request poast
request post ♥
It's no secret that school is kicking my ass lately, and I have a huge fic load on my back. But! I want to do something nice for people. So here is a request post for you all to feast upon.
As for fandoms, these are good to go:
-Pokemon (anime and games, not the manga)
-Bleach
-Ace Attorney
-Persona 3/4
-Spice And Wolf
-Trauma Center
And ( Read more... )
Ema dreamt a little too much. Her deepest fears and desires came to her embedded in REM waves, translucent and barely out of reach.
It was a congregation of science and art, but she hated it all the same.
She dreamt of homicide and of crushed families taking the stand in court; as always, she was there with her well-crafted mask of ice, barriers of stone barricading her.
She was safe. (She thought.)
She was strong. (Until the defenses shatter.)
She was powerful. (Until she was killed, just like them.)
They had met - truly met - under pressing circumstances, suddenly being assigned to the same homicide case when they were both accustomed to working alone.
They kept their distance - as much distance as they could keep in such a situation, anyway. Their conversations were curt, their interactions brief. Everything was perfectly fine.
That, of course, was until some strange chain of reactions had been set off between the chemicals in her brain, and some unexplained emotion increased in intensity every time those chemicals reacted. Facilitated by time, that emotion began to consume her until nearly all rational thought was banished from her mind.
“These are yours,” she said, dropping a thick, intimidating stack of papers on his desk. “Fill those out and bring them back to me by tomorrow morning.”
Without looking up from his report or missing a beat, he laughed and told her, “It’s always business with you, isn’t it, Skye?”
Rolling her eyes and folding her arms, she scowled and turned away.
“That’s all it should be, Mr. Crescend.”
She would go home, skip the shower and crawl into bed with a t-shirt and underwear, hoping that dreams wouldn’t visit her that night. She wasn’t blessed with that luck.
Dreams are rational, she tried to tell herself. They were proven to exist. They were backed up by science. REM waves and electrophysiological states of sleep - they are the parents of dreams, forging something scientific that will never be understood by scientists.
She slept and dreamt of betrayal.
Looking back, she wouldn’t say that entirely resisted. If she could stay rational, if she could keep herself afloat and rise above these obscene feelings, then she would be fine.
It was difficult when he had the gall to enable her.
She would be in her office, face buried in paperwork, and she wouldn’t hear (or see, miraculously) him saunter in - and, like the bastard he was, he would look over her shoulder and stay like that until she noticed and consequentially squawked in surprise.
“Are you stupid or something? Do you get sick enjoyment out doing this?” she screeched, swiveling around to face him. He cleverly dodged her swats at him with a dangerously thick folder, laughing and waving his hand.
“Don’t get your underwear in a twist, girlie. It’s not like I was about to stick a knife in your neck.”
Swiveling back to her original position, she didn’t think anything of that statement at the time.
How stupid she was, indeed.
Reply
Leave a comment