#Literally no one's decisions make sense and yet they enrapture me

[escapepodding]

Absolute respect for Hunith for going 'you know that guy you sent my way almost two decades ago, Gauis? Here is our idiot magical son. He is your problem now. And not even in the letter setting up Merlin's apprenticeship, in the follow up letter that Merlin carried there, like a Paddington style note going 'please look after this bear'

And fair play to Gaius for not sending Merlin away, he just immediately goes LMAO guess he is my problem now hope he's not discovered and we don't both get burnt to death

[bang-fantansies]

Yandere! God Profile - Taehyung

Human Amongst Gods [TEASER] - upcoming fic

Warnings: Suicidal! Taehyung, suicide attempt, mentions of anxiety, mentions of emotional numbness, mentions of death, mentions of afterlife, extreme isolation and loneliness, mythical creatures (imps).

I did my best to include any triggering topics mentioned in this post, but if you see any more potentially sensitive topics I may have missed, please let me know!

This does not represent Bangtan as people or a business, nor does it represent anyone/anything associated with them. This is purely fictional and was made for entertainment purposes only; not to slander anyone or any company.

Name: Kim Taehyung Occupation: God of Death

Taehyung had never had a life, so to speak.

On the contrary, he’d only ever known the fringes of it - the last whisper it would emit before being snuffed out. By him.

So was his purpose as he was hailed as the God of Death.

A title that comes with great power, Taehyung would soon discover.

But with such great power comes an even greater loneliness.

After all, most other gods from galaxies over knew of his reputation, and how to stay away from him if they wished to avoid an untimely death at the simple touch of his hands.

The same for mortals, he’d found.

Day in and day out, he’d sit at the sides of thousands of mortals, watching their soul drain from their body and take his arm as he guided them to their destination.

And every time he did so, he’d feel a sense of malice spike in the back of his mind.

He knew that mortals were released from their duty to wander the Universe a lost soul.

So why not him?

Or, at least, a companion to travel without him: to smile at him without fear in their eyes, to touch him without their body trembling.

But such a fantasy had never come to pass.

Not yet, at least.

And after being exiled from most areas of the Universe for all his life, Taehyung had accepted his fate as a dealer of death. The responsibility of cataloguing and distributing death throughout the Universe was a mighty job, after all.

So much so that he’d employed underlings - impish little beings - to bear the brunt of the work for him.

To release and record all the souls they’d freed that day.

And when all was said and done and his office imps went home for the day, he realised something.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Even his subordinates had families and homes to go to, but he had nothing.

He just existed for the convenience of the Universe - to maintain the balance that allowed it to live on.

And so here he stood - before a window of a wall overlooking an empty planet he inhabited and used for his work.

The land was filled with office buildings identical to his own, stretching as far as the eye could see; a field of concrete.

Each building housed a thousand or so imps, all working to keep up with the ever-increasing demand of death records that required filing and uploading to the System.

And Taehyung looked upon them as he would his own children.

They were the only company he had. And even then his workers had never actually seen him, for he spent his days cooped up in his office or out harvesting lives.

This was for their benefit, of course. Hellish creatures like them were not immune to Taehyung’s touch.

No-one was.

Taehyung’s reflection gazed back at him, the buildings taking a backseat as it came to focus on the stranger before him.

With so little experience and so little identity, would the Universe really collapse without his effort?

Would anything change if he were to...disappear?

Taehyung oftentimes found himself wondering such a concept in the few spare minutes the day held for him, but before a decision could come to fruition, he was called say to a far-off galaxy to harvest the lives of the ready-to-depart.

Taehyung bit his lip and glanced back into the confines of his office.

Red carpet, four walls of sheer darkness, all glass yet revealing nothing but darkness.

There were no achievements to be held on shelves or written in history books.

The only thing to be written in books about Taehyung were the deaths he’d orchestrated and recorded himself.

He literally had nothing to show for his life, despite having existed for many thousands of years.

Taehyung stuck one hand in a pocket of his suit, raising his other before the glass and making a swiping motion before it.

The glass vanished, simply fading from existence, allowing the frozen winds of Taehyung’s planet to invade the office.

Eyes half-lidded, taehyung peered over the edge.

Nothing but a straight drop for miles.

Taehyung knew what death entailed for mortals, but for gods, he had no idea.

No god had ever shown signs of having reached another place after death, which was a good incentive for other gods to avoid Taehyung.

The fear of the unknown bound them to their current existence, making them claw at any chance of survival they could reach when faced with dire circumstances.

With this in mind, Taehyung continued to lean over the ledge, gazing down into the pits of the desolate city.

The promises of the cycle of isolation his life had been urged him further.

He took a step forward, tips of his shoes peaking over the ledge.

He could feel the cold intensely, for it pierced his jacket, almost as if trying to push him back into his office.

“You had your chance. Now I get to decide who lives and who dies.”

His voice was carried by the wind, the high altitude ensuring that the message would reach no-one, to become a mere footnote in the grand scheme of things.

A final word to those that had pushed him away - forced him into his own corner and expected him to survive.

A particularly harsh blast of wind made him wobble, though he made an effort to try and keep his balance.

The numbness that came with his profession was lightly pierced by doubt, a flash of anxiety.

The most primal part of him knew this wasn’t the answer to his problems. With any luck, he’d simply become part of the darkness from which he had been plucked to begin with if he actually went through with this.

But even that had to be better than a lifetime of isolation, right?

On shaky legs, Taehyung inched over the edge, keeping his heels firmly planted in the carpet of his office.

He willed his eyes shut, the combination of the iced winds and the anticipation of falling made them flicker - fight - to stay open.

“It’s all over now,” he promised. “No need to fear.”

His own assurances eased his nerves, giving him the last push he’d need to right the wrongs his existence had brought.

The world slowed, Taehyung forcing a leg forwards to hover over the edge.

The frost nipped at his exposed skin as the leg of his trousers could do little to battle the winds.

His balance loosened, causing him to sway back and forth with the grace of an antique rocking horse.

He was so close to freedom.

He could feel himself lighten as the weight of worlds dropped from his shoulders.

But solice was not meant for him.

Not like this.

Behind him, his phone chimed.

It was not the same sound he’d hear when he was notified of another death.

No, this was the unfamiliar tinkling of a bell: a stark contrast to the melancholy hum he’d installed when he was to be called to work.

His ears pricked, so finely tuned to the sound of a knell that this fresh noise frightened him, almost tipping him over the edge.

A quiet part of him begged him to check what it was - anything to get away from the ledge.

The much larger, number half barked at him to hold his ground, stick to his guns and just get this whole ordeal over with.

He knew who to listen to - he knew when he saw the notification he’d find a reason not to carry out his plan.

And despite knowing nothing of the notification or its nature, Taehyung hesitated.

It would be a shame to die a curious man, he thought.

Besides, it was probably nothing important. Then he could spend an eternity in peace without wondering what this sound could mean.

Taehyung brought his leg back in, stumbling away from the ledge.

The prick of anxiety he’d experienced before quietened yet stayed at his side, an accomplice to his survival.

He left the window open, however.

Sighing, he shuffled over to his desk - a deep and dark mahogany - and died his phone lying dead-centre.

With Taehyung’s presence near, thy e screen aprung to action, displaying a notification.

It was a message. Sent from an unknown number.

Taehyung arched an eyebrow and brought the phone close to his face, unlocking it and opening his messages.

His contact list was barren save for this mystery caller.

Aware of this, he had adopted the presumption that it was a nuisance caller.

Though who dared to play jokes on such a deadly force as himself, Taehyung had no idea who would have the balls to even come up with such an idea.

And he checked.

He wanted to know who had jested him before his demise.

The message was blunt, void of courtesy, yet held a string of salvation for Taehyung.

There is another way.

Taehyung glanced over his shoulder and out to the sea of buildings .

Had someone seen him?

It wouldn’t be a surprise considering some of the imps were bound to still be at work, though Taehyung’s office was so far above the clouds that he’d assumed no-one would have spotted him.

I can only hope that I’m not too late.

I can help you.

Attached to the second message was a picture of a woman, a halo hanging above her head like a target.

Taehyung’s eyes widened, his breath short.

Pale fingers fumbled for his tie, pulling it loose while he observed the picture further.

He knew that halo.

He’d seen only one other like it in his many thousands of years of life, and even then it wasn’t glowing with life.

It had been while he was visiting a museum dedicated to gods past, and such a relic had appeared in a heavily-guarded display case.

Without its owner to wear it, it was neither as vibrant nor as beautiful as it lay on a satin pillow, merely resembling a circle of bone rather than an ethereal object.

But it’s brilliance enraptured him all the same.

He’d believed it a fable - a legend created to keep him tame and willing to do his job.

A legend of a soul who could withstand Taehyung’s killing touch.

And here he was, seeing it for a second time, in action.

Interested?

Taehyung found himself pausing.

This could just be a trick, he told himself.

But...what if it wasn’t fake?

He requested proof that the image was real.

The response was clear cut and blunt.

I can take you to her.

Taehyung glanced over his shoulder again, paranoia projecting shadows in the corners of his vision.

Still, nothing but the open window.

He glanced back down at his phone.

What did he have to lose?

All right.

Take me to her.

I will. The stranger typed.

But first, I need you to do something for me.

I don’t own the pictures used in the moodboard, but I edited the moodboard myself.

[violetnotez]

HC: Being Super Fluffy and Giving Them Lots of Love!

Anonymous: Could I request something for Izuku, Todoroki, Shinso and Bakugo. They're doing their own thing and are super concentrated or something and reader is just so entranced by them and they're so glad to have be able to call them their boyfriend and reader just gently cups their face and gives them and the most love filled, soft kiss cause AGH THEY'RE PRECIOUS TO READER! 😭 You can totally ignore this if you don't wanna 😂😂😂 I just feel so soft rn

Ahhhhh this is adorable anon! Honeslty some days I just wanna give these babies the biggest hugs UGHHHHHH

Also I changed up my layout a little to be more “aesthteic”, so sorry it it looks different! Do you like it? Drop me a comment on this post or inbox about which style you like better (the usualllll vs. this one!)

Buy Me A Ko-fi! | Masterlist

Pairings: Izuku x reader, Shoto x reader, Shinso x reader, Bakugo x reader

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

I Z U K U 

You and Izuku are having another study night, your body sitting next to his

Obviouskyyyyyyyy this boy does nothing but study smh

But you had completely given up- your brain had shut down after an hour and now you were just half listening to Midoirya mumble and half just admiring your adoarble boyfriend

You honestly miss seeing him look so domestic- you always see him in his uniform, his hero suit, and occasionally his All Might PJs on the weekends

But it feels like agessss since you’ve seen him in proper clothing

He looks just so cute in his teal sweatshirt, his scars peeking out of his sleeves as he wrote random equations on his paper

And his mannerisms are just so adorable-his tongue is poking out of his lips as he tried to work through a math problem, his eyes squinted in concentration and freckles dusting his cheeks like stars

How did you get so lucky getting someone so sweet and cute as him?

“If two goes into this fraction then possibly the variable will be isolated once I subtract the four-” hes mumbling under his breath, his voice so comforting against your ears

You lean your head against his shoulder, the scent of him just barely noticeable but so intoxicating- 

AND HES SOOOO WARMMMM

“’Zuku?” you asked tiredly, a lovesick smile plastered on your face

The sound of your voice breaks Izuku’s thoughts, his brows softening as he looks down at you

“Yes puppy-oh, are you getting tired? You look pretty sleepy...maybe we should take a break-”

omg why is he so sweetttttt

You just feel so calm, so comforted with Izuku it felt like your chest was just filled to the brim with love for this boy

Without warning, you leaned up to Izuku and kissed him softly on the lips,  your head feeling like it was spinning from butterflies

AHHH HE COMBUSTING TOO THO

Once you pull away, Izuku’s cheeks are as bright as cherries and you cant help but smile, cause seriosuly no matter how many times you kiss him he ALWAYS gets flustered

“You know I love you right?” you tell him, butterflies filling your stomach as he looks down at you withe wide, green eyes

COMBUSTING IZUKU IS DECEASED REPEAT IZUKU.EXE IS NO MORE

“o-of course! I-I-love you too!” he stuttered out, his nerves so intense that his tongue was like lead in his mouth

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

S H O T O

It was just one of those crappy

CRAPPY NIGHTS

You couldnt sleep, it was too hot, you were uncomfrotable, your ,ind was racing

And once you DID fall you course had a gut wrenching nightmare that left you panting and sweating from fear

WHAT THE HECK BRAIN

So time for some good ol’ Shoto cuddles

And that’s how your now cuddled up into Shoto’s side, his body keeping you nice and cool

This boy was literally the sweetest- even though it was like1 in the morning, he couldnt care less about that and just focused on you

He quickly knew something was wrong when you were waiting in the doorway, his strong arms encasing you in atight hug

“Y/n dear, are you feeling alright? Whats bothering you?”

You just snuggled yourself deeeepppp into that boy cause he felt so comforting, his voice was velvety

also how does he always smell like detergent and expensive ass cologne like yessir thats the scent for meeeee

He quickly ushered you inside his room, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly

Literally all fears from that dream melted away with Shoto- his energy was so unbelievably strong and protective, it felt like nothing bad in the world would ever happen cause Shoto was there, and he wouldnt let anything bad happen to you

Also- seeing him in a plain white tee and black shorts literally could have made you swooned, cause god this boy really looks hot in anything huh?

He didnt judge you in the slightest about the dream, just offering for you to spend the night with him

Your head was cuddled into his firm chest, that intoxicating detergent-cologne-rich boy smell making your insides feel fluffy like cotton as his hands quietly brushed the hairs away from your face

He’s ask you small question, like “Are you comfortable dear?” or “Is that dream still bothering you”, just little things to make you feel more safe and open to talk to him

Shoto never wanted you to feel like you had to hide anything from him, and the effort really showed

You were know getting sleepy but the overwhelming feeling of appreciation and love for Shoto was exploding out of you

At this point you just wanted to show your undying gratitude to your boyfriend for being so unbelievably adorable and sweet

You shifted yourself, propping yourself slightly on his stomach so you could look at his face

damn this boy really got blessed with all the good genes huh?

You ran your fingers lightly against his skin, relishing the slight changes from cool to hot, your hands cupping his cheeks and feeling both sensations course through your body

Once you felt him sigh from content, you took it up a notch, leaving feather light kisses on his sheeks, his brows, his eyes, his scar...any avaliable skin you marked with yours

“Love, may I ask what you’re doing- you should be sleeping right now, its quite late-”

“I wanna show you I love you tho...” you sent the boy a pout, a deep chuckle rumbling through his chest and vibrating throughout your body

“But I already know you love me,” he grinned sheepishly cause god your just so adorable, like a puppy desperate to give their owner attention

“Well-I still want to show you,” you stated, your voice slightly thick from sleep as you continued to kiss the rest of Shoto’s face

All this boy could do was lean into his pillow, his hands finding themselves on your waist cause he knew you were gonna do this until you were tired

He wasnt complaining though- you being cuddly and cute like this literally rocked his world in the best way possible

“You know- your very endearing when your half asleep”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

S H I N S O 

Shinso is probably the most hardcore gamer you know

It was late in the night, and this guy was still going at it, now playing a game of Mario Kart on the TV, the screen bright against his features

You had gotten tired of the video games, just deciding to watch your boyfriend play instead of being the one to play

And god were you happy with THAT decision

He just looked so...adorable, his body clad in a tight black tee and baggy gray sweats, once foot straight and one foot bent as he sat on the floor playing

His hair was unruly as ever, sticking out in every direction

HIs eyes were completely enraptured by the task in front of him, scanning the screen 

He was just so cute, lookking so intense yet so sleep deprived 

it was adorable how badly he wanted to beat the player playing against him

And then he went a licked HIS LIPS

IN THE MIDDLE OF PLAYING

Your face erupted in red cause

OMG

HES JUST SO HOT AND PRETTY AND UGHHHHHHH

You waited unpatiently to the last round, the music picking up pace as he sped to the finish line, hes cart victoriously earning 1st place

The dude didnt even cheer, just the most self absorbed smirk plastered on his face in pride

THAT IS WHEN YOU POUNCEDDDDD

You quickly plopped yourself gently into his lap, your thighs cradling his sides

“Aww whats the matter kitten, not giving you enough attention?”

Yours hands fell against the softness of the black shirt and oh thank godddddd its so thin, your digits trailing upward and feeling the slight ridges of his muscles underneath the fabric

“No....its just- its not fair for you to look so cute while playing games and I cant cuddle you....”

“Heh, I look cute?”

This boy really cannot fathom how you find him so endearing, and now you just want to prove it to him

“Mmhmm,” you answer a smile on your lips as you cup his face in your hands

HIs hair is so tickly against the tips of your fingers, his broad chest radiating heat throughout your body

Your start to leave quick kisses on him, starting from his checks and working in towards his mouth, but not quite kissing him square on the lips

The closest you get to kissing him is on the corners of his lips, leaving electric sparks against his skin

The boy is desperate now

You cant just do that to him 

“Aww cmon darling, dont tease me like that” he sends you a cocky grin, his pointer finger gently tilting your chin and pulling you into a deep kiss

SHINSO IS A GOOD KISSER FIGHT ME ON THIS

Once you pull away, your head is just spinning cause goddddd this boy is just a blessing

“Let me play one more round, and then we’ll head off to bed, alright?” he asks, his free hand now cupping your cheek

You sigh in content, your hands wrapping around his waist and snuggling into his chest, a warm, smoky smell like cedarwood drifitng to your senses and lulling  you to relax

“Okay...”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

B A K U G O

“Im winning this damn bear for you-”

“Katsuki no you already wasted $15 now lets go-”

“Im WiNiNiNG. ThE DaMn. BEAR- SO SHUT IT AND LET ME CONCENTRATE >:(”

You have been standing here for 10 minutes now, Bakugo determinnneddddd to win this gigantic teddy bear for you from a claw machine at an arcade

You feel so bad about it, but honestly, its turned into a personal grudge from him now

HES DETERMINED TO WIN IT AND MAKE YOU HAPPY

While your watching him you cant help it but find him adorable

Hes wearing a plain black tee and jean jacket, something he NEVER wears but looks so good on him?

This boy could be a model fight me on this

His face is the cutest tho-

You can tell he’s absolutely pissed cause he expected to win the animal way sooner than this, his eyebrows pointed downward and his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip

and then

AND THEN

THIS BOY FINALLYYYYYYY GETS IT

He’s trying his hardest not to start cheering cause he really just did that (after wasting $25 but ya know we’ll overlook that)

Your so happy too and that triumphant look on his face just melts your heart

cause he may be a cocky asshole but hes YOUR cocky asshole

“Ha- see told you I’d win it!”

Whatverrrrrr- you roll your eyes, your hands already snuggling the big bear up to your cheek

ITS SO SO SOFT AND SQUISHY YOU MIGHT CRY FROM THE CUTENESS

Your mind is already thinking of where to put it in your room (names too??) but then you look up at your boyfriend and UGH you could literally melt on the spot

cause he looks SO PROUD and SO SOFT- his hands stuffed into the pocket of his pants as he gives you the smallest, happiest little smirk everrrrr

Your just feeling so grateful for the boy in front of you right now, that you put the teddy bear down and wrap Bakugo into a hug

Bakugo always acts like he doesnt want physical attention, especially in public-

But you know this boy lovessss to be touched, so when he returns the hug and gives your sides a small squeeze your weakkk in the knees

AND HE SMELLS SO GOOD

Always like caramel and something rich like firewood

You give him a quick kiss on the back of his neck

AND HOLY SHIT

HES COMBUSTING

Thank god the arcade is dark cause you would totally see his blush (something he will deny)

You pull away a smile on your face as you tell him thank you,

And

*le sigh

of course he ruins the whole cute moment you two had by saying, “Whatever-your the one who wanted the damn thing even though your too old for that shit-”

Just remind him of the All Might figures he secretly had stashed in his closet and he will combust again

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Taggings:

Everything Taglist:

@bunnythepipsqueak​ @pasteldaze​  @ionlyspeakinmyheroacademia​     @notadrian​  @hithoeshi​ @sizzlingbarbarianglitter​ @sunnie-nugget​ @shoutosteakettle​ @we-mentally-unstable​ @sm0kingcrack​

Izuku Taglist:

@pyrofanatic​ @askgiggles​ @ask-giggles1303​ @local-space-quexn​ @ihavenolife842​

Shoto taglist:

@teddybear-jelly​ @mishtimitsuri​

Bakugo Taglist:

@pyrofanatic​ @kai-charm​

Get Tagged to My Taglist Here!

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, MORE BLOOD Vol. 12: Mukami Ruki [Another Story]

Original title: アナザーストーリー

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, More Blood Vol. 12 Mukami Ruki [Deluxe Edition]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Takahiro Sakurai

Translator’s note: I feel very much conflicted about this CD still. While I do kind of like how they took a different approach with the Another Story track and the way it ends, I still think Ruki went way too far in the main CD. It was interesting to see everything from his perspective too, although this means there’s a bunch of inner monologues in this and it’s Ruki so they’re quite long. I try to break up the paragraphs by describing what happens based on background sounds and such but this one just has a bunch of rambling lol. 

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

“Lately, she has been formidable. Even though she was always the type of girl to make the most foolish mistakes, to the point where one would wonder if she did it on purpose. She has not been getting scolded by me either. That does not bother me. Or at least, it shouldn’t bother me. So why do I feel so...restless?”

*Ding・dongー Ding・dong*

Ruki walks up to you in the inner courtyard.

( So that’s where she’s been...Look at her just casually watering the plants... No wonder she did not show up in the library. I assume she has completely forgotten about our meeting. )

“So this is where you’ve been.”

You flinch.

( Huh? What’s wrong? Why would she be so surprised just because I called out for her? Also...Under normal circumstances, I’d assume she would panic and spray water all over me with that hose she just so conveniently happens to be holding. Yet, she made the wise decision and turned off the water. )

“Oh well. I shall praise you for ceasing your actions as soon as you saw your Master approach. However, there should be something you have forgotten.”

You bring up the promise.

“Oh? So you do remember. Then you should have just hurried to the library.”

( Now this is new. I didn’t think a scatterbrain such as herself would have remembered our plan to meet up. No, if she remembered, she should have come to me straight away. Did she only just now remember? Even so, her behavior is off. Or am I simply overthinking things? )

*TIMESKIP*

( Once it starts boiling, the dressing will be complete. Which leaves just plating the salad. )

You enter the kitchen.

“...Hm? You’re already here? You almost resemble a dog or a cat rather than livestock, lured in by the scent like that. Let me tell you just in case, it is not feeding time just yet. Wait until I’m done preparing it.“

You nod and leave.

( Oh? She left without offering to help? I’m glad to see her so obedient, but then what did she come for in the first place? Usually she would insist on helping even if it’s more of a bother and either cut her finger or break one of the plates. Those are the kind of things she does. )

He turns off the stove.

“What is this feeling as if something is...off? Something about the way she’s been acting trips me up. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her make a blunder even once as of late. That isn’t something which should bother me, but I just can’t seem to get rid of this unsettling feeling in my chest. What has gotten into her...?”

*TIMESKIP*

Ruki enters the room

“We finally made it back. That was quite the disaster. ...Honestly, why do I have to wear the clothes she picked out for me? Well, I suppose she did not make a bad choice for once. I’ll add it to my collection of casual wear. That being said...Nothing happened today either.”

He takes a seat on the bed.

“How many days has it been since she stopped making mistakes? She won’t even show dangerous behavior. What kind of miracle is this? No, I do not mind that. I shouldn’t mind it. It basically means a huge pressure has been lifted off my shoulders. Then why do I feel so conflicted? Her suspicious behavior piques my interest, but even beyond that...”

( I felt as if something was lacking. Oh, I get it now. It all makes sense now. I have not gotten to taste her blood as of late, so I must feel unsatisfied. I am not the type of guy who easily becomes thirsty for blood, nor would I indulge in her without a good reason. However, with less opportunities to punish her, our time together automatically decreased as well. To be upset because of that, I must seem like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because his mother does not pay enough attention to him. It is obvious since when I have become so obsessed with her

...Since the moment I decided to betray the whole word and chose her, I must have already been enraptured by her. Harshly sucking her blood while restraining her movements was something which fulfilled my desire for dominance. It most definitely made me feel good. However, somewhere deep inside, I felt relieved when she accepted me without fighting back against it. At some point, I even began to cherish those moments where I would pierce my fangs through her skin. I must be quite the easy man as well. I always thought I was in charge, but I may have actually been the one wrapped around her little finger instead. (1) I cannot show myself to that man like this. No, I assume he is already well aware. )

Ruki suddeny raises his head.

“Hm...? That man? Speaking of which, that hourglass I gave her...I considered the possibility but could it be...? Even if she were to make some sort of mistake, if she rewinds time, she could do the same scenario over again. If she makes it so only she remembers, it would be easy to keep it hidden from me. I wanted to believe I was simply overthinking things, but now that I think about it with a clear mind, it really is suspicious...I’m sure that even someone as slow as herself would eventually get things right after two of three tries. If she has been using that hourglass to cover up her own mess-ups, then I have no other choice but to punish her for such a foolish act.”

( It became clear to me that I would have to set up a trap to find out the truth. ーー And if her actions were to be exposed, I would make sure to compensate for the lack of disciplining these past few days. I can already imagine her crying out. I probably should not feel proud for having such thoughts. However, this is not a bad situation. It may be somewhat shameless, but it seems like I am enjoying it quite a bit. To get to use her own blunders as an excuse to suck her blood, or knowing that no matter what I do, she will not get away from me. )

“I suppose I shall enjoy our time together for the first time in a while...Which may just turn out to be a hellish period for her.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Ding・dongー Ding・dong*

Ruki pulls back after sucking your blood.

“...Hah. Your blood tastes even sweeter than usual. By sucking it repeatedly, the flavor ripens, becoming richer, almost like wine. Or in other words, like a stew you kept on the stove for too long. If it simmers any longer, it might just burn. I suppose we could put it to the test. After all, no matter what happens to you, all we have to do is turn back time.”

You keep quiet.

“You can hear me, right? Why not give some sort of reaction? I would not mind seeing you miserably struggle in vain.”

You still fail to give a response.

“Guess she really did lose consciousness. Judging by the looks of it, I doubt she will wake up even if I were to rewind time. I guess you could consider us even now. Perhaps I went a little too easy on her, but I shall forgive her now.”

He takes a step back.

“Such an innocent sleeping face. Almost as if the obscene expressions you showed me earlier were nothing but a lie. Your sheer white complexion and screams were not bad. As well as how you would cling onto my clothes, remaining by my side despite your obvious fear.”

*Thud*

“...Ah!”

*Cling*

“The hourglass...”

Ruki picks up the Hourglass.

“That man might have been testing me after all...Me? Or rather, us? ...Now that I think about it twice, the ability to manipulate time is something which should only ever be given to God. We could have possibly overthrown all logic in this world if we so wished. Yet, we used it to cover up for trivial mistakes. Then this is basically just some child’s toy. However...I am sure that was for the best.”

He turns his head to look at you.

“You might be more of a genius than I thought. However, how many times did you rewind? The magic has almost run dry. The few times I rewinded are basically irrelevant. I wonder just how many times you repeated your own ridiculous mistakes? Oh well, I shall drag that out of her later. I doubt she will easily confess though. ーー No, I suppose there is no point in asking her. I can simply confirm it with my very own eyes.”

*Cling*

“With this amount, we can still turn back time just once. That’s plenty.”

*Thud*

*Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock*

ーーー

“Hm…”

You approach Ruki.

“Oh? It’s you. No, it’s nothing serious. I was simply lost in thought.”

You take notice of the hourglass in his hand.

“You seem curious. Are you that interested in this thing? Blood red sand…Its decorations are beautiful as well. It would make for the perfect interior piece.”

You ask if there is a catch.

“No, it’s jsut a regular old hourglass. There is nothing special about it.”

*Thud*

“More importantly, you mentioned you wanted to look for resources for your assignment, right? Meet me at the library during tomorrow’s break time. I shall help you.”

You seem surprised.

“Yes. As your Master, it is my duty to look after you. However, do not be late, okay?”

You nod.

( Well then...I wonder what the next few days will have in store for me? How many mistakes will you make, and how many times will you get punished by me? ...I am looking forward to it. )

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) Literally he says that he always intended to be the one ‘holding the reins’, but instead he was actually tied up/restrained this whole time. 

[mehenxe]

“ i want to be in love. ” / “ can i be a little nasty?” / “ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” / “ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” / “ terrified of my love for you?” / “ your words felt like sharp knives. ” / “ how did you become like this?” / “ say something nice or don’t speak. ” / “ really? what did you dream about?” / “ we were both afraid, shut up. ” — dealer's choice, have fun.

“ i want to be in love. ” // the grey seer ◌ her best friend.

and the depiction of love upon the laptop screen in front of them, high-definition, remastered in soundtrack, unfolds. black-and-white creases and tears, static in the picture, what could i do if i didn’t have you? where will i go? and the embrace, the hands around the shoulders, the subtle squeezing of the appendages. she watches the scene, & then watches him, enraptured, wanting it. does he even realise he has remarked this aloud to her? spoken it into existence, wished so desperately for its occurrence? “i know,” she whispers. just in case he hadn’t. just in case this is a secret he wished for the walls to swallow. “i know you do. and maybe you already are. and it just hasn’t seen you yet.” perhaps she is thinking of herself. perhaps she is thinking of a woman with dark, short hair and gloss on her lips. perhaps she is thinking about all the things she said. or hadn’t. “it’ll happen. i promise. just be patient.”

“ can i be a little nasty? ” // the french serpent ◌ his beaded shark.

the inquiry interrupts the little song and dance he has happening in front of the stove. two pans on the burners, one sizzling, one being brought up to sizzling after being coated in olive oil. it is a surprise supper, which he framed as cooking for others but, in truth, he planned to cook for the two of them. he glances over his shoulder, arching his brow. breakfast for supper: the staple of french toast, of course, and then some spins on grilled cheese, quick little soup. something sweet bakes in the oven. he meets that little smirk, and realises he must be in a good mood. ( it pleases him greatly to see him smile. ) “a — little nast-ee?” he is dressed in a matching set of black silk pyjamas and bright blue shark slippers. his apron is blush-pink, with the princess is in the castle embroidered in the corner. he shakes his hips as if dancing. “now, i am intrigued? tell me at once what is on your mind, eh? nice kisses in, ah, naughty places?”

“ it wasn’t anyone’s fault. not really. ” // the god of death ◌ his god of life.

the city stretches out behind them, fog-riddled, dense, encrypted. a myriad of secrets he must discover within its recesses, all of them putrid, stinking of bile. he sits at the desk, crossed one ankle over one knee, elbow propping up his upper body and his neck, erect. his glasses do not disguise the repulsion in his gaze, and he does not bother to save face about it. a sneer, then; a bitter draught to drink from. it wasn’t anyone’s fault. then there is that pause, that label slapped on  their foreheads: not really. judgement passed, recite the sign of the cross, depart the pews. the service is ending. the funeral is over. “not really, hm. is that your defence now?” he rises. he is rolling in his own steam, the own wrath of it. but he cannot bring himself to raise his voice. it is as though there are too many parties listening. “not really. that means it was someone’s fault. and we know exactly who’s fault it was, don’t we?”

“ i’m losing my mind, losing control. ” // the bejewelled dragon ◌ his skeleton beast.

“no, you’re not. you’re right here with me.” blood, dripping from the edge of the soul’s sword, and he stows it in his scabbard, the echoing veins of the throbbing hollow, deadening around them. the whole of the battle, muted. soot against their cheeks, and he swipes it off of his thin cheek and it drags, it stains further. “you’re not losing anything. okay? it’s different now.” and it remains to be seen, how much he would do, how much he could do, in order to make sure this pierced his hide and penned itself as the ultimate truth. the bones of their dragon-corpses, how they rise from the stream, water pouring from their nostrils. the errant roar of another from not too far away, the slipping and diving of their siblings. the star-magic pealing through the sky. his heart throbs as he stares at him, watches those eyes, staring, daring them almost to become as soulless as they both feel. “we’re almost done here. it’ll be over soon.”

“ terrified of my love for you? ” // the undying warlord ◌ his ridden battle.

it had been the one confession they both had silently agreed to avoid. what good would it do, for creatures of their respective natures to love? to be such beasts of the literal underworld, for love to be a price that neither of them can afford. what good would it do? and now, the bones revealing themselves, the flesh peeled away. they do not stand far from each other. there are no clothes to separate them. he feels so young, his breath stopping entirely, and how fortunate it is that he does not need it any longer to be alive. ( he is, after all, nothing worse off than dead. ) how can he hope to — what will he — “terrified? perhaps. terrified of what it means. terrified of you. what you mean. how we’re going to — how we’re going to carry on with this. because of what is happening out there, and waking up, discovering you feral in the forest —” he shakes his head. “you love me? even through this, you love me, and how?” 

“ your words felt like sharp knives. ” // the god of chaos ◌ his oceanic song.

he keeps his back to him. the carton of cigarettes, a staple on the counter, perhaps even more so than home-cooked food, and this, this was the person that he had surrendered the remnants of his piss-poor life for. this was the glitter-bomb, the madness unravelling, the toxic and terrible idea that so readily laid itself bare across his lap. getting high together, and regaining feeling in their senses through slotting their hips and moaning into each other’s mouths, this had become his life. he is a sharp knife. left out where he can be touched, he slices, that is the end of it. this is what his lover knew, when he signed up to continue to be with him. when he ignored all of the warning signs, the red flags, the advice from others. the better choices. “the hell you want me to say? i already said sorry. i even meant it.” everything he says, awful, crooked, it has no general direction. as chaotic as he is. “you want me on my knees, princess?”

“ how did you become like this? ” // the final heir ◌ his grey seer.

frothing, flames licking at his arms, he embodied the arson, the tragedy. he could not escape it. he wept tears and all of them tasted like the grief he refused to acknowledge. himself, thorough in how embittered he had become against those he once called friends. and how difficult it made things, in attempting to connect with people of a different time. now, their conversation, hushed and secretive. all could see him, and yet it is as though he cannot exist freely. “i already told y’all the story of what went on. we’re tryna find out the truth of it, yeah? but — i guess that ain’t what you mean.” and he isn’t sure what else there is. what else he has been created from except for his wounds. how the witch managed to sew him together will remain a mystery for as long as he remains a tethered soul. “i became like this ‘cause — i dunno. nobody was around to make me become somethin’ different. that’s all i got, really.”

“ say something nice or don’t speak. ” // the fallen jedi ◌ his lilac princess.

“don’t speak? perish the thought.” he is cross again. look at him, with that pucker across his forehead and the crease in his brow. he’s become offended by something that was said, and to think, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had done it. leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and he pushes away from that surface to approach him. his boots softening each of his steps, and those, slower and deliberate. approaching, stalking perhaps. because he finds him to be stupidly interesting, and he himself is the worst idea, the worst decision that could be made for a princess of this calibre. still, the two of them, refraining from ever touching, and yet, continuing their orbit, their delicious desires licking at their insides. he would like to lick him. down that slim column of a throat. perhaps he should say that. perhaps that would be nice. “we can’t have it both ways. either you want me to speak my mind, or not.”

“ really? what did you dream about? ” // the ripest peach ◌ her stable mountain.

she had not dreamt in quite some time, and therefore, it frightened her. what does it mean, these successions of images, these pictures in frames? of children that she had known, and ones she did not remember, what significance could this have? she presses her back into his chest, his shoulders broad, his arms large; all of him, larger than life, than the world, strong and impermeable as rock, and she melts against it. her nakedness safe with him, her medical scars, her lack of fertility. her darkest secrets, which she has so long tucked beneath her tongue. and he brushes back her hair from her ears, as if coaxing the churning words from her mind. “i had a dream that — that we were all in paradise together. that the creatures had gone. that our family hadn’t separated. i had a dream that none of us had to die in order to find it. there were so many children there. running in the fields amok. all of them — ours.”

“ we were both afraid, shut up. ” // the underground racer ◌ his forsaken son.

“... y-yeah! we were both afraid, sure! or maybe we weren’t!” his lover, climbing over the middle console, grinding his hips down upon his own hips, and he bites back a moan. they’re going to forget about the fear; it doesn’t matter if it’s confessed to the walls of this car. the engine, how it purrs as it stalls, until he turns it off, and then, only their mingling breaths. the sound of a zipper, that hand, it finds him — “oh.” a gasp. “yeah — oh, jesus —” their clothes, sliding down enough to reach each other, to be bare where it matters, where they’re most needed. he clings to those hips, slides that tunic up his lover’s chest, bites down on the skin there. “you shut up.” halfway to teasing. he feels every part of him now, his irises so brown, mundane, attentive. “make me shut up.” he does. hips in tight circles, reducing him to whimpers, his own rocking, frantic, and passioned. “y-you shut up, i — oh, god, i love you — you’re so good, baby —” 

[forevfangirlwrites]

Your Choice: #1, #4 or #7: first kiss

Before any logical or coherent thoughts can actually process in his head, he’s broken out into a jog, crossing the room in six steps to (gently) shove Luke out of the way, halting to a stop in front of one, very shocked, Annabeth.

In a detached sort of way, maybe because his thoughts are just now returning to him, he takes a moment to think about the specific sequence of events that have led him to this moment. This moment, where all eyes in the room are on him, the sweater he’s wearing is itching his shoulder and Annabeth’s red lips are quirked into a small smile with a raised eyebrow to match.

It probably started, now that he’s exploring his decisions, with their (stupid) plan to circumvent the onslaught of annoying questions and pity looks from Annabeth’s stepmom and the sympathetic concerned look from Percy’s mom, and, frankly, the insistent teasing from their friend group.

“Let’s just date,” Annabeth had said casually over pizza and Percy had actually choked on a piece he had been chewing.

His shock was overpowered by his coughing fit and Annabeth had been his friend long enough to ignore him and continue talking.

“I mean, our families will ask the usual questions about dating. I know for a fact my stepmom won’t let it go, especially since Bobby has a boyfriend he’s bringing.”

She stopped talking to glare at her plate as if it was Susan and her intrusive questions on dating life.

All Percy managed to do in that time was drink some water and normalize from his couching fit.

“And I know your mom will also want to know about any potential girlfriends,” Annabeth continued, “And to top it off all of our friends won’t hop off our backs.”

She took a sip of her Pepsi and looked at him. “So really, it makes sense.”

“To date?” Because after all this time that’s the part he was still stuck on and wasn’t really sure if it had been established.

“Yeah, or rather, fake date. For the holiday season at least, then we could break up or something later.”

“Break up or something…” he had repeated slowly.

Maybe he should have known from the blush on her cheeks or the way she rolled her eyes but avoided his gaze that this would turn out…interesting.

“You in or not?”

It’s not every day your close friend of two years/the girl you’ve had a lowkey crush on for those two years asks you to date her, albeit fake date.

Point is he wasn’t going to let the opportunity go, even though it could end up a bad decision.

Or actually, maybe it was that moment when he nodded is response that defined what was to come.

-.-

Fake dating Annabeth was painfully easy and he swore that if they weren’t actually together by the end of it he was going to do….do something drastic…probably (he hadn’t gotten that far).

As it was, he was mainly hoping she’d see how nice and easy and fun it was to be his girlfriend (especially if the way the night had been going so far was any indication) and want it for real.

And it was going well, it was their first holiday party of the week (for Annabeth’s family, Susan was eating it up) when the second sequence of event happened. Luke showed up.

Being a close family friend, it wasn’t a surprise, but Percy still made a face at Susan’s enthusiastic greeting and hug.

So what if Luke was Annabeth’s old crush, he was her boyfriend. Fake boyfriend, whatever, that’s just semantics.

And so what if Percy clenched his fingers around the napkin in his hands when Annabeth gave him a hug and what if he stalked over to them and wrapped an arm around Annabeth’s waist pointedly.

“You remember Percy,” Annabeth re-introduced and he managed a small smile, grip tightening on Annabeth.

“Oh yeah, nice to see you again man,” Luke had replied, so maybe he wasn’t a horrible person and Percy was just horribly jealous.

The conversation ended shortly after and Annabeth pinched his arm when Luke had walked away.

“What was that,” she hissed, frowning at him. (He really shouldn’t have found it as cute as he did).

“You’re my girlfriend,” he replied shrugging.

She didn’t say no, he noticed.

Instead, she tilted her head at him the way she did when she was solving a particularly hard math problem and Percy had wondered then if she had seen through him.

Well, if she didn’t then, she sure did now, since they’re face to face in a doorway that he had literally ran across the room and shoved Luke out of the way for.

His eyes flick up the mistletoe hanging above them, the reason for his mad dash.

He’s aware of everyone’s eyes on them as he leans closer, hoping he hadn’t been standing still for too long. He moves slowly towards her, asking for permission with his eyes, though he really can’t make out any of her thoughts.

He stops inches away from her face. Her grey eyes are blown wide open and her red lips that he had most definitely not been staring at all night, part a little.

It’s enough of an invitation for him to close the gap and capture her lips in his.

And holy shit, he’s here, in this moment, kissing Annabeth Chase. Her lips are soft and she tastes like peppermint and Percy is enraptured in the feeling of warmth she brings. He’s been waiting far too long for this moment.

Her eyes are dark when they break away, probably only seconds later, but it feels a lot longer.

He could get used to seeing her look at him like that.

Matthew’s whistle breaks the moment and Percy tries to will his heart rate down. He doesn’t know when it started beating so fast, was it when he ran across the room, or leaned into the anticipation, or when her lips finally met his? Probably all three, but he can’t really think straight, and things are kind of a blur from that point on.

He’s aware of people cheering, Luke chucking and patting him on the back, and most importantly Annabeth never leaving his side.

Time slows down again when they’re seated on the couch, next to each other and a little ways away from the others and Annabeth turns to him with A Look.

“So,” she starts and he’s really not ready to get off of cloud nine yet.

“Pretty good first kiss, huh?” he blurts out, picking at his itchy sweater. He can’t bring himself to look at her reaction because after all this is she decides she doesn’t want him, it’ll fuck him up even more.

The taste of what he could have had been too good, and he wasn’t ready to lose it.  He’s had a taste of a life he wishes for, one where she’s his actual girlfriend and not just a friend that knows so much about him and comes over every other day and occasionally cuddles over a movie.

“Yeah, it was,” she agrees, making him look up at her. It’d be a Christmas miracle if she’s about to say what he thinks she’s going to.

“Never going to forget the way you ran across the room to shove poor Luke out of the way.”

Okay, not what he thought she’d say. He groans and hides his face in his hands, god that had been embarrassing. The only silver lining was that it didn’t happen in front of their friends. And that he got to kiss Annabeth. That was a big one.

She laughs at his reaction and tugs his hands away from his face, forcing him to look at her.

“You could have told me you know,” she says, tone becoming a bit more serious.

He wants to pretend like he has no clue what she’s talking about, but he does, and he can’t shy away this time.

He sighs. Better get the truth out now. “I was afraid of the answer.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me?”

She has a soft look on her face, her eyes encouraging, and her hands reach out to hold his. It’s enough to give him hope for an answer he so desperately wants to hear.

Well here goes nothing.

“Want to be my girlfriend?” He asks quietly.

The answer that he had been afraid off was words.

The answer she gives him is a second kiss of many more to come.

A/N: Hello! You gave me three options and told me to choose and I thought, why not all of em! I hope you liked this amalgamation of a prompt! And of course, thank you for sending me one (or rather, three), I really appreciate it :)  

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature - Language, Mentions of Violence.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

SERIES SUMMARY:

“Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn’t make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now.”

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: Battle is the Want of All Man.

Hershel and Andrea’s voices cut in and out, partially obscuring the Governor’s words. But I’d heard enough.

“I don’t want your prison,” he had said. “That doesn’t sound safe at all. I mean, you lost your wife, another man… What good would that do me? Best you stay where I can keep my one good eye on you. I want Michonne. And I want my girl back. Turn them over and this all goes away.”

I clenched my teeth so hard it was a miracle they didn’t shatter into a million pieces. My girl? Since when was I “his” girl? If I hadn’t been sitting on the car bonnet next to Daryl at that moment, I probably would have launched into attack mode right then and there. Thankfully, his body was between me and the door. It gave me enough pause to think logically.

“You’ve obviously got big plans,” Rick remarked. “Like you’re the guy who’s gonna lick this thing. Bring us back from the brink. So why waste your time with a two-bit vendetta? On this one girl who decided to think for herself? Why risk it all? You could have a statue of yourself in the town square, Governor.” Rick’s low chuckle almost set the hairs on my arms upright. “Killing Michonne, obsessing over Jacques, it’s all sort of beneath you, don’t you think?”

“You could save your son,” was the Governor’s reply. “Save your daughter. Everyone you know. It’s your choice.”

The gap between the Governor’s statement and Rick’s response was almost enough to give me a fucking aneurysm.

“If I give you Michonne… If I hand over Jacques… How do I know you’ll keep your word that you’ll stop?”

He wouldn’t.

Something inside me had to believe that Rick already knew that. Even after only a few days around the man, I knew he wasn’t an idiot. You didn’t get as far as their group had with a leader that didn’t have at least an ounce of common sense.

I didn’t hear the response. Martinez said something to Sean right as the Governor’s voice filtered out through the metal door, obscuring my ability to distinguish the words. A curse escaped me, barely loud enough for even Daryl to hear.

When the Governor pulled open the door, everyone was suddenly at full attention. Daryl and I straightened from our slouched positions by the bonnet of the car, watching him as he walked past us with barely a glance in my direction. He was making a point of ignoring me, of pretending he didn’t care I was standing on the other side of this. I knew better and watched him until the very moment he climbed into their car and slammed the door shut.

Rick emerged a moment later, hand on his belt as he walked purposefully toward our own car. His face was all hard lines, eyes focused straight ahead. Not a word was exchanged between any of us as we climbed into our respective vehicles.

I shot Martinez one last, lingering look, hoping he’d see sense before things got out of hand. He gave me a small, sad smile as they pulled away from the edge of the road.

The drive back to the prison was uneventful. Rick didn’t say a word and neither did Hershel. I began to wonder whether this esteemed leader would be truthful about their exchange, if he would inform everyone that the Governor had put their lives upon the heads of Michonne and I. Was he considering it? He couldn’t truly believe the Governor would leave the prison be after all this. I refused to accept he was that stupid.

The people of Woodbury had known Philip, had trusted him. His manipulation of them was understandable. Many of them had yet to see his dark side. Rick knew only the worst of him, and I had to believe he would make his decisions accordingly.

When we arrived back at the prison, Carol and Maggie were there to open the gate. Daryl’s bike drove in first, followed closely by us. Once we had all climbed from the car, Rick called for us all to get inside.

I spotted Merle by one of the cells lining the corridor. He stood beside Michonne and straightened his back when he saw us entering the cellblock.

Rick walked down the corridor a fraction further than the rest of us, reaching into one of the open cells to retrieve a hunting rifle. He turned back to face us, looking between the gathered faces of his people with a pensive expression.

“So, I met this Governor,” he announced, sounding almost amused by the title as it rolled off his tongue. “Sat with him for quite a while.”

Merle cocked his head to the side. “Just the two of you?”

Rick nodded.

The older Dixon glanced toward me, cocking a brow. I shook my head with a deep frown, which made him scoff. He pushed off from the cell door he had been leaning on and walked across the opening before Rick, looking to his brother as he passed. “Should’ve gone when we had the chance, bro.”

He came to a stop beside me. We both looked up to Rick as he stood a step up on the staircase behind him.

“He wants the prison,” he announced.

I nodded, smiling slightly, glad he had seen through the Governor’s bullshit.

“He wants us gone… Dead. He wants us for what we did to Woodbury.”

Everyone seemed unsettled by this, shuffling in their places on the concrete floor.

“We’re going to war,” Rick said with finality, looking at each of us in turn before stepping down from the staircase and walking out of the cellblock.

The silence was almost palpable. Daryl stepped forward and looked to Merle, who looked down at me, as if questioning whether we were going to stay and fight. I gave him a tight nod, which he returned to his brother.

I was in this fight whether I was with them or not. The Governor would not allow me to live either here or there in peace. He’d want me gone, removed from the equation, so he could sleep fitfully at night. But he was fooling himself if he thought it would be that easy.

If it was war he wanted, a war he was going to get.

#

To say things were tense after that would be an understatement.

Merle, Michonne, and I continued to press Rick about the possibility of attacking first, to which his response had remained the same over the past day and a half. “It’s too risky,” he’d say. “There’s another way.”

Yeah, I’d think to myself. And that “way” involved handing Michonne and I over to a man who wants to shoot us in the face.

I kept that to myself. Hadn’t even told Michonne. It had been a difficult decision, whether to tell or not, but I’d come to the conclusion it was best that only one of us remained on edge. Ignorance enabled Michonne to more genuinely attempt to fit in here, to make friends of the people huddled in the cellblock. I couldn’t. Not when my attempts were spurred by that minuscule sense of doubt in the back of my mind, the thought that Rick couldn’t send me away if his people liked me. When they came up to me, I remained nothing but pleasant, but I was guarded. I didn’t want a tainted beginning to a friendship. These people deserved better than my unintentional manipulations.

Still, it was like I couldn’t help myself. Beth had been first, mostly because of the baby. In case you couldn’t tell quite yet, I had a soft spot for kids. Always have.

Merle had begun to frustrate me quite early in the day. He’d begun ripping into the mattresses throughout the cellblock, no doubt looking for some kind of hidden stash. At first, he’d asked me to literally be his “sniffer dog” and, once I’d refused, he’d given an indignant “who needs ya” before tearing into the damn things like the unrestrained idiot he was. I’d left him there, both unable and not in the mood to try and talk sense into him.

I walked out to the fenced-in section of the courtyard, intent on getting some fresh air, when I spotted Beth, sitting crossed legged on the concrete ground. In front of her was a box, and from the inside of that box, I could hear the senseless cooing sounds of little baby Judith. I hadn’t been game enough to approach her whilst Rick was around, unsure of how he’d react to my proximity to his baby girl, but Rick was nowhere to be seen – at least as far as I could tell – so I began a cautious approach. Carol was nearby, sitting on the steps leading up into another section of the cellblock. She watched me approach Beth with a narrowed, suspicious gaze.

“Hey,” I said softly, announcing my presence to Beth, who had been too enraptured by the book in her lap to notice my approach.

Her eyes, wide and blue, lifted from the pages and fixed on me curiously. Thin, blonde eyebrows pulled down slightly. “Hi. You’re Jack, right?”

“Jacques,” I responded with a little chuckle. “Like, the uh, detective in Pink Panther.”

She blinked up at me, tilting her head the slightest bit as her thin lips pulled down at the corners.

How old was she? Did she not know Pink Panther? Was I old? My God. Twenty-four wasn’t old, right? Right?

I gave her a gentle shake of my head, slowly lowering myself down into a crouch beside her. “No? What about the, um… the shrimp guy from the dentist’s tank in Finding Nemo?”

That made her eyes widen in understanding, her mouth partially opening in an “O” shape before she clucked lightly.

“That’s just my last name, though,” I added, glancing down into the box at Judith. “Le Jacques.”

Her little baby cheeks were so round, so pink. Those eyes, light green in colour, were wide and alert, as if she were listening in on every word. She looked at me for a brief moment and I smiled down at her, which made her face break out into one of those pure baby-grins as she threw her arms about in excitement.

Jesus fuck, I would die for this child.

“What’s your first name?” Beth asked me, leaning in slightly to draw my gaze from Judith.

I glanced at her, still grinning. “Synnove.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Sin-oh-vey.” I shrugged haplessly. “It’s a Norse name. My mum, she was heavy into the whole “my ancestors were Vikings” thing.”

Beth chuckled, nodding. “Oh. It’s pretty.”

I snorted, though gave her a thankful smile as I lowered myself down out of my crouch and into a sitting position. The top of the box cut off my view of the baby inside, but I got a decent look at the side of the cardboard, where someone had written “Lil Ass Kicker” in black marker. I felt my brows scrunch as I looked at it in surprise, coughing out a laugh. Adorable.

“A baby doesn’t get to choose their own name,” I remarked, gesturing to the scrawled black letters on Judith’s box. “If I’d had a choice, I might have picked that.”

Beth laughed. It was a light sound, pure and full of heart, kind of like her singing voice. Had this been a hundred years ago, I didn’t doubt she would be the exact kind of girl that one of my kind would attempt to draw into the shadows, to lure into a ring of mushrooms deep in the silent forest. Thankfully, my kind didn’t do that as often these days, too wound up with their own bullshit to worry about the humans of their neighbouring world.

“Daryl gave it to her,” Beth informed me after a moment.

That made my brows rise slightly as a smile pulled at one side of my mouth. Of course, he had. Why was I not even remotely surprised?

Beth’s own smile began to fade after a moment as she lifted herself partially out of her crossed-legged position to look down at the baby. She reached in with a thin arm, rearranging the blankets within the box with a pursed lipped frown. “Her momma died giving birth to her,” she said softly. “Carl had to – you know. That was before we knew ‘bout Woodbury. One of the prisoners that survived here, he opened the gate and let the walkers in. We all got separated. That was when it happened.”

I gave her a sad look, nodding along with her story as she sunk back down beside me. It had been a cruel world even before the dead had begun to rise. Now, it was almost as if the universe or whatever sicko God was watching over us, purposefully put everyone in the worst position possible just to watch them squirm.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Sounds like you guys have had a run of bad luck lately.”

Beth bowed her head slightly, blue eyes focusing on her hands where they fidgeted in her lap. “It’s been rough. But we’ll get through. We always do.”

I smiled slightly at that. “I don’t doubt it.”

She glanced up at me, her sad look slowly fading into a smile. It was small and didn’t entirely reach her tired eyes, but it was nice to see, nonetheless.

Everything settled back into silence after that. Carol, who had been partway through cleaning the rifle now resting across her lap, had watched our entire exchange with a keen eye. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use that rifle on me if I’d made even the slightest of moves indicating I meant Beth or Judith harm. Something about that woman struck me as… I don’t know. Capable? Alert?

No. I knew what it was.

She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. So well hidden beneath that wool that even I had stumbled and stuttered before figuring out what she truly was. It was impressive, honestly. Those keen eyes were the only thing that betrayed her. The way they always seemed to be watching, to be turning those little cogs inside her mind, constantly alert. The tell glow of a wolfs eyes in the darkness.

When Carol caught my scrutinising gaze, she straightened her back, her grip on the rifle slipping down slightly as if intent on pulling up and pointing it at me.

I gave her a slow, knowing grin before averting my gaze, pushing myself back up, out of my sitting position. The sound of my booted feet against the concrete was barely noticeable as I made my way back toward the cellblock door. I’d had half a thought to check in on Merle, make sure he hadn’t destroyed every mattress in the cellblock, when I felt my feet come to a sudden halt.

Voices. I could hear them coming from somewhere to my right, down near the end of the cellblock where the brick wall met the beginning of the fence. They were hushed and barely discernible, but I could tell they belonged to Rick, Hershel, and Daryl. With a glance behind me at the two women to make sure neither of them were watching, I began to slink down toward the sounds of conversation. Using the shadows cast by the tall brick building, I remained partially hidden as I approached the yard where Rick, Hershel, and Daryl stood. Silent, tightly pressed against the wall before the corner, I remained out of sight as I listened in to their voices.

“It’s the only way,” Rick was saying, his voice hushed despite the fact no one other than my nosy ass was nearby to listen in. “No one else knows.”

Daryl looked perplexedly back at the man, pursing his lips slightly in thought. His grip on the strap of his crossbow was tight, as if he were using it for a sense of comfort. “You gonna tell ‘em?” he asked.

“Not till after,” Rick responded.

It didn’t take a genius to understand what they were referring to. Rick was planning to hand Michonne and I over after all. I felt a deep sense of anger rise within me, setting my chest alight. My hands curled into fists against the brickwork of the cellblock wall and I had to take a deep breath in order to restrain myself from marching out there. How the hell could he be so stupid? Did he honestly think this was the “only way”? That the Governor wouldn’t kill us and then immediately turn on them? Where was his common sense? His police-y instincts? Why was I the only one thinking rationally here?

“We have to do it today,” Rick continued, glancing between Daryl and Hershel with a steely-eyed resolve. “It has to be quiet.”

Daryl was partially pacing back and forth, looking out to the forest beyond the gate before returning his gaze to Rick. He chewed his bottom lip indecisively for a moment before asking, “You got a plan?”

My upper lip curled up into a snarl. Seriously? Not even Little Dixon was on my side here?

“We tell them both we need to talk,” Rick answered evenly. “Away from the others.”

Daryl shook his head. “Jacques ain’t gonna fall for that. She’s clued in, man.”

Rick’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing at Daryl as his lips pulled tautly down at the corners. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” he answered, sounding a little offended Rick would even ask. “She knows how the douchebag operates. Probably already guessed he’d asked you to hand her over.”

That made Rick pause, a hand lifting up to rub at the scruff along his jaw. He looked to be in deep thought for a moment before meeting Daryl’s gaze with an intensive look. “Would Merle do it? Get her alone? If it were the only way we’d let him stay, would he do it?”

Daryl blinked at him in surprise. It took him a long moment to answer and I wondered exactly what was going through his mind at that moment. The question looked like it disturbed him. “Naw,” he answered plainly. “He ain’t ever been like this with no one. No way he’d give her up to the Governor.”

Rick let out a frustrated sigh, turning on the spot to look out through the fence. “Alright. One at a time, then. Michonne first. Merle will help with her, at least.”

Daryl nodded slightly, though I could see the conflict in his gaze. He didn’t like this. In fact, I was pretty sure he hated it. The idea of giving someone up to save his own life looked as if it made him almost physically ill. He took a series of deep breaths, stepping closer to Rick with a sad look. “This ain’t us, man.”

“No,” Hershel agreed. “It isn’t.”

Rick turned so he could look at the both of them, at such an angle that he was almost directly facing me. I didn’t panic, remaining as still as I could, knowing the distance between us would make it difficult to discern my body through the shadows of the building. It helped that I was wearing all black, of course.

“We do this, we avoid a fight,” he said, sounding as if he actually believed it. “No one else dies.”

That part, he said directly to Daryl. The younger Dixon still looked troubled, as if he wished someone else would say something, give them another option, but he nodded after a moment, realizing that second choice wasn’t going to come.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll talk to Merle.”

“No,” Rick said quickly. “I’ll do it.”

Daryl blinked. “I’ll go with you.”

Rick shook his head. “No. Just me.”

As Rick turned to walk away, back toward the front of the cellblock, I watched Daryl’s face contort into a troubled frown. He and Hershel shared a look, after which the old man shook his head and turned to follow Rick. That left Daryl alone, standing by himself in the empty yard, staring out through the gaps in the wire fence at the forest. Once I was sure Hershel was far enough away that he wouldn’t spot me in his peripherals, I stepped out of the shadows and silently approached the younger Dixon.

One hand lifted to grip the fence, as if he needed it to keep himself steady, the other hand still tightly holding the strap of his crossbow.

He had no idea I was there. Not until I spoke.

“It’s not going to work.”

Daryl almost jumped out of his skin, spinning around so fast one of the arrows on the end of his crossbow caught in the fence. Once he realised it was just me, he let out a huff of air through his nose and looked over his shoulder, prying the arrow free with an irritated yank and stepping away from the fence with a scowl. “Get you a bell or somethin’. Jesus.”

I smirked, amused despite the situation, but it faded quickly as I repeated my initial remark. “It won’t work.”

“What won’t?” he asked, though I could tell by the way he was looking at me through narrowed eyes that he already knew what I was talking about. That I’d been listening.

“Handing Michonne over to the Governor isn’t going to placate him,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Neither of us will.”

Daryl didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the ground by his booted feet as he chewed the inside of his lower lip.

“He won’t even kill her,” I continued. “You know that, right? Not straight away. He doesn’t function like that. Revenge isn’t a bullet to the head with him. It’s more than that – it’s just as psychological as it is physical. He’ll torture her. Probably take out an eye. Maybe both, just to make a point.”

Daryl swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, only to continue staring at the ground.

“Me? Fuck knows what he’ll do. I have an inkling it’ll involve a set of pliers. Don’t know why – just a feeling.” Whether it would be pliers, a hammer, or a knife, I knew he wouldn’t just put me on my knees and execute me. He needed to hurt me. To hurt Michonne. He needed to make us feel the pain we’d inflicted upon him, righteous or not. It was more than just a simple case of clearing the field. He needed to win. Needed to be on top. To have himself placed on a pedestal for the people of Woodbury that believed he had defeated the enemy, despite the fact, somewhere in that rotted skull of his, he knew we were an enemy he had created.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl breathed after a moment, still not meeting my eye.

I smiled softly, despite myself. He looked like a scolded child. It made my heart ache in my chest. “Don’t stress it,” I responded, waving a hand dismissively. “Rick’s just trying to minimize the bloodshed. I don’t blame him. Or you.”

That made him look up. His brow was furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed with his deep, troubled frown. Despite the fact he said nothing, I could tell there was some sense of relief inside him. As if my acknowledgement of the lack of blame I regarded him with had set his mind somewhat at ease.

“If this is what you all think is best,” I said softly, looking out to the forest with a small frown. “I’ll go. I won’t fight it. I’ll tell Merle not to, either, and he won’t. But you and Rick both need to understand that this will not amount to anything. The only thing you’ll accomplish here is the removal of two competent fighters from the board. Two that are standing on your side.”

Daryl breathed heavily through his nose, the skin on his forehead wrinkled as he looked back at me with a sad, helpless frown. He swallowed again before nodding, chewing the inside of his lower lip before turning to make his way up the path Rick had disappeared down.

God. How had it come to this so fast? I needed to find Merle. Convince him not to help. To at least attempt to talk some sense into Rick. Lord knew, he wouldn’t do it on his own inclination. That was the way he was. Obeying the orders, doing the dirty jobs with little question. That was how I used to be, too. How had I become the one looking at things from the outside?

[tikitm]

tiki being a music nerd for 13 minutes straight

uhhHh so oscar and ozpin’s theme are mixing more ?? i hear little bits and pieces of ozpin’s theme , then oscar’s in ‘trouble on the argus limited’

in the same track , ‘trouble on the argus limited’ , ozpin’s theme begins to play , but then takes a ,,, darker, more sinister sounding note instead of that higher , more hopeful note in his theme that he usually has

the main theme , rising can be heard when ruby is telling the plan in ‘trouble on the argus limited’ and it’s soft , but it’s there , which carries on the theme that they’re trusting ‘in the light’ and ‘rising like the moon’

the playful theme in ‘mistral central station’ that captures the character’s excitements ?? amazing

then it goes into dee and dudley’s theme that sound Annoying as Heck , and then it blends into qrow’s theme ?? beautiful stunning amazing bird dad

then you hear ozpin’s theme again , which slowly gets taken over by oscar’s theme again , and they they seem to blend together again , like they have been doing

the piano part of smile in ‘mistral central station’ gave me goosebumps !! ilia has come such a long way as a character and it makes me happy that she funny has a straight path she Wants to go on

and there it is - ‘like morning follows night’ - a perfect , slow , version of it that really enraptures sun’s ,,, softness for blake and how he came to support her and after all , he did support her and help her and that makes me soo happy

but then it trails off into a lighter tune when the camera pans to yang and her friends and hhhHhh im soft

wow then it takes a dramatic tone shift to a dark and sinister theme for ‘spider’s web’ because cinder is starting to get into some Shady Shit™️ because she’s desperate for any kind of information on anyone

and then it pans right into that cue music that neo is Right There™️ , ready to attack , and then it goes into softer , more sinister and mischievous music that shows that wow they’re actually up to something , and it’s going to be big and bad and it’s going to put someone to shame

AND THEN THE THEME OF ALL THINGS MUST DIE PLAYING SOFTLY AND SLOWLY ??? amazing. im so excited akdhsks

all things must die slowly transitions into one thing and that makes me happy because it’s their two themes blending into one another , showing that they’re working together - but the sinister undertones show that they don’t fully trust each other and there Are secrets and undertones being kept

‘say her name’ starts out soft and slow and relaxing , but then gets more mysterious and faster as it goes , showing the severity of the situation

ozpin is being really shady and not that trustful right now , and oscar’s trying to Fight It to give them the information they need and stuff , which shows through the undertones of his theme playing throughout the track , then his theme slowly taking over , showing that he is fighting against ozpin’s control - he wants to be his own person , which is way it’s even more upsetting when qrow says that he isn’t

and then the music picks up and up and up faster and faster and louder and louder , showing ruby’s decision to say jinn’s name -

and then it goes silent. it stops

and whOOsh jinn !! genie in a bottle !! genie in a lamp !! her upcoming theme has a few familiar notes that form a familiar melody , but they’re hard to place

and then the music picks up , showing ozpin’s desperation to keep things ‘close to the chest’ and BOOM the music stops

im literally going to do an entirely different thing for ‘a delicate balance’ because there’s so much to say about this track - and it’s e i g h t m i n u t e s

‘our creation’ - im guessing it’s for the god of light’s moment with ozma

it’s soft , slow , and with the choir in the background , it makes the music seem ,,, important and urgent - like something Needs to be done and that something needs to be done quickly

and oof ozma’s theme soft in the background , showing that after all , he is still human and he wants a normal life and all that and hhhh i feel so bad

im skipping around im sorry

‘brunswick farms’ has that sinister , dangerous vibe , but we’re not sure what it is yet - dangerous , mysterious - we don’t know.

and it’s slow - it slows down at certain points to really emphasize on the scariness

the slow piano at a certain point gives it a certain softness that it shouldn’t have - a false sense of security , if you will . but then it turns into more mysterious , with hints of qrow’s theme (which im guessing is for the part of his drinking™️) that is slow

AND OH SHIT THERES THE PART WITH THE DROPPING OF THE BOTTLE

and ruby YANKS herself up and woAh that’s kinda scary

‘the apathy’ is probably the scariest track in the ost. it’s slow , sinister , and it’s literally telling you something is about to happen

AND THEN THE MUSIC PICKS UP !! ITS THE SLEEP PARALYSIS DEMON BAY BEE

they’re running they’re running they’re running they’re running uh oh sisters

every time the music slows down it stops the melody slightly , that’s the part where the apathy SCREAMS , slowly zapping the motivation out of them

and each time it gets louder and louder and bigger because their influence is getting more and more overwhelming

and then the music slows down slightly because they’re giving up , and the sinister , scary theme is getting louder and louder - and then the silver eyes stops the music for a split second

and maria is over there , trying to coach ruby into using her eyes and then - BAM

and now they’re running out of the house , yelling for oscar to GET THE DAMN TIRE

and weiss sets the HOUSE ON FIRE and wow she’s committed arson

and they have to get the HECK out of there as quick as they possibly can

im doing something completely different for the grimm reaper skjsk

‘welcome to argus’ gave me goosebumps. the soft ,, piano of ‘rising’ gives them hope - gives us hope - because they made it. after all that shit , they made it. finally.

and then it gets into a more cheerful , nice theme of argus , with little notes of oscar’s theme in the beginning because ‘CUTE BOY OZ’ and then they’re touring around argus , looking at all the sights and stuff

ruby’s surprise in jaune’s sister is shown through the ‘ooh !!’ moment in the music that interrupts the melody of the entire track

‘cashews’ is amazing. it’s shows the literal stupidity of the entire interaction - from maria and cordoven’s banter , to a more serious match music , then slower , sadder music because ‘oop racism’ , but then it picks up again lmao

there isn’t much to say about the track ‘silver eyes’ but it shows the softness - the emotion - that goes into using silver eyes

‘jaune’s arc’ gives me whiplash. because it’s slow in the beginning - then it picks up speed to show jaune’s anger as he shoves oscar against the wall and Yells because his love died for ‘nothing’ , and he lets oscar go with sadness and regret , but he doesn’t say anything. and then as they’re looking for him , jaune has time to think things over. you hear the melody of ‘forever fall’ towards the middle , then the melody - the song itself - takes over as something to signify that jaune really Misses her , but gets closure

AND THEN OSCAR’S THEME !! HAPPY , HAPPY BOY !! its so happy !! he feels good about his new clothes - and despite what he says , he gave himself closure for now , but im sure itll be touched upon later because of the cut off of his theme , interrupted by qrow’s theme to show qrow’s grumpiness and all that

and then ruby’s speech !! she had a little bit too many speeches , but the theme ‘rising’ plays again , to show her - their - determination to get to atlas and figure it out because they WILL rise like the moon - like the sun - no matter what. they won’t give up.

‘the heist’ !! a theme that gives everyone Anxiety because no one thought it would work , and the moment it did work , it didn’t . weiss and maria sneak onto the airship and take them out , with the others standing around waiting , and yang and blake off on their own

a small version of oscar’s theme plays as he comforts ruby , showing how much he’s grown into his own character

and then the music picks up and oof it turns suspenseful because oh Shit where’s blake

‘into the canon’ is not only scary on screen , but also scary music wise. it’s suspenseful , it mixes both blake and yang’s fights and the other fight together. the music is fast and urgent , showing that they have to get away and fast and if it doesn’t work , bad things will happen. bad things are going to happen.

but first !! the battle music for cordoven’s fight. fast , playful , serious at the same time. it shows both perspectives of the fight - absolute absurdity , which cordoven feels , and the urgency that the team feels. cordoven thinks this is childish - disgraceful. the team thinks this is important - something that Has to happen or else they can’t complete their mission.

and ruby goes DOWN THE CANON

i have to do an entirely different thing for ‘protecting each other’ too

OH NO HERE COMES THE GRIMM

the music gets dangerous , crazy , fast - they have to do something quick or bad things will happen and that won’t be okay. huntsman and huntresses are supposed to protect - if they can’t do that , then what are they good for ?

jinn’s theme , then the hopeful theme of indomitable is just 👌👌

-‘flight to atlas’ gives closure - peace that they couldn’t find for a while. it’s slow , soft , showing that they made it - it was a long , stressful process , but they made it. with a lighter version of qrow’s theme , small undertones of ozpin’s and oscar’s theme , and then how the music SWELLS when they see atlas because it’s beautiful - it’s grand , it’s amazing - and they made it. there’s a sense of triumph in there , a sense of urgency and a sense of pride. they rose , and they’re going to try and stay there

uhhHHh thanks for sticking around to hear my literal Ramblings about the ost and me being a music nerd - this ost is just so good ?? and if you haven’t listened to it go give it a listen ! the vocal tracks are Amazing , and so are the instrumental ones.

[shewhowantsmouseears]

narsaksas replied to your post “going to have a lot of free time this week… anyone give me drabble...”

thebigpalooka I’d love to see you write about your star knight and princess AU you posted art of a while ago!! ��

iii think you might have meant to send that to @thebigpalooka herself? I didn’t make that gorgeous art, and I know literally nothing about that verse save that it exists.

HOWEVER

I am just that bored so I decided to take the concept and see what happened in my brain. It was this.

If anyone asked Mickey an hour ago – or even a minute ago – if he was a serious soldier whose attention could never be diverted, he would have given a resounding “yes!” with all his heart. He had trained for years to be in this position, despite the naysayers who mocked his humble origins and short stature. It hadn't been easy, but he'd risen through the ranks and now was ready to become an official knight of the court. He couldn't have been prouder as he walked through the halls, joined by his fellow brother-in-arms. He would've smiled at them in a silent congratulations, but they all wore serious, stony expressions, and he figured he should too.

And so here he was, on one knee, hearing the Captain of the Guard read aloud their duties and assignments, entailing their destinies, and Mickey was, up to this point, a serious soldier whose attention could never be diverted.

Then the princess walked in and that got shot to hell.

Mickey had only seen her a handful of times, and each one had been by sheer accident. He feared he never made a good impression on her, as each time he saw her he was so wildly enraptured by her beauty he forgot the rest of the world existed, which wasn't useful when you were training in swordplay against another soldier or out riding your horse – somehow both times wound up with him getting a black eye and stuck in a fence. Every time it happened, he told himself next time it wouldn't happen and this would be a lie.

Like now. Oh gods and goddesses above, she really was a beauty, and Mickey was forgetting how to breathe. What was she doing here anyway? She calmly stood near the Captain, who didn't acknowledge her presence, and she looked across the room at all the upcoming knights. Mickey silently pleaded don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me, but of course she looked at him and he felt his heart explode. Her delicate features frowned, trying to pinpoint where she'd seen him before, and then her eyes widened in recognition. Gods she was so cute. Every movement was cute. He wished he was dead. He wished he could be with her. Help.

Much to his growing horror he could hear his own tail wagging against the stone floor, and mentally screamed for it to KNOCK THAT OFF, but he couldn't control it much as he couldn't control his gazing at her, eyes going every tiny feature. How could any living person be this pretty? No wonder she was rarely seen outside the castle, the entire kingdom would surely stop once they saw her.  Nothing would ever get done again! Knights would be out of a job – WAIT, WASN'T HE BEING TURNED INTO A KNIGHT RIGHT NOW?!

His eyes flew to the Captain, who had, it seemed, been trying to get his attention for a couple of seconds now. Mickey's entire face flushed. He offered a shaky smile, feeling himself shrink smaller and smaller under the older man's glare. The Captain crossed his arms, the intensity of his stare hotter than than lava. “I asked you a question, Sir Mouse.”

Oooh no. What did he ask?! Mickey couldn't just ask! Gee, sorry Captain, I was too busy gawkin' like a real fool at the princess, mind repeatin' yourself? Yeah, that'd go over well. His knighthood was over before it even began, and his eyes darted around the room, struggling to think. He found himself looking at the princess again – he couldn't help it! - and then blinked. She seemed to be speaking, yet making no sound, silently wording something, nudging her head towards the Guard.

Con... stell... a...tion... constellation... Oh!

Mickey quickly straightened his back and mustered the most serious expression he could. “Scorpio, sir.”

The Guard frowned, but was willing to move on. “Mortal enemy of the hunter, Orion. Your lineage has shed much blood for the sake of power. However, your morality has shone as brightly as the birth of a new galaxy. There is no doubt where your allegiance lays. The council thought long and hard over this decision... you will be made bodyguard to Princess Minnie.”

“Wh-” Mickey had just barely enough sense to cut him off before finishing the “WHAT” that threatened to escape his mouth. He rapidly looked back and forth between the Guard and the princess – he also caught some looks of the other knights, many of whom were stunned – Minnie herself was smiling kindly, welcoming him without a word. “I... uh... thank you. I m-mean, yes sir, of course sir!”

And here he thought wishing on a star didn't work.

[settle-down-frohike]

Late to the game as always!! My submission for @xfpornbattle . I was given an unsexy prompt by @contrivedcoincidences6​, my episode being Excelsis Dei, and I’ll be honest, it was *extremely* hard to feel anything resembling smutty after watching it, but I think that was the point. ;) But! I was able to pull prompts 195(dominant Scully) and 38 (Mulder watched Scully have one-night stands for years before making his move) and try to make something work. I do strongly advise re-watching it before you read if, like me, you haven’t in a while. 

My eternal gratitude to @lepus-arcticus​ for going easy on me and making my first beta experience lovely and pain free! <3 If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes at this point it’s from my latest hurried edit and no reflection on her skills at all.  And thank you to Idris Elba, for being, well, Idris Elba. ;) Tagging @today-in-fic​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shrinking Violet

R: NC-17 

“I don’t know how to explain it, but it has something to do with those pills.”

An unsubstantiated solution to the substantiated crime. That was her report in a nutshell.

Thanks, Mulder.

She’s spent the last 5 hours turning that crude statement into an official report, and to say she is tired is an understatement. To make matters worse, Mulder seems to be finding any excuse to stay in the office with her. She understands the fact that he was technically her superior, but she doesn’t literally need supervision, for Christ’s sake. He just keeps hovering around her, just outside of her periphery, like a dog circling a dinner table. Rummaging through cabinets, flipping through files, making much ado about absolutely nothing. It’s incredibly annoying, but at this point she doesn’t have the energy to analyze or address it.

She’s been in the same clothes for close to 18 hours now, and just wants her shower and her bed, in that order. She packs her briefcase and watches from the corner of her eye to see if he does the same. He doesn’t even look up. It isn’t until she is halfway out of the door that he even bothers to speak.

“Hey Scully?”

She turns, her escape thwarted,  and regards him with a blank expression, save one raised brow.

“S’good work. This case I mean....I’m glad you pushed it.”

An unexpected wave of rage paralyzes her senses, and for a moment, a rehearsed tirade about his premature dismissal of their victim’s case and its similarities to her own experience plays out in her mind. How it could have so easily been her pleading for someone to validate what her body knows, but what no one can prove-all of the physical evidence that would hold up in a court of law having been erased, her chance at justice stolen, along with a good bit of faith in the system she works for. It lodges in her throat that she’s disappointed in him, maybe for the first time.

She can still hear herself pleading with him to continue to pursue this case, and the memory makes her cringe. Her abduction has her unwillingly humbled, punished for the company she’s chosen to keep, and she hates it. If she’s being punished, she’d might as well commit a crime befitting.  Ahab once grounded her for a month after she came in smelling of cigarettes she hadn’t smoked. It’d felt righteous then, on the roof at 3am, choking on an entire pack of her mother’s Virginia Slims. Bad decisions might as damned well be her own.

She doesn’t know herself anymore. The body in the mirror at home is softer than it used to be, it slouches with memories of invasion and abuse. This body betrays her. It keeps secrets now. It’s frustrating to feel patronized by one’s own mind. She appreciates the work keeping her busy,  and she hoped coming back as quickly as possible would be the first step in feeling whole again. But she’s not anywhere close to restored. Her edges feel tattered and stitched poorly together, and though her reflection may not show it, she’s a Raggedy-Ann version of her former self. She wants her body back, her memories back, and her autonomy back.

To let him know these things would show weakness. So instead, she smiles tightly at the floor and mumbles some platitude about teamwork or partnership and slips out. If she makes it to the garage fast enough, he won’t have time to wrap up this charade, gather his own things, and follow her home. Again. She’d rather him pull the big brother act when he thinks she’s not looking.

----------------------------------------------------

At the third stop light before the freeway, a Holiday Inn sign reads, “$1 MRGRTAS” and the rebel in her smiles. He won’t follow her in here, and if he does, she’ll hopefully be drunk enough to say what’s on her mind.  She’s not ready to be at home alone with those thoughts just yet.

Two hours later, she’s four deep and enjoying her umpteenth cigarette with relish, her nose is pleasantly numb, and her thoughts about her partner are turning maudlin. He’s trying, she reckons. She knows he cares deeply for her. He likes to keep her close, like a lucky rabbit’s foot or some other talisman, rattling around in his pocket with the loose change, carelessly cherished. She remembers a time, not so long ago when she’d been starry-eyed and school-girl smitten with her new partner, with his unexpected good looks and unreachable genius. And for a time, they’d sparked against each other like flint meeting a match. For a time, it’d felt like maybe he’d felt something too. Her disappearance has exposed weakness in them both, she supposes. Her need to push against support instead of leaning into it, and his inability to offer any outright, for fear of not deserving the trust. This thought feels like something resembling forgiveness, and, her anger having dissipated, she’s thinking seriously about paying her tab and calling a taxi. At that moment, an impossibly rich baritone asks if the seat next to her is taken.

The accent is British, and his suit is expensive. He fits in here about as well as she does. He orders Glenlivet, neat. The tequila has her feeling loose limbed and mischievous, so after a few moments of quiet companionship, she slips off her jacket to reveal the pale blue silk shell underneath, just to see what might happen. Her newer, larger breasts stretch against the fine fabric, and if the sensation is unfamiliar and discomfiting, his side glance is not. She swallows any lingering traces of self doubt down with a swish of salt and cheap mix. The game is afoot, and the rush of adrenaline to her brain at her prowess is euphoric. She wants more of this kind of puissance, achieved cheaply, but effective nonetheless.  

“You’re not singing tonight?” He nods towards the empty stage, floating lights and karaoke machine at the corner of the bar, unused, thankfully.  

“Not tonight,” she smiles into her plastic tumbler, “too much competition.” His resulting chuckle is deep and dizzying.

Afoot, indeed.

She turns her head and is met with a very handsome smile with a face to match, basset-hound eyes and skin the color of strong espresso. His beard is well kept, and only serves to highlight his strong jawline, and sumptuous mouth.  The closely tailored suit is doing nothing to hide the brutish build underneath. But he carries it with such elegance.  He is fist-bitingly sexy. His handshake is gentle and warm, his name is Miles. There’s a bewitching hint of grey at his temples, and she is suddenly swooning, and damning everything all to hell.

She can’t honestly believe she hears herself ask if he is here alone, but the words come from someone that sounds a lot like her.  He nods, and says he’s there ‘on conference’, the way that well-to-do Brits must put it, and the rest of his associates are at the Four Seasons.

“I’m set to give a lecture come morning, and tonight... I  just needed a bit of breathing room.”

“Pressures at work?” She asks. He nods and releases a puff of smoke from one of her borrowed cigarettes.

“Comes with the terri’try, I suppose. I’m the head of my department at university. I’m expected to have allll the answers,” he cracks, with a wide sweep of his arm.

She chuffs. “That’s interesting. Lately I feel like I have no answers, only questions. But I think I understand.”

Their eyes meet again, and the air around them is suddenly charged. Not sexual, really, but a kind of understanding, a kinship being formed, and she’s now more drawn to him than ever. She feels brazenly without filter.

“Do men like you, with answers, I mean, does that power ever become a burden?”

“It absolutely does. Yes.”

She surveys the room, nodding. “Well I can assure you, Miles. Being without them can weigh on you just as well.”

He’s watching her still, even as she refuses to return his gaze.

“Can I help?”

That catches her attention. His eyes are crinkled with scrutiny, but  something else, something familiar radiates behind the humor. Ah, yes. She recognizes it now. Need. Naked and thinly veiled behind his offer.

“Yes,” she answers, with a Mona Lisa smile, “yes, I think maybe you can.”    He gracefully signals the barkeep, and she stands to gather her jacket and purse.  

-------------------------------------------------

She shivers visibly as he closes the door to his room, and she chalks it up to the ancient overactive air conditioner by the window and not her nerves. Like the gentlemen she expects him to be, though, he adjusts the setting before relieving himself of his own jacket, and walks to stand before her. But God he is striking, and mysterious and reserved in a way that intimidates and in turn, arouses her. And something about the scent of the cheap furnishings and the last traces of his expensive cologne is intoxicating in an illicit, tawdry sort of way. This feels like an affair. This stranger’s body she’s been inhabiting for the last few months now is behaving like the old Dana would, unmercifully enraptured by an older, powerful man.  

“Tell me what I can do,” he says gently, and she’s swept up on a wave of supremecy.  

“Take off your clothes,” she orders, softly but firmly, as she begins to relieve herself of her own, “and get on your knees.” His eyes flash brightly and he obeys, an eager supplicant. The slightest sway of her pelvis toward his mouth is all the command he needs, and his tongue snakes between her thighs, smoothly traces her outer folds, seeking entrance. She presses her hand to the back of his head and he growls into her in response. She can see him growing long and thick and hard between his legs, purely on the taste of her. Her voice is husky with want, and the air is saturated with pheromones.

“Make me come.” 

And he does. Using long, deft fingers and a dexterous tongue he suckles and strokes with perfect pressure, an even rhythm, until the one leg she has thrown over his broad back becomes two, and she’s lying back on the bed, watching herself thrash and moan from far, far above her body, this dark god of a man at her mercy.

He laps at her gently, bringing her down from orgasm with incredible tenderness. His beard is soaked and glistening when he looks up, and she decides she’s not done with him yet. 

“Lie on the bed, now.”

He rises wordlessly, licks his lips, and nods. When he settles, fully prostrate, she rises and stands next to the bed, admiring his form. Every inch of him is perfection. She wants to bite at his pebbled nipples, suckle at his mouth, capture the straining tendons at his neck between her teeth. He’s visibly, if willfully, tortured, and true power is not without mercy.

If she were to straddle and face him, it would feel too intimate. Neither want connection, they want distraction. She wants to use him and he wants to be used. So she turns back and watches herself sink down, slowly, onto his dusky length in the dresser mirror. The woman before her is dominant, formidable, and she’s aching to come again. Her fingers slide down between her breasts, over her mons and past her clitoris, fully engorged, stiff and eager.  She finds their bodies’ joining, finds where he enters and his slick girth spreads her open, impaling her as she rises and falls. Her slick, shining fingers reach her mouth and taste their sex, rich and biting. He’s watching her reflection with wide, worshipful eyes. Dipping lower, her fingernails graze the tender underside of his sack, and the muscles in his legs rippling in anticipation, like a thoroughbred at the gate. He thrusts unconsciously and groans helplessly, “God!” and the succubus in her takes over. She growls, “Don’t you dare fucking move,” and starts to work herself ruthlessly, grinding him down and deep against her cervix, the sensation acute and exquisitely painful, over and over again. Her eyes never leave her reflection, even as she is open-mouthed and howling, her second orgasm consuming her like a brushfire.  His own climax registers somewhere in the distance.  

-------------------------------------------------------------

Her legs are trembling with exertion, an unnamed emotion bubbling it’s way to the surface. She collapses forward, sobbing, as a pair of warm, strong arms envelope her from behind.

“You are incredible,” he whispers, breathless, “a goddess. Now come here.” His commanding tone is softened by English r’s. The fight in her has gone, but he takes no advantage. He tucks her next to him under the thin comforter and tells her sternly, “Give yourself time to heal, girl. You have all the power you seek. Wield it as you wish. You have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.” The last thing she thinks is how, in this moment, she does feel very much like a girl, newborn and guiltless and so very, very afraid again of what she does not know. What her mind won’t let her remember. For now though, she lets his warmth and his brawn shield her against the demons that beckon.

Come morning, on the pillow next to her, a vibrant, freshly picked violet is all that remains of him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A disheveled man sits in a parked car across the street from the Holiday Inn, two days worth of stubble coating his cheeks, eyes red-rimmed and shifty. His body shakes, the indignant fury he felt previously now exhausted into fumes of guilt as he watches her come through the sliding doors, out to her car, and follows it as it drives away. She’s safe at least. She’s alive. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

[sultrysirens]

Please just go off and rant about your OCs! I just love them all so much (even the ones that haven’t been introduced yet) and want to hear more about them!

I hope you’re prepared for what you’ve just unleashed~!!

JOCELYN was the start of this avalanche. When I first conjured her up, I had just a few points in mind: I wanted her to be colored (though I hadn’t decided yet what her ethnicity would actually be), I wanted her to be a ballerina, and I wanted her to not be drop-dead fucking gorgeous.

One of these things did not hold up. X’D

My original intent was to just make a short story -- 10 chapters or so -- in which she gets with Raphael and they bang. That was the literal long and short of it, which you can kind of see considering how rushed the first few chapters were.

I didn’t mean for them to get so into each other and fall in love. They did that entirely on their own. And, to be honest, it’s been an amazing experience; I’ve learned a great deal and feel like my creativity has gone through the roof.

Considering I’ve always been crazily creative anyway, that’s saying something.

Initially I picked Raph for this story because I thought (in my ignorance) that he would have the least amount of love and sex-related stories. Oh, how foolish I was, lol. But I was also thinking he would be the easiest to write just falling into bed with someone, and while that is something I commonly see, in my story he very much did not do that.

It was really weird. X’D

While I was writing The Dancer, I was also writing a then-untitled sister fic/epilogue (which I later titled The Dragon). It was quite a few years down the line, so I went ahead and conjured up some future scenes and events. Among them: Lisa.

This fic started in Mikey’s POV for a few reasons, one of them being that I really wanted to write something from his perspective. Lisa was introduced to my story this way, and I quickly took a liking to her and started development on her character. One of the things I did first was write pieces of the first chapter of The DJ, just to get the start’s setting down.

Then all I had to do was get The Dancer to a point where I could connect the two. At the time I was only around chapter 20, so...yeah, it took a while. XD

With Jocelyn, one of the key decisions I made was to make her very unlike Raphael -- she’s flirty, often relaxed, has an incredible love for ballet, has almost no family (just a mother; no dad, no siblings), and has such a crazy obsession over shoes that she literally picks out what shoes she wants to wear before picking her clothing for the day.

With Lisa, I went in the opposite direction: be just like Mikey. She has low intelligence and knows it, yet is brilliant in an unconventional way; her sense of humor is one of her biggest traits and she laughs to defuse situations and deal with problems; her genre is 100% hip hop in nearly all ways; and I made her athletic pretty much entirely so she’d be able to keep up with the master of movement, Mikey. (Say that five times, fast.)

It wasn’t until after I really got into writing Lisa that I noticed something interesting about my two fics: the couples both view each other in the same light.

Jocelyn and Raphael think one another is sexy and bad-ass.

Lisa and Mikey think one another is cool and cute.

This is, of course, not the rule -- Raph has thought Jo is super cute before, and Mikey finds Lisa sexy as hell, too -- but it is their primary mindsets. And it makes me wonder if my remaining two couples will have the same kind of viewpoints. I can’t say for sure yet because I haven’t gotten to the part in either story where they’re actually dating, but it’s fun to consider.

Then again, maybe for Leo and Donnie’s relationships they’ll have opposite viewpoints as their lovers do. It would definitely be an interesting twist.

Progress with The Dragon is going very slowly, which is understandable given I still have a lot of world-building in The DJ to do first, but I do very much love the story. In fact, so far if I were to rank my fics based on my own favorites, it would go Dancer > Dragon > DJ (I have literally nothing written on the final fic yet cause I still haven’t even finished designing the final girl, lol).

As much as I love Lisa (and I freaking do holy shit), I just don’t quite love her the best. This is actually kind of weird considering just how close to being a self-insert she is -- an unintentional self-insert, yes, but the parallels are definitely there.

For example, Lisa is a white girl of mixed white heritage (like me) with a particular pair of beauty marks on her face (same as me, just in different places), she has brunette hair (like me) and blue eyes (mine are actually green, but my parents’ and brother’s eyes are blue and I’ve always been jealous of that), she’s a huge gamer (just like me; she’s just better at competitive games), she dislikes swearing (I swear a lot now, but at her age I was much more sensitive about it), she has an older brother (I technically have two, but one’s very distant and the other was always close), she has a distaste for meat (I’m not vegetarian but as a whole I dislike meat) and some serious compassion for life (same), she loves piercings (I’d have more but I’m seriously forgetful), and she has incredible ears for music (can name almost any song within seconds -- just like me).

Oh yeah, and she’s a Mikey girl. ♥

And more pointedly, I named her mother after my sister (deceased) and her grandparents after my paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother.

I named Jocelyn based on the character of the same name from A Knight’s Tale (it just occurred to me that they have the same tits lmfao); after seeing the movie I kind of became enraptured with this character and her smart tongue and haughty attitude and incredible elegance -- not to mention I freaking loved her name.

Lisa, by comparison, I named based on one thing: the Mona Lisa. Yeah, that’s right, y’all -- I named her after a famous painting by an Italian Renaissance painter. Hurr hurr. XP But though I never mentioned this, Lisa’s mother, Brandy, cites that she named her ‘Lisa’ based on The Simpsons, as Lisa was Brandy’s favorite character.

This cute, incredibly good-hearted and brilliant young girl? Yeah, Brandy loves that character and was hoping Lisa would take after her.

Hmmm, what else...

Well, I had a completely different story set up for Cecilia at first. I’m honestly really glad things didn’t go the way I’d planned, and here’s why: Cecilia was supposed to catch a glimpse of Jo and Raph having sex one day (before meeting him) and go kind of nutso.

You see, at first she claimed diabetes but was not diabetic -- she was doing cocaine, and saying she had diabetes was her explanation for when Jo would catch her shooting up. And with the cocaine in her system, Cecilia’s mind went right to demons and witchcraft.

Terrified for her daughter’s immortal soul, the original plan was for Cecilia to attempt to burn them both to death. To everyone’s surprise, however, Jocelyn didn’t burn -- only Cecilia.

This was the original way Jo discovered she’d been taking on Raph’s mutagen. It’d made her fireproof.

As you can see, I’m super glad I didn’t stick to that, lol.

As for Lisa, me making her a cutter was a spur-of-the-moment decision during that scene where she examines her reflection in her undies. The boob thing, though? That was planned from day one -- because I wanted her to very much be Jo’s opposite, and this included general color palette, skills, likes, personality, and body type.

Jo: tall and willowy, grace incarnate, dark skin and blonde hair, super thick lips, generally thin but with a killer ass, rounded face, freckled, minimal piercings, crazy flirty and confident to no end.

Lisa: barely taller than average, kind of stocky and curvy, shapely lips, wide hips and heavy tits, shapely lips and face, zero freckles, tons of piercings, jittery and mousy but also immature and raucous.

By comparison, so far Mei and Pinky are just people. (Note: Mei’s faceclaim so far is Lucy Lui, but Pinky doesn’t have one just yet.) Mei’s also skinny, but that’s cause she’s 100% Chinese and as far as I can tell that’s just how they are. I’ve done a lot of googling and pretty much all young people I’ve found that way are, in a word, skinny. X’D

I’m leaning towards Pinky being the shortest of the girls, maybe in the 5′1″-5′3″ range, but I’m worried about making her too short. The concept is still very much up in the air, lol. This is also the character I once said I was considering being half Puerto Rican, and while I still like that I’m not sure it’ll stick. It might be more fun to make her like Indian or something.

We’ll see. (I’m very much open to suggestion about her, btw, if anyone has any thoughts...and I know it’s not much to go on yet but there’s a reason for that.)

And then there’s Cassie. My redheaded best friend of my best girl, Jo. I really don’t have much to say about her; I introduced her almost entirely to expand the world a bit and give Jocelyn more ties -- a girl like her would damn well have ties, y’know.

I don’t know what it is, but I have a really hard time writing her. She feels very bland, and while that was kind of the intent, it makes it really hard to get a feel for her. Only a few things remain strong when it comes to her: she’s kinda weirded out by the turtles, she supports Jocelyn completely, and she’s just as much of a ballet-enthusiast.

These girls have been friends for almost their literal entire lives. And I think part of the reason why I wrote them like this was out of jealousy -- I’ve never had that kind of a friendship. The oldest friend I can recall was Jenny, when I was five, and she was a BITCH.

I only have two memories of her anymore: 1, she used to invent games for us to play then change the rules on a dime so she’d always be the winner, and 2, I once tried to leave her home and she slammed the door on my fingers.

I sincerely hope she grew out of that, man.

Suffice to say we were not friends for very long. And since then I’ve seen a constant pattern: I can’t keep friends for longer than a few years, and not because I don’t want to.

Because something always happens. They move, I move, someone’s interests shift, we lose contact, a misunderstanding occurs, etc.

I wanted Jocelyn to have something better than a constantly-shifting sea of semi-friends. I wanted her to have best friends, and then THE best friend -- the one who will remain her best friend for the entirety of her life. The one who was there through all the biggest troubles and best celebrations, the one who will be there for all of the troubles and celebrations to come, and the one who knows her better than anyone else ever has (at least until a certain mutant comes into her life).

Lisa, on the other hand, is...me.

Her friendships flagged, drifted, dissolved, changed, and so on. The only constants in her life have been her family. And even then a good portion of her family has never been there, a fact that hurts her whenever she pauses to think about it.

She hurts, she yearns, and there are times she feels completely alone, even in a full room. She’s constantly scared no one understands her or cares about her, and she gets through this by laughing -- at others, at herself, at that one missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle that makes it kind of look like a penis, and so on.

Lisa has always had the support of her family while needing true understanding and affection. Jo has always had affection and the understanding of her closest friend while needing support.

It’s amazing to think about. And while there’s a lot here that I never put into my fics, these are threads and pieces of my characters that have either always been there in the background or have developed as I wrote them. Maybe I never said Lisa was terrified of being alone, but it was in my mind every time I wrote her.

And I just want to take this moment to thank Anon for giving me this opportunity; I’ve always wanted to rant about my girls but never thought anyone would care, so what was the point, y’know?

Thank you, babe. ;)

[faygosmayhem]

Story time #1- Final Fantasy & Me

At the time of this writing, the people following this sad little blog will all know me from the Final Fantasy XV community. For my first story session, I’ve decided to recount my history with the series and touch on what each game meant to me in the order that I played them. I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible, and restrict it to only the main games in the series, but I can rant for hours.

Note: I utterly failed at keeping this brief, I should have known better than to even try. To keep myself from writing a full novel in one post I’ve decided to split the story into parts. Below is the intro and memories from 7,8 and 9.

                                                  Part One

A Fangirl In The Making:

I’ve been into video games since the age of about 5 when my dad would regularly challenge me to competitive rounds of Super Mario Bros 3 for the NES. In the beginning I stuck mostly to NES, Gameboy, and N64 until Christmas of 02′ when all my begging and pouting finally came through and I was gifted with a PlayStation 2 and enough cash to purchase one game of my choice.

Oh how my parents would come to regret this decision.

The game I bought two days later was Kingdom Hearts. I’ll save my thoughts on that series for another time, but hands down this game can be pinpointed as one that permanently changed my life. What part of it changed my life? The journal, of all things. Prior to KH, I had no idea the Final Fantasy series even existed so when I encountered the Kingdom Hearts versions of FF characters, I initially started internally complaining because they were all so interesting and the game did almost nothing with them.  

Then I went back about mid-way through the game and read every character entry in the journal, and was met with two obsession worthy revelations. One: All these characters were also in other games, as part of the same series no less, and two: you could make them dance by choosing to view their full models and rotating the joystick around in circles (I am very easily amused, and doing this actually spawned my first work of Fanfiction).

“So, you mean to tell me that this weird dude with gravity defying hair, one random- mostly useless-wing, and giant sword that must weigh about three times as much as he does when naked and soaking wet who won’t stop emo rambling about Darkness is in another game and I can find out more??? Sign me the fuck up!”

The Gateway Drug:

Immediately after finishing Kingdom Hearts, I took myself down to a local mall where my go-to all encompassing general entertainment store was located. While browsing the shelves for anything that caught my eye, I saw a ‘Greatest Hits’ copy of Final Fantasy VII innocently sitting there, waiting patiently for the right person to walk by so it could take them willingly down the elevator into fandom hell. I didn’t just ride that elevator, I dove headfirst down the shaft.

I shit you not, when I saw that game there I picked it up like a baby and fell to my knees, hugging it to my chest. The video games were located near the cashier counter at the front of the store, and one of the employees who had been eyeing me suspiciously since I walked in started laughing like crazy, jokingly asking if I was OK. I was still dazed and euphoric, and also completely oblivious to the fact that I was causing a bit of scene in the store. The front was plate glass, and everyone walking by also saw and a few people were starting to look concerned. Now a bit embarrassed, I sheepishly walked to the counter and set the game down. After causing a commotion I couldn’t just not buy that game now- as if I would’ve left without it anyway. The guy at the counter was still laughing as he served me. Our exchange went as follows:

“I take it you found what you were looking for”

“Dude, you have no idea”

“You won’t be disappointed. Just, a pro-tip, when you get to the part with the water and the snake, don’t waste too much time trying to fight it, get a Chocobo instead. Also, avoid the things that look like houses in sector 6, they’ll kick your ass.”

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but I filed the information away, paid my 14.95 (Ah, 2003), and walked out of the store cradling the bag like someone was going to steal it from me. When I got home later I tacked the receipt on my wall to immortalize the day forever. I eventually ended up losing it (a story for another time) but I still remember the date. 05/26/03.

I loaded the game and was immediately in awe ( “It’s three discs? No wonder the case is so freaking huge!”). The opening cinematic had me from the first note of the theme, and I remember laughing SO HARD when Cloud flipped off the train and suddenly everyone was a Lego character. It took an embarrassing amount of time for me figure out how to advance the text because it was set to use the circle button for confirm instead of ‘x’, and even longer to figure out how to move because I didn’t realize you actually had to use the D-pad.

Control struggles aside, I was so enraptured by the game I didn’t stop playing that first night until the Sector 7 plate fell and yeah, those damn houses did kick my ass. When I finally got out of Midgar about two days later (I spent an excessive amount of time in the Shinra building and on the Motorcycle mini-game), I couldn’t believe that everything I just did was basically the game’s intro, and that there was still so much more to explore.

I have so many fond memories of VII that  it would be almost impossible to write them all down. Down the road it ended up pretty far from my favorite game in the series, but as the first it will always hold a special place.

You’re Hooked Now Honey, Strap In:

Between the mixed obsession of Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy VII, video games quickly became one of the only things I talked about. I had thought I was obsessed before, but this took it to a whole new level of crazy. I started writing weird crack outtake reels from the games in the middle of classes, and would post little screen caps and fanart over literally everything I owned.

One day, I had out my handy outtake notebook during a bit of downtime in Honor Band (yeah, I’m a geek to the extreme), and one of my fellow trombonist’s decided it would be a jolly time to snatch the notebook out of my hands,run away with it and, start ripping the pages out and throwing them around the band room. Fortunately I had some pretty awesome friends, and they not only helped me to secure the notebook but also helped recover the missing pages. After class that day, a boy who played the trumpet shyly walked over to me and handed me back one of the pages that was still missing. He was obviously very nervous, and after handing the page back and accepting my very relieved and excited  ‘thanks dude!’ (I admit to not knowing his name at the time) he stood there awkwardly while I put away my instrument like he had something else to say but didn’t know how. I gave him a questioning look after noticing he hadn’t walked out yet and as I picked up my bag he followed after me into the hall. After a little while he finally fell into step beside me and asked, “so, you like Final Fantasy huh?” 

I don’t care how long I’ve known you, if you ask me about Final Fantasy you better be prepared to a.) Become my new best friend and b.) let me talk your ear off about for as long as you’re willing to sit and listen. I talked with my new friend until we had to part ways for different classes, and then later at lunch when he asked to join me and continue the conversation. I tell this story because a few months later, this same boy bought me a copy of Final Fantasy VIII and asked me to be his girlfriend. A damn diamond wouldn’t have worked better. 

Final Fantasy VIII was a bit of a mixed bag for me. Once again I was already hooked by the game’s opening, and the cinematic introductions of all the characters gave it an unexpected charm right from the start. That game eventually got very, very, veeeery, strange and I eventually stopped trying to make any sort of sense of the plot line and just sat back and enjoyed the ride. 

That is, until I got to the end of disk 3. I found myself horribly stuck on the battle with Adle where she has Rinoa captured. No matter how many times I tried it, I would get her down to the final phase and she would either Ultima wipe the party or Rinoa would die. I gave up on the game for a while, sick of the frustration, until I came across a Prima Strategy Guide for it while browsing a used bookstore. I normally refuse to touch any sort of guide book until after I’ve already been through the game once on my own, but I figured it wouldn’t be much harm since I was already more or less at what I thought was the end of the game (I was wrong). In flipping through the guide, I not only learned how to beat the boss, but discovered I had been playing the entire game using the combat system completely wrong. 

Somehow, I had managed to get that far in the game using only the Guardian Forces given to you at the start of the game and 2 others that you can encounter in the overworld and without stocking up on magic at all. To those familiar with VIII’s train-wreck of a combat system, you know that pairing GF’s and magic together directly effect a character’s stats- and no matter how leveled the characters are,if you don’t have the right combos of magic you have more or less no hope at most of the harder sections of the game. 

So, now I had the boss strategy, but still would have been unable to beat it because I didn’t have the magic required (the strategy was to cast Regen on Rinoa to ensure she stays alive). In the end I bought the guide, scrapped the file I had been playing on and started over from scratch,this time doing all the sidequests and such in the proper order. When I got to that boss again I wiped the floor with her, and was rewarded with the game getting even weirder. 

I still look back to the ending of FFVIII as one of my favorite ‘Ok WTF Just happened?!?!?!?!’ moments in media. Usually I piece together crazy stories pretty well, but even though I came to enjoy the game, I can’t say with any real confidence that I understand it at all. 

Forever Touched:

There was a pause in Final Fantasy games after I finished VIII at the start of ‘04. It wasn’t until almost a year later that I received IX as a Christmas gift. I had been passing on it because I was confused and unimpressed with the cover art, but now that I wasn’t the one paying for it I was willing to give it a chance. I held off starting until New Years, because my parents were letting me have a few friends over and I wanted to have the new experience surrounded for the first time with people just as obsessed with the series as I was. Even though it didn’t have a fancy opening, it wasn’t hard to fall in love with that game. I knew from the first few lines of dialog that my heart was gone, lost forever to endearing charm of that world and it’s characters. 

My friends and I were up all night with it. We had so much fun naming the characters and reading the text out loud ("Princess! It is I! The noble Betty!”).Then we all got so upset when Blank got petrified in the forest that we had to stop for the night. Right from the start, that game hit so hard in the feels. 

IX became not only my favorite game in the series, but my favorite game in general. There is so much emotion, charm, and soul in that game, and it touches on so many issues that hit so close to home that I tear up just thinking about it, Back in May of this year there was a mental health awareness speed run marathon fundraiser called RPG limit break  being held on Twitch.TV, and Final Fantasy IX was the closing game. I couldn’t think of any better way to spend about nine hours in the middle of the night than to re-live the best moments of my favorite game sitting on a couch with my best friend. 

Seeing everyone in the audience tearing up at crucial sections; the Black Mage Village, You Are Not Alone, the ending- made me feel less like an idiot for getting all emotional myself and my friend got to laugh at me freaking out over my favorite game cut-scene ever (The one where Alexander protects the city from Bahamut). When the game was over, the marathon had raised enough money for the runners to stand up and sing the ending theme of the game as a filled donation incentive. When the time came, not only the runners, but everyone in the room stood up to sing along. Melodies of Life, the ending theme, holds a very special place in my heart. Seeing all those people singing along, likely feeling similar things, turned me into a pathetic ball of mush. My friend laughed with me as I sang along with more tears than I think I’ve ever cried streaming down my face, and then I cried again when everyone went around saying their ‘thank yous’ to the people volunteering for the marathon and stood in lines to give each other hugs. 

It was one of the most touching moments of my life; and this game was at it’s center. 

Phew. Well I failed pretty hard at keeping that brief. Looks like this will end up as a series of sorts.  Tune in next time for adventures with Final Fantasy 6/3, X, X-2, and XII

[vitalmindandbody]

The mettle of darkness that still drums within our 24 -hour cities

With technology man has inhibited the night. Yet walk wall street alone at 3am, and still the occult and whodunit ooze through

On some nighttimes, in the insomniac intervals between reverberating goods trains, and beneath the audio of ambulance alarms, I can sounds owls calling mournfully to one another from the trees that screen the rail lines extending past the back of the house in which I live in inner London. On most darkness, alongside the wails of parties crusading or having fornication, I sounds the bag of cats and foxes screaming intermittently, as if they are being tortured. On some mornings, when a thin sun first reveals through my dazzles, I can hear a cockerel squawking from a plot in which chickens are prevented got a couple of streets away. Rarely, when the mornings are resonantly still, the insistent tap of a woodpecker chiselling at a tree trunk wakes me.

The city at night is far eerier, far more feral than it is in the day. It is far harder to anthropomorphise, far more difficult to domesticate. In reality, the city doesnt necessarily sound and feel like a metropolis, a centre of advanced civilisation, when most of its population is fast asleep. It can resound and find closer to nature than culture. As Virginia Woolf once pointed out with a noticeable sense of frisson, we are no longer quite ourselves after dark. She basked the irresponsibility which darkness and lamplight bestow. Our cities, like ourselves, can seem immigrant and unfamiliar at night. And if you listen to them attentively, as though through an echo sounder, you can hear the embracing darkness transmit from its depths the rackets and pulsates of the capital city pre-modern past.

The seems I sometimes hear from my bedroom, for example, are identifiably descendants of those that the author and printer William Baldwin enumerated in his eccentric satire Beware the Cat ( 1553 ), one of the most evocative accounts we have of London in the 16 th century. At one point, Baldwins protagonist, Gregory Streamer, absorbs a narcotic and lies in his chamber at Aldersgate listening with preternatural listening to the commixed rackets of the nocturnal municipality. These include the barking of puppies, grunting of swine, weeping of felines, thundering of rats; the ringing of buzzers, counting of coppers, organizing of groins, moaning of buffs; also the scratching of owl, flit of fowls, routing of knaves, snorting of slaves. He might have added the tapping of cobblers and the shovelling and scraping of nightmen, popularly known as Tom-Turd-Men, who were employed to clean the citys streets and johns after dark.

The night-time brooks our metropolitans pasts. It channels their historic persistences and discontinuities with a clarity and vitality that our everyday lives, who the hell is influenced by an nearly uninterrupted purposefulness, constantly obscure. It wishes to point out that we once shared these cities with innumerable swine, some of them tamed, some of them not; and that to some extent we still do. It reminds us that, although we think of the 24 -hour city as a comparatively recent phenomenon if in the UK it is a phenomenon at all cities have always been hives of labour and leisure after nightfall. Baldwin, in his remarkable onomatopoeic prose song, refers to the audible nocturnal acts of , among other things, grouting and rotating, broiling and brewing. It reminds us, very, that we were once terrible of the nighttime, and of the people who occupy it, whether these assume the form of potential felons or the police; and that, to a astonishing level, especially if we come from socially marginalised groups, we still are.

However efficiently artificial sunlight overpowers the difference between night and day, the poet and critic Al Alvarez wrote, it never wholly eliminates the primitive suspicion that night parties are up to no good. Over the last four or five centuries, a series of social and technological changes have reshaped the city at night, progressively colonising it. The preamble of petroleum lighting, gaslight and electric light has, for example, successively reshaped it according to the needs of a diurnal country. And the postponement of working hours has reshaped it according to the needs of a daytime economy. But these changes havent totally dispelled its pre-modern past. Metropolis nurture a nerve of darkness that even the processes of industrialisation and electrification, the purpose of applying all-night mills and shops, all-night buses and teaches, have flunked fully to conquer.

Gaslight earmarks high-jinks, circa 1820. Illustration: SSPL via Getty Images

In 1788, at the high levels of the Enlightenment, the Daily Universal Register triumphantly reported that not a single building in all London is perhaps now to be heard of which makes the repute of being an haunted room. Scientific rationalism, it was optimistically accepted, had cleaned the citys darker, more strange lieu with the coldnes, shining illuminate of reason, just as it had driven supernatural back to the dark ages. But, in the 21 st century as in previous ones, London remains, like all cities, a repository of archaic, if not primal, anxieties and nervousness at night. Anyone who has ambled through its empty streets alone at 3am, sensitive to the slightest glint of push in the darkness, knows this( not, of course, that these panics and nervousness are necessarily irrational, specially if you happen to be a woman ).

Intellectual enlightenment and the practical illumination of the streets, both organizations that sought to eradicate remnants of the medieval past, were closely complicit developments in the cities of early modern Europe. Coordinated public street lighting had set in place in center regions of the British uppercase for a century by the time the newspaper report Ive paraphrased complacently declared that its constructs were finally free of specters. Paris, operating under the initiative of Louis XIVs council for the the process of reforming the policing of the city, spearheaded the policy in 1667. Other European municipalities, is cognizant of the need to pre-empt inessential felonies and foreclose political conspiracies, are still in speedy succession: Amsterdam in 1669, Turin in 1675, Berlin in 1682, and London in 1684.

Replacing the lantern candles that private householders had formerly been required to erect outside their front doors, most European civic powers distributed petroleum torches, remain at public expenditure, to light-colored the street on moonless nights. The impression, is in accordance with peers, was virtually overwhelming. The first report on the New Lights of the British metropolis, published in 1690 , was reported in rapturous colours that they grew such a mutual thoughtfulnes, that they all seem to be but one enormous Solar-Light.

Public igniting had a decisive impact on Europes central avenues, transforming them into the locations where, at least when the condition was clement, beings could promenade and shop after dark. The German novelist Sophie von La Roche, enraptured by Londons culture of consumption, use a note of 1786 to describe the double rows of brightly glowing lamps that enabled pedestrians and people in coach-and-fours to gaze at Oxford Streets excellently lit shop fronts.

In some quite literal feel, the city at night in the late 17 th and 18 th centuries was ostentatious. As the rise of Londons coffee houses and pleasure gardens expressed, nightlife became a distinct social phenomenon from this time. It was increasingly fashionable to stay up dancing, booze, gambling and soliciting prostitutes all night and then be retained in bed throughout the next day. This was in part because it dramatised an noble repudiation of the protestant ethic and the minds of the capitalism. In populous, upwardly mobile societies like those pioneered in London and Paris, where differences of grade could all too easily be obscured in the press of torsoes on the streets, the human rights of wander freely at night was a advantage. And at first light, when revellers careen residence delivered labourers ambling to task, it was once again unambiguously clear to which social class these people belonged.

A gentleman stops to talk to a polouse in the rain on the Thames embankment, 1929. Photograph: Fox Photos/ Getty Images

But if street lighting gentrified and glamorised the commercial and political centres of Europes metropolis in this period, it relegated other regions to no-go orbits. The French dramatist Louis-Sbastien Mercier conveyed relief in 1780 that thousands of lubricant reflectors has only replaced lamps in the French capital. But, as well as protesting that this excellent innovation had been impaired by misdirected economy, he pointedly noted that, outside the shallow consortia of fascinating daylight that the oil lamps ejected, wall street had been thrown into a despair that seemed deeper and more impenetrable than ever. Certainly, in the poorer areas of Europes metropolitans, the new technology became little change to publics everyday lives. At nighttime, the serpentine streets, suffocating the tribunals and labyrinthine slums of the city were quite as obliterate and harmful as they had been in the middle ages.

The introduction of gaslight in the early 19 th century had much the same effect, transforming the areas frequented by the upper and middle class but leaving those inhabited by the poor pretty much untouched. Even so, alongside the professionalisation of Europes police forces, it revolutionised municipalities at night. In 1807, as part of an energetic expedition to stimulate London the first metropolis to be chiefly lit at night by gas, the expat German entrepreneur Frederick Winsor mounted an exhibition of its benefits in Pall Mall. The Monthly Magazine praised the success of this experiment and the beautifully lily-white and brilliant dawn it induced. By 1823 more than 200 miles of streets in London were lit by nearly 40,000 lamps. Light had been industrialised.

Not everyone was happy about this development. Like other Romantics, John Keats deplored that the insinuate forms of brightnes links with candles and oil lamps, which ignited small areas with an uneven, gently flickering flare, and which consequently generated a kind of contemplative halo, were being consigned to the past. An impersonal artificial flare, especially in the regions where the retail merchants let loose the gas, was progressively fighting all the powers of darkness. Keats mourned the facts of the case that the citys authorities and commercial-grade interests were exiling nighttimes magic, its mystery and its magnificence, from the city. And his famed Ode to a Nightingale( 1819 ), which celebrates the embalmed darkness, was a carefully staged is making an effort to summon it back.

The illuminating the consequences of gaslight were far more uniform than those of oil, but electric lighting, which emerged in the 1880 s, flooded rather than plainly pooled wall street in which it was installed with an intense, apparently grey light. Caricatures and covers from the period proudly depict parties digesting about on sidewalks reading newspapers beneath etiolated electrical lamps. Electric street lighting grew the eventual button of metropolitan modernity, and European metropolis rivalled with each other to be the pre-eminent City of Light. In the end, New York overtook all of them, including Paris. Meanwhile, cities that retained their medieval topography, and that were slow to establish the new technology, were delivered to the past. In an section named Against Past-Loving Venice( 1910 ), the Italian Futurist FT Marinetti pealed: Make the predominate of pious Electric Light ultimately come, to liberate Venice from its venal moonshine

Harrods in London, inundated with sun in 1935. Photograph: Fox Photos/ Getty Images

But, in spite of the unvarying glare of electrical street lights at the commercial, industrial and residential cores, even the 20 th centurys most futuristic metropolitans were determined by socially peripheral, primarily working-class areas that remained plunged in darkness at night. The German astronomer Bruno H Brgel, echoing in 1930 the dignity with which “his fathers”, who came from the working day of igniting by oil-lamp, produced him through Berlins wealth of lighter, drily find: A step into the side streets, and you felt put back by centuries. It was not merely the absence of sun, but the presence of the poor at night, and above all the homeless, that made these regions seem like remnants of the pre-Enlightenment, pre-capitalist past. The houseless, as they used to be called, had been an endemic proximity in Europes metropolitans after dark since the middle ages, when males and denizens of the streets were criminalised as common nightwalkers.

The 20 th-century city nonetheless staged the progressive colonisation of the darknes by the day, darkness by light. Tables, cinema, golf-clubs, music halls, theaters and amusement parks gratified ever more forcefully to people appetite for leisure after hours. Surely, the word after hours seemed more and more futile, as factories, hospitals, places and supermarkets thrummed throughout the darknes. Even in what had for centuries been called the dead night, roughly between 2am and 4am, the center of major metropolitan cities regions like Piccadilly Circus and Times Square pulsated with people. Electric light, Thomas Edison had contended, makes darknes life, and night life entails progress.

In the early 1940 s, when the British uppercase was regularly jumped into darkness during the course of its offensive, Edisons formula seemed all the more irrefutable. For at that time, conversely, the absence of electric light plunged London, and other European municipalities, into a commonwealth of cruelty. It was perhaps in part because of this distressing experience that the postwar generation redoubled its commitment to obtaining the value of both labour and leisure from the night. The word clubbing was first are applied to aim going to nightclubs in the mid-1 960 s, when the family of those who been adults through the second largest world war start out overcoming this inheritance and regaining the night.

Since then, as the artwork historian Jonathan Crary recently wrote in his fine polemic 24/7: Late Capitalism and the Ends of Sleep , the capitalist system has fostered the rise of a society in which a position of permanent radiance is indispensable to the non-stop functioning of world exchange and lighting. In the late 1990 s, to present a spectacular speciman, a Russian-European opening consortium developed programs to use satellites with parabolic reflectors to illuminate remote regions of Earth with sunlight and so enable work to be performed all over the clock. Promising daylight all nighttime long, it also proposed that entire metropolitan areas are likely to be illuminated after dark along these lines, making electric light itself anachronistic. Dreams of the elimination of the night can no longer be dismissed as science fiction.

In the 21 st century, electric lighting in advanced capitalist countries if not in innumerable developing nations is a uniform and universal feature of cities at night. So is commuting, store, making and other activities that for much of the past seemed unimaginable taking place after dark. But in practice, as has been the case for millennia, some people have freer and fuller access to the city at night than others. Lone girls may appear be exempted from it, for example, if exclusively because at certain times and in certain places they are made to feel unacceptably vulnerable. Black and Asian souls, for their component, are far more likely to be criminalised in west cities than lily-white humankinds at night.

The 24-hour tubing, “its probably” safe to predict, will not essentially vary the facts of the case that for numerous beings, if not for the citys person of cats and feral foxes, London abides, like other British metropolis, at the least partially off limits at night. We have a night-time economy; the work requires a night-time politics.

Matthew Beaumont is the author of Nightwalking: a Nocturnal Biography of London, 9.99, Verso. Click here to buy it for 8.19

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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