen and he was also a nice dude??? and saru knows the difference between good and bad and probs was pissed that of all people it had to happen to totsuka. who knows maybe saru will apologise to him for not being there. maybe. saru's a weird mess rn bc of yata. but i want them to meet up and have a fistbump, because saru definitely holds no ill feelings towards totsuka and it'd be nice for them to reunite again since saru obvs never saw him before he died. :<