#and is now talking while she talks about how they could kill her. LIAR <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[autistic-britta-perry]

Rivers told Cellbit to let her connect on the call and convince Pac so they can kill him and is now talking to Bad and Pac on call

[cathnospam]

Ever since Deku seen you and Bakugo have sex 3 days ago that night he haven’t been able to stare at neither of you the same.

He haven’t been this jittery and defensive since he thought shoto knew about the truth of his quirk all those years ago.

Everyday during a lecture he sits a row behind you and Bakugo and all he could do is stare and noticing the small interactions you both do,

like how Bakugo lends you his pen without word, how you casually steal his water bottle to sip on, how he leans over to make an incoherent comment causing you to giggle and playfully push him,

did he whisper something sexual to you?

Deku’s mind was racing an hour a minute, he felt his freckled tan cheeks get hot when you would approach him with your doting smile to talk.

All he can see is your face when you cum from getting head.

Or when you laugh/yawn, around him his eyes target on you.

All he can hear were you moans when Bakugo slips his dick inside you. You sound so different, and cuter.

Bakugo isn’t free from Deku’s stares either, he’s a straight guy, but he is confident in his masculinity to know Bakugo is a good looking guy and he gets embarrassed seeing the vast difference between him alone with you vs in public.

Was he always like this?

The way how his eyebrows are always furrowed, even though he’s not mad.

But they’re relaxed and content when he’s laid with you, inside you.

The way how his raspy deep voice pretty much gravels when he speaks.

But it’s softer when he speaks with you.

Everything pretty much changed in his mind about you both to the point he started to add more notes about you two in his notebook.

“Y/N: Her weak spot is on her ear. She’s very clingy—-

Bakugo: Weak spot on his neck. Curses more than usual when he’s close—-“

It’s shameful, but he can’t really help himself. He swears he’ll tell you one day, but he is 95% sure Bakugo will find out and risk being the #50 ranked hero to kill him.

Especially if he found out since then he past by your door every late night to hear you both again.

Deku has been trying to avoid you since, but he’s your best friend and you have no issue figuring it out if there was something wrong with your best friend.

“Hey, Zuzu…can we talk?”

You see his eyes practically pop out of his head to your touch on his shoulder, “Y-yes! What’s up?”

You pull him to the side by the bench, “You okay? You been ignoring my text the past few days. I missed my gaming buddy.” You playfully shove his shoulder to get a chuckle out of him, but all he could do was pull out an awkward one, “You okay?”

He couldn’t tell you. Not now, he couldn’t let you know he watched you get fucked, he couldn’t tell you how turned on it made him, and he definitely could not tell you how he got off to it.

As pretty and innocent as your eyes looked right now, in the back of Deku’s mind he knew, he knew EXACTLY what you really were.

His adam’s apple bobs up and down, trying to examine your face for a moment he notices the mark on your neck, “Did you hurt yourself?”

When he points to your bruise you jump, “Dammit ‘Suki.”

“Oh, yes! I ran into a pole the other day sparring. I’m okay.”

Liar. Dirty little liar.

“Well I’m fine I just…been a little distracted.”

“Oh?” You were giggly to know the tea with your bestie, “Girl trouble?”

“What?”

“You and Ochaco. I know you both are close….having a hard time trynna ask her out?”

“N-no! Nothing like that we’re …okay . I haven’t properly asked her out even though we—-not important I was just—“

“Yo.”

For some reason Bakugo’s rugged voice made Izuku freeze in his sentence, as if the air got sucked out of his own throat.

“Here. For yesterday. Now I don’t owe you again.”

A wad of cash was placed in your hand, you jokingly fan it and smile, “well well well, looks like I’m 7,300 yen richer. Thank you.”

“Tch.” He scoffs and readjust his eyes at Deku while you put your money in your wallet, “Also, Aizawa said we have work study together, Deku. Tomorrow at 10am don’t be late and make me look bad.”

“Y-yeah. Got it.”

Bakugo noticed his cheeks blushing, it ticked him off a little seeing as he knew Deku knew about the assignment with him, and he could’ve easily zelle’d you the money back he owed you it’s just—-

He felt a little bit of jealously when he seen how close you were sitting beside Izuku.

He trusts you both completely, he knew Deku wasn’t into you and he knew you weren’t into Deku, many nights were spent between you both explaining that, and his excuse to approach you both was silly, but he couldn’t help it.

Your Blondie stared at you one last time, kind of similar to a warning glare and walked off, “He’s so silly. Anyway. What were you saying?”

“Uh….nothing actually, but maybe this weekend we can go to the arcade or something?”

“Of course, yeah totally. Just making sure you’re okay.”

After practically running off the rest of the day went by quick, he spent it in his room, pacing, writing, pacing and writing, all the way until 11pm. That’s when he heard the small patter of footsteps next door.

When Deku creaked open his door his heart began to race, there you were, in your little silk night down being pulled into Bakugo’s room. Once his door clicks his feet moved before his thoughts did and he tip toed to it, leaning his ear beside the door, he could just barely hear what you two were talking about.

“You make me jealous on purpose don’t you?”

“No, you make yourself jealous, ‘Suki, you know I only want you—-aaahh!”

Once he heard your pretty noises again he immediately ran to his room to shut the door, in a rush he quickly took down the framed posters above his bed to listen in closely against the wall, it seemed he heard you both a little more clearly now.

It wasn’t long until he began to hear your moans and whispers of Katsuki’s name, a couple comments stating he had to be up early turned into almost an hour of his headboard tapping against the wall. If he pressed his ear hard enough he was able to hear the sloshing wet paps of him fucking you.

Deku tried to imagine the position you both were in, doggy? missionary? to the side again, maybe you were on top he did hear Bakugo make a few strained noises and curses.

He felt guilty imagining it was him instead. His fist right back in his sweats like it was a few days ago, using his imagination to picture your breast bouncing inside his mouth while he suckles as you use him.

It’s wrong he knows, but everybody has their guilty pleasures though, right?

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things 📍 Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole��

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman. 

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm. 

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming. 

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her? 

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.” 

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction. 

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that. 

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock. 

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her. 

“Love” her. 

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move. 

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door. 

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response. 

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.” 

“Oh hey!” 

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill. 

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers. 

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin. 

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up. 

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back. 

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off. 

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms. 

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.” 

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners. 

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!” 

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine. 

Yes, he was a man. 

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before. 

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

And did that matter at all? 

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words. 

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours. 

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant. 

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens? 

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely. 

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge. 

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe. 

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful. 

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others. 

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.  

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below. 

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. 

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[illyrianbrat]

Prisoner (Part 3; FINALE)

Set: Middle of season 1 to beginning of season 2

Pairing: (kind of) Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon female!reader, (platonic) overprotective!Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon female!reader

Warnings: typical westori violence, curse words/spoilers for both seasons but especially season 2, everyone being absolutely stupid, conversations about characters that were offed, major character death, talks of forced marriage, being made prisoner, bruises, scrapes, minor talk about weight and not eating

Plot: One of Viserys Targaryen’s final wishes was to see them married. To please him, Rhaenyra allowed her daughter to stay in the Red Keep alone, not knowing it would be a terrible mistake.

Part 1 | Part 2

“Get up!”

A rough voice boomed through the quiet chamber. You jolted awake, disoriented. As you tried to rub your eyes, you saw multiple Kingsguards entering in haste. “What’s happening?” Instead of answering, the knight grabbed your arm and dragged you out of bed. “What is the meaning of this? You’re hurting me!”

They rushed you to the Throne Room, and without a second thought, the knight pushed you, prompting you to fall to your knees, grimacing at the sting of the cold floor.

“You!” You lifted your head and saw Aegon. “This was your doing!”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, looking at Alicent and Otto, who stood next to Aegon. “I-I have no-”

“You killed my son,” Aegon growled, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at you. “You had him murdered in cold blood. Now I will do the same to you.”

“I would never hurt Jaehaerys,” You managed to say before Aegon took a step toward you.

“Son…” Alicent warned, noticing your appearance. Your skin was gray and lifeless, cheeks sunken, and eyes red.

“Perhaps we should let her speak,” Otto suggested, motioning for you to continue.

“I do not know what you’re talking about. I have been in my chambers all day, the one I have been locked in,” you reminded him.

“Liar. You did this as revenge because we are keeping you here.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Jasper interrupted, “the princess has not been seen leaving her chambers. There are guards in front of the door at all times.”

Deep down, Alicent knew you were innocent. You could not have done something like this.

“Take her away,” Aegon ordered the Kingsguard, annoyed. The knight grabbed your arm and pulled you up, dragging you from the room. Your whines of pain echoed through the hall.

---

“My daughter sits captive in the Red Keep. Did you consider her while you schemed for revenge?” Rhaenyra interrogated Daemon.

He sat there, rather annoyed. “Yes. Unfortunately, I could not get her myself.”

“Did you think it would be easier to rescue her while they dealt with a dead child?”

“At least I did something,” Daemon argued back. “What have you done? You left for days, searching for Luke, while she remained a prisoner in King’s Landing after you decided to leave her there, unprotected and surrounded by our enemies. Why not ask Rhaenys or Ser Erryk why they left her behind?”

Rhaenyra scoffed, “How dare you.”

“She is also my daughter,” Daemon reminded her, “and I will stop at nothing to bring her back to Dragonstone.”

Jacaerys stood outside the chambers, listening to their argument. The guilt felt asphyxiating. His brother was gone because he volunteered them as envoys. His sister was a prisoner because he did not fight hard enough to make her leave with them after dinner.

“I cannot trust you, Daemon,” he heard Rhaenyra say. “You sent two assassins to slay a child. How can I trust you with her safety?”

At that moment, Jace made a decision. He would go to King’s Landing to bring her back.

He sped through the castle, gripping the hilt of his sword. Vermax would have to stay behind if Vhagar was guarding the city; he could not risk losing his dragon. If he did, his mother’s side would lose a valuable asset, and his sister would also suffer.

Jacaerys ran down the stairs, seeing a Velaryon ship in the harbor. Surely, someone on it would help him reach King’s Landing by nightfall. He saw many knights and servants walking up the path. More allies, he thought.

A weak grip on his arm stopped him.

His heart beat erratically as he recognized the person in front of him.

“Sister,” Jace gasped, his eyes darkening at your state. “What did they do to you?” He softly caressed your cheek.

Jacaerys hastily lifted you, not entirely convinced you could walk up to the castle on your own. You laid your head on his chest, tears of relief flowing down your cheeks. You were finally home.

“Your Grace!” Elinda, Rhaenyra’s loyal handmaiden, called out. “The princess has returned.”

Rhaenyra stumbled into your chambers, seeing Maester Gerardys tending to you. “My sweet girl.”

“Mother,” you whined.

“How is she?” Daemon asked.

“There are no notable injuries, apart from a bruised arm and scraped knees. She has noticeable weight loss. I will prepare a remedy for the princess myself,” Gerardys bowed and exited in haste.

Rhaenyra made her way to the bed, sitting next to you and cradling your face. “I am so sorry.”

You closed her eyes, happy to feel your mother’s warm and soft hands. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I wanted to return to King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra assured you. “But some things happened here, forcing me to stay.”

Jace stood at the foot of the bed, while Daemon stood next to Rhaenyra. “How did you get out of the Keep?”

“A man helped me,” you informed them, furrowing your brows.

After being forcefully taken to and from the throne room, you sat at the edge of your bed, wondering what had happened to Prince Jaehaerys.

The door burst open, startling you. “Come on, Princess. We need to hurry.”

It was a strange man, someone you hadn’t met before. “Who ar—”

“We do not have much time,” he urged. “Prince Daemon sent me. Put on this cloak.”

You perked up at the mention of your stepfather. Ignoring the ache in your bones and stomach, you got off the bed and put on the cloak.

You ran out of the living quarters, moving through hidden passages. Before you realized it, you were outside the Keep. The man stopped, not too far from the castle, to meet with someone else. “Are you sure this is her?”

“Yes. Go on, get out of the city.”

“Come, princess.”

As you reached a small boat away from the harbor, you noticed the man was carrying a sack... a leaking sack. “What is that?, you questioned him, but he did not provide an answer. “What. Is. That?”

“Nothing,” the man hissed, holding the sack tighter.

“It’s leaking,” you informed him.

“Be quiet.”

You sat on the boat next to a sailor. As the man was about to get on, Gold Cloaks stopped him. They ripped the sack from his hand and opened it. Screams echoed through the night, and swords were pointed at him.

The sailor began rowing, wanting to get some distance before they noticed who you were. The knights grabbed the man, paying no attention to the boat. Your heart sank as you realized what was in the sack.

“Was it your doing?” You asked Rhaenyra.

“It was an accident,” Daemon replied instead. “I instructed them to find Aemond, not Jaehaerys.”

“Did they hurt you?” Jace murmured, and you shook her head.

“A Kingsguard held my arm tightly when Aegon demanded to see me, that’s the reason for my bruises,” you admitted. “I was locked in my quarters. I only saw a maid and Alicent. She… she told me about Luke.”

At the Red Keep, Aemond had decided it was time to finally face his future wife. But his plan was spoiled.

You were gone.

“How did that bitch princess leave? Where was the knight in charge of her?” Aegon fumed at the continued lack of security.

Aemond, however, was furious. In a fit of rage, he destroyed everything in his path.

You were supposed to stay there, forever, with him. He regretted not having you confined in Maegor’s Holdfast.

All he wished to do was fly to Dragonstone and have Vhagar burn it to the ground. But now, he’d have to be strategic about how to get you back to his side.

[sinnabarmoth]

Worthy of Devotion (7/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: The temple is finally restored and Reader's time on the island is at its end. She wants to leave nothing unsaid this final night with Rafayel.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Loss of virginity. Fingering. Handjob. Cunnilingus. P in V.

Length: 6k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

You finally found your way onto the roof. You ended up having to build a really tall ladder to get up there but it worked. You got yourself some rope and tied it around the supplies you needed and pulled it up after you. You figured that Rafayel would not be happy with you for this, he had thought the idea of you going on the roof at all was a bad idea. So you waited until one morning he wasn’t around to execute your plan. It was early in the morning and the sun was just starting to rise over the sea.

From the top of the temple it was a breathtaking view. No time to admire it though, you had work to do. So you went back to work and started lining up planks of wood to cover the holes in the roof. Hopefully when you returned to the mainland you could get some people who actually knew how to do this kind of work to make this something more elegant.

The repairs didn’t actually take that long. By the time the sun was directly overhead you were pretty much done. There were just a few smaller holes that you could fill in with spackle. Which meant one more trip on the ladder. You dusted yourself off and went to the side of the roof where you had left the ladder.

“Huh,” you looked around, “I’m pretty sure I set it against this wall. Where did it--oh shit.” your ladder had fallen over and you were now trapped on the roof. “He’s gonna kill me.”

“Right you are, clownfish.” Down on the ground standing under the shade of one of the trees was Rafayel. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Hello,” you waved, “I was just doing some repairs. No big deal.”

“Didn’t I say I didn’t want you climbing up there? You could hurt yourself.”

“It’s fine. Nothing went wrong.”

“Except for this.” he picked up the ladder. “What if I wasn’t around? How were you planning on getting back down?”

“I was thinking of using this rope to repel down if it got desperate enough.”

He sighed and put the ladder back up. “Get down please.”

“I’m coming.” you climbed back down. “So, how is your morning going?”

“Was going well until I found my follower somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.” he flicked your forehead. “You don’t like doing as you’re told, do you?”

“Whatever could you mean? I have never once disobeyed you.”

“Remember when you first came to this island? You were so proper and obedient and sweet, what happened to her?”

“She got trapped here for months with only you to talk to. I think it drove her insane.” you smiled, flicking him back.

He sighed, shaking his head. “And how is your progress on the roof?”

“Almost done. I need to fill in some cracks and smaller holes but this should be it. The temple is restored.”

“I see. What about the windows? They’re still missing their glass.”

“Well, I have no way to make glass so I guess I’m just going to have to board them up for now. When the time comes that I can send other followers here I’ll send them with supplies to properly fix everything I could only patch.” You sat back on the grass and stared up at the temple. Months of work finally at fruition. No longer a ruin but a temple worthy of its god.

Rafayel sat next to you. “This means that you’ll need to return home soon.”

“Not quite yet.” you shrugged. “I have to build a boat to take me back to the mainland and considering I’ve never made a boat before that is going to take a while.”

“Do you miss it? The mainland?”

“Some things, yes.” you couldn’t lie about this. “I had friends there that I miss terribly. I miss the festivals and the foods and the music. I miss the temple I grew up in and even though they were liars I miss the elders who raised me. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been away for so long and yet the days went by so quickly.

“I’m going to miss this place when I leave and…” you glanced at Rafayel. Things you wanted to say but couldn’t get past your lips stayed trapped on your tongue. “...and I’m definitely going to miss that bed and that tub. Going back to my simple cot and having to warm my own baths is going to take some getting used to again.”

“You’re going to be returning as the woman who single handedly returned the temple to its former glory and with a brand new text straight from the mouth of a god. I think that is more than high priestess worthy, and thus you can request a better bed and for someone else to draw you baths.”

“We’ll see. I can imagine I’m going to have a lot of pushback from the elders. There may be some who try to denounce everything I say to keep with the old traditions.”

“If they do, pray to me and I’ll send a storm in to set them straight.”

“Good to know.”

“One more thing.” he reached behind the tree you were sitting under and pulled out a wooden chest. He handed it to you. “Open it.”

“What is this?” You lifted the lid and nestled inside was a pile of cloth.

“Think of it as your regalia as high priestess.” Unlike the clothes Rafayel had brought you before that were nice but clearly meant for everyday toil and work this was truly something regal. The stark white material was light and soft, accented with deep blue and stitched with gold embroidery. It was beautiful but it also looked familiar. It was at that moment you realized that it was patterned after what you saw Rafayel normally wear, with matching golden jewelry and shoes as well.

“It’s wonderful.” your voice caught as you hugged the clothes to your chest. “Raf, I…I don’t know what to say. This is too much.”

“After everything you’ve done for the temple and what you’ll do when you return, it is not nearly enough.” There looked like there was something else he wanted to say but he turned away. “Come on, I doubt you had anything to eat yet today.”

“Coming.” The day passed normally from there but you could tell that you both were avoiding talking about something important. Something that could very well determine your future.

The next couple of days you finished fixing the roof, this time with Rafayel’s supervision so you didn’t up trapped up there again. You were in the middle of going from room to room making sure you had fixed everything you could when Rafayel came in and told you he had something for you outside.

“What could you possibly have brought that you couldn’t bring it inside?” you laughed as you followed him out. You walked down the beach and you heart sunk into your feet when you saw what was on the shore.

“A boat?” you turned to Rafayel but he continued to stare straight ahead. “But where did it come from?”

“I commissioned some of my people to make it for you. You said you didn’t know how to build one and if you are going to go back to the mainland I’d prefer it that you didn’t set off on a badly built raft.” Rafayel explained.

“I can go back?”

Rafayel continued to stare at the boat, his expression unreadable. “Yes.”

It was happening. The temple was restored and you had a boat. You would need to leave soon.

“Raf, I…” There were too many emotions swirling inside you to pick just one.

“Don’t think you’re getting away so easily though.” he said, turning back to you with a bright smile. “We are celebrating your last day on the island tonight. You can scamper off back to the mainland in the morning.”

There was something about the way he spoke that felt too chipper and you wondered how sincere his happiness was. This was what you had been working towards for months. In the morning you would be leaving for the mainland and start the process of restoring your religion to what Rafayel wanted it to be. In the morning you would leave as his high priestess and your time as friends would be at an end.

The day sped by far too fast as you started gathering your things and setting them in the boat so you could leave early in the morning. You had accumulated many trinkets during your time here so it took longer than you thought. All the clothes Rafayel had brought you, the board for Jumping Shrimp you’d always play, small paintings and sketches Rafayel made for you, seashells you had collected, a piece of one of the shattered stain glass windows, and other small odds and ends that held little memories of your time here.

As evening fell you and Rafayel walked along the beach, the bright light of the full moon illuminated the island. There was a quiet peace that neither of you wanted to disturb. But as his hand interlaced with yours you felt all the things you had wanted to say for weeks bubbling up again. You knew if you left in the morning without saying anything you’d regret it the rest of your life.

“Rafayel?” your voice wavered as you spoke.

He stopped, sensing the hesitation in your voice. “Yes?”

It was unfair how beautiful he was. Those mesmerizing blue eyes and way the moonlight shined off his hair. You believed with every fiber of your being that he was a god. Maybe if he looked half as handsome it’d be easier to say all this. Maybe if he was just a man and not your deity you wouldn’t feel like such a hopeful fool.

“I um…” you swallowed past the lump in your throat, “I don’t know how to say this. I don’t even know if I should. I am terrified that I will have ruined everything we’ve built but I need you to know that I…I…”

I love you. You finished in your head, unable to get the words out. They were too real, too honest. I love everything about you. I love how serene you are when you’re painting but so focused and serious when playing games. I love the way you play with me, even when you’re trying to annoy me. I love the way you hold me when we sleep. I love how passionate you are and funny and kind. I love you so much it breaks my own heart cause loving you is literally like trying to love the ocean. You’re far too vast for me to hold, but I would still drown trying to. I love you, Rafayel.

The world came to a still. There was no breeze. The ocean itself had smoothed into glass.

Rafayel cupped your cheek and tilted your face up to his, wiping your tears away. “Your prayer has been heard.” he whispered before he claimed your lips in a kiss as deep as the ocean itself.

You swayed, falling further into him as you kissed him back. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. His tongue pressed gently against your lips and you parted them for him. You were glad you were already holding onto him as his tongue swept tentatively into your mouth, tasting you deeper. When all the air had been taken from your lungs he pulled back slightly to let you breathe.

“Cor meum,” he murmured against your lips, “Don’t leave.”

You blinked, coming out of the daze the kiss had left you in. “What?”

“I don’t want you to leave.” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Raf, I…” your heart split in two, caught between desire and duty. “It won’t be goodbye. I will still pray to you every night. You’re my god. We’ll never be far apart from each other.”

“Why do we have to be apart at all?” tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “Was it not you who said you weren’t even sure if you wanted to return to the mainland because the other priests had been lying? Why return to that?”

“And let everyone keep worshiping you the way you don’t want to be? I need to go back. To make things right. It’s what we’ve been working towards all this time.” you held tightly to him, scared that he’d slip from you if you let go for even a moment. “If I don’t then this temple will be abandoned again.”

You could tell he was fighting for some counterpoint. Something that could make you change your mind.

“You want me to be your high priestess.” you said. “I can make real change as that. I can be a wonderful priestess to you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want you.” he took in a shaky breath. “Please. Stay.”

“It would be selfish if I did.” These words were breaking your heart but you knew you couldn’t escape your duty. You had promised that you would correct things, change the narrative that the charlatan priests had been spreading for centuries. You loved him, but because you loved him you knew you needed to do this. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we can’t have both.”

“You…you won’t be moved, will you?”

You shook your head.

He kissed your forehead, breathing you in as he thought. “If this is what will happen then I want you to be mine and mine alone. My priestess, cor meum, belong to me, body and soul.”

“Don’t I already?”

“Then let me be yours as well. I want none to have me the way you do.” He swallowed nervously, “Lemuria and the mainland are too far apart. It may well be that we may not see each other again and if that is our fate then I want to spend this final night with you.”

Your heart flipped in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“I want to move with you, like the tide lapping the shore.” he pressed you closer, “I want to make love to you, cor meum.”

The air around you suddenly choked you with heat. “Aren’t priests and priestesses supposed to remain celibate?” your voice could just barely be heard over the wind.

“Because they are devoted to me. Does celibacy mean anything if the person you are sleeping with is your god?” he asked.

“I suppose you have a point there.” you wished your heart would stop beating so fast, you could hardly catch your breath. “So yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, a playful smile on his face.

“Yes, I want to belong to you in a way no others who become your followers can. I want you to be mine in a way no one else will be able to replicate. I want you to make love to me, Rafayel.”

His breath stuttered as he pulled you up off your feet and began to walk back to the temple. The closer you got the more nervous you became. You had come to terms long ago that because of your lot in life you would never be allowed to fall in love, much less have sex. Being a priestess meant that your life began and ended with your god, no one could have any other part of you. Because of that you had never worried about it before now and it was becoming alarmingly clear how out of your depth you were.

“Um, Rafayel,” you squeaked out, “Is this going to hurt? I’ve heard stories about how women hurt the first time they have relations with a man.”

“I wouldn’t know.” he said. You could see the tips of his ears burning bright red. “I haven’t exactly done this before.”

“Had sex with a human?”

The red spread to his face. “Actually…” he cleared his throat, “Something I never mentioned when we were writing the history of the Sea Gods is that they are um…bonding creatures. Whoever they partner with is the only person they will ever be with.”

“Oh.” your face heated as well. “So you’ve never done this at all either?”

“Yes.”

“And if we do this, what does that mean for you?”

“It means exactly what I said on the beach.” you were up the steps and in front of the door to the bedroom. “I want none to have me the way you do. It will only ever be you, cor meum.”

“But--”

“Shh,” he nudged the door open with his foot and carried you inside. “This is what I want. I will have only you for as long as I live. It does not matter if it is ten, twenty, a hundred years from now. I will always be waiting for you to come back to me, if you ever wish to.”

“Are you saying all this to get me to stay?”

“Partly.” he set you back on your feet. “But I know that you’re stubborn and you will do whatever you wish. I just hope one day you’ll wish to come back to me.”

You pushed yourself to your toes to kiss him again. He returned it with fervor, pulling you close so your body was pressed flush against him.

“Care to help me get this off?” you asked, glancing down at the tunic he was bunching in his hands.

“I can do that.” he stepped back slightly, finding the hem of your tunic and slowly pulling it up and over your head. Your arms automatically went to cover yourself. “Nothing to be shy about, cor meum. It isn’t anything I haven’t seen from you before. But I would love the chance to admire it in full.”

You lowered your arms again, forcing them to remain at your side. He studied you much in the same way he admired the frescoes in the temple, with reverence and awe. With a deep breath you slid the loose pants off your hips so they pooled around your legs, leaving you completely bare before him. His nostrils flared and that little spark of light was once again lit in his eyes.

“Your turn.” you said. You were shaking and couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the wind blowing in through the open windows.

“Right.” he cleared his throat and began removing the pieces of jewelry from his person one by one. He let them clatter on the ground, his eyes never leaving you as he was stripped of his adornments. Finally he reached for the golden pin that helped keep the sarong he always wore in place and took it out. The material fell to the floor and heat pooled between your legs as you stared at his dick. Anatomy lessons and statues really did not prepare you for being faced with the real thing.

“Let’s get on the bed.”

You nodded and sat yourself down in the center of the bed. He followed after you, sitting down next to you. “Let’s just take it slow.” he said.

“Good idea.”

He kissed your forehead, your left eyelid followed by your right, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each gentle kiss a moment to be savored. “You’re so beautiful, cor meum.” he whispered before claiming your lips again.

You pressed your hands against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded under your palm as you kissed. He touched you gently, experimentally, his hands caressing your arms and running down the length of your spine. Each touch felt like he left a trail of fire in his wake. More of that heat was building between your legs and you pressed them tightly together to stave off the feeling.

You shifted slightly as you were rolled to your back. Your arms wove around his neck as he pressed his naked torso to yours. His skin against yours was an intoxicating intimacy you had only glanced in stolen moments when you swam together, when your clothes were plastered to your skin making you feel as if you wore none at all. But now there was nothing in the way between you and it made your head swim.

You pulled back from the kiss and dragged your lips down to the column of his throat. A deep sigh exhaled from him as you kissed along his neck. “Cor meum…” he breathed out.

“You going to tell me what that means now?” you muttered against his skin. You found the spot where his pulse thundered and you gave a small bite.

“My heart.” he moaned, “It means you are my heart.”

“Cor meum,” you tested the foreign word, the unfamiliar syllables tumbling past your lips. “Did I say it right?”

“Lemurian sounds beautiful on your tongue, my heart.” he pulled your face back to his, kissing you quick. “I want to hear how you say other things, starting with my name.”

“Does your name sound different in Lemurian?”

“I didn’t mean in Lemurian.” he gave you a rakish smile. His hands moved again, resting on your hips and moved slowly up your torso towards your chest but not further than that. He seemed to be seeking permission. You took one of his hands and moved it to you cup your breast.

“You are a wonder,” he kissed the underside of your jaw, “Say my name, please.”

“Rafayel,” you said.

He ran a thumb over your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. A whine built in your throat. “Again.” he said, watching the way your lip quivered as small waves of arousal coursed through your body.

“Rafayel.” His name came out breathless and needy. “Rafayel, my Rafayel. Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” he swallowed, staring hard at your face. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Here,” you took his hand and guided it back down to your body where you most wanted to be touched.

Growing up you had been taught that if your goal was to be a priestess you could not indulge in any carnal pleasure. It went against dedicating yourself to your god. But as a teenager you had been curious as to what was so bad about it and decided to indulge, purely out of scientific curiosity. At least that was what you told yourself. It was strange but it also felt good and you wondered why such a thing was forbidden for the higher ups in the clergy. Your pleasure was a secret that caused bliss and guilt, because despite how nice it had felt you thought you were doing something blasphemous.

Now, it all felt so ridiculous. You were with your god, leading his hand to your core, showing him how to touch you and none of it felt wrong.

Short gasps and moans of pleasure punctuated the air as his fingers moved with yours along your slit and over your clit. Rafayel was attentive and watched what motions and which places made you writhe and moan the most. A single slender finger pushed into your cunt and you immediately clamped down around it.

He slid it in and out, curling it just so like you told him until he got the motion and added another finger to fill you and stretch you out more.

“Raf--” you bit your lip, fighting for some form of control to get the words out, “Raf, show me. Please.”

“What?” he tore his attention away from watching his hand between your legs. “What do you need?”

“I want to touch you too.” you said, “Show me.”

“Oh,” he said, eyes darting down to his dick which stood between you hard and flushed as red as his face. “I’m scared if you touch me there I might explode.”

“We have all night.” you reminded him. “I want you to feel good too.”

“Alright, give me your hand.” You gave him your hand and he brought it to his cock. A guttural groan left his lips upon your touch and you squeaked a little when his cock seemed to twitch in your hand. “Sorry,” he said. “Like I said, I’m very close to coming already. Just, grasp it like this and move up and down, firmly but not too tight.”

Your hand began to move and his head dropped forward as his breathing got more ragged. He left you to it, his attention going back to stroking your cunt. You could tell you were both nervous, both eager to please, and both trying to fight the pleasure inside you so you could go on pleasing each other. It was like a game of push and pull, and whoever came first was the loser. Unfortunately for Rafayel he was right about how close he had been. As your hand got quicker his sanity slipped faster until he was panting and thrusting into your fist.

He cursed something in Lemurian as he came, the thick and sticky white substance of his seed coated your hand and a bit had also splattered on your abdomen. His dick became soft again and he laid back breathing hard as he tried to catch his breath.

“You made a bit of a mess,” you giggled, wiping the drops off with a corner of the bedsheets.

“Your fault.” he sighed, “I told you what was gonna happen and you still insisted.”

“Of course. Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you come? It was well worth it.”

“You still need yours.” Rafayel raked his eyes up and down your body. “And this time, you aren’t going to distract me.”

“What do you mean--” your words died in your throat as he brought the fingers that had been in your cunt to his mouth and sucked the juices off them one at a time.

“So sweet, I want to taste more.” he slid down your body. You automatically closed your legs, embarrassed that he was looking so closely at your cunt. He rested his chin on your knees. “If you don’t want me to I won’t but I’d really like to taste you. May I?”

“I uh…” he ran his hands up and down your thighs, easing you and grounding you in the moment. You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly then gradually parted your legs once more. “Alright.”

He kissed your knee. “It’s alright, my heart. I’ll do my best to make you feel good.”

His eyes drifted down and hungrily took in the sight of your cunt spread before him, already plenty wet from his fingering earlier. He slotted himself between your legs, pressing kisses along your thighs. He shot you a mischievous little smile before biting the supple flesh. A sharp squeak escaped you when he did and more arousal pooled at your core. He noticed the way your muscles flexed and he did it again, a little harder. He lathed his tongue over the bite mark before setting his sights back on your cunt.

You could tell he was being careful, the touch of his lips against your cunt was gentle and explorative. You fisted your hands in the sheets of the bed, soft moans echoing in the room as he figured out what spots and motions made you see stars. When he finally parted your folds to slide his tongue against you, burying his face into your cunt so he could lap up the arousal leaking out of you is when your composure really started to go.

You fisted a hand in his hair, unsure if you were trying to keep him there or trying to pull him off. His eyes were closed as he devoured you. You could tell you were reaching a climax but unlike the secret pleasures you had stolen back on the mainland it wasn’t a point of release followed by relaxation. Your legs were shaking, your moans growing louder than they had ever been before, and it felt as if a tidal wave was rushing towards you about to pull you out to sea.

“Raf--Raf--” your grip on his hair got stronger. “Fuck! Please! Please Raf! Please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging for. Was it release? Was it for him to stop? Everything was far too much. You were racing forward faster than you could comprehend and he was showing no sign of slowing. In fact, when you started repeating his name he got even faster, holding your hips down with one arm while his free hand rubbed circles over your clit.

Too much! Too much! Too much!

“Raf--” your body seized as a pleasure far more fervid and immense than what you had known before tore through you and left you panting and gasping for breath.

He pulled back almost immediately, watching the way your body twitched and rode out the intense orgasm. “Are you alright?”

“I think so…” you were still trying to get your bearings. “I didn’t realize that the climax could feel so…strong. Are you sure you’ve never done this with someone else before?”

“Positive.” he climbed back up, wiping the shine of your arousal from his mouth. “But I like to think I’m very observant, so we can thank that for what just happened.”

A giggle gathered in your throat and you tried to suppress it. “What?” Rafayel asked. “What are you laughing about?”

“Sorry, I just um…I don’t want to say it.”

“Oh no, please, what were you going to say?”

“I just thought it was funny that you said you’re very observant but apparently not observant enough to realize when you were walking into a trap when we played Jumping Shrimp.”

“And again with Jumping Shrimp! It always comes back to that with you, doesn’t it?” Rafayel pulled you close, tickling your sides as he nuzzled his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry! This is why I didn’t want to say it. I knew you were gonna get pouty on me.”

“I’m not pouting.” he bit your neck. “How could I when have you spread out like this?”

“Raf!” your face burned anew. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not? No one else is here to hear us.” he pulled your hands away from your face and kissed you. There was something intoxicating about tasting yourself on his tongue. It made you wish that you hadn’t wiped his seed off your hand. Maybe he would have enjoyed the sensation too.

“And I’m grateful there’s no one else here,” he murmured, “I want these precious sounds you make to belong to only me.”

“Always.” you brushed some of his hair out of his eyes, “I want you to make love to me now, Rafayel. I’m ready if you are.”

“I love you.” he said, “I will only love you for the rest of my days.”

He settled between your legs, hands braced on your hips as he notched his cock at the entrance of your cunt. You had decided to fist the sheets again as means to keep you tethered to sanity as he gave you one final loving look before slowly pushing inside. A whine of discomfort burned your throat and he stopped.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern etched across his face.

“A bit.” you tried to relax. “I’m good. Keep going, please.”

“We don’t have to rush. We have all night.” he assured you. He pulled back just a bit before sinking in again, pushing a little deeper as your body relaxed and stretched bit by bit to accommodate him.

It still hurt but not nearly as bad as what you had expected. After what felt like forever of slowly rocking together he was fully sheathed inside you. No matter what happened now, you were bonded…forever. No one could have this and no one could take it away.

“Rafayel,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” his voice was deep and strained. You could feel him throbbing inside you, desperate to move. “I love you so much.”

And just like how the waves swayed your body as you laid on the surface of its endless tide, you moved with Rafayel as only lovers could. He started shallow and slow until the pain and uncomfortableness of your joining began to ebb away. You could feel pinpricks of pleasure building behind the uncertainty of your movements.

“You’re so beautiful.” he said. “Need to sear this image into my memory.”

Your body glistened with buds of sweat blossoming over your skin. Back and forth you pushed and pulled with him. Your nails dug into his back as the pleasure started to overtake the pain. The drag of his cock along your walls felt euphoric. You fit so well together, as if you had been made to slot together perfectly for one another. Maybe you had been.

Almost all your life you had been told you were blessed by the ocean. Maybe that had been for a reason. Maybe this was where you were always meant to end up. Locked together with the sea itself in a dance as old as time.

“Cor meum…” Rafayel said through gritted teeth, “You feel divine. I don’t know how long I can keep this up though. From the moment I felt you around me all I’ve wanted was to rut against you like an animal. It feels so good. Too good. But I still want you to come with me.”

“Alright.” you wanted that too. “Go a little faster,” you told him. Your hand slid down your stomach and teased your clit, “And kiss me.”

His mouth crashed to yours as he picked up the pace, his slow measured thrusts getting faster and more out of rhythm as he began chasing his own pleasure. Your legs kicked and squirmed as all the sensations came together. With the additional pressure on your clit you felt another orgasm drawing closer.

Rafayel’s mouth slanted across yours, his moans being swallowed by you as he got closer and closer. You could hardly breathe at all. Your body desperate for release moved to meet his thrusts. He took charge, grabbing your hips and moving them in sync with him so it felt even better.

He repeated your name over and over, his voice getting more desperate the closer he got. “Come with me.” he pleaded. “I need you to come with me, cor meum. Please!”

“Want to! I want to come with you!” You were just at a tipping point. So close! “Rafayel!”

His hips snapped against yours twice, maybe three more times and then he stilled as he came and the sensation was that final push you needed to come as well. Your cunt clamped down around him and you could feel the warmth of his fill and coat your insides. The feel of it sent a shiver up your spine.

You both slumped, his body pressed atop yours as you tried to catch your breath after the incredible high. His softening cock was still wedged in you but you didn’t dare move him. You wanted to burn this feeling into your brain. If could capture this moment in a bottle and keep it with you forever you would.

“How do you feel?” Rafayel was the first to speak, his words mumbled into your ear.

“Incredible.” you turned your head to kiss his cheek. “Exhausted, but incredible.”

“Same.” he gently pulled out of you. You whined a bit at the motion. Suddenly you felt far too empty. Your cunt would forever be molded by the shape of him and only him. “One moment.” he started to move away from you. You instinctively grabbed his arm.

“It’s alright, I’m not going far.” he said with a smile and brushed a feather soft kiss to your face. You noticed with some pride that he was walking awkwardly towards the bathing room. You may not have had the energy to walk but you were glad that you had thoroughly winded him too.

He came back from the bathing room with a wet rag in hand and wiped clean the mess of fluids that had accumulated between your legs. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep with all of that sticking to you.” After he was done he tossed the rag away and joined you back in bed.

“Thanks.” you immediately nestled right against him.

For a while you didn’t say anything. You simply laid together and breathed, basking in the post coital bliss. Maybe this night could stretch on forever.

“We are bonded.” Rafayel said, drawing your attention back to him. “Cor meum, my heart, I vow to you this, should you ever call me, I will always answer. No matter where we are, what I am doing, you will know I am always listening to you. And if one day you say you want to come home, I will bring you home.”

“I will.” you said, tears gathering in your eyes again. “One day, I don’t know when. I don’t know how long rebuilding a religion will take but I will come home to you. I promise.”

“Don’t take too long.” he whispered, holding you close. “I love you, more than anything in this world.”

“I love you, Rafayel. I always have, I always will.”

You repeated the words over and over as the day began to wear down on you and for the final night for a long time, you fell asleep in the arms of your god.

[goose-smoothie]

Some of my favourite autistic-coded characters.

Representation is important, but sometimes labels are frustrating cause it reduces us to a set of characteristics instead of a person who also happens to be ASD. And often, people who are written to be autistic are nothing but supports and stereotypes. So here are a list of some of my fav ASD-coded characters, because autism is a spectrum :)

Cassandra Pentaghast - Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age: Inquisition

The slightly mean tutorial lady with a heart of gold. No time for fools. Her most famous quote is *disgusted noise*. She's a sucker for romance books, although she won't tell anyone. Can smite you with a look. Seems cold but is an absolute sweetheart. Cares about the truth and order, and has a strong moral compass that often trumps her black and white thinking. Strange accent which is unique to her. Has made her special interest her job. Hates liars. Is very blunt.

T'Lyn - Star Trek: Lower Decks

One could argue that all Vulcans are on the spectrum, but she is somehow the Vulcan's version of autistic. Is overly emotional (for a Vulcan). Has special interests and fixates on certain things. Does not adhere to social expectations and rules. When her friends are distressed she tries to do activities with them which they love, unsure how to discuss emotional needs. She has Bendii syndrome which makes it hard for her to control her emotional output (telepath shenanigans). "Water, room tempreture."

Spock - Star Trek

Is a fucking sassy bitch and often states 'facts' that offends the people around him. Just wants to be left alone to do his own thing. Father has Bendii syndrome (see above). Is too human for Vulcans and too Vulcan for humans. Had/has learning disabilities, most prominent when he was a child. Usually placid, until he gets angry and then not even God could save you. Will get sidetracked at inappropriate times. "Captain, I wish to take a sample of this fascinating specimen." "Spock, there's no time people are dying right now."

Shadowheart - Baldur's Gate 3

She's got the T-Rex hands and manages to make the thing I am most self-conscious of look graceful. Very devoted, all-or-nothing type person. Wardrobe is only black and purple. Breathes metaphors. Seems cold and pragmatic, but is a big softie underneath. Quick wit. "You mean I'd get to prove you wrong and thrash you?" Takes a while to open up and trust. Snark as a first language. Gets frustrated easily and needs to be perfect at everything first try. Identity crisis. Her idea of practical jokes are more awkward and endearing than funny. Special interests, which includes one particular flower that blooms once and dies(also black and purple), and religion.

Sylvia Tilly - Star Trek: Discovery

I fucking love this woman so goddamn much. She is relateable, stupidly competent, ambitious, and hilarious. Will talk for hours and can be inappropriately excitable and brutally honest but in a well-meaning way. Invites a guy back to her room to discuss potentially stranding cadets on a moon for a training exercise, not realising that he's staring at her with heart eyes, before kicking him out. "I love feeling feelings." Makes friends with the mutineer. Looks like she counts the seconds of eye-contact before looking away, to make sure it's right. She's got stims and mannerisms. Honestly, she is one of the best portrayals of autism I've seen so far in media (second only to Dr Brennan from Bones).

Tori - Heartstopper

Her face betrays nothing. Deadpan. Emotional support straw. Wardrobe is streamlined into three different colours, all dark. Will kill for her brother. Uses logic like a weapon. "Don't touch me." Doesn't respect social hierarchy. Looks way older than she is, but simultaneously ageless. Unnerving stare. Social life who? ASEXUAL QUEEN.

Leliana - Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Inquisition

Andraste's original fan-girl. Special interests include, religion and murder. Duty bound. Dry sense of humour but also very sweet. Looks scary but she's not, unless you piss her off. Moral compass? Sometimes. Cutesy codenames. Gets frustrated when people question her and the way she views the world. Has no less that seven knives on her person at all times. Loves shoes. Sings a little song in camp to express her feelings. Fucking loves those little nugs (hairless rabbits with hands for feet). "Hey, do you want me to extort or murder this guy for you? It will solve the problem."

Beauregard "Beau" Lionett - Mighty Nein (Critical Role)

So much negative rizz that it swings back around. Hates being put into a box. Takes detailed notes. If the phrase 'walk it off' were a person. Inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times. Has a big bag of ball bearings. Problems with authority. Gendernorms who? The most awkward person around although she thinks she's the most normal. With visible confusion, "What?" (I also suspect Marisha may be on the spectrum.)

Zuko - Avatar: The Last Airbender

Thinks he's going to die without his father's approval. Doesn't seem to get emotion, although he feels very deeply. Black and white thinking about the world (which he then learns to sort through). Has a strong sense of justice, except when it comes to himself. "That's rough, buddy." Frustration and anger issues and immense empathy. Practices what he's going to say before speaking but still messes it up. Jokes go over his head. Azula is also defs on the spectrum.

Honourable Mentions Dr Temperance "Bones" Brennan - Bones Jasnah Kholin - The Stormlight Archive Keyleth - The Legend of Vox Machina (Critical Role) Dulcie Collins - Deadloch Mr Darcy - Pride and Prejudice

[md-confessions]

Sorry if I sound rambly, but

For the story Liam wanted to tell, he needed N and V's relationship, also, Nuzi was the plan by episode 3 at the latest, the pilot/heartbeat at the earliest. V's treatment of N is required to why N and Uzi connected so much, both N and Uzi were disliked by pretty much everyone in their lives (especially J and Khan in the lives of the Disassembly Drone and the Worker Drone, the former is straight up an Abuser, both physically and emotionally, it's hard to deny it, while Khan says Uzi is a disappointment in public tv like it's nothing, which is kinda abusive IMO. Not even when N was a worker he was free of abuse, the Elliots and other humans aside from Tessa treated him like he was nothing but mere scrap) and they found comfort in each other.

While she cared for N and didn't wanna have him hurt, much less wanting him to remember how his life went downhill, she did it in the worst way she could, she pushed and neglected N for at least 2 decades if we're presuming the DDs were in Copper-9 back when Uzi was a pill baby. (Uzi is canonically 18-19, maybe 20)

V was a stepping stone in N's development, not only as a character but also his relationships, he originally was a traumatized man that was scared to stand up for others, I'd argue his feelings for V were partly due to him still having faint memories of the Manor days but also the fact V didn't abuse him physically like J did, it's sorta like an abused child. They might flock to their "less abusive" parent.

This changed when he met Uzi Doorman, a Worker Drone who had gotten into the corpse spire, while he thought he was some sort of Disassembly/Worker Drone hybrid thing made to blend in with the Workers, but when they got to talking, she wasn't like J or V, she showed him kindness and he showed her kindness back, it's something both have not had for pretty much their entire lives, we also get to see the scene with the heart gun during the V and N/J and Uzi fight, another example of how N still had feelings for V at this point. By the end of the pilot, N hasn't developed his personality much, but he at least has someone to rely on, Uzi.

In episode 2 we get to see N try to keep Uzi and V from fighting during the intro, with the scene where N drags Uzi behind him after V accuses Uzi of her backstory being bullshit, also with later context, V was the liar, she probably knows why the Solver sent them there yet she hid it, trying to act all cool and stuff.

By the end of the episode Uzi becomes scared of N, which causes N to become worried he might have lost his only friend, V just says she hates him normally but this is worse, the only concern is in her face, and it's mild concern. V looks at the broken chain, which leads to the next episode.

And episode 3 is a major part of their relationship, it is where it's revealed V still cares for N and her treatment of him was a way of trying to protect him from the solver stuff, she has a reason and justification for her actions now, it's not just "I don't care about him" V's role in this episode is as its secondary antagonist (just behind Doll) This episode has a very important moment for their relationship, At the start, V demanded N to get her and him suits for the Prom, and get Uzi to let them in and kill all the Workers, V makes fun of Uzi by saying she doesn't have any friends, and then shoot her in the head, N is against this plan, already a sign he's starting to learn to stand up for himself by refusing to free V for "Prom Murder" and he starts talking about his dreams, talking about how they possibly grew up in a haunted mansion, V shows actual concern for N (for the first time in the show, at least directly), asking him and Uzi to stop prying into the Solver business.

She tries to barter with N to free her, she promises she'll only kill if necessary, though she says "You and Me, N" implying she'll still kill Uzi. Before V flies off to go commit mass murder, N tries to get her to talk about her past and work together with him, though she decapitates him, she says she knows what's best for him, even if he hates her for it. This moment outright confirms that V definitely cares for N and just doesn't want him getting hurt, even if it means she has to do it by extreme means.

And then the whole main episode happens, Uzi discovers the plan, Uzi and N reconcile, Uzi's feelings for N probably blossomed here, yadda yadda yadda, Lizzy says V is hot, yadda yadda yadda, Doll fight, yadda yadda yadda, Chica-bow V shoots Doll.

Later while exploring Doll's home, the two Disassembly Drones find the corpses of Yeva and Adam (fan name for Doll's father, I am not calling him Doll's father everytime I mention him) and when V sees the corpses, after Doll used her powers to remind her of her actions, she doesn't care much and the most she says is "they didn't taste good" which leads to N saying "V, you kinda suck" this is something N would have never said in the pilot.

N finally starts to doubt his feelings for V, at this point he doesn't have his memories of the manor, so to him, he's pretty much only ever had those feelings due to the fact she was the least abusive to him, and she literally cut his damn head off, I get why he'd be doubting if he even actually loved V at all.

Episode 4 is also important, it's where N's completely learns to stand up for himself, pretty much part of the reason why Uzi went freaky deaky is because V pretty much gaslighted and antagonize Uzi into thinking N didn't care about her and how if she died he wouldn't care. (Something she for a fact knows isn't true, as seen with N between Heartbeat and The Promening and Uzi didn't even die, imagine if she did) V is still trying to keep Uzi and N away, since from last episode, V knows that Uzi has the solver and she's scared N might get killed by Uzi due to it.

At a later point Uzi turns an arrow into some weird fleshy homunculus and V for a second looked panic, she immediately drew her weapons as she saw that. V went to go chase after Uzi while N tried to stop V, the two argue, at this argument, N finally is honest about this whole thing where V is hiding shit from N and Uzi, it's scaring him, V uses cryptic language to refer to a certain "thing" that will leave them alone, N then finally stands up to V, he berates her about her treatment of him, asking what she's so afraid of, he explains how V keeping him in the dark about this is scaring him and Uzi, N reminds V that Uzi is a kid, like them, to him, V has no reason to fear Uzi. N doesn't know about Cyn and the Solver and stuff due to the Solver wiping his and J's memories.

This argument comes to halt when N asks "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" V's face goes from anger to worry, N tells V to look after the campers as he goes investigate what's going on with Uzi.

After Uzi murders 2/3rds of her whole class V comes into put down Uzi, the Solver Drone pleads with the Dissasembly Drone to let her live, V refers to Uzi as "Cyn" saying "New Body, same Horrors?" in V's point of view, Cyn is the one behind this, not the solver, for all she knows Cyn IS the solver itself. Uzi pleads with V, asking if she can talk with N, the only person that could calm her down, and as shown later, if V had allowed N to come and comfort Uzi, things probably wouldn't have gone as bad, some campers might still have died but V still got her ass kicked.

V gets her ass kicked by Uzi Yadda, Yadda, Yadda, N comes to the rescue and after Uzi stabs him with the nanite tail she goes back to normal, N throws her into the sky and the two Dissasembly Drones talk, N tells her "what did I tell you about antagonizing her" before he goes comfort Uzi, telling her they'll take baby steps, together. After V sees N and Uzi hugging, she goes from being on edge to calming down slightly, at this point she notices maybe N doesn't need her anymore, maybe he's fine with just Uzi supporting him.

At the end she looks at Uzi and N, worried, a lot of people think she's jealous but I don't think so, I think she's still got that worry that Uzi go haywire again and get N killed, but it could also be due to N and Uzi now looking into the Solver, together.

Episode 5 is mostly a flashback episode (technically) and it shows that N and V, at one point in the past had mutual feelings for each other, as throughout most of that episode N and V are their past selves, they're silly little teenagers who got a mutual crush on each other, I'd argue this is the closest eNVy ever got to being canon. The solver uses V to do weird robot surgery on N and turn him into a Dissasembly Drone, and N gives V back her glasses so she could grab the scalpel, V hesitates and slowly recites the Golden Retrievers have gentle mouths thing, cute moment, sadly the Solver decides to ruin this moment by slamming V into the wall and trying to give N a lobotomy.

Episode 6 is V's (presumable final episode) in this episode V seems to care for both Uzi and N, though there isn't a big V and N moment before the big one (there's more Uzi and V in this episode before the big one)

Ok now lets talk about the big one, AKA: V's sacrifice at the end of the episode, so pretty much throughout the entire episode the reason why V defended Uzi so much against the sentinels, Alice and Beau is because she noticed how much she mattered to N, and it's part of the reason for the sacrifice in my eyes, I wouldn't say she did it exclusively for that though, I feel like you could read it as a form of suicide (I know this took a dark turn but) V has pretty much lived a horrible life, form conception down to this moment, as said before, she has noticed that N needs Uzi, and from V's POV, she has done her purpose, she finally trusts Uzi, the reason she didn't get in the elevator wasn't just because she couldn't, it's because she didn't want to.

I think The Genius page on Eternal Dream is not only an amazing Breakdown of V's character but also the song itself.

N and V never directly do anything in episode 7 (as V doesn't appear herself aside from the Solver posing as her), when Nori tells him to hide the fact she's actually alive, N refuses, saying she won't hide anything from Uzi anymore. Not only is he hiding the fact "Tessa" wants him to kill her, but also, he doesn't want to do the same mistakes V did when trying to protect him.

.

[immoralimmortals]

Name 3: Kakuzu

Hello! I've decided that I have enough tidbits I've written for some Akatsuki members in my fic that I can make posts of them. There's a running story, but I hope you can enjoy this standalone post. Think of them as drabbles c:

This one is very overdue! Kakuzu is one of my favorites and I've written a lot with him. I have a particular headcanon that because he's been around so long and seen so much, he is especially taken by the new and novel. There's a terrible side effect, however: these things are often very silly, an adjective Kakuzu avoids. So to be a little bit in love, he has to tolerate someone a little bit ridiculous. How else would he end up being the self-appointed manager of a one-man band?

Note: due to the nature of the actual fic, I've decided to include moments with both Hidan and Kakuzu with the reader that aren't posted in the Hidan post. These include lemons. Enjoy!

Hidan - Deidara

He’s looking at her. If she wasn’t sure before, she sure as hell is now that she doesn’t like him looking at her, at least if it’s always so intense as this. An old tree accepts her weary spine for rest, her thin blue sweater sleeves a plaything for hands that have no control over anything else. What seem to be red clouds float over the cloth Kakuzu wears, a ring sitting between his knees as its hand dangles over one leg while he sits on a stump. His other hand reaches into the chest of his cloak. Once again, a book is pulled, and there’s brief gratitude as his eyes lower.

Till he throws the book her way.

“Ah!” It’s too soft to call a shriek, but the emotion is still there and downright embarrassing.

“Read the first page.”

...Ah. She opens it up not quite to the left-most page but corrects the mistake, fingers as careful as if bending it would be a sin, though, clearly, this is a well-worn read. Page one: it’s a face. Mugshot, even? A paragraph of text slides either up or down- she doesn’t fucking know which. She just needs to hold it long enough to be convincing.

…

“Out loud.”

Her cheeks deceive her first, bright red and hot in a flash. What does she DO? What can she do?!

“I-- I—”

One secret uncovered. Fucking HOW-?!

“I’m. Sorry.” Each word comes with its own step to tower over her. His hand drops, slowly, and just as gradually in turn a shaky grasp returns the bingo book to it. He says nothing. Maybe this’ll be the last of it? Just another notch into being useless for him and a reason to leave her behind? At least the stress would stop stabbing her.

Not a chance.

“Your name,” he demands.

Oh, that’s a THING that PEOPLE have, DON’T THEY?!

She’s such a fucking idiot.

“I’m-- my name is—” What was it that first guy kept calling her? “—Duckling.”

Kakuzu blinks. “Duckling.” She’s withering on the spot as he kneels down, still tall as he forces eye contact lock in place with his large hand pinching her chin upward. If looks could kill, it’d be a mercy to her.

“...You’re a horrible liar.”

Two secrets uncovered, not a minute between them. They leave her helpless to unravel once he releases her face, like rope tying her upright, and she doubles over to try to get as low to the ground as possible.

“...Yeah. I know.”

Will he hit her? Yell? Oh, please don’t yell at her--

…

He just sighs.

“Word of advice: pick another name if you’re really sticking to this.”

And then he stands up. Is that it? Is that all there is to it?! No way, she knows in her gut, that’s too easy. But then sits down again, on the stump, and goes through his book like has nothing happened.

Maybe it can be too easy, just this once, just for a poor girl.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

She practically hugs the guitar, head and hair swinging side to side.

She’s no maestro, nor bird, but music makes her happy and she can fumble her way through a song. It keeps her distracted; it keeps her honest.

“Guess she knows how to talk after all.” What about? No fucking clue. It shouldn’t surprise Hidan that his partner has nothing to say to that, but he takes it personally anyways. “Eh? What?" He turns to see Kakuzu stare at her, moss-green eyes piercing straight through as he thinks.

Hidan squints. “Eh?” he repeats, and then urgency strangles his throat. “Wait. Wait, wait NO, you are NOT--!”

The two approach her at once, her fingers scratching surprise across the guitar as she jolts up in horror. The masked man now looms over her once more. For once, for the first time...he almost sounds pleased.

“We can monetize this.”

“KAKUZU!!!” This is the first time she learns to recognize the true difference between annoyance and alarm from Hidan. It...doesn’t immediately scare her. The care is even...nice? “You can’t be serious!” Kakuzu continues the age old tradition of talking to him while locking onto her, offering a hand to take her from the dirty floorboards.

“What if I am?” Is that...playfulness? Is he capable of teasing?

“Whoring out a fledgling disciple of Jashin for nothing more than cash! YOU! GIRLY! I’m going insane here, you fucking agree with me, right?!”

But all boldness is gone and she holds the guitar neck like a kid does a favorite blanket, refusing to meet his demanding eyes. “That’s...kind of how music performance goes,” she breaks the news. It isn’t pleasant, but that’s how any business is, if you want to put food on the table. “Kakuzu, sir...--” she begins for the other one, mouth in a firm line. I’m no professional, she wants to protest. I’m untrained. But those words will leave her in the dust. A 1% chance at faking till you make it is better than a 100% at freezing all alone in the dark.

“You’ll earn your keep,” he confirms her fate.

I’m scared.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minutes now until night falls and the zombies walk free under the new moon sky. The woman glances out from her smudged window, Hidan still perched on the front porch. He has an impatience reminiscent of a wolf waiting to pounce as he faces down the final tangles of sunlight through branches. Loneliness wraps around her like thorns.

“Ah-!”

In the corner of her eye, she sees the perpetrator of her broken concentration, a set of fingers with a ring settled on her shoulder. A voice does its best to not sound overly rattled. “I- I thought you were…” Not going to bother saying goodbye. “...Getting ready to leave.”

Kakuzu is a man of few words, as always, merely stepping back to give her space to face him. It’s funny; her perception of those eyes of his fluctuates so easily. Are they a soft moss or a gemstone emerald? Do they glimmer brightly in the low light, or are they dull with his years of labor and death? She’s spent nights prior contemplating the strange man’s multitudes- Hidan’s too- and she knows it’s not going to be solved tonight.

Yet she’s distracted long enough that Kakuzu ends up speaking first. The corners of her lips have risen, perhaps unconsciously. Why does she give this to him, he wonders? He can’t make it stay. It isn’t worth her expense.

“Our replacements have been delayed.” Hope so briefly grown is cut down: “But we can’t stay for them. Zetsu will be around until they show up.”

The woman repeats the name under her breath, smile faded. The amalgamation...black, white, unnatural, sinister.

“Listen.”

So she must, straightening to attention despite the weight of worries. His stare is unflinching.

“We are all dangerous. Every single one of us.” The bounty hunter’s brow furrows harder underneath his headband. “No one will ever defeat one of us, unless they’re wearing the cloak, too. And in that case, it’s a tossup which. Don’t test their nerves. You. Will not. Survive.”

This is advice he knows very, very well, the way he’s held back in these weeks. That face, in hallowed horror before his truth-- it’s fragile. Her eyes are too trusting. She’s pitiable. She’s ignorant. But a part of him believes she must not be stupid. And that’s kept her alive around him longer than most anyone else.

“We are each under oath from here on to protect you, but that means nothing. Know this. We’re no heroes. Takara--…”

Her breath hitches, though the name he gave puts its weight in his own mouth. The ringed hand clasps her shoulder again, and its grip is tight.

“Whatever skill you have, making me and Hidan soft like this...keep it up.” His knuckles clench. “It’s all between you and death.”

Too tight, too tight-!

Kakuzu lets go as she squeaks, her own hand flinging where his was to ease the stinging skin.

“I...--” This is a horrible time for Kakuzu to be mistaken about how she may be saved, for his voice to flounder for the first time. By his own hand, he is proving himself wrong. But why should he care...-?

“HEY SHITBAG!” a voice calls, dampened only by its distance down. “TIME TO GO!”

Takara flinches between Hidan’s stance below and the man ahead who hurt her. Something flashes in that green, and even he isn’t sure if it carries rage or fear.

“...I’m sorry.”

Without another word, Kakuzu lingers by, past, down the stairs, out the door, and is gone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The moon is massive in the rising dusk though also thin as a crescent, shape meaning they’ve nearly hit the one month mark since their departure from the haunted mansion. It hits the edge of the horizon right where Hidan sits, like a sickle through his stomach as he’s perched upon a star-drenched boulder, tall within the desert clearing. Concentration lowers alongside his hands. Purple eyes open, gleaming like they share the light in hers miles and countries away. Satisfaction raises the corners of his lips.

“’Bout damn time!” Hidan, for once, is thrilled to receive orders. He even lets his teeth bare, smile so wide for something so innocent, so far from his usual delights. His shoulders roll back and his palms lean onto the rock underneath him. “Finally...we can get back to business!”

The other ringed hand that lowers, however, is owned by someone much more unhappy.

“You nearly ruined the opportunity,” he growls deep in his throat, behind the cover of his mask. Even through the cloth, the chill of desert night stings the inside of his mouth. “Picking fights like that. You realize you have something to lose, don’t you?”

“Yeah?” Kakuzu’s partner absolutely does. Not. Care. He got what he wanted, and he hauls it up for display like a hunter does his trophy. “Well, I was right and we’re being sent back anyways!”

“That is in spite of you and not because of you.” The voodoo doll is as serious as the grave, a tone which only serves to escalate Hidan’s attitude. Ideas seep into bare skin the more he wakes up, no shirt to act as barrier between the cold wind and his heart.

“Apparently that wasn’t on ME! ...Kakuzu…— ” And now his tone is deadly sober, too, the younger ninja having twisted his head around so fast that it almost ripped off the neck. As ever, there is a delay intaking information, but it does always come together in due time.

And how it looks with the puzzle pieces clicking in place, with what Kisame said, is absolutely spelling disaster.

“The hell do they mean you bruised her?” harsh words sting more now, hissed instead of thrown as the older nin is accustomed to. In fact, it worsens as he whispers:

“Kakuzu,” he gapes, bottom eyelids twitching. “Don’t fucking tell me...— “

Kakuzu doesn’t speak fast enough to stop the train from going off the rails. The silver-haired demon clenches one fist and points a finger with another. The worst part is though it’s from someone so rash, the accusation is true. He’s not talking. He’s not denying. The only person he fucking trusted in all this despite his faults, despite his money-hungry ways...he thought he could be relied on.

The coals in the engine burn up and up and up, steam filling Hidan’s head until he explodes.

Oh, you evil old bastard.

“DID YOU TOUCH HER?!” Hidan shrieks at the top of his lungs, standing to his feet. That mouth of his is still so wide, but now instead a snarl. “Is THAT why?! Is THAT why she agreed to everything?!—”

“No.” Kakuzu says this firmly, just before iron hands catch a blood red blade. But even caught, the pressure does not cease. The priest is right in his face, searching for answers, eager for destruction. Despite his combative nature...this situation is not common between the two zombies. It’s usually the other way around, in fact. While Kakuzu’s fury is justified, Hidan’s is downright righteous. His teeth are gritting so hard, like they’re imagining tearing the threaded man apart, limb from limb.

Always so reasoned, always so right, Kakuzu’s nightmare is that he has nothing to back him up. He merely repeats his denial:

“No.”

Betrayal.

The Cerberus of scythes stays raised, locked against hardened skin, forcing green eyes to meet Hidan’s. As if it’ll bring him any sort of satisfaction. As if it will undo what has happened.

As if there is any answer worth hearing.

With a shing! too sharp-sounding to merely be pressed onto human flesh, the weapon pulls back. The Jashinist’s head tilts up by the chin, and Kakuzu is unsure if it’s a trick of the light that those pinkish eyes are, against all odds, soft. Lips whisper something, something that hurts more than it should to a man that has experienced more hardship longer than most others have been alive:

“And here I thought we finally agreed on something.”

Purple gaze becomes hooded after one last twitch, one more readjustment to the stark reality of things. Uncaring if he’s alone, Hidan turns around and walks away. They’re almost done, almost ready to journey back. Even if he is alone, soon she will not be.

Regardless of it is in spite of Kakuzu and not because of him.

There is nothing more shameful to the old man than the fact that nothing he can say right now will change Hidan’s mind. He is alone in the world, and the only one left for him is the one girl that will accept anyone. He is afraid that even then, they may be pulled apart.

If his hand has branded her, then Kakuzu has become the very thing he told her to fear. He will try to deny it till the end, but it is still true. They may be pulled apart for her own good.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Almost like it’s a gut instinct, the traveler wanders to the front door. The entrance is open, but the two tallest guys she’s met are at the threshold, barring entry and exit alike. Kakuzu is arguing- as reasonably as he can— with Kisame.

“I can...understand your hesitation,” he draws out, deep and careful as such a precarious bargain requires. “But it’s been long enough to wait for her. She’s not coming down.”

Cloakless, muscled arms are folded and their shoulders tense. The shark is trying just as hard to meet in the middle, but an attachment both hold— ironically what this is about— is causing an uncrossible barrier. The treaty is wavering, and it hardly even started. It’s a difficult balance that both Akatsuki have artificial sympathy for another, for her sake, as Kisame needs to temper down after Takara’s explanation, and Kakuzu now has to reprove he is safe enough for her to be around.

Just for her sake, they’re trying. God they’re trying. But it still isn’t good.

“We’ll hang out here, then.” Yeah, Itachi’s idea for her to come at her own pace is mostly because of that other one, but...the one that bruised her may initiate alarm as well, even if she so earnestly pushed it aside. He second guesses himself again, as he did with her upon his bed. Him? Kakuzu really cared about someone? Anyone?!

Sizzling annoyance and anger is under Kakuzu’s skin and stewing in the back of his throat, and the fact it is still there instead of expressed outward in his fists is proof. Yes, he does care. So he must have patience. Patience.

And finally, patience is rewarded.

Kakuzu freezes as soon as he sees her, tilting her head to appear from behind Kisame’s large, protective figure. She smiles. So softly, she smiles. The bounty hunter must keep his gaze unmoved, lest he emote in such a way it could alarm the delicate creature. To Kisame he succeeds, but her this is the kindest he’s ever looked back, and so he fails the task utterly.

And what does he feel, those eyes widening? Is he afraid, she wonders? Afraid again like as he clenched her shoulder?

And of her to him...does she hate him? Is that pain on her face, he asks? She looks like she’s been crying. Is that why she hesitated to come down? For a calculated man, his thoughts rush so much faster than hers. Are those tears for him? Does she fear him after what he did? He wouldn’t blame her. Not at all.

Kisame and Tobi wait, one with worry staring down to where she hides behind his arm, and the other with distant interest like that of a scientist. What will they do?

But she does not fear him. Not even after how it was supposed to end, in tragedy. Kakuzu gave her a name, and though she does not know its meaning, it is still a treasure grander than any wealth that glitters like gold. His hopes for her from their beginning shine through. She will succeed, always succeed and never be without, not again in the state she was found. But he never wished for her success to be wrapping him around her finger, for her to never be without the steel hunter’s best intentions...yet here they are.

"Hi," she says.

God damn you, girl, for falling into his lap not once but twice to look up at him with those starry eyes.

Kakuzu dares not move even as she does, as the queen steps around her blue shield and approaches. Her regality astounds him, something he never noticed until it was gone. The smoothness of every motion, from the way she hoods her eyes to the way her chin keeps so level even as she walks; it is all so precise, so accidentally commanding with how simultaneously demure and unconfident it seems. It impresses him. Perhaps, unconsciously after all those nights of observing her talents, it always has.

The guard, in turn, watches with caution as his ward raises her arms around the dragon that once captured her like she was a hoard of riches, holds him with all she has in her poor forgiving soul with a love better reserved for saints than sinners as he.

Just as Hidan did a month ago, Kakuzu’s hand raises, bends fingers that don’t know what to do. She trusts him. Why does she trust him?

Palm goes flat.

It lands on top of her head as lightly as humanly possible, perhaps even lighter.

The fool has forgiven him, the treasurer must accept. How terrible. How terrible for them both. It’s a shame Kakuzu has nothing to pray to, as that would mean he could be absolved of his harm. But at least she has been kept alive. At least, at least. No matter how conflicted he is— why should he care? He meant to leave her be in the end, after all-— Kakuzu still has a gratitude in how blind fate ended up in her favor.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Words he should be saying come instead from her. Kakuzu can’t even grunt to that, voice trapped behind his mask.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Takara, isn’t this just fucking WEIRD?” ...Oh god.

“Weird? I say that’s how you behave. There’s a reason you weren’t allowed alone with her.” Oh god. She has just made this all even worse.

“The hell do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said, cretin. The only reason you were sent on a mission was so she could be safe. Don’t you remember how we were proven right?”

She wants to crawl out of her own skin.

“OI! That was NOT me!”

“But did you stop it?”

“I—”

“Kisame!” the woman shouts from her raised position to the fighting men, much like a damsel does from her tower. She already explained this to him, that it was an accident. Why is he—?

The sound of her distress only pushes him onward. He has honor to protect. He tastes blood in the water. It twists his expression into something terrible, something Hidan is quickly starting to match with absolute abandon.

Talking is over. Milliseconds split whether Kisame draws his sword first or Hidan his scythe. The woman screams, and they don’t listen, so she has no choice but to throw herself forward until they do.

Both men tangibly feel the weight of their smiling lips drop as soon as she comes between them once again.

Shing-clink, THUMP.

Two stories over their heads fly a sword of scales and a scythe of blood, in a near instant hitting the earth. Both cling into the dirt like their ends were cut off and the flat edges glued where they landed, just absolutely, firmly in place, even as thick as Samehada is. Both animals have their jaws dropped and eyes wide, but not for the hunt. The sight that splits them is their bounty, a woman uninjured yet still twitching and flinching.

Looping around her over and over— around her waist, her raised arms, her heaving chest— are black, metallic threads. Kakuzu has never said her name like this, not since he gave it to her.

“TAKARA!”

It’s a mere split second she’s kept on the battlefield, immediately whipped backwards to stand beside him at the front door. She’s horrified as she looks upon him in this new, battle ready state, still on the brink of losing everything thanks to adrenaline and misunderstandings between her friends, and the bounty hunter decides it is the best time to teach her of her place.

“What are you thinking?” His volume is so much lower, and yet she’s even more intimidated. This is a goddamn nightmare. Her saviors nearly killed one another, and now here she is captured by something she can only describe as eldritch coming forth from another who she has come to trust. The threads wiggle around him; they're so dark and tinged with a glimmer that it's almost look like you took a pencil and scribbled onto the air itself. They writhe from his sleeves like worms. Gemstones bore into her.

And boy do they see every inch of her foolishness.

“You. Were mere inches from death.” His eyes will hurt later from glaring so hard, going without blinking so long. “Do you know a damn thing, girl? Do you know how so, very close you are to dying every moment you are alive in our presence? Do you KNOW?”

The threads don’t let go, but as he looms over her so much his shadow consumes all of her body, it’s one of the last things on her mind. The stitched doll is relentless. He had warned her. And he had given her proof to be afraid. It needs to be drilled into her empty skull. His voice raises:

“Can you not even THINK?!”

“KAKUZU!”

Though Kisame’s mouth had opened, it’s not his voice that speaks. Beside him, the swordsman sees Hidan seethe. His body is leaning forward, both fists clenched to his sides. Slowly, the same way a prisoner may drag their chains, green irises fall onto the silver haired man. There’s an expression about him, the way the muscles in his face twitch with effort to hold their position; it is more than just outrage…a bit of the same thing as the night of the meeting where it started to go wrong. And then into his ear, a little sound is made, as soft and small as a squeak from a mouse. The chains drag back, eyes finally seeing her again instead of just through her.

Helpless in his grasp, like a fly twirled into spiderweb, the performer can do nothing with her body but cry. She tries not to— because he is right— but no amount of biting your bottom lip and sniffing up the tears can keep the emotion away. In fact, it only makes it uglier. Hidan says his name again, more distant to Kakuzu’s spiraling mind, and the woman feels the bindings retract, piano wire slithering away like snakes. Kakuzu steps away, gawking at what he caused, the way she holds herself exactly in place as he had demanded of her. But others are here now, judging, and so panic sets in.

He can’t even manage an apology this time as he must walk away before it gets worse.

A third time Hidan says his partner’s name, and he runs right by her to chase him, to demand answers wherever the stitched man is going to hide.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Kakuzu. You’re too seasoned to need to be disciplined, yet here we are.” Ah, how shame and anger alike boil in a horrible brew in Kakuzu’s throat, that he can’t make them into words. “Don’t think you needn’t listen to this. Consider again: Clearly—” Pain acknowledges, “—You are aware of her ignorance, her fragility. Effort needs to be made not just to shelter her. Give opportunity for her to absorb. And therefore she may learn.”

A very polite way of asking him to stop scaring her. It’s shameful, but he can read it as such.

“I sent you back because you’re in prime standing with this traveler to unlock her secrets, get us closer to the purpose of her arrival, of if anything with her own world may be done for ours. Tell me, was I wrong? Is your original care not enough to keep your standing in her household?”

Hidan’s answer is quick. “Motherfucker, of COURSE it is!”

“...Good,” is the level reply. But he is not satisfied. “Kakuzu.” Emeralds and galaxies lock unblinking. It is up to the masked man to choose his own fate. “Can it be done?”

The person in question closes his eyes, not to run away but to do something such a calculated fellow never takes time for these days: introspection. Living this long, seeing so much...you think you know yourself. You believe you can predict your own mind and actions and reactions as well as chess pieces on a board, sometimes as simply as the order in which someone counts to ten. The painful truth is that this is not the case; that is why she makes him so uncomfortable.

His unpredictability is now, itself, unpredictable. It only took a girl that walked into his life from another dimension to put new possibilities on the table.

So what is his choice? He opens his eyes. Three colors bore into him: Orange in curiosity, purple in wait, magenta in tension. But, as ever, it can only be green who can speak for himself.

And he won’t back down from the challenge of a lifetime.

“Yes.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

What’s the closest book in this damn place to whatever the hell the girl might like? Fairy tales, sure. Not to his taste and he’s heard them all, so no. Romance novel? ...Not for the best. Oh. Hm.

Well, it isn’t his choice for her, but Kakuzu can certainly pass the time with a geopolitical nonfiction. May as well…

Patter, patter, old yellow pages flip open. “...Hn,” he grunts in displeasure.

The first Hokage. Suppose it can’t be helped; most literature is rather Fire Country biased. Still, the memory of the Konoha shinobi gives Kakuzu a headache. He paws a couple more pages—

...But then fingers stop from turning one more.

Around the corner, the woman has her back to the wall, taking a breath before getting on metaphorical stage. This guy has heard her sing over and over. Kakuzu is, sincerely, the one constant member of her audience since the first performance. Don’t be so nervous! You do this all the time.

But the difference now is...he’s going to know this song is for him.

Kakuzu pretends not to notice the girl is there until she makes herself visible on purpose, standing awkwardly in the library nook’s entrance with the guitar over her neck. In the corner of his eye, her cheeks are bright pink. As tempting as it is since she’s already made this first move, to keep his promise of letting her approach means to let her continue— no matter how painfully— and not stop whatever the heck is about to happen.

“I...um…” Her voice is so small. It isn’t really in her favor to say ‘hey, Hidan told me everything! He told me you really care! I care about you too, and I’m sorry!’ No, not the most tactful choice. She has to open the conversation by stepping right in, no one to take responsibility for it but herself:

“I—...Talk?” Find your tongue, kid. “Is now a good time? To?”

It’s disheartening if the stammering is because she’s scared half to death, but a few words from their mutual friend/”friend” outside as he laid in the grass have made the hunter wiser than that. As always, she sees his face covered, all but the gemstones fixed in his skull, but they do look tired. “As good as ever.”

That isn’t a no, at least! She steps forward, presenting herself as if a newbie ready to audition. “I…” More stuttering. The girl must have a sixth sense because just as Kakuzu opens his mouth to tell her to spit it out, she beats him to the punch:

“No, let me. I got it.” Her eyes close and a palm raises, indicating he not interrupt as she digs inside for the right thing to say. Her shoulders slump with a sigh and she visibly relaxes, a detail carried out very much on purpose. Let go. Just talk.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Abruptly much more complete, her language. Her eyes stay shut, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’m sorry I put you in a bad position. I know it must not have been comfortable. You’ve done a lot for me when I didn’t ask for it. Frankly, I don’t even know what I’ve done to deserve it. But you’ve looked out for me and I should return your kindness better.” Her eyes open, soft yet determined. “I hope I can be better.” He stares up, unblinking; she cannot wait for his assurance, the truth still needs to be said. “And I forgive you for anything that may have possibly happened that you could regret.”

Ah, to not speak the obvious. She’s opened the gates, and since she’s making it so damn easy, now he’s walking in. “Are you certain of that?” Her nod is firm and immediate; he’s never seen her so serious.

“I forgave you as soon as it happened. I just missed you. That’s the only thing I felt.”

So, is she lying, he thinks? Is it pity? Or is she a fool? But something— always something— in his gut tells him she is most certainly not stupid. Perhaps that instinct makes him the idiot. Over one slow second, his eyes become hooded and his shoulders relax, too, as he exhales, weary and ready for rest from the whole emotional affair. He doesn’t like to accept kindness, nor be blamed of it, but he’ll do it just this once. Just so long as he doesn’t need to announce it.

“Sit down.”

The woman does as told, and she’s never been more relieved to be near him. The seat at far end of the couch becomes occupied. Part of him wishes she sat right next to him as before, when he pushed her away. That’s his own fault, he supposes. Yet another sigh falls from the back of his throat. So much unnecessary discomfort...it hasn’t been this difficult for him in years to simply exist. She bites her tongue, trusting they can both be adults and speak for themselves about her own feelings.

And damn, he’s going to try.

“You want to know why I care?” The musician glances at her toes for a second, down to where she’s set down her instrument ...She nods, confirming not her only her obvious desire to know but rather also the ability to withstand the answer. And withstand she must, as he raises the curtain on his mysterious ways:

“I don’t know.”

She blinks up at him. Did she hear him right? He’s always struck her as such a knowing, confident man, one that has a reason for everything. He won’t meet her eyes, his are glued to the pattern of books in the case ahead.

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “It’s something you do. I know it’s on purpose.” Guilty as charged, she glances away momentarily. It’s hard to say that’s not the case when she had a whole breakdown at Tobi’s feet over how that is very much the case.

“But.”

And but, she agrees, though she needs his lips to explain what she plays out. What does he have to say “but” about?

“But it’s...sincere. It’s damn on purpose because you mean it.” It’s a grumble he speaks; is he angry? But Kakuzu knows deep in his many hearts— each and every one— that he’s never held anger for her. An emotion that defines him, allows survival...it is lacking with her. That’s what the problem has been, the imbalance that’s thrown him so off. How do you navigate without something that has always guided your way, struck clear the path you haven't trod before?

Perhaps another emotion is needed, one she has plenty to spare.

“I think I’m allowed to make one silly decision for its own sake.”

A pause is allowed for it to hit her: this is a joke. She blinks once again, now curious instead of worried. “Silly?” she repeats. He grunts in affirmative reply. “Oh…” And then, like lighting a candle, she brightens slow but sure; perhaps they have middle ground after all. “...I’ve always thought life isn’t worth it if you can’t be a little silly,” she comforts.

What odd advice. He’s the last person to accept it. Perhaps that means he’s the first to need it. The man puts aside his sense of dignity to humor her, this relationship he has allowed to fester being his own fault:

“I think I’m too hardened for your philosophy...duckling.”

The word is arsenic on his tongue, poison that tastes sweet as it goes down the esophagus. Duckling. Duckling. Duckling. He’s never said it, not once since that second day together, but it’s echoed in his mind ever since. A nickname so ridiculous, so flagrantly dumb...that he could never forget it. That he can’t stop hearing it in the back of his head whenever she does something simply he cannot comprehend, from the way she moves her legs so far forward when she walks to how she smiles even when he's done nothing to earn it. Silly, silly, silly.

What is it that she’s thinking, the way she looks back so blank? Are her feelings hurt? Did he put to much emphasis on the sarcasm, the strangeness of it all? Oh no, no. Quite the contrary, the performer bursts into laughter, so suddenly he can feel her bounce with each shout even from his end of the couch. Never before has he heard her laugh much less like this. But the ugliness, the snorting and the wheeze stuck in the back of her throat and the way she covers her mouth...yes.

It is sincere.

Perhaps he’s not making a mistake, after all. Perhaps even briefly, it can be indulged without consequence. Her cheeks are still flushed with the color of roses, but it is in something closer to bashfulness than shame, even as he considers if it’s the latter Kakuzu experiences for himself. The woman he named, his silly little duckling…

The treasure he keeps so hesitantly, as if it’ll make him human again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Read this one to me.”

How lax things have become since the conversation started with her needing to hold her instrument simply to feel prepared to speak, to perform her words to be understood. Chin propped onto her palms and elbows propped onto the couch cushion, looking up at Kakuzu, her finger gestures to the book he had set aside upon her entrance, the one that provided him unfortunate but important memories.

“...Sure,” he answers, picking it up and flipping open again, but he has misgivings. “Don’t think you’ll like it, though.” The woman purses her lips, big eyes pouting up at the man.

“Why not?”

“It isn’t happy enough for you,” he answers bluntly, as he always does.

“That’s okay.”

Oh, so we’re going this route. The book flops onto his lap as wrists go limp, his gaze on her pointedly. She is undeterred, seemingly to the point of denial. “It’s nonfiction,” he tries to clarify. But she just lights up.

“I love nonfiction!”

“…” His eyes narrow down at the lady who has positioned herself much like a child would near his lap, waiting for a bedtime story. “...Are you saying words just to hear them?” But she shakes her head, eager as ever, especially just after being emboldened to be so goofy— a fatal mistake on Kakuzu’s part.

“Nonfiction is easier for me than fiction,” the stranger explains, and the quickness of the answer leads him to believe she’s said this aloud before. “With nonfiction, you get to be more detached, you get to learn. It’s silly—” As she always is. “—But stories are...hard for me. I get emotional really fast.” And then, softer: “I like knowing how stories end before I begin. I get to feel prepared.”

Oh? That’s not something Kakuzu’s ever heard before, not once in all his years. Usually fairy tales and the like are used to escape harsh feelings. That’s why he never liked them; hard emotions made him stronger. As he mulls this difference over, the girl continues, her tone bashful:

“And...I kinda...need to learn about you guys. About where I am.” Ah, here we go again. Kakuzu is as neutral as possible on whether or not the nonsense she spouts about another world is literally true; it is clear as day, regardless, she has a lot to pick up about the world she is currently in. Sheltered or spiraling from another dimension, it does not matter. She has to be educated...so she’s got him there. He sighs the way he so often does, not a vocalization but a release of a breath to prepare the next one.

“...I suppose so.”

Pages flutter like wings as he aims to skip the so-embarrassingly slanted narrative about the Hokage that ruined his life. Green irises blink at something they spot. Oh, that’s appropriate. She can at least become a better liar if the time comes to protect herself. He tries his best to ignore the way her plump cheeks squish in her palms, though he can’t manage to turn his head far enough to push it out of the corner of his eye. He reads:

In contrast, the Land of Bears homes the ancient Hoshigakure. The oral tradition states that the village was formed following a meteorite striking the earth after falling from the heavens. It produced such a spectacle and affect upon nearby societies that the staggered groups gathered to worship the “star.”

For such a gruff voice...it makes a wonderful narration. Kakuzu’s words are easy to follow, neither too dull nor too enthusiastic. Her gaze softens as she drinks his sound and knowledge in. He’d make a lovely audiobook actor, the way the gravel so gently tumbles in his throat. Kakuzu ASMR...the performer ponders, half-closing her eyes and seeing if she gets the well-known “tingles” sitting so close to the source of such pleasant, low sound.

A merged society formed as travelers mingled and exchanged culture, eventually large enough to dub themselves “Hoshigakure”: the Village Hidden in the Stars. Although unrecognized by the Five Great Shinobi Countries despite the insistence of the Hoshikage, it is nevertheless a successful economy, largely self-sustained but still receiving notable tourism for its clear view of the night sky.

She’s quiet now, a dreamy but troubled look upon her face as she no longer sees Kakuzu but through him, watching her own thoughts wash over his shape in a haze. Distinctly, her smile is gone. Perhaps she was hoping for something a bit more grand for her crazy backstory, Kakuzu notes, but he’s off the mark.

The performer doesn’t end up singing for him like she planned on, walking in with her guitar. She’s got other things on her heart now. Other things she needs to figure out first in rehearsal.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Knock knock.

It isn’t like Kakuzu to receive visitors after bedtime, but today’s a special kind of day. It somehow even surprises him that it’s the woman he named is the one at the door tonight. He sees her face first and his eyes crawl down the length of her nightgown second, them alone moving and nothing else as his bare arm holds the door open by its thinnest side. The gaze finally comes back up to where is appropriate to look at a lady, and he finds his tongue. “Can I help you,” he says more than asks.

“I…” she stammers for a different reason this time than the hours before. Kakuzu follows her stare past the shape of his glossy hair, draping like a curtain down as he tilts his head forward, and then it hits him. Oh. That’s right. He decides at least one of them should dress appropriately.

THUMP.

The door closes in her face, leaving her stunned. “I...oh…” she deflates. The dreamer considers if it’s better to walk away or try again, as if another knock will fix everything, and the decision hangs until in as quick as a flash the door reveals a different man, mask thrown on and the Akatsuki garb buttoned shut, lest she ogle at his stitches any longer.

Unlike some hours before, this time she does need a good prodding. “Speak up,” he commands.

What had she seen…? It was so fast that she begins to doubt if her eyes are starting to play make believe. He looked so…so...—

...Nerves and rudeness are swallowed, aware she’s leaving him in wait. “Can I talk to you about something?” But Kakuzu’s eyes narrow. They’re talking now. Get to the point. A couple seconds pass before she elaborates: “...Outside?”

…

A strange request is answered with yet another sigh, the man exhaling as the gift he did not ask for so bizarrely requires they be under the night stars. Shame on him for signing up for this, for feeding stray cats and not expecting them back for more.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The grass seems even taller and wilder after hours cooling in the midnight. The thinnest sliver of a waxing moon gleams down the edges of leaves and budding dew that waits to be seen in the morning. The insects sing, chirps and cheeps and chirrups becoming a symphony that if you listen too closely, the vastness in their unified melody will begin to overwhelm, begin to make you realize the world is so much bigger than just you, than just one little cricket. Many people and many crickets there are...and another thing

Another thing, which is what she can’t let go of.

She looks ghostly in her long sleeve nightdress, pale and frilled under weak light. The barest hint of yellow gleams from the gangly weeds, a gold complimenting her silver. “I’ve never seen this before,” she whispers as if it’s a transgression. As Kakuzu finishes trailing behind, he looks at her back; she won’t turn to see him, to evaluate a response as she so often seeks. 

“What…?” He tiredly turns his head for something to blame, him being woken up this late. Something rattles in the grass. A bug, he quickly identifies with a sharp eye. But she doesn’t look at it.

“...Hn,” he mumbles to himself. A shape swirls over a small boulder. A snake?

But she doesn’t show him that, either. No, not a creature low to the earth just as she may be. She points.

...She points up at the sky.

He tilts his chin up to follow. It’s a quiet night, clear as clear can be with not a cloud to hide the heavens. His brow knits under his slashed headband. Perhaps a bird? No, not that either. The answer is hidden in plain sight. Her hand falls as the thing hypnotizes her, leaves her mystified till numb.

“Stars.”

The word is tinged— deeply, deeply sad. She had heard about it— had accepted it— and yet you cannot miss what you don’t truly know. Even when she visited family in the farmlands, the nearby cities still lit up the horizon, still tainted the view of the firmament that was once the birthright of every living creature. The stranger never realized how far the light clouded, how much vision it took away. She did not know until now that this, as it is tonight, is how the sky is supposed to be. She’d seen it before, even in this world, yeah...but not as clear as now. They aren’t mere dots, mistakable for satellites. They swirl with color and shades across the rainbow, a prism of everything holy, a glisten made for the dressings of God. They twine such shapes and depth that now, suddenly, she understands what constellations really are.

How they’re more than just imaginary lines on black space.

A man raised by suffering and time steps forward to her side, tilting his head down to watch the reflection in her eyes, the galaxies and planets that yearn to find home within her soul. The stranger’s pupils are so wide like maybe if they’re big enough, the night can slide right in and fill her till she’s stars inside and out. She’d like nothing more. Kakuzu’s shoulders rise and fall with a sympathy-laden breath he wishes to lessen the load of.

“You’re not going to get far if you can’t pretend you haven’t seen them all your life.”

An abrupt awakening, but it isn’t as rude as her ears first mistook. By the time she looks back to him, he’s averted his gaze, studying the lights themselves. He gestures up too, briefly to redirect those big watchful eyes off himself, and he lets his arm swing back down. “Hoshi is the village of the stars. You remember, don’t you, girl? You’ve seen them all your life. You know them.”

…

The humor in his voice is rare but not so foreign to the performer’s ears that she can’t, eventually, follow.

“...Are you offering to teach me how to lie to people?” The mask doesn’t hide how the underneath of his eyes crinkle, the fact that he’s smiling.

“Not at all...Just filling in the gaps of your piss poor memory.” Almost quick enough to make her flinch, his hand rises again, but the direction it picks is right over her head. “Look,” he instructs. “Tell me what that is.”

She does a double take between him and the spot of space his fingertip tries to touch. Confused eyes blink.

“...A...star?”

“Wrong.” Well, kind of right but for their purposes wrong. “Leo.” His firm stretch aims a little lower. “This,” he demands. The traveler guesses his pattern:

“...Virgo?”

“Gemini.” The target returns to the first point of interest. “This.”

“...Leo.”

“Here.”

“Gemini.”

“Good.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Knock, knock.

...You’ve got to be joking.

The bounty hunter pinches the bridge of his nose as for the second night in a row he is asked for at an ungodly hour, though having sense to learn from mistakes and put on his cloak before opening the bedroom door to the woman he named. “What the hell is—” Once his rubbing stops, so do his words. Lifting eyes see her, fully dressed not only in her pastel sundress and sweater but her hat, shoes, sunglasses, and letter-shaped bag. Blue and white and pink, this is a lot to take in at 12AM. His cheeks pinch upward, lifting the bottom eyelids into a more scrutinizing stare. The sight makes him forget he hasn’t yet hidden his face, the shape of it memorizing in her brain like an afterimage when you look at the sun too long. Lips part, held open for a couple seconds before forming a single syllable she gets to ogle at: “...What.”

“Please come outside with me,” the performer insists, voice quiet as to not alert anyone else asleep behind walls but urgent nonetheless.

“Takara—”

“Please.” Despite it being a word common in her defensive politeness, this is also way the woman makes her demands. Kakuzu isn’t so naive to not know this. To ignore this means to have it happen again, night after night, until he gives in.

“Fine.” The ridiculous girl will be humored despite the grumbles from his unmasked mouth. She sees it now, every minute twitch and leer and frown. She’s gotten so used to reading just the upper half of his face that abruptly it’s like he’s emoting twice as much as before. He’s almost a whole new person.

But she has gotten what she asked for, and a hungry gaze will tear away in order to carry on as planned.

They weave through the corridors, go outside, step onto the porch. The air is brisk, like the stars are ice cubes dropped into the galaxy and poured around them.

“...Another lesson,” Kakuzu presumes, tilting his chin at the sky once more. He has no idea how correct he is.

One of his five hearts stops beating as she takes his hand and runs.

It’s an easy pace to keep up with, of course, as she is no ninja nor even a runner, but the adrenaline is contagious. He finds himself unwilling to argue— perhaps even too stunned to— as they traverse the length of the small plain in front of the adopted home and slip into the forest. They’re mere specks, their shadows simply blades of grass taller than the others, moving underneath the vastness of velvety night. No explanation from her lips come, no matter how urgent this seems. Once they hit the line of trees and out of sight of the house, he has to ask:

“Where are you going?”

“You’ll see!” is all he gets, breathy and giddy. “You’ll see!”

Kakuzu second guesses himself, as he has come to do each time he is in her presence. So much younger than he, but he trusts her. So much more ignorant than he, but he believes her. So much different than he...but…

But as she takes him somewhere he finally needn’t worry about others judging, he understands her. He understands all too well.

“This.” The traveler puts it simply as she catches her breath, and indeed such magnificence needs no further introduction. Her hands guide one of his as they walk through the final layer of brush to a short cliff-side. The world is so vast, an expanse of woods shaded in different indigos and purples underneath the blanket of an unpolluted night sky, rolling until you can no longer see leaves, then branches, then individual trees. It’s a depth of detail so beyond the human eye that it makes you understand what the impressionist movement of art was about, trying to capture the things photos cannot. Underneath it all is the clearest view of the heavens, even more so than at her new home where she’s learned the horoscope.

Underneath it all, the stars are twice as many. A pool reflects them all back up, nearly as bright. Thrice as many, shining in her eyes.

“This is what I was talking about last night,” she reveals, sweet as nectar from her mouth. That’s all a wary Kakuzu needs to piece it together: She snuck out, ran home, and he was the first she told of what she found. A dangerous adventure. It deserves a scolding.

“...You’re not coming out here again without me.”

A now familiar tone, even if rare, even if he frowns. His teasing is oh so welcome, and she wouldn’t want anything more. The smile she provides in turn is as mischievous in kind. A couple giggles slipping past containment precede her punchline. “...Can I give you my song now?”

Ribbit.

Ribbit.

One of the frogs wading among cattails in the water below has already started, long before the next main act arrived. It’s a sound that vibrates deep in one’s chest, the little croaks. Kakuzu’s eyes hood, and gradually, one corner of his lips rise in a smirk. It makes her heart flip, having such a look to match the voice. He’s so much...younger than she expected, at least younger looking. He speaks like he’s traveled the universe, end to end, seen everything there is to see.

“...What a trick to pull. It’s impressive.” The performer takes the opportunity to wink. Gotta know something in her brain full of cotton and glitter. She sits down at the edge of the cliff, legs over the side, and pulls her guitar off her back.

“But,” Kakuzu adds.

Her smile is gone.

“I still don’t want it.”

Ribbit.

Ribbit.

They’re taking turns now, him once silly and her now serious. The scent of lake water fills her nose and wafts down the throat, puts an aftertaste in her mouth. “Can I ask why?”

“…”

Silence is the reply. He doesn’t want to enjoy it. How can you put that into words without seeming weak? He didn’t live this long being vulnerable. The performer beats him to the punch:

“I thought life wasn’t worth it unless you’re a little silly.”

The way his lips curl in disdain is utterly delicious, no possible better response to the pastel clown, the way his silky brown hair drifts down at an ever-so-slightly different angle as he tilts his chin lower. “...You said that,” he chastises. “Not me.”

“But you didn’t disagree!” Her own irises become half covered by their lids, an expression somewhere between playful and challenging. She raises a smooth but accusing gesture of her open palm, reaching forward to welcome excuses. “And you called me ‘duckling’!”

His glower narrows even further as he’s presented the truth. ...Touche. Let’s get to the point, then. “Why do you want to give it to me?” he counters a question with his own. She’s ready to the draw like a pistol’s at her hip.

“Because I love you.”

The bluntness of it…!

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Kakuzu snaps. It’s clear now that the upset on his face since being accused of lightheartedness is, in all entirety, real. She is making a grave mistake. “People will misunderstand you.” She loves everyone...everything...people will take it personally. People will take it harshly. People will simply take it— take her as a possession.

How hypocritical, he knows. But that doesn’t stop it from being true. Something else is, too, she counters:

“But I mean it.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even if she does, even if somewhere in one brain cell, in one iota, one molecule of her being...even if she loves him, then...—

Kakuzu spits the answer back.

“...Then you shouldn’t love me.”

He’s so beautiful in the moonlight, even when he’s mad. Maybe especially so.

“And yet I do.” A patient tone, as if she knows everything, as if facts do not change at all just because you believe in them. The back and forth is too quick for his liking; this is something she has given thought, a script to follow. It needs to end here...no matter how painfully.

“I’ve killed, Takara,” he explains, cold as the water, cold as the furthest star, throwing a list of reasons over his shoulder at her like knives. “You know this. Among killers, I am the worst. I’ve created nothing but dead bodies and stacks of cash, neither of which you’ve expressed interest in having. Stop loving me.”

He’s done it. He’s said it all. There’s no way for her to squirm out of this, to make-believe an answer she wants instead of one she needs. The hunter’s brow pinches further as she loses the joy in her face. His frown stretches wider to reveal teeth as her sweet lips part. His eyes shake in their sockets with the effort he takes to lock onto her, to make it seen without a shadow of a doubt that he is not, will never, be worthy of her trust.

But even the frog knows to stop singing when it’s time for truth to ring. There’s only silence until the woman finds her voice.

And merely, once again, she smiles.

“Kakuzu… Do you think I’m stupid?”

What? In a flash, his confidence gone, wiped away in millimeters of shifting muscles that make his expression from one of faux rage to that of stupor. The performer, in all her practice, has the upper hand of changing faces with ease.

“There’s a reason I’m like this, you know.” Smiling, smiling, and it reaches her eyes— it reaches her eyes, so it must be true. It boggles Kakuzu, even more so as she goes on. “I know what death is. I know about starvation and poverty and the goddamn feeling that nothing you can do matters. Kakuzu—” Her voice raises, “—That’s why I’m here!”

It’s so sweet, her voice. It’s saccharine, words dripping from the humidity in the air to trickle down his throat. It’s like he’s tasting arsenic again, horrid as his dismissive, childish nickname for her. Duckling. Oh, silly duckling, what did you do? What do you know?

“I fucking killed myself because I lost my goddamn job.”

The hell…? Suicide… Kakuzu could have believed she didn’t know what suicide was if you had asked him only yesterday. Literally or otherwise, clearly the woman means something grave by the tale she’s weaving. Why then why does she sound so hopeful?

If he’s in a world of shock, then he’s about to be electrocuted to the other dimension.

“I’m in debt 40,000 fucking dollars on a useless degree when my parents didn’t even teach me how to open a bank account, when they instructed me to slave away a decade of my life to get said degree to keep myself alive.”

The performer begins to talk with her hands, arms stretched wide with the massive stage backdrop of dark blue night. She is an actress, and she gets to spin the tale of her demise just for him to see.

“I know that even though things are really different here, humanity is still shitty and there’s always going to be assholes and politicians and war.”

One, two, three. She’s stopped looking at Kakuzu and instead using her index finger to point where she imagines the three words to be.

“That sometimes, no matter what you do or pick, things aren’t going to go well. If you’re the worst person I’m going to meet...I don’t care!”

Palms face up and open the space in front of her in full, sarcastic welcome.

“I’m dumb and silly and do stupid things as a choice because I don’t want fear to keep me from doing anything at all. I did it all already!”

Quieter, now. He is helpless but to stand there, to listen, to feel but even a sliver of what has happened to her to make her like this.

“I did the serious life and talked to no one except who I had to, worried about so much as existing in front of other people that it has become ingrained in my FUCKING DNA.” A firm pinch on the skin of her forearm before letting it go, letting her arms sink. “...That I’m just a nuisance that doesn’t know how to talk to anyone. I did it all. Did it all without a goddamn thing to show for it. Kakuzu, I didn’t expect a round two at the whole ‘life thing.’ If I end up dead for giving it another shot…” The woman shrugs, casually with nothing she can do to change fate. “...I have nothing to lose!”

Kakuzu has no mask to hide how his lips part, how his jaw drops. She motions dismissively with both hands, palms downward and flat as they cut sideways in the air as if to part it while she stands up.

“I’ve had enough!” she puts as simply as giving up her place in line at the DMV. “I told you how I felt and that’s all I can do. Not gonna wait for other people again. You can find me if you need—”

He grabs her wrist. All confidence leaves her voice, turning it into her mousy squeak once more.

“...Me.”

Ribbit.

Ribbit.

The silence is long. It is awkward and painful and so very, very desperate. Even such a calculated mind needs time to sparse the details, effort to read past the raw emotion.

The question he has is, perhaps, not the first she expected, so soft it’d be unheard if he wore his mask:

…

…

“...How much is 40,000?”

A hum and a glance to the side before she returns to him, calm as can be. “So you know how a cup of soup costs 300 ryo?” He grunts. “That’d be like...six dollars.”

His brow furrows, though eyes stay wide as he runs the math, darting eyes counting with stars on an invisible abacus. “How,” he can merely breathe, “Did you get 2 million ryo in debt?!”

It’s criminal how she only shrugs to that number. That’s one that’d create a domino effect for a small nation, let alone ruin a single human being. There’s only one way you can speak about the bullshit, of course, and it’s with irony and humor, something the old man should be more than familiar with. “It’s the normal,” the performer sighs boredly. “Whole generation of kids got indoctrinated to believe that if you pay for higher education, you won’t be homeless. Hiked up the prices of college, and voila!” Her arms spread in presentation, a shit eating grin on her face, which she then points a finger into either cheek and twist around till it puts red marks on her skin. “You get a societal failure like me!”

Ineptitude of this grandiosity is impossible to wrap his mind around at the pace she’s running. Fake or not, this is quite the concept to imagine. “And you say this is normal?”

“YES!” He has never, ever, seen her more passionate about something, even singing, and perhaps he never will.

“The hell did you learn worth gambling your soul over?”

“Sociology,” she answers sharply with a point of the index finger; he’s beginning to see where she channels her body language from when performance is needed. She is, indeed, angry. He didn’t think it possible. She claps her hands every fourth word in the next statement. “I studied to be a goddamn sociologist because that’s what I’m interested in! Guess what I did for a living!”

The woman slaps her knees in rhetorical wait for a guess. She’s nearly manic, fire scorching in her eyes.

“I worked CUSTOMER SERVICE! I had to go to work the day my grandma died because they said they’d fire me if I took a day off, and then I performed so shittily that I got fired anyway!”

Kakuzu has never had so many questions in is goddamn life. “Specialization like yours...—” He tries to remember. Sociology...the study of societies, yes? That explains a lot about her, he guesses. Her tolerance for things, her willingness to withstand even Hidan’s religion. “—...worthless.”

“Apparently! But I’m not special.” Kakuzu follows her weaving of an economic nightmare with ease after seeing many in his own time on earth, words quiet on his tongue. Understanding doesn’t make it easier to swallow, though. He has to summarize, lest it all escape him:

“...An entire society of people so vastly in debt that they’re in servitude for all eternity.”

“Yes!”

“Despicable.”

“I know!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“And that’s how my country successfully functioned as a war-based economy.”

Kakuzu is beside himself, laying on his back next to her as they stare at the constellations, some of which she can name. He only managed to delay the inevitable. He did, after all, stay up till morning with a woman who should really be in bed.

“I…underestimated your knowledge.”

Too tired to add much more, she just shrugs. “It’s okay. I can’t blame you.”

But it can’t stop there; he has to wrap around to something she mentioned so briefly in passing, minutes and maybe even hours behind several adjacent topics of conversation. Question is...if it’s all theoretical or otherwise.

“...You said you killed yourself.”

Ribbit.

Ribbit.

The frog continues on his own as she’s quiet now, no longer just thinking of herself as a statistic, as a symptom of a weary and sick society. The stranger is her own person, the only one that can be responsible for herself. Such care is overwhelming, exhausting, and so she can’t manage to repeat herself. Kakuzu sighs, this time finally in a way meant to be heard.

“...This is all hard to believe.”

“I know,” she answers, unaffected, eyes missing above. “You don’t have to.”

That’s something they have in common. They don’t have to believe any of the details about each other in order to know the core of the matter.

But that does leave one more thing…

“Don’t tell anyone. Okay?” He stares, stares with his whole uncovered, stitched face, but even if he’d beg, the woman couldn’t bring herself to look back as she pleads for her life. “That’s the only thing interesting about me… That’s...my whole backstory. Okay?”

Defensively, that ‘okay’ is said. Tired eyes draw closer to shut, lost in space, lost in wherever her soul may have flown off to so long ago.

“...That I’m a fucking failure.”

She whispers her deepest sins, sans pity-worthy details. Somehow she cries even more over the welfare of two bloodthirsty ninja than her own poor self, not even a tear. Perhaps they’ve all dried up long ago over this thing, this ghost that haunts her.

“I didn’t even kill myself right.”

There’s no choice in his mind. He has to touch her. He has to bring her close. He begins by reaching forward, slow as not to frighten the delicate creature. His palm merely brushes against her cheek, merely asks it to move to face him through the chilled grass instead of force it to. But he can’t make her eyes look back. She’s biting the inside of her lip, both to shut herself up and to punish for that which she feels shame. She talks too much. Thinks too much.

Yet not enough at all.

She’s so tired of trying to figure it out. What more does he want? What can she say to make him feel better, stop worrying? The whole speech she gave was supposed to make it better, to make him less upset. She’s still a fuck-up. Such a fuck-up...

“I don’t have more to offer,” the dead dreamer consoles, wondering if he can feel her disgrace through a shiver she has in this night air, upon the near-morning dew. “People are...being so nice to me. Treating me precious. Your leader thinking I’m special.” A bitter chuckle. “...I think if the whole ‘Jashin plopped me down from the stars just to meet Hidan’ bit was true, it’d make more ironic sense. At least God would be funny about the whole damn thing.”

Wit, resentful wit. It tastes familiar in his own mouth, but doesn’t sound the same arriving to his ears. Not from that voice which puts tales of fairies and unicorns to shame. It’s too pretty for this. And yet…

And yet.

Ribbit.

Ribbit.

He has a solution, at least of some sort. Kakuzu replies to his musician:

"...More ironic than finding success?" It stings. It fucking stings. Her eyes squeeze shut, teeth grit, and Kakuzu’s afraid to move even an inch, even to take his rough hand away. Tears finally find a way out. They’re hot against his skin.

His skin feels like home. Even if she doesn’t know what that is.

As a hand with no ring comes up to clasp his, the bounty hunter notices something he’s never seen before. His whole life, he’s been one color. Let’s say...blue. He sees others, the way they affect one another, and sees their colors hope to make something beautiful but begin to muddle, begin to be unsightly and regretful and permanent. He keeps his hands to himself; he will not take part, not any further than the betrayal of his homeland turned the sclera of his eyes bloody, bruised red. And then, so long down the road, it surprises him when someone brave enough to ignore the warning signs grasps his hand herself, holds it so lovingly. She’s yellow, like tart lemons and stripes on bumblebees. She catches onto him long enough to dye him, at least a little, the stain reaching further and further up his arm like watercolor on wet paper. Being yellow means he is no longer just blue; he is no longer what he knows, what he can control. It’s scared him. So foolishly, it has, and yet he had reason to fear; his dyed hand, after all, is the one that hurt her.

What he didn’t see till now is that she’s more than one color, too. A drop, intense as condensing all of the ocean but small as the beads of dew, has found its way from the top of her scalp, dripping its hue downward in a line over her lips. She is changed. It just took time to bleed down from where cool-toned fingers pat a warm head of hair.

In front of him, his blue is crawling down her body. He’s feared it all along, and yet...it is not the worst, not the thing he truly did not want.

Despite it all...he never realized he was blue at all, that he was acting so defensively. That he had been afraid of being anything. It’s a lot to realize about yourself all at once:

That he is changed, too.

Sunshine’s aura washes into the fingers of his that touch her, from too the fingers of hers that touch him back.

Ribbit.

Ribbit.

The quivering of holding back sobs eases away. Eyes drenched crack open. Her thumb evaluates how stitches feel. Calming, lake-toned azure eases her suffering, at least dulls it into a more distant throb than a sharp pang. His skin feels like...leather. It matches the color, a soft shade of brown. She wonders if this is part of why threads weave into him so easily. "Kakuzu..." He returns, not with her name but what she is to him:

“Takara.”

She still does not know what her name means. She asks something nearly the same as asking for that:

“Why are you so nice to me?”

She speaks of it as if it’s worse than her trying to die.

“I don’t know.” But he does. But it’d taint her more to admit it. Gently, oh so gently, she moves their hands to be clasped over her heart.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers, soft as soft can be, like even a feather could tip the balance and collapse it all for good, things too good to be true crumbling until it turns to dust, the ashes of her cremation. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready for the dream to end.”

…

Kakuzu makes a gamble. He imagines her hand in his as rolling the dice, feeling luck and magic on his fingertips, making him breathless with risk.

“...Then make me a promise.”

“Anything.”

…

…

“You say you love me,” the man finally speaks. His volume so small matches hers, matches the wicked feelings. “How much do you love me?” There’s no time for her to interrupt his answer. “Enough to live?”

The most he could ever ask of her. It’s the challenge of a lifetime. His voice, so soft, so low, sends tingles down her spine. The answer is clear, even if impossible:

“Yes.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day, she finally does it. Rose-tinted glasses and bow-tied hat on, she holds her guitar in the piano room and has told everyone she has a song to sing. But it’s for him.

It’s for all of them, but it’s for him.

Kakuzu ignores Tobi’s excited shoving of Hidan’s arm, bumping the Jashinist into his side. The swearing washes over him, distant and meaningless. The piercing gaze of the Uchiha is no more, nor is the sharp teeth of the animal he calls his partner. Everyone is here, but all eyes are on her.

A strum of the strings, a flick of her wrist, and she practices making a second chance worth the while.

It’s a childish song, the dreaded “s word” that Kakuzu has thought so much, heard too much. It’s about a man that grew out of the ground with a goofy grin on his mug, follows you around like a smiley-face tick. You carry on with your mundane, useless chores, sappy and homey and ridiculous all at once. You change one another.

For better or worse. Bad things happen. Tragedy is inevitable.

Oh...oh...oh… Her melody hums, thick as honey from her tongue. Kakuzu is certain this song is about him, and it is. But it’s also about her. And she’s not willing to let this song end as badly as a prior lifetime. The last “oh” starts low, but it soars, high and hopeful to the heavens. Her stance widens and she looks up to the sky as if it’s hers to claim.

Lemon Boy and I, we're gonna live forever

Like Snufkin and Little My, we'll get around wherever

She wishes she knew how to drive a motorcycle, longs for the wind in her hair and the excitement; it’s what she feels, it’s what would be appropriate. She closes her eyes and arsenic has the aftertaste of adventure. The image pops in her head: her hands on the handles, coolest leather vest in town as a leather-textured boy hangs on her back, her for once in charge of there they go. She has no idea that this is the case all along. Wherever Kakuzu’s arm is dragged, he now follows his treasure to the ends of the earth. The lyrics repeat, the names unknown but the sentiment as clear to the treasurer as their starry night sky:

Lemon Boy and I, we're gonna live forever

Like Snufkin and Little My, we'll get around wherever

Yellow and blue make such a refreshing shade of green.

It's actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him

'Cause we're the bitterest boys in town

Yeah, we're the bitterest guys around

It’s far too audacious as she abruptly walks over, goes from one man to the next, how she finishes by leaning into Kakuzu’s free side as if he’d have nothing to say about it. He is cloaked, garbed in red clouds of death and a dark mask to conceal his face. To everyone else, he is pretending not to notice...

...But to the stranger, he cannot hide how the smile reaches his eyes, even if he's still unsure to welcome the emotion or try to shove it away. He’s learned so much from the person he’s intended to teach.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“AAAAAAH-!”

The woman screams as she’s tossed unceremoniously up to the clouds, feeling the force of gravity first in the way that her body attempts to break it, climbing up and up and up with the power of his throw. A couple of times on roller coasters have prepared her instincts well: her stomach sinks in anticipation for the rest of her, just as the acceleration slows and the drop is about to begin.

“AAA—” … And she waits for a fall that does not come. “...Oh…?” The first thing in her vision is the bright blue sky in contrast to the vast forest. Wow...what a view. It’s open like she’s high above—

—Oh. Oh Jesus. Is she really two stories up in the air? TOBI?!

A heavy, heavy sigh is heard from an open window nearby, practically behind her ear. It wakes her up to look down, first at the guys staring up at her from the ground, then a bit closer to her own self. Black threads wrap around her body, around from her back and then loop over and over around her legs; it feels as secure as, well, if you somehow warped metal straight out of the flame to a custom fit just for you. The sight of herself is enough to swallow further shrieks, much to the relief of he who has rescued her from such reckless affairs.

Kakuzu leans down, open fist outside the threshold of the window pane with threads weaving out of rips in his skin that keep her in place. Menacingly, his glower rolls down to the ants below. "You...stupid motherfuckers."

"IT WAS TOBI, JACKASS!" Hidan quickly accuses, pointing to the culprit. A growl and a death glare is all it takes for the masked man to whine like a scared puppy. That’s good enough to appease Kakuzu. For now.

Ironically enough, it's his turn in this ridiculous game: "Come on, then..."

The three watch as the woman flies back into the house, a small eek on the back of her tongue and window promptly shut behind her with a slam. A moment of silence, all four men staring up to where she was spirited away.

…

…

“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Hidan states without any urgency, glancing over to the orange spiral. “He’s kind of famous for that.” And though Tobi fakes shaking in his boots very, very convincingly, everyone else still thinks he’d deserve it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

What a mess, Kakuzu thinks. He exhales, fully undressed besides a pair of pants, no face covering nor shirt to cover his unnerving stitches. Thanks, Tobi. A small “oof” is muttered as the woman is set down on his bed without a second glance, man himself turning around to retain what little respect he has left. It's an opportunity for the performer to briefly gain her bearings. Kakuzu’s room, she vaguely recalls. Really has been inside it only once— no, not even inside . She’s only seen into it less than a handful of times. Frankly, it’s pretty...ordinary. It’s clean. It at first seems to lack hobbies. No piles of clay, no sword to polish (re-wrap??? Samehada is a stick of bandages, after all), no circle to pray in. But it becomes apparent that what he has instead of things to humor him is...finances. Receipts and bills are nicely organized or are in a pile waiting to be, a bingo book of wanted criminals open that perhaps may promise enough funds to keep this makeshift horrid fucking family alive another day. A couple of briefcases are neatly lined next to his desk, metal and heavy looking as if to transport valuables.

Her head shifts side to side. Grumbling, taking no heed, the treasurer has walked over to his closet in search of attire to make him better suited to be around a lady. He forgets so easily that the strangest thing about him isn't just the stitches but what they lead to on his backside…

"What...?"

Thinking this is about the metal threads, he looks over his shoulder as she finally looks to him and speaks. “They—” he begins. But, oh. Oh, no, it isn’t those her eyes are locked on; the threads have slunk back into his hollowed body already. What he sees, instead, is her pointing squarely at the masks. There's four of them, different animals and colors.

"Are those...attached to you?"

Ah. Right. Damn . He exhales yet again, not moving so she gets a good long look, ogles to her heart's content at the freak he is, get it out of the way. Guess it was inevitable she find out. "Yes." Then he reaches forward, a tank top chosen off the shelf with an open back for these creatures. It’s more comfortable, for one, and for another makes it easier to fight if they don’t have to pop through and ruin a perfectly good shirt. Never can be too prepared. Not too fast as to not scare, he turns his front back around despite his bare chest facing her. She looks so small, somehow, head hunched down and eyes angled up as she sits upon the edge of his own bed. How do they always get off the wrong foot when they don't even try?

"I'm sorry." Because of course she is. There’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

One thing is sure: "Don't be."

A thread drifts away from his bicep like an autonomous, thin tentacle, locking the door just in time to hear the nob shift futility and Hidan knock ever so impatiently to be let in. His head turns sharply, a snarl on his face. She notes how the way his eyes scrunch up is such a common expression above his usual mask; does he always frown like that when they do? "Give the girl ten damn minutes without your nonsense!"

Vague but clearly angry response muddles through the closed door, but Kakuzu's expression stays and so does his order. A moment of silence and gradually the arguing fades, something about promising to be back later. The hunter’s tense brow relaxes and so do the corners of his lips, and red and green eyes stop bulging. In. Out. He catches his breath and turns boiling rage to a simmer. For her sake. Calm down, for her sake.

The stitches on his face move with his cheeks, she can tell from where she grips the edge of the bed; they are, most certainly, not just burns or scars or face paint. His eyes catch hers, a challenge in them that regains a sliver of the anger he managed to beat back, daring her to call him a monster. Unnatural. Hideous. It’s all true, just get it over with. A flash of something else was before that, though, on his face. It's an emotion that feels familiar in her own chest.

Despite his expectations, she reaches out to him, slowly raising her wrist with a begging, upward-facing palm. He doesn't flinch, eyes starting at the woman’s fingertips, trailing up her arm and to her face.

"...What?"

How can she say it? Both palms, now, come back, gesturing together for him to come here. Out of pure confusion and desire to know what the hell she means, Kakuzu simply obeys.

Shaky hands go to the brown arm as he grunts with the unexpected contact, even as her touch is more gentle than he could have imagined. Maybe even especially so. As she sits on his bed, one hand goes under his palm to steady it in place while the other wanders up to explore, both visually and tactilly...

The bounty hunter…has two tattooed bands on his forearm. At first she assumed that's where they come from, but no, the actual stitches are higher up, unmistakable as the source of his eldritch-seeming threads. She traces up to the shoulder, then under his chin. There's even more of these lines on his torso, seen far, far too easily as he hasn’t yet slipped on his top in this unexpected intermission, and she can tell they all lead like train tracks to the masks embedded into his latissimus dorsi. Her eyes consume him, taste him, know him. She's far from the first to witness him like this, in battle or otherwise, and so he ignores the sense of novelty that washes over him and behaves with expectations that are tried and true. Something Kakuzu and his musician have in common is how they’ll insult themselves with the truth before you can turn it against them first.

"...I know. I know what I look like." But she acts like she hasn't . She's seen him before, though, the times she barged in at the peak of midnight...why is it different now?

Sometimes trauma heightens the senses, lets you take in things better than before. The quivering touch of the performer moves to reach further upon his skin, still. In awe, fingertips barely brush against his chest and most unbelievably, he doesn't stop her.

Tears well up on her eyes, which to his surprise turn up to his own instead of staying locked lower down on his ugly, deformed self.

"Does it hurt?"

...That’s not something he's been asked before. IF it hurt, yes, when “it” happened decades ago. If it does when hearts pump out of his back to attack and spew the elements at his enemies. Yes and yes, answers to both as well as if others have been so brave as to inquire directly to the bastard himself. But does he hurt now , merely existing with this curse? It's been so long with the aches stitched into him that he's forgotten, so he searches the numbness under his skin for what the answer may be.

"...Yes," he discovers, despite how it might make her cry. He knows she likes the truth. "...But it's better than before,” Kakuzu softens. In several ways. Better off with than without them. Better off than being fully human. Better off than being dead.

He sits down next to her and unbelievably, after rubbing the saltwater from her face, this woman shifts. Yes, yes, he is not mistaken; this woman now crawls onto his lap.

And he lets her. 

All hearts pounding in discordant, unmatched pulses, he lets her. Legs wrap around his side, thighs seated atop his own. She trusts him. Even after everything, even seeing him like this...—? Oh so delicately, with a hesitance that draws her away before curiosity pulls her back in, this soothing lady traces the metal woven into him. The way he is… It reminds her of something. Something distinct. A visceral sort of memory, one from long, long ago…

…Kakuzu notices before she does that his performer is humming.

It's a tune both sweet and melancholy, befitting a creature like her and somehow, too, the way she approaches a beast like him. His gaze softens, lips no longer a stern, stretched line, and he drinks her wonder in. Kakuzu missed the songs that used to always tinge her voice, and this is the first it’s come back since she has come back home to him, even if so, very small.

“...Oh…!” The woman pulls back, somehow both after too long and far too soon, and she...smiles up at him. This…who he is…makes her happy? “...You remind me of...a rag doll.”

…

Dark brown hair drifts past his face as he savors that nickname, elaborates to himself on the implications. He’s been called it before, yeah...usually just before deciding to detach the person by their arteries. How can it seem so... kind from those lips? So adoring…? She has an answer, and it’s silly just like her.

“When I was little…” the performer tries to explain with stilted words, as plainly as she can so as to not confuse, “...I loved a story. It had a rag doll...who...stuffed herself with leaves.”

The Frankenstein's Monster stays silent, does so regardless of if there’s more for her to add. The slightest, softest inhale and the humming begins again...this time closer to the singing the Akatsuki miss, just without words. Down, up, and up...down… Down, up, and up...down… Lovely indeed, whatever it is, even if simple and bouncy. It was, after all, one of the first melodies she memorized on her own volition. Idly, she traces him again, finding a spot just at his collarbone and right at her line of sight. The threads are stiffer than they look, less like woven fabric and more like surgical staples. How do they move with such lithe grace, so little effort?

As she ponderers this question, one of his own springs off Kakuzu's tongue like a diving board.

“...You never sang when you were alive?” To his relief, the humming doesn’t stop; it’s such a piece of her, this melody that she can do it without thinking. A free hand wipes her eye again, and despite the nature of everything, her tiny smile does not waver nor flinch away as she answers.

“...I wanted to,” she murmurs after a moment, voice light and wispy much the same way as she seems next to someone rough like himself. “I wanted to be a singer...a musician…” A guitarist, a keyboard player, a...star. A performer. “I...learned...to stop doing it...just because I felt I had to, and started doing it...for fun by myself.”

Eyes close, and she tries to identify these marks on him with touch alone, tries to narrow down exactly what he feels like skin on skin. Kakuzu wonders if she can feel how his pulse is stronger than one any normal person should have.

“You could have been.” And she is now, he reminds himself. Or at least she will be once this nonsense is said and done and she can get back to a nondescript civilian life. But...she shakes her head.

“Too scared,” the woman says, “Too shy.”

“How do you know that? Did you try?” Perhaps foolish to challenge; the thing she is surest in besides the persistent strength of humanity is the failures of her own making.

“I had the chance...I was offered...to be in a play…” The smile widens, showing teeth and hiding a grimace. “...I was too little and too scared. And I never…”

…

She doesn’t continue that thought.

“Why didn't you try again? You were just a child, right? Children are allowed to be wrong.” But as soon as he says it, he knows this isn’t true. He knows from experience. So does she. A long, painful silence...and then her eyes open. The humming continues, sweet and sad. She reaches up into his hair, delicately, to see if it feels as smooth as it looks.

"She falls in love with someone...who can't see his demise coming,” the woman explains of the rag doll with leaves. His brown hair is silky and soft. “She tries to help. In the end...it gets her in trouble. He realizes she's in danger and saves her." Kakuzu raises a brow, stitches at his mouth exaggerating a purse of his lips.

"What monster pairs with a living rag doll?" And to his surprise, she beams once more:

"A skeleton!"

...Oh. He grunts, his way of chuckling without being so vulnerable as to give off actual mirth, eyes hooding and smirk forming. "I know what you're going to say, Takara...that that’s like us."

The combing stops, big eyes blinking their befuddlement as the curled fingers pull away. "Excuse me?"

...Oh, dammit. She has never even seen Hidan's ritual form, and so Kakuzu feels his face flush at making the connection himself. Goddammit… As if Hidan could ever save him. It's always the other way around...

"Am...am I...a...a skeleton?" she stutters, not getting it.

"No,” he cuts in sharply. Too sharp, in fact— “I mean— ...never mind."

…

…

The now free hands of the woman fidget index fingers, pressing tip against tip. "There's another character...that's filled with bugs," she adds, as if this is helpful in any way whatsoever.

"…" Kakuzu answers, gaze narrowed and mouth in a straight line.

"I like bugs."

And so he exhales yet-fucking-again. "Takara, you're very fortunate I happen to be tolerant of the dumb shit you say." Hidan owes him for that, too, really.

"Oh." The woman on his lap doesn't need to say: she's sorry. She gets shy and withdrawn and her hands drift even further away. Exasperated, Kakuzu takes them into his own grasp.

"...But it's better than you never talking again."

He can't touch her with his own hands; surely he's too rough, both literally and figuratively. The threads come instead, strange and cold and inhuman. It only makes her remember what it was like to hold him by the fingers, though, as she did once when Kakuzu taught her how to read the stars.

"...Can I ask you something rude?"

What a weird thing to ask. He shrugs, just barely so not to shake her too much up and down as she sits on him. Is this fine? Is she safe so close to him? Is it proper for a man to let her do it? And yet he can’t bring himself to pull them apart. "Alright."

"Why is your skin... so...?"

It isn’t a sigh this time as he releases air from heavy lungs, but a chuckle. You can tell it comes from deep in his chest, even if quiet. "It'd be rude if you ignored it. That's just how I am now."

She blinks again, lashes fluttering. "You weren't... always...?"

"No. I was someone else a long time ago."

"Like me?"

…

He thinks about this, long and hard. This girl does, after all, remind him of who he used to be. So what does that mean of her before? He recalls her mentions of a life before a death, an existence riddled with agony, debt, and servitude. A broken loyalty to a system that felt nothing for her, and waking up to abandon it by any means necessary. …So, perhaps, they have switched lives. Silly boy to serious man. Serious woman to silly girl. Funny how life works out. They both had a death of sorts in between to make it happen, and here they are.

"Sure. Like you, I guess."

"Thank you," she responds inexplicably, despite the implications he sees, an emotion so bright dripping from her mouth like honey from a hive. There isn’t even a blush on her face; with the next action, it’s all whimsy and instinct and no thought whatsoever. It has to be, to be so silly.

The woman leans up and presses a kiss on his forehead, for once bare of the headband marked with his betrayal. A sensation tingles down his own cheeks, down his neck, into the depths of five dark hearts. Despite it all...he feels joy. It makes him tense up. Alas, this is so easy to pick up on with how close they are, and she jerks back immediately, crawling off his lap just as quickly as she got on. Now her face is red.

"Sorry…! I—... Sorry."

Sorry... That’s the right word for giving a guy like him the time of day, the warmth from a sixth blood-pumping organ somehow tied inseparably to his quintet. "It's fine,” he responds in calculation, choosing not to tell her how much he enjoyed it. “Just...be careful who you do that to. Alright?"

Instead of asking why, she simply says, unable to look him in the face: "I'm bad…" And calmly— oh so calmly compared to a moment ago— he retorts, his own voice murmured and already longing for her song.

"I didn't say that."

...

"I meant it,” the taki-nin elaborates, both as a comfort and an admonition. “We're all like this, Takara. ...If not outside like me then on the inside. Keep your wits about you. Save your affection for those who are deserving. It isn’t you that’s wrong, here. If someone has to be called 'bad'…" Childish worldview as it is, to be so black and white, the answer is undeniable. “...It’s us. They threw you, for god’s sake.”

"But...I...—"

"And if you can't," he adds selfishly, and the next is a whisper. "At least be tactful about it." The scariest part about what happens next is that he does, indeed, mull it over before it’s done. The outcomes are considered, the details poured over, and the fool still does exactly as he's warned her of.

A press of his world-weary lips comes from out of nowhere yet arrives so, so gently, just as soon pulling back before she can even tell what's happened. And though he isn’t brimming with sunshine like Takara can, this old man still can’t hide he’s making a silly, silly choice. "...Duckling."

And that’s it. There’s the slightest smirk on his face as he slinks backwards off the bed, visible until Kakuzu turns around and throws the signature cloak of his ilk over leathery-textured shoulders. The traveler gapes, what she thought as her mistake now his confirmation—

“Oi!” another guilty pleasure beckons impatiently behind Kakuzu’s locks. The bounty hunter huffs, allowing the woman one last opportunity to see a widening grin before the mask slips back on.

“Perfect timing.”

Before she knows it, another, paler set of arms come around the performer, Hidan complaining with his chin upon her head of her terrible, unforgivable absence for all of ten minutes. It really is over so very, very quickly. It has to be, lest the choices grow poorer and poorer between a half-naked man and a lady not even back to herself.

But he hums the lonely rag doll’s song back to himself all the same in private the rest of this day, up through dinner, in the bath, hell— maybe even in his sleep. It somehow sounds just fine on his old, gravely tongue as a mind re-walks the life it’s led just to work up to something as stupid and risky as this. Dead leaves fall down past the window where the zombie scooped her into his waiting lap, and he wonders what it would be like to stuff them underneath his patchwork skin.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Are you serious?”

A response like that and it's obvious why the woman squirms in embarrassment, looking away and locking her knees as she holds a prized possession tightly to her chest, though it hasn't been with her as long as the phone she shared with Deidara. Book to her chest, she nearly looks like a schoolgirl; that is, if she was a schoolgirl from Hell. Kakuzu narrows his scrutinizing stare. He’s wearing his face covering and hood, but only the eyes are needed for Jashin’s worst disciple to feel his harsh judgment.

“It’s never...felt like the right time!” Yeah, sure. The lady has time to tell Kakuzu she’s a suicide victim from another dimension but not any to tell her supposed "first friend" she can’t fucking read. Silence alone is capable of speaking this aloud, whether it is from the immortal or if it is her own making. Regardless, the truth of her hypocrisy is enough to make her hum with agitation, skin upon her face bright red. “I know, I know...I’m sorry.”

Kakuzu can’t help but lower his head and pinch his temple at that nonsense. “Takara...it isn’t me you need to apologize to.”

“I know—” The defense is quick...but then hits the reality, and her shoulders drop. “...I know,” she repeats, softer and wiser, hooded gaze locked on the lefthand wall, though it isn’t far enough to keep Kakuzu out of her peripheral, and that alone is enough to make her realize she’s hiding, even if metaphorically. Lids shut and she exhales hard, slumping her shoulders. “I just...don’t know where to begin.”

It is so, so tempting to be a smartass right now, but the tone she carries tells him that’s the last thing she needs. An exhale of his own, lighter behind his mask, and the stitched man reaches forward and gestures with an exasperated “give it” gesture. And though she hesitates, it is only because she wishes she did not have to. All the same, Hidan’s wretched, literally bloody bible is put into trusted hands.

“I’ll do it just this once,” the old man grumbles, though he has no idea what is going to stop her from asking again and him from giving in so readily to those big star-reading eyes. He feels the woman sit by his side as he observes the book itself. “I still can hardly believe he managed the damn thing.” The front cover, barely attached now with how hard Hidan tried to carve his own sigil onto it, is folded open. Hands so practiced with flipping pages feel the age of the ones upcoming, a finger tracing over the folds. “The blood certainly didn’t help the damage this one already must have had…” he laments. Not his kind of book, whatever sort of fairy tale this used to hold, but still seems like a waste... Though perhaps, since it was abandoned, becoming something else at the hands of a crazed prophet was the next best thing.

...The woman is so close, her cheek resting on his bare arm, usual cloak draping on the back of the couch instead of over his shoulders. A palm moves to rest on his thigh, and the way it feels makes him look over to her. To his own surprise, he speaks not with admonishment but with concern. “You’re tense,” Kakuzu observes. She nods.

“Kakuzu…” the performer mutters, looking lost in letters on a page that could mean absolutely anything. “...He made this so long ago...what if there’s something he’s meant for me to know this whole time? Working on the assumption that I just...get it and agree?” She’s already hardly on board with the whole ‘kill people’ thing, if even that. Hidan’s...a lot, to say the least, but what if...what if…?

...There’s a lot of what ifs, all of a sudden. That’s why she hasn’t told him yet she hasn’t read it.

“Like what?” Hidan’s partner prods, trying to decide if he’s savoring the sensation of her touching him so tenderly or merely noticing it, based on how much it’s sticking out to his attention. But she’s just quiet, the words she wants to say either nonsensical or merely impossible to describe. The resulting action is that she sinks ever closer, like she can disappear under his skin.

“Can I tell you something?”

That’s her way of saying she’s asking for emotional labor, which is honestly appreciated to consent to in advance. “...I suppose,” he allows.

Ah shit, where does she begin? There’s a thousand layers with a thousand more strings threading them together, stitching her heart into a whole human being. It’s just something so fundamental that it’s overwhelming to consider, to try to help someone see how you see without getting lost on the way there. Perhaps the only thing that can be done is start at the beginning…

“The...the day we first met,” the woman ties to explain, and she wonders if he can tell how her pulse is racing. “Hidan took me out to eat...and when I told him I was kidnapped...he said I wasn’t pretty.”

Kakuzu’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at first, though they soon narrow to nearly slits. “...What.” She squirms yet again, burrowing a little lower into his side.

“It...made sense in the context,” she tries to defend once more, “Talking about...why I might have been kidnapped.”

That doesn’t solve that much for Kakuzu, however. “So what?”

…

So everything, really. Her lungs empty again. What comes next may come across like a non sequitur, though it’s far from it for the traveler.

“Kakuzu...you— you were my first kiss...you know?” And finally, finally, she shifts to look up at him. All of a sudden, it makes sense; face so innocent, hands so scared, heart so gentle. Far, far from how Hidan and Kakuzu have lived their lives. And she picks them...? “And…” a smile flickers, genuine despite her anxiety. “...It was...wonderful.”

It’s his turn to heat up now, though it’s hidden behind fabric. He tilts his head to glance down. This is the first they’ve talked about it since it happened... A quick glance to the exit he faces, a quick sensing of chakra— at least as well as he can— and he decides this is safe, so long as their voices stay low.

“...I’m flattered you think so,” he replies sincerely, though so, so tempted to joke that it isn’t much of a compliment if she has only kissed once. The squiggly, shy smile she gives is more than enough reward for holding his tongue so obediently.

“I love you…!” But then...her expression so slowly drops. “I...need to tell you something." It's so, so worried. "And it’s okay if you don’t like it. You just have to know.”

He blinks with a short grunt. What could that mean? “Whatever you say won’t be as bad as you think it is,” Kakuzu assures. But she shakes her head in disagreement.

“You might not like me anymore,” she says, despite every alarm in her brain telling her to stop here. “And that just has to be okay.” Just as she turns to look away, lest she lose her nerve to talk at all, a leathery hand, as delicately as a brute like him can, takes two fingers underneath her chin and pulls her back. The only part of his face visible, still, are his eyes, but that’s all that’s needed.

“Tell me,” he says. And he means it. No anger, no harm, will befall her today. “It’ll be just fine.”

And maybe, just maybe, it will. The woman’s smallest smile comes forth, a teardrop welling in one eye that she shoves away with the back of her hand; Kakuzu’s own pulls back, allowing space. “Okay…” she promises, steeling herself.

With only the books on the shelf to hear, she tells him a secret. The woman had no idea until...well...the exact day is unknown. It more so...crept up on her. Little by little, it became apparent that a piece of her was becoming more prominent...something she never thought would have opportunity to be heard...and not everyone may understand.

“There’s...something from my world,” she starts, though backtracks already. “Though I suppose it may have a name here, too.” Surely it exists, but is it known? Is it accepted? “It’s...it’s like..." she struggles. "You know how people say they give their heart to you and only you?”

He does, though perhaps he's experienced it in a more literal manner. ...Damn, he’s on fire today. Shame it’s not the right place or time to be stand up comedian. As such, Kakuzu allows the woman to continue.

“I...never really understood it,” she admits, making herself so small, and though something deep inside tells her to feel guilty, her heart and mind both know better. It took a long time to get so far as to recognize this is how she is, let alone speak it. “I always thought of love as...bottomless. You know? Like how it can be unconditional. Energy is real and finite, yeah, but…”

You’re halfway there. Just spit it out.

...

...

“I don’t...feel...love...the same way others do. At least...how most others seem to. I can feel love...for more than one person at once.” And you need to elaborate: “Without feeling the need...to...choose.”

He doesn’t move. Not an inch. That could mean anything.

“Y-y-you don’t have to spend time with me,” she apologizes in so many words, tumbling fast as they can before Kakuzu can interrupt. It’s already unbelievable she’s been kissed at all; what if he doesn’t feel that way anymore? What if she just threw it all out the window?! “If that makes you uncomfortable.”

…

…

A shake.

Her eyes pop wide. She feels him tremble. Bit by bit, the stirring inside him grows. And it scares the shit out of her, so much so she sits straight up and stops pressing skin against skin. It scares her...until…

…

He squeezes his eyes shut...and...

The man chuckles.

To her amazement, from deep in his chest and five hearts, he feels joy. She watches in both confusion and awe, gaze flicking up at down over him as he raises a hand to cover a mouth already unseen. Almost like hiccups, a few more laughs come before the man takes in a steadying breath and opens his eyes once again to look at her. There's mirth in them that perhaps no one else has gotten to see.

“Is that all?” And it’s so silly how she perks up in surprise at that. “Listen..." he elaborates, "I’ve been alive longer than most. Certainly longer than you...unless you’re immortal too.” ...Did he tell her that yet? Well, damn. Explanations can come in due time if necessary. “I’ve seen a lot of unbelievable shit. And duckling?”

Duckling, she hears the word ring in her ear like a sweet, sweet bell.

“That’s far from it.”

...It takes a second before her mouth knows how to talk again. “You...you don’t mind?”

“Again. Far from it,” he snorts, tilting his head and hooding his eyelids so coyly, putting an arm over the top of the couch so as to exaggerate his relaxed state. “I knew from the start. You...just love everyone.” And a raise of the brow with enough pause to make sure she sees it. “...Didn’t I tell you so? That’s why I warned you.” Warned her to be strategic about her affections, that is.

And now her mouth is merely open because she is dumbfounded. “You...knew?!”

And he nods.

Blink blink. “I...oh…” And though her cheeks never stopped flushing, somehow the blush takes on a whole new meaning. Kakuzu...understands. He...understands!

“I’m guessing you’re worried Hidan might not get it, too.”

There it is. The heart of the matter. He regrets hopping right to it, as it makes her shrink up just as much as before, but it needs to be done; she didn't bring this up for nothing. And indeed, she did have purpose: “Well, yeah...but...that’s not really the issue, per say. He just...doesn’t...like me that way. And that’s fine! It’s just…”

…

“You want him to.”

She nods, guiltily. “But the one thing I’ve learned is you can’t force people to change how they feel. You can only change what you do about it.”

“Wise words from a silly little duckling.” And though she smiles again, it is still more nervous than happy, so he has to explain. “Takara...I can’t pretend to know that. What he really thinks.” Of course not. “But. I can tell you what I’ve seen. Even he doesn’t ‘love you’, whatever the hell that really means...the damn man is changed. Trust me. I spend every waking moment with the bastard.”

She spurts a giggle, indignant.

“You laugh, but really,” he returns with the slightest dismissive raise of his wrist. And then he turns forward again in his seat, grasp to return to Hidan’s writings meant only for his disciple. Kakuzu lifts it up in demonstration. “No matter what is in this damn book...he’s not the same man he was when he made it, I figure. You of all people should know that affection is so fucking tumultuous… Who gives a shit if he thinks you’re pretty? He’s your friend.” Then the clincher, asking her to think for herself: "Right?"

That's the hardest part. The bottom lip, already scarred from similar, prior action, is bit. Unable to take it, Kakuzu exhales once more and cups her chin again, leaning close so she can focus on nothing else. If she admires him...he's going to make use of it. The next words are whispered.

“That’s something I never thought he had in him.”

The gentle fingers linger away, the woman’s eyes fluttering as she drinks it all in. “He’s...my friend.”

Kakuzu dips his head affirmatively. “Yeah." But enough of that; too many emotions already. "Now let’s get this over with and read this goddamn book.” Then...a sharpness in his stare, a mischievous gleam. “...Unless you want to tell me more about how the likes of me was your first kiss.”

Though it isn’t the sort of easy choice Kakuzu meant it to be for her, the intended answer is still obvious. Still in disbelief, like it’s all a dream, she nods again herself and slides back next to the large rag doll, so warm and kind despite how hard she makes it to be. Whatever is in that book, it has to be okay.

“Let’s see…” he murmurs, soon as she's nice and cozy. No backing down now...

And the minutes pass like nothing, smooth as melting butter. Hidan’s written word begins with mostly what is expected— the best way to draw your ritual circle, the preferred sources of blood both for individuals and for the spots on their body, the nuances of modern dririmancy— but then, page by page, it drifts into something more...metaphysical.

Kakuzu never really gave due credit before how eloquent his partner can be, how well thought. Of course, he has a whole mindset— a whole religion to justify his actions— but the elaboration of it...the depth of introspection Hidan took...Kakuzu becomes wrapped up in it.

And there comes a point that he begins to read out loud less for the performer and more for himself, his own enraptured curiosity.

There comes a point where a man, immortal or not, has to admit his shortcomings. I’m not a genius. I’m not dumb, but I only know what I know. The thing I pray for most, each time you see me put the pendent up to my face, is an answer. I don’t know what it means for there to be a neighbor I don’t want to lose. That’s Jashin’s core tenant, after all: slaughter your neighbor. But what does it mean if despite all that...I got all this fervor and dedication and hot blood for the slaying...I can’t shake it. There are few people in this life I care about, so maybe that’s it. Maybe all my neighbors have just been dirt under my shoe. Takara, my angel—

Kakuzu, at the time this was written before they traveled to the desert, had never heard him call the woman “Takara” nor “angel.” The remainder of the writing rolls of his tongue less like he’s saying it and more he’s being possessed.

What’s a man to do when someone’s more than just a neighbor?

The man takes a gasp as a sound comes from the person pressed to Kakuzu’s side. He looks to her and instead of a similar expression of shock, she is as relaxed as can be. She exhales, low and soft...and he sighs.

Goddammit...when did she fall asleep?

His deep, gravely voice has put adrift a weary woman, so emotionally exhausted from the events of today, to her dreams at the ocean. He turns back to the book, the words meant just for her from a reaper so desperate for a listening ear, and he wonders how much of their conversations on bounty hunts and religious killings were just talking and ignoring instead of really comprehending. Kakuzu’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t dare read the last page of this book out loud.

I want you to tell me if you love me, too. Maybe then I’ll know what to do about it.

Hidan either knew all along she never read his book, or he’s been waiting all this time, wondering if she’s just sparing him his feelings. Kakuzu, realizing this, throws the back of his skull onto the back of the cushion, hearts so heavy and light all at once he's left to stare at the ceiling. The zombies really, really need to have a talk...especially before whatever these two idiots feel come to a head with all that's been left unsaid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“ACK—!”

She hears her first sound, Hidan grunting despite gritted teeth and bracing for the impact. Kakuzu has no remorse for how harshly he sews the pin cushion man all back together. Damn fool deserves this and so much more.

“What the HELL were you thinking?!”

She tries to answer but she can’t, tongue mute. Fate has decided this is not a conversation for her to partake in.

“Kakuzu, I—FUCK!”

The thread loops into him, though the exclamation may be from the way the named man grips Hidan’s shoulder tight.

“What in your perverted, twisted brain made you THINK-?! No. No. You didn’t think at all!”

“Kakuzu—!”

“Do you know…?!” he leans in close, nice and close so Hidan can see nothing but haunted gemstone eyes, the spirit in them aflame with fury. “Every day...we are one inch away from being THROWN OUT and NEVER seeing her again,” he hisses, deep and low. The reaper’s sneer could be from either his physical suffering or his emotional one. It isn’t enough. Nothing will be enough.

“We started this...with everyone being suspicious,” the rag doll continues. “And we nearly. Lost. It all. When they found that bruise.”

The damn bruise. Maybe that was enough. Maybe they did deserve to never be near her again, if this is what was destined to happen. Maybe then they wouldn't be cowering, recovering where no one can see, in the inn where Hidan tried fish, where Kakuzu began to wonder if he could still find some semblance of a good life. Good fucking riddance to that.

“We were let back in," he seethes, burning and burning with coal of hatred in his chest. "And YOU… You…!”

The grip gets tighter. Hidan hacks again, but no fighting back.

“You may have ruined everything we had.”

Bit by bit, shaky violet eyes unclench, a stutter in the reaper's throat:

“I…” he tries to explain, as best as he can, “I...tried to save her—”

A smack as Kakuzu holds him by the collar and cracks his knuckles into Hidan’s head.

“FUCK!!! Asshole, that HURTS!”

“HOW DO YOU THINK SHE FEELS?!”

And just like that, he’s awake and coherent, at the spur of a woman’s autonomy on the line. “THAT SHE HURTS! THAT’S WHY! That is WHY—!”

His punctured, mutilated chest heaves up and down, a still weary set of lungs catching breath now that it’s been injected with righteous fury. Mask over Kakuzu’s face, all you can see on him is his green, red, glittering anger. Hidan spits, blood in the saliva from somewhere in his impaled guts.

“Kakuzu…!” He needs to understand; Hidan HAS to make him understand. There HAS to be a way—! “She...she’s sick. She’s sick real bad, Kakuzu…”

Kakuzu barely has enough tact to keep the thought of “of course she is” held back from his lips. Through Hidan’s quivering, determination, as ever, overtakes his being, even when he’s bloody and cut and beat up and at the mercy of the world’s most fucked up surgeon, literally holding him together by a single thread. Through the shake eyes have in their sockets...there lies something the old man has never seen before— not in him.

A secret can't be kept any longer.

“I ask her to hurt me to stop her from hurtin’...herself.”

And something in Kakuzu clicks. Little...by little...his iron hold laxes. More...and more...until Hidan is let go. Wide-eyed for a new reason, the masked man now grips onto his own head and falls back against the wall. Hidan’s brow curls as he watches this happen, a long pause of silence until the priest's partner manages to speak again. The rage, perhaps, is gone...or at least redirected.

“...How long?” he asks.

And Hidan knows what he means, though he hesitates to tell. “...Since we got back from the desert," the answer is mumbled. Days and months and full seasons away. And he knows— he knows before Kakuzu beats him to the punch:

“Why?" And then, more urgently, confused. "Why? Why didn’t you...—?”

But he can’t finish the thought, wretched as this all is, barely under wraps like a bedsheet trying to hide a corpse. It’s the reaper’s damn responsibility. His gaze casts down in shame.

“Never felt like the right time.”

Ironic how Kakuzu heard her say the same thing just some hours ago. Finally, finally, the man pulls off his mask lest he suffocate any more, raises his gaze in search for connections and answers. “Hidan…” he mutters. Unsure what to ask next, he simply states thoughts as they come. “There’s no way she asked for this.”

Blood rusting against the stitches on his neck, his chin tilts diagonally away. “...That’s right,” he admits. “I just...told her. I told her she could. I...showed her...she can.”

“And you thought this would make her better.”

...Hidan knows an accusation when he hears one. A magenta stare flickers up to meet the challenge, though head stays meekly down; the man is contradictions, the very thing the woman admired him for. “Better,” he repeats. “...Not perfect. But...”

Kakuzu sighs. “...Better.” Against his better judgment, he understands. He understands much more, now. His skull rests against the planks of wood that make up the inn room’s wall. Heavy lungs exhale. How naive. How stupid of him. The woman he named Takara told him so clearly how her story finished. But Hidan...Hidan…

...He looks at Hidan now, cloak open and barely draped around him, hastily thrown on pants with red seeped into its cloth. On the few missions they shared...since they started to live in that house...Kakuzu had noticed the marks. They always healed so fast. But they were still there. New and fresh and already fading. It had been noted but information not made use of. What did it matter what the guy did in his own spare time? A lot, evidently.

And that is how Hidan got to see how the woman tumbled her way towards the end.

And the rag doll presses his fingertips to his forehead, the sliced headband that eternally reminds his own betrayal and loss, and closes his eyes. Now that the girl is stable and the priest has explained...the exhaustion in him begins to overtake. He needs a second...he needs a moment lest something in him break when his strength is needed most. In this break it provides, Hidan’s spirit too searches for respite; it only makes sense he looks to the thing that’s always calmed him down.

He looks to the side.

There she is.

Laid up on the bed. Kakuzu’s cloak underneath, opened up so you can see the way her chest goes up and down when she breathes. In...out... Like a zombie, he staggers forward mindlessly, without realizing he is until he's already there.

She’s just in her underwear. Used to be something clean and pale, so it wouldn’t show under her dress. It’s a shade of pink now, splotched in different depths of it, based on how long and deep the blood got to soak. He’s standing over her now, and his stare traces all the way down, top of her head...her half open eyes...and lips...neck and breasts...stomach, cunt...thigh. The skin there is angry and reddening. Normal bodies resist the healing process so much more than Hidan’s does; he can already feel the insufferable itch that comes as cells reattach, layers close back in on their own. Hers, though...it isn’t going to be so fast.

Even with Kakuzu’s mending, it’s going to hurt for a while.

Hidan takes a deep breath and feels himself bob side to side, still struggling to focus. His grasp reflexively goes for his neck, but not finding the intended target, instead combs up into his hair, providing a sensation to try and help him concentrate, stay awake. “My necklace…” he murmurs, “My damn necklace…” To pray over her. To ask for forgiveness. Lids crack open...and something is different.

She is looking back at him.

And the whole world stops.

...And he feels like the luckiest man alive.

“Look at her…” he whispers. Because he certainly does. He’s helpless but to lean in, put his hands forward in her space until, as before, they figure out what they want to do. “That’s my angel…!”

Gentle, his palm cups her cheek and Hidan begins to sink closer down. He can feel Kakuzu watching. And it isn’t that he doesn’t care, no...

He’s asking him to see.

“Look at our girl…” And for the first time, this whole time...somehow...someway...Hidan begins to smile. His knees get onto the bed and he looms over her, closing in..and in...and in...until his forehead is pressed so reverently onto hers.

“Isn’t she something…?” he asks, a tremble in his voice. All this time, he's never forgotten the first day he met, how he felt his lord Jashin place a hand on his shoulder and behold...behold the one who will change your whole life. His eyes screw back shut, and she can feel his sharp inhale, both in pain and in marvel. “Isn’t she beautiful…?!”

And she wonders if she’s dreaming, as tears fall on top of her face. Is he...? Is he really...?

“She did such a damn good job…!” a pious soul struggles, gritting his teeth, sneering his lips with effort and overwhelming, holy emotion. And Kakuzu can only watch, no idea what to make of this, no idea what— if anything— he can do. The reaper's lone confidant is begged for once again:

“Kakuzu…”

And the man's breath hitches, a witness in the corner. The Jashinist is all but a puddle, barely held up by his own scratched arms.

“It’s our girl, Kakuzu…!”

The named man remains where he stands, entirely dumbfounded. The most selfish person in the whole world is praying over her, to her, and asks him to do the same. Stitched lips part but can’t find words to speak. He watches her...as she watches him. Even half closed, the big starry eyes are so soft, so knowing. She looks then at Hidan, and Kakuzu can already tell there’s no anger in that heart at all.

She manages...her first words.

“I’m...s-...s-..." Though inevitable, they let her finish. "Sorry.”

And quivering, trembling with adoration, Hidan tells her through sobs, “...Shut up.”

The stars begin to well at the bottom of her eyes, and the ocean, drip by drip, escapes in the saltwater that falls down her face and stains onto the pillow.

He’s only being like this because he feels bad...right? Right? She remembers what he said. “I’m not...beautiful…” she corrects, barely audible at all. “You...don’t..have to…”

And with only Kakuzu and Jashin as his witness, Hidan can't take this anymore shuts her up himself. Overtop of her, in this dingy little inn, he does what he should have done from the very start. His palms hold her face...and with all the gentleness in the world…

He kisses her.

He kisses her.

He kisses her.

In…

…

Out...

The sigh of breath as he pulls back, just enough to look her in the eyes, push stray locks off of her forehead. “I don’t care anymore,” he says, only now that they’ve reached the brink, the edge of universes and fate and faith and chance. “I don’t care about that fucking book. I love you. I love you! Jashin, damn me, I—!”

He.

Kisses.

Her.

And this time as he pulls back, she finally knows how to speak. It takes a moment of furrowing her brow and thinking past both bliss and throbbing pain. “...Book…?” she repeats, dizzy with the taste of him on her lips, blood and all. His eyes narrow but his grin widens, both adoringly and spitefully.

“So you didn’t read it. That’s it.”

A gasp. Her mouth opens.

Despite himself, Kakuzu can only watch. These idiots will figure it out, after all, despite everything and themselves in their way.

“I...I don’t…” Finally, finally. “I don’t...know...how to read.”

…

A stutter.

A twitch.

And a laugh.

Hidan laughs, slamming his fist into the pillow, bitter and relieved all at once. Before she can apologize again, he sits up, winding in an inhale of air and rolling his shoulders, finally feeling like a free man.

“Babydoll…! After all this time...!”

And she can feel every inch of him shake with the next rough, roar of a laugh, as Hidan kneels over a woman who hardly believes this is happening at all.

“Angel, baby…” The word takes on a new meaning now, next to these others. She thought it was just a nickname, an extension of sorts of their relationship...and well...it was. But it was a lot more than that, too.

But it’s hard to outright call someone your love, your light, your everything when you aren’t sure what they feel back. Finally, his eyes roll back down, and he looks more like his usual, coy self...maybe even then some.

“...You could have saved us a lot of trouble.”

Us.

...Wait.

Hidan flinches, visibly shifts. His smile drops. “Wait,” he realizes. And all of a sudden, he feels so wrong. Shit...shit...! She didn't even SAY! “I— do you—?”

A woman's too stunned, stuck within dreams of the beach and heavenly touches come to life, to fill in the blanks for him. He has to ask. He has to be the one to stop assuming, and to save them some trouble. And so he swallows his pride and he begs, one word at a time:

“Do...you...love me...too?”

In the way that he loves her. Because he never figured out what she meant when she said "love" before.

And weight of his shadow on top of her, heat of his body, the sweat on his stomach...the kindness of his face…

Silly. Silly things, they are.

“Yes,” she tells him. And she swallows the ‘but’. “Yes,” she promises him, no backing down. “Yes,” she exclaims, in spite of everything in her telling a woman that she doesn’t deserve it.

And, savoring every inch of it, Hidan comes down and kisses her yet again. Her eyes close, and it still doesn't seem real.

She does not see as Hidan turns his head to look at Kakuzu...not only acknowledge him but beckon him here. The stitched man’s jaw drops; he had thought his fun, the little bit of delight, was all over. Even if Takara was willing to share, Hidan wouldn’t.

Oh how wrong he was.

“Look at our girl,” Hidan tells him again, a cock of his head used to gesture, soon as Kakuzu stands at the foot of the bed. “Isn’t she somethin’?”

And she is. Kakuzu feels himself losing his breath, the twitch in his hands and the blood rushing in his veins. He sees what is happening—

“Hidan,” he mutters. “Be careful.” No, indeed, no rage at all, not even a bit. “She’s still hurt. She’s still scared.” The reaper snorts, giving a lopsided smirk.

“But you fixed us up so nice…!” the silver-haired demon coos, and as he combs into her locks again, the woman’s eyes open. He smiles at her, so very devilishly, longingly. There's no stopping him and Kakuzu can tell. Another secret has to be told:

“She’s never kissed before.”

...

...

Hidan rolls his shoulders and looks back; the lust in his eyes is not reserved just for one, and Kakuzu wears a target on his forehead. Fuck. “...And how do you know that, you old bastard?”

That shuts Kakuzu up right quick.

“You make it to her before me?" the younger man retorts, relentless. "Kakuzu...I’m hurt!” And before she can mumble a sincere apology, Hidan presses a thumb onto the lips of this conversation's subject. “Well...baby,” he turns to ask her now...and all of a sudden she's noticing him stripping off a cloak of black and red clouds. “You ever fucked?”

And of course she hasn’t.

He knows she hasn’t.

Couldn’t have if he was the first person she saw nude. And he’s looking right. At. Her.

"Then I get to be the first at something else."

All of a sudden she remembers how naked she is. That and the glimmer in her eyes makes Hidan so very, very excited.

“I’ll be the first to make you cum, baby.”

A gasp and her heart pounds so heard it hurts. Hidan continues, pinning her down with hooded purple irises as he talks it out to Kakuzu, lest he ruin the moment, make her even more scared.

“I promise...I promise I’ll be gentle... We'll talk it out and nothin' happens she doesn't want..." The tongue that sips blood comes out, swirling slowly over his lips. "And ain’t gonna touch that cute little garter you put on her pretty leg...no matter how much I wanna.”

She looks down. The stitches of her wound do look like a garter. Pulsating pain or not...it…— Oh shit. It took all this for her to realize what is about to happen.

...Just as Hidan places one knee...over the other side of her pelvis...and begins to straddle. That's what it takes.

“Lost your tongue, eh angel…?” he leans in close. His nose rests into her neck. “Then do what you do best…” he instructs her. “Sing to me instead. The first one. The one you said in the woods about prayin’. I wanna make you feel that way...”

So even since back then, not even a full day. That’s all it took for lonely Hidan to change his mind about whether or not she’s pretty. She swallows, and worries try to resurface and explain.

“I...I’ve never…”

“She’s scared.” Kakuzu repeats himself in interruption, and suddenly he’s so much closer, too. Hidan opens one eye and glances up to his partner, daring.

“Then help me show her,” he says. “Help me show her she doesn’t need to be.”

And then the rag doll and his duckling lock eyes. Her lips part with nothing to say but disbelief, sighs and grunts and gasps. She looks so innocent...is so innocent...but as Kakuzu sees the bob in her throat to swallow again...as she sighs...as she begs with eyes alone…

...He just needs to be sure and actually ask. No more assuming. Not this time, especially not when they're her first.

“Do you want me? Us…?”

The line between reality and fantasy blurring is the only thing that holds her back. She looks at them, two men as different as night and day… She went from having the worst day of her life to...to...this…! She’s dreaming. She has to be dreaming.

...And if that’s the case...

Then...

Then there will be no regrets.

Then she can say...yes.

The permission is mouthed and that’s all it takes. The world's most hellish want a bite of heaven. Hidan dips in first.

The man eases into it, trying to keep advice in mind, trying to go slow, starting at her forehead...then her mouth...over the length of her neck, down to her breast. She stutters...and that's when the woman catches as Kakuzu gets onto the bed, easily residing the little free space left. That gorgeous brown hair of his is free, dreadfully long and brushes the top of his muscular bust. A glance of admiration— or perhaps, rather, amusement— and a big hand tenderly takes one much smaller. The man at first just holds it, noting how soft, how selfish he is to know it at all, then raises it next to her head, pinning it by the wrist as he begins to bend down.

“You can say stop at any time,” he reminds, behind her ear in the low voice that sends tingles down her spine. But why on earth would she do that, she thinks, when she's longed for so long? “You’re in control here.”

But is she? How can she be when she is being touched, caressed, held by two men she’s wanted so desperately all this time? She’s going to lose control entirely...but she can appreciate what he means by that.

“Just...don’t...touch my leg…” She’s already whimpering; they’re going to have to draw this out, lest it end so soon. Kakuzu nods, his silky hair bobbing with the motion. He picks her hand back up and traces it onto his stitches...over his chest...down his stomach.

“Do you like this?” half sincere, half teasing. “Don’t flatter me for its own sake.” Of course she nods. And on her own, to answer that question, her hand moves further down.

For someone who hasn’t handled a man’s cock before, she’s damn good at it.

The stiffness already forming firms even more, Kakuzu so hard underneath his attire, coddled in her touch. How many times has he touched himself, imagining something like this? In the bath, getting undressed...one hand balancing himself against the wall while the other pulls?

Maybe as much as Hidan has. Maybe as much as she has.

As Kakuzu moans, so does Hidan. “Angel…” he praises, a palm over her other tit while his mouth takes a break from the first. Not even sex can keep this bastard from talking, though she doesn't mind, not at all. His words just make it all the more incredible. “Look at us, angel. Two of the biggest and baddest and you’re gonna make us cum in our pants like it’s nothing… What a good girl, eh…?”

And he raises up, if only to watch the cute expression she makes as he squeezes, sees the give of flesh between his fingers. The bra just gets in the way.

“Let’s get that nonsense off…”

A flick from his pocket and she’s set free. Kakuzu hums in satisfaction. “Damn kunai...good for something after all…” All the same, he watches the woman for a reaction, just in case it’s too much, being reminded of the weapon. A bit of a glint in her eye, a vocalization of startle—

Hidan catches on first. It’s thrown to the side, far away from where the blade can touch her again. Doesn't need it anymore. “Rest I’m gonna do myself," he says. "Gonna make the old man watch. Can you do that, girlie? Come on...show us how wet we make ya... I'm sure you are...!”

The strap of her underwear is pulled down, and it confirms how right he is. A big, big grin stretches in satisfaction. With that, there's only one question left:

“How do you want it, angel?”

…

It takes a moment for her to realize what that means.

“Face up? Face down? Me? Him? Both of us?” So quick he goes back on his word, his desire to tease the partner he wants so much to beat. Just the sight of the mounds of Venus and all a man wants is to get her off. Choices given, they both give her time to collect, to coherently choose. With some reluctance, Kakuzu takes her hand off his crotch, and Hidan lifts himself up by the palms to get a good read on her face. Sweet little thing...already so hot and bothered. She really hasn’t fucked before. If there was any doubt before, certainly isn’t now…

The woman looks at them both, two men radiant with adoration and lust after holding it in for so long, no outlet for it until everything fell into place. A perfect storm. Surely they want to get inside her...and she nearly asks for this—

...But.

But.

She is still afraid. Even if a little. Even if only because she does not yet know her own body quite so well as they may. And so, despite how much she wants to give, it has to be okay if she takes, instead. Surely they won't mind.

“T-t-touch me,” she pleads under her lost breath, words she’s held back for so long. “P-p-please…!”

And she’ll be touched with hands and mouths as hungry as they are vicious.

Darker lips hold onto hers, matching palms taking their turn massaging nipples and feeling her moan into his mouth, letting her feel the moan from it, too. Her legs are spread open as a man tastes the sweetest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tracing his tongue around. In between kisses, she sings as requested, even if soft, even if broken up, even if hardly said at all. Even if it feels a little bit silly. It's all that they asked for, so it's what she's got to give. She begs of them:

Take me to church

Waves of her are ridden, unintentional bucking of hips. Her breath quickens...and raises...and loudens... Until she’s begging, until the sound of her crying and screaming in pain is far, far away. Now, it is ecstasy.

Kakuzu holds her hand as she grips tight, and he pulls away just enough to see the look on her face for what comes next.

A moan.

A clench.

...And with her lovely, lovely voice...a release.

Hidan looks up at her, magenta eyes hooded and something thicker than saliva dripping from his lips. A drop of blood is staining into the rest of the liquid. Just as the story started, the girl gets her finish with a reminder of Jashin, of the blessings he bestows. He laps it up, long and slow to savor the taste. To show her how good it is to be in his position.

But a good girl still needs a break before it’s the old man’s turn.

She gets to soak in the hot spring and watch as Hidan decides to finish, next, what she had started, holding his partner's dick like that, getting him nice and hard with nowhere to go. She holds around Kakuzu as he pulsates and moans, and he stretches one arm and pulls her in to brace himself. She whispers to him that it's okay, she likes him holding her tight. The rag doll, with that permission leans his full weight, cheek pressed against her head as he uses his other hand to grip Hidan by the hair as he so wonderfully sucks him dry. Kakuzu worships no god, but he can see the appeal in having a goddess. A goddess and her dutiful priest with a big mouth to shut up.

He can at least understand now...what makes someone worship something outside of themselves.

An exhale and the woman is there to feel his entire body relax. Silver locks drip as they emerge from the surface, a lingering kiss on Kakuzu's jaw and Hidan inhales deep, catching his breath, and wraps around him and his angel, legs and arms and all. His nose finds home in the other side of her, so she is so warmly, snugly flanked by two S-rank missing-nins who will never let her go.

Three of the undead, three who by fate...or luck...or whatever the hell makes life work...ending up like this, together. Fucked up, fucking, and fucked. Sensations unending at least until it’s time to go, lest the others wonder where they ran off to.

But not just yet.

If anyone asks, though? They have two zombies to get through. That assurance alone...helps their treasure feel safe.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s been a long time since Kakuzu first thought of the world in blues and yellows. Together, they make the color of money— at least that of most nations. Fortune. And, of course, the word “fortune” leads to the word “treasure.” He doesn’t believe in fate— not really— but it amuses his otherwise cold, hardened soul to see the connection to the woman he named, however unintentional. So why is he thinking of her? Well, it’s hard not to— not when the piano is drifting back and forth in a jazzy flit, somehow both purposeful and ditsy.

...That’s a good description for her, he thinks. He smiles ever so slightly, feeling the stitches upon his cheeks bend with the twitch of his lips.

An open book in his hand, a man has let his hair down and leans over the edge of the couch of the library. He can barely hear her as she plays in the music room, the soundtrack to his increasingly ironic and bizarre life as a man made for murder begins to enjoy letting his skills waste away. There’s a mental note that if anyone besides him dares to joke he’s in retirement, he’d kill them. He's already far too comfortable, mask pulled down and cloak unbuttoned, red clouds draping over him more like a housecoat or a robe.

Lookin' up at a yellow girl

...Yes, he agrees as the woman croons. Yellow is a good color for a soul like hers…especially in these days where the sun seems farther away. Bright...happy...and silly. Same color as the childish nickname she chose for herself.

…

The old man huffs at his own musings. It’s just useless nonsense, mulling over ideas such as souls having color and him having a predestined fate. But one silly thought easily brings a cascade of others. Especially when the words on the page, no matter historical relevance, sort of go along. Kakuzu feels the leathery texture of his toughened skin as he idly bites his thumb, now distracted once again by the bullshit he's reading. Not the actual words, no, but rather what they describe:

Marriage and courting rituals...pheh. A man like him would never have use for those. Not anymore. Kakuzu would ever...— wait.

She won't cut me free

Kakuzu silently loses his breath. For yet another time, this girl is capable of making him feel things he never imagined he’d harbor again. What is it this go around?

Of her vanilla curls

And the rest of this song she started begins to fade as a realization echos— louder...and louder...and louder, and louder, and LOUDER– until a quiet truth becomes a screeching announcement. This emotion he feels is, undoubtedly…

Embarrassment.

“GODDAMMIT!!!”

Someone his age shouldn’t be so flustered, but yet again...someone his age should know better. His fist slams against the coffee table, envigored with the rage he feels against himself for being such a fucking idiot, imbecile, pig. A face split in black and white stares from the doorway, and he begins to have second thoughts.

“I’ll...talk to you later,” White Zetsu mutters before the amalgamate sinks into the floor, lest he incur the wrath of a fellow too old-school for his good, someone who has realized he’s seduced a poor, naive woman without so much as half-assing an attempt at proper courting. He can’t believe it. Kakuzu cannot believe it.

And sweet yellow soul she is, the performer has nary said a word against such misdeeds.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“We need to talk,” Kakuzu growls.

Hidan is, perhaps, exemplary of everything Kakuzu thinks of him right now— ignorant and perpetually covered in viscera. Drops of red drip onto the snow, almost like trickles of a melting icicle, except instead of an icicle it is Hidan that is hanging from the tree. Upside down by the knees, to be precise, and with that baton of his struck through his middle. His partner is willing to overlook that, so long as Hidan will listen.

“Eh?!” The younger immortal does his best to glance behind himself, as the way he dangles puts Kakuzu facing his back. “I came all the way out here to be ALONE and you really think it’s the best time to talk to me, huh…?” But it’s never a good time for Kakuzu to interrupt a ritual, really, shared love or no. In fact, the mention of it is about to make the bounty hunter’s blood boil just a little bit more:

“You still soft for me, old man?” the younger guy teases.

Kakuzu’s eyes pop just a little bit wider. “Hidan, take me seriously.”

“I am, I am!” With a grunt, the priest gives a few final words to his lord before the piercing stick is yanked out of his chest same way you’d take off a bandaid— quickly, lest you hesitate and make it hurt worse. He spits reflexively as the red stuff falls off of his chest and into his mouth, but he quickly swears under his breath an apology and makes sure to taste it, so as to not let good holy blood go to waste. “Geez…” Hidan mumbles afterward, then easily flipping onto his feet so as to stand to attention, however lackadaisical. “You make this sound like a big deal!”

“It is.”

“Then?” Hidan responds, voice getting louder with impatience. “What is it?!” He’s starting to get antsy now, widening his stance and looking side to side. “What, is she gone again?! Is she—?!”

“NO!” Kakuzu interrupts, feeling the heat of his face tenfold with the mask encapsulating it close to his skin; he doesn't remember pulling it back up. Finally having the silver haired demon’s attention fixed on him isn’t helping. “We…” the taki-nin attempts. Take one fails.

…

“We never.”

…

Take two fails.

“Hmmm?” The shirtless man groans, raising a brow. “Come on, man, it’s COLD out here!”

…

He doesn't even try for take three.

“Kakuzu, you’re freaking me OUT...!” he urges.

But Kakuzu is embarrassed now. And that isn’t something he’s had to train for, not since the shame was beaten out of him and he ran away from it all decades and decades ago. That’s kind of the whole problem, isn’t it? Getting caught up in these...emotions he’s not used to...before thinking what to do and say. Yes. That’s exactly how this situation came to be:

“We...never courted her.” It’s said now less like the urgent realization he initially had and more like it’s an admission of guilt. Hidan, however, just gets more confused.

“...Hell you on about?”

“Don’t be thick-headed,” Kakuzu scolds quickly, gaze firm and narrowing. “Don't you know how it looks?”

…Take one of explaining this to Hidan fails.

“How it must feel?”

…Take two.

“Hidan.”

“What!”

“Hidan, we— we DID that to her without so much as—” It’s too much, and he spins around, hiding as well as he can from judging eyes. “Dammit...”

“Kakuzu…?!”

“...She deserves better,” the masked man admits quietly. “That’s all.”

This leaves the reaper in quite the predicament. A second ago, everything was right as rain— well, besides the shit-ass cold battling against restless urges. What is it called...cabin fever? Yeah, that. But that’s a HIM problem. The performer… Hasn’t she been doing just fine…? “I didn’t—” the younger man stammers. “Realize we did anything wrong.” A glance to the side. “Besides. You know.” The stabbing thing.

“I know. But...we did.”

“But she never said anything was wrong,” the reaper objects. “She likes us! ...Right?”

“That doesn’t mean it is right.”

“Who cares!”

“I CARE! In this wretched world, we’re all she has. Can’t you see?!”

“Well, you never courted me!”

Just as Hidan comes around to Kakuzu’s shoulder, the old man twists away again, unwilling to make eye contact while talking about such indecent things. It’s clear Hidan is saying this to diffuse him a bit, and so he’s trying to keep his fists to himself, unlike the innocent table he smashed. “Shut UP.”

The Jashinist gestures with palms up, both beseeching and to convey a lack of anger— a safety net for his partner to continue, to talk about what the fuck they even are now. "Just sayin’!”

...But that doesn’t work. Kakuzu has nothing more to say. Not until he clears his hearts, a job five-fold more than the average lovestruck fool.

What comes, instead, is a strange, somber silence. Hidan up until now thought he had done everything a good man could to honor a good woman— that is, to say, not kill her and make her orgasm until her brain explodes. He never got a courting either, after all, and Kakuzu was more than happy to get it on with them both. Modern days didn’t need stupid old rituals like that; he thought his partner understood! With the reveal that Kakuzu is an old fart in more ways than just his age, the literal bleeding-heart yu-nin frowns and curls his brow. Hidan doesn’t quite have the vocabulary to explain his discomfort yet; in that department, Kakuzu is ahead. Still barely able to speak on it, but ahead nonetheless and therefore leading the way.

And the way to go is starting to look a little bit like ruin.

Kakuzu finally, barely looks over his shoulder. The sliver visible of his bi-colored eye carries a bizarre kind of tender shame. “Do whatever you want,” he tells Hidan, fed up. And then he makes himself a promise: “I’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, one perturbed man leaves another in his wake, a religious immortal standing in his blood-stained snow and wondering what it’s all for. Ah Jashin...why’d you do this to him?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It is awfully convenient that other people are occupying the traveler while her first immortal loves take some time to recollect— that she has distractions as they’re all trapped together in this hell house frozen in time.

Kakuzu, meanwhile, is in a pickle. It’s winter. Full-blown ice and snow. What does the girl like? Flowers! What’s dead in the winter? Flowers! He’s pacing back and forth in this tiny room, hand holding his chin, a small fish in a tank staring as dumbly as the bounty hunter feels. A sudden twitch of the animal is all it takes for Kakuzu to reflexively swing around and glare at it—

...Bubble, bubble. Round, black eyes and a puff of its scaled “lips” are all he gets. He exhales...and begins to close his eyes.

…

”Hm?”

Just as he’s nearly shut his lids, the narrowed vision makes him notice the reflection upon the glass tank— by other glass, to be more precise. A turn of his covered head and Kakuzu sees the culprit. A dainty vase with forgotten flowers. They don’t look like the roses from her garden— it’s hard to tell since they’re so old and dry, but the shapes make it clear enough. His mouth purses behind his mask. This will have to do. It is better than nothing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Take one.

“Takara.”

She looks up at him, blinking so softly, as she always does. Something curdles in all five of his hearts at the prospect, but he does what a man needs to do anyways:

A hand weathered with scars of war rises up, a delicate dried flower held by the stem given as an offering. It is beheld a moment before she knows what to say.

“Hydrangeas!” she recognizes, sitting straight up and eyes widening so as to twinkle with more stars. Kakuzu is more than ready to let it slip from his fingers into hers, happy to be able to clench his fist with full frustrated strength once more at his side. She coos so thoughtfully, a fingertip brushing the edges of petals much like one may comb the hair of a doll.

“I had forgotten about these…” she recalls. The smile on her face is beautiful, and he finally feels some semblance of relief— “I gave them to Kisame, I think. There was a hydrangea festival...”

Oh.

“K...Kakuzu?” But he has turned around and walked away, off to find another solution to this problem he’s created, one that does not remind her of another man. Unknowing of his struggle, the woman gets a sinking feeling in her chest.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Take two.

“We’re going for a walk.”

It’s about an hour or so later that the old loverboy comes up with his second idea worth trying. His subject of experimentation looks back and forth between him and the outside, the crusted frost on the window and the world beyond. “Oh,” she stalls, politely as she can. “Um.”

There’s such intensity in his gaze that he can’t hide. No matter what she feels, the performer decides reluctantly, it is something important to him. That’s enough reason to abide, enough to swallow her reflexive alarm and follow where he lead. She could do it before for Sasori, and she can do it again.

“...Okay,” the traveler finally concedes, a worried look on her face. “Let me...get my cape.”

Out one person goes and in comes another, an already tall person with likewise tall hair having to duck to enter through the doorway. He grunts with a smirk, having caught the tail end of their conversation. “Ah. Where are you two going in such a hurry…?”

“Out,” is the simple answer the shark gets. Kakuzu isn’t prepared for the sort of expression Kisame makes to that.

“Is it for...a reason?”

Kakuzu narrows his eyes, already having disdain for this shark today. “No.”

Kisame blinks, smile lost and triangle teeth exposed instead with a skeptical frown. He looks outside. Snowflakes are falling, big and puffy and soft— idyllic, really. It’s perfect for a day of staying in. That’s not the plan, however.

“Don’t tell her I told you…” Kisame warns, still concentrated on the white ice, feeling in his gut how it could feel. “...But she told me the winter makes her...uncomfortable.” No, he won’t use her precise, damning words, just enough so his coworker gets the idea. “She won’t enjoy it. Just be prepared.”

And it’s just about then that the woman of the hour steps in again, winter cape over her shoulders and a brave grin on her face that doesn’t cover up the worry in her eyes. A brief stare is all it takes for Kakuzu to break.

“Never mind.”

And once again, he walks away.

Mouth agape, the performer doesn’t know what to say or think until he’s already out of sight. She looks back and forth between the space where Kakuzu was and where Kisame is now, sputtering noises that don’t quite make words but still convey her great dismay. The sort of blighted heartbreak upon her face isn’t something Kisame was prepared to see, and likewise he doesn’t know what the hell that was all about.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Did I do something to make Kakuzu mad?” she whispers, but the only one who would be listening in is the one she’s intending to hear her now. That’s the whole point, really; if someone would know, no matter how wary she is of him, it’d be this guy. Zetsu watches as she rubs a tear from her eye, perhaps predictably having mixed feelings on the matter. On one hand, it is oh so fun to see such fantastic failure. One after the other after the other, attempts for something ridiculous that do not need to happen falling to the wayside with misunderstandings. But on the other hand…

She sniffles as the teardrops keep coming, despite her best efforts. The visible half of his face frowns.

...It never feels as good as he thinks it will to see his little ghost upset.

“He is attempting to court you, I believe,” the sweeter voice ultimately explains. The deeper one adds in: “Whatever that means to him.” And sweet again: “I presume he’s failing at it marvelously.”

The direction of her gaze staggers up, almost doing a double-take like a cartoon, as she raises her head to look at the amalgamate in surprise. “He’s...what?!”

“Courting you,” he repeats. “Those are the words he used.” Green hair shifts ever so slightly as Zetsu’s head tilts so the paler side is closer to his shoulder. “Do you feel courted?”

She squints. She squints so hard you can barely tell she has eyes. Zetsu makes note that this is not how you court people, then. With the answer obvious and the nuances of her confusion lost, the lighter voice continues. “So if he’s failing...what then? I’m curious now… Are you going to accept his failure?”

…

Her expression softens. She knows what to do. Even if she doesn’t get why, it’s going to be done. Zetsu will witness how to properly court someone after all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Take three.

The only proper time to do this is the middle of the night, so that’s step one. A knock on his door— that’s step two— and it’s been just long enough since she did this last that he doesn’t expect it to be a strange woman in front of him, even if it has been every time before. Despite their intimate history, he feels naked like this, even if it’s only his face and chest that are bare, and Kakuzu’s gemstone eyes widen. A girl, dressed like the royalty she is before the likes of him— full length dress, lacy cape— reaches forward with a gloved hand, one so petite next to someone like him. She learned from his reaction before; the flower of choice this time is one of her long-dead roses, nothing obviously attached in sentiment to someone else. Stupefied, the man takes it.

“Get dressed!” she whispers, leaning in and excitement like electricity on her tongue. “And meet me at the front porch!”

And it’s her turn now to leave before someone else gives the final word on the matter.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kakuzu arrives as commanded, buttoning up his cloak as he cracks open the front door and feels the cold air seep in. She’s standing at the base of the stairs— hard to tell, the snow is so tall that it matches the height of the last step. At sight of him, she hops with joy, clutching one hand to her chest while another reaches out to him. There are snowflakes in her hair, dappling it like crystal-ended hairpins. Baffled, Kakuzu mutters the secret he knows only once he’s close enough to take it.

“Don’t you hate being out when it's winter?” he asks. But she just takes his hand and smiles.

“Not tonight. Not when it’s with you.”

And as they did back in the summer, a man and a woman run off together in the middle of the night. His pulse races stronger than any other person’s could, and the way she looks over her shoulder and back to him makes him feel…

…

It makes him feel...young.

Is that bad?

As before, as he predicted, they forge ahead until they reach their seat on the cliff again, overlooking the lake transformed by the passing seasons. The frogs and toads hibernate under the frosted mud, and the top of the water is iced over like a mirror. The moon and sparse clouds drift both above in the sky and below under their feet. The world is quiet here. No amphibians singing, no rustling of leaves. It is dead silence besides the crunching of snow as they crouch down and any noise these two human beings make themselves. Despite how the winter scares her, at least it can give her that politeness.

Finally alone in the way she wants them to be, she turns her head to him as she catches her foggy breath and smiles proudly.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks.

“I heard...you wanted to court me.” And bafflingly, she adds: “So I decided to court you!”

Kakuzu grunts loudly, physically recoiling back to get a better look at her face. Did he hear her right?! No, he did. “That’s— that’s not how it works,” he stammers, fiery cheeks fighting the cold air as he gets red beneath his face covering.

“Why not?”

“Simple: you’re the woman, and I’m the man. It is MY responsibility. It is MY job to...to…”

...She lets him try to think it out.

“...To make up...for everything.”

...

A statement like that is hard to ignore.“...What do you mean?”

“I love you,” he admits, as he does once in a blue moon. “That’s why...I…”

She tilts his head, starting to catch on. “You feel bad?” the traveler prods, gently as she can. “Like...you have to trade actions for the ones we already did?”

The questioning murmur he makes lets her know she needs to explain.

“You know...you don’t have to earn anything. You already did. You told me you loved me. Before, I mean. And...I consented to being sexual with you.” His expression changes as she finally says the unspoken— the sex. She shrugs. “That’s enough. ...Honestly never thought I'd even get that far,” she admits under her breath.

“It isn’t.” Even if he isn’t sure of everything, that’s one thing Kakuzu knows. She’s not a paid worker, not a passing fling; he wouldn’t give a shit, then. She...is different. Intentional. Long term, even. That makes the requirements so much more. He has no idea what her culture is like and what she needs and what HE needs, and…—

His head is spinning. But he still knows:

“You’re worth...more.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

And in spite of how he feels about it, that means more to her than anything he else he could give. A hand is put over his, and she nudges just a bit closer to the man by her side. “...Will you tell me how?”

“You’re worth all the nonsense. All the back and forth, the dumb damn game men and women play to get to...where we’ve gone. You’re not a one night stand. I don’t...want you to feel like one.”

The palm on his begins to squeeze.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He doesn’t answer. Under the moonlight, he could have done anything. He could have been a jerk, a thief, a murderer. He’s all of those things. Do you know how when artists want to convince you something is pure white, they tinge it blue? Kakuzu has a blue soul to oppose her yellow, to match the particles that line the leaf-stripped branches and dust the rocks on the side of a forgotten winter pond.

And then her other hand pulls his mask down.

“I want to make you feel that way, too,” she whispers. The naughtiness finally gets him to crack a smile, through his guilty, angry veneer and the bitter cold that seeps through his stitches and lays onto his sinful tongue.

“Silly.”

“And you love it.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Oh yeah?”

And now the glove of a lady does something unmistakable: like a prince, she picks up his hand, raises the back of it to her lips, and then presses— barely, she presses— a kiss onto his ring. Despite it all— despite everything from before— this is somehow the most tender, romantic, and enticing thing that has ever happened to Kakuzu in his whole long life. He always assumed he wasn’t the lovey-dovey type, the kind that gets lightheaded and numb and irrational. Maybe he just isn’t as experienced as he thought he was. Goddammit.

“And I’ll do this every night until I’ve earned a kiss on your lips,” she promises, eyes level with his knuckles peering all the way up to his.

Okay, that’s quite enough. “Takara.”

“Yes, sir?” she teases in the way only she is allowed to.

With every ounce of his body, he exhales. It breathes her stupid goddamn nickname that makes her happy and makes him want to hide his face. It means he will concede:

“Duckling.”

There’s a reason he’s so bad at courting. It’s because he doesn’t like it. Never imagined himself doing it even as a young boy, and if he did it ended with a shiver and a bad taste in his mouth. So thankfully, that means the woman won’t have to play this game to kiss him on the lips. She’s going to get it right now.

...And if it wasn’t for the freezing snow pillowing them and all these layers of clothes to fumble through, Kakuzu would consider her getting a whole lot more. Too soon, though. Maybe later. Maybe later…

For now, the taste of her is enough as cloth-covered fingers trace over his stitches and the chilled wind combs starlight and frozen diamonds through his silky, dark brown hair that she's reached around and untied. They both think— individually, mind you, though a pact all the same— that they don’t deserve one another.

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 3 Review

‼️ SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER ‼️

Warning(s): extreme use of foul language.

Aurora is not pregnant.

I don’t believe it for a second, that cow is lying through her teeth. I already mentioned in the second chapter review that she just couldn’t be pregnant because there are three major reasons that easily disprove her claim.

First, it’s the amount of time that passed by. It has been a few months since Season 4 and the manga, around four months to be exact. And yet, Aurora’s stomach appears to be completely flat. How is this possible? Shouldn't there be a visible bump by now?

Second, season 3’s artbook already confirmed that Aurora was a manipulative woman and wanted to reflect it with her design (by having her hair covering one of her eyes) so who’s to say she’s telling the truth right now??

Third, @kilfeur pointed out in this post that if she was pregnant, Armand would not have allowed her to fly high up in the cloudy sky to gain knowledge about the Eliatrope goddess' eliaculus. Armand was already worried about Aurora when she went up, and the thought of her flying high while carrying their future child would have made him refuse the idea entirely, as he feared it could put their unborn child in danger.

So yeah, this skank is clearly lying her ass off just to manipulate the sadidas so that they could take her side. She’s so fucking petty omg I cannot deal with her. And her father is even worse my god wipe that ugly ass smile off your face you fatass.

This man clearly wants power that’s outside his kingdom. He just wants more even if it doesn’t belong to him and it painfully shows because he won’t stop making this fart face.

But it’s okay because as soon as Amalia opens her mouth, he immediately stops looking like a dumbass and immediately FROWNS because he knows she’s spitting FACTS.

And this is the only reason why I loved this moment. Amalia literally put him in his place and shut him up.

Amalia on the first panel: “What right do you return after you have shamelessly abandoned us? The osamodas kingdom, the nations of Bonta, Brakmar, Amakna, Astrub…”

Amalia on the second panel: “We asked you to come help us!”

Amalia on the third panel: “BUT NO ONE CAME! It was the future of the world that was at stake, not just the Sadida Kingdom!!!”

LIKE YES GIRL YES FUCKING DESTROY THIS OLD WASTE OF SPACE!!!

She literally dragged him on the fucking floor with all these facts omg I can’t she’s such a queen I love her so much. 💖💖

But then, instead of just taking it all like a good boy, this old bag of furry bones only had one thing to say and it was:

Osamodas blue cow king: “You give honor to your egocentrism, Amalia…”

Bruh what.

What are you talking about, you crusty old bat?

She drops so many facts and events that happened and this guy’s only comeback is “you’re being selfish 🥺😡”. Like what the fuck was even that???

Dude if you’ve got nothing to say, then don’t say anything but don’t just blurt out the first thing that comes out of your mouth??? Like what??

This is the equivalent of a detective who presented all the proofs that you committed the crime and the only thing you have to say is “your mama”.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse for this guy, he says:

Osamodas blue cow king: “My soldiers would have beat these creatures just as efficiently as yours.”

Oh yeah, where were they then, you fucking liar??? The worst part about this is that you didn’t even try hiding the fact that you would’ve been ‘ready’ but you’re so dumb you have no idea how brain-dead that makes you sound right now. You’re saying you could’ve sent your men BUT YOU DIDN’T DO SHIT. WHAT’S WORSE IS THAT YOU KNEW THE SADIDAS NEEDED HELP CUZ UR STUPID DAUGHTER FLED TO GO BACK TO YOU.

Also didn’t you once claim that Armand’s army was weaker than yours but then all of a sudden you’re now saying that your army could’ve beat the necromes like theirs did???

(oh oop- Armand don’t kill him yet 😭)

Bitch doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. I doubt he even knows wtf he’s saying half the time.

Are you dumb???? Are you actually suffering from constipation????

You’re implying that you were free to help and that you knew they needed help. YOU’RE INDIRECTLY SAYING THAT YOU KNEW AND DIDN’T HELP DESPITE HAVING THE TIME TO DO SO.

While the old fart is yapping, Yugo’s face is just so 🫤😑 I’ve been staring at this panel for 2 minutes now and I love how fucking out of it he looks while listening to the cow 😭 Actually, I’m not even sure if he’s listening, I think he’s just hearing him from one ear but it all goes out on the other side. He looks like a god who’s about to squash an annoying ass ant lol

He’s literally like “is this bitch fr?”

Like Yugo is 100% confident to say that the osamodas king had no idea what the hell he was talking about when he thought his troops and he would’ve been able to fight off the necromes.

Yugo: “You have absolutely no idea what we saved you from!”

Yugo’s making that face cuz he knows the king has no clue what he’s barking about. (Also can’t Yugo just use his wakfu sensing abilities to check if Aurora is actually carrying another twelvian?? Or is he not able to do that because an unborn child does not have wakfu yet?) Little blue bro doesn’t know what necromes even are cuz Yugo never told him about them so how the hell was he supposed to know if his men would’ve stood a chance???? No seriously is this cow okay? Why is he talking? Is he talking just for the sake of talking?? Is he that self-conscious that he’ll make up lies on the spot just to protect his image??? The cow king doesn’t even know that the necromes had a leader. Yugo and Amalia are dealing with a fucking grown-ass child omg.

Osamodas blond cow: “I left because I made the promise to my dear Armand.”

This is a lie. Armand never heard of any promise. An analysis conducted by @geekgirles even indicated otherwise, supporting that the claim made by Aurora was fake. According to the analysis, Aurora was more inclined towards her family than her new life with Armand, and the claim that he made any promises to her was baseless. If you wish to read the detailed analysis conducted by @geekgirles on this matter, you can find all of it in this post.

I’ll now explain to you, in my own words, why her bullshit is hot donkey ass. Keep in mind that the whole reason why she left was to protect “the child” aka “the future heir”. As I said before, Aurora couldn’t have promised Armand anything because he knew she still held a bit too much on her osamodas family. From what we’ve seen, Aurora had the time to go back to the Osamodas kingdom to check up on them because of the eliaculus in the skies, had sided with her osamodas family during the meeting with the eliatrope goddess, had tried to marry off Amalia to one of her brothers and cousin, deliberately brought some of her relatives to Armand’s coronation to….stand around, and even keeps her father around in the Sadida kingdom when he should either be ruling his own kingdom or go back to his cave. Armand is not a moron. He knows that she constantly brings her own family to a place that doesn’t need them. So when he’s about to sacrifice his life unbeknownst to Amalia, he tells her this:

“The future is yours.”

Armand had passed the torch to Amalia.

It's worth noting that this is a crucial moment because he chooses not to pass the leadership to his own wife, Aurora. This decision is based on the fact that Aurora is heavily influenced by her family and is unable to make independent choices. At the same time, he also chooses not to give it to someone else who is just as important.

And that is the imaginary baby that Aurora is carrying.

Remember that the baby doesn't exist, and that's an important fact to keep in mind. Armand, who still loves Aurora, doesn't trust her enough to give her the leading role, or any role for that matter, especially not one that involves a child they could potentially have together. Instead, he gave the role to his sister. Aurora knows this and is fully aware that her promise to him was never even a thing. In Armand’s mind, it wouldn't have mattered if she ran away because he never intended to give her a part of the kingdom’s responsibilities in the first place, even though her getting away like that would have hurt his heart.

And Aurora is over here saying that her dad will help her lead the sadidas while she’s pregnant, girl sit your ass down no one called for you. Hoe thought she was in the same group as freaking warriors, shut up. You clearly want your father to rule for a much longer time literally wtf.

Osamodas blond cow: “During my pregnancy, my father will help me lead the kingdom…and I also count on him to train the future heir.”

It's concerning that her explanation might make sense to the sadidas. I'm not sure how she managed it, but that skank made it sound like her father would automatically assist her in ruling the Sadida Kingdom (despite them being Osamodas) since she would be pregnant and without aid due to Armand's demise. And after her baby would be born, her father would train him under his guidance to make him become strong and successful. She made it sound like a simple plan with no problems attached to it. She hasn’t even mentioned if the “baby” was an osamodas or a sadida. She only mentioned the gender, that the baby was a male (in French, when she calls the unborn child “the heir” she says it by using male pronouns).

Hey, Aurora what happens when your lie doesn’t work anymore because your stomach will still stay flat after eight months? You’re gonna tell the people that you swallowed the baby or something? That it fell down? What happens when you can’t keep up with your lie anymore?? Huh? Ever thought about that, you dumb bitch?

I have an idea, Amalia: how about you throw Aurora to the other side of the world and then try to get yourself pregnant by using Yugo so that you can also have a better reason to stay? Or better yet, you can tell her to prove her pregnancy because again, HER STOMACH IS FLATTER THAN A WASHBOARD AFTER ALL THESE MONTHS. Make her suffer from her lie and try to make her work hard for it.

You know when a dog lifts his tail and head up while he’s walking away from something cuz it shows just how sassy and confident they are? I see no difference with this crappy blue cow ‘family’ except that it ain’t cute when they do it.

They just ignored everything Amalia and Yugo said, looked the other way from every proof and situation that they were currently in, and only brought out Aurora’s pregnancy as a trashy uno reverse card, then decided to dip out before blurting out that they were gonna wait NEXT TO ARMAND’S FUCKING TREE GRAVE SO AMALIA CAN PREPARE HER STUFF TO LEAVE.

Osamodas blonde cow: “We are going to pray at Armand’s grave tree, while you make your arrangements.”

The fucking nerve to say that.

I don’t give a shit if she’s crying while saying it, this bitch is supposed to be a professional manipulator.

She and her family have no shame whatsoever. They genuinely thought they did something there. The only thing they had as “leverage” against Amalia and Yugo was Aurora’s stupid “pregnancy”. And even if she was actually carrying Armand’s kid (for whatever reason), her reason would still be shit cuz Armand already declared in his final hour that Amalia was going to take his role.

Osamodas blond cow: “Your presence here is no longer desired, sister-in-law. Just do what you’ve always done…Go explore the world!”

Like-

Who are you???

Blond cow had the audacity to exist.

Not only do we know that the royal osamodas family are liars and manipulators, but we also now know that they’re complete dumbasses for even wanting to rule the Sadida kingdom of all kingdoms. The Sadida kingdom is not built like theirs. The Sadida culture and its customs are extremely different and very much the opposite of the Osamodas since these two races are polar opposites. The Sadidas care about plant life while the Osamodas care about wildlife. It would be extremely hard for the osamodas to fully accept a culture that preaches everything that opposes what they preach. Not only that, but the Sadida kingdom is the literal embodiment of nature. If anything tries to hit its source no matter how big or small, then there would be dire consequences to the entire ecosystem of the world. The Tree of Life is such a big deal in fact that Armand even nicknames it “the lungs of this world”.

And to protect it, you not only need to be one with nature, but that also means you need a SADIDA to guard it which is a person that can literally SPEAK FOR THE TREES. Aurora you NEED Amalia, not only because she’s a Sadida, but because she’s also a royal AND has the strongest connection to the tree more than any other sadidas. You’re not just ruling a kingdom, you’re taking care of the world’s core.

And Aurora’s father doesn’t seem to understand that very important detail. When Armand reveals to him that the sadida kingdom keeps getting targeted at all times because it represents the lungs of the world, this fucking dumbass cow thinks that it’s because the sadidas are weak and can’t protect their own home which is why it keeps getting attacked.

Aurora’s father is such an idiot that he doesn’t even understand why the kingdom is so precious when he’s just been TOLD THE ANSWER DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HIS FUCKING FACE.

At this point, even a iop would get it. BECAUSE THE PERCEDAL FAMILY ACTUALLY UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT-

This is why imagining an osamodas ruling the Sadida kingdom is a literal death sentence. Because an osamodas, someone who only takes care of beasts, shouldn’t be able to properly take care of the sacred tree that links every single living plant in the world. For fuck sake, Aurora, why do you think they call it “the Tree of LIFE”?????

If the Tree of Life doesn’t have a proper guardian (aka A FUCKING SADIDA), then it dies. And if it dies, that means the ecosystem dies. Aurora, you dumb blond, let me explain it in osamodas language: if every green that you see outside disappears, that means that your stupid animals won’t be able to properly eat, shit, reproduce, drink, breathe, and live. And yes, Aurora that last one also means that they won’t have a surface to walk on, aka death.

You don’t have a brain because you keep listening to your egocentric manipulative fat father every time he opens his mouth and you keep making constipated decisions without thinking about the later outcomes because you think you’re in control of the situation.

The only thing you can do, and I’m being generous here by giving you a “talent”, is to shut the fuck up and sit there looking pretty. You did a good job doing that in Season 4 and I want you to do that again. And while you’re at it, go make me a sandwi-

Not only does Aurora need Amalia, the sadida who has the strongest link to the Tree of Life, but the Osamodas king also needs Yugo. I’m not sure why these blue people didn’t catch the fact that there’s a gigantic ass necrome dragon that’s only been PARALYZED and is currently standing in the fucking Sadida Kingdom’s backyard. The dragon is very easy to spot and the only reason why Yugo still keeps the eliatrope dofus on him at all times is to prepare himself for when the dragon gets out of this state. Because yes, Armand did beat him, but he didn’t kill him. Again, you are not able to kill a necrome. If the royal Osamodas family somehow takes hold of the Sadida kingdom, how the fuck are they gonna beat a fucking dragon, one of the most powerful fucking entities of this world who also had been necrofied to NEVER FUCKING DIE??? The osamodas cow king never saw a necrome, never beat a necrome, doesn’t know how it became a necrome, and doesn’t know where it comes from. Since he doesn’t know shit about the necromes, how is he gonna be able to fight a fucking necrome DRAGON?????

Sweeties, do you get it now?

Staying in the Sadida kingdom isn’t for power-hungry clowns. Staying in the Sadida kingdom means that you’ve gambled with your life more than once and you know the taste of adventure and combat. Staying there means knowing that your life can be taken away from you by either the enemies who try to take the literal lungs of the world, or the paralyzed undead dragon who can wake up at any time if he simply wanted to.

You bozos NEED Yugo and Amalia to the point where you can’t even be the ones to stay there, let alone own the place. You can’t stay there because there is so much to keep guard of, to be aware of, and to be ready for. The sadidas have practiced this dance for centuries now and they’ll keep doing it even harder because of an additional menace that is living on their grounds, the dragon being that very threat. Now, not only do the sadidas have to be vigilant of the outside, but they also have to be vigilant of the inside.

So yeah, the royal osamodas are a goofy ass family and I hate the circus.

(i love how the French commentaries on Allskreen and the Krosmoz app are clowning this family lol everyone understood the assignment)

[nukanobody]

Funny Familiarity

For context: I posted a head-canon a few days ago, on how Danse actually ended up in the brotherhood of steel as a synth despite not being sent as a spy but instead is listed as "missing". It's probable he ran away from the institute where the railroad helped him escape, with Deacon knowing about the case.

I'm so obsessed with this idea now so read below for any thoughts or further hc's i had when making this. Or ask me anything about this hc i am going cray cray. sorry if this is ooc i'm bad at characters.

ty to @ericadrawsstuff for your addon btw!! it fueled me to draw this haha

For Danse, I don't believe he was a courser but maybe a failed experimental synth/synth meant for manual labor? The institute would probably be in a panic if a courser with a courser chip went awol, they'd probably take notice if the same missing courser became the poster boy of the people whose trying to destroy them.

Danse stayed in the railroad for a bit, like maybe 5 months? Formed a somewhat close bond with Deacon who was "Debbie" at the time.

Deacon loves collecting sunglasses, was toying with the idea of being a woman when he found novelty heart sunglasses. I see him as identifying as male but really flexible when it comes to presenting himself.

Obsessed with the idea that despite being reset/memories wiped synths may carry flaws or mannerisms. In Danse's case his fierce loyalty and self sacrifice are his major flaws, pre-wipe he didn't want to be a danger to the railroad and felt he needed to be wiped, post-blind betrayal he felt like he was a danger to the brotherhood and needed to be killed.

Deacon's a good liar sometimes, but in the cases where Danse says something against synths his hands clench and has to lean on a wall to catch his breath while the sides of him fight in his head. The first side is the railroad agent who has huge empathy for M7-97 and knows that if his identity is revealed it'll absolutely ruin him and get maimed by the brotherhood, the other side of him is absolutely disgusted by Danse and wants to put him in his place, the 3rd just thinks it'll be funny.

I depicted Nora as how I'd imagine she'd be. A woman from a pre-war era being dropped in a wasteland, it's kind of a culture shock for her and she has a savior complex, she assumes that everyone just needs to sit down and talk. Her main goal is to somehow "unite" the commonwealth, she's joined all the factions and some of her companions are kind of peeved about it. In the comic she introduced Deacon to Danse thinking they could have a civil conversation where Deacon could steer him to a better mindset (she sees Danse as a kid who got into the wrong crowd, despite being a fully grown man)

okay jesus, this took like 3 days of non stop drawing for me to do. Whoever designed power Armour i pray for your downfall what the hell. Sorry if it looks bad i study software so I haven't gotten the chance to draw in like, 7 months. Can you tell which pose I was able to find refs for and not the rest? lol

I ship them now too, i've been researching them and I love their dynamic and damn if the plot "Person A knew Person B before Person B forgot them and became a different person" doesn't hit like a ton of bricks.

[aihoshiino]

seeing takes saying ai is a selfish liar while ruby is a selfless liar who does it for the sake of the fans as if she doesn't turn out to be ai 2.0 at the end LMAOOO

and even then that's wrong lol. at least ai tells her lies with the hope that they'll come true someday. ruby's motivations for going on are... what, exactly??

"to the future that mama and aqua illuminated" as if they both weren't victims that had their lives tragically taken away (aqua's case is different, yea, but only akane knowsbthat)

minor detail also, but as a fellow ai wifeguy, aren't the two pics of ai at ruby's bitchass merch shrine rehashes of prev art?? ai when she first takes off the hat in the hospital (this one is especially obvious to me) & the pic of her in the shampoo commercial but just edited a bit. same goes for thr aqua pic, looks like his cover art from vol 3

anon before i say anything else i need you to know that the combo of the words "fellow ai wife guy" and "bitchass merch shrine" took me out so hard. i was eating spicy noodles when i read this ask and it almost killed me. ig i don't blame mengo for reusing the linework for what are just throwaway background elements but it is kind of funny. like. yeah, girl. i wouldn't have put any extra effort into this chapter either lolo

Anyway yeah lol the idea of interpreting Ai as 'selfish' in that sense is kind of incomprehensible to me because tbh one of Ai's major issues as a character is that she isn't selfish. She feels obligated to endlessly contort herself to match the shapes other people want her to take - I mentioned it in my episode 1 liveblog but there's this constant underlying theme in Ai's arc of her doing her best to be every single contradictory thing that was asked of her, succeeding against all odds and being punished for it anyway. She doesn't value herself and her own happiness enough to choose it over continuing to be the version of herself other people ask her to be. TBH, that's another way that Ai and Aqua parallel each other - they both view not just their happiness but their entire lives as being ancillary at best to the people around them. Ai is at least able to understand that she wants and deserves to have happiness when she decides to have the twins, but she still undervalues herself to a shocking degree.

As for Ruby.............. honestly, Ruby's endgame characterization is so undercooked that I don't even really know what to make of her. But it's not as though she's a pure selfless angel who's getting nothing out of being an idol - this is the dream she's had for two lifetimes now and she's at the peak of her success. She's talked all series about wanting to be famous, etc etc. I'm sure it's hard and she's not always having an easy time and that it's probably frustrating for her to have to compartmentalize her feelings, but like...

Ruby could quit! She could just walk out!!! Hit da bricks!!!! It's nothing at all like Ai's situation where the combo of socioeconomic and interpersonal factors that contributed to her success also essentially trapped her in the entertainment industry with no safety net and nobody to help her find her footing in everyday life. If Ruby wanted to quit Tomorrow, she could and she'd have an endless amount of people who would help her adjust. As such, I can only assume Ruby is an idol because she still wants to be an idol. Which is fine! But this selfishness vs selflessness stuff is just not in the text.

And even if it was..................... again, who cares lol. Selflessness is not and inherently morally righteous quality and neither is selfishness inherently bad. Aqua and Ai again are both prime examples of how self destructive selflessness at the cost of the self is.

[myraniellejkelly]

The Militants interview with Y/n Part 2

Episode 1

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑

Interviewer: 3... 2... 1...

*Camera zooms in at them*

All: *waving at the camera*

All: Hi!

Y/n: I’m L/n Y/n.

Niragi: *smiles* Niragi Suguru.

*Interviewer brings a clear whiteboard and marker for Last Boss*

Last Boss: *writes it down and shows it in the camera* Takatora Samura.

Aguni: Aguni Morizono.

Y/n: And this is...

All: The interview with the Militants!

JUST FOR A MOMENT

Interviewer: How are you guys doing, ay?

Last Boss | Aguni: *nods*

Niragi | Y/n: *whispering each other*

Y/n: *laughs*

Y/n: Never better.

Niragi: *leans in the luxurious couch* I was going to finish in killing them off.

Niragi: *looks at Y/n*

Y/n: *smiles and rolled her eyes*

Aguni: It seems peaceful after I gotten to an argument at that moment. Nothing too personally.

Last Boss: *wrotes* I’m just here.

Interviewer: Warm-up question, what’s something important that you don’t want to get rid of?

Aguni: My responsibilities to survive.

Last Boss: *wrotes* My life.

Y/n: It’s obvious it’s everyone I care about because I love them so much.

Niragi: *looking down and smiles* my guns... and Y/n...

Interviewer: Sorry?

Niragi: *frowns* I said my guns, jeez.

Y/n: *looks at Niragi and silently laughs*

Interviewer: Now for the question, if you could be invisible for a day, what would you do?

Aguni: I’m just gonna let these three answer that question, for mine, I don’t have this kind of imaginative scenario.

Niragi: Oh, come on, boss, there’s literally plenty of scenarios if you were invisible.

Aguni: I’d rather not answer.

Last Boss: *wrotes* If I were invisible, I would’ve want to creep everyone from the behind, or stare at people.

Niragi: *laughs after his reply* Yeah, I would do that too, aside from staring those fuckers. What’s the best thing of being invisible is stalking people, and even knowing they’ll be killed in a seconds. Although...

*Looks at Y/n with smirk*

Niragi: I have other things if I were invisible.

Y/n: I would’ve suspected any of the newcomers who are traitors thus if I were checking... they would’ve been stealing the card leftovers... as far as I know, they would’ve been escaping for that long now.

Niragi: *chuckles* You know I’m happy... you joined in with us, Militants, we could really use someone who pretends to be... a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Y/n: *smirks* I doubt that... after months of ruining my life... I think it’s best if I were to do the dirty work.

Niragi: *whispers* God... I fucking love you.

Y/n: *looks at him to th side and winks*

Interviewer: If you were in car crash, what would you do?

Niragi: Oh that... that just happened two weeks ago, yeah, I just shout it at that fucker who ruined the game...

Y/n: I was there too, but I apologize.

Aguni: I do also apologize with the person with sincere.

Last Boss: *wrotes* I ran and slit a person’s throat.

Niragi: *laughs* damn, last boss.

*Him casually manspreading as his hand leans in the back of the couch while Y/n was beside him*

Interviewer: If you could read minds, what would you do?

Last Boss: *quickly wrote* If I were to read minds, then telepathically I wanna communicate with Y/n.

Niragi: Jeez, you’re fast.

Aguni: I would’ve know any secrets behind my crew.

Niragi: Boss, we ain’t lying to you.

Aguni: Well, unless you, Niragi, I’ve trusted you too much that you would talk-trash about me the other day.

Niragi: It was just a stupid nonsense.

Y/n: Simply, my friend, Takatora and I would communicate through minds or maybe others...

*She slightly side eye at Niragi*

Y/n: *look back* Anyways.

Niragi: I would’ve know that they’ll be more to kill, and more traitors ahead.

Niragi: *laughs* Simply, if I were to read minds, then I guess I want to know what princess been up to...

Y/n: *scoff and coldly smile* I’m not a liar.

Niragi: It’s hard to tell from you, you were just a good liar, dear.

Y/n: But I don’t lie to you, I was just being honest.

Niragi: I keep forgetting you were very honest with me, that’s what I like about you.

Y/n: *giggles*

Interviewer: Furthermore questions, Y/n, what it is you decide on joining the Militants.

Y/n: Well, for starters. Back then, I was very over dramatic about somethings.

*Niragi looks down at her bikini bottom and lip bites, then hide his expression when he turned back facing at the interviewer*

Y/n: I’m always the nicest person to get close with anyone in here, so I guess I join in the Militants because I always wanted something to get rid of.

Interviewer: So, what do you guys all think?

Aguni: I wouldn’t judge, Y/n, is great fit in our group... she manage things so easily...

Last Boss: *wrote* At least, I got a friend around to talk to.

Niragi: *wrapping his hand around her shoulder* For this little princess here, she’s very much my partner per se. Thus, what I love so dearly of her.

Y/n: That’s so sweet of you to say.

Niragi: Plus, what’s even more impressive. Is that she works well with me and that she can manage it fully. By what I mean is working well with me is that she could do anything to make me feel relief and relax.

Niragi: So like, she’s the type of woman who can really take it so easily to the bone.

Last Boss: *snorts and silently laughs*

Niragi: *jokingly laughs*

Interviewer: *laughs*

Aguni: *looks down awkwardly*

Y/n: *felt a little shy what he meant from his joke*

Interviewer: Aguni, if you were a dad, who would you adopt back at the beach and why?

Aguni: *looks at Y/n* Y/n, I’m adopting you.

Y/n: What?!

Aguni: Plus, I’ll take Arisu too.

Niragi: Boss?! Seriously?! Not that fucking puzzle boy?!

Aguni: Now, here there is a why answer. My reason is I always see Y/n as if she was like a daughter to me, a father who can be a little strict. Aside from Arisu, well I kind of rely on him for his intelligence and understanding in me.

Y/n: Wow... umm... if I’m gonna be honest, Aguni, if I were your daughter. I would be happy either way, maybe another universe.

Aguni: *slowly smiles* Yeah...

Interviewer: Last Boss, what is you struggle the most back at the beach?

Last Boss: *wrotes* A Militant who has trouble speaking.

Y/n: I mean... that’s reason, I was Takatora’s voice for most of the time, he only came whispering me into my ears.

Niragi: *can’t stop looking at her bikini outfit along with her transparent shirt over it*

Niragi: *looking at her bikini bottom and cleavage*

Last Boss: *nods*

Y/n: So like I immediately know what he’s about to say.

Interviewer: I never expected some of you guys care for each other.

Y/n: *chuckles* Of course, we maybe violent—

Niragi: *felt something hard as he look down and mouthed* Shit...

Y/n: —but we do—

Niragi: *trying to move comfortable in the luxurious couch, then putting his leg a slight over to his other leg and cover his crotch*

Y/n: *notice* You okay?

Niragi: Continue, princess.

Y/n: —sometimes care.

*His thumb start caressing her collarbone*

Y/n: Niragi?

Niragi: No, go on.

Aguni: *side eye*

Last Boss: *ignore and wrotes on the board*

Interviewer: Niragi, if you were to save one person, who would it be—

Niragi: Y/n.

*Hand now going down in wrapping her waist as his finger was caressing underneath her boob*

Niragi: *grabbing her closer to him* It seems obvious.

Y/n: *feeling something off* Niragi.

Niragi: Hmm?

Y/n: *whispers* What’s got into you?

Niragi: *sighs and whispers* I can’t control myself, can we just leave for moment?

Y/n: *whispers* Wait a minute... are you?

Niragi: *whispers* Don’t look at me, doll, I just a need a little six minutes in half.

Y/n: *whispers* Seriously?!

*Getting off the luxurious couch*

Y/n: Would you excuse us for a moment, will be back for only six minutes in a half.

Interviewer: Okay...?

Y/n: But do you know where’s the dressing room is?

Interviewer: *unsure* Uhh... you go to where the sign says dressing room next door.

Y/n: Thanks!

Niragi: *laughs maniacally and leaves with her*

Interviewer: *realize* Is it just me or are they—

Aguni: Don’t ask, we already know... exactly what’s going on after the first interview.

Interviewer: Really?

Aguni: Yes, Takatora and I should stay quiet for a moment, including you.

Interviewer: Oh okay.

Last Boss: *nods*

Interviewer: But are we still running for more questions?

Last Boss | Aguni: *nods*

TO BE CONTINUE...

[unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin]

yandere MJF after reader gives birth?

Be My Happy Girl Again

Summary: Max thinks you're focused on the wrong things once your daughter is born

Warning: Yandere!Max, possessive Max, manipulation, Gaslighting, reader giving birth, guilt, baby being used to manipulate the reader, depression, postpartum depression, reference to readers mom's death, referencing to Max having something to do with your moms death.

An: This is a follow up to this fic

Taglist: @fiskers7136 @peachmango-kombucha @kcloveswrestling @bellalutionn @xkennyxomegax @tummyyellin @legit9thlunaticwarrior @auburnwrites @melissahausen @thesusbunny @writtingrose

It Should have been the happiest time in your life, but all you could think about was your mom. You finished the nursery, but all wondered if your mom would have liked it. Max would bring you home a gift, and you would wonder if your mom would have bought something similar for the baby. And once your daughter was born, you couldn't help but wish your mom was there to meet her.

The tv had turned into background noise as you sat in the dark house. You hadn't had time to clean much, leaving the house cluttered, and your personal hygiene had become much less important. You were curled up on the couch, staring over at the small crib you'd dragged into the living room for your daughter to sleep in. Your chest was killing you, you needed to either wake her up to eat or pump soon, but just the thought of getting up seemed impossible.

"Y/n!!" You jumped slightly when Max ran into the room, yanking your daughter out of the crib. She immediately started screaming making you sit up.

"What are you doing?!"

"I wasn't going to just stay in the other room while you let her cry!" Your husband snapped, making you frown. She hadn't been crying, she had been asleep... right?

"What are you talking about? She was asleep-"

"You're calling me a liar? You think I don't recognize my own daughters crying!?"

"No! I just..." You shook your head slightly, trying to force your mind to think back before when Max had come in. But the current screaming was making it difficult.

"How will I ever go back to work if I'm afraid you won't take care of her?" Max motioned to the small baby he was slowly calming down in his arms. His words caused tears to well up in your eyes. What was wrong with you? Why were you struggling so much with this?

Max made a sound off annoyance, causing you to cry harder as he laid your daughter back down. "Come here," he whispered while wrapping his arms around you.

"What's wrong with me?" you cried into his chest. "Ever since my mom died, I just feel-"

"Jesus Christ." Max snapped, yanking you back from his body. "Stop thinking about her, it's been what, 3 months? You should be over it by now."

"Wh-what?" you whispered confused. He had been so understanding any other time you'd talked about your mom, why did he seem so angry.

"If you can't stop letting that effect how you raise our daughter, won't let you stay with her alone." Your eyes widened at his words.

"You can't do that-"

"Like hell I can. Your mom didn't even like the fact that we were starting a family, she probably wouldn't even like y/d/n."

"She would have loved-"

"You have to choose between being with us or the memories of that woman." Max crossed his arms over his chest, practically glaring at you.

"I-" You stuttered slightly, still crying. "I want to choose you..." You finally said, making Max's body relax and he pulled you back into his arms.

"Good. I talked to the doctor; she thinks some meds would help you feel less stressed. I'll pick it up for you tomorrow." You just nodded, used to Max doing stuff like this. "Then you'll be my happy girl again."

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 4b

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 3390

TW: Angst; end of relationship drama.

AN: The prompt was "I miss her so damn much, and it’s killing me that she’s gone!"

Sonny wasn’t sure that there was anything more he could do, but he thought about you all the time.  As a public defender, there was always a good chance that you’d drift through the precinct, your heels clicking on the tiled floor and your jaw set and ready to brawl with Barba.  When it happened, Sonny could only watch in admiration at how relentless you were. 

And if he enjoyed the way your various twill or Italian wool skirts fit you like a glove, no one needed to know about that other than god and the priest who heard his confession.

He didn’t have anyone to talk to, really.  Amanda was a lost cause, too wrapped up in her own issues.  And Sonny wondered if she’d ever really loved anyone or been in a real relationship.  She seemed to go through men – no shame – but there was no common ground between that and a committed relationship.

The best support he had was Bella and, god help him, her fiancée Tommy.  Sonny had never been much of a fan of Tommy’s, but the man had gotten his life in order after a stint in jail for drug charges.  He worked hard and loved Bella, which was the best Sonny could hope for his sister.  And now that she was pregnant, he hoped it would be enough.

Sonny went over to the couple’s place one Saturday night to cook for them.  Tommy was a lost cause in the kitchen, and Bella was well into the third trimester – complete with swollen feet and a ravenous appetite for their ma’s chicken marsala recipe.  Sonny was only too happy to oblige.

After dinner (said chicken marsala, a mixed green salad, and crusty rolls – all wolfed down by Bella with an appetite that made Sonny smile), the trio sat in the tiny living room and sipped the rest of the red wine that Sonny had brought.  Bella helped herself to half a glass; Sonny had objected, but Bella had given him an earful about how her doctor said that half a glass of red had heart benefits that outweighed the negligible potential bad side effects, and furthermore, if he was such a fucking expert on pregnancy, he was more than welcome to carry the future Baby Sullivan for the next month and a half.  Sonny had looked to Tommy for support halfway through her tirade, but the man wisely averted his eyes and carefully studied the label of the wine bottle until Bella was spent.

There was a heavy silence for a moment, then Sonny’s younger sister asked, as if she hadn’t just yelled at him, how Sonny was doing.  Just like when they were kids:  screaming and pinching each other one minute, friends the next.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but Bella saw right through it.

“Liar.  You look tired.  You sleeping?”

Sonny shrugged.  “Usually.  Some of the stuff I see at work makes it hard.”

Tommy made a sympathetic noise – he had been assaulted repeatedly by his own parole officer and was in therapy as a result, so he knew at least a taste of what SVU dealt with.

“You need someone to go home to,” Bella declared with authority. 

Sonny winced and tried to hide it behind a sip of wine, but his sister caught it. 

“You seeing anyone?” she asked.  “It’s been a while since you got dumped.”

He ducked his head and considered not telling Bella about your recent reappearance in his life but decided to go ahead and tell her.  She’d find out anyway, and maybe she could offer some insight from the female perspective.  When you’d broken up with him over a year ago, Sonny had leaned heavily on his younger sister, crying to her about the loss of you.

So he told her all the news:  how you marched into the precinct one day as a public defender, how you went to lunch with him and accused him of emotionally cheating with Amanda, how you made polite small talk with him and sometimes looked sad when you saw him.  How he didn’t know what to do now.

“She probably still has my number blocked,” he finished.  “And I doubt she’ll go to another lunch with me.  I see her all the time now but can’t get through to her.  I wish…I wish I could just let her know how I really feel.”  He sighed and scrubbed his hands down across his face.  “I miss her so damn much, and it’s killing me that she’s gone!”

Tommy made that sympathetic clucking again, and Bella looked sad too.  You had only met Sonny’s entire family once, but you’d spent time with Bella a handful of times after the two of you clicked instantly.  Sonny had pictured a future where the two of you were married, and Bella and Tommy were married, and your respective children could grow up together, cousins as close as siblings. 

“Well, if you can’t talk to her or call her, you could always write her a letter,” Tommy offered.  He rarely spoke up at Carisi gatherings, and both Sonny and Bella looked at him in surprise.  Tommy shrugged.  “You know, at least you can get your feelings out on paper.  You don’t have to send the letter.  But if you do….” He trailed off, uncomfortable.

Bella cocked her head at her fiancée.  “That’s actually a good idea,” she said, and Tommy beamed.  They both turned and looked at Sonny expectantly.

“Maybe,” he conceded. 

“C’mon,” Bella wheedled.  She punched him lightly in the arm.  “Girls love romantic gestures like that.  And who writes love letters anymore?”

“Maybe,” he repeated, but he was already composing the opening lines.

-----

He typed out all of the drafts on his personal laptop, revising and rewriting and sometimes deleting and starting over entirely.  It took him a week to get a final version ready.

He thought about Bella’s line about romantic gestures and stopped at a stationary store.  He bought some nice, heavy paper edged in a dark blue that reminded him of the sweater you were wearing when he first met you.  He bought a nice pen too, and then he got to work.

If you hadn’t gone to that lunch with him and opened up a bit about where you had been when you broke up with him, Sonny would never even consider writing you a letter.  But you had, and it had given him a slender bit of hope that you’d be open to hearing more from him.

It took a few tries.  His cursive was out of practice, and the first few attempts resulted in misspellings and ink blots.  He kept writing it out until it was perfect though, even if his hand was cramped and aching from writing so much.  Bella was right – who wrote love letters anymore?  If he couldn’t give you anything else, he could at least give you one, perfect love letter.  You deserved that much, at least.

*******

You were feeling great – you had spent the morning at a sexual cybercrimes conference.  You had seen Barba, implied that his coworker O’Dwyer was smarter than him, and then delighted at how offended he looked.  Of all the ADAs you had to deal with on a regular basis, Barba was your favorite to wind up.  You practically skipped back to your office, where a mountain of new cases waited for you.

You shut the door to your office and shed your suit jacket in the airless little room.  You kicked off your heels and slipped into a pair of sandals and settled into your chair. 

You started with the interoffice mail:  standard memos and policy changes and an updated public defender contact list.  There was a retirement card being passed around for an older paralegal who was ready to hang it all up and move to Boca Raton. 

You moved on to your regular mail.  There was the usual junk that slipped past your admin.  A plea for a donation from Fordham.  Some letters from past clients. 

At the bottom of the stack was a manila envelope with your name printed carefully across the front.  No return address – another client, probably.  You opened it and slid out another envelope of heavy, creamy paper.  Your name was written across the face in familiar handwriting.  Your stomach dipped when you recognized it.  Sonny.

You thought about tearing it open then and there, but you got a call to go to the 5th precinct, so you tucked it into your satchel.  It was probably safer to read it at home anyway.

-----

The letter sat in your bag like unexploded ordinance, but you got through the day.  You rushed home, skipped dinner, and poured yourself a tumbler of wine to the brim.  You settled onto your couch, took a deep breath, and opened the letter. 

The paper was heavy stock and gorgeous.  The handwriting was careful – nicer than Sonny’s usual scrawled signature or block printed notes from college.  He’d obviously put time and thought into whatever he wanted to say.  So you took another breath, took a few deep swallows of wine, and read it.  It said:

You probably think that we first met when we both went bowling with our mutual friends, but that wasn’t the first time I’d ever seen you.  The first time I saw you, we were in the same class a semester earlier – Investigative Criminal Procedures.  It was a huge lecture hall, and you always sat about five rows ahead of me.  Of course I noticed you, because you are beautiful, but it was a fight you had with the professor that made me realize how much of that beauty came from deep within you.  Maybe you remember?  Professor Graham had some controversial thoughts about search and seizure, and you shot your hand up, didn’t bother to wait for him to call on you, and then you launched into an impassioned tirade that tore every one of his points apart.

My first thought after that class was that if I ever was in trouble with the law, I was going to hire you as my lawyer.  My second thought was that I was certain that I loved you.

When I finally met you that night at bowling, you see, I already was in love with you.  And you were so friendly and happy, laughing at your own terrible score – I only fell harder.  When I went home that night, I made a vow that I’d make you mine, and for a blessed while, I had.  But I lost my way, and I lost you in the process.

I don’t want to dwell on what I did wrong because I replay it every day of my life.  I just want you to know that I regret, every day, how I neglected you.  How I took you for granted.  How I assumed that you’d wait around for me to get my act together.  How I didn’t put you first or make you feel how special you are to me.  I’ll always regret how I failed you.

But I want to say all the things now that I should have told you when we were together. 

You are, as I said, beautiful, both inside and out.  You always manage to make my heart stop every time I see you, whether you’re in your work suits or in your comfortable pajamas.

You have so many amazing things going for you.  You’re easily the smartest person I know, and you have both book smarts and common sense.  You’re always able to get to the easiest solution to a problem.  You’re abilities in the courtroom as a public defender just proves this.

You have an amazing sense of humor.  You always seem to be able to find the humor in the situation, and you always made me laugh.  And you manage to tease people in a way that builds them up and doesn’t tear them down.  It’s a gift.

You have an amazing heart.  You always show care for your clients, and before that, care for your friends, for me, and even for the strangers who cross your path.  You never seem to judge – you give the homeless man money with the same love you give to your friends when they need you.  I love that about you.  You don’t make people work for your love:  you just give it freely, even when they don’t deserve it.  You certainly gave it to me far longer than I deserved it.

If I had to describe you in a single word, it’d be “rock.”  You were always my steady foundation, my touchstone for when things seemed too hard.  You supported me when I wanted to give up on law school.  You supported me when the NYPD was moving me from precinct to precinct and I wanted to give up on being a detective.  You saw me at my worst moments and kept me grounded and gave me hope.  Sometimes I felt my faith failing me, but I never stopped believing in you.  And no matter what happens, I never will.  

More than anything, I want to you know – really know – that I loved you then and I love you still.  I know why you probably won’t believe that, but it is true.  I know I didn’t give you enough proof of that fact, and I regret it.  I know that you think there was another woman with a place in my heart, but that wasn’t the case and still isn’t the case.  How could there be room for anyone else there, when you took it so utterly and completely?  And when you have it still?

I hope this letter did not upset you.  It was not my intention if it did.  These are all things I should have said a long time ago, when I still had you, and it’s no one’s fault but my own that I have to write them down and send them to you now. 

If nothing else, I want you to know that I loved you completely then, that I love you completely now, and for the rest of my life, I’ll love you just as much.  And as such, I want you to be happy, no matter what that looks like. 

It was signed, “love always, Sonny.”  But you could barely read it through the tears streaming down your face.

You probably read it twelve more times before you went to bed, and since you were unable to sleep, you read it twelve times more.

-----

You saw Sonny across the courtroom a week later, but he just nodded at you and gave you a small smile that didn’t reach his bright blue eyes.  You nodded back and smiled. 

You were working on your own response, in letter form to keep it true to his own letter.  You approached it a lot like your law work – you wrote out an outline and built it from there.

It took you a few weeks to craft the perfect response, and you carried it in your bag for another week.  You didn’t want to mail it to him.  You figured, after the way you’d dumped him, you owed him a hand-delivered letter.  It was the least you could do, especially after he made the ballsy move of even reaching out at all.  And you had to admit that there was something romantic about getting a love letter.  It was a stark contrast to your last attempt at dating, when a guy you’d gone on a first date with texted you a week later with an unimpressive dick pic.

Then you got a call about a client in the 16th who was arrested and about to face arraignment in a day.  You checked your bag and made sure the letter was there.  If you saw Sonny, you vowed to hand it to him then and there.

********

Sonny was tortured by that stupid letter.  You never responded.  He knew deep-down that you might ignore it, but he had some stubborn hope that you’d reach out to him.  He had a stupid, recurring fantasy where you rushed over to his apartment in the middle of the night after reading his letter, tearfully admitting that you still loved him too. 

He saw you once in court, and you nodded at him in greeting but didn’t say anything.  He resigned himself to finally admitting that it was over.  But at least you knew how he felt.  Maybe it gave you some comfort or closure.

-----

It was another grey day in Manhattan.  Well, it was July and sunny, but Sonny didn’t feel particularly up to his nickname.  Amanda was just starting to show in her surprise pregnancy, and she was an irritable, nauseous mess.  Fin and Liv had collared a potential serial date rapist who was preying on Hudson University students, and he sat in the interrogation room after asking for a lawyer.

The elevator dinged, and Sonny heard the familiar click of heels.  He felt his stomach drop while his heart soared, an uncomfortable feeling.  The feeling of possibility that would probably just disappoint him.

You breezed past him and Amanda and strode into the interrogation room where Barba was waiting.  Sonny heard first some low voices, then louder ones as you and Barba got warmed up and then traded snappy retorts as you tried to find a compromise.  Everyone, including Sonny, knew how to read the situation now:  if you marched out with your head tilted and Barba strolled out scowling, it was no deal.  If you marched out with a smile and Barba strolled out scowling, there was a deal.

Today?  You marched out with your head tilted in defiance, and Barba fell in step with you for a few strides, trying to salvage some deal.  Sonny smiled to see it.  Barba never seemed flustered by anything, but you had a way of making the ADA seem rattled.  You just shook your head at him….until your eyes fell on Sonny.

You started to smile, but your eyes slid over to Amanda and Sonny saw it all in slow motion.  He saw your smile falter as you took in his partner’s pregnant belly, and he saw you make a giant assumption about who made it that way. 

“Shit,” he muttered, and he watched you practically sprint out of the bullpen.  Barba, for his part, looked confused and started to follow but stopped.  Sonny went after you and nearly caught up thanks to his long legs, and even though you kept jamming the elevator button, he managed to get his hand in and stop the doors.

He called your name, but you shot him an angry look through tears that were welling in your eyes.

“Let go of the door,” you said through gritted teeth.  Your voice had a shaky quality as you fought the urge to cry.  “Just let me go.”

“No,” he replied.  “I know what you’re thinking….”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” you retorted.  You punched the button on the elevator a few more times for good measure, then you reached into your bag.  “I’m thinking that I’m a fucking idiot.  That’s what I’m thinking.”

“It’s not like that,” he pleaded, and he felt his own eyes fill with tears.  You were so distressed; he just wanted to reach out and hold you, but when he extended a hand, you visibly flinched from it.

“I don’t care what it’s like!” you wailed, and you pulled a folded piece of paper – no, pieces of paper – out of your bag.  You tore them in half, and then again and again and again until you couldn’t tear anymore.  Then you threw them at him, and Sonny realized that the confetti was your reply to him.  Or had been.  He knelt to pick up the pieces of torn paper, and the elevator, finally released, closed its doors and carried you out of the building.

He couldn’t chase after you.  You were too hurt by what you saw – or thought you’d seen – and he was on such thin ice anyway.  All he could do was gather up the tiny pieces of paper from the dirty precinct floor.

And take them back to his desk.  And start to put them back together.

[manwiththemagic]

spn s1 ep4 "Phantom Traveler"

more notes on my rewatch!!

OMG this is the demon episode isn't it? IT IS ISN'T IT? IS IT???

ew an airport. Post 2001 too damn ☹️

"you know what are the odds of dying in a plane crash? 20-1?" BRO. not helping the puking man..

BLACK SMOKE!!

In through the eyes? That got retconned.

WHY WAS SHE NOT MORE FREAKED OUT HE HAD BLACK EYES. chick you are the reason everyone's dead.

HOW DID HE JUST OPEN THAT?? demon strength???

Rip plane

Wait does this mean demons could have done 9/11? wowza...

Early bird Sam!! “good morning sunshine!"

“you get some sleep?” “yeah.” “liar. Cause I was up at 3 and you were watching infomercials” LMAOOOO but also d'awhhhh :((( the nightmares!!

“it's not just her.. It's everything.” THE VISIONS FUCK YES. YES. YESYSYSHSHG

I love the visions plot lines!!

“your never afraid?” “no man, never.” *Sam pull out a knife from under deans pillow.* LMAOOO CLOCK HIS ASS!!

“Thats not fear.” uhhuh...

WAIT THIS IS THE DEANS SCARED OF FLYING EPISODE LMAOOOOO

reminds me of hunter corp Dean who legit has a private jet..

Random guy calls Dean about the plane issue whaaaa

WAIT THIS GUY KNOWS JOHN. HE HAS INFO.

oh gosh. “yeah he was real proud of ya! Talked about you all the time.” “...he did..?” FUCK.

I still I hate john. I HATE EM. always will 😋

“welp we're missing the old man, we get Sam! Even trade” “aha. No. not by a long shot.” THATS RIGHT. CAUSE UR BETTER MF. uhm anyways.. I like this old guy, hope he doesn't end up SAD AND DEPRESSED LIKE ALL THE OTHER OLD GUYS IN THE OAST 3 EPISODES.

Monster porn live on tape? LMAO JKJK!! demon gotta stop moaning tho.

They definitely aren't showing the crash because they don't have the budget, not because it's locked in a warehouse and you don't have clearance..

Wtf is Evp?

LMAO THE FAKE ASS “nOoOooo survIvoRsSss” they did NOT get that mf off the tape.

Dude sees shit, and is now in a ward. Common. Common.

DEAN STOP HARASSING MENTALLY ILL MAN.

sams puppy dog eyes back at it.

Black eyes 😋 OOOGA!!

okay wait why tf is this demon doing this. They don't just “do evil”...

This guy isn't a monster bro..

Wait are they actually going to the wreckage?

SUITS!!!

“you look like a seventh grader at his first dance! ☺️” SAM PLS.

OMG wait they had the budget holy shit

LMAO HELP ME HELP ME “what is that?” “its an E.M.F. reader.” “no I know what an E.M.F. is. Why does it look like a busted up walkman?” “cause that's what I made it out of! ☺️ It's homemade!!” “yea.. I can tell😒” SAM WOAH DON'T KILL EM!! LMAOSKSK

Sulfur on handle!!!

Oh shit actual homeland security is there..

LMAO THESE MFS GET CAUGHT EVERY EPISODE.

Run bitch runnnn!!

This poor pilot.. it wasn't your fault :(((

Oh shit he possessed.

Sulfur!!

Babies first demon.

NO BC WHY IS DEMON BRO DOING THIS.

Everytime.. 40 minutes in.. WTF

and another crash.. fun..

BUT WHY. JUST CAUSE??

“this isn't our normal gig..” how WRONG you are pal..

“this is big.” it's really not.. you fight GOD. by s2 demons are nothing to you. By s4 Sam's fucking one. By s6 Sam's been tortured for 100's of year by an ex-archangel who's basically his ex 🤷. By s13 your son is part ARCHANGEL. sooo...

Rip chuck Lambert— SORRY CHUCK? mbmb..

Nazareth?? Wtf is this demon on?

40 minutes? Wtf biblical numbers..?

Okay they got the flight attendant on the phone.

WHY PLAY ALONG LIKE IT WAS A PRANK. DUDE.

and she hung up.. girl your COOKED!!

Deans plane fear!! LMAOOO.

“your joking right..?" “DO I LOOK LIKE IM JOKING?? Why do you think I drive everywhere SAM??” LMAOSOSO

LMAOO DEAN WAS BORN TO BE A TEEN GIRL. “really..? Ugh... Man..” while rocking back in forth. He's so REAL LMAOSOS

Dean looks like he has PTSD LMAOOO

“your humming Metallica??” “it calm me down.!” LMAOOOO

“Hey! Say it in Latin!” “i know.” “Hey! In latin it's 'cristo'” “i know!!” LMAO I LOVE THEM.

“cristo.” “sorry I didn't..?” “cristo.” “??” “nevermind.”

Sam is honestly way kinder than me. I'd be making FUN of Dean but nah he's just like "no it's OKAYYYY just some turbulence dwdw.."

Dean you are so awkward.. it's def mr smiley

They found em!! It wasn't mr smiley damn..

Awh shucks.

BEAT THAT BITCH UP!! HE TALKED ABOUT JESS.

PLANE DOWN. PLANE DOWN.

DID LIGHTNING JUST STRIKE THEM???

okay all good now.

Nono demons killed jess. It wasn't wrong.

John redirecting calls to dean.. mf come ONNNNNNNN

Sam's peeved, rightfully so omg..

Kinda meh for an important episode.

[touchstoneaf]

I'm reading summaries and transcripts, and once in a while forcing myself to watch episodes of anything after season 3 of Smallville (solely so that I can rewrite them in a way that's much more coherent (and CLexy, but that goes w/o saying))... and my GOD, they are so dumb sometimes. Poor Michael. having to convincingly say shit like "your girlfriend was possessed by the ghost of a witch" with a straight face! (Side note what the actual fuck is the plot in this season? Season 4 is insane and I don't even want to talk about it.) Yes the show has always been a little goofy and has some storylines that are questionable... but they are really pushing it now.

Also one of the main strengths of the show is the chemistry between Michael and Tom, and yet they have full episodes where they don't even interact, and it's just like, *what* are you doing?! And then to top it off, each summary just gets more and more ridiculous and complicated as the seasons goes on, and I'm just like oh thank god I have simplified it in fanfiction! They are no damn witches (because let me not even get started on how witches are portrayed in most TV shows!), there are no spirits floating around trying to possess people (just because you have Kryptonite around does not mean you get to hand-wave literally anything at all. Why in the hell would a Kryptonite nodule or some dust cause ghosts to exist? It affects *living cells* with *radiation*. I don't even understand why they would make a decision like that. They really must have been desperate for stories already, and we're not even halfway through the show yet).

I'm not going to even get started on my main gripes with the show that have existed from the beginning, like turning Superman into a self-serving, abusive, selfish liar who lies, or the fact that their main "villain" was created out of victim-blaming and abuse and then everybody's just gleefully happy for Lex be treated like shit for no fucking reason whatsoever, while his Literally Evil father is turned into some kind of pseudo "good" guy. Cuz yeah, abusers should be redeemable. but their victims should end up alone and tortured and treated like shit by everybody around them. That totally makes sense. I won't get started, I really won't, because I will be here all day. Or the fact that nobody seems to have figured out that Clark is a meta at the very least, when he does all kinds of weird shit all the time. These people are smart. Chloe and Lex especially are not fucking stupid by any stretch. It just simply would not have taken them four or more years to realize that he could easily one of the mutants in town. Nobody would be shocked in the slightest; but they play it like they're just too stupid to figure it out, and it's terrible because Clark is the worst liar in the universe.

Also, somebody who's not yet Superman is not going to be fighting beings like Doomsday when they're still like 20. It's just not going to happen. I'm not even getting started on creepy stuff like how they're totally sexualizing someone who's playing a minor because she is their eye candy on the show. Lana and Kristin deserved better! The female lead who basically existed to further the two guys' storylines for like three seasons finally gets her own story... but it's about being possessed by an ancient witch or some shit? They are actually sexualizing her near death experience, like some kind of creepy PG snuff film (who actually made the decision of trying to make Lana being slowly suffocated a weird sexy vibe?! So fucking problematic I don't even know where to start). And then the male lead's other love interest is summarily killed by their cardboard cutout villain of the week with his lack of character development, simply so that she can't get in the way of Supes' future storyline, because she was literally created only to be a roadblock to his future goals, masquerading as something to keep him from actually being lonely to death. All she did wrong was to wish she could free of stigma about Mental Health... then shortly afterward, when she was essentially killed about it, he turns around and is fine again because he gets a football scholarship. What the fuck?! (Yes, I'm looking at you, Pariah).

I can't even with this show sometimes. I'm so glad I quit when I did. I tend to forget how insane and Incredibly questionable a lot of it is until I have to watch something of it in order to rewrite it. But I guess that's why there's fanfic in the first place!