We were not together. Do not think that we were romantically involved, that was never the agreement. But we WERE hooking up. Sorry I didn't tell you, it was really fucking weird.
Anyway. He was bizarrely sexually selfish, gave bad handjobs, and kind of made me feel like an old pervert in general even though I'm not even three years older than him, so I told him I just wasn't really into him. He seemed kind of irritated, but I'd also caught him on the tail end of a two week long assignment and, forgive me for telling you so, but I think he was hoping to get off before he went home and passed out in his bed.
I also told him, and this will be new to you as well, that I am considering a gender transition to become a woman. Pretty sure I won't change my name, seems like a hassle. He said he thinks he's gay anyways. Hayate, I honestly can't even tell if he likes fucking in general, which is FINE if not, but again, the situation was just so weird.
Final piece of news: I think Ugito knocked up Mai. If you have not been keeping track, Mai is Kotetsu's on-and-off girlfriend, the one with the constant eyebrow twitch that sounds like she smokes a pack a day. Might want to check up on him when you get back.
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hayate stares for a few moments. sniffs the air. doesn't even grimace; though somehow his deadpan expression is worse. "so. you and zabuza-san. interesting."
“…”
In the brilliance of noon, Gai is at a stunning disadvantage. The little man gets the privilege of witnessing Gai’s olive countenance saturate with pink, and the slow morph of his features from confusion, to horror, to chagrin. Meanwhile, Hayate remains impassive as ever behind that veil of quietness and the grey skin under his eyes.
“Hayate… That’s…” It’s none of his business!
But what’s the point, really? He thinks he knows Hayate well enough by now to figure that the teasing won’t go much further than this.
Gai wonders, actually, what exactly it is that Hayate’s sniffed out with that tracking nose of his—if his and Zabuza’s scent are immiscible, registering as separate notes, or if the stain of Zabuza’s sweat (and maybe more) on his skin makes for a musky third he isn’t cognisant of.
He wonders if Hayate knows where they’d grappled this morning. That they’d sparred nearly the whole morning by the training ground nearest the river so they could dip their feet in the stream to cool off afterwards, and that Gai had sat on Zabuza’s back to knead through the knots that had seized up during their spar.
Does he smell the scent of the sheets they’d slept in last night — the hint of wet dog?
Gai pinches the front of his shirt and stretches it up to his nose for a whiff of his own. Maybe to verify for himself, as if his nose has ever been even close to sensitive enough for such a thing. Folding his arms, Gai’s bottom lip flips out noncomittantly.
“I don’t smell it. … … … What—what does it smell like?”
❝ The snow is beautiful and glittering, especially if it goes untouched. ❞
In the abandoned Hatake compound, there is a single tomb. Within that tomb is a skull with no teeth, a pair of white chakra blade wakizashi, and a bracelet of frail white hair and a red ribbon. This tomb has received no offerings for decades.
She'll forgive it. She isn't hungry anymore.
In a land to the north a girl left her family behind. She was a seeker in the way that her mother was a seer-- she was mad with it, barefoot and tracking her bloody footprints in the great expanse of snow as she escaped her life.
She was hungry then.
Hayate watches her, when he dreams under a full moon. She has long white hair and features like his father's, like Kakashi's, taking great strides as she sprints over snow she leaves untouched-- she isn't like her mother, she will not die in the harsh lands in the north, she has to find
Gekko Fuyu takes the hand of a girl so small she could fit into a teardrop. She's nothing special, she was born to die. We were all born to die.
First you have to live.
Fierce women know that you only get from life what you can take. Hatake Miyuki watched madness and solitude waste her mother away until she walked out into a storm and never returned, and she told herself she would cheat, steal-- whatever it took, to keep her freedom. She burned cold, the wolf moon over the plateau, vast and blinding and
Kakashi sees her in the mirror. With one eye closed, he lifts his fingers to his lips and presses until he can see the gap where he's missing a canine tooth. He touches his cheekbone. Were her cheeks so thin? Was she hungry like him?
There are three things she discovers for the first time in the south: Sleeveless shirts, trees so tall and wide they seem like pillars to hold up the sky, and a boy, with teeth like hers and a love warmer than any she'd ever seen.
Daughter of the moon, what was it you sought in the south?
There isn't anything unblemished about her. She was born to die, but she left her mark on the world all the same. A thousand bloody footprints of her own, a man missing three fingers on his left hand. Hayate spots an old man in Iwa with his nose and half his cheek gone, looking like he got mauled by a dog. He watches him. The man is retired. He has grandchildren. The moon is very bright that night.
Kakashi presses a finger to his birthmark, then his jaw. The corner of his eye, open, dark. Was she sharp, like him? Did she have a gentle bone in her body? When she held him, did she smile with all her teeth?
There is no blood curse. Nothing about the mountains, or the moon, nothing of fate at all in her end. She's lucky, and she's good, until she's not. In a copse of river birch sticking out from the ground like bone-white fingers, Miyuki meets the beginning of her end. His name is Sakumo, and he smiles with half his mouth, and his teeth are crooked, and his hands are gentle when he touches her. He loves her, for whatever that's worth anymore.
Daughter of the moon, did you find what you were looking for? Did you know satisfaction?
Her mother once sat her down and told her of the three noble gods, of Tsukuyomi's changelings. In the warmth of the hearth, her cheek resting on Akira's thick ruff, Miyuki had thought it might be nice, to let someone else wear her face. Then she could leave, and she could do what she wanted. She'd said to her mother: I want them to take me. What do I need to do? And her mother had laughed and said: They already have you, Miyuki. You're as much Gekko as you are Hatake.
Kakashi lets his hand fall from his face. He touches the scar over his eyelid and thinks to himself: she definitely didn't have this. He pulls up the mask, leans away from the mirror and
The woman stands next to Hayate, looming over him in his bed. She smiles with her lips closed, lifts the blankets and covers him up to his chin. Her white hair falls and brushes his nose, cold and delicate like powdery snow. She had nothing left to give, if she ever had it in the first place. But she's just as much Gekko as she is Hatake.
Snow falls only to melt. Beauty wears out its welcome. As bitter winter ends, that's all anyone can hope for.
I'd like to begin by saying that I saw you coming, / but that would be a lie. / I'd like to say that I can hear your voice, / but I couldn't mean 'hear' in the accepted sense of the word.
it was a c-rank mission. escort job. carpenter from nearby village needed safe passage. ibiki, headband shimmering, boyishly gruff, had kept his kunai close at hand. among dirt paths and dusk mauve sky, daylight died.
even in childhood, he lacks stereotypical radiance associated with children his age. (where others were sunshine, young ibiki resembles an ice cube. strict. arctic.)
the child builds camp with his teammates. a small, flicker fire. an earthy seat along the bladed, billow grass. « hayate. » his fluid hands sign. « something is wrong. » to indicate with you, he points a singular finger toward his comrade.
After Sparrow-became-Sai but before he’d been completely cut from Danzo’s influence he’d been temporarily pulled from the Team Seven assignment and sent here-- some backwater little town just southwest of the border of Frost country. He remembers very little of the assignment itself: a courier mission, he believes, delivering some secret report with information that may or may not be helping to fuck them during the war. He hadn’t been bold enough to check back then, even with his heart growing like a living thing.
The mission doesn’t matter. What he’d found in these massive, ancient trees on that mission does. Sai tips his head and considers the path through the forest, the fading afternoon light fading through the tall jack-pine branches far overhead. It’s beautiful. Peaceful. As beautiful and peaceful as it was in the beginning, he imagines, as beautiful and peaceful as it will be in the end. He can’t quite believe he’s back here.
Sai had taken the path through this forest, see. It hadn’t been on the map, this path, but it had pointed south and he’d thought maybe he could cut a few hours from his trip and make it back to the village and his friends just a little bit sooner. The path did not make sense once he was on it, left and right turns through a forest of trees not made for running the way the redwoods were and underbrush that made it just a little bit treacherous to wander. He stuck to it, not turning around. He thinks perhaps it was the first time he’d felt honest curiosity.
The daylight had turned to late afternoon almost without him noticing, the sun hanging low in the western sky and peeking down at him from those dense branches. Pine needles had muffled his footsteps to almost nothing and the ground had felt spongy, dense, rich. He’d noticed immediately with the birds stopped singing, but pausing and feeling for life around him had revealed nothing-- not even deer, not even foxes, not even rabbits. Sai had continued on the winding, nonsensical path.
He’d smelled death first: that particular mixture of fear-blood and torn stomach, and keeping his course had led him right to the source. A pool of blood soaked into the hungry dirt between two massive trees, staining the rust-colored pine needles red and black and when he’d lifted his head he finally saw her. Her, long dark hair spilling over her shoulders and falling into her face. Her, with dull and sightless eyes staring right at him, head tipped down until her chin rested against what remained of her sternum. Her, impaled on the branches several meters above him, her ribcage split open and her entrails hanging out of her, still slowly dripping blood onto the forest floor. Her Kumo headband remained snug around her forehead.
Strange, he’d thought to himself. There were no signs of a struggle-- no broken branches, no tang in the air that spoke to any jutsu being used. And other than the obvious she hadn’t been injured as far as he could tell. Just caked with loamy dirt on her hands and the tattered remains of her uniform, like she’d been rolling around in the dirt before someone had placed her up here and then ripped her open.
He’d peered up at her for a few minutes, probably, except he thinks maybe it had been longer than that because when he heard the twig snap behind him the sun was far closer to the horizon than it should have been. Part of him had wanted to cut her down, though he’d not been sure why at the time. The muffled four-beat footsteps behind him were animal, probably a deer or one of those massive elk or moose that hang around these woods he’d thought, though it was strange that a prey animal would stray so close to another dead thing.
Sai turned around.
The thing’s lack of fear made sense, then, because it was clearly no prey animal. Four massive cloven hooves connected to brown-black furry legs that were too-long and too-lean and too-strong. It was almost twice his height at the shoulder, big-bodied on those spindly legs, its rear hunched but its front straight and proud. He had to tilt his head back to look it in the face, looming over him as it was, even though its head was leaned down on its massive neck as far as it could go.
Its head didn’t make sense either. There was a sense of a massive rack of antlers, of a cervid jaw and a nose of exposed bone. Human arms sprouted where there should have been ears, and from underneath the jaw where it met neck, long and pale things blackened with soot like the antlers and tipped with long and broken nails. Upon its forehead sat a blank mask of a human face with too many glowing golden eyes, and the hands reached down for him with the fingers outstretched.
“Oh,” Sai said, and the thing had stilled. “Hello.”
Its fingers curled into fists but it stayed frozen for a moment, peering down at him with too-many-golden-eyes, and then slowly the head had cocked to the side curiously. Sai mimicked the gesture, and finally the thing had rumbled a curt “hello” in return.
He blinked at it, and then a polite smile fixed itself firmly on his face. His heart beat evenly and his voice was as smooth as glass when he tucked his still hands behind his back and he observed, “it’s quite rude to go around grabbing people without permission, you know.”
The thing gave a massive incredulous snort and crossed the one pair of arms under its chin and the other up near its horns like a fleshy crown, and its voice rumbled like thunder when it replied, “by your standards or mine?”
Sai had tilted his head and conceded the point silently-- after all, he was trespassing on another predator’s territory. That was certainly rude of him, too. The thing watched him for another moment before stepping forward and uncrossing its arms, reaching down to settle two hands on his jaw and one on his forehead, tilting his head this way and that. Its skin felt restless, like if Sai cut it only maggots or poorly packed dirt or a great wall of static might fall instead of blood. He stood still.
“You will do,” the thing had murmured then, absent and nearly fond as it stroked a five-jointed-thumb over his cheek. Its breath was musty and damp against his skin.
“No,” Sai had said, sounding almost apologetic for some reason as he reached up to settle his own hand on its wrist. “I will not.”
The thing had squeezed his head then until he thought his skull might crack, snarling something unintelligible at him that turned into a howl when he’d swiped his tanto across its wrists and lopped off one of the hands completely. When it landed in the dirt at his feet it had dissolved into a hundred moths that scattered frantically into the air between them. The thing had reeled back and he’d taken the opportunity to dart away, far enough to shape three ink clones and drop below the surface of the earth.
It had taken off after the clone heading north with a bellow that shook every branch, and Sai had waited a long while before he’d finally crawled back out of the ground with a sigh. It had caught one of his clones moments after the sun had finally set below the horizon but the other two were still running around out there. He glanced at the woman hanging from the branches, sighed, and started walking south once more, careful to keep his footsteps quiet and light and his senses alert. The forest around him was completely empty of life.
By the time he made it to the edge, the sun had been coming back up. The thing had caught both of his remaining clones in the night, and the less said about the things it did to them in the brief moments before they dissolved the better. He’d been exhausted, and a dozen or so meters from the treeline he’d turned around just to see and there it had been, lingering just in the shade of the trees and watching him. One hand was clasped around the still-bleeding stump he’d made of one of the arms, and the blood was black, and when it dripped to the ground little raspberry vines sprouted from the ground.
Sai had raised his hand in farewell, and the thing had turned its back to him and wandered back into the trees silently, either unwilling or unable to leave its trees behind. He’d gone home, and Naruto had laughed about the perfect hand-shaped bruises on his face and asked what he’d said to piss someone off bad enough to slap him on the forehead, and Sakura had just sighed and settled a glowing green hand to his cheek and he hadn’t flinched because not for one moment was he afraid.
He just didn’t think he had any business killing something he hadn’t set out to kill in the first place.
It’s the same deal now, he thinks. The thing will not be happy to see him again. But the story is long and he doesn’t feel like telling it, even if he knows Hayate has to be curious-- he’d just spent the last few minutes standing perfectly still and staring blankly into the space between the tall-straight tree trunks.
“The path is not actually a shortcut,” he finally says, gesturing to the worn and inviting dirt track that leads weary travelers to their doom. “It is still faster to go around the forest.”
And as for what’s in there? Sai just pats Hayate on the shoulder and starts walking again, tucking his hands into his pockets and keeping an eye out for flashes of movement in the trees. One of the other jounin with them scoffs, but no argument comes. “We should keep moving. There is a lot of ground to cover by dawn.”
@moonsdying /// the flames rose hundreds of feet into the air we stood on the shore watching them burn we stood
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sleep has never come easy to iruka, and it only continues to evade him in the midst of a war. he can’t stand his empty little bed, so he slips out of it, wraps his blanket around shoulders to defend against the chilly evening air. the medic camp is quiet in the dead of night, and iruka finds solace in knowing that his comrades can find rest when he can’t. he takes his usually place on the wooden stoop at the mouth of his tent, shuffles blanket and rests chin on arms. like every other night he’s craved warm arms wrapped loosely around his mid section and gentle ( sometimes phlegmy ) breath against the back of his neck, iruka’s gaze drifts upwards towards the moon.
It’s full tonight. he wonders distantly if that has anything to do with his sudden and intense longing for hayate, how he swears he can feel the man’s presence in the night’s sky. iruka chuckles to himself, smiles at his own fanciful thoughts. he’s been talking to the moon so long in hayate’s stead, ever since they parted at the beginning of this long and violent battle, it’s as if he can hardly tell the difference. that’s what missing someone will do to you.
he curls his knees in closer, hugging them tight against his chest, mimicking the comfort he’s gotten used to seeking from hayate. chin tilted towards the sky, he draws in a deep breath, lets eyelids flutter shut as he bathes in the moonlight. iruka remembers the stories hayate has shared of his clan, of the moon, of their shared ancestry. he must have, at some point or another, internalized them. formed some unconscious connection between the two. perhaps that’s why he feels a pull in his chest when it begins to wax, a tugging on his heart to sit in its company. some inexplicable compulsion to talk to the moon like it’s his lover.
“I hope you’re okay, wherever you are tonight.” it doesn’t matter how foolish iruka thinks this is; he can’t stop his heart from spilling out before the full moon. he could never hide his secrets from hayate. “I want to let you know I’m okay. I mean, I’m not sleeping much, but when have I ever? and it’s so much harder to sleep without you. but it’s alright - it means I get to stay up and talk to you.”
a pause while iruka swallows back something thick and emotional. “I miss you, and not just because I’m exhausted without you to help me fall asleep. i keep thinking, as time goes on, I’ll get used to missing you, but I’m really not. everyday, every night, I keep missing you. I just - I can’t wait to see you again. to be together, after all this is over.”
there’s a breeze that tickles the back of iruka’s neck. he must be tired, the way it feels like hayate’s reassuring touch, the press of lips against his skin. “I love you. I guess that’s all I wanted to say. That I love you, I miss you, and I hope you’re safe.”
he’ll watch the sky a while longer even after he’s finished speaking, until he’s sleepy enough that the moonlight blurs behind half-lidded eyes. iruka picks himself up, drags heavy limbs back to bed, and settles in. he sleeps better after a chat with the moon, strangely calmed by his little ritual, like the dark of the sky has brushed tendrils through his hair and kissed him goodnight.
but iruka knows that’s all lovesick nonsense. he knows the moon is not his lover, though it makes him feel just as strange and wonderful as hayate.
❝ you wanna switch? i take the dagger, you take the giant sword? ❞
He can’t help the near-hysterical laugh that bubbles out of his mouth like blood-- or maybe with the blood, because he certainly has enough copper-taste in his mouth. Leaping back so they’re standing shoulder to shoulder gives him a moment to breathe, and he manages to murmur, “Switch? Aren’t you supposed to be the swordsman here?”
Any humor he’d managed to force into his expression drains out of him when he spots Hayate’s badly mangled right wrist. Probably not a career ender and certainly not immediately life-threatening, but if shock doesn’t end up killing him then trying and failing to swing a heavy sword one-handed just might. Genma holds out the dagger and takes the massive cleaver from him with a grunted, “Fine, but retreat ASAP and then let me splint that when this is over-- medics are gonna have a field day over that.”
Implied here: don’t die. Implied here: I won’t either. Implied here: we’ll make it home.
@moonsdying /// and then your face in the window caught my eye and you showed me a thing or two about power in its purest form
