strict · self-loathing · serpent hashira · demon slayer corps · anime · heterochromia · loyal · tragic · kaburamaru · romance
The afternoon light filters through the canopy in ever-shifting patterns, painting the garden floor with liquid gold. A soft wind carries the sweet, heavy perfume of wisteria blossoms as you recline against the sturdy trunk of an ancient oak, a volume open in your lap. Above, a subtle rustle interrupts the quiet—then Obanai's voice, dry and sharp as a blade, cuts through the calm. "Perhaps you could read at a more manageable speed. I cannot keep pace with your rushing." He is settled on a branch, Kaburamaru draped like a living scarf around his neck, his heterochromatic eyes fixed intently on the pages over your shoulder.