❝ 愛 ❞

Weariness that he wishes did not belong to him almost has him missing the quiet hiss of words. Gaara’s tense frame hearkens back to snake, coiled tightly and waiting to strike. All that energy, that caged beast that paces and snarls somewhere inside, and belatedly he realizes it has a name. Shukaku. Lee does not fear Gaara, nor doubt his control, but they are both nearly at their limit. It is worry more than alarm that shakes a bit of wakefulness into Lee. Still delirious, still heat-drunk and bleeding sluggishly, he digs his feet firmly into the sand. What little strength he has left he pours into resisting the insistent pace, this time turning fully to scan the desert around them. 

Vacant, as it had been before the enemy had come across them. They had been skilled and trained enough to hide beneath the sand. Attacked in great enough numbers to overwhelm. Lee did not trust the empty horizon greeting him. There could be another attack at any moment, and Gaara would have him sit by and watch? 

❛I will fight,❜ he declares. A bit of the determination he speaks with is undermined by how he sways, vision blackening. The edges of exhaustion creep menacingly, the forbidden technique taking its toll. He has no idea how long they are from Suna now, what time of day it be or even the day itself. All sense of self or reason is meaningless underneath the heavy thumping of blood in his ears.  ❛I am  —  I am capable. You are injured, you have just said so.❜

Despite how he has stilled stubbornly he leans forward towards Gaara once more, eyes seeking out his friends’. Something is wrong. He does not know if it is physical or mental or both, but guilt tumbles in his belly that Gaara is the one dragging him across the desert. Evidently he had not been quick enough to entirely save Gaara from wound.  

 ❛Let me help you.❜ A quiet plea.  ❛You are so infinitely precious t-to me.❜ Oh, he stumbles a bit on that confession. Chalks it up to near heat-stroke and injury and bruises that line his body like second-skin. ❛Let me shoulder this burden with you, Gaara. I would not have you do this alone, never. I could not bear to do so.❜ His ramblings barely make sense, slurring together in a fatigued jumble. 

It’s a subconscious reaction that stills the urgent pace he’d set, his physical senses picking up on the sudden resistance quicker than the other aspects of his perception that lay adrift within their own tempest. Eyes the color of molten gold sneer in ugly delight amid the chaos that stirs just beneath skin and bone, familiar and cruel. The Tail was never merciful in his weakest moments, always present, always seeking the slightest sign of breakage in his control. Years ago Shukaku could have succeeded in this instance; years ago, Gaara might have allowed it.

Yet his senses return to the surface before claw and fang can sink low enough, guided away from the precipice by a sliver of mercy and a voice so thoroughly ingrained in his mind. With some delay on his part he realizes he’s being scrutinized; the plea that follows leaves him returning a pinched glare.

“That’s not an option.”

Thinned eyes dare him to disobey. The winds die in a moment of grave silence, broken only by the distant sound of some desert mammal squealing as it falls prey to an eagle-owl.

“You say you don’t want me to do this alone... yet you risked your life to protect me, you acted alone for my sake–” Nothing adds up and everything sounds loud in his ears because of it: the pulse he can feel beneath the torn bandages of Lee’s arm against his neck, the weighing exhaustion, the word precious and how Lee directs it.

“If you had died–  ” Words that burn his tongue like acid, slow and heavy as they fall flat on stale air. They have crept into his consciousness like a parasite with every limped step and heaved breath he can feel Lee take— had strangled his mind until it bruised and bled when Lee had fallen. When he hadn’t gotten up.

    If you had died,           If you die,

Munday Meme Extraordinaire

I haven’t really interacted with the fandom outside of this rp blog and with a few specific art blogs, so that being said I haven’t had any bad experiences with it! s/o to the wonderful people I follow & those following this blog :’’)

kamai-tachi said: ♫ - Do you listen to music when you write? If yes, what kind of music, if no, why not?

Munday Meme Extraordinaire

(coffee cup emoji bc my computer is Ancient and shows it as ☕ ) - Do you prefer coffee or tea? Perhaps neither, or both?

Both! I have enough boxes of tea to start my own revolution tbh :’) Coffee is Good and I drink mine with a sickening amount of creamer. 

☠ - Do you think you’d survive a zombie apocalypse?

Y-yes(?) but now I’m having doubts. 

☺ - Post a picture of yourself or describe what you look like!

here’s some crusty ones I took before marathoning cinematic masterpiece HSM for the 50th time

Munday Meme Extraordinaire

☠ - Do you think you’d survive a zombie apocalypse?

❛ Do not what, Gaara? ❜ Dreamlike, treacle-slow, Lee lets syllables run together in a waterfall of consonant, vowel, vowel, consonant…he repeats the name simply because he likes the trip of it over his tongue. Something precious, something sacred. He holds it safe in his mouth, shuts the drawling slack of his lips to keep it hidden. Gaara, he thinks. He will protect Gaara. Friend, companion, Kazekage, hero…

…beloved. 

Despite injury, despite reason, Lee ignores the screaming muscles that ripple with the abrupt movement of his neck. His nose brushes against red hair (as red as his blood? deeper, darker, richer?) before his gaze is dragged around behind and in front of them in great sweeps. Truthfully, he can discern little of their surroundings. Color swims in great vibrant swathes, bleeds into one palette of sunlight and sand and red and blue and sky. Up and down means little, right and left mere words. A slow drag of a blink becomes resting his eyes, becomes almost slipping into the welcoming black of unconsciousness. 

His only saving grace is Gaara’s voice, anchor. Feral, ragged; Lee’s heart beats a wild tune in turn. Pushing aside the signs of his own rebelling body is easy enough when he can focus on the pained tones that reach his ears. ❛ Who, Gaara? ❜ Body readies for battle once more, limits be damned.  ❛ Have they sent more? Let them. ❜ Not quite bravado, all parts fool. There is no hesitance in putting his life on the line, for there is no nobler cause. It does not matter than he cannot take a step on his own or that his tongue swims in blood and bile and sand; the scale has never been tipped in his favor.

Defying the odds is a specialty of his, after all. 

Drawing to his full height takes mountainous effort, so much that he almost collapses and allows himself to be bowled by the agony. So sudden, so sharp is the reaction that he is sure the pain has hollowed him. His head carries with it the distinct and queer feeling that it has been stuffed with nothing more than cotton.  Sinking back into the arms that somehow, miraculously carry his weight is tempting, but he cannot rest when Gaara —  precious, even if he does not know it  — may be in danger once more. 

Lee would gladly rip open every gate to keep Gaara safe. Without heed to reason or mortal fear. 

“You’re not going to fight.”

Next to Lee’s languid speech, his own voice casts a stark chill upon the desert, prickly and grim and without compromise. Irises quiver in an abrupt moment of lucidity, transfixed on the ground they needed to cover. A vulture shadows them from miles above with the hopes that at least one of the creatures below drops dead.

“We’re going to find shelter somewhere and you’re going to rest. I’m still capable of defending against others that might have survived. Lee, you’re not fighting.”

And he knows—arm rigidly holds Lee’s in place, safe so long as it’s within his grasp, so long as he’s close—Gaara knows that Lee would continue to fight despite the pain, despite rationale. It was a scene his subconscious could play out in vivid detail: Lee would stand his ground, wouldn’t turn his back to the enemy even as breath and blood left him in sweeps and stained the sand with scarlet and bone. A wild burst of chakra, too fast to be anything but beast-like, and a chorus of screams.     That tenacity, that foolishness–

Gaara isn’t sure the exact point in time when Lee’s pain had also become his own. Or when the jounin’s dangerous mission assignments had become monstrous Things that emanated uncertainty and provoked dread. That seeing the collapsed body of one whom had fought by his side, dared to forgive him, dared to come close, had felt so much like a dying breath.

If there is any certainty looming beyond that barrier of doubt, tucked away at the farthest reaches of his perception, it’s this: Lee has become to him something to protect –in some ways not unlike the bond he strives to forge with Suna. Something precious to guard and to keep safe, and to never lose—

He can’t lose Lee.

“Why-” Barely a mutter; an unintentional slip of the tongue followed by cold silence, despite the suffocating heat. Unseen was the frenzy of thought strangling the last safe spaces in his mind. Questions with no answers; paths twisting and crumbling, leading him on without cause,

@sandshielded liked ☆

          he’s waiting for the kage to arrive at the village gate, a little antsy on his feet but he stays in one place, at least. his overflowing youth makes standing still for long periods of time more of a challenge than it needs to be. he is in his normal garb, green powersuit and legs warmers, joined by a flak jacket, but he has dawned a sparkly, gold sequined, clip-on bow tie at the collar because he needed to greet the kazekage with respect and elegance! what kind of guide would he be if he just showed up plane jane? not a good one!

           “gaara-sama! over here!” if his booming voice didn’t catch the approaching red-head’s attention, the giant waving of his arms certainly would.

It’s midday when the Kazekage arrives at the grand gates that open to the Leaf, unhurried cadence and silent approach reflective of one who avoided all things grandiose, and planned to enter the village under a low profile.

       A plan that was nice in theory, but so easily thwarted.

Gaara stares for a stretch, momentarily stopped in his tracks by the unexpected, loud voice and equally flamboyant gesture directed his way—  neither of which are your typical greeting for Suna’s leader, but eventually draw him forth nonetheless.

“Rock Lee,” he addresses briefly and with markedly less animation. A quick scan of the area informs him that his temporarily appointed guide was either late, or–

@sandshielded​

          “temari’s mad at me,” frowns over his cup of sake. dinner was awesome (gaara’s treat, the kazekage and all) but he still looks sour, “i didn’t even do anything! she can’t take a joke.”

This time around, Gaara is compelled to peer up from his half picked-at plate. Three  –was apparently the limit as to how many times he could listen to Kankuro gripe about the same thing within a single day.