#protgnst

[amrothiriel]

028. in a dimly lit library, hidden amongst the books. / @protgnst + ÉOMER

somewhere between the dining hall and the library, she had slipped out of her shoes : padded barefoot across a courtyard, little beaded slippers dangling precariously from her fingers. it is a path well-trodden, one she knows well, her attention only partly on the corridors and floors she crosses. with her free hand, almost idly, she unpins the most intricately braided sections of hair, sighing a little with relief as she runs her fingers through unbound dark curls.

all this way, and she has not crossed paths with anyone : her parents and brothers remain with their guests in the hall, and most of the servants at their own dinner. she does not think to find anyone within the library - - and does not, at first, see anyone at all. the familiar door pressed open and then shut again, a candle carefully lit (hairpins left upon a table, shoes still in her hand).

there is a book of poetry she likes, leftover from the earliest days of her father's line - - a rolling-sounding poetry like waves, like falling asleep on a boat borne up upon a swell.

it is only dimly lit inside, all candlelight and shadow, still and quiet and familiar. it has been her retreat in countless quiet escapes, when the noise or activity all became too much. even in the dim she knows it, does not think to check its corners for surprising figures. and so it is that she turns around a line of shelves and stumbles briefly into a broad figure, all that escapes her a surprised little squeak as the shoes still held in her hand hit the ground with a soft thud.

two little steps backward grant her space, a moment to recover and to assess, the surprise of finding someone else in this place still sweeping through.

"i am so sorry," she says quietly, as though unwilling - - even now - - to break the hush. "i did not expect to find anyone else here - - i was not paying attention." large eyes peer up at him, quietly assessing, the grey dark as distant stormclouds in the low light. "were you looking for something?" she asks. "perhaps i can help you find it."

[fatehunted]

incoming transmission ... :: from @protgnst / jade nguyen. "You won’t walk away unscathed." meme || accepting!

Identical, grey eyes that shine steely. So identical to her own and yet they are further shielded. Artemis remembers those eyes used to look at her and she could read what her sister was thinking. And now, as they stare at each other from opposite sides, she isn't sure what is going through Jade's mind.

She forces herself to release a breath and her gaze hardens behind her mask. Her body follows suit and tenses, for the forthcoming threat isn't one she wants to be unprepared for. Jade had always been the more agile fighter—faster, quieter. Artemis' strengths had always fallen more to power and aggression behind her swing.

She hates that it has come to this.

❝ I'm not the same person you left behind, Jade, ❞ Artemis replies. Her blade is drawn, a more polished stance than when they sparred as children. ❝ Even after everything Sportsmaster put us through, we came out on top. We don't have to do this. ❞

She wants things to be different.

She doesn't want to fight Cheshire.

Artemis no longer wants to be Alice.

[identitysolved-a]

odd  was  the  only  way  tim  could  describe  how  he  was  feeling.  being  forced  to  hang  up  the  cape ,  to  retire  from  being  robin  had  left  a  bad  taste  in  his  mouth ,  but  there  really  wasn't  much  he  could  do.  he  loved  his  dad ,  and  he  knew  bruce  wouldn't  dare  to  defy  his  father's  wishes  after  the  explosive  confrontation  they  had ,  but  it  felt  like  an  entire  part  of  his  life  was  ripped  away  from  him.  the  worst  part  was  there  really  wasn't  anyone  he  could  talk  to  about  it.  his  civilian  friends  were  off  the  table  for  obvious  reasons ,  and  the  bats  and  titans  wouldn't  get  it  and  try  to  just  pull  him  back  into  it  all.  there  wasn't  anyone  who  understood  what  he  was  going  through  and  could  talk  to  about  it. 

with  a  low  huff  of  frustration ,  tim  threw  a  pillow  across  his  room ,  watching  it  smack  against  a  photo  on  his  wall ,  one  of  the  few  they  had  of  all  of  young  justice  together.  he  paused ,  staring  intently  at  the  photo  before  a  small  lightbulb  went  off  in  his  mind ,  instantly  reaching  for  his  phone  and  digging  through  his  contacts.

[CONTACT :  @protgnst ]  cissie [CONTACT :  GOLD-MEDAL  SHOT ] cissie [CONTACT :  GOLD-MEDAL  SHOT ] cissie [CONTACT :  GOLD-MEDAL  SHOT ]  my  favorite  archer  in  the  whole  world [CONTACT :  GOLD-MEDAL  SHOT ]  the  best  of  us ,  she  who  can  do  no  wrong  ever [CONTACT :  GOLD-MEDAL  SHOT ]  are  you  free  atm??

plotted starter

[konohans]

@protgnst / shikamaru : "Do you want company?"

the hospital has been lively today.

though she supposes, out of any places, a hospital has more right than most to celebrate any festivity or celebration that comes its way. the decorations can be a little bit ... gaudy, she admits, but it it helps bring a smile to others' faces, sakura couldn't possibly fault the staff, the patients, and sometimes even the visitors for putting their hearts into it. including herself, when she'd shown up readily pinning the heart-shaped pin crafted by one of the nurses alongside accepting dozens of flowers and well-written cards by the people she's treating. the ones she couldn't, the confessional chocolates, she'd politely declined, though with some she'd been asked to accept anyway, she'd hoped to gods it is not so disrespectful when she'd shared it among the younger medic-nins.

all and all, it's been ... an eventful day, one sakura knows, in retrospect, should feel fulfilling. instead, there is a certain hollowness that runs through her body and sinks its claws deeply enough that she finds herself sitting by one of the benches on her way home, staring at the moon. she thinks about having been younger and naive, her only hopeful romantic association had been for a boy who had never really looked her way, one whom she is beginning to realise she never fully understood. then there had been that brief moment where she thought her love had lied in naruto, and maybe it had been, but even the feeling felt fractured and insecure, having known how far ahead naruto looks for sasuke's shadow; how, even in his fondness, sakura is always kept wondering if she has ever existed.

shikamaru's call startles her, just a little, but she smiles quickly at his presence, and the smile, she finds, is earnest and truthful.

❛⠀hm. i heard there'd be fireworks, ❜ she uses it as an excuse, even though she doesn't think the information she received is wrong. typically, the festivity of love doesn't invite so much spectacle like a firework, but sakura knows that the shopping district this year has decided to do a full-out celebration inviting all townsfolk for a night-out with stalls and performances and even games. in the distance, sakura could almost hear the ballad coming from the local artists and the movement of the crowd participating in the event.

and then, as though she had finally registered that he's here, sakura frowns a little, turns to him. ❛⠀i'm surprised you aren't out with a date yourself, shikamaru. i mean, i know the rumours, you know. you're one of konoha's most eligible bachelor, even if ino doesn't seem impressed by your newfound popularity. but i'm not surprised. you're a good man. of course you'd be desired by many. ❜

@protgnst — be my valentine ? ( a curious maybe ? )

[amrothiriel]

@protgnst / éomer : what don't i know about you?

the morning light feels different here, a different quality. the same soft light but honey-like, almost, thick and sweet. perhaps it is caught by the land and the mountains, not sprawled across the gleaming sea and scattered into rainbow light. no more beautiful and no less, but different still. she lets it spill over her, tangling in the hair left loose to fall in dark waves and curls around her shoulders. any remnants of the intricate braids of their wedding day had been thoroughly unwoven, the feeling of his fingers in her hair still warm as sunlight. the thought of that and where it led brings a new blush to her cheek, one she thinks only the sun can see until she hears her husband's voice behind her.

she turns from where she sits wrapped in blankets and gathers her hair over one shoulder, looking back at him with with a smile.

"oh, less each day," she says, shifting to lay down beside him again, tucking herself closer to his warmth. almost solemnly she lifts a hand to his face and traces her fingers across his cheek, then down along his jaw. she had wondered what it would be like, to be able to do this. to wake and look at him and touch his face simply because she could. this was a game they had begun the night before, with whispered bits and pieces of their lives laid down between them. "there is a cave along the shore in dol amroth," she says, after a moment's thought. "you cannot get to it when the tide is high, only when it goes out. i would sneak out to it when i was a child any time i was sad or angry or wanted to be alone and my brothers were being too loud. inside the cave were these little rocky ledges on the wall i used as shelves, to keep whatever precious little things i found: glass and pottery pieces worn smooth from the sea, or shells. i'm not sure even my brothers know it's there."

perhaps some day when they visit home, she can lead him there. slip away together unnoticed when the tide sweeps low. it makes her smile soft and teasing, same as the words that follow: "as for the rest, we have a whole lifetime before us. you will have to find some way to win the other stories from me."

[konohans]

❛ kiba ... ? is that you ? ❜ surprise lines the medic's face.

in an instant, guilt crowds her chest : it's been a while since she has seen most of konoha eleven, she thinks. and one would think that that might be in due to the fact that team seven, however momentary, was reunited back — in truth, though, sakura had spent the months when sasuke was in custody constantly at the edge of her seat, split between being relieved that he's home, and immensely agitated that she feels more relieved he's restrained. the kind of guilt she keeps wound tightly in her chest, unless naruto were to find out. he doesn't.

and then... and then it's just been easier to throw herself into the hospital. it helped as well, she supposes, that there was much to do : she had that request to visit other shinobi villages so she would be able to meet with the medic-nins she had once worked with during the war. then there had been her research which she'd like to expand on ... it's easy, working. the routine is near-predictable and the direction is clear. she supposes she isn't the only one who thought so, given the lack of news on kiba. last she heard... well, ino was saying something about classified information.

still, to a familiar and old friend, sakura smiles. warm and soft and happy. she's always been happy with these people she'd grown up with. ❛ hey, it's me ! sakura ! ❜ she waves.

@protgnst — starter call

[amrothiriel]

how different this is from the first time they danced! here in this crowd of people in the golden hall, all celebrating the official coronation of their new king. hope has been stirred up here, despite the ash and trampled grass of a place so long plagued by war. and in the middle of this celebration, that new king danced with the daughter of his friend: a dark-haired girl with laughing eyes who cannot seem to hide her own frustration. missed steps that kept her at a loss through a dance she only barely knows, guided only by her dancing partner's steps.

‘ the problem is you keep trying to use your eyes ’ éomer ( @protgnst ) says as the music draws to its stop, the dancers dissipating to rest or to seek new drinks until another dance calls some group of them back in.

his voice comes from a mouth lowered to the level of her ear, so close that her lips would brush his cheek, were she to turn. she does not, and yet the very thought tugs at her pulse a little strangely, warms her face in a way she hopes will pass for nothing more than a reaction to the crowded room, the dancing. (not for the first time has she felt this little jump of her heart at his presence or his closeness, each day her family has spent in rohan only seemed to make it worse.)

she stands still with her hands in his, the frozen last moment of the last dance before music starts up again. by the rules she knows, she should not dance again with him, not so soon, and his hands are gentle in their hold on hers. she could pull away, curtsy as she has been taught, and she knows that he would let her - - but she makes no move to leave. (she likes the feeling of her hands in his, the strength and warmth of the fingers and palms so carefully holding her own slender hands.)

"it is so fast," she says, looking up into his eyes with laughter in her own. "i wouldn't wish to step on you." gently, almost as though in some experiment, she presses his hand with her fingers. "will you show me again?"

[amrothiriel]

this is a minas tirith she has never known, brim-full and full of color, overspilling both with joy and grief. people from all of gondor and from the riddermark gathered here in celebrations that seem almost without end. days have passed since her stolen dance with rohan's new king, and yet the thought of it still glimmers through in sudden moments to make her smile, or to blush. her brothers have caught it on her face and teased her for it, though they have not yet been able to discern the cause.

it is no surprise to catch his eyes among the crowd, as though summoned by thought of that memory. he is a new-made king and friend to gondor's own, and a hero of the just-won war besides. it would have been rude, would it not, not to say her helloes? to smile up at him and speak at least a few words of greeting? even if her heart skips a little with the approach and with each word, even if she cannot help but wonder if she has danced through his thoughts as he has danced through hers.

and yet - - as she concludes her greetings, turns them to farewells, he stills her with a question spoken softly: "would you stay? If I asked you to?" @protgnst says, and she smiles without restraint.

"if you wish it," she agrees, stepping closer to his side instead of away. this is less a crowded place than their last encounter, less party than simple excuse to mingle under pretense of sharing food and drink. and yet it is still so many of the same faces, the same he had wished to escape not so long before. "though, alas, i am not so fearsome a guard, if you seek to avoid...unwished-for attention." a glimmer of something like mischief in grey eyes, turned up to look at him through long, soft lashes. "a king is too tempting a target for the most ambitious of my peers and their parents, i fear."