HOME/LAB [maruki family thread tracker]

[takutomaruki]

I AM A SINNER...

╰┈➤ ❝ When we get to the pearly gates. You'll get the green light, I'll get the old door in the face ❞

date

type

link

desc

status

02/01

Toplevel

link

Welcome, dreamer, to the new dream

closed

15/01

Thread

link

Rank 1: Glass, nightmares and Hopes.

closed

27/01

Thread

link

Quick adjustments.

closed

03/02

Post

link

Rank 2: Before my goodwill crumbles away in these sterile lands.

closed

01/05

Top level

link

Rank 3: A gift

active

13/05

Top level

link

Drunk aftermath (with Kuon and backdated to 11/04)

closed

12/07

Top level

link

Hard at work (with Kuon and backdated to 15/06)

closed

29/07

Top level

link

You can wake up now (with Kuon + Ancile)

closed

...YOU ARE A SAINT

Comments

[ at Maruki's apartment, late at night / cw horror b/c nightmare]

[paradisefraught]

The room is an endless hospital hallway filled with shattered glass window-combs and sirens glistening over the intercom.

"Room number -̵̨̠̩͎̗̺̘̼̟͍̼̻͖͖̎͒̄͜-̶̡̢̘̭̝̣̮̥̖͖̩̻̰̮͑̀̒̋͆̿̈̓-̸̼̩̦̌͐̃̍́͠-̷̧̱̖̪͔̲͔͇͚͖̉̒̆̑̉̉̓͛͒̾̚," says the nurse. Akira turns and looks up. The nurse at the station doesn't have a face, just another hand, long and snakelike and made from charred bones. She looks like the skeleton of a dead tree. "Fourth on the right."

He looks down the infinite hallway. He sees his reflection in the glass combs. He's young, small. He has two broken sandals on his feet.

Quietly, he moves forward. His sandal taps the side of a glass shard and

"YOU DID THIS TO ME."

Akira flinches back. The words echo through the hallway and screech in his bones, clawing his nerves, convulsing him forward-- another piece of glass goes flying as he stumbles--

"GET AWAY FROM ME. I WON'T LET YOU HURT MY FAMILY!"

what did he do? what-- what happened? It's a different voice, one that heaves desperation and vomits terror-- and his palm-- he's on the floor and his hand goes right on a shard of glass--

"YOU'RE SO CLUMSY. I CAN'T BELIEVE I GAVE BIRTH TO SOMETHING AS PATHETIC AS YOU."

Help! His cries are muffled. The nurse at the station doesn't hear. He slips again--

"HELP? GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Help me--! Somehow, he's at the door, the hospital room, crawling on his hands and knees through the glass on the white, uncaring tiles. I love you! Please, what are you doing? shaking hand reaches for the door fingers on the handle-- it glows sickly green and black and it's moist and wriggling in his hand-- Help! Please--! I love you--!

""I HATE YOU!""

Mom!

Mom! Akira wakes up in a scramble trying to get free and then there's nothing to tear into it's just the floor and the floor is hard and he didn't even notice he was falling until his knees were already bruised his hands were already scratched from the fell and where's his glove the air is like cold water in his lungs where is his glove which way is up he finds his desk and hauls himself up his glove his glove his glove is on but it's not even enough

where's dad dad knows everything dad makes everything better dad can fix the world dad can fix me

out into the hallway he turns on the light but then it's just the hospital again and he turns it off before the glass comes back

dad's room dad's room it's right down the hall dad's room is

closed.

Oh. His stomach churns; reality hits him square in the abdomen. He hunches over, leaning on the wall for support.

This...isn't home. Isn't Dad's apartment. And Dad isn't here. The only person who is here is Dr. Maruki, who doesn't like it when he's too clingy or needy or...

Akira flops over, slumping down to the ground. He considers knocking anyway. Thinks better of it, of course. Wraps his arms around his legs, skin digging into leather, curling into a ball.

He's only been awake for like a minute, and he's already so exhausted. Each exhale into his knees fills him up with more of it, the dizzying static of exertion. His knees are...wet? Oh. He's crying.

When the static of exertion turns into the whispers of sleep, of the faint lullaby dreamer, come back to us sung by humming electronics and shifting carpet, he offers no resistance. Akira passes out in the hallway, in front of a door he won't open that leads to someone who doesn't want to see him. The lullabies promise him escape into something better.

Maybe this time they'll be right.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki ran his hand through his hair, glancing at the book spread open before him: 'The Whole-Brain Child.' The words on the page stared back at him, full of conviction and clarity.

“What your child needs most is to feel safe, seen, and soothed. This creates the foundation for secure attachment and emotional regulation.”

He underlined it with a faint frown, the tip of his pen pressing a little too hard. Safe, seen, and soothed. They made it sound so simple, so straightforward—as if all he had to do was flip a switch, say the right words, and Akira would magically feel secure in his care.

But execution? That felt like a mountain he had no idea how to climb.

He reached for his notebook, flipping to a page where he’d scribbled notes in blocky, almost frantic handwriting:

Morning (Akira):
- Eager to please, but avoids deeper emotional discussions.
- Childlike enthusiasm—defense mechanism? regression?
- Sudden withdrawal when Rumi mentioned—why? (Different connection?)

Theories swirled in his mind, clashing with the parenting principles he was trying to absorb. Maruki sighed, staring at the highlighted phrase again. "Safe, seen, and soothed." Could he even give that to Akira?

His thoughts wandered, unbidden, to his own childhood. Being the middle child in a family of five meant he was... overlooked. His older siblings were praised for their accomplishments, his younger siblings doted on for their potential. Maruki himself? He was fine. He was good. Not extraordinary, not special.

Even his achievements as a student—excellent grades, glowing recommendations—were brushed aside with faint praise. "That's what you're supposed to do," his parents would say. And then came the comparisons. Why aren't you more like your older brother? Your younger sister is already excelling at piano; maybe you should try harder.

When he chose psychology instead of the more prestigious fields his family valued—medicine, engineering, anything with a capital-S Science—he could still hear the cold disappointment in his mother’s voice. "Psychology? What kind of future will that give you?"

Maruki shook his head, trying to brush away the memory. He looked back at the book, at another passage he’d underlined:

“Children don’t need perfect parents. They need present ones.”

He scoffed lightly, more at himself than the words. Present? He could barely hold himself together most days, juggling his research, his complicated feelings about this world, and now Akira’s well-being.

And still, that boy—not his boy—had looked at him as if he could make everything better.

Maruki rubbed his temples. Parenting in theory made sense. He could analyze behaviors, understand triggers, and craft a psychological framework for almost any situation. A support that would bridge them in comfort. But in practice? When faced with a child who was hurting—one who sought safety and stability he wasn’t sure he could provide—he felt utterly lost. Especially without Azathoth and he knew that whatever Maruki was helping this Akira before, used that persona to sort out through his needs.

How could he be what Akira needed when he didn’t even know where to begin?

He glanced at the laptop screen, where a paused YouTube video displayed an overly cheerful title: “Five Simple Strategies for Building Trust with Your Teen!” The frozen host seemed to mock him with their too-perfect smile.

Maruki leaned back in his chair, the pen slipping from his fingers. His gaze wandered to the notebook filled with theories about Actualization, about Akira’s fragile mental state.

How do you build trust with someone when you’re still learning to trust yourself?

[takutomaruki]

The faint creak of wood beyond his door broke his thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

He raises his head then makes a quiet deduction that Morning might just have woken up to go to the bathroom. Looking away, he sighs as he looks up at the time. 2:30 pm.

Azathoth stirred in the infinite, formless void that brushed against Maruki's subconscious. It wasn't malice, nor was it compassion—merely an endless, yawning hunger to exist in the cracks of perception. And Maruki, for all his resolve and intellect, was an open door to the being’s influence.

The room around Maruki was silent save for the soft scratching of his pen and the quiet hum of the laptop. But in the folds of his mind, there was a discordant whispering, an ancient rhythm that beat faintly but persistently, like a distant drum in a suffocating fog.

Why do you toil so, Takuto? The voice didn’t speak in words, not truly—it was a swelling pressure, a suggestion that slithered through the recesses of his consciousness. You seek answers in books, strategies in pages...but you already know they are useless, don’t you?

Maruki frowned as a cold wave rippled through him.

This child...this boy. You think you can fix him? What a delightful fantasy. Fixing him requires fixing yourself. And you know better than anyone, don’t you, that you are...unworthy of such a task.

Maruki slammed the book shut, startling himself with the sharpness of the motion. He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. The pressure in his skull swelled, a dull ache that throbbed like an offbeat metronome.

Azathoth was relentless. It didn’t rage; it didn’t scream. It whispered with the patience of eternity, gnawing at his resolve.

Even now, you flinch from your past. You build theories about parenting, but you are still the forgotten child, aren't you? The one who never measured up. You wear the mask of a caregiver, but beneath it, you are empty. Empty without me.

You could have snapped away all your problems if you took the throne. You still can but you won't. I don't think even pity can measure up to how I feel about the misery you seek for yourself.

W̵͓̮̄ḧ̵̪̭̲̳͖́ỷ̵͕̒̐́̑ ̵̯͉̆f̶̟͎̤̙͕̍̏̂̎i̵̢̗̩̔͐g̶̻͍͗̈̍ĥ̶̨̬͙̘̺͗̆̈́͝t̵̗̔̈́̄ ̴̱̫̾̏̌͂i̷̤̝̋t̴̛͖͗̉͋͝ͅ?̷̭̖̽̊̓͝ ̵̛̥̭́̋̑͑ͅW̴͎͓͂͆͊h̸̢̩̜͌y̷̺͎̼̕͝ ̴̠͙͐̄t̶̺̹̀̐̿͌ṙ̵̹̖͎͂̈̄y̷͈̥̌?̴̢̜̹̗̿̀͌̐ ̸̡̰̙͕̀̀̔͠Y̶͕̐͑̿͝o̵̢̪͖̖̍͝u̴̻͛́̈́͘ ̷̨̺̭̠͔̍̐c̷̡͇͍͉̉̾̀̓̀o̴̺͍͓̤͂̏u̶̠͙͍͛̃̾l̵̡̰̱̪̾d̶̡͍̹̫́ ̷̘̙͚͍̇̏͑ș̵͐͐l̷̦̹̳̲̑̓͗͊ẻ̴̡̮̱͉͐͜e̷̘̬͔̺̒̋̏͂p̸͙͕͚̤̔̐͋͝͝,̸̛̟͍̦̀̉͐ ̴̢̧̖͓̻̌̀̉̄̕T̶̗̩̰̜̕ȧ̸̙̠̜k̴̤͎͗͋͜ṳ̵̼͉̼̻̃̿̚t̷̖͊͊̔̾̋o̵̯͓̍̃̅̂͝.̵͎͒͒͊͒ ̵̧͈͔͎͕͋̏̿͝͝J̴̪͇͈̝̠͆ú̶̞͂̏̈́s̴̯̜͖̲͎̓͊̾̀t̴͔̊͠ ̸̭̜͌͜c̷͔̖̜̿̂l̴̨̛̖̹̋o̶̞̳̞͈̭̊̂s̶̜̓́e̷̦͗̋͐̌ ̵͙̺͛̊y̶͙̻̼͕͊̉ͅo̷̼̐͆́̒u̸̠͓͉̞͈̒́̈́͘ȑ̴̄͜ ̴̨̼͆̋e̶̞̲͉̍̂́̋y̵̤̽ê̶̜͕̝̑̈́̈́͊ṡ̵̱͍̫͉̂̅̏͘,̷͉̤͓̀̔͠͝ ̸̖͉͈͔̮̀̋̕l̸̛̜͒̓͗e̸̘̹̙̼͗ṯ̷̞̖̗̒ ̵̹͚̫͓͆̌̋͝g̷͈̠̹͎͛̌̈́̋͠ͅo̴̡̼͔̦̐̈́̀ͅ,̵̦̯̭͐͑ ̷̖̓ả̴̧̜̩̹͘n̷͉̑̑͊̂d̶̗̽̈́̿̅ ̵̡̪͇̺̄s̶̼̮͉̔̎͌ͅu̷͉͓̠̯̥̽̿͑r̸̤͖͚̲̋͑̒r̷͎̽̄͑́̓ḛ̶̥̰̠͖͗̓̏n̸͇̬̈̀d̵̥̲̺͉̀̽̓é̵̯̺r̶̩̅͗͘ ̷̗̉́́̔͝t̵̰͛̎͛͛ó̷͍̞̫͓̙̾̅̔̄ ̸̬̰̣̺̊t̷͙̉͒̐͛h̵̘͂͛̀e̷̬̾̾͠ͅ ̴̯̙̭͋̽̊t̷̢̧͕̱͠ȑ̵̰̠̺̖̀̄̊̃ủ̷̧̦̬̯̙̿̓̈t̷͕̹̙͙̆́̏͝ͅh̸͉̲̚.̵̨͔̲̳͉̅̀̾̆

His eyes flicked to the shadow beneath the door, and his stomach twisted with worry.

“Akira?” he called, his voice low and uncertain.

No answer.

They need present ones.

He gulps.

His heart leapt in his chest. Memories clawed their way back into his mind—of a dimly lit living room, the flicker of a television, and the shattering crash of a window. The burglars’ shouting. The blood. Rumi’s parents—gone in an instant.

Maruki swallowed hard, forcing himself back to the present. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Reaching beneath his desk, he retrieved the small gun he’d been keeping since arriving in this bizarre place. He tucked it into the waistband of his sweatpants, the cool metal pressing against his hip as he moved cautiously toward the door.

Maruki’s hand hesitated on the doorknob, the faint shadow beneath the door a silent alarm that quickened his pulse. He tightened his grip on the cold metal and exhaled through his nose. The image of Rumi flickered across his mind—her tears, her screams, the helplessness in her eyes as she reached for something no one could give back. His chest tightened as the memory bled into the present.

The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight as he cracked the door open, just enough to peer into the hallway. His breath hitched.

There, crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll, was Akira.

"Akira!" Maruki's voice broke into a panic as he pushed the door open fully, the dim light of his room spilling into the hallway. His heart pounded in his ears, his thoughts a chaotic blur of past and present.

No, no, no, not again.

He dropped to his knees beside the boy, his free hand immediately reaching out to him while his other instinctively gripped the concealed gun tucked under his waistband. His eyes darted up and down the corridor, searching for any sign of intruders. Empty. Safe. For now.

But that didn’t stop the tremors in his hands.

"Akira-!" he murmured, his voice trembling as he placed the gun on the ground within arm’s reach. His palm gently pressed against Akira's cheek, his skin cool and damp with the remnants of tears. "Hey...hey, can you hear me? Come on, wake up."

[paradisefraught]

"Hmm...?" Akira makes little noises as he wakes at Maruki's prodding. "Hi, Da...Doctor." Not Dad. He looks distressed. "Nightmare." Akira brings a hand up to his face, touching where Doctor Maruki has his hand. Reassurance for both of them, maybe. "...Sorry."

He can't help himself from leaning into Maruki's touch. Comfort, if nothing else.

[at maruki's apartment, the next morning, current cr: 1]

[takutomaruki]

The shrill ring of the alarm sliced through the silence, pulling Maruki from the half-conscious state he'd been in, his hand jerking toward the desk to silence it. His eyes fluttered open, blinking into the harsh light of the morning. The faint hum of the ceiling fan above him seemed distant, drowned out by the ringing echo of his alarm.

He groaned, pushing himself up, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders like an anchor. A sheet of paper was stuck to his face, the faint imprint of his notes—a hasty scrawl from last night—etched onto his skin. The ink had bled slightly in places, evidence of his half-sleepy frenzy as he had tried to finish the work that had occupied his mind. He frowned as he pulled it off, setting it back onto the cluttered desk and peering at the half-written notes. His brain fogged with the remnants of exhaustion, but he tried to push them aside, focusing on the pressing matters at hand.

"Alright, no time for this," he muttered to himself, glancing at the clock. His practicals started soon, and despite the unorthodox nature of the class, he still hated being late.

He hopped around on one leg, struggling to pull his jeans on while simultaneously gathering the papers he needed for the lab. He stuffed his books and notes into a satchel, brushing past various strewn papers and half-empty cups. His hand went automatically to the coffee pot, but there was no time for that—he’d have to survive on the fumes of whatever he had left in his system.

I should not have stayed up that late, huh?

pulling on his jacket with one swift motion. He hated the idea of walking in late. He always had, even if it was just a cognitive college, and he could easily get away with it. But no, he had standards to uphold, even in the face of mounting exhaustion.

He grabbed his keys, tucking them into his pocket, then threw a last glance at his disheveled study. His eyes lingered on the notes he'd barely finished—fragments of thoughts, the threads of a mind too restless to rest. A quick sigh escaped him before he moved out of his room.

The hallway stretched before him, and as his eyes caught the door across from his own, his chest tightened.

Morning's room.

Right-

The memory of the night before flooded back in a rush, unbidden but persistent. The shadowy image from the nightmare still lingered in his mind, and despite the daylight, a chill ran through him.

He hesitated in the hallway, the unspoken question settling in his stomach—Was he alright?

A faint sound reached his ears, a soft noise echoing from the direction of the kitchen.

Maruki squinted down the hallway. "Morning?" he called out, his voice casual.

[paradisefraught]

"Good morning, Da-- Doc!" Oops, almost forgot to correct himself. Hopefully, he didn't notice... "I'm working in the kitchen!"

Indeed, if Maruki were to step into the kitchen, he'd find it completely transformed: every inch scrubbed sparkling clean from top to bottom, all the drawers and cabinets organized, all the tools and implements either in use or neatly tucked away with a few completely new ones besides. Morning happily did this all this morning, and is currently hovering over the stove with a stovetop coffee pot, tending to the freshly-ground beans under its lid.

[takutomaruki]

Maruki, thankfully still disoriented from the drowsiness of his own sleep didn’t catch the little slip up.

He walked past and made his way to the living room. Eyes follow the askew couch as he turns away and offers a slight smile. "So it seems," he makes his way to the kitchen and that's when he sees its tranformed state. The sheer neatness of the places catches him off guard, a man who like his own bumbling clumsy self had a kitchen of his own set up.

Boy, that smell of coffee...

"You have been...busy, huh?" He makes a quiet sound.The countertops gleamed, their surfaces spotless, and every tool, utensil, and gadget seemed to have found a rightful place in this new order. Even the cabinets had been reorganized—doors slightly ajar, revealing impeccably arranged rows of plates and bowls.

His eyes widened as he gave an awkward laugh, raising his hands in a gesture of faint disbelief. “I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place look...this clean. Or this organized."

Rank 2: back at home, 19:00

[takutomaruki]

The living room hummed with soft ambient light—the kind that drifted in golden through the gauzy curtains, catching flecks of dust mid-air like a sleepy snowfall. A quiet moment, held like breath.

By the small windowsill, Maruki crouched beside a terracotta pot, his hand steady as he tilted the watering can just so. Water dripped onto the dark soil with a soft glug-glug, the smell of earth rising briefly into the air. The tag on the pot read, in his tidy handwriting:

"Evenings only – overwatering will make her grumpy!"

He smiled faintly at the memory of how fussy this particular plant had been during trial-and-error. The leaves were glossy now, proud. It liked 7PM.

On the kitchen table just behind him, a modest bag rested neatly. Beside it, a sleek cylindrical case wrapped with a red ribbon—half practical, half sentimental. Inside: a brand-new spectacle case. Durable. Lined. Custom-fitted for someone whose current one was cracked near the hinge. Maruki had noticed. Quietly. Of course he had.

He didn't announce it. Just left it there.

Morning’s door was still closed. Had been for a while. Faint clicks and muffled button taps filtered out—the kind of sound Maruki had grown used to.

He leaned a little on one hand, twisting back to glance toward the hallway.

"You've been there for a while, haven't you?" he called out lightly, not loud enough to pry, just enough to be heard if Morning was listening. Suppose it's not videogames it's something else.

No answer, but he didn’t expect one right away.

The plant’s leaves shifted gently as the last drops settled in the soil. Maruki ran a careful finger along the rim of the pot, wiping away a stray splash. His gaze drifted to the spectacle case again.

He stood up, stretching with a soft sigh, back cracking in a way that reminded him he wasn’t the age he felt in his head. Then, hands on his hips, he glanced back toward the hallway one more time.

“If you’re hungry later, I picked up that strawberry milkshake you like. The one with the weird mascot. And the spicy chips that pretend they’re not spicy.”

He said it with the casual rhythm of a routine. Like he’d say it again tomorrow, and the next day. Like nothing had to be forced.

And then, he reached for a sticky note from the drawer, scribbled something quickly in his looping handwriting, and gently stuck it to the ribboned case.

“No pressure. Just thought it might be useful. – Doc”

He went back into the kitchen to wash away the watering can in the sink.

Re: Rank 2: back at home, 19:00

[paradisefraught]

A moment passes and Morning, already bundled up in cat-themed PJs and with a small case of bedhead, pokes his head out of his room. "Milkshake?"

[takutomaruki]

As he set the watering can away, he wiped his hands off with one of the hand towels hanging at the side before leaving the kitchen to spot Akira there.

Back in his world, Maruki couldn't imagine the leader of the phantom thieves being this relaxed around him- despite them being pretty close confidants in the grand scheme of things. The cat-themed PJs and the bedhead.

Ah. Ah, right.

"Akira-kun in my world used to drink a lot of those back when we talked in Shujin's courtyard, you do like them, right? Or- or not?"

11-4, Drunkenly stumbling home from the cherry blossom party

[dollmaxing]

It had been, all things considered, a pretty riotous evening! Not too shabby! Ichinose had practically hung off of Morning and Maruki (though the latter wasn't any more sober than she was) and instead of going to the Palace, she followed them inside. Not that either of them would really resist.

Humming off-tune her favorite song, Ichinose had managed not to fall over when kicking off the borrowed shoes at the door and had managed to find her way to the sofa, flopping down into it without a care in the world. Mmm, not bad, she could snooze here...!

"You have sooooo many plants here!"

[takutomaruki]

Maruki pretended—very badly—that the sound of his keys hitting the floor for the second time (and nearly a third) wasn’t mortifying. Or out of the ordinary. Just a regular night. Totally normal. Definitely not the first time in ages he’d invited anyone over this late, especially not in this state.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, he just blinked at his entryway, vaguely aware of how surreal it all felt. Huh. He hadn’t even had Shibusawa over this late, not really. And Morning had already half-bolted toward his room the moment the door opened, mumbling something indistinct. Poor kid was probably more drained than he let on.

Maruki bent down to straighten the pair of borrowed sandals kicked to the side, then slipped off his own, neatly lining them up. His keys jingled softly as he hung them on the little wooden key holder mounted by the door—a whimsically carved branch with four painted white birds perched on it, mid-chirp. It clinked against the background of Ichinose’s off-tune humming.

He followed after her, fingers moving absentmindedly to the collar before pausing—no tie. Right. Yukata. The satchel stays on across shoulders.

The living room was warmly lit, the kind of gentle amber glow that filtered in from a half-shaded lamp and the streetlights outside the balcony doors. A window was cracked open to let the night air sweep in, bringing with it the faint scent of city spring. A few boxes still sat along one wall—overflowing with stray research papers and half-sorted files—and two familiar notebooks lay open on the coffee table like forgotten thoughts.

But it was the plants that dominated the space.

Clusters of potted greenery lined the kitchen windowsill, the tops of bookcases, and a few end tables. Pale orchid blooms peeked out from beside a stack of psychology journals. A tall fiddle-leaf fig rested stoically beside the TV. Nestled among them were decorative odds and ends: a tiny ceramic watering can, a wind-up owl clock, and a coaster shaped like a cat hanging from a tree branch, with the words “Hang in there!” in cheerful lettering along the edge.

"What can I say—" Maruki said with a small, sheepish smile as he came to stand beside the couch, one hand briefly ruffling through his hair. "I get lonely without them."

He gingerly pressed his fingers to his temple as the room tilted a little too enthusiastically, but he caught himself before it became an issue, adjusting his stance with practised care.

"Back in my world last summer, one of my neighbours was moving and planning to get rid of some of her tsuwabuki—Farfugium japonicum, that is," he added absently, academic habits kicking in. "And some hozaki-nanaka? Nanako?" He stumbled over his tongue.

"Nanakomada. Ah, still got it."

"Beautiful shrubs—Japanese rowan. I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I ended up adopting them."

He motioned toward two of the more vibrant pots by the windowsill, one with glossy, rounded leaves and yellow blooms, the other dotted with tiny clusters of berries.

"Pretty sure I’ve got at least half her garden now," he chuckled, a bit dazed but clearly fond of the memory. "They’re good company. Very judgement free."

[dollmaxing]

"It feels fresh and cozy! My attempt at taking care of a little snake plant was pretty disastrous - the succulents made it a lot longer, but I accidentally ended up drowning the poor thing because I could never remember when I last watered either of them."

A small laugh!

"I would need something that screams at me that it's hungry or thirsty," she laughed self-deprecatingly, setting down her kinchaku on her lap and opening it up, taking the kanzashi out of her hair and taking off her earring to tuck them safely inside. "But then again I would get called on extravagant tours and meetings and la-dee-dah parties that pull me away from home, so that wouldn't be any good either. Oh well."

It made for a quiet work space at home, at least. Both the home she had before in Shibuya and the one she took closer to the uni. Having the music going was a nice way to make it feel like her own space.

"Your plants all look healthy and vibrant - you really are quite the caretaker, aren't you?"

Around start to mid of june, in his lab

[takutomaruki]

The lights were focused down at the center of the testing zone.

Robotic arms hissed quietly, the hydraulic mechanisms clicking in practiced rhythm. One of the arms swung low, a precision panel in its grip, and attached it with a final metallic snap to the humanoid frame standing on the platform. Wires ran like exposed nerves down polished silver limbs, feeding into ports that blinked with a steady blue pulse. Another arm locked in the final bolt with a controlled hiss of compressed air, before retreating upward into the shadows above.

Behind the observation table, Dr Maruki watched with deliberate calm, scanning the machines’ readouts as data scrolled across the monitors. His lab coat hung neatly from his shoulders, stark white against the softer off-white of his suit. Hair slicked back, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—he looked every bit the part again, professional and composed as his eyes flicked from one terminal to the next.

Kuon's ready program was loading on the main big display screen.

CPU stability: nominal. Power levels: steady. Neural link status: awaiting initialisation.

With a quiet, satisfied breath, Maruki leaned forward and pressed one final key.

"That should do it," he hums happily as he signals a quick thumbs up at Kuon before picking up an apple. "Want one for good luck before we boot up your AI? I have Azathoth ready for disposal as well."

[dollmaxing]

Kuon had been hard at work behind a keyboard, herself - while the body came together, she was making sure to program the structure into the AI so it had any concept of an internal homunculus - that way it could actually walk with the body it was given. It wasn't their full project - that one was still waiting for the final draft - but this AI with replications of Personas and Skills was ready to go.

It wasn't far off at all from how she'd designed an AI before, come to think of it.

She glanced over at the offered apple, and shrugged! "If you slice it beforehand - fewer sticky keyboard fingers, that way," Kuon chuckled, wiggling her fingers to emphasize.

Two weeks later

[takutomaruki]

Two weeks later from this day.

The lab had a different kind of quiet now — not the frenetic hush of coding and calibration, but more like everyone was holding their breath.

Kuon’s work was complete — her neural architecture ran beautifully in test environments, humming with potential. Stable, responsive, elegant. They’d all watched the simulations execute themselves with surgical precision. Her side was done.

Now it was Takuto’s turn.

But the manifestation phase — his section — wasn’t going the way it should have.

The initialised body had been finished a week prior: fully articulated, carefully scaled, seated now on the suspended platform with power flowing through the spinal cord and neck ports. Actuators and servos primed, the synthetic skin sheath ready to adapt to the projected facial rendering.

And yet.

Takuto sat at the terminal, fingers laced tightly together in front of his lips, staring at the lines of data like they were scripture he couldn’t quite bring himself to recite. The sixth testing phase. The sixth time, he’d double-checked every single psychological framework value their mapping had provided. The sixth time, he’d updated Azathoth’s response pathways to account for projected self-image cognition and perceptual identity.

And the sixth time they’d stalled.

It wasn’t technical. Not really.

Takuto knew how to do this. It was his domain. All the clinical charts, psych mapping, neural pattern stabilisation matrices — it was his expertise that allowed it all to become real. That let code become consciousness. That let Ancile become.

He should’ve been faster.

Instead, he found himself...distracted. Not in any loud, obvious way. Even when he was briefly distracted by Zaun's entrance- he shook his hand, showed him where to put his things, and explained the lab’s new workflow as best he could. But his eyes hadn’t been entirely present. His tone was somewhere else. A few beats behind.

Now, alone at the console, Takuto let out a breath and reached for the tablet resting on the desk beside the screen. He flipped through his notes on his journal, his laptop, and an adjacent whiteboard— his diagnostic rubrics, psych heuristics cross-referenced against Azathoth’s readings, the convergence data from Kuon’s side of the program.

His gaze wandered across the diagnostics of the prototype’s face panel displayed up front. The artificial musculature was unrendered, the surface still blank.

"Okay."

A soft buzz emitted from the transduction array in the back of the placeholder's skull — idle energy waiting for instruction.

"Sixth time's the charm. Maybe."

[dollmaxing]

Five attempts, fallen flat.

Kuon didn't know for sure what about the attempts to manifest a person's visage were difficult - but visualization was always difficult to gauge. She'd thought that possible aphantasia (if it was even a factor) would easily be addressed by the model they worked on together... but things seemed to stall and Takuto seemed to be stressed out.

Without much of an idea of what she could do, she'd excused herself for a while and promised to return soon enough - seeing if some space to breathe on his own might help. She'd understand that, after all, there were plenty of days that being painfully aware of another pair of eyes on her screen would make her irritable and frustrated.

If it wasn't that, though... well. She was returning to the Palace with a bag of goodies in hand anyway. Some of the snacks that she knows are Takuto's go-to for stress eating, as well as a few novel cookies she found on her little shopping trip - no point in not getting a few extra attempts at troubleshooting, right?

"Sixth time's the charm," Kuon repeated, returning to the room and running her hand along his shoulder before setting the bag of snacks in front of him. "I was craving a bit of sugar," she explained, as if that were the only reason she went and got these things.

Meeting Morning

[dollmaxing]

Once Ancile's stability was assured, once they made sure that Takuto was back in the break room to lie back and finally rest after an exhausting event, Kuon took the lead in tracking down their other little ward.

Ancile followed dutifully after Kuon, waiting when she was waved at subtly - Kuon wanted to surprise Morning, if she could pull it off.

So once she found where Morning was, Kuon peeked from around the corner, all smiles. "Moooorning~! We've got a surprise for you~."

Re: Meeting Morning

[paradisefraught]

He is, as one could guess, oblivious. "I love surprises, Ichinose-sensei!"

Apartment Tour?

[kuonkeeper]

A bit tired from the excitement yesterday and the past few days in general, Kuon decided to spend the day working on coding to not fall behind and make the Wolves angry, giving Ancile free reign - of course, Ancile happily stuck herself to Takuto's hip, following him back to his apartment to get a peek at it.

The morning sunlight was pretty... and the walk felt so peaceful, going to where Takuto and Morning were regularly staying! She'd finally get to see everything - so she waited patiently, fans whirring with excitement as Takuto unlocked the apartment door.

Re: Apartment Tour?

[takutomaruki]

As they made their way to the apartment door, Takuto was buzzing with positivity. Grinning ear to ear with Ancile by his side as he guided her down the neighbourhood before entering the building, registering Ancile at the reception before they found themselves walking past the open hallway that looked down at the other buildings and the busy street.

"I occasionally talk to the neighbours here- even if they are cognitions, they at least behave like one, so they used to stop me sometimes when I ran into them for a quick chat," Maruki explained with a light smile as he gestured at the adjacent door. "Not like you need to socialise with them, but if you are ever curious about how the cognitions here actually live their lives, you might find some tidbits here and there."

"Er- anyways, well-" he sheepishly chuckled as he finally turned the knob of the door, his gaze softening as he slowly opened it- revealing his abode. "Welcome to my humble abode~"

This time, as this welcoming was planned, he had ensured to tidy up most spots and set it up properly to show it off to Ancile. "It's nothing grand and accommodating like my lab, but I have been here for most of my life. Mind the boots, by the way-" he gently ushered as he tucked his toes into his shoe to slip them off, causing one of them to bounce slightly before falling on its side.

The view into the living room with the adjacent semi-detached kitchen. The array of pots and plants was placed between shelves or on the side —a nest fern on one of the shoe racks, as he dropped his keys into a tray adjacent to it.
Most of his papers and notebooks were now carefully tucked between areas or in the small open space under his coffee table, across a medium-sized sofa.

[at maruki's apartment]

[takutomaruki]

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of the wall clock. Morning light filtered pale and gold through the curtains, throwing long stripes across the floorboards.

Dr. Takuto Maruki padded softly into the living room, a folded blanket tucked under one arm. He had spotted it earlier in the linen closet—a spare he rarely used, but it would serve well enough now.

On the sofa lay Hamuko, her breathing steady and peaceful, hair falling slightly across her face as she slept and Maruki wanted to make sure he had the perfect set up.

Maruki paused at the edge of the room, taking in the sight for a moment with a small, fond smile. Then, careful not to let the floor creak under him, he approached.

Slowly, he shook out the blanket, the fabric whispering as it unfolded. With deliberate gentleness, he draped it over her shoulders and down across her frame, tucking the edge lightly so it wouldn’t slip away.

He lingered a moment longer, watching her stir faintly but not wake.

[wipingallout]

It'd been a fun evening with Morning, again - watching movies, playing games. Trying to gently pull that competitive side, maybe get some part of Evening coming out naturally...

Rather than trek home late, Hamuko had just curled up on the sofa here and passed right out. Her dreams had pulled her right in, like she was sinking into a warm bath... she'd woken up in her other bedroom, gotten up for the day, and gone about making food for everyone for the day...

In reality, Hamuko hummed in her sleep, slightly wiggling under the soft, warm blanket inch by inch. Comfortable...

With morning.... (at their new home)

[takutomaruki]

"Akira-kun!"

The doctor knocks away at Morning's door, chipper as always. He was planning to venture forth into Inaba's central shopping district again, this time with company. Or if anything, maybe some distraction from not having to think about how he had met Arisato there for the first time.

He waits, letting Akira take his time in opening the door.

[paradisefraught]

Morning has been settling into the new house pretty well, he thinks. Even if it's new and weird!

"What's up, Dad...uh, Doc?" He calls through the door.