#*mashes two scenes together* ITS ABOUT THE SOUL

[casualavocados]

And I think Lyra's even braver than me. She can be. But, sometimes she's not. She's the best friend I've ever had. You know that? Not that I've had many friends. You're her best friend, too.

HIS DARK MATERIALS 2.07 | Æsahættr

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[dreamsy990]

so 358/2 days, amiright? heres my thoughts

this game is just. god its an emotional rollarcoaster

i guess ill start with the things i dont like!! which is mostly the gameplay. i dont really mind the mission structure shockingly (i like being able to roam around but having a clear goal makes things easier for my adhd ass, and i think the miniature storylines are very good for the most part) but i simply could Not get into the combat. especially coming off of kh2 it feels so stiff and unfun to play the only part of the game where i enjoyed the combat was fighting riku at the very end. i think the panel system is okay but i dont like that levels take up space. why did they do that.

story-wise, i dont like the retcons!! a lot of the ones i take issue with are very minor but things like roxas only fighting riku once instead of the implied multiple times (even the dialogue doesnt make sense when you change that, why does roxas say 'how many times do i have to beat you' when theyve only fought once?) are the kinds of inconsistencies that just annoy me.

im also a little bit annoyed at the very concept of this game at all. i think roxas worked just fine as a character without this game. it feels sort of unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. also, xion. i love xion, dont get me wrong, but i dont think she adds anything to the series over all. thats not to say she doesnt add anything to this game because shes a great character and i love her, but shes just. kind of like this game in that if you got rid of her i dont think it would really change the narrative so much.

BUT DESPITE THAT ALL!!!!!!!! i fucking ADORE this game. it is genuinely so full of charm and soul that i just cant bring myself to dislike it. i think this is one of the best written games in terms of dialogue. every scene (at least for me) hit exactly as emotionally hard as i think it was meant to. i was laughing at demyx's antics and crying at xions death and yelling at saix and i think thats exactly how the game is meant to be seen.

days at its heart is a slice of life. its working a 9 to 5 its going through a depressive episode its losing friends its grieving its making fun of your coworkers its living. its a game about life and i love that.

this game really did make me forget that axel roxas and xion dont get a happy ending. i spent so much time looking forward to them making up that i forgot that roxas ran away. hell i almost forgot that xion died.

days is emotional and its story and its characters are just so fucking good. the conflicts all felt very real and you can tell exactly where everyones coming from. the way axel roxas and xion fall apart hits so fucking close to home. but god damnit if axel had any good communication skills like half of this could be avoided

its also one hell of a love letter to axel's character. hes always been one of my favorites (he recently earned first place) and i think this game does him a lot of justice. hes trying to do good. he wants to keep everything together he wants to be there for his friends he wants to make things right but he just cant. its just AUGH its so fucking good

that thing about axel's characterization really also applies to roxas. i dont have much to say about him beyond the fact that i think it does his character very well. also tism. hes so autism.

i kind of like the very limited graphics too. sue me i enjoy low quality games. the hands are not animated and they all have two expressions (blinking and not blinking) and their weapons are flat and im living for it. the very few fully animated cutscenes are good too!!

the (real, i dont count riku) final boss is unfortunately very easy. you can just stand directly in front of her and mash a she wont hit you its too easy but vector to the heavens did mess me up a bit. also earlier scene but "ill always be there to bring you back" with the other promise playing over it? fucked me up man. yoko shimomura is once again killing it

i cant believe roxas didnt get to go to the beach.

i have to give this game a 9/10. its writing is incredible but the gameplay could use a lot of work. its just not fun to play. but again the characters, emotions, and music all make up for that tenfold.

[veeluvss]

in loving memory of …

angst, angst, angst and erm more angst

tw: car crash, death, injury descriptions

The night sky was lit up with fire and angry lights that day. Two black vans pulled up to the scene not long after the fire had gone out and men in white suits pulled a body from the crisp car. Then another body. And then another. Hauling them, as if they were never people, into the back of their vans, they didn’t say a word to the crying agents who witnessed their friends - family - die before them.

Agent Prentiss’ cries were silent as she stood in the road. Snow fell around her, settling at her feet. Her coat clung to her and her wet hair froze in front of her crying eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off the car; a crisp, burnt entanglement of metal but blurry through the tears. The number plate, which flew from the car, sat a metre away from Emily as she stared. The reflective yellow shone bright in the red and blue lights which surrounded the young woman - haunted with watching her best friends die. And the one she had loved since she was thirty six. The accident played over and over again in her head as she stared at the scene, unable to take her eyes off it. She saw the body of her partner in crime and wingman lie in an unnatural position. With plains of glass sticking out of his body. Blood oozed from the wounds. It was all in her head though no longer there.

Then the head, mashed against the side window with the seatbelt wedged in her open windpipe. The crushed skull forcing its way into the brain, damaging the beautiful intelligence it held. She thought of how her eyes used to light up when she smiled. Emily remembered the way they’d laugh at the bar together, watching the men dance pathetically. She grew cold.

Her love, bent backwards out of the crashed car, her was spine shattered and no longer supporting her. The eyes, as blue as the ocean, she stared at day after day were empty with life. Empty of soul. Her lavender scented hair was thick with blood as it flooded her entire body. Emily watched the body which was not really there, letting the sight scorch her heart and head.

Aaron Hotchner made phone calls. His head throbbed with pain. His heart was ripped out of his chest seeing three of his agents be carried away in body bags. But he made phone calls. Tears streaked down his face as he explained the situation. Sobs choked him as he spoke to the town’s officers. Then, he collapsed to the hard ground, caked in snow. He hit the gravel with his fists, anger encompassed him the way the fire encompassed the car and his agents only moments before. It wasn’t meant to happen this way. He’d failed his entire family. He set his team up to chase the unsub and then watched them all crash to their fate in the blink of an eye. The responsibility struck him hard in the chest and his fist hammered the ground more. It was all his fault. Their deaths. He thought about telling their families - the distraught they’d have to face. The cries racked his body as the sirens echoed around the tall buildings. The snow fell heavier. Aaron Hotchner saw his second family die that night and he watched as the flames burned away part of his soul.

Dr Reid sat emotionless in the back of the other car. The one that didn’t crash. Statistics were racing through his head. Probabilities, numbers, facts and stories - it was all there and none of it made sense to him. This was an anomaly. His team was an anomaly. His friends, his family were an anomaly. He watched the one woman who finally saw him as an equal be taken away. He watched the brother he never had, who loved him so wholeheartedly be dragged away. Then the only person to ever call him Spence - also ripped away from him. It all happened in a flash of light, a second so small he couldn’t comprehend it. One moment, his car was chasing theirs which was chasing an unsub - the next Hotch slammed on the breaks to avoid the collison. At first, he fell from the car, his body in autopilot to assess the damage- to try and find a solution immediately. Then after the explosion he retreated to his safe space, away from the flames, the bodies, the sirens, the blood, the pain. He was frozen in time, seconds before the accident when no one had left him. He couldn’t lose the only family he has ever had… could he? The heavy snow created a blanket around the black SUV, clouding Spencer in a sancutary of peace where he could no longer see the destruction the crash brought. No longer see the death before him.

Back at Quantico, Penelope Garcia, the original baby girl, sobbed so hard she made herself sick. She clutched the favourite squishy, gifted by her sister from another mister as the cries racked her body. Her soul screamed in despair. Her chocolate thunder, her man. Gone. His last words played over in her head clouded with grief. He spoke to her as he died and she wouldn’t ever forget the way she was the last thought to cross his mind. She thought of her sweet little sister, the one girl who made her days brighter. They’d sit in her office for hours upon end with going over the cases, making jokes and planning girl nights. Then the other one they dragged along to the girl nights, the one who was apprehensive but adored them no matter how hard she pretended not to. She thought about how she’d never see the smirk again, hear their laughs again – hold them again.

A week later, the funeral march played. Snow fell that day too, fell on the mourners as they thought back to their loved ones. Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan and Jennifer Jareau. Incredible agents, all in their own right.

Their pictures hung proudly in the hallway of the BAU. Every morning, Aaron would nod to them, continuing his greeting like they never left. Emily walked swiftly past, occasionally stealing glances at her girl when she had the courage too. Spencer made sure to always have his head in a book whenever it came to that part of the corridor and Penelope avoided it all together.

Papers stacked up on Agent Jareau’s desk as Agent Hotchner was too preoccupied to find a cover.The cup on Elle’s desk, still holding drags of cold coffee was haunted by her touch. The files she never got a chance to organise - the letter from Reid she never got to read, and the book she never got to finish were all remnants of her time at the BAU. Remnants everyone refused to tamper with. Derek’s desk, a beautiful mess, was also untouched. His headphones which he forgot to pack lay an in an engtangled mess across his keyboard. The one thing gone was his baseball. Emily had it in her bag at all times, occasionally in her pocket; a reminder that her best friend was never far behind.

It wasn’t long before the BAU welcomed two new agents and a media liaison. Luke Alvez, Tara Lewis and Jordan Todd - new faces - a new family.

But no one could ever replace the agents lost that winters night. The night that was full of fire and angry lights. The night the lives were ripped away from not only the ones who died but the ones who lived too. But everyday, they lived on in the loving memory of Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan and Jennifer Jareau

[swiftstreetfox]

curious about "won't you wear my flower crown"! :D

Ohohoho! You have chosen one of the few fics I’ve actually fleshed out to some degree, and made art around lol. I’ve got a bullet-point outline and about 3k worth of text smashed out already!

It’s a mashing of two soulmate AU’s in one, a soul animal x dream walking AU. Basically through some deliberate quirky (heh) interference, Aizawa and Izuku start sharing a dreamscape together. BUT! They don’t know it is the other for they are in the form of their souls, which are the animals that most represent them. Naturally Aizawa is a cat and Izuku a hare, and they can’t understand the other right away either! So lots of fun interactions, with the natural consequence of sharing a dream effecting their waking life mwahahaha!

So here is a short snippet: (Izuku is currently at a fall market with the dekusquad, Aizawa the chaperone. In this scene he is talking to a mysterious vendor)

——————————————————————————————————

Her gaze pierces into his, oddly reminiscent of Recovery Girls own disapproving look when he inevitably winds up in the infirmary. Izuku feels himself flush self consciously, eyes flicking away from her gaze.

“You must have had a hard time of it younger, children can be so cruel” Her hand gently traced the edge of a scar on his palm.

“Remember, it is not bad to be this way. Simply keep your wits about you, and don't let your own habits consume you” She petted his hand reassuringly “Your doubts lead if you allow them to, similarly your wants. It is a balancing act you must hold firm on young man”

Her words seemed to draw Izuku in, something about them resonating within his soul. As if they spoke to a part of him buried where he thought things had died. She leaned back, letting go of his hand.

“But I sense you soon will find someone to help you with that.” Her voice danced knowingly, eyes no longer looking at him but focused over his shoulder.

“Problem Child” A gruff voice huffed.

Izuku almost jumped in his seat, head whipping round to see Aizawa-Sensei staring down at him with exasperation. When the man had gotten there, Izuku could not say. Looking at his expression clued him in though.

“A-Aizawa Sensei! I completely lost track of time! I’m sorry, was everyone waiting long?” Izuku fumbled, shooting up out of his chair and nearly tipping it over, had Aizawa not reached over to steady it reflexively.

“Never mind that, its time to leave. I hope you’re wrapping things up here, hmmm?” The man raised a brow.

“I, uhm- Yes?” Izuku turned to the lady, bowing quickly “Even though I don’t really get it, thank you for your time” he rushed out, thoughts feeling scrambled at the sudden reminder of the hour.

“Thank me by being a better pro than the previous ones, no offence Scruffy” She snorted, shaking her head.

“None taken.” Aizawa-Sensei sighed.

“Hmmm. A smart one then.” She grinned, “Here.” hand reaching over to the stones on display, she plucked two from the pile.

“Give me both of your hands” She huffed, fist held up in their direction.

Izuku glanced at Aizawa who grudgingly held his palm out. In a bid to speed things up, the man nudged the boy to do the same, who rushed to present a palm as well. To which the lady deposited a stone each in them.

“A gift of good luck, we need good hero’s like you sticking around after all.” Was her only explanation, before she turned away in clear dismissal.

Izuku curled his fingers around the rock, slipping the fist into his pocket. Diligently trotting after Aizawa Sensei who had already turned to make his way back to the others. As they pushed through the crowd, Izuku failed to notice the way his right hand seemed to tingle, growing momentarily warm with the stone in hand.

——————————————————————————————————

Wonder what will happen 👀

I might post some of the art I’ve made later, not sure yet since its more of a wip and not complete (story of my life)

You can tell I have a habit of turning characters into animals, I just love the idea of them in a different form :D

[cringemonkey]

Hiiiiii uhhh haha *twirls hair on finger* have u maybe..... Seen nezha reborn...... Any thoughts if yes... I thought it was GORGEOUS and the drama hit well but idk im curious abt ur impression!!

YESSSSSS I DID LIKE 5 TIMES and YES its absolutely gorgeous and i cant state this enough i fucking loved this movie im biased obviously but its genuinely like. top 10 favorite zixuan movies for sure also...…. many many thoughts..... i loved how it took very distinct inspiration from old chinese mafia films and the difference in aesthetics right down to their style choice between them like wukong is very old school with his wardrobe and the decor around him like his mancave(tm). it reminds me of old hong kong or at the very least a fantasy reimagining hong kong like the type of shit you would find off a highly anticipated triple AAA game (chefs kiss) ao guang and ao bing reminds me of the modern shanghai type mafia movies, i really like the contrast between the two. ao guang's power is shown through the iron fist he has on donghai's water supply and the exploitations of it while wukong's is very passive power, where he plays by the rules and can easily slip under cracks. very mischievous i love it. just like the wukong i know and love

and god.GOD THE FUCKING BACKGROUNDS again everything was so gorjus im shitting and crying i also really love the mashing of different geographical locations and landscapes in a singular city, such as shanghai, hong kong, macau, and xuankong si. theres probably more that i missed but the vibes were there.

and the lore....... we only touched the surface but its literally so cool and the fact we got glimpses of other cities GOD i started bawling when i saw erlang shen in the end credits scene along with tiangou FUCKKKKKKKK I CANT WAIT also i took alot of inspo from this movie for my own reimaginings but ANYWAYS.... gonna talk about the movie some more but ill spare those who dont wanna listen or havent watched it (also some doodles sprinkled in)

the way ao guang treated ao bing was kinda WEIRD like i could very much tell he cared about him and loved him because he literally got him a new spine and tried to talk to li yunxiang like heh sorry about your friends leg lol and the cat and also heres your motorcycle back (slips you 70 gold bars) but he also seemed out of character sometimes such as. like. the confrontation yunxiang and ao bing had together cause IF YOUR SON DIED TO THIS KID

and THE FUCKING KID IS STANDING RIGHT THERE

YOU SAY DONT EMBARASS ME? INSTEAD OF SCOOPING HIM UP AND RUNNING? i get that the story has to follow its actual mythology (ie. ao bing gets turned into a jump rope) so i guess i cant get too mad but i do wish we got to see more of father son dynamics. also speaking of dynamics ao guang is very much a tough love type of guy, since he was doing all of this child murdering behind ao bing's back in order to protect him but like. come on making your son fight the guy whose soul is the reincarnation of the fucker whose sole (get it lol) job is to kill your beloved son maybe. dont leave him in a room alone with him

also shifu wukong.... chefs kiss yes...... it just made me just a TAD bit emotional when he was like.... hi nezha long time no see when yunxiang summoned him like WAHHH THEY WERE FWIENDS........

i honestly expected the movie to have a wukong and yunxiang falling out like yunxiang finding out wukong was supposed to kill him but thinking about it now im thankful they didnt because wukong knew what he wanted from the start he just wanted to throw himself off ao guangs trail for awhile

also. i love how they interpreted the yaksha in this movie, with him being the bodyguard (caretaker in ao bings case), i love how so many nezha movies make their own little takes on the yaksha since he was a minor character in the legends. its a lovely reoccurring detail and his facial features make it kinda obvious he was the yaksha since theyre very distinctly..... scary

ALSO. final note

FUCKINNGGG one of my favorite scenes was the exposition scene done by ao guang where hes like “是他爽了我，我，东海龙王” then he stomps his fucking cane and we get to see a sexy ass floor transformation scene and his voice is all echoy and the music goes all crazy DUDE. its so fucking awesome when i first watched it i recorded that entire scene (with ao bing being thrown to the ground too L) and would just rewatch it 4827 times its awesome.

yunxiang is also a very lovely character i didnt talk about him alot till now but hes such an endearing protagonist especially since his life went to pure shit cause some stupid gay mafia boy wanted his custom made motorcycle like just fucking commission yunxiang if you wanted one asshole now youre spaghetti on the ground. hes humble and hotheaded but he loves his friends and family all dearly, when his dad died i started beating the shit outta my pillow i was so sad

ao bing was just rich boy but I LOVE IT and it works very well only thing that unnerved me was that he looks and dresses and almost acts exactly like my fucking brother like hair and all. he used to scare me by saying he was part of the chinese mafia and he proved it by showing me this arm sleeve tattoo he got from china when he visited and one time when he was driving me home from middle school i heard banging coming from the back of the car and got scared and he said he had a guy tied up in there with a monkey and they were trying to get out and each time i heard the bang he would shout SHUT UP OR ILL THROW YOU BOTH INTO THE SEA WITH YOUR ARMS AND LEGS TIED BY ROCKS and i literally fucking CRIEDDD i was so scared Turns Out it was Fucking Soda bottles.

also.sorry i know i said final note and wrote 3 more fucking paragraphs but last thing. i literally love chinese fantasy films so much cause they always end the same: with a giant fucking boss battle where the cgi goes HAM and everything gets all funky and crazy and people almost die or DO DIE and I LOVE IT SO MUCHHH its so outta left field sometimes and other times its just so DRAMATIC GODDD I LOVE IT I DONT CARE its literally my favorite cause every time it happens i Know where the movie's budget went into

anyways thats it..... my thoughts...... i also drew alot of nezha reborn fanart these past couple days for no reason i just got a burst of energy for it which ill post! also so sorry sneakystorms for replying so late i dont know when you sent it but i just kinda forgot i had an ask box when i came back BUT THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!!!!!!!!! and hearing me if you or anyone else managed to make it this far <3

[bigteefsmallbrain]

General Soul Eater HCs please

Soul Eater: General headcanons

Death the Kid:

He’s an art critic

Hear me out

He is obsessed with symmetry, and loves the beauty in it

So when he sees something non-symmetrical, especially in art, he can’t help but to critique it

May go as far as to send a personal letter to the artist (If they’re alive) about how offensive it is that they created something so asymmetrical

If he can’t send a letter to the artist, he’ll send one to the owner/museum and request it be taken down, while listing reasons why it’s horrible.

Anything he writes has an even amount of letters and words

Be that his test answers

Essays

Letters

Diary entry

Speaking of diary entries, he definitely has one

But it’s actually just a catalogue of symmetrical things he’s seen

He puts photos into it and writes about how beautiful it was to see

He doesn’t care what it is much, just that it was beautiful

Meaning he takes photos of people too

Which can be unnerving at times

He’s probably taken a photography class before, or at the very least is self taught

Literally has a photo album of things he views are beautiful, but non symmetrical and he would die if anyone found it

Like a particular sunset with uneven hills

Or a flower with one too many petals

Definitely has an 8 ball, not a magic one, just an 8 ball, it’s placed on a velvet pillow in his room and he frequently polishes it

Elizabeth Thompson:

Makes several backup plans as a way to cope

Especially after dealing with an experience with a ghost

She has notebooks full of them, labeled and detailed

At one point she started putting them in alphabetical order but stopped immediately when she realized Kid’s perfectionist habits were rubbing off on her

She practices acting in the mirror

Usually so she can charm a man into dating her

But also to con people

She used to be a “Street rat” and that thought of ending up on the streets again constantly plagues her mind

She takes full advantage of the “Rich life”

Shopping sprees

Quality makeup

Salons and spa days

The works

She lets Patty’s thought that she knows everything get to her head

The fact alone that her sister believes in her that much is enough to make her a bit egotistical

And Patty’s admiration for the girl makes it ten times worse

She literally doesn’t care if she ends up being wrong because she’ll just be right next time anyways

So stubborn in that aspect

Patricia Thompson:

She likes dark humor

You can’t convince me otherwise, you actually can’t, I have evidence

She made an origami Giraffe, and broke its neck

Laughed when Kid said he “wants to die”

She literally pokes him with a stick when he’s depressed

She likes dark humor, and probably looks up jokes to tell others just for kicks

She’s secretly sadistic, and likes scaring her sister and others

She may act naïve and innocent, but she is anything but

She definitely has, more than once, banged on Liz’s door at 3AM just to hear her sister squeal like a little girl

Honestly, she probably purposefully gets their pose wrong, just to see her sisters annoyance and laugh when Kid gets smacked

She likes origami

Probably first got into it because of the paper ninja stars

Then just found it relaxing

She most likely makes the ninja stars mostly, and keeps a box of her origami creations somewhere

Has in the past, and will not hesitate to do so again, beat someone up for kicks or just to destress

Patty has two faces, the childlike innocent one, and the insane anger one

So it’s not too far fetched to say that she’ll hide her anger till she can corner someone alone and beat them up

Or that she gets bored and decides to do so

I wouldn’t be too surprised if her sister occasionally joined as well

Maka Albarn:

She’s a Harry Potter nerd and you can’t convince me otherwise

She loves the concept of magic

Loves the dynamic between Ron and Hermione, though feels a bit of Deja vu thinking about it

Probably used to write fanfiction, but in a way that made it seem like it was actually part of the story

She will hit you if you mention it

Definitely the type to compare books to their movie counterparts

Not in like, a critic way, but she will definitely rant about the differences, or how a character looks exactly like she imagined, or if they didn’t put in a particular scene she liked in the book

Forces Soul into movie nights, but it’s only the movie counterparts to her books

I can see her forcing everyone into a group study session

Be super organized about it, and setting it up in a way so that no one can refuse

She probably has specific ways for everyone to study

Like having Black☆Star work out while studying so he retains the knowledge better

Or setting up the session in a symmetrical way so Kid doesn’t freak out about it

She writes letters to her mom, as a coping mechanism for when her emotions get to be a little too much

Like when she’s having a bad day

Or if she’s particularly peeved at something Soul did

She writes a lot more letters when it comes around the time of her mom's birthday or death anniversary

She likes the thought of an old timey romance, and often listens to songs that give off that kind of feel

She really likes “It’s Been a Long, Long Time”, it’s one of her favorites

She also likes the old Disney songs, like “Once Upon a Dream” and “So This Is Love”

She would be so embarrassed if anyone found out though, especially if it was her dad or Soul

She isn’t quite sure why she’s so worried about Soul finding out though

Speaking of, she half realizes, half doesn’t with anyone's romantic feelings, including her own

She’ll fantasize about getting a love letter or having someone present her with a bouquet of roses

But if it actually happens she’s like “Oh, thanks friend!”

She knows the behaviors, she just can’t put two and two together

They would have to be extremely blunt, no over dramatic confession, just “I’m in love with you and want to be romantically involved with you”

She reads dictionaries for fun

She really likes to read out of date dictionaries, just to see what words and slang existed back then

She also highlights words she likes and uses them frequently on accident

She has most definitely yelled “I have cupid’s kettlebells*! I’m not flat!” at Soul before

Soul Evans:

Bottles. Up. His. Emotions.

He’s influenced by “toxic masculinity” and fully believes that being vulnerable in a serious way “isn’t cool”

He will bottle everything up so deep down inside that it seems impossible for it to surface

Feelings of inferiority to others? Bottled

Want to cry or break down? Nope, gotta be cool

Started crying in front of someone and can’t stop? He’s not crying, you’re clearly blind

Speaking of crying, once he starts, and I mean genuinely starts, it’s so hard to get him to calm down, and even then the tears don’t stop

Sometimes he’ll start to freak out and send himself into a panic attack because the tears just won’t stop

He’s that influenced by the thought of being vulnerable

On a lighter note, he does adore playing the piano, but the only person he’ll play for is Maka

He swears it’s not favoritism, and it’s partially true, but favoritism does play a large role in it

He frequently drags Maka to his room to show her a new piece he put together

And if he notices her feeling a little down that day, he’ll start playing a song that he knows she likes

He definitely knows about her love for old timey romance songs and is very embarrassed to admit a lot of the pieces he constructs are based off of that

The walls are p a p e r t h i n , he can hear her music through the walls

He secretly finds it adorable when he catches her listening to it because she’ll be dancing around to it

He also frequently finds himself thinking about those moments

He’s the stereotype that parents tell little girls about, with how boys will bully their crush

He’s a lot more playful and easy going, but still teases Maka, so much

Unlike Maka, he’s fully aware of his feelings, and acknowledges them, but bottles it up, only letting himself entertain the thought every once in a while

He jabs at Maka’s lack of “Cupids Kettlebells” as a way to try and ensure she won’t fall for him, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she does

He reads the same dictionaries that Maka does, not for fun, but so he can know just what the actual h e l l she’s saying

More than once he’s had to look up a particular word or phrase online because he can’t find it in the dictionary

“What the hell? It’s an old Victorian saying!? Where does she keep finding this stuff!?”

Subconsciously, as time goes on, he starts using old phrases as well, he was so embarrassed the first time he got caught saying “Keep your idle daddles* off of her!” when defending someone from a perv.

Black☆Star:

Is so unbelievably selfish with food

It’s not even funny

He will stab someone if they reach for his food

He surprisingly eats healthy most of the time though?

Says something like “I have to otherwise I’ll never surpass the gods!”

The only person who could ever p o s s i b l y steal his food is Tsubaki, but even that’s pushing it

He has the weirdest dreams, and I mean weird

Dreams like being turned into a potato and being cooked, mashed, and devoured by Tsubaki herself

He didn’t talk to her for a week after that dream, and refused to eat potatoes for a full year because “You never know if it could be a person turned into a potato!”

He was also very offended when Tsubaki ate potatoes during that time period

He takes things very literally

Like up above, if someone does something in a dream, he acts like it was real

Or if someone makes a joke about fighting, he will drag them outside to fight

He’s secretly scared of Tsubaki

But it’s for literally the stupidest reason

And he fully believes that because of it she could fight god and win

She used to have a pet cockroach

One of the flying ones

And he is so unbelievably scared of them, because for some reason they just don’t die, and they have w i n g s

So the fact she owned one as a pet scares him so bad even though it was literally for only a week

He has a soft spot for children

He doesn’t really know why

He just does

Is secretly really good with kids

Literally the definition of dad material

He has his flaws but still

Little kids are the only people who could steal his food and get away with it

Every. Time. and it makes the others so mad

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa:

What can I say, she’s perfect

She probably receives love letters

Reads them over when she’s feeling sad

Likes to keep them in a shoebox she painted

She definitely paints to unwind and relax

Likes to go outside and paint the sunrise/sunset

Takes note of beautiful scenery so she can come back in her free time and paint it

She probably draws/sketches too

Carries a sketchbook with her

More than likely has drawn Black☆Star doing something

Like napping or training

She’d never show him though, too scared of inflating his ego or giving him the wrong idea

Stress bakes/cooks

We know she cooks

Liz took advantage of it and pretended Tsubaki’s cooking was her own

So we know she does

Sometimes painting/drawing doesn’t cut it

So she heads to the kitchen and bakes away her worries and unwinds

The main reason Tsubaki would possibly be spared from Black☆Star’s stabbing habit with food is because she cooks all the meals

She makes sure everyone is comfortable around her

She’ll go as far as to learn someone's customs and practice cooking their unique cuisine just to make sure that they feel comfortable and safe in her presence

She radiates mom friend energy

She’s perfect mom material, perfect wife material, perfect in general honestly

*Cupid's Kettlebells is a old term for a woman's bust

*Idle daddles is a old term for hands

I Hope you like these general headcanons for the main seven! You didn’t say which characters you’d like to see, so I played it safe by putting the main characters! Thank you for the ask!

[ktheist]

heartbreaker of mine

muses. jungkook x reader

synopsis. ah, here we are again. the overtold, cliche as hell story about two best friends who might or might not be in love with each other. except you can’t - wouldn’t dare to dream about being with jungkook.

alternatively, wherein you fell for the one who could break your heart.

words. 7.5k

universe. university / slice of life

warnings. mentions of physical insecurities; appearance, commitment issues

x

you should have known that in the absence of two of your best friends, nothing ever goes right when you decide to hang out. it isn’t the fact that you’ve known each other since diapers and basically know anything and everything about the other, that at some point you feel like your friendship is stale and need new additions - that’s where park jimin and kim taehyung comes in; a year older but several younger at heart, you couldn’t have imagined going through uni life with someone but them - but it’s the fact that realization hits you at the end of your final year that makes you drift apart. 

the fact of the matter is, you prefer the solitude of your room, the library of that one spot in the cafe that you’ve claimed as yours. and jeon jungkook prefers the blare of music, strobe lights and bodies grinding against him.

by your final year, as you receive a job offer at the company you interned in on your second year, taehyung is already working part time at the company he interned in, jimin thinking about that modeling offer he just got scouted for and jeon jungkook is getting daddies of the girls he’s having a thing with to get him to work at their office just so their daughter can see their favorite boy more - yours and jungkook’s friendship has dwindled down to mere silences as you wait for the other two to knock on the door and fill the place up with their endless bickering about whether dumplings are better than mochi.

 “shouldn’t you like, give me advice?” are the words jungkook said to you while you type away on your laptop, trying to do some light reading for tomorrow’s class before your mac gets confiscated for ‘pooping the party’ as taehyung likes to call it.

and you know what he’s talking about without even having preambles of the topic make its way into the conversation.

yet you still take off your glasses and set it down in your lap and ask, “what could jeon jungkook possibly have not known and needed advice on?”

he scrunches his nose, not appreciating your sarcasm but humors it anyway, “you know,” he shrugs, as though shrunk into the sofa from either shyness or embarrassment - you don’t know, “on like, how to start being serious about life - and settling down.”

the silence that stretches is a stale one, filled with your blank stare and jungkook’s peering eyes - even at the age of 22, the stars still glimmer like they’ve been freshly plucked from the skies.

“you want me to help pick, out of the many job offers you got from your girlfriends’ rich parents, for you to do?” is your conclusion - though if you were 2 years younger and had a little bit more faith for the boy you basically called your twin, it would have been a good natured jest. but you’re older and jungkook isn’t exactly portraying characteristics of an upstanding citizen either.

“no,” his hair brushes against his brows as he shakes his head almost too eagerly - as though he saw that coming but still got upset and wanted to prove you wrong, “like how to start taking things seriously like settling down with someone and no, not with out of my many girlfriends - can we not call them that? it makes me sound like an ass.”

it takes you less than five seconds to digest his words, eyes drifting to the white screen of your mac for the sole reason you can’t bear to hold his intense gaze while you conjure up a response, “well for one, you are but there’s honestly nothing i can tell you that you don’t know already and there’s nothing i can possibly say to make you want to change - it has to come from you. or like, a professional that could help and if you think you need one, i’ll be with you all step-“

the brief scoff is what puts a rest to your racing thoughts while the smile on his lips put your heart at ease, “i’m not addicted to sex.”

“oh, okay.” is all you say, not seeing where the conversation is going as you watch the boy scratch the back of his ear, lips pulled into a pout - one way you know he’s trying to strum words into existence. and when he does, confused is an understatement to describe what your face is portraying.

“okay,  i’m saying if and if you’re looking for a husband, no, scratch that, would you even introduce someone like me to your parents?” but that’s the thing, you’re not confused because you don’t know where this is going but you’re confused because you don’t pretend to be oblivious.

but you’re also not a master at the art of heart-to-hearts and the gargantuan elephant that it brings. so you settle with a, “uh, i don’t know, you already know my parents, don’t know how i can reverse that and reintroduce you-“

“that’s not the point,” he blinks, the sight almost endearing as he freezes in his spot for a split second in contemplation of how to approach the matter and explain it to you who seem like you’re way off, “the point is-“

“i get it.”  you nod, arms crossing over your chest as jungkook’s wide eyes peers into you like a mixture of relief anticipation.

“you do?”

“you’re worried if your future partner will be insecure about the bodies you’ve seen before them,” there’s a knock on the door just as you’ve finished speaking.

as you get up to get up to answer it, knowing already who’s there from the obnoxious chatters - more like argument - you’re not sure if your brain is playing tricks on you or if jungkook’s shoulder line really falls as well as his face.

but the, “uh, yeah, i guess,” is what makes you push the image of dimmed stars and downturned pink lips to the back of your mind as you unlock the door, welcoming the two halfway-into-a-deep-quarreling men and their two bags of take-away roasted chicken, chips, mashed potatoes and whatever else they thought necessary to fill the game night with.

“thanks, shortcake,” taehyung smiles at you after you take a plastic bags off his and jimin’s hands and proceed to place it on the coffee table.

“tae, you’re literally taller than everyone,” throwing him a side glance, you shrug as you begin taking out the packed chicken wings and placing it in front of jungkook while taehyung helps with unpacking the add-ons from another bag, “calling me short isn’t exactly an insult.”

“i’m just saying we should demolish mint chocolate chips all at once,” jimin plops down on the couch adjacent to jungkook, “and no, we can’t let these savages go eating them - we need to educate-“

somewhere in the middle of jimin’s colonial-esque speech, you turn to the boy who’s never said a word since the two came in. not that those too needed an additional converse partner with how taehyung is advocating for leaving mint chocolate chip eaters alone and jimin staying with his stance that these people haven’t had a taste of all flavors in the world yet.

the way he seems to look at something past your shoulders tells you enough - he’s still deep in his thoughts about settling down, or changing or whatever. you don’t know why exactly he wants to change his heartbreaker ways but- “there’s nothing wrong with two adults having a - or multiple - consensual sexual relationship prior to finding their significant other. and if they have a problem with that then that’s something they need to work on, not you so no, i don’t think you should change anything unless you want to.”

x

it’s some days later that taehyung brings up the remnant of the conversation he overheard before the four of you began arguing about what movie to watch and ended up putting the fate of humanity in rock paper scissors. and so you tell him, without ever thinking of the one thing that spurred his ridiculous thought and the hesitance of pouring it onto you.

“don’t look at me, i’m not snitching.” jimin’s round, disbelieved eyes stares back at taehyung as though surprised the latter would ever think he’d do such a thing.

“okay but someone’s gotta tell her.” taehyung lowly mumbles, upper body turned to jimin, gracing you with his beautiful side profile - whoever gets to date him will forever be the lucky one.

“guys, i’m literally right here.” the sound of your voice warrants a turn of heads and a wide-eyed stare as though they’re seeing your ghost rather than your physical form that entered and picked a spot together with them.

it takes a moment for the elephant to settle somewhere in the corner and crush you with its invisible weight before taehyung turns to you, hand behind his mouth as he fake coughs into it. then, another moment for you to register taehyung’s words as you watch his mouth move and his gaze trained on you like a father teaching his daughter a life-lesson before he lets her out into the world. once his mouth stops moving and a second passes for you to take in the information, only two words leave your lips.

“you trippin’,” with a half-manic smile and brows knitted together, you look almost like you’re made for the asylum- but understandably, your admittance is overdue.

as your heart palpitate inside the confines of your rib cages and the scene from that night replays at the back of your eyes like a broken record - jungkook’s hesitant glance, the windows to his soul shutting tight with hesitance and the teeth that traps his lower lips as though his body is forbidding him to say whatever his heart and mind wanted - as much as it pains you to admit it, the signs were all there.

you just didn’t want to admit it.

that’s what pining over a best friend you’ve known for over a decade does.

the denial that comes after realizing you don’t want anyone else to touch jungkook when im nayoung stood on her tippy toes and pecked jungkook’s lips before running off with a flustered expression - you were both in elementary and jungkook was more into sleepovers with the abundance of plushies you had than hanging with ‘other kids’.

then comes the ugly head of self-loathing and guilt as you fixed park jihyo a smile as jungkook introduced you two. one, as his girlfriend and the other, his best friend.

both, in love with him.

it’s ugly and disgusting, jealousy that is. but you’re uglier for smiling and laughing with jihyo over the things you would with a best friend who’s a girl - there were things you couldn’t share with jungkook as a girl. but you’d let your eyes linger a second too on them as they shared a peck when he’d meet you too in front of the school gate after his extra class was over - you lost count of the times you wished you were her.

you carried the pathetic little mask of a smile to uni. by then, jungkook had broken up with jihyo. there was a lot of tears and consoling and empty words of assurance.

“hey, if you guys are meant to be, you’ll meet again someway somehow.” you’d fixed her an encouraging smile as your heart bloomed with hope for when you’ll get jungkook’s attention all to yourself once you start uni.

getting into the same one had been pure luck.

it didn’t bring you far though. jungkook started gaining attention for his friendly nature and bunny smile that attracted both males and females. it wasn’t long until he’s bringing you to parties where he’d keep you by his side because he knew you didn’t know most of these people. tried to get you involved in the conversation but there was nothing interesting about the dude who drank himself silly and woke up in front of an old lady’s door butt naked or about that girl who woke up a five minutes before class in a city an hour away from where her dorm is.

well, at least, none of them seemed like jungkook’s type. he never had a girlfriend throughout his years in uni though he had plenty of other experiences that makes you wonder what in the world he hasn’t tried yet.

being in a relationship, is probably the only thing he hasn’t done.

jungkook liked kind people. ones that didn’t point at a random person and say an offhanded comment and collectively laugh about it. someone that laughs and smiles a lot because and didn’t have a single bad bone in their body.

liked.

because you don’t know what kind of person jungkook likes now. but you never thought him asking a hypothetical question from what seems like another person's perspective about his lifestyle would be, as taehyung calls it-

“i’m telling you,” he slams a hand on the table, a loud pap! resonating in the air but he doesn’t seem bothered by the pain - if there is any - as his eyes bore into you, “that was jungkook shooting his shot!”

“i don’t know,” you take a sip from the metal straw of your matte black tumbler for the sake of doing something, “it doesn’t feel real but i can kind of see it?”

“take it for what it is, love,” the pull of his eyebrows together couldn’t have been more frustrating, “jungkook has every reason to have the fattest crush on you - i mean look at you, you’re funny, adorable and nicer than all his friends combined.”

jungkook has multiple friend groups he hangs out with. funny how you started out as duos and merged into a quadruplet and ended up being that friend group that jeon jungkook doesn’t really look like he fits in but he’s probably hanging out with you guys from time to time because you’d known each other the longest. or so word has it.

“that’s basically everyone who’s not his friends.” with an eye roll, you wrap your mouth around the straw. this time, for the sake of hiding the smile that threatens to bloom on your face as it is in your heart.

x

and that’s how you find yourself in more than one ‘don’t you dare’ moments. jimin has begun randomly pointing out something about your hair accessory to your clothes to your fucking strawberry printed socks. 

to prove a point, he said.

“hey beautiful,” oh, and he’s resorted to calling you all the adjectives in the world - but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work in making jungkook’s face scrunch in displeasure for the briefest moment as he glances at jimin as though he’s an adjective away from beating the man into a bloody pulp, “nice shirt.”

despite knowing the comment is every bit staged - and probably doesn’t mean that your minnie and mickey mouse shirt is anywhere compliment-worthy, you still look down at the two mice, one kissing the other on the cheek.

the “uh, thanks,” couldn’t have been more dubious and skeptic.

and so begins jimin’s not-so-secret mission to bring jungkook’s attention to you.

“isn’t the stickers on ___’s mac cute, jungkook?” 

jungkook skims at the grizzly, panda and ice bears scattered across your mac before breaking into a smug smirk, “of course they are, i bought them for ___.”

you can almost hear jimin and taehyung high-fiving on the row behind you just as the professor walks in.

while jungkook seems to oblivious to it all, eyes trained to the display on the on the front, you allow yourself to indulge in the heat that seeps through your pores and warms your heart.

it’s not like jungkook stopped going to parties.

but finals season is almost upon you and he’s been hanging out with you more. sitting next to you in class while jimin and taehyung dozes off at the back. 

“they sleep in class just to spend hours on end studying at the library,” jungkook huffs, eyebrows knitting together adorably as he stresses over your two friends’ stamina for sitting in one place for six hours straight and only needing a bottle of water at their disposal, “i mean, why can’t they just focus in class so they don’t have to study a whole semester’s worth of syllabus in the last minute and drag us into it?”

the six hour mark ended and they’re out getting some snacks for you to secretly munch on until the library closes.

“i mean,” you begin, eyebrows jolting upwards at the more-than-obvious fact he’s supposed to already know, “you technically came here with your own free will, you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

another sigh hits the air as the boy slams his onto the book he has open in front of him, “yeah, but i need to study to pass and i needed you guys to push me,” he laments.

ever since then, there’d been far too many moments of where you’re stuck with jungkook to wait for the two non-time-abiding asses. at first, excuses like ‘sorry we’re late, we were getting mcdonald’s’ or some other poor fast food restaurants’ name that became the patsy, but they started dwindling to ‘oh hey, sorry, we didn’t notice the time’ and eventually a ‘hey, jimin’s got a meeting with a professor and he’s my ride so you guys go first’.

and before you know it, finals pass and you’re visiting your hometown while jungkook stuck around for a part-time job with taehyung whilst jimin drops off the face of the earth after having mentioned that he’s going on a family vacation at some private island with apparently the worst wifi connection ‘like ever.’

the two now-co-workers keep spamming the group chat with pictures of them in their uniforms, holding different drinks which they personally every time. when you’re staying over with your grandmother, it’s your turn to spam pictures of her great black cat who seem to only like sitting in her lap and glaring at you in every picture you take of the two watching tv together. almost as if he had a sixth sense when it comes to cameras.

“when are you coming back?” jungkook grumbles from the other end of line.

you’ve just got a shower and he’s just got home from a night shift. he’s probably haven’t even taken off his jacket yet when he proposed calling you like the sporadic times you both did throughout the break.

“i don’t know. i don’t feel like going back maybe even until the ceremony,” you confess, half-meaning it. the gardening, and saying hello’s to everyone you see while buying groceries because everyone knows everyone here, and the best-tasting cookies your grandma make, and waking up to her cat suffocating you in your sleep, isn’t so bad.

“i’m dying here,” he sighs, sounding more relaxed and probably lying on his bed now, “if i have to insist that i can’t ‘reheat’ coffee and can only make a new one and end up having to hide in the kitchen for five seconds to pretend like there’s a secret microwave only for coffees,” he says all in one breath before letting a suspenseful silence hang in the air and then finally revealing the next big thing he’ll do, “i’m seriously going to spit in their coffee while in the kitchen pretending to reheat it with an invisible microwave.”

the laughter that tumbles out of your mouth is probably ugly and you probably snorted a couple times but jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. or care as he keeps insisting ‘i’m really gonna do it’ whilst you end up laughing until your stomach hurts and tears begin to prick your eyes.

“is this the same regular that like, wants their coffee like super hot?” you finally manage to ask, traces of laughter still threatening to spill from your lips.

“yeah,” his sounds impressed, “how’d you know?”

“tae told me,” you make an incredulous face and shrug even though he can’t see, “you do realize you work at the same place, right?”

“yeah but i never see him talk about it in the group but i probably missed it-”

“oh no,” your hand goes up in a dismissive wave, “we talk on the phone and he told me about it.”

“you guys talk on the phone too?” there’s a strain in his voice, possibly out of surprise.

“yeah, like every day.” you say, tongue subconsciously lapping over your bottom lip.

“oh,” is all he says for the longest moment before chirping out the billion dollar question, “why aren’t we talking every day?”

“i don’t know,” your shoulder line rises, almost swallowing your neck as a war breaks out within yourself, “we did try at the beginning of break but you always had a party to go to so...”

“oh,” this ‘oh’ is a little bit dejected and perhaps hits a little different before he continues, “i don’t go to those anymore.”

this time, it’s your jaw that falls. your voice is small, almost as though cautiously teetering on tightrope as you ask, “...why not?”

“i just didn’t see the point of going anymore you know? once we graduate, i won’t even talk to these people anymore - but i wanna continue being friends with you guys.”

the ‘you guys’ meaning you, taehyung and jimin. the bros. the homies. it’s no secret that he probably sees you all as the same gender, not a guy nor a girl but just friends.

well. it’s not the first time jungkook’s friendzoned you.

“that’s great,” you can’t help but nod even though you know he can’t see you, “i wanna keep being friends with you too, jungkook.”

ever since then, you talk almost everyday. sometimes in three’s and when taehyung had a shift and jungkook got off his, it’d just be the two of you. and for the first time, in ages, it feels as though the ‘best’ in your friendship has somewhat reintroduced itself once more. jimin somewhat manages to get a connection somewhere along the way and the first thing he did was complain about the three digit number in a red bubble in the corner of the message app and then managing to get one picture of him in flowery trunks, and a baby monkey eating a banana perched on his shoulder with the beach in the background before disappearing for the rest of the month until two weeks before the graduation ceremony.

“so like, do you have anyone to pick you up?” jungkook asks from he other end of the line. he sounds more free since it’s the last day of his job.

“yeah,” you announce, attentiveness laced in your tone for your next words might be indicative enough, “my sister.”

“what.” he drags out the word in a disbelieving tone and it’s no secret why he’s doing that- “i haven’t seen you in ages! and you’re going to your sister’s? wait - this isn’t like a permanent thing right? we’ll get to hang out before the ceremony, right?”

it takes you a moment to register the series of questions he bombarded you with and before you know it, the silence has already turned your voice into a small and guilt-ridden, “um, yes and no?”

a groan.

“i haven’t seen seulgi in forever too and she kept nagging me to visit her during break but i never did so now she has like a whole week’s worth of itinerary planned out for us to do before the ceremony,” the excuse trickles out of your mouth hurriedly, “jungkook, i have to do this, or the next time we’ll meet it’s at my funeral and you’ll be talking to my dead carcass before they bury me.”

it takes a moment of anticipating silence before he grumbles out a “fine. but after that, you’re staying over at my place.”

“okay but i mean if we’re having stay over’s wouldn’t tae’s place be better since he has a whole ass apartment for himself?” you’re at that point where you’re discussing stay over arrangements before actually consulting the owner of the place.

“i guess,” his voice is a little lower and smaller but it revives at the mention of the new pizza place that just opened before you decided to invite the other two in the call to make plans to visit there.

when the day finally comes for you to don the royal blue robe and cap, you do so with barely enough grace and composure for someone who’s about to receive her blood sweat and tears on a stage all because you and your sister are - this must be karma for shading taehyung and jimin for being - a bunch of non-time-abiding asses.

the double doors are almost closed as you struggle with not tripping on your high heels whilst trying to keep your hair out of your face.

“where have you been?” you almost didn’t recognize the golden man who tapped you on your shoulder from behind.

“jimin! you made it!” is the first thing you say.

“rich coming from someone who barely got to her seat in time,” he gives you a once over and you’re not quite sure what he sees because your back which he’ll be looking most at is clad is oversized blue robe. but despite that, you reach out to give his hand a squeeze and he takes it with just as a tight, ‘we made it’ kind of squeeze before you turn to the chancellor that’s beginning his speech.

you’re not sure which row jungkook is at or if he even sees you and you read taehyung’s ‘i feel like a proud momma’ text because his major adds another year to his studies than you, jimin and jungkook.

the ceremony goes on without a hitch and you’d like to believe your picture is as perfect as your make up which your sister claims to be ‘out of this world!’ - only because it’s her that did it.

“so you guys talk everyday?” jimin pulls you into him, a smile gracing his beautifully tanned skin as he steals a glance at something behind your shoulders - possibly jungkook whom you saw was being swarmed by his friends to take pictures with.

“yeah, i guess,” you casually say with a shrug.

“it’s true, i was there,” taehyung comes up next to you, replacing jimin’s arms with his in a side hug.

“man, i really wish i witness it all,” jimin grumbles, “but the connection on that island was shitty.”

“i’m sure you connected in different ways,” the taller man adds, a strain in his voice which the shorter doesn’t seem to notice as he try to wave off the belatedly relayed fact that his family is a different kind of family.

like the kind that invites sex workers and other business colleagues alike to enjoy themselves for as long as they wanted, as long as the park family was there.

“okay but how long is he going to take?” jimin quizzes, eyebrows soaring whilst you and taehyung follow his gaze to the growing size of people a few feet away who clearly look like they’re here for a photoshoot than a simple graduation ceremony, “my parents kinda skipped work to see me go on stage and get a piece of paper they paid a lot for so i kinda want to get the family pic done before i go to my second family...”

time doesn’t seem to stop like they do in the movies. it happens all too fast, in fact - jimin’s voice fading into the background, the countdown of the person taking the picture of the group of graduates jungkook’s in starting from three, two, one! and a girl with the prettiest curls that seem to bounce as she turns around and stick her tongue into jungkook’s mouth.

it must have been your uncanny silence that draws the attention of the two boys and a ‘oh shit...’ from one of them - you’re not sure who even though taehyung and jimin has two distinctly sounding voice.

all you’re sure of is the involuntary movements of your feet as they carry you away from the scene. your eyes are dry but that’s probably only because your brain hasn’t registered what exactly happened though deep down, you’re perfectly aware of the fact that those daily calls, the spams of good mornings and randomly sending each other selfies were nothing more than exchanges between two people who were onlu ever connected through a childhood bond that got translated into best friendship just because there was no other name for knowing someone for so long even though you probably stopped being friends first year of college.

“___! wait!” someone calls for you and you wish it so badly to be jungkook but you know better than to expect for the impossible. a modern day fairy tale.

“hey, don’t cry. jungkook’s a fucking dick,” the tall stature that finally caught up to you and trapped you in his arms, whispers. gentle, understanding and pitiful.

it’s not just the comforting warmth, it’s also the hand that’s rubbing your back that you know is probably jimin’s that makes you break out into your first sob. whilst the day isn’t exactly free of tears, those who did shed them did it out of gratitude and a sort of ‘i did it’ kind of relief but not you.

today, your cheeks are marred by the excruciating pain of a heartbreak. you might as well tear your chest open, take out the beating organ and hand it over to jungkook so he could crush them with his own two hands.

maybe it’d hurt less.

somewhere amidst your fit, you choke on your laughter as you catch the two bickering.

“that’s not how you comfort a crying lady, taehyung, what the fuck?” jimin doesn’t hold back with his colorful words.

“what? what did i do?” the taller man sounds all the more confused but still pass you on to the shorter one like a gift basket when a hand pulls you into another pair of arms.

a hand patting your head as jimin murmurs, “there, there, you’re going to be okay, sweetie,” he hugs you just a tad bit tighter as though to say i promise, “you’re young, you’re beautiful and you just graduated with honors. in five years you won’t even remember your little crush for jungcockhead.”

you would have laughed if not for the shadow in your periphery stopping dead in its trek just a few feet away from you and close enough to hear every word jimin uttered in his attempt to placate your rising desire to flee the scene.

“what?” even a simple syllable is enough to tell you who the voice belongs to. perhaps it’s because you’ve heard it in real life and on the phone countless times and countless more during the span where he worked sporadic shifts and you were gardening and getting scratched by your grandmother’s cat that you tried relentlessly to befriend.

“nothing, jungkook.” you wish it was you who said it but it’s jimin who’s hugging you tighter like a mother comforting their heartbroken child, “why don’t you go back to your girlfriend and stick your face where it’s actually wanted?”

almost as though physically slapped in the face.

with a brick.

jungkook’s shoulder line jolts as he flinches, brows knitting together as you can almost see the rewind of the moment your heart gets split in two. she has the prettiest, softest tanned complexion, luscious curls and body that fits the definition of a glowed-up.

he takes one step forward but stops when you shrink into jimin’s arms, almost as though seeking protection. but it takes everything in you not to run to him and make up an excuse about feeling hot and stuffy and that being the reason you left, when the crestfallen expression mars his otherwise ever-smiling features. 

“that wasn’t what you thought it was-” you could almost swear he chokes at the end of his words but the pause is too short to tell, “i left her as soon as i saw you running off.”

“oh my god, cut the bullshit! this isn’t the first time and this won’t be the last. don’t talk to ___, don’t even look at her, douchebag,” the rumble of jimin’s voice vibrates against you as he pokes taehyung in the rib, making the boy cry out in pain.

the assaulted man has half a mind to ask for further instructions when he turns to you and jimin but decides against it, squaring up his shoulders and placing a warning hand, “just leave, man. ___ clearly doesn’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“ever.” jimin half-shouts.

those deep brown eyes search for yours as though holding on the last strand of what you call best friendship - hoping, wishing that it isn’t true. but as soon as they find your puffy eyes, you throw your gaze to the ground, finding the crack in the asphalt in a better state than your heart.

you can only imagine jungkook’s face falling at your refusal to affirm the strength of years’ worth of friendship. because the fact of the matter is, you’re not so sure if you want to keep pretending to be oblivious as he wraps his arms around another person and kiss them like he means it.

x

“___,” the bed dips as you feel the weight of the blanket get yanked off you. seulgi’s sweet peaches perfume filling your senses, “get up, it’s been days since you had an actual meal.”

“i’m not hungry,” you grumble against the pillow just as your stomach starts making the most monstrous sound ever existed in history of mankind.

“yeah right,” she scoffs but her hand on your arm is warm and soothing, “come on, please eat something - i’m saying ‘please’ here and you know i never say ‘please’. people say ‘please’ to me.” 

you can’t help but laugh at that. seulgi’s never truly begged anyone for anything in her entire life. she would have asked once and left you be until you were done moping around over jungkook getting with jihyo. it was after you did get over your first heartbreak, did she get you ice cream and you’d spent the night in her room with fairy lights and forts, watching the notebook.

“don’t let a boy hurt you like that again, ___, promise me.” she held up a pinky, and yours felt like a ton of weight just dropped over you.

in the end, you hooked your pink with hers and made a promise of sisterhood.

but she hadn’t been there when you needed your off days in college when rumors started spreading about jungkook and a different girl every week.

the wounds to your ever bleeding heart don’t heal. but you got used to picking yourself up and you got better at that with that one class you failed, that one presentation you blew, the humiliating mistake you made in front of your supervisor and every time after that. seulgi had her own ways to deal with problems and you had yours - or maybe patching yourself up after a fuck up was more of your forte.

who knows?

“what’s for dinner?”

“really?” at your inquiry, the face you thought would light up like a christmas tree - doesn’t. if anything, she bites her bottom lip just like you just caught her red-handed for doing something you probably won’t like.

“what?” you ask plainly, at this point, you won’t even be surprised if she said the sky is falling.

it’s not.

but her next words are far more foreboding than the end of the world, “look, jungkook came over like he always did everyday since that day and today i wanted him to stop coming for good so i told him if you at least have the energy to get some food, i’d let him see you,” her eyes glimmer with a sort of remorse that you can’t even hold her against.

“then can’t you tell him i still don’t wanna eat?” is what you say, completely unperturbed or rather not registering the fact that your best friend whom you’ve been in love with for as long as you can remember is in your sister’s living room because he probably heard about your hunger strike. 

but the only problem is, he’s not in the living room-

“he’s right outside the room. i told him he can stand there and see for himself how bad he fucked you over so he’ll feel bad enough to leave you alone.” she says in a hurried whisper, eyes glancing to the half-agape door every second.

a spark lights up inside you, like smolders blown by wind and flares into flames, “seriously? you couldn’t talk to me first about it?”

her eyebrows furrow as her mouth opens and closes for a moment before she confesses, “...i didn’t think you’d say yes to lunch.”

“whatever just-” you tear your gaze away from your sister’s involuntary puppy eyes just so you wouldn’t end up clawing them out yourself, “...just go, seulgi.”

for the longest yet briefest moment, the only thing you can hear in the room is your steady breathing. the flame still burns but it doesn’t flare into a raging fireball. and you know full well it probably isn’t easy for jungkook to pass to through the door after having heard how you reacted when you found out he’s just outside.

when he does, he doesn’t even hide the way his doe eyes shine with something you can’t pinpoint as he takes you in. all of you. with your mused, oily hair and three day’s worth of hoodie and puffed eyes.

“hey,” he murmurs ever so softly, the bed dipping where seulgi sat.

you echo the same greeting back but with a hoarser voice compared to his velvet one.

“so, what do you want for dinner?” he begins, cautious eyes finding yours.

“i don’t want it anymore,” is all you say as you shrug casually.

“oh.” he sounds fragile. nothing at all like the self-assured jeon jungkook you’ve come to know.

silence fills the room like a big, blue elephant. seconds stretch on into minutes and you find yourself leaning against the headboard, drawing invisible patterns over the sheets while jungkook-

you don’t know what he’s doing. he could be fiddling with his fingers like how 10-year-old him would whenever you met at your favorite spot after a fight. but you’re both no where near 10 and if there’s any traces of the boy you once called your best friend, it’s probably only his appearance that’s never really changed.

either way, you don’t dare to even steal a glance his way.

“i like you too.”

the words hit the air like a drop of water that vaporized faster than what science dictates it too. you almost thought you were hearing things if not for the way he looks at you. as though waiting for something. anything.

“i...” you trail off before shaking your head, almost as though coming to your senses, “i can’t do this.”

jungkook laughs awkwardly, hand scratching the back of his head, “yeah, i understand - i’m sorry i- i just wanted to make sure you’re fine and then i got carried away- i should leave.”

but before he takes a step towards the door, you call for him, “jungkook, wait.”

“i’m leaving for japan in two days,” you finally let the cat out of the bag.

“what?” comes out a second later - you don’t dare to look up from your hands to see what kind of emotion he’s making.

but he at least deserves an explanation, “for the longest time, i feel fucked up because i get so jealous of the girls that dated you...” taking a deep breath, you continue, “but i know it’s because i think i’m not enough-”

“you are - you’re more than enough,” the interjection is what makes you look up involuntarily, if not to confirm it yourself - the knitted eyebrows and heartbroken gaze proves it and then the sinking realization settles in, “but you don’t believe me.”

you shake your head, a bitter smile on your lips, “i’m not enough for me and that’s something i have to work with.”

“by running away?” his voice rises to the ceiling, confusion and frustration pooling in his eyes.

“by finding myself,” you correct, “you know like how people go to a different country and come back a different person except i’m hoping to find that person.”

“in japan,” he sounds like he’s a word away from hooking you up with a specialist - not that you haven’t thought of one but-

you laugh and he looks at you like he’s stuck in the middle of a never ending maze, “my mom’s planning to visit my aunt in japan and since i’m officially unemployed i guess, i’m tagging along.”

“oh,” his shoulder line sags as he sighs in relief, “so like a vacation.”

it tenses back up when you say, “i might look for a job there.”

“you’re permanently moving to japan?” jungkook’s body seems to be here but his conscience seems to have flown out - probably to japan.

you want to laugh but it doesn’t seem like a proper setting for it. especially when you’re confessing to your crush that you like him but also subtly admitting that he’s partly the reason you’re leaving the life you know for a new one. and you might not even do it willingly.

“i might find a job with a branch company in korea - work there for a year and then transfer here,” you shrug, “i don’t know.”

“i-is this because-” he starts but you shake your head.

“yes and no?” you say, “none of this is your fault but i’m projecting my frustrations onto you and this isn’t healthy... i need- i need to go away for awhile and figure myself out.”

and that’s how jeon jungkook finally comes to the realization that nothing’s been the same. you haven’t been the best friend you prided yourself to be for a long time and that best friend completely disappeared in second year of college after he started spending nights at parties and only lunches with you. until eventually, you’re stuck in a habit - a cycle that you can’t break from until something dramatic or life changing happens.

and so it goes, he sees you off at the airport with taehyung and jimin. unsure of whether they were still friends after they’d deliberately stopped him from running after you on your graduation day, they were the first to approach him. they understood that it’d only be worse if he chased after you but they didn’t hate him - dislike him at times when - as they called it - he was so damn clueless, yes but they didn’t hate him. and that was a relief.

nothing major changed. he moved in with taehyung and jimin and even got a job at the same company as jimin. you went off radar but still kept in contact every once in awhile - it was like that time jimin went to that private island except you had all the reception you needed, just not the time to text as much as you used to.

job hunting was tough and he understood the competition. when you got a job, you were plagued with a newbie’s role, having to do overtimes to finish up work that was piling before they gave you that position.

then one year turned to two and two years turned to three. jungkook became a manager while jimin took up the position as a secretary in their rival company - it’s funny because everyone at the office would shit-talk him and they would make fun of those people as they drink into the night.

jungkook lost contact with most of his party friends - they were great with hooking him up with a potential client but besides that, he was basically living the workaholic life with his two apartment mates as his only source of social interaction outside of work.

from meetings to gatherings to meetings and then private dinners with clients. the cycle goes on until that one evening where arrives at an invites-only event.

“jungkook, come here,” the director gestures him over and because there’s a server blocking his view, he only notices the girl standing in front of his superior, when he’s finally by his side.

“...a hardworker - every project he’s ever handled hits the internet like a boom!” the director was saying.

“ah jungkook,” the man taps him on his shoulder but he can barely feel it when his eyes are trained on you, stunning in that deep toned dress and new hairstyle, “meet ___, you guys will be working on the twin tower project together.”

x

“so you’re back for good?” he asks when you’re finally alone, lingering at the balcony and away from your superior’s eyes.

“not quite - i still have to fly to japan every week,” you shrug casually.

“oh,” he nods.

“you look great by the way,” he adds a moment later, scuffing his foot against the floor.

you can’t help but giggle at how boyish he is, even at the age of 25, he still acts like a child, “thanks - you don’t look half bad yourself.”

he echoes a “thanks” as well before throwing his gaze over the magnificient view of the cityscape. artificial lights from the buildings appear like stagnant fireflies. it’s sad that they’re the reason you can’t see stars anymore.

but fate is too cruel.

because hoseok, your partner is calling you over - a couple of middle aged people standing next to him, smiling that mechanical smile that isn’t any different from your business smile.

“i gotta go,” you sigh but shoot him one last melancholy smile, “i’ll see you this monday?”

“yeah, see you this monday.” jungkook smiles a smile that says he’s not so sure where you stand. colleagues. ex-best friends. acquaintances?

with a wave goodbye, he watches as you strut to the couple, transforming into a woman so sure of every gesture, even a smile and a throw of your head back as you laugh. everything you do, every movement you make is mesmerizing. 

and he knows he’s not the only one who thinks so as he watches your partner gaze at you with eyes that doesn’t seem to see anyone else but you. laughs at something you say as if he’s completely enchanted.

jungkook turns around, hand propped on the railing as he takes a sip of the wine he’s been holding. without realizing it, a smile slips onto his face, he makes a mental note to check your company’s dating policy.

most forbid office romances anyway.

x

note. i’ve had this in the draft for forever! and thought i was never gonna finish this but i somehow got a burst of inspiration yesterday and here we are! hope yall enjoyed!

[prose-for-hire]

Guardian of the lost soul

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: if what the reader dress as an angel (kinda like Supernatural angels) and she finds the scoobies gang  in the haunted house with the costumes magically change them. (you know the episode ^-^)  only this time , Spike sees her wings and in angel terms that's a soulmate.

Requested by: @everlastingartist​

A/N: Kind of a soulmate au I think? I am not familiar with the Supernatural angels (yet - I plan on actually watching it soon) I did google them and I’m still none the wiser lol. So this is my own interpretation of what was requested! I chose a guardian angel, and twisted it in my own way. It is very made up but that’s what I’m here to do!

Also I mashed up two Halloween episodes together for this one but Spike doesn’t have a chip. Not even a soul. But he finds his soulmate.🖤🦇

You loved Halloween in Sunnydale, it never disappointed. The pumpkins were freshly carved, there was candy everywhere you turned and kids really did love dressing up and making a nuisance of themselves. Even when you were running for your life the mood always picked up somewhere after midnight. And hey, being friends with a very protective Slayer had its benefits.

You were basically skipping around the streets, you were excited about going to the haunted house. You had tried to convince Willow, along with buffy to take the ghost costume off but she flat out refused. Even when you begged all the way to the party. You wanted to get to the end so you could join the party with your friends and you waited briefly for everyone to show up so you could enter together. While you and Willow waited outside, a figure in a dark cloak pushed past you. There was something about them that you recognised but they muttered some insult at you for being in their way so you decided to just ignore them. Eventually, everyone arrived and you were able 

You had chosen to dress as an angel. A guardian angel. Not the stereotypical kind, one you had read of in some of Giles’ thick mythology books. You had been bored and the passages had been surprisingly interesting in an I’m-so-bored-I’d-read-the-back-of-a-cereal-packet kind of way. It spoke of the kinds of angels, of the truth about how they operate rather than those spoken of in popular culture. Some of your costume was white however as you wanted people to at least recognise what you had come as (although nobody except Willow had got it). 

You went through the various rooms together and had a laugh at some of the more ridiculous spooks in the house. There had been a slight tension a few words exchanged but mostly you were having a nice time. Everyone was squabbling over which way to go next and you had lost interest, managing to break away from the others.

As you did this, you saw the hooded figure again. You were sure you recognised the flashes you had seen of the person’s face. You left your friends for a moment to tap them on the shoulder and who should turn to face you but the big bad of the moment. Spike. You hadn’t faced him alone yet but he had always singled you out when you were with the others. The conversation always turned suggestive, which annoyed Buffy to no end and made you try to hide yourself when you were with the others.

You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t love the attention though. Hope that he would catch your eye. You longed for even a moment alone with him, although you were well aware of the danger. You couldn’t help like him but there was no way you would ever admit that to your friends. 

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, trying to suppress a smile.

“Thought I’d drop by… see what tasty… treats Halloween has to offer” He closed the space between you as his voice became a little huskier with every step. His hand was on the wall, palm flat against it. His arm blocking you in as he slowly scanned your body before returning to your face.

“What has the devil got in store for you this Halloween do you reckon pet?” He asked, the smirk audible in his voice, “Somethin’ naughty no doubt…” He added, biting his lip teasingly.

“I’m an angel. Always preferred them anyway” You shrugged. It had been a very low blow and when you saw his expression darkening into anger rather than lust, you backtracked – knowing better than to get him mad, “To the devil, I mean”

“Bollocks – where are the wings? The halo? And you’re not foolin’ anyone wearing that white-” he gestured wildly to the corresponding area where each item should have been with the hand that wasn’t leaning against the wall. You smiled, about to respond when someone interrupted.

“Spike!” Buffy shouted, having turned to find you in the haunted house. She was relieved to see you (as she had lost the others) but she was not pleased to see the vampire that still had you boxed in, pressed pretty close against you.

Buffy made light work of hauling him away and trying to throw him out of the house completely. She tried to find the front door but it had gone. You were now aware you were trapped inside this now truly haunted house. No, it was worse. It had turned into a murder house as half the student body upstairs had started to scare themselves to death almost before the real threat had.

Everyone was rushing past you and as Spike smelled fresh blood, he ran in the opposite direction to where the others were coming from, straight into the carnage. His stomach was rumbling and he was ready for a decent meal.

Everything was going on at once and you wanted it to slow down, or at least give you chance for a breather. There were too many threats at play tonight. As if the powers had requested it this way, a busy scene of threat and revelations for their own personal enjoyment. 

As you tried again and again to leave and to help find the others, things started to get worse. You had now lost Buffy and were trying to find her by (you guessed it) calling out her name which was the best way to attract anything other than good luck. You had to fight off some cobwebs and now, your own body it seemed. You were hurting, doubled over. Something was happening. You sunk to your knees, grimacing. Nothing was going your way. 

It was a strange night. The strangest Halloween you had experienced. The others were lost and at the same moment, Willow turned into a real ghost. Xander a real soldier and Buffy was now a genuine high society lady from the 1700s. It was spooky and not in a cute way.

You had managed to get to your feet, pulling on the cobwebs as they attacked your head again. As you looked down checking you had removed any stray webbing, you saw that you were glowing. Literally. You appeared human still - no wings or halos but there was a strange feeling that you had aged hundreds of years in just a few seconds. Not in appearance, that was still your skin and your face. But in knowledge. As if you had read every book known to man and then some. You felt powerful. Strange.

You walked around, able to know what was happening in every room. You managed to get places just by thinking about it. Able to protect people before they succumbed to the terrors the house had in store. You didn’t know how this was happening, but you knew better than to question it.

You had hope. You had a purpose and you were getting used to adapting to different people and their needs. That was until it came to something you needed. You turned and saw your friends through a two way mirror. They had all found each other but you couldn’t get to them. They were trying to remember who they were and come up with a plan. You started to panic, banging your fist on the mirror that you could see them through but they didn’t hear you. You hurriedly left through a side door to try and get to them seeing as your previous power wasn’t working. But you never made it to your friends. You had walked straight into someone. The one someone that you always managed to find, no matter what.

Spike had appeared. He seemed the same except... was that a heart beat? You frowned as he stepped towards you, the swagger still in tact.

 “You listened to me then, pet? About time” He muttered as you looked at him confused. You didn’t understand. You looked around for some kind of clue until he spoke again, “The wings. You put ‘em on. Knew it would complete the look… not that you need to be wearing any more clothin’ items” He added, the trademark smirk on his face as he almost prowled towards you further.

“I’m not wearing any wings…” You said slowly as he came to stand right in front of you, leaving not so much as room to breath between you. He frowned, and looked behind you before looking back into your eyes. He could see the wings as clear as anything. They had a large wingspan, it was kind of impossible to miss. He reached out the touch them and you felt his fingers. You frowned, checking behind you. There they were, bat-like rather than the feathered kind you had expected and almost translucent whilst appearing closer to your skin tone. He found them aesthetically very appealing. Almost as if it were a part of you. He just stared, almost in awe as he felt they were warm the texture as soft as your skin.

 It came to you suddenly. The folklore you had been researching. The mythology. The only one that may see the wings of the angel is their soulmate. Their one eternal love. It was said that every angel had a soulmate and that no matter how long they lived, they should find their soul no matter how seemingly impossible. No matter how many times they were lost, they would always be found. And you had found yours. Your love.

You and Spike had been less than useless during the fight to escape the haunted house and regain your own lives back. You were perfectly happy right here. Locked in each others gaze. A happiness neither of you had felt before until this moment. Until this revelation. You had been sharing. Talking so easily to one another. Him telling you stories of his past, and you surprising yourself with stories of your own. Ones that could match his. You felt an entrenched need to protect him. To hold you into him so that no harm could ever befall him. 

The chaos going on around you was now secondary to your story. You holed up in a room together, Spike never looking away from you. The guardian angel in you was screaming for you to help the others again, but your heart was set on him. On relearning of your love. You had faith in your friends abilities anyway.

He leaned in, his thumb trailing your face and lingering near your lips. He had thought about this for so long. His usual crude quips had been founded in truth. Forged to both show how he felt and camouflage them at the same time. He felt for you so deeply his soul had made an unwitting appearance back into his life. Whenever you were around his heart felt as if it may break free from his ribcage in the hopes of greeting yours.

You closed your eyes as he did, the build up to this kiss achingly slow. You could feel his breath on his face he was so close. His touch was warm and familiar, his lips made for yours. You could feel it. The anticipation almost became too much as he finally grazed your lips.

But, just as suddenly as it was cast, the spell broke. The feeling of danger returned to your gut as you were in Spike’s presence. Your kiss never deepening. Your stomach flipping as you snapped opened your eyes. Spike’s vampire instincts kicked back in and it was resoundingly telling him that he was hungry. Your scent was so enticing to him, his face changed of its own accord. His fangs so close to you but you knew he wouldn’t kill you. You knew it as if it were fact. As if it were gravity or the colour of the sky being blue. Spike loved you and wouldn’t harm you. They were each true sentences, you had never been so sure.

Buffy, however, now fresh from being bound in the sensibilities of a woman with no aspirations other than to be pretty was ready for a fight. She had fought to escape the haunted house and now she would fight the nearest big bad in sight. Spike. She wrenched him from your neck.

But when he drew back, he had the same look in his eye as he had only moments before. Your soulmate was still right here in front of you, there was nobody that could convince you otherwise. And believe me, Spike really tried since then.

Buffy and Spike traded blows. Neither became victorious, but you were able to leave the house and Giles had somehow managed to force Ethan Rayne into reversing the curse he had put on your costumes. 

After that long Halloween night, your mind barely stopped thinking about him. Sometimes you walked around after dark to see if he would come along and pretend to eat you as an excuse to just talk to you. He often wished to find an excuse to see you. Without knowing what it was, he felt it too. Deep within. Stronger since Halloween night. Sometimes he found himself standing around in places he knew you would frequent just so he could watch you. Catch a glimpse of you. Although, he had been doing this before Halloween as well.

You remembered so much more than that night, however. Memories that should have been long since buried of you and Spike finding each other over and over in other places and times still lingered as you wished his thumb still would along your jaw. You still remembered those memories and you wrote them all down before you could forget. They were like dreams, something you knew so well but struggled to recall in enough detail to satisfy.

You would forever carry a piece of his soul around with you now. That feeling just couldn’t go away, you wouldn’t let it. It was as if his soul were a locket hung around your neck. You would guard it with your life. Keep it close to your heart. 

He would come back to you, you were sure of it and you were happy to wait until that day came.

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Pragma | Alucard

Request: Hi, I love your blog. Would you mind writing about what it would be like to for Alucard to fall in love with the reader post season 3? Thank you! Keep up the good work!

Word Count: 1826 words

Page Count: 5.2 pages

A/n: hope you enjoy this!

Tags: @catherinedm​

        All Alucard could do was deny that you held no ill will towards him. He had found you when you were running from a cultist like group, ready to burn you alive just for learning older sciences, he could only laugh at the bitter irony. Your legs were whipped and tired, your chest was bruised and the rest of your body was worse than you could have imagined, and so he took you in when he knew you were not a threat. Or would be conscious for a good while.

        "I seem to only get more and more desperate for heartache, don't I?" He whispered to himself as he looked to you, your body was freshly cared and cleaned for, and yet he found on the other end of the room near the opened door. His fear that gripped his heart made him feel like a child, wanting to be held and cared for by those around him, yet cannot seem to overcome going up to an adult for help.

        When you woke up days later, cleaned and cared for, your body aching like never before- and the man in the room staring at you like you had just killed his mother in front of him, full of shock and fear. Speaking with him in this stage of your relationship was scarce, only what needed to be said was put into the air, either met with silence or acknowledged with muted nods and small hums.

*****

        Alucard was never known for his temper. He was a sweet and gentle boy according to his parents, something he wished to be after seeing his mother be... her, he was never to freak or lash out on those around him. When he realized this, it had been to late, his hands were running through his hair as tears slipped effortlessly from his eyes- curled in his bed with his knees to his scarred chest. He had been helping you walk more, working on your legs and helping them gain muscle, when you had fallen near him while he fell as well.

        You both had slipped due to the old rugs folds getting caught in his foot, making him slam onto his back while you managed to land on your knees, and when you turned to see if Alucard was alright he looked at you in pure fear. He shook as he saw you on your knees, on his right side, like her. Just like she was when they both locked him onto his bed, tied with the burn of silver, looking at him with such hate and disgust.

        Your eyes held worry though. Worry for his well being. Care. Your heart was opening up. But in that moment, he saw back to that night, her. His face contorted into anger, yelling at you while his lungs burned for air, profanities settled into your mind as he was cursing your existence. 

        "I trusted you! Gave you everything! And here you are again, having me on my back, a knife to my fucking heart!" He was leaning upright at this point, while you crawled backwards away from him, the fear evident in your eyes but he didn't see. It wasn't you at that moment. It was the flickering image of Sumi and Taka.

        Once he had caught his breath, he closed his eyes, hands coming to his hair as he shook violently. You realized what was happening, your father was a soldier and suffered from delusions like this, and your mother would come running to anchor him back into the present once his past came to torment him again. 

        "Breathe. Alucard, breathe. Evenly. Exhale longer than when you inhale, please." You coached him gently, your hands in front of you in case he were to look up, you weren't a threat to him- he knew that. You told him when to inhale and hold, before letting out the breath that wavered less and less. You needed to anchor him back to the present, he wasn't seeing you yet, but you would make him to help with his sanity.

        His breathing evened but tears still came, flowing against the flushed pale skin, and you made your way closer to him. You held out two fingers, mimicking your parents, and waited for him. He saw, and pulled out two gloved fingers to wrap around yours, his shaking would start to still after a few moments.

*****

        You hadn't seen Alucard in two days, his mind was taking its toll on him, and you managed to figure out the basics of his situation. His mind was sending him back to the most stressful moments of his life, the wound on his mind hasn't been stitched and is now bleeding into his daily life.

        You wanted to learn how to help people mend their minds, ranging from trauma to genetic ailments, the human mind was so vast and complicated so of course it drew you in. In doing so, you met an old vampire in Athens, she was kind and sweet- teaching philosophy and medicine to those she knew would use them appropriately.

        Alucard was depressing himself further into his mind, and you needed to help him, though helping him would need to be paced. He needs time and luckily you both have plenty of it. You made your way around the castle and found a few empty notebooks (not wrapped in human skin), a few books on meditation and spiritual awareness, and some recipe books next to fictional ones that held important meanings on self worth.

        Should you be looking through his things?

        You didn't care. He needed help.

        You then split the books into two piles, one for Alucard to journal in and write all his thoughts in and the other for you, to write tips and other important information for Alucard to read so he can understand what is going on and how he can help himself cope with his own mind. The books that helped with meditation would help him order his thoughts and understand how to calm himself in case he couldn't find an anchor, (you hoped the spiritual awareness would be a plus? Dracula had lots of books so it wouldn't hurt.), and books of things you thought he'd enjoy in general when he needed an escape.

        Once all was finished, you placed everything into a small net bag, limping your way to the kitchen, you decided the man needed something to eat. After all, food made everyone happy, right? Right. A simple dish of grilled chicken and veggies, with a side of mash potatoes and some water, you slung the bag on your shoulder and made your way to his room.

        You didn't hesitate to knock, but you made sure it was soft and non demanding, before calling his name in the same manner. You heard shuffling, but the door never opened and you never were welcomed in, but you knew you needed to intervene and help boost Alucard onto a support line.

        "I'm coming in, in a few moments, so if you need to ready yourself please do, Alucard." You heard nothing on the other end, and waiting for about two minutes with your head against the door, you pushed it opened slowly to allow yourself into the dhampires room.

*****

        When you had managed to get Alucard fed and on a routine to help himself more and more each day, he had apologized to you for the outburst, and decided that leaving you on your own when you had trouble walking was not the best idea. He was surprised you accepted his apology and brushed his actions off, deciding to help him instead, it was a reaction different than what he had expected.

        Allowing himself to be near you much more often, he opened up a bit after a week of sitting by your side, setting you into the nine circle of his mind. You peeled back the shallower layers at his pace, setting him for a more favorable way of opening his heart and mind up, and seeing how he thought and felt about everything.

        He was intriguing and intelligent, you found yourself tearing through your own heart just to open up and show him the exposed muscle, opening yourself up to him inevitably as he did to you. He felt warmth bloom in his chest that only rose up when he was in your presence, and while you helped him heal the wounds inside him, he continued to help you heal and gain your strength back physically.

        A mutually beneficial relationship is all.

        Yeah, no.

        It was a puppy love shrouded in pain and betrayal that was settled into an old wound, the bleed has now stopped, and the clotting had begun, a deep scab was there before the skin would over take it in a tough light pink blanket. There was healing when there used to be a knife digging itself deeper into the soft flesh.

*****

        "Do you plan on leaving?" His voice was soft and scared, his breath was shaky while pale arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the sheets covering the both of you blanketed the intimate scene of a boy begging for the girl to love him back- to not leave him, though he thought he deserved it, it started to become less of a thought on his mind.

        He accepted himself for what he is and what he has done.

        He knows what he wants and what he needs.

        You were on the top of both lists.

        He was being selfish, but you told him that was good, he was learning how to realize his worth in what he wants. He was still respectful of any decisions you made, but he begged everything in the universe for you to say no, no you wouldn't leave him. You wouldn't abandon him, you'd stay and love him as you do now, and for the rest of your time together.

        "Depends." You chuckled, rubbing his arms that were secured on your waist, your eyes were closed as you felt him curl around you.

        "Depends?" He mumbled into your hair.

        "Do you wish for me to stay?"

        What? Of course, he wanted you to never leave him, and he was sure he never gave the impression of being disinterested. Hell! The position you were in now speaks for itself! He sighed, realizing you were just teasing him, and settling his mind down.

        "Of course. I never want you to leave."

        "Then I never will."

        His heart had burst at the affirmation of love, a tear slipped from his eye as he smiled wide, the supernova in his soul sparked his love for you to become brighter and stronger.

        "Thank you."

[writefightandflightclub]

Indivisible: Part Two

Poe Dameron x reader? Finn x reader? Finn x Poe?

Summary: Finn is your wonderful boyfriend, and Poe is your wonderful best friend. But when Poe begins to look at you differently, you wonder if there’s another way to arrange the pieces of your heart to make it whole.

Part one: here

Author’s note: Not a very eventful instalment (should I be selling this more? Lol), but laying groundwork for part 3 + 4 :-) We’ve had Poe’s POV, now we get Reader’s. I’m sorry for how much I call Poe an idiot. You know I freaking love that daft man.

Word count: 1.4k ish

Warnings: suggestive themes but nothing explicit. Mild language.

Poe Dameron is an idiot.

Clearly.

Yes, he’s a smart man, intelligent in a range of ways. But, damn it. You are adamant that he’s also an idiot.

Poe has been your best friend for years. He’s had every opportunity to fall for you. But it was only when you started dating Finn that he began looking at you like that.

Like he could eat you for breakfast.

Idiot.

You’ve always had the hots for him to some extent. It’s not hard to piece together that Poe has all the potential makings of an excellent lover. He’s quite obviously gorgeous, but aside from his looks he possesses just about every desirable quality going. He’s trustworthy, communicative, selfless, passionate, stubborn (that can have its advantages), cheeky, warm, tactile... the list goes on and on. You imagine Poe is the type to go all in. To make love with his whole body and soul. There’s zero doubt in your mind that he would make for a very gratifying bang. And, now that his ravenous glances are getting you similarly riled up, you admit that you would be thoroughly unopposed if he did want to eat you for breakfast.

Isn’t timing a bitch?

Undeniably, you’ve always had a... connection with Poe. If he’d made a move in those early days -even the hint of a move- you would have jumped him in an instant. But the more time that elapsed, the stronger and deeper your friendship became. You simply didn’t see any reason to compromise that for a short-term hit of gratification. Besides, the more time that elapsed, the more certain you’d become that Poe’s feelings for you ended where they began; strictly at friendship.

There had been no hints he may have felt anything non-platonic. No declarations in dying starships, or on failing missions. There was flirting, sure, on occassion. There were lingering hugs. There were occassional propositions, assumed to be in jest. But there was nothing like this. Nothing like his eyes raking over you, hungry. Nothing like the soft glow, eyes backlit by lust.

You had tried to rationalise. Told yourself that, maybe, it was simply a projection. Maybe Poe saw you and Finn together, and wanted something similar for himself. Maybe because you were so close already, it was easy, convenient, to project those feelings on to an old friend. You had tried to rationalise it, but the more time that passed, the more sure you were that this was less of a general desire for some company, and more of a specific kind of longing. A longing for you.

It bothered you that you wanted Poe back. You were with Finn, and you cared for him deeply. The possibility of subtracting Finn from this equation could not enter your mind. So, you must be an idiot too. Because you’d had every opportunity to fall for Poe, and yet, all at once here you were, plummeting. Your timing sucked. 

Recently, you’d taken to doing a little experimenting. Sometimes, when you were showing Finn some affection, publically- a stolen kiss in the canteen or out on base- you’d caught Poe watching. Not in a pervy way. Just... interested. And so -as you did following that heated kiss on the tarmac this morning- you’d begun taking note of Poe’s reactions. You didn’t feel good about this, but there was something in you which enjoyed getting him all... flustered. All hot and bothered.

Apparently, getting him flustered was becoming increasingly easy. Of late, the more you and Poe touched in those innocent, habitual ways engrained through years of friendship - a hug or a kiss on the cheek or straightening up of a flight suit- you became sure there was just something there that wasn’t there before. Or maybe, you were both simply realising something that had been there all along.

You knew you would have to... do something about this. And soon. The thought continually niggled at you, because you didn’t know quite what to do.

For now, though, you both traipse toward the hangar, your arm slung around Poe and his soft, weathered flight suit. You release him with a “go get ‘em” pat to his back as he marches up to the unofficial podium in the hangar, climbing atop the crate to deliver a rousing morning briefing to the pilots and recent recruits.

Your eyes shine softly as you listen to him. You know more than most about his sleepless nights and crises of confidence behind the scenes, but Poe always delivers, in the end. You don’t know how many times you’ve seen him deliver his briefings now- hundreds, at least. But there’s something about him stood there today, specifically, which highlights how alone he is. In this fight. In his position. And now it breaks you that he might feel alone because of you too. Alone because of your togetherness with Finn. You’ve spent so little time with him lately, and suddenly... you miss him. You miss him terribly.

You have to duck out for a second, filtering off behind an X-wing and leaning your forearms up against its body, in complete shock as tears leak out of you like water from a blaster-ridden tank. You feel wounded. Caught off-guard. You pull yourself together quickly, but not before BB-8 rounds the ship to find out what you’re up to. In haste, you mash your tears away with the heel of your hand and scurry from your position, dropping a warning through your teeth to the sweet droid as you rejoin the briefing. “Don’t you tell anyone I cried, you hear?”

Poor Bb-8 isn’t having much luck today, is he?

Sucking in a breath, you watch Poe’s continued briefing, as he delivers orders and takes questions from the recruits. He’s assured, smooth, competent, and patient. Very much in his element. Perhaps that’s the only reason you notice the subtle shift in his mood so markedly when Finn jogs -majestically, you might add- into the hangar, apologising to Poe for the interruption with a soft, charming smile and wave, and passing you the datapad you’d mistakenly left behind with him. Finn is a little obsessed with everyone knowing you’re his squeeze at the moment, and you can’t say you mind all that much, so you accept the bonus delivery of a gentle, chaste kiss to your lips too.

In fact, you thirst at the mere sight of your boyfriend. Finn has clearly been helping Rey to shift some crates into the Falcon -or something- under the hot sun, as he’s stripped down to his undershirt, his rich brown skin gently gleaming all over with sweat, muscled arms on full display. He smiles sweetly at you as he sweeps back out, sneaking a squeeze of your butt, a gentle heat in his eyes making the memory of the morning’s exploits curl in the pit of you.

As Finn recedes from your view, it is then that you notice Poe’s faltering coolness, his diverted attention. “Ohhhh boyyy.”, you breathe quietly as Poe’s eyes bashfully follow Finn’s form out of the hangar. No-one else would necessarily pick-up on the subtle signs of him being... flustered, but you do. You do. That little bob in his throat, that tug on his collar. His teeth clamping down on his bottom-lip, just for a fleeting moment. A subtle wipe of sweaty palms on the thighs of his flight suit. Your jaw goes slack in realisation.

You don’t blame him- Finn is a whole ass snack. Your sweet, brave, thoughtful man is the full package. But you simply can’t believe you didn’t see it before now. Something that has been there all along. Suddenly so many prior moments make a lot more sense. That kriffing leather jacket makes sense, for one. 

“Kriffin’ blaster brain!”, you exclaim, chiding yourself, realisation bursting out of you as you exorcise this gaping blind spot from your vision.

There is a murmur in the crowd and creaking of flight boots as Poe pauses his rousing speech and everyone else turns to you.

Poe just stands on his podium, looking at you with gentle amusement.

“Y’ quite alright?” Poe enquires pointedly.

“Can I backpedal on that outburst, Commander?”, you ask bashfully, and Poe’s eyes crease at the corners before he continues on seamlessly.

You half-listen, still floored by this revelation. But, it doesn’t have you feeling... jealous. Not at all. You’re not even... surprised, not really. In fact, your heart is racing with... excitement. A kind of joy. Like, maybe, this situation could make sense after all. Like all the pieces could fit together. Like Poe doesn’t have to be alone.

Maybe the timing wasn’t a bitch, after all. Maybe it was perfect.

Poe wraps the briefing up with a flourish, everyone siphoning off to perform their duties. The Commander is about to pass by you with no more than a wink and a firm squeeze of your shoulder, but you grab him and wheel him around into you.

“Got a sec?”, you say, trying to keep your voice level. His pretty eyes flick up at you from beneath those long lashes and fall on you, warm and attentive. 

You can feel an involuntary, soft glow bloom behind your own eyes as you clamp your hands on his shoulders, and Poe shifts uneasily from foot to foot under your continued scrutiny. “Poe Dameron.”, you say, voice laden with fondness. “I haven’t seen you a whole lot, lately, have I?”

He places his hands on his pleasingly wide hips and shrugs. “Guess not.”

Your eyes twinkle with mischief. “Do you wanna come over and watch a few holomovies with Finn and me tonight?”

He laughs sceptically through his teeth, looking down at his boot as it scuffs along the hangar floor. “I don’t wanna cramp your style.” he says shyly. Poe, being shy? Entirely new, and entirely adorable, by the way.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be all couple-y, if that’s what’s stopping you. We’ll do everything possible to include you. You can even sit right in-between us to make sure.”. Ok, now maybe you’re saying things outright to make him squirm.

BB-8 seems in on your joke too, even if he doesn’t fully understand the situation. His beeps are basically cackles of laughter as he responds.

You heads flip down towards him with a conspiratorial grin. “Yeah, Beebs. Like a sandwich, I guess.”

Poe’s skin darkens a few shades in a flush of embarrassment, and your heart almost bursts with how endearing he is. You decide you are kind enough to give him a little respite from the onslaught of contrived tension. 

“Poe.”, you insist softly, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “I’ve missed you. I really wanna spend some time together, the three of us.” You clasp your palms together in front of your face and plead, with your best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

Poe’s face becomes pinched and he replies with an eventual, concessionary smile. “Sure. Sounds fun”. You can tell his words and his smile are strained, his soft smile not reaching all the way to his eyes. He’s probably less than thrilled at the prospect of being, quite literally, caught in the middle of yours and Finn’s togetherness.

You beam in response anyway, dragging him into a surrounding hug. But you make sure to squeeze him extra tight. For just a little longer than usual. As you both settle in to the embrace you feel like he becomes as reticent to let go as you are.

You smile softly to yourself as he eventually extracts himself, clearing his throat emphatically and seeming in a hurry to get away, his expression a little sad. His manner a little ruffled. You watch him go with fondness, but a little hurt constricting in your chest too.

You look down at your feet and realise Bb-8 still remains there, looking up at you expectantly. You fold your arms and lean in, curiously. “Has he said anything about Finn or me, lately, Beebs? Anything unusual?”

Bb-8 whirls his head around in panic and zooms immediately away across the hangar, practically approaching light-speed as he beeps that he really isn’t supposed to say. It seems like the droid has a few too many secrets lately. You feel apprehensive but excited at the prospect of getting things out in the open.

You’ll have to figure out if Finn is on board with your plan, of course, but somehow, you have a good feeling about this already.  

You continue to watch in amusement as the droid whirrs speedily over to Poe where he’s readying his X-Wing. Bb-8 bumps into Poe’s leg with little enough warning and enough momentum that Poe trips backwards over his little buddy, his beautiful butt landing harshly on the concrete.

Idiot.

But a cute idiot.

You quickly make yourself scarce as he clambers up from the floor, stifling a good-natured laugh into the palm of your hand. You think you’ve embarrassed Poe enough for one morning, so you allow him to think nobody else saw as he gets up and dusts himself off.

As you heave yourself up the ladder into your cockpit, grabbing your helmet and strapping in, you feel strangely like everything is finally coming together. Pieces falling into place. Still, you wish that Poe didn’t have to feel sad or alone for a moment longer.

Your heart swells though, as your comms eventually crackle to life and you hear the smile infusing Poe’s warm voice, wrapped in a blanket of static: “If you reroute your squad through Naridat you could pick-up some popcorn on the layover.”

Your eyes flick over to his X-Wing and you find Poe throwing a sidelong grin at you from his cockpit. You smile back. “Moonshine, you smart, smart man.” You do some quick calculations in your head, which Poe has no doubt already covered. That route happens to use less fuel too. “Happy Resistance, happy movie night. You genius.”

“You’re welcome, Sunshine.”

You continue your chat as you gear up the crafts, well-practiced fingers flipping over the controls. “Any chance you can abuse your Commander privileges to get us our usual room?”

“If you promise not to terrify the new recruits again I’ll see what I can do.”

“I made them cry two times, Dameron.”

His warm laugh lilts into your ears. “They’re kriffin’ terrified of you. You might wanna dial it down a notch?”

“I’m actually the sweetest stone-cold bitch they’ll ever meet.”

“Oh, I know you are, sweetheart. Fly safe. I love ya.”

Those last words are said before every flight. Habitual and engrained after years of friendship. But they suddenly hit softer than usual. At the same time, heavier, curling into your chest with a new weight.

Now you are the one who is thoroughly flustered. Still, you manage to respond. “Fly safe, Poe. Love ya.”

As you taxi your ship onto the runway, your squad picking-up formation at your rear, you suddenly feel more than a little nervous about movie night.

Permanent tag-list:

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[maggyoutthere]

I can't believe I actually fINISHED THIS HOLY SHIT-

The chapters are more than 4000 words long combined. I literally never wrote something this big damn. As much as this is supposed to be satire of bad creepypastas, this little shit found its way into my heart. I'll treasure it as probably the best thing I've written, like, ever XD

‼Tws for blood and body horror

First part here

Second part here

Sonic: Battle of Metal and Blood (Part 3 - Finale)

Synopsis: Local teen faces off against whatever is haunting this game and dies(?)

The game took a while to load again.

I was already making backup plans in my head in the case this didn't work. I could always ask people online if anyone had ever known about this game, even get my brother to help me record some clips of it to post on forums and sites. If that didn't work, maybe try and dump the file on my PC? That could be dangerous; if it was making the console crash and restart, I didn't want to know what it could do to my computer.

I was thrown in the same level. Well that was weird. It was the exact same jungle, or at least it looked like it at first. I could tell it was now supposed to be night time since everything had almost a dark blue filter over it, even Tails, who I was playing as this time. The night filter made the level a bit harder since I couldn't see some things properly, but it was still playable. It looked just like any Sonic game from that time, but I knew something was definitely up with it. I just flew over some badniks and made my way across the level (I missed smashing stuff with Amy's hammer so I just tried to escape that level as quickly as possible)

I entered the same clearing, fearing what would happen to Tails this time. Guy was 8, and I doubted SEGA would let their employees just kill off a kid on screen; but again, as far as I knew this game wasn't even supposed to be here. It could've been some unhappy worker or employee gone rogue making a statement. It wasn't helping to be honest. As I followed the exact same route as Amy, I found Metal Sonic again, still stepping on... something. It was too dark to see what it was. It just made squishy and disgusting noises as he pressed his foot on top of it. For an old game, the audio design was pretty unsettling and well done.

I didn't want to get closer to the guy, so I tried flying over him and getting to a checkpoint or something, anything besides confronting that thing. As soon as I made Tails take off from the ground, Metal came flying at him. I almost shrieked as I tried getting the little guy away from that thing, immediately making him land and sprint out of there as fast as possible. In all that panic, I didn't even notice when he tripped over whatever Metal was stepping on and fell on his face. No matter how many buttons I pressed or how hard I pressed them, Tails wouldn't get up. Metal catched up with him and the screen went black as soon as the two collided.

Those same red eyes were back on screen, staring straight back at me. I was with my face glued to the television from all the anxiety that little chase scene gave me, so I jumped back when the thing looked back at me. It felt like it was looking directly at me.

"I want ears like yours"

There it was again

"I want arms like yours"

"I want a mind to think and a heart to feel like yours"

I wanted to punch the screen; I had no idea what was going on. This was starting to get unsettling. Then, I was back in the main menu, the game's menu. It didn't crash this time, at least that. Tails was gone, like Amy. Now, Sonic was there, facing his metal faker. The two looked like they were about to punch each other in an epic pose. Visually it looked great, but then it hit me. "Battle of Metal and Blood"; did it mean faker versus organic? So the two were going to fight again? Maybe we could still get a happy ending of some sorts.

I didn't even flinch. I pressed continue.

The jungle was gone. I was in some facility  now, playing as the blue hedgehog himself this time. The level layout was much different this time; there were more loops, enemies, spikes and so on. Maybe it was only because I was playing as Sonic this time, so I could just speed my way through the level without having to worry about smashing enemies or flying away from them. I got through the level and ended up reaching an empty room; Metal Sonic was there.

I had never been much of a player myself; I'd rather stand by the sidelines and watch as more experienced people got through all the hard levels. Sure I played a lot when I was a kid but I hadn't carried that with me to adolescence. Now I had to do it myself. Hours of playing Sonic CD as a 12 year old, don't fail me now.

The boss fight music kicked in and a large door slammed shut, covering the way out. It was actually kinda hard landing a hit on the guy; I was supposed to dodge his attacks until he got tired and stopped, then parry on certain parts of the walls and spin dash at Metal Sonic as many times as I could while he was down. The thing was: I was awful at parrying. I sucked at anything that involved aiming, but I was somehow able to pull it off well enough to send the guy to his knees after around 20 minutes of dodging and parrying things.

When I hit him for the last time, it looked like I'd split his face in half or something. There were some pieces of Metal Sonic's shiny blue cover scattered around the arena. He just stood still for a while covering his face. Did I do it? Was he deactivating or something? My fingers were getting sore from holding the control and mashing buttons so hard. He wouldn't move on his own, so I just made Sonic approach him to maybe give the final blown.

As I got closer to him, Metal immediately lashed at Sonic again, trying to hold him down. You could see his face a bit better and… it was kinda red. What was that? Was he changing to another phase or something? The screen went black again.

Staring back at me were no longer those two red beacons; there was only one this time, as Metal Sonic did have half of his face completely torn apart. The uncovered half of his face was a bloodied, pulsating mess of flesh and wires. Coils, staples and stitches kept the mass of muscle and whatever else he had inside of him crudely stuck together. Two different colored eyes were shoved in one eye socket as the whole thing now oozed with blood and oil.

"I need quills like yours"

"I need a body like yours"

Was that… what Amy and Tails…

"I need an organic body like yours

to become the Real Sonic"

What… the fuck… I was too shocked to even move as it cut back to the game. Metal Sonic had successfully tackled Sonic to the ground and had started clawing at his face as if trying to rip it out of his "loathsome copy". As I saw a pool of blood appearing under them, I told myself that was enough and got up to pull the cartridge right out of the console. This was just sickening. As I got closer to the console to pull the memory card out, I realised something that made me start worrying about this in a different way. As I got a good look at my Playstation 2, I realized it wasn't plugged in. It wasn't receiving any power at all. It was only connected to the TV.

How had it been working then?...

I slowly backed away from the console, and when I looked back at the screen, that darned thing was looking back at me. It was looking at me as I was trying to stop it, peeking at the side of the screen as I went to turn off my Playstation. That thing knew I was there. No no no, this couldn't be happening. I started shaking as I realized there was something looking back at me though the screen. Its red eyes pierced into my soul, and I didn't know how to stop it.

"I WANT A SOUL… LIKE YOURS"

I shrieked as I finally pulled the cartridge out of the console, throwing it against the wall to my side in pure fear. The screen immediately went to static and the Playstation opened by itself, the Sonic Gems Collection DVD taunting me. That was NOT just a game. Whatever it was, whoever it was, I was terrified to even pick up the memory card. I put the DVD back in its box and turned off the console. I tried taking deep breaths and getting some sleep; it was late, I'd drank a lot of coffee. Maybe all the coffee I was having had created this fever dream. I begged for that to be the situation. Still, I got no sleep that night. My eyes were focused on the TV right in front of my bed, its bright red ON/OFF button giving me panic attacks each time I thought I saw it moving. If I didn't know better, I'd have believed the thing had been watching me all night.

Would it come for me next?

I ended up passing out around 5AM; I was constantly checking my phone to see the time and messaging my friends. I tried explaining the situation to them but they thought I was either messing with them or that I had somehow dreamed the whole situation. I was dead-sure I hadn’t though. I woke up around 2PM and, according to my brother, I looked like shit. Not even he would believe me when I told him what had happened last night; I couldn’t have dreamed the whole thing up even if I wanted to. There had to be something to prove it was all real… the memory card. If I played the game in front of him, he’d have to believe me. After getting breakfast, I pulled my bro back to my room to show him the game. I hesitantly went to pick up the memory card I had thrown against the wall yesterday, but it was no longer there.

“What are you looking for?”

“The memory card; it was right here! Help me look for it!”

“You mean this one?” he pointed at the Playstation.

The fucking cartridge had plugged itself back on the console. What was that thing, and how was it doing that?! The TV screen lit up with static as me and my bro jumped back; we looked at each other in panic and confusion as no one had even touched the TV. We could feel the electricity flowing through the air, giving us chills and making our hair stand up. My brother grabbed my hand as we saw the darned thing appear in front of the static, its shiny metallic cover still split in half. I froze in fear with my little brother to protect right there; I should’ve done more, I should’ve gotten rid of that cursed thing as soon as I unplugged it from the console last night. That thing placed its hands against his side of the screen, its fingers twitching as the blood made the metal hinges rust and creak. The edges of the screen leaked with blood as if he was trying to break this barrier that separated him from us. It looked at us the same way it looked at me; ready to take what he believed was his.

“I… WANT… SOULS LIKE YOURS… AND I WILL HAVE THEM…"

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 1: Welcome to Comic Event Hell

You know what readers love? When the stories they’ve gotten invested in over the course of a couple years get interrupted for some pseudo-crossover bullshit.

And you know what writers love? When the story they’ve been crafting over the course of a couple years get interrupted for some pseudo-crossover bullshit.

Did I say love?

Because I didn’t mean it.

“Dark Cybertron” was penned by John Barber and James Roberts, with collaboration with comic writer and artist Phil Jimenez, and was published from early November, 2013 to late March, 2014. Atilio Rojo, James Raiz, and Livio Ramondelli did the art, each responsible for scenes in specific locations, with Robert Gill filling in as needed. Alex Milne, Andrew Griffith, and Brendan Cahill would also contribute pencils to the first issue and the back half of the series. It was a celebration of the 30th anniversary of the franchise, and the second birthday of Phase Two... which went on for over four months, but never mind that!

Both "Dark Cybertron” and its preliminary materials were made to go alongside the Transformers: Generations toy-line, each issue being included as a toy pack-in with whatever character was being featured… or, at least, that was the plan. Sometimes it didn’t work out. Regardless, this storyline was created to sell toys directly, as opposed to the MTMTE/RID series being made to sell toys more through the power of suggestion. It’s a small distinction, but important, because it will help explain any lack of soul one may perceive while they read “Dark Cybertron”.

“But Hannz!” you cry out, reaching to grab me by the throat and shake me like a rag doll, because to you I’m merely a faceless voice on the internet. “Surely by calling this specific storyline soulless, you’re completely ignoring the very nature of this franchise that you’re almost uncomfortably invested in!”

To which I’ll say this: look, I’m pretty realistic about where my giant space robots came from; Transformers as a franchise would not exist the way it does without Ronald Reagan introducing the Free Market to literal children and fucking up how we interact with media for the rest of time. There is no ethical consumption under capitalism, and that rings especially true when I’ve got a Spinister on my bookshelf staring me down as I write this, that was likely made out of plastics which either involved blood oil or unethical labor practices, if not both.

However!

The choices of a company to have their comic license holders to cook up an entire plot that derails what they’ve already got planned out for toy tie-in comics is a completely different animal than what IDW had had going on up to this point. Phase Two had been about exploring different ideas that hadn’t been able to be explored during the war, and seeing what happens when you take away a third of the logline for Transformers G1 as a whole. Being a part of a brand of toys was almost inconsequential to how the stories were being told; even the Spotlights, which were also toy tie-in comics, had plenty of charm to them, if only because there weren’t quite as many constraints placed on the writers, and they were stand-alone issues.

Of course, being tie-in comics isn’t the only reason that “Dark Cybertron” is a bit of a slog, considering everything IDW itself was trying to get done within this storyline, but we’ll cover the publishing company’s/Simon Furman’s/Transformers’ tumultuous relationship with the concept of gender identity and expression later on, when it becomes relevant to the story proper. This point also ties into the interesting origin of Windblade, who we’ll meet in a few issues, and what happens when you let your fanbase have a taste of power and forget that people might like to see themselves represented in the media they consume.

“Dark Cybertron” is what ended up making me stop reading MTMTE the first time I tried it in 2015. A big part of it was because it forced the reader to need so much information from RID and even events prior to Phase Two, it wasn’t very fun to try to parse what was going on, on top of the writing beginning to flag because of obvious constraints to what Barber and Roberts could actually do, both within their deadlines and the rules put in place by their higher ups for the event.

 “Dark Cybertron” is the result of the sort of executive meddling that kills reader enjoyment by requiring writers to cram their two worlds together as quickly as possible, without the option to go for nuance because there simply isn’t time. The reason we have four separate artists for the front half of this story is because Milne and Griffith didn’t have time to draw both their current workload and “Dark Cybertron” at the same time... but sales probably went up due to the nature of how the story was published, so I’m sure they didn’t really see a problem with it.

That’s a general “they”, not a Milne and Griffith “they”.

In short, we’ve got license contract obligations, fan-poll obligations, and gender stuff fighting for space within the next 12 issues, which will be published in the span of roughly four months. Things are probably going to be a little bloated and sloppy.

Regardless of any of these points, this is what we’ve got. It’s not like it’s all bad- “Dark Cybertron” has the benefit of being written by two people who had been working closely before it had even been conceptualized. Barber was the senior editor for MTMTE, and IDW as a whole until he left in 2016. It also isn’t a proper crossover- y’know, where two completely separate titles get mashed together for a bit. MTMTE and RID exist in the same universe, just have their own things going on, so a decent amount of things still carry over without you needing to have read every single thing in both. The writing, while not quite up to par with pieces that had more creative freedom and breathing room between scenes, is still recognizable as being Barber and Roberts’. Their voices are still here, they’re just strained under the weight of everything that has to be said inside of 12 issues.

With all THAT out of the way, let’s dive in to Dark Dawn: Dark Cybertron Chapter 1.

We get a quick rundown of the most basic information you’ll need for this entire story to make sense, as we reintroduce the fact that Shockwave is an ecoterrorist with more agendas than a daily planner factory on meth, and also that he grows magic crystals. I don’t care what he says, the Ores are fucking space-magic. If you don’t want to read through all of RID for everything else, please see Robots in Disguise (2012), #1-22- A Recap, For Reference Purposes.  We also get a quick rundown of the Lost Lighters’ deal, as Swerve potentially has a meta-episode.

Be careful what you fucking wish for, bucko.

Our story proper starts with a flashback to the shittiest road trip Cyclonus ever went on, as the Ark 1 finds itself at the edge of a mysterious portal. This is likely why he wasn’t super thrilled when the portal to Luna 1 showed up- portals are probably a touchy subject for him.

Jhiaxus doesn’t know what this portal is- surely this means that science has failed us, and it’s time to call in the religious crowd to try and suss out what’s going on here.

It’s moments like this that make me wonder what exactly happened in the Dead Universe that made Cyclonus’ cheek meat just pack up and leave.

Now, we know that Cyclonus is correct here, because we as readers have more knowledge than the characters at this point, but Jhiaxus tries to write off this theory as hogwash, because he is a man of rationality and science. This is a slight removal from his character in the present, whose most notable traits seem to be a lack of ethics and screaming.

Everyone here seems to be slightly different from their current iterations, actually; Galvatron doesn’t say a word as he steps between Jhiaxus and Cyclonus, only using his body to communicate that the scientist might want to back off. Cyclonus himself is certainly the wordiest we’ve ever seen him to be, droning on through his actual thought process before he comes to a conclusion on what exactly they’ve found. Compare this to the Cyclonus of today, who only deigns to grace everyone with his voice if they outright threaten him, have something he wants, or are Tailgate. If he were to ever pull this verbal meandering on board the Lost Light, people would probably assume he’s having a stroke.

Nova Prime- you remember him, don’t you?- gives not a fuck about the Dead Universe, only what it means for him personally. And what it means for him is more locations to subjugate, because he is cartoonishly evil. His character is the least removed from his present-day iteration out of everyone. He tells the crew they’ll be getting a little closer, only for the portal to do the work for them, by way of dark energy tentacles.

Wow, the pilot for the Ark 1 really is just straight-up named Butt, isn’t he? And what the fuck is that face you’re making, Cyclonus? Are you- oh my god, are you emoting? Oh my god, he’s emoting.

As the Ark 1 is pulled to its doom, Jhiaxus makes a quick phone call to Shockwave to tell him he’s his favorite, and to keep up the good work.

In the present, Shockwave reflects on just how friggin’ long this whole ordeal has taken. Fortunately, Waspinator and the Titan are almost here, and he can hardly wait.

Not, uh, that he’s got emotions or anything. It’s been established that he doesn’t have those anymore. Is impatience an emotion? Does that count?

Shockwave seems like he’d be really frustrating to write for.

Anyway, the Titan shows up, the Ore inside him and the Ore in the underground Crystal City combine, and the Titan starts screaming because everything hurts. Shockwave’s about as thrilled as he can be about the situation, given his lack of emotions.

Above Crystal City, we finally get back to that nonsense about the early sunrise, as someone- maybe Starscream, given the color of the narration box- waxes poetic on the planet of Cybertron, wartorn and wild in its rebirth, ruled by paranoia that has nothing to bounce off of, and so creates its own walls.

Then we get a detailed shot of Rattrap’s mug, and the moment is broken.

Rattrap’s character is a lot of fun in everything he gets tossed into, but you’re a goddamn liar if you think he’s pretty to look at. You are lying to yourself, and I won’t apologize for saying it.

Starscream walks out of his room in his hot new body, feeling fine and ready to take on the world. We’ll check in on him later in the day to see how that positive mentality is working out for him.

So, the sun hasn’t moved, and it’s way too early for the sun to even be up right now. That’s weird. Because I guess he didn’t know how the sun works, Starscream’s only just realized that this is perhaps a problem. He does some computer work and realizes that this is indeed a very bad thing, and asks that Rattrap call the Autobots. Not the ones who fucked off into the wilderness, the other ones. The gay, space ones.

Up in space, Orion Pax and his pals have found themselves in dire straits, the collapsing Gorlam Prime sucking their ship back down as the Death Ore consumes everything.

That’s not how engines work! And I think it really says something about the “Prelude” issues that I completely forgot why Wheelie was down an arm for a solid five seconds.

It turns out that Orion was the narrator the entire time, which I should have known- since when is the once and future Optimus Prime not the primary voice in any media he appears in?

It’s looking rough for the fellas, but luckily we’ve got to get the plot rolling, so the Lost Light VZZZZTs into existence and picks up the Skyroller to place it gently into its belly.

Orion isn’t exactly jazzed about the fact that Rodimus didn’t listen to what he told him, not even bothering to thank the guy for saving his life. I say y’all keep going on your Thunderclash Quest and leave this ungrateful loser behind. No space yachting for you, Orion.

The rest of the Pax Posse enter the Lost Light proper, and Hardhead reveals that he nearly joined the Quest, before he saw who all would be coming with, while Garnak has a tearful reunion with Rodimus. The fact that he’s calling him Sir- which I don’t recall him doing in Transformers (2009), at least not in a way that seems reminiscent of an unfortunate Antebellum Period Romance- feels rather weird, but I’m glad someone’s fucking happy to see Rodimus at least. Ultra Magnus asks Orion if he’ll be assuming command of the vessel, as Rodimus tries not to look horrified by the thought alone, but fortunately Orion’s not going to pull his “I’m Optimus Prime and I Can Do What I Want” Card just yet.

Smash cut to the bridge, as Rodimus tries to make himself sound competent, when Starscream calls. Orion doesn’t like that Starscream has their number, Perceptor almost reveals the fact that this ship technically doesn’t belong to a faction, likely due to being purchased after the war, and Cyclonus gets brought in for his professional opinion.

As it turns out, that early sunrise isn’t a sunrise at all, but a portal to the Dead Universe. This is a problem, because the Dead Universe really sucks, and you don’t want to go there, especially if you enjoy being alive. Orion seems more concerned about the fact that Starscream is ruling the planet, and Bumblebee is nowhere to be found.

Speaking of Bumblebee, he and all his camp buddies are psyching themselves up for a confrontation.

Swoop, please, this is hardly the time for crudeness.

The Dinobots, sick of Bumblebee’s dithering about, decide they’re going to fight the fucking sun and gear up. Prowl, though generally disliking their brand of problem-solving, does share his begrudging respect of their can-do attitude.

Their can-do attitude over fighting the fucking sun.

Then an earthquake happens and the ground rips open to reveal that Titan that Waspinator showed up with.

Shockwave takes over the narration at this point, and we get artsy, as we see events that haven’t transpired yet over musings on the nature of... time? Maybe? It would be in line with Roberts’ go-to topics, but honestly the whole thing’s kind of vague so I couldn’t give you a solid answer. Shockwave gets awfully introspective for a guy who shouldn’t care, I know that much. The point is, he is inevitable and is super good at logic and science.

Also, Nova Prime and Galvatron are back, which is cool, I guess. Not sure where Galvatron had gotten to exactly after the events of “Chaos”, but he’s back now, so it doesn’t matter too terribly much. Shockwave serves them, which we’ll probably get an explanation for at some point.

God, you can practically taste the desperation to pin all these plot points together before the entire thing implodes on itself.

[fnlrndcllctv]

THE YEAR IN FIGHTING GAMES: 1993

As the original release of Street Fighter II turns 30 this year, we are taking a look at the landscape of fighting games between 1991 and 2021 on a year by year basis!

This week, Shaun Eddleston takes a look at 1993…

1993 was arguably the year that truly saw which directions the fighting game genre was heading in.

Street Fighter II had been out for 2 years by this point, with a couple of great updates under its belt to keep things feeling fresh and exciting, and Mortal Kombat smashed its way into the scene with its digitised graphics and bloody violence making it the “cool kid” on the scene. It seemed like most games were now trying to play catchup with the bigger games, or genuinely trying to innovate and do something different.

Here’s a look at 10 games from 1993 to see what went down…

SEGA’s first ever foray into the world of 2D fighting games arrived in the form of Eternal Champions. Based around nine fighters from various points in history fighting to reclaim their souls after meeting untimely deaths, its crystal clear that Eternal Champions attempted to ride the coattails of pretty much every other successful fighting game that came before it.

While credit can be given for the game being launched on a console rather than in arcades (a rather unusual release strategy during this time!), the game’s look came across as a choppier, poorly executed version of both Street Fighter II and Fatal Fury. The characters themselves range from a 1920s detective, a prehistoric caveman and a ninja to a wizard, a cybersoldier and *reads notes*… a martial arts-trained scientist who’s also a vampire?!

Perhaps more famously, Eternal Champions was known better for the incredibly gory stage fatalities that could be pulled off. Obviously taking inspiration from Mortal Kombat and trying its best to outdo the violence, from characters being impaled on top of the Washington monument, being chewed up by dinosaurs or being burned alive at the stake to a painfully long and boring trap that sees the defeated opponent dropping through several sets of blades/axes/knives, becoming more dismembered as it goes along.

Some of the horrific violence is so over the top that its genuinely funny, so it’s a shame that the game itself is a bit of an underwhelming experience.

While 1992’s Fatal Fury 2 was a solid release in its own right, many fans were left disappointed by the omission of a number of the original game’s characters. Fatal Fury Special fixed this in a big way, bringing back characters such as Duck King, Tung Fu Rue and the original baddie, Geese Howard, while also tuning up the game’s combo system and introducing a faster game speed for good measure.

The game also featured a secret character in the form of Ryo Sakazaki, the protagonist of the Art Of Fighting series. This crossover between the franchises was a popular choice from SNK (and a no-brainer, considering both of the games series exist in the same universe story-wise), so much so that it inspired them to push development of The King Of Fighters ‘94 in 1994.

We’ll talk more about that next week though…

Thanks to the ongoing success of Street Fighter II, there were countless titles throughout the 90’s that tried to imitate all kinds of stuff from the game in an attempt to get in on that sweet, sweet arcade money. A shining example of this was Fighter’s History, which is one of (if not THE) biggest copycat fighting game of the era. Everything here feels like a retread of Capcom’s biggest game, but nowhere near as satisfying.

The game sees eight international fighters travel across the world to compete in a tournament and see who is deemed the “best fighter”. Sound familiar?

Everything from the colour of the health bars and sound of the blocking hit effects felt like they were directly lifted from Street Fighter II, so much so that Capcom actually tried to sue the game’s developer for shamelessly ripping them off.

Somehow, Capcom lost the case, and Fighter’s History went on to get a sequel!

1992’s Mortal Kombat was a smash hit in arcades and on home consoles, showing a completely different style to the cartoonish fighting games being developed at the time. Fan were left clamouring for more violence, more characters and more special moves, and man, did the sequel delive on these demands (and then some!).

Mortal Kombat II is fondly remembered as one of the absolute best games in the MK franchise, as it boasted improved graphics, more fatalities and more secrets to be discovered. The game was also eager to show to everyone how it didn’t take itself too seriously either, with the addition of “FRIENDSHIP” and “BABALITY” moves, which saw fighters do the polar opposite of the infamous fatalities, or simply turn the opponent into a baby, respectively.

Midway did an excellent job of improving every aspect of the first game, and proved to everyone that the success of the franchise’s first entry was no fluke.

This is also the game where, as a kid, I personally found out why Mortal Kombat was so controversial. Thanks to the first Mortal Kombat’s heavily censored Super Nintendo port, which saw all the fatalities removed and the blood switched with sweat, Mortal Kombat II had much more of an impact on me.

Not content with already creating a handful of standout fighting game franchises by this point, SNK’s latest entry in the genre was a different kind of beast altogether.

Instead of the turbocharged, high intensity action that we were used to in most fighting games of this era, Samurai Shodown slowed things down considerably, matching the vibe of many of the old samurai movies it took inspiration from.

That’s not to say that it isn’t intense, quite the opposite really. The slower pace is accompanied by much higher damage from attacks, multiplying the high risk/high reward factor immensely. When all it takes is just one or two quick attacks to get bodied by an opponent, the need to strategise instead of mindlessly button-mashing is essential.

The game was also one of the best looking 2D fighting games at the time as well, with vibrant backgrounds, great character design and flourishes of bloody violence whenever a particularly nasty final blow hits.

Professional wrestling was HUGE in the 90’s, and the goofy, theatrical nature of the sport lent itself well to the world of video games.

Capcom’s wrestling game is an interesting on, as it not only featured a cast of mostly original characters, but the game fits canonically into the shared universe of Street Fighter and Final Fight too.

Final Fight’s musclebound mayor Mike Haggar is a playable character, and several wrestlers in the game have direct ties to fighters in Capcom’s most popular series (Guile has a brother?!)!

While the sequel, Ring Of Destruction, played more like a traditional 2D Versus fighting game, Saturday Night Slam Masters is a more traditional arcade experience that allows up to 4 players to play in a match simultaneously.

It’s loud, silly and over the top fun. Ya know, like wrestling is!

The juggernaut of the genre that was Street Fighter II got yet another update in 1993, and this was a massive one.

Four brand new fighters joined the roster - Cammy, Fei Long, T, Hawk and Dee Jay - which now meant that the game’s roster was double that of the 1991 release, the character selection screen got a graphical overhaul, players could choose from 8 different colour palettes for their fighter, the voiceover work was improved on and the entire game was tweaked and rebalanced.

Super Street Fighter II also introduced “Tournament Mode”, which only available in arcades when four Super Street Fighter II arcade cabinets were connected together. The home console versions of the game also included tournaments as a separate game mode.

This fighter based on everyone’s favourite sewer-dwelling, pizza eating reptiles is a particularly interesting one, as the experience players got was completely dependent on which version they were playing.

First of all, the NES version. Konami’s final NES game (in the US and Europe at least) and one of the only fighting games for the system that saw a release during the 90s boom of the genre, this scaled-back version didn’t even see a release in Japan. In the single-player Story mode, players choose one of the four turtles as they hold a contest amongst themselves to see who is fit to take on Shredder's challenge. After defeating the first 3 opponents, the player proceeds to fight Casey Jones and then Hothead before the final battle with the Shredder.

Then we had the SNES version, which was also known as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles V: Tournament Fighters (in an attempt to continue the success of the arcade beat-’em-ups) and in Japan as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Warriors. This version uses a similar premise to the NES version in that a fighting tournament is announced, only this time Shredder is a part of the tournament, so the mean, green party machines enter in an attempt to stop him.

The game’s actual story mode was different though, as the turtles must rescue April O'Neil and Splinter from Shredder's clutches. The Turtles must travel across the US in their Turtle Blimp, defeating other fighters and collecting information. Only the four of them can be playable whereas the other characters (as well as a rad looking turtle clone) are the opponents. This version had a bigger roster (12 fighters from the TMNT universe), featured super meters, and the game’s turbo mode at its highest setting was much faster than Street Fighter II Turbo’s was!

And finally, the SEGA Mega Drive version, which has a single player mode that features the turtles and their allies traveling to various planets in Dimension X, fighting against clones of themselves, as they seek to rescue Splinter from Krang. After defeating the eight clones, the player travel to the final three stages to fight against a Triceraton, Krang's Android, and Karai. The game has a two player mode, as well as a practice mode in which the player faces the computer in a 1-round match, and a "Tournament" where the player must defeat 88 opponents with one life gauge.

Cowabunga!

The first fighting game to use 3D graphics truly felt “next-gen” at the time, and had it not been released, then we likely wouldn’t have ever got consoles such as the SEGA Saturn or the original PlayStation either.

It wasn’t just the games impressive visuals and sound that were unique either, as the game focused on more “realistic” moves based in actual combat sports and martial arts as opposed to the cartoonish and OTT antics seen in many 2D games of the era. The game didn’t have any real “story” to it either, just a fighting tournament to show off the graphics and smooth gameplay.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Virtua Fighter was unlike any fighting game that came before it, and is rightfully considered to be one of the greatest technical achievements of that era.

ADK’s World Heroes also got a sequel this year, and saw improvements across the board.

With more fighters to choose from (six new characters joined the roster), more moves to execute, and more stages to fight in, World Heroes 2 simply offered much more variety than the first game.

One of the most interesting additions to the game was the option to choose an entirely new lifebar setting. When switched on, the regular health gauges at the top of the screen are transformed into a single bar that both players now share. This lifebar will go back and forth as players inflict damage on each other, tug-of-war style, and a KO occurs when one side of the bar is completely depleted!

So, there we have it.

1993 was truly the year where the fighting game genre started to expand past your standard “SFII Clone” fare. Street Fighter II continued to make headlines with its huge update, Mortal Kombat II once again set the bar for how violent fighting titles should be handled and Virtua Fighter’s massively impressive leap into the third dimension helped to give players a glimpse at the future of not only fighting games, but video games as a whole!

Next week, we’ll be taking a look at 1994: a year that birthed several more fighting game franchises!

Did we miss anything from 1993 that’s worth mentioning?

Let us know in the comments below!

[mullersturtleneck]

Thanksgiving-Modern AU

Hi I’m finally here! I’m Danielle, and I’m the coparent to this modern college AU-So this one of the moments @dilforpheus​ and I have talked about over and over again and it is one of my most favorites, so I had to write it. I’ve been sitting on this for a long time but I’m excited for this AU to find air other than us screaming at each other all hours of the day even though I love screaming about it. I am so happy that ten years later we’re still on our bullshit. It is SO special to me. - The only thing you need to know is that Orpheus and Eurydice go to college together-she studies in a coffee shop on campus and he notices her there. They both end up going there just to see each other but not saying anything, until Persephone invites her favorite student with nowhere to go for the holiday over to her family Thanksgiving. This is the result.  -

The doorbell rings and Orpheus looks up from the mashed potatoes with curiosity, scanning the room. It seems as though they’re all here; Hades stirring one pot and monitoring another, Hermes sitting on the island stool transferring roasted carrots to a different plate. Orpheus has been mashing the potatoes for a while now, the back-and-forth motion making him feel useful in a kitchen commanded heavily by his culinarily anal uncle. He can hear the soft click of Persephone’s footsteps moving across the floor of the entryway, then the slight squeaking of the front door and a bright greeting. The voice that responds is familiar, but in a distant sort of way; Orpheus stops his mashing in hopes of hearing the conversation better-there’s slight laughter, distant but sure, like a music that pulls him.

Persephone enters the kitchen first, reaching an arm out and pulling a girl in beside her. The girl, small in stature, smiles slightly and waves at Hades, who gives the first greeting. Orpheus is frozen; the cropped haircut, bangs just above her eyebrows-the sound of her laughter and the soft, lilted timbre of her voice…this is the girl from the coffee shop. She orders dark coffee with extra espresso, always has her nose in a book or her feet hurrying her somewhere. This is the reason he’d started playing more in that coffee shop, lugging his guitar halfway across campus to somewhere with poorer acoustics and more chatter. This is the girl he’d been thinking about since the beginning of the semester, always a song on the tip of his tongue. When she turns her gaze to him and flashes him that friendly smile, Orpheus lurches at the feeling of his heart skipping in his chest.

“I’m Eurydice,” She steps toward him, leans slightly on the counter in front of him. Eurydice-he can feel the way her name would roll from his lips, four syllables in absolute melodic harmony, a sigh of thanks straight from his soul. He realizes that it’s been too long after everyone else has introduced themselves and his hand shoots away from the bowl of mashed potatoes and reaches to hers. In a flurry he realizes the residue on his hands and quickly wipes them down the old kitchen apron he’d put on. A quick heat rises to his cheeks as he attempts again, and she takes his hand and shakes it.

“I’m Orpheus.” It’s about all he can manage to get out through the near magical feeling of her hand touching hers, even in something as cordial and demure as a handshake. Her dark eyes meet his and he almost forgets to let go-that this is just a handshake and nothing more. It’s a tiny voice that interrupts them, Junie’s light figure bumping against his leg and breaking their eye contact. He takes in a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Junie’s gaze is fixated on Eurydice, who bends down to her level and introduces herself again. The toddler, in all her amazement, lunges forward to hug her. Eurydice laughs-the sound of music and light-and hugs her back before asking her name.

            “I’m Junie, are you a princess?” Eurydice can’t help but feel herself warm to the question; she’s dressed simply, a thrifted shirt slightly too big for her small frame with ornate detailing tucked into a pair of dark skinny jeans. She’d taken her boots off at the door, and was left with a pair of mismatched socks thrown on when she realized she’d be late if she didn’t leave her apartment soon enough. The back of the hand she’d shaken with everybody still had remnants of a list written with ballpoint pan; things to do, a new work schedule. She felt like Eurydice, with the arms of the toddler of the mysterious, beautiful musician from the coffee shop wrapped around her.

            “No, I’m not a princess,” She brushes the girl’s hair back instinctively, gently. “I bet you are, though.”

            The little girl claps, clearly satisfied with that notion, and begins to skip around the kitchen. She holds the hem of her big dress with two hands, lets her soft ringlet curls bounce up and down as she parades. Persephone calls her name, warns her about running in the kitchen as she weaves between Hades carving the turkey and Hermes with a stack of dishes in his hands. Junie then calls for Orpheus, pulling on his hand, and he follows dutifully behind. Persephone shakes her head, sipping from a glass of deep red wine.

            “Our daughter-man she’s a firecracker. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. We waited eighteen years for her and it was worth every heartbreak.”

            There’s something tiny, indescribable that shifts through the air at this notion; Persephone’s daughter, not his. They race across the edge of the kitchen singing some kind of princess song, Junie’s tiny, powerful voice and his softer one, laughing and playing. Eurydice bites at the corner of her lip, shifting on her feet as she watches them skip by, finally looking away to flash a smile at Persephone.

            “She’s beautiful,” They’ve gone into the adjoining room and so Eurydice turns back to the three adults standing around the kitchen island, accepting the offer of a wine bottle and a glass wordlessly held up by Persephone.

            When dinner is served Eurydice ends up on one side of Orpheus, who pulls out the chair next to her with the slight turn of his lip and a nod. She nods back, turning her focus to Junie climbing her way into the empty spot on his other side, fitted with a booster seat in the big chair. Her big dress settles around her like a cupcake, all tulle and frill, but she settles her cloth napkin in her lap as if its second nature.

            Persephone begins the dinner with a speech-something about being together “just like Sunday dinners,” thanking a quiet, grinning Hades for orchestrating the entire dinner.

            “You might’ve made too much, but you’ve been up for a month planning and researching this menu so I can’t say that.”  The family laughs, and Eurydice does too-this man with his white-grey hair and large presence is feigning offense, gesturing to the table full of elaborately plated dishes with pride. Once Persephone gives the go-ahead the meal is served, plates passed back and forth around the table. More than once she bumps hands with Orpheus, who hands her dishes of food after serving both Junie and himself. More than once she feels color rise to her cheeks, dismisses it with the warmth of the room and the wine just beginning to hit her system. But the electric feeling lingers between them all night, bumping elbows and making jokes, and she barely remembers the meal she’s eaten when everyone gets up from the table.

            She moves to the kitchen but Persephone stops her, shaking her head vehemently.

            “You’re our guest, you’re not washing dishes.” She shoos her away and Eurydice finds herself in the living room, where Junie has settled herself with a large bin of dolls. She sets her wine on the coffee table and sits cross-legged on the floor next to her. Junie immediately pushes a group of dolls her way and gives her instruction, babbling on in her tiny voice as she scoots herself closer to Eurydice.

            In the kitchen there is a hum of activity, instantaneous and simple from years of practice. Persephone washes and Hades wraps up the leftovers. Hermes dries and Orpheus puts the dishes away, stacking them neatly back in the wide expanse of cabinets the gourmet kitchen is filled with. The dried dishes begin to stack next to the counter, however, and when Hades is done wrapping his eyes catch the pile. Orpheus is leaning against the kitchen island, one finger tracing mindless patterns on the granite countertop. He calls for his nephew but receives no response. Hermes and Persephone turn around-the water is shut off, the dishes done, and the adults watch the boy they raised stand idly, uninterrupted.

“Are you even listening?” Hades raises his voice a bit, prodding his nephew with one giant hand on his shoulder. Orpheus’s lean frame lightly sways in response, but he does not turn to face his uncle. Persephone chuckles from beside him, bringing her glass of wine to her lips.

            “It’s the girl,” she points to the pile of toys on the floor, a trail of them leading up to the ornate Victorian-style dollhouse in the corner of the living room. Eurydice is lit by the glow of the fire, her voice changed to match the doll in hand, putting herself in the elaborate story they’ve created. Junie leans up against her, her body nestled in the crook of Eurydice’s elbow. Their backs are turned to the kitchen but he catches glimpses of her turning her head, leaning down to speak to Junie. There is something more to the way she cradles Junie’s sitting frame close to her, the way her voice changes to match the characters she’s set out to play from the endless expanse of dolls. Her full attention is focused on the girl, who’d just met her only hours before. He finds himself transfixed by the scene, by the girl he’d only admired from afar until she’d walked through the door. He wonders briefly what kind of strange magic had brought her to this Thanksgiving, and then remembers Persephone’s brief wording days before.

            “She doesn’t have family-she doesn’t have anybody. She’s my favorite student-brilliant, quick as a whip. I invited her over for dinner. She’ll have us.”

            “Go talk to her.” Hermes finally pulls him from his daydream, her voice startling him and causing him to jump slightly. Persephone laughs, moving to stand alongside him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go.”

            “She’s the girl I’ve been telling you about-the one from the coffee shop.” It’s almost breathless, the disbelief in his voice as he looks into the living room at her small frame and warm smile. Of all of the people on their college campus-of all of the students Persephone teaches-he can’t believe that she is sitting in his aunt’s house, playing with his niece. He can’t believe the luck-the coincidence that feels more like fate to his poetic translation. But as much as he feels the pull toward her he cannot seem to move his body, rooted to this place in the kitchen by an unrecognizable force.

            “Here,” Persephone pours him a hefty glass of wine, much to Hermes’s warning glance-their boy is a lightweight, but the woman with beautiful rolling curls and a coy smile does not take his overly-cautious caveats; this is typical of Hermes, who’d always been the more serious in raising their boy. “Take a little sip of liquid courage and just go over there. Speak your truth.”

            “No,” Hermes interrupts with his slow, careful wording in the most delicate and intelligent of voices. He narrows his eyes at Persephone, turning to Orpheus with a caution in the back of his eyes. “Go on and talk to her, but don’t come on too strong.”

            He looks then to Hades, who’s polishing off the pieces of the gas stove, reading glasses perched neatly on the tip of his nose. He chuckles, shaking his head.

            “Just talk to her, boy. It’s as simple as that.”

            Orpheus, taking a long sip of red wine, finds the confidence to saunter into the living room. At least, it feels like a saunter. His long limbs perform the action with less grace and poise, certainly. Junie turns to him first, hearing him coming, and reaches his arms out to him. He sits on her other side, nodding again at Eurydice, who grins back. She’s completely illuminated by the warm glow of the fire and his heart nearly stops there, the words he’d practiced on the short walk completely forgotten. All he can muster is another hi, spoken through a gentle tenor knocked over by her presence. The words he wants to say get mixed up, and he’s not sure where to begin; I feel like I’ve known you forever-I’ve seen you at the coffee shop before-I’m the one who bought you coffee and sent it your way last Monday-I haven’t been able to find the words to say to you-I

            Persephone calls Junie’s name, appearing in the doorway. The toddler pouts, crossing her arms-she knows what’s coming before Persephone can tell her.

            “No bed.” She shakes her head, looking between Orpheus and Eurydice. She doesn’t want to miss the fun; she’s sure her uncle has come to join their play. But Persephone gives her a pointed look and she groans, little yet sure, then tugs at Orpheus’s arm.

            “Ophie put me to bed.”

            “No, sweetheart, let me do it.”

            “No, Ophie.” All Junie has to do is look up at him with big, adoring eyes and a refusal is out of the question; he shrugs at Eurydie, an apology more to himself, and picks his niece up, cradling her in his arms.

            “Queen Buggy has spoken,” He coos, kissing her forehead and hugging her close. “I’ll be back. Say goodnight.”

            Junie lays her head on Orpheus’s chest and waves, then he turns and moves to bring her upstairs while speaking to her in a silent, slightly singing voice. Eurydice watches them go, still clutching both barbies in her hands, until Persephone begins to pick up the mess around her.

            “She’s a good girl,” Eurydice offers, tossing her dolls into the large toy chest against the wall. Persephone merely grins, with a hidden sort of prodding within the mask of outward happiness that causes Eurydice to blush in immediate understanding. Persephone gestures to the couch and she sits, hanging Eurydice her glass before taking a drink from her own. The older woman sits on the coffee table, one leg crossed over the other.

            “I’m glad you could come,” Persephone softens upon looking at the girl-really looking at her. With her soft, rounded features and fringed bangs over tired eyes, she is a thing of beauty. Exhausted, intelligent, hard-working beauty; she is effortless in her posture, humble in the way she thanks Persephone for giving her somewhere to go. She has to work later-the Black Friday rush-and Persephone wonders briefly if this is the first Thanksgiving she’s spent with the company of a family and warm food. It seems so; her frame is tiny, and she’s debated heavily on the topics of humanity and the reality of family ties in class before. Her papers have been moving, completely compelling. She wonders now, with the girl sitting with her body toward the front of the couch, if her arguments had been born from experience.

            Orpheus returns then, standing awkwardly in the doorway, and Persephone jumps from her place on the coffee table and pats the couch.

            “Here, Orpheus,” She prods, with a pointed look so natural to the blatant nature of her personality. “I don’t think you’ve had a chance to talk much yet-keep her company while I settle some things with Hades?” She’s nodding, not giving Orpheus a chance to give in to the bustling anxieties living underneath the pull in his heart. She bustles quickly from the room then, moves to stand behind the kitchen island, just barely out of sight. She watches as her nephew sits, Eurydice laughing at whatever introduction they’d given themselves. She pulls Hades and Hermes to stand next to her, watching the younger adults talk.

            “I have a good feeling about this-look at him, he’s gone.”

            Orpheus leans back on the couch, taking practiced breaths as he attempts light chatter. She volleys answers back to him-she’s a communications major, spends most of her time in Persephone’s classes. He’s a music major, a year older. The more she talks the more he’s hinged on her words, the tonality of her voice and the warmth of the room-the crackling of the fire, the soft music coming from the speakers in the dining room-wrap Orpheus in a consuming serenity. She’s just finished telling him about a final paper when he loses it, that restraint he’d been so surprised with having for so long.

            “I’ve notice you before-in the coffee shop.” He stammers over the words that spill themselves involuntarily from his lips, and he immediately feels the overwhelming heat that reaches his cheeks. Eurydice lets a soft smile reach her lips, her head tilting slightly.

            “I’ve noticed you too-you always have your guitar. Working on something important?”

            “A few things-I haven’t finished anything yet, though. The coffee shop is always busy-the acoustics aren’t the best. I used to work more in one of the practice rooms, but you have to stay where your inspiration is.”

            “Oh,” It’s all she can muster-she isn’t sure what to make of Orpheus’s words, the meaning she thinks she deciphers behind them. He looks at her with a gentle nature unfamiliar to her, speaks in a voice so light she feels as though it could carry her away at any moment. She thinks of him with his guitar, settled in the corner of the coffee shop with a notebook balanced on the arm of an old chair. She thinks of her abandoned notes, the time spent watching his careful concentration as he plugged away at combinations of chords that felt like otherworldly symphonies. Her intention of drinking dark coffee with extra espresso had been laced with the promise of the possibility of seeing him again, hearing more of his musings, and now he sat next to her on the couch talking of inspirations and bad acoustics. There’s a flood of pictures in her head-him and his guitar, him chasing his niece around the kitchen earlier in the night, him chasing other children with her dark hair and his light eyes. She blinks the vision away, frightened at the strange intensity that draws her to him. Instead of drawing back, however, she feels herself pull closer toward him. Setting her glass on the table beside them, she shifts her weight on the couch, turning her body to face his. Her request is wordless-she’s not sure she can speak at this point, so enraptured by his soft eyes and the visions in her head. When she puts a hand on his jawline he meets her lips, eager yet slow. She moves against him instantly, pushing herself against him as the immediate spark flies to the forefront of her mind. He holds her then, hands gentle and soft, encompassing her in warmth as she moves her hands to the hair on the back of his neck. There is nothing else-just Orpheus, the name she breathes as she lowers his body to the couch. Her musician has a name and it is beautiful just as he is, with his hands holding her hips and his lips brushing her neck.

            He isn’t sure what’s come over himself but once her lips meet his, Orpheus feels impulse kick in. He wants to hold her; hear her voice sighing his name, feel the hitch in her breath as he kisses her neck. He wants to lose himself in the song of her action, her body, her soul. It’s as if he’s known her for years, but is kissing her for the first time, familiar yet so new, and something he wants to do until his lips turn blue and his lungs give out.

            “Come home with me,” He whispers the words as she presses his forehead against his, feels the strength and rapidity of her heart beating in her chest. She nods, wordless, and takes pause to catch her breath. They’re interrupted by the clearing of a throat from the kitchen, voices speaking louder than need be, and as they sit up Persephone appears in the doorway.

            “We were just going to take out some cards-want to play?”

            “No-uh-no thank you, Seph. We-we’re going to get going now.” Eurydice nods, biting her lower lip and clearing her throat and trailing Orpheus to the coat rack by the front door. He holds out her coat to her first, helping her slip it on before finding his own.

            “Thank you so much for inviting me-it was a beautiful dinner, and it was so nice to meet everyone.” She’s still near breathlessness, a slight giddiness in her voice as she and Orpheus move to hug everyone goodbye. He wraps a hand around her waist then, and she falters as they make their way for the door, waving one last time before the cold air of the night hits them as brisk as their impatience.

[cinnamortal]

Look After You (1)

A/N: I want to give a huge thank you to Evi (@acciodracoo) for helping me work out some of the kinks in the planning of this plot as well as reading over some future scenes, and to Effy (I don’t know her URL, but still) for reading over this chapter and helping me smooth out all the icky wrinkles for flow efficiency. This chapter is dedicated to you both!  Series Summary: October 3, 1976— the day your life fell apart. With your best friend gone and two hotheaded males that insist on trailing behind your every move, you might not escape the school year sane, or worse, alive. Series Warning — READ THIS BEFORE YOU CONTINUE: This fic is not for the light of heart. Over the course of the story, you will see elements that will include but are not limited to torture, mature and adult themes, reckless behavior that borders suicidal, and PTSD. If any of these bother you, please, do not read this fic. You have been warned.  Word Count: 2,369 Warnings: Language.

Love had soft, unruly hair that never looked more perfect, combing through said hair while laughing at a joke his friend said, trying to tame a beast that took a form of its own. Love had hazel eyes that glinted in the candlelight as he grinned wolfishly. Love never glanced your way, but it didn’t stop the thousands of butterflies coming up your stomach, yearning for freedom.  

Love took on the form of James Potter. Boyish in looks, crude in manners, and arrogant in speech, but it made him even more lovely. Your heart sat cradled in his hands ever since your first year when he shoved you while fleeing from a boil-covered Filch. He stopped to help you to your feet, flashing his signature grin before scampering off with his little gang, leaving you flustered as the warmth of his touch blossomed over your body.  

But love was unfortunately not on your side. His heart fluttered at silky red-hair and dazzling green eyes that opened to a warm soul. Love had a tinkling laugh that could bloom flowers and lull the storming heavens. Love had creamy smooth skin and sharp wit along with perfect teeth and grades to match.

That Love embodied itself in Lily Evans. And she could never adore him like you did.  

Lily did everything, but give the Quidditch Captain the time of the day. You caught every “Fuck off, Potter” and “Leave me alone, James,” she fiercely whipped his way. You envied every ignored flower and gift, readied yourself to slap away every eye-roll and scoff, as she showed no inkling of admiration for him.

None of that mattered to him. His eyes only focused on her, day in and day out. He’d scale the Astronomy tower if it meant getting her attention. And if you were being honest, you’d do the same for him. A girl one year below him, hidden in the shadow that Lily Evans cast over everyone. A shadow that followed anyone who dared to hate her — she was that lovely.  

“Will you stop ogling and eat your dinner before it goes to waste?”

Of course, Louise Moretti commented on your every move again. With her piercing green eyes that always rolled and pressed pink lips, you weren’t sure you ever caught a smile from her in the five years you’d known each other. And with the way she scrutinized you, scraping at the outer edge of tough skin you’d grown, you didn’t think you’d ever want to.

“I am not ogling,” you snapped, forcefully pushing your mashed potatoes around with a spoon. “I just so happened to be looking over there when you looked at me.”  

“Sure, (Y/N/N),” Nadeen snickered, dark eyes twinkling as she raised her goblet to her lips. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”  

Olivia laughed at the side comment, but when she caught your glare, a sorry smile crossed her lips.

“Leave her alone, Abadi.” Mary smiled even as she scolded, placing a small hand on top of yours. She pushed a single micro braid behind her ear, humming softly. “We’ve all seen you make eyes at that Ravenclaw boy.”  

Nadeen’s playful expression dropped into a scowl, and something on her plate suddenly piqued her interest. “Sod off,” she grumbled, stabbing a boiled carrot with her fork.  

“At least Nadeen has a chance with him. It’s pathetic to chase after a boy who couldn’t give a shit about you.” Louise popped a chip in her mouth, quirking a brow as you gritted your teeth.  

Snipping back would only anger her more—you’d learned that the hard way. Instead, you kept quiet, smoothing out your potatoes with the back of your spoon. The tips of your ears burned, and suddenly your house tie felt like a noose strangling your neck. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as Nadeen and Olivia watched for a reaction.  

“Don’t listen to her,” Mary whispered, patting your hand gently. “Just eat and ignore her. It’s what I do.”

You shot Mary a thankful glance and took a bite of your dinner roll. A sudden sense of unease sunk into your shoulder and you slowly turned in your seat, looking around the Great Hall. Chatter and the clanking of silverware filled the air as students ate. You failed to find a single pair of eyes directly on you.  

“Who’re you looking for?” Nadeen pulled you from your thoughts, leaning in her seat to peer over your shoulder.  

You scanned the room once more and came up empty. “No one,” you mumbled as you turned around with a shrug. “Just got a weird feeling.”  

“I get those all the time. Really gives me the creeps, especially at night,” Mary chimed in, eyes wide and serious.  

You shared a look with Nadeen before you both burst into giggles. The other girls joined in and soon after, clutching your sides and wiping away tears.  

When the laughter died down and everyone continued to eat, the unmistakable feeling of a pair of eyes burning holes in your back returned.

—

After dinner, you settled into your dorm with the other girls. Mary laid next to you, hands waving wildly as she shared details of her summer in the Alps. You envied her, considering your summer comprised of walking around a cold, empty house and arguing with your family’s house-elf, Pobkey.

“Oh!” Mary suddenly exclaimed, frantically scrambling off your bed and towards her opened tote. Rummaging through various blouses and skirts with her brows drawn together and a tongue pressed to her bottom lip.

“What on earth are you searching for, Mary?” Nadeen couldn’t help but giggle as she watched the mocha-colored girl scatter her belongings, making a mess in her side of the room.  

“I found it!” Mary cried cheerfully, holding up a record case. “My cousin, the other witch in the family, sent me this for my birthday!” She beamed at you and the other girls, holding it out in front of her to showcase it.  

“Well, what about it?” Louise huffed from beside Nadeen, eyeing the girl’s mess. “All that commotion for a little record?” She scolded.

“Let her finish, Louise,” you hushed, turning your head to smile softly at Mary. “Go on, then.”

She stuck her tongue out at Louise before continuing, “I thought we could have a little dance party. One last hoorah before we start classes tomorrow.” She then let out an excited squeal, clutching at the vinyl record. “It’s charmed! Any song we want, it’ll play.”  

“Let’s do it!” You moved to kneel on your bed, grinning. After the tense and heavy goodbye with your father, a little lighthearted fun sounded ravishing. You climbed off your mattress and made your way towards Mary, taking the record from her hands. After sliding it out its sleeve, you opened the top of the record player in your dorm and inserted it in. “Which song, ladies?”  

“’Killing Me Softly with His Song’!” Nadeen called behind you, jumping down from her bed.  

“That’s not a dancing song, Dee,” Louise retorted, joining the Arabian girl as she slid off the mattress. “What about ‘Fire’?”  

“You all are wrong. It should obviously be ‘Dancing Queen’,” Olivia chimed in, finally lifting her head from her book. The girl hadn’t spoken a word since dinner, slightly strange for someone who found facts to fit in every conversation, but you figured her pale complexion resulted from the exhausting train ride. She pushed up her glasses, giving a shy smile when she gathered all the attention in the room. “It’s only fitting.”

“’Dancing Queen’ it is!” You turned back to the record, eyes widening as it took over the vinyl player. The needle snapped down on its own, and the record began to spin.  

Mary cheered when the music started pushing her trunk towards the wall in order to make more space for all of you to twirl around. You made your way back to the other girls, motioning for Olivia to join you. She threw her book up by her pillow and quickly climbed off the bed. You grabbed her hands as soon as she approached you, belting out the beginning lyrics.

You can dance, you can jive! Having the time of your life, ooh See that girl, watch that scene, Digging the dancing queen!

Olivia swung her arms with you, giggling as she spun you around. You squealed with her, laughing as she attempted to dip you.  

Louise snatched Mary’s hand, attempting some sort of twist move that had both girls laughing boisterously. Nadeen hopped onto her bed, holding onto the post as she leaned out and sung into a hairbrush.  

It felt good to let go and have fun instead of tiptoeing around your home, avoiding disturbance. It seemed like the deeper your father fell into his Death Eater investigations, the less he remembered he had a daughter. Only empty halls greeted you, leaving you with just the smiling portrait of your mother and a half-blind house elf that refused to let you do anything for yourself. Singing and dancing with your friends (and Louise) relieved the tension perfectly.

Until the door swung open.

Peeking her head in, Lily Evans looked amuse, but her tone of voice told another story. “Ladies!”  

Mary pulled away from Louise and shut off the record, looking sheepishly, wishing to avoid any form of trouble.

“It’s a little loud. We can hear you all the way in the Common Room,” Lily explained, opening the door a little more to step in.  

Your lips pursed. The stone walls and distance muffled the noise downstairs, likewise for upstairs; you were probably disturbing her precious “study time”. You kept your silence though, standing stiffly next to Olivia.  

“We’ll keep it down. Sorry, Lily” Mary wrapped her arms around herself, twisting the pad of her foot against the hardwood floor.

“That’s alright. Goodnight, girls.” Lily turned around and left, closing the door behind you. You waited for her footsteps to quiet before sighing in relief, murmuring a few insults under your breath.

Your friends giggled at your behavior, getting used to you cursing her out every time she passed by. You turned the music back on, this time keeping Lily’s warning in mind.

You tried to embrace the shared lightheartedness for the rest of the night. But even as you shut your scarlet curtains and sunk into the squeaky mattress, you couldn’t fight off the anxiety prowling in your stomach. It continued to gnaw at you while your eyes grew heavy, settling into your ribcage.  

Something—no, someone was off and you did not know who.

—

Just a week into your fifth year, you sat in the back of the library, already behind in some of your classes, feeling a bit weepy as you read over the prompt for your History of Magic essay. With the deadline approaching in two days, only a few words graced your page. You dropped your quill in your inkpot and let your head fall to the table with a gentle thud.  

“Having a hard time?” Mary set her books on the table and sat next to you, curious eyes peering into your work.  

“’How does the outcome of the Giant wars affect you personally?’,” you mimicked Professor Binn’s droning voice before sitting upright. “The bloody war happened nearly two centuries ago! It doesn’t affect me personally at all! And for the essay to total a foot long of parchment? Tosh!”  

Mary giggled, flipping her Astronomy book open. “You’re thinking about it too literally. If the Giants had won the war, how different would life be for us?”  

“We’d all be dead,” you huffed, eyeing the parchment with distaste. “Which sounds much better than writing this damned paper, mind you.”  

“You’re utterly helpless.” Mary reached across your book and dipped her quill in your inkwell, flashing you a cheeky smile as she circled the needle around the rim. “You’ll fail this essay and never graduate.”  

You rolled your eyes, but you failed to stave off the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Thank you, Mary. Thank you for that.”

The brown-skinned girl flashed her pearly whites before focusing on her own assignment “Always.”  

You watched her write before you decided to get a rough draft out. You scrawled out your introductory paragraph, propping your elbow on the table to rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Your (H/C) hair tickled your wrist as you leaned into your hand, hitting a stump in your thought process. “Mary?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why does Louise nitpick everything I do or say?”  

Mary froze, staring at her paper before sighing and setting her quill down. She turned her heard, chocolate eyes softening as she shrugged. “Beats me, really. I never understood it either. What matters, though,” she pointed at you with a stern look that would hardly spook a kitten, “is that you don’t let her rubbish attitude twist your knickers. She’s not worth the headache.”

You let out a barking laugh, wincing when Madam Pince shot you an icy glare across the aisles of tables. You lowered your head, biting your cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say, ‘twist your knickers’.” You only laughed harder when she joined in, pressing your hands to your face to muffle the noise. 

“That was,” Mary wheezed between laughs. “That was how it came out. I couldn’t stop it from leaving my lips.”  

You wiped the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, shakily breathing from your belly laughs. “That was brilliant.” You smiled gently, leaning back in your chair. “I’m glad I have you, M. I don’t think I could survive this world without you in it.”  

Mary smiled, picking her quill back up. “I’m glad I have you too, love.”  

The feeling returned when you dipped your quill in the inkwell. The shuddering chill spread over your skin and down your spine, raising every hair. You swallowed, reluctantly turning around, afraid of spotting the razor-toothed monster your conscious conjured up in nightmares.  

Melinda Mugwort: A Memoir, returning to its spot on the shelf behind you, greeted you instead. Relief washed over you as you turned back around, finishing the sentence you abandoned.