#sasori orange

[t-u-i-t-c]

make me choose

orange or purple → orange

[tokuteasings]

Entwined

Unfortunately, I am here to stay in the Kyuranger hole. It’s still a meh series but listen after I read these headcanons by @toku-imagines about his stupid lil tail...I had to write. I had to fucking write.

Warnings: I suppose this can be seen as either romantic or platonic? Haven’t figured that out yet

‘He’s doing it again,’ came your inward little murmur. 

It’s in the corner of your eye and you cannot miss it, not how it darts back and forth, to and fro, crafting unsure arcs within the air - a comet that never reaches its destination and never finds its home. Inwardly you wonder and ponder, why was he acting like this?

Stinger never spoke often about his past, his home, his family, his people. There was always this painstakingly obvious welts within his eyes that threaten to spill or explode within his ducts. They would backfire and he would clam up. Sometimes he speaks fondly of his people and those are the days you see these twinkling little dribbles of acid from his eyes; of longing, of sorrow, of a home he can only visit within his dreams. 

This had something to do with it, you just knew.

How to approach it, however, was a different story altogether. 

“Hey Stinger?” you call out to him one hour within the Orion, and he glances up from his tablet, his tail darting quickly under the safety of his jacket, hidden away like the rest of his emotions - locked, key carelessly tossed into the void.

“Yes?” he glances up at you, brows furrowed and his ears tinged the lightest of cosmic pinks. He isn’t truly looking into your eyes, past your gaze and into the wall beside you. “What is it?”

The vacuum of silent space steals the air from your lungs, tongue drying up and voice box pierced by the same point of a scorpion’s tail. But there is no turning back now.

“Why does your tail tend to move whenever I’m around you?”

Stinger pauses, his cheeks slowly blooming with an unlucky red. You see movement under the leather, and then a familiar belt-like structure around his waist; burnt orange and tight, not restricting his flow of air but a secure sensation against his stomach. He’s almost inwardly shrinking upon himself, with fear and sheepishness encased upon his normally emotionless face.

Oh, oh no.  What did you do?

“I-I’m sorry if I offended you or anything, Stinger, I swear, I’m not mad at you or anything.” you wave your hands around rapidly, terrified by the prospect of offending the alien and the panic began to fully settle into your chest as he flinches away from you, further downcasting his eyes. “I-I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just wanted to ask because you looked troubled...”

The silence is deafening, further thudding in imaginary agony within your eardrums. 

“I...” slowly he squeezes his tail a tad bit tighter around his form, a hug, an embrace. You swear you could see the stinger itself quiver. “I am comfortable around you.” he starts off with these almost quiet words, barely heard above the roaring desert storms. “Amongst my people, when we become comfortable with someone, we wish to wrap our tails around them.” as he speaks, the orange mass slowly uncoils from his waist, hanging loosely at his side. “Where it wraps around, signifies their closeness to us. Wrapping tail around tail is meant for family or intimate partners. Around the waist is similar to a hug and can be used between comrades. Tails around hands is similar to that gesture.”

You fall silent, sitting in the chair across from him, “So...the reason why you’ve been doing that with your tail is...”

Stinger doesn’t look up at you, glaring and boring holes further into the telson. You watch as his cheeks slowly brighten. “I...am comfortable around you, and on instinct...I wanted...” the final words doesn’t leave his lips, letting silence reign and poison his lungs once more.

“That explains a lot...” you whisper out after beats of emptiness, smiling softly before holding out your hand to him, watching as his eyes widen and glance between you and your palm. You only smile the gentlest of smiles, your palm upturned and a lazy sort of gesture. You can always retract it, but you can see his tail rise just slightly. “I would be honored to.”

“Are you not scared?” he points the tip of his tail right at you, never coming too close to prick skin but merely similar to pointing a finger. “I could poison you.” “Never.” you answer back without as much as a pass of heartbeats. “I trust you, Stinger.”

There is a flash of hesitation in his eyes but slowly, his tail slinks and slithers towards you, wrapping around the palm of your hand first in a loose embrace. It’s warmth, a bracelet decorating your skin as it slowly coils and curls around your wrist. The needle is always pointed downwards, far far away from any sort of veins that could possibly be pricked. 

You could see his shoulders sag yet tense, and you merely inwardly smile. Your thumb reaches out to gently rub at the flesh, watching him jump lightly. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine...” Stinger murmurs but the grip tightens just a bit more, never enough to constrict blood flow but enough to feel secure and safe and comfortable; a glove upon your arm. “It felt nice...”

You grin gently, further letting your thumb run over each and every segment of his tail and watching his shoulders seep and tension ebb and flow into the ether.

“Thank you.” “Huh?” You look up at him, watching as his face becomes even redder...which you never thought was possible. “For what?” “...For being patient.” 

You only chuckle, “You’re welcome. I like this. It feels nice.” you pause as you feel the touch slacken just a bit, almost like he was retracting himself. “You can do this more often, Stinger, I won’t mind.”

He perks up, even though he keeps his face neutral, betraying the thud of his heart. “Are...you sure?” “Positive.” 

The grip tightens once more, and a rare yet tender smile crosses his lips, a curve so elegant and free. “Then I will. Thank you.” a burden slides away from his shoulders, and he merely lets his tail rest against your hand, leaning back into his own chair and returning to glancing down at his tablet.  You could get used to this, honestly, seeing the sweet little grin to his lips as his tail is wrapped around your arm...

[deaddeaddeadbear]

Finally able to get my favorite Kyuranger.

[navigatorsghost]

I'm loving how everyone is drawing the Hallowe'en boop cats and the black skeleton one keeps coming out looking like kitty!Hidan.

[ukiyaseed]

You can say that a ton of Super Sentai teams, especially Kyuranger. ESPECIALLY KYURANGER. IT'S A 12-MAN TEAM AND YOU ONLY HAVE 2 GIRLS?! WHAT THE HECK TOEI! SASORI ORANGE, HEBITSUKAI SILVER, AND KOGUMA SKYBLUE CAN EASILY BE GIRLS!

[ladykissingfish]

Deidara: Hey, Danna, look! This chip is in the shape of a pumpkin, hm!

Sasori: That is NOT in the shape of a pumpkin. It’s round.

Deidara: Pumpkins are round, hm!

Sasori: But they usually have a stem at the top. That doesn’t have a stem. Also pumpkins range in color from green to orange and that chip is bright yellow.

Deidara: *sighs* You’re such a downer. Can’t you just once get into the holiday spirit with me?

Sasori: If you’re referring to Halloween, that’s not until all the way at the end of the month. It’s only the first of October. I’ve plenty of time to get “in the spirit” with you.

Deidara: October first until October thirtieth is Halloween eve, though. So we have to start now!

Sasori: Deidara, I don’t have the time to argue with you right now. I’m busy.

Deidara: *pouts* If you loved me, you would show me even the tiniest bit of support on this, Danna …

Sasori: Later. Just, please, leave now.

Deidara: *walks out of Sasori’s room in a huff*

*Kisame walks in a few minutes later*

Kisame: Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Perhaps you should be kinder to the boy. Halloween may not seem like a big deal to you, but he’s young and you know how he —

Kisame: Wait; what are you making??

Sasori: *holds up his handiwork* Matching costumes for me and the brat. Mine is a flower, and his is the sun that brings me to life.

Kisame: What the — if you were doing that anyway, why wouldn’t you just tell him so?!

Sasori: And give him the satisfaction of thinking that I care? Or that his insanity heavily influences pretty much every single aspect of my existence? *chuckles* You’re a funny man, you know that?

Kisame:

[biomic]

"let's bring sasori orange's actor back to play a dumbass crab monster and have him record a full song on the soundtrack purely for the bit" starting to think gavv's production team Gets It

[nugulover69]

Hanto do you need to pin down and mount Sasori Orange like this

[23raccoons]

in the jack-o-lantern's glow - Ao3

Sasori x Sakura

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Pumpkin carving, Jack-o'-lanterns

“It’s pumpkin carving Sasori, not brain surgery.” Sakura says as she uses her hand to scoop another blob of pumpkin goo into the bowl, not even minding the sleeves of her oversized sweater that are pushed up past her elbows don’t come into contact with the mess. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

Sasori thinks they might have vastly different ideas of what is considered to be fun. He’s made it as far as cutting the top off his own pumpkin. They’re not fully jack-o-lantern-sized, but it’s hard to find things like that in Suna, whose residents don't particularly participate in all the traditional holiday festivities. Sakura likely paid a pretty penny out of her own pocket to get the little pair of pumpkins in front of them now. 

He frowns at that, he would’ve bought them had she asked. But she’s often stubborn, insisting her money is just as good as his. It is technically, but it’s the principle of the matter. And the fact that he’s inherited a good deal of his own wealth, and Sakura works very diligently for her money at the little hospital in Suna. 

He also just enjoys spoiling her anytime the opportunity presents itself, to buy her whatever little snack or trinket that she looks so longingly at. 

Sasori looks inside his pumpkin again, at its slimy guts. Sakura has given him a large metal serving spoon to scrape the seeds and stringy bits out. It takes a few attempts to get a good scoop, plopping it in the bowl with Sakura’s. The second scoop comes easier, and he does his best to not touch the messy insides, but he gets it on his hands nonetheless. 

Sakura finishes emptying hers first, sorting through the slop bowl to pull out all of the seeds. Once he’s finished, she washes her collection, patting them dry with a towel and laying them out evenly on a pan. Tossing it in the oven and kicking the door shut with her foot. 

“Now the fun part,” she says with a smile, holding up a collection of sharp tools from his woodworking collection he had deemed acceptable to use on her pumpkin carving foray. 

Sasori raises a brow. “I thought the first part was supposed to be fun.”

“Yes,” Sakura leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “But you’ll like this part the best.”

She has a few markers, handing one to Sasori. Who takes it skeptically. 

“I just carve a face?” Sasori clarifies, looking at the bumpy leather-like surface. 

“You can carve anything you want, baby.” She pauses, scrunching her nose a bit. “Well within reason of what the pumpkin can support, of course.”

He must be giving her a look, because she rolls her eyes and stands right beside him at the little table of her apartment. 

He watches her type out ‘jack-o-lantern ideas’ into the search bar, scrolling through the pictures of the carved orange vegetables. Some of them are not faces, but cats or ghosts or any  number of other misunderstood nocturnal animals. 

“I’ve seen enough, thank you,” Sasori tells her. Sakura slips her phone into her pocket, stepping between Sasori and the table to lace her arms around his neck.

“Sasori, it is something children do. You’re overthinking it, okay? There’s no wrong way to carve a pumpkin.” She kisses him for good measure. “You make spooky stuff all the time.”

“I make art, not mutilated vegetables. Let’s get it over with. Then we can do something else that's fun.” He barters, giving her a kiss back. 

“Deal.” Sakura steps around to the other side of the table from Sasori. “No peeking though.”

Sasori does peek, not at her pumpkin but at the face of concentration she makes as she traces out lines with the marker before carefully working the blade through the pumpkin flesh. The way she bites her lip as she works. She gets up every so often to wash her hands and shake the pumpkin seeds around, removing them when they have reached the appropriate level of crispiness. 

She feeds him a few, a crunchy, lightly salted, and a little nutty. Sakura is ecstatic when he deems them 'not bad'

They are nothing like the sugary pumpkin caramel marshmallow latte monstrosity she had ordered at the trendy coffee shop on their way here. Taking a single sip when she offered, much too sweet for his double shot of espresso tastes. He had upsized it after she ordered—paying for both—and had sat through several rounds of selfies with her and their respective to-go cups. 

Sakura knows he doesn’t like having his picture taken much and is always sure to only post his face to her ‘close friends’ and not her main feed. She calls the pictures that get posted on there where his hand or back is in the shot a ‘soft-launch’. He tells her she can post whatever pictures of him she likes, and she always tells him ‘she knows’. But a small part of him is always glad that she doesn’t, that she keeps him private, and he gets to keep that part of her world all to himself. 

She had also helped him set himself up a private account to follow her, a handful of his friends, and a few puppet-making accounts. 

Sasori carves a ‘spooky’ face. Sharp, harsh angles and a mouth of jagged, craggily teeth. He hates to admit, once he gets the hang of it, that it actually is not the worst thing he’s ever done. It would be much better if his hands weren’t so sticky from it, but he does always enjoy working with Sakura around to share the space with.

He steps back to admire his work. It is not wood. It will rot and mold and crumble, gone before the start of winter. Nearly a waste of his skill. He frowns at the orange face. 

“I’m done!” Sakura cheers. Smiling brightly at her pumpkin, excitable at the outcome, it’s enough to have his Sasori’s lips quirking up before he remembers he’s being grumpy about all of this. 

“Oh, are you done, too?” Sakura’s looking at him now. 

“Yes,” He would really like to wash his hands now. 

“Okay, we’ll show each other on three?” Sasori nods, placing his hands on his pumpkin, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious at the thought of showing her. Sakura counts, “One, two, three!”

They twist them at the same time, revealing their faces to one another. 

“Ahhh!” Sakura screams in half mock horror and half delight. “I love it!”

She moves to go wash her own hands, presumably to get her phone out to take pictures of their jack-o-lanterns. But Sasori can’t take his eyes off the face carved oh-so-carefully into Sakura’s. 

It’s Hiruko. The most beloved piece of artwork Sasori’s ever made. A large intricately carved wooden puppet, a demon scorpion with a complex joint system controlled marionette style. He spent years and years perfecting him and still enjoys tinkering on him from time to time. Sakura had carved the likeness of his toothy face into her pumpkin. 

He’s speechless. He had expected something cutesy, not the sneering face of the main art fixture on display at his own house. 

Sakura's finished washing her hands, noting his silence has stretched well past the normal contemplating he does. “You hate it.” She frowns. 

Sasori never enjoys spoiling Sakura's bright moods. 

“Oh no, darling.” Stepping over to slip his arms around her, taking care not to touch his hands to her clothing. “It’s perfect. It was simply unexpected.”

“Really?!” She perks back up immediately. “I wanted to surprise you, so I spent all morning practicing drawing him, and I was so nervous I’d mess him up.” 

Sasori kisses the top of her nose before moving to wash his hands. By the time he’s finished, Sakura has set the two next to each other, candles firmly in place as she lights them up. The lids go on top, and Sasori reaches for the pull cord on the fixture to turn off the light. 

The horried faces glow, and Sakura takes entirely too long taking pictures, but she looks so lovely in the orange light as she moves everything just so. And he doesn’t even complain when she sets the little timer for a few pictures of them standing together, holding their ‘art’. And if he’s looking at her in all of them instead of the camera, that’s fine with him too. He always finds pleasure in watching her enjoy herself, even if it’s something he finds to be silly. 

After eons of him patiently waiting, Sakura blows out the little fire hazard in hers, and Sasori flows suit. 

He picks Sakura up, despite her squirming as she locks her legs around his waist, carrying her down the short hall into her bedroom. Laying her out on top of the fluffy duvet he has purchased for her after she had admitted how much she liked the one on his bed. 

“In a hurry, Sasori?” She giggles, already flushed across her cheeks as he crawls over her body. Poised like a scorpion ready to strike. 

“Mmmm, you had me waiting,” he says, pressing his lips to hers. Again and again and again. “And I am especially impatient when it comes to you.”

“Did you like it?” Sakura asks when he comes up for air again. Nose to nose with each other. 

“Did I like what?” He feigns ignorance. 

“Carving pumpkins?”

“I liked carving pumpkins with you,” Sasori tells her truthfully. 

Sakura pulls him in for a kiss this time. “I knew you would.”

Sasori’s cleaning Hiruko the next day when his phone dings, Sakura having sent all the pictures she’d taken from the evening before. She posted a picture of their jack-o-lanterns last night, garnering a mass of likes and comments praising their skills. 

Sasori saves them all to his camera roll. He doesn’t even have to scroll to find the ones of them holding their pumpkins together, faces a little dark and blurry, the glow from the candles messing with the focus. He picks one where their timing was off, neither looking at the camera. Sakura’s smiling down at her pumpkin, and Sasori’s smiling softly right at Sakura. 

He opens the menu to click the little share button. He frowns at the screen, unsure what to type in the caption box. Sakura would tell him he’s overthinking it again, so he scrolls through the emoji to find the little jack-o-lantern and the teeny black heart. Taking the time to tag Sakura’s handle so it doesn’t cover any of her up when it’s clicked on. 

Sasori hits the post button before he can doubt himself out of it. Locking his phone and setting it down on the workbench. It lights up again almost immediately, the notification banner informing him Sakura has liked his post.

[or0ch1maru]

🏮Fourth of July with the Akatsuki🎎🎉

•

Hi loves! Back from my not planned hiatus. My job and small business took up most of my time but now I’m back! Bringing some fun little POV’s and smut. Lots of it!! 😇

•

🎐Kakuzu:

-sobbing silently in a corner as to how much money everyone is spending.

-puts on a happy face as he joins his comrades with firework shopping, cringing away when the cashier rings everything up.

-would be slightly depressed but once all the bangs, pows, and booms begin, he cheers up. His green eyes reflecting all the colors dancing across the sky.

-is normally found leaning up against something, watching and observing. It isn’t until Hidan and Konan drag him to join in the festivities.

🎐Hidan:

-DRUNK. Downing as much honey wine and sake his body can handle. Which is a lot may I add.

-tends to be singing random songs throughout the night. Sometimes he hits the right key, but most of the time he sounds like a drunk sailor. Words slurring, thinking he sounds good.

-first one to fall asleep. Hidan forces himself to stay awake as long as possible to continue his drunken antics, and of course, to watch the pretty fireworks.

-may set off one or two, but you’d most likely find him playing with sparklers.

🎐Deidara:

-constantly running away from Tobi who’s trying to send a firework off in HIS direction.

-finds himself up high in trees just to avoid his masked comrades ‘abuse’ as deidara likes to call it.

-will soar up high on his bird, sending his clay bombs down to the earth, causing large explosions. Has a ‘go big or go home’ mentality.

-aims his bombs towards Tobi, and claims it was just an accident when he gets hit. Finds it funny when all he sees is Tobi’s mask flying away through the smoke.

🎐Sasori:

-for about two months before the holiday came around, you’d find him working in his room, creating his own fireworks. Some smaller, while some have larger explosions.

-tends to stick with shades of red and oranges. Makes sure each one has a picture when it goes off. Ex: akatsuki symbol, Tobi’s mask, pains eyes, Konan’s hair clip, Deidara’s bird, money stacks, jashin symbol, and Zetsu’s leafs.

-is the one to take a ton of pictures. His camera sits around his neck as he snaps shots of his comrades and of the art display in the sky.

🎐Tobi:

-runs around all over the place, lighting sparklers, and bottle rockets. Dodges everyone as they try to confiscate the lighter from him, forgetting he can use his fireball jutsu if he wanted too.

-pretends to be scared when the larger ones go off but starts jumping around afterwards. Saying how pretty it was.

-for the few moments he’s actually calm enough to pay attention, he’ll sit crisscross on the ground staring up at the sky.

-whoever ends up sitting beside him, will end up turning into Tobi’s head rest. After all the activity, Tobi will fall asleep resting against someone.

🎐Zetsu:

-it took him quite some time getting used to all the noises and different smells that are apart of the holiday. Didn’t like it at first, but now truly enjoys the day.

-you’ll most likely find him near Tobi, talking and joking around. Maybe planning a new way of pranking deidara.

-scared of fire and anything that could burn him. Goes to Konan for help when it comes to lighting something. Turns pink in the face when his sparkler starts to go off. Happy that he’s ‘doing it.’

🎐Itachi:

-just like Kakuzu, he’ll be found resting against a nearby tree, watching as his comrades run around and light off explosives.

-will be hanging around Kisame, who would rather be with his partner than joining in with everybody else. Itachi tries reassuring Kisame that he’s fine by himself and that he should join in.

-ends up with multiple smokers that change color. Tried hiding his coughs through laughs and random comments.

-by the end of the night he’s on cleaning duty with the few that are still awake. Has to help everybody drag in the snoozers.

🎐Kisame:

-when he’s not glued to Itachi’s side, he’ll be handling the food. Grilling, and snack preparing. Took over drink duties since Hidan ended up drinking almost everything.

-makes killer hamburgers. Has to make countless packs after packs since everyone comes back for seconds.

-proudly wears the ‘kiss the chef’ apron Itachi got him as a joke. Refuses to take it off, even when the excitement and night is done.

-when it’s time for his photo to be taken, he holds the spatula in one hand and a lit sparkler in the other, grinning widely, showing off all his sharp teeth.

🎐Konan:

-just like Sasori, she learned a new jutsu, Just for the occasion. her paper bombs would have colorful explosions and different shapes.

-would be found sitting on a blanket, sending her butterfly origami papers into the sky.

-Konan would zone out on and off during the night as she takes in the loving and fun filled atmosphere around her. would be found later on that night asleep on Pain’s lap.

🎐Pain:

-would be running around after the trouble makers; Hidan and Tobi. Trying to get them to settle down. The two give him a run for his money.

-becomes the ‘father’ figure of the group and makes sure everyone is okay and well fed.

-will be the main one setting off fireworks and bottle rockets. His thumb will be calloused and sore by the end of the night.

-is in charge of music but will let others play a song or two. Tries to keep any sad or depressing music from hitting the radio as it’s supposed to be a fun experience.

🏮overall, the akatsuki would have so much fun that’d they’d be tuckered out by midnight. Wouldn’t make it to their bedrooms and would agree on having a slumber party in the living area.

[t-u-i-t-c]

The Poison Star

+ bonus

[sleeplesslark]

LP thoughts and drawings incoming, regarding Kabuto's redesign.

Brought on by this post, but everything here is stuff I've been thinking about for over a year.

Thinking about Kabuto's outfit redesign for LP; R. I'm not good at character design stuff, but having him get an outfit change from Orochimaru’s uniform to Konoha’s, and now it'll be his choice of what to wear, feels significant. I want it to work well for his character.

So far I've been thinking of dark red, saw a post earlier about how it might he his favorite color due to his cloak being red, and I have some lead in for it with the nail polish scene. It also kinda clashes with Sakura and Naruto in a way the blue of Konoha’s uniform doesn't, which was also baby Sasuke’s color. I'd like him to almost look a lil out of place.

I have also thought of green. A color for poisons and a color of healing. It's also Tsunade’s color which would signify his new allegiance, and tactically it would blend in nicely with the forests in Konoha. A dark green I think would also stand out a bit with Sakura’s bright red and white and Naruto's orange and black, while not being as odd as dark red, after all he is becoming their teammate.

Overall it's been kind of hard finding a good design and color. I might list the main color and features of his outfit and let people draw their own conclusions about what it looks like.

For fun, here are some old pictures I came up with for a design while writing Interlude, when he was initially supposed to get new clothes.

Plus one of him with Sasori.

None of these are really speaking to me now though. In order, the top left feels like a resigns of his "secret meeting with Baki" look, which is intended I loce that outfit. But it adds in the belt and gloves from his Orochimaru outfit. I ended up thinking it looked too much like a mash of former outfits to convey his new alliegence well. The top left looked too fire nation for me but I liked the idea of the inside of his jacket having pockets for scrolls. The bottom left just looked too much like a sports jersey, but I fid like the idea of his main outfit having a hood for him to hide in. None of them feel very "naruto" to me though, I struggle to picture him with team 7 in any of these.

I do like the headband hanging from his belt though. Works well to show how his loyalty to Konoha would be easily knocked away. I also adore his long gloves so I think I'll keep them.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 54: Night & Light

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Chapter Summary: There’s a reason everyone hails a “true meaning of Christmas”, but the truth is that it’s a lot of things, different for everyone who chooses to celebrate. The Akatsuki in their first Christmastide each have their own theme on their mind as they experience something new with a stranger they dearly love.

Author's Note:

This may very well be the longest chapter in the fic. Holy shit lmao. The song for this chapter is Night & Light by Tally Hall. For some reason it's not on spotify under the actual band?? So the version linked in the fic playlist is a repost labeled as a podcast episode, but it will play just like a regular song.

Content warning: Itachi's section mentions psychological self harm, forcing yourself to see things you don't want to.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

We ought to leave a light on, leave a light on

Underneath the moon

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

She rubs her eyes and apologizes, after a long, long time. Some Akatsuki left before the lady reached this breakthrough, either in impatience or to give her privacy. Deidara, Hidan, and Sasori are of the former; the latter include Kakuzu, Itachi, and Kisame (at Itachi’s behest). The ones remaining are, in their own different ways, the leaders of the Akatsuki.

“I think since Konan was the one who pulled this all together,” Tobi half lies, “She should be the first to give you her gift!”

Konan doesn't speak, dipping her head down a touch, eyes narrowing just a bit. She has, at most, been offered food as a child and offerings for an angel as an adult. It has always been out of pity or veneration, detached either way as she is a representation rather than her own entity. It was a massive undertaking to make this...festival happen. Not because of the dozens— if not hundreds— of origami angels that dangle even still on the ceiling, but emotionally. Each fold of the paper was purposeful, intentful, none any less bent and forged with her heart than the other. The time, just...sitting there, creating...it was meditative. Konan had sat...felt...and thought, something she hasn't had time for in maybe years. So in the end, she decided that she and the stranger are still not even; the girl had given her another gift, after all.

“Come on, Konan!” Tobi encourages, giving her a nudge. “She’ll love it! Won’t you, Takara-chan?”

The named woman jumps to attention, ogling those wide eyes at the sight in front of her. Orange orbs down, a slight frown with her mouth...really?! Is the blue-haired lady...being shy? “Konan...I—...didn’t expect anything in the first place! Whatever you’ve done...it’ll be wonderful. Even if you don’t think so.”

…

The angel seems to steady herself after a small, barely noticeable breath. “If you say so.”

Her arm is raised, and then square by square, it oh so magically forms a bouquet of roses. The gift isn’t just that; it is the show, the spectacle. She wants the girl to feel the slow intent, the same as when Konan sat on her own and thought about the possibility of making her smile again.

“Since you liked my rose, I figure...more would be sufficient. I...apologize if this is uncreative.”

The traveler’s eyes disagree. She holds the origami in such a way that from Konan’s view it frames her face, cradles it like the most gentle of petaled hands. Something in the angel’s chest feels heavy and light all at once.

“Konan..." the cherub murmurs, stars in her eyes. "...I…”

And that's about as much as the ame-nin can withstand. An “I wish you well,” and has to leave. Is such innocence real, as this girl hides her face among the roses? Konan is so mature yet still has no idea she’s much the same way...pure-hearted, pure in intent.

“Th...thank you,” the older woman hears just as she slips away. It feels like a finishing blow as it falls from the singer's lips.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sitting in the sight of every eye

I believe in you

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’ve been told we’ll converge again later,” Itachi says, assuring. The woman is grateful to see him, though, and treasure this time alone. She’s been seated at the piano, playing just for the two of them and whomever else is in the halls to appreciate the notes. Ding...ding...ding... It’s soft, sweet, and it reminds him of when she played for him the first time. What a strange time they've had... and yet how far they've come. The man acknowledges the simplicity of this melody, the rumination on the note just for its own sake, nothing yet quite a song unless she decided that to be the case.

...He remembers, too, the darkness he first glimpsed then and confirmed later. His throat swallows as he tries to forget. “Your playing is incredible,” he says, and she’s aware he wouldn’t speak like this if they weren’t alone. It makes her heart flutter, and the girl with bright smile gives him a small giggle to match.

“You...flatter me." Her eyes are closed with joy, but one cracks open to glance aside. "But...you don’t usually compliment for its own sake.”

He blinks; the oh so slightest of smirks graces the corner of his mouth. “What if that’s changed?”

“Then you’ve changed,” she says without thinking. “I...sorry. I was trying to be witty. I didn't mean it.”

...But he chuckles. She never thought about it before, but she’s never heard him laugh. It's their favorite word...incredible. “No...you’re right. I have changed.”

A strange quiet follows, just them and the keys. She isn’t sure what to say to that, but eventually the musician gives in to ask the obvious: “Are you...implying that it’s because…?” But even in trying, she can't manage to spit it out. Itachi finishes the thought for her:

“...I am, Takara-chan. It's because of you.”

She flushes. The crow's hair drifts past his face as he tilts his head, looks at her like she's a dream.

“...May I tell you how?”

As if she could say no to that. “...Yeah.”

“You’re sweet,” he says. “Sweet as that cotton candy you mentioned. And you are...in spite of…”

…

“Everything?” And just like that, his smile fades. All the whimsy, lightheartedness...gone. He can't run away from what he saw, not any more than she can.

“...Takara-chan," he says seriously, to redirect. "You know things. You know things you shouldn’t. And I'm saying that in spite of it, you're still how you are.” But the Uchiha can't just gloss over a statement like that with more compliments.

“...I know what? You mean like...about the Akatsuki?”

“No.”

And yet he adds nothing more. What the hell is going on?

“Itachi…? You’re scaring me...”

“Sorry. I...just…”

…

“Forgive me," Itachi says, but this isn’t the end of the conversation, as she suspected, but the beginning. “I’ve...seen it in your mind. The last time you let me in…”

A sickly darkness washes over his expression.

“The things you’ve seen… Even the most hardened, trained assassins wouldn’t be ready for it. I—”

…

...She starts to catch on.

“You want to know how I know those things.”

Black eyes close, brow pinching in stress. “...I wouldn’t dare ask you to relive it.”

“Don’t worry, Itachi." Voice still bright. How? How is it still so mirthful? "The answer is...unfortunately easy.” …She waits until tired eyes under a scratched headband open once again. “You remember the...unlimited knowledge I mentioned...right?”

Silence is his response as the dots begin to connect.

“Sometimes you see things you wish you didn’t. And if you’re like me…” A woman in trouble swallows back the sickness in her stomach, much like Itachi has night after night. “...You see it on purpose.”

“Why?!”

It takes her aback, really. The sharpness in his gaze...he almost looks angry. Angry at what? It reminds her of her father. The disappointment he had in her. She has nothing to say but grin back and explain. “Looking at death made me feel like I was learning something. It made me feel like...I should be grateful I didn’t die.”

The fire behind his eyes wavers. “...That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, calm as ever, knowing the truth. She did die, after all, in the end. “I know. I know now, anyway.”

...

...

Bit by bit, the tired man relaxes. Things make too much sense, and such a fate is hard to accept. But she has. She has for a long time. "...How terrible."

Gently, an arm loops around his, and the pianist sits just a little bit closer.

“I’m sorry you saw it,” she says, “If it’s really that bad. I never meant that to affect anyone accept me."

“I’ll be fine,” he lies. “But are you?”

...

“What if I say I’m not?” a curious woman suggests.

Something flips in the Uchiha’s chest, a flame lit that few are fortunate to find. “Then I’ll be here. I’ll find out how to give you peace.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ding...Ding...Ding.

A tap on her shoulder to get her to stop. Itachi reaches into his pocket and hands her...something wrapped in tissue paper. Wait a second...!

“Itachi!" the performer gasps. "You didn’t have to…!”

“I wanted to.”

Some shuffling later and cupped in her palms is a little mug, glazed orange and with two triangles molded on top. A ginger cat! “W-wow! Itachi...that’s…”

He waits, heart having stopped. She's stopped talking. What if it’s too childish? What if it isn’t personal enough? What if…?

“You...remembered! You remembered I like cats! And that orange is my favorite!”

She throws her arms around him, Itachi catching the mug in the process as she recklessly leaps into his chest. After settling, he eases around her more properly and sighs in her ear. He should have never had doubts.

The challenge of world peace is one thing. It’s hard, but feasible. To give this woman peace before he dies is another entirely. Perhaps he can do it after all. No matter the gore, blood, death she forced herself to endure as if it would cleanse her sins, as if it could prove something, she’s still just a soul as lost as he is.

Maybe they can find a path together. Maybe even he can have his own personal form of peace, despite the the road ahead.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Open your window, look out and see me

Slow I am coming a long way to be

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Oi, angel! You good?!”

The woman leans over from her seat next to Itachi, waving her arm as she sees Hidan poke his head into the entryway. He has a pout on his face, as he often does when he’s not entirely sure of himself. Don’t mistake that for a lack of confidence, though.

With a shaming "tsk" on his lips, the Jashinist shuts his eyes with disdain as he walks up. “You better be,” he grumbles. “Awfully rude of ya, you know, just buckling down and cryin’ like that? If I didn’t know better, I’d think this whole holiday of yours makes you—”

“Hidan.” Only the weirdest girl in town would perk up at the sound of that voice. “Shut. Up.”

“Kakuzu, this is all about a RELIGIOUS event that I have no interest in! I’m not required to like it.”

“No..." he drawls. "But you did choose to participate.”

“That’s because— well—” Hidan blushes and glances up to the ceiling. Itachi smiles underneath the cover of his high-necked cloak.

“I don’t get it either,” Kakuzu says, reaching into his pocket, “But let’s get it over with.”

The performer blinks, attention directoed towards the masked man in wonder—

“Hey! Me first!”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“Shut up, old man." Finally, Hidan opens his eyes and gestures towards the lady at the piano bench. "Takara, come ‘ere.”

With two other wary men watching over, the silver haired demon folds his arms as the woman abides, hands behind her back and eyes so big, innocent and barely patient. He gets the look back on his face— the pensive frown and shut eyes yet again as she's too damn distracting to look at right now. His brow furrows...furrows...until it begins to twitch.

But no matter how much he thinks, he doesn’t know what to say. He gives up.

“Here.”

A long, thin container is pulled out of a pocket by a hand with green nails. Her head comes closer, leaning towards his waist to investigate; it looks like...—

“A jewelry box…?"

...He smirks.

“Almost, angel. Take it and open up.”

He hands it to her, and she does.  The reaction he gets makes all the nonsense worth it. “Oh...oh.”

She glances up to his chest to make sure he didn’t take the sigil of Jashin from around his own neck. ...No, it’s still there. Sitting in this box is one of her own. Momentarily, he holds the silver over his fingertips almost in show— demonstration— before tugging the string wide and looping it over head. The shape of the triangle reflects on her pupils as she stares down at her own chest. One question is on her mind before any others:

“...Where did you get this?”

“Been meaning to for a while, so don’t think too much of it, alright?” And yet, he still beams with pride, stepping back to get a good look at his girl Hidan will certainly be thinking a lot of it, enough for them both. “That’s better...now you won’t need me to pray for you. You can do it herself!"

“I— Oh. Thank you.”

...Something’s wrong.

“What? You’re getting quiet. Talk to me, angel.”

“I just...I like it when you pray for me. I have no excuses anymore.”

That's about the fastest Kakuzu has ever seen his partner's skin change shade.

“Never said I’d STOP! Don’t be ridiculous! But still! You gotta be more independent. You know that, right?” Hidan quickly side-eyes the other two Akatsuki there, as if they might get in the way. “Got it?”

And while the performer would not call herself a devout Jashinist— in fact hasn’t considered herself religious for a while— she begins to understand again how people could believe in a god. Something tickles her heart, and the best name for it is “faith.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

An accidental light on

Such as I am, by the lonely sun

Ever is the light on, is the light on

Ever meant to run

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kakuzu next, then. He sighs, and once again reaches into his pocket. Even though he has a large palm— at least if not comparing to Kisame— it’s still surprising when a closed fist pulls out; whatever the gift is, it fits entirely in his hand. Hidan “tsks” again, though in a more sincerely unhappy way than when he did it minutes ago at his timid friend.

“Can’t fuckin’ believe it,” he mutters under his breath, though with no intent to hide it. He continues as Kakuzu walks the distance of the room to approach her as well. “Of course you’re a fucking miser about this. Fits in your damn side pocket…!”

Here’s the thing about Kakuzu and gifts: Gifts are...hard. Gifts cost money. Gifts have only existed in his long life as an equivalent exchange: momentos of allies; representations of power to give in turn; symbols of submission. The social nature of gifts is another form of monetization. That means that Kakuzu hasn’t had a real, honest to god free and selfless gift in a long, long time. Maybe one or two, earlier on in the days of being on the lam, but he can’t even remember specifics.

All this is to say...for what Kakuzu lacks in decorum, he more than makes up for in purpose.

He didn’t ask her to, but the woman still closes her eyes as the rag doll holds her palm open and places the thing upon it. A few seconds after pulling away, she decides she gets to finally see.

“Oh! It’s a coin!”

Held up to the light, it's a clearly aged gilded circle with a near unrecognizable face on it. Kakuzu grips her shoulder and leans in close.

“This is a gold coin from the elder days, obtained from a battlefield during the first great ninja war. This is for emergencies. Understand? You take this to a pawn shop to sell and you barter. It is worth at minimum 400,000 ryo. Ask for 500,000 ryo first and barter down if necessary. But NO LOWER than 400,000 or I will come up from whatever grave I’m in and kill you. Understand?!”

What the fuck...? “I— are you SURE—?! That sounds really valuable to you!” And way too valuable to entrust to the likes of her.

But “Yes,” he says, serious as death.

And though she carries it warily between her fingers now...it glistens so beautifully held up to the light. That's how the performer regains her blessed smile.

Kakuzu savors both the joy on her face— her understanding of this sacrifice, an object both personally dear to him as well as financially— and the look Hidan gives from behind her shoulder, mouth agape in shock.

The selfish bastard can be selfless, after all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Cold but I'm outside and waiting to see

Blowing the snow coming closer to me

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kisame enters the scene some time later, exhausted, having come from a long, long journey in a span others would find unfeasably short for the distance. But he’s the tailless beast for a reason. If those massive chakra reserves can’t help him with this, he’d consider the power useless.

The journey there is as important as the the actual giving of the gift itself. Here’s how it happened:

.

.

.

A florist, weary from a full day’s work, wipes her forehead after finishing sweeping. It’s been a blessing and a curse, moving away to work with the friend of a friend in the business. Seasons are upturned on its head; what is cold down home is warm up here. A task to learn the upkeep of flowers in this different atmosphere, lower-elevated and somewhat more humid.

But it’s been good. She needed the space, anyway.

The bell of the store’s door chimes and every thought is thrown out the window.

“Did I arrive after closing?” a tall, blue man grins, dipping his head through the entry. He usually doesn’t need to remind people who he is, being...you know...but he starts to wonder after the lady in front of the counter stares at him until she may become blue, too from holding her breath. Eventually, a finger raises. The point is accusatory, he thinks.

“You,” she says, emotion devoid from her voice as the gears turn. “You... What... Are…?”

Sheepishly, the walking talking shark shows more teeth as if it'll put her at ease. “Tracked you down,” he admits with a shrug. More bells as the door shuts behind him; the ceiling barely fits over his head of hair. Why does such a huge guy spike it up to be even taller...?! “But don’t worry— it isn’t quite as creepy as it sounds.”

The florist squints. Hard. “What the heck?! You— you came all the way UP here—?!”

“I need your help."

...

Her eyes go wide and she grips the broom like a weapon.

“What happened?!”

Somehow the way she looks at him NOW is even worse, like she’s accusing him with just her glare of failing their mutual friend. He rubs the back of his head. “Oh, it’s not quite as bad as you think, before you get carried away! Takara’s health is good. It’s…”

…

She hums curiously, hunched shoulders easing up a little, stick of the broom lowering down to the ground. Kisame’s pin-eyes somehow can carry such emotion in them, even with such little space; he glances to the floor as to try to hide them, and now she’s doubly grateful she cleaned up.

“...We’ve discovered a reason for her dismay, this winter,” he explains. “A holiday of some sort from home… Apparently it’s important.” And his eyes now raise to her, though he’s so fucking tall that it’s hard to tell from her height that they moved at all. “I need to give her a gift.”

She blinks. Okay, Kisame thinks, she's listening. That's good.

“She loves flowers.” Purple tinges his cheeks and she wonders if he’s blushing. “All the flowers are dead where you left us at, of course. But all the same...I want to bring some to her.”

...

The broom is dropped entirely to clamber to her feet.

“...You tracked me down all for that?!”

“It being you is a bit coincidental,” the missing-nin tries to assure, lest she find herself at risk. “I just had a lead on where you were and it’s the best option in such short notice.” ...Maybe he shouldn’t have put it that way; she begins to nearly look wounded she wasn’t naturally just first choice. “But I figure...if someone can help me, it’s you. You succeeded before, after all. That thing you made, had me give...it was something that she treasures to this day.” he adds, growing quiet in a way that doesn’t seem to suit him. Perhaps he’s never usually this vulnerable. “I need that sort of gift now. Something that’ll show she’s not in this world alone.”

…

The florist exhales. “I can’t say no to a request like that, history or no.”

Kisame is patient as he sits at a table much too small and much too dainty for the likes of him. The top of his knees bang the underneath and the chair is going to bruise his sides. It reminds the man of her— that is, the “her” this is all for, and so he reminds himself that he's endured far worse for much less than she. Every so often, the florist asks a question or two— never looking right at him but rather poking and prodding the arrangement she’s making.

“You want to show you’re strong? Protective? Take care of her? Or is it more of an equality situation?”

“Would you consider yourself her friend...or her BEST friend?”

“Okay, so like, do you like her, or do you LOVE her?”

The shark leans his head against his palm, small eyes narrowing despite his boredom. “These questions sure are damn personal.”

“So is this! Do you want my help or not?!”

“No, no. Not protesting. Just commenting.”

…

“You still haven’t answered me.”

…

…

…

“Buddy?" she pokes. "You still with me?”

It’s hard to decide if you should choose your words carefully or if you bestow the full weight they really bear upon your soul. This florist...she’s one of the only friends the traveler has outside of the Akatsuki, and he’s aware they don’t really give the best impressions to civilians as it is. Kisame looks inside, past the monster inside him, beyond the hunger for flowing blood and constant war, and he asks himself what the performer would like to hear.

“...I love her,” he says. Again, in that tone so quiet it’s almost like he’s not himself. “She knows I love her. But…”

Now THAT has her full attention. “But…? But what? She doesn’t love you, too?”

“She does.”

“So am I just imagining how sad you sound about it?”

“You have a lot of nerve towards your customers, you know."

“Hey, I don’t take my job lightly. Flowers mean things, you know. It’s a whole art. I try to take what’s on someone’s mind and in their heart and make it tangible. If you don’t give me everything, she won’t get everything.” She decides to put the ultimatum more simply: “I can only give what you want to give. So what is it?”

…

…

“Is there any way to use those flowers to...tell her something in specific?”

The florist looks at him...and beams. These are words every flower arranger dreams of. “Depends on what that is.”

.

.

.

He ran and ran and ran, all just to keep those silly flowers from dying before she even got to see. When it’s his turn, he greets her with a gentle ruffle of hair atop her head, still afraid to fully hold and touch her after everything that’s been in his dreams and happened between her and him. The warmth is still there, though, and that's what matters. The way she looks at him so adoringly...he has no idea that he’s just mirroring it like a big dope.

Well, he knows how stupid in love he is, anyway. Why else would he do all this?

“Close your eyes for me, princess.”

She does.

Two hands reach down to guide her by the shoulders, and they walk...walk...walk. Eventually, she recognizes the floor feels different; they must be in the kitchen.

“Open.”

And as soon as her hands are off her eyes, they’re thrown over her mouth. She buckles at the knees.

“Kisame—!” she gasps. “How did you—?!”

Fresh flowers, right on the window sill. The same place they really, truly met for the first time, him with a hammer in his hand and the shark’s heart cradled in hers. The woman has little idea of the symbolism of flowers, outside of “roses are red, violets are blue”, but she doesn’t need to in order to understand he really, really had to do something special to get real, living blossoms all the way to her in the middle of winter. Just for her?! Just for her.

She cries his name and runs into him like it'll save her life. Despite himself— despite it all— he holds her back without holding back.

“Don’t accuse me of being cheesy as the artists, but the real gift is you, princess.”

Despite herself, Konan finds herself too nosy to ignore the scene as she passes by. She looks over the man, leaning down to hold the performer. Orange eyes glance to the vase. Then to him. Then to the vase. Then to the girl. Then to him.

It’s going to haunt her forever, wondering if Kisame knows he’s metaphorically kneeling at the traveler’s feet. What an elaborate and pointless prank, or a terrible misunderstanding. Those choices would be too romantic for even a royal wedding.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tonight I'm arriving alive and alight

Tonight all the black, and the gray and the white

And I want to be like you are the one light

I want to see your eyes looking back and into mine

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Rudolf, the red-nosed reindeer,” the woman sings, clacking along on the piano, perhaps the most apt of instruments for the Christmas season, “You’ll go down in history!”

The white half of Zetsu’s face smiles. “Well, that was cute!” Black answers: “And pointless.”

The performer, however, doesn’t seem to take too much offense; she just shrugs. “Lots of carols are like that, to be honest. Tell you stories. Try to describe the...like…” Her fingers raise their index and middle finger, curling them back and forth. Zetsu doesn’t know what quotation marks are, but he understands the tone is supposed to be mocking. “True meaning of Christmas.”

“So that’s what it’s called.”

“Huh? Did I forget to say so?”

“You did,” the deeper voice says.

“Oh. Uh. Oops.”

A pause. Zetsu doesn’t really feel the awkwardness himself, but he does look in curiosity as she does, the way the musical traveler squirms and looks away like his eyes burn into her skin. Perhaps now is a good time.

“I have a gift for you.” And though everyone does, she’s been told, it’s still a surprise from the likes of him. Her head jolts up.

“W-what? For me? Really?”

“What makes you think we wouldn’t...?” the white voice whines. The way she sputters is absolutely, utterly delicious.

“I—oh, I just— I forgot, is all. But still! That’s...really nice of you.”

The plant allows a few seconds before pulling the rug from her feet.

“...You haven’t seen it yet,” the dark voice reminds. And now the girl's as red as that misfit deer’s nose. Once she gets over herself, she bites his bait:

“Okay, uh... What is it?”

“It’s not a what,” Black Zetsu continues. “It’s a where.”

She blinks, and suddenly he seems so much taller, walking up to her. His shadow looms, and it makes her feel small.

“May I take you there?” the softer one requests.

“Uh. Yeah! Sure!”

He steps closer.

...

...

...Um...

“H-...how do we get there?”

And somehow, some way, even the featureless side of his face seems to grin.

“Close your eyes.”

And it’s to keep more than just the gift a secret. A moment of thought, weighing her options, and she finally does, bracing herself in spite of memories of Zetsu’s previous threats. But no amount of consideration could have prepared her for this. There is no description apt enough to describe the sensation of someone wrapping not just their arms but all of themselves around her and sinking into the ground itself. To make an attempt, she could describe it as suffocating— tight, neither warm nor cold. Somehow she’s stiff as wood and flows like water. Eventually, perhaps at most a minute, maybe not even that, and she feels the wind begin to play with her hair.

One eye opens back up. The sky is bright and blue, the green attachments to Zetsu’s body stark in shape against that backdrop. He’s looking down at her, even as he still holds her to his chest, and he smiles. It takes a few attempts to move before the woman is finally released to see what this "where" is.

It's entirely, utterly, impossible. Step, step back, back again until she’s twirled in a circle. A clearing of some kind, in the middle of the forest, no home in sight— wait.

Is it...the forest? Or another?

The grass beneath her feet is alive, wet among melting snow. She could use a coat, but not so badly as usual.

“Where…are we?”

“A secret place,” the right half of Zetsu answers, cryptic as ever. “Where you can go if you ever so much as ask.”

...He can tell from that blank expression that she doesn’t quite get it yet. Oh, what a cute thing the little ghost can be, testing their patience.

“To be warm,” the left one explains. “To be safe.” And the present smile widens, pinching up his visible eye. “And maybe you can tell me more than you would, knowing no one else is there. Right?”

…

Oh.

“Do you remember your promise?” he asks. “To dance? Sing?”

Oh.

“You really want to..." she ventures, carefully, "That bad?” The amalgamate doesn't seem to take too well to her second guessing.

“I can leave you here, you know,” the dark one threatens, “If you don’t appreciate it after all.”

Nervous, loud laughter erupts as she tries to recover. “Oh, oh no! Not necessary! I’m just...I didn’t…”

…

“Expect someone like us? To do something like this?” It sounds so rude of her when he puts it that way. ...But...

“...Yeah,” she admits, guilt weighing her low. But she doesn't squirm away as the Akatsuki spy approaches again, letting the fly trap on his shoulders cover her in refreshing shade.

“Monsters are capable of more than you realize, ghost.”

...Oh.

She gets smaller where she stands, holding the side of her arm and turning away. “I’m...sorry for calling you that before.”

“You’re not even wrong,” the dark voice says, in such a way she doesn't need to be touched to turn back; she simply does. The lighter adds: “Just don’t exclude the possibility. Monsters can be people, too, Miss Takara.” Though he will never admit he didn’t consider himself the latter before he met her.

“Zetsu?”

The yellow iris widens as she raises her hand in offering to his. It’s more of a shock when it isn’t overtly coerced. Dumbly, the dual man takes it, and in this wonderland all their own, maybe even halfway across this world, she leads him in this dance. The air tastes sweet, bees already around to make honey and spread the pollen. The flowers even start to bloom here, it seems, as she begins to notice color splotching the snow between their spins. Is that coincidence, the woman wonders, or does he really have that kind of power over the earth? A ghost and a fairy, the stars and the dirt...what a strange, inevitable pair they are.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Better when the light comes in the night-time

Opening the door

Hoping to be right, it's open every night

So whatcha waiting for?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pain's event turns out to be supper. This is the first— perhaps only time that everyone (even those who don't eat) sits at the dinner table together, the size of which once seemed unnecessary and extravagant but now hardly seats every Akatsuki member and their favorite girl without bumping elbows. She said any food was fine— just so long as it was nice and warm— and so the scent of soup and fresh bread wafts around the room, provided somehow via the courtesy of lord Pain in such quantity and in such short notice. But appetites at this moment are appeased, and realizing awkwardly that everyone else was waiting for her, the lady stands up and pushes in her chair to signify the meal is done.

“I’ll go ahead and do the dishes. Thank you, everyone, for today—”

“Uh," the blonde interrupts, "Takara?”

As Deidara speaks, it’s only now that she realizes that Pain’s chair is empty. She turns around to investigate—

“Miss Takara," another man says, directly in to her ear.

"JESUS FUCK!"

She jumps where she stands, Pain directly behind and somehow having no reaction to being walked into. Sasori without expression catches the bowl that flies from her hands, as such clumsiness is predictable.

“I—” she stammers, attempting to recover. “Sorry! I didn’t see you get up! Holy shit—!” she can’t help but say. Was he even at the table in the first place?! “How’d you do that!?”

“My mistake," the leader glosses over masterfully, avoiding the question. "I suppose I’m unused to being around civilians.”

Deidara bites his tongue about how he’s never seen shinobi sneak up like that, ever, off the job. Drama is fun but not when he’s half asleep on vegetable broth.

“Perhaps we shall pick another time for my gift, then.”

She perks up quickly. “What?! I thought— I thought this was your gift!” He shakes his head.

“No. I have something...else for you.”

“Oh?”

He slowly raises his hand to the side...and something gravitates straight into it like a magnet. He hands the box to the girl, all eyes watching. What could someone like their stoic, impersonal leader could have in his possesion? What would he deem important enough to bestow upon the physical manifestation of hopes, dreams, and possibilities?

She pulls the top off, but it raises more questions than answers. That is, to everyone except her.

“Oh wow…” And she holds it up so everyone can see. “It’s a ribbon!”

A hair ribbon, to be precise. The Akatsuki watch as the most elusive, mysterious, deadly criminal in the known ninja world abides as she turns around and ties pink silk around her head in a big girly bow.

No way a guy like him gave HER a gift like THAT. ...But the way she holds her arms and spins around tells it all: this was a wise choice.

“It’s simple,” he reasons aloud, more for them than for the recipient, perhaps. “I’m of the understanding she used to have a hat. I wanted to replace it, but remove the possibility of it flying with the breeze.”

Konan is the only one who nods as if this is normal.

“Leader, that’s...Wow! That’s so thoughtful! May I— may I give you...a hug?”

There’s a lengthy pause, as if he’s deliberating the decorum of doing such a thing in front of his underlings, if it demeans him in this moment in particular. But, ultimately, a leader should lead by example. “You may.”

And everyone agrees they’ve experienced a group hallucination. Even her, turns out, as when she next spins her skirt she realizes there’s a weight in her pocket. Just as Pain leaves, she finds out someone has slipped her a key. But to what?

She’ll know in due time, a time where she can learn to trust him just as much as Nagato trusts in his plan.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Open your window, look out and see me

Slow I am coming a long way to be

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next gift is a long time coming, really.

“But perfection takes patience!” Deidara explains, finger pointed in the air as he justifies a mode of creation he’s so unused to— that is, making something to last. Perhaps he’s learned something from Sasori after all. The woman meanwhile holds the tiny sculpture of the sculptor in her hands, delicately turning it around and observing all the bits and bobs that make him him. It’s so smooth... He really did this without any tools besides his weird tongues? All the sharp edges are as straight as a ruler; all the curves have nary a bump, like it was made with a mold…

She can’t help but sigh a “wow,” even as she's exhausted that word to death today, and it snaps the artist back to reality. Sighing himself, he decides that he can get back to the finer details later. Only makes sense that she’s mesmerized, after all. Let's get to the point...

“So?” the artist nudges both intellectually and physically. “Does it live up to your expectations, un?” She nods of course, over and over enthusiastically. “Oh? But it isn’t even complete!”

The confusion flushing her face is oh so savory as he takes his creation back and pulls the companion piece from his pocket. A chibi him and a chibi her...modified, that is.

A click and it returns to her custody twofold.

“See?” he guides. “We have each other’s backs!”

That they do, the figurines having been attached to one another back to back. Finally, she gets it.

“Deidara…”

She doesn’t need too say another word. It’s all on her face. However, that doesn’t mean she lacks any surprises.

“Let’s go outside.”

“Huh? Oh? Alright, Takara-chan.”

They stand on the front porch. It’s twilight, the sun having only just fallen and still tinting the edge of the horizon orange. Once more, as she has done every time, she gives Deidara back his creation.

“W—wha? Takara, what’s wrong with it?” But she’s smiling; that isn’t what’s up.

“I can feel it,” she says. “The clay is warm and tingles in my hands. Did you really make it to last forever?”

“I— Well— Y-yeah!”

“Then why’d you put your chakra in it?”

“B-because—”

Her smile widens as he blinks at her, staggered. “It’s okay," the performer tells him, unbelievably, "I want you to blow it up. I got my eyeful. I’m ready to let go.”

...She’s passed a test he wasn’t even consciously giving, letting her choose the fate of this creation. He regains himself and nods in agreement; Deidara is ready, too, and has been since the day they met. With a grunt, he throws the representation of their relationship into the air, and soon enough fireworks light up their faces in splashes of red, blue, green. She leans into him, a head on his shoulder.

The woman has demonstrated she understands who he is, what he does, and what he loves. How do you end up giving someone a gift and they give it right back with so much more? Deidara has never felt more known in his life, and that is both terrifying and wonderful.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tonight I'm arriving alive and alight

Tonight all the black and the gray and the white

And I want to be like you are the one light

I want to see your eyes looking back and into mine

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As if she could go the day continuing to ignore him.

Before the woman knows it, Sasori has draped her cape once again around her neck in one swift motion, the rose broach clasping it shut. She furrows her brow and looks down. Should she even try to pretend she can tell the difference? Her fingertips move up to investigate, as perhaps it's varied more by touch than sight—

“Don’t you dare.”

Sasori has stopped her, holding her hand in his, the strange, rubbery plushness oh so familiar. She looks up to him, but as ever, his face holds no expression to read.

“I’ve imbued that gem with my chakra,” he explains. Ah, she jinxed herself by saying that word today, ‘chakra.’ “If you feel unsafe, pinch the broach on its sides. That will summon one of my creations, and it will protect you.”

Okay, there’s no way she can respond properly to that. Sasori...protecting her? After everything she’s done and said? Everything HE has done and said?! Her mouth opens but her tongue is dumb. As if to take advantage of that, the redhead cups her cheek. The way her lip trembles— so feeble, slight shine in the moonlight— it’s beautiful. He wants to keep that memory forever; the puppet sealed in pink glass is halfway to that, at least.

“Don’t test it,” he whispers. “I want my art to be a surprise.”

And with that, Sasori pulls away, getting a full view of his remastered piece upon his new, favorite model.

…

…

“You’re disappointed,” he accuses, though the woman quickly shakes her head. Dammit, she's been quiet too long...!

“No! I just. I’ve never. Gotten anything like this before.” But a scorpion still scoffs.

“It isn’t worth lying over. Of course you don’t comprehend the depth of what I’ve bestowed to you.”

“Sasori—”

“That’s why I have another gift, something your cotton-stuffed brain might understand.”

Stammering, the performer watches hands with a purple ring on the thumb holds an object in front of him. “A...shoebox?” How is it that the only time he emotes it’s to show his displeasure?

“I’m starting to think you’re trying to insult me. No.” He takes the lid off himself, and she peers close at what’s inside. This sort of thing, too, is familiar, even if different in color.

The fabric is delicately taken into her hands and pulled up, her eyes popping wide. “Wait—”

“I don’t know the sort of nonsense you’re used to wherever you’re from,” Sasori says, “But it’s custom everywhere else for girls to wear kimonos at a festival.”

Kimono...kimono...! She repeats the word under her breath, awed. “A kimono…! I’ve...I’ve never had one…!”

“You should have told me, you know,” he continues, soft brown eyes watching over her without a single blink. “I would have had time to make your gift instead of buy it.”

“You?!” Horrible girl, dropping the kimono low enough to touch the ground. Seeing her mistake, she hurriedly bundles it up, making it wrinkle instead. “You...bought this?!” She looks at it again. It’s fucking silk. Silk. Impeccable, perfect weavings of the night sky, sparkling stars and smokey clouds. It's like a hand-done fucking painting, and it was made for someone to wear.

“Look at you… In disbelief when I make your clothes, in disbelief when I don’t. I wonder why I bother."

And then he gives her the third, final present, and it’s harder to believe than anything else. The performer sees her puppeteer smile.

“It’s too late to wear it today,” the artist whispers, so unfathomably smooth and coy, and all of a sudden his cavalier tone makes so much more sense. “Next time, I’ll have to dress you myself. It’s a difficult piece to put on all alone.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Something is real

Maybe not

Something is gone

Something is here

Only thought

All that you want

Everything else will follow

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Deidara is really, very not good at his job of keeping people from messing with the performer while she’s asleep. That's a good thing.

Gloved hands carry out what a hungry heart has ached for for a long time, picking the woman up and spiriting her away from her makeshift bed. It isn’t until cold winter air hits her face that she begins to wake up.

Everything about her even down to the way she stirs to consciousness is wonderful. The small twitches of her face eventually scrunching up, the way her lashes flutter and begin to take in her reality, the fact she is outside and held over his lap. Eventually, that perfect veneer of a human being looks right up to his orange mask with her big starry eyes.

“Tobi…?" she mutters through the sifting spell of the sandman. "What…?”

He tilts his neck, either unable to speak or choosing not to for the moment. Everything washes over his soul right now. He has so much hate. Hate for her suffering. Hate for his. Rin’s. Maybe even Kakashi’s. Hate for the abyss of death that awaits them all. So many members of the Akatsuki search for immortality, but what does it matter if the world they emerge into is beyond saving?

“Tobi?” she asks again, and he begins to act once more.

“Do you want to see my gift, Takara-chan?” He isn’t normally as quiet as this, and she grunts in confusion. One arm removes itself from her and calmly— far too calmly— uses its full length to point forward and up. He’s glad it doesn’t take a sleepy girl long to catch up. It shines down like a spotlight, the porch and its steps the stage for two performers equally matched.

“The...moon?”

“That’s right.”

…

That precious smile of hers eventually comes to be again. “That’s really sweet, Tobi.”

“I mean it, Takara-chan. It’s all yours.”

“It is?” she plays along.

“I would never lie to you,” he lies and she knows it. But that’s not the point. His arm returns and holds her just a little bit closer.

“I do love the night sky here,” the traveler whispers back. “I don’t know if I told you—” She’s told him many a time. “—But I never got to really see it. Not without—”

“—The light of humanity covering it up,” he speaks in cadence with her well worn tale. It makes her cheeks hot yet another time these past 24 hours. But all it takes is a chuckle and she's back on her metaphorical feet.

“...Thank you for reminding me of it.”

“If the world was just like you and me,” the masked man says out of no where, “It’d be perfect. You know that, right?”

...Well that's certainly a change of tone for the conversation. “...What do you mean?”

“I have another gift, Takara-chan. Let me give you...a dream.”

She abruptly remembers that his swirl hides a powerful red eye. It’s gone from looking to the sky to gleaming right down at her.

“Just one,” he softly begs. “I want to show you.”

This is a lot to take in at roughly 12am in the morning. There’s recollection of the argument between the two Uchiha a season ago, the way Itachi mourned altering her mind and the manner in which Tobi beseeched them to do it again. What did he mean by that…? What does it mean, to give someone a dream?

She asks aloud, but the answer is obvious:

“There’s only one way to find out.” The ceramic of his mask gently taps into hers, forehead to forehead. There’s longing in that single eye she gets to see. “So? Will you let me?”

Curiosity insatiable...she does.

In the material, tangible world, she is immediately limp in his arms, a hypnotist putting his subject to sleep. But “reality” exists in his genjutsu tonight. No matter what he says or does, the mask he hides behind, his love is real, and he’s always been watching her. Everything she is— she sees it as the Akatsuki does, as Obito does when he observes the way these coldhearted killers warm up and accept her into their lives. They all are here, to hold, cradle, amuse, to be bewitched:

A white ring carries purity.

Crimson holds peace.

Rust, passion— faith.

Turquoise is selfless.

The yellow gem is for dedication.

And green whispers whimsy.

Gray is for trust.

Blue gives connection.

And finally, purple will forever protect.

The hands from her dreams on the beach return, though this isn't the world of her dreams. It's out of darkness, like shadow itself is the water instead. The Akatsuki surround the woman and give her a sensation she’s never had and will never have again. It isn’t explainable in words, just like Tobi said. The one thing that’s clear...is love. This whole thing was his gift, after all; not just the holiday but her life. She loves, and in demonstrating her love, she earns it back.

She never knew someone could love her this much, and it’s so overwhelming that she may forget when the morning comes, dismiss it all as but a dream.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tonight I'm arriving alive and alight

Tonight all the black and the gray and the white

And I want to be like you are the one light

I want to see your eyes looking back and into

Mine

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[yowyowyaoi]

*Konan walks into the living room the night before Halloween*

Konan: … what the hell?!

*Deidara, Tobi, Itachi and Hidan are surrounding what looks to be a real human skeleton hanging from the ceiling by two thin ropes*

Hidan: Oh, hey, gorgeous! Just settin’ up the Halloween tree!

Konan: That WHAT?

Deidara: The Halloween tree, hm! Sasori gave us this from his lab!

Tobi: We’ve got black and orange tinsel to wrap around it, and orange string-lights!

Itachi: We’ve been good all year, so now the Halloween Man will leave us presents tonight. *sets a plate of pumpkin-shaped cookies and a glass of milk on the table*

Konan: This is insanity. There’s no such thing as a “Halloween Man”! And even if there was, what do you mean you’ve been good all year?! You’ve all been horrible!

Hidan: The Halloween Man don’t count all the goody-goody shit as bein’ “good”. It’s the other stuff. The stealing and the sacrifices and shit like that. Ain’t nobody been more badass than us four this year!

Tobi: Tobi asked for a bike!

Deidara: I asked for the super expensive clay, hm!

Konan: But … but asking for presents is what you’re supposed to do with Santa Claus …

Itachi: Two years ago, for Christmas, I asked Santa for prescription sunglasses. He didn’t bring them. Last year I asked the Halloween Man for them and not only did he bring them, but eye drops and a bunch of t-shirts that complimented the glasses. 

Hidan: Which fucker sounds more real to you?

Konan:

Konan: *picks up a thing of tinsel* I could use a new dress and some makeup …

[brytnoter]

Best Akatsuki Member poll, where the names have been sorted into alphabetical order to stop any sort of favouritism, but also I can only have 10 options, so all zetsu are combined and i am disallowing any votes for the orange haired pein/pain/piens on account of they are just toys being played with by nagato

[ladykissingfish]

Deidara: Sasori, we need to talk. Sasori: If this is about me killing that guy that "praised" your art, I assure you my "jealousy" had nothing to do with my decision. His body was very unique and I deemed that he'd make a worthy addition to my -- Deidara: No, no, that's not it, hm. It's just, you know Halloween is coming up, right? Sasori: On October thirty-first? Same as every year, mm? Deidara: Ya don't gotta be a smart-ass about it, Danna. I'm serious, here; Halloween is coming up and you haven't taken me to do one single festive thing, hm. Sasori: "Festive"? What do you consider "festive"? Deidara: We haven't gone to a pumpkin patch, or a haunted house. We haven't gone on any hay rides, or even taken a walk around to look at the colors of the leaves on the trees. Sasori: *sighs* Alright, love. You want festive? I'll give you festive. Sasori: *drags Tobi into the room* Here. This orange-masked freak can be your "pumpkin patch". Sasori: I'll stop by Hidan's room to tell him to perform his next sacrifice ritual right here, so that you can experience your "haunted house". Sasori: I've heard Kakuzu talking lately about making some money by selling our "expensive" beds and replacing them with straw-tick mattresses, so you'll get to go on your "hay ride". Sasori: And the next time I can catch Zetsu off-guard, I'll throw several buckets of paint on him, to turn him different colors, then rip off his skin so that you can watch the "leaves" fall. Sasori: Tsk; and you say I never put effort into anything for you. I promise you this will be one "festive" Halloween that you'll never forget, brat. *kisses Deidara's cheek then leaves* Deidara: