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viviane-lefay · 2 months

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Dagan Gera & Santari Khri - Headcanon

Part I

Here are some notes about my thoughts & headcanons regarding these two characters - and how I, personally, see them (i.e. some of their backstory + some random facts), as well as their relationship.

I guess, this is something I wrote for myself, first and foremost, so I won't forget

However, if someone happens to like what they found here, then I'd be really, really happy, of course. Finding some like-minded people to talk to would be so nice.

Anyway, here is what I have written so far:

Dagan

First of all some words on his appearance:

I headcanon Dagan as quite tall for an Arkanian Offshoot, measuring 1,90m / 6’25’’ (the average height being 1,80m / 5’11’’).

He is of the athletic and muscular built of a warrior (definitely takes after his father in that), that has yet a lithe, almost elvenlike grace (like his mother) to it, with broad shoulders and long legs.

Blessed with impeccable bone structure, his features are strikingly handsome, refined yet masculine - with a sharp, chiseled jawline, and high, prominent cheekbones, creating a gracefully flowing ogee curve from his brows down to the chin.

His complexion is of a clear and cool marble-white - with a faint rosy sheen, which is especially pronounced on his lips.

As far as I'm concerned, he doesn’t have this weird stripey pattern from the shoulders upwards, because it just isn’t very flattering on his beautiful face, and I think the designers did him a disservice there.

His irises are of a silvery, pale icy blue, with a slightly darker ring at the corneal limbus.

He has long and plenteous lashes rimming his big, almond-shaped, slightly hooded eyes, which are, like his brows, of a darker shade than his hair.

Dagan's flowing mane is quite a sight to behold - thick and silky, it somehow has a lively quality to it, changing colour according to the incidence of light.

There is a slight gradient, with the roots having a darker colour than the lengths and, especially, the tips - plus some additional highlights here and there.

The different shades give it a depth and dimension that only accentuates its fullness - ranging from a deep and smoky steel grey, to a shimmering, frosty silver-white.

He usually kept it at armpit-level, but has since (post game) grown it out to mid-back length.

His hairstyle is fairly simple: The upper part is combed back and held in place by a golden clip - except for a few shorter strands which are framing his face - while the rest is flowing down his back.

For practical reasons, he keeps the lengths neatly tucked into his hood.

He is also keeping a Padawan braid out of sentimental reasons.

(When he still was a Padawan and on a mission together with Santari, he came by an injury on one of his arms, so Santari had to help him a little with doing his hair for a short while.)

He places great importance on having a well-groomed appearance, but not out of vanity. In fact, his good looks is something that he actually is a bit oblivious about. It is rather his abilities that he is quite proud of.

~*~

Many a lady desired the handsome Jedi knight of renown, Dagan Gera, fellow Jedi included, but he only ever had eyes for Santari.

Dagan loved her from the moment he first laid eyes on her - and he knew, with a certainty he could not fathom, that he always would, for as long as he existed.

~*~

"Tough on the outside, soft on the inside." is something that describes Dagan quite well, for the most part.

There is nothing lukewarm about this man. If he loves, then he does so with every fibre of his being - profoundly, fervently, and with unwavering faithfulness.

On the other hand, this can also mean a great capacity for vulnerability, which is why he guards his heart so much.

~*~

While he may be very proud, he puts great emphasis on his code of honour, both as a warrior, and as a man in general.

That is also one of the reasons why he got along so well with Rayvis, becoming good friends on top of being comrades-in-arms.

~*~

Now on to the backstory part:

He entered the Jedi order as an initiate rather late, at the age of 7, despite being exceptionally strong in the Force (midichlorian count of 17500 per cell).

This was because of difficulties the Jedi had in identifying him early on, with him falling under the radar due to living in the secluded slave district on the outskirts of a relatively small and remote city.

Pure-bred Arkanians, which held nothing but contempt for the experiment-born offshoots, usually shunned these areas, characterized by their ghetto-like structures and harsh living conditions, as well as their inhabitants. The only exception to this were a few scientists, overseers and bureaucrats that were tasked with the management of their “biological resources”.

To keep them from rebelling, even the communities of offshoots were made to mirror the rigid hierarchies of the Arkanian caste system, and competitive struggles amongst the populace were very much encouraged, if not enforced.

Dagan was the only child of Medhani & Dhaval Gera, a young couple of higher ranking slaves deployed in the mining business, with Medhani working as an engineer, and Dhaval as construction manager and security guard.

While the working conditions were not as dire as the ones regular miners had to endure, they were still exposed to a hazardous environment, and occupational safety measure laws were a thing that didn’t apply to the slaves who were deemed disposable.

The excessive genetic tampering the offshoot subspecies was subjected to came at the cost of a weakened immune system, which made them vulnerable even to minor illnesses.

When Dagan was 5 years old, Medhani fell seriously ill. Despite her husband’s care, her condition worsened and it soon became apparent that she would not survive without medical attention.

With a heavy heart, Dhaval made a visit to the overseers in the hopes they’d send a physician for examination. Usually, this was seen as a last resort the slaves used to call upon, as the intention behind it was not to give genuine help, but to inspect, and potentially cull, the populace. Only those still deemed useful were given treatment.

It had only been out of desperation that he took this route, as the bond between him and his wife was one of genuine affection, and not, as was customary, based on the utilitarian purposes of the eugenics and breeding programs. Slaves usually did not get to choose their spouses, they were allocated one.

Medhani and Dhaval belonged to the few that resisted this practice, and to the even fewer that were actually successful in their endeavor, as most were forcibly separated. It was only a matter of luck, that, after screening, they were declared a good genetic match, and, thus, allowed to wed.

Unfortunately, the authorized physician decided against treatment and ordered for her to be euthanized (not out of mercy, but to make the respective caregivers free for work again).

Dhaval, who despite it all had clung to hope, was neither able nor willing to accept this, and quickly raised his objections in fierce opposition, but to no avail.

At this point, their small son, who up until then had remained relatively silent, standing hidden in the doorway, came running towards them, loudly protesting and screaming for his mother, only to be ungently grabbed, shoved aside and detained, to make way for the poison that was about to be administered.

At this point, Dhaval snapped and started to attack both the physicians and the overseers. Considering he was just one man facing several opponents at once, he stood his ground for a remarkable amount of time, being particularly tall and strong, and a formidable combatant, trained and highly skilled in various forms of martial arts. Ultimately, however, he was defeated, after reinforcements were called in, and executed on the spot.

With both his parents dead, Dagan was now about to be sent to the housing and educational institution for orphans.

Nobody paid any heed to the boy, and the state of utter shock and distress he was still in – bereaved of the warmth of his family and home.

If anything, Dhaval and Medhani had been loving and attentive parents, intent on creating a little sanctuary amidst the desolation, the cold, always protective of their circle of three – and for Dagan, that is what it was, and what he would always remember, and crave. Neither would he forget, nor forgive that, which had taken all this away from him.

He was but given a certain amount of time to process, and to inter the cremated remains of his parents, which he was handed the following day, before he was picked up.

In Arkania, where detachment, rationality and intellect were deemed the ideal, emotiveness and sentimental bonding was seen as a weakness.

Dagan, however, had always been an emotional child – intelligent, but very much swayed by the stirrings of his heart and his fervour – a trait he would retain into adulthood, even though tempered by necessity and training.

He would come to face much pushback and humiliation because of this trait during his time in the orphanage.

The facility was a dismal and oppressive place that resembled more a factory complex than it did a home, the accommodations desolate, with children living like sardines in a tin.

The education, as they called it, was not so much about the imparting of knowledge, as it was about molding the young minds into the exact shape the rulers desired, perfectly indoctrinated to fulfill their designated role in the societal machinery of Arkania - submissive, hardworking and efficient, loyal only to their owners and ready to betray even their own kind if it meant they were awarded better conditions.

In the two years Dagan spent there, he grew ever more serious and brooding - and increasingly distrustful of others, preferring his own company, never feeling safe to be himself.

His only solace were his abilities, which he honed with great eagerness to succeed - abilities amongst which there were some the others didn’t seem to share. Abilities which kept him safe – and to be safe meant to be strong, to be strong meant to be worthy.

Behind this veneer of strength and confidence there was a face he just couldn’t let them see, a side of him that sometimes even he forgot was there, that yet was the driving force behind everything he was, everything he desired, and stood for – acknowledged or not.

Even later, there were only a few that got a glimpse beneath, and only one person to break this façade altogether – the only one to know who he truly was, the only one he truly trusted and felt safe with, and the one that became the sole focus of his being, his whole universe.

It was one morning that his life would change, and he was summoned to the principal’s office, unaware of what would await him there. As he stepped through the door he saw them – two figures in robes of gold, majestic and noble, an imposing sight in stark contrast to the bleakness that surrounded them.

If it was known that those offshoots that managed to escape their planet often turned out to be among the most driven individuals one could find, determined to prove themselves to be more than an Arkanian slave, it was doubly true with Dagan, who pursued his training with unparalleled ambition and tenacity, pushing himself further than any expectations, placed upon him from outside, demanded.

Even his rather late admittance did not deter him from catching up with, and even surpassing his peers quickly. Combined with his already great latent force abilities, he soon became one of the best, most promising initiates the order had seen in a long, long while.

~*~

By the time he was knighted, he had mastered all forms of Lightsaber techniques (taught during his age) - but with a special emphasis on Form II and VI.

Aside from his abilities with the force and lightsaber, he is also accomplished in a variety of martial arts and hand-to-hand combat disciplines, and can hold his own very well, even without using his lightsaber, or the force.

~*~

When he was put in the bacta tanc, he was 30 years old.

~*~

Coming from a species of genetically tampered slaves, I can only imagine how upsetting it must have been for him to learn about what had become of the republic of old, turned into an empire via an army of likewise genetically engineered soldiers, cloned for a specific purpose, seen as “less than” human, and more as objects and means to an end, not unlike the offshoots were.

It certainly explains the disgust, the sheer contempt and barely concealed anger that is evident in his voice when he speaks about that “unworthy machine of an empire”.

It also explains why he is so keen on building an army to ”cleanse the galaxy with fire”, and his offer to Rayvis to “dream up another [war]” when the latter complained about the lack of honour to be won from the current ones – because to Dagan this indeed IS an honourable goal, justifying the means he is willing to take … and it’s a matter that has become personal, being tied to grievances of the past.

And learning about the Jedi order’s involvement in all of this certainly did not help in improving his opinion about them, either. (He didn’t have to take this out on Cal, though.)

I think these types of injustice were always something he aimed to eradicate, and also one of his and Santari’s shared dreams – to make the galaxy a better place.

I also don’t see him as universally arrogant and condescending – extending to all people indiscriminately – that would be foolish, and he is no such fool.

Imho, it rather concerned those he considered his enemies (obviously), his opponents, and potential rivals, but not regular people who weren’t warriors and force-users like him … I think for them – especially the downtrodden – he had a soft spot, not least due to his own history.

In the flashback scenes on Tanalorr, he talks to Santari about all the worlds he had seen during his explorations that the light of the Jedi did not reach, as he put it. At this point he still equated justice and freedom with the Jedi order, who were seen as the guardians of these values. He truly wanted to bring this light to those worlds, and to the people inhabiting them, because he truly, genuinely sympathized with them and wanted to help them.

[ I absolutely don’t understand how people can see him as a two-dimensional villain after having this background information about him, especially.

Have you guys read up about it!? Arkanian society and history – especially concerning science and medical ethics, as well as the attitude towards sentient life. Like, holy sh*t - Dr. Mengele sends his regards!

To live in such a social system as one of the offshoots, regarded and treated as human trash, truly must have been a nightmare – and it obviously doesn’t leave you unaffected. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of the causes of his displayed prideful attitude and behaviour – likely as a reactive response of some sorts.

That there is another side to him, his true self, as well, is also an undeniable fact. Of course he has got to have some really endearing and noble qualities, aside from what we were shown.

Otherwise Santari wouldn't have such faith in him, and, as I said, this woman is no fool. She knows her man, as well as this side of him better than anyone else, and she proclaims it with such confidence (in the force echo after the fight in the forrest array).

If anything, these facts are adding to his already great potential of being a complex and fascinating character, who could have been so much more than what he ended up being in the videogame.

But that is definitely something you can blame on the writers, their laziness and disregard. You can definitely tell that they didn’t really care for this character more than him being a mere plot device and tool for Cal’s development, which is really an absolute shame! ]

Santari

Santari entered the Jedi order as an initiate at the common age of 4.

~*~

Unlike Dagan, she did not get to develop a deep bond with her parents, whom she hardly remembered, and did not get to know a home and life as a family the way he did.

~*~

She was very strong in the Force (midichlorian count of 15500 per cell), as well as a gifted, if not brilliant child, whose talents were soon picked up, encouraged and fostered by her superiors. Her ingenious mind stood out like a beacon amongst her peers, and paved the way for her meteoric rise in both ranks and esteem of the Jedi order.

But she also possessed a likewise strong and compassionate heart, and a calm and patient disposition, balancing out her intellectual prowess and vigor.

~*~

Santari's first reaction to Dagan was similar to his (falling in love at first sight).

However, when she witnessed his behaviour towards others – his display of pride and arrogance - which she found unacceptable, she chose to suppress her feelings towards him.

(basically, he only was “that beautiful jerk” to her from then on, whom she wanted nothing to do with, if she could help it, but who somehow seemed to always cross her path, looking at her in that strange manner she just couldn’t make sense of. The intensity of his icy blue gaze stirred something in her that she dared not explore any further.)

This only changed after she got to know him better, after being sent on a mission together with their respective masters, and the two started to develop a friendship, growing close.

~*~

After she and Dagan got to know each other better over time, she also learned about his past – something that left a lasting impression on her, and kept on preying on her mind.

As a feeling being, she could not help but be deeply affected by what she had learned.

As an aspiring scientist, she was sickened to the core in light of this callous disregard for life, and the abject cruelty with which these people were treated in the name of science. The blatant abuse of this otherwise noble discipline infuriated her beyond all measure.

Soon after, she spent many hours in the archives, learning as much as she could about Arkanian culture, history, and their scientific projects – of which the genetical engineering of the offshoot subspecies commanded the major part of her attention.

Aside from the shock and outrage she felt, there was a growing unease building up, as well as the undeniable emergence of another feeling – a growing concern that kept on spreading inside her and left her no peace of mind – linked to the man who had by then grown to become a dear friend of hers. The man whose intense gaze had woven its silver chains deep within the fabric of her soul, inextricably entangled – the man she could not bear to lose.

In the time to come, she immersed herself into her research, desperate determination leading her on, in her quest to find something, anything, to undo some of the damage, the worst part at least, the genetic tampering had inflicted upon its victims’ physical structure – the weakened immune system, responsible for the shortened lifespan and often premature death that afflicted Dagan’s kind.

It would become her first major research project, although one of a more private nature.

At some point, when she was confident enough to reveal what she had been working on, she called on Dagan to visit her in her laboratory, to tell him about her plans which still required testing on a living subject. Despite her optimism regarding the progress of her project, she was afraid of what his reaction might be, and whether they might still be on good terms once he knew.

He heard her out, unease written across his face at the mention of a potential gene-modifying drug, but quickly regained his composure, not willing to let the past cloud his judgement.

Did he not trust this woman with his life? Did he not trust her unparalleled brilliance, her benevolence, and judgement?

He only knew he would do anything for her, endure anything for her, accept anything from her, and so he surrendered himself to her capable hands. She was the one he trusted most!

Her relief was palpable when it became apparent that her experiment proved to be a success.

[ If there is anyone who could pull this off - it’s definitely her. After all she’s this genius of a woman, whose inventions inspire others with awe even 200 years later. So, of course she would be able to do this.

And concerning him – wouldn’t it be the ultimate proof of his love and faith in her, that he, coming from a genetically raped people, trusts her with a procedure like this!? ]

~*~

When Dagan was put in the bacta tanc, she was 28 years old (she's 2 years younger than him).

~*~

Part II can be found here.

#please be nice #if you like it - then that is great - even if you only like some parts #and if you don't - please keep that to yourself ok!?#dagan gera #jedi knight #santari khri #jedi master #high rebublic era #star wars #jedi survivor #headcanon #otp #dagan/santari #santari/dagan

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analysisn3rd · 2 years

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Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikoff

Morality

Contrary to popular belief, Raskolnikoff is a good person. I will expand on that shortly in paragraphs, but I think that it’s quite an obvious thing about him. Before getting more into his morality and why it’s the way it is, I would like to place him on my scale of morality. He would be near the middle, grey, section, but on the slightly lighter side. I think that the most important thing to discuss when it comes to Raskolnikoff’s morality is his relationship with religion. Much like most of his relationships with things, and with people, it is complicated. His faith and belief in God is very much a wavering one, but it never once left him. It is, in no way, stable. Despite its instability, it was able to make him feel immense internal guilt for the crime that he committed, which is something that I will delve further into. What, or more accurately who, strengthened his belief and relationship with God was Sonya’s cross, which she gave to him. Aside from the reasons that relate to her as to why she possibly could’ve done that, she felt that the only thing that made Raskolnikoff still a “redeemable” person is the fact that he believes in God. It’s due to this that he still, somewhat, has morals. Commonly, it’s those who hold a faith, regardless how strong, who have a strong sense of morality. Another thing is that Raskolnikoff’s own sense of morality is always there. It’s awfully corrupted, yes, but its existence made a huge difference in the emotions that he experienced after he committed the crime. Those morals’ corruption could be due to a myriad of reasons, one of which is probably his wavering belief in God, yet it still was able to make him feel immensely guilty. The way that he reacted right after the crime: anxious about people finding out that he was the murderer, hiding everything that could possibly lead to him as the culprit; it all indicates how guilty he feels over killing two people. No amoral person would react that way. An example of his ever-present morality is that he didn’t consider himself an “extraordinary man”. When he was discussing the article he wrote, and Razoumikihin suggested that Raskolnikoff views himself as one, he disagreed. This is due to both his unwavering sense of morality and his very much wavering belief in God. Furthermore, he is still humane due to his sense of “right” and “wrong”. An example of this is when he refused Svidrigaloff’s idea because he found it to be disgusting, and he didn’t want to put someone as important as his sister in a situation such as that. To me, it indicated that he still has potential to better himself and to atone, which I will add upon in the following paragraph. The last thing that I will discuss is his desire for atonement, yet fear of it. He realizes, entirely, that he needs to atone for this “sin” he committed, although he thinks that he’s unworthy of that. The reason for that is because he views atonement as something only for those who aren’t pathetic, lowly or even pitiful as himself. He acknowledges that what he did is wrong, but he thinks that the only “fair” way for him to atone is to die, which is the opposite of the truth.

Personality and insecurities

Raskolnikoff is many things, but most of all, he is contradictory. In a myriad of instances, he contradicted himself on a multitude of things. Aside from that, he’s intelligent, which is shown all throughout the novel. He’s also cold and so terribly unfriendly to the point that it took me by surprise when he wasn’t with Polenka. I even marked that interaction as out-of-character for Raskolnikoff. It’s just a bizarre thing for someone like him to do. The reason for this particular characteristic of his could be due to his nature or because of his living conditions. In addition to that, he’s meek. The way in which he is so is entirely unique and unlike traditional gentleness and softness. He’s withdrawn, in the same way as someone who’s typically meek, but not quite. The reason for this could very well be his philosophy of the world and it might as well be attributed to his introvertedness. Contrary to his usual dark and brooding personality, he can be quite caring, even though he doesn’t show that he cares in a traditional way. The ones he especially cares about are those close to him, like his family, Razoumikihin and Sonya. The fact that he doesn’t show this care could be due to him seeing it as a potential weakness; an advantage anyone could use to their privilege to get him to do what they want. Another, quite remarkable, I’d say, aspect of his personality is that he’s obsessive. I think that it shows quite a lot in the novel, in numerous instances, but the one time that I found it to be quite memorable was the way that he kept constantly doubting himself about evidence for the murder. He was so terribly frightened that something, anything, could be traced back to him and it led him to a state of illness. He was so horrified that he kept rechecking himself and his room. It drove him insane in an obsessive manner.

Before I discuss his fears, I would like to add that he’s self-deprecating. He belittles himself, and sees himself as less worthy. This could be due to his financial state or due to the fact that he’s a lowly criminal with a poor excuse of a motive for murder. He thinks that everyone else, especially those he cares about, deserve so much more than he ever will, which is why he refused to atone by living. He didn’t see himself as worthy enough for that. I will now be delving into his insecurities. I would say that he’s more troubled than insecure, for there are a few things that he truly fears and worries about. For the most part, he’s a troubled disturbed person, yet very little of this disturbance is caused by his insecurities. They are, however, still important factors within his personality, so I shall be delving into them a little. Due to his obsessive tendencies, he’s afraid of unintentionally hurting those he cares about. He is scared that he would get too obsessed with whatever is occupying his mind and it would cause him to lash out at those he cares for, which has happened before in the novel. Something that couldn’t quite be described as an insecurity, although it’s something that he fears, is change. He’s awfully terrified of change. He finds it strange and uncomfortable. That could be due to a myriad of reasons; it’s unfamiliar, it’s unplanned for, and it’s unwanted. The grandest example of this is his life in prison at the end of the novel. He was gloomy, and miserable, and even though it’s very usual for him to be feeling dull, it was even more than it usually is. It could be a natural thing, though, but I think that it could also be attributed to the fact that he never quite liked change.

Conclusion

Raskolnikoff is a character whom I deeply admire. This sentence sounds horrendous, because of the kind of person that Raskolnikoff is, but I mean it in a character writing sense. He’s so human and complex in a multitude of ways that makes him so remarkable and special. He is an unforgettable character to me, just because of the depth that he has. The amount of detail that Dostoyevsky put into him, and the other characters, is simply marvellous. He’s also quite interesting, I find, due to his personality and just his entire existence is interesting. He’s intriguing in the way that all characters are, in terms of analysis, but even more so because of how realistic he is.

#crime and punishment #c&p #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky #dostoevksy #raskolnikov #raskolnikoff #character analysis #analysis #writing #crime and punishment character analysis #classic literature #classics #classics analysis

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thelittleprincessjournal · 2 years

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Kneeling..

When I had more or less began accepting, that there was a chance, that I may be, possibly, could be, a submissive - and was still diligently reading everything I could find, I came upon the story of a D/s couple, written by the sub. One of the things she wrote about that touched me the most was how they used kneeling. She explained that it had never been a discussion, it was simply how their relationship evolved. I was so touched, that one of my hopes/wants/maybe even needs, kinda wove itself from their story.

They still used kneeling in the bedroom, but in their home, it became a silent communication, that conveys everything.

As in most homes, mr has a nice cumfy recliner. If one of them has a bad day, that recliner, and her kneeling are their source of comfort. If she arrives home from work, and had a bad day, she kneels. When he gets home, if she is at the recliner, everything for him stops. If he has had a bad day, he sits in his recliner, and places his hand at the level her head would be, and as soon as she sees it, she stops everything, and kneels...and he plays with her hair.... It is their comfort. They love, and need, each other. She explained that sometimes it led to sex, sometimes after a few minutes they would carry on with their day, sometimes he would have her climb into his lap. The kneeling itself, re-centered both of their worlds. It re-connected them to each other, an unspoken pledge to one another, confirmation that they had each other, of their places in the relationship, and their mutual needs.

There was a morning, many many months ago, my insomnia had been kicking in, and i had only been getting 1.5 - 2 hours of sleep for a couple days - I was walking to the coffee pot and was just so tired that i wanted someone...to just care. All I could think of was how lucky she is. There was nothing I wanted more than to kneel in front of a recliner and be found there. To have Him find me there, and sit down - all the things that would be exchanged by touching her (my) hair. Him acknowledging "she didn't sleep"..."she's tired"... "she needs me"... "she trusts me"... "I am here"... "I have your back"... "Tonight, I will help you"............ That morning, she was the luckiest woman I knew.

that...

Kneeling is symbolic of so many things. The total faith placed in Him; faith not only that He will keep her physically safe and secure, but mentally, emotionally, fiscally. That she believes in Him. That the total trust is present, and remains intact. Maybe someone needs something, either party, and the act of kneeling means more than spoken words ever could... I think that it should be done out of love, and with reverence. She should find peace, and comfort, in that position, as should He. As long as the trust is intact, anger or irritation, should be put aside....kneeling is for the union, for her, and for the man she loves. Confirmation of continued submission...

However, if that trust has been purposely violated, if she's going to start second guessing everything He says and does, then I think the act of kneeling is a lie. For the sake of honesty, she should be honest with Him, and tell Him. If not, she is preventing Him the ability to re-earn that trust. Submission, that trust and faith, isn't earned in the beginning and given as a trophy to sit on the mantle forever, it's re-earned, and re-given daily.

His perception of kneeling is just as important. I would hope that it is the confirmation that His sub still has that trust... that he knows she also has his back... that she's His... that her devotion is unwavering... that the trust is still there.... most especially if there has been a dispute of some kind, if He feels that His authority has been questioned - then, I imagine, He needs to see her kneeling, for His reassurance that all is right in the world. He should find peace, and comfort, seeing her kneel.

I have read that most couples have daily power struggles, and it's pretty easy for me to imagine. I’m sure most are accidental - simply not thinking, or not communicating effectively- it could be easy to say (or do) something that upsets the balance. Clearly defined boundaries, and just being nice to each other prevents so many of those problems. If the top priority is always the unit, the "We", if her next priority is Him, and His next priority is Her, most other things would fall into place.

Social media being what it is seems to have cheapened many aspects of D/s. I’m a believer in the old ways. For me, kneeling is sacred. I crave it, sometimes like air, but it will not be cheapened in my life. I will kneel only for my intended forever…

#kneeling

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mobius-m-mobius · 2 years

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LOKI APPRECIATION WEEK 2022 ♡ ⤷ Day 6 - Favorite Dynamic(s) - LOKIUS + TRUST

#lokitvweek2022 #mobius #loki #mcuedit #marveledit #lokius #lokiedit #all this appreciation week is doing is making me more insane over them than i thought possible and y'all know i was bad enough already 😅#but listennnnnnnn #it's about the trust the way even at the start they speak candidly and openly and actually hear each other in a way no one else has #how they both found someone to place unwavering faith in #in the short time they've known each other they've given more of the real them than anyone else has ever known in MILLENNIA #just think about that god i'm so so emo #owen wilson #tom hiddleston #owenwilsonedit #marvel #dianagifs

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silkylious · 3 years

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“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.” (Lucifer x Reader)

fandom: obey me! shall we date?

pairing: lucifer x gn reader

warnings: angst, fluff (mildly lol), suggestive (nothing explicit though!), bittersweet, ambiguous ending (??), unedited

wc: 2.1k

“Lucifer?” you called out to him on a whim, eyes trailing the seconds ticking away on his grandfather-clock.

“Yes?” he didn’t spare you a glance as he worked methodically through his second hill of paperwork; a heaping stack of duties assigned to him by Diavolo, endless bills–a consequence of Mammon’s latest spending spree, you ought to talk to him about those soon–and the sort piled neatly on his pristine desk, slowly but surely decreasing in size as Lucifer burned through the tedious task with unwavering efficiency. You felt exhausted just watching him work. Lucifer? He hadn’t so much as blinked more than three times in the past five minutes (yes, you counted). Obsidian sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, hair perfectly framing his face with one strand slightly out of place–hot–and a gentle crease between his brows (the only observable hint alluding to the mounting stress on his shoulders). He looked positively delectable, nothing like someone who’s been working diligently for hours without any breaks. But that just served as a testament to the fundamental difference between the two of you, you supposed.

“I’m in love with you,”

That made his meticulous fingers pause in their tracks.

“Pardon?”

As it turned out, his ears hadn’t, in fact, deceived him. You repeated the confession as if it weighed nothing on your tongue. You were strangely calm given the words you’d just blurted out; he almost didn’t recognize you. An unfamiliar shade of desperation painted all over your face, and yet your voice bared to him a serene conviction, one he’d never heard from you before. Lucifer’s heartbeat stumbled in your wake.

Basking in your courageous display just a second longer, he sighed. Too bad he’d have to mutilate such a pretty sight so soon.

That didn’t go exactly as he’d planned. The harsh rejection barely deterred you, leaving only a petulant pout on your lips and a promise that you’d come talk to him later.

Lucifer was anything but stupid. He knew that he let things stray too far between you, knew it was his fault for not pulling away from your kisses and instead indulging you (and himself) to the fullest. His fault for ignoring the guilt that settled deep in his gut like hunks of steel when you looked at him like he’d never experienced before. Lucifer had lived for many millennia, had relished the warmth of countless passionate lovers and faceless hookups, none of which had ever set him alight from the inside out like your adoring gaze had. It terrified him how after all these years, watching humans thrive and collapse over and over again, he thought he’d seen everything there is to see, all that humans had to offer. And then you come along, reinventing what love meant right before his eyes, with a simple look no less.

He never intended for you to fall in love with him, and he never intended to reciprocate. Had he been mortal, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. But life dealt a cruel hand, and he wasn’t. A relationship like yours was doomed to crumble in heartache from the start, it was best to stop it before things went too far. That was the plan anyway.

You didn’t share the same sentiment.

With one last exasperated sigh, Lucifer focused his attention back on his duties. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against your persistence, and honestly he preferred not to dwell on it. Whatever outcome lied for the both of you in the near future, itching one step closer with each tick on the clock, he’d face it head on when it was time.

Meanwhile, you laid wide awake, in your bed, rethinking every decision that led you here. You didn’t regret your confession, nor were you keen on giving up, but Lucifer’s ruthless rejection, his vehement claim that a relationship between a human and a demon is destined to end in tragedy festered a bud of doubt in you. You noted pettily that he hadn’t outright denied any feelings for you. How could he? Lucifer was many, ugly things but a liar’s not one of them; you wouldn’t believe him even if he did lie, not with how delicately he holds your hand in his gloved one, not with how heartbreakingly beautiful he was when he lets you in at his lowest, stripped completely of his pride.

You knew though, that as much as Lucifer was a creature of the past, he was a creature of regrets.

Somehow, you’d managed to reach the heart of the Avatar of Pride himself, bestowing a porcelain touch on it and subsequently rocking the monotony of his endless life. Despite the acknowledgment of both your feelings, you weren’t naïve enough to dismiss how his heart drums thousands of years apart from yours and would continue to do so long after yours gave its last valiant pump.

He was a creature of the past you realized; humans intently watch minutes, hours, years approach because there’s only so much of them live out, there’s only so much to do in a lifetime. Naturally it would be counterintuitive to waste scarce time on the past. The immortal have no such concern. When time is limitless, and life is all but a blur of recycled events, its only instinctive to lose interest in what’s to come. And you guessed, maybe there was a strange comfort in the predictability of eternity, maybe that’s why Lucifer was so offput by the notion of something serious yet temporary, especially romance.

You decided. You wouldn’t let him look back and ponder what ifs in that stubborn head of his, not while you were still breathing. With regained determination, you glanced one last time at your countertop alarm and entered a dreamless slumber.

Not even two days later, three consecutive raps on his door made Lucifer rub at his temples for the nth time and begrudgingly called for you to enter. Piled on his desk were several stacks of papers (as was the usual), though, that night he was in a particularly sour mood. Ever since your confession, he’d been feeling uneasy, Diavolo hurling more work at him last minute was only pushing him to his wit’s end.

“Lucifer,” he hummed in response, not bothering to conceal his growing agitation. “we need to talk,”

Ah, there it was. He was wondering when you’d confront him again.

“I believe I made myself quite clear last time,” he sighed, dropping his pen and finally meeting your eyes. “If this is about your feelings again then I’m sorry but I can’t–”

“But why? Can you really say that what we have isn’t special at all?” your lower lip quivered just a bit and Lucifer had to fight the immediate reflex of holding you close and hushing your worries. His impassiveness quickly arose frustration out of you. “God Damnit, Lucifer! All I want is to be with you while I still can! To die with no regrets, knowing you’ll be there with me, but it’s very fucking hard to do that when you’re too scared of the future to do something about–about us!”

It was a low blow to go after his pride, you knew that, but he wasn’t giving you much to work with.. Rubbing salt in a ghastly wound had certainly done the trick, the dimmed crimson that pooled just below his pupil began to shine scarlet. You would have found it gorgeous had it not been imbued with near murderous intent. Lucifer’s poker face was rapidly breaking, a horrid mix of anger and melancholy sat heavy in his throat. He was looking straight at you, but his eyes were somewhere else, some time else. He was staring hundreds of years behind you at an unhealed, poorly bandaged cut. An everlasting guilt he carried with him everywhere.

“What would you know about regret?” he breathed out the words like they’re bullets, whatever restraint he’d managed to scarp together deteriorating. He stepped closer, each stride bigger than the last as he closed the distance between you, a perfect diamond manifesting on his forehead and you could see the beginnings of black feathers sprouting from his back. “Do you have the slightest clue what a blessing mortality is? Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to live with your regrets and not be able to die with them?”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you stood your ground. “But, do you really want to live with one more regret to bear?”

He kissed you. He kissed you like he hated you, animosity and anger and pain and, most prominently, pining spilling from his lips. Lucifer parted from you just as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss, taking the time to let his irritation bleed out of him, until he was left grappling with (frankly terrifying) longing and adoration. Just this once, he’d take a leap of faith, he’d break his own rigorous code and take the risk of undying heartache in the future to be with you in the now.

One kiss turned into many, and soon you found yourselves stumbling your way from his office to his bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of you, the thought that some day he would be deprived of you broke him and made him yearn to cherish you just as much. Precious things aren’t meant for longevity, he learned. All the more reason to treasure them when given the chance. You were pushed onto his bed and not once did his hands and mouth and breath leave your skin; he couldn’t bear sever that connection.

Before long, your hands were pined to the mattress, fingers tightly laced with his as if he was petrified the moment will break and a thousand years would pass you by the instant he let go.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

Neither of you heard the clock strike midnight.

Lucifer was well-acquainted with sleepless nights. He was no stranger to the prick at the corner of his eye, excruciatingly familiar with midnight’s cold, lonely touch. But this one was different. Where usually lied a cool emptiness in his sheets, your warm, inviting body was just in reach. Where the corners of his mind were usually plagued by past mistakes and sorrowful repentance, you were all he could think about. He reflected on your words now that the high of emotions had worn off. He still disagreed with you on many things and, if he was being true to himself, it would take more than one night to abandon his reluctance, much more. But he was willing to put in his fair share of effort. He was willing to do many things for you, he mused. You were right about one thing though, regardless of whether or not he acted on his feelings, your parting would hurt all the same. Part of him was still resentful that he let himself fall so deeply in love with you, and a part of him knew it couldn’t be helped. You’d carved a home for yourself out of his heart, invited yourself in and declared pompously you’d be there to stay, and he’d be damned to hell all over again if he said he didn’t like that.

Pulling you closer to leech off your warmth, for the first time in forever, he dreamt of the future, a future with you.

Snapping out his reverie, Lucifer refocused his vision on the framed picture before him. It’s been a couple dozen years, the pain dulled into a hollow longing, and yet not a single regret weighed on his back. He was astonished, how you, who had lived but a fraction of his own lifetime, had such impeccable foresight. He lays in bed every night and morning thanking you for not giving up, knowing that if you had, he’d be spending the rest of his infinite days in self-loathing regret.

All Lucifer could ask for now is a little guidance. What was he to do now? Was he even capable of falling in love again after you? Would he allow it? All questions that began frequenting his head since you’re no longer there to occupy it. He only knew is that he’d love you, and love you, and love you until this world fell apart. He toyed with the idea of reincarnation. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he saw you in everything he did. Strange how you’d taught him more about appreciating every day’s mundanities than he had in the many eons he’s been alive. Lucifer wonders about the possibility of you donning the same white wings he once had back in the Celestial Realm. If you ever did, he wonders about the complications that would arise from that, he wonders if you’d even remember him. All Lucifer was left with was a simple truth. If you ever came back, whichever form you may take, he’d welcome you back into the adobe of his heart without a second thought.

He ran his thumb over your smile, a bittersweet acceptance in his own.

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.”

Obey me! taglist: @katsucookie @strwbry-m1lk (you wanted to be tagged in this one lol) join my taglist here! <3

#obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x y/n #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer angst

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cassiopeiasara · 2 years

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I love how you describe Siuan/Moiraine interact with each other! I haven't read the books. In ep 6, I can see that Moiraine finds freedom/groundedness in Siuan and vice versa now. What do you think Siuan finds in Moiraine when they first met?

Aww thank you anon!! I too haven’t read the books (though I admit to random bits I’ve picked up from book readers very generously sharing and sparing me wading through 4 million words for scraps).

When they first met? I don’t imagine Siuan, daughter of a simple fishermen in Tear found much in Moiraine Darmodred, nobility from a land Siuan has probably never set foot in at their first meeting. I don’t think that I could give you anything better than @romanimp’s current prequel fic kept impulse dormant around a Siuan and Moiraine first meeting BUT I will tell you what I think Siuan has gotten from their relationship over the years:

~I think Moiraine helps Siuan navigate the parts of politics she doesn’t understand. Siuan is a gifted Aes Sedai and I have absolutely no doubts about that but adjusting to their politics and in fact the politics of many different cultures she’s encountered since has to be a hell of a learning curve.

~I think Moiraine is absolutely fascinated by Siuan and has probably always sought to genuinely know her. Imagine what that means when you have to leave everything you’ve known to exist in a place that never quite feels like home. I think Siuan isn’t in the least bit ashamed of where she’s from but I imagine there are many times she’s felt humbled by it. Further, I imagine as blue ajah and eventually the Seat, it’s easy to forget yourself as you really are and Moiraine gives Siuan that. So many look to Siuan for direction and judgment and assistance, Moiraine just wants to know her as a woman and nothing more.

~I think Moiraine amuses Siuan and probably very unintentionally in the beginning.

~They’re both very clever and passionate women and I bet Moiraine is a great debate/conversation partner.

~I think Moiraine’s faith in Siuan is unwavering and while I don’t see Siuan as someone who admits being hesitant about anything often, I think that faith really helps when she is doubting herself.

Hopefully that’s somewhat close to what you’re looking for? Thank you again for this ask, it was fun to think about.

#anonymous #siuan sanche #moiraine damodred #siuan x moiraine #otp: one day we will #honestly Roman’s fic is my own personal headcanon for early siuan/moiraine days #I have a lot of feelings about their early friendship and romantic relationship and I’m a lot less eloquent this evening than I wish I was #(maybe I can get it together for fic eventually)#wot spoilers #(not really but in case anyone is watching and hasn’t hit ep 6 yet)

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kewltie · 3 years

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thinking of bkdk in their late 40s when all their friends have already settled down with a family, izuku muses a lil forlornly how he would like to have someone to come home and katsuki just stares him dead in the eyes and says, "marry me then. i wont let you be lonely in that empty apartment."

the thing is bkdk are super successful heroes, they're the ranking no.1 and 2 and everyone knows their name but because izuku put so much effort into his career he never give himself the chance to meet someone and fall in love because the next things he know he's already 48 yrs old and still very single. as soon as he got right out of UA he had put himself right to work and hasn't truly stop since so izuku feels like he misses out on his youth, the flutter of first love, and now he feels like it's too late to grasp that chance again because he's too old to be stumbling around at love BUT here is katsuki suddenly telling izuku to marry him as though that would solve everything, solve izuku's worries and fears that he'll never experience love the way his friends had or knows what it feels to come home to a waiting arms that will comfort him after a hard day at work.

izuku first tries to laugh it off because katsuki cant be serious right?? but katsuki doesn't crack a single smile. "Do i look like im the type to joke about this kind shit to you?" he asks, voice steady and true. it is then that izuku realizes katsuki had meant every word he said.

but izuku still cant wrap his head around why would katsuki want to marry him of all things?? it is because they're both bachelor and wretchedly alone standing at the very top of their career where nobody can touch or hope to nobody can understand them like they do to each other?? izuku thinks that's a very dry reason to marry someone for the sake of convenience and not love at all because even though he'd devoted all his time to saving the world and helping ppl and HE'S OLD NOW but he still earnestly yearn to fall in love the ways all his friends had.

"If you needed company, we don't have to marry each other. I'm here for you always, you know that," izuku offers instead. "We're partners."

katsuki is silent briefly, then, he says, "You think i want to marry because you're convenience?"

Izuku blinks. "is that not it?"

"No," he says, all grave and serious, and for a moment izuku is breathless with realization.

"Oh," izuku replies, looking down at the table like it has all the answer in the world. "how long?"

"Since our third year at UA."

izuku jerks his head up, eyes wide with shock.

"what—I, wait, you can't mean that right?" he shakes his head as he flounders for the right words. they're both almost hitting their 50s now, so if it started in their third year then it would be 30 years of katsuki waiting for him, of pining over izuku and all that time was lost because of it.

katsuki press his lips into a thin line. "I have never lie to you."

"I—I'm not—" izuku flushes, because this wasn't anything he had plan for. who would anyway? no one would ever believe that katsuki has been in love with him for almost 30 years and izuku only found out about it now. even though katsuki has revealed the secret he has been hiding for 3 decades, izuku has no answer for him. he didn't notice katsuki's feelings for this long not because he chose to willfully ignore it but because he has never thought of katsuki in that light and that is the sad truth of it all. katsuki must have realizes that too because he doesn't press for more from izuku.

"i'm sorry," izuku says, mind racing to come up with a proper reply to katsuki's feelings because he deserves that much. "it's not you—"

Katsuki scowls. "shut the fuck up, don't even start that with me."

izuku quickly shuts his mouth, floundering for another reply that with save both of their feelings.

"Six months," katsuki says instead, eyes firm and never once dull since izuku has known him. "give me six months to convince you and if it doesn't work out we can get divorce then."

"you still want to marry me?!" izuku asks in disbelief. "shouldn't we like date first at least? isn't that how normal relationship work?!"

katsuki roll his eyes. "we co-own an agency, you have your toothbrush at my house, and we spent 18hrs out of 24 together almost everyday. our friends joke about us being a married to each other as much as to our work, we're each other's first emergency contact if something were to happen," he continues, straightforward like he's listing their grocery for today, "and i cant ever imagine wanting anyone more than i ever want you."

throughout this strange turn in their conversation, izuku realizes not once has he ever heard katsuki said he loves him but the way katsuki had revealed his unwavering devotion that lasts 3 decades and the dry, bluntness in which he spoken of wanting izuku, it's heavy. this hefty thing that katsuki has carried with him for nearly 3 decades, and in those years what izuku thought katsuki was just disinterest in any romantic connection because not once had izuku seen him look at another person, but it's because he has eyes only for izuku and nobody else.

izuku should have known never to expect anything less then 120% with katsuki because if there's anything that means something to katsuki, he would give it all and then some. it's humbling really, to be loved so fiercely and with such devotion that 3 decades is worth every second of it but izuku doesn't know if he's worth it especially when he's hesitant about his own murky feelings. he loves katsuki undoubtedly. they're partners in more way then one, but he doesn't know if he can love katsuki the way he deserves to be love in return, to return that same level of intensity.

"and what if the six months went by and there's nothing show for it?" izuku mumbles, hands clasp together under the table. i dont want to ruin this friendship of ours, he doesn't say. "what if you get bored with me and realized this isn't something you want now. what happen then?"

"you're stuck with me for life even if we get a divorce. i won't let you ever get rid of me either way," katsuki says, lips twitching with the slightest hint of amusement. "and if you're worry about me getting bored of you, don't. i fucking wont." It’s firm, assured, and completely sincere.

izuku thinks anybody with a half a brain at all would see this admirable man right in front of them with his unwavering affection and devotion that he had nurtured for 3 decades would be half way in love already, but izuku neither race or skip a beat; it remains dull and unmoved. maybe he's really too old to love like this. maybe, it's not that he's too busy to ever search for it like everyone else but because he has all the love for everyone but none ever hold a special place in his heart. for all of katsuki's sharp edges, his feelings burn ever so brightly while izuku has since been numb to his own emotions. to give too much to the world, to his job that he has never let himself fall freely and unconditionally. it's terrifying.

"what if i hurt you instead?" he says, quiet and severe. "what if in the end i couldn't return what you've given me?"

katsuki doesn't answer right away. the air around them tenses, threatening to suffocate them in the waiting silence. then a hand grab his and draws it toward katsuki's chest. "don't fucking underestimate me, idiot. i can and will make you fall in love with me in 6 months. 6 months is more than enough to make you realize what a fucking dumbass you have been the entire time for not taking notice of me while i have been looking at you for almost half of our life," he says with the cocky assurance that propelled him to the no. 2 position and beyond.

for the first time since this exchange had started and taken a strange, strange turn that left him his world shaken to its core, izuku's heart feels lighten. He stifles a giggle. "i still think we should date at least. marriage is maybe jumping the gun a little too soon."

"No." Katsuki's eyes narrow, and he squeezes izuku's hand firmly. "i'm not giving you any chance to escape from this. we can do all the dumb dating things you could ever want but we're getting marry first."

izuku tries to draw his hand back but katsuki remains undeterred. "Kacchan, please," he says. half begging for his hand back and half pleading against his insane idea. who in their right mind would ever marry first then date each other?! That's just not how it work! yet, katsuki is an unmovable fortress against increasing izuku's distress.

"deku," he says, thumb running across izuku's knuckles in a soothing circle, "give me this chance. let me prove it to you that i can do it. take this leap of faith with me and i won't disappoint you. trust me with your heart like you trust me with your life and i promise i will keep it safe."

izuku draws out a long, lingering breath that leaves his head heady with a dawning realization. "o-okay," he finally acquiesces, shaken with the knowledge that his heart suddenly doesn't feel safe at all for the first time in a long time in the hands of the man in front of him. bakugou katsuki is dangerous, but to the tender beat of his heart.

Katsuki's lips stretch upward into a small, precious smile that rarely see the light of day, leaving izuku breathless just for a moment. "we'll go get the marriage license tomorrow."

"tomorrow?!" izuku shrieks.

maybe he has been wrong all along, maybe you're never too old fall in love and experience it for the first time and that sometimes the things that matter the most to you are always worth the wait even if take 3 decades and katsuki always been more patient then people give him credits for.

#bakudeku #not!fic

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notyetbulletproof · 3 years

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“A boy from the barrel who had become something worse”.

Before the end of the book and considering that it follows the line about Inej - “A Suli girl who had become a killer” (the juxtaposition of that!). I think we can all agree that it’s suppose to suggest that Kaz had become worse than a killer. Vengeance had made him a monster? A soul beyond redemption?

At the end of the duology though? What’s worse than a killer in a place like the barrel? What’s worse than a monster? A good man. A better man. Having a heart. Being in the barrel and of the barrel and choosing to be more than the debauchery? Could that be an alternative option for what constitutes as “worse”? Kaz still rejects the idea that he’s a hero. A good man. Inej reminds him that his insistence that he is a monster can do more good than even he believes. There is more. He can be more than the barrel. He’s not just any other barrel boss. He’s Kaz Brekker, he decides what he wants to be. Don’t go after working folks and fair pay. Go after the scum, the evil, the people that profit off the mindless suffering of others.

Become something worse — a different kind of vigilante. A different kind of “good”. Their kind.

As @murderbabies (who I thank again for talking about my random Crows/Grishaverse screamy times with me) was saying—- by the end of the series Kaz starts to strive to be something different, something more, a better man. The meaning changes.

And when we think about it, it changes for all the crows.

“A Gambler”, Jesper, starts to confront the issues that have fuelled his restless and occasionally reckless nature. He starts to find meaning in who he is and what he can do. Starts to explore what embracing that side of him might lead to. Starts cracking away at the misplaced shame that he placed on his identity and how it’s so painfully tied to the loss of his mother. His conversation with Inej always cuts so deep because it’s someone who loves you (and who you love) telling you to stop ignoring your pain. That it’s okay to hurt. That your hurt is just as important as everyone else’s. You don’t have to push it down anymore. To have Inej tell Jesper to not try and erase or make it disappear?? The beauty of that! What that means for them both. To have each Crow point something out to him in different ways and have Jesper start to accept that it’s not “part of his personality”, it’s a manifestation of ill coping mechanisms he’s developed to deal with the trauma he’s suffered. He also found love. Someone that sees him as he is and all that he could be if he sees what they saw. Protect Jesper Fahey.

“A Convict”, Matthias, raised to believe his enemies were inhuman and lived for the cause and revenge— changed. He kept his honour. He fought for a cause he believed in. A found family and the promise of a better world for his people and homeland. A world where they didn’t fear what they didn’t understand but lived up to the ideals of their religion. He literally died trying to help another person and FORGAVE the person for fearing what he didn’t understand. Matthias, a kid soldier who grew up and saw the world differently. Who questioned his own beliefs and would drink the poison no longer because he saw the truth for himself. “He’s like us Nina.” (😭😭). That battle between what he was taught to believe and what he actually knew to be true. Loving someone enough to not just see where you’ve both hurt each other but the error of your beliefs. To see the humanity in other people. Gosh. I cry for you Matthias.

“A wayward son”, Wylan, who for most of his life was made to feel he was less because of a learning disability. His strengths overlooked, played down. His learning differences treated like a death sentence. His father literally tried to get him killed because he couldn’t read?!?! He could learn better with music, setting things to rhythm. Excellent at math and science (You’re a fool Jan). Wayward because he was difficult to control? To mould into a corrupt mercher? Or because he was his own man even as a child? Even if he didn’t understand yet that family isn’t always found in the people that you’re related to. By the end, he found his family and reunited with his mother. Found love. His people. The ones he’d break rules for, risk it all for. More than that? He found himself. His purpose. Learned that the biggest thing holding him back was his own shame. That he wasn’t a wayward disappointing son. He had a disappointing (and evil) father. He’s not stupid (say it again and Jesper’s gonna deck ya!), he learns differently. You kick ass Wylan.

“A lost Grisha”, Nina, raised to be a soldier, a spy. Raised to defend her country at all costs. A country that within itself still has a tenuous relationship with her people. A country recovering from civil war. At the beginning she’s a grisha without a country. Staying to ensure she helps rectify what happened to Matthias. Beating herself up for who she had to become. She accepts the offer to join the Dregs, becomes besties with Inej. Makes a home. Her loyalty was to Ravka but by the end? It hasn’t changed per se, it’s grown. Her loyalty is to her home, to her found family. She risks EVERYTHING, to save her friends. To protect them. She can’t bring herself to do what a soldier would do and end Kuwei. She agrees, he’s like them. He’s a kid who had no say. Nina stepped into the person she was born to be— a protector. She wasn’t lost anymore and she wasn’t just Grisha, she is the Queen of Mourning. She’s a friend. She’s a Crow. She’s unstoppable. She survived what should have killed her. She fought so fucking hard to come back to herself, to embrace who she now was, who she had become. She found purpose again. Confronts the truth about her own country, the faults as well as the triumphs. She continues on. You’re unstoppable Nina.

“A Suli girl who became a killer”, Inej. The juxtaposition of those 2 identities. Who the Suli are, who they are understood to be, what they believe VS. What Inej had to become to survive. “Rather live free as a killer then die as a slave”. She’s a spy. She’s lethal and dangerous to those that cross her and hers. Still there is how Inej feels each time she has to make that decision. Why it’s done— to protect her found family, in self defence. Yet her reverence for life. The sins she atones for. The code she holds herself to. The Saints she seeks forgiveness from. Her unwavering faith. Her strength of character, the courage of her convictions. The purpose she finds. She isn’t going to let anything else be taken from her and on top of that?? She decides that she won’t let those wretched people take any more from any child or person. She decides her purpose is to save as many as she can and to take down as many of the bad guys as she can. All that trauma and it didn’t change her goodness. With Kaz and the Dregs, she had more agency than before but now she’s in-charge of her own destiny and she’s choosing to save others. She’s a killer, sure, if you’re a bad dude. In so many ways she’s a saviour too.

With all this is in mind, I really do think that “something worse” doesn’t mean monster. Well, to their enemies, maybe. I think it’s set up like that and just like all the Crows have, Kaz becomes something more. They always were, he always was but it took time for them to see it. It took time for Kaz to see it for himself too.

God bless The Crows.

#kaz brekker #Inej Ghafa #jesper fahey #Wylan van eck #Nina zenik #Matthias helvar #six of crows #crooked kingdom #I am rambling and going off on my tangent #feel free to add to this or reshape this #it’s the spiral of my thoughts. wheeeee #I love these 6 kids #clearly good is different here okay. good in reference to the good they can be

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hypnomicimagines · 3 years

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Fateful Meeting [Ninja!Harai Kuko/Reader]

The young ninja’s eyes were sharp, intense, so much so it felt like you were looking into the sun.

You looked down and away from his glare as you continued to tend to his wounds, ignoring the way he shifted uncomfortably, like he didn’t want you touching him at all. But he was the one who had stumbled upon your home a complete bloody mess, barely conscious as he looked up at you with pleading eyes, a moment of weakness when he thought he was on death’s door. Now that you had given him water and stopped his wound from bleeding his normal temperament had come back, and something told you he wasn’t the most pleasant dinner guest to have.

You had just finished bandaging him up when he abruptly stood, grabbing your wrist to stop you from reaching out to touch him again. You shared a look, wondering if he was the type of ninja to have taken a vow of silence before he opened his mouth for the first time.

“What do you want?” His tone is harsh but you think it’s likely just the way he sounds, if his looks are anything to go by. “You wasted your healing supplies on me, so what is it you want in return?”

“I don’t expect you to repay my kindness. Kindness isn’t kindness if it’s done expecting gratitude. Although I do suggest you spend some more time here recovering before you go anywhere…” Kuko’s eyes widened ever so slightly at your words but he doesn’t allow you to fully see his surprise, his neutral expression returning just as quickly as it had left. He adjusted the mask on his face as he stepped towards the door, ignoring your pleas for him to sit and rest a while longer.

“I always repay my debts.”

“Wait! Can’t you tell me your name at least? Or is that part of the whole secretive ninja clan thing you clearly have going on?” He hesitated for a second at your request, so simple to you yet to him… it was a show of trust. To willingly give your name to a stranger could mean terrible things for someone whose job was to blend in with the night; it would be better if you could forget he was ever even there which is why he becomes even more surprised when he spoke.

“Harai Kuko. Don’t forget it!” There’s a little more emotion in his introduction, a little less cold and far more personality shining through (which reaffirmed your assumption he was not the type of guest to bring home to your parents). But you found yourself charmed by him all the same, gentle smile on your face as you waved goodbye, his name just a whisper on the wind with how quickly he was gone.

You’re in awe at how such a bright shock of red hair managed to fade perfectly into the darkness but he’s gone from your view within seconds, leaving you reeling at the experience, wondering if it had only been a dream. The bloodied bed where he laid as you tended to him told otherwise but you tried not to think too deeply on it, grabbing the sheets to toss into your laundry pile to clean later. You cleaned up the scraps of your bandages and tidied your home like no one had been there, knowing that you had to sleep soon as you couldn’t burn the candle at both ends. You had to be up early for your patients the next morning as well since the work never seemed to end in the midst of the war.

As you’re finishing up there’s several aggressive knocks at your door, your body suddenly tensed as something feels off. Ever since your late-night visitor had left you felt an odd sensation in your chest, this anxiety unwavering in the heavy night air as you wondered how things could possibly get more interesting. When you’re greeted with the sight of two heavy-set men your anxiety finds itself skyrocketing, finding yourself backed into the corner of your own home as they make themselves comfortable.

“Excuse us for intruding. We just happened to see a trail of blood leading here… Are you alright?” His tone indicated he was not at all concerned about your well-being so you didn’t reply, instead trying to fix him with a steady stare that said ‘I’ve done nothing wrong’. “Ah, I see, the quiet type. I don’t mind that however… we’re tracking down a certain menace. A man with bright red hair who we heavily injured earlier today.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Are you not the resident healer?”

“I am… but that blood trail could have just as easily been from an injured boar who was fighting for territory in the woods. Assuming it was human is a leap.”

“Might I ask why you’re still awake?”

“Some nights my mind keeps me awake with all sorts of thoughts, like whether or not I have to go into town to get more herbs and the like. You’re awfully inquisitive, are you perhaps looking to become a healer rather than being a person who supplies me patients?”

Your temper started to flare up despite you trying to carefully navigate the conversation, wanting these people who clearly came here to threaten you out of your home. You’d dealt with their type before, absolute savages, and you don’t appreciate their intrusion. You’re fonder of the random man who was bleeding out on your doorstep than these people who hurt just because they could, who bullied because they knew people were too afraid to stand up to them. Your irritation doesn’t go unnoticed but is returned with a heavy silence and glares, the two men who had forced their way in their home looming over you menacingly.

Perhaps you should’ve just gone straight to bed.

Kuko hadn’t made it far.

As headstrong as he was even he couldn’t deny the pain his body was in, his wounds aching as they hadn’t closed properly. He was normally far more respectful of the healers back at the temple but he was in a hurry, needing to report back to his father his findings immediately. He didn’t want to bring those hunting him to you either, it would be bad news as they seemed to have no issue slaughtering innocents left and right. He felt like there was a boulder in his gut that was slowing his movements, his body not able to move as nimbly until he’s finally forced to stop. He doesn’t know how far he’s gotten nor how much time has passed but he’s bleeding again.

It’s either turn back towards your hut or continue forward in hopes of finding another healer.

Something else is pulling him back towards you, like you’d attached strings to his body and were pulling at him to come back behind the curtain. Kuko bit his tongue hard to keep himself conscious, leaning against a tree, taking a deep breath, and then starting the journey back to your home. He’d have to prepare a proper apology for impeding on you so late at night but the sudden sense of urgency that rushed through his body stopped his needless worrying, walking forward with a huff.

He didn’t know why but he had to get back to you.

Now.

Your head is pounding as you lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, hands raising to cover your head to prevent further damage to your skull. You’d be in more pain if you were fully conscious but you’re only partially aware of what’s happening to you, your house in shambles around you. The place had been torn apart, the bloody bandages from earlier thrown across the room as they had been found during a ‘mandatory search’. The table you had been sitting at was flipped over and jars of needed herbs were tossed on the floor, even worse, now your own blood was staining the floor.

You’re fighting to stay awake, eyes scanning the floor for anything to defend yourself with but it was a fruitless endeavor. Your hands were meant to heal not harm, you weren’t suited for anything like this, and your assailants were clearly far more skilled than the average soldier. You wished you could say you put up a better fight than the pathetic mess that actually happened but there wasn’t time for self-pity.

“Hey you bastards! Didn’t hurt your pride enough after round one?”

Ninja’s are supposed to be quiet, stealthy, but Kuko had burst onto the scene like some sort of hero in a play. You’re wide-eyed as you spot the shock of red hair but your vision is so blurry and your brain so scrambled you’re worried you’re just hallucinating him. Your eyes met his for a second, your pleading reaching Kuko’s heart immediately; if he hadn’t been so carefully trained his entire life, he thinks his anger might’ve exploded in that moment, causing him to do something he’d regret. To see someone who had treated him with kindness, without asking any extra questions about who he was, someone who was likely innocent and had no means of defending themselves…

It pissed him off.

You hear the sound of skin on skin, some cackling that you’re sure is your ninja savior despite how high-pitched and wicked it sounded, and what you hope isn’t your house getting torn into even more pieces. Your face was buried in your arms as you were growing more exhausted, knowing the moon must be high in the sky at this point. You should’ve been in bed hours ago. Who would help your patients tomorrow when you could hardly help yourself? You weakly managed to bring your head up to survey the room around you but it’s suddenly silent, not a soul in sight until Kuko re-enters your home from the front door.

“Should I ask where you took them or just rely on blind faith?”

“You don’t have to blindly trust me but those assholes got what they deserved,” Kuko scoffed as he walked over to you, lifting you effortlessly so he could bring you over to your little bed (which had stayed clear of any debris). “Shit, I’m tired.”

Your eyes widened as Kuko lowered the mask so he could breathe a little easier, his face so smooth except for a scar on the underside of his chin. You can see a few more scars peeking out from the tears in his clothes but you don’t allow your mind to wander. Kuko is currently questioning why he just revealed his face in front of a civilian without thinking twice about the consequences, knowing this was yet another rule he had broken. There was a strict code all ninja were expected to follow and he’d already broken at least two rules, even more because he actually found himself liking you. He would be lucky if he got out of this unscathed by his father, not that he gave a damn what that shitty old man had to say to him, but he’d rather make his life easier.

“You’re bleeding… your wound from before reopened, didn’t it? I need to help you…”

Kuko shied away from your touch but you can see he’s actively fighting his body’s natural response to protect himself, freezing in place to allow you to place a hand on his shoulder. You kept your movements deliberately slow to prove you meant no harm, not like you could even consider raising a hand to him after he had saved you from who knows what kind of fate. He had half a mind to argue with you about trying to help him when you were injured yourself but he was too tired to even argue, his dad would’ve laughed if he heard that one.

“We should sleep…” After you had replaced his bandages with clean one you sent an exasperated look to your home, disliking the fact it was so messy despite none of it being your fault.

“We can just clean tomorrow.” Kuko flopped himself unceremoniously onto the floor beside your bed, hands behind his head like a pillow with his legs crossed; he winced a bit at the impact but otherwise gave no indication he was uncomfortable. You’re about to question his decision to sleep directly beside you but there really didn’t seem to be enough room in your home with a table flipped over in the middle of it, so it was easier to just settle yourself in beside him and hope he wasn’t secretly some pervert.

Wait, did he say we?

“So, you’re going to stay this time?” You turned on your side to look at him, “I could use some extra help in the woods tomorrow… It shouldn’t be too rough a walk with your injuries… but I guess it’s selfish of me to ask a stranger to just help me out with my own chores…”

“Hmph. I guess I can help.” Kuko’s eyes are closed yet he’s unable to sleep, peaking one open when he hears you shuffling around next to him in an attempt to get comfortable. Even with a bruise forming on your temple you’re as stunning as ever, the young ninja biting his lip as he wondered how much of this was a sense of duty and how much was just him indulging his personal desires.

“Thank you…” You finally whispered out as sleep overcame you.

Kuko is left speechless, cheeks warm as he tries to settle his rapidly beating heart.

#Harai Kuko #Kuko Harai #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnomic #Hypnosis Mic Imagines #Hypnosis Microphone Imagines #Hypnosis Mic x Reader #Hypnosis Microphone x Reader #Harai Kuko x Reader #Hypnosis Mic Scenario #Scenario #AU

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theaspers · 4 years

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between heart and soul | lucifer x reader

a/n; warm up bc i haven’t written in a while. sort of an au? that isn’t really explored much in this fic but they’re still demons and the reader is still a mortal. part of a collection of fics that i had planned. anw mostly lucifer/reader with hints of lucifer/reader/diavolo.

also known as the conversation that takes place mostly on lucifer’s lap

“i like you though,” you tell him, a furrow between your brows and a frown twisting your lips. you’re curled up sideways on his lap, face tucked into the crook of his neck. quiet chatter fills the room, the occasional flickers and flashes of colour from the television drowning you in hues of yellows and reds. he feels the warmth of your breath against his collarbone as you continue to speak, “is that not a good enough reason?”

truthfully, he’d stopped giving the show attention about an hour ago. your insistence on watching it through and the fact that you were comfortable in his lap were the only reasons as to why he hadn’t left to do more productive things. lucifer breathes another sigh, “i did not think you to be so unreasonable.”

no, not completely so, lucifer thinks. headstrong, perhaps, a trait that had first pulled him to you but now only serve to perpetuate this matter as a point of contention.

unreasonable? he sees you mouth, incredulous, contemplative.

you shift minutely in his lap to look up at him, and he moves his fingers from your waist down to rest them lightly on your hips in support. the furrow between your brows deepen, as does your frown, “are you saying i shouldn’t like you? or dia?”

yes, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. whatever this was that was unfolding between you and him and the prince has grown disproportionately at such an alarming rate. he has to admit, however, he is growing incredibly fond of the idea by the second. he is not terribly resistant to it, only the lack of control he had over it which grated at him immensely.

still, this was a different matter altogether, he reminds himself. trust is fickle but his feelings would not be as volatile. two demons is two too many. perhaps he’s been too lenient with you. his fingers dig into your hips, but not enough to hurt, a little squeeze, a gentle reminder, “no. but perhaps, exercising caution would serve you well.”

“but i can’t not trust you. or dia. i like you. i like dia,” stated as a matter of fact. there’s a slight pause before, quietly and softly, you add, “you treat me well. make me feel safe.”

safe. a wicked shudder slithers down his spine. to think you would feel safe in the accompaniment of the demon prince and his right hand. but of course, he thinks. of course you’re safe. the safest you could possibly be. pride rumbles in his chest, driving him to press a kiss against your temple. at the back of his mind, the fact continues to prickle him uncomfortably.

you pull away slightly, straightening up in his lap, and the contentment that he had felt when you’d been pressed against him replaces itself with something like petulance. your fingers move up to curl around his cheek, as if to console him. your thumb is gentle as it traces the peak of his cheekbone. he knows you long enough to recognize that it is kind understanding that he sees on your face, and not the condescension that he would’ve taken it for if he didn’t know you better.

another day, he muses. he’ll save this conversation for another day. he pulls you into him, captures your lips with his, and makes sure you remember nothing about the awfully tragic mess of a show that you’d been watching.

“tell me,” you insist not long after, as you pull a stack of documents closer. another long day of work that’s stretched into the night, something lucifer’s certain shouldn’t be made a habit but has gone on for far too long to easily break out of. the tea that barbatos had served alongside an assorted platter of light snacks has long since gone tepid.

the night finds the two of you in a similar enough position - you on his lap, him allowing you. a haphazard mess of papers lie before the two of you and he’s far since lost track of which was his, and which was yours. not that there had been much progress since you’d slid onto his lap, he supposed. diavolo sits not too far away. in a bit of a mood after today’s reports of unrest, lucifer suspects, since he’s voluntarily poring over documents of his own on a desk across the room, focus unwavering. still, the occasional glances that the prince sneaks and the fond smile that swells warmly on his face do not go unnoticed by lucifer.

“hm?”

you lean back against him, attention rapt on the report before you, “tell me why you think i shouldn’t trust you.”

the shuffling of paper, the quiet scribbling that’s been filling the silence stops momentarily. when lucifer looks up, diavolo meets his eyes. a subtle exchange of quiet understanding. the prince chooses to remain silent. a fair enough decision. after all, it had been lucifer who insisted on the matter.

unknowing, or more likely, uncaring of what had transpired, you flip through the report that lucifer knows should have been completed by now. the comforting background noise resumes as diavolo returns his focus back onto his work. lucifer sighs, giving your side a little squeeze before he taps a gloved finger on the stack in front of you, “focus.”

he doesn’t miss the small snort that you make, the nonchalance in your next words, “you should help me with it then.”

the smile on your face grows at diavolo’s low chuckle. this wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve done this, and lucifer is certain that it would not be the last. the language of demons made your head hurt, you’d complained once. too confusing, you’d reasoned, but mischief gleams in the twinkle of your eyes, which is why you should help. the fact that you’re not past taking advantage of someone like lucifer doting on you amuses him more than it does anything else. he can’t say no to you, regardless.

“what do i need to do to crack you?” you ask, scribbling notes across the top of the page.

good progress. no major mistakes. he hums as he looks on, “oh, whatever could you mean, beloved.”

“you know. the whole you can’t trust us thing.” a line through several sentences, unreadable scrawls filling the space beside it. a frustrated sigh, quiet.

“wrong form,” he notes, picking up a stray pen and adding a few scribbles above your own. you thank him quietly, a final look through of the page before moving on to the next one.

“is my word not enough?” he asks, when he realises that you’re still waiting on an answer. much like him, you were not a stranger to the struggle and the pain of associating with his kind. the torture of betrayal, the blood spilled. a sharp burst of anger burns in him but it dissipates as soon as it comes.

“settle down,” you say as you turn to look at him, something like a sharp warning. a frown curls on your face, and he wishes for nothing more than the chance to smooth it away. you lean up to press a small kiss on his cheek instead, “that’s not what i meant. of course, they are.”

you turn back to the report, shifting slightly on his lap, “i’m just trying to understand, lucifer.”

he collects his thoughts in the slight gap of silence that comes afterwards, mindlessly tracking the movement of your fingers across the page. voice a low murmur, he points out, “change this part.”

“ah, right,” you hum, quickly jotting down a reminder for yourself. satisfied with the current state of the document, you move on to the next. “so i’m not supposed to trust demons.”

“correct.” he moves a hand to curl around your side. hardly ever a moment when he can keep his hands to himself nowadays.

your eyes flicker over to diavolo, who has a smile on his face but says nothing more, and then back to your report, “because demons always have ulterior motives.”

“yes.” lucifer’s glad that you’re aware of that much, at least.

an exhale through your lips, “i can’t trust demons. but surely i can trust my lovers?”

lucifer frowns, and ponders. he is a demon first and foremost, is he not? perhaps you needed another reminder. he was nothing so malevolent. nothing so righteous. but is he not a god in his own right? and though the line between lover and god may thin with each passing moment, his teeth remain sharp and his claws remain bloody. a weapon is still a weapon, no matter how much good it tries to do.

“lucifer,” you call out. a tenseness behind your voice, something like strength and power. you’ve long since placed your pen down, abandoned the stack of documents. you’ve turned to face him now, expression tight. reminds him of how absolutely delightful you’d been during the day’s training. oh, if only this had been a different moment, he laments.

you press on, eyes steely. commanding in the way that makes him want to bend to your will, “listen to me and listen well.”

“i trust your judgement. your truths. and i trust that you’ll take care of me.” your hand rests gently over his, before you bring it up to press a kiss over the top of his knuckle, “i have a lot of faith and trust in you. in both of you.”

in the mess of his own thoughts, he’d missed diavolo moving closer, now an arm’s length away. perched over the edge of lucifer’s desk, laughter rumbles his chest, warm and hearty. an i told you so if lucifer’s ever seen one. the prince leans closer and runs his fingers through your hair. presses a kiss on the side of your head. a reward that you gladfully bask in.

how odd, lucifer thinks, that this is where he’s found himself. that after centuries of violence and blood and grief, this is where he’s settled. a little world of his own, warm and content. with two that he can call his own.

he presses his eyes shut, leans into your warmth and concedes. there is no point in fighting it anymore. not when he sees the fiery determination that burns in your eyes, as if daring him to contest your truths further so you can prove him wrong. not with the backing of the prince who insists on pressing closer and closer. more than your occasional naïveté and unrelenting kindness, perhaps he should be more worried about how much of himself he’s given, of how much he’s surrendered to you and to his prince.

#anw be nice omg i havent written in forever asdja #obey me #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me shall we date

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fallen-in-dreams · 3 years

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Moving On

Also on AO3. Pairing: Sasuke/Hinata. Summary: Everyone was lying to her. Killing her with kindness. Shielding her from the pain they all know is coming. But now it was time for some hard-hitting truths. And from the most unlikely source. SasuHina.Post-war. Prompt: Day 25: The Season of Grief. Rated: T. Words: 7,566. Status: Complete.

Author note: Angst and Hinata POV as she slowly comes to the realisation that she can’t have the life she’d been planning for. The Season of Grief = The Five Stages of Grief. The grief of losing the love she used to have.

Warnings/tags: One-sided SasuSaku. One-sided NaruHina. Naruto/OC. Angst with denial, pining, and romantic existential crisis. But with a happy ending.

Thank-you so much @sasuhinamonth for hosting this. I'm later than I’d planned, sorry. Hope that’s okay. :)

“There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't even jump puddles for you.” – Unknown

Denial.

Life was a series of choices.

For example, Hinata Hyuuga could choose to accept the arranged marriage her father had planned for her, or she could refuse to sign on the dotted line and hold out for love. She chose the latter. She was sure that fourth cousin her father had in mind for her was a nice man, but she wasn’t interested. And after surviving the war and learning to defend herself better emotionally, the last thing she wanted was to regress into the dutiful daughter who never complained. She was finally in control of her own life.

And she was still waiting on Naruto-kun.

Hinata was tired of the sad looks her clansmen would give her when she rebuffed their advances. Centuries of marrying their third or fourth cousins had instilled it too deeply in them that they couldn’t live any other way. Naruto had taught her she could do better, and she was determined to do so.

All of her choices to move forward were the reason Hanabi had been named Clan Heiress. She was already being prepped for it before the war, but their father’s insistence on an arranged marriage was the final straw. Hinata had been officially removed from the running. She would’ve been concerned about being branded with the Branch’s Curse Seal if Naruto hadn’t been so vocal in his disagreement about the practice. The Leaf hero’s words resonated with the village, and Lord Hokage started negotiations to prevent further sealings. Kakashi had also made motions to have those who currently bore the juinjutsu to be released from it. It would take a few more years to fully circumvent it, as the seal hadn’t been designed to be removed, but it was a step forward for the clan. A hope for a better future.

Everything Neji had wanted.

Hinata couldn’t be happier. She only wished to share in that future with Naruto. He was her hero. And the love of her life. She just needed to be more patient with him. But it was frustrating some days. She tried to talk to him and only succeeded when they were alone. Around friends and in crowds, he was so distracted by everyone. One-on-one he became fidgety, but she just chalked that up to him not being very good with girls. He’d stopped asking Sakura out, and the two were nothing more than friends, and he hadn’t asked anyone out. He was just shy.

Hinata already had a plan in place to ask him out herself. She just needed to work up for her own confidence to do so. Someone had to get this relationship going. In the meantime, she daydreamed about how it was going to go. But her days were lonely right now. Waiting. Patiently. And never quite making that important step forward. She had her family and friends and teammates but wanted more.

Her heart could only take so much.

“I just need to be brave.”

Hinata wasn’t brave, emotionally. In dire moments and with important things and people on the line, she knew how to be brave. Adrenaline and determination got her a long way. But in the aftermath, she found herself succumbing to the fear of rejection and crippling shyness.

“Yes, you do.”

She started, realising she’d said that out loud, in front of her sister. She’d been so lost in her thoughts and forgotten where she was for a moment. Hanabi was sitting across from her, the low serving table between them, ignoring the servants as they poured the tea for her before turning to her older sister. Hinata’s sister was clutching a half-finished kimono to her lap and lazily sewing at the hem of it. For such a skilled fighter, her movements were surprisingly delicate.

This was a weekly thing for them. Every Sunday at lunch, when their father was too busy with clan duties to interrupt or overhear them, they would talk to each other about anything or anyone, and when the Hyuuga servants left, even gossip sometimes. Hanabi had been carrying that kimono around all week, taking her time with building on it. Hinata knew her sister well enough to know it was a project with no defined outcome. She was just adding to it at her own leisure. Who knew what it would look like when she was finally done?

Hinata delicately sipped at her tea as Hanabi continued to ignore her own; her eyes narrowing as she focused intensely on the needle and thread. Her sister had developed a habit of people watching, since the war ended. And her insight was far sharper than anyone that Hinata knew. It made her feel insignificant.

“Spoken to Naruto lately?”

Hinata nodded. It was a silent lie. But she could’ve easily ran into him a few days ago if she wanted to so she didn’t see the point in saying otherwise. He was very busy with missions and handling Sasuke. The Uchiha’s release from jail had come as no surprise, given who was Hokage now. Kakashi had always had unwavering faith that he’d return. Just as Naruto did. Sakura… Hinata had seen her waver. But she was more confident now than ever about their team returning as family. Hinata only hoped that when she started dating Naruto herself, that it didn’t upset their dynamic.

“You’re grieving.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow at that. “What am I grieving?”

Her sister smiled. “Love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Naruto-kun isn’t the smartest person,” Hanabi said. “And I think you know that.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Her sister smiled. Again. A knowing smile that Hinata didn’t appreciate. But she said nothing of it and returned to watching Hanabi’s expert hands as she weaved the thread in and out of the kimono. This was a hobby for the younger sister. They’d both learned how to sew traditional garments as well as fix them, when they were still barely able to fight. It was second nature to them both. But Hanabi found a kind of peace to the process that Hinata never could.

“Father wishes you to marry soon.”

“And you?”

Hanabi shook her head. “A few more years, perhaps. When I’m ready to begin training to take over the clan.”

She was still too young to learn everything. Given that Hiashi was nowhere near retiring, it didn’t serve any purpose to put her through those rigorous trials just yet. But Hinata was surprised their father wasn’t thinking about grandchildren yet. At least not from his heiress.

Hanabi put the kimono down and finally sipped at her tea. “How do you feel about Naruto-kun?”

“I love him?”

It was immediate and instinctive, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. Hanabi didn’t react to the questioning tone of her voice. She just gave her older sister a look that told her she was questioning her for more than just curiosity.

“Are you sure, Oneesan?”

She had convinced herself so thoroughly that it was going to happen. Hinata brushed at the hem of the sleeve of her Yukata. Was she? Did she?

Yes.

She still loved Naruto-kun. Of course, she did. She’d gone through too much to just suddenly stop caring about him. He was in her heart. Just like Neji still was.

Was.

“I asked him out.”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘let’s go to Ichiraku’.” He also said, “that bum Sasuke can pay for mine this time,” but she didn’t see how that was relevant. It was a date. And only two people could go on a date at the same time.

Right?

“Will the rest of Team Kakashi be there?”

Hinata opened her mouth to answer then shut it, her eye twitching in annoyance. She calmed herself and shook her head. “Of course not.”

She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Hinata glanced at the clock on the wall. They normally took tea, and then lunch, all awhile talking of friends and goals. It was funny to her that they’d never done this until recently. What exactly was the point before now?

Hanabi placed her tea down, almost finished. “We should have the food brought in, before it gets cold.”

Hinata nodded mechanically and waited for the servants to finish setting the table before disappearing. They could not be overheard in this room by anyone who wasn’t already in it. The jutsu that allowed this privacy had been in place since long before either of them were born.

Hanabi started talking about a jutsu that their father wanted to teach them and Hinata calmly dug into her Udon noodles. Silence eventually fell until they were both done. After the servants retrieved the plates, Hanabi went right back to pressing and hemming the edges of the kimono in her hand.

“Sasuke-kun walked by the compound again this morning.”

“Hm?” Hinata sat up straighter at that.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Hanabi mused. “But not last week when you were staying over Sakura’s.”

For Ino’s surprise party sleepover. Which was Sakura’s idea.

Hinata hadn’t slept in her own bed for two nights. It was a first for her, for a long time.

“Sasuke-kun looks in here too. Like he’s searching for something. It’s a barely noticeable glance, but I’ve been staking out the gates.”

“Do you like him?” Hinata was surprised at her sister as well as the strange clenching of her gut.

Hanabi scoffed. “No. But ever since I first saw him watching you training with your team after he got out of prison, I’ve been noticing he does that with you a lot.”

Hinata scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably just plotting to kill you.” Hanabi ignored her sister’s worried expression. “Or wondering why you always look so sad these days.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

Hanabi set the unfinished kimono down and stared her sister straight in the eyes. “Do you love him?”

“Who?” Hinata hated how her voice rose a few octaves.

“Naruto-kun.”

“Yes,” she said. “I love him.”

She would wait for Naruto. For him to come to terms with what had happened and realise they were meant to be together. Hinata would be the quiet voice he can’t block out because he loves her so much. No matter that he had already had numerous occasions to prove it to her. Even someone as clueless as him couldn’t not know how she felt. She just needed to give him a push in the right direction.

That’s what I have to do.

And she went right on back to pretending she didn’t see the pitying look on her sister’s face.

.:.

Anger.

The restaurant was noisy by the time Hinata arrived, dressed up and twisting her fingers nervously. She looked up into the colourful lights that decorated the restaurant of choice. Night-time made this place come alive in a way that surprised patrons that saw it for the first time. This was also one of the newer restaurants that opened after the war. So many things had changed, and so fast and it felt like Konoha was quickly becoming a very different village. Kakashi had authorised integral changes and Hinata could see the village one day becoming as large as a city. She was kind of nervous about that. Their population was steadily growing too, even only a year out.

She sighed and stepped forward in the waiting line. Naruto had said he’d come about seven and it was only a few minutes before. Hinata had spent the last hour already dressed for this date. Her stomach had twisted, making her throw up twice, before that. The line moved again, and she found herself at the head of it faster than her nerves could handle.

It’s finally happening.

“May I help you?”

Hinata cleared her throat. “Party for two. Under the name Hinata Hyuuga.”

The server looked through her list and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, we were told that was a party of four.”

“A-are you sure?”

The woman turned the clipboard to show her. When Hinata had asked Naruto to make the arrangement, because she’d been called away by her father, she’d assumed he had made it just for the two of them. It was supposed to be a date… right? When the venue was changed from Ichiraku to The Sannin Sushi House she assumed this was finally going to be more intimate.

Hinata swallowed heavily. “I-I, uh. He must’ve made a mistake.”

The server nodded her head in understanding. “Yes, but unfortunately, we can’t change your table. There aren’t any spare ones tonight.”

The sound of the other patrons hit her then, reminding her of how loud and full the restaurant was. She just nodded and Hinata went along with it, hiding her disappointment. They would just have to do with a larger table between them. A voice in the back of her head scoffed at her.

Who else is coming tonight?

Maybe Naruto had misheard her? She didn’t understand how he could have but it had to have been a mistake. She shook her head, chastising herself for worrying over something so trivial. She was stronger than this.

“Thank-you,” she bowed to the server. “Where is the table?”

Hinata followed the woman and settled into the chair that gave her the best view of the restaurant entrance. She was already on edge, with the change in her plans, and worried that something else might sneak up behind her if she wasn’t careful. All the courage she’d learned from Naruto-kun had boiled off and she needed to get a hold of herself.

“Dining alone, again?”

Hinata gave a start at the familiar voice. “Sasuke-kun,” she said softly.

Why is he here?

Did this mean Naruto had invited him too? No, that didn’t make any sense.

The Uchiha slid into the chair across from her. This was one of the non-self-serve restaurants that had popped up in Konoha in the last twelve months and as a result the space between them, under the table, was minimal. His foot accidentally brushed against hers and she started again.

“A-are you here–”

“Hm. Naruto said he’d pay this time if I turned up early.”

They got dinner together a lot, then? Hinata struggled not to lose the soft smile she’d plastered to her face. It was only natural that Naruto would make time for his former teammate who was also his best friend. This didn’t mean he was avoiding her.

Of course not. Why would I even think such a thing?

“W-where is Sakura-san?”

Sasuke picked up the menu in front of him and lazily perused it, not answering her question. He didn’t look over at her when she repeated the question and began tapping the table with the menu absentmindedly. She wondered what was going through his head. After a few minutes, she’d had enough.

“Why are you here?”

Now, he looked up at her. “There are no more free tables.”

Is he making fun of me?

She assumed he was a joking. He had to be. This was supposed to be just her and Naruto. Sasuke was ruining everything. She didn’t want to burst that out at him, but it did really feel like he was getting in the way deliberately. Hanabi’s words to her the other day about Sasuke following her around popped into her head, but that was ridiculous. Everyone knew he was dating Sakura, just like Hinata hoped to begin dating Naruto. Why else would Sakura be so adamant something was going to happen between them?

“He’s just shy, Hinata,” the pinkette had told her yesterday. “And we’re going out tomorrow night anyway.”

Tomorrow night is tonight, she reminded herself. So where is Sakura?

A waitress sidled up to their table, giving Sasuke a once over with her eyes before asking them for their orders.

“Pork Katsu Curry,” Sasuke said. “With a side of Kani Salad and Green Tea.”

“Certainly, handsome.” The waitress turned to Hinata. “And you, sweetie?”

Hinata felt very uncomfortable under the stare they were both giving her. It felt like she was on a date with Sasuke, not Naruto. She didn’t know how to handle this. It felt like the world had just tipped on its axis. When she was this uncomfortable, Hinata usually just caved to whatever was expected of her. But she didn’t want to keep doing that with the important things in her life. However, this was too public and sensitive a venue for her to start putting her foot down without repercussions. Saying anything about her disappointment and desire to get rid of them both would only make her regret it later.

She blinked heavily. Uh, right. They were still looking at her expectantly. Though Sasuke’s eyes were occasionally drifting off to the side like he was embarrassed, but he still looked more bored than anything.

“Miso Soup,” she said finally, going with something she knew well. Hinata wasn’t hungry enough for a side, but she didn’t want them to think she was angry with them. “And M-Moyashi Salad on the side.” She cleared her throat. “And just some water, please.”

The waitress read their orders back to them then winked. “That’ll be ready in a jiffy. You two lovebirds let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Hinata’s skin flushed crimson and she lowered her gaze to the table, not daring to see Sasuke’s reaction to that.

“How long until Naruto-kun arrives, do you think?”

Sasuke glanced over at her and shrugged, then leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, now staring at her. It was making her uncomfortable, so she looked back down again. They remained that way, in silence, for a while. Hinata entertained herself by counting the tassels on the edge of the tablecloth. Over and over again.

“You…”

Hinata looked up quickly as Sasuke trailed off, the look on his face suddenly uncertain. Before she could ask him what he was going to say, the waitress returned with their orders. She felt herself turning beet red, realising they’d been sitting like this for at least ten minutes. The waitress was eyeing them curiously, like one would a couple of bugs under a microscope.

“Thank-you,” they both said at the same time.

Hinata sighed deeply as the waitress bowed to them. She was eerily silent this time and moved away quickly.

“I think we unnerve her,” she said softly.

Sasuke glanced at the woman’s retreating back before digging into his food. For him, it was digging in. Hinata had been in many group outings with Team Kakashi since the war ended and Sasuke was allowed free reign of the village. He ate like a nobleman; picky and proper. Not at all like Naruto.

She sighed again and picked up the bowl with her Miso Soup. If he wasn’t going to turn up, she might as well enjoy the night air and good food. They ate in silence and Hinata slowly settled her nerves, finding the quiet between them a comfortable surprise. The loud noises in the restaurant didn’t bother her anymore and she proceeded to escape into her own little world, just thinking about things.

Her father had been asking her about her future lately, instead of telling her what it would entail. She was finally having conversations with him in which taking part meant that she could approach the subject matter honestly. He’d even stopped asking her about her love life. (His attempt at a marriage of convenience notwithstanding.) Hinata put her bowl down and glanced over at Sasuke. It seemed nobody had a handle on their love life lately.

“Are you…” She hesitated when Sasuke put down his spoon and she suddenly had his full attention. “Um. I thought you were coming here with Sakura-san on a date.” He shook his head. “She, uh, said so yesterday.”

Was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was gone a moment later.

“Sakura…” he cocked his head to the side. “She has different ideas on what an invitation out with friends means.”

Hinata understood what he meant but frowned softly. Everyone knew that Sakura was obsessed with Sasuke and saw any attention from him as evidence of their undying love. A simple invitation with Team Kakashi could set her off on a soliloquy about star-crossed love. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t here. Her absence made even less sense than Naruto’s.

Sasuke sighed, obviously realising she wanted to know more. He sat back in his chair heavily.

“I… told her we were meeting at Ichiraku’s.”

“You…”

He told Sakura the wrong place on purpose. He had no intention of being honest with her. Was it a trick? Or just him being a douche? Hinata narrowed her eyes at Sasuke. A familiar feeling of annoyance rose up inside her and if she’d been paying attention to why this bothered her so much, she’d have realised Sasuke was giving Sakura the same kind of brush off that Naruto had done to Hinata.

But she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him either. She ground her teeth. “Take it from me, Sasuke-kun, you wouldn’t like someone you care about doing that to you.”

“Don’t call me Sasuke-kun.”

He hated honorifics.

“You have no idea.” He said it like he’d come to some kind of existential realisation.

“About what?”

“You’re quiet and shy and sweet to everyone. Always putting yourself down and picking up everyone else.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Sasuke continued, now leaning forward and pointing at her like he was her sensei, and she was a naughty genin who refused to listen.

“Despite having such a powerful dojutsu, you don’t even see what’s happening right in front of you. Naruto has obviously left you in the dirt, but you keep holding out hope he’ll come around.” She fidgeted as he continued to reprimand her. “Face it: he lied to you.”

“He was just trying to spare my feelings.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.

Sasuke scoffed. “By dragging the decision out.”

“What are you doing to S-Sakura-san?”

“That’s different,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve told her I’m not interested but she won’t take the hint.”

“Naruto-kun’s–”

“He’s a dobe. And he isn’t going to date you, no matter what you think.”

“How can you call him your friend and speak of him like this? I thought you cared–”

“I never said I cared about him.”

“I suppose you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not the only one running away from the truth.”

“No, you’re perfect,” she said, spitting out the last word.

He smiled at that. Genuinely. Her frustration seemed to amuse him.

“Why are you saying these things to me?” She asked, clenching her fists and glaring openly at him.

“Because no-one else will,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Least of all the one person who should.”

But why did he have to be so rude about it?

He levelled her with the most intense non-glare stare she’d ever seen from him. “Kindness doesn’t seem to work on you.”

Damn. She’d asked that question out loud. Hinata couldn’t get a handle on the emotions bubbling up inside her. It was too painful. She’s waited for years. Held herself up high and given every inch of herself. But Sasuke knew Naruto better than she did. He said the blond had no intention of doing anything with her. He said that he was just a dobe who wasn’t telling her what she needed to hear. She was so furious now that Hinata couldn’t hear anything other than her own blood rushing in her ears.

How dare he?

“You are a low life.” Hinata could hardly believe the words were out of her mouth as she stood up, her body shaking with anger. Sasuke just stared back at her, not surprised or offended one bit. “Sakura-san could do so much better than you.”

“Tell her that.”

She desperately wanted to throw her untouched water at him. But she reigned in that emotion, not wanting to cause a scene that could get back to her father. She’d already embarrassed herself enough. Instead, Hinata huffed, rifled in her purse and threw down just enough money to only pay for her own food. Naruto had apparently promised to pay for Sasuke, and he wasn’t here to do so. But that didn’t mean that she had to do it in his stead. Feeling quite unlike herself, she scowled at him before storming off.

Hinata didn’t see the genuine curiosity on his face at her actions. The small smile of interest she’d sparked. She could only see red. It would be hours before she could calm down enough to realise, he’d been right.

.:.

Bargaining.

If only she’d been stronger. And more forceful, like Sakura, then none of this would’ve happened. Her life had spiralled out of control. Before that dinner with Sasuke, Hinata could just go along and pretend that one day Naruto would ask her out for real, or at least take her asking seriously. He wasn’t in a relationship of his own, though – to her chagrin – his fangirls were still as stubborn as ever. And that lack of a relationship had given her hope.

Now she had all kinds of thoughts about what was really going on. And the truth was, that Sasuke was right. Naruto-kun wasn’t interested in her like that. It was still hard to grasp since she’d held onto it for so long and it didn’t feel real. They’d shared a moment during the war, holding hands and promising to be there for each other. She’d taken it as a declaration of love while he’d been talking about friendship. Granted, the kid of friendship you kill and die for, but friendship all the same.

I’m as bad as Sakura.

Or maybe only almost as bad as Sakura, since the pinkette was still talking Sasuke up to everyone. He’d made a scene the day after that dinner date (and she could admit that, although accidental, it had been a date), which should’ve put Sakura in her place. Hinata hadn’t seen either of them since then, so she didn’t know if it worked. But she had bigger fish to fry.

Hinata needed to regain control of this chaos she’d created. Maybe she was still in denial though, and it would explain why she’d deliberately made her way to Ichiraku’s, knowing he’d be there. He always was at lunchtime. Everyone knew that Naruto got up at nine o’clock, had breakfast (sometimes in his apartment and sometimes at Ichiraku’s), headed over to the training grounds where he’d work out (and sometimes spar, if any of his former teammates were available), then practically skip to Ichiraku’s for lunch. He’d spend anywhere from half an hour to an hour there, depending on how hungry he was and how many fangirls slowed him down. Then Naruto would promptly return to the training grounds for a few hours before tracking down his former teammates to see who wasn’t busy and then bug them until they either kicked him out or he got bored. If the sun hadn’t set yet he’d wander through the village, waving at people, being waved at, and stopping to talk to other Konoha Eleven members.

Sometimes he spent the late afternoon with Konohamaru and his friends. Then he’d go back to the training grounds and use the dark to hone his sensory skills. Naruto would go at it until he dropped, then drag his arse back home, eat, bathe, and finally sleep until morning.

His schedule was a little different sometimes, depending on his mood and available friends (Kakashi didn’t send him on many missions because he was too overpowered for most of them) but the lunchtime and when he started night-time training were like clockwork.

When he would find time to do the things he’d always gone on about, she didn’t know. But Hinata knew his current schedule because she was a stalker. It was obvious to her now. Nobody else followed him around like this. She wondered if he’d ever taken the time to notice. She needed to get a hold of this before she wasted her life away.

But Hinata couldn’t stop wondering what could’ve been if she’d approached Naruto right after the war instead of waiting for him to get into a routine of ignoring her. Maybe she’d have shown him just how right they were for each other. And he’d finally listen.

This was why she was walking toward the Ichiraku Ramen stand. It was why she stopped next to a stall of flowers and pretended to be interested in them as she watched the ramen stand in her peripherals. And why she didn’t move away the moment she realised he was on a date. Her stomach clenched, but it was a milder pain than she expected. Even so, it still threatened to bring a fresh bout of tears to her eyes to watch him with this girl.

Naruto was the only member of Team Kakashi at the stall. He stood outside, laughing and joking with someone that Hinata didn’t recognise. The girl was really pretty. With short auburn hair and a petite figure that her clothes highlighted, and her makeup complimented. What made Hinata realise it was a date was not only how the girl was dressed to the nines (Naruto, too, for him anyway), but also how he reciprocated when she ran her hand along his arm. He was blushing and trying to pull of the cool guy act. If this was just another fangirl, he wouldn’t put that much work into it, surely.

They talked and laughed a few minutes more before clasping hands and ducking under the flap to take their respective stools in Ichiraku.

Definitely a date.

Hinata let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turned away from the flowers. The stall server was disappointed but quickly turned to another customer.

Story of my life.

A sudden flare of chakra had her spinning around and she found herself suddenly face to face with Sasuke Uchiha. Had he seen her stalking his friend? There was nothing but his usual aloof stare on his face as he silently appraised her. But she knew. He knew. And the shame of it made her body shake with both anger and humiliation. So, she did the only thing her body was willing to do in that moment.

Hinata ran away.

She took to the rooftops and pushed herself to her limit, trying to get away from Naruto. From Sasuke. Her tears dried on her face by the time she found herself at Team Eight’s old training ground. She wiped at them then found her favourite oak tree and sat down. Even under the shade, the sun was warm and comforting on her skin. She basked in it, closing her eyes.

This time, Hinata felt him arrive. But she didn’t feel childish enough to tell him to go away. She opened her bleary eyes and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. He looked radiant, with the curve of the blinding light almost silhouetting him. Sasuke moved forward to better block the rays and she lowered her arm.

“Why are you h-here?”

He moved out of the way of the sun and Hinata shaded her eyes quickly. Sasuke always did have a thing for being dramatic. She turned to look at him as he sat down on the grass next to her. He didn’t answer at first, staring up into the sun like it didn’t bother him at all. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. Finally, he sighed.

“I told you so.”

The floodgates opened. She broke down. Hinata couldn’t stop it. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself, her face in her knees as she cried. She wasn’t upset at him. Only herself. Hinata didn’t react when Sasuke shifted his bum to press his side against her and gave her a one-armed hug. Her head lolled to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her closer to himself, but she didn’t relent on the tears. His hand was large and warm against her, making Hinata cry even more.

Eventually, she stopped shaking and sniffled heavily.

She hated that he could get over their argument so easily and yet she was still plagued with doubts about how she’d acted. How rude he’d been. Hinata gave herself a few silent moments to compose herself before sliding out of his grip and wiping her face. Hinata rose shakily to her feet and gave him a slight bow.

“Thank-you Uchiha-san. I can see myself home now. Good day.”

He watched silently as she walked away solemnly.

.:.

Depression.

She avoided every member of Team Kakashi for weeks. Hinata couldn’t avoid Kakashi forever however, as the Hokage called her in for a pep talk – his version, rather, which was to ask her if she wanted a mission outside of Konoha. “To get away for a while. You could treat it like a vacation.”

Did everyone know about her problems? Kakashi probably just knew because of the other members of his former team, but it felt like a spotlight was suddenly shining on her and the whole world had gathered to watch her humiliation. She understood his concern. Hinata would think less of him if he hadn’t been. But she couldn’t deal with being this exposed right now.

“No thank-you, Hokage-sama,” she’d said, bowing lower than usual. “I am expected to join father in a mission soon and it would be disrespectful of me to leave Konoha right now.”

He just stared back at her for a moment but eventually nodded his head slowly.

Naruto’s voice interrupted them, suddenly bouncing off the walls as if he was standing right there and making Hinata jumped. But the loud blond was actually just booming down the hall outside.

“Hang on,” Kakashi said, then stood and disappeared out of the room.

Hinata could hear them talking, and Naruto’s whining voice and something about Ichiraku. Naruto yelled out, “woo-hoo!”.

Lord Hokage is trying to get rid of him for me.

But it sounded like he was too excited to get the hint.

Hinata couldn’t stand the pity. The deep, painful feeling that churned in her gut and worked its way up through her body like acid reflux. Hinata stumbled slightly from the physical shock of it. Kakashi meant well and she understood this, but it just made her feel so small.

She couldn’t let people cover for her anymore. Hinata realised that was what people had been doing. Trying to help her by keeping them apart. But all that had done was blind her to the truth. She loved her friends, but this was not the way to moving on. She had to be braver than this. Steeling herself, Hinata pushed her shoulders back and pushed the doors open, leaving the Hokage's office. Kakashi looked surprised to see her come out. His former student went silent upon seeing her, then started fidgeting.

“Hinata…” Naruto trailed off, rubbing the back of his head.

But Hinata ignored him, her chin high and face resolutely forward. She would not give herself the opening to fall back into the comfort of lies. She would not regress. She was stronger than this, damnit! Nobody said anything else as she left the Hokage Tower. When she was out of sight, Hinata finally breathed, shaking her arms to release the tension. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.

“I need to go home,” she said to herself, shivering. A storm was on its way, and she didn’t want to walk home soaking wet. She picked up the pace and quickly entered the front gates of the Hyuuga compound. The rain started pelting down the moment they closed behind her, and she sighed deeply. The guards nodded to her, and she smiled at them with all the warmth she could muster.

The grounds of the Hyuuga compound were beautiful no matter what time of year it was. Even in the moist air they came alive. Hinata walked through the covered walkways between the houses, mulling over what she’d just done.

I ignored Naruto-kun.

She’d never done that before. And she had no idea how to deal with it. A part of her wanted to break down again. The other was feeling light as air. Free. Hinata could feel the emotion building up inside her again so hurried into her room and slid the door closed, before anyone could see her. She carefully placed her sandals on the shoe rack and pulled a coat from her wardrobe. The temperature had plummeted, so she sent out her chakra to get the attention of a servant and had them bring her a hot chocolate. Once she found herself alone, she sat on the window seat of her study and stared out through the glass window at the rain below her, hugging the hot chocolate to herself as she took tentative sips.

She was just daydreaming about figures dancing in the rain when she spotted something.

A figure walking in the rain. It was definitely male, his hands in his pockets and exuding chakra from his body to keep the rain at bay. She could sense it faintly, even from this distance. It reminded her of that mission so long ago when she’d been encased in crystal and would’ve died if she hadn’t expelled chakra from her chakra points. It was an easy thing for a Hyuuga to do, but this person wasn’t a Hyuuga.

They paused and looked up toward her. She couldn’t see his face clearly because of how hard the rain was coming down but Hinata was sure now: it was Sasuke. Hanabi was right. She kept watching as he slowly turned away and continued walking. Had he seen her? Did she want him to? Did it even matter?

Yes. Yes. And emphatic yes.

She had no idea why, but yes. Hinata wanted him to care enough to take the long way home that took him past the Hyuuga gates. He was the only one telling her the things she needed to hear. Even Hanabi’s questions weren’t as blunt as they should be. Sasuke was the only one not pitying her. She found she hated pity. She appreciated him so much in that moment. More than she’d appreciated him before.

Hinata swallowed heavily, palming her hand against the glass windowpane as his figure disappeared into the haze of the heavy rain.

“Sasuke.”

.:.

Acceptance.

All she felt now was exhaustion. She had just run a marathon and dragged herself through most of it, but eventually the energy would return. Her body would recover, and her mind would follow suit. She hoped. She had put so much of her energy into the life she’d imagined with Naruto.

Hinata was surprised she hadn’t snapped much earlier. Looking back, it was obvious this wasn’t going to happen.

He hadn’t left her for someone else. Because they’d never been an item. Her heart still wrenched at the thought of what might’ve been, but she was finally taking those steps to let him go. She had no business shoving him into her heart anyway. Hanabi told her, “You’re finally accepting your grief” when she told her and gave her the warmest hug she’d ever received. It almost made her break down again.

Then Hanabi asked her about Sasuke.

“Sasuke-kun?”

He looked up as she approached, seemingly surprised that she’d sought him out this time. Normally it was him hounding her. No, that wasn’t the right word. He didn’t hound her. He wasn’t some obsessed fanboy. She smiled at that. No, Sasuke was a good friend. She swallowed heavily at the weird sensation that sentence had induce in her gut.

Friend.

The word didn’t sound right either.

So, she’d tracked him down, only to find him in the Uchiha compound graveyard. She almost turned around and left right then, to give him privacy, but figured if he could interrupt her when she was doing something important then she could do the same.

“Hinata?”

He didn’t complain as she knelt next to him and offered a prayer to the headstone he was sitting in front of. It had his parents name on it. She closed her eyes and silently wished them well in the afterlife, then opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“I was looking for you.”

“Obviously. Why?”

She smiled. “Why not?”

He scoffed, but she didn’t lose her smile. He stared back at her before finally relenting and offering up his own light smile. They both turned back to the headstone and silence reigned for a while. It was comfortable and companionable.

“I’m leaving Konoha.”

She was surprised. “Where will you go?”

“I have a mission.”

Hinata frowned. “Lord Hokage is letting you on missions outside the village?”

He pulled a face and she almost giggled. “Kakashi has little choice.”

This told Hinata that the mission was international. She was suddenly burning with curiosity, but held back because, likely, it was top-secret. And she wasn’t in the know on top-secret missions. The inner circle of the Hokage was always a tight, handful of people and this Hokage was no different. She had no doubt that the rest of his former team knew what he was going to be doing.

“It’s just politics,” he offered, sitting back on his bum now and pulling mindlessly at the grass. “Nobody but I can do it, apparently.”

He didn’t look happy about it. Hinata was quite enjoying his openness right now.

“And it’s for an indefinite amount of time.”

She nodded but he wasn’t paying her any mind. It wasn’t personal so she didn’t take it to heart. She wondered how long he’d be gone. If Hinata was honest with herself, she was going to miss him. Before he got involved with her problems, she wouldn’t have really cared either way. But things were different now. Every day since that evening, she’d seen him in the rain, she’d sat at her window and watched him walk by. Every time he stopped and looked up at her, she swore she could feel his eyes on her. Like he knew she was watching him too.

“What’s the mission?”

Why did I just ask that?

She’d held back because it wasn’t her place. Was she really this desperate to know all about him?

Sasuke stood slowly and stared down at her. “Agree to come with me first.”

“What?” She scrambled to her feet.

“Agree to come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He was serious. She frowned. “But Hokage-sama–”

“Kakashi already offered you an out. He won’t complain about you finally taking it.”

“I’m not approved for the mission.”

“You don’t have to be.” He stepped closer to her, and she felt rooted to the spot. His eyes were intense on hers and in the back of her mind she realised she was seeing a side to Sasuke that few ever did. It was intense. The way he looked at her would haunt her dreams if she said no.

She shivered. If I take too long to answer, will he beg?

His comment had a “they don’t have to know” vibe. Like they were runaways. Star-crossed lovers. She felt herself flush at the thought of that. The idea of going with him sounded exciting if not terrifying. But the idea of staying here, not knowing when she would see him again, was worse.

“You can return to Konoha anytime you want,” he added, stepping impossibly closer. “To whatever life you think you will have back here. Or you can come with me, do some good for the village without having to deal with all the shit you’ve been going through.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. His verbal acknowledgement of her problems seemed so out of character for him. But she was grateful and offered a small smile, which he quickly returned, also to her surprise.

Who is this man standing in front of me, asking me to basically run away with him?

It would be a huge undertaking and she had no idea what she was getting herself into. But suddenly, the rush of the unknown wasn’t so scary to her. It would be an adventure. One with purpose. And perhaps, she could find a little of herself out there. With him.

Hinata widened her smile and nodded. “Okay.”

He was full of surprises, because the next thing she knew, Sasuke’s hands were cupping her face. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he licked his lips before slowly moving in toward her. He was giving her time to pull away and change her mind. Hinata didn’t take it, closing her eyes as his mouth gently pressed against hers.

She should’ve seen this coming. This was why Sasuke had even bothered to give her the time of day. This was what all their little moments had been leading up to. This odd feeling of belonging was reciprocated.

I am so blind.

The taste of salt mixed in with the taste of him as she deepened the kiss. But for once, they were happy tears.

.:.

#SasuHina #sasuhinamonth2021 #day 25 #the season of grief #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 3 years

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TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 4: The Rest of All Time (Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, Chapter 3 here)

A/N: Final chapter. I’d love to know what you think of this happy little fic! :D

Ichabod slowly came awake, his mind taking its time to acquaint itself with reality. He stretched languidly, feeling pleasantly rested for the first time in days. And then he remembered last night. His eyes flew open to find the space beside him empty, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. Had it all been a dream? An alcohol-induced fantasy? But no...the pillow beside him still held the faint dip of having been slept on and the bedroom door stood wide open. The deep scent of coffee and the tantalizing smell of bacon reached him, and he knew he hadn't imagined Abbie's return. With eager purpose, he hopped out of bed, making a pit stop before padding a tad anxiously down the hall to the kitchen. The Lieutenant stood at the island, flipping pancakes on the hot griddle in front of her. Her eyes darted up as he moved into the room. "G'morning, sleepyhead," she greeted with a smile. "Good morning, Lieutenant." He stood watching her, her ease in the kitchen (so unlike him), her small hands deftly pouring batter and flipping hot cakes. "I wanted to run to the bakery and get you some donut holes, surprise you, but I didn't want you to wake up while I was gone and think..." She fluttered the spatula in the air, glancing up at him. He nodded in appreciation. "Thank you," he murmured. "So instead," she moved on brightly, "I'm making some of my blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. And maybe a little candied bacon...?" "Ohh, you do know how to spoil me, Lieutenant," he stated eagerly. "I shall prepare our coffee." "Sounds good 'cause everything's just about done." Ichabod poured two cups of coffee, making them perfectly to their preferences, and set them at the breakfast bar. He retrieved plates and utensils, butter and syrup, as Abbie finished cooking. She set a plate piled high with pancakes and another full of candied bacon on the bar, and together they sat down to eat. "How'd you sleep, Lieutenant?" he asked after praising her for blessing him with such delectable sweets. "Well," she acknowledged with a nod. "You? You seem rested..." "Yes. My sleep was most peaceful." He filled his mouth with another bite of pancakes before he let it spill that she was the reason for his respite. Though he suspected she knew that after exhibiting how vulnerable he'd felt last night. They passed into comfortable silence, and Ichabod reveled in this simplest of pleasures, one he thought he'd never experience again. Abbie made his world, this world, come alive in a way he desperately feared losing. And while he'd never alter the way they fought monsters and demons and solved crimes and queries together, he'd take these moments—sitting in the early morning quiet, enjoying good food and better company, watching the morning sunlight play off her flawless skin, knowing he could just be when he was with her—over all the adventures in the world.

Abbie pushed her plate away as he took his last bite, and they both sat nursing their coffee. "What time are we expecting Miss Jenny this morning?" he asked after a few more moments of bliss. "Mm, I had a text from her when I woke up. She'll be here in a few hours. Seems she got to bed late." She turned her head slightly to look at him. "And I suspect she wanted to give us some time to catch up." "Mmm," he hummed, his face resolute as he nodded in agreement. He saw her waiting for him to speak, but he didn't know where to begin. He'd spilled enough last evening to quell the overflowing tide of emotion he'd been drowning in for days, but so much more remained. Not to mention he longed, if apprehensively, to hear her thoughts on all he'd conveyed. His expression must've revealed his pensiveness because the Lieutenant leaned forward slightly to catch his eye. "Crane?" He looked at her and nodded to let her know his willingness to talk. "I shall just refill my cuppa. Would you like more as well?" She gave him a look that told him she believed he was stalling—and maybe he was—but she replied anyway. "Water for me, thanks." Abbie set their plates and silverware in the sink and put everything else away as he prepared their drinks, and when they were done, he followed her into the living room. She sat at one end of the couch, and he chose a spot near her, leaving a bit of space between them. He glanced at her, and their arrangement struck a memory from not long ago, after she'd revealed her connection to the then-unknown emblem of Thura by nearly letting him expire. As much as that had frightened him, it paled in comparison to losing her, to watching her vanish before his eyes. "Crane...tell me what happened after I... disappeared into the box." She asked gently, softly, and though it still made his heart ache—even as she sat next to him—he couldn't refuse her. He took a brave breath and spoke. "I was so sure we'd defeat them. I thought it was an inevitability; we've faced so many things before. But I looked up, and you were just...gone. I'd never felt as empty as I did in that moment." He paused, trying to think past the second she'd dissolved into that mythical box, but the visual played in his cursed eidetic mind once more. He felt Abbie grip his hand, and he squeezed hers once in gratitude for the tether to the present, even as he relived the past. "You are not an easy person to lose, Lieutenant." He swallowed hard. "With the Hidden One weakened, Miss Jenny shot him. And Pandora, endowed with her husband's power and longing to rule in his stead, betrayed us. She and her box disappeared. Miss Jenny and I devised a plan and, using the map, tracked her to the cemetery above the tunnels. I...called forth the headless horseman to fight against her." He paused to gauge her expression, but she still listened intently without judgement, eyes wide. "When his broadax stuck in a tree and she began pulling him into her box, I knew she would defeat him without assistance. So I retrieved his ax and threw it to him just as he reached her. He cut her down where she stood." Abbie nodded slowly, taking it in, and he could see she regretted not being there to help him finish their job. "She was defeated," he assured her. "They both were in the end. I demanded she release you before she expired, and it was then she confirmed your...demise. When she breathed her last, the box began to glow, so I grabbed it and ran for the tunnels. I secured it in the Masonic cell, and as I started to retreat, it blew up. The force pushed me through the tunnels, and it knocked me out. You came to me then. At least I thought it was you." He looked at her questioningly. "Did you come to me? From wherever you were?" She shook her head, sadness and empathy written on her face. He nodded, then turned back to stare straight ahead, into the recent past. "I dreamed of you then. Just like it happened the first time we met when I was imprisoned in that infernal cell and you came to me. This time you told me I had to say goodbye. Then, in the way that dreams do, we were suddenly in the Archives....you told me your job was done...your soul was free. You took me by the hand and...led me home. We sat on the porch and you...you consoled me while I...." "While you what, Crane?" Her whispered voice came to him, floated through him as he remembered his words to her. "What is there for me in a world without you?" he repeated the sentiment that’d haunted him since she’d disappeared into that box. His eyes met hers. "It's what I said to you. What I should've said." He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily in frustration. "What I'm saying now. Because I should've said it before." He saw her expression soften, her expectant look filling him with hope. "These last few days, all I could think of was how I told you...the dream you...that I'd miss you. How I kissed your hand and bowed low and when I looked up, you were just...gone again. How I didn't tell you while you were here all the ways you've changed my life. I couldn't have found a better guide through this modern world if I'd stumbled upon the Pope himself. You mean everything to me, and everyone saw it but I didn't say anything." He balled his hand into a fist as he bit off the last few words. One of her hands covered his fist, the other coming up and cupping his jaw, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "You're saying it now. And I hear every word." Her thumb traced over his lips, and he closed his eyes, the frustration evaporating, his heart floating into his throat. He kissed her thumb, captivated by her closeness, her sweet acceptance of all that he'd said. And still...he longed to know her thoughts. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips for another kiss, and this time when he opened his eyes she still sat before him. "There are some things I need you to hear, too," she admitted quietly, her expression tentative and vulnerable. "Things I haven't told you." He nodded once and took a deep breath, mind racing at what she might reveal, heart thundering with worry that she would reject him gently but definitively and he'd be destroyed all over again. "When we were in that boat crossing the Delaware and I told you how rare it is for someone to have the kind of unwavering faith that you do, I meant it. Your kind of devotion is nearly unheard of, but what makes it more...intense is that that faith is in me. And I've been...afraid for a long time." He didn't follow her logic just yet, and he knew confusion had crept onto his face, but he waited for her to speak her mind. "Afraid I'm some kind of curse, that the people I care about always leave or die because of me. My father, my mother, then Jenny. Corbin, Frank, and now Joe." She veiled her expression in that way she did when things hurt too much but she had to press on. Ichabod longed to comfort her but made himself stay frozen in place to hear the rest of what she'd say. "I hate what happened to all of them, fates that I couldn't prevent, and I never wanted you to be on that list. Despite that concern, you're my closest friend. My fellow Witness. And that makes the threats against you that much more dangerous and palpable." He saw her steel herself. "But that's not the only thing I've been afraid of." "What is it, Abbie?" he wondered with a whisper when she didn't continue, brows drawn in concentration. "I've been afraid..." She sucked in a deep breath. "That all the things I've been feeling for so long now were unrequited. There've been others in both of our lives that've made me... question, but regardless of who's come and gone, my feelings for you haven't changed. Have only continued to grow, no matter how hard I tried to deny them. I've been afraid of them because...I didn't want you to leave too. You did, and when you came back, I wasn't sure how you felt about me. Then we were in that boat, about to head straight into the catacombs, and with that same rare, unwavering faith, you told me that when it came to you and me, you had no greater certainty." He nodded, affirming his sentiment once again as he stared intently at her. His chest felt tight, as though someone had his cinched it in a vice, and he waited anxiously for her next words. "In that moment, I saw it in your eyes. Felt it in my soul, like a puzzle piece locking into place. And when I heard what Betsy said to you, I didn't want to pretend what I felt wasn't real anymore." "You heard what Betsy said?" he queried a bit shyly. She nodded. "I heard how you didn't deny it, and I knew I wanted to tell you too. I just didn't get the chance until now." Her eyes held his, soft and open, looking at him as if she could see right into his soul. "I've wanted to tell you since I came back from the catacombs, but everything felt so raw and abrasive when I returned. Now...now everything feels fresh and new." Her body turned to face him more fully. "And I need you to know now...I love you. Your friendship, our partnership, is and has been the most important thing in my life, and I couldn't have faced the evils of this world without you. I never want to. I always want to be with you." Ichabod felt a flush race over his skin, his mind reeling from her admission, his pulse racing. He cupped her face with one hand, staring blissfully into her eyes. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone as he marveled at this most perfect of dreams coming true. "Abbie," he murmured in wonder, half statement, half question. "Shhh," she whispered softly, staring at him dreamily, her gaze darting to his mouth and back to his eyes. "Enough talk for now. Let's just...be." He moved to kiss her then, soft, languid, lingering kisses that deliciously teased and tortured him with their sweetness, her perfect lips responding to his better than every fantasy he'd ever conjured. He trailed kisses to her cheek, her cheekbone, her eyelid, before finally easing away from her. Abbie's eyes slowly fluttered open, and a pleased smile teased her lips as he drew his arm around her and she settled into his side. They sat in silence for some time, his fingers trailing up and down her arm. He'd never thought it possible to find himself here: content, fulfilled, free to hold Abbie in his arms, to kiss her. To hear her readily admit she loved him. To unabashedly speak of his love for her. God's wounds, only yesterday she'd been forever lost to him. Someday, when the biblical prophecy came true and he and Abbie met their demise, he'd spend an eternity thanking God for his Lieutenant, his better half, and the rest of all time loving her all over again. But for now, he held her in his arms.

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i-like-plan-m · 4 years

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I was thinking more about tatted lwj and your response and the tattoos are lwj’s way to feel more freedom outside of the rules and values that his family keeps. He gets to express himself and break the rules without it actually affecting his relationships with his family since his family isn’t ever going to see him shirtless or naked. Like you said it’s like a secret little rebellion!

He starts off with a small simple bunny in his ankle and it slowly spirals out of control as he ends up getting addicted to getting tattoos and soon he has a whole sleeve and tattoos curling around his sides and spreading across his chest and down his back.

He also has one that starts at his waist and spreads down his hip and below his jeans and wwx just wants to know how far down does it exactly go?

ok, loving these prompts, they’re making words work for me tonight and also they’ve all been fantastic prompts so thank you!!

[Posted to Ao3]

“So,” Wei Ying said, and promptly flushed to the roots of his hair when it came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You have… tattoos.”

“I do,” Lan Zhan agreed, apparently unbothered by Wei Ying’s dumbfounded stare.

Really, this was too much. How could he be expected to function, knowing Lan Zhan had tattoos, like the delinquent Lan Qiren always accused Wei Ying of being.

Of course, there was nothing delinquent about these tattoos. No, these were lovely, graceful sweeps of color, a blooming vine curling its way down Lan Zhan’s spine, wrapping around his hip and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

Wei Ying wanted to follow it with his mouth.

“When…?” he trailed off helplessly. They’d been friends for years, ever since high school, after an admittedly rough start wherein Wei Ying had done everything in his power to get Lan Zhan’s attention and Lan Zhan had been infuriated at the mere sight of him.

“I have had many sessions,” Lan Zhan said, and tugged a long sleeved shirt over his head. Wei Ying wanted to whine when the riot of color vanished from his sight, hidden beneath a blue sweater that he used to like, because it was soft and fitted and highlighted Lan Zhan’s extraordinary shoulder to waist ratio.

He did not like the stupid sweater anymore, Wei Ying thought grumpily. Now he knew it had been an accomplice, hiding Lan Zhan’s tattoos from him.

The audacity, he thought indignantly, fully aware that he was being irrational and not caring even a little. Fuck that sweater.

“Why’d you get them?” He asked when he finally remembered how talking worked. Mostly he was just grateful he hadn’t said, “Take it back off right this instant.” or, “Can I touch?”

Lan Zhan paused in the process of making tea— when had he gone into the kitchen? Wei Ying wondered in a daze— and glanced over at him.

“The first was a gentian flower, for my mother. I was eighteen. And… angry.”

Because he’d never been given the time and space to grieve, Wei Ying knew. They’d talked about it before, the restricting rules of Lan Zhan’s childhood. The way he’d been told how to feel, how to act, told to forget about his mother because she wasn’t coming back.

Wei Ying nodded to show he was listening, and took a step closer. Lan Zhan, busy running long fingers gently over his wrist, didn’t seem to notice. “The permanence of a tattoo appealed to me. Once I had it, no one could take it from me.”

No one could take her from me, Wei Ying heard.

“And then?” He asked softly, climbing onto one of the barstools to watch Lan Zhan move around the kitchen with a steady competence that Wei Ying watched with quiet interest disguised as attentiveness.

To his surprise, Lan Zhan’s ears flushed red. Wei Ying perked up, gleeful as always when Lan Zhan got embarrassed around him, the most shameless person on the planet, at least according to Jiang Cheng.

Because Lan Zhan was too good for him, he gave Wei Ying an honest (if reluctant) answer. “A rabbit on my ankle.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasped, delighted. “A bunny? You got a bunny tattoo?”

“I like rabbits,” Lan Zhan said mutinously.

“What next, what next?!”

“…Another rabbit, so the first wouldn’t be alone,” Lan Zhan admitted, ears positively on fire now.

He was so cute Wei Ying wanted to die. He settled for covering his face with his hands until he could control his expression again.

There was no way he could take more of this, so Wei Ying asked instead, “Does your family know?”

“My brother,” Lan Zhan said, and slid his left sleeve up to show the lovely blue flower decorating his wrist. “I showed him this after I had it done and he…”

Uh oh. “Was he mad?” Surely not; Lan Xichen’s only care in the world was for his little brother to be happy.

“No. He cried, a little, and then we spent the whole night talking about our mother. He remembers more than I do. He had many stories to tell me that were… different than what I’d been told growing up.”

“So he liked it? What about the rest?”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan hummed in agreement. “He got a matching one, on his hip. So he could hide it easily.”

Wei Ying leaned over the countertop, propping his chin on his hands and grinning at Lan Zhan. “What else do you have hidden under that sweater?” He asked, and then wondered what the hell was wrong with him. “I mean tattoos,” he added hastily.

Lan Zhan, though, just raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the kitchen island. “It would be easier to show you.”

Wei Ying’s brain promptly stalled out.

Lan Zhan sipped his tea and waited patiently.

“Show me?” He managed through a throat that was suddenly very dry. Lan Zhan made a low noise of acknowledgment. “Like… take your shirt off again?”

“It would be difficult otherwise,” Lan Zhan said, and the amused note in his voice made Wei Ying straighten, indignant. Lan Zhan was fucking with him. With him, Wei Ying.

Since when had his sense of humor included teasing Wei Ying? Well, he’d show Lan Zhan!

“Okay,” he said, so confident and assured it could be nothing but a lie. But Lan Zhan didn’t call him out on it, just raised a brow. Set aside his tea, and…

And took off his shirt. Slowly. Revealing an inch of skin at a time, soft pastel colors blurred into Lan Zhan’s stupid flawless skin, splashes of color that seemed so bright all of a sudden, the gravity of the room shifting to orbit around Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying’s breath caught. He hoped it wasn’t audible.

“You cannot see much from over there,” Lan Zhan observed. His arms were sculpted from years of handstands, the rest of his body lean and muscled from a religious running and swimming routine.

“No,” Wei Ying agreed faintly. He slid off his stool, encouraged when his knees didn’t give out, weak as they felt. He inched his way around the counter, eyes glued to the play of ink across muscle every time Lan Zhan shifted in place, every time he took a measured breath.

Wei Ying swallowed hard. Halted just within arm’s reach, and found himself unable to look Lan Zhan in the eye. The asshole had called his bluff, Wei Ying realized with some disbelief. He was having a hard time being annoyed about it, because… well, it got him within touching distance of his half-naked best friend.

His half-naked best friend who had miles of warm skin inked with soft colors and hopeful, blooming flowers. Little creatures— more bunnies, a small dragon with intricate blue scales, hints of claw and tooth and fang— were shrouded within a veritable garden lovingly carved into Lan Zhan’s body.

So many secrets hidden within. It felt like a metaphor for Lan Zhan, the little things Wei Ying had worked so hard to learn, to coax out of him, to wait patiently for Lan Zhan to come to him, all carefully wreathed in protective vines and a canopy of petals.

He reached out, unable to help himself. Lan Zhan stood very, very still as Wei Ying’s palm settled over his heart, measuring the beloved drum of his heartbeat. It was ceaseless. Reliable. As unwavering as everything else about Lan Zhan, someone so dependable and trustworthy that Wei Ying had lost some of his own sharp edges as a result.

He’d learned what it meant to have faith in someone, a conviction that was unshakeable and everlasting, and somewhere along the way he’d slipped right into love.

Lan Zhan’s hand came up to wrap gently around his wrist. Not to remove it, just to hold. “You’re quiet.”

“Your tattoos are giving me an existential crisis, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying admitted.

Lan Zhan frowned, looking uncertain for the first time this evening. “Is that bad?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. He cleared it, fingers tracing the lines of the ink, following the path as each shape faded into the next so seamlessly they appeared to be one.

Lan Zhan’s abdomen flexed in response to Wei Ying’s soft, trailing touch as it drifted down. And down. And down. He sucked in a breath, watching Wei Ying with so much intensity it burned.

“How far down does it go?” Wei Ying asked, tugging lightly on the edge of Lan Zhan’s pants.

“Find out for yourself,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying looked up, shocked, and bit his lip uncertainly. It was the tipping point; Lan Zhan surged forward, his giant hands coming up to cup Wei Ying’s face, to hold him still as he kissed Wei Ying until they were both breathless and dizzy with it.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, too dazed to feel embarrassed by the way he was clinging to Lan Zhan to remain upright.

“You wanted to find out how far they go?” Lan Zhan asked against his mouth. Wei Ying made a helpless sound in response. “Mark your words,” Lan Zhan said, low and heated, and hauled him towards the bedroom.

Wei Ying was beginning to suspect he had been outplayed at his own game, but just then Lan Zhan dragged his mouth over the sensitive tendons of Wei Ying’s neck and suddenly he had more interesting things to occupy him.

He’d deal with everything else and all that it entailed later.

Much later.

#prompts #wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #the untamed #mdzs #tattooed lan wangji #ficlets #my writing #asks #anon

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