#wind breaker gravel

[101suouexpressions]

OP I CAN SEE YOUR VISION!!! I hope you don't mind me contributing to this because it's just a good concept! (I love women they are my everything)

A fully female group/organization hasn't had that many representations in media (we will exclude harem-styled anime for now because I don't know that much about it), but the concept is deep-rooted and very fascinating.

(Putting a break so ppl don't have to scroll too much hehe)

In the west, the only instance that I can think of is female group of witches (someone pleasepleaseplease add more to this). But in eastern culture, the earliest example could be The Cave of Silken Web (from Journey to the West), which coincidentally also endorses the theme of Buddhism - the underlying theme in Wind Breaker symbolism (Four Heavenly Kings,... etc.). And besides sukeban that you've mentioned, that's pretty much all I know. So yes, it's very under-represented, therefore it'd be SO AWESOME if Nii Satoru decides to include sukeban! In a manga about delinquent, surely there would be, at the very least, mentioning of girl delinquent!

Also, in my opinion, all leaders we've seen so far aren't necessarily bad. Yes, most of them were introduced as enemies (except Nakamura's case as the chairman of Roppo Ichiza), but we've also learnt that their opposition to Boufuurin came from struggles (except KEEL and Noroshi) and they all had become allies afterwards. If a sukeban gang is added, I'd expect a similar pattern.

As for the discussion about name, Noroshi's name is specifically targeted at Boufuurin as the names mean "signal smoke" (i think this post explains it really well), while Shishitouren means "lion's head", which has a positive connection to Boufuurin because where do lions live? In the woods! I know it sounds kinda goofy but regarding eastern folklore, it does make sense. And in the end, Bourfuurin and Shishitouren became friends, while I don't think there will be a universe where the same thing happens with Noroshi.

Where am I going with this? The point here is that the new gang's name should also imply their relationship with Boufuurin if they're a plot-relevant group (unlike KEEL or Gravel's case, since KEEL only affects class 1-1 and class 2-1 captains, and Gravel technically was intruding Roppi Ichiza, not Boufuurin; Roppo Ichiza is also a quite independent group). I also totally agree with water being a potential name! If one looks into Wuxing, 'Water' gives birth to 'Wood', and water is associated with gentleness and agility, which is a stark contrast to Boufuurin, or any delinquent gangs, style (violence, brute-forcing, speaking using their fists).

That's all I have. And YES PLEASE MAKE A PART 2!!! (can you please tag me if you make it :3? It's no pressure, ofc)

I've seen people making up different story arcs on what will happen after the Noroshi War so here's mine.

*Manga spoilers ahead*

Maybe in the future, Nii Satoru-sensei might create a story arc about a sukeban*.

*A sukeban is a delinquent girl gang that emerged in Japan from the 1960s to 1970s.

History

Credits: yaz1ska on Instagram

Sukebans were formed due to bōsōzoku a.k.a. male biker gangs or the yakuza not accepting female members. The rise of sukebans has a huge impact on the feminist movement in Japan. Each gang has their own rules, hierarchy, and ways of punishment. E.g. Cigarette burns were considered a minor punishment if a gang member was disrespecting a senior member or stealing a boyfriend.

My thoughts if it were to come true

If the author included a story arc about a girl gang, I would have faith in him. I mean look at how well-written & well-designed the ladies in wind breaker are.

Credits: Pinterest

Credits: Mangapill

*I love how the author would draw sketches of Kotoha with major characters such as Tsubakino and Sakura. This means that Kotoha is more important than we have initially thought. Moreover, kudos to Nii Satoru-sensei for not sexualising Kotoha. I am sick and tired of mangakas sexualising female characters for no reason.*

Credits: Nii Satoru on X

Not to mention many of us know that Nii Satoru-sensei is good at writing complex characters such as Tsubakino.

Credits: MyFigureCollection

Story Arc, Characters & Operation

As for how this story arc will be executed, I believe it will cover topics such as feminism, struggles of womanhood and mistreatment of women.

Moving on to how this sukeban operates, here's my input. I believe everything they do is the complete opposite of Bofurin. E.g. instead of protecting their own town, they protect themselves. This is because the town they live in is also the complete opposite of Makochi, hostile and narrow-minded.

*I just thought of making this sukeban the complete opposite of Bofurin because I think it's interesting to see their reactions. It's also hilarious because the opposite of a boy gang is a girl gang. Get it? Okay, I'll stop.*

I also believe maybe this sukeban and its base can act as a sanctuary for women of its town who were mistreated by men such as giving them food, shelter etc.

I believe the overall vibe that they give is going to be like the military instead of high school.

As for their leader, maybe she'll be the opposite of Umemiya, stoic and serious. However, it is interesting if she was a good leader like Umemiya because so far we've only seen bad leaders in Wind Breaker.

As for their gang name, maybe it will be associated with elements such as water or space. This is because the other gangs e.g. Bofurin 防風鈴 is named after the wind element, Noroshi 狼煙 is named after the fire element, Gravel and Shishitoren 獅子頭連 are named after the earth element along with KEEL is named after or related to the metal element.

*I know that Shishitoren are named after animals but animals are also related to Earth sooo*

Final Thoughts

Overall, this is just a random thought of mine that I just want to share. If Nii Satoru-sensei doesn't include a story arc that talks about girl gangs, I won't be disappointed or upset as long as he writes a good story.

*P.S.. this is my first time ranting about an anime so feel free to critique or educate me if I've made a mistake. Also, I still have some opinions regarding this sukeban idea so should I create a part 2?*

[nanakorobiyaokii]

ᅳ ᵂᴵᴺᴰ ᴮᴿᴱᴬᴷᴱᴿ ᵇʸ にいさとる🦊

[raamitsu]

THEY CAME OMG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

BITCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LOUD I SCREAMED WBWEHJYDFGBWEHJDFVGWJHDFQWVF

ALSO TOGAME'S HAIRCUT IN THIS PANEL ??????????????????? STRAIGHT UP HANDSOME !

[transient-winds]

HI YES HELLO I’M ALIVE and the yapping is back (it never left)!!

Just when the summer bbq is concluding. 🥹

Uhh looking back at this post, it’s highkey a sako character analysis post in disguise. Spoilers Ahead for Wind Breaker Chapters 160 & 161! (as promised with doodles)

This last panel with everyone toasting to each other feels like the end to the Summer BBQ event, at least to me. *shakes and wails off into the corner*

So many friendships being strengthened, healing/healed and being made in this one event is making my heart do somersaults. GAHHH!! I would’ve loved if we stayed in this wholesome moment a little longer if it is the last but oh well at least these recent two chapters have given me two things to brainrot about for a while. 🤧

Sako Kota and his relationships

Hooray!! We finally get to see the (much needed) closure of HiraSako’s *gestures wildly* everything, in that moment my spirit synced up with Inugami. 

I’m sure it doesn’t take a genius to point out Sako had an unhealthy dependency towards Hiragi from when they were kids up ‘til the Shishitoren arc. On the surface level, Sako’s reasons for getting back at him may seem very immature and they are but I also see where it stemmed from. Hiragi was essentially the first to take a chance on him when he was at his lowest and gave him a chance to better himself.   Hiragi to him was the pinnacle of strength and security, his guiding light (Chapter 15). He likely thought that even when things change, he would always be by his side because with him, he’s safe—with him, he’s strong. Stronger than he was before, someone who wouldn’t let bullies trample over him.

So when the latter told him he was following Ume and that he should follow his own path, which is normally very inspiring, Sako took it as abandonment. In his eyes, his pillar of strength was no longer holding up the weight of his (Hiragi’s) own roof but rather someone else’s (Umemiya’s’) and he was left in the ruins (dramatic ass analogy I know but it works).

“If Hiragi had been the source of his strength, then if he beats Hiragi that means he’s reclaiming that strength as his own right?” was what probably went through his head when he started picking fights and joined Shishitoren.

His reliance on Hiragi was still there but now it was twisted and he likely started hating himself for having been content with remaining a follower. If you asked my personal thoughts about this, I would say it was unfair. Not just for Hiragi bearing the weight of his unreasonable expectations, but also for Sako himself whose helplessness as a child manifested into the ugly beast that is emotional dependency. 

Deep down, he was still the same hurt child who couldn’t fight back against his bullies and needed someone to support him. When that support came and fell through, he thought defeating Hiragi was his way of proving to himself that he can stand on his own without relying on others. The point when things finally climaxed (aka the Hiragi vs Sako fight) was the moment when Sako had begun letting go of his heart demons. Turns out he just needed to have a talk or two with Hiragi. Communication and respect are the keys to any healthy relationship after all, even if said communication is thru fists but they are delinquents so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. 

With that tangent on Sako’s previous ideologies out of the way, another thing I noticed in his official apology was that he called Inugami “kohai” and also like other things he said, but mainly that part. Maybe I’m reading into it or im late to the party, but me thinks he was somewhat of recluse in Shishitoren. Like sure, he wouldn’t be outright hostile but he wouldn’t be actively making friends either.

When Inugami first appeared and was very comfortable talking to him, it made me think “ah this is Sako’s new bestie when he came to Shishitoren, it’s good someone was there for him while he was gunning for Hiragi”.  But with this new context, in my head it makes sense if he only joined because he wanted revenge so he likely wouldn’t have reached out if he was so fixated on his goals. And with the whole uh pre-Shishitoren arc Choji and Togame thing going around, yeah I wouldn’t also be eager to make be friendly with them too. But somewhere along the way he got attached to them, he just didn’t realized it at the time.

After Bofurin bulldozes in with their life changing fists and kicks, Sako leaving wouldn’t have been a hard decision for him to make since (1) he’s got presumably no friends and (2) he wants to wallow in self pity alone for a good long while. Then comes crashing in sweet boy Inugami and honestly? I don’t blame Sako for spilling his entire backstory on the guy. I mean look at his face!! 

He’s Sako’s emotional support dog. 

Anyways, in my heart I’d like to believe Inugami was the second person to reach out to him. Offering him another chance to lean on support and start anew on learning to be okay with accepting a hand or two but not to the extreme. Trusting others and letting people in again, but also learning to trust in himself too.

And so far, things are going pretty well for him. Found family within Shishitoren, got someone who’s unafraid to keep him in check and repaired his relationship with Hiragi & his other childhood friends! Throwing all the confetti and sweets for him <3

HOO-WEE THAT WAS SO FUCKING LONG 😭😭 

I wanted to add more to this latter half of this discussion but the Sako-brainrot took over, so i’ll just briefly cover my thoughts on Sakura’s progress.

Two words: SAKURA’S GROWTH! 

HE IS BLOOMING IN THE SUMMER HEAT OF JULY, HE’S RADIANT AND HIS SKINS GLOWING AS HE SMILES, IM SMOTHERING HIM IN A PILE OF FLOWER BOUQUETS -*ahem*

Sakura really has come a really long way from the person he was 4 months ago and it’s a real tear-jerker. Even if he didn’t say it to their faces directly, he called his class his friends and he hangs out with the others (their allies) on his own whenever he has the time. Sakura’s getting comfortable with all of them and I cannot believe that after 160+ chapters this is the first canonical mention of the “stray cat” analogy. His first year and he already won the hearts of so many people, deserved really 🙌. 

Honorable mentions:

The Kanuma and Suo reunion I’ve been waiting for 👏👏. But it’s not enough,, so I’m gonna post a doodle of their mini interaction to satisfy my craving for enemies to friends and/or lovers suonuma 🏃🏃

!!Togame and Choji apologizing to Kaji!! I almost forgot Choji completely trashed him and other Furin students on his way to the school.  

This panel is my everything, it’s so sweet like y’ALL I’M HERE THINKING ABOUT WHO KNOWS HOW LONG YANAGIDA AND MATSUMOTO HAVEN’T SEEN AND TALKED TO THEIR CUTE KOHAI WHO FOLLOWED HIRAGI AROUND LIKE A DUCKLING. IM UGGHHH- *stumbles to the ground and wails pathetically*

Sugi? Sweet boy, what are you contemplating about 👀? If you asked me, I hope it’s about Sakura AND/OR will be relevant to the next arc of the series because my body is simultaneously ready and not ready for new antagonists.

—

Once again singing my praises to Nii-sensei, their team and the official english translation staff. My head is constantly in a spin for these characters and their interactions with one another. And thank y’all for being patient with me for this post and for reading til the end.

[phuuca]

My friend Jax got me REALLY into Wind Breaker and I binge read the entire manga in, roughly, three days. But every time a new gang was introduced, I always had the idea pop into my head of “What if Sakura joined these guys before Furin?”

So here’s my two cents about how those would all go:

(Gangs ranked from Least Damaging to Most Damaging, based on how they’d treat Sakura)

(Spoilers for the Manga)

Roppo Ichiza - Least damaging

They wouldn't let him join officially, because he's too young. But this is Sakura and he'll throw himself into battle anyway for the thrill of it, but also because he wants to belong and protect. It's who he is at his core. Kanji sighs with unsurprising disappointment because Sakura should be in school! And making friends!! You're committing truancy Sakura. Go make friends, you under-socialized, stray cat!! Sakura being adopted into the Roppo Ichiza is just Kanji and Akihito trying to convince him to transfer to Furin because SAKURA. YOU'RE LIFE IS BEING WASTED HERE. Anyway, he ends up transferring to Furin after hanging around Shizuka and Tsubaki long enough and they beat Gravel's ass. He drags the boy by the scruff, kicking and screaming, and enrolls him in Furin High himself.

Gravel - second least damaging

He thrives, but in a way that’s a little different from Roppo and Furin bc they are a community. However he still, ultimately, gets picked on because of his appearance and is more lonely than he thinks he is. But, for the most part, he's welcomed with open arms because he contributes a lot to Gravel and is super reliable. He takes up a semi-leadership position, despite being one of the youngest members, because of his fighting abilities. Transfers to Furin after Suzuri becomes a Chef Trainee and pushes Sakura to better himself in a way similar to Tsubaki and Shizuka.

Both a Roppo! and Gravel!Sakura would be closest to Tsubaki.

Shishitoren - smack dab in the middle, our true neutral

He’s in a neutral position in Shishitoren. It's neither good nor bad overall, but he’s still incredibly, lonely. Choji picks on him for being strong. Togame picks on him because of their clashing ideals and talking speeds. He’s definitely strong enough to hold his place there and find shaky community, but his own personal morals isolate him more ostentatiously than not. And, with the threat of being kicked out, he's afraid of even being seen as "weak". He still thinks it's some punk shit to be picking on middle schoolers and he'd beat the snot out of Arima and Kanuma, if given the chance. After the tournament, he transfers with a little bit of pushing from Togame.

Shishitoren!Sakura would be closest to Hiiragi (he sees a lot of Sako in Sakura).

Keel - damaging

He withers, but at a slower rate. He’s the only member to not use a weapon, because he thinks bringing a weapon to a fist fight is cowardly behavior. This makes him an outsider and a target of their bullying. He willingly joined under the guise of finding community, but was pissed off when he found out this community is full of petty thugs and bullies. He tried to leave, and was close to being successful, but then he say Nagato and decided he was going to stay and (begrudgingly, with a lot of grumbling and swearing) stay. He stands beside Nagato as an a kind of, tough-loving, older brother/mentor figure. Sakura often takes the brunt of Nagato’s punishments because Nagato is not a fighter and he's "responsible" for hims as his mentor. Even after he fails nabbing the purse, he takes it for Nagato and is devastated, but truly not surprised when they beat up Nagato too. He transfers after Nagato is saved.

Keel!Sakura would be closest with Ren.

Noroshi - most damaging and he’s in active, tangiable danger.

He withers and burns from the inside out. He’s fighting for his fucking life all the time. He’s got scars and a single tattoo. Absolutely lonely and gets sick, maybe, twice every six months from constantly being run ragged and feeling like dirt. There are small streaks of white in his black hair from the constant stress of fighting Takiishi, Endo, and the other Noroshi members in a thunderdome that, seemingly, never ends. Is first seen beside Endo during the Gravel Arc as his shadow, a reopened split lip staining the collar of his hoodie red. He is saved during the war by Umemiya after he clips his head, hard, on the chair Takiishi throws, and is held down until he passes out (Umemiya defends his unconscious body from Takiishi). He transfers to Furin once the war is over and is monitored by the Four Kings, not because they think he’ll betray him, but because Sakura needs guidance on the difference between constantly fighting for your life verses a friendly fun brawl (Endo and Takiishi had him fight them for survival under the guise of “fun”).

Noroshi!Sakura is closest with Umemiya (everyone saw this coming).

In every reality, my boy Haruka Sakura ends up in Furin because all roads lead to Furin. He belongs there, that’s his family, even if some extra steps were taken to get there.

[noisesfrombeyondtheuniverse]

ume-san is the classic extrovert collecting introverts

[babygray]

Man, I need to study Japanese harder.

I only realized today that the Bofurin kids all have a plant-based name.

[narcjsistx]

Hiii😋. I had this small idea of maybe an insecure Izana x gf reader. Maybe he is doubting her love all not knowing she is extremely touchstarved and would practically do anything for him. He is her first boyfriend and all and she aint gonna let him go by the long run. Already has a life planned with him in head.

Got inspired by a tiktok audio 😭. Heres a little scenario..

.

.

.

Izana: Tries to break up with her because thinks she deserves someone better.

Everyone pauses as he says the words.

Y/n: Pauses midway as she was about to drag him out for their date. She looks at him wide eyed, her smile faltered a bit before returning back. What?...

Izana: You and me are over!

Y/n: Izana, did i do something wrong....?

Izana: I dont want to be with you anymore. You and me are over!

Y/n: ...You and me will never be over!!. Pulls out a gun and points it at him.

Tenjiku just watching it happen. Izana just stares bamboozled.

Y/n: You hear me. you my man!! And till death do us part. Looks at him now frowning , the soft aura around her gone.

Izana: We aren't even married- Yet

Y/n: You my what !!?. She interrupted him and points gun at him.

Izana: Im your man...

Y/n: Until when!!?

Izana: Till death do us part...whispers quietly.

Y/n: Puts the gun away and gentle cuddly aura comes back. Izana lets go on our date now. And Reminder, im never letting you go, i love you and i dont plan on stopping.

Izana just trying to process what happened.

GUYS HELP, out of curiosity I started wind breaker (tokyo revengers always superior without a doubt) and I strangely liked it to the point of developing a small obsession for Suo... I was even thinking of opening requests to the anime characters too. Anyway, thanks for the request!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— Where do you think you're going?

Izana sat on the park bench, hands in his jacket pockets as he stared hard at the ground beneath him. The sun was setting, turning the sky orange and pink. The autumn leaves fluttered lightly around him, and the noise of the city in the distance was muffled by the soft rustle of dry leaves under his feet. Despite the beauty of the moment, his heart was heavy, gripped by thoughts that he couldn't shake. He had always had a strong personality since he was a child, however, lately he had been feeling a little weak. This annoyed him

He was 18, but he felt like a scared child faced with something too big for him. He had spent the last few weeks reflecting on his relationship with Y/n, a girl of only 16 who seemed to have everything under control when it came to the two of them. She was confident, determined, and loved him with a passion he couldn't quite understand. When he first met her, he was struck by her energy and infectious laugh. She was like a ray of sunshine in his life, a light that illuminated every dark corner of his heart. But the more time passed, the more Izana felt overwhelmed by that feeling. He couldn't shake the idea that, sooner or later, he would get tired of her, that their story would end in an emotional catastrophe

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't immediately notice Y/n approaching. She walked as light as a ghost, her footsteps almost imperceptible on the gravel path. When she finally saw him, sitting there, still as a statue, her heart filled with joy. It must be said that the girl also had a rather particular behavior: she had just come out of a toxic relationship when she met Izana, and the more the two became fond of each other, the more her crush turned into an suffocating obsession

"Izana!" she called softly, sitting next to him. He felt a slight shiver run down his spine at the sound of her voice. She was so sweet, so confident. How could she be so sure of them when he constantly felt on the edge of a precipice?. Y/n watched him carefully, immediately sensing that something was wrong. She had learned to read every little nuance of his expressions, every little change in his tone of voice. She loved him so much that every turmoil he had became hers too

"Everything is fine?" she asked, moving closer to him and intertwining her fingers with his. Izana looked down at their joined hands: hers were larger, robust, while her fingers were thin and delicate "Are you already thinking about our future children? One will be called Yukiko, I warn you" says the girl giggling, resting her head on her boyfriend's shoulder "Yeah, everything's fine" he lied, knowing she wouldn't believe it for a second

“Izana, you don't have to lie to me” Y/n said, her tone firmer "If there's anything bothering you, you can tell me. We're a team, remember?". A team. Those words hit Izana like a punch in the stomach. She saw him as part of a team, as half of a whole. But he felt alone, as if he couldn't bear the weight of that relationship alone

“Y/n, I... I don't know how to tell you” he began searching for the right words. But how could he tell her that he was scared of what he felt? That he feared he wasn't enough, that he couldn't keep the promises she expected? Damn, for 18 years he had never had any character problems, he had even killed someone as a child! Why had he become a fucking wimp with this girl?

She looked at him with eyes full of concern, but also of unconditional love "Izana, whatever it is, we can face it together" she told him, squeezing his hand even tighter "I love you, and nothing will change that". Those words pierced his heart, she said them so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But for him, love was something complex, a labyrinth in which he was lost right now. Izana felt the lump in her throat tighten even more. How could she be so sure? How could she love him so much, when he couldn't even love himself enough?

Y/n occupied his every thought, every breath, and he didn't know if the feeling was a blessing or a curse. Despite his doubts, he couldn't say no to her. She was his weakness and he hated himself for it. Izana felt her body tense for a moment, but then his arms automatically moved to hold her close. It was a familiar gesture, one he had done a thousand times before, but this time it was a little bit different. Y/n was completely obsessed with him, she loved him with an intensity that scared him. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw a normal boy, full of flaws, and he couldn't understand how he could be the object of so much love from that pretty, and a few bratty, girl

Izana took her hands, noticing how cold and shaking they were "I... I don't know how to tell you, but I've been having a lot of doubts about us lately." Y/n stared at him, panic starting to rise within her "D-doubts? What kind of doubts?" her heart tightened in her chest, the fear she had always tried to stifle now making its way inside her “I'm not sure I'm the right person for you" Izana said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I don't know if I can be what you need, and I'm afraid I'll end up hurting you” Izana's words hit Y/n like a slap in the face, she felt the world collapsing around her and damned jealousy was eating her mercilessly "Izana, what are you saying?" she asked, desperately trying to hold back tears “I love you! Don't you understand? There's no one I want more than you. No one!”

Y/n clung to him, hands gripping his jacket as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality “You will never disappoint me, Izana. Don't you understand that all I want is you?” Izana felt her heart break when she saw how desperate she was. His fear of hurting her was materializing right before his eyes "Y/n, I don't want to make you suffer" he said, his voice cracking with emotion "But I can't continue like this. I can't live with the constant fear that one day I'll hurt you"

Y/n shook her head, tears starting to fall down her cheeks "Izana, please don't do this. I'll be better, I won't ask you for anything anymore. Just stay with me!" the boy lowered his gaze "I... I need time" he said finally, withdrawing slightly from his embrace "I don't know what to do, but I can't give you false hopes". Y/n looked at him, heartbroken. Every word that came out of his mouth was like a stab. "Time? Izana, I don't need time, I need you! And you, damn it, you need me!" the girl shouts with a strength dictated only by jealousy and pure obsession

Izana no longer knew how to react, he turned around, unable to bear the weight of his gaze "Maybe you should go..." he advised, but the grip on his jacket only became stronger "I won't leave until you tell me that you love me and I'm everything for you! Do you really want to see Kakucho again or should I make him disappear for blackmail?" says the girl. Izana knew very well that she wasn't joking, she was capable of doing it and even doing worse, killing him if necessary

"Stop being a brat" says the boy trying to take her hands off his jacket, but the girl's well-groomed hands end up on his cheeks, forcing him to look her straight in the eyes "Izana, don't say these things... spouses they always have to give their best for each other, you know? I know you know, you're just confused, love" says the girl obsessively. The main problem is that Izana's weakness was precisely seeing her in these conditions, otherwise he would have already taken her off in a short time

"I hate you" the boy says, sighing, and then puts his hands on the girl's hips. Y/n relaxes her nerves, smiling at the boy "Say what I told you to say" she says loosening her grip on his face "I love you and you are everything for me" says the boy, wondering if his words are 100% sincere

The girl breaks away from him, gently resting her head on his chest. She was enormously satisfied with having made him the victim, she loved seeing him so weak for her "I love you and it will always be like this" the girl says, and Izana just runs a hand up and down her back to reassure her

[wafflesrock16]

Shakarian Viking/Soulmate AU

Remember how I said this idea wouldn't leave me? I had to write it out. Who else wants Viking berserker Shepard and Anglo-Saxon prince Garrus? Below a the cut.

Shepard watched as Jarl Anderson lowered his torch, setting the brittle branches at the base of the pyre aflame. The scent of pitch and smoke filled her nostrils, the loud crack of timber breaking the stillness of the gathered group of watchers. They stood near enough to feel the heat of the fire on their faces as it consumed the wooden structure, red tongued flames licking at the platform and the shrouded form that lay atop it. 

“He’s in Valhalla, now,” she heard Kaidan murmur. “We should all be so lucky to die in glorious battle.”

Shepard frowned. Jenkins had only been raised to the berserkers the year prior. He had never voyaged to the havens. This was to be his first raid along the Widow Sea’s frontier. He had known the risks, as did all who ventured here. Still, his death sat like a heavy stone in the pit of Shepard’s stomach.

At least he didn’t have a soulmate tethered to his spirit. There’s no one feeling hollowed out with inconsolable grief back home. The reasoning did little to staunch her guilt; if anything it only made it worse since it caused her to feel grateful she didn’t have a soulmate, either. 

Shepard sighed. She was the berserker commander. Jenkins was her responsibility. She wasn’t a wet nurse, but she ought to have kept an eye on him; at least admonished him to stay out of the trees. The silver-barked forests in this region were deadly. Old enemies with eagle eyes and rapier-like claws favored the cover the thick woods offered. 

She turned away from the funerary pyre and the low, solemn chanting that had begun as fire swallowed Jenkins mortal body. Nobody stopped her as she strode away from the conflagration, back toward the longboats. She needed a moment alone with her thoughts without guilt crowding in on her.

 The turians know we’re here—they must have spied us well before we made landfall though bleed me if I know how. Shepard found herself walking past where the dragon-headed longships had been pulled up onto the beach, lost in consideration. We outnumber them, though they have the advantage of knowing the terrain. They also have at least one skilled archer among them, even though that’s not who sent Jenkins off to Odin. 

No, a turian swordsman had done Jenkins in, and Shepard had returned the favor with her axe. It was small comfort. Humans and turians had battled for the land and wealth along the Citadel’s coast for time immemorial. There was talk of an asari negotiated peace treaty, but so far that’s all it was. Talk. Shepard wagered that nothing would come from those talks in her lifetime. And who knows how long that’ll be if we stay here?

Gravel crunched under her boots in the lengthening shadows of twilight. Shepard rounded a gentle curve in the land and came to stand on a dead tree, facing the North. The wind that whipped her fiery red hair about her face was warmer than back home. Then again, they were a long way from home, now.

She watched the dying light upon the waves, the ocean glittering like crushed diamonds. It would be dark soon. They’d need to make camp and plot their next course. Did they take the river deeper inland, as was the original plan? Or did they double back, take their chances in krogan territory where turians didn’t dare venture.

Against the crash of the breakers, Shepard missed the sound of a bowstring drawing taut. It was something else, some inexplicable tug at her heart, a susurration of unheard whispers in her ear, that caused her to suddenly duck and roll, the hidden knives she kept about her person flying into her hands. 

There was a loud thawk, as a barbed arrow embedded itself into the driftwood where she’d been standing. 

She flung a knife, gratified to hear the sound of a large body diving to the sand. She charged before the archer could restring his bow, tackling him to the ground with a savage roar. 

Eyes bluer than the center of a flame stared up at her from within a silver plated face, painted with the bold cobalt markings of Clan Vakarian. The turian’s crest of horns was cushioned by a clump of dried seaweed, tiny insects furiously buzzing about his head at the invasion. 

He flared his mandibles, exposing long, sharp, silver teeth. His jaw dropped as he took in his soon-to-be killer. Shepard sat astride his narrow waist, holding her second knife above his ridged nose, poised to strike. 

Something in those burning eyes softened. “You’re beautiful.” The rumbling subharmoinics seemed to embrace her, a vocal hug to reinforce the sincerity of his words. 

Shepard sucked in a deep breath. For the first time in years, ridiculously, tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Shut up!” She shook her head as if to dislodge his words. “I hate you!”

Her hand holding the knife quivered. In the crystalline depths of his alien eyes, she saw herself reflected back, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl, red hair framing her face. The embodiment of a valkyrie and harbinger of death. Except, I don’t want to kill him, she realized. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” the turian murmured. “If I had been, you’d already be dead. I hadn’t realized you were . . . you.” He suffused the word with a mix of awe and wonder that left Shepard’s chest feeling tight. 

With a cry born as much from confusion as frustration, Shepard rolled off him. She leaped to her feet, kicking a clump of sand. “Leave,” she commanded, wiping at her treacherous eyes. 

The turian slowly rose to his degi-grade feet. Sharp claws extended from the open toes of his boots. “What if I want to stay?”

Shepard glared at him. “Why should you stay? After what your clan did to our landing party this morning and us to you, shouldn’t you be regrouping?”

Why in the frozen hells was she crying? What was it about this turian of all people that had her feeling vulnerable as a new babe? She should kill him—he’d be back tonight with more men and slit her throat in her sleep. A small voice she couldn’t name told her that he wouldn’t do that. Not him. Not ever. 

“My name is Garrus,” the turian replied instead. “There are those who call me Archangel, but . . . it’s just Garrus, for you.” 

Shepard forced herself to look at him. Really look at him. He was tall and lean, as most turians were, and covered in metallic looking plates. He wore a deep blue tabard with the Vakarian family crest stitched out in thread-of-gold across his chest. A brown leather belt with well-made leggings and fine boots completed his attire. Not some common foot soldier or hunter turned mercenary, Shepard mused. Her eyes settled on the longbow laying at Garrus’ feet. It was nearly as tall as he was and looked like it was made of black yew wood. An expensive weapon. One only someone with a high tier could afford. 

Shepard’s eyes went wide as she realized who Garrus must be. “You’re the Primarch’s son.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck. Shepard was no expert on turian expressions but she’d swear Garrus looked embarrassed. 

Bright blue eyes met hers. “You seem to know me and my lineage, yet I confess, I have yet to learn your name.”

Shepard hesitated a moment before discarding any notion of subterfuge. What was the point? He could have killed her and hadn’t. She could have killed him and didn’t. Besides all that, she wanted to know him. “Commander Jane Shepard,” she said. “You can call me Shepard.”

Garrus extended his hand in a human gesture of greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Shepard.” 

Shepard slipped her smaller hand into his. It was like being struck by lightning. There was a jolt, a suffusion of warmth flooding her veins, an invisible push in his direction. They collided at the same time, Garrus likewise shoved by an unseen force. 

She grasped onto his cowl, feeling like she were trapped in an undertow, liable to be swept away in the exultant rush of emotions, apt to drown in the depths of a feeling humanity blithely called ‘soulmates.’ Her skin tingled and she was hyper aware of Garrus’ proximity; the rough calluses of his three-fingered hands and prick of talons through her tunic where he held her waist. His pupils dilating and eclipsing the blue of his irises while his subvocals stuttered and a deep, percussive purr sundered in his chest. 

Shepard exhaled. “Oh.” 

Garrus lifted a shaky hand to gently brush away an errant lock of hair. “It is you,” he whispered, reverent. “You feel it too?”

She gazed up at him, feeling more a maiden than seasoned berserker. Her mouth parted to answer—

“Commander!”

Shepard pulled herself free from the whirlpool of Garrus’ presence to peer into the murky distance. “The others are looking for me,” she muttered. How long had she been gone? Sudden fear squeezed her heart as she considered what would happen if Garrus were discovered. She gave him a forceful shove. “They mustn’t see you. Go! Hurry!”

Garrus moved as though in a daze, stooping to retrieve his bow and taking a few tentative steps backward. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “I’ll come back for you, my dea.” 

Before Shepard could respond he was sprinting; a glimmer of lancing starlight through the gloam, a shape half-seen on the edge of the forest. We’ll find each other, she promised herself, even as Kaidan and Ashley came into view, helmets donned and axes at hand. What joke of the gods is it that my other half should be an ancestral foe, on ground my kin intend to soak in blue blood?

She turned towards her comrades, trying to shake off the chill that had settled over her like heavy snow with Garrus’ departure. The others would want to know what she’d been doing out here, alone in the dark. “Searching for answers,” she’d tell them. “Considering what to do next.”

She’d omit her blue eyed archer. That whatever came next, Garrus would play a major role. For now, she kept her soulmate sheltered within the confines of her rib cage, a constant companion to her own beating heart.

[minjoonapio]

🎐 Wind Breaker Chapter 159: Celebratory Toast

THOUGHTS 💭 [ ⚠️ SPOILERS ⚠️]

🧵Versions: Twitter/X | Threads | Blue Sky 📖Where to read the manga: Kodansha | Other 📺Watch Season 1 now (S2 in 04.2025!): Crunchyroll, Netflix

We’re actually getting a victory party sooner than expected!

WE ALL DESERVE THIS!! 😭the sunny & bright pages are such a breath of fresh air 😮���💨

It took almost a month for our boys and the town to recover. I can imagine the school must have suspended classes first for the boys to heal and help repair the damages.

Oh man, look at our Class 1-1 all up and about and just being teenagers. We miss this.

And we got Nirei wearing clips again!!! He looks so cute 🥰

Wow, there are seats both on the rooftop and on the school grounds. There's so many people! It’s almost like a school festival.

Pfft our typical Ume & Hiragi shenanigans 😅 Ume’s voice will always be loud dear Hiragi.

Our dear gang friends are here 🥹Aww, look at them all shy...and nervous! I mean, this doesn’t happen everyday y’know…celebrating and being friendly with another gang. All the more for the Gravel gang.

They’re really the best for going all the way to come and help; Especially after that scary hoard of “❌" in the Bofurin group chat (the traumaaaa). Our anxiety and stress spike ever since that happened.

I immediately remembered Umemiya’s bow to the grade captains & vice captains. And now he’s doing the same thing in thanking the other gangs who helped them. The panels even look exactly the same!🥹

To be honest, I don't know what I would call this party 😅 our leader is strong but not great at coming up with party names. Haha.

From “Sakura’s first conversation anniversary” to the simple “thank you” party. To think Hiragi suggested "Welcome party" the first time this kind of thing happened, and I believe Umemiya thought "Thank You Party" would be okay after that. 🤭

We’ve been waiting for their Summer BBQ party with Umemiya’s grown veggies and now it’s happening!! Let's go!!

Sakura and Nirei are in the BBQ station...and Sugishita is not having it. I understand him though. He helped and worked hard in growing those veggies and if most of them are burnt…heck no! Sakura is trying his best, Sugishita. Have patience for your fighting partner.

And look at their SUMMER UNIFORMS!! They’re all short sleeve and white! It’s so cuuute!!

The Class 1-1 boys are growing on me. I mean, look at them being all supportive (and showing off) to Sakura. I love their dynamic. I don't know, it warms my heart when they call Sakura “The Cap” 🥰 aww

"The Cap's gotta make his move" -- what do they mean though? Why does it sound like their Cap has a crush on someone and needs to take his chances 😆 Probably they meant he needs to go enjoy and socialize (knowing how he is) rather than be stuck grilling meat.

I'm not sure about their grilling skills though. If you’ve read the special comic, y’know what i mean.

Nii sensei…you really drew Sakura like this. 🤣I feel like Sakura was pacing to and fro in his room, itching to go see everyone outside Furin and thank them.

Oh, wait. Don't tell me he also looks like this when he went to thank Shishitoren; especially in facing Togame. 🫢 I can hear the Second-in-command be like "Sakuraaa~ is that you??" the same way Kanji reacted.

Same, Tsubaki, same. I am like truly happy and proud to see Sakura hanging out, caring and talking to his friends. Look how much he pouts and blushes. He's come such a long way *sniffs*

Their reactions though from giddy to embarrassment when they heard he still sucks in playing games. Please, Nii sensei. We need an extra or one-shot of Sakura finally winning one!

Oh what’s this? Why end here? Not gonna lie, it’s like Togame is abt to confess. (I mean, throughout the arc, he’s always been “thats our Sakura!”)

Fangirling aside 😅 It seems like they’re about to reveal something especially with those reactions…orrr we’re overthinking. Maybe they're just glad to see the leaders of Shishitoren. And it's just the beginning of a beautiful friendship between these four gangs (Bofurin, Shishitoren, Roppo Ichiza, and Gravel).

Side note: If you look at the food he's holding, Choji is finally trying out a fresh Red Bean bread of the town that Umemiya shared before (Shishitoren arc) 🥹

There’s really not much to analyze here. Just pure fun and good vibes! And when it’s too fun, it feels too short 🥲 (despite it being the usual 20 pages)

We didn't get to see Ren Kaji 🎧 though and his vice captains. Kaji had a mentally draining fight so I hope they're doing okay.

I'm curious as to what’s next for the boys other than “the talk”. I'm not only talking about Chika and Umemiya's talk, but Umemiya and Sakura's.

I feel like that's something we need to have where they talk and ask each other about their fights. I'm sure our Bofurin leader wants to know how was Sakura's fight with the legendary Endo. They did leave it up to him to defeat one of Bofurin's shadows. And his fight did leave a dent on Sakura's mental and emotional state.

And Sakura would want to be clear with Umemiya what Endo was talking about. It seems Endo did say those things about Umemiya to Sakura out of spite and jealousy, but I'm sure Sakura still has questions about it; especially when Endo noticed how distant Sakura looked.

I'm guessing we will see that conversation in a flashback. I really hope we do.

Other than that, Nii Satoru sensei had a Q & A with Thai fans about the future of Wind Breaker and if my memory serves me right, we will have more info about Kiryu and Suo in the future.

I also hope for Sakura's back story soon too. I have my guesses that someone from Sakura's old town, someone familiar, will appear and trigger it.

Obviously, we don't want it now. I hope our mangaka will ease us in to the next arc. We just experienced an intense and stress-filled 59 chapters after all. So let's enjoy these light panels while we can.😋💚🎐🍻🍖

Thank you for reading! See ya in the next chapter next week! 🎐

-melo x

🧵Versions: Twitter/X | Threads | Blue Sky 📖Where to read the manga: Kodansha | Other 📺Watch Season 1 now (S2 in 04.2025!): Crunchyroll, Netflix

[windbreaker-timely]

wind breaker blog

hi all!

this is a SFW fan Wind Breaker-centered blog. it will have:

reblogs

official updates when possible

asks

run by @asa-pike, with help from @apparently-artless, currently not accepting additional help but if it gets big cthat might change!

icon credit

affiliates:

Wind Breaker fan-server! JOIN HERE

please keep in mind:

will contain manga spoilers, but they are tagged.

i run this blog mainly for my own enjoyment; if i'm feeling too tired or in pain, i may not log on for a few days, but there's a queue running for 7 times a day!

i run the blog from an entirely different account from my main to keep myself from burning out and getting overwhelmed; don't be sad if i miss something, just message here.

asks welcome, but no ship or character discourse allowed.

mod uses he/him for Tsubakino, as of 06 June, as these are his official pronouns. no discourse on that allowed, either.

i'm always open to questions you may have about stuff (especially Endo! lol)

no NSFW asks; please keep it clean

will not reblog opinion posts, fics, explicitly shippy fanart, and "x reader" type content.

mod's first source blog so be nice if i mess up plz

if i reblogged something twice, it's because i forgot! haha

let us know if any fanart reblogged is stolen! things might slip through

following #wind breaker, #wind breaker (satoru nii), #windbreakeredit, #wbktimely

have fun!

TAG SYSTEM:

#official - character profiles, official images, magazine covers, etc.

#satonii - art by the mangaka

#merch

#wbk manga spoilers

#ost #stage play

#updates - for any updates concerning the series, ie manga schedule, etc.

#fanart

#cosplay

#sims

#analysis - any unbiased analysis of characters and symbols in the series

#edit

#aes - things that remind me of the WB manga as a whole (rarely but might happen)

#meme

#blog update

#ask group posts will be tagged only by who's the main focus or by the group's name (or both, but i won't name every individual character HAHA)

#bofurin: Sakura Nirei Suo Tsugeura Kiryu Sugishita Anzai Kurita Kakiuchi Takanashi Kaji Enomoto Matsumoto Kusumi Yanagida Uryu Uryu Umemiya - #ume Hiragi Tsubakino Mizuki Momose Shiina Azusawa Tochimoto

shishitoren - #sst: Choji Jo Kanuma Arima Sako Saruwatari

#keel Natori Kongo Tone Kaga Kirishima Mogami

#gravel Suzuri

roppo-ichiza - #roichi Nakamura Miyoshi Hidaka Otowa

#noroshi Endo Takiishi Banjo Shakushi Tarumi Hashirao Sugichi

etc: Neo Tenjin Kaito Kotoha Tachibana Sasaki Nagato Tsuchiya Shizuka Shitara

[apritellointeractive]

Sworn to Devotion: Chapter 2 - Part 2

>>Tie-breaker winner: HOBBIT

>> April decides to take the dirt path.

(Art by @lovelyladylavie)

April points to her right. “Let’s take the path. Maybe it’ll take us back to the main road?” 

Donatello hums as he brings a hand up to his chin. “Potentially, though it could lead us into trouble with your attempted kidnappers. Are you sure?”

April pauses, considering the potential problem he raised, then shrugs. “I don’t want either of us breakin’ a leg tryin’ to go off-road. Besides–” she knocks his chest with the back of her hand “–I’m confident you’ll protect me.” 

She thinks she sees the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks, partially hidden by the purple mask he’s wearing on his face. But she blinks and it’s gone.

Did April imagine it?

The softshell clears his throat. “Well, let’s get moving. We’re losing precious daylight.”

Together they set out on the rough dirt path. Donatello leads the way down the inclined path, his footsteps light on the dirt and gravel below him. April follows behind him, though her steps sound much heavier, the gravel crunching under her heel as she kicks up dust. The shoes she stole from the boxes in the cave are too big for her, but there’s no way she’s wearing her high heels.

Besides, they weren’t in her favorite color anyway. 

They’re quiet as they descend down the mountain. Almost too quiet. April opens and closes her mouth multiple times, trying to find some topic to talk about. But… she’s not sure what to talk to him about. She wants to ask him about what happened earlier. Did she embarrass him? Does he not like being touched? But she feels too awkward to broach the question.

She’s also not sure if it’s the best time to ask him about his inventions. His brows furrowed and his lips are straight, and she doesn’t want to distract him from doing his duty of protecting her.

So April decides to just keep her mouth shut and observe the scenery as they walk through the forest.

They’re making good progress, with April humming quietly to herself while Donatello’s completely silent except for the soft clinking of his armor. At least an hour passes before Donatello suddenly stops in his tracks, and she almost runs into his shoulder.

“Did you hear that?”

April regains her balance and looks around. “Um, no?”

They stand completely still, Donatello holding his bō in a defensive position as his eyes darting around. He suddenly jerks his head forward, looking down the winding path. April extends her head forward, eyes squinting and ears straining to identify whatever has Donatello’s attention. 

“Someone’s coming!” He whispers urgently. “Quick! Off the road. We need to hide.”

Before April can object, she’s being pulled off the path. Her guard’s hustling into the forest and away from the path, fallen leaves getting kicked up into the air. He skids to a stop right before a five-foot drop, the edge surrounded by twisting roots of nearby trees and large boulders. 

He drops down and turns to her, offering her his hand. “Princess, take my hand! Hurry! I don’t want us to be spotted.” 

April furrows her brow. “Why are you hiding? If it’s those ninja dudes you can take them.”

Donatello shakes his head. “I don’t know if it’s them, or how many of them there could be. I cannot risk them injuring or recapturing you. Please! Just take my hand!”

She grumbles but reluctantly takes his hand, letting him help her hide. It doesn’t escape her as she joins him that his hands are so much bigger than hers—her hand is practically engulfed by his, and she can’t help but blush. He guides her to sit down, and she squeaks as he pulls her close to his chest so they’re both out of view of the path. 

For a few seconds all April can focus on is just how strong he is. Well, she knew he had to be strong and capable, as he had no problem saving her earlier. But to feel his gentle but firm grip around her sent a warm flush across her cheeks and chest. If it weren’t for the armor, she bets should would be able to feel his muscles underneath his clothes.

… why is she thinking about this?

April doesn’t have time to ponder over her thoughts as the thunderous noise of what sounds like a whole platoon of people catches her attention. While she can’t see them, she guesses that they’re running up up the path.

Donatello pulls her closer. 

“Hurry up!” A loud commanding voice barks. “The princess might be still in our old base!”

The thunderous footfall continues as they travel up the path, away from their hiding spot and toward the cave. However, as the group gets farther and farther away, it becomes apparent that there are some stragglers.

“Dude, I ain’t meant for running,” one of the stragglers gasps, “Why do they need all of us to find the princess again?”

“I dunno, man,” another whines, “All I know is I need a break.”

The two keep grumbling and whining while Donatello and April remain hidden. However, it quickly becomes apparent that the two stragglers are not moving. They can’t stay here forever or they will be discovered.

April… >> Points forward and suggests they sneak away, deeper into the forest.

[nanakorobiyaokii]

🎐 一 ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ ᴘᴀɪɴ, ᴡʜᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴅᴇꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅꜱ ᴇᴠɪʟ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴜʀɢᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʙᴏꜰᴜʀɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ! 一 🎐

[delopsia]

delly, in the spirit of spooky fun times (feat. the floytts, but specifically robby and rhett): who is trying (and succeeding) to convince the other that the cabin that they’re staying in for a few weeks during the month of october (lmao) is haunted, and who is trying (and failing) to not believe it while also getting jumpier and poutier by the day?

🎃 t

omg, I'm so sorry that this took me forever to answer! 😭

I've got this very specific image in my head of Bob deliberately picking a cabin in the woods, trying his best to make Reader and Rhett think it's haunted, and it winds up backfiring.

He thinks he's so clever when he picks out that cute little forest cabin, isolated from the surrounding area, at the end of a never-ending gravel driveway. It's got the rickety wooden floors and the creepy basement; all you'd need to film the next big horror film is a camera crew and a script.

Of course, he doesn't tell either of you that this is why he picked this specific cabin. He lists everything, the breathtaking mountaintop view, the sea of golden leaves, the cute little town located nearby, but he conveniently 'forgets' to share that one of the reviews claimed this place was haunted.

The first night is fine. So is the second, and the third, and the fourth. Rhett doesn't say anything about being spoked. You have an instance with a moth unexpectedly landing on you while you're getting a glass of water, but that's the scariest thing that happens.

It's the fifth day that has Bob thinking that the review about the ghost was a complete, utter lie. A marketing gimmick to lure people in, and he fell for it.

So what does he do? He starts trying to convince Rhett this place is haunted. Leaves behind little hints and wonderings, says that something moved on its own last night, rearranges different items when you and Rhett go to bed. He even puts an empty cup too close to the edge of the table, teetering in such a way that it falls when Rhett walks past it.

But then...then things start happening. The stove randomly turns on by itself. The light goes out when he's in the shower. Every night at exactly midnight, something starts scratching in the hallway. There's strange writing in his notebook; his laptop keeps getting unplugged. And then, one night, he goes to bed early, and the sheets get ripped off of him.

"This place is haunted to hell," he blurts, stumbling into the living room.

Your eyes lift, peeking over the rim of your glass. Mid-sip. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah, because—"

Something jumps on him.

And he screams.

What he doesn't know is that Reader and Rhett figured him out before you even booked the cabin for the month. For as smart as Bobby can be, he sometimes forgets the little things, like leaving his laptop wide open on the kitchen table, mid-search for "creepy cabins near..."

So here he is. Squealing. Shoving Rhett away. Red-faced and stuttering, cannot fathom why you two are laughing at him.

Turns out, all of those 'supernatural' occurrences were just you and Rhett deliberately fucking with him. The suspicious sounds were all from a speaker you had cleverly hidden behind some furniture. The sheets had been tied to fishing line, making it easy for Rhett to hide outside the room and yank them off. The light? Rhett briefly flipped the breaker.

It was all one big joke to get back at him for his antics, and it's probably shaved a good ten years off his lifespan. Okay, okay, maybe his reaction was kind of funny. But he's still going to sit on the couch and whine about it for the rest of the night, fussing for endless kisses from the both of you.

You're all lying in bed together when you hear something scuttering above the ceiling.

[transient-winds]

Several things are happening here that I love:

1. Kanuma looking around nervously and Arima finding that bemusing. I'm pretty sure we know who Kanuma's nervous about seeing (*cough* suo *cough*).

2. Sako treating Inugami like an owner telling their dog to stay put if the dog wants to be rewarded with a treat. (also inugami is so much taller than i remember, sako's literally at chin height)

3. Togame and Choji. That's it.

—

Special mention to Gravel for Suzuri encouraging his team to loosen up and mingle around cuz they're all friends here + the fact that they are nervous means they feel guilty and they're in the prescence of people they went to beat up and ended up being given jobs by them. I think it's sweet.

Another shoutout to Roppo Ichiza for being cutie patooties. Otawa and Miyoshi especially.

[etherati]

Taproot - (1/25)

To celebrate finally finishing this monster of a fic after 4 goddamned years, I'm going to be posting the full chapters here on Tumblr, serialized like in the olden days, to make it easier to digest a bit at a time. Expect an installment once a week. This is a sequel to Wellspring, and is a post-S2 AU with, at this point, established Trephacard--plus some historical flashbacks, family drama, bloody showdowns, and a lot of secrets waiting in the wings. And feels. All the feels. If you like those things--or, for reasons I cannot disclose at this time, dear old Leon Belmont--consider giving this one a spin.

Summary from Ao3:

Taproot (n): The oldest, most central root; that from which all else arises.

Every family has its roots, diving down into the shadowy, secretive earth--and there's no such thing as a bloodless inheritance.

🎵 Music pairing: The Old Ways - Loreena McKennitt

Next -- >

Go to part: one | two | three | four | five | six

Sunrise over the Black Sea—golden light spilling into the water like its own sort of glowing, glittering liquid, diffusing through the brine and illuminating it in hues of orange and amber and violet-pink—is one of the most beautiful sights the natural world has to offer. There are other striking sunrises to be had, and other bodies of water prone to making a person feel overwhelmingly small, but nowhere else do the two combine into such a spectacle, delighting the eyes even as it harrows the soul.

At least, nowhere else that Sypha has been, and she has been a lot of places.

She twists the end of her walking stick into the damp sand and gravel. This means that she’s close; she can tell by the particular mineral-laden smell of the salt and the angle of the light that she’s still a bit north of Enisala, but not by very far. There’s no shame in having arrived at the sea slightly off from her target. The only truly accurate navigation is by the stars—and the lingering presence of the night creatures and the winter’s bitter chill have had her travelling mostly with the sun.

Overhead, the keening cries of shorebirds as they dip and weave, coming in low to gather at the waterline, to pick over the tide pools and sandbars. The breakers beat the rocky shore, relentless. There’s a stark beauty to the place, to the way life struggles forward despite its days being filled only with further struggle. Tenacity. Tenacity, she understands, and all the spoils it brings.

This would be a lovely place to bring Adrian and Trevor to, she thinks; let them see this dawn, let the three of them roughhouse in the waves and drink sweet fruit wine in the sun and make love in the cool, damp sand once twilight settles in, all softness and blue-black shadows and the murmur of the tide. When the weather is warmer. When the sea is greener than it is grey, and the wind coming off of it doesn’t threaten to peel the skin from her face and hands. When they feel safe, leaving the castle unguarded for a while.

That time is, with certainty, not yet now. But she’s working on it. She’s still not gotten used to travelling alone, honestly hopes she won’t ever have to, but sometimes needs must. And that’s the entire point of this, of having to be away from them for so long.

She misses them—misses her family, too, but that’s an old ache that she’s grown accustomed to. Missing Adrian and Trevor is a different kind of hurt, sharp and fresh, made worse by knowing how badly they’re missing her in return. When she was growing up, travelling constantly on journeys measured in seasons, a month had felt like nothing. Now, it feels like an eternity.

There’s no snow and ice out here, this close to the water; there never is, in her experience, until you get to the deep, deep north. The sand is wet and the coarse stone crushed into it grinds under her staff. It’s blunt and thick, as writing implements go, and there’s no way to get any detail—and anyway, she’s no artist.

She still leaves a chunky, lopsided heart in the sand, as if marking the spot to return to later—as if the waves won’t wash it away mere hours after she’s left this place.

The sun is high overhead by the time the crumbling stone fortress of Enisala comes into view on the horizon. It feels wonderful, even if winter sun never warms one through the same way summer sun does; she drops her hood to bask in it, shifting her pack on her shoulders.

The ruins themselves are all beige-grey rock, the sky even more devoid of color, stormy and brooding. As she gets closer, though, she can see little pops of color all around the perimeter of the old fortress—blanket-draped caravans, colorful paper lanterns, artifacts of every culture the trains have come into contact with over the past year. Anything to make the space lively.

This place has always felt oddly significant to her—with its ruins that no one will claim ownership over, that seem to belong only to themselves, like slumbering giants from the birth of the world. Really, anywhere on the eastern edge of a landmass would do, for the Speakers’ winter solstice celebrations. But this is where her family group has always come, and so she knows she will find them here. For a week on either side of the solstice, many trains gather here in the sprawl of the mysterious ruins, and they eat and dance and share stories, all the stories of the year before, and Sypha knows she has a few that will make even the elders jealous.

She smiles to herself, framing the narrative in her head as she sets off down the narrow, meandering path to the gathering below.

“Sypha!” a familiar voice calls out, along with the clatter of scattered and dropped firewood; she’s barely made the edge of camp, is still lost in thought, but that voice would snap her out of just about anything.

“Kiri,” she oofs out, as the woman barrels into her, catching her up in a crushing embrace that’s more robes than anything else—layers and layers of them, to keep out the damp chill. Sypha hugs back just as hard; she’d been expecting her family and the others, the ones she’d watched leave Greşit all those months ago and then had to say farewell to again late in the spring. She hadn’t been expecting Kiri, Kiri who knows all her secrets and remembers what she looked like when she was young enough to go about with her hair unshorn, who she spent more time with growing up than she did her own family—throwing rocks into rivers and climbing trees and playing rough games with the boys. Testing every limit, challenging every rule, pushing for every wild dream.

Kiri, who’d been away from their clan for at least three years now, off studying the healing arts with the Ottoman scholars in the east when their own collective knowledge had proved insufficient for her. Three years that now feel like nothing—and isn’t it odd, how the friends of childhood are so often forgotten when the demands of adult life catch up, but the body never forgets what it’s like to hold them?

“I’m so glad you made it,” Kiri says, her face buried in Sypha’s hair. “My first Solstice back with our people and you weren’t here! I was getting worried.”

“What, did you think I would miss it?” Sypha asks, faux indignation through her own laughter. “Never.”

“Well, I’ve been told that you have your hunter, now,” Kiri says, pulling away, a sudden swell of distance blooming between them. No wonder—too often, Speakers who marry outside the tribe never quite find their way back. She and Trevor hadn’t been that to each other the last time she’d seen her family, had just been circling ever closer without quite making contact, but fair assumptions could be, and often were, made. “And your sleeping soldier?”

“Mm, yes,” Sypha says; it’s been a long time since she’s thought of Adrian that way, though he’s never stopped fighting for them. “But this is important, being here. And seeing everyone again! How have your studies been?”

Kiri’s eyes flash with excitement, bright against the wind-bitten redness of her cheeks; her skittishness evaporates in an instant. “It is incredible, Sypha! The things they know, in the south—the things they’ve kept track of, that others have forgotten. There is a book one man there has written on how to repair a person as if they were a torn garment or a broken wagon. It’s remarkable.” Adrian probably has a copy of that, somewhere in his mother’s medical library—if not, she’ll have to remember to track one down. “I understand why we do not record our stories, but after three years there, I wonder if we are foolish to not record knowledge itself? Raw knowledge I mean, the kind that is hard to frame in the context of a story.”

My people are idiots, she remembers saying, during that

interminable stay in the Belmont hold; she’s usually more inclined to be generous, but there’d been an infectious kind of frustration and cynicism they’d all been fighting, after a certain point. 

“I’ve wondered that, too,” she says now, far more diplomatic; the journey has done her outlook a lot of good. “About an entirely different body of knowledge! Not something that would be as useful as the medicine you’re learning, but yes—if having something written down can save a life, how can that be wrong?” 

“Don’t let the elders hear you say that!” Kiri admonishes, laughing.

Sypha blows a dismissive breath through her nose. “I am sure they already think I’m a terrible member of our tribe, just for raising a hand against the enemies of humanity. I cannot imagine their opinion of me can get much worse.”

Kiri throws an arm over her shoulder, pulls her in. “It’s not that bad,” she says, trying to be encouraging, but there's a tension there. “Our Sypha, the warrior of Wallachia. But I always knew you were destined for something special.”

Sypha frowns in thought, takes a few steps in silence. Did you? She wants to ask, and she wants to ask, Why?

Destined. Destiny is too large an idea, is the sort of thing that hovers around other people, people with remarkable families, with mysterious pasts. Sypha is a magician like any other Speaker magician; her father was the same, and his mother before him, and there is nothing unusual about any of it. These things run in families, and magic users are common, and sure, she'd gotten herself sucked up into an epic story because of it, but it could as easily have been another.

Couldn't it have?

Would another scholar of magic have done just as good a job? Would another magician have melded into the team as well as she did, have communicated in battle so effortlessly, have picked up the slack the other two dropped and protected them when they needed it? Could just any magician have snatched Dracula’s castle out of the aether like it was a feather on the breeze?

Would another Speaker have tossed aside the principles of a lifetime to stand up and fight, or is there really something dark and burning in her that sets her aside?

If there is, is that a good thing or a bad thing? Is that even the question to be asking?

“...how does it feel, to fulfill a prophecy?” Kiri asks, as they start to make their way toward the rest of the camp. It’s clear from the suddenly uncomfortable undercurrent in her voice that she’s not talking about the whole killing Dracula part; that story, her family has already heard, and it’s surely made the rounds. No—she’s talking about the rest of the prophecy. The part that’d had Sypha so uneasy clambering down into the catacombs and so defensive when she awoke there in the face of a hunter; the part that she’d like to believe any random magician would not have been able to fulfill.

“Strangely?” Sypha says, pitching her voice low. “Like I did have a choice in the matter.”

“Truly? You did not feel fate’s hand pushing the issue?” A pause, a few scuffing steps in the snow. Then, carefully: “Or another hand entirely?”

And oh, Sypha understands why her old friend is concerned, understands all too well given the way the world has sometimes treated their people. How non-Speaker men have often regarded them—worldly and experienced and incapable of ever saying no, as if rejection of the church’s self-loathing, oppressive morality somehow made them into succubi. But the implication is so absurd in context that she still laughs, conspiratorial. “No. My God. I had to push them. I thought I was going to go crazy.”

A smile then, more genuine. The tension drains out of the arm across Sypha’s shoulders. “What kind of heroic warriors are they, if they’re not fighting for the hand of maiden fair?”

“In what world, I wonder, would I be considered a fair maiden?” Sypha asks, smiling despite herself. Her robes are ragged with wear, her hair recently chopped short again, her feet swathed in cloth bandages beneath her sandals to keep out the cold. Fair indeed. But she knows that society outside of their caravans frames the world in certain ways. “And they were fighting with me, not for me.” 

“Still. Most would expect some sort of reward for saving the world—even if only from fate.”

Sypha shakes her head, remembering that sunrise through the castle doors, the way they’d all started drifting apart before she’d pulled them back together. Those first few hours of having no idea what to even do with themselves, in this tomorrow that they hadn’t expected to see. “We were all shocked to still be alive, in the end. I imagine that would be reward enough for anyone.”

Kiri looks to her feet, swallows. They walk in silence for a moment. It had, perhaps, been unfair to go into such dark territory—to invoke how close they’d all come to dying that night. But these are the stakes Sypha has gotten used to, the way she’s become accustomed to thinking of the world. Speakers don’t fight; they are always in danger from those who don’t understand them, but that is a danger that brings itself to one’s door. The memory of choosing to walk across an enemy’s threshold, certain she would not ever cross it again, is uniquely hers.

“If you met them,” she says, gently bringing the topic back around, “you would understand. They honestly are good men. They understand what trust and respect are.” And they have enough baggage to fill an entire wagon, between them both, but that’s not for her to say. She’s not so dense as to think that they’d been dragging their feet just to frustrate her. “They do respect me, and I had to do nothing extraordinary to earn it—only what I’m truly capable of. We are equals.”

“Enough so that they trusted you to make this journey alone,” says a voice from her other side, mild and gentle, and Sypha turns without thinking, throwing herself into her grandfather’s arms.

“My angel,” he says, stroking her hair, and as it always does, the endearment makes her heart clench up a little around something—something hard and painful, like a rock in her chest, that she has never understood.

She huffs a laugh against his robes, pushes through it. “It was more a matter of whether I trusted them to survive a month without me.” Kiri laughs then, and her grandfather does too, and it warms her to know, with this kind of certainty, just how lucky she really is.

“…and it was in this way that the houses were joined, the scorched land of one family and the usurped fortress of their oldest enemy, and from the ashes of tragedy and loss and centuries of discord arose the hope of an unexpected and brilliant future.”

A long silence, broken up by the crackle of logs in the fire, by the quiet rustle of voices from elsewhere in the camp. There’s no need to pronounce the end of a story here, not if one is half decent at telling it; Sypha knows that they are just letting it sink in.

“A remarkable story, more so even than the first telling, which we have all heard,” one of the elders says, one she isn’t familiar with. In front of the old woman’s feet, a pair of young children are still staring raptly at Sypha. The elder’s voice is warm, pleased. “It will be quite a thing to add to our memory stores. And quite a thing to know that one of our own played a role, in such a difficult time for our country.”

“One of ours, one of Dracula’s, and one of their own that they threw out,” says a young man a few places to Sypha’s left; his voice carries the twist of a smile. “I wonder how the church must feel, in the face of such irony.”

And oh, that’s a thought that has given Sypha much satisfaction over the last year—to be a fly on the wall when the heads of the church met to discuss what had happened!—but the old woman frowns. “I imagine they feel as though they nearly caused the extinction of all human life in Wallachia,” she says, a touch sharp. “Perhaps that is enough?”

One of the children at her feet giggles, a Look who’s in trouble kind of sound, and the man ducks his head. But he’s not in trouble. That isn’t how they do things. “Pardon me, Elder,” he says, “but I disagree. That they made a horrible mistake is knowledge that can fade or be downplayed over time. That they were saved by the very people they ostracized and cast out—that carries weight that cannot so easily be shrugged off. Even if we cannot share this with the rest of the people of Wallachia, that lesson should at least be preserved.”

Because it is about hubris as much as it is about blame, she can remember saying, after that first meeting they’d had with Acasă’s strange new church. Blame can be washed away with a convincing enough apology, and hubris will make the same mistakes over and over again. Both must be undermined if any progress is to be made.

It had been a hard sell. Adrian tends to want to place blame if only to have something to aim all of his anger and sadness at, now that he’s allowed himself to start navigating them; Trevor only wants the world to feel more just than it is. But in the end she’d brought them around: more needs to be done than to just rub the church’s nose in the mess it’d made.

Which is why they’d agreed, in the end, for her to finally tell the story in its entirety—nothing masked or obfuscated, no details left aside. Only for her people’s ears; a closed telling, a rarely invoked practice used when the full story needs preserving but would put the participants in danger, should it get out into the general populace. The people of Acasă are just now starting to truly accept Trevor for who he is; tolerating a witch and a vampire is a bit much to expect of them, just yet.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she says now, “as a participant in the story? I agree. How this was ended, and by who, is just as important as who started it in the first place. There are lessons in both of those things."

The elder regards her for a long moment, thoughtful. Then nods, just a tiny dip of her face into the firelight. “Very well. This story will sit alongside the previous version. The nature of Wallachia’s saviors is to be preserved, as a means of emphasizing the church’s shortsightedness and the need for it to not repeat that mistake.”

Sypha nods deeply, a long and slow dip of her head nearly to her knees. “My thanks, Elder. May your tribe live happily and well, in the coming year.”

“And yours.”

The crowd disperses, some going to hear or tell other stories, some retiring to their caravans for the evening meal. One figure stays nearby, hunched over a nearby fire, close enough to have heard her telling but not actually part of the group receiving it. In the fading light, the shape is just that: a shape, a silhouette, blue-black against the blue-white of the snow, limned in the cold violet light of sunset. They have a branch in their hands, are stripping it of its side-shoots methodically, tossing them one by one into the fire.

It’s a silhouette Sypha would know anywhere. 

“What stories have you to tell,” Sypha asks, settling down alongside her, the ritualistic question feeling strange in her mouth, “since this time last year?”

Kiri huffs a laugh. “None as exciting as yours. You’re a hard act to follow, Sypha.”

“You seemed excited about all the knowledge you’d gained, earlier.”

Twist, pull, snap. “That’s nothing, compared to having a grand destiny.”

“I still say that destiny is too strong a word. We basically fell down a hole.” 

“Directly into the vault of Greşit’s sleeping soldier. At precisely the time the three of you were most needed. That sounds like kismet to me.”

Sypha can’t help but laugh, remembering. “It felt more like incredible clumsiness, from where I was standing.”

“Falling.”

“From where I was falling, yes.”

A stretch of quiet, then, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“So,” Kiri says after a while, tossing an entire handful of twigs into the flames. There’s a smile on her face but the firelight has turned it bitter, all shadows and edges. “Your soldier is a vampire.”

“Dhampir, really,” Sypha corrects, kneejerk. For so long, it’d been Trevor she was correcting, then after a while, Adrian himself; she’s used to being quick on the draw with it, because either of them saying vampire had generally been a sign of badness brewing.

Kiri breaks another few twigs free from the branch, twists them in her fingers. “I don’t know what that means.”

Right. Of course she doesn’t. “It means his mother was human.”

“Oh,” Kiri says, seemingly still not sure what to do with this information. “I knew that, I guess. From the story itself. I didn’t realize the distinction mattered.”

“Yes, it… it matters. A great deal. I do not think a true vampire would have ever sided with humanity.”

"Still. I wonder if I would have been able to guess, had we met in the summer instead of the winter."

Sypha plucks at the scarf around her neck, the wool scratchy but warm, dyed in a hundred vibrant colors. It’d come from the market in Acasă, knitted by an old blind woman, and had been a gift—gratitude for the work they’d done securing the town against the demon attacks. They had saved her son’s entire family, and gone home that night and celebrated it, a battle with no casualties save the demons themselves. She’s wearing it because of the cold, but she knows what Kiri is asking. "Perhaps."

A huff of breath. “So much for your gentle warriors.”

“You would probably be surprised,” Sypha says with a shrug, not even bothering to take offense on Adrian’s behalf, because she can tell this isn’t what Kiri’s actually upset about. Some people compare words to weapons, and it’s truer than they know; you can dodge and feint and mislead with them as well as you can with steel. “But that isn’t—Kiri. What’s going on?”

For a long moment, no reply. The fire cracks and pops, splitting the wood apart in a spattering of sparks. Kiri throws the whole branch into it like a spear, a hard burst of frustration.

“Taerna married, this summer,” she finally says, the words quiet. 

That stops Sypha cold, her fingers poised in mid-reach for a branch of her own. She curls them back up around the empty air, feels the nails bite into her palm. “She always said she would wait for you.”

“Why should she have bothered? We were only friends.”

“You were more than that.”

“She married,” Kiri repeats, short, face tightening as if to hold something inside. “Like all of my friends and sisters did. Marriage and children and… it’s all anyone does. We had plans. We were going to, to travel, and she was going to hunt our food and I was going to heal people and we were going to see the world together. But this is the only life anyone seems to care about.”

And even you’re going down that path, Sypha can hear, unsaid. You and your prophecy, your exiled hunter and your inhuman soldier. 

Sypha closes her eyes, takes a breath. “She cares about you.”

“She also cares about her hound.”

“She loves you,” Sypha says, insistent.

Kiri laughs, bitter, tears threatening. It’s like watching an old dam crumble, flawless limestone threading through with cracks and stress fractures, and then: an outrushing of things held back for far too long. “Not enough,” she says, curling forward over herself, arms tight around her belly. “Not more than she loved the idea of having a child. Not enough to be with me.”

“Oh, Kiri. I’m sorry,” Sypha says, threading an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in. “I’m sorry.”

“Do yours love you?” Kiri asks after a moment, muffled by the layers of robes. “Enough to change the world, to defy everything for you?”

Sypha thinks about Trevor punching Dracula in a ridiculous, suicidal attempt to keep him away from her, thinks about Adrian in her garden, enduring the sun to make her happy—about a castle and a watchtower and the ending of the story she’d told, and her grasp on her friend tightens. “They do. And each other.”

A laugh into her shoulder, rough and wet. “I’ve always thought it would be terrible, to be involved in a prophecy,” she says, barely audible. “I never thought I’d be so jealous.”

There’s a stream that runs past the ruins, a narrow but swift-moving current that cuts through the ground here like a knife. It leads into the tough, gnarled pines and firs that grow this close to the sea, into these dark and uninviting woods that are nevertheless filled with a thousand secret places.

Sypha follows it, as she always has, year after year. 

Things are different, this year.

She finds them by the water, bundled up and talking quietly. There’s a fire burning, but it’s been banked and allowed to subside down to embers, giving off heat but very little light. In the heavily filtered winter moonlight, they look like faery folk—Arn with his delicate, dignified features, Lily with the luminescent white bone beads threaded into hair the color of pitch, both of them beautiful and earnest.

They look up when she steps closer, their faces dark, shadowed. Painfully anxious.

She sits down on the ground, near to them, facing them. She is just as filled with anxiety. She has never done this, has no idea how to approach it—she knows they are not being blindsided like Kiri was, knows they have had time to adjust to the idea of this, but all she can see is her old friend’s face, broken up in grief over a friend-love she—and everyone else—had thought was something more. For once in her life, Sypha cannot find the words.

Then Lily smiles, the brilliant, passionate smile Sypha remembers, and holds out her hands, and Sypha lets herself fall into the woman’s arms, nearabout crushing her in the embrace.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, against Sypha’s ear. “You’ve found your loves. It was always bound to happen to one of us.”

Sypha nods against her, feeling the tears welling up. Turns to embrace Arn, the familiarity of his touch painful in this context, in knowing what she has to do.

“Are you set to marry?” Arn asks, quiet, solemn.

Sypha shakes her head. “I haven’t brought up the subject yet. There are a lot of complications—no human establishment would ever welcome us. But...”

“But you would like to.”

“Yes.”

“Will you come back to us then, for the ceremony?” Lily asks, and her voice sounds like the fear of paths diverging, not knowing if they will ever converge again. “Or even just to visit? You know there are none here who wouldn’t welcome all of you—or if there are…”

“Lily will convince them to change their minds,” Arn finishes for her, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

Sypha closes her eyes, takes Lily’s hand. “Of course. I could not stay away for long. And you can always visit us—we’ll have a lot of space, once we rebuild.”

Visiting, seeing old friends: it’s not the same, won’t ever be the same. And sometimes things change, and people change and what they are to each other changes. But these two were always dear friends first and foremost, and that will never—can never—be any different. She gathers them both into her arms, and it’s a sweet, comfortable place to be.

“Please tell me,” Arn whispers into her hair after another long moment, “that Belmont at least bathes regularly, now?”

And like that, the seriousness of the night vanishes, goes up like a twist of smoke into the black. Sypha laughs, and keeps laughing, until it turns to tears again and she can’t sort out which she’s feeling more of. 

“Yes,” she says, with a little hiccup of sob-laughter. “He does. He fights the darkness and protects the innocent—like he was born for. And washes the monster blood off, after.”

“Good,” Arn says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We could tell from the beginning, that he was capable of being more than he was pretending to be.”

A long measure of silence, only the water rushing past, too swift to freeze even in the heart of winter.

“Will you let us give you a proper farewell?” Lily asks, hesitant. “Do they know—”

“They know,” Sypha says, biting her lip. “I talked with them about it before I left. They don’t mind.” As long as it’s a farewell, she hears Trevor saying, laughter in his voice even as he’d tried to be serious about this. And not a ‘till next time’.

Adrian had just been quiet, and had smiled softly in that way that is always disarming to her, and had simply said that traditions, and closure, are important. For everyone involved.

“Do you want this from us?” Lily asks. “Whether they mind is not the only question.”

It’s secluded in the little copse of trees, even the starlight blocked by the arching branches thick with green needles, and warm from the banked fire. Sypha nods, and reaches out with both hands, palms up in invitation. They each press a kiss to her open hands, and they hold her and she holds them, all of them swathed in the shadows of this secret place. She lets them say goodbye to this part of their collective lives, lets them put their hands and their mouths on her and push her to giddy exhaustion—one last gift from her youth, and one that will have to hold her over through the winter chill until these two weeks are out and she can begin to make her way home.

When they wander back to camp late that night, appetites sated and tension shaken away, things are different between them, always will be different, now—but that’s all right, in the end. Change, like liquor in a wound, can sting, but it is sometimes the only thing that makes the blood run truly clean.

The next day passes quickly and well. She gives her grandfather the gifts that Adrian and Trevor had sent along with her; scouring the castle library, Adrian had found a rare volume of supposedly true stories from the far east that he thought the tribe would appreciate having to add to their memory stores, and    Trevor, feeling some cabin fever in all of the early season snow they’ve gotten, has taken up carving—which is to say, he isn’t very good at it yet, may never really be. But the two simplistic figures he’s sent are easily recognizable as rough caricatures of priests, one missing a finger and one missing an eye. In memory of the day we all met! he’d said, performative, trying to disguise the sentimentality as tactless humor.

Her grandfather laughs to himself as he holds the figures up, and she can tell he’s trying hard to mask how entertained he is; violence is so anathema to their people and yet, somehow, this particular act of violence never seems to have unsettled him. Context, she supposes; Trevor had been acting specifically to save his life, and he could have done far worse.

She wanders the camp, looks at all of the lovely exotic decorations, and plays with the children, an odd pang in her heart as she watches their innocent games. She helps prepare lunch, lighting the fires for the ones doing the cooking, chopping vegetables and kneading dough for flatbread, and she goes into the woods with Kiri to gather more firewood—they will need a lot of it, tonight. 

They don’t talk, while they gather. It’s not awkward, just an understanding that the space between them needs some quiet, needs time to breathe.

She visits with the others in her family, with the surrogate aunts and uncles that are not actually related to her by blood, with the childhood playmates and the mentors, and with Taerna and her husband, a man from another tribe who’d chosen to join hers

instead of the other way around, had chosen to take her name. He seems sweet enough, and Taerna seems happy, if a little haunted around the edges of her eyes. Everyone she asks says that yes, of course they will be there, tonight.

Last night had been for stories, and tomorrow will be as well. But tonight is for celebration. All things in equal measure.

Hours in, Sypha drops onto one of the logs around the edges of the clearing; she slumps forward with a happy groan, reaching to rub the knots and strings out of her calves. Her walking muscles are conditioned like no others, but dancing muscles are a different story. It’s a good ache, though, like that burn in the cheeks that comes from too much smiling, too much laughter. She feels overheated from the exertion and the fire, no matter the chill in the air, and she unwinds the scarf, loosens the top layer of her robes to let the air move through.

Between where she sits and where the fire burns, silhouettes move, a chaotic display of human joy and beauty. They have no structured dances, really, though longtime partners often grow into each other’s steps. She can smell warm food nearby, bread and stew and hot mead, sees all of her family and friends and the strangers that come here as well, all her people, all dressed as she is, and wonders again: could any of them, the ones with magic at least, have done what she did?

She stares into the fire, remembers the feel of the castle’s engine between her fingers, the way she’d felt reality bending and brittle fracturing around her, so much more power at her disposal in that moment than she’d ever brought to bear conjuring fire or ice—and she thinks that no, maybe not. She’s met other magicians; she’s not sure any of them have ever trapped an eldritch monstrosity or blown apart an Enochian ward or—or done the things she’s come here to learn how to do. The things her father and her grandmother could do.

Later. Later, when the Nasaii tribe arrives. They should be here by morning. She will learn what she needs to, and she will go home, and she will be able to protect that home more thoroughly than she ever has before.

In the meantime, she watches the dancers, contemplates getting some stew, contemplates whether her legs will fall off if she tries—watches Arn and Lily together on the far side of the clearing, twisting in a tight curl that makes Lily’s hair lift, the fire lighting up her bone beads and glinting in Arn’s eyes. Watches the children imitating the adults, the youngest pairing off with their siblings, stumbling all over each other. Watches strong, tough Taerna with her husband, insisting on leading him, as much as anyone can lead in this sort of dance. 

Watches the elder she’d told her story to last night, sitting across the fire from her, watching Sypha right back with a gentle smile that says Don’t worry,  that says You will be with them soon.

And there’s nothing inherently romantic about these dances on the solstice—friends dance with friends, parents with children, and many dance alone—but she remembers being young and everything being about those early, tentative relationships, remembers that there was a thrill in getting the chance to dance with those people she called heart-mates, or to be asked to dance by someone she wished to be that close to.

So she can’t help but smile when she sees Taerna whisper something to her husband and break away from him, sidling hesitantly up to where Kiri sits. She’s poking at the dirt with a crooked, bare stick, and her sandals haven’t touched the dance ring—are clean of the dust and soot that coats the ground here, the

remains of a hundred years of bonfires.

Taerna holds out a hand, uncertain.

It won’t solve all of the problems, won’t make Kiri’s love hurt less or magically mend things between them. But there’s something of healing in Kiri’s eyes as she reaches up to take that hand, leaves the stick behind in the dirt, lets herself be pulled up and into the ring of dancers, the two of them falling into each other’s space with an ease that says We belong here, that says Even if we must change, there is still us, that says You will never be a stranger in these arms.

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