#( i need to replay fates to collect my muse for him )

[imaginedxlan]

Ghost of You (Luke Patterson)

a/n: I’m really taking the multifandom thing to the extreme huh? Well this is my #first julie and the phantoms imagine because that show is so gas. Also ghost of you by 5sos is also gas and it made me cry to think of this song and the boys so i just had to do something.

25 years ago, y/n was dating the frontman of the band Sunset Curve, Luke Patterson. Now, a quarter of a century after his untimely death, she sees what she can only assume to be his ghost in a new band and is reminded of the days when she loved him and how she processed his death at only seventeen.

y/d/n = your daughter’s name

Warnings: death, depression

_____________________

It’s a Saturday morning when your daughter comes running in to show you some YouTube video on her iPad. You can’t really understand what she’s saying, just things like holograph, hot boy and band. When she finally calms down and presses play on the video you see a young girl, no older than fifteen, singing with a beautiful voice. Your daughter has never really been one to show you random videos, not that this girl wasn’t a good singer, but you’re confused as to why she would have taken the time to run from her room to show you this video.

Then you see it. Just as the chorus of the song begins to play, a band appears around her, full equipment flashes in completely out of nowhere. There he is. You can’t believe your eyes. As your daughter begins to point out the boy wish the shaggy brown hair and glowing smile and how ‘hot he is’ you feel nauseous. Luke Patterson, front man of Sunset Curve and your deceased boyfriend.

“Turn that off, y/d/n.” You say sternly as your mind begins to cloud. This had to be some sort of dream, or nightmare. Seeing Luke’s face after so long, feeling like you had been transported right back to 1995, it was all too much. You had tried so hard to move on, to heal from the sudden loss of him, but seeing him like this brought back the hurt all over again.

“Mom? Are you alright?” Your daughter asks, still not pausing the video. “It’s just a video, I don’t understand.”

“I said turn it off!” You never meant to sound so harsh, but the queesy feeling in your stomach only worsens the more you hear the rasp in his voice, so clear compared to the only CDs you’d kept throughout the years. “I need to go lay down.”

July 30, 1995

This worst day of your life, standing next to your parents and his as you struggle for a breath. Only eight days have past since the fateful night that was supposed to be your boyfriends big break but ended up taking his life. Your arms are folded tightly in front of you as you attempt to stop the endless stream of sobs rolling from your lips. Staring at his casket, side by side with Alex and Reggie’s, made you feel sicker than any flu you’d every caught. The pastor walks ahead of the crowd in front of the three wooden boxes that held your very best friends.

“My friends, we are gathered here today for a number reasons. First, we are here to pay our tribute to three young men, all full of talent and promise, who have been taken from this earth far too soon. Reginald Peters, Luke Patterson, and Alexander Mercer.” When he calls the names of the boys, you only cry harder into your fathers shoulder. Only seventeen years old and you had already suffered the worst loss you could ever imagine. “We are also here to comfort the families of these boys along with their loved ones. Not only have we sensed our own personal feelings of loss over Reggie, Luke, and Alex’s passing, but our hearts have been drawn toward them, and will continue to be with them. We are here to seek comfort, as our hearts ache over this inconceivable loss, and we hope that these young men will find eternal rest, wherever they may be.”

With your heart heavy, so say your final goodbye to the boy you love most in this world. Placing a hand on his casket, the tears do not stop rolling down your cheeks. You feel a hand grip your shoulder and turn to see Mrs. Patterson, her eyes red and heavy like yours. You embrace the woman and cry into each other for a while, unable to break from the closest person to Luke. You hold her hand, his father on the other side of her, as they lower him into the ground. You replay the last moment you spent with him in your mind, wishing him luck before they went for those stupid fucking hotdogs before the show, telling him you’d be cheering him on from the wings. The Orpheum was their dream and they never got to play it.

You couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of loss, not that you were expected to. The weeks you spent laying in your bed, staring at the Sunset Curve posters and polaroids from concerts and rehearsals on your walls, turned to months. You didn’t cry, there were no more tears left in your body. Those photos are all you have left of him, that and their CD that played on repeat all day and night. Your parents were probably sick of it by now but they didn’t dare come in to tell you to turn it off. They did come in to tell you when dinner was ready and ask if you wanted to see any of the countless friends that came to comfort you. They would sit on your bed, listening to the voice of your now dead boyfriend and cry with you. They try to get you to leave the house, come with them on a walk or get breakfast at your favorite diner but it was no use. Any place you go will bring up a memory you have when Luke was there with you, smiling that bright shiny smile of his.

You eventually did go outside, having to start and finish out your senior year without him. No homecoming, no prom, no graduation. The school held memorials for the boys, they hung portraits and painted murals but it just made you more numb to the feelinh when you saw his face. Nothing made you happy anymore, you put on a face to keep your friends, parents and newly appointed grief counsellor from forcing any pills down your throat to fix the chemical imbalance that came from losing the only light on your life. They called it complicated grief, it was persistent and crippling, but you refused to take any pharmaceuticals. You feel semi-responsible for not being there to tell him hotdogs from the back of a car was a bad idea, you feel like you have to sit with this ever present sinking feeling. You spend Luke’s birthday with his parents every year, remembering the last birthday you spent with him and trying your hardest to smile at the memory of the boys smashing his cake into his face at some random stop on tour, but you can’t.

Present Day

You find the video that your daughter showed you earlier today, Julie and the Phantoms they were called. You had pulled the shoe box out of your closet, the one filled with concert t-shirts, polaroid’s and posters from the best days of your life and went through them for the first time in a long time. Your husband knew Luke, he went to your high school and then college. He knew what his death did to you and he understood that Luke Patterson will always have a piece of your heart. He doesn’t mind, he supports you on the hard days, his birthday and the anniversary of his death, and he pushes you to grow and heal from the pain. You needed someone like him in your life, he was good.

“We buried you.” You whisper as your finger comes into contact with the screen, staring at the face of the seventeen year old boy you lost in 1995. Your daughter explained it was a hologram, that the girl who was singing had programmed them into her stage, but you watched every single Sunset Curve performance and it looked nothing like any one you ever saw. You were staring at the ghost of him. Your hand reached for your favorite polaroid picture of him, all sweaty and gross after a show with the biggest smile on his face. “We buried you, Luke.”

Your husband had already seen the video by the time he came home from work. He held you while you cried, swearing he was a ghost. He told you over and over again that he was just a hologram, and you eventually stopped fighting him. Your daughter was confused, you never told her about Luke or the boys, it was just too hard. In the morning you went through the box again, this time stopping on a disposable camera photo of the two of you holding each other backstage just before a show. When you looked closer at the photo he was wearing the same blue hoodie he was wearing that night.

July 22, 1995

Sound check is only a few minutes away and you sat on a big red couch in the backstage area of The Orpheum with the boys. You were cuddled into Luke’s side, hearing his heartbeat racing at the thought of getting on stage in less than an hour.

“I can’t believe we made it,” Alex muses, fiddling with his drum sticks. “Sunset Curve, playing at the Orpheum.”

“Tell your friends.” Reggie adds, making the group laugh. “I can’t believe it either. This is going to change everything.”

Bobby nodded with the boys, so did Luke. You looked up toward him, in awe of how far they’ve come. “Hey, I’m really proud of you.”

He looks down to you and pulls you tighter into him before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Wouldn’t be here without you.”

“As if,” You roll your eyes. “I just told you Sunset Curve sounded better than Sunset Curb, and Alex was already pushing against curb.”

He just smiles, and rests his head on top of your. “We have to go soon. We’ll probably get something to eat beforehand, so I’ll see you after the show. I love you.”

“I love you more, hot shot.” You reply, lifting your head to leave a soft kiss on his lips. The boys let out a collective ew to which you respond with your middle finger, no words. “Go kill it, you know where I’ll be.”

“Don’t move!” Reggie shouts as Luke is about to get off the couch. He pulls out a camera from his backpack and brings it to his eye. “You’ll want this for the slideshow when I make my speech at your wedding.”

You and Luke roll your eyes before he brings you closer into his side, flashing his award winning smile. You hold him tight and stare up at his beautiful face when the flash of the camera goes off. He plants one more kiss on your temple before getting up.

The four boys filed out of the backstage area and onto their respective spots on stage, Luke turning around to send you one last wink before grabbing his guitar. Not even an hour later, the sound of sirens bring you the worst news you could ever fathom. They were dead, the three of them were dead and you never even got to say goodbye. You and Bobby stand shocked while the officers explain what happened, your first thought being this is some huge prank they’re playing to get their nerves out before the show. But it wasn’t. They really died that night and you’re left wondering what you could’ve done different so he would still be here. So Reggie could have actually made a speech at your wedding, what you could have done to build a life with him instead of losing him at seventeen. 

Present Day

You spend a long time deciding what will make you feel okay after this. You had spent years avoiding every aspect of life that would remind you of your lost love, but now his ghost, or hologram, is an internet sensation. While it broke your heart to see him again, doing the thing he loved most in this world, it forced you to look back on your time with him, to look through all the memories you made with him and you were grateful for that. You find that the young girl, Julie, goes to school with your daughter. You decide that direct contact between a fifteen year old and a forty-two year old stranger would be far out of your comfort zone. Settling on a letter that your daughter will pass along to her, you sit down to write.

Dear Julie,

      My name is Y/n, I’m y/d/n’s mom. This may seem a little odd that  your classmate’s mother is writing you a note, but I have to thank you for something. In 1995, I lost someone very special to me, a few people actually. They were in a band called Sunset Curve, maybe you’ve heard of them. Y/d/n showed me your performance, all I can say is wow. You are an extraordinarily talented girl, not only musically but your holograms are awe-striking. When I saw the figure of my late friends come on to screen, you have no idea what kind of joy that brought me, to watch them perform again. I was with them that night, the night of The Orpheum. They were one step closer to stardom before it all ended, if they were able to see that your music was bringing them back to life I’m sure they would be shouting and carrying on like they always did. You allowed me to get one last chance to see them perform, something I always wished I could see. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I’m not sure how you managed to create them and bring them into your show, but however you did it you brought some peace back into my life. After watching your video, I was finally able to face the past, something I have been struggling with for years. If you ever had any questions about the boys or want to see some memorabilia I’ve kept all these years, feel free to reach out. Again Julie, you don’t know what your video gave me, I am forever grateful for you and your technological skills. I hope success finds you, thats all Sunset Curve could have ever dreamed of.

Best Wishes,                                                                                                      Y/N

[nakanaai]

my muse for kiragi is still hella dead so i’m sorry for everyone who wants to rp with him again ; __ ;

until i can recapture his happy-go-lucky inner angst self i’m still active in the fandom over at @disangel ! HOPEFULLY KIRA CAN COME HOME

[polkahotness]

SHORTAKI WEEK, DAY 4

FFN // AO3

                               Switch

Adjusting to Freshmen-life at Hillwood High School had proven to be more difficult than either Arnold or Helga had anticipated. As they watched their friends thrive in their new environment, both felt as though they were still struggling to find their place within clubs, classes, and cliques. Each day during the first few weeks was a rush to navigate through the unfamiliar hallways that were filled to the brim with bustling students who had long since learned the various shortcuts and routes to most effectively get to their next hour's class.

Arnold and Helga on the other hand, were still taking the less-direct paths which led them around corners and into one another on a semi-frequent basis. And while this collision was not something that the pair had never accidently done before, on this particular afternoon, it would prove to be an encounter that would forever change their young lives.

SMACK!

Right around the corner of the 500 and 300 wing, Arnold Shortman ran directly into Helga G. Pataki, both of their armfuls of textbooks, notebooks, pens, and other high school essentials scattering around them like confetti from a canon.

"Seriously, footballhead?!" Helga exclaimed as she began collecting her various items that had mingled with Arnold's on the floor of the hallway. "Personally, I would have thought that by now, you'd know how to use your own two feet properly!"

"Sorry, Helga," Arnold grumbled as he too began feverishly gathering his things as quickly as possible. The warning bell had already rang, and both he and Helga were sure to be late if they didn't hurry. "I guess I was just in a rush."

"I'll say," the young blonde responded while glancing up to sneak a glimpse at the boy who had stolen her heart ages ago and still possessed to this day. Her eyes lingered on the boy with the oddly shaped head for a long moment as he picked up his belongings, though her gaze brought heat to his skin causing him to look up and meet eyes with his feisty classmate.

"What?" the boy asked her while pausing momentarily mid-reach for his phone which lay face-down in its black protective case.

"What, what, Arnoldo?" Helga spat back at him while maintaining their eye-contact and reaching to grab her own phone.

"You're staring at me," Arnold noted while finally palming the phone and reaching back to shove it into the pocket of his jeans. Without leaving Helga's eyes, he reached towards the next item on his horizon—his Algebra 2 textbook, which he needed for the class that he was nearly positive he would be late to after his run-in with Helga.

Out of everything she had dropped, Helga's own cellphone was the least of her worries—her focus instead on the notebook that lay just head of where Arnold was squatting before her. Inside the pages of that notebook were some of Helga's deepest thoughts and strongest feelings regarding him and their complicated relationship.

He could never find out what was written on the lines of the papers inside.

Taking the phone she'd grabbed to cram it into the side-pocket of the zip-up sweater she was wearing, she soon snatched the notebook while silently breathing a sigh of relief that Arnold was none-the-wiser as to what lay inside. "Uh, newsflash—it's not me who's doing the staring here, it's you." Her retort merely triggered Arnold to exchange a blank look with the quick-witted blonde before he picked up the last of the items he had dropped.

"Whatever you say, Helga," he recited—a typical ending to a typical conversation with the girl he still harbored feelings for even after all of these years. Oftentimes he would lie awake until the early hours of the morning while staring ahead at the stars that shone brightly above him through his skylight. His mind would endlessly replay moments the two of them had shared since their fifth-grade trip to San Lorenzo and wonder where it was that they went wrong.

Could it have been that they were too young?

Had they simply not been ready?

And more importantly, was there still a chance to remedy what the pair had seemingly lost?

For Arnold, the answers to his questions lay trapped inside the mind of one Helga G. Pataki; the object of both his desires and absolute frustration. He could never seem to wiggle himself back into her thought process, no matter how hard he tried—and he had certainly tried.

As the two parted ways for the next hour that would begin in less than a minute's time, neither realized that the phone in their pockets could hold the key to unlocking the mysteries that either teenager ruminated over time after time. Perhaps it was in their accidental switch that they would find their answers after all.

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

DING. DING. DING. DING.

Just as the bell let out its final ring, Helga slid into the seat of her English class. Panting from her jog after her crash with Arnold, Helga tossed the things she'd gathered in haste onto the top of her desk. Glancing her way, Phoebe immediately knew that something was troubling her best friend.

"Is everything alright, Helga?" She asked as their teacher continued talking in the opposite corner of the room to one of their fellow students. "You seem to be… discombobulated today."

"That's the understatement of the year," Helga answered while sorting through the compilation of things she'd gathered in haste just moments ago. "I swear to you, Pheebs, if I run into Arnold one more time, I might kill him. This is the third time in two weeks that he's almost made me late for class."

"Considering how often the two of you run into one another, I think it may be improbable to expect it won't happen again," Phoebe mused with a soft smile. She knew of the mutual feelings that Helga and Arnold shared for one another. She herself had engaged in dating shortly after the infamous trip to San Lorenzo, however for Phoebe and Gerald, their partnership had proven to be successful in all of the ways that their best friends' relationship hadn't.

Despite this, both Phoebe and Gerald never let go of the hope that their friends would one day reconnect in a way that would work out for the better. From their objective points of view, Helga and Arnold were perfect for one another. To them, it seemed that their friends merely lacked the motivation at being truly honest with one another; the real kryptonite that plagued and stood in the way of their seemingly imminent relationship.

"I don't know, Phoebe," Helga finally said as she softly traced the cover of her precious notebook that Arnold had once again almost seen the contents of. "You'd think the way the universe keeps shoving us together, something would have happened by now."

"But something did happen," Phoebe offered, though Helga was less than receptive.

"Yeah. In the fifth grade," she sneered before rolling her eyes and leaning back into the chair of her desk while crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Maybe it's time to give up and face the facts. Arnold and I are just… never going to work. We'll be forced to run into each other for the rest of our lives… our feelings littering the floor in a mess of emotional debris we keep having to pick up and hide away like some kind of… goddamn racoon, or something. A crow, maybe. They collect things, don't they?"

The question confused Phoebe who was accustomed to Helga's nonsensical rants that typically revolved around Arnold only to jut off in another direction entirely by the end. "Y-Yes, they do, but Helga—"

"Honestly, it's fine, I guess," Helga continued as though she hadn't heard a word her friend had said. "So, we collect our feelings like objects. Big deal. If he isn't willing to show me his, then I sure as hell am not willing to show him mine." Seeing that their teacher was still conversing with someone across the way about what appeared to be a previous assignment, Helga snuck her hand into the pocket of her sweater to grab the phone that lay inside.

"That's all there is to it," she said while pulling out the phone and clicking the button on the side to illuminate the screen. "I'll keep my feelings to myself and Arnold—" Helga stopped mid-sentence as she stared down at the screensaver that looked back at her.

"Helga?" Phoebe called her friend's name with a twinge of fear beneath her voice. "Helga, what is it? Is your phone alright after your hallway mishap?"

"I don't know…" she uttered before holding up the phone for Phoebe to see, "because this isn't my phone. It's Arnold's."

Meanwhile, a hallway over, Arnold Shortman had yet to notice that the phone residing safely in his pocket was not that of his own.

Slipping into his seat at the moment the bell chimed it's final chime, he too was glad that he hadn't collected another tardy slip like he had as a direct result of previous run-ins with Helga. It always seemed that the two of them found one another at the intersection of the 500 and 300 wings—Arnold silently wondered why he kept taking that route when he knew their colliding was almost fated to occur.

Perhaps he did it because he wanted them to bump into each other.

Maybe he secretly hoped that one of these times, just once, Helga might not snap at him and instead spill her feelings rather than her notebooks, pens, and papers.

"Hey, Arnold!" Gerald whispered out to his friend from the next row, and Arnold turned his head to direct his gaze towards him. "Did you get my message?"

"Huh?"

Pulling out his own phone and holding it out underneath his desk, he wiggled it back and forth as if the action would further illustrate his question. "Your phone! Did you get my text?" His voice was barely a whisper and more of a calculated soft-shout. It was a good thing their teacher spent the majority of his time playing Sudoku behind his desk rather than paying any attention to the going-ons of his classroom.

"No, why?" Arnold responded while fighting with his jeans to take out his cellphone.

"Just check it, man," Gerald instructed before continuing to explain what the message said; alleviating the need to read the text in the first place. "We're meeting at Gerald Field after school today for baseball. You in?"

"Sure. Sounds like fun," he remarked before furrowing his brow. "But why didn't I feel my phone vibrate? You must have texted me right when Helga and I ran into each other."

"Ah man, again?" his friend said with mock surprise. "Mm mm MM. Arnold, I think the universe is trying to tell you something and you'd better start listening. Next time it may do something more drastic than ramming you into each other."

As Arnold finally freed the phone from his pocket and looked down towards the screen, his eyes widened in horror. "Uh… about that…" he muttered as Gerald eyed him curiously.

"What, the universe or baseball?"

"Both," Arnold answered before holding up the phone in his possession. "This isn't my phone."

"Then who's is it?" Gerald soon asked; Arnold clicking the button on the side to light up the screen which revealed a lockscreen with the image of a pink neon heart against a dark backdrop.

"Helga's."

"No…"

"Yes," Arnold insisted with a shake of his head. "Maybe the universe already took it up another notch…"

"Yeah, maybe," Gerald affirmed before shrugging his shoulders. "Or maybe it just doesn't want you to play baseball this afternoon."

"Gerald…"

"What?" He exclaimed as their teacher rose from their desk to finally make their way towards the front of the classroom to begin the hour. Apparently, he'd finished his latest Sudoku puzzle. "So, you gotta exchange phones with Helga. Big whoop. Use it to your advantage."

"Alright class," the teacher addressed the class. "Take out your textbooks and flip to page 2-0-2," he instructed as Gerald and Arnold followed suit; the football-headed boy setting Helga's phone carefully down to rest on his lap.

"What do you mean to my advantage?" Arnold whispered over while pulling out his algebra book and turning the pages to find the appropriate number.

"You know," Gerald muttered back while flipping through his own book. "Maybe we can hack in or something."

"To her phone?!" Arnold said loudly; a few stray eyes glancing in his direction at the minor outburst. Quieting himself, he leaned over to whisper back, "I'm not breaking into Helga's phone, Gerald. That's a breach of privacy. If she ever found out, she'd kill me."

"Yeah. If she found out," he soon responded. "And she won't."

"Oh yeah? How do you figure?"

Gerald shrugged his shoulders while thinking for a moment before saying, "I don't know. I'll talk to Phoebe."

"No. Absolutely not, Gerald," Arnold insisted as silence fell over the classroom at his words. Suddenly feeling a heat surround him at the countless eyes resting on him, their teacher included, a dark-red blush filled in Arnold's cheeks as he realized he'd been caught. "Sorry," he sheepishly told the teacher, who proceeded to begin explaining the latest in their mathematical lesson-plan.

Midway through his explanation, a wad of paper landed on the top of Arnold's desk; his eyes shooting over in the direction from where it came—Gerald. Picking it up and unfurling it, his eyes scanned over the words his friend had scrawled down for him to read.

After class, meet me by my locker. I know a guy.

Frowning at the two sentences staring back at him, Arnold turned to shoot his friend a glare before shaking his head and mouthing the word, 'No.' But even though he had no intentions of breaking into Helga's phone, a part of Arnold couldn't help but wonder what lay behind the screen and inside Helga's mind.

Could the secrets Arnold seeked really be locked away inside the phone precariously perched on his lap? And to what lengths was he willing to go to discover them?

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

"Gerald, I really think this is a bad idea," Arnold stated as he walked by his side from their lockers in pursuit of the 'connection' that awaited them.

"Relax, man," Gerald reassured his nervous friend while giving him a slap on the back and using it as a way to continue pushing him forward on their mission. "Fuzzy Slippers knows a guy who knows a guy who's cousins with this girl who knows how to hack into anything. They call her 'The Giant.'"

"The Giant?" he repeated with heavy skepticism. "I'm assuming that means they're tall or something?"

"No clue," the tall-haired boy admitted. "All I know is we're supposed to meet her in the 100 wing by that cluster of lockers nobody uses."

"The 100 wing?" Arnold intoned with obvious bias. "Gerald, nobody uses that hallway except to go into the wrestling room from the side door. Well, and the cafeteria, I guess. And to do shady things…"

"And just what is it you think we are doing? We're breaking into Helga G. Pataki's phone. What's shadier than that?" he emphasized. "Besides, wrestling doesn't start until after school PLUS we've already had lunch… so right now during sixth period with two more hours to go before school's done… Man, it is the perfect meeting spot."

Not wanting to argue about whether or not they should follow through with his insane plan, the flaxen-haired boy moved on to ask a different kind of question just as they rounded the corner that led to the entrance of the 100 wing. "How long do you think it'll take?" he paused as though waiting for Gerald to tell him he understood what he was saying. To be more direct, Arnold reiterated himself. "You know, the hacking-in part."

"Shh!" Gerald shushed. "Keep your voice down, alright? We don't need everybody knowing that we're over here."

"Why not?" Arnold reacted right away. "We're not not allowed to be in this hallway. There's a bathroom down here, we could always say we're going there or something." The pair continued to walk in silence for a moment as the slowly made their way down the infamous wing.

"I just can't be late to last period, again, Gerald," Arnold let out and he dropped his head back in annoyance while he continued to talk. "Mr. Nelson is a stickler for being on time—do you know that he locks the door when the bell rings?"

Perking his head up, Gerald said, "You've gotten yourself locked out of History class?" before letting out a jealous scoff. "Man! I wish I could get myself locked out of that class. History blows and Nelson's tests are impossible to pass."

"I knowthat," he replied blankly before going on to stress, "That's why I don't think this is such a good idea! Who knows how long this is going to take."

"Shouldn't take longer than a couple minutes," A shriek called out; both Arnold and Gerald looking around themselves to find the source of the high-pitched voice. Emerging from behind the grouping of unused lockers, a small girl who barely stood at five-feet-tall approached the friends while pushing up her large glasses which were sliding down her nose. "Of course, that's all depending on the make, model… year."

"Oh, uh…" Arnold stuttered while fishing out the phone from his pocket once more and holding it out for the unassuming girl in front of him. "I don't know. It's just a phone. I think it's like mine… so—"

"Hold up," Gerald interrupted as the girl took Helga's phone from Arnold's hand to begin inspecting it. "You mean to tell me that you're 'The Giant?' The school's best hacker AND Ralphio's seventeen year old cousin?"

"Wait, who's Ralphio?" Arnold questioned, though his inquiry was lost in the girl's answer.

"All that you need to know, Gerald Martin Johanssen," the girl called him by his full name which immediately made him flinch with frightening surprise, "is that I can do exactly what you're looking for and I can do it for a small, minimal, and inconsequential fee."

"If you're looking for money, we don't have any, so—" Arnold began to tell her, though 'The Giant' was quick to dismiss him.

"I'm not interested in money," she stated before looking between the both of them. "I'm far more interested in secrets."

"Secrets?" the teenage boys repeated in unison as 'The Giant' nodded her head while gently tapping the back of Helga's phone against her hand.

"There's nothing more elusive than a good secret," she explained with a mischievous smirk. "And, as a hacker, secrets are a large part of my work. So. What secret do you have for me? One secret for one code, that's the rules."

Gerald and Arnold exchanged a look for a moment before the blonde softly muttered, "Gerald… I don't know if this is worth it."

"C'mon, man! Don't you want to know about the inner workings of Helga's mind?" He whispered back as though the girl ahead of them wasn't actively listening to their every word. "What happened to the bold kid running through the jungle to save his parents or fighting the man to save the neighborhood? Huh? Where's that guy, right now?"

"It just seems… wrong," Arnold replied while reaching up to rub at the back of his neck and stealing a glance at 'The Giant' who looked on in curiosity. "I don't think I should break into Helga's private property."

"Arnold," Gerald stated blankly. "You and I both know that she's probably doing this exact thing to your phone right this minute. I'll bet you twenty bucks that she's standing in the hallway, talking to Phoebe and trying to guess your passcode so she can look at whatever secrets you've got hiding in there."

He thought this over while trying to imagine what Gerald had so precisely described for him.

"And you know what?" he went on to say, Arnold's eyes shooting back over to his friend as he continued. "With how smart Helga is… I would also bet that she doesn't even need a secrets-dealing hacker to do it either."

As Arnold considered Gerald's point, across the school and downstairs in the 600 wing Helga was staring down at the locked screen of the phone she'd mistakenly grabbed nearly an hour ago. "Stupid football-head losing his phone…" she muttered before huffing out a deep breath and dropping her arm while still holding the cellphone tightly in her grip. With exasperation, she rested her head against the metal of the lockers she leaned against while waiting for Phoebe to finish grabbing her books for their next class.

"I'm going to need a hacker if I ever want to get into Arnold's phone."

"Helga!" Phoebe scolded before shutting her locker with the appropriate book she needed in her grasp. "You can't break into Arnold's phone. It's his personal property."

"So what?"

Phoebe frowned while knitting her brows together in an expression of great concern towards Helga's judgement. "It would violate his privacy."

Helga remained in control of her tone as she brushed off the objection. "He's not going to find out. This is Arnold we're talking about, here. The kid barely knew I existed up until that nonsense on the roof of the FTi building."

"I'm not so sure that I would agree with that, Helga, but to break into Arnold's phone is another issue of which I wholeheartedly disapprove." She shook her head more to herself than to Helga before softly squeaking out, "What about his trust?"

"What about his trust?" Helga repeated while emphasizing a different part of the sentence entirely which gave it a distinctly sour aftertaste.

With a tired sigh, Phoebe said plainly, "Mutual trust is something that, once broken, is nearly impossible to repair. Suppose that Arnold didn't find out right away. Helga, I know you are smart enough to realize that Arnold would discover it eventually. It could hinder your relationship should you already be engaged in one, or… think of the damage an exposed secret of that magnitude could have on a potential relationship between the two of you. Is that something you're willing to sacrifice so you can snoop through his phone and perhaps find nothing of significance?"

Groaning at Phoebe's opinion on the matter, Helga shot her a hopeful, yet irritated look. "You could get me in though," she stated rather than asked. At Phoebe's lack of response, Helga went on. "Arnold's phone. Hypothetically speaking… you could hack into it. Am I right?"

Chewing over Helga's assumption, she decided to hint rather than answer. "Possibly."

"And you really won't help me out with this?" Helga begged yet again, an ace hiding up her sleeve as she spoke. "You'd really make me sit in the library and skip my next class, OUR next class that WE SHARE together? Hmm?"

Trying to walk away from Helga as she grew more and more persistent, Phoebe couldn't escape her longer strides that allowed her to catch up with ease. Just within reach, Helga called out as they walked, "You want me to have to watch some long parade of videos which frustrate me SO BADLY that I end up going back to you and EXPLODING like some kind of wild ape?"

"Helga, please," Phoebe ordered from over her shoulder. She was angry at how right Helga was. Maybe it would be the smart thing to skip what was implied and simply unlock the phone. At least by doing that, Helga would leave her alone with all of this nonsense.

As she thought this over with each step she took, Phoebe continued to listen while Helga kept painting the grim tale of her eventual compliance. "Picture it. There you are. You're right there in the middle of the hallway while I'm bugging you even worse than I am now. And what do you do, Phoebe?" Helga moved from talking to one side in lieu of the other. "What can you do when I'm just jib-jabbin' away like a bird on your shoulder squawking and pecking at you as I chirp, 'Help me, Phoebe! Help me! Open the phone and help me!'"

Stopping mid-stride, Phoebe pivoted around to face Helga with an angry albeit bored expression dusted over her features.

As if silently telling her to continue, Helga took the imaginary cue and began speaking to the dark-haired girl with a mock sympathy so sweet, it could cause cavities. "I'll tell you what you do, Pheebs. You, being the kind-hearted, good, and true-blue friend that you are… you give in. And I'm sorry, but you know you will, I'm not wrong, am I?"

Phoebe knew she was right. Phoebe also knew that it didn't matter. Helga would find a way regardless of her assistance or not. Helga herself went on to express her exact thoughts, but with her own words. "The only person I know better than me… is you."

Catching the glare that was sent her way, Helga soon held her hands up in defense. "It's not a bad thing, I mean, criminy! I'm pretty predictable too, we both know that."

"I guess so…" Phoebe quietly agreed, and Helga swooped in to play her final card—the ace she'd been saving for this very moment.

"Look. Phoebe," the teen began before giving her friend an exaggerated shrug. "I'm just trying to give you a shortcut here-a one-way ticket to jump you and I to the end of this headache."

"But Helga—" she tried to stand her ground, the foundation feeling flimsy beneath her weight as she began to faulter under Helga's towering presence.

"Please, Pheebs? I'm so, so close here and if you do it now, you'll save us both a stupid-long process," She paused for dramatic effect while holding out her one hand as though using it to weigh the choices she was presenting, "OR, we can give it a go and do this pointless dance which, worst case scenario, you still don't help me and I just go reach out to the depths of the 100 wing and hire someone to do it for me."

Phoebe eyed the pleading young woman who stood before her. She didn't want to give in to Helga's cries for help, but she knew in her heart of hearts that by refusing to help, she was merely prolonging the inevitable. What were the ethical ramifications of denying her friend and forcing her to find another way? Could the method that Helga ultimately finds lead to something far worse than imagined? Worse yet than any threat the consequences of Phoebe helping right away may pose to the universe?

The scowl on Phoebe's delicate face hardened as she prepared to hold her stance. "Helga, I'm sorry, but I must refuse to parti—"

"Wait, hang on a sec, Pheebs," Helga stopped her from finishing as she held out Arnold's phone to look down at the bright screen. "Arnold just got a text message," she reported flatly, and Phoebe arched her brow.

Without thinking, she blurted out, "From who?"

Flipping the phone so the screen could face her four-eyed friend, Helga replied, "From me."

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

"I can't believe you told her about the dress-up thing," Arnold noted with a small smirk. "Honestly, I'd forgotten about it."

"As you rightfully should have," Gerald countered with a lone shake of his head. "I mean, we looked fabulous—"

"Right?!" the blonde agreed with excitement before toning down his demeanor. "But, you know… not everybody needs to know about it."

"I just hope that those pictures never see the light of day… ever." The two shuddered at the thought, though Arnold maintained his for a few seconds longer. Turning to look his way with worry, Gerald crossed his arms over his chest before saying, "You don't happen to have copies of those pictures on your phone, now do you, Arnold?"

Swallowing hard, he merely grimaced while managing, "Well…"

"Arnold!" Gerald shouted while throwing his arms up into the air. "Come on, man! That was like… our secret! We don't need to advertise that little experiment."

"It wasn't that bad," Arnold insisted.

"We put on make-up."

"And it looked good,"

"I know that, okay?" Gerald stage-whispered back to his unphased partner-in-crime. "Don't you think I know we looked great? It was disturbing."

"Eh," he sounded while tilting his head back and forth to weigh out his answer before speaking. "I thought it was interesting. Kind of cool, actually. You really didn't think it was fun?"

"Sure, but I'm not admitting that!"

"You might have to, now," Arnold teased while receiving the other end of an intense glare. "Why be ashamed when we looked so good?"

"Because it was last month that we did that," Gerald explained while using his hands to wildly gesture about himself. "Maybe if we were six it would be cute but we're almost sixteen now and—"

"And we put on dresses that we found in the crawlspace at the boarding house," Arnold continued to say as Gerald desperately tried to hush him without success, "and then Grandma gave us her make-up which we then used to—"

"Arnold…"

"—make ourselves, as you even described with your own words—"

"C'mon!"

"—as 'fabulous.' We were fabulous and we were wearing dresses with make-up on. What's the worst that could happen?" He patiently waited for an answer that never came. After a moment, he gave Gerald an answer of his own. "The worst that happens is Helga finds them, or 'The Giant' leaks them and then everyone can be jealous at how good we looked. I'm not ashamed."

Slowly shaking his head back and forth, Gerald watched Arnold while humming his usual song. "Mm mm MM. Arnold, I've said it once, and I'll say it again—"

"I'm a bold kid?" Arnold offered, though it wasn't what had been on his counterpart's mind.

"Nah, we established that a while ago," He said before handing over Helga's phone which he'd been holding since 'The Giant' had returned it to us opened and free from a passcode. "What I was going to say was that this is your dad's fault." Waving a hand over where Arnold stood, he continued while contorting his mouth into a twisted sneer. "All of this? I blame Miles. Dude has no shame and neither do you."

Taking the unlocked phone and easily swiping his way to the 'messages' menu, Arnold let out a single laugh. "I may have no shame about wearing a dress, but I have plenty of other kinds of shame, and those are thanks to myself."

Opening his mouth to argue, Gerald stopped when he saw his friend's fingers begin tapping away on the screen. "What are… what are you doing?"

"I'm texting Helga," he responded, then paused to look up and out thoughtfully while musing to himself, "Well, I guess I'm texting me, but, you know…" Arnold's voice trailed off as his attention returned to the message he had been feverishly typing.

"Why?" Gerald asked. "I thought we were going to explore the inner workings of Helga G. Pataki's mind!"

"Maybe that's what you would do," Arnold retorted before hitting the send button and lowering the phone altogether. "I told myself that the only way I would go through with this was that when the phone was unlocked, I would text Helga so we could arrange a switch. That's all."

"Okay, so what did you text her?"

Helga:

I know you have my phone, Helga. And I know you're probably reading this right now. Guess I'll find out in a minute when the 'read' receipt comes back.

"Would you look at that," Helga remarked, "he just has me labeled by my first name in here. The only other contact like that is Gerald's. And his parents, I guess."

"You already looked through his contacts?" Phoebe asked while looking over at the screen she'd helped to unlock.

"Doi," was all she said before beginning her own message to send back to the name she recognized as her own. All the while, she imagined Arnold receiving her text and smiling that dopey grin at the words she'd carefully typed.

Footballhead:

Took you long enough to get into my phone. Geez, Arnoldo. I take it your giant-head didn't come with an equally giant-in-size and freakishly-shaped brain, now did it?

"That Helga," Gerald commented while looking over Arnold's shoulder as he began wording his reply. "Always the clever one, isn't she."

"Always," Arnold affirmed before tapping send once again; the two-minute warning bell resounding through the 100 wing that the two still lingered in.

Helga:

No such luck, I'm afraid. But how do I know that you unlocked MY phone before I unlocked yours? After all, it was ME who texted YOU.

DING. DING. DING. DING.

"Two minutes," Helga noted while looking up to the air above her as if the noise had come out of the atmosphere rather than the speakers in the hallway. "We don't have to switch back yet…"

"Why wouldn't you want to get your phone back? I thought you didn't want Arnold looking through your things."

Helga's fingers danced across the keyboard of the screen as her body instinctively began walking towards the destination of her next class. "Because, Pheebs, he's already in," she clarified before hitting 'send' and sliding the phone safely into the pocket of her sweatshirt. "Now, we're just playing a little game."

"And where does that game end?" Phoebe probed as they took off down the hallway towards the end of the wing where the science rooms were located.

"I'm not sure yet," she responded just as they passed the threshold of their biology classroom. "Probably in us switching our phones back and going our merry way. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Footballhead:

You may have texted me first, Hair Boy, but that doesn't mean I didn't have PLENTY of time to peruse your contact list, messages, emails, and of course, your many, MANY pictures.

Both Gerald and Arnold widened their eyes at the message that stared back at them from the bright light of Helga's phone.

"So, that's it," Gerald stated in defeat. "We're officially screwed."

"She's bluffing," Arnold immediately announced before zealously concocting his next message. "If she got into my phone, she got into it because of Phoebe, right?"

"Probably, yeah. Why?"

"If she got in because of her," he theorized, "then that means she's with Phoebe."

"So?"

"So," Arnold reiterated, "there is no way that she would let Helga go through my all of my stuff while she's still around." Clicking 'send' with a light tap of his fingertip, he added, "I think I can keep her distracted through the next couple hours until school is over."

"Why wait until school's done?" his childhood companion wondered. "You two can switch phones back after this period is over, no harm, no fowl! Why wouldn't you do it right away?"

"Because," his words were slick with amusement at the question, "I'm kind of enjoying this."

"Enjoying it? What are you, crazy, Arnold?!" Gerald practically shouted as they started on their way to the period that they may be late to after all, though Arnold hardly seemed to care anymore, despite the constant warning from his friend. "You're playing with fire, man!"

"Not fire, Gerald… only Helga."

"Which is worse," he argued; Arnold instantaneously disagreeing.

"It's all going to be fine, Gerald, I promise," he tried to reassure with a confident upturn of his lips and a light pat on the back. "Trust me."

And so began the exchange of a century.

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

Helga:

I don't have anything to hide, Helga. If you want to go hunting through my phone for some kind of blackmail-material, you won't find anything.

She stared at the words of Arnold's latest message that shone from under the table she sat at in the back corner of her biology class.

Footballhead:

Who's to say that I haven't already FOUND all of your dirty little secrets and am currently planning to expose you for the weird, football-faced dingus that you are?

Arnold suppressed a laugh before replying while typing with one hand at his side and out of his teacher's sight.

Helga:

I have nothing to be ashamed of that you can find on that phone, Helga. The things I'm ashamed of are words that were never said and feelings I never acted on.

Mouth agape, Helga fought the urge to let out a loud gasp in reaction to the words Arnold had so boldly sent across the airwaves.

Footballhead:

And what words and feelings might those be, exactly?

A half-smile curled up at the corner of Arnold's mouth. This was his chance to use an inconvenience as a blessing—a way to reach out to Helga by using the only means that she seemed to understand: written word.

Helga:

You know.

"Two words?" Helga muttered to herself as she finally was able to read the message that she'd had to ignore for nearly thirty minutes to do some lame science experiment. The bell would ring any minute and she would be free to roam the halls with Arnold's phone still in tow.

Footballhead:

Why no, genius, I DON'T know. Why don't you and your dumb head enlighten me?

Walking slowly out of his class at the bell's chime, Arnold seized his moment in the back and forth he'd been enjoying—a back and forth that he knew Helga was enjoying, too.

Helga:

I guess I could do that. Only on one condition, though.

Footballhead:

Name your price.

Helga watched the bubble on the message screen appear and disappear rapidly as Arnold worked out the perfect reply. Her hands sweating, Arnold's phone became slippery no matter how tightly she held onto it, and she waited with bated breath until his message at last appeared on the screen.

Helga:

Slausen's. Today, after school. You can even order whatever you want.

It was Arnold's turn to wait anxiously as Helga typed her reply, though she didn't make him wait quite as long for a response.

Footballhead:

And what is it that YOU happen to be getting out of this little, late-afternoon ice cream social? Besides your phone, that is.

Trying to hide his growing smile, Arnold knew exactly what it was he wanted to say next.

Helga:

I get the chance at trapping you in an honest conversation with the bait of free food. You get to eat, and I get to tell you how I feel and HAVE felt since that Summer of 6th grade when we grew apart.

Chewing on her lip, Helga debated her next choice of words before sending one more question that she knew she wouldn't be getting an answer for. At least not by way of text.

Even so, she knew that she had to try.

Footballhead:

Just how was it that we grew apart? Why DID you stop talking to me? Did I scare you off?

Sighing at the words he knew Helga had struggled to successfully send, Arnold decided to give her just enough information that it would only make her want more.

Helga:

Absolutely not. It was ME who scared MYSELF off. I chickened out.

Intrigued by his vague explanation, Helga wasted no time in answering.

Footballhead:

Why?

The one word that Helga had sent brought butterflies along with it. They gathered inside of Arnold's stomach to flurry and flutter in circles as he sent her what he hoped would be an invite she would finally accept.

Helga:

Meet me at Slausen's after school and I'll tell you.

Before she could tell him that she was interested in his proposition, another message popped up on the screen.

Helga:

And make sure you bring my phone. As fun as this has been, we should probably switch back before we go home for the night. What do you say?

The 'typing' bubble didn't have to float for long before Arnold received Helga's reply; the message once again containing only one word.

Footballhead:

Deal.

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom Chapter 3

AN-Another chapter, this time focusing on the bad guys! Interesting stuff for sure! I won’t keep you from it, so here ya go! Enjoy!

Previous: http://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/183131244364/keys-to-the-kingdom-chapter-2

Chapter 3: To Seek the Darkness

And people who say things they don’t really mean, really mean?

In the wake of the supposed defeat and destruction of the original Organization XIII, the group’s former base of operations had been left abandoned. For almost an entire year, the World that Never Was and the grand castle at its heart lay completely empty and silent, bereft of even the Heartless and Nobodies that were known to naturally spawn there. But with the rise of a new Organization with a new purpose, the shadow-steeped world’s usefulness began anew as well. And once again, the members of the Organization gathered at their former headquarters, waiting in the wings for whatever it is their leader required of them next.

In their current idle time, two such members traversed the unchanged gray corridors of the castle, remembering their winding twists and turns well even after their relatively recent respective revivals. The pair carried on a rather casual conversation, though even despite that, their tones were hushed, lest any unwanted prying eyes or ears be on the prowl. Something that was a very high likelihood, considering the various familiar faces that had returned to fill out the ranks of the new Organization XIII.

“So, why are you back?” Marluxia asked plainly, only barely casting a glance at the member keeping pace alongside him.

“Hmph, nice way to greet your old partner in crime,” Larxene scoffed, though she was still smirking all the same. Her tone was enough to elicit a similar sardonic grin from the graceful assassin, though it was quick to fade as his companion continued. “So, why do you think the old geezer took us back?” she asked, genuinely curious. “He must know we backstabbed the Organization back when Xemnas was running it.”

Marluxia shook his head. “Xehanort doesn’t care about you or me,” he said evenly. “To him, we’re nothing but empty husks. The old Organization was no different. Xehanort needs thirteen vessels to hold his essence.”

“Husks?” Larxene repeated, clearly not fond of the idea. “Not me. You know you and me are way above being just paws in someone else’s game. So instead…” the savage nymph’s grin deepened with a clearly sinister idea as she positioned herself just a bit closer to Marluxia. “Why don’t we just stage another coup instead?”

The graceful assassin sighed almost tiredly as he offered her a disapproving glance. “Larxene…”

“Oh, come on!” Larxene pouted with playful pleading. “It’d be fun. And it might actually work out this time without a dirty double-crosser like Axel around to throw a wrench into our plans. So… what do you say?” At first, Marluxia offered her no replay as he instead continued on his way, even with the savage nymph trailing right behind him, still seeking an answer. “Well?” she pressed impatiently. Finally, the graceful assassin stopped and turned to face her, his expression unreadable even as he prepared to reply and, at least as far as Larxene was concerned, give her the answer she hoped to hear. And yet, before he could, their conversation was unexpectedly interupted by another member who just so happened to round the corner at that very moment.

“Oh please,” Demyx scoffed, clutching his sitar as he joined the pair. “You guys couldn’t do it last time, what makes you think you could pull that whole ‘coup’ thing off now?” The melodious nocturne grinned as he strummed a few notes on his instrument. “You gotta play it smart, like me.”

“What?” Larxene shot back crossly. “You’re not smart! In fact, you’re just about the dumbest person in the Organization, but old and new!”

Demyx shrugged, seemingly unoffended. “Well, you heard what Marly said. I don’t have to be smart.”

“Or capable, or likeable, or attractive,” Larxene listed off, her hands on her hips. “A cereal bowl would make a better vessel!”

“Whoa, now you’re way out of line,” Demyx countered. “I am extremely imposing… When I want to be. Which is, admittedly, almost never.”

“Well, that’s one thing you got right,” the savage nymph huffed coldly. “Looks like the old man is getting desperate if he’d take someone like you back into the Organization. Probably only ‘cause his plan to get the true prize he’d had his eye on backfired on him.”

“Huh?” Demyx frowned, confused. “What prize?”

“Ugh, seriously?” Larxene exclaimed in appalled disbelief. “You can’t be that stupid. But then again, since this is you we’re talking about here, maybe you can be.”

“You and a few of the others who were only just brought back are too late to have known,” Marluxia interjected much more calmly. “But she’s talking about Sora.”

“Whaaaaa?!” Demyx exclaimed, genuinely surprised to hear this. However, before he could ask any of his many newfound questions, a corridor of darkness suddenly materialized, allowing a fourth member to join in on the engaging conversation.

“Ah, so the whispers I’ve heard among the higher rungs are indeed true then…” Luxord mused with a knowing grin as he offered the others a small nod of greeting.

“You’re in again too?” Larxene spoke up before the gambler of fate could continue. “What is this, Organization Rehash?”

“I happen to play an important role, even despite my rather recent revival,” Luxord assured. “Unlike some… others, perhaps.”

“So you were listening this whole time?” Demyx asked as he strummed a low note on his sitar. “So not cool.”

The gambler of fate chuckled. “One must hold one’s cards as long as necessary,” he said, conjuring up a deck in his hand to playfully flip about. “Even so, the context you just provided me with… certainly does shuffle the deck in an interesting way. Now I believe I finally understand what I overheard from Xemnas when he said we haven’t lost our proposed thirteen vessel just yet…”

The three younger members exchanged a rather baffled glance at this before they looked back to Luxord once more, overwhelmed with curiosity to hear more about what he’d gleaned from the Organizations’ leaders. “What are you talking about?” Larxene asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Either we all heard what happened by now,” Marluxia added, the slightest hint of confusion in his otherwise usually collected tone. “Or we were all there to see it for ourselves. Xehanort’s attempt at forcing Sora to join our ranks were halted by none other than Axel. His plan, however complex and intricate as it might have been, was a failure.”

“Ah, or so it might have seemed at the time,” Luxord retorted, holding up a lone card as he flipped it over to show the rest. “But a single wild card is all it takes to turn an otherwise unsavory hand…” His smile widened as several more matching cards appeared in his hand to create a perfect full house. “Into a full set.”

“Wait, I’m still confused,” Demyx interjected.

“Why is that not surprising?” Larxene muttered, rolling her eyes.

The melodious nocturne ignored her, though even still he sent her a small glare before he spoke his piece. “So did this whole plan that Xehanort had for Sora that Marluxia was just talking about work out? Or… not?”

“That is of no concern to any of you right now.” The other four members swiftly spun around to find none other than Saïx approaching them, his expression as aloof and stoic as ever as he came to stand before the group.

“Ugh, Saïx,” Larxene groaned disdainfully. “Figures that you’d join up again. What, are you here to tell us to get back to doing our jobs or something?”

“Precisely,” the luna diviner replied without missing a beat as he passed through the group. “If the four of you are done wasting your time on aimless gossip, then there are much more important matters to attend to. Master Xehanort has requested that all of us gather in the Round Room to receive our next assignment.”

“Y-you mean… Xehanort’s still here?” Demyx asked apprehensively, gripping his sitar a bit tighter at the mention of the master’s name.

“I thought the old coot left after his plan to ‘recruit’ the Keybrat supposedly fell through,” Larxene added, crossing her arms.

“The master still has business in this world,” Saïx explained, glancing over his shoulder at the group. “And so long as he does, then it is his intention to remain here to see that business carried out. Considering what his intentions are, you would all be wise to listen well to what he has to say.”

Without another word, Saïx disappeared into a dark corridor himself, likely heading off to the very meeting he had just told the group still gathered in the hall about. A bout of silence passed between them as they exchange a dubious glance, none of them quite sure what the master’s specific “intentions” were to begin with. In fact, the only thing they really knew was that the sole reason any of them had been brought back into existence was to aid in exacting those mysterious ambitions, whatever they might end up being.

“It seems as though another game is about to begin,” Luxord spoke up first, summoning a dark portal as he took his leave. “We might as well go learn what the rules are this time, hm?”

“Or better yet, learn how to bend those rules to our advantage,” Marluxia remarked, offering Larxene a small, knowing grin as he left in a similar manner.

“So… I guess everything’s same old, same old, then?” Demyx asked the savage nymph with an irresolute shrug.

“Oh, shut up already,” Larxene hissed as she also took her leave, leaving the melodious nocturne behind to do the same.

“H-hey! Wait up!” Demyx exclaimed, quickly summoning a corridor of darkness for himself. And with that, the entire group was gone, off to join the rest of their number and learn whatever it was their master had in store for them all.

Perched upon the highest, most paramount chair of the Round Room, Master Xehanort sat, watching coolly and quietly as the various members teleported in to take their respective seats. Each one of them bore a fragment of his own heart and his essence, of that much he had personally made certain, even among the members that weren’t already some sort of extension of himself. Even so, the elderly master had brought each of these figures back into existence for a reason, a purpose that would not only ensure the clash of light and darkness that he had been seeking for countless years now. But also, a purpose that would also deliver the ultimate prize that awaited on the other side of that clash into his hands once and for all.

One by one, the spotless thrones were filled, some of the members faces’ concealed by their pitch black hoods, others not. None of them spoke to each other out of either respect or fear for their master’s presence, but a few of them did exchange brief, fruitive nods of greeting here and there. By the time all of the members had arrived, all but one of the seats had been filled, the lone empty one being the shortest throne sitting directly across from Xehanort himself. The elderly master’s already steady grin deepened as he kept his sights on that empty throne, knowing that it would be filled soon enough. But as the master had already figured out, that would have to wait; in the meantime, he had another initiative to get off the ground instead.

“Greetings, my Seekers of Darkness,” Xehanort began, garnishing the attention of the entire group from his elevated throne. “It is fortunate that we have all managed to congregate here again so soon. Listen well, all of you, for there is much that we must discuss.” The master paused, almost as if to make sure every single member present was doing just that before he continued. “Firstly, let it be known that the clash of light and darkness that we ever strive towards is soon at hand. Already, the guardians of light are scrambling, rushing themselves to gather allies to their side, no matter how weak and unexperienced those allies might be. They are well aware that our own ranks are nearly completed, and indeed, we are close. There is but only one final vessel we must obtain, but fret not; that vessel is already starting to make the slow but certain fall into our hands. Our missing darkness will belong to us before they even know it.”

“Oh really?” Xigbar spoke up almost knowingly from his own seat. “And just who might this so-called ‘missing darkness’ be, huh?” Likewise, upon hearing mention of this apparently unknown thirteenth vessel, Larxene, Marluxia, Demyx, and Luxord all focused on Xehanort with the same sort of scrutiny, each of them curious to know if the rumors they had shared amongst each other could actually bear some weight after all.

The elderly master simply smirked at this, shaking his head as if to bar the more eager members of his Organization from knowing. “The answer to that will be revealed in due time,” he said mysteriously, sending side glances over at his younger self, Xemnas, and Ansem in particular. The trio said nothing but nodded, almost as if they were communicating something to the master, even if no one else was in on the tip. “But rest assured that we will indeed have all thirteen members on our side, perhaps even a few in reserve, just in case any of you fall short of my expectations…” A handful of the members seemed to fill the almost palpable chill in Xehanort’s tone as he said this, his smile finally gone as he glanced over each of them piercingly. “Which is something that each of you should pray does not happen… I’ve given almost each of you a second chance at existence. Use it well and do not disappoint me…”

If any of the lower-ranking members of the new Organization had any sort of doubts about the kind of stern authority their master wielded, those doubts were soon laid to rest the moment he summoned his Keyblade to his side as a show of exactly that. The fierce, dark weapon radiated immense power, power that some of them feared while others among them craved it. There was no question that it demanded respect, and it was clear that respect was what Xehanort demanded of each of them. And for the most part, that respected was what most of the members decided, for varying purposes and reasons, that they were going to pay him. For now at least.

“Each of you,” Xehanort continued, holding his Keyblade out level. “Take a look at this Keyblade. This weapon, and every other one like it in existence, are mere replicas, rendered after the most powerful key in existence, the one true X-Blade! It is a blade that I brazenly, foolishly even, tried to get my hands on years ago, all without realizing that it is merely a single key needed among several others to unlock the ultimate power that lies behind the essence of all worlds: Kingdom Hearts!”

A few soft, muted gasps rose up from some of the younger members who weren’t previously privy to the master’s plan, though in hindsight it did add up. Kingdom Hearts had always been the ultimate goal of the old Organization; it only made sense that the newest iteration of the group would be working towards its untold power as well. Which was why all ears were still on Xehanort’s bold words as he continued with the intent of detailing exactly how they were going to do just that.

“As mighty as the X-Blade itself is, it alone is not enough to bestow control of the heart of all worlds onto any one individual,” the master explained as his Keyblade disappeared. “To truly claim complete control over Kingdom Hearts, at least according to ancient legends previously lost to the ages, one must gather and unite thirteen divine Keyblades, all forged by the very Kingdom they possess the ability to unlock. And… whoever holds them all is destined to be its ruler undisputed, with every shred of power it has to offer at their disposal, now until the end of time itself.”

“The ruler…” Saïx spoke up first, breaking through the small bout of silence that permeated the room after this prophecy was delivered to the all. “Of Kingdom Hearts…”

“Well, well!” Xigbar spoke up with an intrigued grin upon hearing this. “Now we’re thinkin’ really big here, aren’t we, old man? I’d say it’s about time!”

“So I suppose your intention is to have each of us go out and collect these thirteen Keys for your purposed regime then,” Marluxia inferred, feigning boredom. “Correct?”

“To an extent…” Xehanort grinned knowingly. “The Keys to the Kingdom, as they are called, are scattered far and wide across the worlds. No one knows exactly where they are hidden, but it is foretold that finding even just one will lead to the location of the next and so on and so forth. It is for that purpose that I am indeed sending each of you out amongst that worlds to search for the Keys and bring them back to me. Do this for me, and I can guarantee: each and every single one of you will have an equal share in our conquest when Kingdom Hearts finally, finally belongs to us!”

Out of any other group, this rallying promise might have elicited an excited cheer; but instead, the members of the new Organization simply nodded in solid, mostly unanimous agreement with their master’s plan. After all, the power and potential of Kingdom Hearts was beyond comprehension, said to be able to do just about anything and everything imaginable. Regardless of whatever Xehanort wanted that incredibly power for, more than a few members already had their own ideas in mind for what they’d use even a fraction of it. Ideas that, as far as most of them were concerned, were more than worth the effort it would take to track the Keys to the Kingdom down and bring them back to Xehanort so he could pull it all together for them.

“I am certain that the guardians of light will soon be made aware of the prophecy of the Keys, if they’re not already,” the master continued. “But even if they do intend to search for them, they shall be far outnumbered. Scatter yourselves among the worlds and do whatever you must to secure those Keys for the darkness. And as I said before…” Xehanort glowered down at his members warningly, barely even needing to remind them just what was at stake if they failed to do as he said. “Be aware of the price for disappointing me. Inasmuch as I brought each of you back, I can just as easily take all that I have returned to you away again. And so, with that in mind… go! Go and bring forth both the Keys and the Kingdom for us all!”

On this stern command, most of the Organization members readily complied, not hesitating to disappear into dark portals so they could prepare to set out to do just that. The master watched with a satisfied smile as they all departed, including his own Heartless, Nobody, and younger self, each heading off on their own with their primary mission clear. However, only a handful of them currently knew of the other prize they were seeking, one that they could only just keep a close eye on from afar for now. Though Xehanort was certain that, with enough time, perception, and patience on his part, then all the pieces would soon fall perfectly into place, just as they did once before.

“‘Go and bring forth the Keys and the Kingdom for us all’, huh? Good one. I gotta admit, you nearly had me going right along with everyone else with that. And maybe I might have if I was even half as stupid as any of them are.”

The elderly master’s lingering grin faded somewhat as he raised an eyebrow down at the only remaining member in the room sitting several seats away from him. “I do believe I just issued an absolute order to everyone present,” Xehanort said coldly. “Which means you are free to go as well, Vanitas.”

The masked boy scoffed as he leaned back in his chair a bit, making no apparent effort to depart whatsoever. “Like I just said, I would have left right along with the rest of them,” he began bluntly. "If I hadn’t already caught onto exactly what kind of game you’re playing at, old man.”

“And what ‘game’ might that be?” Xehanort asked almost boredly as he rolled his eyes.

“You and I both know that you don’t have any plans of sharing Kingdom Hearts if you really do end up getting your hands on it,” Vanitas pointed out plainly. “A prize like that is far too enticing to just split up like that, especially for someone like you whose been after it for so long. I don’t know how you managed to get all those idiots to believe you, but believe me when I say that you’re not fooling me.”

Xehanort initially said nothing to this, instead simply sending the masked boy a rather piercing look of disapproval before ultimately deciding to pass his brazenness off as mere hyperbole. “So I suppose you find yourself quite clever for figuring that out, don’t you?” he asked, his confident smirk returning only slightly. “No matter. The other seekers shall still go and search out the Keys to the Kingdom all the same. And in the same way, so too shall you fulfill your purpose, Vanitas, by locating Ventus, joining your heart together with his, and finally forging the X-Blade for your master. And this time you will not fail me as you did last time. Do you understand?”

Vanitas didn’t respond, instead opting to glance away from his master as he crossed his arms stoically. Xehanort’s already somewhat impatient scowl deepened at this at this impertinence as he repeated himself much more firmly this time. “I said do you understa-”

“Understand? Yes,” Vanitas interupted, the bitter sarcasm in his tone excruciatingly clear. “Care? No.” With that, the masked boy leapt down from his seat with the apparent intention of leaving. “You really think that grand scheme of yours is actually gonna work this time? Face it, old man, you couldn’t get Kingdom Hearts to be yours back then, Ansem couldn’t get it to be his, and neither could Xemnas. You’re all exactly the same, in every way imaginable. Just a bunch of blind, ego-driven men stuck on the same stupid plan that never seems to work! Which is why I’m surprised I’m the only one who’s tired of waiting on you to deliver on something you’ll never be able to obtain, even with the X-Blade, even with the Keys, even with all the other pawns you think you have set up so nicely to help you in what’s ultimately gonna be just another losing battle. So forget it; I’m done.” Without even sparing Xehanort another single word, Vanitas turned to make his succinct and sour exit, though before he could make much of an attempt to summon a dark corridor, his leave was expectedly interupted by the master himself.

Vanitas deftly leapt out of the path of a powerful burst of darkness, one that came from Xehanort’s hand as the master stood atop his high throne, glaring icily down at the masked boy below him. “I’m afraid you don’t have the option of being ‘done’,” he remarked, his Keyblade easily appearing in his hand. In an instant, the master sped down from his elevated perch with frightening speed, his blade poised for attack. Vanitas only had mere seconds to summon his own Keyblade so that he could properly block Xehanort’s brutal swing, but even so, it still pushed him back across the room’s central platform by several feet all the same.

“So…” the masked boy began, somewhat breathless from the surprise of the attack as he repositioned himself to properly square off against his master. “We’re back to this again, huh?”

“I’ve found that it always was the best way to get either you or Ventus to behave,” Xehanort mused calmly as darkness began to swirl around his Keyblade.

“Hmph, like that straight-edged loser even has a rebellious bone in his body,” the masked boy deadpanned haughtily as he referred to his other half. Acting on adrenaline alone, he rushed forward, Keyblade at the ready before he sent its edge swinging hard at his mister. Xehanort countered the strike easily, kicking Vanitas back once more before rushing in for yet another barrage of unforgiving attacks. The masked boy only barely blocked most of them, though a few of them landed hard and painfully, even if they still weren’t quite enough to completely wear him down. Still, despite his age, Xehanort was stilled and strong, his abilities with his Keyblade far surpassing Vanitas’ own, however formidable that might have been. He well knew from experience that he’d only be able to hold his own in a struggle like this up against his master for so long and it was quickly becoming apparent that this fight would be no exception.

After lashing out with another merciless swing, Xehanort decided to keep his Keyblade pressed tightly against Vanitas’, knowing that the friction would inevitably wear the masked boy down, as much as he tried to push back against it. “You realize just as much as I do that this bout of petty rebellion is absolutely meaningless, do you not?” the master asked, glaring down at his apprentice harshly. “If you do not pursue Ventus and join again with him to form the X-Blade, then you will forever remain an incomplete, empty being of nothing more than directionless darkness. Act as impertinent as you’d like, but you cannot deny that I am the only one who can help you become whole again.”

Put off by such an arrogant assumption, Vanitas shoved his Keyblade back hard, surprising even Xehanort, but still not enough for him to relinquish his steady hold. “Its amazing how someone who claims to know so much can be so wrong about so many things,” the masked boy remarked bitingly. “I don’t need you to find Ventus. I never needed you. Face it, old man: if you really want that X-Blade, then you’re the one who needs me.”

That final bold statement was easily enough to set Xehanort off even more than he already was, an impressive feat to be sure. In his tranquil rage, the master brought his Keyblade down in a sudden, calculated swing, one that the masked boy was unable to properly deflect this time. Vanitas was thrown back once more by the incredible force of the attack, to the point that he barely even noticed the small, but sizable crack that had started to form across his mask as the result of it. Somehow, its glass surface didn’t break, but all the same, Xehanort showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.

“Perhaps you did not hear what I told the others,” the master said darkly, standing over his injured apprentice threateningly. “I restored you to your pitiful existence, even after the disappointment you proved to be years ago. But it’d be just as easy for me to take you out once again and replace you with much more… suitable candidates.” At this, Xehanort rose his Keyblade, hovering it over Vanitas with the intent of bringing it down in a devastating blow in a moment’s notice if he didn’t get his way. “Which is why I will only tell you this one final time: you will forge the X-Blade for me or you will face obliteration once more. And this time, I will not be as merciful as to give you another chance again. It’s your choice.”

Initially, it seemed as though Vanitas was actually going to comply with his master’s demands as he said nothing, simply hanging his head in what almost looked like begrudging acceptance. That is, until he managed to pull off the only trick he had up his sleeve that could actually work to put some distance between himself and Xehanort’s deadly Keyblade. An immense pall of darkness surged around the masked boy and from that darkness, a swarm of creatures, both big and small, though all composed of the same shadowy malice, emerged: the Unversed.

The massive wave of monsters was more than enough to push Xehanort back, finally giving Vanitas enough time to pick himself up and leap out of the fray. Of course, the master made quick work of the rampaging Unversed, but by then, his apprentice had already safely distanced himself by leaping onto one of the higher chairs and summoning a dark corridor to make a hasty retreat.

“Oh, believe me, I am going to forge the X-Blade,” Vanitas assured, his tone icy as he turned to face his now-former master one last time. “But when I do, I can guarantee that you’ll be the last person to ever get your hands on it, ‘Master’…” And, without bothering to spare another word on Xehanort, the masked boy disappeared into the darkness, ready to act on his own ambitions for a change instead of those of his faltering, vindictive master.

“Hmph,” Xehanort scoffed to himself, still standing in the center of the Round Room as his Keyblade disappeared. “Insolent whelp. No matter…” The master was quick to teleport back to his usual elevated seat, his contented, calculated grin returning as he thought back to his steadily-developing plans. “He cannot stop what is destined to transpire. The Keys, the Kingdom, and of course, the thirteenth vessel shall all soon fall into my hands, one by one.” Xehanort’s smirk widened as he set his sights on the lowest-bearing seat across from him, still as empty as it had been before, though he could already sense that it wouldn’t remain that way for long. “Isn’t that right… Sora?”

Next:

[clouded-vxle]

“are they dead? did you kill them?”

Under the cut due to blood and the like. It’s a little longer than my usual answers because I’ve been really quiet lately. (Though I’m still accepting asks and prompts, I’ll likely be slower as my drive to write is pretty low right now, I apologize ;; )

That rustic smell littered the air. Metallic. Riddled with iron. There hadn’t been any hesitation in the act; Hesitation got you killed. Her body was covered in it - hands and face caked in a layer of the deep crimson. It was viscous. Blood pooled around where she stood among the alleyway. Even still, breaths were calm and collected. Eyes looking down to those she, had cut down moments prior. She swallowed a deep gulp of what would have been a sigh had the situation been different. A grim expression bore across the auri woman’s face while she studied the mess she’d effortlessly created, quickly canting to look out of the corner of her eye, noticing a woman who’d tucked herself behind a some boxes. She was shaken up. Who could blame her, seeing such a sight? 

“D-did you kill them..?” She stuttered, looking up wide-eyed, “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

Vale turned on a heel, rising legs to step over blood and lifeless body alike. Standing mere footsteps away from that panicked woman, she lowered herself to a simplistic crouch. Glimmering mismatched eyes stared back, speaking no words, but none needed to be muttered. Her eyes spoke them for her, as did the simplistic nod she had produced. 

Finally, the xaela spoke out as she moved a hand to rest on the woman’s lap - an act of reassurance most likely. “Mmn. Yes. It was either defend myself and leave them in this... mess..” A sigh escaped her finally as she allowed a pause to wash over her for a brief moment, “Or, suffer their fate had I not. It’s cruel.. But necessary, my dear.” A thumb rubbed over the frightened woman’s knee. “There’s no need for you to be afraid now.. It’s better if you run along now and try.. Try hard. To forget what you saw. It’s in your best interest that you do -- so that it doesn’t haunt you.” She spoke firmly. 

She knew that beholding something like this wasn’t an easy thing to stomach - that this poor girl would likely go home, bathe - one steaming hot to try and ignore the flashbacks that would replay in her mind like a movie scene on repeat.. Maybe drink something to help with the nausea -- Nothing will. She’ll get sick. The scent, and sight of blood will be something she can’t see the same way for quite some time. Maybe even constantly looking over her shoulder, despite there nothing to be worrisome about. Even so, Vale’s words held some truth to them. Giving the girl one final squeeze on the knee, followed by a weak smile, she then rose back to her feet towards the figures once more. 

No looking back. Thick clots of it still oozed down her body, where the rest had nearly dried to her ashen skin. Even her tails were covered in it, coating them a deeper, darker black, nearing a colour that consumed light. The au’ra stood over one of the bodies, one that still twitched. He was half alive, spewing his ichor all over himself, nearly choking on it. Eyes narrowed as she, once more, lowered herself to crouch. There was no sympathy here. Blade still in hand, Vale pointed it to the man’s chin, raising it up to force him to look where she’d desired -- Into her eyes. “Shhshhshhh..” She started, “Almost over.. Isn’t it, mmn?” She mused, mockingly at that. “A shame, really. You could still be standing and full of life! Had you not decided to be a fool and try your hand, even when you -knew- I held the royals.”

Her head lofted off to the side - amused.. As she watched this man struggle to keep some semblance of life to him, smirk curling along her lips at this. She stayed her hand, bringing the blade back to her hip while rising to her feet once more.. She moved precisely, a stiletto heel pressing into his neck, the last thing he’d witness was the woman covered in his blood - and the men he accompanied, too.. Pressing a foot into him to cut off the supply of air while he choked out. “Farewell darling.” She muttered, before making her leave. 

Vale looked like the seven hells, covered in grime, sweat, blood. Hair was tattered, clothes were ripped and torn. Though, there was little care as she walked in stride. Clattering of heels on stone resonated throughout the streets - receiving curious gazes, though none dared speak out aside from hushed whispers to themselves.. She made a return to her residency, quite literally ripping the entirety of her tattered attire off of her figure upon entering the doorway - the only way it would come off with ease, surely. Waltzing around the place, fully nude, Vale moved to her washroom - starting the steamy waters that would soon fill the bath, swearing underneath her breath before moving across the remainder of the room to peer into her reflection at the foot of a full-length mirror. Steam began to fog the mirror, and she. She gave a satisfied nod before stepping into the scalding hot crystal water, an empty glass resided on the edge from the night prior, most likely; And beside it, one of her housemaids brought forth a fresh bottle of wine -- They didn’t question whose blood it was. They knew by now not to. Allowing her body to slink into the depths of the water, a sigh finally escaped her lips. Her eyes, fluttering closed.. And yet, the habitual tapping of fingertips among a surface occurred, even encased in the crimson as they were. Re-opening those irises, the xaela merely shook her head. “.. Fools.”

A hand worked to scrub out the plasma among her tails, while a free one took a lengthy sip of alcoholic contents within the freshly poured glass. Cleaning up was always a pain. At the very least it wasn’t her own this time.

[burmecianblackmage]

Just for the sake of getting my thoughts out, I figured I’d make a list of potential muses I have considered  roleplaying, plus some pros and cons to them. Dunno if any of them will ever be made, but still fun to consider them sometimes. If you like any of them, feel free to say so!

Hurdy (FF Tactics Advance 2)

I have been considering the little moogle bard for a long time. He would certainly be quite fun to play, and I could let my love of music flow into his depiction in all its glory - a tempting thought. Plus, from what I see, there aren’t exactly many moogle muses around these days, so he could be a welcome change of pace for many interested partners. And other than Sceada, he would be generally perceived as cute!

As for cons, well, there is on one hand that he could quickly feel a bit one-dimensional, especially if I let my love of music run rampant with him. Of course, I could flesh him out more, but on what do I base it? There is not that much on him besides the usual stuff we see in most TA2 chars. Sticking with your friends, trusting them - and playing the Victory Fanfare. Could be cool, but could also run it’s course quickly if things don’t take off as hoped.

Noraxias Rhogar (DnD 5e Dragonborn Paladin)

Blame the sudden influx of DnD muses on my dash for this one. Rhogar is the white (because ice ice baby!) dragonborn I play in my DnD group, which sadly does not get to meet all that often. Thus he is not really all that fleshed out from the rp side, but maybe playing him here could help me with that?

A Lawful Good character could prove a challenge as I’m more used to ones willing to break a law if it can be justified, but at least he’s not a complete killjoy like other Paladins I’ve heard about. Seeing how he prays to Bahamut and swore the Oath of the Ancients he’s a bit more lenient in what he will allow his group to do - something my group btw tends to push to it’s limits quite often...

Tsuzurao/Ninetales (Okami)

I’ve long since been pondering an Okami muse and had many on my list: Waka, Issun, Oki... - all great choices, so who to pick? It’s difficult to name a muse out of these three, so I felt conflicted. Then I thought about Rao - and realized something:

If I played her, then I essentially got three muses for the price of one.

I can play her as the true Rao, the devoted, humble priestess, I can play her as the Rao we get to know, Tsuzurao with her sometimes unintentional sex appeal and sinister scheming, and I can play her as Ninetales, who was imo the most interesting of the bosses - Quite a nice package if I say so!

I’d probably need to get back deeper into the game again for that to work out though, and then there’s also the question whether I could do all three of them justice - I don’t exactly have a stellar rep sheet when it comes to female muses I’m afraid...

Louisoix Leveilleur (FF XIV)

I’ve always been fascinated by him and his wisdom, as well as his prophecies, and truth be told he is a big part of the reason I regret not having played in Legacy where we could really interact with him and learn about him. I feel he’s an interesting muse, even more so now following his fate after Carteneau, and I’m sure there’d be people interested in him.

But do I really know enough about him to play him well? Would I be able to amass that knowledge needed to fill his shoes? And how would he fit in with other XIV muses, given his status in the game’s current story? All questions I’d need to find answers to...

Ryudo (Grandia 2)

The sassy swordsman running from his past but with a heart of gold deep down somewhere is an interesting one. He could be fun to toss at muses who are a bit on the naive side, just as much as he could be fun to throw against the more fighty muses. And he certainly can hold his own in battle, no doubt.

At the same time, his fandom is small and all but forgotten. Tell me: How many of you even know who he is and what he looks like without looking him up? Grandia 2 was a big thing in 2000 but then got gradually forgotten - a pity, for it’s an interesting game. But yeah, might be hard to find people interested in him.

Master Xehanort (Kingdom Hearts series)

If there ever was a big bad with a convoluted plan, it’s him. And still, he manages to have so much style in his original incarnation! Maybe it’s Leonard Nimoy’s voice that sells him. Either way, he is an interesting character. Always a step ahead of the others, using them as puppets for his schemes... - would be quite the interesting change.

But would I even be able to play a bad guy like him? I mean, even as someone who played all parts multiple times I find it hard at times to follow his schemes, how am I supposed to be the one scheming them? And I have a feeling he might not be that popular a muse to interact with, simply because he’s an old grumpy evil mastermind...

Tamiyo (Magic: The Gathering)

I’ve been a fan of Magic for a long time. I have a deck from the first german printed run still, that my math teacher gifted me before I left her class for gymnasium, I like to follow the story and read up on what happened before I really got into it, and I am excited for the upcoming stuff. Amonkhet looks so sweet!

But the one plane that always stuck with me is councidntally also the first one I really got invested in: Kamigawa. I just loved the flavor of it, how it felt, the mythology it created - ah, I wish we would return there one day! And maybe get a Nazumi planeswalker? No? Aww... was worth the try.

Anyhow, Tamiyo as the Planeswalker from Kamigawa always fascinated me. As a scholar and researcher she fits in with what I am familiar with from Sceada, and the way her magic works is simply amazing. Using stories you collected as the catalysts for your spells? You just became the most amazing storyteller of the Multiverse, hands down.

Question is just, would I do her justice? And would a MTG muse even find people interested in her? Also, how’d I handle all these stories best?

Count Cidolfus Orlandeau (FF Tactics)

Again one that you can blame on the number of FFT muses suddenly on my dash, but really... Where have you all been? xD I always loved Tactics, and daresay it’s in my Top 5 FFs, and there were just so many impressive and interesting characters in it.

I’d probably go with Thunder God Cid should I pick a Tactics muse up, in part because I’m already used to playing badass swordsman that are practically unrivaled in their game (Hi Kamiizumi, how’ve you been?), so it seems fitting.

I’d definitely need to replay the game and read it’s lore though - Tactics can get quite complex after all. And opposed to us who learn things from Ramza’s perspective, I’d have to think about how much Cid could have known at any given point in the story... - but it’d definitely be interesting. I just hope I wouldn’t be perceived as being too overpowered...

Altenatively, I have also considered adding a One Piece verse to Sceada. He could easily be a rat mink who dresses a bit oddly, knows electro and is a capable physical fighter as opposed to a mage. And who knows? Maybe he could just stumble across the reborn Yuki-Yuki no Mi...

Question is just, if any One Piece muses would even be open to playing with him... Hrmmm...

[femmelieutenant-a-blog]

💀 (@thelonelyandroid) okay I just saw this and the BETRAYAL

@thelonelyandroid

Send 💀 to walk in on my muse killing someone.

        Sometimes the answer to insomnia was a peaceful walk among cherry blossoms.

        Sometimes, like tonight, a different program was needed. A harder pill to swallow; a more frightening one as penance. She did not deserve sleep when her mind lingered on such horrific actions.

        These were the nights she summoned up her memories. It was the old ship; the Ulysses. The simulation was a familiar one to Helga by now. How many nights had she replayed her actions before he had turned traitor on her? Everything about the night was captured in perfect detail. The lights, the way the air smelled, the feel of the weapon in her hand…

        It was enough to trigger every memory she kept hidden.

        Helga walked the familiar corridors just as she had that fated night. Cool, collected. Deadly. There was no mercy in her features as a frightened Ensign approached her only to be shot dead in a second. He was the third one in ten minutes. It wasn’t that she had anything against the crew; these were merely her orders.

        Anyone not explicitly involved - anyone not he and her - were to be executed.

        Another crewman approached. A medical officer. She barely heard the holodeck doors open before shooting him dead. When the sound finally did penetrate past the years of suppressed violence, blue eyes widened in horror.

        This was not the night. This was a simulation…. and she had been caught.

        She slowly turned around to face the newcomer. Data. Oh God, why of all people did it have to be him?

        “…I…” She what? Could explain? There was nothing to explain. In seconds, her entire multi-year lie had come crashing down around her.