fuguelite-blog

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nickname me

Ash

Cigarette Butt

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Nickname me~

Gengar

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Agatha had never been one to spoil children (or adults. Or anyone/thing actually.) Her pokémon and family, likewise, have always been accustomed to her rules – the iron fist of which she led. Breakfast for prime example, was to be adhered with a strict one-hour allowance followed by morning exercise, and even in the event that one would miss the meal, she would make no exceptions regardless. You'll just have to wait for lunch then. Serves you right. 

It's no surprise that the blond male would struggle to meet her expectations, though Agatha saw through the facade of strength quickly as well. While permissible that one should be allowed an excuse to stay in bed after a long night, her impossibly high levels of expectation was something far-worse to be trifled with than an angry horde of Tauros. Downstairs, her newspaper had already been efficiently read and returned to the living room; her reading glass propped on the tip of her nose as she struggled to pick up the sounds of footsteps down the staircase. 

A stir, some murmuring. Had Morty been slacking off in the time he was living alone? Irritation stirs slightly in her chest, her mind willing that the lack of sound was not due to another cause she had anticipated. The mix of good expectation and bad expectation was a strange molotov concoction indeed, and by now she's half-off her seat in both worry and annoyance: the hope that Morty was just moseying around dwindling further as each foot carried her closer to his room – the hacking cough that permeated through the closed door informing her that the frail boy had unfortunately succumbed to physical illness.

"Morty..." 

Less disapproving and more resigned, the elderly veteran rests a hand around her grandson's shoulders, aiding him back into the comfort of lying down. In the same motion, bony fingers brush away the blond bangs that plastered to his forehead in cold sweat, lips tutting slightly under her breath as experience tells her it's a mere cold with a bad fever. She has no need for a thermometer – really, experience far-surpasses technology — and orders her Gengar to return with a damp towel, posthaste. 

Soothing fingers push the stray fringe away and run through the locks of hair gingerly. but she doesn't say a word throughout the entire motion, hushed sighs making an occasional experience but not frequently. Eventually, the purple creature returns in the form of a seemingly levitating towel that is placed over the Leader's forehead before Agatha allowed comforting touch to be excused to reach for a pokéball in her holster. The trademarked flash of red ensues for a mere second and reveals the multi-metered Arbok; a gentle pat offered to the serpentine creature with the command of Haze — an ice type move that cools the surrounding air when used out of battle. 

"Rest, Morty."

[Of Shattered Dreams and Broken Teacups] - [Semi AU] [Morty and Agatha]

Even through bleary eyes, Morty caught the dismal head shake and had to stifle a minuscule grin from forming. Grandma Aggy always disliked any and all babyish acts since she found it to be uncouth for a mature adult - though, it goes back as far as his teenage years - to submit themselves as such. Usually, he would be rewarded with a sharp rap for forgetting his manners but maybe, she allowed this to slip past since she decided he had suffered enough for the night.

It was confusing how his heart could be chipped and repaired simultaneously. 

Still, the exhausted blond wasn’t going to argue with the rare act of forgiveness from his perfection oriented grandmother so he wisely kept his mouth shut. Morty could practically feel his amethyst eyes slipping shut like an attracted magnet as another stifled yawn escaped his lips. Just as he began to take that first step, the familiar and welcoming goosebumps inducing feeling made itself known. Glancing down through half lidded eyes, a small crescent moon formed when they found the relieved stares of his twin Gengars.

"It’s alright…" he murmured, allowing them and Agatha’s Gengar to flank his lead filled body as before. "I’m going to be alright…"

He received soft hums for his faint reassurance and he knew they believed him. Morty knew he could believe in himself too now. Hours ago, his voice sounded empty and hollow to his own ears. Devoid of any effervescence. Lacking in spiritedness. Now…though minuscule, there was a hint of conviction hidden underneath the physical weariness. At least, the blonde was cognizant of his own mistakes and existence. Even though it will take a while for him to truly recover, he wasn’t lying about all the I’m alrights uttered.

The journey to his bedroom passed by in a dazed blur and it was only when his back met the soft surface of his bed that he became aware to the outside world once more. Morty struggled to get under the silky smooth blanket but managed the feat with minor assistance from the hovering Pokemon. Exhaling a blissful sigh when his head met the cushy pillow, the sick male offered the Gengars a grateful smile as thanks before his eyes slowly slid shut. 

As he allowed the soft velvety duvet - that felt blessedly cool to his own body - to lull him to sleep as well as the tranquil induced presence of the good spirits around him, one clear thought came to mind before he got submerged into the chasms of deep sleep.

The nightmares will not bother me tonight.

-

Arceus. What hit me?

The moment Morty rose back to consciousness, he felt absolutely awful. A pounding headache, a scratchy dry throat with an irritating itch in it and the feeling of roasting in a sauna all hit him in full force. His limbs flailed like wet noodle as he tried to coordinate his arms and legs to move out of bed. A few seconds of awareness and he instantly heard Grandma Aggy’s voice informing him of breakfast. Knowing her rules by heart, the blonde desperately tried to stand up after he managed to untangle his legs from the blanket but instantly plopped back down again.

"…Mortimer?" 

”..I’ll…be there…in a minute…” he wheezed out, trying to catch his breath from both the surprisingly taxing action and the wave of dizziness that washed over him. His sweat slicked forehead and flushed cheeks indicated the fever was still going strong but at the moment, all he cared was to follow his grandmother’s order. “..Just…a minute…” This time, his words were accentuated with raspy coughs as he hung his head just above the knees. Stop spinning world! 

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War was but one of the many ways people killed themselves. Selfish ambition at the expense of others — so many things were soured and bad just because humans were self-centered creatures. (Heselfr included, of course; but Agatha doesn't see it now.) Instead, she's blinded by the searing pain that ran through her veins and the palpitating heart that feared the worst if Samuel Oak had decided to leave. 

To leave her behind. 

This was irony, of course — considering the war and to be apart from each other was probably the furthest thing either of them had wanted. Each wished fervently a better life away from the terror of bloodshed and discord, yet here they were being pulled apart seam by seam with ideals that were perhaps, hardly even beneficial now. Thoughts that had the best-interests for the other but backfired like a loosely-aimed canon.

Why'd you have to ask me something so heavy now? What about your mother; what about me? Why don't you ask me what I want? 

                                         Please don't..

Strong hands push themselves off the ground without the help of the dark-haired teen; elbows bloodied, dusty and bruised but none as bad as the dull throbbing in her senses. Agatha attempts to look Samuel Oak straight in the eye but instead finds her hands balled up into such tight fists that her knuckles have turned white. She wants to hit him – to let him feel the physical manifest of the turbulence inside, but she relents and lets go.

—

The image is a blurry mess now, but Agatha can still feel the breeze that swept through the tall grass that evening; the stinging pain of raw skin exposed and scuffed. The same way her lips pulled into a thin line before uttering the words she had said to him years ago; perhaps, the beginning of their end. 

"Then, go."

So you can wait, but I don't wanna waste my love || Oak & Agatha

Sammy stood there shuffling his feet for a bit, not sure if he should add anything to his already heavy words. She probably needed some time to soak in his words. He did leave her with quite a heavy choice. He just stood there silently, watching her soar higher and higher before coming back down with a woosh. She had looked so carefree and happy earlier, he didn’t like the fact that he was the source of her confusion. It made him feel as if he were some kind of demon putting unsure thoughts into a good person. 

He shook his head as soon as the thought crossed his mind. There was no reason to think like that. His words were completely justified. Kanto wasn’t the same place anymore. There was no one left. It was just Sammy and Aggy. Of course he’d wanna take her with him when he discovered new and exciting places. He wanted to share those moments with her. He wanted her to be with him for the rest of his life. Was that so bad? She was his comfort, she was the only friend he still had. He didn’t want to lose that, he didn’t want to lose her. 

But then again, Kanto was her home as well as his. He couldn’t ask her to pick her entire life up and move it just because he couldn’t handle life without her. She was a person too, she deserved a life she was comfortable with. He didn’t want her to come with him because of some twisted sense of loyalty or responsibility. He wanted her to come with him because it was what she wanted. He didn’t want her to be miserable around him and end up hating him for it. 

When she continued to stay silent, Sammy started to get a little worried. He couldn’t understand why it was taking her so long to say anything. Just as he was about to call her name, she fell off the swing and landed on the ground with a dull thud. This caused Sammy to leap to her side. “Aggy, are you okay?!” Sammy wondered aloud, concern etched in his voice. 

He took a chance to look into her eyes and what he saw broke his heart. Her beautiful eyes were welled up with tears. “Aggy…” Sammy whispered wiping her eyes gently. “Please don’t….” 

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笹木なこな

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In your darkest hour, I would lead you through the fire— And I'll do anything

In the moment that Mortimer had gotten back on his feet and offered the handsome grin of his, Agatha was filled with immense pride in her stoic features. A fine gentleman, the matriarch muses between the scatter of rose over his pale complexion and the shaky voice that broke the silence of the night. A fine boy indeed; you would be proud of him too Marianne. 

As the Hoothoot outside begun to ruse, a glance is cast at the clock on the wall that depicted a bed-time that was far-due before aged eyes catch the last of an unstifled yawn and that atrocious habit of rubbing his eyes. With a dismal shake of her head, Agatha lets that slide just this time as she motioned for his pokémon to accompany the child to bed, finally allowing herself to regress into relief with the knowledge that the spirits had gone. 

Getting up fervently from the seat, incantations are murmured much to to the unhappiness of her Gengar, though it had made no further complaint when the old woman unlocked the wooden doors to the house that invited a chill night-time wind in. As fingers taped a blessed protective scroll to the outside of the door, Agatha's sight rests on the speckled darkness overhead; a hand reaching out to the ghostly figure of the cheshire-cat-like Gengar by her side that had always lent so much comfort to her.

The night would be much sweeter now, the nightmare of numerous days have finally come to a close and dawn would come soon enough. 

—

"It is time to wake up, Mortimer." 

Barely the crack of dawn, but mercy is for the weak and now was never a time for such. As much as one would have appreciated a day off after a hard-night, one that feels like a terrible hang-over, no doubt – Agatha's strong suit had never been sniveling and wallowing in self-pity. For after all, what better way to move on from a mistake than getting up and carrying on? In the fit of the moment, she had entertained the thought of bringing the blond breakfast in bed and to allow him to watch some television – the whole nine-yards of giving him the luxury of being spoilt; 

ha!

"Breakfast has been prepared, child. It would be wise to get up and eat or it will be cleaned up the moment the hour is over." Everything that remains status quo as in the mansion when he had lived with her, of course.

"...Mortimer?" 

[Of Shattered Dreams and Broken Teacups] - [Semi AU] [Morty and Agatha]

Odd enough, the sense of comfort emanated from his grandmother helped ease his jumbled sense of judgement. Just moments ago, he contemplated with just ending it all - because really, who would miss him? - but now…hesitance froze him in place. Like clockwork, the fog in his mind started to clear, giving full access for common sense to shine through. Perhaps…his Ghost team for starters. Maybe…his friends - Clair, Falkner, Eusine to name a few - would grief over his passing. And…his challengers - Gold, Silver, Crystal - could be sad to a certain point…

The perspicacity of that notion almost swayed his entire skewed perception but there was still that tiny speckle of doubt that persisted on ensuring his demise. It was when soft fingertips started to sift through moisture-laden tresses that the incertitude crumbled to dust. Misty amethyst eyes widened perceptibly, sparks of realization twinkling in them and only got brighter with each passing second. Arceus, how could he have been so damn stupid?

If he had succumbed to defeat and carried out the irreversible act, it will completely devastate Grandma Aggy. No, not only her. His parents too are bound to be heartbroken if their only son - to which they love unconditionally, he realized guiltily - committed suicide. Not only that, he would suffer from the immensely selfish action for the rest of eternity. Morty would have joined the leagues of wandering spirits, unable to move on to a better place as regrets tied them to the mortal world. 

It would be ironic if the clairvoyant male ended up with the beings he sympathized. But he would ponder about it later.

As Agatha continued with the relaxing ministrations, Morty leaned more of his weight against her petite form, drinking in her warmth and inhaling the scent that was uniquely Grandma Aggy. For a moment, he regressed back to his childhood where actions such as this lulled the blonde to a sense of serenity that was a rarity these days. The responsibilities he shouldered almost made him lose sense of his inner child that hid deep within the confines of his heart.

He now remembered how it felt like to hug his grandmother.

Her heavenly fingers danced across his scalp, massaging the dreadful ache away which earned her a muffled mewl of pleasure. For the first time in the past two days, his lips twitched into a ghost of a smile and his darkened mood lifted ever so slightly. So comforted to be held as such that Morty became oblivious by the spirits’ howls of defeat now that he had regained a small flicker of strength or the fact that Agatha now embraced him almost protectively when the lights flickered.

“You should rest, Mortimer. I will stay here and accompany you if necessary, but it is integral that your health be of utmost priority.” 

The gentle words slid into his subconscious and reminded him just how terrible - physically this time - he truly felt. Muscles ached, bones weary, body burned and chilled inconsistently. Morty inclined his head lightly against the fabric before unclasping his hold on her. Slowly leaning back while swiping away the last remnant of tears, a small, wobbly grin flourished his features. With his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, one could almost mistake him for being inebriated.  

"I…I’d l-like t-that…" he uttered hoarsely, biting back a jaw creaking yawn. This time, he did regressed back to his childhood by the way he rubbed his tender eyes with the edge of his sleeve to stave off the sleepiness. Anyone could find that act childlike and…adorable.  

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Avoiding the dark-haired boy's gaze when the swing returns to it's lowest point, Agatha had heard bits of his words that mixed in with the wind in her ears; the last of his light-hearted chastising she knew may very well be one of the last times that would ever present itself with him physically there. After all, who would return to Pallet Town after seeing what the world had to offer? Men fueled by ambitions flew the furthest from the nest – empowered by insatiable need for more, and even more. She doesn't say anything, stays silent as though his words didn't matter— But That's how the war begun, wasn't it? — I’m thinking about leaving Kanto and exploring — Her lids fell heavily as the heart in her chest lurched thinking about what their parents had said; about how it had been indoctrinated so many times that they only had each other. 

One day you'll be gone from me. And I will be all alone. I'll have no one.

It contrasts so sharply against her height off the ground; the exhilarating woosh that would usually have caused Agatha to laugh now lost it's magic like an adult returning to a favorite childhood toy. A fit of nostalgia at best; the pre-disposed knowledge and anticipation that something like this would have happened sooner or later. Memories reel sharply to the day her brother and father were drafted into the Kanto army – the promises that they'd return safe and sound unfulfilled when the Sergeant himself came with his beret under his arm and a salutation offered to her – the only child left – that they've made a valiant effort. 

It's not going to get much better here. You could come with me if you wanted. We could see the world, just the two of us. 

—

She falls off the swings sharply in a unforeseen turn of events, landing with a dull thud on the dusty ground and the sun setting in the horizon just before her. Hot tears have found themselves to bright hues, but they aren't from falling out from the sky (physically), but from the anguish that had seeded her heart and sprung so violently. Sammy's words were the daily watering and nurturing that had made her so soft – be damned, I say — to have become so vulnerably comfortable and blinded in hope that things wouldn't change if none of them tried to be different.

But he's the champion, and I'm just runner-up. 

So you can wait, but I don't wanna waste my love || Oak & Agatha

Sammy sighed and looked down, scratching the back of his head in an embarrassed way. It was hard enough to admit one time. He didn’t want to keep having to say it. Sammy took a deep breath before plastering a smile on his face. “Honestly Aggy, you gotta start paying more attention when someone’s talking to you!” He forced out a soft chuckle while he watched her swing, up and down, hypnotised by the motion. 

"What I said was….I’m thinking about leaving Kanto and exploring. I wanted to know what you thought," Sammy attempted to add a light tone to his words but the words themselves were heavy, he didn’t know if the tone would be enough to lift the weight of the words. 

"I mean, you’re one of the smartest people I know! If you say that it’s a good idea then I know that it’s not just a stupid dream," Sammy said moving behind the swing again to help her pick up momentum. He grabbed the seat once more and pushed her as hard as he could. He watched her soar even higher and smiled. One day she was going to be out of his reach and he would always wonder ‘what if?’

"I mean, we aren’t kids anymore and life isn’t going to get much better here…" The words felt like toxic in his mouth. He didn’t want to leave her or his mother but there was nothing for Sammy in Kanto anymore. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was forced to join in on the war effort sometime soon. 

"You could come with me if you wanted….we could see the world….just the two of us," he wanted her to be there with him but he knew he was asking a lot. He was asking her to move her entire life to keep him company and that just wasn’t fair. 

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☑

A Fear They Have

Agatha actually had a fear of shadows when she was younger. Not the darkness, and not of light, but shadows. This is due to the reason that evil spirits sometimes masquerade as fragments and can wreak havoc to a person should they step into the set-traps. Albeit mostly harmless to a human, it still rendered a sense of insecurity in her.

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Leave a ☑ in my ask and I'll answer with a fact about my character!

Full Name (If Not Known)

Favorite Hobby(s)

Do They Love/Hate Their Current Job/Occupation

Number Of Family Members

Relationship With Siblings

Relationship With Parent(s)

A Fear They Have

Something ‘They’ Believe They Are Good At

Favorite Person/Friend

Living Habits

If none of these sound cool, you are free to leave me with a question to answer! :D

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The sobbing, rogue breaths escaping are a sign that he is alive; though erratic and no-doubt plagued and conflicted, Agatha is certain that her grandson would pull through. Within her, she feels the wiles of evil spirits discourage his existence and willpower – the pokémon by their side that had begun hissing at the intrusion around their master, but helpless with his lack of control and command. Even Agatha was unwilling to tamper with such unseen forces, knowing full-well that provoking either parties would prove useless and futile–

Oh?

Her vision drops quickly to the limbs entangled in her obi; the top of the blond-haired male a similar visage to what had transpired years ago. Desperation seemed to escape from the frantic actions, his fingers (no longer stubby and child-like) that searched and clung to the hem of the fabric seeming to seek some kind of solace – a safety net for the tumult that ravaged him prior. And again, the elderly veteran reaches out to the child with shaky fingers and furrowed brows, the tentativity of contact that seemed so foreign, yet apt in the moment.. 

touch.  I remember touch—

His soft, golden locks that still retained it's youthful consistency, though still damp from his shower seemed to twine themselves around her fingertips. It was a sense of comfort she had missed herself, a blatant, stark and painfully obvious reminder to the frail woman that they were both fearful and timid and the s a m e. Eyelids grow considerably heavy as a similar sense of fatigue crippled her to the ground with arms thrown haphazardly around bony shoulders, and breath that is ragged from the revelation but eyes that softened with a relented kindness to the male. 

"Be gone, now. You are not welcome here." With one last shrieking defeat, the shadows flee the Ecruteak apartment with vehemence and causes the lights to flicker for the moments that ensued. In the entire span, not once have Agatha's comforting embrace left his side, but rather, taken on a protective stance around the male, as did the three Gengar. 

Sometimes words were fallible, and people, too would succumb to such. The wrong place – the wrong time. The lack of fate and kindred spirit. 

"You should rest, Mortimer. I will stay here and accompany you if necessary, but it is integral that your health be of utmost priority." 

[Of Shattered Dreams and Broken Teacups] - [Semi AU] [Morty and Agatha]

The hitched breaths coupled with incomprehensible mutters and mixed with a waterfall created an unjustly sight of the blonde man. The fluffy golden locks reminiscent of sunshine lost its shine, the lackluster effect stemmed from the strands clinging to his sweat slicked forehead. Morty felt his throat clenched from both the overwhelming surge of anguish and the strain of crying previously which worsened the abused part. A cough ripped out in between the sobs followed by plenty others, intertwining with the wails like the macabre symphony of a man’s deterioration. 

He’s a mess. Absolutely pathetic.

Yes child. Lose your sense of self. Wallow in self despair. Focus on the shame, the grief, the sense of losing everything you have. Forget everything else. You are but an empty shell of your former strength. Give in to our whispers. Allow us free reign over your vessel. You have no use for it anymore. Give in. Give up. There is nothing else to live for.

The voices, hushed and fleeting, slowly poisoned his exhausted mind. Even through the inner turmoil, it honestly scared the blonde how he was even entertaining such thoughts. He knew the consequences of being a clairvoyant as his grandmother had indoctrinate the rules and dangers to him ever since the Ghost-user first showed signs of possessing such powers. The first thing he learnt was to never show weaknesses because that would just be a medium for the evil spirits to wreck havoc. With how much he showed right now, the voices he easily ignored before returned with a deadly vengeance.

It suffocated his mental state and added further stress to his physical health. Perhaps… they have a point….Maybe I should just….

Hanging precariously on his contemplation of suicide, like a sudden burst of bright light at the edge of the tunnel, a gentle touch on his jaw roused Morty just enough to escape the vicious murmurs. A tentative arm that half-circled his trembling form shocked him greatly. At first, he flinched at the abrupt contact coming from the last person he thought that could even give that kind of open compassion. As far as he remembered, Grandma Aggy had never hugged him, preferring to show her love by giving back handed compliments and those rare head pats where her fingers would sift through the soft locks, lulling the blonde into a sense of serenity.

"Hush, child."

His jaw clamped shut almost immediately, bewildered by how she was acting. He honestly thought she would start listing out her disappointment to him - she had never show any signs that she was proud of his achievements - so to receive a half hug from the tough elder threw him into uncharted territories. His confusion, at least, chased away the negative thoughts for now. Arceus…this is the first time she hugged me in years. What should I do?

Tears still streaming down his face but at a slower pace this time, Morty hesitantly wrapped his wiry arms around her waist - please don’t be angry - before he buried his dampened face onto her shoulder. The loose hold quickly escalated to a sort of desperate cling as he gripped the fabric like a life line, taking in deep breaths in between the coughs and sniffles. Now that he had calmed somewhat, the full toll on the day’s events crashed onto his weary shoulders. Arceus, he was utterly exhausted.

[fuguelite-blog]

There's a certain lull in the push-pull pendulum; a cog in the giant machine of how things worked – the gush of air that lifted her skirt just ever-so-slightly, the almost mechanical creaking as the weight strained the swings. It was an idyllic scene out of any person's fondest memories, but his words remind Agatha why this never came up as a positive, treasured thought. 

                                                                       Push....                                                                                 Pull...

What would you say if I told you that I'm thinking of leaving Kanto and exploring the world? 

Agatha goes upward again, and as feet makes contact with the dirt ground, her back that meets open palms gently feels more as though daggers have been pierced into her; bated breath that is held even as her feet kicked off the ground again in desperate attempt to fly – to pretend that what the brunette boy had said was merely a passing muse, that he wasn't going to leave her too.

We're the only ones left, Sammy. 

Quickly, silence robs the conversation and replaces it with childish ignoring – the pretense that such a thought would never be entertained by her heavy in the way her posture stiffened along with a smile on her lips. Despite that, her insides tumulted with the innate competitive want to challenge his thoughts: to force the future professor to repeat his words, and eventually wear him down enough to discard such a lofty, crazy dream.

"Could you repeat that, Sammy? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that."

I don't want to catch it, you fool.  Not you too. 

So you can wait, but I don't wanna waste my love || Oak & Agatha

Sammy laughed and put his hands up in defence when the girl began to chastise him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry but the press wanted pictures and stuff. I’m the youngest champion in history, of course they’d wanna get some shots of my beautiful, young, champion-ish face,” Sammy chuckled. Sammy didn’t want to say that the fame had gotten to his head but he did like embracing his champion status to the fullest. 

Without waiting for his explanation, Aggy had grabbed the boy’s wrist and tugged him over to the swings. He could feel her soft skin against his own while she pulled him. He could feel the awkward jerk of his legs as he was tugged over to the swings. In the deepest parts of his mind, the part that was still Professor Samuel Oak, he was somewhat impressed by the detail before him. It was no longer a silent movie, it was as if he was right there.

"Come on Aggy, slow down!" Sammy whined as the girl continued to pull him. Her excitement was clear and Sammy had to laugh at it. Here they were, almost adults and yet, the swings brought out Aggy playful side.

Sammy crossed his arms over his chest when he saw Aggy sit on the swing. “Why do I have to push?” Sammy asked childishly. To add effect to this, he stomped his foot into the ground as if he was a child throwing a temper tantrum.  ”You have to push menext,” Sammy muttered before getting into position. 

Despite his discontent at being the ‘pusher’, Sammy begrudgingly accepted his fate. He grabbed the back of the seat and pulled back before pushing it forward, feeling the wind pick as he did so. 

"What would you say if I told you that I’m thinking of leaving Kanto and exploring the world?" Sammy asked suddenly, watching her swing high into the air before coming back down and repeating. It was almost hypnotic, like a pendulum. 

[fuguelite-blog]

When the movement stopped, the scene before her is a picturesque calm of red and yellows – the warmth of sunlight contrasting against the bleak cold of the vacuum. Greenery and the smell of fresh grass welcoming and beckoning: Come closer. But by the time she gets near enough to touch the thin material, it feels as though it's too late to run – the gravity by which takes her in where the lush grass tickled the soles of her feet (where have my shoes gone?) And the veiny, aged skin is replaced with a much younger layer; her fingers shorter, her face less wrinkled and pulled into a smile she did not know was there. 

In the moment of pure ecstasy of rewound time, she takes a small, hesitant leap into the dirt path – the moisture of earth pungent as a familiar shadow takes shape before her. The familiar, deja-vu vision of brunette hair, a tone of oak wood and the christening of the boy's name.

Aggy! I was wondering when you'd get here! 

She hadn't even realized that her feet had carried her so instinctively to him, and as much as she had wanted to retract the hand that reached out for Sammy Oak's shoulder, her reaction is a delayed one – the fear of all this being a mere illusion melting away as her fingertips brushed the heavy fabric of his outer coat.

Oh my.. It really is you, Samuel. 

—

"And where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is now! We were supposed to meet an hour ago, Sammy!" The young girl huffs in indignation, nose upturned and scrunched in annoyance at her companion. In the large vast plain, there is a playground – she remembers, and there, it's just there.. and like in a foggy dream, Agatha recognizes the lack of other children their age in the scene; the detail of their childhood in vivid high-definition. 

But I'm here.  I'm living it. 

Catching the boy's wrist sharply, Agatha is surprised by the warmth of skin and the soft flesh that made everything feel even more surreal and unlikely. Hastened footsteps are a blur over the Kanto grass as she leads the boy to the abandoned swing set before promptly commanding him to be the allotted pusher, child-like anticipation surging as small hands wrap around the cool chains of the set. 

"I'm ready, Sammy!" 

So you can wait, but I don't wanna waste my love || Oak & Agatha

When it all started, Sammy was alone. There was nothing around him, it was just Sammy in what seemed like a void of nothingness. There were no sounds, no sights, no smells, nothing. It stayed like this for a bit, feeing as if something was biding it’s time to unload itself onto him. 

Sammy had no idea what it could be or how it could impact him but he knew that he needed to brace himself because somethingwas happening. Something that would blow him away. 

It started out innocently enough, it seemed as if pictures were flying by him. Of what? He couldn’t really tell, not right away at least. Then it began to feel different. At first, the pictures began to move as if they were silent films. They depicted a young boy with dark brown and a young girl with blonde hair. They seemed so familiar yet for the life of him, Sammy couldn’t figure out who they were. 

That’s when he began to hear them and even smell them. 

"Aggy, come on! It’ll be fun! When have I ever led down the wrong path?" Asked the young brunette boy. He looked to be around eight or nine years old at most. The girl was probably the same age. 

The girl, Aggy, didn’t seem to be impressed as she gave him a look that Sammy was starting to remember all too well when suddenly the scene shifted. 

Now they seemed to be around twelve years old. The boy and Aggy were laying down on the grass looking up at the stars. Aggy had just laughed at something the boy had said before turning her attention back on the stars. 

"Hey Aggy, do you think that there are Pokemon up there?"  Asked the boy, turning his head to look at the girl’s face. Before she could answer his question, the scene shifted again and again and again. In it wasn’t even stopping now.

The scenes kept flowing around Sammy as if a million movies were all playing at once. He could see Aggy grow up from the little girl he used to know into the older and much stronger Agatha with whom he hadn’t spoken to in years. 

The scenes were moving wilder now, it seemed like they were finally taking him where he was supposed to be going. Stop it! Sammy mentally screamed at the scenes. He wondered if it was time for him to die as he heard stories of one’s “life flashing before their eyes” when it was their time. That was what literally seemed to be going on right now when suddenly it stopped. 

The scene it stopped at however was unfamiliar. In it, Aggy and the boy who grew up to be Professor Samuel Oak were nowhere in sight. In fact, it just looked like a normal park littered with red and yellow leaves indicating Autumn weather. 

Finding this to be strange, Sammy found himself stepping closer and closer to the scene until he found himself inside of it. A moment’s confusion was all he had time for before his mind was wiped. He was no longer Professor Samuel Oak, renowned Pokemon Professor, he was Sammy Oak, newly christened champion of the Kanto region. 

"Samuel?"

He heard a voice call for him. He spun around and grinned when he saw his childhood friend run up to him. “Aggy! I was wondering when you’d get here!” 

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By the time the man's wails have broken the silence, Agatha had been prepared for it – the handkerchief nestled in her pocket, ready to be handed over to her cowering grandson in her palms as public waves of sadness ricocheted in the small apartment; bemoaning the dismay and flooding like a damaged reservoir over a desert plain. 

Good. Cry. 

And even as apologies are choked out in a manner that the old woman thought was unsightly – hands and face crumpled while heavy tears formed on the lacquered table like precious pearls; the erratic, broken consonants of I'm sorry, and self-depreciating complaints of should-have-been, could-have-beens, and how he seemed to carry the weight of disappointing her on his frailed shoulders was still a sight to behold. The boy that was likened to a ray of sunshine and never out-of-place with his emotions, to have learned to control them outwardly and inwardly – the peace attained by the people of their kind to administer such perfect control. 

Perfection always had such a high price to pay.

In the minutes of utter shame that ensued, Agatha merely watched in silent support with elderly fingers wrapped around the small teacup in her hands. Heat, that seeps into the thin skin of her fingertips lent little-to-no comfort while the chill wind swept through the apartment; her own silent anguish melding with the escaped morose and control of the other human while the pokémon perched ruefully in the darkened corners of the room, sulking in the shadows at the immense sensory overload grief could create. 

                                 I-I..s-shouldn’t h-have d-d-disappointed..y-y-you…

He said; though it was the last thing the retired Elite could have ever accused Morty of. Truth be told, she was already full of pride for her grandson – the accomplishments of pursuing his ambitions and growing up to be a fine young man; the way his citizens wrote to letters to her private manor with naught but praises for him always made her flush with an unspoken happiness. Yet the want to express her feelings for the young man was always crippled by her inexplicable need for perfection, the want to toe the line of potential further, and further still...

I've never told you I'm proud of you, have I, Mortimer? 

                                                   ..I-I…s-should h-have…been b-better…

The broken words repeat like rapid-fire bullets in her head; the sight and sullen-load of pure despair before her eyes only to have the revelation sink in with full-force. You couldn't have been better, Mortimer– a strong hand catches hold of his dampened jaw, the other pulling him into a tentative, side-ward embrace. A hug is something that had not been offered since the boy was old enough to walk himself – the need for physical reaffirmation replaced by silence and a lack of warmth and touch from the strict matriarch. 

Such was the manner of tough-love—

"Hush, child."

[Of Shattered Dreams and Broken Teacups] - [Semi AU] [Morty and Agatha]

At first Morty welcomed the silence that descended - infinitely better than being admonished of his incompotence - but then it stretched out almost painfully on his part. Just sitting there quietly in the presence of his grandmother had never occured before. His tinkling bell like laugh and sunny disposition often lit up whatever atmosphere he found himself into. Blessed with clairvoyance abilities - that seemed to be inherited from his mother’s side - a shroud of heavy aura always encompassed the child as the spirits lingered around the ‘mortal that can see their kind’.

The negativity that came with it - arguments, regrets, unfullfilment. Arceuswhydidn’tIdothatIsho - could easily crippled the mind of a lesser man. Even worse, could push him to the very brink of sanity before giving that one final push to send him tumbling down the chasms of insanity. Somehow, Morty brushed aside such recusant ambiance as he grew up however. True, they were some dangerously close moments but the little blonde boy managed to persevere in the end.

Do I have the strength to repeat that? I lacked the childlike innocence that protected me once before. Is that a good thing however?

"Drink, Morty. It’s good for your lungs and I do not wish for you to catch pneumonia again. Heaven knows what the spirits would wreak if you fall ill as such again." 

Agatha’s mild reminder struck through his pathetic form and for a moment, the blonde gave the impression of his comprehension to his curent self-destructive tendencies. It flickered briefly before dimming out; those sharp amethyst pools morphing back to stormy byzanthium ones. It appeared he retained some of the manners implemented in his childhood though as he slowly encircled his palms around the warm mug (somewhat mechanically in truth), savoring the little tingles his nerves sent from the action.

It made him feel alive somehow.

"Thank you," he croaked out before bringing the mug to his chapped lips. He winced at the burning sensation in his mouth - perhaps he shouldn’t have been to hasty - but gingerly swallowed the aromatic beverage. The drink slid down his throat and admittingly, the ache in his chest dwindled down as the golden liquid chased away all remnants of chills from his lungs. He thanked his grandmother silently this time as he continued to take small sips.

In a way, he felt comforted by the fact that she worried for his health. Once, way back in his teenage years, Morty had contracted pneumonia and as such, was at Death’s door for several weeks due to his weakened body. The spirits that run amok during that period - they knew he was weak, unable to brush aside their ghostly wisps filled with contempt - didn’t help his recovery process at all. Honestly, at one point the doctors wasn’t sure of his survival. It was through sheer strength of character - he was so strong back then - and a lot of attention from Agatha that the blonde pulled through.

Unwittingly, his lips started wobbling again as guilt settled itself heavily in his heart. Oh Arceus, Grandma Aggy had done so much for him. She was the one who taught him how to block out the nasty whispers. The one who looked after him when his parents left for business for weeks on end. The person he found to look up to so he could construct a childish dream of achieving her level one day. Despite her tough persona, deep down his grandmother loved him and he had failed her.

"Crying never was a sign of weakness. Ever since one is born it has been an indication that one is alive. You are alive, Morty; this is but a minor failure. But to allow your existence to be consumed by such a minute detail – then you would have let us all down." 

He glanced up at those words as he shakily placed his mug back down when his stomach churned. For the umpteenth time that day, tears shimmered but he furiously blinked in a vain attempt to halt their impending fate. Arceus, he had cried far too much. Enough was enough! But then…Grandma Aggy said that crying was never a sign of weakness. Is that true? Is he allowed to….?

"Go ahead and cry, Mortimer." 

One final tap was all it took for the dam to break.

A sob began to escape. Followed by another. That was replaced with a wail which soon escalated in both volume and amount. Morty buried his face in his hands, knees pulled up and body curled up. He was wrong when he assumed that all his anguish had been poured out completely yesterday. All the pain, all the suffering, all the heartbreaking grief flowed out at that moment like an open tap. 

”..I-I’m s-sorry!” He wailed, forcibly choking out those words. “..I-I…s-should h-have…been b-better…I-I..s-shouldn’t h-have d-d-disappointed..y-y-you…”

[fuguelite-blog]

Hearts A Mess (3am Mix By Joe Hardy) / Gotye 

[fuguelite-blog]

So you can wait, but I don't wanna waste my love || Oak & Agatha

                   Look upon the pieces of your heart, and let me peer inside                                     Let me in, where only your thoughts have been                                              Let me occupy your mind.. as you do mine

"What are you doing here, Sammy?" 

The words were strangely surreal as they resounded in cold, bleak emptiness; the sight blinding in the sheer white – sounds that reverberated and echoed in the vacancy. It's my voice, but it's not me. Agatha thinks with a hand cradled over her lips; aged and cracked with dryness as the vision comes into view, but this time, it's her own words that come spilling out like a torrent. 

"Samuel..?" 

The children don't hear her, of course – in the manner that this is but a dream before they take each other's hands and disappear into the thick forestry of Viridian. That was the way they met; as children who could only hold on to each other when the adults had much bigger things to attend to – things that as kids, they didn't understand; couldn't comprehend.

Hold on to each other, Agatha.  Take care of Sammy. Take care of each other.

—

In a blur, the picture has changed. The scenery that shuffles is but a moving spot of color – a dream-like trance that made e v e r y t h i n g different again. 

"Samuel? Are you there?" 

But she is like an anachronism in the span of memories. Each interaction at the intersections of their lives: uncontrollable, unstoppable and inexplicable as they played simultaneously that felt like soundless blanc-and-noir movies. Why won't they stop? Agatha could hardly explain why she wanted them to stop, actually.. but somehow, it felt like the right thing to do. 

As though she was searching for an answer behind one of the doors. 

                                                               You have lost too much love                                                                 To fear, doubt and distrust                                                           You just threw away the key to your heart

——

It stops.

"Samuel?"

[fuguelite-blog]

Clocks tick the minutes away ruefully – each pendulum swing and mechanical note filling up like a metaphorical, never-ending hourglass in her consciousness. How long till it runs out? How long till the negativity drowns him in numerous grains of sand? Sand.. that could have very well been the jagged, bleeding pieces of what remains of his dignity and heart—

Agatha relents when the hot tea scalds her lips in her absent-mindedness; tutting under her breath as Gengar reappeared by her side with a wiping cloth before a sudden, ominous chill sweeps the room in an unwelcome manner. 

Madam, they will come if Master Mortimer does not regain control. 

And as much as she is painfully aware, the retired Elite has no power in such manner – a way of which ghost-trainers must fend for themselves, the agreement of partnership between the spirit-realm and ours where a weakened clairvoyant will no longer be granted special protection for their occult practices should any issue arise.

A weakened heart begets a weakened willpower;  the spirits will be displeased to be ruled by a crippled master — 

Deep in thought, her attention barely shifts to the boy as he settles in the seat before hers; though for the moment that she looks up, even she is fazed by the liquid droplets that clung to his hair; his face. The clinging trails of crystalline substance adhering to his cheek like dew on a morning that would somehow never rise; h e a r t b r e a k — she thinks as he notices his cup on the table without acknowledgement, the scent of tea hot and heavy in the monsoon air.

"Drink, Morty. It's good for your lungs and I do not wish for you to catch pneumonia again. Heaven knows what the spirits would wreak if you fall ill as such again." 

Silence fills like a loud protest and by now it's testing the old woman's tolerance – the stark lack of greeting, the mannerism and formality that has been instilled from the very beginning – a contrast that was as blatant as night and day, really. Whilst eyes follow the shudder of frail shoulders and the shallow breathing, long locks caressed by the wind, Agatha is struck by how human and fragile everything was, that perhaps, under the guise of adulthood, Morty was still but a child holding in tears from a scraped knee and bloodied lip out of fear and harrowed heart that it was not the right thing to do. 

With the cup set-down against the table and hands folded neatly in her lap, the elderly woman fixates her eyes to the pale-skinned boy, the illusion of young Morty sitting in the shadow of the seat where the man was. 

"Crying never was a sign of weakness. Ever since one is born it has been an indication that one is alive. You are alive, Morty; this is but a minor failure. But to allow your existence to be consumed by such a minute detail – then you would have let us all down." 

"Go ahead and cry, Mortimer." 

[Of Shattered Dreams and Broken Teacups] - [Semi AU] [Morty and Agatha]

If one was to witness his departure, one would wonder how could someone make their footsteps sound so sad.

Morty half walked, half staggered on his path towards the bathroom. Even with both of his loyal Pokemon flanking him, they could only offer so much support and he moved mostly under his own minuscule power through sheer willpower alone. Tenacity could only go so far however as his body’s natural need to rest and close himself off from the outside world for combating the illness that plagued him outweighed the common sense to clean himself.

No, don’t be a baby. I can’t disobey Grandma Aggy’s order. I don’t want to further disappoint her.

Whenever he felt his strength waning, that thought somewhat helped him drag his pitiful self and finally, the blonde stood half conscious in the bathroom. The simple act of removing his clothes turned out to be a monumental task - something so simple and I can’t even do it properly. How pathetic is that? - and it took the combined help of several more of his Ghost Pokemon until he finally stripped down to his boxers. 

By the time Morty entered the shower, shivers and trembles wrecked his lean form. Invasion of privacy was the last thought in his mind when Spooks and Wisp stood beside him, still offering silent support. In fact, he greatly appreciated how understanding they were, given their usual mischievous persona. In truth, the pair worried immensely for their Trainer. The one they thought infallible suffered the greatest fall of all. The Ghost-User’s dream was shattered to insurmountable pieces and they could do nothing at all to ease his suffering other than be by his side in this difficult moment of his life.

After all, he had showered them with unconditional love and care. It was only perfectly right that they returned it at this moment.

The tepid water that splayed across his bare torso elicited a sharp inhale from the man, eyes flying open at the contrast in temperature. For the past twelve hours, the cold had seeped into his very bones, chilling his muscles and freezing his nerves. In the first few seconds, he actually tried to escape as the water was so damn hot on his skin until his sluggish mind finally caught up. 

This is for the best. Remember, this is Grandma Aggy’s order. 

Grandma Aggy….

Crystallized tears slid down his flushed cheeks in rivulets as he clasped a trembling hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs that escapes his lips. Arceus, how could he faced her again or anyone else for that matter? A majority of the denizens in Ecruteak knew of his efforts to entice Ho-Oh’s appearance but now that feat had been realized by another - worthier than I’ll ever be, his mind spat venomously - just how could he do so without burning in shame?

Seconds, minutes or hours ticked by but Morty didn’t care. He merely stood in the shower, allowing his tears to mix in with the water and it was only when soft whines and gentle squeezes roused his attention that he decided it was time to get out. The process of drying himself and slipping into a loose black t-shirt and baggy sweatpants his Pokemon had gave him took easily fifteen minutes but the blonde was in no particular hurry to face the music.

Still, he couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever so ever so slowly, the adult staggered out while once again being flanked by his two Gengars. The soft thump swish thump swish of steps and fabric sounded minute compared to his thundering heartbeat. Was he ready to face open despondency by his own family? The idea of them supporting him never once crossed his mind as he was too dismayed over his own failure and his bitter self loathing attitude.

Finally, he reentered the living room where he found his aged grandmother - maybe I look older than her now, he mused emptily - sipping on a cup of tea. Morty noticed idly on the Drifloon printed mug with steam rising out of it. It was one of his favorite mugs and he wondered how Agatha remembered such a trivial detail. Still, she had went to the trouble of making him a warm beverage so the least he could do was accept it?

Only - as he slowly lowered himself onto the couch, head hung and eyes downcast - I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.