#i just notice that the gold leaf on the right looks like a little bird

[zippy-elly]

[ID: An overhead view of a colorful blue, green, and yellow latte with edible gold leaf on the edges of the cup. The swirls of color in the middle have been manipulated by the barista to look like a leaf.]

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part IX

Word count: 2900+

Warnings: mentions of torturing, SA, fight and blood, some swearing

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

This one is a bit more brutal and not the last such scene in this series, but I hope you'll like the moment Eris appears. Hopefully you'll see what I saw while writing it, the Lord of Autumn Court in full glory (I'm so tempted to draw him btw)

Part VIII | Part X

Eris was mad with rage, running faster and faster through the castle and its grounds like a fire breathing demon, leaving a havoc behind. He literally turned his estate upside down, not leaving a single thing on its original place, but Y/N disappeared without a trace.

Killian had never seen him like this. Right now he reminded him of their father, Beron, more than ever. Eris barked at everyone who came empty-handed, threatened and intimidated every aristocrat who lived in the castle and had ever expressed the slightest objection against him or his choice of wife. Even Killian didn't dare to get in his way. Every person in the castle was looking for Y/N day and night without a break to no avail.

"My Lord," a shy voice snapped him out of thoughts on his way to Eris's office.

Killian halted looking down on a small trembling lesser faerie that served in the kitchens.

"Yes? What is it?"

Even though he spoke softly, little faerie shivered like a leaf in the wind and nervously fidgeted with her fingers.

"I- I think I saw something suspicious the morning Lady has disappeared."

Killian's brows shot to his hairline as his eyes widened. Finally something that might be helpful. Quickly, he looked around, checking whether someone heard them and then gestured toward the closest empty chamber. The maid nodded and walked in. He closed and warded the doors behind.

"And now tell me everything." He turned to her with high expectations, urging her to speak.

"I was washing a lettuce near the well when I saw him."

"Who?"

"I-I don't know, my Lord," she sobbed.

"It's okay," he reassured her, forcing himself to speak calmly. "Tell me what you remember. Anything. Any small detail."

"I saw him only from behind. He was tall with long, dark brown hair. He carried a big bag on his shoulder. It was too big, that's why I found it so strange. As soon as he got out from the wards, he winnowed away."

Narrowing eyes, Killian nervously bit on his lower lip, his brain running at full speed. If that male could winnow, it meant that he was a high fae, but list of names was still too long.

"Did you notice anything else? A scar, unusual clothes, accessory, anything that could help me to identify him?"

The maid thought about it for a moment. "He.. he had a sword slung across his back. Quite long one. I think I saw some big gems on its hilt, but I'm not sure about the colour."

"What about its scabbard. Anything special?"

She shook her head. "It was just black with gold details I think."

Killian breathed out deeply. "Why haven't you said something sooner?"

The maid uncomfortably shifted under his piercing gaze. "I-I was scared. His Lordship was so angry when he stormed through kitchens like tornado. I thought that he would burn me down, if it turned out to be irrelevant.."

He laughed and ruffled her short auburn hair. "Silly girl! Go back to the kitchen. And not a word to a living soul, do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," she quickly bowed and disappeared.

Killian didn't waste time and headed to Eris's office.

"Anything new?" he asked in his usual mocking tone as soon as the doors closed behind him. Eris was pacing around the room, the flames roaring in his veins caused that the air around him rippled.

"Do you think I would be here if I knew where she is?" he barked.

Killian lazily walked over to the window and leaned against the cool glass. This room was insufferably hot. It was a miracle that it hadn't caught fire yet.

"One little bird whispered to me that a certain lordling was here and when he was leaving he carried a human sized load."

In a blink of eye, Eris was on him, fisting the front of his tunic, his fingers burning holes into it.

"Who are you talking about?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"I'm talking about a boring lordling with ego bigger than entire castle, who likes to brag about his stupid sword and wears it 24/7. I'm sure that he even takes a shit with it. Do you get it now?"

Eris's eyes widened with understanding. The blood froze in his veins. If that male kidnapped her, they didn't have much time to find her, especially if they hoped to find her alive. "But that bastard was banished from here after he took Volkan's side. So how did he get in?"

"Yeah, he was and I have no idea. That's something we will have to worry about later though."

Eris nodded. "Y/N is priority now. We need to get her back asap. Do we know where he is now? What does he do?"

Killian pressed lips into thin line. "No. We have no news about him nor Volkan ever since they left, unfortunately. If they are together, which certainly they are, they can be anywhere."

Eris swore, feverishly thinking. He ran hands through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. It could take weeks even months to find them and he didn't have so much time. There was no other way. He had to use his smokehounds once again. Only they could find her fast enough.

He stormed out from the office, heading to their chambers. He opened the doors to his wife's bedroom and looked around. There were no combs, no hair accessories. No jewellery she often wore. All clothes were washed. Everything was neat and clean, not a single hair left behind.

If he wanted to find her fast, he would need her blood or anything she often carried around and preferably nobody else had touched. He started to search the drawers, returning everything to its place. This room was like a sacred place to him, he wouldn't dare to make a mess here. However, the commotion drew attention of one of the girls Killian brought for her as her maid and companion.

"My Lord?"

"Where are all her personal things?" he asked while he rummaged through the mostly empty drawers.

"I'm afraid she doesn't have any.. She brought just few dresses with her. The only thing that could count is a necklace his Lordship gave her for birthday, but she wore it all the time. She had it on her even when.." she couldn't finish the sentence.

Eris shook his head in disbelief. "What about .. I don't know.. some diary? Handkerchief? Anything!" The girl just shook her head sadly.

"She lives here like the poorest priestess. Why none of you bothered to let me know she's struggling so much? I thought that you were supposed to take good care of her. I hoped I expressed myself clearly when I said I want her to have anything she wants or needs." Eris ran hand through his hair, barely suppressing the anger.

"She never complained about anything nor expressed the desire to have things.. We asked her at least thousands times, but she said that she didn't need anything. That she was satisfied with what she already had.." The girl started to cry, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Why do you talk about her in the past tense?" Eris growled lowly, his heart clenching in pain. "She isn't dead. She can't be.. not yet.."

The girl started crying even more and apologised again and again. It was clear that she sincerely missed Y/N and feared for her safety.

"Forget that," he growled angrily. He didn't have time for this sentiment right now. His patience was wearing thin. He needed to move on. "Where is her nightgown?"

"In laundry room I think." Eris closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Would maybe the dress from the birthday party be of any help? It's stained with her blood, but she insisted on keeping it."

Eris sharply turned to her. "Bring it right away!"

You woke up with a headache and a strange, unpleasant after-taste on your tongue in a dark room, lying on the cold stone floor. As your last memories cleared up, your heart raced up and you tried to sit up. You barely managed to stop the scream that almost escaped you as the ropes cut into your skin. Trashing you managed to roll to your side. You were terrified.

The sound of snap of fingers bounced off stone walls in the distance and the torches lit up. When your eyes got used to the bright light, you realized with horror that you were most likely in a cave, the room carved in stone reminding you of your former home. Steps echoed in the hallway and the door swung open.

You cried out with relief when you saw flash of red hair, pale skin and a glimpse of amber eyes, however the person who entered was unfamiliar. He was lazily stalking closer, hands in pockets, watching you like wolf observing the future meal.

"So this is the whore he's chosen over a pure blood." The raspy, cold voice of the male made you shiver in fear. This person wasn't here to help you.

"I told you, didn't I?" Another male who you hadn't noticed before, snarled from threshold. That one had dark brown hair. You doubted that you had ever seen him. You would remember the ugly scar that just miraculously missed his eye, stretching all the way down to the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent one-sided grin.

The red head crouched before you and painfully squeezed your jaw, turning your face from side to side to get a better look.

"It's not too bad. My brother's taste isn't so horrible after all. Maybe we could have some fun before we get rid of her. There aren't any females to fuck around here anyway. What do you think?"

"Please.." you sobbed almost inaudibly, but they only laughed. No matter how much you would plead with them, it wouldn't work. It never did with this type of males. So you just pressed your lips together, determined not to make another sound.

The first tears slid down your cheeks as you were shivering there, completely in mercy of those two strangers. They could do with you anything they wanted. You wouldn't be able to protect yourself, anyway. They were much bigger and stronger than you. And there was no one who could come to rescue you in time.

"What are you staring at?" The redhead snarled when he stopped laughing and hit your head on the ground with such strength the room again darkened for a brief moment.

You wanted to scream for help but you knew it would go unanswered, more over you would only enraged them, provoked them to continue.

"That whore doesn't even plead anymore. It seems that she enjoys it," the other one laughed and came closer.

The redhead stood up, then he picked you up by your hair and punched you. The pain shot from the cheek to whole your body and more tears welled up in your eyes. During the months you spent in your husband's castle you'd almost forgotten how much the beating hurt, but it wasn't any worse than what your father did to you.

"Not even a small noise. This is going to be such fun," the redhead snarled delighted.

They started to punch you and kick you around without a break until you couldn't take it anymore and cried out. They seemed to be pleased with it and continued using you as a punch bag. Only once you weren't able to move even the slightest, your body aching so much you hardly could take a small sip of air, the redhead began reaching for the hem of your skirt.

You were already at the end of your strength, hardly perceiving what was happening to you. The darkness was reaching for you and calling you to its emptiness when a real inferno had began.

At first there were only shouting voices and sounds of fight, then the entrance exploded in the flames, hot air fanning over your face and making already labored and painful breathing even harder.

Out of the all consuming fire a figure in silver armour with bright red cape stepped out, unaffected, unbothered by flames licking his body. His eyes were burning even brighter than the fire around him, his face twisted with rage. The moment he saw you on the ground, covered in blood and bruises, a deafening roar broke through from the depths of his chest and he turned into bloodthirsty demon.

"Volkan!" Eris snarled, the ire dripping from every syllable. "I'll burn you down to ashes with my own hands for this!"

The other scarred male ran away as soon as Eris appeared, but the redhead stood up to him, eager for fight.

"Let's end it here and now, brother," he spatted out the word with utter disgust. "You shouldn't have become the High Lord. You aren't suitable for that. You aren't enough ruthless and cruel for that. With such, you can't rule the Autumn."

"You are wrong," Eris snarled with wild grin. "I can and I do rule the Autumn Court. You had to hide in the Middle to survive. You aren't suitable for ruling. Remember? You are the one who was never enough."

Whatever Eris referred to, the redhead reacted to that with a battle cry and charged towards him with a sword made out of fire.

You didn't recognize your husband. He was like a beast released from the hottest depths of hell and he fought like that, too.

The fire met the fire in such a fierce fight that stone walls cracked and the whole mountain shook. Somewhere above you, you heard collapsing ceilings. The sounds of fight outside the room instantly stopped, replaced by shouting men trying to evacuate the place and save their lives. However, two brothers hadn't faltered and continued their merciless fight, determined to kill each other.

The stone walls of the room you were in, shook for the last time and started to collapse. The redhead cried out in pain as part of ceiling collapsed at the place where he stood, burying him under the stone. As the rest of the ceiling began collapsing, Eris lunged at you and in the last moment winnowed you away.

Darkness and unpleasant pull were replaced with fresh, cool night air that filled your lungs as you found yourself lying on your back in the middle of the courtyard of Forest House surrounded by dirty, tired and hurt soldiers. Everyone was panting, some even groaning, several needed to sit down or leaned for support against the closest wall.

Your eyes found the stars above, winking down at you, unchanged, their cold beauty soothing some of the worst pain. With difficulty you were fighting the darkness lurking at the edges of your mind, but you needed to see him, to make sure he was alive. You couldn't even count how many times in your life you were beaten to blood, how many bones were broken in the process, yet it had never been so bad as now.

Small whimper escaped you as you were trying to turn your head to the side where you felt his hand holding yours. The rope you were bound with, disappeared while you were winnowed from that place. The armour screeched against the cobblestone as groaning Eris pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position and bent over you.

He was dirty, a trail of blood running from his hair line to his chin, another from the corners of his mouth. A bruise was starting to form under his left eye. Silver lined his eyes as his gaze roamed over your face and he reached for you stopping just an inch from your skin, afraid to touch you.

You smiled at him, every muscle in your face protesting. "You came for me." Tears slid from your eyes, cooling the hurting flesh on its way.

"Of course I did. I couldn't leave my wife in hands of those bastards. You can't even imagine how worried and scared I was when you disappeared. I was going crazy-"

His words were cut off as Killian with smaller army of healers rushed from the doors, interrupting whatever Eris was about to say with his strong voice.

"Take care of the wounded," he shouted the orders and immediately was at your side. At first he noticed his brother and paled.

"We need one healer here," he shouted out.

"Or rather three," he added when his gaze fell to you. "I'm so relieved to see you alive, dear sister."

He reached for your hand, but just like Eris, changed his mind half way through and his hand halted, awkwardly hanging in the air. Eris growled.

Killian cleared his throat. "Easy. I don't want to hurt her. What happened?" he demanded. "Is he dead?"

"I think so," Eris grunted, his eyes never leaving yours. "But I'd love to be sure he's gone for good. Also, that bastard Nair escaped as soon as he saw me."

Killian nodded. "I will send someone to check on it and look for Nair."

"Give them rather shovels and pickaxes. They will need them."

Killian blinked in confusion, but before he could ask why, bunch of healers shoved him aside, examining Eris's and your injuries. Eris refused to let go of your hand that he was still holding, snarling at anyone who tried to reason with him. In the end, healers figured that it would be much easier for you both if you took a nice, deep nap and so they put you to sleep with a single flick of wrist. Eris collapsed as first and you followed right after him.

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

[Things are finally starting to get interesting! And Odysseus gets a divine visitor 👀]

That night, Odysseus was fast asleep—or as asleep as he could be with his arm wrapped in a sling and throbbing with dull pain. He was in uncomfortable unconsciousness, his sleep neither deep nor filled with dreams—just pitch darkness.

Then, a soft buzzing blossomed in the back of his skull. The darkness behind his eyes gave way to bright gray. He looked down and realized he was standing in a grassy field. Turning around, he found a tall lady sitting in a chair. A hood obscured most of her face, but Odysseus could tell she was beautiful underneath.

A vast blanket of fabric spilled over her lap, and she passed a needle with thread through it. Her embroidery gave birth to colorful images that Odysseus was certain could amaze even the most incredible seamstresses in the castle.

Odysseus had this dream before, but he couldn’t move in the past. This time, he was determined to know what it meant, and he could feel his limbs and feet solid beneath him. He slowly walked up to her, taking in her skill.

Odysseus watched as she stitched swirls of vines, blades of grass, and forests of trees. The tapestry taking form in front of him was grand and embellished with golden twine. Rich colors deeper than any he had seen danced across the cloth.

“Hello, little one.”

Odysseus nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He didn’t think she noticed him, but her sly smile peeking from underneath her hood told him she had been aware of him for a while now. Odysseus felt his face heat up with blush, and embarrassment gripped his chest.

“You were a challenging mind to contact. I was concerned this would take much longer to get through,” she said as she finished outlining a leaf with gold.

“You were… Looking for me?” Odysseus asked hesitantly.

“Unless I am visiting a different boy that defeated a boar of my creation,” she replied with a shrug, “and you received that scar on your leg from elsewhere.”

Odysseus took a few steps back. “How did you know about that?”

The hooded lady just smiled. “I know many things,” she said, “Especially concerning challenges I have issued.”

“So you sent that boar?” Odysseus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I am a being of many names. Many titles.”

“You speak in many riddles, my lady.”

The woman chuckled. Her laugh was refined and proper. Her hand politely covered her mouth, but Odysseus could see that her smile had a hint of danger to it. “And you are a very clever boy.”

“So I’ve been told,” Odysseus shrugged.

“I can teach you how to use that cleverness to your full potential.”

“Full potential?”

“Yes,” the lady said, “I would like to be your mentor.”

“But who are you?” Odysseus asked sternly, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The tapestry on the lady’s lap disappeared in a flash of gold. Odysseus gasped and took a few steps back as the lady stood up from her seat and grew to twice her original height.

She removed her hood, revealing wavy crimson hair decorated with precious pearls that shined like stars, and a silver circlet resting just above her brow. Her eyes opened and stared at him. They were completely gray and reflective, like the finest polished silver. Her cloak wrapped tighter around her, transforming into magnificent armor. The needle she wielded grew into a brilliant spear, its shaft decorated with gold.

A knowing smile spread across Odysseus’s face from ear to ear. Now, he knew it to be true. The appearance in a dream. The disguise. The gold in the tapestry and the skill of her embroidery. The cryptic words. And now this transformation.

It all pointed right to his suspicions.

“I knew it!” Odysseus shouted with glee.

The lady tilted her head, bird-like and confused.

“You’re one of the old gods!” Odysseus laughed as he jumped around the lady, “I knew you were!”

The goddess watched as the little prince jumped and danced around her. Odysseus could have sworn he saw the faintest smile on her lips, but he paid no mind. He had tricked one of the old gods into a false sense of security and made her drop her disguise.

“Very good… Now, who am I?”

Odysseus stopped celebrating in an instant, frozen in place. “What?”

“If you knew I am one of the old gods, who am I?” The goddess asked, “What is my name?”

Odysseus tilted his head and put his hand to his chin. “Well… You’re very tall.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “And?”

“You have armor and a spear! So you must have something to do with war. But… you were making a tapestry before. So that can’t be it.” Odysseus looked up at the goddess again. “Can it?”

The goddess shrugged. “The world is not so simple. Neither are the gods.”

Odysseus hums in thought. The goddess looked familiar to him, but something was missing about her.

“This is a trick question.”

The goddess smiled, dangerous yet curious. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

“You’re not giving me all of the information. With all due respect, there is a reason we call you the old gods, my lady. Very few people still give you worship,” Odysseus replied with a triumphant smile, “You’re not in the full regalia that is present in your statues. You look familiar, but you’re not specific enough for me to know who exactly you are.”

“Right again,” the goddess said as the circlet around her head began to glow.

The light melted and molded itself around the goddess’s head in dripping splashes like water sparkling in the sun. A drop landed on her chest plate and grew in tendrils in the center of the metal piece. Large shapes sprouted from her back in a shower of sparks, painting the dreamy sky above with thousands of stars for a blinking moment. Then the glowing stopped, revealing a helmet, a monstrous emblem of a lady with snakes for hair on her armor and magnificent, silent wings.

Odysseus stared in awe at the figure before him. She was like a more detailed version of the vine-and-moss-covered statues that sat high in the mountains, the stone smoothed and cracked with time. But the goddess was real. Intimidating. Her polished, silver eyes seemed to know his every thought. A strange power radiated from her—pure knowledge.

“Athena,” Odysseus said, “goddess of wisdom, strategy, and craft. That’s who you are.”

“Well done,” Athena said, “Though you are still very young, your logic is impressive. Enlighten me, what is your name?”

“Two can play this game, goddess. You know that as well as I do,” Odysseus said as he folded his arms with a smile, “You tell me. Who am I?”

Athena smiled. “Good answer. However, I already know who you are, Prince Odysseus.”

Odysseus’s smile slowly left his face, and he looked down at his feet. This was the goddess of wisdom, and she was looking for him. Of course, she would know who he was.

“Do not take my knowledge too harshly,” Athena said, “You passed my test and learned your first lesson: never reveal your true self unless necessary, and let your opponent think they made the first move.”

“So… You’re serious about training me?” Odysseus asked hopefully.

“Of course. As I told you before, I see great potential in you. Will you accept my offer?”

“Yes!” Odysseus exclaimed, but he quickly schooled himself to a more calm demeanor and cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes. I accept your offer, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

“Good. Training starts the moment you are well. I will do all I can to make your recovery swift.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Odysseus said with a beaming smile, “This is amazing! A Goddess and human, the best of friends!”

Odysseus held up his forearm for Athena to bump, something he often did with Polites and Eurylochus. However, the gray-eyed goddess stared at him. Whether she was looking at his arm in hesitation or amusement, he did not know. Her polished eyes gave away no emotion.

“We shall see,” Athena mused as she turned to walk farther into the gray dreamscape, “For your next lessons, we will focus on patience.”

“Okay…” Odysseus said quietly. He put down his arm and quickly made his way to match Athena’s walking pace.

She seemed to almost glide with every step. Each movement looked calculated to be as efficient and silent as possible—the mark of a warrior in every aspect.

“This is where our meeting ends,” Athena said, “I have other matters to attend to, but I will not be far.”

“What should I do until we meet again? And how will I find you again?”

“Rest. I will make your sleep more comfortable tonight and complete our connection. Though you may not see me, I will be watching.”

“A connection?”

“You will know it when you wake,” Athena said vaguely, “I expect great things from you. With my guidance, you will achieve those great things. Until we meet again, little one.”

With that, the world around them melted like quicksilver, and Odysseus fell into deep sleep.

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Part 1

[catominor]

Hi! I am looking forward to the cato yaoi (I personally think the triumvirs should be involved) but did you have any more furius/martinus excerpts you could share? I know it's still very much a work in progress. I just love your work ❤️

hehe thank you... i need to do evil things to cato as soon as i . get around to it and actually decide on like . an actual idea of what to write lol.

also yeah sure! i honestly don't have that much actual writing about them that i can share, but yknow what . why not ill share this prospective first meeting scene i wrote over the summer.

---

Lucius Furius Camillus’ house was the most beautiful on the Palatine. Or, at least, this was what Gaius Martinus had heard; he had little eye for such things. And yet all the same, he had been curious when the invitation came; he had noticed him before, spoken to him, very briefly, a couple of times, yet did not know much about the man. 

He followed Furius’ dignified form into the atrium. He was tall (though not as tall as Martinus) and straight, and thin as a rail. He moved with a pronounced limp; the result, Martinus had heard, of some long-past war wounds which had left him in more or less a permanent state of illness. Martinus glanced up, noticing the wax masks of ancestors hung near the entryway; a practice of patrician and illustrious plebeian families Martinus had always found somewhat foreboding. Furius coughed (this was another affectation of his old injuries) and continued on at a leisurely pace, falling back to walk beside Martinus. 

Martinus could hardly picture Lucius Furius in the army, much less in battle; to him the image seemed comical. Tall and stately though he was, he looked fragile, like a slight gust of wind could have easily borne him off. He was around the same age as Martinus (in fact, a little younger, although anyone looking at the two men would never guess); around forty-five, his short black hair peppered with silvery grey. 

The walls of each room of the house were decorated with frescoes; he noticed these were mainly composed of scenes of gardens, which were filled with all manner of exotic birds. Finely painted, indeed, although they were old and rather faded. In a corner of the atrium there was a shrine to the lares of the house; its candles flickered in lanterns and cast a soft glow onto the little silver figures. There were flower petals scattered at their feet. The house was quiet save for a faint clattering from the kitchen, the lamps already lit as the bluish evening light diminished. 

There was a faint chill in the air; Martinus shivered, and noticed Furius did too, but he did not move to put an arm around the man as he might have for others. Something in his gut told him the gesture would run the chance of offending his patrician sensibility. And he did not want to seem over familiar, anyway. They passed into the peristylium and its beautiful garden. Furius wore relatively simple clothing for the likes of a wealthy aristocrat of his time, but it was clean and clearly the best he owned. On his right little finger he wore a seal ring of gold and blue chalcedony, which bore the image of Juno; on his left index finger an iron senator’s ring.

He turned toward the garden. “I designed it myself.” he explained. Clearly he was particularly proud of this area of the house. “I selected plants so something is always in bloom; right now it’s the narcissus. I specified that the earth be laid out in these hills, so that it might look more natural than a usual peristyle-garden; I cannot afford and have no interest to leave Rome to go to the country; and I need to have something to myself.” 

Martinus did notice it was quite unusual. A few trees ringed the outside; oranges, olives, figs, something else he didn’t know. Large bushes of rosemary and lavender clustered around a small fountain, and blobs of thyme crept over rocks. Thick vines just leafing out climbed some of the columns and up onto the tiled roof.  The rest was a sort of collection of grassy hills divided by paths, various shoots coming up at this time in the spring to add to the hyacinths already in bloom. The scent of the place was otherworldly. 

The narcissus huddled at the roots of the trees in heavy clusters, winking at them like stars in a dark field. A couple of statues stood in the garden; they looked old, the paint on them long since worn away, and never refreshed. Furius motioned toward a bench near the little fountain. He sat down nearest the orange-tree, sheltered under its new-green leaves and doubly illuminated in the bluish evening tinge and by the little stone lantern on the ground next to the pool. He leaned over, lifted one of the flowers’ heads and studied it, still not looking at Martinus. He could detect some nervousness in his posture. 

“I… Invited you here because I have a problem. I want to become consul.” Martinus was not particularly surprised. “Oh?” 

Lucius Furius finally turned to him, looked at him intensely with his large dark eyes. “I know you want this too. I want us to run together.” 

Martinus was a little surprised. “Really? Are you sure our interests are so aligned?” 

Furius’ expression was hard to read; maybe a little apprehension. “They are aligned enough.” He paused, perhaps considering his sell. “You’ll never get anywhere without patrician support. And I” he sighed. “I can’t afford it on my own. I’m sure you know my family has not achieved much in the realm of politics for quite some time.” 

Martinus looked at him for a moment, thinking. It was true, he had trouble winning over the patrician segment of the political elite. Being an Italian nobody with only a few generations of wealth and one senate seat behind you would do that. But the simple fact was: “Why me?” he asked Furius. 

Furius thought for a moment. “Because I think you’re the most well-off man in Rome whom I can stomach allying myself with, as well as being in a position to stand for consul with me. I don’t know you, yet, but I’m not throwing away my idea because of that. …Are you a good man, Gaius Martinus?” Again the eyes fixed him. Stern, inscrutable. Lucius didn’t really believe he was. 

“I believe I have brought much glory to Rome.” 

Lucius Furius hummed assent. “Mmm…” A flicker of …sadness? In his eyes. 

“...Your own military career?” Said Martinus. 

 Furius looked a little pained. “I suppose not all are constituted for such a life. I was one of those… not constituted.” A faint dusting of pink passed over his face; as befitted a man so pale, even his faintest emotions were written brightly on his cheeks. Martinus decided to change the subject. 

“Your reputation as a voice for good sense in the Senate is unimpeachable, at least. Everybody respects you.” 

“Everybody also makes a pastime of coming up with vaguely insulting nicknames for me, and giggling about me behind my back. Gods forbid I spend my free time reading the greatest works of philosophy and literature in the world instead of hanging around in stinking, sordid taverns, generating adultery scandals, and frequenting brothels.” He said, bitterly. He had Martinus, an incurable tavern-and-brothel-frequenter, there. Martinus laughed. 

Lucius Furius looked up, fixing Martinus with his dark eyes again. “That won’t stop them voting me in as consul, though. I know it. And censor after that. Especially with you, the military man, behind me. You would win glory for Rome on the battlefield, and I would restore glory to Rome here.” Martinus smiled. “You know, I’m starting to like this idea. But… I’d still like to know you better. Come to my house tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I shall, Gaius Martinus.” Lucius Furius said firmly, proferring his slender hand and looking down his nose at Martinus. Martinus shook it. 

[survivalist-anon]

Log 5: A long line between here and there

My head was pounding, after what felt like hours of strange and stressful dreams, I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and loud snoring.

What I hadn't noticed was I was outside on the deck patio facing the forest, my face was practically freezing in the morning air, as I opened my eyes slowly, I looked up at the more sky.

It was that usually blue and gold sky that blanketed the world. Suddenly, the pleasant morning was slightly interrupted by another unusual surprise...I was wrapped in a thick, heavy pelt, as I slowly got up I looked around to find myself surrounded by three, light livid colored marines...the same ones from the wildlife cameras.

I adjusted myself to a sitting position, I no longer had energy to be scared or surprised....just surreal amazement. Nothing like this happens to people on a regular basis.

Just that second, the scraping movement of metal startled me for just a quick second, turning to see that biggest out of the three had woken up.

It was like seeing a wild animal wake up from deep hibernation, slow but lucid enough to be mindful. His head shook, moved up his shoulders, then his midsection, to his hips and right down legs.

I was not expecting to see this 8ft tall beastman gracefully do a 'doggie shake' this early in the morning. Than again, not a single thing about my situation is anything I was expecting.

His head turned to face me, the red lenses of his helmet glimmered a little. I couldn't see his eye directly, but he was burning right into my soul...it was daunting because I've never experienced such an intense stare.

"ugh ...good... morning?", I figured if these guys were courteous enough to keep me warm, I'm certain they can understand the sentiment of a morning welcome.

He tilted his head to the side, and grabbed the back of my head.

Well guess this is how I die, but then I hear a long, deep inhale.

He was practically breathing me in.

A low but affirmative rumble emanated from his throat, "I see that you are doing well, daughter of Giovanna Drake, granddaughter of Michael Lakatos.".

My ears perked up, "Wait, you knew my grandfather?", as soon as I finished my question, I felt a heavy hand on my leg. I look down it was one of the other Marines waking up.

A loud yawn slid through the stretching armored man, "Good morrow human girly. Quite a night....".

The other one got up and stretched his legs one by one. "Greetings.", he was a little more sleepy than the other two.

I somehow felt a little better to know that they could speak English. I assumed they must have picked up the language from their time here. "Oh, um, good morrow to you too.".

"say, Sten, do think those fists are crossed with us from last night?", the sleeper one asks.

Sten (the pack leader), contemplates about what had happened last night, "my brash actions could have serious repercussions, but they are patient, they wait for my thoughts later."

"Ah, if they want fight, will give them their ugh, "money's worth", as the humans say it?", the other perked up a little.

"Fjord, you know better than to fight other battle brothers. It is not the way of the Codex to fight unjustly.", Sten turns to the other, "you too, Toke."

Fjord and Toke both roll their eyes a little.

"so girly, nice shot with your bow back there, shaking like a leaf yet yah still had a sturdy hand. Impressive.", Fjord gently nudged my shoulder, more softer than Jonas's for certain.

"wait...you guy w-Oh my God! I need to call the others, they're probably worried sick.", I check my phone that I left in my pocket and saw dozens of unanswered messages. "Ooh I'm so dead. Half of these are from my work fr-Oh shit where's Shelly?", in my short panic, I had completely forgotten Shelly.

Fjord and Toke had gotten exited, believe the two are going to join on some amazing rescue mission.

"hmm, likely in your village's infirmary. She will likely be in good hands. Nurse Amila is good with tending to collateral citizens when we retrieve them. It would be uncharacteristic of the Imperial Fists to simply take a human back to their base.", Sten's observation had put a wet blanket on poor Fjord and Toke's plans.

In the midst of texting some of the missed calls, I suddenly realized something that been nagging since the hardware store. "Wait, how do you know Nurse Amila, for that matter....how do you know my mom and grandpa?", I stand up to get ready for anything I need to do in this situation.

Sten huffed gently, almost akin to a heavy sigh, he also stands up, towering over me by almost 3 ft. "I have much to explain to you, and unlike with your mother....it does not seem fair to keep our purpose here a secret anymore....our kind ....the ones you humans refer to as 'metal men', are known as Adeptus Astartes. The angles of the Emperor and warriors of the Imperium. Our task...our purpose of existence....is to protect humanity from the forces of chaos ....and the threats of the Xenos. To expand across the universe and beyond.".

I was left speechless for all the wrong reasons.

"...uhm....that's a lot to take in ...but that doesn't explain why you know so much about....well a good chunk of my family and I'm starting to assume you know a lot more about the town....", I really couldn't help but feel his epic introduction to some extraordinary backstory had to have been a joke.

He tilts his head in mild amusement and let's out a hardy chuckle, "I shall explain more of the Imperium, some other time than.".

Toke leans at my eye level, "Yah see lass, we live for a really long time. I alone am 209 years old, Fjord is the youngest at 130, and Sten....well....he's getting close to 450 soon."

My jaw dropped, "how could that be possible? Do the spacesuits help or something? Also what, that means...you guys are immortal or something.....you guys can't be human under the armor....are you?"

The three of them looked at each other, all of them let out the hardy laughs of men who've just heard the best joke they could hear. I for one was confused...."ok....what's so funny?".

Sten had finished laughing, "my goodness....how rude of us....it is unbecoming for individuals to exchange names, but not faces...", he takes off helmet....revealing his thick, lush main of hair, a dark golden brown hair with a stripe of blondish white on the right side of his head. He had a brutish beauty about him, his complexion was that of a battle worn man who's had his own share of facial scares. Yet he was wild looking, thick brows with a thick beard that was cleverly hiding lower canines. As soon as I could see his face, the Nordic motifs these men had sported began to make more sense to me. As I turn to see Fjord and Toke, I could see all three of them were just as hairy as the last.

Fjord had copper red hair, even more wild and unkept than Sten's, he has stubble in place of a beard, his smile revealed he has a set of long canine teeth, his his ears where oh so slightly pointed.

Toke had light blonde hair, his hair was put in a top knot and a bread like a true Viking, the sides of his head was shaved down revealing claw marks on both sides. As if something was trying to claw his head right off. He also had beard much like Sten, but it was fuller this he braided his.

However one trait that I had begun to notice they all unequivocally shared; golden yellow eyes. Just like a wolf.

"Well, this is the first time a person hasn't looked at us in fear.", Toke commented to his battle brothers.

I had always been a monster movie fantatic, so there was a likely chance seeing them like this was result of me dissociating the strange reality of the fact these are werewolf Viking space men from some far off galaxy. "Why would anyone be scared of you? You gentlemen seem pretty reasonable."

Fjord pretending to be coy, "oh it's just our more 'savage' and 'grizzly' reputation gets the better of people that's all.", gives a side glance trying to be charming.

I couldn't help but giggle, "savage or not,.-", it was then I remembered the deer meat and the tooth charm, "-you all are extremely kind. I appreciate the meat by the way."

Sten's smile pretty much sums it up for me. "You're most welcome. Now, was there something you needed to do?", he looks to my phone and noticed it was ringing in my hands, I must have put it on silent mode.

"oh God, one second.", Sten simply extends his hand allowing me to answer the phone. "Hey Ronnie, I'm so sorry about last night."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ronnie was on the other line in a mild panic, "Oh man thank god you're ok. Listen I'm at the hospital with the gang, Shelly is fine but acting all sorts weird.", at the hospital Ronnie was with Jonas, James and Clara next to Shelly....whom was still in the heat of passionate love.

Clara shaking her head, "Shelly why do you have to scare us like that! They could have disappeared with you last night!"

Shelly, smiling and daydreaming about one of the Imperial Fists, "oh Clara, I WISH they took my away.".

The others just looked at each other.

Jonas scrunch her noise a little bit, "ew Shelly what's with the BO?", suddenly a quick slap on the shoulder by Clara shocked Jonas.

"Girl you talk about another woman's smell in front of others, were you raised in a barn?!", obviously not happy about Jonas just rudely stating the obvious.

"ugh, actually I was! There's nothing wrong with being a pig farmer.", Jonas iterated.

Ronnie shaking his head, "hey Lorey you still there? Listen, last night when you and Shelly got kidnapped, I heard the BIGGEST wolf pack in the history of the state! It sounded like 50 or 60 wolves all over the place. They were chasing the truck. Them some big wolves too. The state troopers gave us a bunch reports on something huge just destroying the forest bed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hearing this, I couldn't help but make a wild guess as to what the 60 giant wolves were, "oh really? That sounds crazy, I wonder if it was a super pack.?", I look to the boys and they seem pretty chuffed at being considered a super pack .

"Ugh is James there? Can you pass the phone on to him?", considering Jame's age, I was dying to know.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ronnie passed the cellphone to James, "Lorey? Thank the Lord you're alive.", as Ronnie was watching James talk on the phone, his usual laid-back smile slowly turns into a look of concern.

".....I'm sorry Lorey, I have no idear what you could be talking about. Giant metal men? Ah that's just a bunch hooie.", his look of concern turned into a drain of color on his face.

Ronnie on the other was curious about the conversation. "ugh, is everything ok James?"

James at this point was sweating, the jig was up for him, "I'll see you later.....Sten.", he hangs up the cellphone, giving it back to Ronnie, than his face goes right back to that good ol' cowboy smile of his, color and all, "Ronnie boy, you wouldn't happen to know where's Amila would you?".

Ronnie cocked a brow, "ugh I think she's over there.", James gives him a nod and goes to Amila.

What Ronnie could see was Amila giving the same expression James had just given.

"what in the hell is going on here....", Ronnie muttered to himself.

~~~~~~~~~

Sten, gives the phone back to me, "Now that is settled....there is one more thing to do.".

Fjord gives the rubbery part of his armor a scratch, "Get breakfast?".

Sten huffed a bit, "No. We may need to change our tactics...the circumstances have changed dramatically at this point.", he looked at me with a relaxed gaze.

"We will...as it said, "walk and talk"?", he picked me up effortlessly. I felt a little self conscious about being heavy for these guys. I was not the most patite woman out there but neither was I so large to be a concern.

"woah um is this necessary?", I blush a little. I wasn't use to this type of treatment before.

Putting his helmet back on with one hand, "you're quick but you're not up to our speed.", as soon as he was done, all three climb off the deck and begin to sprint off into the forest.

"Next stop, Fort Dorn!", shouts Toke in excitement.

End of Log 5

@kit-williams

[thekrows-nest]

(anon)

Yeah, and Krow plants out any older onions and garlic that begin to sprout.  They started a sprig of rosemary from a random hedge in a jam jar of water, and now that it’s a mini shrub in a yogurt pot they use bits in pasta sauce. (Either made from simple fried garlic and oil with pepper when money is tight - or cooked down from any tomatoes that are split, damaged or mushy.)

During a ceramics phase they made a little terracotta self watering stake in the shape of a bird.

The small details I noticed aren’t much.

At the ends of Letty’s hair there were some sharp spreading pointed shapes that could have been ice crystals, hinting at supernatural powers. Her pale icy colouring fits that well. Letty is also shown preparing to snip the head off a rose which looks like a nod to Morticia. Extra fuel for ’more than meets the eye’.

TW violence/injury mention

The claw rings at the ends of her fingers were interesting as well.

I wondered if they were the cause of Gabe’s scars but they love each other. (?) Something extreme would have had to happen for that. (The shapes at the end of her hair could maybe be fur but that’s much less likely.) Werewolf Letty real? /j

No. The ones on his hand could be dragged claws but on his throat the mark looks too straight and clean. And it feels a bit too left field for the setting. Knowing nothing about them I’m going with Letty has ice crystals spreading from her, she’s possibly magic or of fae blood (flower and leaf motifs), and Gabe was possibly attacked by a bladed weapon. Or a rough thin rope or chain (less likely unless it was very abrasive or burned him magically).

I wondered if Gabe’s scars could give any hints about the nature of Gabby’s past traumatic experience. On him they do look like defence wounds.

They’re not on his palms as if he warded away someone in front of him, so it’s possible someone had a blade on his throat from behind and he instinctively put his palm up to his throat to grab/protect the wound, interfering with the blade(?) and getting a few cuts to the back of the hand in the struggle. The angle looks right.

That’s not perfect though unless it was an initial shallow slice (didn’t bleed out immediately) and the attacker tried to keep going or Gabe pushed the blade away in a few movements (two marks).

However the scars on the hand are explained for Gabby as serger accidents. And her throat seems to be unscarred. The collar of her shirt doesn’t look high enough to hide one.

Wild sloppy conjecture, Krowspiracy anon is losing their touch.

But if I can take yet another wild stab I think Gabe’s gold eyes ARE supernatural, even if Gabby’s are not/she specifically denies it. I get the feeling he’s stronger and faster to heal than a human. Not sure if werewolf of vampire or something else. The gold eyes look animalistic. But the brocade vest and Blade coat are giving me vampire 🤔 Perhaps someone tried to decapitate him.

I couldn’t make out any hints from the design on his belt buckle. It could be a tree or flames.

(adding in the second part of the ask too)

(anon)

Wait, I changed my mind. Zooming in on Gabe’s scars now and they don’t look clean and smooth like from a sharp blade.

They actually could have been made by one of the other three options mentioned.

Absolutely all that is on brand for Krow. You can totally cheaply grow your own garlic and onions just from getting sprouting ones from the grocery store. Green onions that have the roots, just put in a cup of water and they'll keep growing and you can keep using the greenery.

The lil water spout bird is a cute idea! Def making it canon he made such a thing.

As for Gabe and Letty... C:

(and yes, I was trying to do a redraw of a scene from Addam's Family for Letty since I have my own mental comparisons with her and Morticia.)

I will say that the scars on his hand are also the same as Gabby; inflicted by two separate serger incidents. The big one on his neck though... a completely different story.

As well, Gabe and Letty have a fair bit of a different story going on as opposed to Gabby and LT, which is to say, not everything that is true for Gabe and Letty is true for Gabby and LT and vice versa, such as Gabe having a huge neck scar and Gabby doesn't.

Since Gabe nor Letty are actually affiliated with the Krow Verse at all, I wouldn't mind revealing their lore. But if you'd prefer to keep theorizing that's cool too. :3

The theories you did present ARE neato hehe.

[pen-observing]

Hi! If you will have any inspiration about this

What do you think would be little things that brothers would bring you as courting you? As like birds or penguins with rocks and sticks?

Thank you 💜

sjdaj this was fun! i did have an image of lucifer bringing feathers as a meme in my mind for a sec

what the brothers bring you while courting you/wanting to impress you:

Lucifer:

He is what many would consider to be a classic idea of a man. Tall, dark, handsome with refined taste. Because of this he tries to be refined in what he brings you as well. Why should you two not share such traits?

Lucifer because of this relies on the extravagant, classic choices. Most of all – jewelry.

Rings, necklaces, bracelets – everything he sees while out on an errand that catches his eye.

He also tries to match some items with you. He has a golden pen, why shouldn’t you have one as well?

However, one thing that gets in his way is that: no matter how strong his impulse to buy or obtain rare jewels is – he cannot always give them to you.

He overthinks it.

‘if I give them two rings two weeks in a row, would that be too much? Would they then spend money to buy an outfit that matches it? Would the gifts lose their meaning if I don’t space them out? If I continue to give them so many gifts, they would feel responsible to return them so they would spend more money on me and we both know that I am the one who has more money so--’

All these thoughts come to him. Sometimes Lucifer even thinks that your pride would be hurt if he gives you jewels so often.

He tries not to go overboard but he knows that there is a whole desk drawer of little boxes just waiting for the right time to go to you.

Mammon:

No matter how much Mammon may chase gold and sparkles – he is no Lucifer and there is no way that he can just rely on jewels.

Sure, on very special occasions he manages to surprise you with them and that does make it more meaningful.

Mammon puts aside everything else and actually gets a job whenever your birthday is close.

So what else could be bring you?

He is well aware of how birds bring branches or rocks – how sometimes they even spend so much time flying high above and continuously dropping walnuts for others on the road until they crack. His approach is similar.

When you have issues or need to open something – he always offers himself.

It is a bit silly but being there for someone counts.

Besides this – every trinket that he sees somehow ends up in your room

Plushies, fun masks, nail polish that matches his, a leaf that fell in his hair while he was sleeping under a tree and dreamt of you.

He also brings postcards, magazines, photos you might enjoy.

Once he brought you a heart shaped stone and bragged about how his keen eye managed to observe it in the clean river!

Something in every corner of your room will be adjacent to him.

“What if I brought you branches?” “What?” “Nothing!”

He just wanted to ask!

Leviathan:

Lucifer is impulsive in buying just one thing, Levi, however, is impulsive all around.

And that impulsivity goes in many directions.

He is able to use and calculate all his Akuzon points to make sure that you get 10 products instead of just 1.

He takes it very, very seriously.

Sometimes he buys you way too many snacks, other times he orders 5 costumes

Often his courting relies on the thought; what if we shared this!

His mind says that the more you have in common the better match you are.

This is why he brings matching keychains or slippers or even computer backgrounds and mousepads.

He still knows that ‘matching’ does not fully count but it really warms his heart when he sees that you are willing to share and indulge in those small things that would not really matter to others.

It gives him a confidence boost and reassures him that you are in fact open to him.

However, something still has to be yours alone.

Yours alone, from his hands and he needs to make sure of that.

Levi does bring you pearls like penguins do.

And he did in fact spend a long time underwater making sure he brings the best ones.

Just... never show him the video that trended of a female penguin cheating on her partner in the human world.

Satan:

Satan, no matter how much he tries to deny it, is in many ways similar to Lucifer.

He might dress the way he does but he tries to be a classic gentleman in this regard.

He does bring jewelry too – however he never brings it without a deeper, more profound reason.

‘so what if this ring is rare? What does it matter to them? Nothing.’

He has to hear you say it is very pretty to give it to you.

The necklace needs to remind him of your eyes or he is not buying it at all.

Because of this – he is very picky so few gifts are of this nature.

What else does he bring?

Satan writes you notes all the time.

Sometimes they are there to remind you of water or meals, other times they are short quotes.

In fact, he brings you annotated books; lines that remind him of you; quotes of feelings he knows thanks to you.

He brings you parts of himself and looks for parts of you in everything.

This is his idea of courting.

And don’t be surprised to get letters (wax made by him) under your door even if you live close by.

Asmodeus:

Unlike the others, Asmo has no problems with giving you whatever his own impulse says to.

Why should he hide these 2 perfumes that he bought thinking of you and wait for 3 weeks to present them to you?

No, do it right then and there because your heart felt the love or do not do it at all!

Because of this, his impulse costs a lot. Only second to Lucifer.

Asmo wants to give you luxurious things but he knows that jewelry alone can get boring rather fast and is limited by time and fashion and practicality etc.

So he gives you luxury in everything.

New lines of fragrance are yours as well as his, new skin care products that few humans can buy just show up at your door.

Does he also give you framed photos of him? Yes

Does he give you best silk? Also yes.

Why should the two of you not enjoy these things? You deserve it after all.

Still, Asmo is very sentimental too.

He gifts you photo albums of things that make him feel so. Memories of trips and walks; of sleepovers and quiet nights as well.

Yes, luxury is there but this small pretty pen is cheap and has hearts on it! He simply has to give it to you!

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub knows the ‘proper’, ‘correct’ or expected ways to court someone.

He knows what gifts others give and why.

But, all of that seems slightly...like vanity or showing off to him.

It just wouldn’t feel right to give you a framed work of art or color stones that glimmer if it does not really awake something.

His gifts are as gentle as him.

Yes, food is the most obvious choice but he really does worry if you are eating well because humans are fragile.

Flowers that he sees in shops or on walks.

While once walking with Luke he saw some and said how pretty they would look on you. Luke taught him to make flower crowns for that reason.

Most of his gifts are handmade.

He wants to help you on his own no matter what.

The most consistent gifts however are those that you said you needed.

Doesn’t matter when you said it or how, maybe it was just a passing thought, but he remembers and he gets them for you.

Belphegor:

it wouldn’t be wrong to say that he manages to mix up all of these ways and refuses to settle down on just one type.

This is because he is similar to Beel.

Beel gives you thinks you said you needed; Belphie gives you those you did not even notice.

He is constantly observing you and being as smart as he is – nothing escapes him.

You don’t have to complain how you grew bored of your boots or how annoying those headphones are.

He just notices it and gives you new ones.

Sometimes he looks at you during a party in Diavolo’s castle and things that a necklace is missing and would actually be useful in the future as well; so, he buys it.

Books for assignments you are not aware you will need next year find their way to your table. Yes, it is a year but he is a published Devildom scholar so trust him with this.

Paintings, matching rings with stars, a keychain of some small alien from a human TV show etc.

He treads the lines of outlandish with luxury and simple.

Seeing you surprised no matter what because you never mentioned these things always brings him joy.

a/n: how tf do you spell jewelry is it this or jewellery or i hate his word pls

[mihotose]

ok ive spent several days reading kenran zuroku heres my favourite facts/details i didnt notice bc i dont pay close attention

imanotsurugi’s hair touches the floor when its loose

maeda has leaf patterns on the lining of his cape that change between white and purple depending on the angle

all the awataguchi tantou besides yagen have ribbons around their uchiban shirt collars and most of them have dark grey ribbons but maeda’s is yellow, houchou’s is light grey, and mouri’s is a green darker than his hair

midare’s sentou shorts have a gold flower on his hip (hidden by his dress)

gokotai’s tigers all have unique designs and have either sky blue or gold eyes hence why his kiwame tiger has one gold one sky blue eye

gokotai’s eyes seem to shine in the dark

aizen uses a red cord as a belt but he struggles to untie it every time lmao

sayo isnt good at tying bows so theyre all wonky..........

i already knew this but nikkari doesnt wear Anything under his uchiban jersey

izuminokami and horikawa’s eyes are shinsengumi haori blue (straight up didnt make the connection)

urashima and nagasone’s wear their kotetsu straps the same way but hachisuka has an extra strap on his left upper arm and around each ankle

the white kotetsu shirt is like a blacksmith’s outfit. urashima and hachisuka have the same but urashima’s wears his like nagasone

URASHIMA HAS THE SAME HAIR TEXTURE AS HACHISUKA HE JUST STYLES IT LIKE NAGASONE

urashima has fishscale patterns on his uchiban jinbei

nakigitsune wears a tie during uchiban he just has his jersey zipped up over it

the samonji have a decorative knot hanging from their chest. sayo’s has one loop souza’s two kousetsu’s three

hachisuka is the only kotetsu to wear that long sleeved black top under his kotetsu shirt

hachisuka has a high centre of gravity with a feeling of floating and weightlessness compared to nagasone’s low centre of gravity and groundedness

his waist armour was designed to be like a tennyo’s hagoromo and his hair is like a halo

nagasone’s uchiban vest is soft after many washes

his hair ties are cheap (vs hachisuka’s. golden flower hairpin.) and his hair is “animal-like” (despite not being a ‘real’ kotetsu etc)

nagasone’s waist armour was designed to be like blackbird feathers and i literally couldnt read it properly but urashima’s may be a grass skirt? if i read it right.

akashi has a habit of fiddling with his hair

he rolls his left sleeve up so he can swap to his left hand in emergencies

all the osafune have an emblem on their uchiban jersey’s right sleeve

shokudaikiri has a sliced moon/fire in gold

kenshin and azuki have a sparrow feather/bamboo in blue and pink respectively. i think the small feather filament may represent kenshin and the bigger one azuki?

daihannya has coins in gold

koryuu has a dragon claw in purple

chougi has a flame(?) in grey

shinano’s hair is just long enough to put in a tiny ponytail

he has a kaishi ire (tissue/notepaper case) in his inside jacket pocket

things he keeps in his garter pouches: portable sewing kit, ointment, umeboshi, bandage, candy, nail clippers, etc

hakata is very lucky cat themed

he carries a pen (with a lucky cat logo) and notepad on him into battle

he puts little clips on his trousers in uchiban to keep them rolled up

houchou’s bag has both japanese and western sweets

his armguard has a vague rabbit design

he has a little bird netsuke on his belt behind his back!!!

taikogane’s hair looks like a bird’s nest in the mornings

his uchiban tshirt has date masamune’s maedate moon on it

fudou’s hair goes down to his calves

mouri has to wrap his belt around him twice

kenshin and azuki both have dango hanging from their belts

they have the same handkerchief in their back pockets in uchiban: white with pink azuki beans along the edge

kenshin has azuki beans on the soles of his uchiban wellies

kenshin’s uchiban socks have two azuki beans on the side while azuki’s have three

hyuuga’s two black hair strands comes from the two gomabashi engravings in the blade

the blade was often used as a gift which is why he has so many ribbons and bows

when he puts his hood on he takes his hat off and puts it in his belt

his hair accessories are omodaka shaped (ishida-ke mon)

his uchiban water bottle has an umeboshi onigiri keychain hanging from it

kotegiri has five moles in a circle on the back of his right hand and two under his right eye

several of muramasa’s layers have gaps cut out so he can screw his tail in

kikkou’s uchiban scarf has embroidered chrysanthemums in gold thread

nansen wears toe socks

his kusege flutters in the wind but returns to its original position

his uchiban jersey has the same ring as his collar but in silver as his zip pull

juzumaru’s eyeshadow is made with lapis lazuli which purifies the soul and wards off evil

hes very heavily lotus themed with lotus pink and lapis lazuli blue coloured accessories

his beads change between black and white depending on the lighting except the three large ones which are ultramarine blue

his uchiban boots have a pink version of nikkari’s kyougoku-ke shiroshouzoku pin?

the two metal parts on ookanehira’s collar come together to form a butterfly except he always has his collar open so they dont join

daihannya has a LOUPE

koryuu’s studs are the same purple as his eyes

he has a satchel on the back of his belt with medicine, a compass, letter scroll, writing set, map, koban purse, etc inside

he has five hairpins on his right side and four on the left

higekiri and hizamaru get new white symbols on their jackets with each toku representing onikiri, shishinoko, and tomokiri, and kumokiri and hoemaru

kogarasumaru’s sentou is inspired by the battle of dan no ura, with the frills on his right shoulder representing the waves

the lining of his suihi has a pale cyan to vermilion gradient that changes in the light

he is barefoot and graceful as a ballerina, inspired by an anecdote of a tiptoeing crow

azuki’s uchiban tshirt is white with pink sparrow and bamboo designs

shizuka doesnt wear that black sleeveless turtleneck that tomoe does in uchiban

tomoe doesnt tie his sleeves up like shizuka does

hizen wears the same pants in sentou and uchiban

chougi wears both SHIRT GARTERS and SOCK GARTERS

buzen has tiny zipup pockets in his knees

chiyoganemaru plaits his hair in uchiban and ties it with a yellow scrunchie with an anemonefish charm

hakusan’s skin feels cold to the touch

his hat has a melon flower pin sewn to it and he has a melon flower keychain hanging from his uchiban belt

gokotai’s nails are tiger fur orange after kiwame

on his shoulders, knee pads, socks, and boots he has four orange spots that are like tiger toe beans

gokotai’s crest is on his tiger’s forehead and it disappears temporarily when he gets damaged

the blue/purple fireballs around nikkari are hitodama

souza’s beads become a greenish blue but can look purple sometimes depending on the lights

the pattern on hachisuka’s breastplate is like maki-e flowers

his kiwame coat has tiger stripes in the lining and is just like urashima’s but his flutters more

his hagoromo (he has his own now!) is iridescent and the section behind his head floats slightly

he has the image of flowing water and petals and the light and open feeling is like he is sitting in a lotus which reflects his extreme internal change (he has reached enlightenment!!!!!!)

[critrolesideblog]

Evening falls in the Pearlbow Wilderness with the last of the autumn leaves. A bitter wind heralds the coming of winter as it rattles its way through the skeletal trees, and the veil of gray that has been pulled across the sky all day awaits its cue to blanket the world beneath with snow. So, when a golden-amber light shines briefly in the wilderness, halfway between Erdeloch and Kaltenloch, there is no mistaking it for dying sunlight, which has not been seen by these tree trunks for some time, and it is little surprise at all, when a man with hair the color of a hearthfire appears out of the light with the soft crunch and thump of sturdy boots meeting forest floor.

The man looks north briefly, and then turns in a slow, clockwise circle, his azure eyes, bruised from lack of sleep, searching for any sign of his quarry. He hears the familiar, chittering call of an elf owl, and watches it take to the sky in a flutter of feathers and rustle of tree branches. A smile pulls on one side of his lips, and he hopes the bird is a good omen as he turns the slow circle again, but he finds only trees, trees, and more trees. The wind, delighted to have a new orange toy at its disposal, tugs excitedly at his hair. "Go where the wind blows, I suppose," he says with a sigh, and the leaves on the ground agree quietly that it is really the only sensible way to be getting along.

As he sets off west-northwest, he reaches into one of his coat's many pockets to touch the trinket housed there. It is a small thing, barely larger than a gold coin. He stole it over a year prior from a place far east of here. He turns it over in his pocket four times, before methodically tracing the design on its face with his thumb, a new habit he has picked up in recent weeks as he has searched for the woman it reminds him of.

Night arrives quickly in the autumnal wilderness, and cold quickly follows suit. Luckily, the man knows a thing or two about light and heat. He produces a flame in his unpocketed hand as quickly and easily as most people breathe. Most trees would be perturbed at the sudden appearance of fire in their midst, but the trees of this forest are old and delight in the man's bright magic. You are so close, they whisper as the wind glides across their branches. She is just there. The snow, sensing its cue, begins to fall then, kissing the man on the top of his head, shoulders, and cheeks, melting against his skin like a lover. Come, come, the flurries beckon. You are very close. He does not hear them, but he feels a renewed determination, or perhaps stubbornness, as he sets his shoulders and forges ahead.

It is the light he notices first. He extinguishes the flame in his hand, thinking it a possible trick of eye, but no, he can definitely glimpse a glimmer of light up ahead. He notices the trees next, the way they have created a path for him, their branches curling elegantly overhead like living archways. Finally, pace quickening, he catches the scent of woodsmoke and food on the air. As he gets closer, the glimmer coalesces into a series of arcane lights, like too-still fireflies, leading a path up to the door of a home, now visible in the clearing, and wreathing it in gold. He feels a pang of nostalgia as he is reminded of a tree, far away, glowing with daylight in a city of eternal night.

He blames this rush of sentimentality for his lack of caution as he steps through the final archway. He does not sense the arcane wire until he has already tripped it. He hisses in pain, flinching backward, as bright, white light sears his retinas. Old habit brings his hands instinctively level with his face, palms outward, a position of readiness disguised as surrender. He hears what can only be the door ahead opening with a groan, and a woman's voice calls out from the light, full-throated and wary.

"Who's there?"

"My name is Caleb, Caleb Widogast." He replies, trying his best to keep his voice level and calm, despite his mounting discomfort at the fact that he cannot see. "I mean you no harm. I am looking for someone. I believe her name is Torvi. I met her once, some years ago, and I wish to speak with her, if I may." He pauses to allow a reply, but all he hears is the wind in the branches and the faint crackle of a fire. He can feel his pulse thumping nervously in his throat. He ventures to speak again. "I," he pauses, considering how direct he should be. "I met her in-- in a place called--"

"I know what the place is called." The woman's voice is not soft exactly, but it is no longer quite so sharp. The lights dim back to their firefly glow. "You are not the first person from Vergessen to find their way here." He thinks it might be sadness he hears in her voice and ventures to open his eyes slowly.

As the black splotches on his vision reduce, the woman comes slowly into focus. He notices first the book in a sling on her hip, dark leather stark against the golden yellow of her dress. Next, the dishcloth in her hands, giving the impression of being caught in the middle of a chore and undoubtedly hiding any number of spell components. It is not Torvi. Torvi's face is the first clear memory he has after ... after. He thinks he sees a resemblance, in the shape of her eyes, the sweet-apple roundness of her cheekbones, the broad curve of her nose, the pointed slope of her ears. Her jaw is different, though, more square, her shoulders more broad, her stature just a bit too tall. "May I ask who you are?"

"I'm Maeve, Torvi's sister." She beckons him with a tilt of her head. "Come on in."

Caleb approaches with greater caution this time, as Maeve steps back, opening the door further. He casts Detect Magic with a practiced twist of his hand and spots no further traps on the path ahead of him -- at least, none that are currently activated. There are, however, a dozen different wards that he can see around the perimeter of the clearing and a dozen more traps besides. It is some of the most intricately woven Abjuration magic he has had the pleasure of witnessing, and he regrets, for just an instant before he steps through the doorway, that he does not have time right now to investigate it further.

His beleaguered eyes adjust to the candle and firelight of the interior to take in a simple but well-appointed home. There are cabinets and a large work bench along the far wall. Herbs of all varieties hang from the rafters. There is a bookcase filled to bursting with books of all sizes, some of which glow with magic. There is a large dining table, crowned with a steaming cauldron of stew, and there, in a chair by the hearthfire, is Torvi. She has a blanket pulled around her, and she is leaning against one side of the armchair, her arm curled beneath her chin as a pillow, gazing into the hearthfire, seemingly lost in thought, or perhaps, just lost. She gives no indication that she has noticed him enter.

He has had weeks to get used to the idea of her being alive and not dead, as he had assumed her to be from the moment Ikithon took posession of her holy symbol all those years ago, but no amount of mental preparation could have prepared him for the experience of seeing her there exactly as he remembered her.

"This will hurt." The first words to cut through the clouds in a decade, as the heart-shaped face of a half-Elven woman, with dark-brown skin and sunlight-on-honey eyes, comes into focus, her warm hands caressing his face. "Like saltwater on a wound, it is necessary. There is so much you may yet do." Her expression shifts, then, from an apologetic smile to slack-jawed awe. Her eyes are bright as they rove across his face. "I see the face of Corellon in you."

Now that he is within the warmth of the home, Caleb cannot attribute the tingling numbness in his face and hands to the cold. His heart pounds against his ribcage, as desperate to escape as he suddenly is, but he manages to draw in a deep, shaky breath. Breathe, he reminds himself. He  grips the charm in his pocket with all his strength, such as it is, and takes a deep breath again. Eins, swei, drei... It takes him a moment to realize that Maeve is looking at him expectantly. "Sorry?" He croaks.

"I said, if you want to speak with her, you'll have to wait, but if you're not in a hurry, she'll come around soon enough."

"Ah, ja, I can wait." He picks a point on Maeve's cheek, just below her eyes, to fix his gaze upon. Stay on task, Widogast. "I had hoped to speak with you as well. Perhaps, we can do that first." One of her eyebrows quirks upward.

"Alright," she says, after a moment. "We can do that over dinner. You can set your coat and things there" Though her words are phrased as suggestions, her voice rings with the authority of someone used to being listened to, as she motions to a coat rack by the door. Her eyes flick to his pocketed hand. There is still a wariness in the set of her shoulders, and the dishcloth still partly obscures one of her hands. Ah.

Caleb nods in acquiescence and acknowledgment, one paranoid arcanist to another, and removes the hand from his pocket slowly, palming the trinket as he does so. He turns away from her and divests himself of his scarf and coat, keeping the trinket in hand all the while. He keeps his eyes on the wood floor, the cob wall, the curling leaf design of the wooden coat hooks. When he turns back, Maeve has set three places at the dining table. "Ah, none for me, please," he says, waving a staying hand as he crosses to the table. She pauses, ladle suspended in midair, and her eyes pass over his thin form, even thinner now that he no longer has his coat, in frank, skeptical appraisal. Judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she finds him wanting.

"We feed our guests around here," she says, in the same authoritative tone, and ladles soup into each of the three bowls. Caleb's lips form a thin line, briefly, the only outward indication of his inward prickling at this insistence, but he quickly clears the frown from his face. He wants her amenable to his request, and if he has to eat a little, in spite of the knotted nerves residing where his stomach should be, so be it. He notices that his bowl, at least, is more broth than vegetable as Maeve retrieves a large loaf of crusty bread from a cupboard, tears off a large piece for each of them, and settles into the seat across the table from him. "So," she says, before digging into her bowl. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

Caleb takes a deep breath. "Are you familiar with a man by the name of Trent Ikithon?"

Maeve stills. Her eyes meet Caleb's, wary and discerning. "I know of him -- he is one of the members of the Cerberus Assembly -- but I have never met him."

"Count yourself lucky," Caleb says, forcing his face into a wry smile. He launches into a monologue he has rehearsed many times over the past few weeks, detailing some of the crimes of his former mentor, how Ikithon used Vergessen as a base of operations, the ordeal of his trial and imprisonment, the nigh certainty of the involvement of other Assembly members in Ikithon's crimes, and the painstaking, fruitless search to find anyone willing to testify against them. Maeve's eyes stay on him all the while as she takes in every word with a quiet, steadfast focus that reminds him of another wizard he knows. "So," he says at last, after pausing to eat a small bite of broth-soaked bread. "If there is any evidence you can offer, any testimony of anything you or your sister might have witnessed --"

"No."

Caleb blinks once, twice, three times. "No?"

"No," she repeats, softly. "I admire what you are doing, but we cannot help you."

"If you are afraid of reprisals, I can assure you--"

"I'm fairly certain you can assure nothing where the Assembly is involved," she says, with a cynical smile, "no matter how powerful you or your friends with the Cobalt Soul are. But, nevertheless, I have no evidence to offer. I witnessed nothing, aside from my sister's declining health, which is too circumstantial to be helpful, and any evidence she might offer would not stand up in court of law."

Caleb's shoulders and head curl forward as her words hit him like a blow to the chest. He hazards a glance at the woman by the fire, who has not moved over the course of their conversation. "Is she so unwell?"

". . . No." Maeve drags the word out into two syllables. "She is much better than she was, but..." She taps a quick staccato rhythm against the side of her bowl with her spoon, before gazing across the room at her sister. "Torvi was not insane before she went to Vergessen, only inconvenient. When she was a teenager, she began performing miracles and wonders around our village, and she was not shy about declaring their provenance. She was always blessing people that they may 'walk in Corellon's beauty' or 'may the light of the Archeart guide them.'" Caleb's heart sinks as he guesses where this story is going. Maeve shrugs, her gaze dropping back to her bowl. "We got fined every time the Reapers came to town. The villagers didn't care, so long as their kid was healed or their shop brought in coin -- a blessing was a blessing. But she didn't stop there. She also went after the priest to the All-Hammer that kept the shrine in our village. She said he worshiped the Empire, not the Gods."

"I bet that made her a lot of friends in high places."

Maeve gives a snort of humorless laughter at this, her cynical smile returning. "No kidding. My parents made a deal with the lawmaster: instead of sending her to jail, they agreed that her worship of "false gods"--" she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers "-- was a sign of her obvious madness, and sent her to Vergessen instead." She pushes her soup around the bowl with her spoon. "They thought they were doing her a kindness. But, regardless," her eyes flash up to catch his, hard with grim certainty. "Even if she was completely well, I think we both know the word of a convicted heretic and idolator is worth very little in the eyes of the law."

Caleb rubs his tired eyes with a sigh, as his left hand worries at the charm. He has so much work yet to do. Da'leth, Margolin, Tversky -- they were all too close to the Volstrucker program not to have been involved. They had to be removed from power for any real change to take place, and his search for concrete evidence and testimony had been so fruitless. When he had found record of Torvi's discharge from Vergessen, it ... it had felt like a sign, he admits to himself, cringing a little at the irrationality of it. A sign that perhaps he was on the verge of a breakthrough. He unfurls his hand to reveal the trinket: a small disc of silver engraved with two moons backed by a four-pointed star.

Maeve, glimpsing the symbol, tilts her head curiously. "Are you a devotee of Corellon?"

The idea that someone could mistake him for a devotee of any god is strange enough to make him fumble the charm as he turns it over again in his hand. "Ah, I cannot say so, no. I have never been much for religion."

Maeve's gestures with her chin toward the book holstered at his side. "Why bother with the fickle will of Gods when us mortals can achieve so much on our own?" It is not really a question. There is a book on her own hip after all.

Caleb nods. "That is part of it." He turns the charm over in his hand again, and a memory rises to the surface of his mind: the soft, rhythmic clack-clack of wooden prayer beads as they sift through his mother's clever fingers. She kneels before the shrine of Pelor, eyes closed, the dawn light shining off her burnished copper hair, prayers whispering earnestly through her lips. Much good that it did her. "For a long time, it seemed to me the supposed benevolence of the gods was nothing but a cruel joke." Bless my son that he may live always in Your light. "My view is a bit softer now, but ..." Bless our Empire that we may bring light to the dark corners of the world.

Maeve nods. Her eyes gleam with a cold anger. "I rage at that one, sometimes," she says, her eyes darting toward the moonlit star in his hand. "And argue -- one-sided." A wry smile twists her lips.

The sudden scrape of metal on metal makes both of their heads turn at once toward the front window. It opens with a creak and in hops a tiny elf owl.

Maeve rises and crosses quickly to the window. "You've been eavesdropping, haven't you?" She asks, as she closes the window with a sharp snap. "It's very rude to keep your guest waiting." The owl's head swivels to gaze at Caleb, and he recognizes immediately the familiar glow of Fey magic in the bird's eyes. With another little hop, it takes flight from the window sill and lands on the table a foot from him. There is a long moment of silence as the bird looks him over, this way and that, and -- pip, pip, pip-- hops a little closer, faerie fire still burning its eyes.

Caleb remembers well the safe, comforting distance of viewing the world through a familiar's eyes. "I had a little owl like you once," he says, softly. A smile tugs at his lips as he remembers Frumpkin perched on Beau's shoulder, his tiny feathers ruffled by the ocean breeze. "Well, he was a cat really, but he was an owl for a little while."

"She is a bigger owl really," says the first voice he remembers from Vergessen. "But she is small for right now."

Caleb takes a deep breath. Eins, swei, drei... He forces himself to tear his eyes from the safe visage of the little bird and face her. She is not quite looking at him, but she is facing his direction now. He can see clearly now that the light reflected in her upturned eyes is not fire but Fey. "Do-- do you remember me, Schwester?"

"Of course, I do," she says, voice soft and warm.

Caleb rubs his thumb over the design on the charm one last time. "I brought this for you," he says, holding it out for the owl to inspect. "To replace the one that was taken." The owl bobs its head this way and that in a circular motion, and then snaps up the trinket so quickly that Caleb barely has time to worry for his fingers before the bird is midair again. She lands on the back of the chair, dropping the charm onto Torvi's waiting palm. Her hand closes around it, and as it does, the light in her eyes grows and brightens until they shine like twin stars from her face. They are bright enough that Caleb is not able to look at her long without needing to avert his weary eyes. It is not unlike the ways he has seen Jester and Caduceus' magic manifest at times, and he wonders what visions her deity is granting her, as Maeve resumes her seat across from him.

The room is quiet for a long while, save for the crackle of the hearthfire and the occasional scrape of Maeve's spoon against her bowl. The tiny owl is beginning to doze on the back of the chair, when the light disappears from Torvi's eyes with a blink, and she looks down at the trinket with her own eyes for the first time. "Beautiful," she whispers, as errant tears spill down her cheeks.

"Schwester..." It feels cruel to ask, another sin to add to the pile, but she is here now. Really here, and he has traveled all this way. He has to ask. "Schwester, is there anything you remember about your time at Vergessen, any evidence you can offer, any direction you can point me in, to help me bring down those who used that place for evil?"

Still gazing at the talisman, she tilts her head in a way that reminds Caleb of a curious bird and seems to consider his question for a moment. "You were the first one I restored in that place," she says at last. "Half mad and half cursed, so young and so full of Corellon's beauty and magic." The ghost of a smile curls around her lips as she rubs her thumb over the design on the charm in much the same way Caleb had a moment before. "And now you have done so many beautiful and important things." And ugly and terrible things, Caleb thinks wryly. The scales are not yet balanced.

"I just need to do a little more, Schwester." A phantom, stinging itch starts up in his forearms, and his fingers worry against each other for lack of the charm to turn between them.

Torvi's eyes meet his without warning, and he is caught like a startled creature in the sudden glimpse of sunlight.

"Fuck, if I ever have to sit in a courtroom again, it'll be too fuckin' soon," Beau says, stretching in the dim lamplight outside the tavern. He makes a noise of agreement, and she glances at him. "Y'know, Yasha's got some unfinished business in Xhorhas. We've been talking about taking off for a few weeks, few months maybe, to go back to her old stomping grounds..." She looks at Caleb sidelong, and he can read the concern in the slight shift in the pitch of her voice, the rising of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, though she plays it off well. He knows he looks like shit. It turned out listening to weeks of testimony against his abuser was not a great aid to his already-fitful sleep.

"Gut." He says, and he means it. "It will be good for her to get some closure. She deserves it, and you both deserve some time to yourselves." He offers her a smile he hopes is reassuring.

She nods, and between one breath and the next, her arms are around him. He allows himself to lean into her vice-like grip, hugging her back as hard as he can. "Take it easy, while we're gone, alright, man? We'll kick some more Assembly ass when we get back." She releases him at last and gives him a pat on the cheek. "Get some rest, man. You deserve it."

Caleb feels the heavy weight of his allotment of Trent Ikithon's platinum and gold in his coat pocket and knows that he does not. "Ja," he says. "I will. There's just a little more to do."

"And then what?" The question snaps Caleb's attention back to the present. Torvi is peering at him, her eyes seeming to search in his for an answer. "A little more, and then what? After you find this evidence you need, will it be a little more still, or will you rest?"

If he found evidence against Da'leth and the others, there would be more trials. The web would unravel further still, and he would have new threads to follow. Not to mention, the problem of the ex-Volstrucker scattered to the winds. "Well, you know what they say," he says with a sardonic grin. "There is no rest for the wicked." Torvi does not return his grin.

"You are not wicked." She says this with such certainty that it sparks a small flame of anger in his chest.

"How do you know?" He asks, more than a little petulantly.

"I know." And there is something in the compassionate depths of her sunlit eyes that makes Caleb think, inexplicably, that she does know. She knows what transpired before Vergessen and since. The flame in his chest is quenched thoroughly. He tears his gaze from hers at last, eins, swei, drei... "Alas," she continues, once his breathing has evened out again. "My memories from Vergessen are... muddled." She concludes quietly. "But if I think of anything helpful, I can contact you." He nods, his eyes on the floorboards, as disappointment washes over him.

"I suppose I'll be on my way then." He says, quietly, and rises from his seat. Maeve rises with him.

"I'd like a favor from you before you go," says Torvi, as he turns from the table. He looks up, in surprise.

"Name it."

"I'd like you to hold onto this for me," she says, holding the talisman out with a smile. "I'm always losing mine."

"It's true," mutters Maeve. "I'm always finding them in strange places."

"This one means a lot to me," Torvi says. "I don't want to lose it." She holds the charm out toward him insistently. "Keep it safe for me."

Maeve looks at him sidelong and sighs. "If you don't, she'll just find some way of sneaking it into your pocket as you leave."

"It's true," Torvi agrees, and there is mischief twinkling amidst the warm affection in her eyes, a particular mix that reminds him strongly of Jester. He crosses to her to take the trinket back, and as he does so, her fingers catch his. He feels a familiar warmth settle over him. "May you walk in Corellon's beauty, Bruder." When Maeve had said the words earlier, they had sounded trite to Caleb's ears, but Torvi's benediction was infused with such sincerity.

Caleb bends forward slightly, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "Danke, Schwester." She smiles at him warmly, as he releases her grasp and pockets the trinket.

Maeve opens the door for him as he hastily dons his scarf and coat and steps out into the frigid air. To Caleb's surprise, she follows him out onto the step, closing the door behind her. The clearing is now covered in a thin layer of snow, and their breaths create little puffs of fog in the dim glow of the arcane lights. Maeve leans out past the eave of the house for a moment to look up at the sky, but the stars are veiled with clouds. She frowns and straightens, crossing her arms. "Can I give you a little advice?" She asks, her voice pitched low, eyes following the meandering descent of a snowflake.

Caleb watches the snowflake, also, watches it spiral and drift, until it is lost in a sea of shadow. He is not sure he wants advice. He wants evidence, a direction to go in. He has lost his only lead, and now, he is back at square one.

"When I'm stuck on a spell," Maeve continues. "I find the best thing to do is take a break. Then, when I'm doing laundry or gardening or whatever, the solution will come to me." She reaches out a hand past the eave to catch some of the falling snow. "Even the Wildmother can't bloom all the time." A strong gust of wind swirls around them then, trying its best to push Caleb northward. Caleb adjusts his scarf and coat to stop its icy fingers from trailing down his neck, and Maeve shrugs. "Take it or leave it."

"Thank you," Caleb says with a nod. Maeve nods back and turns to re-enter the house, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

Caleb steps off of the porch, re-casting detect magic with a twist of his hand. He wants to be well clear of the Abjuration magic before he attempts to teleport. The snow crunches under his boots as he makes his way down the row of lights, and the wind whistles in the tree branches and tries, once again, to tug him northward, pulling at his hair this time, loosening it from its tie.

The sharp, clean smell of the fresh snow reminds Caleb of Eiselcross... of Essek. The thought of reuniting with Essek had been a light at the end of the tunnel, during Ikithon's trial. He had even spent time crafting his own Sending spell, so he could contact Essek once the trial was over. When the day came, it had felt too selfish to use it. There was still so much to do.

And Essek isn't the only thing awaiting him in Eiselcross. In the underworld of Aeor lies a crucible, a final test of his tentative, hard-won, untrustworthy goodness.

Caleb walks much further than he needs to. The snowflakes try to kiss his worries away. When this doesn't work, they stop falling, leaving only the wind carding its fingers through his hair with alternating sweetness and frustration. It whistles some more to catch his attention, but he is too lost in his spiraling thoughts to hear it.

He does hear another noise, though, or thinks he does. He cannot find the little owl when he looks up to the tree branches, but he does see a star. A single star, bright enough to shine through a thinning in the veil, twinkling, safe and familiar...

Caleb swears under his breath and yanks a copper wire out of his pocket, before he can think better of it. He shapes it much like he has seen Jester do numerous times and takes a deep breath. He visualizes Essek, his lilac eyes, his high cheekbones, the iridescent freckles dusted across his twilight skin, the elegant curve of his jaw, the small dimples that appear on his cheeks when he smiles, really smiles, and speaks the magic word. "Hallo, Freund, I--" It occurs to him suddenly that, although it is a very reasonable 6:13 in the evening in this part of the Pearlbow Wilderness, it is much deeper into the night at Vurmas Outpost. "I apologize I didn't think of the time. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Nine words left. "Thinking I'll travel to you soon... to exchange theories?" The words leave his lips with the ghost of a smile, and he thinks he hears a smile in Essek's voice as well, when he responds:

"Caleb Widogast, it is good to hear your voice no matter the time of night. I can think of nothing else I would rather do."

.

.

.

Notes: I rather extended the limits of Read Object and Read Mind from the Knowledge Domain descriptions, because.

[tinkerbellwoo]

Broken Wings - J. Wooyoung

Synopsis - You take a nasty tumble after going flower picking in a meadow far from home, that's when you meet a sweet fairy boy, Wooyoung.

Genre - Fluff

AU - Fairy AU

Pairing - Fairy!Wooyoung x Fairy!Reader (F)

Warnings - Swearing and mentions of cuts/bruises

Word Count - 1,400+ oopsies

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Minutes ago, all was well. You were gliding through the sky, weaving between trees as you clutched a collection of freshly picked flower buds to bring back to your den. Until one of your flowers fell from your grip, causing you to lose concentration and accidentally flying directly into a branch. 

You fell through many sticks and leaves as you failed to regain control, hitting your head against the rough bark on a tree before landing roughly on a large leaf where you lay motionless for a little while.

You’ve now managed to regain consciousness, sitting upright as you attempt to adjust to the situation, your head remains fuzzy but you seem to remember where things went wrong and how you ended up here. Examining your surroundings, you catch sight of your flowers, scattered beneath you and beaten by the tumble you took moments ago.

“Ah shit, my flowers...” You groan to yourself. Your knees and elbows sting due to the scrapes littering your skin. Fluttering your wings in an attempt to stand, you feel a sharp pain shoot through them to your spine, causing you to fall onto your hands and knees. “Fuck. You’ve got to be kidding” You hiss through your teeth at the pain.

Tears begin to stream down your face, partially because of the pain but also because you were so excited to go flower picking today and now your once-delightful outing just feels pointless. “What am I supposed to do now? I can't fly-”

Suddenly, you hear the light fluttering of wings. You look around in confusion, knowing full well it couldn't be your own pair due to the damage they received just moments ago. The surface of the leaf dips slightly as you look behind you. 

At first you’re fearful, what if you fell onto another colonies territory and they're angry? What if it’s a large bird coming to eat you? But all of your worries subside when you’re met with the sweet smile of the boy standing behind you. His wings are a shimmering gold, glowing against his pretty, tanned skin. His black hair frames his face beautifully as the blonde underneath creates an admirable contrast.

“Looks like you took quite the tumble there” He giggles “Are you okay?” He asks. You can't respond, you're far too focused on how attractive this stranger is. “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Wooyoung” He smiles, holding out a hand to help you up from the floor. You gladly accept his offer and dust the dirt from your legs as you find your feet.

“Hi uh- I’m Y/N and... I think I’m fine” You reply, slightly embarrassed that this gorgeous stranger has just witnessed you take the tumble of your life. “How embarrassing...” You whisper to yourself as a harsh blush spreads across your cheeks.

He giggles at your adorable state but your face burns more due to the feeling of his gaze on you. “Hey, it happens to the best of us” He comforts you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you hurt? Your wings are damaged and it looks like you've got a few nasty cuts” He says, concern laced in his voice. 

“It hurts when I try to fly, the scratches don't bother me but I’m so far from home I just don't know what I’m going to do if I can't use my wings” You respond, gazing down at the floor in disappointment as you pull small twigs from your hair.

Wooyoung watches your sad expression, feeling unbearably sorry for you. He’s not one to take much notice of strangers but, when he saw you in the meadow his heart skipped a beat, his glittery aura flickered pink and his pointy ears twitched. He knew he may never see you again so he secretly followed you to find out where you came from. Right now he's doing his best to act like finding you was an accident.

“I don't live too far from here. If you come back to my den, I can give you some bluebell syrup. You’ll be healed by tomorrow and you can be on your way!” He says, hopeful that you'll accept his offer. “Sure, what other choice do I have right now” You laugh shyly. 

“Great! I-I’m going to have to carry you though... for obvious reasons” He blushes lightly. You giggle at the sweetness radiating from him, noticing the pink tint to his wings and the tips of his ears. A wave of confidence pushes you to wrap your arms around his neck as he holds you against him in preparation to take flight.

--------- Time Skip --------- 

“Feeling any better?” Woo asks as he disposes of the wet towels he used to clean your scuffs and scratches. “Mhm, thank you again for this. I really didn't know what I was going to do” You reply after sipping the last of the bluebell syrup he had prepared for you. “Of course!” He smiles.

“So I wanted to ask you something-” He begins with a serious tone before getting cut off by the door swinging open and rebounding off the wall. “YO BRO GUESS WHAT I JUST- woah who? what? when? how?” The boy practically yells followed by a string of questions upon noticing you.

Wooyoung pinches the bridge of his nose as he sighs heavily in disappointment. “You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend- OW!” The guy chuckles, slapping Wooyoung’s shoulders but yelping when he receives a tug to his wings as a sign to stop his teasing.

“Y/N this is San, my best friend. San this is Y/N, she's not my girlfriend. She's hurt so I’m helping her” Wooyoung introduces you both. His aura flickers pink again, causing you to avert your gaze out of shyness. “Ohhhh I see! Wooyoungie has a crush!” San cheers before being chased out of the den by an embarrassed and slightly angry Wooyoung.

“I’m sorry about him. You should get some rest if you want to be able to fly well tomorrow. Is there anything you need?” Wooyoung asks softly. “No I should be fine, thanks. Where should I sleep?” You reply. “Sleep in my bed and I’ll stay on the couch, comfort is the key to recovery!” He smiles. 

“Goodnight, Wooyoung” You call out. “Goodnight!” He replies from the next room. You pull the wool blanket to your chin, blushing profusely as you recap the events with Wooyoung today. Your pointy ears twitch as your wings turn pink before you drift off with a smile.

Waking up to the smell of freshly baked goodies, you climb out of bed and walk to the kitchen to find chocolate chip cookies and an elderflower drink to compliment the treats. “He’s so sweet” You whisper to yourself with a smile. He left a note next to the meal which reads: “Y/N, I hope you slept well and are feeling healthy! I’ve had to run some errands but will be back before noon. Please hang around until I return! - Woo :)”

You polish off the plate and wash up the dishes as you wait for him to get back, it’s the least you can do for him after his kind gestures. 11am rolls around and the gorgeous boy walks through the door with his hands behind his back. “Hi Woo, where did you go?” You ask, curiosity overcoming you due to his actions. 

He approaches you as the pink tint decorates his wings and his cheeks once again. “These are for you” He says as he holds out an array of colourful flowers and some buds of the flowers you had dropped during your fall. 

“I felt bad seeing how upset you were when you dropped your flowers yesterday so, have these! Also, I wanted to ask you yesterday but for obvious and unfortunate reasons, I didn't get the chance-” He says causing you both to giggle. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go on a date with me-” He starts before being cut off by you wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“Of course I’ll go on a date with you!” You accept with a smile. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a sweet kiss. Both of your wings flutter as you embrace each other, a light dusting of glitter falling from you both as you swear you hear the light sound of bells ringing in your ears.

You knew from the moment you met him, he’d be the one for you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A/N - Okay sooo, this is way longer than I wanted it to be but its cute so we’re gonna stick with it and pretend like it ain’t as long as it is okay? okay! Lol I had fun writing this, I felt really creative and I definitely want to write different AU’s in the future. Thanks for reading :3 💙

Tag List - @simphwa @yunhoiseyecandy @jonghoisababie @multidreams-and-desires

[ginkgomoon]

Gavin’s Mini House In Detail 🏡

During the Mini House special events, I obtained all the furnishing items and had already unlocked all the furniture in the home so I thought for Gavin’s Birthday Week, I would share all of the little secrets it contains! 

Gavin has four sections of the house including-

Living Room

Loft 

Courtyard

Basement

This post also includes MC’s commentary and quotes from special happenings associated with Gavin. Special furnishes will have the coziness points indicated next to its name.

Please enjoy! 

Living Room

Soft Stool 

The white soft stool next to the tea table.

This stool is a must when Gavin watches soccer games.

The leather surface is very soft, and its height is just right for watching TV on.

Want to know the trend of the soccer lottery recently? How about asking about it? 

It seemed to have won all the recent games, and is both happy and lonely.

If his favourite team loses, Gavin will sit here alone. (#sad) 

White Sofa 

With so many pillows, you don’t have to worry about having no support behind you.

Is the white sofa difficult to clean? 

The bolsters are very comfortable.

Curled up on the sofa with soft ginkgo aroma.

“Gavin, do you remember what you told me?”

“I just want to be with you, just like this...”

“You still remembered!” 

“I won’t forget what I’ve told you.” 

“Then... Do you have anything you want to tell me this time?” 

Gavin kissed MC’s forehead gently.

- This special happening (Starry Sky) refers to the Furniture City Date!

White Table 

“Gavin’s Pad is placed here too.”

(It has a photo of MC and she says she will change it into the both of them next time.)

“I can add a snack box, but Gavin doesn’t really eat snacks.”

Hallway Cabinet

“Gavin waters the plants regularly.”

“These are often loose change on the cabinet which we can take before going out.”

“The silver ornament is a souvenir I bought when we went to Disneyland.”

The “Wavy Thing”

“I noticed a little “go for it” written on the most recently scrawled page of the notebook.” 

“I found a magazine that puts people to sleep in a second, which was necessary for insomniacs.”

Zoombot 

The black Zoombot.

Today I’m again busy all over the place saving Zoombot.

It’s a bit stupid and often gets stuck after hitting the furniture.

Makes a buzzing sound when working.

You threaten it: If you hang again, I’ll replace you!  

Music Stand

The music stand bought by Gavin.

On it are sheets of music scores printed by Gavin.

It will sometimes think that the small black table next to it is a bit short.

Sometimes Gavin uses in in the hanging chair to record melodies.

Gavin will print the music scores and put them on it to practice.

Flowers on the Wall 

Each flower is carefully selected by Gavin.

The front wall stores a variety of flowers.

The flowers on the entire flower wall are all preserved fresh flowers. 

Black Table and Seat 

Looking at it closely, it is the song that Gavin played last time. (Music score sheet on table.) 

It is also very comfortable with the little black seat cushion next to it.

The soft black cushion stuffed with cotton.

My exclusive seat for Gavin’s recital.

I bought it with Gavin when we were shopping at the furniture market.

Hanging Chair/Rose Hanging Chair (Coziness 88)

A great napping spot.

Here in the Leisure Time special happening, MC and Gavin talk about the swing they had in high school. MC is surprised that Gavin knew about the view of the sunset when being on it. He says he “passed by” sometimes. MC notes how the ginkgo leaves danced in the wind. He says, “they were gifts from another person”.

Heart-Shaped Chair (Coziness 28)

A cute small stool and a convenient storage box.

Gavin’s expression was a bit subtle while he sat on it first.

Alternating blue and pink hearts, as it’s a Valentine’s Day limited edition.

Surfboard Cabinet (Coziness 42)

It’s a new surfboard. Bring it next time we travel.

There are also other surfboards. Guess where they are? 

It says fly on the surfboard, like I can leap through waves with it.

(THEIR CUTE SHOES ARE NEXT TO IT AHHH)

Blue Lamp

A lamp that always blows bubbles from the bottom to top.

It’s beautiful and dreamlike when switched on at night.

Black Table on the Left 

“This looks like the score that Gavin played on the beach last time. I suddenly feel a bit nostalgic.”  - This refers to the Slightly Drunken Date!

“I found a picture of an asleep Gavin. He was sleeping soundly.”

Claw Machine and Carpet 

A dream-like claw machine. Gavin will add new dolls in it.

The inserted game coins can be taken out from the back of the machine and then reused.

A small black carpet in front of the claw machine.

I bought it together with the large carpet.

Red Bunny, White Bunny, Pink Bunny, Red Bunny, Grey Bunny.

Motorcycles 

The blue motorcycle sometimes want to compete with the opposite motorcycle.

The colour of the motorcycle displayed is sky blue. 

Maybe its name will be “Azure”? (because Gavin uses colours to individually name items.) 

Spring Landscape Display 

The landscape has been embedded into the window, like beautiful paintings.

Maybe there is a new world inside.

I can't help stopping to enjoy the view each time I pass.

Is designed for a wider view, improving your mood even when you're tired.

Winter Landscape Display (Coziness 61)

A corresponding landscape should be changed into winter.

Such heavy snow! Frozen river! Unfortunately, they are all fake. 

You can enjoy the red maple leaves and snow even at home, isn’t it wonderful?

Loft 

Painting

This is a word map that covers the entire wall.

Looking at it, Gavin and I have already been to so many places.

If you want to travel, you can find the destination on it in advance.

I'm willing to create memories with him in many more places.

Chandelier

The current iron style design is really cool.

Shines warm yellow when turned on, warming our hearts.

Display Cabinet  

It should have been a wine cabinet, but Gavin doesn’t drink, so it became a display cabinet.

The ‘little things’ between me and Gavin are displayed inside.

It looks empty now, but it will slowly be filled up in the future.

Black Tea Table

A black low table in front of the sofa.

I occasionally work here.

The star and moon deco piece is very beautiful, I picked it with Gavin.

You can put fruits and snacks on it while reading.

The wood texture had a matted quality with the black coat of paint.

Art 

Looks cold but is artistic.

Seems useless, but also seems cool.

Greenery

A corner with blooming flowers all seasons, is warm and restful to the eye.

Outside the window is a huge ginkgo tree, and the fallen leaves are like brocade.

I feel like it’s always spring with all these flowers around.

It compliments the scenery outside the window. (They have a ginkgo tree right outside their home!) 

Cabinet 

Photo framed have karmas from the Starry Date and the Romantic Date!

Decorative Cabinet/Snowman Closet (Coziness 49)

The two little snowmen stared at each other throughout the winter. (Cute little reference to the CN Recovery ASMR.)

It looks like a window at first glance, but it’s actually a cabinet if you look carefully.

And you could open it. Didn’t see that coming right? 

Starry Sky Wall (Coziness 52)

Today’s wish… I hope that Gavin…

I will accompany you to see the meteor rain which falls on this Earth.

Every moment a wish is realised, there will be a meteor streaking across the sky.

Dandelion Lamp (Coziness 43)

The lamp looks exactly like the grapefruit during Mid-Autumn Festival.

Like a burning sparkler, shining brightly.

Six light sources, not too dazzling nor too dark.

Festive Decoration Table (Coziness 57)

Although there are two cups of drinks, we can still drink from the same cup.

The sofa in the corner always makes people feel safe. 

Although we are only two people, I still chose two long couches.

The letter under the ginkgo biloba leaf, writes a love poem.

All the shopping bags represent his most flawless love.

The wide view allows you to see the scenery in the yard.

The soft white mat was added afterwards.

But it’s always hot under the sunlight, so the curtain is often pulled down.

Basement

Security Camera 

You are in a monitored area, please mind your actions.

Bulletproof Glass 

It’s not a normal screen, it’s bulletproof.

It's not often that one gets to see such a cool and HARD-CORE transparent screen.

Anyways, curious what’s in this wall.

Sci-fi glass wall in the movies.

The engraved badge is Gavin’s silent pride.

1-2-3... still shorter than it!

Gingko Tree

Seasons slip by soundlessly.

No matter how small their wishes are, they will become seeds and eventually bloom in gold.

All life’s little joys turned into gold.

It guards the serene life here quietly over in the corner.

(Gavin makes ginkgo bookmarks with them for MC. CRIES.)

Corner Resting Area 

These action figures are actually pretty fun!

The puzzle is all grown up. It should be able to piece itself back together. (LOL)

(Puzzle) Maybe finish it while Gavin’s gone? 

(Table) It sometimes thinks the table is a bit short.

(Chair) It looks hard but it’s actually comfortable to sit on.

Very spacious, but looks a bit empty.

Some decorations should be displayed here.

Sitting on a blanket is also very comfortable. You can also lean on the small pillow. 

(Carpet) This is a carpet. You can’t tell, right? 

The advanced smart carpet that is warm in winter and cool in summer is awesome.

(The book on the table is called ‘Kritik Der Urteilskraft’- The Critique of Judgement by famous German philosopher Immanuel Kant. It follows after the Critique of Pure Reason and the Critique of Practical Reason- the First and Second Critiques, respectively. The Critique of Judgment constitutes a discussion of the place of Judgment itself, which must overlap both the “understanding” and “reason”.)

“You need to take better care of your health.”

“Who was the one working overnight over the proposal the other day?”

“Alright, we’re birds of a feather, so... so both of us should look after ourselves for each other!” 

“Rest assured, I will. After all, it’s different now. I have you by my side.”  -Harmonous Compa Special Happening

Gavin’s Workspace

Accompany Gavin though every sleepless night.

This seems… No, I’m seeing things.

All folders are neatly organised and arranged.

A spacious table, with files and reports spread all over when busy.

I no need to worry about waking up from naps due to cold late at night.

I was reminded of some criminal investigation shows I have watched. Come on, Officer Gavin!

If this complicated case is made into a movie, it will be an exhilarating one. 

(Computer) A customised large-screen UHD model customised for work purpose.

(Computer) Work exclusive computer, only connected to intranet.

(Computer) The three auxiliary monitors can help keep the data safe.

(Chair) If you want to protect your waist, you should first have a comfortable cushion.

(Chair) if you work long hours, be sure to work in a comfortable chair.

(Board Area) What does it say? Ermm… Cats have nine lives? 

“Found a girl crookedly drawn next to a work record when he reached a bottleneck.” 

Airplane

This airplane model was assembled by Gavin himself.

The computer says-  Agent B-7

Team Operator S.T.R.I.K.E

Location Tracker 

S.P.Y Camera 

U4V Commando

Gunship Operation 

Motorcycle Repair Area 

Every vehicle is so cool in its own way! 

Hello, you are... Little… Erm… Let me think… 

With the strength to lift mountains and the spirit to take on the world! Ha! 

The robot arm is actually a simple robot.

For your safety, please don’t linger below it

(Motorcycle) I would like to greet my seniors.

Electronic Control Pad

Responsible for controlling the rising, descending and switches of the entire area.

On Spring Festival, it will say: Happy New Year, Sir!”

Sooner or later, fully automated smart management will be achieved.

Radio Office 

It’s an important communication device, and the only disadvantage is that it’s a bit heavy.

It’s actually a satellite phone, and it can receive signals everywhere.

Looks like the palm phone in the 90s. Oh no, I’ve exposed myself.

It looks like an electrocardiogram.

Don’t know how to use this weird device.

A thick laptop that it’s properly shut when not in use.

A cool eagle logo is printed on it.

Gavin used it only for special tasks and it will not be brought out.

LMAO MC DOESN’T HAVE ACCESS-

Courtyard 

Corner Seating Area 

A courtyard in sunny or snowy days are interested in their own ways.

Sometimes the unfrequented bolsters will envy the knee pillow.

It's’ wonderful when two people are sitting here reading, even if they don’t talk.

Standing barefoot on the soft lawn is very comfortable.

There's nothing nicer than basking ourselves when its sunny.

Binoculars

The white binoculars which you can see things several miles away.

You can use it to watch the stars when it’s not too cloudy.

But star-watching is clearer mid-air.

Seems to be the same binoculars as those in the scenic area.

The binoculars in the scenic area require coins, but this one doesn't.

Outdoor Lounge Chairs 

The new furniture I asked Gavin to buy.

Can enjoy the sunlight spa comfortably when relaxing. 

Closing my eyes, I feel like I’m lying on a beach.

The soft breeze and warm sunshine. This is life. 

Lying on it and looking at the blue sky and white clouds, your mind goes blank easily.

The blue and white clouds-

Leisure Table/Romantic Table (Coziness 52)

Lace tablecloth… I can’t imagine that it was chosen by Gavin.

The elaborately prepared dinner and roses, just for today.

A large sunshade on the balcony. (Black large umbrella.)

Bird Nest (Coziness 37) 

Once it was a pair of binoculars, now it’s a bird’s nest.

I bought it just because it was cute, but I’ll consider having pets in the future.

Birds flying by can also have a free meal here.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Jake and Kauri

Honestly, this is mostly just some genuinely sharp pining and yearning.

“Merry Christmas.”

The box, small and light, drops onto the kitchen table with a sound more like a tap than a thud. Jake blinks down at it, cheerfully wrapped in a bright cacophony of rainbow colors in vaguely ornament-like shapes. Jake sets his coffee mug slowly down, steam curling up into the air, particles of dust briefly visible floating through the beams of early morning light.

Kauri hasn’t slept, and it’s clear - his hair is still mussed, he’s wearing clothes from the night before, that particular look of shadowed satisfaction he has after a night well-wasted. Red-rimmed eyes and the slightest wince at the sun coming in through the curtains, and still… still, he’s Kauri, and Jake’s glad to see him.

“Not Christmas yet,” Jake offers, carefully casual. If his eyes are on Kauri’s too long, neither one of them mention it. Kauri smells like cigarette smoke and another man’s cologne, and he doesn’t smoke so Jake knows that means he’s been with someone who does. “You’re up early, Kaur.”

“At what point,” Kauri asks, with the air of a philosopher posing a question for the ages, “Does it stop being up late and begins being up early?”

“When it’s 7 o’clock in the fucking morning, you’re pretty safely at up early. What brought you by?”

Kauri shrugs, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The house creaks around them, ancient bones settling into the foundation. There’s the telltale squeak of the spot just outside the bathroom door, and then the sound of water rushing through pipes. Chris, in the shower, Jake thinks. Antoni steps around the spot on the floor that squeaks. Leila moved out, and they haven’t gotten anyone new for her old room yet.

“I just decided to,” Kauri says, yawning, and something about the way his eyes close makes him look like a sleepy kitten, rumpled and ready to simply list to the side until he collapses. “Had this to give you.”

“I have something for you, too, but I haven’t wrapped it.”

Kauri blinks, pouring peppermint mocha creamer into the coffee cup and topping it off with plain milk. He turns and leans back against the counter, sipping, and the way he smiles a little at the taste of the coffee makes Jake’s chest twist in an anxiety he can name but can’t afford to linger on. “You got me a present?”

Kauri sounds so fucking surprised that it hurts.

Do you really think so little of yourself?

“Of course I did. So did Chris, and Nat, and Antoni.”

Kauri lets out his breath, disbelieving, shaking his head with a half-grin. “I don’t know why. I can’t have anything that doesn’t fit in my backpack.”

“I mean, you could stay-”

“No.” Kauri cuts him off. “No. I can’t.”

“Fair. But I think everyone got you stuff that you can carry with you easy. Plus I think Nat got Keira something, but don’t ask me what. What you buy for a fucking Roomba is beyond me.” Jake watches the way Kauri relaxes back into the easy joking, the more sensitive minefield of simply being cared for avoided for now. “I’ll be right back, then we can exchange, yeah? Just us, first.”

“Yeah.” Kauri gives him that cockeyed grin again, turns to look out the window. The sky is a riot of purples and pinks as the sun slowly rises on a California December. The only change is that it’ll start raining soon, and Kauri wears a sweater sometimes.

Jake pushes himself to his feet, ducking his head as usual to avoid knocking it on the top of the doorframe, heading up the stairs with the solid creaks from the old steps that are as much a part of the house as the pictures Nat keeps on the wall. Chris meets him coming out of the shower, towel-drying his longish hair - he’s growing it out, he says, and it has the slightest curl against the back of his neck and under his ears - and wearing all his clothes already.

With some of the rescues, it’s a sign they still didn’t feel safe, when they took all their clothes into the bathroom and never let their skin be seen. With Chris, as with most Romantics, it’s the opposite. He feels safe enough to know he can make himself comfortable any way he wants. Not feeling like he needs to show skin is a sign of security for him.

“Hey, hey Jake,” Chris says, one green eye covered by the pastel purple towel. “Did, did I hear you, um, you talking to, to-... is, is breakfast-”

“Can you chill up here for a sec?” Jake interrupts him, voice pitched low. At Chris’s confusion, he says softly, “I just… want to do something. Give me ten minutes, yeah? Then I’ll start on breakfast and you can come down.”

“Um, oh-okay,” Chris says, frowning, but he slips into the room he shares with Antoni, and Jake heads for his own room, digging out Kauri’s gift from underneath a carefully arranged pile of basically trash papers in his desk drawer. Hidden, like Kauri was a kid who still believed in Santa.

Hidden, like Jake didn’t want to explain what he did to anyone but Kauri, and definitely didn’t want to explain why.

He heads back downstairs with the gift carefully slipped into his back pocket, unseen until he wants Kauri to know. Ducks his head again - and Jake has been ducking to avoid doorframes since he was sixteen, he thinks, or eighteen maybe - and finds Kauri right where he left him, still sipping his coffee, lost in thought.

Warm gold light edges his mussed-up black curls, sets off the blue of his eyes when he turns to look at Jake. Lights his smile a little, too. Jake’s eyes catch the barest hint of a flash of bare skin at his stomach, where shirt hem and low-slung jeans meet. 

“Want to do yours first?” Jake asks, and his voice sounds airy to him, but Kauri doesn’t seem to notice.

“Nah. You open yours, then I’ll do mine.” Kauri gives a smooth shrug, effortlessly graceful. Or maybe it hadn’t been effortless, before it’d been beaten into him until he couldn’t be anything else. 

Jake nods, slowly, and sits down, carefully shifting his weight not to put any on the phone, and takes the box in hand. He rips open a seam very slowly and shifts the box out, then folds the wrapping paper and sets it to the side. 

He catches Kauri watching him, eyebrows furrowed again and glances up. 

“Why-... why didn’t you just tear it?” Kauri points at the folded square, as neat as origami. “Why did you do that? It’s like 15 cents of paper.”

Jake shrugs, running his fingers over the smooth, plain brown box the size of his palm, mostly flat. “We always saved wrapping paper to use the next year, when I was a kid. It’s just a habit, guess I never lost it. What’s in here?”

“Open the box and see.” Kauri holds his mug in both hands, giving him a pleased little smile, and not for the first time, Jake thinks, if I’d met you any other way…

He opens the box. Inside, there’s three gift cards, slightly shiny, and Jake looks each one over, blinking, before he looks up. “This is… the Mitchells Center downtown, the Blue Martini, and… Holden’s Harbor… Kauri, this is-... what is this?”

“A date.” Kauri bites down on his lower lip, looking at Jake over his mug, and his eyes are sparkling bright. Jake almost opens his mouth to say, I’m so sorry, we can’t do that, we just can’t, when Kauri quickly adds, “For you and Addie.”

Jake’s protest dies, unspoken. “For… for Addie?”

“Yeah. You’ve been talking for months about saving up for a big anniversary thing, and then, you know, I heard you say you were giving Nat a bunch of your money when the pipe burst and the basement flooded, so…” He shrug, again. “I didn’t want you to miss out on your date. And I remembered you said she likes that bar, the Blue Martini, I know the bartender there-”

You know everyone, everywhere.

“-so he’s gonna give you drinks half-price, just tell me the night and I’ll let him know. Then Holden’s Harbor, that’s the big one, but I’m friends with a waiter and the hostess is going to give you a table that looks over the Bay, she’s fun, I partied with her a few week ago. And then… the Mitchells Center is doing Hadestown, and you said that’s Addie’s big thing right now. So. Happy anniversary.” 

Jake is, for a moment, utterly speechless. “Kauri this is like-... three hundred dollars of-... you can’t possibly-”

“Four. But don’t worry about it. I had a bunch of really good weeks a couple months ago and I don’t spend much money, anyway. Is it good? Do you think?”

Jake just stares at the gift cards for a second, swallowing around a lump in his throat, a tightening threatening to take his voice. “It’s, um.” His voice cracks a little and he has to clear his throat to recover it. “It’s amazing, Kaur. Thank you. Um… like I said, I didn’t have time to wrap it, but…” He pulls the gift out of his back pocket and lays it out on the table between them.

Kauri steps forward, setting his mug down. “What-... a new phone? Thanks, I-”

“Yeah, but, um, that’s not what’s important. Just…” Jake picks the phone up, and it feels like such a dumb thing, now, what he did, but he powers through it. The phone isn’t locked yet, and it’s easy to pull up the apps and folders, select one, and open it up. He slides the phone closer. “Pick one of those, and click it.”

Kauri looks down, and Jake looks with him. It’s a file folder open to a bunch of sound files, each one labeled with an emoji rather than words. A heart, a broken heart, a smile, a sad face. A gravestone. A tree. A cat.

His finger hovers, and then taps deliberately over the heart. A line of options pops up, each one punctuated with new emojis. The one Kauri picks is marked with a face that has blue eyes and black hair, a leaf, and a flower.

“I swear,” A voice - Jake’s voice - comes out of the phone’s speaker, “since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy. The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can’t distinguish the birdseed from the snare.”

“What is this?” Kauri’s voice is hushed, and uncertain. He almost sounds scared. But he doesn’t stop the recording. 

“A house of love with no limits,” The voice continues, “A presence more beautiful than Venus or the moon. A beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart. The Divani Shamsi Tabriz XV.”

Jake clears his throat again. “That’s, um, Rumi.”

Kauri’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks for a second like he’ll pick another choice, then pulls his hand back, looking up at Jake wide-eyed. “You… recorded poetry? For my Christmas present?”

“Yeah.” Jake licks at his lips, his heart pounding for reasons he can’t really explain to himself, or maybe just doesn’t want to. “You, um, you quote-... you quote shit all the time, so I started looking it up, and it’s almost always… poetry. So I figured, maybe, um, maybe-... you liked that shit, you know? And you shouldn’t have to… not get it, just because you can’t read yet. So I recorded, um, like… two hundred poems or something?”

Kauri opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. 

“Oh my God,” is all he says. His voice cracks.

Jake’s chest twists, nervous, he finds himself tapping his foot on the floor, twisting fingers into his pajama pants. 

Kauri leans over and pushes another poem, in a sudden burst of movement like he wants to stop himself and can’t. “Sometimes, I think you get the worst of me.” Jake’s voice is softer on this poem, and it’s uncomfortable listening to himself read this. Why did Kauri choose the love poems? “The much-loved loose forest-green sweatpants, the long bra-less days, hair knotted and uncivilized, a shadowed brow where the devilish thoughts do their hoofed dance on the brain.”

“This is Ada Limon,” Kauri whispers.

“I’d like to say this means I love you, the stained white cotton T-shirt, the tears, pistachio shells, the mess of orange peels on my desk, but it’s different than that. I move in this house with you, the way I move in my mind, unencumbered by beauty’s cage.”

“You, uh, mentioned her one day when Nat was listening to NPR-”

“Ssshhhh,” Kauri says, holding up a hand, as Jake’s recorded voice keeps reading.

“I do like I do in the tall grass, more animal-me than much else. I’m wrong, it is that I love you, but it’s more that when you say it back, lights out, a cold wind through curtains, for maybe the first time in my life, I believe it. Ada Limon, Love Poem With Apologies for My Appearance.”

There’s a long silence broken only by Kauri’s harsh breathing, and Jake watches tears build in his wide blue eyes. He’s done something wrong, somehow. It had seemed like a good gift but he’s ruined it, somehow it wasn’t right at all, it wasn’t-

“Thank you, this is-... this is amazing,” Kauri says. Barely words. More just a breath.

Some part of Jake had been tense and coiled to turn in on himself in anger. That part, at the words, relaxes. “You’re welcome. Is it-... is it good, or…”

“You, um-... you fucking heard, some shit I said, and you-... got me something, I just...” Kauri’s hands move nervously, over himself and over the back of the chair, to the phone, back up to his hair. He meets Jake’s eyes, and his brim with tears and Jake feels his own heating up in response. “You just… I, I don’t-... no one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Really?”

“I m-mean, not that I know of anyway.” The joke falls flat, Kauri’s voice is too full of tears. Kauri picks up the phone like it’s a precious object that might shatter or disappear, holds it with reverent hands. Swallows and looks at Jake like he’s seeing him for the first time. “I didn’t-... know you listened to me so much.”

“‘Course I do. Merry Christmas,” Jake says, voice maybe a little thick, buried in the things they don’t say to each other. “Merry Christmas, Kauri.”

Kauri pours himself another cup of coffee, and Jake lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding at the sign that Kauri will stay a little longer. 

With his back to Jake and the phone still clutched in one hand, Kauri says, “Merry Christmas, Jake.”

They both pretend that Kauri’s voice isn’t shaking.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[vampiricsheep]

Character Profile: Banni

my beloved @bird-bureau inspired me to write up some profiles for the urban fantasy verse and, well, I felt like sketching banni tonight, so here we are! Not sure how many more I'll make since I have pages of my comic to finish and two classes to keep up with, but there's no harm in starting a project that doesn't require finishing. I'm just considering it a nice little practice for now.

profile will be under the cut for lengthiness!

Name: Banni

Pronouns: they/them

Age: mid-20s

Orientation: likes men and masc nbs

Species: Werewolf

_______________

Physical characteristics

human: Scruffy with a perpetual "haunted" appearance characterized by visible tension, jumpiness, and dark circles under their eyes. Their hair has a subtle peak and is brown, straight, and messy; hangs down to roughly chin height. Their eyes are a pale leaf green and their skin is a very light tan. They have a noticable overbite and somewhat buck teeth.

around 4'5" but, due to varying posture and toe-walking habits, may seem shorter or taller situationally. They nonetheless have adult proportions. Their legs are on the thick side, but their wrists are very skinny. Their chest is flat but heavily scarred; they will avoid showing their scars as much as possible.

half-shifted: an almost comically stringy and bony creature somewhere between human and wolf with gnarled hands and ears too long and pointed to look like a wolf's. Can be bipedal or quadrupedal. roughly 5' tall if standing straight (they won't).

full-shifted: a smallish wolf with short but scruffy blonde fur that looks white in poor light. Proportions similar to a red wolf. Due to size and proportions may be mistaken for a coyote or dog to the untrained observer.

accessories: Banni has two gold rings in the cartilage of their right ear. They wear or carry a plain canvas backpack of average size but large for them.

attire: Due to height they struggle to find clothes that fit, so most things they wear will look quite loose. They prefer hoodies or tees and shorts; most pants that would fit their legs are far too long. Typically they'll wear neutral colors and soft greens, but their attire is whatever they can find, and their wardrobe is restricted to whatever they can fit in their backpack without taking up needed space. Banni does not wear shoes; their feet are calloused enough to tolerate most conditions and they can't afford the additional weight in their bag.

_____

Abilities:

Banni can transform into full or partial-wolf at will, and retains full cognitive function. The transformation is physical and does not take clothes with it, so they have to work around placing their outfit and backpack between full transformations.

Banni can also merge with their wolf companion. Doing so will always affect them physically:

if remaining human - eyes become yellow, ears become pointed and furred, hands and feet become clawed and a little gnarled

if half-wolf - a foot taller, muscular, and red eyes instead of green

if full-wolf - larger, stronger, with darker fur and yellow eyes instead of green

These abilities are innate and cannot be transmitted.

___

Behavioral/Physiological Characteristics:

Banni is never far from their animal companion, a large arctic wolf named Moss. If for any reason Moss would be prohibited from somewhere they enter or would attract too much attention, Banni will merge with him, then Banni will pull their hood up and sleeves down to hide the tells.

When they're comfortable around people in-the-know, they may accidentally partially transform without realizing it (e.g. human with wolf ears or tail).

They tend to walk on the balls of their feet and leaning or slouching forward with arms close to the chest or a hand on their wolf companion's shoulder.

Banni is incredibly nearsighted and does not use sight aids, so they typically bring objects close enough to touch their nose if they need to examine details or read. Reading gives them a headache for this reason, but they are still quite literate and have a large vocabulary they don't often use.

They are so soft-spoken that their voice is best described as a whisper, and they struggle to effectively raise it.

__________

Personality:

Banni is shy but happy to talk to anyone who becomes a regular welcoming presence. They both long for true love and are terrified of seeking it out. Banni is polyamorous, and worries that that complicates their chances as well. They don't immediately trust people who are friendly or flirtatious with them despite wanting that attention, but they warm up with time.

Banni is indeed haunted by their past, and struggles to shake the scars of events and people they refuse to discuss. If pressed for details, they shut down and may even flee if the subject isn't changed.

They have a heightened flight response, and intense stress may result in them fleeing and hiding until they've had enough time and distance to calm down or a sympathetic individual is able to communicate with them appropriately.

Banni [like myself] has bipolar and is prone to irrational behavior and mood swings if situations are too stressful for them to practice self-stabilizing techniques.

[forlornmelody]

The Fantabulous Vacation of One Harley Quinn and Her Girlfriend Poison Ivy

Rating: T (suggestive themes, cartoon violence)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary:   Harley's been burning the wick at both ends and Ivy knows just the thing to help. But it takes more than just a change of scenery to get Harley to let go.

Note:  Commission for @rookie009

~*~*~*

“You’re probably wondering Mr---Watchman--”

“Tockman.” Mr. Watchman spits. “William Tockman.”

“Why I’ve brought you here today.”

Mr. Watchman rolls his eyes. “I imagine you’re going to tell me.” 

“Ah! Good. You’ve stopped struggling. Progress, Mister!” Harley boops him on the nose. Maybe she made the binding too tight? “I’m not cutting off your circulation, am I?” She leans in close. “Are you comfortable? I need you comfortable.” 

“I’m tied up in ropes, wench!”

“Ah, see! This is what I’m talking about!” Harley sits across from him and his fainting couch, pulling her pen from her bun and making a heading on her notepad. “You have a whore madonna complex.” Chewing her pen, she murmurs, “perhaps from the trauma of your wife’s death? Cystic Fibrosis, was it?”

Her new patient says nothing. “Mister?” Harley glances up. “Willy?”

“Help!” William Tockman dangles from his left ankle, suspended in air by a beefy vine.  “She’s gonna kill me!” 

“Oh please. You’re hardly worth the trouble.” Ivy steps around him and the vine, brushing the dust off her hands. “Hi Harls!” How she got the vines up this far on this abandoned apartment building, Harley has no idea. But it sure has a lot of brick to climb. 

“Ivy!” Harley doesn’t so much as hug her as ram her at full speed. 

Her target, used to such behavior by now, braces for impact and manages to hug back. Harley takes a big whiff. “Mm. Jasmine?”

“Lilacs.” Ivy peers over at Clock King. “You...uh, busy?”

“Mm yeah. A little tied up at the moment. Or he is, at least.”

“So I see.” Ivy chews her lip, staring out the window as if she had left a reminder there. She makes a face as the draft stirs some of the painting tarp discarded on the floor. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of town for a bit.”

“HELP.” 

“Are you asking for help, Billy? Or do you prefer Willy?”

“HELP ME! THESE WOMEN ARE CRAZY.” 

“Great!” Harley says brightly. “Admitting you need help is the first step towards healing!”

“Harls? Are you even listening?”

“You need help dismantling another CEO along with his company?”

“No.”

“Fundraiser for conservation efforts?”

“Harley--”

“Pride pre-game with Kitty?”

“Harleen.” That stops Harley short. Ivy never calls her that. Mostly cause she hates getting called Pamela with an undying passion. Probably childhood trauma. But Harley digresses. 

Ivy sighs. “Sorry. Look. I need a vacation. We need a vacation.”

“I need help!” 

“SHUT UP ALREADY.” Ivy and Harley say it together, and Ivy waves a hand, muffling Harley’s captive, er, patient with a particularly broad leaf. 

“Mm... I’m a little busy--”

Ivy glances at Tockman, finally. “I can see that.”

“Lemme look at my calendar. Mmm.. maybe...next year? Definitely the one after that.”

“Harls.”

“I know, I know. But there’s my derby team, missions with Task Force X, the Birds of Prey, my day job--”

“I know.” Ivy takes her hands, gently, and squeezes them. It’s the softness that stops Harley in her tracks. “It’s why you need some time off.”

“But--”

“Shh. I already have plane tickets and a hotel booked. You don’t have to plan a thing.”

Harley can’t help the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “Aww, shucks, Ives. When are we leaving?”

“Now. The plane’s departing in--shit. We gotta go.”

“MMRPH.” 

“Oh, right.” Ivy releases Clock King with a patented thud as she shoves Harley out the door. “Bye!”

-----

“So, we’re we goin’?” Harley pushes the arm rest out of the way and rests her chin on Ivy’s shoulder. She glances at Ivy’s phone as if it’ll give her some clues. She spots a sudoku puzzle. “Japan?”

“No.”

“The Amazon?”

“Nope.”

“Themyscyra?” 

Ivy gives her a look. “Really?”

“Er….my mom’s? Please say it’s not my mom’s.”

“It’s not your mom’s.”

“Thank God.”

“Also, why would we fly to your mom’s house when we could easily drive? Or take a commuter bus?”

“Good point. Mm.”

Ivy smooths Harley’s hair out of her eyes. “It’s a surprise.” She snatches a quick kiss before the flight attendant rolls by. “You’ll love it.”

In this moment, Harley’s pretty sure she’d love anywhere as long Ivy’s there with her. She’s lit up by the light of the tiny window behind her, and her crimson locks glow like an angel’s. But Harley knows well enough that neither of them are anywhere close to innocent. “Say, how’d you get us past security?”

Ivy winks at her. 

“No casualties?”

Her lover mockingly brushes her own chest like a scandalized church mouse. “I would never!” she snorts. “They’ll be fine. Just a little dazed and confused.”

Harley leans her head on Ivy’s shoulder. “I know the feelin’.” And really! Harley’s proud of her. Ivy’s never been one to follow rules or care for humans. But she tries for Harley. Why she bothers when Mistah J never seemed to care, Harley has no idea. But it means the world to her. 

-----

The taxi drops them off in front of a large revolving door. But it’s not the gold handles that capture Harley’s attention. 

It’s the lush plants growing from every nook and cranny on the place. Harley bets Ivy could spend an hour naming all of them (scientific names and personal names.) Butterflies and hummingbirds in every color of the rainbow--and the faint buzzing of bees. A solitary stream crosses their path, and a wooden bridge stretches over it. Garden terrace after garden terrace rise up from the ground to an open-air cafe at the top. 

And behind the walls and the hotel proper? A waterpark. 

Harley’s eyes go as big as saucers. “Ivy! You shouldn’t have!” She squeezes her into a hug.

“Thanks, sweet pea, but I can’t breathe.” Ivy manages to get out.

“Oof, sorry. Here ya go.” Harley releases her, and Ivy pecks her on the cheek. 

“Best part is, they’ve a zero-carbon footprint and they’re waste free.” Harley rarely sees her grin so wide.” 

“Whoa.”

“They call it The Greenhouse.”

-----

Their first day at the resort passes in a blur. Harley shows Ivy a good time in and out of their bedroom. They go snorkeling in the ocean, ride the rides so many times Harley ends up upchucking their picnic at the beach, then make love at sunset in their honeymoon suite. Harley wonders if the management thinks they’re--well, they’re as good as, aren’t they? They don’t need rings or a wedding or a place of their own or--

“Harley?”

She blinks. Ivy only calls her that when she’s worried. Harley realizes she’s been staring at the chocolates on their pillows for God knows how long. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Of course!” she says automatically, pulling Ivy into another kiss.

Ivy kisses back, then runs a finger down her cheek. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” The setting sun makes her hair even redder, which Harley didn’t think possible, and Harley finds herself toying with her curls. 

“Hey, I’ve been wonderin’.”

If Ivy notices the change in subject, she doesn’t mention it. “Yeah?”

“How come we haven’t seen any other guests? And how come we haven’t been arrested?”

“Oh! That.” Ivy waves a hand dismissively. “I rented out the whole resort.”

“With what money??”

Ivy shoots her a wicked look that sends shivers down Harley’s spine. “Ace Chemical’s investment fund.”

“Ooooh, you’re naughty.” 

Harley dives in for another kiss but Ivy puts a finger to her lips. And doesn’t let her suck on it. Rude. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Since we’ve got all this extra cash, wanna make a run at the casino? I hear they donate the proceeds to rainforest restoration.”

“Alright.” Ivy sighs and reaches for her dress. Harley has a sinking feeling that she’s going to bring this up later. Maybe if Harley’s lucky she’ll forget about it? Yeah. Ivy forgets things all the time. 

“Last one there buys the first round!”

-----

Ivy and Harley sit across from each other, an immaculate brunch setting between them and two mimosas. Her lover’s plate sits almost empty, and while Harley’s lies largely untouched. She keeps playing with her veggie egg white omelet, but the next bite never seems to make it to her mouth. “And then we can go for a walk on the beach later! Have you seen those beds? Right there on the water? Mm. Do you think anyone would hear us if we--”

“Harley, wait.”

“Like, the sound of the waves would cover it up, right? Mm. Maybe not. I’m loud. Not as loud as--”

“Harley, no. Stop. Stop.” Ivy presses her hands on either side of Harley’s face, drawing her to a standstill and inches away from her. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to!”

Ivy gives her a sad smile, shaking her head gently. “You don’t have to impress me, Harls. I love you.”

Harley, in typical Harley fashion, vibrates with energy. “But…I want this to be special. As special as y--”

“This vacation already is special. Cause you’re here with me.”

“But--” I’m not that special, Harley wants to say. But she knows Ivy won’t let her get away with saying that out loud. She wants to crawl underneath the tablecloth and hide until Ivy leaves. They always leave in the end. Once they get what they want. Mistah J--

“I love you, Harley Quinn.” Ivy takes her hand, gently, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And maybe. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t know what to do if Ivy stays. It’s easier to love someone who doesn’t love her back. It’s safe. Ahem. Emotionally safe, Dr. Quinzel says inside her head. For once, Harley has nothing to say. She’s too busy trying to keep the tears from falling. 

“You don’t have to do anything. I already love you.” Ivy bites her lip--the way she always does when she’s thinking hard. Like how best to resurrect a drooping petunia or a rose bush that has a pest. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “And if it’s not too much--too early--to say this: I always will.” 

“You proposin’ or somethin’?” The words tumble out of Harley’s mouth before she can stop them. Her cheeks feel like they’re blushing as bright as Ivy’s hair. 

“I…” Ivy’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t have a ring on me.”

Shit. Fuck. ShitshitshitFuuuuuuuuuck. “I’msorryIdidn’tmeanit.” “It’s way too soon.” Harley puts on her best brave face--the same one she always put on when Bats showed up and Mistah J magically was nowhere to be found. “Marriage is so outda--”

“Harley.” Ivy puts her entire hand over her face. “Quinn.” “I never said I didn’t want to marry you.”

“Mmphwr?” 

“Who wouldn’t want to marry Harley Quinn? You’re amazing.” She traces her eyebrows. “You’re the smartest person I know.” Boops her nose. “You’re impossible to kill. Holy fuck.” Runs her fingertip across her bottom lip. “You…” Ivy presses her lips together, looking down at the table. “You helped me love again when I hated everyone.”

“Pam.” Fuck, she’s getting misty eyed. 

“I mean it. I was ready to wipe humanity off the map and start over.” She laughs a little, her voice rough as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “But then you came along and nominated yourself my new shrink.”

“Don’t give me all the credit.” Wow, okay. Maybe she’s more than just misty-eyed. “You saved me too. From Mistah Jay. From Bats. From what woulda been a really boring life.”

Ivy’s smile slips slightly. “You’re not gonna die on me, are you Harls?”

Harley squeezes her hand. “Nah. You’re stuck with me.” Her words come out a little thick. “For richer or poorer.” 

Her lover leans in close, capturing her lips in a warm kiss. “That’s usually pretty literal for you.”

“HEY.” 

“It’s true! Guess I’ll have to see if Ace or maybe Lexcorp has any funds they won’t miss. I need to get that ring soon. Garnet? Spinel maybe?”

“Aww, shucks. How am I gonna be surprised now?”

Ivy scoffs. “If it’s a real surprise, it’s not a good time for a proposal.”

“But what if I want to be like those girls in those Tik Toks? Like where you propose to me but like I got my own box in my pocket?”

“Harley. A ring box wouldn’t fit in your tiny ass pockets, and you know it.”

“You know what would fit in my shorts?”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel.” Her laughter dissolves in a kiss and Harley pulls her back to their suite. They got a lot of planning to do. Though Harley has a pretty good feeling they’re not gonna get a whole lot of planning done today. But Harley’s okay with that. Pam’s always been the top of her to-do list anyway.

[jasonspetertodds]

The House of Wayne

warnings: swearing, past mentions of abuse, homelessness and violence.

Jason silently slid through the window, his hips barely scratching the worn wood of the sill as he dropped into a crouch. Was it a little dramatic? Maybe. He didn’t care as he turned to shut the window just as silently as when he pulled himself through. Only when the window was locked did he finally stand to his full height. He hadn't been there in almost three weeks, preoccupied with a mission with the Outlaws.

He hummed, hand running along the edges of the dresser as he moved deeper into the room, avoiding all the creaky floorboards that would betray him. He didn’t really want anyone to know he was there, just wanted to get in and get out.

He should’ve known better, though. He was never that lucky.

He was lucky, on occasion, but not now, and not before. It wasn’t luck that kept him alive on the street, that was his own scrappy determination of wit and spite, he wasn’t lucky when he died. He was lucky when it didn’t matter. When it wasn’t life or death.

He inched his way closer to the hallway, palming open the door keeping the creaking hinges at bay. He could hear a TV going a floor down, in the kitchen, and he could hear a faint beginning of a noise a touch to his left, behind one of the other doors.

He ignored both, heading down the hall, staying off the runner to not track mud in and let them know he’d been there. He could keep his steps quieter than if they were on the carpet anyway. He let his shoulders drop in a dangerously casual manor as he passed the door he had heard something rustle around inside, not even a flicker of curiosity flitting through him.

Instead, he turned to the left, down the hall, past the study, silently lifted himself over the rafter of the first floor staircase and silently dropped down, landing in a crouch. His eyes narrowed before he moved deeper into the house, passing the silver candelabras that were dusted but never used, the same candles standing tall since he first arrived and died and the same Boston fern propped in the corner. He’d intentionally avoided the portraits, not being able to stand the wax sealed letter written in neat legible script asking if he could, would, sit for one. How it was different then the handwriting that carefully wrote his safe house address on it.

He had equal parts wanted to shred it, burn it, and curse it. In the end, he didn’t do anything. Just shoved it in the drawer of his bedside table along with his knife that he’d use to open the damn thing, resigned in ignoring it until he was in a better headspace to answer it. He shook his head as he turned through the french doors near the parlor and into the library. He knew Alfred was about, but knew because it was Tuesday the butler wouldn’t be anywhere near the library, too busy running laundry and preparing this week’s meals and dusting the upstairs.

Jason still didn’t know how the monolith of a man managed to clean the entire manor to such pristine condition, but like most things, he learned not to question it after awhile. Alfred just did. No more explanation needed than that. He launched himself over the settee, sliding easily over it, jumping up to climb up the grand bookshelves, not even giving an oblong glance to the rolling later not two feet from his side.

With the same ease of a jaguar climbing up its favorite napping tree, Jason pulled himself up to his bookshelves, easily sliding his leather-bound and gold leaf copy of a collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and poems. He had picked it up at the flea market near his house and decided it was worthy of the collection. He had slipped it between two others, one a first addition illustration of Poe’s work and a first edition copy of Frankenstein. 5¢ was a pretty good deal despite the small fortune he had spent on the first editions. But like Jason said, he was lucky when it didn’t matter. He’d found multiple rare books at the bottom of rotting cardboard boxes all across the globe.

He shifted a shelf up, his left foot freestanding while his right was firmly planted on the mahogany of the thing. He didn’t even turn, while pulling a battered paperback of Pride and Prejudice out, mulling over if he wanted to read it when he felt a presence behind him. He rolled his eyes, gently placing his book back and dropping two shelves below, “What do you want?”

“Why are you here, Todd?”

So it was demon he had heard shuffling around upstairs and not his dog. Damian was really the only one that lived permanently at the manor. Tim would float in and out but since Bruce came back, hell, even before that, he wasn’t always around. Jason couldn’t really blame him, instead he opted for his apartment in the Diamond District if he wasn’t in San Fransisco helping out with the Titans. Dick had his apartment in Blüdhaven, continuing his crusade there and if he was in Gotham he was in his own apartment on the Lower East Side or the Penthouse. Jason wasn’t familiar enough with Cass’ living habits but he figured she floated around a lot with hero business too, even if this was her home base.

It always kept them busy but Jason didn’t quite know how to stomach the fact that the manor had always been crushingly lonely even without him haunting it despite how many of them there were now. He shook his head, returning his copy of Robert Frost poems before moving to the right to the comedies. He didn’t want classics, instead opting for something a little more contemporary.

“Haunting your Dad.” He deadpanned, sarcastically as he was climbing over his collection of Greek tragedies to get to the section that housed Carl Hiaasen and Pat F McManus. He knew better than to open himself up to whatever barb was planted on the little bird’s tongue. Instead, he grabbed the copy of They Shoot Canoes, Don’t They? and jumping down from the thing, landing perfectly in front of the little Wayne’s judgemental gaze. He strolled nonchalantly from whence he came, noticing Damian tagging along behind him, demanding; “What were you doing?”

“Getting a book,” Jason responded, hauling himself over the banister, ignoring the kid’s scowl as he hurried around to climb up the steps.

“What are you? An animal?” Damian sneered, relentless as he followed Jason up to the second landing. Jason shrugged, “I’m a bored bat.”

His back was turned so he didn’t know if the demon rolled his eyes at his response, didn’t know if the boy could dignify himself enough to roll his eyes. He was eleven, though. It warranted an amendment of pride at that age. Jason wasn’t really in mad march to the window he was going to disappear through, keeping up his casual pace as he turned the corner to the office, curious that Damian was allowing himself to chase him throughout the place. Maybe he was lonely. Or, same as Jason, bored. He didn’t care to imagine keeping himself occupied in the vast expanse of the house while Bruce and Alfred were busy and Dickiebird left three weeks before in a huff.

Jason had time, he asked in his usual gruff tone, as he turned into a separate guest bedroom. Not the one he had come in, no sense in wasting a good entry and escape when he didn’t need to, “What do you want?”

Damian looked appalled that Jason would even suggest he wanted something from the older man, “What good is a street rat for anything I could want?”

Jason felt a vague flicker of annoyance bubble up in his naval, before he squashed it down, rolling his eyes and making a move to the windowsill, tossing the book down on the bedspread before roughly placing his thumbs where the fingerprint readers were. Jason hadn’t known what to make of Bruce programming his fingerprint into the fire safety automatic windows when he first found out, still didn’t. Bruce hadn’t even told him, but Jason was sure Batman knew that he knew now. Batman, after all, was omnipotent. Or damn near it when it came to his kids.

He shook his head, not wanting to focus too much on that particular detail. He hadn’t come here to get harassed by the little demon behind him, honestly? Jason didn’t even really know why he had his back turned. He didn’t trust the brat not to stab him in the back the second he saw an opening. Jason slide the window open, feeling the breeze on his skin as the old sycamore’s leaves danced outside.

Maybe it was because Damian had a certain amount of respect for Jason. Despite Talia keeping them both separate as best she could with his time at the League, Jason wasn’t stupid. He had put two and two together pretty quickly and he knew Damian wasn’t stupid, either. The kid had snuck in to watch him spar when he was still at Nada Parbat, risked what would be an abusive punishment if he got caught to watch Jason learn and fight. He cringed inwardly, knowing half the abuse that kid suffered even when he was the heir to that empire, when he did things right, let alone when he disobeyed.

Talia, he knew, tried to shield her youngest from as much of it as she could, but it was still an abusive death cult. Maybe Damian had picked up the care his mother showed to Jason, though he didn’t want to know whatever justification she had told her son about Jason. He cringed inwardly again.

While Talia saw and fostered the potential Jason had, in the beginning she hadn’t quite seen him as him. She had ulterior motives, but she always had and Jason knew he was being used, but couldn’t muster enough up to care. He had started as a rehab project due to his connection to Bruce.

Talia had thrown him into the Lazarus Pit, saved him the trouble of a second death after he so shortly woke up from before, to win points with her beloved. Affection and attachment had come later and Jason still wasn’t sure where he stood. As a pseudo second son? As another project? As an informant? He never had good luck with mother figures. It didn't really matter to him.

The point was Talia loved Damian with her entire being. Sure, it was misguided occasionally on account of them both being raised in a hellish death cult of the ages, but if anything they fit perfectly within the current generation Wayne Family, dysfunction was a lifetime warranty at this point. He knew where he stood with Damian. He would normally get a disgusted sneer of a Todd when he was around and outside of that there wasn't anything to work with. Sure, he knew the brat knew about him, probably more than he knew about Damian from his mom. Jason always noticed his eyes on him any time he was interacting with Dick, especially. It was there when he was talking or dealing with B on the rare occasion, but never as heavy.

Honestly? Jason wasn't going to touch the weird pseudo father-son bond those to had while Bruce was lost in time with a ten foot pole. It was increasingly funny to watch the dynamic as they went back to Nightwing and Robin, brothers. Dick might say that they were like him and Bruce when Grayson had first come to the manor. A mentorship, but that could really only fool a deaf and blind man. And Jason had seen through that veneer easily.

He snorted, maybe he should've picked up something with the House of Atreus, considering the House of Wayne was becoming incredibly close to it.

"You didn't answer the question." Jason stated, simply. Not sure how long the silence lapsed between them while he was internal monologueing. Like he could help it. Damian had crossed his arms behind him now, Jason spying on him in his peripheral, his expression was still harsh disdain, but it had softened some.

"Why are you here?" The kid asserted again, taking a step toward Jason. Jason turned to look at him, shrugging. He was ignoring Jason's question. The older man answered him again, "Like I said, I wanted to get a book."

"Don't lie. Todd. I'm not nearly as gullible as the rest of this family."

Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes, but made a mental note that Damian had said family, "I'm not lying." He didn't really know who the kid considered family, but he could guess and it was miles more improvement than when he first came to the manor. I am the blood son and all that. Not that Jason could blame him, his mother dropped him on the doorstep and his Dad, his real biological father had all but disowned him without knowing him.

He even scooped up the book off the edge of the bed, dumping it upside down to show that nothing was hidden between the pages before offering it up to Damian so he could flip through it if he wanted. The brat just stared at it, deepening his scowl, looking at it like it was rigged to blow. Jason supposed that was fair, in any other case, but his soul was exasperated at this point. He vaguely wondered if every conversation with the kid was like running into brick wall after brick wall at full speed. It probably was for Bruce, at least.

"You come here every once in a while just to read?"

"I don't read here," He was pointedly ignoring the other part of that sentence. He wasn’t going to be baited into giving himself away by short-stack to his left. Jason was getting impatient, so he asked again, "What do you want Damian?"

He knew the kid wouldn't have stuck around this long if he didn't want to talk to Jason about something. He flopped down on the bed, his ankles crossed as he folded his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Damian stiffened at the accusation, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit at being found out before he bit back, "Like I said before, Todd, what could I possibly want from you?"

"I don't know? Enact a grisly revenge scenario, cover for you, murder someone?"

He watched the kid flinch at the murder word. It was subtle, but Jason could still see it, the way he grit his teeth, eyes snapping shut as if he was suffering an actual blow. God, everyone in this family was dramatic. Jason rolled his eyes, waiting for a few more seconds before admitting, "I'd do that for any one of you. 'Cept Bruce, but you're smart enough to know that."

"I--I can't."

The younger boy didn't say anything after that and Jason inched forward, sensing where this was going to go. Jason didn't think he was the best person to comfort a child assassin, but maybe that made him the best person to comfort a child assassin. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. He hadn't meant to drag this up.

"Dami," He said gently, crouching so he was almost kneeing before his youngest sibling, the leather of his boots and jacket cracking at the action as he ignored the heel of a knife digging into his ankle. Damian slowly, almost shyly opened his eyes, keeping half of his face hidden from Jason. Jason, for his part, tried to paint a softer expression onto his face, "It's okay."

He recoiled at the nickname, but still had the same haunted face when he looked at Jason, voice hushed, "How?"

How did he know? Jason couldn't tell give him an answer outside of straight intuition, his voice was invariably softer as he shifted forward on his toes, leaning closer, "Damian. It's okay whichever one you chose, okay? If you completely reject what the League expected of you or if you decide to change B's philosophy down the line. Or if you create a third options for yourself. This, despite what your Dad wants you to think, isn't black and white, okay?"

Dami swallowed, hard. Obviously trying his best to keep his emotions under control, to squash any and all vulnerability down within him. Jason could relate. It was honest to god heartbreaking that a twelve year old like Damian had to be confronted with the complexities of an ethical debate like this. To be put in that position in the first place, but Jason knew life was very rarely fair.

Damian was making direct eye contact with him at this point, "How can the blood on my hands, even when I didn't know any better, be forgiven? Washed away?"

"Because you're a kid, Dami, you were just doing what you could to survive."

He looked affronted at Jason's suggestion that it was to survive but it wasn't like Jay was lying, even if his younger brother didn't believe him. If he didn't go through with League training and be up to snuff, he couldn't imagine the amount of abuse tenfold that the kid would endure. It was insanely traumatic already and he was their Prince who followed orders. That didn't stop them from almost killing him on multiple occasions if not for Talia's interference and his own sheer force of will that all Bats apparently had.

"You're still a kid," He countered, looking Jason full in the face now, refusing to hide, but his voice was significantly quieter when he asked, "So why haven't you been forgiven?"

Jason didn't know if he should be offended or deeply amused that a twelve year old called him a kid. He shook his head, standing up again to start to pace around the room. His soul was getting restless having a conversation to this magnitude. He needed something else to focus his energy on. He sighed, halfway to the bed, "Because I already knew Bruce's rule. I intentionally broke it. It was and still is a conscience decision to take someone's life."

He was struggling with his words, while Damian cut in, "I told you, ignorance isn't excusable for my actions."

Jason scrubbed his hand down the front of his face, suddenly very tired. Damian was still looking at him but it had shifted into a glare. He fought the urge to throw up his hands, instead focused on keeping the frustrated bite out of his tone, "What I meant to say, I think, is that every time I have ever decided to kill it's been my own decision. My own agency. No one was threatening me with anything when I pulled the trigger. You-- you didn't have that."

This wasn't working. He could tell by the way Damian looked like he was about to interrupt him again, so he plunged on, hurriedly switching examples. "Look, when I was on the street, I only ever stole out of necessity. I never took more than I needed," He explained, leaving out that he really couldn't have afforded to be greedy for a number of reasons, but Damian didn't need to know that, "Because otherwise I wouldn't have made it."

He still looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the way he shifted his clenched jaw was different, his mood softening the slightest when he finally seemed to grasp what Jason was saying to him. Jason probably should've gone for an animal allegory but he couldn't think of another species on the spot that coerced others to do things in quite the same way humans did. God, he felt like such an older brother, but he didn't think many older brothers needed to talk to their siblings about past infractions that included murder and the trauma that comes with growing up in a sadistic secret cult.

"It also doesn't matter," He said, a little offhandedly, flopping back down on the bed as he tried to shake the restless feeling out of his bones, "It's in the past. All that matters now is how you deal with it."

"Anyone can see how hard you've been working the last year and a half Dami to transform yourself, to be more informed and do the best at what you think is right."

He got a ghost of a smile for that, and Jason wouldn't normally admit such a thing, but the brat really needed a little bit of reassurance. The smile dropped though and with it, so did Jason's stomach.

"You've transformed, too. You reinvent yourself every time you step into this godforsaken city. And father still refuses to forgive you."

"Like I said," Jason murmured, feeling very much like he was repeating his conversation with Dick a month before, "'S different with me."

"It should not be." Jason shrugged, suddenly so worn out from the entire conversation and the mere idea of explaining the complexities of his relationship with Bruce. How it was rocky and probably never going to end in anything other than tragedy and heartbreak to a twelve year old. He also had heard the unvoiced question. Will it be like that when I'm older too? He didn't know. You'd think after six kids and a few other strays Bruce felt personally responsible for, he'd be better at this parenting thing. What was different though, was Bruce did seem to trying with Damian. He felt a twinge of jealousy at that. Whatever. He didn't want another one of them to suffer the same fate as he did. He was strong enough to take it for them.

Jason shrugged again, getting up off the bed and ruffling Damian's hair before taking his book and ducking out the window without so much as a hint of a goodbye. He couldn’t deal with this much emotion. He’d hit his limit and he needed to leave, his skin crawling with the scent of the manor.

Damian would know where to find him though, if he did was a whole different thing entirely. But it didn’t really matter to Jason as he dropped down from a tree and started his trek across the manor grounds, debating if he should check in on Alfred’s sage bushes.