#yes i am aware my handwriting is wonky

[pigeorcas]

Thank you everyone for your continued support over all these years!! I am grateful to all of you ive met from all over the world and I hope this post finds you well, and that I didn't butcher your language!!

Order 🇯🇵🇧🇷🇦🇷🇺🇸🇫🇷🇯🇵🇦🇷🇷🇺

*thank you for the correction, its supposed to be decirles

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

Yuna!!!!!

Idk what’s happening with tumblr either eating my posts recently or just being. Incredibly quiet, activity wise- but have some warmup doodles <33

My favourite bean <3

[harrysweasleys]

both a little crazy // d.m

request: Hi! Just noticed ur requests r open! Can u please do a Draco x Slytherin Reader in which the Reader is a bad boss biatch and is TOTALLY savage, but her and Draco hides feelings for each other?

warnings: very brief mentions of torture, language?? not proof read bc i am sick and dont feel like it i am sorry

word count: 3.1k

a/n: don’t mind the fact that i based the reader off of rosa diaz. :)))) enjoy! (also yes i reposted this bc my tumblr wasnt working and tags were wonky!)

——

Your head was held rather high as you entered the Great Hall, your eyes pointed straight towards the Slytherin table in hopes that no one would talk to you as you walked over. It was way too early for conversation, in your opinion. Any attempt would just be sour.

You took your usual seat next to Pansy, who’s head was down on the table as she breathed slowly — quite possibly sound asleep. It wouldn’t be a surprise. She was not one for early mornings either. Quite possibly less so than you were.

The empty goblet in front of you was quickly filled with pumpkin juice before you took a big gulp, hoping the familiar liquid would help bring a bit of energy into you. However, that was a failed attempt as you felt your eyes stay heavy, your head swaying to the side slightly before a loud voice startled you out of your dozed out state.

“Crabbe, shut your mouth,” you snapped, silencing the boy sitting across from you who looked over with wide eyes, his mouth closing slowly, “You just woke up half the bloody hall with your laughter.”

Pansy jumped up from next to you, thick red marks across her forehead that resembled the wooden carvings on the table she was just rested against. You let out a low chuckle, eyes darting towards the entrance to the Hall — what you saw made you stop your laughing and sit up straighter.

Draco, accompanied by a brunette Slytherin, waltzed in with a smile on his face. You looked down immediately, hating the bubbling jealousy that threatened to emerge. You had seen the two together before but it didn’t help the sudden onslaught of negative emotions every time you saw him with her.

Maybe, possibly, you’ve had dreams where you use muggle torture techniques to keep her out of your life.

But no one needed to know that.

“Ah, Malfoy’s brought his admirer,” Pansy sighed, resting her chin on her hand, “What a surprise.”

You scoffed, trying to play it off, “When doesn’t he?”

No one knew of your little crush on Draco Malfoy. And if things were to go your way, no one would ever know. Being sly was always one of your specialties and you were rather proud of that. You didn’t let people in on a lot of secrets and you were bound to keep this one to yourself too.

“Fair point,” Pansy said lowly as Draco walked towards the table with an arrogant smirk on his face. A pleasantly attractive smirk, yes, but it was arrogant nonetheless. And you wanted to bite your own tongue off at the knowledge that the brunette was the one that put it there.

He sat across from you, seated between Crabbe and Blaise, but you didn’t greet him. Pettiness was overtaking your mood and you sat quietly, not even turning up to face him as you picked at some breakfast foods to put into your plate. Your day already felt like it was ruined — as dramatic as that was.

“You ready for tonight’s Quidditch game?” Blaise asked nonchalantly, taking a sip of tea and raising his eyebrows at Draco. You hid a scoff.

“Yep, can’t wait,” you sighed, leaning forwards, “The rain will really up the fun factor.”

You looked up at the bewitched ceiling, the heavy rain clouds pouring down on the students below. The drops obviously never reached anyone, but it was still awfully gloomy. You always hated playing in the rain. You’d end up in bed, shivering and wet with the early signs of a cold.

“Only reason I joined the team was to take down Gryffindor,” Draco sneered, “Will gladly get to do that tonight.”

“That’s if we win,” you scoffed, “Potter’s always got one up on you. You should probably fix that.”

After saying the words, you felt guilt blossom in your chest. You knew Draco’s weakness was the fact that his ‘sworn enemy’ Harry Potter always beat him — you had never really thrown it into his face until now.

You could see the change in his mood from the way his eyes grew slightly darker, glaring at you as if he wanted to retaliate. His shoulders slouched downwards and he leaned forwards on the table.

“Well, what’s got your wand in a twist this morning?” the corner of his lip curved up into a smirk and you had to force yourself to look away from him so you wouldn’t cave.

Shrugging, you kept your voice neutral, “Just saying. Maybe it’ll give you more incentive to win and prove me wrong,” you picked up your cup, avoiding eye contact if at all possible.

He eyed you, confusion laced into the creases of his forehead. You had never snapped at him like this before but you just couldn’t help it. The faint smirk quickly vanished and was replaced with a scowl as he turned down to face his plate.

You bit the inside of your cheek, absentmindedly picking at the scraps of bacon and toast on your plate. This section of table grew awfully quiet at your outburst, an awkward air surrounding all of you.

Being friends with Draco, it wasn’t rare that the two of you bickered. He always carried his nose and chin high, and sometimes you liked to knock him down a peg, no matter how much you swooned over the platinum headed boy. His charismatic charm was just one of the endless reasons he always thought he could get his way.

“Seriously,” Pansy leaned over and whispered in your ear, “What’s up? Why’d you say that?”

A blush rose to your cheeks and your snapped your head to her, “Out of my business, Parkinson.”

Her eyes widened and she held her hands up in surrender, “My bad.”

You let out a huff and went back to eating your meal, very much aware of Draco’s eyes piercing the top of your scalp as you kept your own eyes facing down, attempting with all of your might to avoid any more conversation than necessary.

Tonight’s match should be fun.

——

As usual, Potions class was a complete drag.

Snape was in his usual foul mood, nitpicking every single damn thing. You were used to it by now, having been in Snape’s house for nearly six years now, but it didn’t mean you particularly enjoyed it.

Least of all now, after being paired with Draco for a potions assignment.

If this were any other day, your heart would be doing leaps inside of your chest right about now — however the idea of just the two of you having to work together and talk was slightly nauseating after this morning’s outbreak.

“So,” he sat next to you, sliding awkwardly into the empty seat, “You still mad at me?”

You scoffed, flipping through the pages of you book, “Wasn’t cross with you.”

Fun fact about Draco Malfoy; he always saw right through you.

“C’mon,” he nudged your shoulder, causing you to look up from your book, “Don’t think you’ve ever spoken to me like that before.” His soft voice and piercing eyes were so hard to lie to. You always found yourself tempted to spill your deepest darkest secrets.

“I said I wasn’t mad at you,” you forced a smile, “I’ve got... other things going on.”

He didn’t believe you for a second, “What other things?”

You blessed Salazar and all of the Hogwarts founders that Snape decided to do his rounds, cutting your awkward conversation short and placing a piece of paper on your desk — the name of the potion you’d have to make.

Wiggenweld.

Grinning, you re-opened your book and began scanning through, landing on the very worn down page with said potion on it. You couldn’t count how many times you’ve made this, which was great since you could do it easily and get away from Draco as soon as possible.

“Stop ignoring me,” he pushed, a small smile on his face, “We’ve gotta team up and play well together tonight so you might as well come clean.”

“Stay out of my business and I won’t have to hex you,” you said through gritted teeth, your voice low so no one could overhead. You reckon that’d be quite embarrassing.

He leaned even closer to you — close enough that you could smell some sort of faint cologne and laundry detergent lingering on his house robes. Close enough that you could see the small strands of brown hair in the sea of bleach blond. Close enough that his eyes weren’t just blue; they were turquoise. Green stars scattered amongst a sky of blue.

Close enough that you nearly forgot to breathe.

“I’ll find out eventually, you know?” he looked over the page in your book and began writing the ingredients and steps down on the parchment in front of him.

You fought back a chuckle at his childish handwriting.

He offered to go get the ingredients and you let him do so as you cleaned up your desk, preparing it to become a potion station. You hated working in a dirty environment and so you attempted to make the dingy desk as spotless as possible.

Your partner had been gone for quite a while as you felt slightly guilty. There were quite a few ingredients to Wiggenweld and it’d be tough for him to walk back with everything in his hands. You gazed over to see if he needed help, your heart leapt up into your throat.

Draco was leaned up against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest and a smirk on his face as he chatted to the same Slytherin girl from breakfast.

You bit down on your tongue, fighting a deep breathe that would surely give away your overwhelming jealousy. After taking a good long moment to calm down the rapid, angry beating of your heart, you balled your fists behind your back and walked over to him.

“Give me these,” you snatched the bottles and ingredients from his hands, looking anywhere but his eyes as you turned away from him, “When you feel like actually doing the work, that’d be great.”

Storming back to the table and placing everything down in a somewhat organized fashion, you decided to turn over to Blaise at the table next to you, “Wanna switch partners?”

He let out a low chuckle, looking over to the quiet Hufflepuff boy that was chopping away at the other half of the ingredients, “Mine’s actually working so I’d say no.”

“So selfish,” you scoffed, shaking your head, “Mine’s off being a git.”

Dropping the tool he was using to grate a unicorn horn, Blaise crossed his arms and walked over to you, “Lucy? She’s great.”

You let your hair fall from behind your ears to hide your frustrated blush, “Yeah, she’s real great. Taking his time while he should be here working”

If you had looked away, you would have missed the smirk that overtook his face. However, you noticed it, and it only made the blush on your cheeks grow even deeper.

“Oh, I see what’s going on,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“No you don’t,” you snapped, “Go back to work or I’ll cut your tongue off and use it as an ingredient.”

He stepped back, but the smirk and amusement never left his face. Blaise was intuitive, yes — but you were being incredibly obvious, that much was certain. Him putting the pieces together was your fault, really.

“Oi, don’t attack me. If you’re to go after anyone, wouldn’t it be her?” he nudged his head in the direction of the girl that Draco was now walking away from, “after all, she’s the one stealing your man.”

“Shut your face,” you spoke lowly, glaring him down with all of your might as he walked back to his table with a chuckle. You watched as he went back to work before you decided to do the same yourself, picking up a tiny bottle and reading the label before unscrewing the tiny lid.

Draco’s bright head popped up on the other side of the table, “We getting started?”

Fighting the urge to snap, you nodded your head slowly, “So kind of you to join. Now get to work.”

He brushed your comment aside, stepping closer to you and ignoring your demand to get to work, “Do you know Lucy?”

Biting down on your tongue, you shook your head, “Nope. Your girlfriend?” You hated how bitter and insecure you sounded but at the moment, that was really the least of your concerns. All logic has been thrown out the window.

He rolled his eyes and let out a small laugh, “Bloody hell, no. She’s actually interested in Zabini. But I was wondering—”

“Wait, what?” you asked, nearly knocking a tiny bottle over as you leaned into the table, trying to get closer to him as if your hearing was off. Which, by the sound of what he said, you assumed it might be.

“What?” he stopped, “I’m trying to help her get with Zabini. He keeps talking about her.”

Suddenly, you felt like a complete idiot. The blush on your cheeks resurfaced and your heart did a leap against your ribcage.

“Oh,” you looked down, letting out a humourless chuckle, “I’m so sorry.”

Of course, you had jumped to conclusions. That’s what you always did. And now here you were, looking like a complete idiot and making your feelings blatantly obvious. The one thing you had been trying to avoid.

“Sorry? For what?” he was now the one to be confused, “What’s going on?”

“I—,” you blinked rapidly, looking over at him and trying your best to come up with any sentence that could make sense, “Nevermind. Let’s just get back to work.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly put off by how oddly you had been behaving all day so far, but he didn’t press the subject. You knew he’d ask you about it later, but that was for another time. You couldn’t exactly blame him either. If the tables were turned and he was the one behaving oddly, you’d be on his rear about it too.

You made a promise to yourself to talk to him after tonight’s game. The conversation might end up going against your one goal, and it might end up going really badly for you, but you had to tell him. It was time.

——

The Quidditch match ended up being a breeze. You guys ended up victorious by a landslide, Draco catching the snitch with a massive grin on his face. The relief spread through your body like a tidal wave as you watched him hold up the tiny golden ball — but what was even better was watching Gryffindor stalk off the field with glum expressions.

A real victory.

The Slytherin team gathered down on the pitch, surrounding a boastful Draco as he held his head high. A part of you wanted to go down, give him a hug and apologize for the rude comments you made this morning — but the other part of you thought that he was fine celebrating without you. You’re the one who made him feel like complete crap this morning; why would he want to celebrate with you?

You smiled from afar, walking into the Slytherin tent. You were alone, obviously. Everyone was still shouting and cheering on the pitch and you highly doubted the partying would end anytime soon.

The perfect escape for you.

You hung up your broom and removed your uniform, bundling yourself in a comfy sweater and leggings so you could walk back up to the castle without getting too cold now that the sun was gone.

Hoping no one would catch you sneaking off before party plans were made, you began to open the tent door, only to be interrupted by a voice.

“Not sticking around?”

You spun on the spot, facing a rather sweaty and satisfied looking Draco. You cursed his good looks under your breath, knowing that you’d have a hard time saying no to him while he looked like this.

“Not feeling well,” you lied, shrugging and looking down at the ground.

He stepped closer to you, “Right, you’ve been odd all day. What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing again.”

You took a deep breath, biting your lower lip as you gazed back up at him, looking into the eyes that made butterflies fly wildly in your belly.

“I spoke to Blaise and I think I know what your problem is,” he stepped even closer, the space between the two of you now only a few inches.

Letting out a small laugh, you shook your head, “That little git.”

He pursed his lips, placing one of his warm hands on the side of your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat and you leaned into his touch, not sure where he was going with this but enjoying every second of it.

One step closer, and he was nearly flush against your body. He was radiating warmth, his entire body still high off of the win, and you swore he could feel your rapid heartbeat.

Why else would he be smirking like that?

His smirk didn’t last long, however, as his lips pressed against yours.

Many people say their first kiss with their crush is soft, delicate — this wasn’t the case here. His lips pressed against yours with feverish passion, bringing the temperature in the small tent up by at least ten degrees. His lips were hot and wet as they moulded against yours, both hands cupping the sides of your face as he locked his body up against yours.

How many times you dreamt of this, you couldn’t count. But by Merlin, was it better than you could have ever imagined. You felt as if you were dancing with him, letting loose and moving to a rhythm of heartbeats. It was truly a beautiful feeling; one that you hoped you’d get to experience again.

“Well,” he muttered against your lips after pulling away, “Guess I was right.”

You wanted to retaliate and give him a sarcastic comment, but your mind was too numb and flummoxed to do so.

“Sorry I was acting all crazy,” you sighed, looking up into his blissful eyes, “Perhaps it’s true when they say jealousy makes people do crazy things.”

“It’s alright, love,” he smirked, placing hands on both sides of your waist and pulling you even closer, “We’re both a little crazy then.”

It felt like hippogriffs were fluttering around your belly as he kissed you once more, hands tightening their grip as he deepened the passionate act.

This would be awkward to explain when the team walked in, but for now, the two of you were perfectly content as you were.

Finally together.

——

taglist

@grierpilots​

@hxfflxpxffs​

@mikumana​

@msmimimerton​

@pit-and-the-pen​

@diary-of-an-onliner​

@theweirdsideofstuff​

@thoseofgreatambition​

@theweasleysredhair​

@haphazardhufflepuff​

@starlightweasley​

@mytreec​

@thisismysketchbook​

@obsessedwithrandomthings​

@valwritesx​

@ickle-ronniekins​

[kuraiamore]

Zura 2017 bday fic, plum rain

pairing: Gen (though can be GinZura if you feel like it)

fandom: Gintama

rating: G

summary: Happy birthday, Zura!

I know, I know, I’m late, but this ended up so much longer than I expected (I mean, all my fics end up like that, but still...), and I’m a very easily distracted creature >.< In any case, it’s done now, so I hope you enjoy!<3

AO3 or read below

Another day of nothing but dreary summer rain, the overcast skies so heavy with water Gintoki thinks he should start stepping outside for his morning showers and save on the water bill—except going outside would mean standing around in the muggy weather and having to deal with the outside humidity making the air dense and sticky against his skin.

Yeah, better to just keep lounging around on his desk chair and wait for the rainy season to pass.

After all, if snivelling kids and high school brats get a summer holiday, why can’t he? He is most definitely still a kid at heart; his hoarded pile of Shounen Jump could attest to that, which reminds him…

He swivels around on his chair and checks the calendar hanging by the window.

Yep, Monday; the latest issue of his most beloved magazine should be out by now, waiting for him on the cheap wooden shelves of convenience stores and train station kiosks.

His fingers twitch, the phantom sensation of rough paper and waxy front and back covers sliding across his pads. He glances out the window; the downpour hasn’t relented at all, torrents of rain falling lazy and fat over Edo and sending the slightly rotten petrichor of the city wafting up into the Yorozuya office.

“Ne, Kagura,” he singsongs, swinging his chair back around to look across the room at the young Yato seated on the floor between coffee table and couch, a pen in hand and doodling absentmindedly on a letter she's been composing to Umibouzu for the past hour, more paper and pens in varying colours scattered about the table.

“What is it, Gin-chan?” she asks, mild and sweet as the summer rain singing around them. The faraway quality to her voice that always appears on slow, rainy days dips her words with a soft wistfulness she’s probably not even aware of. Gintoki drums his fingers against the desk and waits for the butt of the pen to stop moving and bright blue eyes to turn in his direction.

“You hungry?” He does his best to keep his voice cool and nonchalant, but long experience living with him immediately makes Kagura narrow her eyes and cock her head to the side.

“And if I said I was?”

“What’s with that suspicious look, huh? Here I am, your gracious and generous guardian, simply wanting to offer you the chance to head down to the convenience store with money earned from my blood and sweat so that you can buy yourself a snack.”

Her eyes narrow even further, as if she’s squinting at something particularly loathsome.

“And pick up the latest copy of Jump for me while you’re there,”  he finally relents.

“What a scummy adult you are, Gin-chan,” Kagura says, somehow managing to look down on him even though she’s the one sitting on the floor, “trying to trick young girls into going out into the rain for a stupid stack of papers no decent person over the age of fifteen would be caught dead with. What if I caught a cold and got sick, huh? What kind of guardian would you be then, huh? Would you feed me lots of rice and pickled seaweed and wait on me hand and foot until I got better, aa?” She pauses, her eyes widening to what would be a guileless stare if it wasn’t for the sly gleam sneaking through. “Actually, yes, give me some money, Gin-chan, I think I’ll head down to the shops after all.”

As Kagura stretches out her free hand towards him, palm up, he kicks out with his foot and spins around to face the window again.

“Ahh, look at all that rain out there!” He gesticulates wildly up at the grey-white sky. “Guess you better stay indoors after all, Kagura! Wouldn’t want you getting sick now, would we?”

“You should go out, Gin-chan; idiots can’t catch colds, so you’ll be fine.”

Gintoki only grunts in reply, leaning back heavily in his chair and staring drearily out the window. His only solace is the thought that no one with a respectable job is likely out in the downpour, and surely no working man or woman has time for the ¥300 childish mindlessness of Shounen Jump. There’ll most definitely be a copy waiting for him tomorrow, and with the month almost at its end, the rainy season should be over any day now.

He settles more comfortably into the desk chair, content to listen to the rain wash over the city and let the day pass by in quiet banality.

He zones out to the tinkling of water droplets falling on metallic roofs, the rush of the water gurgling and trickling through the empty streets below, and almost misses the knock at the door, only just managing to discern the rhythmic tap-tap-tap pounding beneath the pitter-patter.

“Gin-chan, door,” Kagura says helpfully.

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself, peeling himself from fake leather and moving sluggishly down the hallway to the front of the apartment. “Who in their right mind would be outside in this crappy weather?”

He pulls open the sliding panel and his entire version goes white, a blast of heated air flying into his face. At first he thinks he’s gone and fainted for no apparent reason, but then he blinks several times in rapid succession and takes a step back to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, the wide outline of his body almost blurring into the white-grey of the sky. In one flipper, the ever-creepy alien duck holds a slim but wide black case by two strappy handles; in the other, his trademark signpost, words sketched out in big, black strokes.

GOOD AFTERNOON YOROZUYA. MAY I COME IN?

A folded umbrella, leaning against the wooden rail, slowly drips a tiny lake onto their porch.

“Don’t get any water into the house,” Gintoki says, moving back to let their visitor in.

Before he can turn to lead the way back into the main room, Elizabeth holds out the case and looks at him expectantly.

Gintoki pulls a face, suspicion in every line, then sighs and takes hold of the straps, hoping that whatever Joui madness he had just resigned himself to wouldn’t take up more than a few hours, and especially wouldn’t involve any running, fighting or general physical activity to be done outside.

A squelching sound pulls him out of his thoughts; he watches in a mix of disbelief and horror as Elizabeth pulls off his duck feet, careful not to touch the wet soles, and lines them up neatly in the genkan. He suppresses the urge to shudder when he catches sight of a pair of feet and ankles peeking out from under the sheet of white, desperately not thinking about what exactly is living under the sheet.

Instead, he carries the case into the living room-cum-office and sets it down on the coffee table above Kagura’s scattered writing equipment. Face up, it takes up almost a third of the whole table.

“Ah? What’s this, Gin-chan?” Kagura stops in the middle of drawing looping curls of silver on a stick figure standing beside two other stick figures, one with two balls of orange and the other with a pair of glasses, and looks up. “Oh, Eli! What are you doing here?”

Gintoki plonks himself on the couch near Kagura as Elizabeth seats himself on the opposite side of the table. The Yorozuya-minus-one both watch curiously as Elizabeth opens up the case and pulls out a card almost as large as the case itself, turning it over for them to read the words emblazoned on the front in shining gold.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATSURA-SAN!

In the background, various shades of dark blue blur together in a watercolour sea that make the words appear to glow. More gold swirls and dustings of gold glitter artfully flow across the expanse of blue, fireworks over an ocean.

Kagura lets out a gasp, “Eli, this is so pretty! Gin-chan, why didn’t you tell me it’s Zura’s birthday?”

Gintoki opens his mouth to protest, because how is he meant to remember the wighead’s birthday, he barely even remembers his own most years, but at that moment, Elizabeth unfolds the card with a flourish and the words vanish from his tongue as his eyes roam across the page. A chaotic jumble of scribbled messages fill up the almost entire space, handwriting in every degree of elegance and messiness spilling in every direction. Blue, black, green, red, purple, and bizarrely, neon pink ink clash together, words edging against each other as their writers vied for room to compose their birthday messages. The only real spot of white left is a small, rhombic patch near the upper left corner.

Near it, Gintoki reads a long, winding message in familiar handwriting.

‘Happy Birthday, Katsura-san! I know that we haven’t know each other for that long, but I feel really happy and grateful to have met you, both as a man and as a samurai. You have taught me a lot over the years, even if it’s only what NOT to do. Thank you for supporting me, and the Yorozuya, whenever we’ve needed it; we’ll always be here to support you too! I hope you have a really great birthday, filled with lots of laughter and smiles! —Your friend, Shimura Shinpachi’

“Look, Kagura.” He points out the message. “Patsuan’s already written a message for us.”

“What are you talking about Gin-chan?” Kagura picks up an orange pen, the one she must have used to draw her hair buns. “Shin-chan wrote such a boring message; we need to write something fun! It’s Zura’s birthday!”

Nodding to herself, Kagura writes a bold ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZURA!!!!’, followed by drawings of a round cake bearing a single candle, a wonky box topped with an extravagantly big bow, and a party popper. The whole thing takes up half the remaining white space, cutting orange lines into the words of the surrounding messages. Gintoki’s eye twitches.

“Oi, leave some space for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now shh, let an artist work.”

Resisting the urge to grumble, Gintoki sits back, catching sight of Elizabeth watching Kagura draw. If Gintoki has to guess, he would say that the alien duck is smiling, though it’s hard to tell with the duck bill.

Several minutes later, Kagura jumps up with an excited shout.

“Done!”

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZURA!!!! Let’s do K-BBQ for your birthday next year!!’

Floating all around the message are balloons and stars in every colour she owns—she had even taken the time to squeeze them into the tiny spaces between other people’s messages, filling the card up completely with colour.

Gintoki doesn’t have room to write even the tiniest ‘hapiba’ that wouldn’t be an illegible series of dots.

Ignoring the strangely hollow feeling in his stomach, he turns to Kagura’s grinning face.

“Looks good,” he admits.

Kagura beams, carefully folding up the card and putting it back in the portfolio case for Elizabeth. Over her head, the alien duck tilts his head in question towards Gintoki; Gintoki stealthily waves a hand in response, shrugging lightly. Understanding, Elizabeth accepts the proffered case from Kagura, bowing to both to them, and starts making his way towards the door.

With Kagura seeing the Joui rebel out, Gintoki wanders back to his desk chair, settling himself to face the window once more. Behind him, the sound of footsteps as Kagura comes back, then the scratching of pen against paper. If Gintoki wanted to, he could pretend that Elizabeth’s short visit had never happened.

But.

His eyes keep drifting to the calendar, circling around the date.

June 26th

Zura’s birthday...

His eyes drift shut, the sound of the rain soothing his ears—

—they had spent a night huddled in an alleyway once, their only shelter from the rain a protruding roof, because the men had found out their General Commander’s birthday and that had evidently been enough cause for the entire army to get drunk—

—Sakamoto had bought a bottle of saké for Zura’s birthday once; it was the first time Zura had ever drank a full bottle all to himself, trying to blame the beautiful red flush of his face on the summer heat—

—once, before—

—back when things had been simple, he and Takasugi had found a hidden pool at the foot of a mountain, in the forests on the far outskirts of the village, and spent the days of the long summer week leading up to Zura’s birthday stealing away to deposit bits of hard candy wrapped in pink paper, packets of nuts and red bean mochi, and the occasional bit of fruit into a box they stashed in the upper branches of a nearby tree, the lid carefully tied down against any curious beaks or paws, until the moment when they could bring Zura up to their secret spot and watch his face light up with pure delight; they had spent the whole day swimming and lounging and laughing, sugar tingling on their tongues—

—one night, the three of them huddled in their futons, Zura had confessed that his grandmother had always bought him plums as a treat for his birthday; the next morning, ignoring the dew still clinging to the grass, he and Takasugi got down onto their hands and knees and let Zura climb onto their backs to pick the ripe red fruits hanging down from lush green branches, the smell of earth and rain and plum all around them.

Gintoki opens his eyes; outside, the rain falls.

“Oi, Kagura, I’m heading out.”

“Huh? Whatcha doing out for, Gin-chan?”

“…Shounen Jump.”

“Oh, hmm. Okay then!”

“Yeah, be back in a bit.”

He slips his wallet into his pocket, pulls on his boots, grabs an umbrella, and is out the door in less than a minute, opening up the umbrella as he heads down the stairs and onto the street. It’s a quick fifteen minute walk to the nearest grocer, water splashing under his boots the whole way. The old lady watching the store gives him a kind smile as he starts picking out the juiciest-looking plums from the stand. It makes him want to protest, and tell her it’s not what it looks like, except what does that even mean, he’s just a regular guy picking out regular plums from a regular fruit store, it’s not like they’re meant for anyone, urgh, okay, he’s just going to pay for the plums and leave.

The old lady smiles at him as he walks out, plastic bag full of plums in hand.

He’s halfway down the street when he realises he doesn’t know where he’s going, that he’s never gone searching for the Joui rebel of his own accord, has no idea where he should even start looking.

(Kagura would know; in between the itinerary she keeps of her father’s travels and the timetable of Shinpachi’s kendo classes at the Koudoukan, she saves the slip of paper holding the location of the latest Joui meeting spot, slipped under their door every month.)

The longer he stands there, the worst the rain seems to feel as it slogs and hammers over his umbrella. The air is oppressive, the collar of his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his neck, his hair all frizzled and bristly in the humidity. Frustration gnaws at his chest, and he’s about ready to chuck the damn plums into the bin just to make himself feel better when a familiar low tenor calls out his name.

“Gintoki?”

Looking up, Gintoki sees the man he had been just about to give up looking for standing a few paces in front of him, a large white-and-yellow patterned umbrella shielding him from the downpour around them. He’s forgone his haori, dressed simply in only his usual blue kimono. His hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, only his fringe and a few loose strands of black framing his face.

Somehow, he looks incredibly young, even though he’s aged another year.

Gintoki licks his lips.

“Oi Zura, the hell you doing out here in this rain?” he asks, completely naturally, walking forward to close the few steps between them.

“I’m not Zura, I’m Katsura,” Zura says on autopilot, then makes a contemplative hum, the sound almost drowned out under the rain. “I tried call a Joui meeting today to discuss our future plans, but everybody said they were busy and that I should take the day off. Even Elizabeth left me this morning!” He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Gintoki watches his tail of hair swish behind his neck with the movement, somehow still looking soft and silky even with the heat in the air. “Honestly, just how do they think we’ll bring change to the country if we’re not constantly striving towards a new dawn, a new tomorrow? Days shouldn’t be wasted so frivolously like that, it’s unbecoming of a samurai.”

“Japan will still be here in a day,” Gintoki says, his voice gentle despite himself.

Zura shoots him an odd look, eyes searching, and Gintoki glances away, his grip on both bag and umbrella tightening.

He’s relieved when Zura lets the comment go unremarked, instead asking, “so what are you doing out here?”

His whole body relaxes, and he holds up the bag and lets it swing in Zura’s face.

“Grocery shopping. Apartment’s out of food and plums are in season. You want one?”

He supposes he can’t blame Zura for the baffled expression that crosses the man’s face, though it smoothes out a second later as a soft smile lights up.

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says.

If he tries hard enough, Gintoki can pretend that the rapid beating of his heart is no more than the pounding of the water falling around them. He coughs lightly into the back of his hand, the plastic bag rustling with the movement.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he mutters, averting his eyes from Zura’s gaze and making a show of looking up at the sky, even though the only thing he can see is the red of his own umbrella.

He makes no effort to lead.

“…I have a place we can go,” Zura finally offers, turning on his heel.

Gintoki hums in acknowledgement, following after the rebel; they walk in a sort of meandering stroll, the rain and emptiness of the streets beckoning Gintoki to a dreamlike haze. When they finally reach their destination, a small traditional townhouse off a main road, the only thing Gintoki can clearly remember from their walk is the sound of the rain, the weight of the plums in his hand, and Zura.

Leaving their umbrellas and shoes at the entrance, they pad through to the main room at rear of the house, where Zura slides the shoji screen open to reveal a garden grown wild, leaves and branches tangled and groping over sand and stone. Gintoki plonks down on the tatami mats, handing over the bag when Zura gestures for them. The rebel walks off and comes back a minute later carrying a bowl filled with several pieces of the reddish fruit, water droplets glistening on their skin.

Zura sits down cross-legged and sets the bowl between them. They grab a plum each; the plum juice is cool and sweet on Gintoki’s tongue.

The rain outside eases as they eat, a soft breeze drifting through the falling droplets to cool the damp heat clinging to their skin.

Gintoki waits until he hears Zura bite into his second plum before breaking the silence.

“Hey Zura.”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

A ragged hacking noise.

“O-Oi, you okay?!”

Not knowing what else to do, Gintoki thumps frantically on Zura’s back with his clean hand, trying to catch the other samurai’s face through the fall of his fringe and the hand raised to his face, plum clutched in his fingers.

The choking sounds taper away into little hics, but Zura’s shoulders are still hunched over and shaking, still hiding his face behind hair, hand and plum. It takes Gintoki a few long seconds to realise the wighead bastard is laughing.

Immediately Gintoki’s whole face heats up, and he slaps Zura’s back again out of embarrassment and slight vindictiveness.

“Ah, sorry, Gintoki,” Zura says when the giggles finally subside completely and he can look up properly, letting his hand drop, “I wasn’t expecting that.” His eyes flash suddenly to the left, head tilting slightly with the movement. “Ah, but that could explain… Gintoki, wait here.”

Bemused, Gintoki waits as Zura stands up again, finishing his plum is quick bites and throwing the seed into the garden, and scurries off. He returns carrying a giant saké bottle as tall as his torso, and a round lacquered box painted with pink and white blossoms set against a crimson background.  He sets them down next to the bowl of plums, opening the lid of the box to reveal candy wrapped in petal pink.

The scents of alcohol and mountain forest mingle in Gintoki’s memory.

“Elizabeth gave them to me, said they arrived this morning,” Zura says, a note of something bittersweet laced through his voice, “after the men told me to take the day off. I didn’t even think… Did you plan this?”

Gintoki looks at him, perplexed. “What?”

“Did you plan this?” Zura says again, as if Gintoki hadn’t heard instead being merely confused. He leans forward, earnestness taking over the timbre of his voice. “Elizabeth messaged me and told me to go to the convenience store in Kabuki District. I thought I was going to meet him, but then I ran into you.” His eyes shine.

Beyond the shoji doors, the rain recedes to a lull, the only noise vibrating through the air to their ears the slow chime of raindrops dripping off leaves and splattering to the ground.

Gintoki splutters, his brain running to make sense of Zura’s said, tripping over the words and untenably distracted by the intense way Zura is looking at him, the dark fall of his hair bringing out the gold of his eyes.

“I didn’t—it wasn’t planned—I didn’t even know—wait, that thing knows how to message? Since when did you even carry around a phone, Zura?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gintoki. Elizabeth doesn’t know how to message; he writes on his sign, takes a picture of it, and sends that to me.” He says this so matter-of-factly, the veins at Gintoki’s temples pop slightly with annoyance. “And of course I carry a phone. How else would I keep in contact with all the Joui members? Gintoki, you’re the only one who doesn’t carry a phone, you know.”

“Shut up, the Yorozuya doesn’t need a phone, we have plenty of loyal clientele. What’s the point of carrying around a phone, huh? It’s just useless weight. Besides, Kagura—”

Gintoki stops short, his brain jumping through loops as he remembers how docilely Kagura had let him go, no questions or snide remarks or demands for her favourite snacks from the convenience store. How well connected the young alien is in their rough’n’tumble town, her journal full of locations and names and numbers.

Gintoki groans, wiping a hand over his face. “Meddlesome brat.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Gintoki says loudly, making a note to buy Kagura some dango on the way home.

Zura smiles knowingly; Gintoki picks up a pink wrapper and throws it at his face. Zura laughs as it bounces off his nose, catching it in his hand before freeing the bit of crystallised sugar and popping it in his mouth. He picks up another piece and offers it to the man beside him.

Gintoki rolls the bit of candy around his tongue; as it melts into syrup in his mouth, sweet as Zura’s smile, sunlight breaks through the clouds and stretches across their laps. The whole garden gleams, light glinting silver off still-hanging raindrops.

The air, he thinks, rolling another piece of purple-red fruit to his old friend, smells of rain and earth and plum.