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plscallmeeren · 6 months

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P E R S O N A L

Jessica Jones x Reader

Request: Dragonsw

Summary: you're a natural born fighter (martial arts, fire manipulation) who fought for money and enlisted in SHIELD to avoid jail, then got kicked out again. You now reside in Hell's Kitchen and meet Jessica by chance in a bar... where certain individuals are looking to cause trouble

Warnings: Swearing; violence; intentions of sexual assault but nothing happens; insinuations; unedited

Word Count: 2K+

Jessica Jones sat in her usual spot. Her usual bar. Her usual bartender. Her usual silence, peace, quiet. Her usual white noise, if you will.

Of course, a variation of elements was rendered unrecognizable from one visit to the next, let alone the customers who hadn't been visiting the same place for at least thirty years. Or since their wife made them move because their old place 'just wasn't a good family area'. They had been raised there just fine, thank you very much. Born and raised and intending to stay, but unfortunately some people loved their wives or had simply made the mistake of exchanging favor for acquiescence.

The mournful bell over the door chimed, its stained glass triangles dipping away to reveal you, handsome you, to someone too preoccupied with why the locals were local to realise she was staring.

How couldn't she? Jessica knew what looks were. She'd seen them around. Easy on the eyes. Lean muscle, humble anatomy that curved like a coy smile under dark long sleeves. But pretty wasn't perfect - she knew that as well as anyone. Pretty, if anything, was often arrogant, and arrogant raised bad kids. They too tended to stay, unless forced to be otherwise.

But you didn't come. You didn't sit down next to her and prop up a carefully calculated arm and smirk like you knew where this would end and so should she - no, you barely glanced in her direction.

One beer, one booth, and you were seated, sipping sporadically. Watching, closed eyes, not waiting, not wallowing in the void of a phone. Just sitting. Enjoying your spot, your silence, peace, white noise.

She couldn't look away.

She couldn't stay silent.

She couldn't be at peace.

"Out of everything on the menu - beer?" she inquired loudly, catching your attention immediately. After all, she only had Old Timmy's rambling murmurs to compete with.

"What can I say, they were out of orange juice," you replied, not opening your eyes. She decided that if only one thing could happen tonight, it would be that you look at her. Properly. Fully at peace.

Jessica chuckled. "What, can't handle the hard shit?"

"Sure, just - I don't know if you've tried it recently, but it tastes fucking disgusting."

"Doesn't matter if you want the full effect," she quipped, leaning back in her adjacent booth with an unexplained smile.

"I only hope I'm not someone who needs the full effect so desperately." You looked at her with eyes that dragged the weak in.

"What, like me?"

A moment of silence she spontaneously regretted.

"I dunno. Guess it's fair to need a little support once in a while. Timmy wouldn't last long without dear barkeep, I expect," you nodded at the elderly man at the counter.

"You know Timmy? If you come so often, why don't I know you?"

"What, you'd notice me?" you teased, and she felt like slapping the blush off her face.

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Well, first of all, you don't need to be around much to know Old Timmy," you paused to make sure that point had come across before continuing, "and I come every Thursday. That not suit your schedule?"

"It's true. I have violin practice that day." You laughed loudly. She wanted you to do it again.

The bell over the door rang loudly, announcing the five newcomers at the top of its lungs.

"Hey, man, why don't you get me and my friends some drinks?" one of the men yelled across the counter. The barman only shook his head, pulling out whatever he assumed people wanted when they didn't specify.

"I'd take any screeching violin over this," you said snidely as the guys continued to yell ideas and comments at each other.

"Where'd ya go, Mark? Still scared of a little vodka after ol' Fanny?" The group guffawed at whatever inside joke the broad man with uneven stubble had mentioned.

Jessica nodded at you, meeting some mutual understanding that it wasn't worth trying to talk over them.

A couple of them staggered over to a booth once they had downed their respective shots, another two still leaning against the bar.

One, apparently Mark, approached Jessica's booth instead. She didn't miss the way your eyes remained on the obviously drunken youth.

"Hey pretty lady," he drawled, "you wanna get outta here? I know a nice place downtown..."

"Not if you paid me," she cut him off curtly, sipping at her tequila.

"I could pay you, y'know. Pretty thing like you'd be worth a pretty sum." He grinned, displaying murky teeth, looking plainly proud of himself.

"You're getting repetitive," Jessica laughed, but now the attention of almost everyone in the place was on the interaction. Mark noticed, it seemed, for where he may have otherwise walked away, he couldn't let this happen under carefully watchful eyes. The barkeeper had disappeared into a backroom, and Timmy was slowly teetering over the threshold with a little encouragement.

Mark's eyes darkened as he looked at Jessica. "Get out," he said simply, looking at you for a moment.

You didn't move, didn't even look at him as you sipped further at your beer.

"You got a hearing problem, Bruce Lee? Get out!"

Still, nothing.

Jessica couldn't help but be irritated. She could take all of those guys out easily - why couldn't you just go? Of course you didn't know, but any normal person would just... "Just do what he says," she exclaims out loud, scoffing at the insinuations the men make through hands and laughs.

"I'm not done with my beer," you said simply. Her annoyance grew.

Mark huffed loudly, and Jessica could have sworn she saw the glint of metal as he approached you, but just as realization set in, he was next to you, it was too late-

You grabbed his wrist before he could stab you with the knife, twisting it so that he would let go. In his moment of confusion, you rammed the blade into his hand, kicking him away for good measure.

Jessica stared at you in awe and bewilderment, but not for long. Commotion broke out all around as Mark started shouting and whining about his hand.

She took advantage of their joint panic, kicking the guy approaching her now with so much force that he slammed against the opposite wall of the room.

She tackled another, struggling to ignore your own fighting skills. It would have been hard to track your hands, feet as they whirled around your opponents' heads gracefully, pressing the heel of your palm into the right places just after... was that fire...?

The barkeeper emerged frantically from the back upon hearing the excitement, though by the time he was in your midst all five guys were already lying on the ground.

You pulled a loose 20-dollar note out of your pocket, handing it to the man. "For the mess and the beer," you said simply, walking away. The barkeeper only stared at his hand, however, apparently undecided as to whether he should call the police or just haul the men outside after the unnerving experience.

"Hey!" Jessica called, running out after you. She should have known something was off about you. How hadn't she noticed?

You turned around, almost making her stop in her tracks. There was something so refined, maybe dignified, in the way you moved...

"What was that?"

You only looked at her, eyebrows raised, in need of elaboration.

"I had that handled, why did you escalate?" she yelled, still pulling on her leather jacket.

"I wanted a drink, I had a drink."

"So you don't think it's reckless to put everything on the line for half a glass of beer?"

She could feel herself drowning if she looked you in the eye much longer, tried to concentrate or grasp onto any other part of your face, but they were only the outer rim of the vortex.

"Of course it's reckless, but in case you hadn't noticed, I can take care of myself. I know now I had nothing to worry about, but forgive me for doubting a single person I just met could take on five big guys," you countered, not raising your voice even as your tone changed.

You were struggling to be irritated as well. Her expression was hard, but you could still see the fine lines that, when tweaked just a little, would gaze softly like before. She was guarded, yes, but you had no trouble discerning that there was definitely something there worth guarding.

You hadn't realised you were still walking side by side until she stopped you, fingers around your arm, and you never wanted to be free of those five prints of warmth on your skin, even divided by your sleeve.

"What if there had been guns?"

"Result would have been the same."

Who are you?, she thought desperately, trying to remember some fire-weaponizing fighter who lived in the area and was free on Thursday evenings.

"How did you burn that guy?"

"How did you throw a guy across the room?"

"Personal," she answered defensively.

"Personal," you agreed.

Jessica could respect that, but it still didn't explain...

"Were you trying to impress me? Is that it? A quick way to get in bed with me?" Ironically, she was leaning closer and closer towards you, a mere breath away from your body as she glared.

She had met plenty of that kind; who wanted a hookup, and so did she, and nothing ever came of it because it had only been inspired by one accidental glance at a pretty woman in a club. That was fine. But if that was all you were, she would find it intolerably frustrating.

But she accepted it; she leaned in further, on her toes, her lips at the perfect point to indulge the slant of your neck-

You backed away gently, looking mildly insulted but otherwise unaffected. "No, some assholes came into a bar and forced my hand. That's all." You walked on, but this time she didn't follow.

"I didn't need your help!" she cried, hating that she sounded so childish.

"Just because you can take something on, doesn't mean you have to. Also, I think that's the first thing you've said to me tonight that wasn't a question." You smirked, turning and stopping after all. Before she knew it a business card was flung in her direction, which she caught with ease. "If you're ever in a jam even you can't handle - or don't want to handle - give me a call. Always looking to keep my skills sharp."

You walked again, but again she stormed up to you, fiery determination mirrored in the glint of her eyes. She handed you a card also. "I'm a private investigator. Always happy to make some money."

You chuckled, a rumbling sound that emanated from deep within your chest. "Thank you, Miss Jones," you read from the card. "Have a good night."

You turned for the last time that night, striding along the sidewalk as if you had all the time in the world. She stared. There hadn't been many occasions where she was the one chasing after someone time and time again.

She had liked your voice.

She held onto that specific thing, because if she let herself contemplate beyond, she would be sucked in yet again. Just your voice.

Maybe she should have picked something else, however, because during sleepless nights or when among distant thoughts, nothing carries as clearly as a familiar voice.

Perhaps she would see you again. Probably not, but perhaps.

And with that thought, she wandered along her own streets, away from where things had almost become personal.

#fanfic #fanfiction #new chapter #romance #marvel #mcu fanfiction #male reader #x reader #jessica jones #jessica x reader #jj marvel #part one #wxm #cute #fluff #angst #slight angst

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cosmicgardencreative · 11 months

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DTIYS of an illustration by Kazuya Minekura. Needed a subject that I wanted to experiment with workflow and brushes. Plus, meditating over old fandom is so therapeutic.

TL;DR: Life is short. Just go ahead and write your story and draw your art. If you want to do something with your art, know that it won't be easy but it's possible as long as you keep learning, make good connections, and don't stop.

(Reflection of current art journey under read more)

This is of one of my favorite illustrations by Kazuya Minekura. If there's one big, major influence in my art journey, it's the creator of Gensomaden Saiyuki. I was maybe in 5th grade when I discovered the manga, which coincided with me seeing the anime on cable. A retelling of a Chinese folktale with a Japanese perspective: this was so appealing to me from harmonizing different cultures into one story, to beautiful men getting mixed with supernatural horror. This may as well have been my queer awakening then.

There was so much to be introspective about while drawing this… like how 6th grade me couldn't comprehend why people treated gay/queer as different from straight, my love for Asian folklore and mythology, and this burning desire to draw anything and everything. It only seemed appropriate that I'd gravitate towards Minekura as an art idol. And despite people's criticism for it, this is a foundation that I have no regrets in.

I remembered how much I wanted to emulate Minekura when I was younger. It's such a striking style! Unfortunately, my art journey has seen a lot of stop-and-go to the point I couldn't comprehend the progress made. There have been times where I just resented my art because I felt directionless with my creativity. Thanks to Ismaire and some art friends, though, I'm actually happy lately to see how much my "art style" evolved to where it is today.

[***]

While I was finishing up the rendering, I couldn't help wondering how Ms. Minekura had been doing since I last read Saiyuki Reload Vol. 4. Was she even still around? What about her other works, like Wild Adapter? I knew that she had a blog, but whenever I took a look at it in the past, the updates were sporadic then that it may as well have been a dead blog.

Then, after one more bout of curiosity, I came across her twitter/X profile.

It was both relieving and energizing to see so many works that I didn't know she had drawn then! I was so happy to see she seems to be thriving with her works, but I was surprised to see that she was still contending with many health problems. I had to pause in my scrolling through her profile at one point. How she could sound so positive and cheerful while she's dealing with Cushing's syndrome now? Last I heard anything major, she was about to undergo surgery for a tumor on her jaw -- and I only found out about that update through an online fan news years back o-o;;

I can't assume too much about Minekura's personal life, but with what she was willing to share with her fans online, I have a more nuanced respect for her as an adult creator.

It's so reassuring to see a creator like Minekura continue growing her creativity. I only hope to aspire to her level of good attitude despite IRL hurdles, while having the means to share such a prolific world for everyone else to enjoy.

#choibok draws #dtiys #saiyuki #saiyuki gaiden #tenpou gensui #kenren taisho #field marshall tenpou #general kenren #kazuya minekura #choibok reflections #long post

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toy-powerhouse · 6 months

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Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Disappointments: A Brutally Honest Review of Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is the most disappointing thing since my son… And, my other three sons, my four sons who also happen to be teenage mutant ninja turtles. You know what they say: life imitates art. Much like my dissatisfying sons, I really wanted to like the series when I stumbled across it, but there was so much lacking in its execution that prevented it from reaching its potential (Editor’s Note: okay, Red Letter Media-esque joke over). Before its release in 2018, there were very vocal Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fans who were skeptical about Rise of the TMNT and many of the changes the series made to established lore. Raphael is the fearless leader, instead of Leonardo; April is Black American as opposed to white like she is in most iterations; and the series is more comedic in tone, unlike other recent adaptations that have an even balance of comedy and drama. I welcomed all the changes to the TMNT formula, and I was eager to see it. Now that I’ve finally finished watching it, I’m left disappointed with it. Before we jump headfirst into why this series can be dissatisfying, I want to preface this to state that many fans treat this series with a certain level of reverence often to the extent of hyper analyzing it. Here, I’m going to give it that sort of treatment, but this time to analyze its shortcomings as a work of fiction.

Bad Comedy, Worse Drama

The major driving force of RotTMNT is its comedy (that acronym is unfortunately very apt). It’s arguably the most comedy-centric animated television series since the 1987 TMNT show. With comedy being the most important quality of the series, the biggest question then is: is it funny? Even ardent dissenters of the show say it’s somewhat funny. As for myself, I’m a person who can find humor even in media that I may otherwise dislike. I’m a simple kind of gal, if it’s funny, then I’ll laugh. With something like RotTMNT, that I did, initially, like, I’d sit patiently waiting for any of the slapstick or quips to make me laugh. Smiling politely at the screen, just waiting, only for me to not laugh or even chuckle before the end credits rolled. So, what’s the problem? Usually, there’s something off about the humor that stops it from being funny. The character’s expressions are too exaggerated or too subdued, sporadic insertion of weak meta or fourth-wall breaking humor, jokes running contrary to canon events or characterization, gags end too abruptly or continue for too long, poor timing of punchlines, poorly directed line deliveries or less than stellar audio mixing (e.g., characters’ speech being difficult to hear from speaking too quickly or quietly), and so on.

Something else that causes the humor to fall flat on its face, is the overreliance on subpar slapstick comedy with lots of pratfalls while mugging for the camera. Too much of Rise of the TMNT relies heavily on characters making goofy faces and acting buffoonish in place of carefully executed comedic scenarios or witty dialogue. There are many children’s cartoons that largely avoid resorting to overusing such low hanging fruit, so RotTMNT cannot be excused for its limited variety in comedic stylings in a bid to appeal to its young target demographic.

The character that best reflects all this bad comedy is arguably, and ironically, the funniest of the turtles: Donatello (no, why’d it have to be the overrated one). Jokes that tend to land often involve Donnie and his funniness seems to be confirmed in-universe when in Season 1, Episode 16, “Shadow of Evil,” Splinter refers to Donnie as being the “funny one.” Because much of the humor is flawed, many of the jokes or gags with Donnie at the center of them don’t stick their landing. Using Donnie, let’s briefly examine how something like inconsistent characterization can break a joke:

LEO: “And Donnie, where’s your . . . your thing, your – emotionless passion?"

DONNIE: "[Head down, speaks very quietly.] Here."

This joke doesn’t work because “emotionless passion” is not something that accurately describes Donnie. He’s a very emotional lad. Even in the context of this episode, he’s a very emotional lad. The very notion of Donatello being “emotionless” doesn’t make sense as it doesn’t align with his baseline characterization. Case in point:

Yup, baseline Donnie is totally emotionless. Look at all that no emotion.

As a result, what could have been a funny joke, is ruined by clashing with what’s been established about Donnie. Were Donnie a more reserved character, it could have been somewhat chuckle-worthy. As is, it's pretty unfunny. While this is only one example of how the humor is off, it’s still very indicative of this issue. Like, I could go on, but this review is getting long enough, and I get the feeling I’ll need to check on my own unfunny teenage mutant ninja turtle sons soon.

Anyway, the only thing worse than RotTMNT’s comedy is the drama. While the comedy of the series very occasionally has its merits, the dramatic cues virtually all fail. For dramatic points in any form of media to be developed successfully, they need time to be set up. In this series, finer plot points don’t get the opportunity to unfold properly and are mostly shoved into the finales. The rush to introduce new dramatic plot elements and quickly wrap them up really depreciates the value of moments that are meant to be heartfelt or intense. Premature cancellation aside, more could have been done to avoid this problem. If the first season had not wasted so much time with bad comedy, the series could have set up crucial stakes and important characters sooner rather than later. The season two finale is especially guilty of rushed, poorly set up melodrama with how they speedrun introducing a key character like Karai only to send her off before we as an audience really got to know her. Speaking of poor set ups, this segways perfectly into my next segment.

Overly Hyperactive Storytelling and Underbuilt Worldbuilding

A common complaint levied against RotTMNT by critics is how fast paced everything about it is, to the point of being downright incomprehensible at times. From the animation to line delivery, the show is HYPERACTIVE, caps locked and bolded for emphasis. This is especially true for fight and action scenes, where all sense of direction is easily lost by how quickly characters, props, and backgrounds move about. It can become grating having to rewind, pause, or even reduce the playback speed simply to understand what happens. Goodness, even my disappointing and rambunctious teenage mutant ninja turtle sons think this show needs to chill.

I’ve taken to referring to the series as being a “memory vampire.” I can watch an episode and almost immediately forget what I have just seen as if RotTMNT is feeding off my memories like a loathsome parasite. I can recall watching episodes from other TMNT adaptations that I saw nearly a decade ago, I remember even the smallest details with ease. But an episode of Rise of the TMNT that I saw last week: I got nothing. Because it’s so much of a whirlwind of pointless action and bad comedy where very little is usually accomplished. I’ve seen fans make light of how Rise of the TMNT is “ADHD the show,” and while true, it’s definitely not a good thing.

If that weren’t bad enough, we also must contend with careless worldbuilding. That issue of ill-advised worldbuilding being most apparent with the Yōkai and their world, the Hidden City. Possibly one of the greatest missed opportunities of this series is how underutilized and underdeveloped the Yōkai are. Despite their species namesake being lifted from yōkai, supernatural creatures from Japanese mythology and folklore, they lack any significant connection with that very specific lore. Most Yōkai we see in Rise of the TMNT, are generic monsters and anthropomorphized animal beings that don’t appear to have any direct relation to traditional yōkai myth. There’s Big Mama, who is a jorōgumo, a nefarious spider creature who often shapeshifts into a beautiful woman to lure in prey, and maybe Mayhem who could be the show’s take on a komainu or lion-dog, those lion-like dog statues positioned at the entrances of Japanese temples and shrines to act as protectors of hallowed ground.

Aside from Big Mama, Mayhem (maybe), and a few others (including one-offs like the dragon yōkai Boss Bruce and his posse and possibly Tummytello, that could be a take on the parasitic yōkai disease, oseichu), there isn’t much Japanese mythology that influences the portrayal of the Yōkai. As a casual yōkai enjoyer, it’s disappointing to see the crew behind the show not make full use of that rich history through explicit representation. Maybe there were concerns about mishandling Japanese culture, but then why invoke the yōkai name in the first place if cultural insensitivity was a concern? Maybe there are more explicit designs or references to Japanese lore that I’ve forgotten to mention, again this show is a “memory vampire,” but even if that were the case, there’s still too much plausible deniability to it all. Regardless, the Yōkai mostly being a hodgepodge of indeterminate ghoulies is distracting and fails to create a more cohesive, immersive world.

Various yōkai that don't seem to make appearances in RotTMNT. This is just a sample of what could have been.

Collective Characterization: Friendless Losers with Unearned Power (cool band name, idk)

This will be less of an in-depth character analysis as much as this segment is a general overview of how the series approaches two things: the turtles’ status as underdog superheroes and their social support network.

Besides disappointing, another word I would use to describe Rise of the TMNT is unearned. For much of the series, our protagonists tend to bumble about, causing almost as many problems as they resolve. In fact, just about every major problem the turtles encounter, is of their own making; from releasing the oozequitos that mutated the denizens of New York to unleashing the Shredder who has villainous ambitions of conquering the world, just about everything can be blamed on them. These aren’t heroes, they’re troublemaking buffoon clowns. These buffoon clowns ultimately get rewarded time and time again for blundering misdeeds that they fix at the eleventh hour. This especially becomes tiring when it’s all nestled in the series’ ad nauseam lesson: the turtles need to focus and take things seriously. Over and over again it’s the same lesson of “get your (pardon my French) merde together.” I’ve seen fans misguidedly try to spin this as the turtles being lovable cringefail, losers, which may have been the case had the series not tried to portray them very earnestly as the ultimate heroes, without a shred of irony or self-awareness. In that way, the show plays itself too safe and yet not safe enough. Instead of a cynical romp with mutant losers with even looser morals, or well-meaning mutants who try their damndest to achieve their noble goals, we get something awkwardly caught in between, unable to commit to either in a satisfying way.

Being the insufferable screw-ups that they are, it’s not surprising that the turtles lack a support network. Friends, allies, helpful acquaintances, or friendly neighbors; doesn’t matter, because these turtles ain’t really got ‘em. In actuality, the series is more about making fiends than friends as almost every character the turtles encounter becomes an antagonist. For a show that seems to pride itself in presenting more positive bonds between the characters, especially the turtles, it’s a little odd, isn’t it? In this regard, it’s hard not to compare Rise of the TMNT to other iterations, because it appears to be missing something inherent to many other adaptations. That something being the turtles desire to form connections with those outside their family unit and, seemingly against all odds, their ability to do so. A common theme throughout the franchise is their pining for meaningful relationships outside themselves and Splinter and how they manage to forge those relationships with other misfits. Rise of the TMNT has virtually no interest in engaging with this theme and, as a result, is left emptier for it.

While there are a handful of characters who do become allies, or even family members (e.g., the redeemed Baron Draxum), they’re largely kept at arm’s length with their loyalty to the turtles at times being, for lack of a better term, “dunked on.” For instance, in the season one finale, “End Game,” the following allies join April and Splinter to rescue the turds, I mean, turts: Bullhop (legit, forgot that dude existed), Frankenfoot (who deserves better than being a sentient punching bag), S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N (who, mind you, is basically Donnie’s son), and Todd Capybara (Splinter x Todd 5ever, fuck Draxum). Only for the quartet to be “humorously” captured immediately and never brought up again in the episode. RotTMNT is so strangely anti-friend/ally that the only relationships given any real weight are virtually all familial with April herself being upgraded from friend to honorary member of the Hamato clan by the end of the series.

The turtles lack a support system outside themselves and it’s not something they ever angst about or that poorly impacts them, despite how integral social deprivation tends to be for the turtles in other iterations. Even the Micheal Bay produced films portrayed that anxiety around being outcasts as worthy of attention, that the turtles are brutally aware of being misfits and that seeking acceptance from the outside world is important to them. This theme doesn’t need to be the focus of every adaptation. However, its absence in RotTMNT does strip from the characters an extra layer of depth and misses out on an opportunity to make them more relatable to members of the audience, especially those who’ve ever felt alienated.

The Cowabunga Conclusion: Let’s take a moment to enjoy our Hot Soup!

Not all of Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is disappointing. There are good aspects of the series. The increased presence of female characters. Big Mama, Cassandra “Casey” Jones, and Sunita (Casey x April x Sunita = Caprisun, the best ship 5ever); I <3 these girls! Casey had the most satisfying, fully realized character arc of the series. The turtles get to be more emotionally vulnerable, which definitely is a welcome change. I love that Raph is a proud lover of plushies and other cute things, that’s so adorable. Mikey is explicitly artsy, and as an artist myself, I really appreciate that. It’s been confirmed by a show writer that Donnie is on the autism spectrum. Right on! Leo is gay (that’s not confirmed, I’m just being facetious). RotTMNT has brought a lot of good to the TMNT table. As a result, it breathed new life into the overall franchise and its fanbase. Post-RotTMNT, the wider TMNT fanbase has experienced a bit of a paradigm shift into becoming a more inclusive, safe space. Honestly, I’d say my return to the fandom was all thanks to RotTMNT and its rejuvenating effect on the franchise.

Nonetheless, the series itself is still a raging migraine. I’m only scratching the surface with this. I plan to explore other failings of this series more in-depth in other posts. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie… I’m coming for you… I got a bone to pick with how Draxum’s redemption was handled. The turtles’ deus ex machina mystic powers… Atrocious. The merchandise…

Sometimes a picture, of off-model action figures, is worth a thousand words.

I know I’m not the only one who thinks this series fumbled the ball big time. While executive meddling and lack of support from the network certainly contributed to RotTMNT’s downfall, a good deal of the show’s shortcomings cannot be blamed on those factors. Not the execs, not the airing scheduling, not the marketing, not the audience; the show itself is flawed and that in part led to its premature demise.

The series leaves me disappointed. Very disappointed. Like, Splinter is in “Insane in the Mama Train.”

RAPH: “Puppy dog eyes won’t cut it. [Splinter] isn’t mad, he’s disappointed. We need to make it up to him guys big time.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on my teenage mutant ninja turtle sons. I got a text from the unfunniest one, and it seems like they’ve accidentally doomed the universe like the cringefail losers they are. Oh, well. If they fix their mistake in time, I might treat them to some pizza rolls. Cowabunga, dudes and dudettes! 🐢❤️💙🧡💜🥷

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt

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abra-ka-dammit · 2 years

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thenk u randos who are still liking and reblogging my bard bois drawing,,,, im not used to my art having a continuing span of note-getting past the initial burst and its VERY FLATTERING and i get a doki whenever i see it in my activity even tho its prob only bc its art of canon characters from smth popular

also thenk u rando ffxiv ppl who have been sporadically following me in the recent,.., uhhhhhh like 6 months? i dont actually post abt it/draw/etc very much so i hope u like spam reblogs of things i think are funny and/or interesting and also my randomly puked thoughts via textpost lol

(fyi you can block the tag "stupid shit" if you dont wanna see said text post brain pukes. i sometimes use it on other Original posts tho)

for the record i tend not to follow back in general so please dont be offended if i dont. i do always check ur blogs for a scroll or two just to make sure ur a real person bc i block bots/empty blogs (its better for my ego when theyre real kek) and very rarely ill follow back but not usually.

you also have an unfortunately high chance of disqualifying urself if ur ffxiv blogging bc i get jealous in the most embarrassing and stupid way when i see WoLship art with G'raha or Aymeric fjhgdjkgf trust me i think its ridiculous too but i cannot control my Feelings

#stupid shit

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thebeautyoffanfics · 3 years

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Hello! Love your work! Can I request Hanako, Yashiro, and Shijima when they find their s/o cutting themselves on their arm? :(

I understand if you feel uncomfortable with the request, so feel free to ignore.

But with Yashiro and Shijima can they just be best friends with the reader since they are two of my biggest comfort characters platonically…

Thank you! You can choose headcanons or oneshots

amane yugi/hanako x gn!reader, (platonic) yashiro nene and gn!reader, (platonic) shijima mei and gn!reader

a/n: thanks so much for the compliment! And sure thing, no worries! I do hope you’re doing alright, and always remember that you’re not alone :)) there are a lot of resources out there to help you, or anyone you may know, struggling, so never give up!! <3 still, i hope you enjoy these, and thank you for requesting!! <33

OH AND! I know you said Hanako, but I’m going to write him alive as Amane- for the sake of convenience I guess-? plus i miss the thought of living hanako, even if it’s the same person in the end-

warnings: self harm, panic attack

word count: 1,568

Amane Yugi <3

“(Y/N), I’m coming in,” Amane had spoken. His voice was sudden, and unexpected- you were home alone. You weren’t planning to have guests. In fact, the loneliness was a reason you had started crying in the first place- everything had spiraled before you realized it.

Little did you know, it was also a reason Amane wanted to check on you. Your last message to him was several hours ago, telling him that your parents were off at work, but their company would have been a bit more appreciated than the completely silent house. Amane knew what it was like to be alone, even for a little while, when you needed company most. He also knew what you had told him about all the other little things- things that he knew were bound to add up, and come collapsing down on you all at once.

“Hang on, plea-”

The two of you made direct eye contact, and you winced. Your arm was too sore to move so quickly. All you could do was sit there, bloodied pocket knife resting in one hand, open wounds dripping blood onto the other.

Amane would do his best to stay calm- he wouldn’t yell at you, he wouldn’t even raise his voice- he’d walk up to you, worry etched into his paleing face, and very carefully take the pocket knife from your hands. He’d pocket it, then wipe the tears from your face. It hurt him to see you in pain, but he knew whatever he felt wasn’t nearly as bad as you had to feel in that moment. All he wanted was to show you love.

“Can you stand up?” He asked, rubbing your back gently, and looking for something to wrap your arm in. You nodded, beginning to cry worse- it was almost embarrassing. No matter what sort of act you put up, having someone walk in on you at what felt like your most vulnerable moments wasn’t anything you wished to happen. He understood that.

“Alright,” Amane told you, offering a small smile, and helping you stand. “Then, let’s head to the bathroom. I’ll wash your arm off.”

He did just that. Leading you to the bathroom, gently hushing you when you cried, and holding your arm as if it were broken. As if it would shatter if he held it too hard, simply because he was terrified of hurting you.

“This is gonna sting a little bit. Is that alright?” He asked, turning on the sink, and grabbing two small washcloths and some bandages. You nodded once more, shaking slightly from an attempt to stop crying. At that, he’d run the water over the cuts, dampening the cloth with water and a small amount of soap, then wiping them off. The entire time he was silent, but not a judging sort of silence. He just wanted to understand why someone he loved so much wouldn’t love themself. Yet, he also understood that it was more complicated than that. He understood.

Once the blood was off of your arm, he’d turn off the sink, and dry your arm. He then bandaged it, as if he cared enough to bandage his own wounds.

“Talk to me, (Y/N)... you can cry. You don’t have to hold anything back. Just… tell me what’s wrong. I can’t solve your problems… I can’t do much of anything, but I can, and will, love and care for you. I can and will listen to you. As long as you need, whenever you need. I love you, and I’m always here for you.”

Yashiro Nene <3

When Yashiro entered your house, she knocked, calling out for you. Beforehand, she even sent several messages- your lack of response started to worry her, especially when she knew that you weren’t doing your best. But, as panic attacks do, everything felt muffled to you. The only thing keeping you somewhat grounded was, unfortunately, the pocket knife you kept in your nightstand.

“(Y/N)!” Yashiro called, nearing your room. A choked sob made her nerves increase, as she rushed towards your room, not thinking to knock before entering. Another panicked “(Y/N)?” left her mouth, as the door was pushed open.

“Yashiro,” You muttered, looking up at her from your crumpled spot on the floor.

Yashiro was slightly less composed than Hanako, concern and panic painfull evident on her face. She wasn’t disgusted- she wasn’t disappointed in you, nor upset. She was just worried. Yashiro rushed up to you, taking your hands and looking you in the eyes.

“(Y/N)? Wh- what’s wrong? Are you alright?” She asked, looking down at your arms, and shutting her mouth tightly. You continued to cry, shaking as Yashiro moved her hands up to your arm, and squeezed your shoulders very gently. She then rubbed her arms up and down your shoulder, hoping that it grounded you in some sort of way.

“I- I just- I’m sorry, Yashiro, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Don’t apologize, (Y/N). Here- let’s try to calm down a bit, alright? Can we calm down in the bathroom?”

You nodded, letting Yashiro help you stand. She led you to the bathroom, motioning for you to sit down on the counter. Once you were seated, she grabbed a washcloth and ran it under water, then poured a small amount of soap on it. “Can you hold your arm over the sink?”

You obliged, letting Yashiro clean off the cuts and blood, as she attempted to calm you. Yashiro told you to breathe alongside her, as she steadied her own breathing, letting the sound of your shaky breaths and her slightly more steady ones be the only sound in the room. By the time she finished washing and wrapping your arm, you were a bit more calm, letting her dampen a paper towel and wipe off your eyes and tear-stained face. Her touch was gentle, almost motherly, and calmer than her eyes looked.

Once finished, she placed her hands on your shoulders once more, looking you in the eyes once she started to speak. “You know I’m here for you, (Y/N)... I’m not scolding you. I’m not going to correct you, since I have no idea what happened to make you panic like that. But, I’m here to listen. Tell me what you’re comfortable sharing, and I promise I’ll stand here and listen to every word. I’m here for you, (Y/N). You’re my best friend, and I love you dearly, so, please…”

Shijima Mei <3

You had pushed open what you thought was the old, unused classroom. You stumbled in, locking the door behind you as you crouched to the floor, your breathing heavy and sporadic. Everything was overwhelming. Too much had happened that day- it was all too much. And so much more was bound to happen once you reached your home. That was your only thought as you, without thinking, rolled up your sleeve, scratching aggressively. Reopening the fresher cuts, and creating even more with your nails.

You cried, hoping that the students who were there for after school activities would remain away from this floor of the school. At least until you calmed down- at least until you could hear yourself thinking clearly. You couldn’t bear to go home now. You just needed a minute.

As you closed your eyes tightly, dread and fear filling your mind and making you feel practically sick, you felt a shift in the air, as someone crouched in front of you. You opened your eyes, as Shijima carefully took your hands, holding them in hers silently.

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m here,” She spoke, her voice gentle and comforting. Soft and caring. Like a sister more than a friend in that moment. You looked around, realizing that you were in the classroom next to the old art room- you mentally cursed yourself, squeezing her hands a bit as you tried to ignore how badly you wanted to keep scratching your arm.

“It’s alright, (Y/N)... focus on your breathing.”

You did as she instructed, and Shijima remained mostly silent- breathing with you, hushing you lightheartedly when you shook or sobbed. Her hands never let go of yours, restraining you lightly so that you didn’t hurt yourself. Shijima remained there, doing just that, until you were no longer panicking. Her eyes met yours, and she smiled lightly, attempting to make you feel a bit better.

“Here,” She spoke, standing, then offering you her cold hand. In fact, the coolness of it was comforting against your hot, sweaty skin. Shijima didn’t let go of your hands, leading you to the bathroom and running the water over your arm, rubbing it with a feather-light touch. “Do you want to talk?” She asked, turning the water off, then drying your arm. “I’m here for you. I know you know that. Even if I’m no longer alive, I still care for you, just like any person could. I’ll listen to you, no matter what you have to say.”

You nodded, as she offered you a paper towel to wipe your eyes. Shijima took your hands once again, leading you to the art room, then sitting down next to you. She’d sit there, letting you talk and cry as hard as you need, for as long as you need- offering any advice she had, but willing to just be there. She knew as good as anyone that, sometimes, that was just what one needed.

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mandareeboo · 3 years

Note

You asked for drabbles, and lo and b3hold I do have a few. If you decide to keep asking, I'll send more sporadically if that's okay.

The Centaurs ask Horse what her equipment is and is for. Horse has trouble explaining that it's to accomdate and carry Rider, since the Centaurs don't know what a "Rider" is. They offer to take it off of her, but she isn't ready for that yet. Instead, they offer to take turns carrying it, so Horse doesn't get too tired.

"Rider and I... we're like one of you guys," Horse explained, watching out of the corner of her eye as Glendale bent her hooves to drink from a river. "When we're together, we're like a centaur. This stuff is to help her stay on me."

"So, you, like, piggyback them?" Zulius' eyebrows shot up. "That's a lot of work to try and replicate art. I kinda respect it."

"I run faster than Rider. It's just logical. And, besides- I like being able to keep my eye on her." She shook her head, reins jangling. "Though, I guess that didn't really work this time, huh."

Ched rapped a feathered fist on her chestplate. "Gonna be real, I just assumed these were, like, weird scales. To go with your weird face."

"They come off.... when Rider wants them too." Horse shrugged sheepishly. "Still don't have those opposable thumb dohickeys you all seem so fond of."

Glendale stood up with a jerk, accidentally splashing water her way. "Oh, I could keep those in my tummy for you! I get to hold onto things not my own and feed the gaping portal hole in me, you lose those you hold dear, it's a win-win."

Horse's ears flattened as she turned instinctively. "Absolutely not. Rider's going to need these when I get back to her!"

A soft pink hand on the back of her neck had her stiffening, but Wammawink didn't force the issue, gently patting her. "I'm sure your Rider person will understand if you want to take them off here and there. She wouldn't want your fur to get all matted, would she?"

"I... guess not. She always hatred it when I got rashes because we rode for too long."

She hooked her index finger under the side of her rein. "Let mama Wama carry the burden for a bit, huh?"

"Only if you promise to never call yourself that again."

"No promises," she sing-songed, and Horse rolled her eyes but bowed her head willingly.

Horse hadn't rode with a bit in a very long time now, but it was instinctive to smack her lips as the rein left her face, testing the sides of her mouth. Wammawink carefully wound the fabric around her arm and left it there, almost like a makeshift bracelet.

"Alright," she said. "Chest scales next."

"Ooh, ooh, can I wear them?" Durpleton raised both hands and made grabbing gestures. "I want weird chest scales!"

Horse looked at him, then his broad shoulders. "I don't really think physics is on your side there buddy, but go ahead. It's basically impossible to break these things." She moved to the side and gestured to a latch with her hoof. The plates unhooked and shifted outwards to make it easier to pull over her head. "It's heavy at first, but once you get used to it you'll never wanna take it off, promise."

A hand on her stomach made her jump, but Julius happily continued to unbuckle the saddle. "Gimme. I bet this will make my butt look even better."

"Guess that leaves the back scales for me," Ched hummed. The idea was undoubtedly daunting for the centaur bird, but he puffed his chest out. "Lay it on me, long-nose."

Glendale raised her hand. "Oooor I could wear it. On my body. Not in my portal tummy. Unfortunately."

"Oh thank glitter," Ched said. "Yes, please."

"You- you realize that's part of my saddle, right?" she asked. "I mean you could probably pry it off if you had to, but it's not supposed to seperate."

Zulius held the item up, scoffed, and tossed it to Glendale. "Oh, gross, nevermind."

The gentlest of breezes buffeted Horse's spine, and some instincts just couldn't be ignored. She hit the ground with a resounding thud, rolling and flailing her hooves in the air. Itches aplenty seemed to appear all at once, quickly vanquished with wiggles and whinnies of enjoyment.

"That's the stuff," she sighed, eyes fluttering closed with a smile. "Maybe Rider won't mind too much after all."

Wammawink ran her fingers over the worn leather and hummed. "I'm sure she'll understand."

#Ask #Question Mandar #magicallynormal #Drabble Prompts #Centaurworld #Horse #Zulius #Wammawink #Glendale #Ched

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sparklingdemon · 3 years

Note

Howdy! First off I'll just admit right then and here I think I'm a bit obsessed when it comes to your take on Explorers of Death, like AAAAAAA- Second off, it's a utter joy to see the art ya make, and third of all there's just, fhhshsfgh, there's so much more I wanna see from ya, like perhaps a continuation/reboot of the EOD ask blog, or perhaps continuing GHOSTLOCKE. Whatever the case may be, I hope you're doing well, and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.

thank you so much for your support! it means a lot!

unfortunately, about my EoD and ghostlocke blogs...

my mental health has taken a really steep nose-dive lately, and it's difficult to continue drawing ambitious stories like these for fun anymore. it's become very taxing for me.

i don't want to officially cancel these projects because i still want to continue them, i just currently do not feel able to produce content at a consistent rate.

when these updates eventually happen, please note that they will be very sporadic.

thank you for your patience and support! i hope you won't mind the wait in-between my updates too much.

#ask #idunnoijustmakeandenjoythings

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cwnhyunsu · 3 years

Photo

han hyunsu’s royal report ( 20210921 )

tw: mentions of murder, death, violence

i. to save a friend or hold the crown

there was no other way. with seonwoo around the air in the palace became too dense for hyunsu’s lungs. every room, person, and meal was a constant reminder of him, and it made hyunsu’s life unbearable. memories of the toxic love they shared accompanied hyunsu even in his own bedroom, as the sheets reminded him of their more intimate moments.

his mind was so clouded with anger, jealousy, and helplessness that he couldn’t focus in on what was really important, the crown.

that was the entire reason he resided in the palace, not seonwoo. yet still, his heart couldn’t help but tear itself apart at the thought of being left for someone ( or something ) else. if he never took the shot, then who know where he would have ended up. fourth tier prince, perhaps? he was nothing but a loser in love with the one person who left him out to rot, and lord knows the queen would never choose someone so unworthy for the crown.

that’s why he had to take the chance when he had one, for not only his heart but his title was on the line. seonwoo was merely a parasite that preyed off of hyunsu’s heart and soul. killing him was a rite of passage, a way for hyunsu to reclaim his life.

seonwoo was more than a friend, he was hyunsu’s first love. and if it was that easy for hyunsu to take him out...well, who’s to say he would think twice about the next person who stood in his way?

there was a part hyunsu had to play, however, and being a murderer was not one of the traits in the description of his role. he had to play it off and be the good guy, at least to the queen and the rest of his kingdom. everyone loved seeing the underdog finally get a chance at winning, which is why when hyunsu put his pen to paper he wrote, “without a doubt i’d save a friend. a honorable king does not need a crown to prove his worthiness. killing a friend would be the ultimate betrayal, and what kind of king turns their back on someone so loyal?”

what a bunch of bullshit that was.

ii. if i could turn back time

hyunsu could still remember the look of disappointment on his father’s face. to this day it haunts him, though he was glad things went down the way they did. he remembers the way his father advanced towards him; his blade drawn out while charging at the young prince. it was typical for his father to take their sparring matches seriously, yet somehow, this one struck a nerve with hyunsu.

so bad that hyunsu had to convince himself it was just a friendly match.

his mind was in the clouds, still thinking about how seonwoo ditched him the night before for some other prince. the anger and jealously overcame his body. his step pattern was reckless and each jab was more sporadic and less choreographed. all those years of his father teaching him the art of the blade went down the drain. more than that, all those years of training to be a prince.

“i can stop competing! he said he could take care of--” hyunsu’s throat was instantly met with his father’s blade.

“enough.”

the young prince held his breath in fear that one inhale would cause the blade to scrape against his skin. he dropped his sword, slowly putting his hands up as a sign of surrender. yet still, the blade hovered above his soft skin.

“you’ve become weak, hyunsu. do you hear me?” his father spat, “you’re putting all your faith into something that ceases to exist. do you think anyone here will give you the time of day after they gain the crown? you’ll become a nobody to them.”

clank. finally, hyunsu could breathe, though his legs gave into the panic that set in. now, he kneeled before his own father, trying to hide the shame on his own face.

“you’re right. i’m sorry.”

“you’re here for one thing, and one thing only. don’t let these distractions get the best of you.”

he was right, seonwoo was a distraction-- one that barely acknowledged him anymore. and if he could turn back time, he would have never talked to the boy to begin with-- not with knowledge of what happens in the future.

again, hyunsu puts his pen to paper, writing something entirely different to save face. “not sure. if i had changed anything about my past, would i even be where i am right now? i’d like to think i have no regrets.”

iii. what ifs

finally, an easy question hyunsu could answer without being reminded of his unfortunate past. he quickly scribbled, “if i wasn’t a prince i’d apply for a knight position, of course. as a child i always wanted to take after my father.” hyunsu pressed the pen against the period he etched in, letting the ink bleed onto the paper before continuing to write. “or maybe i’d be studying to become a diplomat, either way, i’d just want to make my family and my nation proud.”

#cwnroyalreport #this is so bad im so sorry #im half asleep writing this #aaaa i'll write his interaction with his father better as a solo when i get back from vacay #dont read this is terrible

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misedejem · 4 years

Text

Date Nights

Series: Persona 4 Ship: Kannao (Kanji Tatsumi/Naoto Shirogane) Word count: 9196

If ever Naoto was feeling low, Kanji would try harder than ever to show her how much he cared. Little gestures of good will and love that would go towards easing the pain. It had been that way from when they first met, and was still the case after over fifteen years.

So when Naoto found herself with Kanji in a slump and a few hours to spare, she took it upon herself to do the same.

(Basically lots of domestic future headcanon shenaningans~ As a note, Naoto is genderfluid in my fics, and this one uses she/her. AO3 link in the notes)

It had been an awfully long time since the Shiroganes had been working away from home at the same time.

Kanji had become unemployed almost two years ago and had been pooling his resources into his online store since then. And Naoto had been on leave a full year now, because of Chihiro, and then the upheaval and transfer of half the Shirogane agency from Tokyo to Yasoinaba. Save the odd local case, she’d effectively been forced to hang up the detective cap until life calmed down enough for her to return.

It was… a much-needed break. They could mutually agree on that.

Then, less than a month between moving into a house and the agency reopening, Yu Narukami had appeared on their doorstep one evening with ‘encouragement bentos’ and a request. The middle school he worked in as guidance counsellor had suddenly lost a teacher temporarily due to illness. The art teacher. She’d probably need at least six months to recover, but the new semester started in September and it was far too tight a deadline for the board to submit a request for a replacement.

“I mentioned you used to work as an art teacher in Tokyo, Kanji, and they said to ask you as soon as possible.”

Neither of them could have foreseen such a thing… But in a week, their situation had changed from both of them being at home, to both of them returning to work just a day apart from one another.

One day.

What a rare commodity that was.

As much as she adored it, Naoto’s career had always been taxing, keeping her late at night and seldom offering her a chance to catch her breath. After all, the Shirogane agency was lauded all across the country. Grampa had made such a name for it before he had died, and the attention she had gained from the media as the ‘first Detective Prince’ had only served to bolster the Shirogane name’s shining reputation once she’d taken over. That, and the fact that it was the only remaining detective agency in the country that specialised in Shadow-related incidents. They’d become ever more prevalent since the mental shutdowns and the Phantom Thieves incidents a decade ago had made knowledge of them more widespread in the seedier depths of society, and the Shadow Operatives had ensured to keep her busy when the cases grew too complex for them to handle.

That’s why they’d come back to Inaba of all places. With the TV World still very much active, it was the most potent place for illicit Shadow activities to occur in all Japan. And with the murmurings of new information cropping up, the higher ups had figured it may be a good idea to have a team of investigators to hand.

The detective had a lot of work waiting for her when her leave expired.

So, for her to be the one left with the house instead of Kanji for a full day… Well, she couldn’t exactly waste such an occasion.

“Momo, no -! Don’t… climb in there…” Naoto sighed, watching as her orange tabby clambered her way into one of the cardboard boxes at the far end of the room. She knew it was a fruitless effort to try and stop her. Their other cat didn’t house much love for boxes, but Mochi had been found in one as a kitten and clearly had developed a natural affinity towards them as a result. Half their move had been spent trying to keep her out of them long enough to fill them.

“If you wish to help, the very least you could do would be to climb into the ones I haven’t yet searched,” she told her, crossing over to the box and hoisting Mochi out. “That way, I won’t be wasting any time by delving into boxes twice when I retrieve you.”

Unfortunately, Naoto’s request was not met with much approval. The cat just mewled indignantly, clearly unimpressed and unwilling to cooperate, and scampered behind the large pile in the centre of the garage, leaving the detective to continue her investigation on her own.

It was frankly impressive that all the miscellany crammed into these boxes had fit into their Tokyo apartment; big though it was, it had been severely lacking in storage. Half their belongings – all the stuff they didn’t desperately need - were all packed up in this room, waiting for a spare moment to be put in their rightful place. They’d had five weeks to unpack, and perhaps if they’d still been living as just the two of them, they’d have made more of a dent in it. That would certainly have made Naoto’s current task a considerable deal easier. But all the free time they had now was devoted to Chihiro. She was only just coming up on her first birthday, and she was still very much dependant on her parents every moment that she was awake. Even now, Naoto was only able to search the room because the infant was taking her midmorning nap.

She was looking for a binder Kanji had put together, containing a collection of their favourite recipes that he’d found online or written down over the years. Somehow, it had gotten separated from the recipe books when they had packed away their kitchen, and it had not yet resurfaced. This was a major blockade in her plan for the day. She needed that binder. Desperately.

Kanji had seemed rather perturbed as he’d prepared for work that morning. In fact, he’d seemed uneasy about it from the moment Yu had asked him to take it. It was… unlike him. He’d worked as an art teacher in a middle school back in the city for four years, and he’d loved every minute of it.

“Hmm? Course I want the job,” he’d told her when she’d questioned him about it over breakfast. “I miss this kinda shit, you know that.”

He had a smile on his face as he tried spooning a blob of mushed fruits into Chihiro’s mouth, but it was a strained smile if nothing else.

“You just seem tense, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well… So do you. Goin’ back to work after havin’ a kid is s’posed to be kinda rough.” He shrugged.

“I can’t deny that…” Naoto sighed. “Even knowing that your mother will be there for her, and that you’re only doing part time hours, the idea of leaving her alone at all is more taxing on me than I could ever have expected… That’s all it is though?”

Naoto could think of several other reasons Kanji might have to be nervous about this particular job. But on the off chance that they hadn’t crossed his mind yet, she refrained from bringing them up. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel worse.

There was a pause, filled only by Chihiro’s babbles and the sound of the cats zooming about the living room after one another in a burst of energy. As he scraped the last of the baby food from the pot and offered it to their daughter, Kanji’s face began to fall ever so slightly, and before long he was sighing.

“I really gotta… stop overlookin’ that I’m married to a detective. I am scared shitless of leavin’ Chihiro for the first time. If anythin’s wrong, it’s that most of all. But uh… Otherwise I’m just a little weirded out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Middle school – this middle school – is kinda… where I started to get a bad rep… What… I dunno, what if they take one look at me and realise who I am and kick me out? Like, they don’t realise ‘Shirogane Kanji’ is actually ‘Tatsumi Kanji’ an’ once they do they won’t want me anymore? They don’t know why I resigned from my last job either, what if they think I did something bad an’–”

As his voice grew louder and more sporadic, his panic becoming so apparent that it was palpable, Naoto scooted her way over to him and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head gently on his chest.

“You left on your own terms because you disliked the way the school was being run. You don’t have to disclose why. And Kan-chan… you don’t mean to tell me that I’ve kept you from your hometown for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like? Inaba isn’t overly massive – rumours spread fast. I daresay there isn’t a person here who doesn’t know that the Tatsumi boy married that Detective Shirogane person. Especially not with how much your mother talks about us.”

She held him close for a while, rubbing her hand across his back even after his heart stopped pounding so hard, and his muscles began to relax.

“Yeah… I know… I know it’s a stupid thing to worry about, an’ that there ain’t no point in getting’ worked up about it…”

“Well, it’s not… stupid. I’d say it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be concerned about, given the impact it had on you in the past. But I can assure you of this: they wouldn’t have hired you if they thought you were unfit for the position.”

He nodded, and a smile appeared on his face again – a genuine one, this time. For the rest of the morning, his dour disposition had dissipated somewhat, and his spirits certainly seemed higher when he had left the house.

But even if she had managed to cheer him up, Naoto knew the day would be a challenge for him no matter how many positive sentiments she sent his way. Returning to a place you had been mistreated, even after nearly twenty years had passed, was difficult enough as it was, without the thought of leaving your baby for the first time nagging at you as well.

That’s why she needed that binder. It contained the recipe for one of Kanji’s all-time favourite curries, one she believed even she could produce, and she figured he might need something like that when he returned home.

He often did little ‘date nights’ from home for them, for birthdays or anniversaries, or even just when Naoto was struggling with a tough case and needed a distraction or treat. They would put on whatever was comfortable, sit down with a meal and a drink, and more often than not, end up in a snuggled-up heap on the couch with a movie flickering on in the background. She hosted her fair share of them as well, but admittedly hers often involved an expensive night out at a restaurant. Kanji was the better cook, and he considered it a hobby more than simply something one needed to do to survive, but Naoto lacked the skill or drive to make a hand-crafted date night even without her long hours.

But this night would be an exception. She suddenly found herself with eight hours at home without him, and she would be a fool not to use that time to surprise him in the same way he always would with her. She’d throw him a date night so damn enjoyable that he’d forget all about his anxieties, no matter the cost.

That was… if she could find the damned recipe she needed to carry out her plan.

And so, she perused box after box in her investigation, leaving not even one overlooked. Old case files she’d had sent over from the Shirogane estate that had once belonged to her grandfather. An assortment of holiday decorations that really needed separating by date. Kanji’s miscellaneous box of scrap material. A box marked for charity of Naoto’s old clothes that had stopped fitting since she’d had Chihiro. Plushies. More plushies. Even the container of extra crockery, things that had come from the kitchen itself, bore no sign of the item she sought. An hour passed as though it were seconds, yielding nothing of value.

Had Kanji already moved it? It wasn’t as though she could ask him… Had they forgotten it? No, that apartment was spotless when they’d moved out. She’d triple checked it herself.

She foresaw herself spending all day searching at this rate… but she didn’t have all day. He’d be staying late for a debriefing, but even so, Kanji would still probably be home for five o’clock, and she still had to go to Junes to fetch the ingredients she was going to need.

Perhaps she could look it up online again? That was where Kanji had found it originally…

She sat herself, cross legged, on an old rug and pulled out her phone, plugging in the name of the recipe into a search engine, lifting her arm so that Mochi – tired of hiding – could come and curl up in her lap. And then, running the fingers of her free hand through Mochi’s fur, she began to scroll and click every site she could find.

But she recalled vividly the constitution of the page she was searching for, and none of these were it. She’d never read the words herself – having never made the recipe – and Kanji had decided to crop the name of the site it was from to maintain the ‘aesthetic’ of the folder, but she knew what it looked like. The colours, the typeface, the accompanying picture.

Nothing.

It was entirely possible the site had been redesigned or deleted. In which case she was out of luck online… It wouldn’t work for her to try a different recipe, it had to be that one. If it wasn’t that one, it wouldn’t taste the same, and then it wouldn’t be his favourite. Irritation began to swell within her as her endeavour began to look more fruitless, and she had to take a few moments to breathe and calm a little before moving onto her last resort: checking with Mrs. Tatsumi, with Yakushiji, and the Investigation Team on the off chance that maybe Kanji had lent them the recipe at some point.

Nos all around.

The irritation grew stronger.

And then, as though a timer had gone off signifying the end of her allotted time, the baby monitor sprung to life.

***

“Are… You even listening?”

Naoto huffed and folded her arms, wearing her most devastating expression of disappointment as she shook her head. She’d been talking for a good ten minutes, and she was beginning to wonder if any of it had been heard at all.

“’Course we are. You want to do something cute and romantic for the big guy, because you’re secretly a massive softie, but your first idea went bust.”

Yosuke offered her a cheeky wink and raised his soda cup in a mock toast, before turning back to fawn over Chihiro in Chie’s arms.

“But I dunno how you expect us to concentrate on anything else when you’ve brought this adorable little muffin along,” Chie added, putting on a baby voice and ‘booping’ said muffin on the nose. Chihiro giggled, her tiny face absolutely beaming with delight.

“Oh, I expect you to manage perfectly. If I can – if Kanji can – despite seeing every cute thing she ever does, then it should be no problem for somebody only exposed to it for a short while.”

A couple of hours had passed since Naoto had given up her search for the original recipe and had elected to change tactic. She would simply have to find… a different meal entirely. One that would still mean as much to Kanji. But a quick scour of the recipe books they had on hand in the kitchen yielded nothing. And so, once Chihiro was fed and dressed appropriately for the late summer warmth, she walked her over to Junes to grab some supplies, hoping that by some pure miracle, looking at the ingredients on offer would spark some form of inspiration within her. Only, out of sheer coincidence, she had managed to time her visit perfectly with the end of Yosuke’s shift, and Chie’s day off.

The two of them could often be found talking in the food court on their off-hours. It had been that way since high school, through all the changes and remodels they’d made to the layout of the store over the years and would likely continue to be that way as long as Junes stood and they remained in Inaba. It was the secret headquarters of the Investigation Team, after all. It wasn’t a place you could so easily give up.

So, guided by tradition, they all sat together, sharing a Takoyaki selection in the summer breeze – a welcome change from the mustiness of the Shirogane residence garage – Yosuke and Chie completely spellbound by the baby while Naoto explained her predicament. She had hoped they’d be a little more attentive, and frankly more helpful, but… she supposed she couldn’t fault them. Chihiro was effectively their niece, and she’d been in Tokyo for the past year.

But at least they were making her happy. Seeing her so ecstatic, despite Kanji being gone for so long, certainly helped ease some of the anxieties she had been feeling about leaving her. Getting her acquainted properly with the people who would likely be babysitting her until well into her teens was certainly not a bad thing… although… Naoto was on a tight schedule.

“Aaanyway.” She rapped the table lightly with the tips of her fingers. “Regretfully my first idea – the one that was ah… ‘bust’, as you said – was also my only idea. I’m currently running at a loss on where to proceed from here…”

At the very least they were nodding along now, and looking at her as she spoke.

“…Chie-chan, do you have date nights? What do you usually do?”

“Hmm? Yeah, of course we do! But, uh… Yukiko and I always go out for ‘em. You know, because the inn keeps her so busy and I –”

“Can’t cook anything without it coming out tasting of cardboard?” Yosuke supplied, grinning. Chie shot him a mean look, but nodded nonetheless.

“Pretty much…”

“In most instances, that would be my go-to as well,” Naoto said, holding back a grin at Yosuke’s comment. “Hand-crafted anything is Kanji’s forte, not mine, but… we both agree the ones at home are more enjoyable, no matter how good the food may be in a restaurant.”

“You’re like… the most private people I’ve ever known, so that isn’t surprising.”

She gave an affirming nod. Lovely as it was to go all out sometimes at an expensive eatery, there were always… stares. No matter where they were, people would see them and notice. Sometimes they’d simply recognise the Detective Prince, and that was all they’d see. But other times their eyes would linger longer. They’d take note of Kanji’s piercings and spikes combined with the cute animals and soft colours, analyse Naoto’s dedication to old English fashion and deliberate lack of conformity to any gender, and then keep their gazes trained on the two of them as they attempted to pick apart every contrasting aspect. The way they looked and dressed alone, the way they looked and dressed together… it made going out in public difficult for two people who both struggled to some degree with social anxieties and a history of being scrutinised for the way they were.

Kanji had left the house worrying he was going to be judged. She didn’t want to put him through that twice in one day.

“Well, is there anything else you’ve made before that you know he likes?” Yosuke asked, helping himself to the Takoyaki

Naoto frowned. “Well, yes, but all of it is rather… typical? I have a small repertoire, you see.”

“So you want something different? Hmm… Why don’t you just go ham?” Chie suggested with a genuine smile. “Grab stuff you think’ll go together and make a totally new curry. Heck, doesn’t even gotta be curry.”

“That’s how you end up with Mystery Food X: Redux,” Yosuke warned, and Chie’s smile instantly vanished. “Though actually, Naoto… In your sensible hands you’d probably be okay. You actually know how to cook.”

“If I wasn’t holding a baby right now, I would kick you.”

“Without a recipe at all…?” For a moment, the detective was left perplexed. But before long, a thought came across her mind, and that irritation from earlier came grumbling back into her periphery. “Yosuke-kun. Please. I simply don’t have the time to spare for your… japes and mockery. I need you to be serious.”

She expected him to laugh, as he often would when she caught him out while he was joking. She didn’t do so very often, loathe as she was to admit it, and it had become something of a game to Yosuke to see how long he could keep pushing her buttons.

But this time he threw up his hands instead, with… was that his face now contorted in confusion as well?

“H-hey, I am being serious. Promise. If you genuinely have no other ideas, then I begrudgingly accept that Chie might be onto something.”

“And I’m supposed to do that without instructions?” She asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Was she being foolish and naïve? Or was Yosuke the one reeking of inexperience? “You act as though you believe I have time to memorise every food combination, and how to make them work. I am a detective, not a chef, Yosuke-kun. Recipes exist so that I don’t have to preoccupy my brain with trivialities such as cooking from memory.”

“Hey, it was Chie’s idea, not mine!”

“You should know better.”

The raised voices and snipes were a staple of any conversation involving Yosuke and Chie, and at this point Naoto had come to learn that it was largely performative. They ‘fought’ with warm regards. She’d even reached a point where she was able to go along with it without utterly deflating the mood. But to Chihiro, with no grasp of the concept of banter, it was all just loud, frightening noises coming from people she didn’t know all too well. The conversation very quickly had to switch courses when a crying spell threatened to rear its head.

“You know… you never asked me what I do for date nights,” Yosuke pointed out once the baby had been settled. She now lay propped up on Naoto’s lap, nodding off with her little head resting on her chest. Naoto constantly considered herself fortunate that Chihiro wasn’t especially fussy. Sometimes on a good day all she needed to calm right down was a cuddle.

“Hmm?” she looked up. If Yosuke had said anything before that, she had been too preoccupied with gently coaxing her daughter to nap to hear it. “Oh, no, I suppose I didn’t…”

Chie, who had moved into the more comfortable position of resting her chin on her hand now her arms were free, scoffed slightly.

“Dude. Maybe because you don’t have anybody to date?”

“Well… No, but I’ve been on dates. More than one with the same person. I have experience, I’m just… not experiencing it right now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, casting his gaze off to the side. “Dinner dates aren’t really my thing though…”

“So, why’d you even bring it up?”

“Hey! I’ve been on… like, one dinner date. I’m just not the guru of them!” He shrugged. “It’s an interesting story actually… I got set up a few years ago by my bandmates, and it turns out the guy isn’t my type at all. But I didn’t want to say no without at least giving him a chance, so… Y’know. He wants to go out to this fancy French place, but we get there and they’re closing early because of… Uh, I think the kitchen flooded or something like that? So, he takes me back to his place and leaves me there, runs off to go shopping, and comes back and cooks a three-course French meal himself.”

“And you didn’t marry him on the spot?”

“Nah. We did a couple more dates but it didn’t really work out. We weren’t super compatible...”

“Is this why you get Rise to vet anybody you’re gonna date now?”

“Pretty much. You guys know me best, so…”

The two of them continued to talk, but from Naoto’s perspective, their voices had been drowned by her thoughts into a dull and distant murmur. From the moment Yosuke had finished his story, the gears in her brain had whirred into motion, working their way into fabricating a plan formed from his words.

It had hit her at last. A wave of inspiration and relief, tantamount to the feeling she would have when she’d finally cracked the secret to a particularly arduous case.

A plan. Followed by a conjured image of how Kanji’s face might look when he saw it.

“Yosuke-kun…” she began, standing slowly so that she did not wake the baby and gently lowering her into the buggy she had parked next to her seat. “Would you be able to look something up for me? While my hands are full.”

***

January 19th, 2025. Little over a year and a half ago. London, England. They’d been abroad for a few weeks at that point, Naoto on a case for the Shadow Operatives, and Kanji taking advantage of her hotel room to table at an artist’s alley in a convention.

It was something of a special occasion. Kanji’s 29th birthday had been the original cause for celebration, but to him at least that was very much an aside. It was, what, only three hours prior to reaching the restaurant that they’d found out Naoto was pregnant.

There had been several sources for the reasoning behind Naoto’s choice in establishment, and unlike most of her destination picks while they’d been in London, none of them had a single thing to do with Sherlock Holmes. The ones that stood out the most: a churning in her stomach – simultaneously a mental and a physical reaction to her current condition – and a particularly mournful image of her mother-in-law from a few months prior.

“There was this little place my late husband and I would always take Kanji when he was young, if we had to travel to Okina. Italian, it was, family run. I just heard from a customer that it was recently shut down because the owner passed. It has me a little down to think of, that’s all Naoto dear.”

A precious memory from Kanji’s childhood was no small matter, harrowing as such a thing was to think. And Italian… parsing through her options in her mind as she browsed the local restaurants on one of those food apps, Naoto took note of how the one being advertised made her insides turn the least at the thoughts of it. It was one of those smaller, more community-based places, while the others were either going to be full of too-rich smells for her poor stomach to handle, or full of classy, antiquated rules and stares that she didn’t feel up to taking that day.

She didn’t want to make her husband eat hotel food on his birthday… And nor did she want to worry him all evening by being exceptionally edgy. So it didn’t take very long at all for her to have dialled the number for the family-run Italian place, and had booked them a table for two that evening.

The food had been… good. Standard fare for that kind of place. But Naoto was a harsh critic – even without feeling deeply unwell, she had been to Italy. And yet, in all the fifteen years she had known Kanji, she could not recall a single meal out where he seemed to have enjoyed himself quite as much as that. The rush of euphoria from learning he was going to be a father had apparently been enough to turn any experience he may have had that night into the best date night of his life. And Naoto knew the kind of man he was. Sentimental, perceptive, prone to dwelling on the little things. He’d remember, starkly, what he had eaten then.

It was just a pasta meal. She recalled it being made with chicken and a creamy, pesto-based sauce, and Yosuke’s internet search had quickly pulled up a recipe for something along those lines. It wouldn’t be the same – these places kept their recipes close to the heart – but that didn’t matter. Her plan had now become a case of finding something symbolic, over finding something that tasted good.

“I think he’s really starting to rub off on you,” Yosuke had noted as Naoto had prepared to rush off to grab the ingredients from the recipe he had found. “Kanji, I mean. In a good way.”

She’d queried him on that. Her own sharpness didn’t exactly extend to analysing herself.

“I just meant that five years ago, I don’t think you’d ever have thought to do something like this. I always took you for the… less cliché of the two of you. Didn’t you propose to him spontaneously in a cat café? If you don’t mind me asking… why is this the first thing you thought to do for him?”

A pause for Naoto to collect her thoughts. One that, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t last nearly as long as it might have.

“It’s… because this is logical to me. A dinner date – it’s the simplest, most common activity in the books. It’s a cliché because its effective. Because food is one of those love languages that transcends barriers, and to somebody who struggles in most social situations, like Kanji, like me, you must understand that something like this is a life saver. It’s a change to our routine that really doesn’t change all that much.” She smiled to herself. “Kanji does this to make me feel happy. So many people do, for the person they love. It only makes sense to me that I follow their lead.”

It was that way for most matters of the heart, she thought to herself as she balanced a packet of chicken on the hood of the buggy. She had never known how to act in these situations, how to express the feelings she had. And while she’d devised some unique little ways that she had managed to convey to Kanji, oftentimes the most effective means of telling him that she loved him was to simply use another person’s idea as a foundation. She had her own experiences as proof that it worked. After all, Kanji was a person who had been so starved for and scared of affection as a child that now, almost anything that said ‘I care about you’ was enough to draw him to tears. And Naoto was no different. He was more physical than her, and really that was the only major way in which their feelings towards romance diverged. The things that made one of them happy was sure to leave the other in the same state.

***

Naoto loved Kanji more than she hated cooking. That was really the defining fact that made this entire plan of hers possible at all.

Because she really hated cooking.

“I’ll prolly be home in like… forty minutes,” Kanji had told her over the phone when she’d given him a tentative call at just gone four to gauge how long she had. Pasta wasn’t exactly something she could make well in advance – just the thought of reheating it or overcooking it made her skin crawl. It was one of those things she needed to be perfect. Kanji, thankfully, didn’t have a preference.

So, she’d had to leave making the actual meal until as close to Kanji’s arrival as she could predict. But it wasn’t as though she had time to spare… She had to make the table, feed the cats, feed the baby, put the baby down for a nap…

Then she had to cook the chicken and the pasta… that was fine, it just… radiated a lot of heat for a day that was already rather warm. Inaba’s houses were old, and they didn’t yet have much ventilation or air conditioning.

Then was the sauce, and she had to do some vegetables, but she had to keep stirring the sauce so it didn’t ruin the consistency, and she had to keep turning the meat and the veggies so they wouldn’t burn, and oh, the pasta might stick or become overdone if she wasn’t careful. Then it would just become stressful. Every meal, every time. No matter how methodical she tried to be, it would always devolve into this.

It was a focus thing, she was sure. When she homed in on a task or a detail, it became quite difficult to switch gears on the fly. A useful skill for analysing a murder case. Not so much for cooking.

It was why, when they were both at home, she and Kanji would often just cook dinner together.

But occasionally, and for the sake of somebody she cared about, it was worth it.

She was just at the stage where she was plating up the food, trying to get it to look as it did in the picture on the website, when the familiar sight of an old, dusty car that had at one point been purple staggered its way up their driveway, starkly contrasted with the shiny motorcycle it had pulled up next to. As Kanji climbed from the car, Naoto carefully studied his face, trying to glean from his expression how exactly he was feeling in that moment. But Kanji had a naturally angry look to him, so such a task was often difficult to undertake.

“You makin’ garlic bread, Nao?” he called from the porch almost as soon as the door had slid shut.

“You’ll see,” was all she said in response. With Kanji just moments away from seeing what she had done, she found herself buzzing with anticipation.

“Wuzzat s’posed to mean?” he asked, sticking his head around the door into the kitchen.

For a moment, his forehead crinkled as he took everything in, his eyes lingering on the table made up as closely to that of a restaurant as Naoto could manage, with cloth, candles, and an arrangement of Kanji’s favourite red roses (albeit that was rather haphazardly done).

And in that moment Naoto felt as though her heart had somehow managed to stall.

But the tension was brief, quickly dissipated by the biggest, goofiest grin taking up a huge portion of Kanji’s face.

He strode into the room and pulled his partner into a powerful hug all in a motion that was so fluid, you wouldn’t think it was Kanji performing it.

“I can see you’re ready to reopen the agency, huh?”

Naoto smiled and shook her head, before snuggling her cheek into Kanji’s chest. “Don’t mistake this for a fit of boredom – I’ve been anything but. Welcome to our first date night back in Inaba.”

“Huh? W-wait, hold up… Date night? You did this… fer me?”

His eyes threatened to grow wider than his smile had those few moments earlier, as the realisation of the circumstances slowly began to dawn on him.

Then, as was customary for Kanji whenever Naoto would do anything for him ever, his face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, and he began stammering unintelligible gibberish.

“Quickly now, before it cools down!”

“Y…Yuh…”

This was… odd. Kanji seemed unequivocally, unprecedentedly broken. His movements as he crossed to the counter and grabbed his plate, were mechanical, shaken, even. They weren’t unheard of for him, but it was as though they had suddenly been transported fifteen years into the past once more. Before they had fallen in love, before they’d even been close friends, when Kanji was so overcome with embarrassment whenever they spoke that he would be unable to function.

Now they were married, it wasn’t exactly commonplace.

Had something happened to him at work which had left him overwhelmed?

“Kanji?” Naoto called out tentatively as they took their seats.

“…huh?”

“You seem… Rather out of it.”

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. “Right. Yeah… Sorry…”

He cleared his throat and repeated the process of shaking his head.

“It’s just, uh… ‘M kinda at a loss for words. This is… Wow.”

A tension she hadn’t recognised until it was gone suddenly flooded from her body with a sigh of relief.

“For a moment there I was concerned that something was wrong, so –”

“More like… everythin’ is right. I never pegged you fer someone who’d do date nights Tatsumi style.”

“…Tatsumi style? So this…” she waved an arm across the table. “This is something you observed… what, from your parents?”

He nodded. Naoto didn’t realise it was possible for him to turn redder until just then.

“Ain’t really a lotta options for fancy restaurants like what you do out here. Ma and my old man always improvised at home. I know cookin’ yer partner a meal ain’t somethin’ my folks made up, they just ended up callin’ it that… Nickname kinda stuck.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, I suppose I have rather adopted a Tatsumi way of behaving today. Our roles have been utterly reversed. Why, I daresay after dinner, I shall take up a crochet project, and you’ll lull our Chihiro to sleep by reading her more of ‘A Study in Scarlet’.”

“I love you, Naoto.”

“Eh?”

But instead of elaborating, Kanji simply left his partner to turn an equally furious shade of red while he took a bite of the food. Naoto found herself so flustered that she didn’t even have time to be nervous about him trying the dish.

But, she supposed, she didn’t really have anything to worry about. This was Kanji.

“…I better never hear the words ‘I’m not very good at cooking’ comin’ from yer mouth again.”

“Well… Regardless of the quality of the food –” she began, about to launch into a spiel about how the mess she made, and how stressful it was for her, suggested that she technically wasn’t exactly on the level of a master. But all it took from Kanji was a single glare, and she stopped herself.

This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. And he did hate when she was self-deprecating in any capacity.

“I’m glad you like it Kan-chan.” She smiled, taking her own first bite. Hmm. Not bad. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to taste – she’d been feeling far too unwell that night in London to eat much at all, so she’d ordered a lighter dish – but how it did taste was pleasant.

“Better than it was on my birthday that one time. Dunno if you remember, but at that one Italian place when we were in England –”

“Where do you suppose I gained the inspiration to make this particular meal?”

“Huh? Well shit, haha. Last time I ever doubt yer memory.”

“Hm, well… I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting that day…”

Kanji slid his free hand across the table and placed it atop hers, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. Strange, she noted, that the nail was still painted black; she was sure the school would make him take the colour off alongside his piercings.

A nagging feeling in her chest, her stomach, her mind was begging her to ask him how it had gone. But it was not the only train of thought on the feeling that she had. What if Kanji didn’t want to talk about it yet? What if it was best to simply… enjoy the meal in ignorant bliss? Was he waiting for the right time, or for her to say something?

He looked as though he were about to speak now, was that the subject he was going to bring up?

“How has Chihiro been today?”

No. Of course not. The subject of work would have to wait.

As with… most of their conversations over the past year, the rest of the meal was largely dominated with Chihiro. Naoto describing, in detail, exactly what she had done, and Kanji’s expression growing fonder and fonder with every word. By the time they were done eating, he looked as though he were going to cry.

“Kinda sad that this is our lives goin’ forwards…”

“Hm?”

“Nothin’… just been missin’ her at work is all.”

The nagging feeling was very quickly becoming anxiety. The first mention of his day all evening, and it was something negative.

“Kanji, was everything –”

A sound suddenly stole her words before she had the chance to finish. A baby crying, as audible through the walls as it was the baby monitor on the counter.

“Prolly needs changing, huh?” Kanji smiled, rising to his feet. “Mind if I take this?”

“Please… She probably misses you too.”

In the time that Kanji was attending to the baby, Naoto managed to load everything that needed cleaning into the dishwasher, and found her way to the living room, and then to the couch. But her mind wasn’t exactly responsive as she did so.

Kanji… was worse than she had anticipated… More than just a simple meal could possibly hope to fix. Why on earth… What delusion had she been under to think, with how he’d been these past few days, that a little romantic gesture would be all he needed to feel better.

Amidst the haze that was buzzing in her mind, she vaguely registered her hands clenching into fists.

At some point, goodness knew when, Kanji had reappeared in the room and had sat down next to her, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She’s back down. Heh… Wanted to play as soon as she saw me, the little tyke, but could barely keep her eyes open long enough to do it.”

“She’s had… a busy day.”

“Ain’t we all?” he said with an air of exhaustion about him, placing his glasses gently on the kotatsu in front of them and then sinking back into the couch. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“I’ve been ready for weeks. Waiting on other people…” Naoto mumbled in response. Her gaze had fallen as she’d spoken to her socks, and she could not bring herself to remove it until Kanji nudged her with his arm.

“Hey. You good, Nao?”

“…Are you?”

That brought the conversation to a standstill.

“Would ya believe me if I told ya I was jus’ tired?”

“Only… partially.”

He gave her a half smile and repositioned himself so that his head lay on her shoulder.

“It was… a pretty exhaustin’ day… Lotta new stuff. Lotta old stuff too… that school ain’t changed in twenty years. Amazing it’s managed so long.”

Naoto just made an affirming noise and let her hand come to rest on his shoulder, pressing her cheek onto the top of his head. Best just to let him speak, she thought.

“Ain’t none of the people I knew still there but… they knew who I was. Course they did… didn’t expect any different. An’ you know what?”

“Hm?”

“Most of ‘em just complimented me on the plushies. They knew me ‘cause of the shop, not… ‘cause of the delinquent shit.”

“Well, that’s… good, is it not? That’s what we hoped would happen.”

She felt him shift his head as though he were trying to nod. His arm had worked its way around her waist, and she felt him bunching up the fabric of her dress shirt in his fingers as he spoke. It was an unconscious habit of his. Most notable when he was nervous.

“Yeah… Never said it weren’t good. Jus’ that I was tired. And that I missed my kid. And you.”

Naoto drew a deep breath. “It seemed like something was wrong, that’s all. I’ve been worried about you. All day. All week.”

“…That why you’re not okay?”

“Yes! Effectively!”

Another brief standstill.

“Sorry ‘bout that… Really… Last thing I wanted was for my bullshit worrying over nothing to affect you too.”

Naoto squeezed his shoulder slightly.

“You should know by now that such a thing is impossible. The same can be said of you, to me. We’ve been in this partnership since we were in high-school, Kan-chan, we can’t simply… hide our true feelings any longer. We know each other too well to be caught out.”

“Yeah… s’pose you’re right… I did appreciate it though. Back before I went in today and realised my worries were a load ‘a crap. I… I dunno, I guess comin’ back to Inaba after so long had me thinkin’ that everythin’ was gonna go back to the way it was.”

“Kanji… You weren’t… Please don’t tell me you’ve been thinking that way since we first planned to come.”

Silence. Naoto’s heart dropped. Obviously, that meant she was right on the mark.

Good lord, she had still been expecting when they’d first discussed moving back! Their daughter was one in a week!

“’s in the past now though. All of it,” he said eventually. “Physically this place ain’t no different, but I guess the vibe has changed since we were kids. Maybe… Enough time has passed now that I ain’t gotta worry about… the guy I was.”

“Kanji… I rescind what I said earlier. About how it’s impossible to hide our feelings from each other. Please… when it’s something serious like this, I implore you to tell me.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. If she did, he’d try to make this about her, and dammit, she was tired of it being about her. The entire point of everything she had done that day was to make it about Kanji for once in his life.

“…’M sorry, Nao…”

After that, for a long while neither of them spoke. They simply adjusted themselves into a position where they could more easily cuddle and sat there, snuggled into each other as the dwindling oranges and purples of the twilight sky gave way to darkness.

Kanji was the one to break the silence, his voice so slick with sleepiness that it was demure in a way which was much unlike him.

“Hey Nao… Yer still awake, right?”

“Mmhmm…” she responded. It was… mostly true.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’. I got a new goal now we’re back here… I wanna be able to look that bastard in the eye and tell him he ain’t me. Not because I’m denyin’ anythin’, but because he ain’t.”

“Him? Your Shadow?”

“Yeah. Like you can, y’know? If your Shadow popped their head back up and started sayin’ the same shit as before, you could just tell ‘em: ‘you’re wrong.’ ‘Cause they would be.”

“But they wouldn’t say something like that. My age and gender no longer cause me grief to the level they had in my youth, so my Shadow wouldn’t bring them up.”

Of course, they wouldn’t. Naoto thought that was obvious. She was thirty-one, very much an adult, and any doubt she had about whether she was a man or a woman were significantly eased when she had learned that she could be both and neither. She had no lack of confidence in those aspects of herself, regardless now of what other people thought, so there was no way the Shadow could use them as ammunition if they were to reappear.

But based on Kanji’s next statement, suddenly full of more vigour than his words prior, she wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood where he was coming from.

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m saying! The stuff your Shadow said back then… It ain’t even crossin’ your mind anymore. I wanna be the same… I mean… It’s not that I ain’t happy with who I am. I like cute shit, and sewing, and all the stuff like that. Shit, I’m bi as hell. I can say that stuff proudly. It’s…” he huffed. “For some reason, it’s like I can be confident in myself all I want, but in my head it don’t mean shit unless everyone else feels the same way. An' as long as I got a history as 'the guy who beats up bikers', it's like that day ain't gonna come... I’m… still scared shitless of bein’ rejected after all these years... It’s like… every time I meet a new group of people, I just end up wonderin’ how long its gonna be before they brand me a thug and cut me and everyone I care about off. Think that’s kinda the reason it’s been weighin’ on me again so much more recently. I start comin’ up with scenarios in my head where it gets outta hand and Chihiro gets hurt ‘cause of it.”

As he spoke, his hug became tighter.

“Kan-chan…”

“So, my goal is to get to a place where I don’t constantly worry about that stuff. Where if that bastard showed up again and said that kinda shit, I could deny him with my whole heart and know for certain that I’m right an’ he’s wrong. An’ before you say shit, I know that ain’t how Shadows work. That’s jus’ the image I use in my head to try an’ visualise what I’m itchin’ to do.”

He added that last part with a hint of a laugh to his tone.

So that was why he took a job he was so caught up about? As some concrete way of proving to himself that he would be okay if he did?

A self-destructive means of gathering evidence for a hypothesis… hm… perhaps Naoto’s inheritance of Kanji’s traits over the years had gone the other way as well.

“I didn’t realise it was possible to be so unbelievably proud of somebody, while simultaneously thinking them a fool…” Naoto ensured to keep her own tone bright, so that he would know she spoke in endearing terms. “You know I would have supported you through this if only you had told me –”

“Hah. Yer actin’ like you take me for the kinda guy who thinks this shit through… this ain’t exactly something I’ve been plannin’ or nothin’, it just sorta… came to me now.”

Oh, so it was a subconscious instinct?

Then perhaps he would be safe from her bad influence for just a little while longer…

“Well… regardless of how much preparation has gone into it… it is a good goal to have in mind, so long as you’re comfortable with the pain it may bring in the process.”

“Yeah. No problem. Anyway…” he sat up and looked her in the eyes. “What was that you were implyin’ with the whole ‘you know I would have supported you’ bull you just said?”

Naoto frowned. “It’s the truth –”

“Yeah, I know it’s the truth. Because you have been supportin’ me, dumbass. You ain’t ever stopped.” He thrust his arm in the vague, general direction of the kitchen, a wild delight dancing in his eyes. “You spent the last day of yer maternity leave makin’ sure I’d have a good evenin’ because you thought I needed cheerin’ up.”

Naoto felt her cheeks heat up. “I… I only did what you would do for me…”

“Yeah, but it ain’t like I made you do it. You still made the decision. It’s amazin’, an yer incredible, and adorable, an’ you make a freakin’ awesome pasta, an’ I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

She knew she was blushing harder and harder with every word, to the point where all she could think to do was bury her face into his shoulder.

“Feel kinda bad that we kinda got side-tracked from the ‘date night’ though… Sorry if you had anything else planned.”

“No, no, don’t feel bad. I did this because I thought you needed it, Kanji. And I don’t suppose I’m wrong in suggesting that you very much needed this talk as well?”

“…You ain’t wrong… Not at all.”

“And do you feel any better for having it?”

“Mmhmm.”

Naoto lifted her head and gave him her warmest smile. “Then I can safely declare this date night a resounding success.”

“Damn right, you can! But uh… I don’t wanna take away from anythin’ else you mighta wanted to do, so –”

The heat in her cheeks returned as quickly as it had vanished, and she sheepishly averted his gaze. Right. Date night was usually more than a meal.

“Uhm... About that. Kanji, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, I… I was so caught up in trying to find a recipe for dinner that it never even occurred to me to look for a movie or something to do afterwards.”

She offered him an apologetic look, but his immediate response was only to laugh and hold her closer.

“Don’t think I coulda made it through a movie anyway… I’m beat…”

“As am I. I think I may drift off here…”

It quickly became apparent that each of their ideal end to the evening would be to turn in early and hope to gain a restful night – something that was near impossible with a small child. Whether such a thing was an indication of how eventful their day had been, or whether it was simply a sign of them getting older, neither really cared to consider. Instead, they just ensured the house was secure, called the cats to follow them, and moved upstairs as quietly as they could so that their footsteps wouldn’t cause Chihiro to stir.

It wasn’t until Naoto had switched her outfit for one of Kanji’s old shirts and was brushing her teeth in the upstairs bathroom that it dawned on her: there was still one aspect of her day that had yet to be cleared up.

And now that it had come to mind, she feared she may be unable to sleep until she had an answer.

“Kan-chan?”

“Hm?”

“You know the binder you keep with recipe print-outs…? Do you have any idea what box it’s in?”

His face was mostly buried by the bedsheets by now, but she could tell from the part she could see that he was thinking hard.

“Uh… Oh! My car.”

“…Your car?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want the other kitchen stuff to squash it, so I put it separate. I see it every time I go in there an’ I keep saying I’ll bring it in and never do. How come…?”

Naoto heaved a great sigh and flopped on the bed besides him. It wasn’t until her face hit the pillow that she realised exactly how exhausting her day had been. “So you had it all along… I never would have found it.”

“You were lookin’ for it?”

“I was. I wanted to make you that curry instead, the one you called your favourite.”

“Ohhhh. I getcha now." He laughed. "That woulda been a good choice. But y’know anythin’ would have been fine. I got a real soft-spot for Italian food, hehe.”

“I like that curry myself though,” she added, as she shuffled under the covers. “It’s rare to find something spicy that you can handle as much as I…”

“You do, huh? I see.”

There was silence for a while. And then…

“Hey, Naoto…?”

“Mmm?”

“When’s your next day off?”

“My next day off…? That would be Sunday… Why?”

But Kanji didn’t answer. Instead, he just leaned over to kiss her goodnight, and then, with a sleepy smile, he rolled over and went to sleep.

#persona 4 #kanji tatsumi #naoto shirogane #kannao #misede writes

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elevenharbor · 3 years

Text

announcement

hi friends,

due to some unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances, i’ll be going on a hiatus so i can support my family at this time. I’m not really okay right now and I think I need some time to just...deal with real-life stuff.

i’ll still check tumblr every so often and will continue to art in my spare time (if i have any). Posting will be sporadic, however.

thank you all for being kind and supportive with my art and my stories and for talking to me here. I promise i’ll be back. The sesskag fandom is dear to my heart and i have met and made some incredible friends here.

be safe, my friends <3

love, eleven

#announcement #sesskag #be back in a bit #hiatus

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oneinist · 3 years

Text

Recap #2: Two months in fandom feels like forever?!

Ao3/Fanfiction So I finally tagged my fics properly... After reading this educational post here. I understand why tags are important and honestly I was just too embarrassed in the beginning but I overcame it.

I got my first gift, squeals, read more about that under Umino hours discord server~

I’ve posted only a few drabbles (which are not limited to 100 words in my world but maybe less than 500 words? dunno). Unfortunately, I’m currently in a writer’s block deluxe so I have taken my refuge in drawing instead, hoping that one day the block will have dissolved on its own and I can get back to writing too. Also I am starting to come to terms with that long fic is probably not my thing, regardless of how much I want to, and I should stick to oneshots... *sobs*

Tumblr/Fanart This month I have been more active on Tumblr, figuring out n00b stuff such as Asks - I got my first and second ask too! Thank you ~~~ @hades-bitch and @kaoruhana08

I even tried my hand at adding and formatting my pages with some basic html (I would love to be able to create my own theme some day). As you can see I love lists. Almost all the pages I’ve added are lists.

The discovery of this month has been @ao3commentoftheday I am in love. It is a gold mine and it has already transformed the way I think and interact with fanworks, my own and other’s. I cannot recommend this blog enough. Also it has this fun event-ish thing for weekdays that I followed for a week and will continue to do sporadically: Motivaiton Monday, Trivia Thursday, Work in Progress Wednesday, Thirsty Thursday, Fic Back Friday, Spotlight Saturday and Six Sentence Sunday.

I also started drawing chibis. I even made 27 (!?!?!?) emojis/sticker, mainly Iruka sensei but some Kakashi in there too of course. I really really really want to draw like I write, meaning SMUTTY, so I have started to try at least.

I am adopting my motto from @sweetysamaa which is when something seems like it is impossible to draw, that’s what I should draw! and also this ao3 post here on treating yourself as well as one about allowing yourself to take joy in creating and not be hung up on quality but I can’t find it...

I am also baffled by all the new followers, THANK YOU 🧡

Just some sample of past creations~~~

Events

I finally got to working on my Kakashi Summer Bingo board and managed to finish one line before the deadline~~~ I am also working on my KakaIru Maze Challenge, but my writer’s block is affecting that one negatively. I am loving the theme and my prompts, I just have to get over this darn blockage!

Umino hours discord server So, around Tumblr and on KakaIru.rocks I saw references to the Umino Hours not understanding what it was until I came across one of the invite posts. Of course it had already expired even though I saw it in real time... But then I saw that they would let new members in at a certain time. I marked my calendar and got up at 5:45 in the morning, glued to Tumblr, refreshing now and then - ready to click when the post came up. I felt like I was cueing for concert tickets!

Now a month later, I am in awe, the people who run it, the people who take part in it - it is truly amazing. I had a bit of a hard time getting used to the format (new to discord) and some days my brain can’t handle the multiple threads and referencing - but most days it can (Also I found that discord has a lot of settings you can make to have it work better with your brain!!!!! Love accessibility).

I took part in my first server event Umino Hours Discord Server 90 Minutes To Gift Exchange you can find all the awesome fics here~ I received this wonderful gift from couturecosplay. I’ll be posting the art I did for it and also any other fanart (that isn’t a WIP) I have posted in the server after this I think.

<3 Kakairu <3 discord server And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, the awesome @goatbutter-writes creates a KakaIru discord server. Squeals again. You can find the invite here. Please come and hang out, talk about our headcanons be they sfw or nsfw, share fic recs and fanart and aaaall the good stuff~~~

My closing note will probably sound really sappy but I feel like the people in the fandom have filled a hole in my heart I didn’t realize I had, how very Naruto-esque. I didn’t understand how lonely I was until I was welcomed into it. Not only has Covid been a contributing factor but I also moved between countries a year before Covid hit. I have been apart from family and friends and not really ben able to form new friendships. It hit double hard in a way. But, I have my online found family now~~~ Lots of love to you all!!

#utterly self indulgent #nobody asked #reminescing #it's only been two months #but it feels like forever #spread the kakairu loove~~~

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

To Tell You The Truth Part Three

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Good morning, good evening! I hope you're all doing well. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi

Part One

Part Two

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore and allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

Bakhroma loomed massive and pinkish-tan on the horizon ahead as you bent double, hands on your knees while you struggled for breath. No doubt you had pushed your filter carbon far past its limits with your headlong sprint heats through the Green. A quick look confirmed your suspicions; the indicator blinked sluggishly at the bottom of the red lines.

You bit your lip, barely reining in the panic threatening to engulf you yet again. You had no idea where you were. Damon was the one with the map, and Ezra...he was the only person alive who might be able to help you. Your heart dropped as you realized that all your running had really done was prolong the inevitable.

You sank to the ground, staring up at the planet that dominated most of the sky in front of you. The hazy atmosphere around it was bright orange, fading into the navy blue of the cosmos backdrop. Checking your watch, you saw that the first cycle had kicked into the second several hours ago, though the light level didn't seem to have changed at all. The cloying, overbearing vegetation around you abruptly made sense. This moon was not only humid, it was also bathed in light for much longer than the standard twenty-four cycle.

Moving robotically as your legs began to protest, you lumbered stiffly back to the treeline to suss out the spring you had passed by. You would need water. Even if you weren't in the right headspace to be thirsty, dehydration was not something to sneeze at.

You knelt in the mud alongside the spring, the coolness welcome on your overworked knees even through your suit. Pumping and purifying water always took longer than it ought to, and you found yourself staring blankly off into the distance as you filled your first jug.

You were working on the second when your helmet earpiece suddenly crackled to life with a shrill whine of static.

"-llo...hello to the Green."

Ezra?

You swiveled your head wildly to look around and the static increased with the motion, making you slow to a stop. It was a stationary transmission, then. Your helmet must be picking up a long range somewhere nearby.

You rose to your feet while rushing to stow the jugs of filtered water in your day pack, tilting your head and mentally begging Ezra to keep talking. He did not disappoint, his drawling voice and the bursts of intermittent static your compass through the tangled overgrowth.

"...one or two pearls...that I will be willing to part with for well under the peakest commercial rates. Nothin' funny."

It sounded like he hadn't managed to get what he needed to fix the drop pod. Your eyes burned with tears.

"Just a desperate man tryin' to make a bad deal with the right holdout."

Brick red flickered through the Green's lush verdancy and you realized after a moment that it was canvas. A tent solidified out of the thick brush as you advanced, the roof coated in a generous layer of amber-yellow dust.

"...anyone is out there...don't hesitate to click on." The signal was nearly free of static at this point. This tent was the obvious origin of the broadcast. But now the question was...whether that message was prerecorded or not.

You hid beside a large, gnarled tree and pondered your next move. Sure, you had the pistol. If it did you any good was an entirely different animal, but you definitely had it.

It felt sturdy in your hand compared to the flimsy Boscelot thrower rifle. Solid.

Maybe...maybe you could reason with Ezra at gunpoint. Strike some kind of new bargain. You had nothing to put on the table this time, however. Everything had been in that pack, and you highly doubted the other prospector was interested in your sketchbooks. It would have to be at gunpoint. He had the resources, but you had the gun.

Just like Damon.

You hated yourself in that moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, you darted across the space to the tent, ears straining to catch any noise from inside the structure. You couldn't hear much through your helmet to begin with.

After a quick prayer, you unzipped the tent and cautiously ducked your head to enter, leading with the thrower pistol clutched in your hands.

Someone seized your arm like a steel trap and you were ripped through the doorway, the pistol getting knocked out of your grasp in the process. Your plan effectively destroyed, you succumbed to panic, thrashing and attempting to claw at your assailant even with your gloves on. You twisted your head around to try and catch a glimpse--

And those bloodshot blue eyes seemed to loom up at you from the dimly-lit interior, making you scream out in terror, "No, no, Damon please!" as you struggled to get free.

He all but wrestled you bodily into one of the tent bunks, grunting in pain when you beat your gloved fists into his ribs. You weren't sure if it was just because of the adrenaline or if it was due to how long you had been separated from him, but you had never fought him this hard in your life! You had always just accepted, given in, bowed to his demands. Where had this tenacity even come from?

"Not again, not again!" You sobbed, futilely kicking your legs to try and throw him off of you. "P-Please, please, please--!"

"Gentle soul, if you do not cease tenderizin' my ribcage in this most belligerent and unneighborly manner," a familiar drawl met your ears through your thick helmet, "I will have no resource but to employ far more drastically militant tactics. Be still."

That voice! You froze, your hands still bunched up to tear at the fabric of his exosuit. Ezra.

His large form seemed to solidify in the exceedingly-dreary tent lighting now that you weren't fighting for your life, and you realized with a rush of embarrassment that it hadn't been Damon's eyes you saw, but the distorted reflection of the whites of your own in your helmet's dome. That, coupled with your imagination...

Damon was dead. How could you have forgotten? Damon was dead. It was just Ezra.

Does that make it any better?

You released him without a word, scrambling back as far as you could and drawing your knees to your chest in a defensive stance. Ezra stumbled upright, reaching overhead with his left hand to press a few buttons. The tent's air scrubber rattled sluggishly to life. "You can take off the helmet." He muttered.

You did so almost immediately, taking a greedy inhale of the dubiously-clean oxygen. A bit bar hit the threadbare bunk webbing by your feet and you ripped the colorful wrapper open, tearing chunks out of the crunchy substance with your teeth. As you devoured the bar ravenously, you realized that Ezra was utterly silent.

You dared to flick your eyes up and found him studying you, his expression pensive in the sickly orange twilight of the tent. You gulped down the bite of Calori-paste that now threatened to choke you. "I...I'm sorry." You apologized thickly. "I shouldn't have-"

"Be quiet and finish the bar, gentle soul." Ezra instructed softly. He sounded unsettled, of all things. Like he expected you to turn on him any second. "I believe I have unfortunately deduced the answer to the mystery I had pondered earlier, though I wholeheartedly regret opening that proverbial Pandora's box." He shook his head.

The Calori-paste sat in your stomach like a block of lead. You struggled through the last few bites, washing them down with swigs of plasticky water from your canteen. You held out the other bottle that you had filtered as a sort of silent peace offering and Ezra accepted it without hesitation, the older man proceeding to gulp half the bottle in one go.

"I know you may not be overly inclined towards listenin' to me at the moment," he gasped out, wiping the moisture off his mustache. "But I'm afraid my situation has grown even more dire than previously implied." He raised his eyes to meet your own. "I...I need your help." He confessed.

You took another drink of water to give you the time to collect your thoughts. You were certain your disbelief was plain on your face; you had never been gifted in the art of hiding your turns of expression.

Ezra snorted, lowering his body to sit on the far end of the bunk. "The Saders were not exceptionally keen on barterin' with me once you made your timely departure." He held his arm, wincing and no longer looking at you. "I managed to convince them to swap me some of their ambrosia for supplies, instead of-" He halted, his shoulders going rigid before he carefully continued, "I cannot excise the infection without assistance, and if I do not remove it with an exceedingly low degree of error, I will lose the whole arm."

You swallowed hard, clenching your fist so tight that the handle on the water jug creaked as you asked, "Were you going to give me to them?"

You knew that all Ezra had to do was say exactly what you wanted to hear. But you could live with the prettier lie if it got you off the Green. You could pretend to trust, pantomime the partnership.

His eyebrows drew together in a dark frown and you watched his jaw work sporadically before he finally exhaled a singular, monosyllabic, "no."

You waited for the rest of the sentence, the emphatic declarations of I would never! or what kind of man do you take me for?, but he remained silent, staring at the tent floor. Weirdly, the lack of long-winded antics made his answer feel more honest somehow. He was obviously a gifted liar, tailoring his technique to his target.

You sighed heavily through your nose. "Okay."

You told yourself that the bewildered gratitude in his eyes must have also been part of his ability to tell falsehoods.

Ezra prepared the sparse surgical supplies from your kit with a somber, almost funereal air. He seemed to be already convinced that his arm was a total loss. Maybe he knew better than to put much stock in the abilities of a battered floater.

You were seized with the uncanny urge to prove him wrong. Your need for validation was what had landed you in this mess with Damon all those stands ago, you reminded yourself, but you couldn't shake the habit so easily. "Did I hurt you? When I...when I hit you?" You asked before you could think better of it.

"No more than the average lighthearted dig dust-up would, gentle soul. Do not trouble yourself on my behalf." Ezra replied dully. "I offer my most sincere reparations for givin' you a fright."

"I spooked myself. I...I saw the reflection of my own eyes in my helmet and I thought…" you trailed off, nervously sipping your water.

"That man, Damon." Ezra hesitated, struggling to secure the band around his upper arm. "I know it is rude to ask after personal affairs, but did he-"

"Don't." You said softly.

To his credit Ezra stopped immediately, busying himself with the tourniquet. After he had completed that arduous task, he bit the cap off of one of the porta-surge syrettes, spitting it out to land neatly in the lid of the field kit. He jabbed the needle home in his shoulder with a poorly-muffled gasp of pain, nearly crushing the tube with the force of his motion before dropping that into the kit lid as well. "The lid is for sharps." He informed you. "We lack a tray or a proper sterile environment, so keep your hands clear."

"I'll cap that once I get gloved up." You assured him. "I'm not leaving a sharp in the field kit. Knowing me, I'd forget it was in there and wind up accidentally pricking myself or something."

Ezra nodded, swallowing convulsively. You took the Ralon scalpel from his slightly-shaky hand. "You ever used one of these?" He asked, his voice gone a bit reedy. His breathing in general seemed poor, off-tempo. He was afraid. The knowledge that he was just as scared as you were made you feel more sure of yourself, for good or ill.

You shook your head in reply to his question, explaining, "I've never used this model before. The one I have for harvesting is much older."

Ezra reached over, flashing you a disingenuous smile. "It's easy."

He pressed down on the side of the scalpel battery pack, activating the laser blade. The whole handle buzzed in your grip, feeling uncannily like your handheld stitcher.

"There's five levels of intensity. Use two for flesh. Four for bone." Bone?! You jerked your head up, meeting his terrified gaze. "You got it?" He choked out after a second.

You nodded stiffly. If he wanted you to know the bone setting, then by Kevva, you would.

His eyes softened and for a split-second he looked like he might cry. "Thank you." He rasped, blinking rapidly and then glancing away.

You rummaged around in the porta-surge for the tiny, standard-issue penlight, immensely thankful that the battery still had enough power to work. The tent was poorly illuminated, outside light barely able to filter through the thick material. "Will this...when I start, is it going to hurt you?" The sterile glove packet made an ungodly amount of noise, crinkling and crackling in your hands as you fought to tear the seal.

Ezra scoffed, demonstrating the sensation that his right arm currently possessed by slapping his limp hand a few times. "I won't feel a thing. Hack away." His breathing was still too fast even as he continued to prattle, "quick, confident strokes are best. Try to go full circuit on the first cut."

You nodded again, one-handedly scooping the syrette and pushing it against the side of the lid to shove the cap back on. Then, you disposed of it in the trash bag by the door. Holding the penlight between your teeth, you smoothed your gloved hand down his arm to pin it securely in place. You were really going to do this. Well, if he wasn't able to feel it...

You had peeled multitudes of aurelac gems in your mining career. You were exceptionally delicate when it came to skinning the pearls. You couldn't recall the last time you had punctured one of the blisters and ruined a pull. Surely...surely this wouldn't be much different.

"I've never had to use these syrettes before. Kinda' nice. Tingly." Ezra commented as the scalpel buzzed to life. "Almost like it's…" With something that might have resembled quick confidence, you began your excision. The laser blade whirred through his epidermis with enviable ease, smoking slightly. "Oh shit. Oh shit." The older man muttered over your head, his whole body gone tense.

"What?" You asked around the penlight. Ezra started panting, his chest heaving violently underneath his threadbare waffle thermal layer. "Does it hurt?"

"No. N...h--I-I don't know. Keep goin'." He stammered. "You're doin' great, k-keep goin' until you think you've got it all." His left hand was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone nearly stark white beneath the layers of ground-in dirt. "Once y...once you finish, dump the juice into the wound and th-then cream it a-all sh-iiit, shut, shut." He continued to instruct you through gritted teeth.

You nodded, wholly focused on your task. At least it wasn't difficult to spot where the infection had reached. It turned the tissue and muscle it consumed to a sinister purple-black. You tried to keep your brain separated from the fact that this was a human arm you were methodically carving a chunk out of, a human arm attached to a living person who, despite his incredibly convincing big talk, could definitely feel what you were doing. You deliberately narrowed everything down to being as rapid and thorough as possible, like when you had to harvest in a poor environment. Every extra second you spent was a precious resource you could ill-afford to waste, literally. Thank stars that he had the tourniquet wrapped so tightly, even if the blade did it's damnedest to cauterize as you cut.

Once you were as certain as you could conceivably be that you had removed all the infected matter from the wound, you sloshed some of the Sader's juice from Ezra's canteen onto the exposed area. It hissed and steamed like boiling water and Ezra buried his face in the crook of his left elbow, biting down on his sleeve and screaming into the fabric.

Your hands finally started to tremble as you loaded the patch gun and listened to him dry heave, but you doggedly kept at it. Just a little more to go. It felt like it took an eternity for the stupid cream to expand. The reload was probably years past its expiration date.

And then it was over.

You carefully gathered up the grotesque little pieces of your handiwork that had fallen on the floor, balling everything into your fist. The gloves squeaked wetly when you stripped them, turning them inside out as you did to keep the blood and organic matter contained. They dropped into the waste bag by the door, plopping sadly down next to the spent syrette on a bed of bit bar wrappers.

You shakily switched off your penlight and took a step back, reaching for one of the tiny antiseptic wipe packets. Despite your best efforts, the skin of your wrists was spattered here and there with blood. You scrubbed at the rusty fluid silently.

Ezra's whole body was shuddering with every groaning retch, saliva hanging in thick strands from the bottom of his slack mouth as he rocked his way through the pain and clearly fought down the urge to vomit. Moved by the admittedly-pitiful sight, you tugged loose your bandanna and wiped off his chin. "It's done." You informed him softly.

He caught your wrist before you could pull away and you were shocked when he pressed a sloppy kiss to your knuckles. "You are Kevva-sent, gentle soul, never let anyone t-tell you otherwise." He grated, "Divinity incarnate; a damn valkyrie in floater's clothing, decidin' my fate on the battlefield."

You squinted at him, down at the grisly mass of expanded foam and then back at his face. "I don't know if I would count this as a battlefield, Ezra."

"Martyr's malfeasance," he swore, his voice cracking, "you can attempt to dismiss it but I will never forget this kindness, gentle soul. Not even in the next life."

"Don't...look, let's just hope I did everything right." The insanity of the task you had just performed struck you anew and hysteria bloomed in your chest. At the same time, his heartfelt proclamations of gratitude settled low in your belly, a flickering flame of pride that you wanted to shelter and nurture. You sat down hard on the bunk, pulling your knees up again. The still-smoking scalpel gleamed at you in the dim light of the tent. "I'm probably gonna' be sick." You warned him faintly.

"You are far from alone in that camp, gentle soul." Ezra replied dolefully. "We'll be spewin' in the same trough shortly, I imagine. I have always been a man...afflicted by the trials of sympathetic vomiting."

"Oh no!" You found yourself caught between laughing and gagging, settling for a retching little snicker. "Come on, don't say stuff like that, you're gonna' make me hurl."

After several queasy moments had passed, he spoke up again, "I know you are just as eager as I to continue on to that mercenary camp, but I must insist on a short reprieve. A burge...burgeoning cloud of exhaustion is relieving me of what little sensibility I possess." He tucked his wounded arm against his chest as he curled up in his bunk. "And I will need time for the syrette to wear off, lest I be rendered an incompetent, staggering buffoon."

"We have to go to them, don't we?" Your voice was tiny.

Ezra sighed. "It would appear so. We will have to throw ourselves upon their proverbial mercies and hope that they are willing to acquiesce in exchange for our harvestin'." He cocked his head to look at you curiously. "Do you actually believe that it's the Queen's Lair they've stumbled upon entirely by chance?"

"Does it matter?" You asked. "Damon thought it was legitimate enough to throw the both of us across the universe in a trashy rental pod. I would say that must count for something, but…" You shrugged, propping yourself up against the end of the bunk.

"I understand. Still though, we will need rest if we are to successfully tackle this conundrum." He drowsily watched you as you dug around in your suit pockets to locate your sketchbook. The current iteration was a beaten memo pad from the pod rental company, each page stamped with the letterhead of Dasha Landcraft Rental.

This was a familiar ritual to you. Turning your brain off whenever you needed to rest was a difficult thing to manage. In your mid-teens you had begun sketching before lights out and found that for some reason, the activity emptied your thoughts enough to allow you to sleep much easier than you had ever managed without it.

You unwound the twine that kept the pages closed and flipped to a fresh one. Trying to recreate the scenery you had witnessed earlier, sketching Bakhroma hovering imposing on the Green's horizon.

"An artist, now that I did not anticipate." Ezra commented. You flinched, realizing how close he had leaned in to watch you. "What else have you drawn, gentle soul? Might I peruse your work?" He requested, his hand extended.

"I'm not--!" You floundered, tilting away and clutching the pad protectively to your chest. "I-I'm not...I'm not an artist. I just…I can't sleep without um, doing. Something like this." You tapped the notepad nervously. "It helps me relax."

Drawing is a waste of time, you should be spending that time cultivating skills relevant to your field.

"No harm in that." Ezra replied agreeably, his words striking a sharp contrast against the echoes of Damon's belittling in your head. His hand remained outstretched, patiently waiting.

You let out your breath slowly, rooting around in your hip pocket for the previous pad you had filled. That one you had pilfered from the Jata Bhalu processing facility, it had an actual hard cover and a loop for a writing implement. You tugged it free and hesitantly passed it to him, stammering once again that you weren't an artist, this was just something you did.

Ezra was devastatingly silent as he leafed through your tiny sketchbook. For someone that you had come to expect to talk, the stillness that permeated the tent made you unnaturally fearful. Your fingernails dug into your memo pad. What if...what if he was judging you? Some of the sketches were tired and messy, some of them smudged from your environment. Tea and coffee and tears blotted the pages. What if he didn't like them?

This was why you didn't show anyone your drawings, you-

"Have you ever considered acquirin' one of the draw-pads? I am no artist myself, but I know that the digital method saves precious space in pods." Ezra suggested. "And a single rainy day could ruins months of this hard work you have stockpiled."

"I...I want one, of course. It's just...they're so expensive and I could never justify it." You murmured, a little sad as you thought back to standing outside the pawn shop of the last freighter and gazing down at the battered box in the window. Out of date models alone were well removed from your price range. You could only imagine how much a brand new one would set you back.

"Puggart Bench West! I'd recognize that dock anywhere." Ezra exclaimed suddenly, wiping his hand off on his leg before he tapped on the page. "West dock is a real hive, isn't it?"

"Oh, y-yeah." You stuttered.

"And this one...a deep space miner? Thing looks at least Fringe kestron grade." Ezra continued, squinting. "Not quite Testin, but it'll do in a pinch. I had a few stands on one of those. Food was shit."

"That was...um, it was just a ship that went by the transport freighter that I was on. Out in the Fringe." You shrugged, grimacing. "I didn't know what kind it was." You reached over with your pencil. "How do you spell 'kestron'?"

"K-e-s," Ezra paused, his brow furrowing, "t-r-o-n. If I'm not mistaken. Hell, it might be t-r-e-n." He admitted. "I'm uncertain, gentle soul. It has been so many stands since I've...since I've seen…" he yawned widely, then set off on another tangent. "In the Pug, there was this...vendor, you follow me, in this mercado." He rolled the 'r' in the unfamiliar word, like he was luxuriating in being able to say it. "They had--shit, it was some sort of...treat, the name is eludin' me. Drizzled honey, cinnamon, that fancy sugar dustin'…"

"Little pillowy things?" You supplied. "When the place made them fresh you could smell them all the way down the block?"

"Kevva, yes, now you got my stomach beggin'." Ezra groaned. "What were they called though?"

"It started with an 's', so...pa-"

"Sopaipillas!" He erupted, his eyes lighting up. "I swear, gentle soul, my heart just skipped a beat." He chuckled dreamily, "As much as I bemoaned the drudgery of it when I was there, I'd love to be back on the Pug right about now. Bench was a eternal shit hole, but at least I could breathe." He lolled his head to the side, looking at you once more. "When you and I escape this Green hell, I insist that you give me the pleasure of your gracious company on an expedition to that hallowed mercado." The older man slurred, his eyes sliding closed. "We will devour countless treats in safety and stroll the docks. A heavenly concept, you must admit."

"That does sound nice." You replied wistfully.

"It is settled, then." He held out his left hand to shake yours and you obliged, feeling childishly hopeful about the whole thing. "Now, set the alarm on that platinum chronometer of yours. Maybe...four hours or so? Kevva knows I'd love longer, but if we hope to arrive with adequate harvest time, we'll need to manage ourselves with caution." Ezra squeezed your hand, his smile weary. "Rest well, gentle soul."

Part Four

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