Porcelain Pieces [11 - Broken Toy]
Title: Porcelain Pieces
Author/Artist: Trevor the Ero-Sennin, ____ero__sennin
Pairing: Ino/Sakura/Naruto/Hinata, but mostly InoSaku, with a side of InoHina and InoSakuHina [Poor Naru goes ignored D:]
Fandom: Naruto
Prompt: 11 - "Broken Toy"
Warnings: PG-13, at most. OT4. Yuri.
A/N: I'm gonna end up doing something angsty, I can just feel it. Might as well get it out of the way now. Besides, I need some Saku-centric stuff after virtually ignoring her in my last entry. Must get better grip on her character D< Also, forgive my attempt at being poetic. I know it probably sucks, but I wanted to try.
It's a summer morning in the year of nostalgia, and porcelain pieces lay shattered on the floor. Blue sadness envelops the world, betrayal, agony.
It's a summer morning, ten years later, and the streets are filled with people, happy, talking, cheerful. She walked the streets, watching people pass, years honing her observance to a razor's edge. Shopping was her mission, Ino insisting that when Naruto wasn't around it was her job, and she better go do it or she'd be sleeping on the couch tonight. So, while butting heads with Ino was usually her favorite pastime, Sakura relented this day and took to the market.
Broken apologies tumble from her lips, half-formed and half-scared and all pathetic. And still those sky-blue eyes turn to sorrow.
She stops when she sees it in the window. Suddenly she's seven years old again, and it is serendipity, not coincidence but surely something greater. It's that day. Now.
"S-Sakura!"
A gasp, affronted, shocked, appalled. The name of a friend leaves her lips as a curse, a vile and despicable thing.
Tens years it's been and it's ten years ago. Whole, untouched by vapors of memory, unmarred by the past. Without fracture, without scratch. Gleaming. Nostalgia shine, but this is real.
In the icy depths, anger kindles, smoking, flickering, growing heat and feeding off the chill of betrayal, death wood of ruined ties. Porcelain becomes flint, and her eyes are the furnace gates, taking heat, making rage.
She goes into the shop, and picks it up, smells it, feels it, sees it, real and true. The owner smiles as she wraps it up, and Sakura blushes, suddenly shamed, embarrassed, a child. The blush doesn't leave her cheeks as she walks back home, and she leans her head down, hoping no one notices, no one sees. Sees the regret in her eyes.
"How could you do that?"
Flinch. Recoil. Shy away from the blow of sonic sharpness, vehement in vengeance, breaking ice pouring forth the fire in her soul.
Ino sits on the bed in her underwear and Hinata is in front of her, eyes closed and body boneless. She brandishes the hairbrush like a sword, like her flower sheers, like her eyes and her words and her smile. A perfect weapon. Undefeatable.
The groceries sit on the kitchen table, all but for one bag, and Sakura holds it out. Eyes downcast. Cheeks furious red.
"Sakura!"
The shout demands answers, answers to questions shrouded in mystery, half-asked and in a language she doesn't understand.
"Sakura?" Ino asks, looking up from her work as she runs the brush through Hinata's hair.
"I didn't...I didn't mean to!"
Protest. Plead. Pray it is all a dream, it is all forgotten.
"For you," she says softly.
The doll lies in porcelain pieces. Eyes glare glassy from different angles, and the smile is painted, false, pained, lying.
The doll tumbles into Ino's hand. Its eyes are bright and clear, and it smiles bright and cheerful, sunny in its powder pink dress.
"I hate you!"
Her soul is dashed, porcelain pieces on the ground.
"Sakura, I love it," Ino smiles.
Her soul sings, time sealing the cracks in its porcelain shell.
"I'm sorry..."
A whisper, soft like butterfly wings, like silk promises, unheard and unknown and unwanted.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and Ino looks at her with questioning eyes, unknowing and unaware.
"I'll never forgive you!"
It's a summer morning in the year of nostalgia, and Sakura watches her best friend storm away, friendship lying dead like the doll on the floor.
Try to follow, chase, but porcelain pieces slice her feet and she cries.
"I forgive you, stupid," Ino laughs. "For whatever it is."
It's a summer day ten years later, and Sakura watches her best friend brush tangles out of their lover's hair, friendship tempered by love.
No more shall porcelain pieces cut her feet, and no more tears shall fall.
"Ino..."
"Ino..."
I love you.
Author/Artist: Trevor the Ero-Sennin, ____ero__sennin
Pairing: Ino/Sakura/Naruto/Hinata, but mostly InoSaku, with a side of InoHina and InoSakuHina [Poor Naru goes ignored D:]
Fandom: Naruto
Prompt: 11 - "Broken Toy"
Warnings: PG-13, at most. OT4. Yuri.
A/N: I'm gonna end up doing something angsty, I can just feel it. Might as well get it out of the way now. Besides, I need some Saku-centric stuff after virtually ignoring her in my last entry. Must get better grip on her character D< Also, forgive my attempt at being poetic. I know it probably sucks, but I wanted to try.
It's a summer morning in the year of nostalgia, and porcelain pieces lay shattered on the floor. Blue sadness envelops the world, betrayal, agony.
It's a summer morning, ten years later, and the streets are filled with people, happy, talking, cheerful. She walked the streets, watching people pass, years honing her observance to a razor's edge. Shopping was her mission, Ino insisting that when Naruto wasn't around it was her job, and she better go do it or she'd be sleeping on the couch tonight. So, while butting heads with Ino was usually her favorite pastime, Sakura relented this day and took to the market.
Broken apologies tumble from her lips, half-formed and half-scared and all pathetic. And still those sky-blue eyes turn to sorrow.
She stops when she sees it in the window. Suddenly she's seven years old again, and it is serendipity, not coincidence but surely something greater. It's that day. Now.
"S-Sakura!"
A gasp, affronted, shocked, appalled. The name of a friend leaves her lips as a curse, a vile and despicable thing.
Tens years it's been and it's ten years ago. Whole, untouched by vapors of memory, unmarred by the past. Without fracture, without scratch. Gleaming. Nostalgia shine, but this is real.
In the icy depths, anger kindles, smoking, flickering, growing heat and feeding off the chill of betrayal, death wood of ruined ties. Porcelain becomes flint, and her eyes are the furnace gates, taking heat, making rage.
She goes into the shop, and picks it up, smells it, feels it, sees it, real and true. The owner smiles as she wraps it up, and Sakura blushes, suddenly shamed, embarrassed, a child. The blush doesn't leave her cheeks as she walks back home, and she leans her head down, hoping no one notices, no one sees. Sees the regret in her eyes.
"How could you do that?"
Flinch. Recoil. Shy away from the blow of sonic sharpness, vehement in vengeance, breaking ice pouring forth the fire in her soul.
Ino sits on the bed in her underwear and Hinata is in front of her, eyes closed and body boneless. She brandishes the hairbrush like a sword, like her flower sheers, like her eyes and her words and her smile. A perfect weapon. Undefeatable.
The groceries sit on the kitchen table, all but for one bag, and Sakura holds it out. Eyes downcast. Cheeks furious red.
"Sakura!"
The shout demands answers, answers to questions shrouded in mystery, half-asked and in a language she doesn't understand.
"Sakura?" Ino asks, looking up from her work as she runs the brush through Hinata's hair.
"I didn't...I didn't mean to!"
Protest. Plead. Pray it is all a dream, it is all forgotten.
"For you," she says softly.
The doll lies in porcelain pieces. Eyes glare glassy from different angles, and the smile is painted, false, pained, lying.
The doll tumbles into Ino's hand. Its eyes are bright and clear, and it smiles bright and cheerful, sunny in its powder pink dress.
"I hate you!"
Her soul is dashed, porcelain pieces on the ground.
"Sakura, I love it," Ino smiles.
Her soul sings, time sealing the cracks in its porcelain shell.
"I'm sorry..."
A whisper, soft like butterfly wings, like silk promises, unheard and unknown and unwanted.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and Ino looks at her with questioning eyes, unknowing and unaware.
"I'll never forgive you!"
It's a summer morning in the year of nostalgia, and Sakura watches her best friend storm away, friendship lying dead like the doll on the floor.
Try to follow, chase, but porcelain pieces slice her feet and she cries.
"I forgive you, stupid," Ino laughs. "For whatever it is."
It's a summer day ten years later, and Sakura watches her best friend brush tangles out of their lover's hair, friendship tempered by love.
No more shall porcelain pieces cut her feet, and no more tears shall fall.
"Ino..."
"Ino..."
I love you.