#the softness comes from accepting that they are equals and finding this camaraderie from having to be strong all the time

[animentality]

full random, pre-tadpoled durge gets sick (idk if that's even possible but let's play with our toys a little) after a night together. What would gortash, our favourite evil petty selfish but madly in love lordling, do?

you want me to say something really cute about gortash serving them breakfast in bed, but i know for a fact that if he had something he needed done the next morning, he'd absolutely kick their sick ass out of bed and make them do it, illness or not.

or he'd take advantage of their physical weakness, and get some free blowies out of it because he knows they're delirious and fever stricken and he's an opportunistic pervert at heart.

yeah.

[fheythfully]

TITLE: oh i beg you, can i follow (AO3 link) SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SHB The true question lies on the tip of her tongue, unwilling to be spoken: Is a tempered, light filled girl still mortal, Thancred? . . . The Crystarium is celebrating the return of darkness, but the guest of honour is nowhere to be found.

She’s nestled between a shipping crate and the cold steel of a resting cannon when the footsteps come to find her. Thancred’s, going by the purposefully heavy tread; there may be a gunblade on his back now but he was a rogue first, and his loudly telegraphed steps are an easily recognizable offer: withdraw further into her hiding spot and he will pretend to have never seen her, or remain as she is and make due with his company.

It’s a tempting thought, to be left alone in the night with only herself and her troubled mind. Her body tenses and she almost does it, but Ardbert’s face flashes before her eyes. He wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone in a time like this. He would have remained stubbornly at her side, staring out at the same scenery she was and offering his words of support. She can’t have him with her, not anymore, but she can easily imagine his disappointment if she were to push away the Scions after everything they had been through.

Her heart still hurts any time she thinks of the other Warrior and the hole he’d left behind. She feels both bereft of a dear friend and warm, an aching gap in her soul that is empty yet mended at the same time.

The footsteps draw closer and Lia forces herself to relax and remain as she is, sprawled out under the clear night sky blanketing the Crystarium. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Thancred make the corner and she turns, greeting him with one brow raised. It is a silent question of why he’d felt it was necessary to leave the on-going festivities of the Crystarium to come seek her out. Undoubtedly, there was much drinking and merriment to be had below; she had partaken in it for a bell or two before retreating to her spot. And after everything that’s happened, she had not expected to see Thancred until well past the dawn, and probably nursing a killer hangover to boot.

“Quite the place you have here,” he says in lieu of answering her. He glances about him—she’s hidden away at one of the highest points in the city accessible, unless one decided to scale the towering pillars and crystalline roofs. There is faint music from the markets and the Wandering Stairs where the heart of celebration is, but other than that, there is only the silence of the glimmering stars and the distant mountains on the horizon. 

It is both peaceful and lonely here in equal measure.

It is precisely what she’d wanted.

Lia remains silent but shifts to make room for him. “Why’d you come?” She asks the moment he’s settled down. At some point in the night he’d lost his coat (possibly to Ryne; she wouldn’t be surprised to find the girl snoozing on a bench somewhere) and the bare skin of his arm brushes up against hers. She can’t help the shivers that come across her body at the thought of someone touching her so casually after she’d nearly become a Warden. The body Thancred now so casually allows beside him had nearly twisted into a cruel mess of limbs and flesh and light, eager to turn them just the same. 

The thought of it makes bile rise to her mouth and her heart skips beats, terrified and distraught and ashamed.

She’s withdrawn into herself before she can even acknowledge the motions, body chasing her own warmth in lieu of someone else’s. It makes her wish once more that Ardbert yet remained with her, untouchable yet relentless and comforting.

There had been no running away from the man dogging her steps. It had irked her plenty when he first appeared in her inn room, and then again the second time; but as the weeks passed she had grown to accept it. She had grown to expect it, even; glimpses of him out in the field, and their conversations in the safety of the Pendants’ apartment. Unlike with the others, speaking with Ardbert did not make her feel judged or as if she was in danger of disappointing their perception of the vaunted Warrior of Light. When she spoke with Ardbert it was with a man her equal, one who had been just as responsible for his world as she has been with the Source. 

By the gods, she missed Ardbert. She’d last seen this view of Lakeland with him at her side and now she was alone and one shard closer to a whole. It did not seem like a fair trade: a friend for a fragment of her soul. She would choose the former in every choice given, in every life lived. 

“Well, when the guest of honour disappears from the reveleries, the attendees are bound to notice.” Startled, Lia drops her gaze from the horizon and to Thancred’s face. But he only smiles at her, amusement clear in his eyes. “I kid, I kid. We noticed though, and grew concerned.”

Ah. Y’Shtola must have sent him then. “Sorry to hear you got babysitting duty,” Lia grumbles, drawing her knees up close to her chest. She rests her chin on them and gazes once more out into the darkness of the distant mountains. Has Bismarck returned? She cannot help but wonder. Her mind does not let her rest from that time in Amaurot, of Emet-Selch and Hades and Ardbert. She knows that things are meant to be over, at least for now—but they never truly were . Somewhere, Elidibus was no doubt growing stronger in his hate for her; somewhere, the Empire was making ready to march. 

And the Warrior of Light was sitting here, not even on her own planet , brooding about things she could not change. Things that had been left out of her control when she should have been down there celebrating her victory with the rest of them, instead of caving to her own fears and misgivings and grief over a man who had been both her and not. 

She flinches in surprise when an unexpected hand makes contact with her arm and turns back to Thancred. “I’d volunteered,” he corrects her. The lingering smile on his face is soft in the starlight cast above them, and she’s almost managed to forget that his real body still rests in the Source. Too long hair and a face in need of a shave, with a bandana the others had teased him over; that is how she remembers him and had seen him last. But for him, it had been five years since he’s seen her last—and on the First his body had reformed alongside his soul’s image, in which he was young once more and untouched by the hands of Lahabrea or his trip through the Lifestream.

It was like looking at a memory with the First-hardened Thancred imposed over it. It was strange, but then again, what hadn’t been lately?

The hand on her arm sets Lia’s teeth on edge, having someone touch her so casually only days after she had white ichor running through her veins, burning up marble and wood whenever it spewed forth from her lips. She itches to shake it off. 

“Did Ryne go to sleep?” She asks. The girl had energy aplenty in the wake of their success, but she was still young and tired from all she had done. The healing she had done on Lia alone, prior to their trip to the Tempest, had left her pale faced and sunken-eyed and the guilt and gratitude both bubble within Lia’s chest, adding on further to the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

The hand is withdrawn as Thancred chuckles. His eyes find the stars above them and his posture is as relaxed as Lia’s seen him since—well, since a very long time. “She did. Fell asleep right next to the twins, though thankfully not for the same reasons.” At her pointed silence, his smile notches up into a grin. “I’m afraid those two are nowhere near as close to holding their alcohol as well as they think they are. Out like babes, and now safely in their rooms for the remainder of the night.” 

“Where you should be,” Lia is quick to point out. “Your injuries from Ran’jit were surely strained in—well.” She trails off, unable to say the name dancing on her tongue. Hades . She has not finished processing yet, has not managed to file away the ghostly recreation of Amaurot or Emet-Selch’s genuine request at the end of it all. It will all fall away somewhere within her in time, laid to rest alongside all the other bones of things she does not wish to think about. 

If Ardbert were here, he’d tell that she should. That it was unhealthy to bury them under the earth of her thoughts, where she only encountered them in the grips of a nightmare.

“I’m faring fine,” Thancred replies and she can feel his eyes on her again. His gaze feels just as heavy as his hand had been. “It is you, my dear, that should be the one taking her rest. It’s well-deserved, wouldn’t you say?”

The endearment is old and familiar and makes her want to curl up even further into herself, build walls of Garlean steel outside her body so as to not let anyone in. It reminds her of a hot desert too long ago, of a smile she hasn’t seen on Thancred’s face since. Of a camaraderie they haven’t had since she carried his limp body on the back of a stolen magitek from the blazing, crumbling ruins of a Garlean stronghold. 

It’s enough to break her, out here in the lonely night with the both of them staring at the same stars and the faint sound of music coming from below. For so long she had managed to fare alone, to rely on no one but herself to shoulder her hopes and fears, and then Ardbert had come along and it was as if her soul had recognized its missing part, even before the mysterious words of the long-dead Amaurotine in the long-dead city. It had made her want to actually open up herself to someone, made her heart in her chest flutter with desire to not be alone, not anymore. For so long her mantra had been that the Warrior of Light does not get lonely, especially not in the wake of her victory; that the Warrior of Light is a woman of force and steel, of victory and surety. 

And the deepest secret she’s been holding for days now, close to her chest and barely even shared with Ardbert—

That the Warrior of Light assuredly, did not, for the briefest of hours on a long, light filled night, wish to run away and die in peace as a monster. 

“Is it?” Slips out from her mouth. The music from the markets has struck up a cheerful tune in stark contrast to the turmoil she struggles to contain from leaking into her words. “I nearly killed you all. Nearly became a monster myself. It was only luck that led to the light within me settling.” 

Luck , by which she means, of course, the death of Emet-Selch. The moment between her last thought on him and the one right now has not afforded her the clarity she seeks on how it makes her feel. There is no satisfaction in it, not like there had been with Thordan or Zenos. 

There should be. He wanted to Rejoin the First to the Source through genocide, she knows this, and yet.

Yet . 

Something sad and old within her that she has no name for is grieving.

The hand on her arm is back again and she tilts her head to peer at Thancred. “Hey,” he says quietly, the smile gone from his face. In its place is an earnest appeal, a trust she feels is undeserved considering she was moments away from eating them all. “But you didn’t turn. You’re still mortal. You’re still you .” The hand on her arm moves to cover her hair in a move similar she’s seen both Urianger and him do with Ryne; a motion of comfort, and for a brief second she’s bitterly amused at being comforted like a child. But Thancred’s fingers do not linger in one spot and he smoothes back the flyaway strands around her forehead, then runs them gently over the thin skin of her ears. 

For a heartbeat, she looks at him and lets herself be swallowed by the tidal wave of fear that has been cresting at the edges of her sanity. “Am I?” she asks. Uncurling herself she faces him fully and brings the hand he’s laid upon her to her face, not bothering for once to hide the trembling in her limbs. “Am I mortal, Thancred? Or am I—” the words tangles on her tongue, sharp and painful. “—Ascian? Lightwarden? Do I still look mortal to you ?”

The world has thrown so many things at her and she had bested them all, had overcome their attempts at taking her life. She’d chalked it up to Hydaelyn’s blessing before, but now with the knowledge that her Mother was a primal —and she’d believed Emet-Selch on this, the truth settling in her breast as if she’d always known—then what did that make Her Warrior of Light? 

The true question lies on the tip of her tongue, unwilling to be spoken: Is a tempered, light filled girl still mortal, Thancred?

She’d only taken his hand in a moment of uncertainty, in a desire for someone else to feel her skin and tell her that the blood within was warm and not the sizzling heat of light. But he moves his fingers over her cheek and then to the corners of her eyes, gentle in a way she’s never seen before. “You do,” he says quietly. She’s trembling before him, heart beating like a bird’s and pupils blown wide in fear. “You’re still you, Lia.” 

His fingers ghost over her lips and for a second it feels as if time stops, as if they’re the only two in the world awake in the new-old and brilliant night. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d let herself be this vulnerable with another, had let them see the fears which drew breath within the pit of her stomach and crawled through her bloodstream. It almost makes her sob in inexplicable relief—she swallows down the feelings rising in her chest and closes her eyes as a few tears fall anyway, caught only by Thancred’s other hand rising up to sweep them away. 

He lets her collect herself in silence, until her eyes are open again and she’s staring into his own. Lia’s lips part beneath his feather-light touch and she can’t help the shaky inhale, the feeling that gets stuck somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. “Promise, Thancred?” She whispers against his skin, the calluses on his fingers rough against her lips. “Do you promise me that I am me ? That you won’t ever let me become a monster?”

She hadn’t had to speak the words with Ardbert. He had already known, had seen the thoughts through the emotions grappling on her face when she had woken up blinded and in light-fuelled agony. But Ardbert was gone—had never really been there—and she cannot expect those not of her own soul to recognize what she needs, to know the things to say when she hides her fears so well.

If she wanted the weight on her shoulders to lift—truly, eagerly wanted it—then she had to be the one to reach out. To bring down the walls of stone and steel around her heart and recognize the figures of the Scions burning bright around her, willing to walk with her until her last breath.

In the darkness and the starlight of the night, the expression on Thancred’s face shifts. He looks as serious as he did before they braved the fires of the ghostly Amaurot, when he thanked her for all she’d done for him and vowed to always have her back. “I promise,” he says and sweeps the pads of his fingers over her bottom lip, before moving to gently cradle her chin in a reassuring grip. “And if you ever doubt it—if you ever think that you are anything but the kind, brave person you are—then look to me.” His other hand cards through her hair now and the tears are coming again, falling fast over her cheeks and onto the stone beneath them. 

“I will be right there at your side, reminding you again and again.”

Something in her chest breaks and she exhales, leans further into his warmth and grip on her. “Okay,” she says, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall freely now. “I will. I will .”

[dayseternal-blog]

She's a nameless girl. Strange in dress, appearance, and accent in a foreign kingdom. She stowed away on a merchant ship, running from a certain future much worse than just losing her name.

An NH retelling of the fairytale Catskin.

Inspired by Tumblr's NaruHina Week 2019 Days 4-7 Day 4: Promises Day 5: Family Day 6: Forgotten Day 7: Yesterday

Rating: M

Chapter 5: Deceit/Honesty

She can’t go.

The thought is silly.

She’s a maid.  She serves his family.  She’s employed by his parents.  

She could get caught.  She could get sent home.  She would have to face all of Konoha in shame.

But what if he discovers her a year from now?  Five years from now?  Ten years from now?

It seems practically inevitable that he would eventually discover her.  She didn’t say a single word to him the last time he saw her, and he nearly recognized her.

It’s just a matter of time, one unlucky encounter, for him to realize, stare at her in shock, reject her, and send her home.  

...Would he reject her?

The days toward the Summer Solstice Ball dwindle, and these thoughts plague her constantly.

Naruto…Naruto…

Master Naruto.

Can she handle watching him from afar for the rest of her life?  Certainly his life will move on.  Marriage, a family, the eventual lord of the province.

What’s worse?

Never knowing what could be, living safely, but constantly in fear of discovery?  

Or his rejection, returning to Konoha, facing her father, and the scorn of the rest of the town?

There is an upside.  She would see Hanabi again.

Either way, she will never know anything like him ever again.  Whether she stays a servant or is sent back to Konoha, she is destined to grow to be an old spinster.  At some point, she will be discovered, and that could go three ways.  The first, that he accepts her, mysterious background and all.  A thought she doesn’t dwell on for its implausibility.  The second, that he rejects her but lets her stay on staff, condemning her to another kind of eternal shame, albeit one without fear.  The third, that he rejects her and sends her away, condemning her to a sad life with her father.

She would see Hanabi again.

These thoughts circulate, over and over, day after day.

The avoiding and hiding doesn’t help.

She wants to see him.

A part of her wants to know if he would recognize her.  A test of his feelings.  Can he see her past the drab clothing, or did he only see her dolled-up appearance?  

How much does he like her?  As much as she likes him?

...What if she just told him?

What if I told him?  What would he say?  How would he react?  Would he not believe me?  Would he accuse me of stealing the gowns?  Would he hate me?  Or would he not care and still like me?

What if she just went up to him one day when he’s alone in the library?  What if she just told him herself?  Then she wouldn’t have to wait for him to recognize her.  She wouldn’t have to wonder and wait in fear.  She could take her fate into her own hands, at least a little.

But days pass, and she can’t muster up the courage to face him.

She’s not a cultured young lady anymore.  She’s just a maid.  Her hands are cracked and dry.  Her hair hangs in tangles that can only be hidden in buns.  Her clothes are not just plain now--they’re stained, used, and worn, too.  She has no money, no family, no connections.

There’s no way he would believe her.

“Bucchi” is a far-cry from the “Miss.”    

He would probably think that she’s trying to be sly.  He would probably think that “Bucchi” is trying to pretend to be the lady he met.  

Or even if he did believe her, he would be so shocked, he would be disgusted.  There he was, spending all of his attention on a maid!  He would feel humiliated to have spent all his time on a messy girl like her.  

She can’t face him as Bucchi…

But what if he weren’t disgusted?  What if he were just happy to find her?...

The week of the ball arrives, and she isn’t any closer to a solution than she was three weeks ago.

“Shizuka,” she murmurs.  “I don’t know what to do.”

Her friend sits with her in Hinata’s dark room.  “Do?” she asks, encouraging Hinata to share.  She knows, though, that her secretive friend has been worrying about the young lord.

Hinata nods.  She explains her predicament as quietly and as simply as she can.

“So you want to tell him?” Shizuka whispers, just as quietly.  

“I...I think I need to...I don’t think I can hide forever.”

“...I don’t think he would send you away...Master Naruto isn’t like that…”  She doesn’t share, though, that he can have a temper.  She thinks that itis possible that he would get angry, or at least feel hurt at the deception.  “I’m sorry, Bucchi.  This is all my fault.  I shouldn’t have forced you to go to the ball.”  

Hinata shakes her head.  “I could have refused.  You wouldn’t have really forced me to go.  I wanted to go.”  She sighs.  “It’s my own fault,” she says regretfully.

“It’s not...I pushed you to go.  If I hadn’t done that…”

The two girls look at each other sadly.  

“...I think the sooner you tell him, the better.”

“I know, but I’m too scared.”

“What if you told him at the ball?  He would have to believe you.”

Hinata nods.  If she told him at the ball, he would have to believe that the Miss is the same as Bucchi.  She considered this possibility, too, but it seems underhanded, like she would be trying to sway his opinion of her while dressed nicely.  

But isn’t that what she wants?

The morality of the situation is too confusing.  And she realizes, even now, she’s trying to get Shizuka to make the decision for her.  She’s being manipulative, a side of herself she never knew before.

Because hasn’t she already decided what she wants to do?  

Hinata buries her face in her hands.  “I really like him, Shizuka,” she whispers.  “I-I just want to see him.”

Shizuka doesn’t know what would be best for the shy maid, but she does know that she shouldn’t try to influence her decisions anymore.  “...Whatever you decide to do, Bucchi, I’ll support you in any way I can.”

The ball draws ever closer, and she only finds reasons that persuade her to follow her heart.

“I saw him pull out her glove from his pocket this morning.”

“He says his parents will have to force him to dance.”

“Oh, I’m sure after dancing with that lady all night, he wouldn’t want to dance with another.”

“Shion said he looks at her shoes every night.”

“He sighs too much these days.”

“Our poor young master.  He’s too innocent in the ways of love.”

“He has always been too trusting.”

The gossip surrounding the servants’ favorite topic fills her with equal parts longing and guilt.  How she wishes she could reassure him of her affection!

How she knows that she needs to make things right.

…“Right.”  

She doesn’t know what’s right.  She only knows that she wants to see him and spend time with him.  Is that wrong?

Is it wrong for her to remember the way he talked so freely with her?  The way he let her talk about herself?  The way he allowed her to share herself and keep other parts secret?  Never pressing too much, never forcing her to do or say anything..or nothing.  

Being with him felt so right.  How could it be wrong?

Is it wrong for her to want to catch his attention?

To want to be pretty for him?

To be the only girl to have his time?

“So you’re going to tell him?” Shizuka whispers as she pins the feather hairpiece in place.

Hinata nods.  “...I’m scared.”  

“Master Naruto is a good man.  He won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of getting hurt.  I’m afraid...of hurting him…”

Shizuka takes a careful breath.  “...It would hurt him more the later he finds out.”  She nods in affirmation of her own words.  “It’s best to tell him tonight....there.”  She pulls the ribbon of the dress once more for good measure.  “You’re ready.”

Hinata looks down at herself.  She’s never worn this dress before.  The blue is nearly as dark as her hair.  The bodice fits tightly, dipping down in the back slightly lower than conventions.  Soft feathers adorn the full skirt, and she can’t imagine how much dye was used for such an expensive color.  

Shizuka smiles.  “Even if you tell him, he might have a hard time believing it.”  She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen such an extravagant dress before.  It’s hard to connect Bucchi with the magnificent sight before her.  And again, she wonders about Bucchi’s past.  To have come from such wealth, why would anyone run away to a completely new country?

“Thank you,” Hinata softly says.  “Shizuka, I wanted to tell you...in case I don’t get a chance to later...thank you for being my friend.  Thank you for always cheering me up and helping me when I didn’t know what to do.”

“What is this all of a sudden?” Shizuka asks, shaking her head.  “Don’t say that!  Everything will be alright, Bucchi.  Everything will be alright.”

Hinata nervously smiles at Shizuka.  She hopes everything will be alright.  She doesn’t know what’s going to happen after tonight or how Naruto will react, but the one constant she has had since arriving at the Namikaze estate has been Shizuka’s camaraderie.  She grabs her friend’s hands and squeezes them.  “Thank you.”

“Stop that, Bucchi.  Now go!  Our young lord is waiting for you.”  

Hinata blushes but lets go of her hands.  She tentatively parts from Shizuka’s reassuring expression and steps out into the still day-lit evening.

The back of the estate is devoid of people as all hands are on-deck for the party.  More guilt floods her.  She should be in the kitchens at this very moment, helping out.  It was incredibly selfish of her to have gone that first night.  Even tonight…

She stalls at the side of the estate, once again feeling an onslaught of confusion.  She shouldn’t be out here in this dress.  She shouldn’t have come out here.  She swore to herself that she was leaving everything behind for a life of safety.  She promised Hanabi that she would never return to Konoha.

But at this very moment she is shirking her duties, her safety...for what?  For what exactly?  

Her heart hurts as she pictures him.  

Everything was a mistake.  Even now, is she making a mistake?  Is she fooling herself?  So what if she has to live her life in fear of being discovered?  That’s just an “if” situation. There’s no certainty that he would ever figure her out.  As far as he knows, she disappeared that night two months ago.  

It’s better for him if he never sees her again.

She has nothing.

She’s just a manipulative, selfish, nobody girl.  

She stares down at her feather-covered skirt.  A nameless girl all dolled up.

A trick.  She’s a trick.  

She stands there longer in the hidden corner, unable to make the turn that would bring her closer to the party.  

“Our young lord is waiting for you.”

Is he waiting?  She heard the rumors of his melancholy, and that supposedly she’s the cause.  But she wonders if she really can be the root of such romantic heartache.

She can’t imagine Toneri wishing to see her like that.  She doubts that he ever really missed her at all.  

She wonders if, right now, Naruto has already met someone else.  Or if he really did say to Shion that his parents would have to force him to dance with another.

Two months is a long time.

Maybe he already got over her?

She shifts her weight uneasily as she wonders what she should do.

Should she turn around and go back to work, to a safe life?  

Should she tell him?

If he really did get over her, then there is no need for her to tell him.  If he has already forgotten her, then telling him would just be even more selfish on her part.

She just needs to see him.

She just needs to know if he’s still thinking of her or if he’s moved on.

She rounds the corner and slowly steps up to the veranda.  People mill about inside as the night is still young, and many of the guests make their rounds to greet others.

She stands outside, unsure, peeking inside.  She looks around but doesn’t step through the crowd, hoping to not call attention to herself.  However, it seems that her costly gown makes that impossible as she notices people’s heads turning to look at all of the blue feathers.  She can only hope they don’t recognize her.

Unable to spy her employers from where she stands, she slowly makes her way through, keeping close to the wall.  She avoids people’s gazes, hoping that if she doesn’t return their stares, they won’t look at her.

Finally she spots them at the other end of the hall.

He stands with his parents, engrossed in conversation with another family and their daughter.  As usual, his blue eyes, tan skin, and blond hair are bright in a way she’s never seen on anyone else.  She hasn’t seen him in so long, not since that stormy day.  He’s really beautiful.  Even from where she is, she can see the energy he radiates, completely unlike the somber refinement of Konoha’s men.  He exudes cheerfulness, as if just being near him would infect her with a case of high spirits.  She can almost imagine his voice, just as bright as he is.  She wishes she could hear it.

But he’s talking with the daughter, a young lady, who’s dressed in a simple purple crepe gown.  Much more tasteful than her own flashy dress.  She wears a smile just as bright, just as warm as Naruto’s.

It turns her gut inside-out.

She can’t do this.

She can’t watch him dance with other girls.  Just imagining it hurts her chest in a way she’s never felt before.  

“Young miss-”

She turns to notice a man addressing her.  She steps back.

“You look very familiar-”

She shakes her head, sudden nerves crushing her.  She actually forgot.  She hates talking to strangers.

“Have we met before?”

She steps back again, shaking her head.  “P-please excuse me.”  She turns and rushes away rudely, escaping outside to the terrace, then down to the manicured courtyard.  

She should return to work, she should help light the evening candles, she should help wash the dishes.

But she can’t bring herself to work a ball where Naruto will find some other girl to shine on.  

He’ll forget about her eventually.  She’s just fooling herself.

She sits in a secluded garden, one Naruto had taken her through that first night.  She looks around, recalling the stories he told her about acquiring certain flowers.  These are precious memories, ones she needn’t try to relive.  But just for tonight.

Just for tonight.

She lets shadows extend around her, and she promises herself that she’ll be over him by morning.

“You’re not going to dance?” his mother asks.

He shrugs.  Maybe he will, maybe he won’t.  He didn’t see anyone he wanted to dance with.

His mother audibly sighs.  

“You need to find someone to dance with.  It’s only polite to all of the guests who came,” his father reminds him.

He frowns to keep himself from rolling his eyes.  He can be sassy with his mother.  Not so easily with his father.  

“I’ll go ask Lady Konan.”

“She’s practically your aunt!  She doesn’t count,” Kushina negates.

“Well, I don’t know who you expect me to dance with,” he fusses.

“I can choose someone for you to dance with,” she suddenly says, a bit of sadism hidden in her voice.

“I’ll find someone on my own!” he backtracks, to his mother’s evil smile.

“Good.  Go take a look around.  You never know,” his father encourages.

He nods and steps out into the crowd, noticing his own parents take to the dance floor.  He watches them for a moment, admiring his parents’ grace and ability.  The two make a lively match, his father’s cool demeanor a perfect complement to his mother’s Uzumaki fire.  

“Did you see that young lady in the feather dress?”

A nearby couple’s conversation filters through the music and noise.

“I wonder who she was?”

The question perks his attention.

“She looked like-”  Noise detracts from his hearing.  “-the young master was dancing-”

He looks around trying to determine who’s talking.  He steps up in a bit of uncertainty to a couple of guests.  

“Young Master Naruto!” the lady says in surprise.

He nods.  “Hello Mister and Missus…”  He can’t recall their names.

“Ayukawa,” the man supplies.  “Our family is in charge of the ports at Kishijima.”

He nods at the memory.  “Right, yes. Um…” He grasps at polite manners.  “Are you enjoying the dance?”

“Yes, we are.  We might join your parents for a dance ourselves in a moment,” the man answers.

“They dance beautifully,” his wife adds.

They watch his parents for a moment.

Naruto nods, aching to just ask them about the subject of their earlier conversation.  “My parents want me to dance with someone, too...I’ve been looking for a young lady, I thought I saw her…” he lies.  “She has blue hair, light eyes..”  He watches them to gauge their reaction.  He’s far from disappointed.

“Oh, yes, we saw her, didn’t we, dear?” Lady Ayukawa says.  “See, I knew it,” she exclaims, as further realizations come to her.

The man looks thoughtful.  “She may have stepped outside.”

“She is certainly eye-catching.  A young man tried to talk to her, but she brushed him off,” the woman recalls with an amused smile.  “You had better hurry, young master, before someone else gets to her.”

He can feel blood rushing to his head, adrenaline running under his skin, his chest tight with combined disbelief and hope.  He quickly bows with a word of thanks and jogs outside. He looks out from the terrace, scanning the grounds, half-expecting to see her dancing form like the first night.

She’s not there.  

He gulps back the disappointment and descends the steps.  The tall trees and hedges cast their long shadows on the ground, creating dark corners that could easily hide anyone.  He resists scratching his head and messing his hair up.

She can’t be out here, right?  Were they talking about someone else?  She can’t possibly be here.  She left a long time ago.

He looks back toward the ballroom, crowded with people here to have a good time.  Except that he’s not having a good time.  It’s hard to forget someone when people are telling you to.  He never had an easy time with doing what people tell him to do.

Never good with rules, with expectations, with boundaries.  

Why should tonight be any different?  His parents can’t actually expect him to just find someone, right?  He thought it a stroke of fate when he met that young lady.  She was pretty, completely unaware of his rough reputation, curious about him and not his money, very obviously of some sort of noble birth...she checked out in everything his parents could have asked for, she was perfect.

He thought she was perfect.  She held not only similar ideas to his own about social ranks, but she was way more progressive in thought, almost entirely unorthodox regarding family birth...it was fascinating.  Yet everything else about her was so traditionally ladylike, almost too predictable.  Dancing, reading, walking in the gardens.  Easy to please.  Certainly that must be true when she seemed easily amused by him and easily forgiving of him.

He turns around and heads to his gardens.

Maybe she’s there.  Most likely she’s not.  

He remembers her smile the most.  The way she just seemed to grow happier as the night progressed during that first meeting.  How he showed her this plant and that flower.  Two months ago, that tree was full of peach blossoms, and she looked at them with such wonder.  

He’ll never forget that.

Nor how he could see the shyness and propriety melt off of her as she got to know him.  And that smile of hers on their last meeting.  How they danced and danced and danced…

He intakes a sharp breath of air.

He forgets how to breathe.

He stares what feels like forever at the lady sitting at the ledge of one of the lotus pools, her finger caressing the pink petals, a luxurious skirt of dark, shimmery feathers trailing down.

A step toward her breaks her contemplation, and she looks up, blinking in shock.  Her lips part, her light eyes widen.

She hardly has time to stand, to react at all, when he rushes toward her, his hands briefly taking hers before sliding up to hold her forearms.

“What are you doing here?” he asks breathlessly.  “I thought you left!”  Yet there’s no accusation in his tone.  Only surprise, a hint of wonder that brings a smile to her face.

She registers the firmness of his grasp, only to realize that she’s holding his arms just as tightly.  “I-I couldn’t.  I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t go back...”

He stares, the words barely registering as he takes in the last rays of the sun on her skin.  

“Forgive me...I had to see you again…” she whispers, suddenly shy under his attention.

He smiles.  She had to see him again.  He tries to stifle his smile from growing any wider.  It wouldn’t be a very becoming look.  But the happiness brightening her own expression is too much.  To know that she reciprocates every feeling he holds is a joy he’s never felt before.  He sneaks his thumbs at the skin just beneath the ends of her gloves.  

They gaze at each other for longer.  He’s really here in front of her, as if he knew she’d be here.  She takes in every bit of him.  The exact shade of his skin, the shine of his blue, blue eyes, the way his brows have strands slightly darker than his blond hair, the dimple on his cheek, his lips…

He should have said something in reply by now, but he has no words.  It’s his default with her, never saying or asking the right things.  He’s heard stories of people falling in love with looks and regretting it, cautionary tales from his mother and father that he never thought would happen to him, but so be it.  He hardly knows her.  That’s fine.  He’s always broken the rules.  His story will be one to join the many.

It’s a relief to allow it, to feel it.  

The softness of her lips on his.

The clench in his heart finally freeing from the confines of his chest, and he can breathe again in slow, slight, aching pulls that make his body feel heavy but his extremities light.

She tightens her hold on his forearms, fuzzy clouds filling her head, a fluttering in her gut, tingles sparking through her legs.  In all scenarios of them meeting again, and not one had been like this.

Wilder than even her wildest dreams.  

She lets her hands slide up his sleeves to his shoulders, fitting herself more easily in his arms that hesitantly come to rest around her back.  But there they settle, his fingers pressing solidly into the material as his lips brush against hers once more.

Another gentle kiss sends a flush through him from his head to his toes.  She doesn’t pull away, so he lets them meet for a fourth, a fifth, and he loses count when her fingers start to tease at his collar and his core starts to twist.  He lifts his head, opening his eyes to see her lashes unwillingly flutter open.

We were kissing.  The thought is unbelievable, and yet, here they stand, closer than she’s ever been to anyone, their bodies only a breath away from each other.

“I missed you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“I missed you, too,” she replies.  

It doesn’t take much to give in to her sweetly dazed expression, to lean down and kiss her again.  

And it doesn’t take much for her to lean in to his promised warmth.  To let his heat spread from her cheeks, through her arms, and down to her toes.  It makes her brows pinch together; it makes her fingers feel like grasping onto something solid, to pull at the cloth of his vest; it makes her feel like tippy-toeing to reach out for something more, for his something more.

She brings him closer, and he embraces her tighter, feeling the rise of her shoulder blade and the narrow of her waist in his hands, chest shuddering against the knowledge of her bosom pressed to him, tasting the softness of her lips, only to suddenly find the softness of her own curious tongue.  Hesitation slips away.  He loves this.  He loves the way she looks.  He loves the way she feels.  He loves the way she holds him and kisses him, and the way she lets herself be held by him.  He loves it.  He loves her, and isn’t that fine?

Isn’t it fine?  To love him?

She doesn’t want to let him go even as she quickly realizes that the kiss is moving too fast.  In all propriety, she should not be clinging to him, encouraging him by keeping him pulled close.  But once it ends, once the kiss ends, he’ll have questions.  So she leans into him for another kiss.  

Just for now.

Just for another minute of him.

Just to memorize the way his arms feel wrapped around her.  To commit to memory his intimate breath and the solidity of his shoulders.  

To experience this kiss.  

It should feel shameful, but it doesn’t.  One meeting leads to another, and another, and any thoughts of guilt are forgotten.

A match strikes within her, lighting her in anticipation.  She can’t breathe, but she doesn’t want to.  It’s his hands and his pressure, steadily gaining weight upon her body.

She feels wanted.

Sensation settles deep, building and building.  It’s something she’s never felt before, coursing through her veins, through her heart, racing.  The taste of his lips and tongue, the sound of him breathless, the feeling of his hands holding her tightly.  

She wonders if he feels it, too.

“Naruto…”

His name from her airy voice, a breath upon his lips, fills him with a desperation unlike any other.  

Everything about this is so wrong.  It’s so wrong and it feels so good.  How he wishes he could say her name in return.  

He gasps hard, trying to regain his sensibility.

She kisses him again, and he leans into it instinctively.

“Wait…” he murmurs.  He tries to breathe.  “Wait…”  He pulls up reluctantly, only to see her, pressing against him, her eyes lidded, her cheeks rosy, her lips swollen.  His heart shoots into his throat.  He can’t possibly ask for her name right now.  Any man with common sense would know that.  He needs to kiss her.  It’s the only thing he can do.  

He kisses her.  Over and over.

Her cute breathy sounds fill his mind, and he keeps going, just to earn that sound of approval.  A heavy tightness gathers at his trousers, a worrying distraction that splits his morality between pressing forward and stopping altogether.  So he stays against her lips, unable to bring himself to separate from her nor engage her in a completely illicit act.

The kiss itself feels amazing enough.  Not just her lips.  Her body.  Her breath.  Her voice.  Her hands at his chest and neck.  He’s never known anything like her.

He feels his brain melting, all sense of time and decency lost.  He can only tell that shadows surround them, concealing their shameful act.  Twilight chased dusk’s last light away before either of them realized, and he thinks neither of them care.

How long has he been gone?

Gone with her.

Oh, he wants to be gone with her all night.

She feels his hands sliding around her waist, up her sides, across the bare of her back, one to her neck.  She registers him pressed against her, hard.  It’s too much.  She knows she messed up, remembering the awful lesson she suffered through in preparation to marry Toneri.  She finally fully realizes what she’s doing to Naruto.

But…

She whispers his name again.

He squeezes her closely.

She can’t get enough of this.  And she’s luring him on, closer.  It’s unbelievable to her that she can entice him so.  She can feel how he kisses her harder when she sighs or gasps.  She can hear his hum of satisfaction when she presses against him.  

It’s altogether too shameful.  

She should feel ashamed.  

She should.  He doesn’t even know who she really is.  But she can’t possibly tell him now.  Not when she desires him so, and he so obviously reciprocates.

Just for tonight.

Just for one more night!

She twists her hips, feeling the pressure of his ardor against the heat pooling within her.  

He shudders, breaking the kiss to let out a gasp, almost a groan.  

It’s something completely unknown to her, and she kisses him again, wondering at the mystery between them.  She wants more from him.  He gives her shades of light and dark she’s never experienced before.  Feelings so pure and honest; feelings so wrong and deceitful.

It fills her with suspense.  

His fingers reaching through her hair, keeping her lips locked on his.  His pelvis pushing against her, rubbing against her.  His breath hot on hers.  His arm wrapped around her waist.

She steps back against his leaning weight, and he presses forward.  She realizes he’s walking her back, directing her somewhere, right when the back of her legs hit the bench.  Her knees, weak from their tryst, easily give out.

He stands above her, his chest and shoulders heaving.  He bends down over her, connecting their breath again.  His hand threads through her hair, pulling her pins, her hairpiece out, until she can feel her long hair spilling down her back.

It’s such an intimate act.  

Ladies never wear their hair completely loose around gentlemen.  And she’s never had her hair touched by a man before. She gazes up at him as he smooths his hand down her hair.

The air feels heavy between them.

“Miss…”  He doesn’t know what he wants to say.  He wants something.  He ardently wants something.  He needs relief.  He needs her to comfort him, to give him her sweetness, her softness.  Everything about her excites him, thrills him, and he needs her to do something about it.  He needs to be closer to her, he just wants to know her.  Everything about her.  Inside and outside, he wants her to be his.

He wants to love her.

To leave himself with her, irrevocably, permanently.  To receive her, to have her.

To see her.

Feel her.

Every part of her.

He sits beside her.  They kiss, but her lips and tongue aren’t enough.  He slides his hand over her feathered skirt, feeling the angle at her hip, the round of her thigh, testing her boundaries with him.

She gasps away from his kiss, and he watches her look down at his hand.

He waits for her reaction to his intentions, hoping that her heavy breaths, shivering body, and misted eyes are an indication of how much she wants him.

Nothing about this is right, but he was never really a good boy anyway.  

If she agrees, he can take her back to his chambers.  They can get to know each other without worry. It can be just the two of them.  Just her and him.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmurs to her.  Not just tonight, but ever since they met.  He'd been dreaming of kissing her since that second night, and this, this is far better than he thought a kiss could ever feel like.

She turns away, hiding her face from him, her long hair sliding over her small, pale shoulder.

He thinks to encourage her back into his arms when the sight of her strikes him as...odd.  His gaze traces over her thick, inky hair, and when she turns to peek at him, he watches her lowered eyes.  Before he can process any of it, he’s whispering a name.  “Bucchi?”

She looks up in alarm, her eyes wide.

His hand retracts from her leg.  “You’re...Bucchi, aren’t you?”  His eyes, straining in the dark, searches her face, looking at her as if he never saw her properly before.

She wants to deny it.  She’s not Bucchi.  But she’s not “Hinata,” either.  She hasn’t been in a long time.  She’s not anyone.

He reaches for her, but she suddenly stands.

She doesn’t want to be Bucchi.  She wants to be someone else.  Someone who’s right for him.  She steps away.

He doesn’t move.  A belated expression of shock seems to be dawning on his face, and it makes her feel so ugly.

So ugly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.  “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t...I didn’t…”  Her heart breaks at his dumbfounded stare.  And she flees.

She shuts the door of her room and curls up in her bed.  She stifles her sobs in her blanket and wishes the dark could swallow her whole.

He sits in the garden, suddenly alone.  One moment, heat and attraction were nearly suffocating him into madness.  The next moment…

He’s not sure what on earth happened.  

All he knows is he was kissing the maid.

But logically he can’t make sense of it.  They seem so different.  Bucchi, so timid and silent.  The Miss, alluring and fascinating.

How could he have known with one always looking away from him and the other looking like Heaven’s jewels?

Still, the Miss and Bucchi are obviously one and the same.

Obviously.

He wants to hit himself for being so ridiculously, stupidly blind.

He didn’t know a maid could be so eye-catchingly gorgeous, so heartachingly desirable.

He blinks himself into awareness.

She ran away.

No, he let her run away while his slow-as-a-turtle brain processed.

And he’s still processing.  Like the fact that every time she ran away, he never found her because he never thought to check the servants’ quarters.  Or that she, Bucchi, never looked at him because she didn’t want him to recognize her.  And that she never told him her name or where she’s from because she didn’t want him to know that she’s a maid.

Or did she want him to figure it out?

She said things like “comb” and “bath” because…

His cheeks flame worse than during the kiss.  Oh...nooooo…  She wasn’t being timid because she is timid.  Oh NOOOOO…  Realizations hit him too quick, and he’s hiding his face in his hands, slumped over, in terrible embarrassment.  She was right there while I was…no wonder she couldn’t look at me!...  And then she was combing my hair…  He thinks he might die from his heart spasming from such severe embarrassment.

There was that time, too, after the rainstorm…  For a second he’s filled with self-righteousness at having been correct that day, until he remembers the way he grabbed at her.

Embarrassing memories, just one after another flood him.  

He was pining away right in front of her before that second ball.  Just laying out all his insecurities for her to see.

What was she thinking during all of that?

Oh gods.  He doesn’t want to know what she was thinking.  What she must think of him!  He never acted suave in front of the maids because he never thought he needed to impress them.  Kimiko and Shion have always been sort of like his confidants, more like family than anything else.  He pretty much grew up with them around.  So he acted no different in front of Bucchi.

The way he was sighing and moping in his bedchambers right in front of her.

It’s mortifying.

His fingers run through his hair with the stress.

His mind flashes back again to when he last saw the maid.  The way he grabbed her arm that day!  That really was her, and he just manhandled her thoughtlessly, and he’d never have done that to a woman, anyway, but to her.  To her.  In front of her.  

How could she still like him even after that?

He sits there, frozen, staring at the ground.  His sight slides over to her shiny hairpins and feather hairpiece left on the bench.  He picks it up, remembering the vision she presented when he found her here earlier.

He kissed her.  They kissed passionately, in fact, and if he hadn’t finally recognized her, they might have gone even further.

He stands in panic.

He needs to see her.  She ran because she thought he must have rejected her.  He’s still hopelessly in love with her.  He needs her to know that.

He runs out of the gardens and dashes toward the servants’ quarters.  He runs through the halls of their bedchambers.  He has no idea if she’s in any of them, so he calls her name aloud, hoping she might respond.  

Nothing.

He runs up to the kitchens.

“Master Naruto!”  Servants call his name in surprise.

“What do you need, sir?”

His intrusion completely halts their work.  Everyone stops what they’re doing to look at him.

He looks out-of-sorts.  His hair is noticeably mussed.  His shirt is wrinkled.  Their stares focus in on the hairpiece in his hand.

“Are you alright, Master Naruto?” a cook asks.

Naruto’s gaze darts anxiously from face to face, none of them the one he wants to see.  

“Master Naruto?”

He takes a moment to calm his breath.  “...I’d like to speak with..Bucchi.”  He tries to tame his feelings of embarrassment, which are threatening to explode across his face and color his skin a telling red.  “...Has anyone seen her?”

The servants look around.  One of the cooks hollers her name out, as if she might be hiding in another room, which, honestly, everyone half-expects with the young master in the vicinity.  Murmurings rise when she doesn’t appear.  “She could be helping to clean the rooms?”  “Maybe she’s in the scullery?”

“Sir, I think I might know where she is,” Shizuka says, speaking up.  She nods assuredly to the fellow staff.  “I can take you to her.”

“Thank you.”  He follows the maid to a quiet hallway, far from the kitchens.  He’s surprised when the maid abruptly turns around.

“Master Naruto, so...she told you?”  The maid looks at him worriedly.

He stares at her for a second to collect his thoughts.  “She didn’t tell me anything…”

Shizuka looks at the feather hairpiece in his hand.

“This is Bucchi’s, isn’t it?” he asks.  “I need to speak with her.  Do you know where she is?”  Impatience threatens to leak through, but it’s obvious that Shizuka is his lover’s friend.

“I thought...I thought she was with you, sir,” Shizuka replies quietly.

He keeps himself from grimacing.  “She was...and then, I thought maybe she returned here.”  

Shizuka pauses and then nods, turning back around.  She leads him down a hall he hadn’t ventured into and to a shut door, where she stops and knocks.  “Bucchi, are you in there?” She leans her ear against the door.  When she doesn’t hear a response, she goes on, “I’m coming in, okay?”  She turns the door handle and looks at Naruto pointedly.

“I’ll...wait out here.”  He can’t just go into a woman’s room, even if it’s the servants’ quarters.

“I apologize, Master Naruto.  I will try to bring her to you if she is in here,” she whispers.  She turns the handle and enters, shutting the door behind her.  In the dark, she can barely make out the lump of her friend on the bed.

“Bucchi?”

“...Shizuka…”

She approaches carefully to her bedside.  She wants desperately to ask what happened, but now is not the best time.  “Master Naruto wants to speak with you, Bucchi.  He is waiting right outside for you.”

Hinata turns her head in confusion, and then rolls over to face her friend.  She doesn’t believe it.  She was crying in humiliation and shame just a moment ago and only managed in the past few minutes to slightly calm herself.  “...Really?”

“Yes.  Are you able to talk to him?  He really wants to talk to you.”

Hinata touches her swollen eyes.  She’s still in her dress, but she must look like a complete mess.  Not to mention her long hair is all over the place.

“What happened?  Were you crying?” Shizuka asks, realizing the state that Bucchi is in.  “Are you okay?  I can try to ask him to leave if you are indisposed.”

“I should...I should talk to him.”  

Shizuka frowns, wondering what happened.  Bucchi said that she would talk to him, but instead, it seems that something went wrong.  She helps Bucchi sit up and get out of bed.  “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, Shizuka, for the trouble.”  Hinata does her best to fix her hair, but it’s useless.  She tries to wipe her face clear, but she knows she must look awful.  Crying never looked good on her.  She decides to change out of her gown at least.  Slipping out of the tight-fitting material is another call back to reality.  She’s not anything fancy.  She’s just a maid.  She cracks the door open, keeping her head bowed, and catches sight of his shoes.  Shame engulfs her once more.  She made him go looking for her again.  And this time, he found her.  “M-m-master Naruto, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t!” he interrupts, a bit too loudly.  He sees her shoulders tense.  “Don’t call me like that.”  Hearing that from her makes him feel sick.  And why won’t she look at him?  Even if she’s a maid, it’s been clear to him that she wasn’t always one.  She has no business calling him that way, not after everything.

“N-naruto, I’m sorry f-for deceiving you.”

“No.  No, no, don’t apologize, Bucchi, I understand.”  He looks up from her bowed head to see Shizuka standing awkwardly behind her.  “Thank you, Shizuka,” he says as a way to acknowledge and dismiss her.

She nods quickly, rubs Bucchi’s back, and scampers away.

Naruto waits for her to leave before taking a deep breath.  He turns his attention back to the young woman before him, the dream that’s been haunting him, his lover.  All he can see of the beautiful lady is the top of her head, her long hair cascading over her strange coat.  She seems so much smaller. Even still, it’s her, but the difference is so incredible, he feels now that he really doesn’t know her, that he has no business touching her at all.  “...Come with me.  Where we can talk somewhere private,” he invites quietly.

She nods, still unable to meet his eyes.

He navigates them as quickly as possible through the halls, and she follows at a respectful distance.  To anyone watching, no one would know of their relationship.  He opens the door to his bedchamber, quickly realizing the irony of the situation.  He had been thinking of bringing her here earlier in the evening to get to know each other.  Now he really means it.

His entrance immediately alerts Kimiko and Shion.  “Master Naruto, you’re back early. Is anything the matter?”

Many things are of matter right now, but first, “I need to speak with Bucchi, alone, please.  And I don’t want any interruptions.”

Their eyes shift to the shy maid in confusion before they leave the two of them alone.  

When the door is securely shut, silence settles between them.  

Hinata’s hands twist together anxiously.  She doesn’t know what to expect now.  He said he understands, but does he?  What does he understand?  She glances up at him in curiosity.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

She drops her gaze again.

“Bucchi, no...Miss.  Please.”

She looks up at him, slowly meeting his eyes that are surprisingly soft.  It encourages her to stand straighter, to relax her grip on her fingers.

“What’s your real name?”  He steps closer, carefully.  “Won’t you tell me, please?”

She doesn’t know his intentions.  If she gives him her real name, he can certainly send her back to Konoha.  She shifts uncomfortably as he draws closer.  It would be rude of her to step away from him.  “M-my real name is of no importance to you, N-naruto.  I’m just..just a maid...I lost my name when I arrived in Uzushio.”

“Then, where did you come from?”  He doesn’t like that she still looks scared.  What makes her think that he’ll hurt her?  “Please don’t say you’re from Towel,” he tries half-jokingly.  

She bites her lips in shame at how she tricked him twice.  “I-I’m sorry.” She lets her gaze drop, but he quickly steps up to her, his fingers at her cheek.  

“Look at me.  Don’t look away anymore.”  He trains his gaze on hers until her light eyes are on him, too.  “Nothing’s different to me.  I still see you.  And, it’s me.”  He pauses to see if she understands him.  “It’s just me.”

Just him.  Hinata studies him, matching his words with his expression.  He doesn’t sound or look angry. Concerned, definitely, but not really upset.

“I just want to know you.”  

She can feel herself breathing easier.

“Bucchi, Miss, do you know?”

She looks at him in confusion.  When he doesn’t go on, she asks quietly, “...Do I know…?”

He smiles at hearing her voice, calmer now.  “I don’t think you know.  That even now, I want to kiss you.”  He watches her blush.  “But I don’t know you.  And you don’t know how much I want to know you…”  Now that he can see her face clearly again, and so, so close, close enough to kiss, he finds it hard to focus on anything other than her soft skin.  Her makeup looks smeared...from tears...but that only makes him want to kiss her fears away.  It would be so easy to just continue where they left off.  It’s frustrating to think that he’s the only one so affected, that she can leave him so easily, that she really did leave him, even after their tryst in the garden.  It’s not fair.  Not fair at all.  “Is it the same for you?  Do you want to know me?”

“Yes,” she whispers.  “Yes, Naruto, I want to know you, too.”  She says this as earnestly as she can.

“Then...tell me about yourself.”

She nods and swallows her hesitation.  Nervously, she takes his hand, letting him feel the roughness of her fingers that her gloves had concealed all this time.  She avoids his gaze, not wanting to see his reaction to her work-worn hands.  “I...I’m from a land of great forests.  I disguised myself, ran away from home, boarded the trading ships, and...and ended up here.”  She takes a deep breath, readying herself for his questions.

[rilldineth]

So a friend of mine told me that given that we are now in 2020, it will be fun if I did a top 20 ships of the past decade for me and boy, did I thought was a good idea and I have decided, why not right? I will be listing them here and...if followers decide to read it...well...

You will quickly notice that probably that most, if not all the ships fall on the following categories: a) rare-ships that are obv not canon; b) ships that are obviously crack; c) ships that had wasted potential, the ones hinted but never happened or briefly happened in canon and writers decided to fuck up. There’s also only one...one RL ship and I am ashamed yet not, but had to list it because I spent a long time hung up on it so don’t judge me.

So yes list...

Before the list, no list is complete without some honorable mentions, these are mostly ships I either got into the hype to recently (not being dedicated for years as the one I will list) or had my fancy then lost it.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Charlastor from Hazbin Hotel (recently got into it)

Clack from Final Fantasy VII

Cloud x Squall from Final Fantasy/KH series.

Hayffie from The Hunger Games.

TodoMomo from Boku Hero no Academia.

Gency from Overwatch series ( on and off )

RinMako from Free!

Terraqua from Kingdom Hearts series.

TOP 20 SHIPS OF THE PAST DECADE

20. Spuhura - Spock x Nyota Uhura (Star Trek original and reboot): Again this was another ship that I liked, since the original series, while everyone was Spirk this and that, I was like,’’yas, yas give me the sweet, sweet Spock and Uhura interactions’ and I was happy the reboot hooked them up, even if that ended dubiously but for a glorious moment, I had it.

19. Swarkles - Barney Stinson x Robin  Scherbatsky (HIMYM): This is one of those ships I am bitter, bitter and salty about, there are more in this list in fact next spot is another one. But I loved it and I did think they complimented each other better than the wet noodle they stuck Robin with, they took the time to know the other, grown separately and then together, the episode where Barney proposed to Robin gave me all the feels and it was so sweet, and then fuck the writers deciding to do what they did. It’s no wonder the finale of this show is so hated.

18. Lotura - Lotor x Allura (Voltron Legendary Defender): When they announced a new reboot to Voltron I didn’t think much of it. I had fancied Lotor x Allura in the original series, as dubious as that was, but then I started to watch this Netflix thing and there was something between them, something more tangible and I was happy. It was this strong woman with an equally strong man encouraging her strength and not putting her in the box of the exotic pretty princess, like a certain dude, and wanted to know her mind and interests, they discovered things together and for a brief moment knew peace and I was here so happy that we were getting something good and then fuck the writers again that decided ‘Nah bro, you’re not getting it’ and you know to fuck off again. I will always have fan fiction I guess.

17. VinTi - Vincent Valentine x Tifa Lockhart (Final Fantasy VII series): This is a ship that I think started to like during my second playthrough of the game, I always figured the both could work, both having loved people that for one reason or another couldn’t fully love them back (Lucrecia due to damn guilt and Cloud because of Aerith) and both were mature enough to fit together, I just like them okay.

16. Helsa - Hans x Elsa (Frozen): Truly, I have never made it a secret that I really dislike this movie, I truly do. The only good things were Hans (which I am still huh at the ‘turns out he is evil’ I still call trolls) and Elsa (because of her damn powers) and then the next step was shipping them and honestly, he should have gone for the older sister lmao, they make more sense and there have very nice fiction out there.

15. Yuzuvier - Javier Fernandez x Yuzuru Hanyu (Figure Skating): Ahh, we have reached my dreaded and dark secret only RPF fancy. Be it broship or more, I always liked the friendship and camaraderie these two skaters had with each other, they were rink mates and rivals but above all friends. I was kokoro break when Yuzuru was telling Javi that he couldn’t do it without him and stop it you two. I just like them, they are wholesome.

14. Victuuri - Viktor Nikiforov x Yuuri Katsuki (Yuri!!! On Ice): And here we have another precious figure skating duo when I started to watch this series it was only because it was a figure skating anime and I love figure skating, I never expected to see a wholesome and wonderful healthy relationship to explode in front of me. The relationship between Viktor and Yuuri is just so lovely, so mature, they both worked through issues, grew from them and accepted them even and I can’t I love it. (Special mention here to Yurio x Mila, as is another ship I love from this series and so underrepresented).

13. Jonerys - Jon Snow x Daenerys Targaryen (ASOIAF/GoT): Regardless of the stupidity committed in the series, I have shipped them since the books, because I can read in between the lines and there are too many parallels between them and their journeys, ones that at will some point collide and bring them together in a way that will be worth it, so better make it count George. 

12. Rhaegar Targaryen x Lyanna Stark (ASOIAF/GoT): Yes, mea culpa, I love tis ship and no one can shame me for liking it and boy has people tried to do so. Were these two smart of escaping like that and not saying a thing? Nope, they were so not. Was Brandon smart going to Kings Landing, knowing there was a crazy king with a penchant of burning people and demanding his heir's head? Nope, that was probably the stupidest move of all. Do I want to believe they loved each other? Why not? Martin has a penchant for tragic love stories, I know this ship is problematical for some, but I still love it and if you see spot 10 here, well I have varied tastes.

11. Soriku - Riku x Sora (Kingdom Hearts series): Come on, this is a given. Prior to Kairi appearing, it was clear Sora was Riku’s world and Riku’s was Sora, they were attached to the hip, the rivalry for Kairi more felt like Riku being jealous of Kairi and wanting Sora’s attention back. Then we have KH2 where Sora spent the whole damn game being all ‘Riku, Riku!’ and Riku doing his damn best to help him from the shadows, ashamed to be seen. DDD was more Riku protecting him and Sora leaning on him, even KH3 had Sora wanting to find and reach Riku, and then Riku going once again to find him by the end, so I am sorry but if there was a love story written here it was between these two. 

10. Hannigram - Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham (Hannibal): Quite honestly, from all the things I ship, they are probably what one will consider the most toxic one I guess, which fair considering one part of the ship is a charismatic yet cannibalistic serial killer. But there was something in the way this relationship was developed by Fuller and brilliantly brought out by Mads and Hughs that just hooked me, their soft moments, their violent ones, it just somehow worked for me. I guess this is also one of the few canon ships that I have, funny enough.

09. Rivetra - Levi Ackerman x Petra Ral (Shingeki no Kyojin): Who will have thought that a series about human eating titans was going to give me one of my most everlasting and also shortlived OTP’s. Years can pass by and I will still love this ship, my heart will still believe there was something more between them, something that was realized or something that wasn’t, I don’t know, but I will forever love it and even though years have passed since she died, I always enjoy the hints here and there that he still remembers her or hints where we are supposed to do so.

08. Squinoa - Squall Leonhart x Rinoa Heartilly (Final Fantasy VIII): People can say whatever the fuck they want ‘the love story was rushed’ ‘we hate Rinoa’ (fuck you btw) but it doesn’t change the fact that Squall fell in love with her and that Rinoa helped him to open up, to not take things for granted and Squall taught her to be even stronger and conquer her fears, they helped each other grow and it’s what matters in the end.

07. Feanor x Nerdanel (Tolkien): This is probably, from all the romantic relationships that Tolkien has gifted us, which I have loved the most and held my attention the longest. They have the happy times, the ones that were full of joy when they met and fell in love and had their children, then we have the tumultuous times when he became too obsessed with this craft, the separation when he left with their kids leaving her behind in her pain and then their possible reencounter when he leaves the Halls of Mandos and how they might deal with it.

06. ItaHina - Itachi Uchiha x Hinata Hyuuga (Naruto): Both the heads of two of the most important clans of their villages, both with heavy expectations upon their shoulders that nearly broke them, only one was talented from the start and the other had to learn, yet they are also similar. Both love their siblings to a fault, sacrificing so much for them and their happiness, both seem to hate conflict yet know is necessary and both are devoted and loyal to a fault, they would have suited each other wonderfully, in an AU probably they would have gotten engaged, who knows, but it would have been wonderful.

05. SessKik - Sesshoumaru x Kikyou (Inuyasha): A ship that could have been but that we didn’t have. This is a ship that has been with me for years and I don’t plan to let it go, they were the best players (in a sense) in that game against Naraku, also probably the strongest, both level headed and smart, not easily intimidated and calculating, together they would have been quite a formidable force and it’s a shame we didn’t get to see that.

04. Bethyl - Daryl Dixon x Beth Greene (The Walking Dead): Another wasted potential and gone so soon, not to mention forever salty at the waste. The way they were being developed promised so much, in the few time he was with her, well, she taught him to have faith and it’s something that apparently still shows from times to times (I am not sure as I stopped with this show) and imagine how it will have gone if they had more time. Just a waste.

03. Romanogers - Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanov (Marvel/MCU): I have been shipping them for years, like honestly, and when the MCU was showing me the seeds of potentiality I was happy, not even that stupidity with Bruce killed my hope, as they still had this steady relationship, he trusted her and she trusted him, something that she couldn’t say of many, they had each others back and took care of the other...but again another wasted potential right there.

02. Huddy - Gregory House x Lisa Cuddy (House MD): I spent years, kind of, season after season watching the delicious and lovely UST between these two characters, watching them snark and then help each other, watching the ‘won’t they will they’ dance, waiting for the moment when these two will finally collide and my lord was it glorious when they finally did, and I was eager to see where it went, as they both seemed to be in relatively good places, but no once again forbid the writers to stop House from being self-destructive and another ship I had waited years was ruined.

01. Terrence "Terry" Graham Grandchester x  Candice "Candy" White Adley (Candy Candy): And this is still my most important ship of the decade, I was forever bitter they never ended together and that their authors decided to make them suffer so much, but then Final Story came and all clues were pointing that aha they did found the other again and ended together as they were supposed to be, and before anyone says shizz, I did manage to read the novel and I do believe all hints were there to let us all know the identity of her husband was Terry and I am so happy.

And there it is, all the ships of the decade for me lol. Next stop, I should maybe make a list of mythos ships I like lmao.

[jokersmild]

I still owe a number of things, but I wanted to take the time to explain my interpretation of the Joker's romantic inclinations - particularly in regards to Harley Quinn and Batman. Heads up that this is incredibly long, hence the readmore!

To understand the Joker, you have to first understand that he is completely and utterly insane. That's not to say that he doesn't follow logic or make rational decisions, simply that if normality is a spectrum with pale house, picket fence, a 9-5 job, and two pets on one side, the Joker is on the exact opposite side. He is the embodiment of chaos, and so he cannot feel 'love' or anything similar in the way that the average, mentally sound human can. Love is something that he's capable of processing - he loves jokes, he loves violence and death - but when it comes to loving creatures that are alive, what he feels would be more comparable to curiosity in varying levels. At his most curious, you have Batman and Harley Quinn. His least curious would likely be harmless animals, newborn babies, and mundane tasks. The more curious about something the Joker is, the longer he keeps it around, and the more he attempts to mold it to fit a shape he finds most pleasing.

I'm sure most of you who have read this far already know the story of how he came to meet Harley Quinn, but just in case, I'll summarize briefly. She worked as a psychologist fresh out of college at Arkham and talked her way into getting Joker as her first patient. She wanted to write a story on him to gain fame and fortune, but he ended up seducing and manipulating her, turning her into the Harley you know today. The reason he put so much effort into twisting her into something he finds pleasing is because he saw her potential on their very first meeting. The Joker is incredibly intelligent, especially socially, and is capable of picking up on the subtlest of hints. He spent (likely) somewhere around a year as he patient, testing her, prodding for minute details like her favorite colors, her hobbies, and her grades in school, and given all that time, he was able to learn enough about her past and personality to successfully get inside her head. The more she fell for his lies, the more she stretched as he pulled, the more he wanted to do more. She became an experiment of sorts, a test to see just how much he could change this prim and proper pencil skirt wearing doctor to someone like him - a murderous clown who views life as a joke. When she finally snapped and became 'Harley Quinn', he had intended to toss her aside, since his test had been a success and there was nothing more to see. But she continued to surprise him. She proved herself to be competent as a henchman where no others had before, she proved that she could match his pace, complement his theatrical appearance and mannerisms, and that she had far more to show him than he'd thought possible.

A fact worth noting is that the Joker never intended for her to fall in love with him. He doesn't suffer from any self esteem issues (in fact, it's quite the opposite as he has Narcissism), but he assumed that a woman nearly half his age would have no interest in an asylum inmate. When she first showed signs of romantic attraction, Harley genuinely surprised him. The Joker's past has never included romantic relationships (note, I mean the Joker and not the man he was before), and he never intended it to aside from his pining for Batman. He wasn't sure how to react for the first time in ages, and it was the fact that she was able to render him speechless and stunned that began his spiral into what he later realized is love. After she joined with him, after the months of pet names, hand holding, hugs, and soft kisses on cheeks and foreheads, the Joker realized that he enjoyed her company. And not in the way that he enjoyed a crying, screaming victim's, but not entirely dissimilar to the way he felt about Batman. The Joker wanted to keep her around, keep her happy (as he does so enjoy her laughter and excited squeals), and name her his number two. Once he came to that conclusion, he became ill. He knew that it wasn't 'The Joker in love with Harley Quinn', but rather, the man he was before (Jack, John, or Arthur if you please) in love with her. She appealed to what tiny scraps of sanity he had left. Harley showed him unconditional affection and kindness, she was patient with him, supportive, and an ever present source of camaraderie. Sure, she had fallen for The Joker's clowny antics, but she fell for the glimpses of sanity that only she had been able to see. The Joker worried that keeping her close would ease some of the symptoms of his insanity, that he would cease to be 'The Joker' if he and Harley remained an item. So he attempted to kill her. And when she didn't die, he learned that she was no pushover - he had turned her into something near an equal. At that point, he had little choice but to keep her close. She knew his secrets, had seen him cry of all things, and he had unknowingly given her power over him that no one else, not even Batman has. He loves her, not just his sanity, but even the Joker himself came to love Harley for her tenacity, insanity, bloodlust, and theatrics. It makes little sense why he would abuse her as he does if he loves her, but the Joker, as I mentioned, does not process love in a sane way. He continues to test her to this day, and the most common test is of her loyalty. No one is a constant in his life aside from Batman, the other Gotham Rogues shift from friend to foe in moments, and he'd convinced himself she would be the same. You could say that he's incapable of accepting that he's loved, and because he refused to believe she would stay with him, he continued to prod her in search of the button that would trigger the 'leave' response. Now that he found it and she has truly left him, he can't accept that, either. He made her, his tests are the reason she is who she is, and she will always love him. She has to love him, because his sanity will always love her. It's similar to not knowing what he had until it was gone - although he knew what he had, he simply wasn't capable of carrying the weight of love.

In Batman's case, the Joker loves him because he created the Joker. Think of it as a sort of... accidental 'Mad Love' scenario. In many of his origin stories (the Killing Joke being my primary inspiration), Batman led the Joker to the chemical vat, and his dark and brooding nature is what encouraged the Joker to take on a light and jovial one. They are day and night, light and shadow, and the Joker feels Batman completes him. A world without Batman simply wouldn't make sense (a concept he's currently struggling with here in isola), as you can't have a left hand without a right. It would just be a hand. Batman would just be a man dressed as a bat, and the Joker would just be a clown.

The main point to take out of the differences in the Joker's feelings for Harley and Batman, is that the Joker is obsessed with Batman. Their relationship is one of need. It is the stage on which the Joker's theatrics take place and Batman's stoic and determined nature shine. What he feels for Harley isn't need, but rather, comfort. He doesn't have to put on a show for her like he does the rest of the world. He doesn't have to wear the lipstick or the suit for her to see him for who he truly is. If our resident Harley wants to explain her feelings for the Joker, she's more than welcome to as I can't speak for her interpretation, but what I do strongly believe is that Harley will continue to love the Joker because he's the first person who looked at her and saw her, not what she presented. They have this in common, the ability to understand one another as no one else can, and thus they will always be connected - whether it's romantic or platonic. They claim to despise each other, and while Harley is more likely to be vocal about her hidden desire to care for him, the Joker feels the same. He's said as much to her on a few rare occasions, even though most only see his aggressive and violent behavior toward her. That's just one aspect of his emotions, and it's crucial to keep in mind that the Joker sees himself as an actor, the co-star alongside Batman, and he's nothing if not dedicated to performance. He has many faces (no pun intended), and there are as many Jokers as there are comics, movies, and shows he appears in. Each writer has their own opinion, their own ideas, and I have mine.

In conclusion, I ask that you take a moment to consider that the Joker is more than he appears. Yes, he is a serial killer and a terrorist dressed as a clown. But he is also a man whose wife and child died the day before he fell into a vat of toxic chemicals that forever altered his physical and mental state. I don't want anyone to sympathize with him - The Joker is intended to be a truly terrible and awful villain, someone who feels not a single ounce of regret, unlike Harley who sometimes feels guilt for her actions and draws moral lines. There is some small piece of who he once was deep down inside, but it's not going to surface. He will have no redemption arc. He will never be a good person. But there is, was, and always will be the potential for him to be a good partner. Whatever happens in Isola will remain a mystery until it happens, as sometimes plans go awry as muses run rampant, but I thank you for reading this to its conclusion, and for attempting to see the small flickers or goodness he shows toward Harley in rare and vulnerable moments. Because even though the Joker represents true evil and rampant chaos, even the darkest depths must have light somewhere nearby - otherwise how would you compare its darkness?

[jefferyryanlong]

Fresh Listen - Kalapana, Kalapana II (Kalapana Music, 1976)

(Some pieces of recorded music operate more like organisms than records. They live, they breathe, they reproduce. Fresh Listen is a periodic review of recently and not-so-recently released albums that crawl among us like radioactive spiders, gifting us with superpowers from their stingers.)

A few lovingly employed jazz chords elevated the material on Kalapanaʻs 1975 self-titled debut album from standard Seventies singer-songwriter fare. Already young masters of dramatic ballads, acoustic soft-rock, and a Hall and Oates cover that whipped the lackadaisical original to a harder, steadier groove, the clarity of the the bandʻs sonic expression was equally appropriate in the protective womb of noise-canceling headphones, the breezy, smokey outdoor arena, and the humid disco of nylon and polyester sweat. 

After several listens to that first record, it becomes clear that the creative restlessness of the bandʻs principal songwriters, Mackey Feary and Malani Bilyeu, promise something greater to come, something more colorful than their punctiliously strummed guitars and easy, blended harmonies. An expansion of the template of their sound, manifested by a band whose technical proficiency is and was arguably unparalleled in the past and present music scene of Hawaiʻi.

Musically, lyrically, thematically--in totality--Kalapanaʻs second album, Kalapana II, is the band unleashed. Feary and Bilyeu, along with DJ Pratt, Kirk Thompson, and auxiliary member Michael Paulo (indelible, exuberant saxophone and wistful, impassioned woodwinds) must have been inspired by the same musical spirit, a living energy summoned into contemporaneous song-time by each musicianʻs set of particular gifts, a common drive toward melodic and rhythmic precision, the generosity and camaraderie obvious in the bandʻs collective playing, and that place that gave birth to the band--east Oahu specifically, with its mountains and beaches, but also with its nightclubs and urban problems. Kalapana II is a document of a band in sync, its purpose unspoken except as presented in a set of songs deliberately inscribed on two sides of black plastic.

Unlike most of the bandʻs peers of the time (with the exception of Cecilio and Kapono), Kalapanaʻs connection to and evocation of Hawaiʻi as musical idea is primarily implicit. Aside from “Kona Daze,” a track from Kalapana, the are no songs from the bandʻs first two records that address Hawaiian place or culture. The bandʻs name, according to legend, was decided upon Grateful Dead-style, by simply pointing out a random spot on a map, not out of any significance of that town on the Big Island to its members. Why Kalapana avoided direct references to Hawaiʻi might be an attempt at Seventies-era universality, or because its songwriters were simply very young townies. Nevertheless, Hawaiʻi as a feeling emanates through every note and beat on Kalapana II, from Bilyeuʻs “(For You) Iʻd Chase a Rainbow” to Thompsonʻs “Black Sand” to Fearyʻs “Juliette,” which evokes a night-time glide by canoe, facing the shore, a mountain-side aglow with moonlight. 

The album opens as warmly as the transition out of a hot noon sun into the cool shade of a Waikiki parking structure. In “Love ʻEm,” inexplicably listed as an explicit track on Apple Music, the generally heartbroken Feary looks away from his own pain to espouse love as a choice, a more difficult but ultimately more rewarding process when applying it to those who fear you, despise you, or generally donʻt deserve it. Doing the work to move past mistrust and pain to embrace what is different, what is strange, is what, as Feary sings, “the one thing that will save us from destruction.” If anything, taking simple steps to conciliation with others or reconciliation with the self will “make this place less a Hell.”

“Freedom,” a kind of mega-collaboration between Bilyeu, Feary, and the jazz-oriented Thompson, illustrates the virtuosic ability each of the band members attained after their first record, especially of Bilyeu (on guitar) and Feary (on bass). Only saxophonist Paulo can match the ferocity of Bilyeuʻs dirty yet articulate solo. The call and response vocals of the two songwriters compete with a joyful intensity.

Along with innovation in Kalapana II, there are also examples of Bilyeu and Feary tapping into the musical personae theyʻd established on their first record. Bilyeuʻs “(For You) Iʻd Chase a Rainbow,” in spirit and execution, is the sequel to his earlier “Naturally,” while Fearyʻs “Moon and Stars,” with its celestial intermediaries for unrequited passion, is a more melodically powerful extension of “Nightbird” (in which a feathered buddy served as middleman between lovelorn Feary and the object of his affections). Of the later songs, “Moon and Stars,” Love Boat-inspired intro and all, resounds more effectively, though both singers have a tendency to push their voices toward a tone of abject desperation that comes across as pitiable.

For all its talents, Kalapana wasnʻt geared to finding liberation in the prescribed structure of the blues, which is why Feary eventually tears into “Way That I Want It to Be” as a simmering, dramatic soul ballad, after toying around with a smokey, piano-driven twelve-bar. “Play It, Sing It” likewise pulls a thankful bait-and-switch, beginning as a down-home, fiddle-rocking country number before being quickly usurped into the bandʻs pre-established groove of harmonious Hawaiian soul.

Excluding the jazz-rock classic “Black Sand”--Thompsonʻs immortal contribution Kalapanaʻs legacy and to local Hawaiʻi music--the two masterpieces on Kalapana II are the quietest on the album. “Dorothy Louise,” with its gentle, “Balckbird”-style percussion evolving into a cleverly programmed backwards hi-hat, transcends even “Helpless”-era Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young in terms of hard-learned desolation. Bilyeu does press his point a little forcefully when he takes the bridge alone, adding theatrics to what has, without the vocal, been a pure expression of sadness. But the song is strong enough to bear Bilyeuʻs self-inflicted drama, floating and sinking like the realization of a drowning man who accepts that he will not be saved. 

Tragically, even in his early Twenties, an on-top-of-the-world Feary had already struggled with the dark understanding that he might not be saved. Maybe the most eloquent distillation of clinical depression, “Lost Again” strikes so deeply because of its casual understatement. The singer can’t name the feeling that buries him so deep, only the slim possibility that something might help him forget the hollow always floating around him, threatening to subsume his better self and his music. 

Feary left the band after Kalapana II, never releasing another record with them, though occasionally reuniting with Bilyeu and others for live appearances. After drug problems, jail time, and suicide attempts, Feary hung himself with his bedsheets in a cell in 1999. Bilyeu continued with more lukewarm versions of the band until his death in 2018. Though Feary and Bilyeu’s Kalapana released a minimal amount of material in their brief time together, the fusion of their talents resulted in an explosion and residual radioactivity with a forever half-life, a music to impress upon the imagination some more perfect vision of time and place that remains, like the greatest of ideals, just out of reach. 

[luminousfinn]

@lj-writes reblogged your post and said:

So they had an entire settled way of life and were well into adulthood before the temple was destroyed. Do you hc them as having been in love when they were still Guardians, or do you imagine them getting involved afterward when the foundations of their lives had crumbled and they found themselves adrift?

Well, I’m so glad you asked. And since this got much longer than expected I’m giving it its own post.

If I’m completely honest I can see this happen in so many ways - that’s the fun of having to do with a relationship that spans so many years, endless possibilities - but I’m going to tell you my current favorite version.

They’ve know each other since their early teens. At first they weren’t very close, they were too different, the quiet and studious Baze Malbus and the loud an often reckless Chirrut Îmwe. No one would have predicted they would become inseparable.

Baze was the golden student, the one that was always held up as the example, the best at everything. Something like that could easily have earned him everyone else’s jealousy if he hand’t been so warm and humble, and willing to help everyone else along.

Chirrut was ever ambitious, if Baze was the goal then he would meet it. He had fully expected the other boy to either resent his relentless chasing of his standards, maybe even try to hold him back to keep his lead position. Instead he gets encouragement even help from Baze.

It leads to an odd friendship forming between the two, the lead initiate and his constant shadow, with Baze almost always two steps ahead of Chirrut. Because even as Chirrut progress - by greater leaps and bounds than any of their elders had thought possible - so does Baze and though Chirrut is catching up to him, he always seems those two steps ahead. It could easily have become frustrating for Chirrut if not for the slow growth of warm camaraderie that forms between the two.

Over the years as they both grow from boys into men their camaraderie grows into a steady and inseparable friendship, and now there are times and subjects where Chirrut can even outdo Baze. He tries not to crow too much about it, but it’s hard and it doesn't help that Baze will praise his achievements.

Their friendship grows even deeper when Chirrut begins to lose his sight. Baze is one of the few who accepts his understandable anger and grief at the loss, as well as his frustration at having to learn so many things all over again, but without pitying or belittling him. And at the same time Baze will not accept any amount of nonsense from Chirrut, more than once Baze knocks him on his ass when he gets much to far out of line.

There is no sudden lightning strike of realization for either of them that they have gone from loving each to also being in love with each other, just the slow dawning understanding how their feelings have changed to encompass more than either of them thought they would have.

The culmination of that comes when Chirrut kisses Baze out in the temple garden one day, when they are sitting only half way hidden by the chibao bushes. Kisses him because he wants to, knows that he has wanted to for a while and now feels like a good time for it. A kiss that is met with an equal soft of from Baze, because he too have wanted to kiss Chirrut for a while an this does feel like the best time for it.

So they go from being friends to also being lovers with that same slow, natural progression that their relationship have always had.

Three years later they become husbands too.

Then the Clone War comes and Baze feels the need to leave and join the fight. The Guardians themselves maintain neutrality. he political leadership on the planet leans towards the CIS - Jedha has been treated by the Republic and the Core Worlds much like the rest of the Outer Rim, stripped of their resources with nothing given in return - and for all that the Guardians cannot disagree with this nor can they deny their old ties to the Jedi and they have no wish to go to war against them.

So they remain neutral, or tries to be, and focuses on helping the people of Jedha as best they can.

But Baze cannot remain neutral, he can’t stand by while the galaxy burns and people are dying. He feels that he must go and do whatever he can, but it tears him apart to leave behind the man he has sworn himself to. Chirrut tells him to go, that he will be waiting for him back on Jedha when it is all done.

Baze joins the Separatists. It feels to be where the Force is guiding him and he sees what the Republic has done to the Outer Rim worlds, feels that the systems out here should govern themselves, separate from the Republic. he doesn’t feel quite at ease with all the CIS does, but then the same can be said for the Republic armies and their generals.

He becomes one of the best military leaders that the CIS has and one of the most merciful too.

Then in the last months of the war, everything changes.

Jedha finally aligns itself with the Separatists. That in itself is no surprise, they have after all been leaning that way since the beginning, but the leaders demand access to the Kyber crystals for research purposes. Knowing that they will be used in the war, the Guardians refuses.

The battle that follows is as short as it is bloody. For all that they are great warriors none of the Guardians can measure up to tanks and none of them had expected a fight to even happen.

The rout is complete and shaken they all retreat to one of their forts in the highlands. All Chirrut can think of is how glad he is that Baze wasn’t there. He knows that his husband would never have retreated. And that he would never have left his husband’s side, no matter what happened.

When Baze hears what happened on Jedha his world, already shaken and unstable from the war, crumbles and falls. He says and does nothing, just packs up and walks away.

He doesn’t return to Jedha. If asked he would claim that the war is making long distance travel dangerous and difficult, and that is why it takes time. But in truth he is afraid to go back, afraid of what he might find, of whom he might no longer find there.

As suddenly as the Clone War began it is over, the Separatist gone just like that and an Empire has replaced the Republic. An Empire who’s boot heel is more forcibly at Jedha’s throat than the Republic’s ever was.

There seems to be no point to anything in his life anymore, nothing to guide his actions, so he drifts. Still unwilling to go home, afraid of what he’ll find.

In the end the need to see, to know, grows too strong and he does go back. To find the temple in ruins and his home crawling with Stormtroopers.

He and Chirrut find each other in an Imperial detention cell when they both get into trouble with the authorities.

Baze feels he can hardly face Chirrut now, with his faith gone and his spirit and heart so utterly broken. Chirrut is only pleased to have him back, alive and sound an in his arms again. He has no words for how much he has missed Baze while he was gone.

Chirrut has not been idle though since the Empire came to Jedha.

Unwilling to yield, to let the Empire do as it wishes, he has decided to do what little he can to resist them. In a galaxy that derides and suppresses all faiths, he and a few of the Guardians that are left keep those who still seek answers on Jedha as safe as they can.

Though Baze no longer has his belief’s he joins Chirrut’s crusade, intend never on leaving him again.

The transition to their new life is not an easy one. Now Chirrut is the one who leads and Baze his mostly silent shadow but they manage, both intent never on being separated again no matter what may come.

[pocket-anon]

Operation: First Noel (2/7)

Happy Tuesday! It's @xhookswenchx‘s Gutter Flower Secret Santa Week of Fic, Day 2! I was going to cut this chapter off at the first half, but then I thought, "Who doesn't need more domestic Swan Jones Family?". LOL. I hope you enjoy. I'm off to try to get Chapter 3 ready for posting by tomorrow night, but if the muse doesn't cooperate, I'll do my best to get you a Chapter 3/Chapter 4 double feature Thursday. Thanks for reading!

Find it on AO3.  Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming.  Canon Divergent.  Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut.   Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)

Requested tags: @optomisticgirl.  Want to be tagged on updates?  Let me know!

Chapter 2: Christmas Trees, Chocolates, & Promises You Don’t Intend to Keep

The following weekend, David takes Killian and Henry out in his pickup to scout for Christmas trees. No one in Storybrooke is expressly growing evergreens, but when Henry shows him pictures of what they’re looking for, David’s face lights up and he nods.  “I know just the place.”

He drives them out to the west edge of the woods the next day, pulling the Ford to a stop along the side of the packed dirt road.  “There’s a grove of younger fir trees,” he says, lowering the gate on his truck bed and pointing, “just through there.”  He hauls out a stack of folded tarp and turns toward Killian, his breath misting. “Here.”

Killian accepts it with a curious look.  “What’re these for?”

“To wrap the trees,” David explains, grunting as he reaches for the chainsaw he’s also brought along.

“You act like you’ve done this before,” Killian observes.

“No,” he says cheerfully, leading them away from the road and into the tree line, “but I can look things up on the internet well enough.” He claps Killian on the shoulder with one gloved hand.  “You could try it sometime, you know.”

Killian suffers the ribbing good-naturedly.  “I’ll have you know that I’m becoming quite proficient at using Google, even though I still say it’s a ridiculous name.”  He doesn’t miss David and Henry swapping amused looks on either side of him as they crunch their way through the ankle-deep snow.

“At least he’s stopped calling it ‘The Google,’” David comments indulgently.

Henry grins.  “Baby steps.”

Killian merely rolls his eyes but doesn’t retort.  In truth, this relaxed camaraderie he’s developed with the members of Emma’s family is a one of many gifts they’ve given him that he never dreamed of having. Where once he threatened men’s lives for such teasing, he now views these little barbs from Charming, Snow, Henry, and, yes, even Regina, as a badge of honor, a sign that he’s been accepted into the fold, that he belongs. He's spent hundreds of years feared by those closest to him, respected but unloved, and now that he is loved, albeit inexplicably, by a group of remarkable individuals who view him as an equal, rather than their superior, there's no question in his mind which he prefers.

It’s a short walk from the road to the grove David spoke of, a smattering of younger trees of various sizes scattered amongst the towering, more ancient specimens that make up the canopy.

“Will this work?” David asks as they pause to survey the scene in front of them.

Henry ploughs ahead excitedly.  “Yeah. It’s great!  How’d you remember this place?”

David chuckles, following along with Killian at his heels.  “Given the amount of time we’ve spent looking for people out in these woods over the last couple years, I should hope I’ve got a decent lay of the land by now.”

They locate a couple of handsome six-foot firs that garner Henry’s approval and set to work felling them and wrapping them in the tarps.  It takes a bit of trial and error to get the trees wrapped tightly enough that they can carry them well, and David ends up making a trip back to the truck for some rope to use to bind them up.  

“Maybe we should have brought Mom,” Henry says as they finish wrapping the second tree.  “She could have just poofed these trees home.” He holds the tarp in place while Killlian tugs the loops of rope snug around the oversized bundle and ties it off with a maritime knot.

“Which mom?” David asks.

Henry shrugs. “Either.”

Killian climbs to his feet and dusts his hand off on his leg.  “As convenient as that might be, lad, you know magic is not always the answer,” he chides.  “We’re three capable men, and there’s something to be said for doing an honest day’s work with your hands.  Or, you know…”  He waves his hook with a sheepish grin.

“Besides,” David adds, “Isn’t this part of the Christmas experience?”  He and Killian position themselves on either side of the tree and hoist it off the ground in tandem.

Henry gathers up the chainsaw and a coil of unused rope.  “I guess.”

“Well, how did you and Emma get a tree before?  I mean,” David clears his throat, “in your fake memories?”

Henry shrugs.  “You know how fake memories are.  Everything is kinda fuzzy.  But there’s no local forest when you live in New York, except for Central Park, I guess, which doesn’t count.  So there are farmers who grow Christmas trees out in the country and bring them into the City to sell.  You just find a Christmas tree stand and get one already cut and wrapped.  This,” he gestures to their surroundings, “is totally old school.”  He brightens as they set off for the truck, tromping back toward the road.  “Do you think we could get Tiny to start growing Christmas trees on his farm?”

David grins. “That’s not a bad idea.  Maybe if you ask nicely.  Or your mom.”

“Aye,” Killian agrees, smirking.  “The giant has always had a soft spot for Emma.”

They slide the first tree into the bed of the pickup and head back to retrieve the second, and fifteen minutes later they pile back into the cab with Henry sandwiched in the middle.

“Hey, Grandpa?” Henry asks as the truck rumbles to life.  He leans over with his smart phone and shows David a picture of a leafy green plant with white berries.  “Have you ever seen anything like this growing around Storybrooke?”

David takes the phone and studies the picture as he adjusts the heater, his brow wrinkling. “Sure.  It’s a parasite that grows on trees.  Why?”

Henry flushes excitedly. “Do you know where to find it?”

David arches an eyebrow at his grandson’s eager expression and smiles wanly, suspicion in his eyes.  “Yeah, there used to be some down by the animal shelter.  The berries are poisonous; we always had to keep the dogs away from them.”

“Can we go get some?”

Killian reaches over to take the phone and inspect the image with interest.  “What is it, lad?”

Henry’s face turns a little ruddy.  “Mistletoe.”

“Another Christmas tradition?” Killian asks, clearly smelling a plot.  His lips curve in a burgeoning grin, and he shoots David a look over Henry’s head.

“Well, yeah,” Henry fidgets.  “You hang it, and people who get caught under it together have to kiss.”

Killian breaks into a hearty laugh.  “I see. Planning to keep some handy for your Violet, are you?”

Henry shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant.  “Maybe.”

David beams with amusement and pulls the truck out on to the road, making a U-turn and heading for the animal shelter.  “Well, we can’t go against tradition, can we?”

“Perish the thought,” Killian scoffs.  His eyes glint with mischief as he gives Henry a sidelong glance.  “You're not the only one who might be able to put this mistletoe to good use.”

Henry groans. “Promise me you and Mom and," he turns to look at David, "you and Grandma aren't going to be making out all the time from now until New Year's.”

Killian gives his stepson a rakish grin.  "It's bad form to make promises you don’t intend to keep, lad.”

*                             *                             *

  I don’t want a lot for Christmas

There is just one thing I need

I don’t care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

All I want for Christmas is you

 Emma hums to herself as Christmas tunes fill the first floor of the house, pausing in between refrains to take a deep whiff of the aroma of milk chocolate as she stands at the stove and stirs the melting concoction in a double boiler.  Her free hand absently strokes her belly, and she sways a little in time to the song, wondering if the baby can hear any strains of music or sense the excitement of the impending holiday.  The little girl certainly seems to be giving Emma plenty of Christmas food cravings, and the big draw these last two weeks, in contrast to Emma’s usual penchant for the warmth of cinnamon, has been the cool bite of mint.

She sets her spatula aside and breaks away from the stove for a minute, moving over to the wood block cutting board on the counter.  Taking up a stainless steel meat hammer, she proceeds to whack at a large plastic bag full of peppermints in time to the quick beat, the candies crushing with each satisfying blow.

The front door opens, a frosty gust pouring in, and Henry appears with his arms wrapped around the front end of a cut and bound tree, his cheeks blotchy pink with cold and exertion. “Hey, Mom!” he pants, hauling the bundle over the threshold with Killian bringing up the rear.

“Hey, guys.”  Emma grins and pauses the candy carnage to watch them set the tree down along the wall just to the left of the coat rack. “I was starting to wonder where you two were.”

Killian sighs with satisfaction as he straightens and pushes the door closed against the frigid afternoon air.  “Sorry, love,” he says, flashing her an exhilarated smile.  “We had to make an extra stop on the way, and then it took a while to get the first tree set up at your parents’.”

“Extra stop?”

Her husband and her son exchange a conspiratorial look.

“Just an errand,” Killian assures her smoothly.  “Picked up a little something for later.”

She briefly narrows one eye at his coyness but resumes crushing the peppermints just as the song swells to a climax.  Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack...

Killian and Henry exchange another look, clearly wary of the idea of a woman of Emma’s temperament wielding a hammer while pregnant and hormonal.  As usual, Killian braves the threat first, tugging his glove off between his teeth and flashing her his most disarming smile as he wanders into the kitchen. “What on Earth are you doing, Swan?” he chuckles.

She hums and sets her mallet aside.  “Making peppermint bark,” she says simply.

Killian’s face remains pleasantly blank as he draws close.  “Bark?”

Emma’s lashes flutter as he plants a quick kiss on her lips and smoothes his hand over her belly, and she hums happily.  “Mm-hmm. It’s a Christmas treat,” she explains, turning back to the stove to stir the molten chocolate before it burns. “It’s crushed peppermint candy in layers of white and milk chocolate.  It looks a little like tree bark.  And it’s delicious.”

His blue eyes light with understanding, and he grins at her knowingly.  “Ah.  Craving the peppermint again today, I take it?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she says, rolling her eyes and cutting out the burner on the stove.  She hastily scatters a generous portion of crushed mints over the bottom of a baking sheet lined in wax paper and then reaches for an oven mitt.  “We may be out of candy canes, by the way.”

He chuckles and goes to shuck his coat.  “Well, we shall just have to order more.”

“Way ahead of you.” She bites her lip, looking a little chagrined.  “I may have splurged on a whole case this time.  And express shipping.”

He laughs.  “No worries, love.  I’m fairly sure we can afford to keep you stocked in candy canes.”

“Did you ever think this is how you’d be spending all those dubloons?” she asks slyly.

Killian strides back over and gives her a one-armed hug, pressing his lips into her hair.  “No.  This is a far better use of them than anything I could have imagined.”

She beams, and he responds with a wink as he goes to help Henry address the tree.

Henry has the spot for the tree prepped, the location just to the left of the bay windows ready to go with a thick towel and a plastic tray and a tree disposal bag set out just as the YouTube video he’s been diligently reviewing the last couple days instructed. They double-check the tree stand and huddle together around the stump, murmuring to each other as they secure it to the base of the tree.  

“You want me to magic it over there?” she calls, watching Henry and Killian bend down on either side of the tree and prepare to move it.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Henry says, glancing up at her.  “We’ve got this.”

Killian gives her son a proud smile.

Having already done this once today at David and Snow’s, he and Henry hoist the tree upright and maneuver it into the place with only a minimal amount of awkwardness and grunting.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“To your left, lad.  The other left.”

“Oh, right.  Oh!  Wait! Wait-wait-wait...”

“Alright?”

“Yeah.  My hand almost slipped.”

“Easy does it now…”

Emma smiles to herself as she finishes pouring the chocolate onto the baking sheet and scrapes the remnants out of the bowl with a spatula while she listens to her boys work together. She reaches for her phone and snaps a few pictures covertly as they settle the tree into place and pull the wrapping away to reveal the handsome silhouette of the deep green fir.  A watery smile curls at her mouth as she catches a shot of them standing next to one another and admiring their handiwork.  Killian and Henry’s first Christmas tree, she thinks.  Our first Christmas tree.  It’s a symbol of them as a family, this tree, the first thing next to this house that they’re all investing in and molding to make their own, and her heart swells at the thought.  

Henry leaves Killian slicing open the boxes of lights and ornaments they’d ordered the week before and pops into the kitchen to locate a pitcher with which to pour water into the Christmas tree stand.  “You gonna help us decorate the tree, Mom?” he asks her, rummaging around in one of the lower cabinets.  His face lights up when he finds what he’s looking for.

Emma hurriedly sprinkles another healthy dose of peppermint shards over the liquid chocolate in the baking sheet and moves it to the refrigerator, grinning at her son over her shoulder.  “Of course, Kid.  I can’t let you guys have all the fun.”  She narrows her eyes as she counts the boxes of Christmas lights resting on the floor next to Killian.  “How many lights do you two plan to put on that thing?”

“A thousand.”  Henry grins innocently and sets the pitcher to fill in the sink.  

Her eyebrows peak, and she lets out a helpless laugh.  “I’m pretty sure you don’t need a thousand lights for a tree that size, Henry.”

“Who said anything about ‘need’?”

Emma groans and rolls her eyes.  “Promise me you two are not going to blackout the town.”

Henry glances over his shoulder and meets Killian’s eye, and they develop matching impish grins.  “I would, Mom,” he says blithely, “but it's bad form to make promises you don't intend to keep.”

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