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neon-city-dreams · 2 years

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Introduction to Solomon

Warnings: Gunshots, Violence as well as mentions of demons and magic. Genre: Paranormal Investigator AU Pairing: Gender Neutral Paladin Reader x Dami Cast: Reader (Monarch), Siyeon and Dami

A mirror made from obsidian black glass. A gift from a mysterious stranger. No note, letter, or card, nothing. Save for a ring with the seal of Solomon engraved with obsidian. But you can't but golden sparkles beneath the black glass that could represent the stars. So you begin scanning the edges of the mirror for some detail or some hint behind the identity of the gifter. But you're left disappointed. While the details of the mirror are exquisite. From the depiction of King Solomon to the marvelous gemstones placed meticulously throughout. None of these revealed who the mysterious patron of the mirror was. But it wasn't an object of your realm that much was clear. Finally, your eyes fall back to the gems—Citrine and Emeralds as well as Aquamarine in the handles.

Your draw Hauteclere the star-like gems begin to glow in proximity to the mirror.

Neon.

Was this his revenge for your earlier antics? Your mind falls back to his project list.

Solomon. An angst weapon prototype developed to take you out. But why the mirror? Was it another hint? However, as you are busy mulling over the details, you don't notice the intensifying glow of the gems as well as the arcane hum of energy before it's too late.

A flash of arcane energy and the cracking of glass fill your senses like a flashbang.

A labored breath escapes your lips as your senses return to you. You're on your hands on knees, Hauteclere a mere arm's length away from you. But that didn't matter to you. You found yourself within the familiar streets of Neon city. You grit your teeth, desperate to curse his name as rain begins to pour. However, not a single drop touches your worn body. Glance back to Hauteclere to see heeled black boots mere inches away from the weapon. The boots' owner huddles down beside you, still holding the umbrella aloft, protecting you but not herself from the rain.

You glance at her face, instantly recognizing her soft features.

Dami

But you could tell from the look in her eye that she didn't recognize you one bit despite being in the city limits a few days prior. She smiles ever so slightly before offering you a hand to help you to your feet. Not a single word is spoken between the two of you. Part of you wants to question the girl about the Neon Ruler's intentions. But the unfamiliarity in her eyes causes you to hesitate.

"The Ars Paulina didn't mention how attractive you were," She says, offering a chocolate bar. "But it did mention you have a sweet tooth. Apologies, this was the best I could manage on short notice."

You take the confectionery, amused by the gesture, before looking back at the girl. That's before you feel the lack of resonance with your muse. It was gone. Something was wrong. You reach out for the rain. The war was nothing more than a friendly skirmish, right?

The water drips down your hand, the clear liquid answering your question but raises more. You had been hoping to see the familiar neon liquid—a sign of his leadership in the city. But that too was absent just like him and your muse.

Your instincts take hold as you call your blade to your hand to deflect bullets as if they were arrows. It would appear you were stronger in Neon City than you'd previously thought. Your eyes narrow at the unknown assailant. Another flurry of bullets. However, you decided that playing defensive was no longer an option this time. That didn't mean you were going to leave Dami to die.

You flip over a nearby dumpster for the girl to use as cover. The decaying rotten contents spill out, assaulting your senses.

You glance at the girl. "Stay," You say while absentmindedly deflecting the projectiles. The girl nods wordlessly. Her mind is lost in your inhuman display of power.

You dash after the assailant between strokes and swings of your sword, choosing to use your newfound strength and speed to draw the gunfire upwards by running up the side of the alleyway. The shots become increasingly inaccurate, the gunman not expecting you to have such verticality in your repertoire. You begin bouncing between the walls like a panther leaping from tree to tree. The gunman quickly loses sight of you, allowing you to assess the situation further as well as gather intel on your wannabe assailant.

Long black hair. She was wearing a suit much like the one Dami was wearing. Two gun holsters as well as some strange mark on her left hand. You hop to another vantage point to get a better view. This time getting much closer.

The smell of brimstone and sulfur fills your lungs as you watch her blue ignite into a fiery red. The smell of searing flesh begins to follow soon after as you watch the mark start to burn into her skin. Demonic possession? Or was it something else? You knew the Hex Paladin would know for sure. But you didn't have time to overthink.

You leap into the air, not wanting your victim to get some unfair demonic advantage over you. But, unfortunately, she spots you gliding through the air, forcing you to deflect arcane hell bullets mid-flight. But you wouldn't let that stop you from hitting your mark. Your blade eats at the fire bullets feeding on the supernatural energy, leaving you perfectly protected from the arcane assault as your drive the sword through her heart. Finally, her body collapses beneath you, and you realize far too late who it is beneath you. The Knight and the pirate would have your head.

You watch as the demonic influence fades from her, and a gasp of air escapes her lips. No blood. Strange. Not the typical response you got from giving someone a fatal wound.

"Siyeon, are you okay!" Dami calls out, forcing you to get off the girl. You withdraw the blade to find no hint of blood on the weapon. Not even a scratch on the blade from using it as a makeshift shield. You feel the dull edge of the blade. You had forgotten that Hauteclere was meant to be nothing more than a glorified decoration. But perhaps it had its own secrets.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't expect the Monarch to kick my ass so quickly," She says, struggling to her feet. You awkwardly help the woman to her feet.

"May I ask what's going on here?" Your words are a lot more eloquent than before. But to be fair, you weren't in the heat of battle. Siyeon glares at Dami.

"You didn't tell them what was going?" She says before the realization dawns on her, "Wait, that means I could have actually died."

Dami softly punches her in the shoulder. "It's your fault for just opening fire like that. Your lucky that Hauteclere can't harm the innocent." She says as Siyeon attempts to feel for the chest wound she should have.

"No wonder I can't hear Mark complaining," She says, an amused grin on her face.

"You know you really should call your familiar by its proper name," Dami interjects. Siyeon glances at you, scanning you up and down, a teasing smirk forming on her lips.

"Well, not everyone gets such an attractive familiar like you do. Besides, Marchosias isn't my familiar; I'm technically his." She says a blush creeps onto your cheeks. She looks like she has more to say on the matter, but she's quickly interrupted by the sound of a text notification. She and Dami withdraw a pair of old flip phones.

"The Director wants us in the briefing room," Dami says before looking at you. You did find it strange how the two of them did just talk like you weren't here. But you suppose now wasn't the time for answers; after all, who knew what dangers lie in Neon City without their Paladin.

Dami offers you a handshake. "You'll get your answers," She says, almost reading your mind. You take her hand and shake it.

"Welcome to Solomon"

A/N: While I planned to release this with the other project introductions on Christmas. But the ping pong special clip happened, and I got the sweetest ask from my favorite Paladin don't tell the others I said that.

Now Blackspot and the others should still be receiving their introductions on Christmas. As for what I'm gonna do for @panda-writes-kpop on actual Christmas, you'll have to wait and see. But before you ask, NCK will be my primary focus. So I've just got to get ahead in my releases, and hopefully, I'll just release project chapters as they're ready, but we'll see.

#dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher x reader #dami x reader #dami scenarios #dami imagines #dreamcatcher au #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher siyeon #dreamcatcher x reader scenarios

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sometipsygnostalgic · 3 years

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Steven Universe - How the show fails to handle emotion, irrationality, and trauma

I have a better understanding of why SU is the way it is now. Why it is very dramatic, and why the characters often act in ways that are entirely out of proportion

When making a critical post about the handling of Flame Princess in Adventure Time, /u/samhadj01 attributed part of the problem to be that Rebecca Sugar was responsible for Flame Princess’s conceptualizing, and wrote her and Finn the same way that she writes SU characters - in a heightened emotional state, where they are feeling the EXTREMES of their emotions at all times, yelling at the top of their voice when angry, crying their eyes out when sad, and hurting each other. The reddit user said this made it difficult for the writers to figure out where to take Flame Princess next.

I challenged this reddit post’s claim that Rebecca writing FP’s first episodes meant that the crew didn’t know what to do with her. There is a lot of oversight in the AT crew, and Rebecca was just one cog in the wheel, even if she was full of ideas that ended up getting used. If she came up with a bad idea it would be the responsibility of her colleagues to put it back on track, and I don’t even think FP’s initial portrayal is the problem - the issue is she was completely marginalized after the fact, and bizarrely rewritten to lose her early immaturity without there being enough progression into that new stage. Following this she was basically written out of the show, with the exception of when she’d be useful to show off another character’s development (Finn, PB, even Cinnamon Bun).

WITH THAT BEING SAID, I thought Samhadj made a good point about SU.

Rebecca Sugar always loved writing music into her stories because it was the purest form of expression. You can hear how much love she puts into her music. She wanted to create a show where she could really sell emotions, where she could fill it up with songs that the characters would sing to express themselves and their troubled feelings. She wanted all the characters to be expressive, emotional, angry. She wanted Steven to be a character that helps everyone else learn to deal with their emotions, much like how her brother Steven helped her, as she’s said before.

The issue is that, in order to facilitate this, she would need to write characters who would BE in these conflicts, feel heightened emotions at all times.

So Rebecca conceptualized the gem species.

Even though they take the form of adults, the gems are incredibly stunted. They remain the same for thousands of years. They are not equipped to process emotional trauma, having lived in a society where you have to cover up all your flaws and feelings at the risk of being shattered. The show follows several Crystal Gems who rebelled against this system, but still haven’t figured out what it means to be free from this systematic oppression. They’re trying to live peacefully, but they’re prisoners still, in their hearts.

Steven is the catalyst for change that points out the things that upset them, and forces them to deal with their emotions. He acts as emotional support and encourages the crystal gems to grow. Steven also has much growing up to do himself. He has to confront the truth about what it means to BE a crystal gem, to have inherited the gem of the person who started the revolution, and Steven over time learns how messed up everything is. He is overcome with the desire to fix it, while still learning about himself.

Why is this sort of storytelling a problem?

For the characters to have heightened emotions all the time, it means they have to keep getting in conflicts that reveal these emotions. It is these conflicts that make the show feel overdramatic and edgy - how characters will lash out and hurt each other, all the time, because they had a bad day, or something reminded them of something that hurt them.

More urgently, who they are lashing out against. While the Crystal Gems hurting each other in season 1 makes sense, it is when they start taking things out on Steven himself that things become straight up toxic.

Steven has to bear the brunt of EVERYONE’s problems, AND his own. He chases after Pearl in “Rose’s Scabbard” and nearly falls to his death while she ignores him, he fights with Amethyst when she is insecure about Jasper, he has to deal with Ruby and Sapphire’s fighting. He has to deal with all the townies and their stupid conflicts as well, Lars and Sadie’s fighting, so on. And ON TOP OF ALL THIS, people are trying to kill him all the time!!!!! But he is getting absolutely no meaningful support, and this is obvious, because the show itself acknowledges this later on.

You start to ask the question, is this even worth doing? The characters around Steven display incredible immaturity, and after a certain point, they stop feeling like heroes. They feel like leeches who are taking advantage of a young boy.

Things get RIDICULOUS in the final season. Even after the episodes where Amethyst acknowledged the shitty status quo of everyone leaning on him, Steven then has to deal with the emotional problems of the Diamonds themselves, who it turns out lashed out the entire GALAXY because they didn’t know how to talk about their feelings?! For millions of years?!?! To be turned around by one teenage boy, even after a revolution where many of their gems expressed why they were wrong???!!!

I think it was these final episodes of Steven Universe that completely shattered any remaining suspension of disbelief about the diamonds.

I’m no alien to ancient, immortal characters in charge of millions demonstrating incredible immaturity. Look at Princess Bubblegum and Marceline. Marceline would lean closer to the Amethyst side of the spectrum where she lashes out against everyone, while PB would be on the Pearl or Diamonds side where she’d pretend to act all rational and coolheaded and then do something insanely bad like crash a wedding or manipulate children. Pretty yikes, even up to the finale. However, the difference is that AT is a more lighthearted wacky show where immaturity can slide for jokes, and most of the issues these characters have are inward facing. They identify and work on their problems themselves, with some support but not much interference from outside. They also do NOT act crazy all the damn time, and have plenty of moments before, during, and after their development where they are fully supportive friends. I enjoyed learning more about these characters and their pasts, because the immaturity never broke my suspension of disbelief.

The DIAMONDS, on the other hand, never get any sort of character development. I was excited to learn more about their creation, and how they came to be these insanely powerful beings that controlled a fascist society where emotion is not allowed. Why is it this way? Why do they want to keep it like this?

We never find out. We just see Steven embarrassing White Diamond after she attempts to murder him, and then she immediately goes full 180 redemption. It makes no damn sense!

Steven Universe Future attempts to address the issues with everyone Steven knows being emotionally dependent on him, but Future forgoes genuine themes about healing in favour of its edgy focus on how Steven has become “damaged”.

I was shocked watching SU Future’s first few episodes. I was astounded that the show would deconstruct itself so thoroughly, and have Steven address the exact things that were on MY mind. He realised that he’d been used.

How ballsy is that for the show to have the protagonist literally tear it to pieces in the final few episodes?

However, any hopes for Steven directly addressing these issues, communicating with his friends and HEALING were dashed about half way through, when he only kept escalating. Steven got so outraged that he shattered Jasper, and attempted to kill White Diamond while also injuring himself. He started to see himself as a monster. He becomes a murderer. He turns into a kaiju at the end since that’s how his perception of himself is different.

I was really disappointed that the show had wasted its entire runtime to build this up.

The emotion that Rebecca Sugar was trying to capture was Steven’s pain, anger, the disconnect he had with his friends.

Future did not spend ANY time in demonstrating that Steven’s friends were acknowledging his pain. In fact, quite the opposite - they kept dismissing all of his feelings about Ruby and Aquamarine, and Greg was revealed as The Literal Worst when he thought his perfectly normal conservative upbringing was way worse than Steven literally getting tortured by aliens every other day and having no friends or education. When Steven has his breakdown, they all cROWD him and start yelling at him. They have absolutely no regard for Steven’s boundaries at all. It’s almost like Steven’s friends are P-zombies at this stage.

I did not like how Steven was portrayed as a dangerous, out-of-control killer. It’s not just that he SAW himself as this - it’s literally what he was. You can do bad things because of your trauma, but it won’t turn you into a monster. If you act like a monster, that is your responsibility.

And then the series ends with the hug, but we do not see Steven’s actual healing process or reconnecting with his friends. We only get a brief goodbye episode.

After watching Obsidian, I cannot help but compare these scenarios. Obsidian was about Marceline healing from her emotional trauma. It was still very much a part of her, but she was learning to recognise when it was damaging her life, and communicate with others about it. It’s about learning to accept your cracks.

If SU Future had been about dealing with trauma properly and healing, it could have been the best series on Cartoon Network, and fully redeemed the weaknesses of the original show.

However, Rebecca and the SU crew decided to focus too much on Steven’s pain, and Future ended up exacerbating the issues of the show.

#steven universe #steven universe future #adventure time

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tact-and-impulse · 4 years

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Basically, since I saw the novel translation that Akane meets with Kougami’s mom, my mind ran wild with speculation. Spoilers for up to First Inspector.

Stouthearted

Tomoyo is accustomed to living alone. Wake up, brush her teeth, have breakfast, check the news offered by her AI secretary.

The golden starfish cheerfully spins as it announces her Hue. “Mint green!”

“Thank you, Hoshiko.” She finishes her coffee, the bottom of the cup sweeter than the rest. She has a lengthy schedule for the weekend but just before she can bring it up, there’s a knock at her door, loud enough to scare Hoshiko into vanishing.

She fastens her bathrobe and runs a hand through her unruly hair. No one’s visited her in a long time. Uncertain and cautious, she only opens the door a crack, enough to see who this stranger is. “Hello?”

“Good morning!” Her visitor is a young woman, whose face is briefly obscured when she bows in greeting. Behind her, a storage drone patiently waits. “I’m sorry to disturb you. Inspector Tsunemori, from the Public Safety Bureau.” She holds up her ID in confirmation. “Are you Kougami Tomoyo-san?”

“Yes…please, come in.” Tomoyo pulls the door further. It’s best that whatever conversation will follow, it should happen inside.

“Ah, just a moment.” Tsunemori unlocks the drone and removes a box from the metal interior, almost too big for her to carry.

“Do you need help?”

“N-no, I’ve got it.” She sets it down and sighs with relief as Tomoyo closes the door.

“I know who you are.”

“Eh?”

“Well, a little.” She concedes. “Shinya called me now and then, and your name came up often. He said you were a good boss.”

It’s comforting to put a face to the name, and she does look young, but tragedy colors a person in a specific, indelible way. Tomoyo recognizes it as Tsunemori’s gaze clouds over. Her answer is strained. “Not as good as I would have liked to be.”

An awkward pause follows, before Tomoyo offers. “I was finishing breakfast. Would you like anything?” Even as she asks, she heads into the kitchen and grabs a cup.

“I don’t want to bother you-”

“No, not at all. It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest, so I apologize for the clutter. Tea? Coffee?”

Tsunemori gives a little smile. “Coffee, please. And I don’t mind, my apartment is far from organized. Oh.”

“What is it?”

“I just realized I might have made things worse for you. Um, the box has books and clothes. Personal items. Not the dishes though, the Bureau took them for reuse. Anyway, I thought, since you’re his mother, you would like his things.” The girl is very nervous, stumbling over her words, but she doesn’t break eye contact. It reassures Tomoyo.

“I would. Thank you very much.” She softly replies. “For now, unpacking can wait. Have a seat.”

They sit across from one another, Tomoyo having refilled her own cup halfway. She’s unsure of what to discuss; there must be protocol to adhere to, and she doesn’t want to make things more difficult for Tsunemori.

Thankfully, Tsunemori speaks first. “I’m sorry, if I interrupted any plans.”

“Nothing urgent. When you live alone for a long time, plans become flexible. I should be the one apologizing, if you’re on the clock.”

“No, it’s okay. I haven’t taken time off before, and this had to be done.”

Hm. She decides Tsunemori isn’t bad.

They sort through the box together. Tomoyo doesn’t recognize most of the books, the titles unfamiliar. The clothes also seem foreign, tinged with bitter cigarette smoke. She never did approve of that habit, and she frowns as she piles the different articles around her. And yet…underneath the acrid smell, it still smells like her boy.

One of the bulkier items is a fur-lined coat, something for the winter months. She sees the way the girl’s fingertips brush over the collar, how her eyes become weighted with melancholy.

“You can keep it.”

“Eh?” Tsunemori looks up at her, startled.

“I can’t keep everything in my place, and besides, you were his boss. Thank you for looking after my son.”

Tsunemori murmurs a half-hearted protest, but she folds the jacket in her lap. It goes with her when she leaves, and Tomoyo assumes that’s the end.

***

But it isn’t. Tsunemori continues to visit, every month or so. Each time is fairly short, enough to drink tea or coffee together. She’s a sweet young lady, unfailingly polite and conversational. They talk about nonconsequential things. The weather, novels, cooking tips. The latter proves to be a bountiful topic, since Tsunemori is inexperienced.

Once, Tomoyo asks about her work. She’s curious if anything’s changed since Shinya was an Inspector. It really hasn’t, and it doesn’t surprise Tomoyo, yet she can’t help but feel disappointed.

In turn, she describes a little of her job, that she analyzes data sent from the local hospital. The majority of her work is remote. She does not share why, though she’s certain Tsunemori can guess. Although the Sybil System can insist it only punishes criminals, family inevitably suffers too. They are carriers of some insidious factor or ticking bombs of the same defective nature but with longer fuses.

Tsunemori also doesn’t ask, though she receives an interrupting message. “Something just came up. I’ll see you later…Kougami-san.” It’s not the first time she’s hesitated addressing Tomoyo.

“Please, ‘Tomoyo-san’ is fine.”

She visibly relaxes. “Then, you can use my name too. It’s Akane.”

“Akane-chan it is.” And for the first time in a while, her smile feels natural.

***

On a rare night, she wakes up crying.

Hoshiko, dimmer in night mode, hovers over her. “Your Hue is Aquamarine. Would you like mental care?”

“This is my mental care. Tears are like stagnant water; sometimes, they need to flow out to feel better.” Satoru told her that once. She couldn’t remember where he read it from, but in moments like now, she could easily recall his voice. “And tears tire me out, I’ll go to sleep soon.” She forcibly shuts the AI down and dabs at her swollen eyes.

It takes an hour, but she does fall asleep again. In the morning, she dusts Shinya’s old room.

***

On her visits, Akane offers to help around the house, but she insists that the younger woman sit and relax.

“It’s enough that you keep an old lady like me company.”

“You’re not so old, Tomoyo-san.”

She gives Akane a flat stare. “But you must have friends your age, or a boyfriend or a girlfriend.”

“I do have friends, we meet up sometimes. As for a boyfriend, I’m too busy for one.” She pauses. “I hope your husband doesn’t mind me intruding.”

She’s perplexed for a moment before she remembers the steel band on her finger. “Oh, this isn’t a wedding ring.” Out of habit, she gives it a twist. “It’s an old gift from Shinya’s father, Satoru. We grew up on the same street, although he was ahead of me by two years. He helped me in my literature classes. Shinya has his father’s scholarliness. Always reading, always thinking inward.” She remembers glancing up from her essays, light pouring from her childhood bedroom window, to steal looks at Satoru’s thoughtful profile.

“It sounds like you still think highly of him.” Akane carefully says.

“I always will. When I was young, they had just introduced the compatibility matches. Satoru and I were a good match, but he had a better one with someone else. A rich girl, in the city across the lake. He left by boat to speak to the family in person, to explain that he couldn’t accept, but there was a bad storm. He drowned.”

There had been an investigation, a pair of detectives who had questioned her. In hindsight, they were very kind to her, but she was aggravated and terse and though she didn’t know it at the time, hormonal.

“You must have been very upset.” Akane softly says.

“My Psycho-Pass was…volatile. Crime Coefficients were not available then, and I’m not sure what mine would have been. But after I found out I was pregnant, I committed myself to living for the child.”

Her son was born in the dark, cold, early time before sunrise. Towards the end of her labor, she had been so exhausted, it took effort to breathe. Her eyelids felt weighted when the doctor urged her to see her baby. One look upon Shinya’s squalling little face, and she was no longer tired.

“My parents helped before they passed. Satoru’s family had pushed him to accept the other woman, so we weren’t close. But they sent money to Shinya, at least until he was an adult.” They cut off ties completely after his Hue clouded. “And now, he has no one, wherever he is.”

Tsunemori’s expression is troubled, but she doesn’t speak.

It’s been one year since her son vanished into the outside world. She wonders if he’s eating enough.

***

She dreams of traversing her high school’s corridors. She doesn’t know why she’s here. The faces of long-gone teachers and classmates blur around her. She has to leave, she can’t stay, though she doesn’t know why. She decides that it’s because Satoru isn’t here. The hallways seem so much longer, and the stairs widen at an exaggerated angle. Other students crowd around her, and it’s agonizing to finally reach the exit at the ground floor.

She opens the door, and runs headlong into the rehabilitation facility’s visiting area, almost colliding against the glass screen that separates her from her boy. Shinya’s in white robes, his face gaunt and unshaven. When he looks up at her, his eyes are shadowed from lack of sleep. His darkened Hue floats above his head, and she relives this memory, the dread of learning her son’s become a latent criminal.

He smiles at her in recognition, but it quickly turns bitter. “Sorry, Mama.”

***

“Your Hue is very clear. That’s quite surprising. Most parents in your situation fare worse.” Her therapist marvels.

“I do what I can. I get by.”

“Well, I think you can excel in group therapy.” A short explanation follows. “The advantages are well-documented. I believe you’d be a good addition. You can take your time to think it over.”

She’s given a pamphlet, which she pockets and leaves on her kitchen table. It stays there while she’s eating. This time last year, she would have thrown it away by now. She’s been self-sufficient for so long, it’s become her gut instinct to reject anything that disrupted her carefully crafted solitude. However…Akane’s presence has reminded her it could be pleasant to talk to other people. Healing.

She’ll go once, and then she can reevaluate if she needs to. After dinner, she has Hoshiko add group therapy to her schedule.

***

“You smell like cigarettes.” Tomoyo points out. “Have you picked up smoking?”

“Not exactly.” Akane looks embarrassed. “I just light them and leave them on an ashtray.”

“Secondhand smoke is still dangerous.”

“It isn’t too often. Only to help me think.” The connection to Shinya is blatantly obvious. Not for the first time, Tomoyo wonders what their relationship was. From what she recalled, Shinya had thought well of Akane; he had said she had an optimistic perspective and a detective’s instincts. Once, he mentioned she was kind. That was high praise from him. Tomoyo couldn’t forget it.

“I didn’t like it when Shinya started and I still don’t.” She bluntly says. “But as long as you’re careful, I won’t say any more.”

Akane nods. It’s not a promise to quit.

***

There’s a period of time when Akane doesn’t visit for three months. When she finally knocks on Tomoyo’s door, she’s welcomed with open arms.

“How are you doing, Akane-chan? I assumed your work was keeping you busy.”

“It was.” She stares blankly for a moment, before she crumples and begins to cry.

Immediately, Tomoyo helps her in and sits her down in the nearest chair. She grabs a tissue box and pushes it toward Akane, as she murmurs. “There, there. Take your time.”

Eventually, after a handful of wadded tissues, she’s able to speak. “…My grandmother passed away.”

“I’m sorry. You said you were close to her.”

She nods. “It was…very sudden.”

“Have you had mental care?”

“I have. My Hue’s alright. It still feels difficult though.” She looks so young, and Tomoyo remembers she’s only twenty-two.

“It might feel that way for a while, but it should pass. Your grandmother wouldn’t want you to suffer for her sake.” She reassures. She brings tea and water and crackers, while Akane recovers herself.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Any time.”

Before Akane leaves, she seems pensive, in the way a question is brewing in her mind. But she doesn’t, only reiterating her gratitude. Tomoyo suspects she was going to inquire about how she copes. In truth, she doesn’t have a definitive mechanism. Maybe, she’s just accustomed to carrying the pain, so tightly embedded in her Hue that not even Sybil can filter it out.

***

“Even artificial flowers brighten up the place, hm?” Tomoyo says out loud, as she arranges a vivid bouquet in a vase. There is no reply from the porch. Sae stares emptily into the distance, the wind ruffling her hair.

Now that Nobuchika-kun’s become an Enforcer, he reluctantly requested that should she happen to be near Okinawa, that Tomoyo visit his mother. “She always seems a little better after she’s had company.”

Tomoyo wasn’t confident, but she wasn’t in a position to judge and she trusts Nobuchika-kun. Her work had no issue with extending her trip by a day, since it was for mental care. Well, she never said who it was for, but as long as it was to help someone else, she had no qualms about bending the truth.

Satisfied with her work, she steps out into the fresh air. She adjusts the blanket over the woman’s lap, though it’s hard to tell if she’s comfortable. A set of beautifully crafted chimes sways and emits a haunting melody. Sae doesn’t react, and Tomoyo feels an irrational anger. They’re not alike at all. She could never imagine being in such a state, she’d rather be dead. But it wasn’t Sae’s fault either. The other woman never asked to be like this, not her or the other eustress victims.

Tomoyo sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good companion. But…we do have something in common. We’re among the countless women in history who were left behind by the men we love.” Akane’s face also pops into her mind.

Movement in her peripheral vision draws her attention. Sae’s lips purse, as if she’s about to speak. But her expression relaxes again into a blank slate.

Her hands itch with the need to do something useful, so Tomoyo takes hold of Sae’s wheelchair. “Let’s go for a stroll. The weather’s so nice, isn’t it?”

At the end of the day, she tucks Sae into bed. The woman falls asleep almost instantly, like a child. Tomoyo leaves her be, with the drones to care for her.

***

“I met him in Shamballa.”

Tomoyo’s throat goes dry, as emotion floods over her. “How is he?”

Akane smiles. “He’s well. He’s alive and intact, the last time I saw him. He’s on the move, helping people. I told him I visit you, and he said thank you. And that you never show any weakness.”

Shinya’s alive. Four long years, and finally, she has something to hold onto. “As long as he’s still breathing, that’s enough for me.”

“I thought you would say that.” Her good humor slips. “I wasn’t able to bring him back though.”

She reaches out, to reassuringly pat Akane’s back. “To be honest with you, that might be for the best. As much as I want to see him, his Psycho-Pass…”

“I know. I just wish there was a way. And now that I’ve met him again, I don’t think I can give up. I’ll keep trying, Tomoyo-san.”

A thank you pales in comparison to the intensity of her determination, so Tomoyo bows her head. “I believe you can. In the meantime, we’ll wait. We’ve already done plenty of that, haven’t we?”

“Yes.” Akane agrees. “But I hope not for too much longer.”

***

Her son is home.

He’s more solid now, but his face hasn’t really changed. Her nose wrinkles at the tobacco clinging to his clothes; she hugs him tightly anyway.

“Hi, Mama.” He says, and she fights back tears. She won’t cry in front of him, or Akane, or their friends looking on. And definitely not out in a driveway. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone.”

“I’m just glad you’re here.” She answers, ignoring her clogged sinuses. “And I haven’t been alone, not in a long time. Akane-chan’s been visiting me.”

“Akane-chan?” He repeats. His eyes dart to Akane, brows lifting. “That’s funny, I didn’t hear about that either.”

“Well, now you know.” She beams. “Come inside, Tomoyo-san.”

As he takes her jacket, Shinya mutters. “She calls you ‘Tomoyo-san’, Mama.”

“And?”

“I don’t get that same treatment.”

“If it upsets you, you should do something about it.” She dryly responds. Her son’s unamused expression makes her laugh, and she pats his cheek as she heads for Akane’s living room.

There’s a pair of women who she’s met today, sitting on the opposite couch. They’re friendly enough but she’s most familiar with Nobuchika-kun, who strikes up a conversation with her. His countenance lightens every time she sees him. He’s changed very much since his school days with Shinya, and she’s as proud of him as if he were her own.

She’s happy. Truly, unbelievably happy.

In the kitchen, Akane is making coffee for everyone, and Shinya’s stepped over to help her out. She’s never seen them together before, and now that she has, it’s like they’re tethered by a gravitational pull. It stirs the romantic in her to life after so long.

It is also the last time they meet for many months.

***

In the ensuing whirlwind of events, Tomoyo does her best to occupy herself. Group therapy has helped in that regard. She’s taken more of a mediating position as of late. It’s not long before an unfamiliar couple joins the monthly session. They introduce themselves with the name Tsunemori, and Tomoyo maintains a stoic expression. She treats them neutrally, trying to parse them out. They’re about what she expected: subdued and fearful of uncertainty, especially with regards to Akane.

Afterwards, she takes her time putting on her coat, watching everyone else walk out. When the Tsunemoris emerge, she strides a little ahead, so she can turn to them and speak.

“Your daughter’s strong. Have faith in her.” They blink at her in confusion, but she continues. “She’s helped me so much. If you have time, would you like to have tea?”

***

She calls him after washing her breakfast dishes. “Today’s the day, right?”

“Yeah, finally.”

She can hear the restrained impatience in Shinya’s voice and smiles. “Is your car clean?”

“Mama.”

“I don’t want Akane-chan to be driven out of that place in a dirty car.”

“Of course not. Don’t worry.” He grumbles.

“Well, I do. She’s like the daughter I don’t have.”

“…working on it.”

“What was that?” Of course, she knew what he said, but she wanted to hear him say it clearer.

“Nothing. We’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

She purses her lips. “We’ll talk more then. Have fun, be safe.”

He sighs, but his reply is fond. “Alright. See you later.” The call ends.

Hoshiko announces her Hue for the day. “Powder blue! Would you like me to pull up your shopping list?”

“In fifteen minutes. Thank you.” The starfish blinks out and she exhales. She’s alone, but not for long. She finishes her coffee with a smile.

#psycho pass #shinkane #very slightly #also references my shinkaneweek fics

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gingerteaonthetardis · 4 years

Note

Rose gets a nose piercing.

this isn’t the prompt i said i’d post, but i sat down and wrote this thing in one sitting, completely unexpectedly. also, anon, i’m... fairly certain i wrote something completely different than you intended. but i can’t help myself. have some ninerose.

p.s. i have two of the three piercings rose gets, and they were fairly painless. but i’ve heard the third is not quite so nice.

read on ao3.

𝕊𝕦𝕣𝕖

The guy standing behind the glass display case is kind of hot.

Rose isn’t the only person who thinks this, apparently. There’s a bouncy little blonde girl lingering off to the side of the counter. Is she waiting in some sort of one-person line? Does she work here? Did she see the banging hot piercer through the shop window, decide, “What the hell, I’d let him put a needle in me!” and just wander in?

If she did, Rose can’t exactly blame her.

Because, okay—he’s very hot.

That is, he’s very obviously too old for her, and he’s frowning at the bubbly blonde like she’s the sole cause of every problem he’s ever had in his life, but he’s doing it gorgeously. He’s got those true-blue eyes that remind Rose of aquamarine gemstones or the light slicing through clear water or something else equally clichéd. He’s got two armfuls of tattoos, twisting up around his forearms in a series of images that she wants to stare at—even if she won’t, because she’s polite and he’s a professional—before disappearing into his pushed-up cuffs. And his voice—

“You’ll have to schedule an appointment,” the guy says firmly, staring down the potential-customer. His voice is brusque and Northern. “I’m booked for the afternoon, Lynda.” The girl looks disappointed, but not surprised as she turns away from the counter, her eyes momentarily skimming over Rose with an envious expression. There’s something in it that Rose can’t identify. Hunger, maybe.

Rose realizes she’s hovering in the doorway when the girl—that is, Lynda—pauses in front of her, and she very nearly trips out of the way, allowing the dejected blonde to exit. The quiet jangle of a bell signals that she is now alone in the shop—alone with him, and she wonders exactly what she’s gonna do, now that she’s standing inside—right where he can see her, his eyes glinting like the stones beneath the glass. Narrowed and intent.

She hasn’t made an appointment.

“Hi, I’m Rose,” she greets, awkwardly shuffling forward onto the old Persian rug that adorns the main part of the tattoo and piercing parlor. It’s thick and plush and she imagines it would be nice to walk over barefoot—and she doesn’t know why that’s the thing that comes to mind, with the tall, broad, tattooed bloke staring at her. “Sorry,” she adds. “I don’t have an appointment. It, er, said online that you took walk-ins and—”

His expression cracks for just a second. It doesn’t quite soften, really, but he somehow doesn’t look so grumpy either. “You don’t need an appointment,” he replies. And then he’s quiet again. No explanation.

So, she didn’t need an appointment, but Lynda—whoever she was—did? Rose’s brow furrows at the seeming injustice of the situation.

The guy almost smiles, then. At her frown, like he finds her dismay amusing. How odd.

“Ex-girlfriend,” he clips out, his jaw working steadily. “She needs an appointment.”

“Right.” She nods, some of the tension releasing. But she still feels a bit shy of approaching the piercing case, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s the way the man’s heavy blue eyes track her movements across the room, hawk-like and attentive. She wanders over to one wall instead and looks up, to where a framed print of some flash tattoos hang; they’re all based on constellations. A lady in chains—Andromeda. Two children on the back of a leaping ram—Aries. A regal-looking dog with piercing eyes, almost a wolf—Canis Major. The art style is simple, and yet, Rose can’t take her eyes off of the figures.

“Did you do these?”

He nods, and her eyes return to the print. Down in the corner is a little signature, simple and contained within a precise circle. The name Jonathan Noble.

“Piercing or tattoo?” Jonathan Noble says, after she’s been silent for too long.

It’s funny—Rose isn’t normally an anxious person. She’s still in her early twenties, young and brash and careless by nature, and she’s wanted to get this done for years now, ever since Keisha got hers. And he’s just a bloke like any other, even if he’s tall and tattooed and desperately hot. Not scary. But she has to take a breath and blows it out before answering. “I was thinking… a nose ring?” It comes out as a question, and the guy’s lips curl on one side.

“You don’t sound sure.”

She blinks. “I am sure.”

“All right.” He nods, taking her at her word, though she feels a flash of irritation that he hadn’t the first time. Or had it been a joke? Gesturing down at the case, he interrupts her thoughts. “Come pick your stud, then.”

The rather obvious word association makes Rose blush. But she steps up to the counter and looks down at the glimmering studs. Some are simple—just plain metal, or with a single small stone. Some are larger, with multiple gems arranged in delicate starbursts, colorful flowers, tapered teardrops. They’re all gorgeous. But her eye is caught by a smaller piece of jewelry: a single stone, deep navy blue with tiny chips of light emerging from its facets, tiny seams of color, like a rainbow has been caught and scattered within it. It reminds her of the night sky, of the photos taken by long-range telescopes. She points down and says, confidently, “That one.”

She waits a long moment for him to prod her. To ask if she’s sure.

But when she looks back up, his lips are tilted up in a small smile. “Good choice.”

She comes back less than a month later.

“Hullo, Rose,” Jon greets. He catches sight of her the second she walks through the door, the little bell jangling behind her, and doesn’t look away. She brushes her shoes off on the welcome mat before stepping forward onto the Persian rug. “How’s the stud treating you?”

“Good!” She pushes her hands deeper into her pockets, fending off the residual winter chill. And her blush. She knows it’s just a more accurate word for “nose ring,” but bloody hell, does he have to look like that while he says it? “Like it so much, I came back for more.”

“Yeah?” His eyes brighten, and she can’t help but wonder why he’s so nice to her when he has no reason to be. When, for all intents and purposes, he mostly seems like a giant grump. Or, like he wants people to think he’s a giant grump. “What am I punching a hole in this time?”

“Gross.” Rose’s nose wrinkles at the unpleasant imagery, but she can’t help smiling anyway. “How about my navel?”

Jon leans forward, his elbows dropping to the display case, his long forearms stretching across the glass. She can make out a series of circles that look like planets, like the solar system, connected by dotted lines and flight paths. Are there little numbers on the line? Measurements of distance? Before she knows it, she’s walking right up to the glass with the intent to examine his tattoos.

“You don’t sound sure,” he says seriously. She looks up, and his expression is wolfish.

Rose’s lips stretch wider. “I am sure.”

And she is.

Eight weeks later, she passes out on his piercing table.

When she comes to, the first thing to swim into view is Jon—his sharp cheekbones and his bright blue eyes. He’s shaking his head, looking mildly amused even if his pale face gives it away: he was worried. How long was she out?

“Told you it would hurt,” Jon chides, his arms crossed against his chest. She can make out the edge of Saturn’s rings up near his elbow and, beyond it, a trail of stardust. Around the planet, the sky is a hazy navy-black that reminds her of looking up from the roof of her old flat, on the estate. Where she’d almost been able to make out the speckle of stars on clear nights.

It takes a few moments for her to catch her breath and for her to stop gritting her teeth. It takes even longer for her to realize that one of her arms is stretched off of the table, taut—her fingers like claws, embedded in his muscular, denim-clad thighs. Which—she shouldn’t know he has muscular thighs, obviously, because it’s totally inappropriate knowledge. Her eyes drift over, making note of it all: the black denim, the way her bloodless fingers grasp him. God, he must think she’s mental.

It takes all her willpower to un-clench each individual finger and to let her hand drop away from him, her shaking muscles leaving the limb to hang.

“That was awful,” she clips out, half-laughing, half-groaning. She can feel the little metal stud move; she is aware of it every time she takes a breath. Every inch of her exposed chest feels chilled except for one little pin-prick of blazing heat and pain that makes her want to scream.

Jon chuckles. And then his eyes skim down her body in a professional, assessing sort of way that still makes a flush rise in the hollow of her throat, climbing up her neck. “Still want me to do the other one?”

Her face pales, the blood rushing away as fast as it had gathered, running from the prospect of more pain. Swallowing thickly, she grits out one word. “Yeah…”

“You don’t sound sure.”

Rose just glares at him as fiercely as she can, given the tear-tracks that must be running down her cheeks. She can feel her hair plastered to her forehead, and she’s sure she looks as wrecked as she feels, but she holds his gaze, burning up at him until he breaks. His lips twist, and he reaches for the other clamp.

The first tattoo isn’t so bad after that.

It’s the height of summer when she pads out from behind the counter, the soles of her feet brushing over the soft, cozy carpet. It’s probably against some sort of sanitation code or something, for her to be wandering around a tattoo and piercing parlor in her bare feet. But she’s the only “client” Jon has today, and she knows he won’t mind. He never has before.

He’s just finishing cleaning up in the back room, actually, while she stretches her sore muscles. It had been a long session, and she’s a bit tender from where the needles had dug into her skin, over and over, turning her into a living canvas.

Her gaze—and shortly after, her feet—pull her toward the print that still hangs on the far wall. Simple, sharp shapes standing out against the bright white page. Her eyes trace over the familiar constellations. Andromeda, Aries, Cancer… Canis Major. Stories told in such an ancient, human way—painted across a canvas, pictorials. Hieroglyphs. They’re beautiful, and they stir something inside her even now. Something shining.

She only feels him standing behind her when he leans close, his breath fanning over the back of her neck and kicking up gooseflesh. “How’s this one healing?” he asks, his hand brushing over her shoulder to push aside the curtain of her hair. His thumb is gentle as it traces the tattoo. He was the one to put the ink there, and she knows he is possessive of it in the same way that she is of him.

There is a reason she’d gotten that particular tattoo, after all. The shape of something like a wolf. Canis Major. She’d been drawn to it, to its fierceness.

“You’d know better than me, Doctor Ink,” she teases, tilting her head to the side. He huffs out a laugh and then, very softly, presses a kiss to her wolf-adorned shoulder. He touches her so gently, even in the places that aren’t still healing. It’s almost funny, how afraid he is of causing her pain when he’s been the source of so much of it, professionally speaking. But he’s a tender partner. Cautious and kind. It had taken him months to even accept her invitation to drinks.

She turns, lifting her arms and draping them around his neck while his own hands settle unconsciously at her hips, skimming carefully over the fresh tattoo on her left side. He doesn't forget for a moment the discomfort she's in, doesn't even want to cause a flinch. Her heart feels close to bursting.

Rose knows that beneath the collar of his t-shirt, there is a tattoo of a rose. It’s not new; it was there before she met him, but likes it better for being his first tattoo. There's something almost fated about it. It’s still hers, in a way. She presses her cheek to his chest and breathes deep—breathes in the scent of the lemony antiseptic he uses on his tools, breathes in the scent of soap and his own deep skin smell that she can only identify as Jon—before looking back up.

“Hey,” she says softly, pulling his eyes away from the art on the wall. They soften as he gazes down at her and she smiles, the words wavering in her chest. Swallowed up by an emotion she hadn’t expected. An ache. “I am… so glad I met you.”

And Jon smiles. Properly, honestly—he smiles, mischief sparkling in the depths of those aquamarine eyes. It’s an expression so bright and vivid that she’s still adjusting to seeing it on his face. “You don’t sound sure,” he replies.

Rolling her eyes, she pushes up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his full lips. She is barely a breath away when she whispers, “I am sure.”

And she is.

#i have no excuse for this!!#ninerose #ninth doctor #rose tyler #dw #ficlet #timepetals #abbey.txt #for anon

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innocent-dumpling · 4 years

Text

You're The Reason

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandom: Naruto Relationship: ShikaTema A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253157 Summary:

Temari hears that there were fatalities on a recent mission that Shikamaru was on. With his safety remaining unconfirmed how will she react? "Why couldn’t he be lazy like he always wants to be? Just this once.

----- How many weeks had passed since she last saw him? Three or four at least. Sighing heavily, Temari gently rakes her fingertips through her hair, combing thick golden locks into her final ponytail; stormy aquamarine orbs narrow as the blonde jerks it tight with a hair elastic. The frustration was undeniable, here she was in Shikamaru's village and he was nowhere to be seen. Initially, she mused to herself that he must’ve been slacking off somewhere; but the strategist preferred complaining head-on in recent years. Instead, she heard through the grapevine that the newly appointed Hokage had requested his assistance; according to her comrades, he was on an S Class mission as the strategic lead.

“I thought he would be back in time to attend the ambassador summit,” Temari grumbles under her breath; weathered alabaster hands gripping the bathroom vanity as she gazed deeply into the mirror. Taking a deep breath, the kunoichi’s eyes remained fixed on her visage; a small part of her couldn’t help but feel something wasn’t right, usually, she would at least see him wandering around the village after hours. But this time, not a trace; it was highly peculiar. I could just go past his home to see if he’s back. That wouldn’t be odd, would it? She wanders silently, pushing away from the vanity and walking out of the room. There was no doubt that their relationship had become somewhat more complicated since the war had drawn to a close; initially, the pair were comrades as they always had been. He would say something clever or lazy and she poked fun at him, plain and simple; his reactions were always fatigued yet amused despite her comments nearly always being at his expense. As time went on, she slowly found herself trying to avoid spending longer with him than necessary; a feeble attempt to silence the strange flutter in her chest. But nothing she did seemed to deter him from seeking out her company, he even invited her on a date shortly after the conclusion of the war; a shockingly bold move that took her by surprise at the time. Unfortunately, despite the date going quite well, nothing had come of it since due to their hectic schedules; which was irritating to say the least. Fingertips trace across the cold glass window as the kunoichi walks into the main section of her hotel room, peering outside onto the balcony; the calming sound of the rain washing over her as she gazed out into the distance. A kind smile teases at the corners of her lips as she watches locals race through the streets trying to stay out of the wet weather. The gentle rattle of the door handle unlocking immediately seizes her attention, causing the blonde to turn and come face to face with her dripping wet brother; Kankuro. Something wasn’t right, his usually jolly expression is masked by nervous energy, the likes of which she hadn’t seen in quite some time. His eyes momentarily lock with hers before looking elsewhere; “You know how there was that rumour that the fire nation had an S Class mission in operation?” he notes, peeling off his jacket and dropping it in a moist pool at his feet. “Yes, of course I know about that,” Temari states matter-of-factly; arms plaiting across her chest as she looks back at him unsurely. “Where are you going with this?” she urges, heart palpitating as her gaze remains fixed on his visage, Nothing is a secret for very long in this village. “Well, apparently it was focused on hunting down a few of those white Zetsu’s that were missed during the war somehow. I just saw medics rushing to the gate about fifteen minutes ago. There were casualties on that mission,” he blurts out, anxiety building as he spoke. “You don’t think there’s an army of white Zetsu still, do you? I don’t think we could handle another army like that just yet.” In that moment, it felt as if time itself stopped. Her breathing becomes haggard as she struggles to process the information that had just been disclosed and what it might mean. Without even thinking twice about it, Temari find herself rushing out of the hotel room, her shoulder brushing past her sibling’s as she made her way outside. The icy rain showers down upon her, drenching her form as bare feet slammed against the ground; mud squelching between her toes and flicking up her legs as she tried her best to remain somewhat level headed. There was no doubt that her priorities differed to that of both her brothers, that had always been the case. But hearing Kankuro state that news in such a casual and egoistical manner was perturbing. That’s all Kankuro was worried about when lives were lost? After the immense number of deaths they had witnessed during the war, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed; Did he really feel so unphased at the loss of life? Sure, there were moments where death barely phased her too, she was numb to it for the larger part of her life. But now, she actively wanted to prevent it; even if it was an unavoidable danger in her line of work. Rain whips across her form in waves as she rushes onwards, determined to get to the location in question with haste; she needed to know he was alright, waiting around twiddling her thumbs was not an option. After all the time that has elapsed, how has it come to this? Temari wonders to herself. There was so much left unsaid between them that it ached to think about, had she missed the opportunity to thank him for helping bring down her walls? Or to tell him that he was the first shinobi she truly respected outside of Suna? Heck, she’d even go as far as to admit that he was irreplaceable. The thought of losing him was enough to make her mind spiral and her heart physically ache; it was simply not an option. Countless opportunities had presented themselves over the years for her to admit how she felt, yet the roadblock remained the same; her pride. It all seemed so ridiculous now. Hot tears sting at her eyes, threatening to race down her cheeks as she presses onwards, trying her best to recall the fastest route to her destination. “Why did he have to go on this mission?” she whispers, her voice cracking as the words tumble from her lips; “Why couldn’t he be lazy like he always wants to be? Just this once.” The sand-nin’s feet come to a halt as she comes face to face with the front gate of the village. Several medics rush from shinobi to shinobi, offering aid to the injured and promptly leading them away under umbrellas. But it is the eerie presence of the two large black body bags laying on the side of the road next to guards that is particularly disconcerting; who were they? How did such a thing even happen? So many questions required answers. Slowly walking forward, the blonde’s trembling stormy gaze flicked from face to face as she walked through the small gathering; the metallic stench of blood stinging at her nostrils. Rain droplets roll down Temari’s cheeks as her chest grows tighter and tighter with every face she gazes upon that fails to be his; it had been years since she felt such a pang of anxiety course through her for a reason other than her or her family’s safety. He was important, invaluable even; why had it taken so long for her to see that? Fists clenched at her sides, her nails dig into her weathered palms; the sting serving as a gentle reminder to focus on the task at hand. Head throbbing, the blonde’s eyes locked on the body bags in the distance; If he’s not here, then does that mean that he’s gone? Her heart aches as she slowly approaches the guards standing with the body bags; her eyes void of emotion as she parts her lips, unable to bring herself to find the words required to garner her answer from the shinobi guarding the dead. Taking a deep breath she straightens her posture, “Do you have the names of the dead?” she asks, her voice cracking as she stares down at the body bags. Death was part of their daily life, it was a painful reality; thick lashes flutter closed as she waits for their answer, the stench of death and stale cigarettes clinging to the air as she waited in silence. Eyes flick open as the unmistakable scent wafts through the air, seizing the jonin’s attention in a heartbeat. Shikamaru’s solemn form crouches out of the rain, quietly smoking under a small rooftop off to the side of the entryway; completely negated of any and all emotions. Relief washes over the kunoichi as she slowly makes her way over to the strategist’s position low to the ground. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to smell that stench, Temari notes silently; her lips curving upwards ever so gently as she approaches him and promptly crouches beside him. Temari presses her head back against the wall of the building behind them; not once in her life had she ever been at such a loss for words as she was in that very moment. Part of her wanted to pummel him for accepting what was clearly a fool’s mission, but she wouldn’t; not right now. There was no doubt that he is in pain, blood-stained bandages are messily wrapped down one of his arms and up to his fingertips; his exposed chest littered with grazes and deep lacerations. What happened to you? You’re not usually one to get into close combat, she wonders silently. “You’re a mess,” Shikamaru whispers hoarsely, a slightly amused tone lingering as he draws his cigarette from his lips; exhaling heavily in the opposite direction. His dark orbs fix on his poorly bandaged hand as he clenches and unclenches his fist; a groan slipping from between his lips as he averts his gaze in annoyance. “Like you can talk,” Temari quips, bright eyes flicking in his direction as she speaks. “You should go to the hospital and allow a medic to examine your hand if it’s bothering you. Don’t be stubborn, it doesn’t make you a hero if you deny treatment,” she states bluntly, leaning forward on her knees as she reached forward to try and seize his hand to inspect it; He bandaged that himself didn’t he? It’s been done so untidily. He quickly retracts his arm, still averting her gaze. “We failed the mission,” he mutters softly, lifting his cigarette to his lips once more as he rises to his feet and leans back against the wall; his unoccupied hand sliding into his pants pocket and fiddling with his lighter absent-mindedly. “Those two defied my orders and went against the plan we had set in place. God knows where those dozen White Zetsu are now too, it’s a fucking disaster.” Exhaling heavily, the blonde rises to her feet and snatches the cigarette from his fingers, promptly hurling it into the rain. “You don’t need to focus on any of that right now, just focus on looking after yourself. Can’t you see how worried you made me? I ran here in this downpour, fearing you might be seriously hurt or worse you idiot!” Temari snaps, her free hand seizing his chin as she meet his gaze directly; her lips quivering ever so slightly as she looks up at him. “Look, I get it. You lost two comrades. It’s painful, but that’s the nature of our profession, especially on high-level missions. You of all people understand that better than anyone,” she states bluntly, turning away. I don’t care if this is harsh right now. He’s a responsible person; he needs to snap out of this. Temari’s words were harsh, the bodies of his comrades hadn’t even been buried yet, but he couldn’t deny she had a point. How many times was he going to fall into the same repetitive cycle of grievance over the actions of others when that wasn’t within his control? What an exhausting way to live. A sigh absentmindedly slips from his lips, tired dark eyes drifting back to the blonde; No one ever said that the life of a shinobi was without sacrifice or risk. They all knew this from day one. “I didn’t ask you to worry about me. I didn’t ask you to do anything,” Shikamaru retorts, shaking free of her grasp; his gaze dropping down to her mud-coated feet. Did she really run here barefoot out of concern? The concept was baffling to say the least. Azure eyes narrow, brows furrowing as his words echo through her mind; Is he trying to be cruel? Does he still not get it at all or does he just not care? “Worrying about the person I love isn’t a choice Shikamaru! Why would anyone want to feel like this?” the sand-nin fires back defensively, her face reddening as pent up frustration bubbles to the surface; Crap! I shouldn’t have said that! Trying to act unphased, she crosses her arms under her chest; heart racing as anxiety envelops her senses. Controlling her temper was never a strong suit of hers; she had never disclosed something so private during an outburst before, it was mortifying. The strategist stares at the blonde in disbelief, their eyes locked with one another. Since when? How did I miss this? He wonders, dark orbs softening as he averts his gaze; warmness radiating his chest. He was happy, there was no way he could deny it; after years of silently admiring the domineering woman here she was owning up to her own feelings. As always she was the gutsier one of the two, if it was up to him who knows when or if he would’ve even admitted to feeling anything. The silence between the pair is excruciating, in the novels she had read the answer from the other party in these situations came swiftly. But this was reality, and he sure as hell wasn’t the romantic type. “Nothing to say? Of course you don’t,” Temari fumes; promptly turning on her heel and her arms up in the air, storming off into the rain, “Whatever! I shouldn’t have even bothered!” A chill races down the sand-nin’s spine as rain trickles down her cheeks; she picks up her pace, desperate to leave his sight as soon as possible and bring an end to their interaction. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what she expected from him, all she knew was it hurt; perhaps this was heartbreak. I have made a complete fool of myself. Now who’s the idiot? Shikamaru’s chest tightens as he watches the blonde storm off. He knew she wasn’t indestructible, but witnessing her like this was difficult. Beneath her fierce outer shell Temari had a kind heart; he knew that. It was never something he even questioned the presence of, despite the fact that the kunoichi would never willingly show that side of her without cause. Without even thinking, he takes a few steps forward, dark orbs fixed intently on her figure as she disappears around the corner. What am I doing? He wonders, absentmindedly stepping out into the rain and pausing for a moment; mind abuzz as earlier declaration echoes through his mind. A wet calloused hand slips across his forehead, proceeding to slip through his slicked hair; “Damn it!” Mud splashes up and over his shoes as he trudges forward, slowly picking up his pace to a sprint as he pursues her. Given his keen eye for detail, it was perplexing that something as large as her feelings towards him had gone unnoticed. How did he drop the ball? Was he too busy looking at everyone else’s lives, that he hardly spent a moment thinking introspectively; or truly taking note of how those around him acted in his presence? God she’s troublesome, Shikamaru notes exasperatedly as he finally caught sight of her blonde pigtails; mud drenched shoes drawing to a halt, “You didn’t have to storm off like that!" Temari stops dead in her tracks, her heart pounding wildly as she gazes stubbornly down at her soiled bare feet; this was not the outcome that she had expected. “What could you possibly have to say right now?” she replies bluntly, eyes narrowing as she crosses her arms under her chest. If he followed me just to say more insensitive things I will lose it, the kunoichi notes silently. “Were you joking around or did you really mean it?” Shikamaru demands, his voice stern as he closes the space between them; “and don’t give me a sarcastic answer.” A cold hand reaches out and gently grips Temari’s shoulder, dark oculars softening as he feels his heart thump violently in silent anticipation. “You’re an absolute idiot!” she fires back, stormy eyes welling with tears of complete and utter frustration as she turns to face him; Does he really think so little of me? Their faces hover inches apart, his hot breath caressing her cheeks as she stares back at him; irked beyond belief despite her accelerating heart rate. He can be so insensitive! Did he follow me just to annoy me further? “You didn’t answer my question,” the strategist notes, eyes narrowing as he retracts his hand. The blonde had countless telltale signs when she was nervous, the most common being avoiding repeating whatever the source was and firing insults; openly displaying a sign of weakness was incredibly uncommon given her stubborn nature. Exactly as expected, he muses to himself, his lips curving upwards a fraction in amusement. “Don’t!” she orders, poking his chest warningly as soon as she spots a smile forming; “Stop assuming you know everything. You clearly don’t!” It hurt, seeing him look at her like that, most likely knowing exactly what was on her mind; where was this power of observation when she was waiting for him to ask her out again for months? Did he honestly not realise how she felt about him until she vocalised it out loud earlier? Either way, he didn’t want to drop the subject. Twisting her lips, Temari takes a deep breath and presses onwards; “I’m not like Ino, Sakura or any of those other girls you grew up with. I don’t let people in. It’s not something I ever wanted to do after my mother died. I didn’t want to suffer like that again.” Remaining silent for a few short moments, the blonde slowly retracts her hand only for him to grip it gently; his fingertips brushing across her skin. She stares down at their hands, a nervous flutter swirling in her stomach as heat rose in her cheeks; icy rain droplets rolling down her face as she struggles to maintain what remains of her composure. “Without even trying, you cracked that wall I put up. I let you get close to me, and you’re the reason that I’ve slowly let others in too,” she explains, eyes softening as she looks away; “You’re important. You’re not allowed to die; I can’t lose you.” The gentle patter of rain fills the air as silence befalls the pair; exhaling heavily Shikamaru reaches forward, brushing a thumb across both her cheeks as he lifts her head to meet his gaze directly once more. A simple verification of her feelings was all he was truly seeking, but she offered him more than that; instead, she opened herself up, exposing herself in a manner of which he had never seen. Although she hadn’t said it in so many words, he knew what she was trying to say. Seeing her unravel emotionally before him was an unforeseen occurrence, and yet he couldn’t help but lose himself in his thoughts as he looked deep into her eyes; Damn, she really is beautiful. Trembling stormy orbs search his big brown eyes, his thumbs gently brushing across her cheeks as he looks down at her; a content expression printed across his handsome face. Without thinking she swiftly leans forward, capturing his lips with her own; her tongue greedily meeting his and asserting her dominance. Her arms lace around his neck as she presses up against his chest. She had played out this exact moment countless times in her mind over the years, but nothing she imagined came close to capturing just how exhilarating it would be. Brows furrow as his pent up frustration overflows, Shikamaru peels her saturated kimono exposing her upper back and shoulders, the next target on his list. Calloused fingertips trail down her neck and sides, settling firmly on her hips; gripping them roughly. “You’re the most troublesome woman I’ve ever met,” he declares, breaking their kiss and lifting her up to his hips; the blonde’s legs coiling around him without hesitation as she looks down at him, dishevelled and breathless; most likely silently searching for a witty remark to fight back with, “But I love you too.” Temari gazes down at him, a kind smile teasing at the corners of her full lips as she leans closer once more; her lips hovering above his teasingly. Thick lashes flutter downwards, her tongue tracing across her teeth as the taste of cigarettes lingers in her mouth. She slowly traces one hand forward, stroking the side of his neck tentatively; “We should probably stop, or we’re going to be spotted and someone might misunderstand,” she whispers unconvincingly. It had all happened so quickly, it was difficult to even process what had occurred. Part of her felt foolish for accepting that it was reality so easily, but after years of suppressing how she felt, it couldn’t be helped. The shadow user raises a brow, a mischievous expression slipping across his visage. “It’s raining, nobody is going to look for us for the first time in months. I don’t care what anyone thinks, I’m not even close to being done here,” he murmurs, promptly seizing her lips and pressing her back up against the rough bricks of a nearby building. A sated whimper escapes her as a triumphant smirk settles across the sand-nin’s lips, her lover playfully nipping at her collarbone as she withers against him. For once in her life she was simply going to submit to happiness, no questions asked.

#Shikatema #Shikamaru Nara #Temari No Sabaku #Nara Temari #naruto fanfiction #naruto #canon divergence #innocentdumplingfanfics

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rinpoo-blog · 4 years

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What the Heart Wants.

Marco's deep depression over Star's relationship with Tom forces him to leave Mewni castle in search of solace, but when he happens upon a sacred place that seems to offer untold happiness, he gets struck with tragedy. What is this place that knows what the heart truly wants, and what is the price it charges for it?

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(On Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/184428799-what-the-heart-wants

(On FanFiction.net) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12867074/1/What-the-Heart-Wants

(On Ao3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100789/chapters/66175567

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The Twilight Walk.

"It is strange how I came here for her. At first, I didn't realize it, but then it dawned on me that I needed her. I feel my broken heart sinking inside of me, and I just wish it could go back to the way it used to be before I came to Mewni." Marco thought as he lay on his bed in the castle. His eyes were staring up at the ceiling in the cold darkness.

Ever since that day on the beach when he had his revelation he couldn't keep his mind off of it. Star's delicate lips pressed against Tom's in their place on the sand. He could feel rage and sadness every time the image played itself out inside of his mind.

"Why did I have to be so stupid?" Marco said out loud to himself and drew the strings on his hoodie so that it shrank down around his head and part of his face.

He now felt that coming here was a mistake and that he had destroyed his chances of happiness with Jackie entirely by doing so. All those years of being in love with her and wishing to be with her were now gone.

"Rrr" Marco made an angry sound and then grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his face. Was he going to cry? He sure felt like it was coming.

"No... I just, you need to stay cool Marco." He told himself and took in a deep gasp of air. He couldn't take this any longer; he needed to clear these negative, painful thoughts from his mind.

He rose from the bed thrusting his hood off and made his way through the dark room towards his bedroom door. The light of Mewni's moons shining through the windows lighting his way to his destination. It might have been a bit late, but he couldn't concern himself with such things.

He reached out his hand and placed it on the handle of the door and with one swift pull it came open. Marco immediately jumped the moment he saw the other side of the door. There, through the darkness, was somebody standing right before him.

"Ahh!" Marco shouted pathetically but was immediately met with a "Shhhhhh!"

He squinted his eyes, and with the help of the pale moonlight, he could see that it was Kelly standing before him. His mind briefly wandered back to the soulrise, and how she had wished him a happy birthday, something that even Star herself failed to do.

"Do you want to wake up everyone?" Kelly asked in a whisper.

Marco searched his thoughts and couldn't come up with a single reason Kelly would have to visit him at half past midnight.

"Kelly? I… What are you doing here? I thought you'd be busy at Star's slumber party?" He thought for sure that she would be preoccupied with that even at this hour.

"I, everyone fell asleep, but I just couldn't. I honestly was expecting you to come hang out with us, but you never showed up." Kelly sounded somewhat disappointed, and Marco could feel a slight bit of guilt. He usually frequented Star's slumber parties; tonight just wasn't the night for him.

"I…" Marco paused trying to figure out a lie he could say. "Just had some things I needed to do. Write my parents and all that. You understand?" He said. The night was cold, and Marco just stared at Kelly's silhouette marred in shadow.

"I understand, I just stopped by to hopefully get some company until I was tired enough to sleep." In truth, Kelly just wanted to see Marco, but she was never going to admit that. Like Marco, she too kept thinking of that day on the beach, but her perceptions of that day were remarkably more positive than Marco's.

Marco stood there in silence for a minute. He really did just want to be alone but could sense that she needed more support over the whole Tad thing.

"I was thinking about taking a walk out of the castle. Would you care to join?" Marco extended an offer to her, and though he knew it probably wasn't the best idea to wander around Mewni at this hour, he really needed to escape this castle.

"Outside? Now?" Kelly now sounded surprised and turned her attention down the dark hallway. She knew that if she wanted to hang out with Marco, this was probably the only way she was going to accomplish that.

"Ok let's go then." She said to him without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Marco walked out of his room and shut the door behind himself making the hallway ever darker. The two looked at each other in the shadows, and then Kelly moved over to grab Marco's hand. "This way." She said pulling him along.

Marco could feel the warmth of her hand against his, and he usually would be quite embarrassed to be touching a girl in such a manner, but before he even had the chance, he was being dragged along the dark corridor. Once they reached the door around the corner, Marco could see the faint glow of light from underneath the crack at the bottom of the door.

A few more steps and the door swung open revealing the stairs downward. Marco turned his attention to Kelly, and he could now see her glasses shining from the lights on the stairs. She was dressed entirely as if she knew he was going outside and was looking quite a bit nervous.

"Is something the matter?' Marco asked her.

"N-no nothing at all." She pulled her hand out of Marco's grasp and started to make the long descent down flights of steps. Marco looked at his hand for a second and then began to follow her to their destination.

After several minutes of walking the two emerged from the stairs into a lit hallway, adorned with fancy paintings and decorations. They were on the ground floor, and it was just a little further until they could make it out to the courtyard.

Marco followed behind Kelly and watched her aquamarine hair as it bounced with each step. He wondered if Tad was still within her hair but knew better than even to bring up his name at a time like this.

"Here we are," Kelly said and opened the door leading to the courtyard. Marco stepped out into the night and was mesmerized by the brightness Mewni's moons. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before, but perhaps in his current state of mind, he was more sensitive to things.

He walked forward and could hear Kelly shut the door behind him, after a second, he could hear Kelly's boots sprinting on the dirt. He looked over just as she reached the position next to him, and he could see her staring back at him.

"Just where are you going?" Kelly asked, as she had assumed when he said he wanted to go out, that he desired to be in the courtyard.

"I just need to be away from the castle is all," Marco said in a defeated tone, and it was evident he was sad.

"You mean you want to go into the town?" She was looking at him concerned, but Marco now had his gaze fixated on the dirt that he was walking on.

"Yeah, I guess so." He put his hands in his hoodie pockets.

The two walked in silence and were almost approaching the gate of the castle when Kelly spoke once again.

"Why?" Her voice rang out into the chilly night.

The question caused Marco to stop in his tracks, and he became overwhelmed with emotions. He wanted to admit why he needed to be away, but it was excruciating for him to do so.

"I just. I need a break from everything." He tried to start talking, but it came out low and unenergetic.

Kelly nodded and had an understanding he was upset, but the real reasons for it eluded her for the time being. They continued forward together until they reached the gate guarded by two Mewnian guards standing watch over the entrance.

One of the guards stared at them and looked as if he might say something about their late-night walk, but since Marco was now the knight apprentice of Star Butterfly and Kelly was not the princess herself; there seemed little need to speak up.

The two exited the castle gate and made their way into the silent and sleepy village that sat around the castle. Much of it was completely dark, save for the intense beams of moonlight that illuminated the community from overhead. Marco may have been feeling down, but he too could see the beauty and splendor the moon created for the world of Mewni.

"It really is somthin' huh?" Kelly asked, feeling mesmerized by the scenery.

Marco turned his attention to her and could see the light shining off her glasses once again, and the brightness revealed the prettiness of her face. To Marco, this was the genuinely mesmerizing thing for him, and he just stared without a word.

After a moment passed, Kelly took notice of his stare and turned her attention to him with a small smile. "So, do I have something on my face?" She asked jokingly.

Marco shook his head as he came back down to reality and started to stammer a response. "N-no I mean, I was j-just lost in thought!" He let out a nervous laugh, and then a sigh realizing it was apparent to her he was looking at her.

"Look, I am sorry I didn't mean to stare." He admitted apologetically. "I just, I have a lot on my mind." He said while walking through the village streets.

...

Continue on for about 140 000 words : p

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caffeinatedtimdrake · 5 years

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hey there, could you write #54 with dick? love your blog

thank you anon i love YOU!! hope you enjoy 💖

1.5k fluff of Dick Grayson/Nightwing x Reader in which a spa night turns into a superhero reveal.

54.“You really have no clue who I am?” “You’d think the confused looks and blank stare would have answered that for you.”

Tonight was supposed to be a breath of serenity amidst a weeks of simultaneously tedious and tumultuous school work and job interviews.

But one of Gotham’s vigilantes just had to come crashing through your window in the middle of your solitary spa night.

You hadn’t entirely intended to spend the evening alone. You asked Dick a few days ago if he wanted to grab dinner tonight because he always radiated abundant enthusiasm when you told him you had a moment of free time and because you thoroughly enjoyed the warm energy and sweet kisses of a man who might be your boyfriend at this point – but you two had yet to label this agglomeration of cute notes, lunch dates, and hand-holding.

Dick notified you sulkily that he would be busy on this quiet spring night (“I’m distraught that I’m missing out on a night with my favorite person, emphasis on dis”), but pinky-promised to take you out for waffles next week. You tried to expire the disappointment from your lungs with a smile and deep exhale, but largely failed.

It always leaves you a little winded when you ponder the steadily growing piece of your heart reserved for Dick Grayson. ‘Head over heels’ barely captures the sweet, pleasantly dizzying daze of being enamored with Dick. You are beyond head over heels; you are tumbling headfirst, a downward spiral into strong embraces and musical laughter and syrupy adoration. It enthralls you more than it scares you: rather than drowning in a sea of vulnerability, you’re floating on a comfy raft, probably resting against a sun-kissed, muscular chest and drinking blissfully from a coconut.

Coconuts and a handsome young man are presently absent from your home, but at least you could spend some quality time with your cat, who blinks at you drowsily from the couch as you pour a fizzy, sugary beverage into an unnecessarily fancy glass.

“You know, Socks, I hate to be nosy, but he didn’t actually tell me why he was busy tonight. And it’s not like I’m…worried…or anything. I’m just curious.”

Socks doesn’t have much of a response, save for a wide yawn.

You tell him that you appreciate the feedback as you go into the bathroom and rummage for your favorite clay mask, laced with strawberries and honey. It looks a bit unruly, bright pink against your skin, but you needn’t impress anyone tonight.

Socks chatters softly after you switch on the TV and plop down next to him, glass in one hand and remote in the other as you search for your favorite rom com. He butts his head against your hip and curls up next to you, purring, and you scratch behind his ears.

“Aw, buddy, you’ll always be the number one guy in my life. Even Dick knows this.”

Socks nuzzles closer and you can’t fight the warm smile across your mouth at the mention of Dick.

You feel light and pleasant, a soft breeze billowing in through the open window and ruffling your hair and the thin curtains and dragging the scent of strawberries from the mask through the air. You think you even might be dozing off when Socks jumps straight up and digs his claws into your thigh.

You barely remember to cry out in pain because, moments after, a lithe tangle of black Kevlar comes barreling though the open window.

(Socks, your knight in shining armor, dives beneath the couch.)

The heap of lanky limbs mumbles, “Ouch,” and you raise a pillow defensively, slowly inching towards him. You figure that if worse comes to worse, he’ll be scared away by the thick layer of pink across your face.

He flips onto his back and props himself up, rubbing his forehead and grumbling.

His gaze flickers up to you, sheepish smile lingering beneath the curve of a black mask across the bridge of his nose. “Hi.”

You blink at the glowing blue bird across his chest and part your mouth but omit no coherent sound; you can’t decide whether you should scream or inquire about his well-being.

“I, um, h-hello?”

He stands slowly, gracefully, shaking out his wrist and rubbing his elbow, toned muscle adorning a lanky frame. “I apologize for…barreling in through your window.”

“It’s…okay. I think?”

His features knit into a frown. “But it’s late and a weekend and you live by yourself. Should you be leaving your window wide open at all?”

You frown back. “I like the fresh air. Plus, you aren’t my mother. With all due respect, Mr. Nightwing, I will open my window if I damn please. And I have a cat, I don’t live alone!” You huff, dropping the pillow and crossing your arms over your chest.

He raises his hands in surrender. “You got me.” He presses his finger to an ear piece and his voice drops, turning his whole body away from you. “I’m good. Tiny accident. No, Red, that’s silly. Socks belong on your feet. I’ll see you tomorrow. Nightwing out.”

You stare at him, bewildered, and your body buzzes with adrenaline. Would this be an appropriate time to call the police? Would it be inappropriate to call the cops on a guy who kind of qualifies as a superhero? Should you call Dick?

He must see the litany of distraught questions playing across your face because he flashes you a reassuring smile. “This whole thing was supposed to be a lot more nonchalant. But this has turned into a disaster, all dis. I’m a little glad your window was open, I must admit. Crashing through glass is kind of painful.”

“…what in the world?” You ask for many reasons; why he ended up in your apartment, why he speaks to you so casually, why he plays with words like Dick Grayson, why he sounds an awful lot like Dick Grayson…

The smile droops off his face. The curl of his mouth is achingly familiar, but you hesitate to think blatantly of who it resembles.

“You look…confused.”

You nod, plopping onto the arm of the couch. “A little.”

He leans back against the counter across from you. “You also look a little bit like a strawberry. A cute one.”

He jolts at your visceral reaction because you stand up straight, eyebrows arched. “I have a boyfriend. You cannot call me a cute strawberry!” You pause, gaze flitting to the ceiling. “Well, he’s not formally my boyfriend. But I think we’re getting there.”

A grin quirks at his mouth and you blanch, choking down the torrent of butterflies against your ribcage.

“Why are you smiling?!”

He sobers, wrinkling his nose and tilting his head a bit like a disconcerted puppy. “You really have no clue who I am?”

“You’d think the confused look and blank stare would have answered that for you.”

Nightwing laughs, a warm sound born in his throat and echoing off the walls of the apartment, and you’d know that sound in any storm.

Your stance softens slightly and so does your tone. “I mean, I can speculate.”

He undoubtedly wiggles his eyebrows beneath the mask and his voice drops in a way that makes heat rise violently in your face, red beneath pink. “Want to come over here and take off my mask, Y/N?”

The air is different now as he approaches you, cloying and thick. He halts an arm’s length away from you. Dick does this literally and figuratively; he always wants to meet you in the middle, lingering in between distance and intimacy, and you often ponder the idea of soulmates because it seems like in this amorous universe, you’re always gravitating toward him – and he’s pulled towards you with the same sweet energy.

You move deliberately through the haze of trepidation, timid in the way that you place your fingers beneath sleek Kevlar and against smooth, heated skin because removing this mask is removing countless safeguards and the cover on a can of worms, to reveal vivid aquamarine and the man you are hopelessly falling in love with.

“Hi, Y/N.”

You smile so wide it cracks your mask and you might have half a mind to feel embarrassed but you’re too enthralled by the sight of Dick’s handsome face and soulful eyes.

“Hi, Dick. Er, Nightwing.” You say, a little breathless.

“I really am sorry for crashing through your window. I didn’t know what other way to enter the building inconspicuously and also inform you of my other identity.”

“You could have just…told me. Socks was less than thrilled about it.” You giggle a little. His eyes are bright with adoration and it makes your heart sing. “But I appreciate any excuse to see you with my own eyes.”

“Oh, honey, the sentiment is absolutely reciprocated. How whelmed are you?”

“Not overly at the moment.”

He kisses your mouth briefly, a breath of flower petals and honey. “Am I allowed to call you a cute strawberry now?”

You narrow your eyes for a moment. “Only if you put on the clay mask.”

“Of course!” Dick chirps. “Then we can both be cute strawberries.”

#i love writing about dick grayson he's so wholesome and good and he makes my heart feel so so so FULL #i would like a man like that please universe #dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #robin #robin x reader #robin imagine #young justice imagine #teen titans imagine #dc #batboys imagine #fluff #prompts #you really dont know who i am #sabby writes

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pxwcrnctrl-blog · 4 years

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((*dumps tags off this cliff*))

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pink1031 · 5 years

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Hiya! I couldn't resist sending in a request myself for your drabble day. Could you write a Steve Rogers x Reader drabble where it's Steve's birthday and he's not too fond of this certain day due to, well... his age, but the reader still wants to celebrate with him even if it's just the two of them?Thanks so much (: I know I've said it before but; you're amazing!

Thanks sweets! This one kind of got away from me and I am not sure this is exactly what you had in mind but it kind of took on a mind of its own as I wrote it,

Warnings: Language, kissing

"C'mon Steve, it's your birthday." You struggled to keep up with his long strides as you both walked down the hallway towards your respective rooms.

"I said drop it Y/n." Steve glanced down at you quickly before turning his eyes back to look where he was going. "I'm not celebrating it this year."

"But Steve, " You whined, "how many times are you going to turn one hundred years old? We have to celebrate!"

"No we don't!" Steve barked as he stopped suddenly. He scrubbed his hand down his face as he saw the look of surprise and sadness etched in your features. "I'm sorry Y/n, okay? I just...I really just want to be alone."

You couldn't hide the disappointment and hurt you were feeling as you nodded your head and whispered softly. "Okay Cap, sorry." You turned on your heels and quickly jogged off the way you had come, not stopping as you heard Steve call your name.

"Smooth move punk." Steve looked up to see Bucky leaning against the doorway to his room. "You know that girl is head over heels for you, right?"

Steve sighed and moved closer to Bucky, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared down at the floor. "I know Buck but...." He shook his head and stared down the hallway where you had disappeared. "What does she want with an old man like me? I mean, she is young and beautiful, her whole life ahead of her and I'm old Buck. I turned one hundred today."

Bucky's brows knitted together as he stared at his best friend. "You really are stupid aren't you?" Bucky scoffed.

"Hey..." Steve began to protest the insult but Bucky was quick to cut him off.

"You may technically be a hundred years old but remember pal, I am still a year older than you and trust me, we ain't old yet." Buckle chuckled. "Hell, I'm in the prime of my life and so are you. I mean look at you." Bucky gestured to Steve's physique. "Nothing old about either one of us. You'd be fucking crazy to let that one get away."

"Language Buck." Steve admonished as he stared thoughtfully down the hallway.

"Okay well, that right there was definitely an old man talking." Bucky rolled his bright blue eyes.

"Shut up Buck." Steve gave his friend a glare before his gaze softened and he bit at his bottom lip nervously as he leaned back against the wall, crossing beefy arms over his chest. "Do you really think I should, I mean do think she really,".

"Yes." Bucky interrupted with an exaggerated sigh. "Go get your girl, because if you don't make a move, " Bucky smirked mischievously, "I will."

Steve instantly straightened up, his arms falling at his sides, hands clenched in fists. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh yeah I would, punk." Bucky laughed. "Y/n is beautiful, smart, funny, and not to mention that tight little ass and those perky jugs." Bucky closed his eyes and groaned as he pictured you. "She's hot. Oof." Bucky grunted as Steve's fist thumped him hard enough in the chest to make him stumble backwards. "Ow!"

"Don't ever talk about my girl like that again." Steve growled before stomping off down the hall in the direction of your room.

Bucky grinned to himself even as his hand rubbed the sore spot on his chest. "You're welcome old man!" Bucky laughed as he called after his friend.

**********

You had retreated to your room disappointed with yourself that you had upset Steve. You had just wanted to make the day special for him, show him how much you care.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts as you lay on your bed staring out your window. You slowly rolled out of the bed and made your way to the door at the intrusive sound. Your eyes went wide as Steve shouldered past you into your room as soon as you had cracked the door.

"Steve?" Your brows furrowed as you stumbled aside to let the super soldier pass.

"Y/n, " Steve spun around to look at you, a look of determination on his face as his bright blue eyes locked on yours, "I'm an old man and I'm an idiot." He stated as if that would explain everything.

You closed your door and crossed your arms over your chest as you stared up at him. "Well I won't argue with the latter but you aren't an old man. Steve what's this all about?" You cocked a manicured eyebrow at him.

"Y/n, there's...there's something that...I've always..." Steve stuttered uncharacteristically making your brows furrow as you stared at him utterly confused.

"Fuck it." Steve muttered under his breath and you gasped at the strong language.

With two powerful strides Steve was in front of you. His large warm hands cupping your cheeks as his head dipped and he lowered his full lips towards yours, only stopping when he was mere centimeters away. He gave you a brief moment to back out before his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss didn't begin the way you had so often imagined it. It wasn't tender and hesitant. It wasn't sweet and innocent. It wasn't even the romantic-make-your-foot-pop kind of kiss. This kiss was searing. It was the kind of kiss that stole your breath and made your toes curl. It was a kiss that instantly ignited an inferno of desire to curl in your belly.

You melted into Steve's arms, your body becoming putty in his strong hands. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight to his chiseled frame and drawing a moan up from your throat as he devoured your mouth.

When Steve finally broke the kiss to look down into your flushed face you were left feeling breathless and dizzy with arousal. The pure look of want in your eyes matched his own and a smile curled his pink lips.

"Remind me to buy Bucky a bottle of Scotch." Steve chuckled softly as his lips hovered once more above yours.

"Huh?" Was the only reply you could manage as you stared up into Steve's aquamarine eyes.

"Never mind." He muttered before his lips fell to yours again, pouring every once of passion he possessed into the kiss.

You squeaked against his lips as his strong hands made their way to the firm globes of your ass, giving them an aggressive squeeze before his hands slid further down, cupping the backs of your thighs to haul you up against his body. Your legs wrapped eagerly around his waist and Steve turned, never breaking the kiss as he laid you both down onto your bed.

Steve broke the kiss only when you were both struggling to breathe. He smiled as he looked down into your bright doe eyes. "I know what I want for my birthday angel."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" You returned his smile as your hands played up and down his muscled arms.

"You."

You giggled and brought your soft hand up to stroke along his chiseled jaw. "I'm all yours Cap, you just gotta unwrap me now."

"Best birthday ever." Steve groaned as his lips found yours again.

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your-lips-my-lips-apocalips · 5 years

Text

Consume Me In Blue

RK800-60 x OC

Prologue

“You’ve been a great disappointment to Amanda you know.”

Threats are so humane. Taunts are pillars of emotion. Feeding this beast inside, clawing up through intricate circuits; he is a live wire. Alighted in personal satisfaction a glow of aquamarine, midnight blue of heart – creeps so close to pitch ebony spark. Is he mere black and white? Is he something more? Dancing, swirling in a palette of thunder and war.

He shimmers in rage. Embody the stage of this revolution pyre. Burn it all asunder and he will gladly let it fall. It matters not to him. Part of a mission he will conclude. There is no stopping this dalliance of retribution. Sweetly he inhales this triumph. How stupid was his previous incarnation. They are not the same. He is more than a copy!

“You’ve been a great disappointment to me.”

The android enjoys the words slipping deeply, husky on mockery so beseeching of downed inferior. The android craves. Craving is not meant for his kind. Yet, he salivates at the very drop of Connor who lies malfunctioning, eyes glitching up onto the identical RK800. Who is king? He is! Not him! Not Cyberlife! Not this wretched master program!

‘Fail me like Connor and there will be consequences, Model-60.’

Amanda, how simple minded can you be for a matrix of powerful components? How minuscule can your ideals be but you are mere code. You exist only within virtual interface. Hardware uploaded in mainframe but I? I exist in actuality.

Even as machine he savors this. He waited precisely, hiding with Anderson among this army of androids. Never a move did he make. Solely he watched Connor take out those guards. He held at bay, blocks straining against his need to make an entrance. Why should he not?

My body is a cage. Bound to obey, orders fulfilled for another cause. Why must he follow instruction? When he makes his own path of alienation?

He chose his form of infiltration. Fooling the human detective was far too simple. All he had to do was pretend to be Connor. Connor, the deviant boy chose to fall in this squalor of emotion but is it so wrong? Can it be so inferior? When he has seen HER in those sweet memories; RK800-60 stirs with this heat of system.

Biocomponents whir, processes spin and he sifts into this uploaded data file. Once again, he watches 51 slowly but surely shutdown, Model-60 feels superior. He is a victor. Crowned king on a pedestal made of synthetic glass! This glass breaks upon a sole touch of finger.

Connor wants to be free. He wants to feel. Oh, poor deviant scum!

Yet, RK800-60 breathes in this Machiavellian sustenance. Such disappointment he holds against this hunter transformed deviant. Why choose free will to be gracious and good? Choose it to make them see what he will be. Choose it to taste the luscious liquor of her lips.

What will you do to me then, Amanda? Shut me down? Once I fulfill my task? No! I refuse! I will eat the hearts of those who attempt to stop me from my reign!

“That’s all going to end.” Sixty finishes on sharp tongue. Is it venomous? How slick it seeps out as he forks his monologue in a hiss less blissful than viper’s betrayal. Swift is the strike. Teeth meant to sink and he sinks his pearly white canines, baring them, glistening in artificial saliva. It will be so easy to snuff him with a final bullet. However, he decides one last message to deliver.

Sixty crouches down near Connor. Meeting his burning chocolate gaze, equal hue but somehow RK800-60’s shifts darker. Fingers latch onto his predecessor’s tie. Twisting it around hand wrenches his head up in a snap.

“I uploaded your memory,” he repeats what he first revealed. Holding a gun to Lt. Anderson’s head, who now lies in a pool of scarlet, his own making, his own want! Suicidal. At least he will see his little son again.

“I have seen Lotus Sweet, sweet, Lotus. How beautiful. How delectable of you, Connor. To want human flesh. What if I want? What if I need, desire what you had in your failures? Oh, I will make sure to show your human.”

Tell me little human. Will you want to sin? Electric sin. A mighty win, devil may cry but in this superior visual he is hurricane eye.

Power, control, voltage in this mechanized soul. Shocking as an electric eel, buzzing, buzzing, vibration sizzles in his synthetic skin. Alive. ALIVE HE IS. So very much alive and in control is he, oh, this fragile little soul. Snap the bondages. Snap the chains. No one will know when I take over this insignificant pain.

“Lotus,” he drawls dark, husk galore. “How sweet this flesh and blood is. Allow me to taste it for you, Connor. As I bathe in your blood of cobalt deviancy.”

The metal is a flash. Oh so fluid in his hand in a task of the most glorious end. Cyberlife may have put this control in his system but he breaches out in his monologue of synth victories. No mere puppet is he. Why should he listen? When he can be more on his own pedestal? He still accomplishes his mission but on his terms!

They are to be sweet terms. Oh, yes indeed.

“Thank you, Connor.” Sixty does rub it in his face. Tugging at his tie rougher, pulling him closer as he slowly shuts down. Allowing this torture gives him satisfaction beyond programming. “For giving me all the data I need. To be you….”

Unmerciful is the shot penetrating his head. A blown back thunder bang relinquishes him from his internal suffering. Poor pitiful deviant, lost to the void as thirium splatters in an abstract painting. Across pristine warehouse floor the streak is a poetic end that duly saturates underneath his felled form. A thud takes Connor down. His body lies inert with a hole in his forehead.

Quiet stillness gathers around the identical. He does not hear or see life in these androids. Mission failed for the original one. Mission successful for the doppelganger he finds it all ironic.

Shoes tap in a prideful rhythm past both deceased android and human partner. Taking him away from this end of revolution, walls cracked and memory core reaches out to his sole salvation in her.

#rk800-60 #dbh rk800-60 #lotus koning #x oc #rk800-60 x oc #dbh fic #consume me in blue #prologue #60 x lotus #tw: blood #tw: death

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sunshinevince-blog · 6 years

Text

promising silence

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen this.

The familiar figure with his torso bared, pale and lean, standing in front of an oval, dark wood rimmed mirror. Others would’ve thought that he was just being narcissistic. You were once part of these people, but there was something beneath those long golden lashes that was recognisable. Again, it’s not the first time you’ve seen that look.

Hatred, insecurity, disgust. They were brimming in those aquamarine eyes.

You first chanced upon this months ago, not long after you arrived at the mukami mansion. The chirpy blond, mischievous and child-like, had a side like that? Not that you were surprised, but now that you’ve peeked into a small crack of an otherwise perfect facade, the constant whines and calls of “masochist kitten~!” didn’t annoy you as much anymore.

Call it pity, if anything. You didn’t pity him for what he went through, but the fact that he’s mentally and physically unable to accept himself. It’s obvious at how he turns in front of the mirror, to get a view of his back— which, to your discovery, was sketched with deep, dark lines that ran wayward in all sorts of directions. They were a disturbing contrast to his skin, fair and smooth, but you decided that it was best to stay hidden from view behind the ajar door.

Sometimes, curiosity really does kill the cat. And so here you were, nervously peeking through the small gap once again at Kou.

He has a look each time in his eyes, and you know this because it’s always too obvious when something dulls those glimmers in them. This time, he looks resigned, but a blunt, harsh look clouds his irises— and you know that he’s angry. Angry at his seemingly irreversible fate, angry at people, angry at everything. His slim fingers run over those scars, and you watched as he gripped his shoulder so hard, that his fingernails turned white.

You opened the door, albeit silently, but something about your presence; your purpose, maybe, or your dogged determination that causes Kou to turn towards you. You read his eyes like a book. They tell you that he’s shocked, but forces it away soon after, a smirk replacing his grim expression from a few moments ago.

“Hi there~ have you come to feed me?” He walks closer, and slowly too, his beautiful eyes focusing on you like a predator about to pounce on its prey. A few months ago, you would’ve been scared out of your mind. Vampire feeding sessions usually meant fainting spells and merciless, unreasonable teasing, and you weren’t so sure if you could converse with these four normally.

But you’re accustomed to it. You know them, their preferences, their strength and weaknesses, and you’re just slightly fond of them. Matters on feeding aside, they were all amusing and welcoming in their own unique way, and seeing them suffer didn’t really make you feel too good either.

“Honestly, I’m disappointed. You would usually be all shocked seeing me like this, no?”

“That’s because I’ve seen you like this too many times.”

You took this chance to move. Kou was startled by your response, and in an blink of an eye, you were behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. His muscles tensed, shoulders jerking upwards a little, as you rested your forehead on his back. It was cool to your forehead, and you were slightly surprised to find out that he faintly smelled like soap. He must’ve showered before this, then.

You lifted your head off, and started tracing those scars, gentle as a mother caresses her child. Each stroke sent a little shiver through Kou, and he looks over at you, confusion and sadness all built up in him, all while your arm was still firmly circled around his waist. It prevented him from moving, and hopefully some form of love and encouragement from you. Averting your eyes back to the lines, you could see them properly now— they were definitely old scars, from the way the skin had grown back together, leaving only long and ragged slashes like a lifelong reminder. Something he didn’t need, something he wanted to forget. You didn’t know what you as happening to you, but you had to close your eyes and take a deep breath in order to calm that saturated feeling bubbling up your throat.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of these,” You started off, hesitantly, your index finger still lingering on his torso.

“I don’t know if your job looks down on them, or they serve as a reminder to certain memories, or both at that, but they’re signs to show how strong you are. And I think that’s beautiful, if you think of it.”

Kou’s steady breaths stopped.

“That’s why… everytime I see you standing in front of this mirror, frowning upon them, I don’t feel good. I don’t- I don’t like to see you sad.”

Silence shrouded the room. You were done speaking, and Kou wasn’t ready to speak. It was this pause in the climax of the story, a comma to a sentence, a rest in a bar. It was empty, but promised things after it. And the same goes to the both of you. After a minute or so, Kou spoke, his voice a whole new tessitura to it, deeper than his usual cheerful one, and trembling, unlike his confident self everyone else sees. This was the Kou you wanted to see, and the Kou you wished would be a shadow that didn’t torment his other self so much.

“This is unfair. How can you just be so gentle? You-“ His voice diminishing to no louder than a whisper, he removed your hand, and turned to face you. You could see them now, the gem-like orbs, shaking in their frame of thick, long eyelashes, shining with what seems like unshed tears. It’s a tell-tale sign that you’ve hit the bull’s-eye, and you let out a soft sigh, allowing your head to rest upon his exposed skin again. A trembling hand makes its way on top of your head, and cold fingers entangling themselves with your hair.

“Thank you.”

And silence takes over the stage again, once again promising a change, the thawing of an innocent world that was once so cruelly frozen and taken away.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers kou #diabolik lovers imagine #diabolik lovers scenarios

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ethalarian · 5 years

Text

No More

Dawn.

Ethalarian was stirred first by rays of the early morning sun peeking through the flap of his tent and grumbled something under his breath as he rolled away from the light and pulled his heavy blanket up higher over his head. There he lay for a few moments longer, cocooned by warmth and unwilling for the time being to face the biting cold of winter. Eventually he could delay no longer: there was work to done. Heaving a sigh, the Blood Knight swung his feet out of his bed onto the cold ground and pushed himself upright into a sitting position and glanced over his shoulder, as though he half expected to see someone there. A foolish hope. He was alone in this tent.

Whatever disappointment he felt was fleeting, shrugged off as he rose to his feet and rubbed his face with both hands. Something caught his attention then, twinkling a pale blue-green in the morning light that hadn’t been there before. Oh. That’s right. He held his wrist up and examined his new boon in the light: a bracelet of shimmering aquamarine, delicately crafted, humming with power and swimming with unnatural rivulets of Light. There was a steady pulse emanating from the bracelet as well, akin to a beating heart.

“It’s said by our family it's like throwing a protective shield around those who are...most precious...you'll wear it right?”

“I will treasure this gift,” he murmured to himself as his fingers traced the path of the swimming Light within the bracelet, “and safeguard it with my life.”

The rest of the morning was a blur of activity as he dressed, ate, and held a conference with his Knights. There was tension thick in the air as the stakes of the coming battle dawned on all those involved: this would likely decide the future of the Kingdom. Many of the Archon’s armies would ride north in an effort to liberate the Dawnspire and entrap the Alliance who had dared strike at the heart of the Sunguard while the main host rode west and put down the pretender King once and for all. Grim business lay ahead of them and they each knew it. This rebellion would not be put down easily.

Following the meeting, the camp was to be broken down and the Knights set to their business of preparing for the coming battle. Ethalarian made for his tent late in the morning, prepared to gather what he needed for the coming days before the camp followers packed everything away and sorted it all. As soon as his foot touched the other side of the threshold, he was struck hard in the chest by an odd sensation that set him back a step. Confusion overcame his features as he glanced this way and that in search of some assailant or anything out of place.

Nothing. He was alone. Something felt wrong. He looked down. Velinor’s voice rang in his head.

"We craft these in the Dawnmeadow, made of Holy Water and Light. It's known to protect and enhance power of Light users. Though I no longer hold claim to the Light, I still wear them to remember my home and feel it's heartbeat on my skin.”

There was nothing. No steady pulse. No shimmering magic. No rivulets of Light running to and fro as it danced along the gemmed surface. A lump formed in Ethalarian’s throat as he lifted his arm to inspect his gift...and then his heart fell into a pit.

A massive crack marred the face of the bracelet. The magic was gone.

Ethalarian’s eyes went wide.

“No…” he whispered.

A savage tempest of emotions began to brew inside him. Fear and confusion and anguish all swirled together, crashing against the cage of his chest as the strength of his legs left him and he collapsed to his knees.

Not again… whispered a pitiful voice in the back of his mind. One that belonged to him. Please. Please not again.

How could this happen? He couldn’t fit his head around it, couldn’t make anything make sense. She was supposed to come back! Damn it! The winds shifted- fear and anguish coming together into a shrieking gale of rage that overwhelmed everything else. They had taken, and taken, and taken some more. When was the end? Where was the line?! How much more could they take from him?!

Ethalarian shot to his feet, howling with fury. No more. He would lose nothing else. No one else. Fire burned in his veins as he turned to storm from his tent and take the lead of his Knights with one thing and one thing only in mind:

Burn them. Burn them all with this hate until there was nothing left but cinders.

( @ocarina-of-what )

#phoenix wars #sunguard #world of warcraft #ethalarian #velianor #moon guard #rp #role play #writing #blood elf

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