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PSA. I have moved blogs over to HERE Feel free to give me a follow that side 💜

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I was only asking like that because I don’t always show up in mirrors, either. For years I wondered whether it’s all right or not, but there’s been no one to ask, so I’ve decided that I feel all right about it. It’s a relief to be able to forget about what I might or might not be mistaken for. My reflection can’t be counted on, she’s not always there but I am, so maybe she’s not really me …

Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi

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Kabuto @raichoose

Their fanged smile, the way they approach to take his hand, how they effortlessly topple him right over, how they kiss him, and of course how they shift to hold him close at their side -

All of it serves to make Kabuto’s heart skip a beat.

With cheeks dusted pink, he wraps his arms around them, their answer being even better than a mere yes. For Orochimaru telling him not to be silly has implied that to fear or even ponder a rejection is what’s silly - that they wouldn’t deny him this, something so softly intimate, so indicative of mutual trust and affection.

But, now that he’s gotten what he’s hoped for -

It’s something they said earlier, however close in time their thoughts were expressed overall, that have him thinking.

“ … A thousand deaths.”

Kabuto is grateful that Orochimaru is pressed so close, allowing him to hide his face in the crook of their neck - a simple action, perhaps, but one that only punctuates the genuineness of the following words.

“I would face a thousand deaths, and then a thousand more, and so on, and so forth - from all the armies in the world, even. I would face all of that before I could bear to be rejected by you.”

Hesitantly, he peeks up at them.

“Because, you’re right - I’m not afraid of a blade. The truth is, I … I don’t want to be apart from you, physically, emotionally. And of all the things I could fear, the one that frightens me most is - It’s that you might reject me, one day, in any capacity. That you might not want me the way I want you, that you might one day … not need me anymore.”

Their playful smile does falter at his words, falling away in to something more attentive and curious, a little more serious when sensing the tone of his words. When hearing just how weighted they are when they crawl from his throat, already aware that such words and thoughts must have been choking him for a long time, with the heaviness that they are now spluttered out with. And while anyone else would likely be viewed as a mere lesson in human behaviour, for the serpent struggled to sympathize with anyone, and could only really view the sadness and anxiety of others as mere research assignments in to human emotions, it is very different with Kabuto. They do not want him to be distressed. Nor anxious, pained, worried or sad.  None of the emotions that usually intrigue them in others are quite so fascinating with Kabuto. Merely, they serve to reproduce those same emotions in the serpent. When their precious doctor is sad, they feel a pang of sadness inside them. When he is anxious, they are anxious to solve the problem grieving him. When he is angry, they are angry for him. When he is hurt, they feel every injury, emotional or physical, like a phantom pain. Was that what love was? Perhaps. Perhaps he was teaching them all about what love was.  But for now, they have the more pressing concern of trying to shift his mood from this oppressed worry to something more reassured. A large task for someone who is not well practiced in making people feel better. Their sharp tongue and wit is better at wounding than healing. “So what if I don’t need you anymore?” they say, golden eyes meeting his midnight pair, “so what if I become utterly and completely independent, and need nobody at all. That doesn’t mean I would not want you,” they say, a hand reaching up to correct his glasses for him by habit, “I took a chance on you all those years ago, and I have not regretted my decision. It may be the only time taking a risk has paid off, in fact. For all the many mistakes I have made, all the bridges I burnt, when I see you I am reminded I at least did one thing right.” When he looks up, they take the opportunity to lightly take his jaw in their hands, elegant nails careful not to scratch him as they bring his gaze up to properly meet their eyes again. “So if that is what you fear... then you really have nothing to fear at all. You think highly of me yes? You think me clever, and brilliant and worth being loyal to. So rest assured knowing that only someone more foolish and fickle than Konoha’s elders would abandon you hm? And we both know I am leagues above those monosyllabic bastards,” they say, a playful smile catching on their lips once more.

[dokuhebi]

waugh almost forgot about this in my doodlebook…mini scenario i promised to draw out like…weeks ago OTL but tis done…! aand i hope you enjoy :D

if you can’t read my chicken-scratch, let me know and i’ll fix it asap

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they are both 70 in boruto btw

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Herpetologist Orochimaru for "Snake Hunter" fanfiction.

Third and favorite commission for this story.😍

https://ficbook.net/readfic/8666861

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i like this ship but only in a wlw kinda way u wouldnt get it

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I forgot to caption this

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The Detective @raichoose​

Kabuto can’t deny that Orochimaru is captivating. Their intelligent manner of speech, their golden eyes, those incisors … Everything about their form and personality has piqued his interest.

I must be smitten, to keep going back to how attractive and well-spoken they are.

And then, Urushi coughs - maybe genuinely, maybe just as a reminder that the pair have come to this bar for a reason - and he’s forced to recall that they are a potential witness, and he is a detective.

It’s why, even though he’d like to dip into flirtation, perhaps even offering to take the night off and fool around, Kabuto tries to stay focused on the case.

“Oh? ‘A terrible person with a terrible life’ … A judgment call of that nature only makes me think you might have known the victim more than you’ve claimed. Is there something you’re hiding from me, doll?” 

His tone implies that he’s teasing, but midnight eyes momentarily narrow behind his glasses, even as he motions for two more drinks.

(At least, it’s a silent agreement to either prolong this encounter, or to allow for another one - to share a story, perhaps, or something more.)

“Interesting stories I may have, but you are the star right now. Wouldn’t you like to play a role in one of my tales?” This time, Kabuto’s gaze is softer, and he smiles at Orochimaru. “Do you remember what he was saying on his phone call? Surely you caught a few words if he was being so loud … Perhaps you might have overheard a name or place?” 

They flash him a coy smile, ever playful, when he asks them if they know more than they let on. Only for soft laughter to fall from painted red lips, as they meet his eyes in challenge born from flirtatious fascination, “you’ve caught me out detective. I couldn’t take any more of his whining, his arrogance and my charms were the weapon, this bar the crime scene,” they say, for a moment letting their expression show no hint of jest. Before they finish their silken laugh and draw a cigarette out from a box beside them, offering the detective one as they bring their own to their lips to light. How arrogant they are to dance around like this. The real killer announcing their own very real murder, because hiding in plain sight was sometimes the best method, and because no one has ever been good enough to catch them anyway. Their confession will earn an eyeroll from most, seen as a poor taste in joke, but seen as a joke nonetheless. Who would believe someone like them could be capable of murder after all? They blow out the smoke they inhale to the side politely, “sorry to disappoint dear, but that is all I know. I gathered his poor life based on his incessant need to pour his feelings out whenever someone poured him a drink,” they answer, crossing a leg over the other and tilting their head in coquette observation of him, eyes trailing up and down his body, “though I wouldn’t protest if you wanted me to try on those handcuffs of yours for... further questioning,” they tease in flirtation.  The detective’s partner’s cough also steals their attention for a minute, as they eye Urushi disapprovingly for trying to take away their new toy. Intellectual minds so rarely came about. Their silver haired detective was finally a man worth talking to, and his less amusing partner was trying to move him along. No matter, they would not wait for fate to intervene, they would ensure they saw the man again of their own accord. “If I play a role in one of your many tales, I can guarantee I will feature in all the rest to come as well,” they say as they accept the next drink offered to them, placing their cigarette down in the ash tray in favor of the cocktail of poison, “I’m not a one-hit wonder,” they say with a devilish smirk, before nodding at his next question, “I did hear something. He went on and on about meeting a some associate at an upcoming gala held in the building just across from this bar. He sounded pushy, and whoever he spoke to sounded reluctant to give him the invite. Perhaps someone there will know more than I hm?” they say, though that lead was an entire fabrication. Merely, they were attending the gala, and this was their manipulative way of ensuring their new entertaining detective would be there as well. A second date in their eyes, as they refuse to let someone who caught their eye get away because duty calls.

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Kabuto @raichoose

He doesn’t like this.

He doesn’t like seeing someone so confident and powerful reduced to such an agonized state of being. Orochimaru’s strength was legendary, their abilities were unparalleled aside from that of their former teammates’, and he’d always wished to be more like them, to strive for a future of immortality and power beyond his wildest dreams. He admired them, he respected them - they were even the only person he had a connection with, too, which was important, to one who saw himself as sewn-together. 

Now, it was as if Orochimaru was someone else, feral and tormented, tearing their own bandages and his own skin with desperate, pain-fueled clawing, as if the neighboring Shinobi and Hiruzen’s technique combined to drive them further away from who they were. 

Still, Kabuto lies beside them anyway, coaxes them closer, allows them to huddle as near to him as they wish. He knows how dangerous this is - he’d witnessed Orochimaru strike down lesser medics in their agony, and despite the bond between doctor and Sannin, there was always a chance he’d be next. Such horrid pain could lead one to do irrational things, and there was no guarantee that he would not become an accidental victim.

(And yet, despite knowing he could breathe his last breath in attempting to aid them - it’s his care that keeps Kabuto going.)

When they consent to ‘Anything,’ Kabuto shifts, managing to loop an arm around Orochimaru’s svelte form without touching their arms. He doesn’t want their torment to worsen from his actions, not when he’s just promised to attempt a different method of relief.

As Kabuto softly rubs Orochimaru’s back, as he hopes his body heat can abate some of the cold they’re undoubtedly feeling (from sickness, from the night), he begins to sing - a lullaby Nono had taught him, once used by a mother to soothe her child, now used by a confidante to soothe his companion.

“Oto no nai mahiru … ”

Even for an experienced doctor like Kabuto, who had treated numerous shinobi with numerous responses to pain and fear, treating the Sannin was a risky affair. They were powerful in ways that made them a monster when described in legends and folklore, and a slip up on their part could cost even a mastered shinobi his or her life. They could not afford to lose control, but that is precisely what happened when they were placed in a fit of illness induced suffering. The kind of suffering they could not adapt to, for no human had ever endured it quite in the sense they now were. The soul and body formed an intricate part of human existence - and the Shinigami Hiruzen had summoned had done a thorough job of ripping a part the serpents spirit. Leaving them in tatters in turn, but in a way no shinobi doctor would ever have seen before.  Not a wound of the flesh or body, but a wound of something that existed where the spirit meets the bones.  The sounds of the other residents are currently causing the serpent to relapse in to another fit of agony, where they feel it may be less painful to simply sever their arms right off than have to deal with the pain of whatever is happening inside of them. Death would be kinder. But amid their deranged thoughts spurred by torment, they realize that with each thought comes a little more clarity, a little more rationality - a little more fatigue. How there was no greater relief than the sensation of being tired, of being just comfortable enough to fall asleep. Because their senses can only acknowledge so much in this state, and right now, their world is made up of only Kabuto. Of his scent wrapped around them as he holds them, of his voice as he sings to drown out the less consistent and more oppressive noises of the inn, of his touch as he pulls them gently nearer, of the darkness his body shields them in as he acts as a barrier between them and the crack of the door letting in a sliver of unbearable hallway light. Kabuto must know he succeeded in ways other doctors would not have been able to, when the serpent writhes less, then not at all, when their breathing is not mixed with whimpers and is steadier and more even, when golden eyes are not locked in a colour of gold that revealed pain and a desperate desire to maim, and have fallen closed. When misery is replaced by sleep. It will be early morning when they wake up, the longest sleep they have had in weeks, despite only being a handful of hours. Still, it is refreshing, and has restored much needed strength. They awaken in the darkness, still faintly hearing his song in their head, and they awaken in his arms, an undeniable comfort from both the warmth his body encircles around them, and the security of having a first line of defense when they feel in over their head.  “Did you try to sleep at all?” they ask him quietly, their voice barely a presence in the silent dark room. They can sense he is awake, even if they do not move from their comfortable position tucked in to his arms, even as they only move to get closer. Perhaps they woke him when they woke up themself, perhaps he simply could not sleep, or perhaps, their more likely guess, he had stayed loyally awake on purpose to keep them properly guarded. Wracked by worry that when they woke up, their episode my happen all over again. 

[dokuhebi]

Dan @shatteredxlookingxglass

As Dan swoops in to catch Orochimaru’s lithe weight, their positions feel as natural as anything, a curious sort of symmetry, even if the circumstances are far too close to dire on Dan’s scale of measurement. In some ways it’s a comfort to feel the level of ease shift along Orochimaru’s frame with the way their fingers dally in his hair, but with that very ease, he also worries that shock is soon on its way. 

“I think you’ll understand why I’m not exactly concerned with your bleeding on anything, Orochimaru,” Dan says gently, securing them more solidly in his grasp, ever mindful of their injuries. “Besides, we’re all pretty adept at removing bloodstains by now – it’s practically part of the daily routine – I even have a specific cleansing mixture I use for it.”

It’s only a matter of swift steps to cross his apartment, but Dan takes care not to jostle or bump Orochimaru – the thought of causing them unnecessary pain makes his stomach twist in a peculiar way. Almost as much as the very moment when he registered the sight of the serpent bleeding at his doorstep.

“We’re almost there… I know it must feel terrible.”

And he does, firsthand. His second-to-last S-rank mission left him two steps from evisceration, and with the scars to prove it. There is something indescribably torturous about the pain of an abdominal wound, with so much of one’s movement connected to the muscles so often pierced or damaged in the acquisition of such an injury. Even without further organ damage, recovery alone is especially painful. Orochimaru is doing well at concealing most of what they feel, but therein lies the risk, especially with two stab wounds.

Once in the bedroom, Dan sets them down and helps them with their cloak and flak jacket. For a moment, it seems they are solid on their feet, but he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving them to support their own weight for much longer. Their pallor, though alabaster-pale by nature, looks even more wan than could possibly be safe, and the way their mouth twists with movement and speech belies the more casual tone of their voice. Following their lead, he helps them disrobe as much as they deem necessary – out of their uniform shirt until only linen strips remain obscuring their chest and torso, stained red and sheared through where the main injury lies.

Treatment first, and then he can worry about offering them clean clothes; as luck would have it, Dan’s own uniform blacks should fit them rather well, even if they run loose.

“A little bird told me you’d be here,” Dan says in response to their statement, deadpan, turning his gaze towards golden eyes still bright with no small amount of remaining humor. Despite the pain that Orochimaru must be wrestling against right now, their smile seems genuine and he offers his own in turn.

“I’m only kidding, really, though sometimes I do have the magpies keep watch for me. No, it’s more that I just didn’t feel ready to sleep tonight.”

It’s not a lie, not at all. Still, under the weight of that glimmering gaze, it’s a fair bit more difficult to dissemble – even harder to obscure the truth of his present state. Strange, that.

The torment in his head is so close to finding freedom in expression, and furthermore, he’s gained a confidante in his serpentine companion. The two hardly dance around dark truths now that safety seems to have been established between them – but Dan’s issues sleeping must be set aside until he can at least confirm that Orochimaru is no longer in risk of bleeding out on his bed. Such a thought sends a wave of anxiety down his spine. He values Orochimaru, cares about them… and the thought of losing them is something he has to drive from his head as soon as it arrives.

“Lean against the wall for me? I’m just going to grab some more towels, but I would rather you weren’t standing any longer than you have to.”

Dan returns quickly, fluffing a waterproof camp blanket and several clean towels over the foot of the bed to assuage any of their concerns about making a mess of his property. He guides Orochimaru to a seated position and offers them a bottle of water laced with electrolytes, something he keeps in his own mission kit. All the same, when it comes to food or drink, such offers are hit or miss with the serpent.

Practicality, however, is a language they both speak well.

“I’ll make you some tea in a little while – perhaps that silver needle white you liked before – but for now would you please drink a bit of this for me? It’s just water with electrolytes and some fruit extract to cover the taste. I don’t exactly have a way to give you the kind of saline drip they’d already have administered at the hospital, and you’ve been bleeding.”

He bends to fetch the first-aid kit he’d set down, rifling through its contents to withdraw a stack of gauze pads and saline. Dan meets their eyes again and gives them another gentle smile to help cover his nerves and the slowly growing dread at just how injured they might be. He gestures to the bloodied bandages wound about the serpent’s torso while securing gauze to the bleeding puncture below their shoulder as a stopgap measure. It’s clear that the abdominal wound needs the most immediate attention.

“Let’s work on getting you patched up, and maybe we can trade a few more stories, yes? You can ask me anything you like, and I’ll answer at least one question without restraint, how’s that?” 

No matter how composed Dan stays, ever masterful in showing only what he wants to be seen, Orochimaru can map out the subtle signs of his panic. Urgency more so. This is not the same urgency as they have seen him display when on duty, nor the same urgency they see surrounding medics and nurses aiding shinobi in life or death situations. For it is not linked to duty, responsibility, or a fear of practice failure. No, there is something more personal to Dan’s desire to keep them alive. Ah, more than that still, to keep them comfortable, to ensure no further pain is caused and that the relief of pain is instant. Almost as if he owes them this level of more detailed and considerate care. It is not entirely foreign to the serpent. Tsunade and Jiraiya have behaved this way with them before, and for a few short years, their mother and father had behaved like this too. Still, those handful of experiences do not amount to enough to make Orochimaru completely familiar with the situation, and so, there is still a degree of curious amusement to find Dan acting this way. Certainly he is more worried than they are. Perhaps because they are arrogant. Or perhaps because they have now lost so much blood, the topic of mortality is beyond their scope of recognition, as they are left in a plain of drunkenness not conjured by sweet sake, but from pushing their body well beyond its limits when they are at a critical level of blood loss. Again, while the scientist and well-versed medic within them tries to regain some sense of control, and urge themself to be wiser with their decisions and movements, the stronger sense of being numb to danger and of letting themself slip from reality just enough to ease discomforts, seems to be winning overall. They do not concentrate on bigger picture affairs, less focused on where he is taking them when he picks them up, and more attentive to the very present occurrence of being in his arms. Absentmindedly picking a part the sensation of his hair brushing against the skin of their hands, or the scent of his home still carried on his clothes, a comfort when it is as familiar a scent as when he wrapped his arms around them to shelter them from cold in a tent. Once in the bedroom, they watch with a dazed sense of curiosity as he unravels their clothing to get to the heart of their injury. First their cloak, then their flak jacket, then their polo neck shirt, finally the fishnet underneath, until only the sarashi remains. Covered in blood on every layer, and they certainly wore quite a few layers, never a fan of the cold.   “Ironic that I may be ambushed by men I planned to ambush in the same fashion hm?” they state, forever making light of the situation in favor of not feeling more pathetic than they must look, shaken and paler than usual in the face of critical injury, wincing when each layer peels itself from their body, “and given my life long search for irony, you can imagine how pleased I am with the situation.” They are soon seated, Dan making good on his word when he said he did not want them standing for longer than they had to. They can barely register time lapses at all, the moment Dan left to get the towels and returned to lay them out a certain blur of events. However they are much more comfortable sitting, although the actual movement of being lowered in to a seated position is less favorable. When presented with the water, and they spot the look of brief contemplation on Dan’s face, they have to laugh, even if their laughter is hitched and full of pauses when they find the effort unpleasant on their injuries. “You’re a dear thing aren’t you?” they tease, their hand missing the water bottle at first, but finding their way down to it by grazing their fingers down his wrist until slender digits can wrap around the plastic instead. There is no mockery to their words however, even if their smile always looks a little less friendly with such sharp fangs flashed. Merely, they could not help finding his thought process, which they gathered from his gaze and pauses, a little endearing to say the least. Knowing they were not fond of foods or drinks other than their specific tolerables, offering them incentive off the get go to ensure they did what was necessary. A worry not just that they are injured, but dwindling in to the even less pressing concerns of their dietary preferences. It shows a deeper understanding, a deeper care, a deeper sense of knowing every subtle detail about them – how can they, even with someone as steeled as them – not find the notion a little touching? They take a sip of the water as he fusses with their arm, securing it enough so that he can place more time on the more pressing injury. They focus somewhat on nursing the drink he has brought them. It may seem as if they are doing it for the sake of practicality, since they are ever the practical minded sort. But truth be told, Orochimaru was on their best day, a horrid patient. They became ratty when they felt cornered by their own vulnerability. They become hostile, dangerous even, and more than anything, their stubbornness put even someone like Tsunade to shame. They can only regulate their behaviours when in company that did not provoke their defensive side, when they felt safe to be vulnerable. Dan ticked all those boxes, and so the drink is accepted, where they might fight off a medic that dared push something unpalatable on to them when they were already so under the weather.   “I could use the distraction,” they say, as swallowing becomes yet another movement their abdomen now protests, but his promise has already captured their interest more than their predicament, though they do sometimes feel themself dizzying, quickly balancing themself when they feel unsteady by placing a hand on to Dan’s shoulder to regather their stability, “all right,” they say, already capitalizing on his offer, and although in their sane mind they may have banked their one free answer without restraint until they had the perfect question, never taking the honest words of a shinobi as aloof and closed as Dan lightly, they are just out of it enough to leap at their first curiosity, “first question, what really kept you awake tonight? For while I am having a marvelous time ruining your evening, those pretty eyes of yours foretold of worry long before my arrival.”

[dokuhebi]

Silent Hill / Kabuto @raichoose

The Air Screamers never do like to allow their prey to escape; they are thus hardly deterred when Orochimaru dodges snapping jaws. With hellish cries, they launch after the fleeing scientist, swooping, trying to latch on and rip chunks of flesh out of pale skin.

All the while, the radio screeches static, the dreadful sound all but overriding their mother’s voice.

It is soon, however, that they reach the church, and they are granted a reprieve. Air Screamers are never deterred by buildings; the threat of glass carving up their wings and sides does not cross their mind. Normally, then, the monsters would simply smash their way through stained glass windows, seeking to stain their maws in Orochimaru’s blood.

However, the unfortunate scientist at least has a saving grace: they’re new in town.

Silent Hill thus calls off its creations, telling them not only to wait until its plaything has found a weapon - to give them the option to fight or flee - but also to wait and see how they deal with the man sent to greet them.

For there is a priest in the Church, a priest of the Order, and his midnight eyes watch curiously as Orochimaru shoves a chair beneath the door’s handle.

After a moment of observation, he clears his throat - and the static stops.

“Excuse me … You seem rather stressed. Are you all right? Is someone after you?” He approaches, one hand coming up to brush his silver bangs aside, as if they won’t just fall right back in place. “You needn’t fuss over the door. This is a sacred place - nothing from the outside can hurt you, until they are allowed in. But I would never admit entrance to someone who sees fit to chase a visitor. That is what you are, right? A visitor?”

He cocks his head to the side, grinning.

“It’s only a guess, but I know everyone who lives here, and I would have remembered you. Your features are striking … Ah. Forgive me. My name is Father Kabuto. Have a seat, and I’ll get you some water.” 

Orochimaru’s eyes are still on the door, glancing down to the shattered glass now laying at their feet, already considering making a dive for a shard of larger glass when they predict the demonic creatures may force their way inside with little regard for how the shards of glass may shred their bodies. But the horrific creatures turn away and leave, as if called off like hounds chasing a rabbit. Orochimaru’s heart is certainly racing as fast as one. They jump when they hear the polite ‘excuse me’ behind them, spinning around and already feeling as if they need to fill their palm with some kind of weapon. His midnight eyes instantly capture them, like blackholes that want to drag them in, enchanting and terrifying at once. His words do not offer any reassurances, they only further confuse the scientist, as the priest acts so very casual in the face of such unnatural phenomena’s. Being a scientist, they had never been the religious sort, favoring evidence over faith, favoring what could be proven rather than what could not. So when he tells them this is a sacred place, as if some spiritual nonsense would be a good defense against creatures of immense proportions, they laugh a humorless and sarcastically disbelieving sound, “faith? I’m sorry dear, but religious nonsense is a thin line of defense between you and those things outside,” they snap. They have no anger at the man politely offering them a seat and glass of water, but with their nerves so rattled, they can not help being a little on edge, a little more snippy and hostile.  They do pick up on the use of his words, ‘someone’ not ‘something’. But they do not yet have the insight to know the city itself was the haunted entity. They think he refers to the beasts themselves, as if the flock of them were a single person in his mind, “someone? What were they? And where am I?” they ask, having to stop themself from asking a hundred different questions in favor of the two more important ones. They had been driving a mapped road, but this city ate them when they entered its mists. If he was really a resident, then he would have the answers they seek. They do not sit down, not comfortable enough despite being tired from their running, “I hope you know your little act of nonchalance is more concerning than it is welcoming,” they say next, narrowing their eyes at the priest, not yet offering their name in return, “I don’t want a glass of water. I want to know what the hell I just saw.”

[dokuhebi]

Kabuto @raichoose

When Orochimaru smiles, their fangs on full display, Kabuto can’t help but blush. After all, he will never deny that his newest patient is the most beautiful person he has ever seen - and something about their sharp teeth only adds to it. Much like a viper, really, a species of which he is fond: the threat of a deadly end contained within such pretty scales.

“Yes, that’s all. I - suppose I do reserve the right to make a patient follow additional rules if they prove particularly troublesome, but I’m not really worried about you in that regard. Just don’t disregard your treatments or aggravate your wounds, and we’ll get along just fine.” 

His cheeks only redden further as they lick their lips, as they speak coyly - Kabuto wonders if they even realize just how enticing they are.

“Aha … Well, I - When you begin to recover, you won’t be forbidden from moving. My ship isn’t so tight as to treat my patients like they’re prisoners. I just want to make sure you heal. Truthfully, Orochimaru-sama … You can consider your time with me as a time to relax. It’s - terrible, really, what they put you all through. And so many of you start so young … I don’t even want you to think about war or fighting when you’re with me. Just focus on getting better and having some much-needed time to yourself.” 

It’s his turn to chuckle, then, as he realizes all that he’s just said. “I - suppose that’s a rule that applies to you, huh?” 

Orochimaru’s next actions create a distraction, and one in which the doctor is well-versed. He moves forward quickly, silently offering to assist with their kimono, and Kabuto’s eyes roam over their bandaged form, looking for any telltale signs of blood that might indicate torn stitching.

“Yes, you’re bleeding … Don’t worry. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Having preemptively stored supplies by the Sannin’s bedside, he’s able to start immediately, not needing to exit the room for any necessary materials. “I’m going to take these bandages off of you now, okay? It might sting a little … Tell me if you need me to stop. I’ll go as slowly or as quickly as you’d like.” 

Kabuto begins to work, occasionally glancing up to gauge Orochimaru’s reaction. He doesn’t doubt that they’ll tell him to temporarily cease his efforts if their pain becomes too much to bear, but given his tendency to prioritize his patients’ comfort, he can’t help but watch. 

Orochimaru, forever the perceptive sort, notices the blush rise to the doctor’s face, painting it a wonderful scarlet. Amusing them further. Proof that their words were getting under his skin in the most pleasant fashion possible, they can not help the smirk that rises to their lips. Maybe it is amusement at his expense, but only in the more lighthearted way. What was wrong with a little promiscuous banter to put their doctor on edge? They may be bed ridden, but they still deserved to have their fun during their stay here. His next statement however, catches them more off guard, and they tilt their head somewhat curiously when he addresses their upbringing. They do not think it a shame to be reared from their formative years to be a soldier. They do not realize that from the eyes of a civilian, it is horrific to imagine a child, no, a toddler even, being handed a weapon and an order to fight. It is too normalized in the serpent’s world.  If they had not been a good and talented shinobi from the early age of four, graduating at six, then they would have been discarded when they were orphaned. But they had not been sent to rot in some orphanage, they had been given a home in Konoha under the conditions they were Konoha’s next saviour and soldier. A shoddy home it had been, dreary and nightmarish for a child to adjust to. But it was a home nonetheless, and that was not to be taken without some degree of gratitude.  Fighting is all they know, it is the only way they know how to prove their worth, how to earn a place to call home even now. So to hear it fall from the doctor’s lips as if it is poison makes them curiously questioning. They laugh even, a light sound as if they genuinely can not understand why he finds it barbaric, far too brainwashed still by their own upbringing to see the errors, “what’s wrong with starting young? The more time spent training the better one becomes at the art. It would be a disadvantage to be trained when one is above eight years old. That’s far too old to start,” they say, barely able to see what constituted as ‘too young’ anymore, “besides. I’d rather fight for my own lands, than leave it to others to fight on my behalf. No one else will have your best interests at heart. I’m safer than those who leave their fate to random shinobi.” They adjust to let him work on the bandages, not too fussed about pain, considerably resilient to agony by now. Their sounds of discomfort are rare and stifled, a shame it would be as a skilled shinobi to be too open about their vulnerability. They do notice how Kabuto keeps glancing up to check on them however, so hiding the subtle pains is harder with him being so observant. Which in turns earns another smirk. “Relax, I’m fine. I’ve had worse, and been treated by doctors nowhere near your competence. I’ll count myself lucky on this occasion.”

[dokuhebi]

Kabuto @raichoose

Oh, how badly does he want to turn right back around and throw himself at their feet, beg his eternally beloved ex for their forgiveness, explain everything, promise every inch of himself to them - body, soul, mind - if it only met they could understand, could forgive.

If it only meant he could love them publicly, rather than only wrestling with tortured feelings in private. 

Please, he mouths, midnight eyes wide and pleading as he faces his parole and turns his back on the person he loves, and there’s a subtle shake of an officer’s head, denying him the chance to explain, to comfort.

Maybe Orochimaru will notice - Kabuto hopes they do, that they might take a guess as to why he’s been so all over the place since they reunited - but he can hear the hurt in their voice all the same.

They never moved on. There is no one else to love their son - Sons, he thinks, they have more than one - as he would have. There is no one else to keep them warm and safe at night, as he would have. There is no one else to treat Orochimaru with all the love and tenderness and care and blessings that they deserve in this calmer world, as he would have.

They’re alone. And it’s all my fault.

Yes, he badly wishes to undo all that has been done, though he knows he cannot - that he never will. Because it is Orochimaru’s very life and freedom that hang in the balance, making it so that Kabuto cannot announce his feelings without endangering the one person he would have married. 

“We need to borrow Dr. Yakushi,” an officer says. “But, we’d hate to interrupt your conversation. Wrap this up, won’t you?”

“ … There’s nothing more to say. We were just playing a little game, after all - looks like I won. I mean, are you hearing them right now? Acting like they did me any favors back then, like they’re innocent … ” Kabuto’s reply sounds like he’s completely ignoring their plea, that he’s enjoying a laugh at their expense with friends, but his back is to Orochimaru - had he been facing them, a tortured expression would have proven his words to be nothing but forced lies.

I’m sorry. Please - please see through this -

He hates his parole. He hates Konoha. He wants to go back to the home they gave him, even though he can’t, unless he wants their blood on his hands again.

“Lead the way, Officers. I’m done here.”

Kabuto does, at least, spare Orochimaru a glance over his shoulder. 

He wonders just what it is they see on his face.

They should just let him go, they should allow themself the time to seek shelter from the storm his words put them in the heart of, to lick their wounds in the quiet of their own thoughts. But maybe they know themself too well. His words will haunt them for the next century if they dare let silence find them. They will relive what he has said again and again, and they are far more wicked and cruel to themself than he could ever be. They would twist what he said until the injury he inflicted upon them became a mortal wound. And with the amount of grief rattling them from his ‘confession’, what more could he possibly say to hurt them further? When one reaches such a low, a confidence is gained, for there is nothing left he can take from them, nothing more they can lose in this shattered love. And his gaze, tossed over his shoulder and offering them too many emotions to dissect and unravel, is the final push they need to get up and pursue him. Their tail of hair following their graceful motion as they grab his arm to pull him back to face them. Golden eyes demanding more from him, demanding a proper fight if this was how it had to end. “Answer me.” Their words bite at the air, their lips locked in a snarl as venomous fangs are bared in a readiness to defend themself. “What was I to you?” they hiss, ignoring the parole officer outright, not even remotely bothered that he may play witness to this.  What did the opinions of Konoha’s little sheep mean to someone like them? They were not scared in to good behaviour, they were bribed in to it. If someone pulled on their leash too hard, well trained jaws would rip them to shreds. The legendary Sannin was not the sort of shinobi one could tame and keep as a domestic pet.  “Because if you were lying all along, if all of that was just some played out trick or game- if every vow you breathed to life was just some hoax... then that either makes you the best liar to who have ever lived, or makes me the most unlovable human.” Their eyes do not break away from his gaze, daring him to accept their challenge, to open the door of the past, hoping some confession is hidden, or merely hoping to get a more complete truth. Be it they learn that he really did hate everything about them, and strung them along, or be it that he had loved them once, and that such a love was not enough to keep him at their side. They had to know. “You’re right. I’m not innocent. Is that what you have been waiting for me to say? She died, and she didn’t deserve to. But I do. Yet I get to live for an eternity. Is that what you hate the most about me? Is her death all you see when you meet my eyes? What you are doing here is just as bad as what I did to you. I damned you to misery in that moment because you meant nothing to me. Because I did not know you from all the other hundreds of orphans I met. But you... you damn me when I meant something to you. You sentence me to this misery when we were long past the line of being strangers. You lost her, and I lost you. Is that supposed to make us even?”

[dokuhebi]

Plotted Starter.  @raichoose There was a time where winter was a most unpleasant month for the serpent. The cold brought immense discomfort, the chill settling in their bones and making a home there until winters passing. But these days, they could only see the beauty in the frosty season. Nothing had changed temperature wise, only within the serpents home. Only in the sense, that they now shared the winter months with their most cherished family. Where snow simply reminded them of how Mitsuki loved to explore and play in it. How misty glass reminded them of how Rogu idly traced patterns on it as he smoked by the open window. How cold air caressing their body had Kabuto draping a blanket, or his arms, around their smaller figure to keep them warm. A hand rests idly on their stomach now, absentmindedly as they burrow a little deeper in to the blanket nestled around their husbands sleeping figure.  The sun is yet to even rise, midnight painting the bedroom in dark shades of dark blue and black. Orochimaru takes a moment to simply memorize the soft expression on their sleeping partners face. There were nights when his expression would contort in fear and anxiety when he wrangled with nightmares, a condition no shinobi seemed to escape. But as of late, as of the start to their immortal lives together, as a family with two children, almost three, there was an unspoken about peace that had become Orochimaru and Kabuto’s new realties. A lifestyle neither one envisioned for themselves, since peace seemed too idealistic a dream in a shinobi’s life. But Kabuto was no longer a shinobi at all, and neither was Orochimaru. That label was shed years ago. Kabuto is a doctor, Orochimaru a scientist, and more than anything they are parents. The fact they were both dangerous to cross paths with was simply a side trait that no longer linked them to a lifestyle of trained assassination. Orochimaru was more than happy dropping the title, and letting their creation and passion for ninjutsu be just another avenue of their science, rather than any battle prowess. Though that didn’t stop them from being a little playfully truculent at times, nor from dragging Kabuto or their sons outside for some sparring and training.  They should let Kabuto sleep, and they almost consider it, as they lightly brush his hair aside in tender appreciation as he rests. But they are far too cold to get out of bed, and he had said they were to wake him for any want or need at any hour. Not just because of the exciting new arrival, but certainly that added fuel to his passionate care-giver fire.  So they cave, their appetite was usually at an all time low, but be it the taxing nature of motherhood, of the fact it’s bone chillingly cold, they have found themself facing unusual cravings for meals, at potentially unreasonable hours. They lightly shake Kabuto, “love,” their voice never needing to be too loud to rouse him from sleep and gain his full attention. They can’t help kissing his lips when his sleepy gaze looks to them, his expression simply too dear and kissable in that moment, “don’t you want to be a dear and fetch me some castella?” they say, nipping lightly at his neck as further incentive to wake him up, before flashing him a fanged smile, “and if you’re feeling extra generous this early morning, some tea to warm up would be a perfect addition.”

[dokuhebi]

ok but this is cute