#aku oc: atsunari

[demonprosecutor]

It’s a strange little pose that he adopts, one that has him nearly fidgeting if not for the steel focus & control that he was known for. Sitting crosslegged, the tips of his five fingers touching, & back straight. Although he can do without the irritating scrutiny of his teacher who hasn’t seen a lick of battle, fat with indulgence. “Alright, perfect. You did a lot better than I thought you would,” tobirama doesn’t have to look over his shoulders to know that nozomi was most-definitely pouting at him (she’d give her brother a run of his money).

“Because he has a shit-ton more focus than you, kitten.” the senju frowns in annoyance at the offhand comment, turning his head to squint waspishly at the yamabushi who smirked with crooked teeth & smoke billowing between the gaps. “Looking as pissy as ever, winter fox. Y’know, can’t channel nature’s gifts when you think too fuckin’ hard.”

Nozomi leaps at that, mouth arched in a cat-smile, thwacking his head with a scroll that she somehow manages to pull out from her sleeves; tobirama was convinced that it was its own pocket dimension. She ignores his snarl, waving the scroll like a wand in the air, “mhm! Shishou is right, you have to empty your mind, let the world speak to you. Turn off your brain.”

A snort, “a feat that you must find easy.” It’s difficult to restrain the smirk, watching nozomi tilt her head for a few seconds before she realizes the veiled insult. That’s when she whines & smacks him with the scroll again.

“You’re so fucking rude, my student is so CRUEL to me.” Yup, definitely like anija. Nonetheless, she sits across from him, clad in her uniform & that offensvely fancy haori, eyeing him with jewels for eyes. It’s not the first time tobirama finds himself entranced, staring into her eyes like he’d be able to find the secrets of the universe. “Are you sure? More power is never good.” 

He almost wants to snap at her. What would she know, a girl who luxuriated in finery whilst he grew up as a weapon, a demon that only her eyes could see. But he sees the weariness in the lines of her face, remembers the blinding terror on her face as she swallows the final piece of that yokai’s heart before her eyes roll back. He remembers madara’s madness born from grief, the sharingan spinning faster & faster, blood like tears.

 Tobirama huffs out, dismissing their thoughts with a slow exhale. He nods, “i’m sure.” he doesn’t bother extrapolating because there was truth in his thoughts. The world of the shinobi & the onmyoji were vastly different. His currency was power. 

She studies him for a long time before sighing. “Ok, close your eyes.” Tobirama does so, senses stretched out to feel hers, warmthsunlightlove, manages to not flinch when her hands, soft from lacking war cups his face. He’s almost terrified, feeling her thumbs sweep over the grooves of his self-inflicted scars on his cheeks, that he tattooed over as a reminder to protect the things he loved. “Open your chakra pathways, your heart, empty your mind. And listen. Listen to the heartbeat of the earth, the water, the air. Feel life touch you in ways that it won’t touch others.” her voice smoothes over, hypnotic in its own right, stilling the turbulence of his mind. 

Like a gate, his chakra pathways open, following the directions of her voice. He thinks he hears the thrum of the earth, feels the stones that crawl up up up. But he’s yanked from his meditative state by nozomi, reaction prompting him to whip out a kunai & press the tip against her jugular, the point sharp enough to coax a dot of blood. Atsunari straightens from his languid pose, cloudy gaze sharp & head turned to face tobirama with warning. Nozomi is perched on his lap, hands on his shoulders, face a picture of deceptive calm. Slowly, he lowers his kunai to the ground, clearly telegraphing his movements, so that her cat eyes could follow in return. Slowly, he could feel her body relax on his lap.

“Sorry.” tobirama whispers, chagrined by his own reaction. And strangely enough, he feels guilt well forth, at the churning turbulence in nozomi’s chakra. “... i got startled.”

She stares at him before breathing out a gusty sigh, dropping her head against the back of her hand, which was still clutching at his shoulder. “--- it’s alright.” & it was said with the strange tone of realization that oh, right, he’s dangerous. The thought of nozomi being scared of him, no matter how he wanted that at the beginning of their … knowing each other, made his insides twist. “You were turning into stone.” Nozomi pulls back, so that he could see his legs, encased in a light coating of rock, which he shook off with a small flex of his legs.

Tobirama’s frustrated, not that it was nozomi’s or atsunari’s fault (the onmyoji were experts at reaching sage mode, so why wouldn’t he ask for the best?), but at his own incompetence. “Shit. i--- i thought i had it that time.”

Nozomi waves a hand, both at his anger & to soothe atsunari who slowly & cautiously leaned back against his tree to begin smoking again. “It’s fine. Not everyone can get it, and it takes time.”

He wants to scream at her. He didn’t have fucking time, not with kaguya and zetsu and madara-- not to mention the other bullshit with the three great yokai. But he scowls, sighing, “we don’t have that. You know---”

“It’s not your choice.��� She interrupts him, and viciousness rises like a wave. Her, with no blood to her name, and Tobirama with an ocean. How dare she. “We follow the timetable of nature, that’s it.” he hates it when she gets all philosophical like this, a byproduct of atsunari’s influence, the damned drunkard. 

Tobirama stands up, face arranged in impassiveness, turning away as a clear sign of dismissal. “I’ll get food.” he ignores the look of hurt on Nozomi’s face as he flickers away.

[demonprosecutor]

first draft wip yeeee Nozomi's most vivid memory was when she was seven years old, sweaty hands clasped together tightly, crushing wisteria flowers between her fingers. Her family, the Fujiwaras, were known for cultivating the field of flowers that surrounded Yokotori village and she felt no guilt in plucking a few from the best field for the offerings at the local shrine.

Their shrine, as the locals would say, was a modest thing - an aspect of social niceties, hemming and hawing, dismissing the admiration of pilgrims even though deep within, they preened at the thought that their shrine was so noticed. 

After all, those who could take care of the dwellings of the gods were bound to earn favour in return.

dark evergreen and forestry surrounded the area, interrupted by the vibrancy of the torii’s vermilion-painted pillars and black upper lintel that led deeper into nature, the frequently-swept cobblestone stairways worn by frequent usage being a path to the sandō. It was difficult to not rush up the stairs, the slap of her waraji loud against cobblestone and the protest of her twin, Ichizo, even louder, but somehow, every visit to the shrine, Nozomi always forgot. 

“‘Zomi, Fusa-san said she was gonna get mad if she caught us running again,” Ichizo whines loudly, startling a flock of starlings into flight. Yet for all of his complaints, and as Nozomi knew it, her brother was her brother no matter what anyone said, he didn’t yank his hand out of her grip. “No-Zo-Mi.” he hisses again, voice rounding out in an effort to be heard, a slight stammer in between syllables.

She rolls her eyes, stops at a step higher than his, whirling around to plant her fists ( and wilting flowers ) on her hips - posture that was far too reminiscent of their mother scolding them. “Don’t tell me you’re scaaaaared of Fusa-san, Izo,” it was a not-quite taunt, bold for someone who secretly feared the miko, especially since Fusa was a no-nonsense woman and came from the Senju, a powerful shinobi no mono clan that lived further up North in Hi No Kuni. 

There were rumours among the villagers that Fusa-san had to run away from the Senjus because she had told secrets to the Uchiha clan, and was forced to hide away as a shrine maiden or else they would’ve killed her.

Or that she was disowned by her entire clan for a crime like failing a mission, or that she had deserted the clan

Which made no sense because Fusa-san never hid the fact that she was a Senju, but not really advertising it either.

Ichizo gnaws on his bottom lip, feline eyes darting to the side then to the ground. “N-no… i’m not. She’s not scary! At all!” Her twin had an interesting tell when he was lying, his nose scrunched up like a rabbit’s, twitching. He fisted the hem of his haori before grabbing her hand again and running up the stairs, this time: dragging her up instead of the other way around.

They didn’t make it far, faintly hearing the rhythmic zsh of the broom halting and the angry rasp of Fusa-san demanding to know just who was running within such sacred spaces, but instead of pausing, they shrieked loudly - in faux-fear, in surprise, in devilish amusement, and ran faster, the ink-black of their hair banners in the wind.

When the twins make it to the top, they duck behind one of the komainu, the guardian lion-dogs draped with faint speckles of stubborn moss, hands clapped over their mouth to quiet down their pants and giggles. They strained their ears to see if Fusa had followed them up, brandishing her bamboo broom like a threat, but upon hearing nothing, they emerge from their hiding place.

“You were so fast,” Nozomi says shrilly, grabbing Ichizo’s dark-blue sleeve, yanking it to emphasized just how delighted she was by that, “you were as fast as … as fast as Fūjin-sama, Izo!”

Ichizo blushed hotly, ducking his head to hide his eyes behind his bangs. Out of the kids in the village, Ichizo was the fastest runner - he even managed to beat some of the older kids too and that was an achievement. “Th-thanks, ‘zomi.” He waits a beat before tugging her insistently towards the shrine, “c’mon, let’s go leave our offerings again!”

Before they even approach the shrine, the twins go to the space designated to wash their hands before rushing over to the offering box filled with coin before dumping the flowers and a small drawing that Ichizo had drawn. “I see that the two kittens are back with their hunt.” Nozomi and Ichizo leap in the air, turning to stare at the old shrinekeeper tasked with the overall maintenance of the shrine. “Come to pay your respects to the gods?”

Atsunari was a wandering hermit that traveled more often than not, but no matter where the winds of travel took him, he always managed to come back home to Yokotori village - even if Fusa-san always got annoyed with his frequent absences. He smiles, yellow teeth bared in its crooked glory, eyes squinting, exhaling white smoke through his nose like a dragon.

Ichizo was too polite, even as a seven year old, to hold his breath against the pungent scent of tobacco, but Nozomi had no compulsions in doing so. She pinches her nose with distaste, the slit-pupil of her eyes narrowing even further. “M-mhm! We didn’t have enough m-money, so maybe we thought these things were good? They’re cool and has a lot of thought.” Ichizo realized that Nozomi wasn’t going to respond to the yamabushi, too preoccupied with plugging her nose close.

The yamabushi smiles even wider, posture lazy as he lounged against a towering tree, one leg outstretched and the other pulled close. He cradles his pipe with elegant fingers, the little opening at the end glowing red-orange from heat and smoking with little curls. Atsunari studies them for a few seconds; one dark eye and the other milky with cataracts, “the gods appreciate it,” he eventually replies, a sort of knowingness that completely flew over the children’s heads.