#AMEMAI.     a private, selective, and canon - divergent blog for konan of masashi kishimoto's naruto.     a study in: false gods and wretched angels, knowing how to love only the dead, paper wings & distorted dreams, how the queen is the wisest chess piece on the board, and ending up worse than the ones who ended up dead..     triggering content will be present, disclaimers etc etc. written by bella.

their head resting on her lap, her fingers running through soft locks of their fiery orange hair. it’s a picturesque scene, a rare lazy morning spent together atop one of the concrete balconies. they don’t have to say anything & neither does she. sometimes it is the silence that’s better cherished.

five times. . . / not accepting.

one

the first time he reveals the deva pein form. that was the first time. the first, and the incomparable greatest blow. there has been no sting of treachery worse than that. in the aftermath of yahiko's death, when it was just them ( when it was her, clutching his corpse, clinging to the warmth which inevitably left his body ) somehow. . . somehow she knew. an otherworldly sense going off like a warning. he was going to do something, she didn't know what.

she wanted to claw her own eyes out at the reveal. she didn't. but it took every ounce of her sapped strength not to rake her fingernails down her cheeks, splitting the skin open, crying out. grief, anger, sorrow, and horror meshed into one. how could you? she wanted to ask, but her throat closed itself so tightly that it wouldn't even come out as a strangled whispered. how could you?

there was nothing she could say that would have mattered, anyway.

two

she could kill him. she's certain she could do it. she's waited long enough, she's set a trap. and if her suspicions prove correct, the man behind the mask is a nameless fraud impersonating a ghost. he uses a name & a name alone to inspire fear. without it, she thinks, he would be nothing. and then they could seize back control, reclaim the akatsuki as a whole and --

enough.

there is immense reverb in nagato's voice that the room itself momentarily shakes. they are someplace in the lower level grounds beneath ame's concrete build, a location presumably safe from spies. ( though they both know, concrete & steel are not enough to thwart the likes of zetsu. ) and the only time they are afforded privacy to discuss such treasonous matters.

there is such harsh bluntness in his tone alone, and the thin line of his mouth fixed in a permanent frown. cease this matter at once, konan. you are my dearest friend, but i will have you removed from this organization if you continue this foolish witchhunt.

that stops her in her place, stunned. never before had her position -- as a leading founder, as second - in - command -- ever been threatened. and from the mouth of nagato, no less, not even their less than tolerable allies who likely harbor mixed feelings for her. nagato might as well have slapped her across the mouth in this instance, she is that stunned. her input matters little. he is so deeply rooted in this dangerous alliance that for years she's suspected alternative motives.

she's suspected that her opinions have been ignored for quite some time. but this? this makes her the dwindling value of her position beside him.

three

it is a shame. the deva pain comments in that consistently flat, apathetic tone that he always speaks. the wrong voice, of which she's unsure whether to feel relieved that it isn't yahiko's or angered ; she's starting to forget what he used to sound like, she is only associating that voice with that face, which even then, is so sunken in & pale compared to how his had been in life.

konan does not ask for him to elaborate. they were reluctantly discussing the subject of yahiko himself. it is the anniversary of his death. they've both lost count as to what number, what year. time itself has felt pointless, all clocks stopping with his last heartbeat so long ago.

had he gifted us a legacy, perhaps things would be better with this remnant of hope.

they do not speak of it. they have not spoken of it in years. for him to express disappointment . . . as if she herself hadn't felt the same? tangled with the grief and the guilt for feeling initially relieved. for him to speak of it like this, the tone of disappointment implying somehow there's a fault that lies with her. . . she exhales quietly, her posture straightening ramrod stiff. pein's expression is neutral & unchanging, for the body is dead. but the spirit who lurks within perhaps realizes the clumsiness of his word choice. konan i--

but she has already turned away, sharp on her heels, wordless & brisk. she does not exit her quarters for the rest of the day.

four

it wasn't a betrayal of her, so much as it was for yahiko's dream. how much it warped and became so distorted beyond recognition. how intruders came like vultures swarming over his corpse, coming to pick apart the beauty of his dream which he left them with his death. nagato let it happen. he let them come. they sank their teeth like dogs into a piece of meat and let them rip it apart.

she doesn't know at what point it was that she knew any hope for recovery, any hope for recognition of the original dream was lost. she knows it was around the same time that he -- and even herself -- were distorted as well, corrupted & malformed by this world and their own vengenace.

they both betrayed yahiko.

five

in essence, his very death had been a betrayal.

she loved him, she always would, despite the agonies which he gave her. and he'd found peace, a renewed purpose which momentarily revitalized his optimistic will that had been lost so long ago. he made the penultimate sacrifice to undo all the damage which they'd done.

still, he left her.

he left her, with the assumption that all would be well. he left her, assuming that she and she alone would handle the akatsuki -- the pathetic, rapidly deteroriating remnants of it -- and amegakure all at once. as if the likes of madara wouldn't overthrow her, at best. he left her, with the silent parting of you will find happiness again. as though she'd never had fragments of that with him, in spite of their quarrels. in spite of the less than desirable later years. she'd tried to tell him, again and again, that she would have never traded his life for yahiko's. that each of them were equally important. she needed them both alive & beside her.

five times. . . / tentatively accepting still.

one

there was no one there to pull her out from the rubble of her own house. she emerged from the debris herself after days trapped beneath, helpless & waiting. she crawled out, soot covered and nails cracked, bleeding. she remembers her parched mouth, she remembers the dehydration, the taste of morning rainfall -- or was it evening? the clouds were so black, riddled with smoke, impossible to tell -- on her mouth. there was no one else who emerged from the ruined remnants of her neighborhood.

but there was a boy.

there was a boy she ran into first. or did he find her? the memory is confusing and hazy. but they found each other. they stared at each other like cautious rabbits. he had a water canteen in hand, perhaps fearful she was a knife - wielding thief who would pry it from his hands. or so she thought. did she say something to him that day? she can't remember, her ears were ringing and her tongue was a dry, dead weight. perhaps she was still hysterical, suffering from trauma, on the verge of cracking. he approached her first, that she remembers, his hands gently gripping her biceps to keep her upright. the gentleness of his boyish tone ; hey. hey. it's gonna be alright. you're alright. here, drink this. . .

he's lying through his teeth telling her everything will be alright. his own parents have died the day prior. he's all alone. but he's the world's greatest liar and for a split second, she deludes herself into thinking the sun has come out.

two

they've gone out earlier one morning, in fact, it's barely even dawn itself. master jiraiya snores so painfully loud sometimes, that they might as well be out & about doing something. no use in wasting time trying to gain fruitless sleep. besides, there is plenty to be done -- the two of them have shared enthusiasm about mastering their skills as soon as possible. controlling their chakra flow to be able to walk on water is a basic feat for shinobi, yet together they've struggled. the last time they practiced was a day of embarrassment and drenched clothes. not this time, they're determined.

and they think they've got it. steady, though nervous, their stances are. it's as though they're walking on ice itself. yahiko is the one whose legs shake with uncertainty, while konan likens herself to floating. she thinks she's mastered it better than him when suddenly -- without warning, without any sign that something was amiss -- she is sucked beneath into the icy black depths of the river. she is startled, somewhere between a gasp and the formation of a sound, of his name. she has no idea if he saw her.

she can swim, of course, but the water at this time of year is brutal. it's like a thousand needles stabbing her all at once. she's sent into shock & unable to react. she's already sunk too deep before her brain's signaling for her legs to kick. she's pathetic, flailing dead weight . . . and then she's not. and then from the darkness, there is yahiko at her side. an arm around her, the two of them trying to move against the tides. she doesn't know it then, but yahiko's not actually a good swimmer, but she's believing it at this time. the truth is, the both of them very nearly drowned. it was master jiraiya's perfectly timed appearance -- sensing something amiss, the house being unusually quiet with only nagato inside -- and his strong pair of arms pulling them both up.

breathless and lips bluer than her hair, a shivering konan tentatively placed a hand beside the still - panting yahiko's cheek and whispered ; ❝  thank you.   ❞

three

it's only a moment, a single moment in a seemingly insignificant point in time. things are going unusually well for their organization. she hates to be the pessimistic one -- that's nagato's job, all three of them mutually joke -- but there haven't been any setbacks as of late. the war against hanzo's tyranny is still ongoing with no sign of end. their people are still deeply affected. things are still happening but . . . not everything's bad.

she's quiet, observant in the meeting as yahiko goes over the table map. he is candid and upbeat, there's a riveting energy to him when he speaks. he looks up and their eyes meet, and he flashes her a smile. yahiko always smiles, but there's something special reserved for the ones given to her. it is like being enveloped by the sun's warmth. there is an unspoken promise in it, things will get better.

she believes him. she believes in him.

four

nagato had a dream about you. she hates even speaking of it, as though it will physically manifest. there are knots in the pit of her stomach. she chewed her nails after nagato told her, they are uneven nubs now with bloodied cuticles. she's not this superstitious, but nagato's dreams are prophetic. they are rare and always to be taken seriously, in her opinion. which is why it frustrates her to a degree when yahiko playfully leans into her touch -- his embrace warm and inviting, his scent comforting to her -- and prods her only with ; and. . . ?

she is practically trembling, reembering the emphasized dread in nagato's own tone. hanzo is going to kill you.

he laughs. he laughs. he has the audacity to laugh. her ears burn, her cheeks fluster. it's not meant to mock her, nor nagato. no, yahiko so boldly laughs in the face of death.

i bet he'll try. he says when the laughter dies down, taking her into his arms, soothing her. he's so relaxed, so nonchalant. there is so little worry. threats roll off his shoulders these days. he kisses her forehead. he'll have to get in line first. i'm sure there's a queue for my head at this point.

and in spite of herself, she laughs with him after that. his attitude is infectious. she scolds herself for succumbing to paranoia so easily. nagato worries too easily and his worrisome outlook gets the best of her too easily. yahiko makes her believe that it's no matter at all.

five

her head rests against his chest, counting each slow heartbeat of his. the relaxed rhythm soothes her to sleep, or at least, settles her mind. today, it does neither for her. but only because she is so preoccupied with a matter that rattles inside her chest, trying to pry her jaw open to speak.

yahiko, her tone is off. it sounds so nervous, so unlike herself. she hears his hum for reply, feels the way he cranes his neck up ever so slightly to gaze down upon her. but she cannot look upright to face him. her hands tighten into nervous fists, she forces out a breath. and then. i think i'm pregnant.

a beat. a heavy silence. she hears his heartbeat stutter first before his breath staggers, before his entire body freezes. before she gives him a chance to speak, the words tumble out gracelessly out from her mouth first. i-- i think. i don't know. i'm not entirely sure. nagato suspects there's a spy in the organization, and our intel reports line up with that, i'm too afraid to go to a medic right now. but later, when i do go, if i am-- what do you. . . what do we do?

and he's terrified, just as terrified as she is. but his smile is sunlight itself and there is joy beneath the fear. he pulls her up closer into his arms, he's breathless & hysterical himself. he can't say if this is good news, it might not even be true at all. to others, saying we'll figure it out, sounds callous and dismissive. but not from him, not the way he says it. there's immense love poured in his words, despite the fear of the future and the unknown.

they are a pair of grinning, giddy idiots. she kisses him, and though her fears don't lessen, in his embrace she feels safe against the world's potential wrath out for them both.

five times. . . / tentatively accepting still.

one

it is so rare for her to be dispatched personally, even rarer for it to escalate to the level of violence that it did. she returns as a rather gruesome sight ; blood - drenched, on a rare rainless day, and the crimson coating has since caked her skin & clothing rather than be washed away. perhaps there is a part of her that doesn't want to either, for the blood accumulated comes from the remnants of loyalists to hanzo. the good people of ame do not see her like this ( of course not ; they needn't be frightened, to see their beloved angel engaged in such violence like this ) but she has little care for who in the headquarters sees.

her pace is brisk, arms crossed behind her back. there is a warying, apathetic glance that searches for no one. it is chance he is here -- itachi surprisingly absent, perhaps elsewhere -- and, thus far, the first to notice. he takes in the sight of her like this, embracing the carnage so readily. rather than be fearful, she can see a wicked glint of delight in those uneasy eyes of his. and there is a shameless grin, as if to say, this sort of violence suites you.

she evades eye contact, continuing onwards to her destination to report back, doing her best not to dwell on it & the momentary stutter of her heartbeat.

two

things are going terribly.

she knows it. deep down, she knows it & she knows that pain knows it. our members are dying like flies. their numbers are dwindling the further they go. the asking price continues to get higher. we knew it would be like this, was all nagato would indulge her in private before they both attended the meeting. his tone filled with finality, with such arrogance -- a level of delusion which nagato would hold onto, but she could not. when? her lips moved before her jaw could clench. when does it end?

she was met with silence. she practically anticipated this. but it does not dampen her growing anxieties. twisting her ring does so little to relieve her. the unknown and the despair combined with nagato's bull - headed outlook make her want to shout, want to tear her hair out. she doesn't even realize it until halfway through the meeting that she's been picking at her cuticles once more, tearing at them until her nails are rimmed with blood. she'd thought she was subtle, but something draws her attention to look ever so slightly to the side, noticing kisame's peculiar expression -- oh. she'd forgotten his impeccable sense of smell to blood, of course.

concern is so unbecoming of him. konan promptly hides her hands in her robes, crossing her arms and straightening her posture. she is unable to tear her gaze away at first, like a startled deer cornered by its would - be killer. then it changes, a quietly conveyed message of you saw nothing.

three

❝  it doesn't hurt anymore, really.  ❞ she figures she might as well announce it, seeing as the same angled mirror she was using to carefully check the condition of the bandages was also revealing the angle at which he was attempting to glance at her. she knows it wasn't done in hopes of seeing her nude. he'd seen first hand the extent of the damage done, when the broken pipe was so crudely thrust into her. fifty two stitches. he'd told her when she was properly awake & the medication was wearing off. he listed them so simply, as though recalling errands. immense blood loss. you also stopped breathing. twice.

back then, he couldn't quite look at her. there was some self - placed sense of shame, as though he should've come to her sooner to be her sworn swordsman. but how could he have known that any of this was going to unfold?

she's lying through her teeth. there is a hand that brushes over the still - healing wound, that knows there will always be a vicious scar and lingering pain. ❝  it hardly bothers me. everything is healing properly and i hardly notice it.   ❞

four

it is a brief, wordless exchange at the summit.

one that which, of course, amegakure was not invited at to begin with. though the lady angel made her gracious appearance anyhow, every inch a fearless leader unwilling to back down from their vicious glares. she knew, from the moment she entered the lion's den, her proposition of an alliance would be met with mockery at best and outrage at worst. her recent denouncement of the current standing akatsuki did not erase her prior history. nor had she changed her personal viewpoint on some of the other leaders, and for good reason.

the old man from iwa has the audacity to insult her, despite he being one half of the two nations which brought ruination to her village. he is the one at fault here, yet he tries to turn this into a witch hunt against her. she expected this. konan the cruel. she hasn't forgotten that or any of other creative names bestowed to her. but when the insulting insinuation is made that she slept with her subordinates to gain her power, that crosses a line.

she can feel kisame's eyes on her before she even turns to him. the tense, ever - ready expression. the tightened grip on samehada, who grumbles lowly, hungering with her vicious steel bite. he needn't say a word, nor she. his eyes alone give a candid offer, if you want. . . and oh, is she tempted. but she has to be the better person, and thus, her hand is raised as a silent order for him to back down.

five

lady angel! the people cry out their loving praises, arms outstretched in hopes of being blessed. they cheer, they weep, they have nothing but adoration for her. our savior!

it's an unusually sunny day, light beams down upon the concrete jungles of the hidden rain's heart ; there is a renewed sense of vitalization in the people in the aftermath of war. their endurance and their hope held out, and at last, it has been rewarded. they are pleased to know that their faith in lord pain and their lady angel was worth it after all. which is why they gather now, the masses, in hopes of gaining even a glance at their embodiment of hope.

a handful of children from one of the orphanages makes their way through the crowds, cleverly manuerving through to reach her. they bear gifts -- drawings, freshly picked flowers, tributes of all sorts -- just as she once did the same for them in times of hardship. konan kneels down to their level ; she accepts their gifts, recalls a few names & faces, lovingly brushing back the hair from same of their faces to see their bright beaming eyes that match their smiles.

konan glances overhead from a small girl that she finishes speaking to. kisame is watching her attentively, of course, perhaps the present crowds may think him out of place, but this is the instance in which she's never been more certain, that he should stay here. with her. she cannot make him, no, nor will she attempt to enforce it as a cruel order. but the least she can do later on is tell him that she wants him to stay.