Helix906
LightNews LightNews
banner
helix906.bsky.social
Helix906
@helix906.bsky.social
110 followers 61 following 62 posts
Posts Replies Media Videos
Reposted by Helix906
philbertfrog.bsky.social
Manifestation
July 2, 2025 at 7:50 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
Part 26: The Consequences of Tardiness
Shikamaru’s plan had been for Kawaki to arrive at the clinic to meet Sarada as soon as her exam was over to take up his fabricated escort duties. But who’d have expected that fucking girl to go to the hospital at eight-thirty in the goddamn morning, giving Kawaki the pleasure of waking up to Inojin’s whiny voice telling him to get his ass out of bed. The pasty kid had been brought on as a sensory shinobi after his injury, probably a pity hire after Jura’s attack fucked him up so bad that he couldn’t stand for any useful length of time. At least that’s what Kawaki figured after having Inojin intrude into his head on occasion with orders from Shikamaru. Ah, good old fashioned Konoha nepotism at its best. He might resent it more if Inojin hadn’t been the only thing that stopped Himawari from becoming tree fertilizer for Jura. Kawaki would offer up all the arms and legs of every member of Team 10 if it meant keeping Lord Seventh’s daughter safe. He fights to get into his clothes from the day before while getting briefed on her medical status. So, Shikamaru did sent orders over to alter her recovery plan to include an escort, but it turns out that there’s still some optic neuritis visible upon examination— What the fuck is that? Kawaki asks, pulling his shirt over his head in the still-dark room. Do I sound like a medical professional? I think it’s swelling of her optic nerve, but I’m not entirely sure. They expected it to decrease by now with her not using her Sharingan. It’s a bad sign that it hasn’t. Not using her Sharingan. Right. Like she hadn’t used it the day she’d tailed him to the training session with Himawari. Like it hadn’t activated again when she’d stupidly gone to Boruto’s bedroom, getting herself worked up for no reason over some old pictures and a bed that he’d be too fucking tall to sleep in now. Anyway, Inojin continues, Aunt Sakura was debating putting her on steroids, but there’s no good data on how they’ll affect a doujutsu user when the source of inflammation is chakra. When Sakura noticed the updates Lord Hokage had inserted into her medical record, suggesting Sarada have an escort to monitor her Sharingan use, she decided it was worth a try before embarking on an untested treatment. You’ll have to bring her back in two days for another exam to see how it’s progressing. So, the fake excuse he had for following her around to protect her from Hidari had turned into an actual issue once a doctor had gotten a look at her? It’s too fucking much for him to digest when it’s this early and he’s turning his pants right side out, the tight pain in his hand reminding him of his knuckles, still battered and busted from the day before. Kawaki sighs. What do I actually have to do? Showing up on time would have been a good start, but you’re late, and she’s pissed that she’s been ordered to wait for you. Apparently, there’s something Eida wanted to do today, and you being late is making her late. She’d be pissed anyway. Inojin gives him a thoughtful hum. You know, she didn’t argue as much as she might have, but you’ve definitely started off on the wrong foot now. Guess that’s what happens when you can’t get out of bed at a decent hour. You’re just lucky the tests took so long. Nine-thirty in the morning isn’t a decent hour. That’s the whole problem. He shakes the wrinkles out of his coat before shrugging it on. Anything else I need to know? That’s it. Just keep her away from Hidari, and stop her from using her Sharingan. If you have any problems, Lord Hokage wants to hear about them.
June 27, 2025 at 4:18 PM
Reposted by Helix906
untimelyk.bsky.social
❤️
#sarada #boruto
June 27, 2025 at 12:23 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
Part 13: A Token

(1/3)
“Are you experiencing any pain?” Seated on the exam table, Sarada follows Shizune’s finger while the older medic shines a penlight into her right eye. “No.” “Headaches? Eye pressure?” Shizune turns to the tray and picks up a magnifying instrument to get a closer look “No,” Sarada says again. She doesn’t like lying, but it’s easy to justify at that moment. Is she feeling any pain now? No, a few aspirin tablets taken right before she left the house had cleared up the faint headache that had been bothering her. It’d been nothing like what she’d experienced yesterday, the pounding pain that had grown behind her eye as she watched Kawaki and Himawari spar. She hadn’t even seen anything that had happened after the third bout, blinded by how much it hurt. Eyes closed, drawing in slow, deep breaths, she had concentrated on telling herself over and over that the pain would pass, which it did after she passed out. “Look up, to the right, to the left, now down.” Shizune frowns a little, taking a step back. “Your optic nerve is still inflamed, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Recovery takes time. You’re getting enough sleep?” “As much as I can.” Again, it isn’t quite a lie. Sarada is sleeping as much as possible, even if that amounted to maybe an hour or two a night and a few brief naps during the day. The first night she’d been back in the house and unable to sleep, she thought she’d functioned well enough. Today, though, her body feels more jittery than tired, like she’d downed two liters of coffee and gotten all of the side effects and none of the energy. “Well, I don’t see anything immediately concerning.” She picks up Sarada’s chart and pulls a pen out of her lab coat, scratching down a few notes. “If the inflammation isn’t improving by your next visit, I’ll have to consult with your mother on a different course of treatment, maybe some pharmacological intervention. We’re not there yet, though. You’re free to go, unless you want to wait for Sakura to get out of the staff meeting. I’m sure she’d love to have breakfast with you.” Sarada slides off the table, picking up the jacket that had been lying by her side. “I have a meeting at Hokage Tower this morning, but tell her I said hello.” “And you tell Shikamaru that he’s not supposed to work you too hard while you’re recovering, okay?” It’s still early when Sarada leaves the clinic, swept into the flow of civilians walking to their weekday jobs. She’d decided that morning would be her refuge today, leaving before Eida and Daemon woke. Just as she’d suspected, Kawaki had decided that sleeping on the couch posed too much of a risk to do it a second time after his rude awakening at the hands of Daemon. With some okayu steaming away in the rice cooker, garnishes prepared to top the porridge, and the table set, she figured the other residents of the house could finish their own breakfasts from there. After yesterday’s string of debacles, Sarada wanted to be as far from the house as possible. Away from Eida, who couldn’t stop probing Sarada about her love life. Away from Daemon and the mayhem that occurred whenever he walked into a room. Away from Kawaki’s constant and unexpected intrusions. He was taking his little “oversee Sarada’s recovery” orders a little too seriously, getting into her space too often when both of them much preferred to avoid one another. What had been the worst part of yesterday? Getting caught following him, and potentially arousing his suspicion that she was following him? Being ordered to wrap her arms around his neck and flown back like some useless invalid? Or had it been when he had the audacity to come to her room, invade her single sanctuary in the entire house, taunt her about trying to save Boruto, then order her to go to bed as though she was an insolent child?
May 16, 2025 at 6:36 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(2/3)
There’s only one person she can blame for their current arrangement, who happens to be the man she’s about to see. She’s frothing mad by the time she gets to the door of the Hokage’s Office, stalking past the objections of the guards and into his office. The chaos of paper towers that always occupied the Hokage’s desk in Naruto’s day had been tamed by Shikamaru’s tenure in office. There’s a few neat piles in front of him as well as a computer screen, an overloaded tray of smoked cigarettes, and a coffee mug big enough to take a bath in. “Oh, Sarada—” Despite being told that she was supposed to visit him, he looks a bit surprised to see her so early. She marches up to her desk, planting her hands on its top. “This whole arrangement with Kawaki watching me isn’t working out. Tell him to cut it out.” Shikamaru reaches for his cigarettes, tapping one out of the packet. “I gave you both your orders.” She hears a second response from him in her head, not directed at her. I thought you told her to yell at me about Boruto. I did, Inojin responds. Nice improvisation, Sarada. Ugh, fine. I can work with it. Keep yelling at me for a few minutes. “I’m serious,” she says, not sure if she’s playing along or venting her frustrations. “It’s counterproductive to my recovery. Bring someone else in to do it.” “There isn’t anyone else.” His lighter snicks as he holds it up to the end of his cigarette. “It’s just two weeks—” “Two weeks too long.” “If you haven’t noticed, I have more pressing things to be concerned with than your petty grievances.” Petty grievances. That’s a good one, Inojin adds. Sarada glares at Shikamaru as he puffs on his cigarette. I don’t like this arrangement. Tough, he responds in her head. It’s our best chance to get you closer to Kawaki. He’d be suspicious otherwise. This way, he thinks he’s in control of your interactions. Take advantage of that. Don’t let the fact that you’re uncomfortable with it get in the way of your mission. Now, tell me that you proved that you don’t need supervision after the mission to the Sand. Sarada blinks. What? Just do it, Inojin adds. She straightens, placing her hands on her hips. “Then let me take care of myself. After what happened in the Sand, it should be clear enough that I don’t need anyone else telling me what to do.” Shikamaru leans back in his chair, sucking on the end of his cigarette while giving her a once-over, as if he’s sizing her up. “Do you know why you’re still a genin, Sarada?” “Because I don’t follow orders.” The Hokage exhales a cloud of smoke. “No, that’s not it. And it’s not about your abilities or strength, either. It’s because a chunin is a leader. A genin is a leader. A Hokage is a leader. You? You haven’t proved you’re capable of leading anyone yet.” She hopes for some mental remark to follow, softening his words, but none comes. “Yes, sir,” she says after a moment of silence. “I have a diplomatic problem, though. Kankuro wanted me to extend his thanks to you in your role, helping to recover Shinki’s Thorn Soul Bulb. He called me last night to say that his nephew had been freed, and the Kazekage is now recovering in the hospital as well. That’s all thanks to you, Sarada.” Shikamaru reaches into his desk and pulls out a small box, placing it between them.” I can’t give you a promotion. That’d be irresponsible when I know you’re not up to the job. But I can’t let the work you did go unrecognized, either. So, I’m asking that you take this as a token of appreciation, both from our village and from the Sand. You may not be able to wear it now, but you’ll have it for a future in which you can.”
May 16, 2025 at 6:36 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(3/3)
Sarada picks it up, mind reeling. “Thank you.” “Thank you,” Shikamaru says, turning back to his computer monitor. “You’re dismissed. I don’t expect I’ll be hearing any more complaints from you about Kawaki in the near future.” Sarada bows slightly, hurrying out of the office. Knowing that the Thorn Soul Bulb was supposed to free a person trapped in a divine tree and hearing that it had, without additional complications, were two different things. If it had worked for Shinki, that means it’d also work for her father. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sarada thought of what happened to Sasuke as her fault. She’d asked him to save Boruto, to become a rogue ninja once more, to abandon the village. Not only had he done all that for her, but he’d been willing to give up his life to protect Boruto. For her, not for anyone else. That guilt was something she was just starting to grapple with, just like her conflict with Sumire, just like her desire to be Hokage, just like her feelings for Boruto. She’d been avoiding them because facing them head on would force her to grapple with the possibility that she might not succeed in her goals or save anyone she loved. But hearing that Shinki had been freed meant that Sasuke could be freed as well. She’s lost in thought by the time she gets to the bottom of the stairwell, not expecting to hear Inojin still in her head. Hey, did you look in the box yet? No, I— We were asked to give it to you. Go ahead, open it. Sarada glances around, making sure she’s alone, then pulls the little wooden box out of her pocket and slides the lid back. Nestled on a little cushion is a little piece of metal shaped like the head of a bolt. She picks up the pin, turning it over in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the polished surface. Is this what I think it is? she asks Inojin, not realizing he’s no longer there to answer.
May 16, 2025 at 6:36 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(4/4)
“For me, yeah. Sumire… She used to have bad dreams sometimes. Stuff about her childhood. She’d come over to sleep in my room, or I’d go to hers. But I’m not used to getting woken up by them myself.” “I know what that’s like.” Kawaki isn’t sure he’s ever had a good dream in his life. They’re all terrible, the past that haunts him creeping up even in the only place he ever finds peace. So, he decides to tell Sarada what he tells himself whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat. “Dreams are just our way of working through things. They can’t actually hurt you. Just remember, a nightmare is just processing reality. Reality itself is the real horror.” Sarada sits on her bed, staring at him, dumbfounded. “Anyway, sweet dreams,” he says, reaching over to flick off her lightswitch before closing the door.
May 14, 2025 at 4:45 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(3/4)
One side of the room has an open closet displaying mostly black outfits, the other side has an alcove with a little makeshift office nestled into it in front of a large window looking out at the night sky. On the desk is the book she was reading last night, pages marked with little colored tabs, and a notebook full of neat handwriting. “He can’t be saved by some ninjutsu bullshit.” “Excuse me—” Kawaki jerks his chin towards the book. “It’s about sealing jutsu, right? If that could have gotten rid of Momoshiki, don’t you think Lord Seventh would have at least tried it?” “We don’t know what he did and didn’t try. It shouldn’t stop us from looking into other possibilities.” Her whisper is harsh, trying to broadcast her outrage as quietly as possible, given the other people sleeping in the house. “Boruto is his son, Sarada. You don’t think he tried anything and everything in his power to stop Momoshiki from taking over? Just because this is the first time it’s bothering you—” He must have started leaning forward during their argument. Either that, or she took a step forward to get right in his face. “Oh, so let’s just kill him. That’s your plan. Kill him and tell Himawari what an awful person he is. That he murdered his parents. That he betrayed the village. You know he’s not guilty, but you just lie about it. To Himawari of all people.” He should have known she’d been a little more pissy at him than usual since that morning, but it was hard to tell when she was just generally disgruntled versus being riled up about something specific. It’s not his fault that her emotional range existed on a scale of annoyed to irate. “She should know the truth—” Sarada grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt; Kawaki grabs her wrist to keep her from shoving him backwards into the wall. “You’re telling her lies, bastard.” “I’m telling her the truth in a way that she can understand.” Sarada tightens her grip on his shirt, he tightens his grip on her wrist. She looks him over, eyes blacker than the night sky outside. “You’re just upset that she doesn’t hate him because that means she doesn’t hate you.” Oh, bravo. Fantastic observation. Maybe she should look into a career as one of the counselors they keep trying to force him to see every time he goes in for a physical instead of being the next Hokage. “I don’t expect you to understand.” He uses her wrist to push her backwards, far enough that she’s forced to let go of his shirt before he releases her. “What I expect you to do is go the fuck to bed.” “Fine.” She spits out the first consonant as though there’s another single syllable f-word she’d like to say in response. She walks over to her bed and kicks off her slippers before sitting down on it. “Happy?” “Eight to ten hours,” he reminds her. “Actual sleep, not reading stupid books.” Sarada tucks her legs beneath her, making no moves to actually lie down. “You act like I’m not sleeping to read instead of reading because I can’t sleep.” The idea of not being able to sleep is laughable to Kawaki. But, then it hits him. “Bad dreams?” Sarada picks at her comforter rather than look at him, probably in denial that she was talking to him about it in the first place. “Yeah.” “Are they new?” Kawaki has a pretty good idea of what might have happened to Sarada to stir up nightmares recently. Not that it’s something he hasn’t been dealing with for a while now.
May 14, 2025 at 4:45 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(2/4)
He glares at it, as though glaring at it could make it go out, then heads for the kitchen, grabbing a prepackaged egg salad sandwich from the fridge. Girls stay out of the boys rooms, boys stay out of the girls rooms. It was a rule laid down by Shikamaru long ago, and a rule Kawaki lived by not out of compliance but because he had no desire to violate it. What the hell would he want in a girl’s room anyway? The only reason that he’d ever walked down that hallway in the first place was to get to the laundry area located outside their bath, and that was only on rare occasions when he returned from a mission gross enough that he didn’t want to leave his clothing in a hamper, stinking up his room. Just yesterday, it would have been unthinkable for him to consider knocking on one of their doors, but as he’s hunched over the table, eating his sandwich, that’s exactly what he’s considering, and it seems like his only option, too. She’d fallen out of a fucking tree that morning like a bird having a heart attack. She’d worn herself out against orders. From the way she’d been grabbing her face, it had been easy enough to surmise that she’d used her Sharingan, too. And to what end? Annoying the shit out of him? And now, when she’s supposed to be sleeping, she’s up at—Kawaki pauses in his internal rant to check the clock of his shoulder—she’s up at a quarter after two in the fucking morning. His indignation carries him all the way to her room, his half-eaten sandwich left in the kitchen. At some point, she’d added a palm-sized Uchiha crest to the door, declaring it to be her own. That’s where he knocks, square in the middle of the red fan. Loud, but not loudly enough, he hopes, to wake either Daemon or Eida. He hears nothing at first, making him wonder if she slept with the light on, and he’d never noticed before. What a shithead he’d be if he woke her in order to tell her to go to sleep. But before his mind wanders too far down that path, the latch turns and Sarada jerks open the door. Whatever annoyance she had at being interrupted magnifies tenfold when she sees that it’s him doing the interrupting. “What do you want?” The only thing intimidating about her is the murderous glare coming from behind her glasses. Beyond that, she’s wearing the same red robe she had on the previous evening, its belt haphazardly tied on the side as though she’d just thrown it on. Her hair is washed, but unstyled, lying flat in a kind of shaggy pixie cut. She’s wearing slippers. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Well, thanks for the heads up…” Sarcastic response delivered, she goes to shut the door. Kawaki puts his hand in the door jam, knowing it’s going to hurt when it’s slammed on his fingers, but figuring it’s going to hurt less than a pot of hot coffee to the lap. She stops just short of closing the door on his hand, yanking it open wide this time, giving him a full view of her bedroom. If her bedroom is any indication, it’s clear that Sarada isn’t the one who decorated the downstairs bathroom. Her room is smaller than his, but still bigger than any of the bedrooms in the Uzumaki home. Its walls are a deep red, reminding him that Eida went through an interior design phase about a year ago and forced Sumire and Sarada to come along. There’s a black and white painting over her bed, something abstract, brushstrokes of gloopy paint evoking the feeling of leaves carried on the wind. Her bed is a futon on a platform, white mattress covered by a black comforter and a red blanket with matching square pillows. It appears made but mussed, sat on while not being slept in.
May 14, 2025 at 4:45 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
Part 12: Lies and Honesty

(1/4)
Sarada storms off to her room the second they get back to the house, slamming the door as though it has the power to seal him out of her life forever. Whatever. Kawaki doesn’t expect gratitude, he doesn’t expect to be understood. A long, painful life had taught him that he needed to do what he thinks is right, everyone else be damned, which includes Sarada. If she hates him for it? Good. It’s better than Naruto, who had tried to convince him he was a kind human being. Better than Boruto, who still sees him like a brother. Better than Mitsuki who clings him like a hangnail, and a whole hell of a lot better than Eida, who only cares about him selfishly, wanting to make him out to be someone he’s not, someone capable of returning the kind of love she wants to fulfill a desire all her own. In comparison to Eida, he finds something gratifying in Sarada’s loathing, the contempt that saturates their every interaction resonating with the same hate he feels for himself. She hates him, and he hates himself. It’s validating that one of the few people in the world now capable of seeing Kawaki for who he truly is agrees with his assessment that he’s little more than a piece of garbage, meant to be discarded after he serves his purpose. But Sarada’s pigheaded inability to not follow doctors orders? That pisses him off. It’s his business to make sure she heals fully, that her abilities not only recover but continue to grow. And it’s not just because Shikamaru put him in charge of her; it’s a matter of personal interest as well. At least with Sarada in her room, he can lie to himself that she’s resting. He eats cold noodles out of the fridge, his first real meal of the day, washed down by a can of iced coffee. Just when he’s about to go up to his own room to shut out the rest of the world for a few hours, he’s called in as backup for a Claw Grime sighting just outside the village. Hours of investigation later and nothing to show for it other than a bunch of freaky footprints, he reports his findings to Hokage Tower, and, in the process, gets pulled into a useless meeting about patrol formations that he hadn’t been asked to attend in the first place. Back to the house by the late afternoon, he finds a shopping bag outside his bedroom door, indicating that Eida returned after blowing more of the stipend the village supplies her with on bullshit clothing he doesn’t care about. He kicks it into his room without bothering to look inside, takes off his coat, and flops face-first down into his mattress. Later, he wakes with a start, body sweating, heart pounding and lungs starving for air. A Jigen dream. Been a few weeks since he’d had one of those, but the bastard is always lurking inside of him, a reminder that he will never be free, will never know peace, until every single Otsutsuki is dead. Should have expected Jigen to check in after what happened with Himawari that morning. A quick shower washes away the sweat and the sense that his skin is crawling. He’s almost feeling good by the time he puts on pajama pants and a shirt, walking barefoot downstairs into the downstairs living area, the lights off and the room empty. Good, because the last thing he needs is another late-night spat with Sarada when all he wants is a goddamned sandwich. Now, Kawaki must hate himself more than he previously realized, because why else would he have bothered to glance down the girls’ hallway when passing by, noticing the thin line of light coming out from beneath the door to Sarada’s room?
May 14, 2025 at 4:45 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(3/3)
It’s just like Sarada to assume he wants to do anything he does. It’s like assuming he wants to breathe or eat or wake up in the morning. He does things because he has to, not because he gets another choice, which includes keeping Sarada from hurting herself. At least for now. While she’s coiling the rope, Kawaki is forced to consider the ramifications of her caving in: what’s the least problematic way to carry her? He suspects Boruto wouldn’t have given the matter a second thought, scooping her up in his arms and ferrying her across like some kind of comic book hero. He couldn’t do that, but he wasn’t about to toss her over his shoulder like a sack of rice, either, her ass in his face. His eyes drift over her, considering all the parts of her he doesn’t want to inadvertently touch, and there’s a heck of a lot of them. “What?” It’s not so much of a question than it is a demand that he stop staring, made as she glares at him from behind her glasses. “Get on my back.” When she makes no moves to actually comply with his demand, Kawaki walks over and squats down, facing away from her. “On my back now. I won’t drop you.” She steps forward, sighing loudly as she loops her arms around his neck. Kawaki stands, lifting her off the ground before walking forward, stepping off the edge of the gorge and into open space. His Otsutuski powers take over, carrying him off the ground. He adjusts his orientation as they begin to float until his front is parallel with the ground below, and Sarada is lying on his back. “Any complaints?” There’s a pause indicating that she has lots of complaints, just not about her position on his back. “No.” “Good.” The moment he’s sure she’s secure, he wraps a hand around the arms encircling his neck to hold her in place before tearing off in the direction of the big house up on the hill at breakneck speed, ensuring that neither of them will have to spend more than a second longer than necessary in physical contact with one another.
May 13, 2025 at 9:16 AM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(2/3)
“It’s a chakra injury, right?” This comes from Himawari who had come up behind him and isnow peering over his shoulder. “I can do a lot for physical healing, but not for that.” “It’s nothing.” She manages to stand, wincing as she does as though the daytime light is far too bright. “I just need some rest.” So that’s it. One little excursion, following him around as though she was the one ordered to keep an eye on him, rather than the other way around, and she’d already overdone it. “Good job, Himawari,” she manages, putting out her fist to the younger girl, a smile on her face. “Keep at it.” Himawari bumps it. “Thanks, Sarada.” She avoids Kawaki’s disapproving gaze entirely when she turns around, bounding up into the trees and disappearing. “You can go after her, you know,” Himawari says after watching him stare in the direction of where she’d gone. “I should get you home safe.” This is met with a teenage sigh of exasperation. “I have the Hokage’s entire guard on the other side of the bridge to escort me back to Konoha. Make sure she gets home safe. If you don’t want to do it for her, at least you can do it for me. Please, big bro.” He catches up with her on the near side of the gorge, watching as she whirls a rope with a kunai round and round before sending it sailing across the deadly drop. The sharp point sinks into the dirt on the other side, but when Sarada yanks on it to test its strength, the kunai falls loose, swinging backwards to clatter against the other side. He watches in silence as she winds it back up, intent on another try. “Didn’t I tell you that you get hurt when you don’t listen?” “Oh, fuck off.” Swearing wasn’t Sarada’s style. She usually lets her eyes say the profane rather than having it come out of her mouth. The fact that she had resorted to curse words is further proof that something isn’t right. Does he know how she’s feeling? Incompetent, underpowered, unprepared, capable of so much strength and restricted by circumstances beyond her control? Filled with anger at others, loathing herself for her own pathetic weakness? Sure he does. Will he tell her that? Hell, no. Empathy will get him about as far with Sarada as that first kunai throw got her. “I’ll take you home.” Sarada twists around, looking him up and down as though searching for any other option that isn’t flying. “Like hell you will.” Instead, she tosses her kunai across the gorge. Maybe she’s even more tired now or maybe she’s mad enough at him to be distracted, but this time, the tip doesn’t even hit its mark, the flat of the blade colliding uselessly against the side before falling. Kawaki takes a step towards her. “I’m taking you home. Either you come willingly, or I’ll take you by force and tell Shikamaru that you’ve been using your Sharingan against orders.” Back still turned to him, Sarada snorts. “Is that an order from my captain or a threat?” “Both.” “I can just go back to the bridge and cross there. If the shinobi are gone—” “Sarada.” She turns around, her arms spread wide in an exasperated gesture. “Fine. Fucking fine. Whatever you want. That’s how you do everything anyway, isn’t it?”
May 13, 2025 at 9:16 AM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
Part 11: Undesired Consequences

(1/3)
Whatever Sarada’s advice had been, it’d worked. The next time he attacks Himawari, she comes at him, fury aflame. Teeth gritted, eyes bright, claw-like nails extending from the tips of her fingers. Each strike of his staff is answered lightning fast, blows deflected by tails and hands and feet. What’s supposed to have been simply a training exercise for her turns into a workout for him, too. Of course, he beats her. That time, and the next, and the one after that. But with each round, she’s able to maintain Kurama’s chakra longer, and each one takes a little more out of him. With his limiters again in place to facilitate his healing, Himawari has the upperhand in raw power. But she’s still untrained and untested. It’s not through sheer strength that he wins but through battle-won skill and instincts. It’s Himawari who senses Sarada fall during their fifth round, her body slipping lifelessly off the branch where she’d been sitting, spying on him. When one chakra tail triples in size, shooting out toward the eastern boundary of the training ground, Kawaki assumes it’s a feint and acts accordingly, striking at Himawari unguarded side, expecting to be countered. Instead, the metal staff in his hands connects with her face, resulting in a sickening crack. Her head snaps to the side as she releases a pained shriek. Knocked off her feet, she rolls over and over until she finally comes to a stop on her back, staring up dazed at the sky. It’s only then that Kawaki notices the one remaining tail enveloping Sarada’s unconscious body, cradling it as she’s lowered gently to the ground. “Hima!” Stomach churning, he runs to her side, chased by the memory of all the times Jigen had beaten him. It was supposed to be training, shinobi training like Naruto used to do for Boruto. He wasn’t supposed to hit her like that. The connected chakra between Himawari and Sarada breaks, the tail itself dissolving to leave a warm healing glow surrounding each of them. She sits up, dusting the dirt and grass off the front of her yellow shirt. “Nice moves, big bro.” The sight of her big, trusting blue eyes makes him even sicker, her unwavering belief that he’d never intentionally hurt her. He takes her chin, twisting it to the side to look at the concave dent in her face where his staff had landed. The speed of the Biju’s healing chakra repairs the damage while he watches, bone structure knitting back together, bruising fading almost as quickly as it had appeared. Just because she’s able to heal doesn’t mean it hadn’t happened in the first place. “We’re done for today,” he says, releasing her. Hima tsks as though he was fretting a skinned knee. “Maybe you should worry about her instead.” Sarada has managed to prop herself up on one arm, her free hand covering both her eyes. The dumb jacket she wears that doesn’t even fit has slipped completely off one shoulder. He looks back at Himawari who is standing, looking better by far than Sarada, before striding over to where she’d landed. “What’s wrong with you?” he demands, staring down at her. “None of your business,” she bites back. “It is now.” He squats down to get a better look when she doesn’t turn her head towards him, pausing to yank the collar of her jacket up so it covers her bare shoulder. “How does a shinobi fall out of a stupid tree?” “Maybe I fell asleep,” she mutters, dropping the hand that had been covering her eyes. Plausible, if he hadn’t known she slept in a number of trees during missions. Even when Himawari’s fading chakra around her fades, Sarada is still left grimacing. “You don’t look hurt,” he says, brushing past her lameass excuse.
May 13, 2025 at 9:16 AM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(5/5)
The girl’s usual optimism is absent when she says it, like a wish whispered into the night instead of something she’s certain of. A moment later, Himawari blinks away her seriousness, looking back at Sarada with a smile on her face that might have been forced. “Anyway, big br—Kawaki. Kawaki is the best person to help me. He’s strong enough for me to take on without worrying about getting hurt, and he saw Papa work with Kurama a few times, so he can give me some pointers. Which is more than you’ll do, you lazy fox.” She glowers downward at her navel, giving her stomach an annoyed poke that gets no response. Kawaki taps his staff on the ground, annoyed. “Are you two done chatting yet?” “Sorry,” Himawari says, more to excuse herself to Sarada than in response to Kawaki. “We have to get back to it.” “Hey, wait a minute.” Sarada grabs Himawari’s shoulder, pulling her close enough to speak in her ear. “You can be mad that you can’t do more. You should be mad. Don’t let it make you feel helpless, do you understand me?. Don’t look away from it because you feel as though you can’t do anything. Let it fuel you.” Kawaki clears his throat at yet another interruption. “Thank you,” Himawari says, meeting Sarada’s gaze as she backs away, her Uzumaki eyes like those of her father and brother, ever hopeful and unwavering. “For the advice, and for understanding.”
May 11, 2025 at 3:15 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(4/5)
Each word hits Sarada like a knife that hurts more than the pounding of her headache. Because how dare he. When he knows Naruto is alive, Hinata is alive. When he knows Boruto is innocent. If Himawari isn’t mad, Sarada is sure as hell happy to be mad for her. When she gets Kawaki alone again— The tails that had once pierced the sky blink as though weakening, the control Himawari has over them diminishing. The next time Kawaki strikes, his staff passes right through her hair. It’s only at the last second that he pulls the blow, stopping a fraction of a centimeter away from her cheekbone. “What went wrong that time?” Hima lets herself fall butt-first into the dirt, looking up at Kawaki with the same true-blue eyes she shares with Boruto. “That doesn’t make me mad.” “How can it not?” Kawaki pulls the staff back, planting one end in the dirt so he can lean on it. Himawari shakes her head. “Nope, I’m not having this conversation again with you.” “Boruto killed your—” “I don’t want to hear it!” Her usually mild demeanor breaks, and orange light flaring in her eyes when she shouts at him. “What makes me mad is that there is an enemy threatening the village right now, killing people, hurting you, hurting him, and I’m ordered to be stuck in stupid Konoha when I could be helping people. I could be helping you. I wanted to go with Team 10—” “You are not allowed to leave the village,” he roars back at her, meeting her anger with his own as he bangs the end of his staff on the ground to punctuate each statement he makes. “You are going to stay here. In Konoha. Where you are safe. And you will always stay safe. That’s why you have to learn to defend yourself. To defend yourself, Himawari.” “I’d rather learn to fight,” she bites back. “You understand, don’t you… Sarada?” Busted. The moment Himawari activated Kurama’s powers, Sarada had been found out. Kawaki turns around just in time to see her drop from the tree, glaring at Sarada as she walks towards them. “What are you doing here?” “Watching you,” Himawari says, as though it’s the most obvious observation in the world to make. “I’m not,” Sarada says, her words colliding with the, “She’s not,” that comes out of Kawaki’s mouth. A stupid grin spreads out on Himawari’s face, not helping the headache that was growing inside Sarada’s skull one bit. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two in the same place.” Evasive social maneuvers are in order. “What are you doing?” she asks Himawari, ignoring Kawaki entirely. She’d known Kurama had been reborn in Himawari, but beyond her healing abilities, Sarada had yet to see it for herself. “Training!” Hima stands up, dusting off the seat of her pants. “Big bro—” “Don’t call me that,” Kawaki grumbles, almost like it’s an automatic response to hearing the name now, not really expecting her to obey. Hima looks at Sarada and rolls her eyes as if to say catch a load of this sour puss. “He’s helping me train.” “Weren’t you training with Team 10?” Kawaki sighs audibly in response to her question, broadcasting his annoyance both at being interrupted in general and being interrupted by Sarada specifically. Himawari nods. “Yep, I was. But they’re out of the village for now—” “—and you probably would accidentally kill them,” Kawaki adds under his breath. Both girls seem to have come to a mutual agreement that Kawaki wasn’t a part of their conversation. “Except Inojin,” Sarada says, curious as to the arrangement that allowed him to stay in the village while the rest of his team was deployed. The smile that had been on Himawari’s face flinches at his mention. “Yeah, except him. Aunt Ino recommended another Yamanaka clan member who would complement their team dynamics for the time being. But… he’ll get better.”
May 11, 2025 at 3:15 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(3/5)
Yes, actually. Next time you visit the medical clinic for a checkup, stop by Hokage tower to yell at Shikamaru like you usually do— I don’t yell at him— Yeah, whatever, Inojin doesn’t let her defend herself. He has something for you. Thanks. For what? Bothering you? he asks. Before she can respond, she feels the direct link dissolve, leaving her alone. Sarada slows in her progress, taking a moment to bound up the branches of a tall tree to survey her surroundings in hopes of seeing Kawaki, even if he’s just a small dot in the distance. No such luck, but at her new vantage point, she can now see the road winding out of the forest, leading to a rope bridge over a deep gorge. A light bulb clicks on in her head. That’s where she is, along the path to the restricted training grounds where Lord Seventh used to release Kurama during training drills for the village’s sealing team. Certain that just a little use of her Sharingan can’t hurt, Sarada activates her doujutsu to take a closer look at her surroundings. Sure enough, she detects at least ten shinobi guards stationed in the shade of the trees to stop anyone from crossing the bridge. She only used it for a few seconds, but even as her red eyes fade back to black, the pressure that had been building up behind her eye socket blossoms into an exploding headache. Wincing, Sarada slaps a hand to her eye, pushing back on the pain. Once it fades to a dull throbbing, she decides she can continue, bypassing the bridge to cross farther down by means of a makeshift ropeline. The first time she actually tries to execute her mission is already feeling like a failure, or so she thinks as she winds up the rope again to return it to her bag. But before she can wallow in self pity, a violent explosion rocks the area, a loud crack followed by a gust of wind that blows her air back. Sarada looks up just in time to see one of Kurama’s bright orange tails lashing at the sky. Instead of finding Kawaki with Naruto, Sarada finds him standing in the middle of a crater in front of Himawari, a long black metal staff in his hand. He looks down his nose at the girl, doubled over as she tries to catch her breath. “That was pathetic.” “Sorry, big bro!” Even from Sarada’s crouched position hidden leaves of a tree a few meters away, she can see Kawaki flinch at the name. “I can only really control it when I’m mad.” “Then you should learn to be mad,” he says, recovering his stoic mask before Himawari notices that it had slipped. “Let’s try again.” She watches as the girl she remembers in diapers straightens, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before a glowing orange cloak envelops her. Tendrils of her black hair rise up like flames around her, dancing with the flow of chakra. The black markings on her cheek deepen, extending to her fox-like eyes, vertical pupils inlaid in brightly burning irises. For a second, it feels like those eyes flick toward Sarada, but they’re pulled back to Kawaki in order to defend herself. He comes at her, staff in hand, raining down a series of blows she deflects with the tails forming from her hair. “If you’re not mad, be mad,” he demands. The way he fights her without mercy reminds Sarada of the brutality with which her own father once trained her to improve her Sharingan. “Your father is dead. Your mother is dead. You were betrayed by an outsider who was shown nothing but kindness by your family. By the village. And he turned on you. All of you.”
May 11, 2025 at 3:15 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(2/5)
He’d taken off heading west, away from the village and into the surrounding forest beyond. The trees give Sarada plenty of cover, but she has to stick to the lower branches to avoid being noticed. The chakra overexertion from the mission to the Sand, her injuries from that battle, the long days spent in bed—she can feel it all now while leaping from branch to branch. Her muscles are stiff, chakra control shaky. Pressure builds up behind her right eye, the start of a headache threatening to break through. Usually racing through the trees feels like freedom, but for the first time in years, it fails to come naturally. She has to pay attention each time she lands, each time she leaps forward again, exerting effort to coordinate her physical movements with her chakra flow. Hey, Sarada. Inojin’s voice lets itself into her head unannounced. Her foot skids as she loses control for a second, canting dangerously forward. Her arms whirl, keeping her balance as concentrates chakra to the souls of her feet, allowing gravity to take her forward until she’s hanging upside down on the underside of a big branch. A little warning would be nice, she grumbles back to him. Sorry, I don’t come with a ringer, he replies, the sorry sounding not the least bit like an apology. It’s not like I don’t get interrupted every time Shikamaru reaches out. That’s all I have to do? Reach out? Sarada had been looped in on many interconnected telepathic transmissions in the past, but she hadn’t considered the logistics for the Yamanaka clan member who coordinated them. Yep. Think my name with intention, and I’ll respond. Anytime, anywhere within a 100 kilometer range of the village. Though, please don’t do it in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency. Gotcha. Balance restored, Sarada swings back up to the top of the branch and launches off again, heading in the general direction of where she’d last seen Kawaki. What do you need? Tell me something you didn’t know yesterday. He can’t see the confused look on Sarada’s face, but she makes sure he can hear it in her response. What? You’re on an intelligence-gathering mission about Kawaki. What have you learned so far? Sarada racks her brain for something, anything. He wears purple boxers? Inojin’s tone drips with scandal. Sarada Uchiha. I don’t think Shikamaru expected you to go that far for the mission. Way to put it out all there for the sake of the village. Color me impressed. Oh, no. No, no, no. It wasn’t like that! Not at all! He chuckles, enjoying her panic. Sure it wasn’t. But I don’t think the color of his boxers is going to help find Lord Seventh. Yeah, I know. After a moment, she asks, How much do you know? About Kawaki’s situation? About Lord Seventh? And about Boruto, too? Well… He pauses, thinking it over. I know what my memories tell me. And I know what Shikamaru has said. They conflict. So, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter either way. Doesn’t matter? Sarada can’t imagine taking such a causal view of such a serious situation. If I think about it too much, my mind rebels. If I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Treat it all as juicy gossip, and it works out. Gossip that you can’t tell anyone, right? She’s not quite sure what he means when he responds with a serious, Literally. Sarada notices a dirt path near the route she’s taking, one that seems familiar, even if she can’t put her finger on why she remembers it. Did you need something other than the color of Kawaki’s boxers?
May 11, 2025 at 3:15 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
Part 10: Discoveries

(1/5)
Sarada hadn’t planned to spend the morning tailing Kawaki. She’d fully expected that after cleaning up from breakfast and the unfortunate coffee incident, Eida would request companionship in some girly endeavor, which Sarada would have to go along with in the name of keeping up the ruse that she was affected by Omnipotence. Therefore, she was downright shocked when the blue-haired beauty insisted on going on a shopping trip alone (if alone included Daemon, that is). No Sarada allowed, full stop, accepting no arguments about how the Hokage preferred her to be under escort when she was in public, more for crowd control than Eida’s own safety. “Shika-dear won’t mind,” was all she said, which suited Sarada just fine. While both she and Sumire had learned a lot about fashion by simply being near Eida and had developed their own individual styles accordingly, she wouldn’t go so far as to say she enjoyed watching the older girl try on clothing for hours. To make it bearable, Sarada had to constantly remind herself she was on a mission, a very real and a very important one, just to feel as though she wasn’t wasting her life away. The brief fancy that she could catch a catnap to make up for sleeping so little the previous night, then return to her reading, disappeared the moment she saw Kawaki shrug into his coat. Because she did have another mission (one actually suitable to a shinobi), and Eida had just given her the perfect opportunity to work on it, though that was easier said than done. From the moment Kawaki realized he could fly,it became his preferred method of transportation, allowing him to see all below (and keeping him far from any and all undesired social interactions). Whereas the villagers of Konoha saw his presence high above their heads as a comfort—look, the strong Hokage’s son. How much he’s grown! Even with Lord Seventh gone, his child is still here to protect us—it annoyed Sarada to no end. “Aren’t the bad guys the ones who usually float in the sky over the village?” she’d once asked Mitsuki back before she’d given up hope of getting through to him. “How is it so different from running over the tops of buildings? Isn’t it just faster?” he’d asked her, effectively shutting down her argument and the entire conversation along with it. With Boruto now flying too, she has to admit that it does seem to have its advantages and couldn’t solely be a skill attributed to bad guys… What is a bad guy, though? Sarada shakes her head as she runs, dismissing the memory of the first time she’d seen Boruto do it, back when Momoshiki had taken over his body during the fight with Boro. Yes, both Kawaki and Boruto could fly because they were Otsutsuki, but Boruto was still Boruto… Except those disastrous times when he wasn’t. A little voice in the back of her head reminds her that she, too, can fly now, so maybe it’s not the best barometer to measure someone’s potential for evil. The real problem with Kawaki flying, or at least Sarada’s current problem, is that it’s hard to hide from someone who is so high up.
May 11, 2025 at 3:15 PM
Reposted by Helix906
sasalice7.bsky.social
I have finished it 💆‍♀️
May 15, 2025 at 1:20 PM
helix906.bsky.social
Today I learned that Ōtsutsuki is misspelled in the summary of cast out by @cluelessasalways.bsky.social on ao3
May 16, 2025 at 1:21 PM
helix906.bsky.social
@shearbolt.bsky.social I'm so sorry for fucking up your notifications but I firmly belive EVERYONE needs to read your work
May 11, 2025 at 12:24 AM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(3/3)
Using her knife as a guide, Eida directs a clump of scrambled egg onto her fork, not looking up. “So, Sarada, how did Boruto make you love him?” She says like it’s no big deal, usual dinner table conversation, certainly not as if she expected Sarada to jolt upon hearing the question and drop the entire carafe of coffee onto Kawaki’s lap. “Fuck!” he screams, pushing himself back from the table as scalding liquid soaks through his pajama pants. He’s vaguely aware of Daemon’s laugh as he kicks off his pants to get the burning fabric away from his skin as fast as possible. “I’m really sorry,” Sarada says from the opposite side of the door after handing him a dry pair of pants and underwear. Usually, girls used the downstairs toilet, boys the upstairs, and thank god for that, because Kawaki couldn’t imagine sitting down to shit every morning while staring at a pink and white sign on the door that read “Have a seat, sweet cheeks!” It’s just a shitter, he thinks to himself, slipping on his pants, wincing at the inflamed skin on his upper thigh where the coffee had landed. Who needs a fucking painting of flowers and a container of stinking potpourri and a bunch of lidded baskets on the shelf above the toilet that he wouldn’t even look in on a dare. No wonder Daemon walked all the way upstairs to use their toilet instead. “Are you okay?” For someone who had given him so much shit, Sarada seems genuinely concerned. Or at least embarrassed. That she’d dropped an entire pot of coffee. On his crotch. Out of everyone in the house, he’s the least mad at her, though. Eida, who’d gone beet red the moment he was down to his boxers, staring down at him without moving an inch while her little brother laughed so hard, he almost puked. At least Sarada had gotten him a towel and ice. “It’s fine,” he grumbles. Okay, so his healing wasn’t fully operational, but he’s not going to go to old man Amado and drop trou. No way in hell was he having that bastard’s face inches away from his balls. “Do you need anything?” Well, he needed some fucking breakfast because Daemon had surely eaten everything by now. Some coffee, too, beyond what he could wring out of his pajama pants. Mostly, though, he needed to be back in bed, which was the one thing he couldn’t do as he’d made some important promises he couldn’t renege on. Not this time, anyway. “Could you just leave me the fuck alone?” he asks, opening the door to find Sarada leaning on the opposite wall. The way she usually glares at him gives her the appearance of being several inches taller than she really is. But here in the hallway, somewhere between embarrassed and distressed, he’s reminded of how short she really is. It doesn’t suit her, looking small and ashamed. “And if you can’t do that, you could at least throw these in the fucking washer?” Without waiting for a response, he tosses his soaked pants at her face and leaves her standing there, exasperated with him once more.
May 10, 2025 at 7:56 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(2/3)
However, in the four days since he’d gotten the greenlight from Amado to go back to the house, he’d learned their morning meal had devolved into a haphazard chaos of grab-what-you-can rather than a formal event. Cereal boxes sat open on the counter, dried splashes of milk on the table, a butter knife jammed into the toaster. It made sense, being that neither of the Kara siblings could cook (not that Kawaki could, either). That task had belonged to Sarada and Sumire, both of whom played a role in the house that was somewhere between Eida’s domestic companions and her handmaids. The moment he sniffs the air, he smells the smoky savoriness of frying bacon and the siren song of freshly-brewed coffee. He turns around, looking at the clock on the wall above the L-shaped dining table, displaying the unholy hour of seven-thirty-in-the-goddamned-fucking-morning, to where Sarada is busy in the kitchen beyond, a red apron covering her usual black romper and belt. Kawaki registers a few things all at once. One, his plan to stay up and make sure Sarada was going to stay in her room all night failed when he fell asleep. Two, there was no fucking way in the world she’d actually slept for eight hours if she was now fixing breakfast. Three, it was before noon and, therefore, destined to be an awful day. Four, and most pressing at the moment, he needs to get to the table before Daemon lays waste to the bacon. With a groan, he gets up, unsure if the crick in his neck came from sleeping at an awkward angle on the couch, being ridden like a mechanical bull first thing in the morning, or his accidental attempt at self-strangulation. The pain is a little reminder that the nanomachines in this blood stream still aren’t working right, buzzing around in his body the way they’re supposed to, repairing small bits of damage before he can even feel it. His annoyance only grows when he walks into the dining room where Eida is filling Daemon’s cup. The table is set. Coffee, juice, and milk all out. There’s a basket of assorted breads, some sliced cucumbers, a selection of pickles. A plate of peeled oranges stares him in the face, their surfaces stripped clean of pithy strings. No way she threw this together in a few minutes. Must have taken an hour. Minimum. He glances at the kitchen to find Sarada watching him over the edge of her coffee mug as she takes a sip, a smug look in her tired eyes. “Yo, where’s the grub!” Daemon demands, a fork in one hand, a knife in the other, as he bangs his fists on the table. Eida shushes him, placing a placating hand on his head between the ears on his hooded pajamas like her little brother was little more than a high-strung chihuahua. “Calm.” More like a waitress than a roommate, Sarada comes out with a platter of bacon in one hand and a warmed plate of scrambled eggs in the other, retreating back to the kitchen to get individual salad bowls for each of them. Daemon starts piling bacon onto his plate the moment it hits the table, not even waiting for Sarada to hang up her apron before he starts eating. With the siblings sitting side-by-side and neither Mitsuki nor Sumire there to provide any buffer, Sarada takes a seat next to Kawaki, still nursing her coffee. As expected, there are only four strips of bacon left by the time Kawaki gets the platter. He takes three, passing what’s left (one) to Sarada. She sets it aside without serving herself, reaching past him for the carafe of coffee.
May 10, 2025 at 7:56 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
Part 9: The Worst Day Since Yesterday, Squared

(1/3)
Last thing he remembered was watching an old movie featuring an ancient alien from outer space laying waste to a cardboard cityscape. The screams of women, the wailing of sirens, the crackle of flames, all playing at a low enough volume that Kawaki had drifted off to sleep around the time that the useless cast of politicians and military officers ordered an airstrike doomed to fail on the rampaging monster. “What are you doin’, drooling on my favorite spot, you big ugly loser?” If the high-pitched screech hadn’t woken him, Daemon landing squarely on his back with the impact of a bomb dropping would have. The moment Kawaki opens his eyes, he begins choking. A ring of pressure tightens around his neck, squeezing harder as he sits up. Daemon is locked onto his back, his hands in Kawaki’s hair and legs around his shoulders, whooping like some western cowboy trying to stay on a bucking bronco. Kawaki wheezes, a helpless “hrrk” coming from his throat when he tries to inhale. He grabs for the invisible force cutting off his air while rocking side to side, trying to dislodge the demon child on his back— “You have to stop thinking of strangling him,” Eida says as she walks out of the bedroom beneath the stairs where she and Daemon sleep. Despite just having woken, as evidenced by the royal blue satin shorts and matching pajama top she’s still wearing, her loops of long, flowing hair are perfectly coiffed in a way that defies gravitational explanation. Easier said than done. With Daemon still on his back, the bottoms of his bunny footie pajamas in Kawaki’s face, he closes his eyes, pushing back the thought of wringing that little monster’s neck and searching for something to cool his murderous thoughts. It comes in the form of chocolate taiyaki, golden brown and warm in his hand, the burst of nutty sweetness when its filling meets his tongue. The memory of Naruto buying him one for the first time follows, the street they were walking down the afternoon he first tried it. The image of a Sarada comes with it, a younger version of her, who’d chosen to tag along with them, chasing the shadow of Lord Seventh. Kawaki sucks in a hungry lungful of air as his own phantom hands release him. “You should know better by now, you big dummy!!!!” Daemon shouts, slapping the side of Kawaki’s head, and for a brief second, the choking sensation reappears before he can get it under control a second time. “Daemon, stop antagonizing Kawaki. You know how he is in the morning.” Eida admonishes her little brother as she walks to the kitchen. “Come, let’s eat before the food gets cold.” With acrobatics similar to how he’d launched himself onto Kawaki in the first place, Daemon does a backflip off of him, landing right behind Eida as though he’d been following her all along. Breakfast? Before the mission to the Sand had taken Sarada and Mitsuki away, before Sumire got the shits of them all and left, breakfast had been the only time anyone bothered to cook in the house. The rest of their meals came from the plethora of takeout options available in Konoha, a parade of meals packaged in plastic containers, both delicious and soulless. Breakfast had been the exception to that, and on the rare mornings when Kawaki was forced to wake up with everyone else, he might have enjoyed it. The food, to be specific, not sitting down with any of them.
May 10, 2025 at 7:56 PM
Reposted by Helix906
shearbolt.bsky.social
(3/3)
He throws the empty container in the trash, banging the lid loud enough that she’ll hear it, flings the spoon in the sink, and pours himself a huge glass of water before drinking it with audible gulps. All that noise, and she’s still just sitting there, nose buried in her book. What a contrary bitch. Given no other option, he puts himself directly in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You wanted back on this mission, right?” From where he’s standing, he can read the title on the book’s spine: An Unabridged History of Sealing Jutsu by Uzumaki M. Great, nothing like being disobeyed in favor of a boring-ass book. Sarada looks up at him from above the rim of her gold-framed glasses. “I did.” “And you agreed to the recovery plan. That means sleeping.” I did sleep.” “For 10 hours?” “For as long as I could.” Kawaki had come to cultivate a grudging respect for Shikamaru, a Hokage who did what had to be done rather than dicking around while everything just got worse. But with Sarada now looking at him with the exact same glare she used in the Hokage’s Office, Kawaki decides that Shikamaru might have a bit of a soft spot for her, because in his place, she’d have been demoted back to academy student faster than she could have said Hidden Leaf Village. “And how long was that?” Sarada shrugs. “Maybe an hour.” Perhaps a bit of Hinata had rubbed off on him, the way Kawaki instantly snaps his arm up, pointing his finger to the hallway down which the girls’ bedrooms were located. “Go to sleep now.” “You can’t make someone sleep,” she says, closing up her book. Well, that was true. If Kawaki had that ability, he’d be upstairs right now, snoring away instead of arguing with her. “Go to bed, or first thing in the morning, I’m marching you back to the hospital and making you stay there.” When she doesn’t immediately get up, he adds, “I’ll tell your mom.” “Fine.” The way she says it, it’s clear that she doesn’t agree with him. It’s more of a “fuck you” than a “yes, sir.” Book in hand, she stands up, gives him one last sneer, and marches down the hallway in her bare feet, leaving Kawaki to stare at the Uchiha crest embroidered on the back of her robe. Kawaki flops down on the couch, shaking his head. Two more weeks. He has to live through two more weeks of this shit.
May 9, 2025 at 7:10 PM