#lovesigned: konan.

[fatened]

@lovesigned / ♡

❝ dante flaked on me. ❞ okay, so, dante had other plans. it's all the same, really. moriko fumbles in their bag for a moment, before producing a second bento, clearly made painstakingly with love. or something like it, anyway. is it weird to offer food to your former kinda-boss? maybe. does it matter now that there's no need for her to be your boss? probably not. ❝ and i'm lonely. and you look lonely. so join me. ❞ please. say please, mori. also, maybe don't insult her? ❝ if you want, anyway. ❞

[zealctry]

@lovesigned ( Konan ) said: ❛ i don’t actually enjoy killing. it’s messy. the blood gets everywhere. it’s just necessary sometimes. ❜ ( meme. )

his eyes never move. for a moment, they are devoid of emotion ( not expressionless, but like a balloon having met the sharp edge of a needle, slowly bleeding itself dry of what once was there. a placeholder for anything that might be stirring just below the surface. ) then his tongue clicks, and the clock goes back to spinning forward. ( as if they’d been taking a stroll together in the labyrinth of his mind, taken a wrong turn, then crashed through the floor only to smash back into reality. from grayscale into vivid technicolor. )

                “ yeah? well. humans are messy.  it follows that their innards would match the inside of their skulls. ”

philosophy hour with Hidan. always a treat. but somewhere between the lines, in what was unspoken, perhaps it was. a rare window, partially open, into his psyche ( a glimpse, if you will. but can you trust it? can you trust anything that sounds remotely genuine upon Hidan’s tongue, stripped of mania and of self-aggrandizement? or is it merely a funhouse mirror, a distortion he sets in motion, willingly?  ) 

he turns to Konan then, and his eyes meet those of a commanding, stoic statue – a woman sculpted from white marble, and just as cool to the touch ( not that Hidan ever attempted it. but he doubts that his thought processes are wrong on this one. ) it doesn’t faze him. it never did. ( it never will? ) instead of elaborating, he merely shrugs, his mouth pulling at the corners to show teeth as he wipes the wet rag over his face, then works it between both hands, to rub the drying stains off. 

             “ but I’m sure everyone enjoys a good murder, given the right pressure or the right circumstances —— even you, princess. ” one of the many nicknames Hidan has bestowed upon her, over time. ‘ lady leader ' was, perhaps, his favourite ( and the most irreverent, in the grand scheme of things ; for when had he ever recognized any authority other than the one(s) he chose. . . .? ) but this one rolled off the tongue quite nicely, too. and more easily, right now. he throws the cloth her way, a careless gesture, and leaves it up for her interpretation whether it's helpfulness or mockery. “ here, catch ——  there’s some of it on your face. ”

[fatened]

@lovesigned, konan to moriko: ❝ for someone who claims to have no friends, you certainly protect them. ❞ / meme.

❝ what? no. ❞ the answer comes too quick, accompanied by a shake of their head. ❝ no no no, protection and friendship are two very different things, actually. ❞ at least, this is what moriko tells themself; dante is their partner, sure. they trust her to keep them alive, as she (hopefully) trusts them. there is respect that comes with the role, that moriko will admit. but they'll never be friends.

except... well. moriko may move just a little faster when dante is in danger. and maybe they've noticed how quick dante is to stop time if need be to shove them out of the way of a stray kunai. but it's not friendship. it's partnership.

with, maybe, the added bonus that sometimes, mori enjoys her company.

❝ dany— ❞ shit. ❝ — dante is just my partner. that's it. don't want her to die when i could've done somethin' about it. don't think that really counts as friendship. ❞

[fatened]

@lovesigned sent,  for  nagato  &  konan:

his gaze forlorn, simultaneously desperate yet determined. he averts her burning gaze, avoids the gentle touch of her hands — lest he wince at the contact as though it burns his undeserving soul — as he declares; “i won’t lose you the way i lost yahiko.”

❝  nagato...  ❞     this  isn’t  what  yahiko  would’ve  wanted.  what  point  is  there  in  bringing  this  up,  when  her  dear  friend  is  so  set  in  his  ways?  what  use  is  there  in  arguing  with  a  man  deep  in  his  madness?  and  yet,  despite  it  all,  no  matter  what  he  asks,  she  will  do.  she  would  tear  the  world  asunder  if  he  so  wished;  she  would  burn  it  all  down  without  a  moment’s  hesitation  if  it  meant  he  would  find  a  semblance  of  peace.  her  hands,  previously  brushing  through  his  hair,  fall  limp  to  her  sides  now,  and  as  he  speaks,  something  in  her  broken  heart  twists  (  this  was  never  the  life  they  should  have  had;  there  is  no  fairness  in  brokenness  ).

she  wants  to  reach  out  again.  take  him  into  her  arms  and  shower  him  in  promises  of  safety  and  security.  but  there  is  no  promise  of safety  in  the  lives  they  lead.  there  is  no  promise  of  safety  when  the  world  burns  around  them.  the  life  we  dreamt  of  back  then.  do  you  still  think  that  can  be  reality,  with  just  the  two  of  us?  or  did  that  dream  die  with  yahiko?  

(  there  is  no  sense  in  asking  this,  either;  they  are  both  simply  half - alive,  and  there  will  always  be  graveyard  dirt  clinging  to  their  heels  /  they  will  always  be  more  haunted  house  than person  ).

sometimes  (  oftentimes  ),  konan  worries  nagato  only  sees  ghosts.  sometimes  (  oftentimes  ),  konan  wishes  that  she  could  share  this  haunting. 

❝  you  won’t  lose  me.  ❞     it  feels  like  a  lie  as  it  passes  her  lips.  she  shouldn’t  promise  this.  she  shouldn’t  promise  most  things.  her  mind  &  heart  feel  twisted.  warped.  she  longs  for  the  dreams  of  yesteryear.  she  longs  for  a  hand  holding  each  of  hers.  she  longs  for  peace.  she  longs  for  love.  she  longs  for  rest.  what  of  these  can  she  get,  now?  what  of  these  is  still  possible?  love.  always  love.  love  didn’t  die  with  him.  her  hands  come  to  his.  she  ignores  the  ever - changing  state  of  them,  how  fragile  they  feel  beneath  her  palms.  she  brings  his  hands  up  and  kisses  them  all  the  same,  as  she’s  done  countless  times  before.

❝  i  won’t  be  another  ghost  to  haunt  you.  ❞