#again to be clear I don’t think the segment is too bad itself. searching for the divine water was a good way for Goku to get | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-gay-prometheus · 3 years

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Frankenstein AU Segment - “Willful Disobedience”

Clervalstein yearning goes brrrrrrr

Anyways- uh... so as I said at the beginning of pride month, my goal for June is to write at least one directly Clervalstein related AU segment each week because gay.

This time around, I was inspired to write about the events that led to how Henry would eventually find Victor and the Creature on the mountain, so in terms of timeline, this takes place before all segments I’ve written except for “Home Again” and “Same Scars, Same Stitches.”

A couple of fun little tidbits about the making of this segment (feel free to skip over them and get right to the segment below the cut, this is just me rambling about some inspiration):

1. The whole bit with Victor drawing and the Creature mimicking him by drawing as well was somewhat inspired by the “Forbidden Friendship” scene from How to Train Your Dragon. I listened to that specific track from the movie score a few times while I was in the process of thinking about this idea!

2. Another bit of musical inspiration actually came from the Chronicles of Narnia, specifically the track “Evacuating London” from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. If you time it just right and you’re somebody who can actively read and listen to music at the same time, it should somewhat line up with the last few paragraphs (excluding Henry’s bit at the end) - starting at where Victor says “I’d give anything-”, then with the little piano part being timed with the paragraph that starts with “It was intricately detailed-”, then the major swell in that half of the song should line up with the paragraph where the Creature begins feeling the need to disobey Victor’s most important rules; then comes the part that begins with a bit of bells and eventually vocalization, and that entire half of the track should align with the Creature carrying out his plan at least most of the way. Of course - all of this depends on your reading speed, but I would definitely recommend listening to the song after reading at least and imagining those parts of the segment along with it if you’re interested in a little peek into my crazy writing process! 😅

Anyways- this is another wholesome segment, so no warnings needed to my knowledge!

As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated!

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Sunlight warmed the cold stone of the mountain ridge upon which Victor sat. His sleeves were rolled up on his arms, as the heat from the summer sun was felt much more intensely up on the mountain top despite the cool alpine breeze. Heavy clouds capped the peaks beyond though the sky was primarily a clear blue, and mist drifted through the valleys below. Though the view was magnificent, the sketchbook that sat on Victor’s knee contained no trace of the mountains. His eyes darted from the open page to the horizon, but it wasn’t the horizon he was searching for. As he stared over the peaks beyond, it wasn’t the view itself he focussed on, and instead an image that was clear in his mind. With a slight smile at the thought, he turned his gaze back down to the page and continued his sketching. It wasn’t long before the smile faded as the sound of quiet, careful footfalls upon the stone broke the calm silence, and he became aware of a presence directly beside him. He instinctively scooted himself about a half inch away as the other figure slowly sat at his side, his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate harder on his sketching. “What are you doing?” came the inquisitive voice of his creation, and he felt the looming figure lean over in an attempt to view what he was drawing. With a further frown, Victor covered over his sketch with his other hand and turned away.

“Last I checked, that was none of your business,” he grumbled in reply. The creature tried to get a better look, but Victor’s hand covered over too much of it for him to be able to see. He sat there for a moment longer, his mind wandering and his gaze flitting about from view to view as he tried to decide what it was he should do. Now that the cabin was finally completed, he found himself with a lack of activities to keep him busy, and though his creator was certainly better company now than he had been when he first arrived to the mountain, he still wasn’t much of a conversationalist and was often preoccupied with his own thoughts or projects. Out of ideas, he hummed something softly to himself, some tune he had once heard Victor singing one day many weeks ago. Victor lifted his eyes at the sound and glanced over at him, but the moment the creature returned his gaze, he rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning back to his sketching. Quieting himself at his creator’s reaction, the creature sighed and stood, walking back toward the cabin. Victor almost felt bad - almost - but he kept drawing, now absentmindedly humming the same tune. After a few minutes, he became distracted by the sound of footsteps once again, but this time the creature sat a ways away from him. He went quiet, trying to ignore his creation and keep his focus, but he heard the scratching of another pen on paper, then a pause, then more scratching, and he felt himself being watched. With an exasperated sigh, Victor dropped his pen beside him and looked over to the creature. “What on earth are you doing?” The creature looked up at him, his expression blank.

“Last I checked, that was none of your business,” he answered matter-of-factly. Victor stared at him a moment, then frowned.

“Back talking me? That’s new.” The creature blinked, but didn’t answer, instead turning back down to the piece of paper that lay on his knee and continuing to draw something on it. Now thoroughly curious, Victor stood, walking over to him and standing behind him to look over his shoulder. The creature made no efforts to hide his drawing, and Victor could clearly see the rough beginnings of a person sitting in the exact same pose he had been sitting in. “Are you… drawing me drawing Henry?”

“Ah, so you were drawing someone named Henry.” Victor blushed furiously.

“Oh you sly bastard,” he muttered. The creature glanced up at him. “How clever of you, to get an answer out of me like that.”

“That was not my intention, but I cannot say I am disappointed by the result,” the creature responded simply. Victor sighed, sitting down beside him before flopping dramatically onto his back. Now trying to think based on memory, the creature gazed off into the distance before looking down at his paper and continuing to draw. “May I ask who this Henry person is?” he asked as he drew. “I hear you speak the name often. He must be of great importance to you.” Victor wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell his creation to mind his own business and stop prying into his personal life, and yet… he couldn’t be angry - not while Henry was the topic of the conversation, anyway.

“Henry is… was my…” He paused, carefully thinking about how to choose his words, “closest friend.” There was a length of silence as he felt an ache in his chest from the thought of Henry, and the creature took a moment away from his drawing before returning to it.

“Tell me about him,” he suggested as he sketched. Victor sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, holding his sketch of Henry over his heart as he stared into the sky.

“Where to even begin with him,” Victor uttered quietly.

“Describe him to me.” Victor lifted his sketch up and stared at it, before holding it out to the creature. The creature glanced up, and looked at it with a curious expression. Victor gave him a curt nod, signaling that he was welcome to inspect it closer, so he gently took it from Victor’s hand and inspected it closely.

“He’s tall, but not too tall - just tall enough that I have to look up in order to look into his eyes. And he’s always well dressed - I don’t think there’s ever been a day when he wasn’t looking his best, though I suppose I might be a bit biased on that.” For a moment he wondered just how much further he should go with his description. How could he describe someone like Henry without giving his true feelings away? He hesitated, then sighed with a smile. His creation already knew one of his secrets, and, after all, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere or seeing anyone else, so what harm was there in completely venting his thoughts? “He has the most thoughtful hazel eyes, toffee brown around the edges and streaked with emerald green that deepens toward the pupils, the kind of eyes you could get lost in if you stared for too long.” The creature’s pen went still and he looked up toward the horizon, trying to imagine what Victor was describing. “And his hair is long - not quite so long as yours, but ends just past his shoulders - and lays in tangled waves always kept tied back, though a few strands never fail to set themselves free. When the sun hits it just right, I could swear it was made of fire,” Victor breathed as he pictured it in his mind. “It’s the kind of brilliant auburn that takes your breath away, that seems to gleam with its own radiant light. Sometimes I swear he’s more angel than man, and perhaps if angels do exist, he may well be one of them.” The creature smiled, but the smile soon faded as his mind drifted to Paradise Lost and further to his past. He blinked the thought away, then turned his eyes back down to his art, setting Victor’s drawing of Henry down at his side. “He’s covered with what must be thousands of freckles, mostly concentrated on his cheeks but they expand over his face and at the very least his arms, chest, and back. I would liken them to… dark stars against a bright sky,” Victor explained. He raised an arm up and began tracing lines in the air as he continued. “I used to try to find constellations among them, and sometimes I thought I nearly could. Orion, Andromeda, Lepus, Lynx, Pegasus, Phoenix, Vulpecula,” he muttered each constellation as he imagined himself tracing the lines between freckles on Henry’s skin, his chocolate brown eyes seeming to light up with wonder as he grew to be lost in his own imagination.

“He barely sounds real,” the creature interjected nonchalantly, hardly looking up from his drawing as he began to focus closer on it. Victor grinned and chuckled softly.

“I tell myself that every day,” he murmured with a hint of sarcasm. “Surely no man could ever be so perfect, and yet there he is-” He paused, reaching higher toward the sky and extending his fingers to feel the breeze between them, “as real as you and I.” His hand dropped back down to his chest as he heaved a sigh. “There’s no man on earth as generous or as compassionate as my-” He stopped himself, blushing hard as he realized what it was he was about to say. “As Henry, I mean. Just… just Henry.” The scratching of the creature’s pen stopped again, and Victor glanced over at him to see him staring ahead in clear contemplation of the implications of his words before returning to his art. “You know,” Victor began, returning his eyes to the sky. “I can just about guarantee that if it were Henry who made you instead of me, you would have turned out ok.” The weight of his words hadn’t set in before he said them, but now that they were out, they sat heavy on his chest like lead. It took him a moment, but he sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled unsteadily. “If it were him instead of me, William would still be alive.” At those words, the creature froze, as rather than a weight to him they felt like a dagger slowly piercing between his ribs and etching each letter directly onto his beating heart. “And to think… Even if it wasn’t him who made you, if it were him who found you here, perhaps your night terrors would have all but ceased by now. And maybe, by his grace, you would be at peace.” They sat in contemplative silence, both somehow altogether calmed and unnerved in each other's presence. “I’d give just about anything for him to be here,” Victor mentioned, breaking the silence and lifting himself up onto his hands. “And I know all it would take is one letter. He’d drop everything to come here. But that’s… that’s just it. That’s the problem.” He sighed, fully sitting upright. The creature glanced over at him. “I can’t let him just… ruin the rest of his life for me. I don’t know how I could live with myself knowing that I held him back because of my own mistakes.” His eyes dropped to his other side. “And yet… I barely know how I can live with myself without him here.” It was at that moment that he felt something being laid gently on his lap, and when he looked down, he saw the drawing the creature had been working on.

It was intricately detailed, each line placed carefully onto the page with such precision. Though it was only simple line art, Victor could clearly see the image of himself sketching from earlier on the page, but standing in front of him was another figure - Henry. He was exactly as Victor described him, tall and well dressed, with long hair tied back and a few strands that drifted over his face. Though there was no color, his eyes seemed just as gentle and full of wonder as Victor remembered them to be as he stared off to some distant land. His face was covered in tiny dots, freckles, each so meticulously pricked on that Victor could clearly trace some of the constellations he described between them. Tears welled in his eyes as he placed his fingers gently on the drawn image, running them gently down the drawing’s cheek, wishing instead of cool paper that it was the soft, warm touch of Henry’s face. “Did I do him justice?” the creature inquired quietly, trying to read his teary expression. Victor sniffled and smiled.

“You… you’re quite the artist,” he managed to answer. Gingerly, he folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, slowly rising to his feet. “I’ll… I’ll be back later. I need to take a walk and… clear my head,” Victor mentioned, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “Will you be ok on your own?” The creature didn’t answer for a moment, his yellow eyes staring into the distance as he thought deeply, but soon he snapped his attention back to the present.

“Yes, of course. Take your time, Victor.” Victor sighed and nodded.

“I’ll try not to be too late to return.” His creation watched as he wandered off and eventually disappeared into the trees, before returning to his thoughts. It was strange - in all the months that he had been there, the creature had never once considered disobeying Victor, especially out of the fear that he might abandon him again. Suddenly, however, he felt the strong need to disobey each and every one of Victor’s most important rules. He hated to see his creator so struck with longing, but even more so, he considered the positive ramifications of what his carefully formulated plan might bring. Sure, Victor might be initially upset, but with how much he desperately wanted this Henry person to be there with him, surely it would be well worth it in the end.

The first part of his plan was simple. He would need to break Victor’s trust, and search through his personal belongings. He made his way back to the cabin and slipped into Victor’s room to find a mess of folded papers lying on the bed stand - each paper being a letter he had received from a Henry Clerval. Though all he was searching for was an address, the creature couldn’t help himself and decided to read through some of the letters. As he did, he became even more certain about his decision. Not only was this man exactly as Victor had described, but the connection between them was clearly something so strong that it should have been unbreakable. To his luck as well, the creature managed to find amongst the scattered papers a letter Victor had intended to send as a reply to Henry but never had the chance to send, dated from a time before his creation.

The second part of his plan would be the most time consuming, but also the most critical, and this unsent letter would prove to be the perfect resource. Retrieving his pen and a small stack of paper Victor had stashed away, he began crafting a letter of his own. With as much precision as he could muster, he forged Victor’s handwriting and did his best to copy his style and choice of language. A few hours were spent on this, most of that time spent on crafting one single sentence until he was sure it was perfect before finally continuing on with the rest of the letter. After he completed it, he spent a few more minutes checking it once, then once more to ensure it was in fact as accurate as he could make it, before then spending a little more time practicing forging Victor’s signature and finally signing the note in his creator’s name.

Finally came the most dangerous part. With only his own memory of his travels from Ingolstadt to guide him, he would need to find and deliver the letter to someone who would be able to ensure that it reached Henry safely. Of all Victor’s rules, perhaps his greatest was that the creature was to never descend the mountain, and above all, was never to enter civilization or interact with any other human beings. Each of these would need to be broken in order for his plan to succeed. For a moment, he hesitated. Would Victor become so cross with him over this that he would abandon him once again? Where would he go if he did? What would he do? Who could he turn to? Still, it cut him sharp to think that he might be squandering this small chance to bring his creator some joy after all his sorrow if he were to abandon his plan now. His mind was made - no matter what the outcome would be, he was going to ensure this letter was delivered, and hope that Henry would arrive some day soon just as Victor said he would.

He would need to be swift in order to ensure that Victor would never know he had even left, so he quickly yet cautiously put each letter back in its rightful scattered place as though they had never been touched, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. With a deep, shaky breath, he could feel a new sensation pulsing through him - a rush of adrenaline that raised his heart rate and widened his yellow eyes. Letter clutched tightly in hand, exited the cabin and broke into a sprint. Down the mountain he ran with superhuman speed, leaping over logs and boulders as though they were mere hurdles. Though he should have balked at sheer cliff faces, instead he lept from them and skid down their sides, ignoring the sharp pain of the rock scraping at the soles of his feet and the palm of his empty hand. Letting his intuition guide him, he continued his swift journey to Geneva. Though the place held painful, dreadful memories for him, the surge of adrenaline that coursed through him overrode the thoughts, and he raced toward the location of the address. Slowing to a walk, his chest heaved and ached from exertion, but he slowed his breathing as he came upon a fence that outlined one of many pastures that outskirted a large house on a hill beyond. In one pasture, he could just barely see a figure on horseback, cantering through a field with his wavy, tied hair flickering ember orange in the sunlight behind him.

“Can I help you, sir?” came a sudden voice from beside him. He jumped at the sound, instinctively hiding his face in the hood of his cloak.

“I- ...yes. Yes, I believe you can,” he stammered in reply. The stranger, a servant from the Clerval household, gave him a curious look as he held out the letter. “This is a letter for a man named Henry Clerval. I am of the impression that this is his residence?” The servant smiled as he took the letter.

“Ordinarily I would have sent you in the direction of Ingolstadt in Germany, but as luck would have it, master Henry returned home just yesterday.” He inspected the folded letter curiously. “May I ask your name?” The creature froze, gripping his cloak tighter around himself.

“I am but a simple deliverer of this message, kind sir. My name need not be of any concern. As for the letter, I am under the impression that he will understand who it is from once he has received it.” The servant nodded.

“I understand. Thank you - I will see that it’s delivered to him promptly.” With that, the man turned and started off toward where the man on horseback was riding, glancing back at the creature in confusion for a moment before continuing with a brisk pace to the one he would be delivering the letter to. The creature waited a moment longer to watch for the rider’s reaction, smiled, knowing he had made the right decision, and began his sprint back toward home.

“Master Henry? Sir?” the servant called in the pasture, letter held carefully in his hand. Henry’s hazel eyes lifted as he turned his head and gently pulled back on the reins of his mount. The mare he rode slowed to a trot, then to a walk as Henry carefully turned her in the direction of the servant.

“Yes, Marc? What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing wrong, sir,” Marc replied. As Henry slowed his steed to a stop at his side, he looked down curiously at the other man, who held the letter out to him. “This arrived for you just now from an unknown deliverer. He said you would know who it was from when you read it.” Now thoroughly intrigued, Henry took the letter and opened it. His eyes widened as he beheld the handwriting, and slowly his other hand lifted to his mouth as his jaw dropped while he read. “Is there something wrong, sir?” Tears welled in Henry’s eyes, dripping down onto his freckled cheeks as he looked up from the letter, his expression of shock turning to a tearfully happy smile.

“No, Marc, everything is much better than I had anticipated.” Marc gave him a confused glance. “Will you help me ready a supply pack and ride with me? I will need to be leaving at once.”

“Of course, sir,” Marc replied with a curt nod. “May I ask where it is we are headed?”

“The base of Mount Montanvert.” Henry turned his mount, his eyes resting on the distant mountains. “Be prepared to bring the horses back here for me once we arrive there. I might not be returning for quite some time.”

#frankenstein au #frankenpride #clervalstein #head empty clervenstein thoughts #clervenstein my beloved #also back at it again with not proof reading before posting lmao so hopefully this is good

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arahul-abyssia · 3 years

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Looks like it's September again (already, somehow), so that means that it's Nintember again, which means I'll be writing again! Same dealio as last time, one story per five prompts, up to six writings total. (And I'll be putting most of each under a cut, because mobile users can't skip posts)

And for my first entry for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern 's wonderful little event, I shall once again be attempting to twist some modicum of continuity, characterization, and canon-compliance out of a world that clearly cares scarcely for all three.

The Great Act

~~ Art, Green, Dizzy, Fire, Strength ~~

It was the loud buzzing of his phone’s alarm clock that dragged him from his slumber. He awoke to find himself sprawled across the couch, which was in no way long enough for his lanky body and spindly legs. As he blearily reached out and slapped at the coffee table, hoping to find the rude device by pure luck, he also blearily reached out and slapped at his memories, trying to figure out what series of events had led him there. For a moment, they floated just out of reach, and then suddenly flooded back to him all at once.

Oh. Right. It’s all over.

Another sporting event had come and gone, and as usual, in spite of all the effort he put into training and practice, he had ultimately lost to the same people he always did. No matter the sport, no matter the plan, no matter the time, they always won. And why shouldn’t they? The heroes always win in the end, always securing victory against the villains.

And he was one of them: the purple-clad counterpart, mirror, and supposed rival to one of the land’s most revered figures. Meant to oppose, and meant to lose.

He was Waluigi.

The name still sounded absurd to him. He had no idea how two men whose names were ‘Mario’ and ‘Wario’ and who naturally served as near-perfect foils of each other, had managed to meet and form such a publicizable rivalry without any deliberate effort, but such was the case. However, the notion that the brother of one had his own doppelganger in the brother of the other (or cousin, they never did manage to keep that story straight), with the same dichotomies of name, body, and personality? That was simply and utterly ridiculous, far beyond even the realm of ‘too good to be true’. And yet, if anyone had caught on, they hadn’t made it known to him.

Lost in thought and routine, he realized he had reached and opened his wardrobe, where numerous sets of that purple hat, shirt, and overalls were staring him in the face. In a sickening sense, they were the centerpiece of a great work of art, the fabrication that was his entire public existence, the character that he and Wario had constructed so that he might further be the ‘evil counterpart’ to everyone’s favorite red-clothed fire-throwing hero. Mario was stout and a bit fat, Wario was stouter and fatter; Luigi was tall and a bit thin, so Waluigi was taller and thinner. Mario had an M as his emblem, Wario had an inverted M; Luigi had an L, so Waluigi had an inverted L. To any casual outside observer, it was perfect.

But unlike Mario and Wario, whose rivalry had been formed in their youth, Waluigi had never even met Luigi until Wario had made him his sporting partner. The most he had known of the legendary Mario Brothers was just that: they were legends, for the countless adventures and quests they went on. In truth, despite how much he played it up during each and every game, he bore no true grudge against the man he was supposed to hate; Wario had, for a time, convinced him that Luigi’s presence in the public eye was somehow detracting from his own, but he had long since realized that that wasn’t the case; in fact, it often seemed like Luigi himself was being snubbed by the public, with the vast majority of the glory placed upon Mario, no matter how much Luigi contributed.

And yet, despite his existence being little more than a convenient story, despite the stress that constantly acting like a jerk brought, and despite always losing at the games no matter what, none of it brought him any sadness: for all its ups and downs, he felt himself to be rather good at keeping up the act, and the sports were, at the end of the day, still fun.

So why do I still feel so… bad?

Routine and thought had once more brought Waluigi elsewhere, and he found himself once more on his couch, now dressed in his usual outfit, with some sort of drink in his hands, probably coffee or tea; he didn’t care to determine which at that moment. His eyes casually wandered around the room as he brought the mug to his lips.

Then, just as the liquid touched his tongue--apparently he had managed to make tea out of coffee beans--the answer came to him. All across the room’s walls and shelves was sporting equipment of every sort--tennis racquets, shin-guards, helmets, golf clubs, old kart wheels, giant dice blocks, a probably excessive number of deflated balls--and absolutely no other sort of decoration. He leaned forward to place the mug on the table, and in doing so noticed his gloved hands and violet sleeves. Who wore the outfit of a character that they supposedly were not, every single day? Apparently, him.

He didn’t do anything else. He had let the character that was Waluigi consume his life to the point that had no idea who he was outside of it. He had nothing that he did when sports weren’t involved. Wario didn’t dedicate all his time to his rivalry; he owned an entire video game company--an unstable and poorly-run one, certainly, but it was nevertheless another use of his time. Mario and Luigi had their own grand adventures, of course, which is also what Peach, the Yoshis, Bowser, and his horde of minions were all typically involved in.

They all had lives outside of the games, and what did he do during the interim times? He either tried to practice, on his own, in the few suitable locations that he could find when the world was arranged for adventure, in a vain attempt to not lose as bad when the next game came around, or he wallowed in his home, doing absolutely nothing of any import.

But what could he do? Waluigi was never anything beyond a fabricated counterpart to both Wario and Luigi, but he could not remember, even slightly, what or who he was before he embraced that role. That nearly all of his memories prior to his first meeting with his partner were lost to him, was, he shuddered to admit, rather unsettling. Not even his old name--if he even had had one, he could not recall anymore--would reveal itself to him, and it was not as though he could simply find out through some external means: he was never the best at record-keeping, and to really sell their act, he had had his name legally changed to “Waluigi” and all references to his previous identity erased.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts. There was little sense in worrying and fretting over who he was in that moment--the chance of any sort of useful epiphany emerging from it was even slimmer than he was.

Ugh… better just try to distract myself…

The first suitable option to catch his eye was the TV remote lying on the table. He quickly grabbed it and flicked on the set, and was immediately assaulted by the cheery enunciation of the Lakitu news anchors on the aptly-named Lakitu News Channel. He recalled that that was the channel he had left the set on last night, after he had gotten quite fed up with the incessant and inane blathering about the events of that day’s final matches, and it took only about five seconds to figure out that they were still on that topic. Scowling, he began flipping through the various channels available, hoping to find something interesting enough to block out the melancholic thoughts that were biting at his mind, like a hundred tiny Muncher and Nipper Plants.

After a painfully long series of more newsrooms--all talking about the exact same thing, of course--and unappealing shows--Half of these are for children and other half would just make me feel even worse!--he stumbled across some sort of advice segment hosted by a Birdo (was it the Birdo? He couldn’t tell). With absolutely no better options, he resigned himself to sit back and listen halfheartedly to whatever trite tips she tried to provide; maybe they’d be amusing enough to at least give him a small chuckle.

“I hope you all enjoyed our lovely guest! Now, before we move on to the submissions from all you wonderful viewers, I’d like to reiterate some old, but tried and true, advice, which I hold very close to my heart.”

Oh, here we go…

“Something which you probably hear very often is to always be yourself, or to always be true to yourself…”

Feh, I can think of several people who definitely shouldn’t do that…

“But it may be that you don’t like who ‘yourself’ is, or perhaps you don’t know what self you even have to be true to…”

Hah! As if… uh…

“And to that end, I’d like to say that there is always room for change. There’s always a way to make something new of yourself, to alter the parts of you that you want to, to become a different, better person. ‘Yourself’ can be whoever you want it to be; never are you locked along one unending bleak path. Try new things! Experiment! Don’t let yourself be trapped in an endless cycle.

“Believe me when I say I have personal experience with this: I’ve done so many different things over a rather short period of time, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself, who I wanted to be. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if this is my supposed ‘calling’…! But I never got anywhere by doing nothing: it was on me to break out of my shell and search for myself, and now it’s on you to do the same.

“You don’t have to begin drastically, with a flying leap of faith--I think we’ve all walked over enough cliffs by now to know that!--but, if this is the sort of mindset you find yourself in, why not try taking some small steps today? It could be as simple as wearing a new outfit, or talking to someone new, or partaking in a new pastime.”

Birdo continued to elaborate on her point, but Waluigi--or, whoever he was beneath that--had stopped listening. He wanted to make some snark about what she said; he wanted to rationalize how what she described couldn’t ever apply to him; but, he found that he couldn’t. He had attempted to follow similar advice long in the past, and failed, but something about the way she phrased it, managed to affect him more deeply than he had thought possible. It was as though her words had dug beneath his shields and layers and pierced something somewhere in his core; pulled a lever, turned a handle, flipped a switch.

A strange sensation washed over him, one he could only describe as a blazing fire--nay, an inferno--igniting within him. He had felt the touch of flame countless times over the years, but not even the innumerable rage-fueled volleys he had endured, all combined into a single force, could compare to what now burned in his soul.

He leapt up from the sofa and ran to his bathroom. Staring at him from within the mirror was a character, a costume, a facade. It was not who he was. He grabbed a towel, dampened it, and proceeded to scrub away the pink paint on his nose; Wario and Waluigi’s noses were defined by that bright rosy color, but his was not. He then tore open a cabinet and grabbed his bottle of mustache product; normally, it was used to create the signature angular mustache of Waluigi, but today, it would shape the hairs into something softer and curlier. Whether that was what he would ultimately like did not matter: he was experimenting! He was changing himself!

Though the man that stared back at him from the glass now bore a much different visage, it was still framed by the purple cap and shirt, yellow emblem, and dark indigo overalls. He tore them off, then opened his wardrobe once more and threw all the copies of that same outfit to the ground. Hidden behind them were old clothes that he hadn’t worn for many, many years. He grabbed the first garments he saw--a casual dress shirt and gaudy neon-yellow shorts. Did those go well together? It didn’t matter. Without hesitating, he put them on.

He quickly glanced in the mirror again: the ensemble was nearly complete, but just missing one last touch. He thought on it for a moment, then stricken with brilliance, hurried to his modest backyard, where the roses he performed with in the games grew. He plucked one from its bush and affixed it to his hair, then ran back to the mirror to observe himself one more time.

His mismatched get-up would likely garner many stares from others, though he wouldn’t mind them at all; if he had anything in common with Waluigi, it was that they both loved being the center of attention. Even still, that’s not what mattered. A whole new day lay before him, a whole new day to be someone new, someone different; to move on from the cycle he had been stuck in, to take a whole new step forward.

He returned to the sitting room and turned off the television, then went to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, threw it open, and marched into the daylight, the daylight which felt far fresher and warmer than it had in a long time, though even it held no candle to the flame that continued to blaze within him.

Ready or not, world; here I come!!

#nintember #my writing #godss there were so many directions i thought about taking this #eventually had to just choose and commit to one #straight up wrote a great deal of a different take before scrapping it #writing is... a time

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nerv0usm3chanic · 3 years

Text

CORRUPTION

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4

((NOTE - This is an introduction to a new PERMANENT AU feature exclusive to nerv0usm3chanic. Please see further, generalized information regarding this AU here: X

Be advised that each of these chapters are VERY LONG. The full content will be tucked under a read more after a brief introduction segment.

DO NOT REBLOG.))

"L-Lewis? Vivi? Are you sure this will be safe?" Arthur stammered, nerves bubbling over and the hairs on his neck standing at terrified attention. He expected it wouldn't be perfectly safe, no case they went on ever really was.

"Oh, Artie! Don't be such a scaredy-cat!" Vivi giggled in response. Her lighthearted laugh and bounce in her step as she approached the mouth of the skull-like cave entrance made Arthur's heart lurch. How can she be so comfortable with this? Diving headfirst into danger and with a grin on her face? A massive tanned hand rested gently on his shoulder and gave a squeeze.

"It's alright, Arthur," Lewis reassured when the blond cast his nervous and unsure gaze up to the taller man. "I'll have your back if anything comes up and spooks us." Oh. Of course. The biggest and strongest and most liked member of the team would keep the stringy mechanic safe from danger...again. The nervous feeling in Arthur's belly twisted to a minor frustration with Lewis. Arthur wished he could have half the confidence Lewis had in himself.

"Arthur...are you sure you're alright?" The paw against his leg confirmed it was Mystery who asked. Vivi's strange talking dog. The blond softened his expression and breathed a sigh to comfort himself.

"With those two and you...I guess I will be." He looked at the purple and blue pair ahead of him, Vivi's hand lacing into Lewis' as they strode forward. Another lance of...something...shot through Arthur. He stiffened determinedly, marching after his teammates as they wound their way into the depths of the green mist. He would get through this case...and maybe consider taking a break for a while.

The bats, the ominous shadows, the thick-as-chowder mist clinging to each of the three humans. Arthur found himself rattling both with chill and from a sense of something being wrong. With Mystery beside him, Arthur felt a little safer in commenting:

"G-guys? I really, really have a bad feeling about this place..." There was a faint trace of fingers at his neck and Arthur nearly jumped as he glanced about. Maybe it was a cobweb?

"I agree..." Mystery growled lowly, sharp eyes searching for whatever was nearby, "There's something ominous here and I don't like it."

"You think there's a real spirit hanging around?!" Vivi positively beamed at the prospect, grabbing Lewis' hand and bouncing in place.

"Easy, Vivi!" Lewis laughed, the lit torch in his hand flickering as it danced in his hold. "You'll put the light out!" And she released him to give a twirl and bounce ahead, babbling on about finding the spirit and exorcising them and-

"V-Vivi, this is serious!" Arthur whined, his voice breaking over the last word, "There's something here and it's not friendly!" He really was afraid something was terribly wrong here. The constant touches of mist on his skin and the soft sounds he couldn't tell were water drops or whispers surrounded them all. Vivi paused then, taking Arthur more seriously now and nodding, chastened.

"I'm sorry, Artie...I didn't mean to make fun of things. I'm just excited to encounter another real spirit!" And then her more bubbly self was back, though more cautious now. "We can finish exploring this branch of the cave for tonight and come back after we've gotten a good sense of what's here. Okay?" Well...he...he couldn't say no to that. They were hired to check out this cave...by a forest ranger no less. Leaving without even checking what was here would be bad for business.

"Hmmm...o-okay. But let's be quick...please?" Vivi nodded to Arthur's request, Lewis too. They'd be quick, but thorough. And come back better prepared.

The group was silent as they stepped further into the cave; the only sounds were of their footfalls, the crackle and soft whoosh as Lewis held the torch aloft, and the gentle metallic ring of Mystery's dog tags. To Arthur, each tiny sound was akin to a bomb going off in his ears. It made no sense why he felt so attuned to every little thing, even the things he shouldn't be sensing. Again, Arthur felt fingers running over his arm and an ominous whisper in his ear.

'Shouldn't you pay attention, boy~?' The whisper taunts in his ear with a chuckle. Arthur shuts his eyes and shakes his head, looking up to see Vivi detouring to the right as Lewis turns to go left. A spike of panic erupts through Arthur and he frantically looks between the backs of his two friends.

'Better hurry~' again that hiss is in his ears, louder now and frightening Arthur further. Deciding he would need to stop Lewis to regroup with Vivi, Arthur hurried to catch up to the larger man.

"L-Lew? We s-sh-" and he freezes, his left hand suddenly stopping in its path towards Lewis' shoulder. Arthur is suddenly terribly cold and there is a dark chuckle in his ears. His vision becomes almost foggy with green and Arthur looks to his left hand. The blond chokes on air as he sees a glowing green eye, the sclera black as night, resting with what Arthur could only call a sneer in his pale palm. The blond can't speak, his throat closing up when he tries making a sound.

"Oh man...that's a hell of a drop..." Lewis is too occupied exploring the ledge. Too close to the edge. Arthur could hear small pebbles dislodging and tumbling into the mist below. There is a decent gap of time before Arthur can hear the pebbles hit the stone. The ominous chuckle in his head made Arthur's heart drop in terror.

'Allow me~' the voice purrs and Arthur watches his discolored wrist roll in preparation. Again, the blond tries calling out...with no success. A heavy, wet tear comes free in his frustration, he was trying his damnest to protect his friend.

"Care to get a closer look, Lewis~?" There is another unwilling step forward with words that were not his own, the left arm pulling back.

'NO.' Arthur refused, putting up all his willpower to stall the spirit in his head. It...works...but only so much. Arthur hears a snarling growl and Lewis turns to look at the possessed blond. His wide violet eyes stared in surprise as he sees the stance Arthur was in. After a heartbeat, the spirit willed the borrowed body to move again.

But the moment was long enough for Arthur to arrest control of his arms.

'I WON'T LET YOU DO THIS.' Arthur commands, grabbing his rogue arm and pulling it off-course.

'Dammit, you fool!' the spirit snarls, trying to rip free and complete his possession, green creeping along the pale skin. Arthur's battle was well-fought and aided with a massive dark hand taking hold of the green-skinned wrist.

"Mystery! Vivi! Help!" Arthur could cry with relief as he heard the pattering of dog's paws charging in response to Lewis's call. The spirit in his head screeched in fury, trying to twist the possessed arm to claw at his captor. Arthur heard a second roar, turning to see a green-tinted vision of a jaw full of teeth.

...and then...

Pain.

Burning, sharp, ripping pain.

Anyone in the cave would hear twin cries of tortured agony and an accompanying duet of horrified cries. Overtop of everything was a voice of command: deep, rich, and masculine as directions were given.

But Arthur wasn't able to hear it right. Or see correctly. All he knew is that the pain in his arm was suddenly gone and he felt he was growing terribly cold. Golden eyes looked to a pair of equally horrified purple eyes. Arthur saw red on Lewis. Spots of it all over. Just like the small white spots that were filling his vision as a black vignette began to close in.

Arthur thought he heard his name, could swear he was being lifted up and carried away. But it was all so fuzzy. And his ears wouldn't stop ringing. What happened? Where were they going? Was the spirit gone?

He wasn’t sure...but Arthur was certain that he was so very tired...

And really, there was no reason to stay awake...right?

His head was filled with cotton and at the same time heavy as lead. Arthur was thankful for the supportive cushion of a pillow beneath his throbbing skull. There was a loud heartbeat in his ears and other sounds seemed to slowly manifest into existence. A rhythmic beeping, a soft and regular drip, the repeated sound of a high then low whoosh, an overly-clean fake citrus smell of cleaner, and...a conversation? Arthur strained to hear better, focusing hard enough for his efforts to reflect on his face. His furrowing brow and a strangled grunt of effort drew the attention of the other people in the room.

Arthur could tell there was some excitement, a male voice calling out a muffled version of his name. A feminine voice followed suit with some more complex words that he still couldn’t totally make out. It was a massive effort to open his eyes and the blond eventually succeeded...somewhat.

Through bleary vision that eventually cleared, Arthur saw a cyan blue shape on his left mold itself into his dear friend Vivi, tears on her face as she gazed at him in obvious relief. The next shape he saw was black, red, and white and eventually dissolved into Mystery, his expression one of worry and nervous comfort. Lastly, Arthur saw the massive purple shape on his right that became Lewis, tears on his face as well, but no relief was on his face, only concern. Behind each of them was a room of white walls and minty green curtains.

What had happened?

He tried to ask, but very nearly found himself feeling choked on the breathing tube down his throat. He started to cough and weakly reached for the tube.

“Vivi, get a nurse!” Mystery commanded, and away she went, calling for someone as Mystery climbed up and placed his paws on Arthur’s legs. “Don’t try to talk, Arthur. You have a breathing tube installed. Vivi will be back soon and we’ll get that thing out.” The blond did his best to stifle the coughs, nodding weakly as an answer.

“We’re so glad you’re awake.” Arthur blinked towards the usually calm and quiet Lewis, relaxing his right hand and laying it over his belly. The machine continued its regular rhythm, keeping his breathing relaxed as he gave Lewis an obvious look of questioning. “We’ll talk as soon as we can get some peace; the nurse is coming in now.” Lewis nodded, patting Arthur’s pale hand as Vivi rushed back in, an older woman in lavender scrubs on Vivi’s blue heels.

“I was...possessed?” Arthur croaked, trying to make sense of the tale Lewis and Vivi were telling him.

“And you saved Lewis’s life.” Vivi smiled, looking to Arthur and then the large purple man who also was smiling down at him. “Whatever you did was enough to keep that spirit from pushing Lewis over the edge of that cliff.” Her small hand squeezed his right hand as she looked back down to Arthur...which was odd, considering she sat on his left.

Now that he thought about it, his left arm was completely numb. Not even any of that pain from the cave was there. Worry began to prickle at his mind.

“Why...wh-why can’t I...feel my arm?” Their downcast eyes and the sudden drop in mood was unsettling. He shakily removed his hand from Vivi’s, reaching to his left. There was nothing on the mattress, even as he patted around and reached up and up. The bandages covering what was left of his shoulder were coarse and warm with the damaged flesh hidden underneath.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked to set them running down his cheeks as a sob caught in his throat. Mystery’s ears pinned back in guilt and he whined a weak apology.

“I’m sorry Arthur...it was the only way to remove the spirit and save you...” This time, the sob didn’t stop in his throat, his whole body following the agonizing sorrow as Arthur curled in on himself. The other two humans and dog enveloped the blond in an embrace as he mourned the loss of his arm.

It was quiet that night. The drip, drip, drip of the bag was one of the sounds along with the quiet hum of the muted TV in the room and the occasional, rolling thunder and constant patter of rain on the window. Arthur was lucky to have his own room as he blankly watched the TV, reading the subtitles of whatever was currently playing. Some old sitcom, he was sure, but which? He could never tell.

Arthur’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion and he knew he had to sleep. The animal part of him wanted to...but whenever he closed his eyes, he remembered what he’d almost done...that look of fear on Lewis’s and Vivi’s faces...what Mystery had to do to save his life...

A yawn crept up and manifested before Arthur could think to stifle it.

Perhaps his exhaustion was finally enough to force his body to rest? If not, maybe he could buzz the nurse’s desk for help getting to sleep. Arthur shifted carefully, doing his best to not disturb his amputated appendage as he settled in deeper into the pillow. He let out a tired sigh as his eyes slid shut.

‘...foolish boy...’ Arthur sucked in a breath, eyes snapping open and heart racing at the voice.

“H-hello?” He called out, softly at first, “Is someone there?” There was no answer, even as Arthur strained to sit up and look around the room. The still-running television provided enough light and was thankfully positioned to illuminate everything in the room. There was nobody but Arthur. Maybe he heard someone just outside the door?

He sighed, settling in again and more quickly shutting his eyes. Again...it didn’t last.

‘You ruined my plans, you damned foolish boy!’ Arthur was now wide awake, the growl in his head loud and clear.

“W-what? How-? Mystery h-he...he said-” The blond murmured, trying to not panic.

‘He said he removed me...but he was wrong~.’ The chuckling growl rumbled around in his head, fading out with an ominous, dark echo. Arthur looked to his remaining hand, afraid to see it turn green...but...nothing happened. And the voice was oddly quiet.

“So...you’re still here...” Arthur squinted, trying to think, “But you’re not taking over again?”

‘You are a fool and an uninformed one at that.’ the blond could swear the voice was...pouting? ‘I have found something much more interesting to entertain me while I am trapped~.’ Arthur was about to ask what when he felt a jolt of energy course through him. At the same time, a bolt of lightning struck nearby, overloading a transformer two blocks down the street. The whole hospital must have been woken up by the crack and sudden, blinding light.

Arthur clutched at his chest, gasping for air and his heart racing wildly from surprised fright. He heard the night nurses running outside his door, racing to check on patients after the sudden bolt of lightning.

‘Oh yes...this will be a fun toy~.’ Arthur paused...how was that related? there was just a surge and-

Another bolt struck the lightning rod atop the hospital, so loud and bright, Arthur let out a frightened shout to accompany the jolt of electric energy coursing through him again. He was tearing up, fright and the momentary pain rattling the man to the point where he almost leapt away from the nurse coming to check on him. The dark chuckle in his head rang out before fading away to hide once again, the nurse finally managing to succeed in helping Arthur relax enough to lay back on the mattress and arranged his blankets over him again

But sleep was near impossible to come by after such a fright...

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4

#corruption au

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imjeralee · 3 years

Text

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 28 - The Nightmare

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell here is the latest update

THE NIGHTMARE

…

[Waking up to see your bed shaking is a bad sign.]

…

Ezra hasn’t woken up.

Pacing up and down the empty corridor, your downtrodden gaze is pinned to the pristine, sterile white floor of the hospital and Leon watches you from his seat before he calls out to you, asking you to sit down with him.

A set of double doors that can only be opened from your side keep the clamouring paparazzi at bay, muffling the noise they’re making and muting the flashes of their cameras.

Leon is only able to stay with you for a short while before he must return to work so you make the most of your shared time together.

The paparazzi are eventually shooed away by the security staff of the hospital and you’re allowed to breathe, knowing that you and Leon are truly alone. Almost immediately, you and the Champion weave your hands firmly together and he loops an arm around your shoulder, murmuring soothing words for you to hear.

You sit and wait for what appears to be an eternity until the door to Ezra’s room opens and the doctor steps out, summoning yourself and the Champion to stand.

The doctor goes through some formalities with you before he explains that Ezra’s cancer has spread, he is in dire shape and he will need to go through an operation soon, if not now.

"We've been trying to contact a..." The doctor leaves his sentence trailing to read off a form on his clipboard. "A Mr Ambrose, but he hasn't responded to our phonecalls."

"Ambrose?"

"It says here he's the patient's next of kin," says the doctor, "we need this form signed."

You ponder slightly then ask, "Is it okay if I sign it instead?"

He nods after checking his list where you are also put down as a next of kin, and you are promptly handed a form which you read over before signing and hand it back to the doctor. Ezra’s fate is sealed; he will not be able to leave the hospital for a long time.

You’re on your own.

“Also,” the doctor says before he takes his leave, “we found the patient holding onto this.”

He hands you a folded letter, pressing it into your palm. It’s addressed to you and as the doctor and nurse leave, their footsteps echoing in the distance, Leon stands close to you as you unfold it, revealing Ezra’s handwriting:

[If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead.

I was very proud to have you as my student. You learned things quickly and held great respect for everyone you came across. Now I know you have a lot on your plate already, but I am afraid there are two things I must ask of you: number one, Greyson’s cemetery will be formally under your care after my passing as per my will, and two, please take care of Cassie, ie, Absol.

She’s forgetting herself as the years go by, and I would not want her to be alone. She will also take great care of you in return.]

“…Oh, Ezra,” you murmur, before you exhale loudly and shake your head. He was dealing with so much yet he never bothered you with his problems, and he would always go out of his way to assist you in any manner.

“Let’s go in,” Leon says, and you nod; you slip his will into your pocket and Leon offers you his hand once again.

Together, you enter the room; your mentor lies on the bed, his eyes closed. It pains you to see him like this, looking so fragile and weak. Absol lays curled up on the floor by his bed, opening one eye before rising upon your arrival.

She slinks up to you and you pet her on the head affectionately before you sit down by Ezra’s side.

“Ezra,” you murmur, “we did it. We stopped Spiritomb. He’s been captured but he’s so dangerous, he’s been taken away by the authorities. I’m not sure what they’ll do to him. And I wanted to tell you that I’ve started to understand Gengar and I can hear what he says. I can even hear Cassie. I know what you mean now. I can hear them.”

His chest rises steadily under the sheet but from his noisy wheezes and deep, raspy breaths, you can tell he’s struggling with breathing. The amount of machines surrounding him, all the tubes hooked to his arms and wrist do not alleviate your worries. Leon plants a hand on your shoulder as you throw your limp gaze to the floor, your lip wobbling.

“Look,” Leon suddenly murmurs, and you glance up.

Your mentor has slowly opened his eyes into a tiny slit, and to your utmost amazement, his fingers begin twitching, his wrist rolling. His fingers curl and his wrist trembles delicately.

“He wants to write something,” you say determinedly, “do you see any pen and paper lying around?”

Leon searches your surroundings before he spots a hospital’s patient leaflet with enough white space for clear writing. You grab the pen from the clipboard that’s attached to the front of the bed and you slide the pen into his hand, and hold up the paper for him.

Ezra scribbles before his eyes close and his hand goes limp, unmoving. He’s fully unconscious now, and Absol emits a saddened yowl.

Glimpsing at the paper to discern what he had written, there is only word in bold, capital letters: DEIMOS.

“Deimos?” Leon mutters. “What does that mean?”

You contemplate briefly with a hand under your chin, “…Well, if my memory serves me right, Deimos is the name of one of the natural satellites of Mars. The second is Phobos. They’re named after ancient gods and the personification of dread and terror. Phobos and Deimos were twin brothers,” you reply.

Leon looks impressed with your trivial knowledge and crosses his arms with his eyes closed as though in deep thought as you fold the paper up.

Easing yourself off the seat, you lower yourself to Absol’s level, crouching before her. “Cassie, I need your help. Who are Deimos and Ambrose?”

She regards you intensely with her bright blue eyes before she lifts up a paw and licks it for a second. She says, "My dad mentioned Deimos once but I didn't understand what he was talking about. Ambrose....he's from dad's church. You could try asking him."

Cassie doesn't have sufficient knowledge on 'Deimos', you realise, so you say, “And what about Gossamer Cave? Can you take me there? It’s real, right?”

"It is very real, but I can’t take you there," she replies, "I’m sorry. It doesn't reveal itself to everyone, such as myself. If I were to guide you, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to find it at all."

As you nod, Leon observes your interaction with the disaster pokemon.

“Okay. I understand. Thank you so much.” you reply.

You kiss her on the top of the horn and she purrs; you want to ask her how she became a Pokemon but she emits a loud yawn, exposing her jaws and sharp fangs, then she stretches on her frontal paws and curls up to sleep.

“She’s gone,” you murmur with a helpless sigh, rising to stand with a cloudy expression on your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“...I think so.”

It’s time to visit Graves, who is in better condition than Ezra and has been given a separate room not too far away albeit in a different ward.

The journey is spent holding hands with Leon as you stroll down the corridor, your mind laden with weary thoughts. Leon periodically throws worried glances at you, noticing your quiet demeanour and squeezing your hand affectionately.

Graves’ room is up ahead and as you open the door to enter, Magnolia and Sonia are present, and another doctor and nurse are tending to your unconscious godfather right now. You head over silently and the women hug you tightly; the doctor makes his final assessments and you stand as he explains Graves’ condition to your group.

It’s good news; Graves will make a full recovery but the doctor isn’t sure when he will wake up.

“Don’t worry, dear, the doctor says Inspector Graves will be alright,” Magnolia mutters, patting you gently on the shoulder.

“Yeah, he’ll wake up soon.” Sonia pipes up.

With a nod, you head over to Graves’ side and plop yourself down on the seat closest to him. Similar to Ezra’s situation, it’s odd seeing your godfather so vulnerable like this. However, his expression is not one of pain but instead, an idyllic, tranquil one. He looks peaceful and undisturbed.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Chris,” you murmur.

After the visit, Leon leaves the hospital first; he’s immediately bombarded with the awaiting and impatient paparazzi outside before he takes off on Charizard, having answered minimally to their probing questions with a polite grin. Leon will meet you later after he’s finished up.

You take a Corviknight taxi to Circhester, a town you have never properly visited before for there was no reason for you to go there. The only known attractions you’re aware of are the baths which are an immensely popular tourist attraction, but you pass the structure quickly, making a beeline for the Church, a massive, stone-white building with gothic architecture that stands to the north, its large spire poking out from the horizon. You can also hear the faint ring of the bell.

It’s larger than you had thought, with a massive wooden door held wide open by huge stones placed strategically and as you stand before the wondrous, centuries-old building, you look up and all the way to the spiralling and huge archways and the flying buttresses, marvelling the genius design and intricate sculptures of saints and pokemon which encompasses an Articuno and Arceus that are situated on the east and west segments of the building respectively.

Without further ado, you step in, your footsteps echoing loudly as you enter the nave. The cathedral is alit with smoke from incense and the litany of quiet prayer, and it has also been outfitted to cater for tourists, with several signs indicating the fire exit and even the ‘gift shop’ to the right.

It’s busy today, with several groups of tourists being led by a guide, they are taking photos of the statues and impressive paintings on the walls and ceiling whilst a few, undisturbed locals are praying as they sit in random spots in the aisles.

A few clergymen dressed in the traditional black and white garb stroll up and down but they don’t pay any attention to you and you glance around, wondering how you will find Ambrose.

The clergymen are possibly the ex-coworkers of your mentor and it seems none of them are aware of who you are. It’s best to ask around and so you make your way towards the altar at the end of the chapel where you spot an old man at the altar dressed in the traditional white and gold garb.

A pair of half-moon, gold-rimmed reading glasses perch precariously over the length of his long nose and a few tufts of silvery grey hair poke out underneath his black hat. Beside him, a Mightyena sits on its haunches as it scans the area and as you approach, it emits a growl and the old priest looks up from his book and squints his eyes at you.

“May I help you, young lady?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone called 'Ambrose'. I was informed I would find him here.”

“And who might you be?”

“I’m a disciple of Ezra’s.”

He blinks sluggishly for a moment before his thick eyebrows scrunch together and he pushes his glasses further up his nose, peering at you for a closer look. “Disciple?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Confusion sweeps the old man’s face for a second before he says, “I am Ambrose.”

“He’s in hospital right now. Will you go see him?” you ask. Stunned, Ambrose hesitates for a brief moment and you're quick to add, “He has cancer.”

Ambrose blinks widely behind his glasses before he shakes his head. "Oh, Ezra. How unfortunate."

“He mentioned ‘Deimos’. Does that mean anything to you?”

Your response is an alarmed hiss of “Shh, not so loud,” before the old man closes the book he was reading with a slam and hops off the altar; he grabs his walking stick and Mightyena’s leash which is fixed with a collar and the pokemon guides him down the stairs carefully. “Let's speak over here.”

He beckons you to follow him to an empty pew at the front where he ushers you to sit down before plopping himself down.

“Ezra should not have mentioned its name to you," he utters.

“Why?”

“Do you know what Ezra has done?"

"What?"

"I mean the reason why he was thrown out of the church?”

You think it would be wise to hear what he has to say so you merely stare, and he sighs exasperatedly once more.

“Many years ago, a boy was brought to us from the orphanage who claimed that he had been conversing with a creature of unknown origin. It taught him things."

"What kind of things? What kind of creature was it? A pokemon?"

"No. Not a pokemon."

"Then...a demon?"

Ambrose appears conflicted as he grips his cane tightly.

"Unfortunately, he was never inclined to share those details with us," he replies. "Everyone thought the boy was delusional but he affirmed its existence and that it was real, and so we called it the unspeakable horror. Ezra was worshipping this false god, so he was sent to us to be rinsed and cleansed, to save his soul. Gradually over the years, he improved and he learned our teachings instead…and he stopped speaking to this thing and when he was old enough, he took on a wife and had a child. I thought he would be fine but then I was told a demon had targeted him and his family and he allegedly invoked the unspeakable horror he had known since childhood, which resulted in the death of his loved ones. It was a bad time. The church received a great deal of backlash and he was banished from the order. Ezra has lost favour with God, and you should do the same and renounce him and his teachings now, before it’s too late.”

Ezra has never told you about any of this; however, you do know one thing:

“Ezra isn’t evil," you retort, "he’s my mentor and he’s been helping me this whole time. He taught me everything. He’s been helping tonnes of people since you kicked him out.”

“He’s been teaching you forbidden, dark magic. Ezra is a condemned heretic and his methods are unorthodox. We do not speak of him here.”

"Does this mean you can't help me?"

"You may speak to me to absolve your sins."

You sigh heavily. “If you can’t help me, that’s fine,” you reply. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

Ambrose shifts uncomfortably in his seat before he says, “May God guide you along the way.”

…

You leave the church, back to square one and having hit a dead end.

Returning to Wedgehurst, you grab your rucksack and begin to pack some essentials, namely your radio, journal, some talismans and a few snacks. Graves' photo of your parents drop out of the journal which you pick up and scan intently for a few moments, before you carefully return it safely in between the pages of the journal. You leave the bag propped up beside your bed for later.

Afterwards, you make your way to the lab to conduct desk-based research. Unable to shake off the feeling that something bad is going to happen, you head to the bookshelves and begin rifling through any titles that may be of interest and settle them on the floor near your desk.

Once you’ve amassed a few anthologies, you pick up the first book off your pile and flip to the first page. You will be going through every book in an attempt to unearth more information on Gossamer Cave.

You also try to find out more information on the shiny Lucario you had seen several years ago. When nothing fruitful comes from the books, you rifle through papers and journals you have only to come to the same conclusion. Next, you sift through various maps of Galar, tourists leaflets and articles about Galar’s history, legends and folklore.

There is no mention of the cave anywhere.

Once you’ve gone through the majority of the hard copies, surrounded by mountainous stacks and piles of old and itchy books, magazines and other miscellaneous documents, you move online and conduct various searches, scrolling through page after page until your eyes hurt.

You extend your search to include all possible regions – Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Kalos, Alola… unfortunately, having factored in major regions meant it would not be possible to complete your findings in one night.

Despite this shortcoming, you can only find legends on ancient, mythical pokemon and their ties to the distinct regions. There is nothing on Galar, the legendary pokemon and any relations to Gossamer Cave.

Perhaps you’re looking at this wrong, you think, so you attempt to find any information you can on Deimos - whether its nature is demonic or not - but all you come across are basic information on the moon and the mythos.

You grab your cup for a sip of your drink but it’s empty - you’ve run out of coffee – grumbling, you rise from your seat, stretch and head to the coffee machine only to see that you’ve run out of coffee beans and coffee sachets. The next alternative is tea but all the Eldegoss tea is gone too. You're out of everything.

Sighing, you return to your desk, yawning; exhaustion has made you weary and your temples are throbbing. You close your eyes, resting your head on your elbows for a quick lie down and you find yourself drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

However, something soft and weighty is propped over your shoulders and flops over your back and you reopen your eyes to see Leon sitting on the spare seat beside you, trying to tuck his cape over you.

“Leon!” you exclaim, eyes wide.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smoothing his large hand over your hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

“It's fine. I shouldn't be sleeping anyway,” you reply, before you fling your gaze to the clock on the wall. "You're early."

“Yep,” he says with a grin. “I can stay with you for the rest of the evening.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah,” he says, before he quickly pulls you into his embrace; you’ve grown accustomed to his hugs, how he envelopes you with his arms and pulls you against him as tightly as possible.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest as you snuggle against him. Admittedly, you were feeling very alone today and his presence is very reassuring. You almost want to ask him not to leave your side.

He chuckles as you bury your nose into his neck, inhaling his musky scent and rubbing your cheek against him as affectionately as you can. He rubs your shoulder soothingly before you pull away, nudging your head to the sofa with a smile and you both rise from your seats, wandering to the couch where you both seat yourselves side by side with the cape draped over the two of you, the cape keeping you close together and very warm.

“Any updates on Inspector Graves and your mentor?” he murmurs as your shoulders knock together, your thighs touching.

“No update, but they’re doing okay.”

“I hope they wake up soon.”

“Me too,” you reply with a sigh, closing your eyes as he weaves an arm around your shoulder.

“How did you get on with your research?”

You shake your head. “Nothing substantial. I met and spoke to Ambrose but he can’t help me.”

“What did he say?”

“Just told me a bunch of bad stuff about Ezra. Urgh, I need a break.”

“Yes, it’s very important to take breaks every now and then,” he replies, and you chuckle.

“I think so too; I need a distraction. You’ll do nicely.”

As you rest your head on his shoulder, Leon picks your hand up and in turn, you rub your fingers over his callused skin; it’s from years of pokemon training and battling, and as you gently smooth your fingertips over his thumb, Leon folds his hand over yours and your hands enclose together tightly.

You smile and he carefully observes your reaction; since you’re so close to him, you can hear his heart pounding a little harder and louder than before as his cheeks grow red and warm. Deciding to fan the flames, you huddle even closer to him and then shift to place your hand over his thigh; he tenses up immediately.

“Leon?” you murmur absentmindedly, stroking his thigh before you use two fingers to run up and down his leg.

Leon stares at your action before shifting his glance to you, unconsciously swallowing down. “Y-yes?”

“If my parents were still around, they would have loved to have met you…would’ve loved you in general,” you mutter as you gaze at the tranquil scenery outside. “And Rosie too. You would’ve gotten on so well with them.”

He nods, his eyes glued to your wandering hand. “Hop loves meeting new people and making new friends, I’m sure he would’ve loved meeting Rosie. They would get along like a house on fire.”

You nod, patting him on the knee before you gently squeeze the sculpted muscle of his outer thigh and he tenses up for a second time. “Everything would have been so different.”

“Mm-hm,” he makes a weak noise from the back of his throat as you lean against him comfortably with a sigh.

"I just want them back."

A brief silence spawns, and Leon observes you carefully.

"Do you think I'm...fooling myself?"

"What do you mean?"

"....Every time Graves or anybody else would say that they were dead, I'd...well, I'd tell them off. I'd rebuff them. I'd say my family were still alive and that's it, end of discussion...but I think a part of me deep down knows they're dead. And that they have been, for a long time," you whisper, "there's no way to bring them back, and I can't deal with it because I never knew how. I don't want to accept it because I...it's...well...I-I..."

As you struggle for words, inhaling shaky breaths, Leon wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

"I can't deal with it, Leon."

Whilst he ponders the best way to reply, you're quick to spring back to your usual self, hastily wiping away your tears and giving him a wide smile.

"Oh gosh, look at me. I...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to dump that on you-"

"No, wait."

Before you attempt to wriggle free from his embrace, he plants his hands on your shoulders, effectively stopping you and you look up, your gazes meeting. Leon's smile has completely vanished, replaced with a solemn expression.

"You've never had the chance to talk about it, have you?"

You're surprised he's so blunt with you on this occasion and his words make you double-take. "I'm fine, honestly! I made a mistake, I didn't mean to say that-"

He squeezes your shoulders firmly, "Listen. It's okay. You can tell me."

His eyes never leaving yours, you let out a weak laugh from the back of your throat, trying to smile albeit failing miserably and you shake your head, just a little, casually flinging your gaze to the side, then to the ceiling, then back to him. Leon's gaze doesn't shift. You're no longer able to fool him and your mouth falls open a tad, as though you were trying to speak though no words come out.

"I..." you croak out, your voice weak and dry all of a sudden.

When the first tear leaks out from the corner of your eye, you quickly wipe it away.

"Leon," you mutter, inhaling a breath.

He waits.

"...I need to go back to work."

You can tell he is disappointed by your answer, but he nods regardless and says, “I’ll help," before he throws a glance to himself, at his Champion gear. “Let me get changed out of these clothes first.”

He departs from the lab and returns in half hour or so donned in a black hoodie and sweatpants; the change from Champion to lounge bum is so drastic, and upon his return, you've gone back to normal, to your usual self, as though the conversation that had taken place had vanished completely, and you giggle to yourself whilst Leon grins at you timidly.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, and you shift your gaze to two bookshelves in the corner.

“….I haven’t gone through those yet….”

Leon looks undeterred despite your despondent tone, and rolls his sleeves up and takes out the first book from the top shelf. They’re large and old, resembling tomes, with their sleek gold lining. Leon prevents himself from sneezing from the muskiness of the pages and though you’re concerned, he joins you at the desk where you’re going through two books at the same time.

He watches anxiously but you don’t notice, going through page after page, holding a magnifying glass occasionally when the text is too small. Leon settles his book on the desk, sitting opposite you and flips to the first page.

The text is tiny. The words are archaic. It was probably written fifty or seventy years ago, complete with hand-drawn illustrations of strange-looking creatures. He checks the cover where the fine print reveals it's a book on demons.

Looking up, you’ve already covered a third of the books that are propped up in front of you.

He watches you pour through the research wordlessly, completely absorbed.

You’re one of the most hard-working people he’s ever met.

“Did you find anything?” you ask, looking up from your book.

Leon glances at his own book. He had barely passed the first page. “Uh, no, sorry.”

“That's okay, take your time.”

It’s back to reading and as you flip through pages and pages, Leon continuously tosses you worried glances. In a few or minutes, you’ve gone through the first book and shut the cover, rubbing your temples as you close your eyes and you shake your head. No Deimos, no Gossamer Cave.

You reach for the second book and begin to plough through, and Leon has only passed the first chapter of his anthology. He stares as you go through the pages one by one, your eyes glued to the book, scanning the thin pages, fingers blurred with black ink.

“There must be something here,” he hears you utter under your breath, “Anything! Even just one word will do. There must be something that will help me…Come on!”

As you groan aloud with frustration, slumping in your chair with defeat, Leon puts his book down and grabs his chair, carrying it over to your side before he drops it by your side, facing you.

“Hey,” he says, and you cast him a tired glance.

Leon stares at you intently for a while before he gently pulls you into his embrace once again, giving you an affectionate squeeze.

The tension in your shoulders disappears immediately, the mounting frustration, agony and exhaustion slowly ebbing away as he embraces you tightly; with a shuddering sigh, you close your eyes and sweep your arms around him, murmuring a quiet but grateful ‘Thank you’ in his ear before you press your lips gently over his cheek.

...

As the night wears on, Leon returns to Postwick; he asked if you wanted to stay overnight at his (he has a spare bedroom for you) but you declined; you had desperately wanted to, but recent events have made you more cautious than you should be and you don’t want to endanger him or his family.

At home, you have dinner with Sonia and Magnolia, watch some late night TV together then take a shower. It’s been a long time since you’ve spent the night at home, and you and Sonia spend the remainder of the evening chatting until it’s time for bed although the entire duration of your light conversation, a feeling of dread was growing in your gut as the hours passed.

"It's so nice that you're home!" she gushes, "we can go and get our nails done together and go to the beauty salon!"

She continues going on about other tasks you can accomplish together but you mutter, "Hey Sonia?" as you lie on your bed, staring at the bland ceiling of your shared room.

"Yeah?" She's at the vanity table, brushing her hair.

"If anything happens to me, can you look after my pokemon?"

She puts her brush down and turns to you with a huff, hands on her hips. "Of course! But why are you saying something like that anyway? Nothing's going to happen to you." She chastises you with a shake of her head.

"...I feel awful," you murmur, "In fact, I've been feeling awful all day. It won't go away."

"Well, your godfather and Ezra are in hospital, of course you feel awful."

You nod in agreement. That could be it.

"And you're probably tired and not used to being so active during the day." She sighs as she climbs on her bed and stretches in her comfy pyjamas, grinning, “It’s been such a long time since you’ve actually slept at the same time as me, too. This is so nice! You should stay at home more often.”

You nod again and she rolls over to reach for the lamp.

“I’m switching the lights off now.”

“Okay.”

“Night!”

“Goodnight, Sonnie.”

The bedroom is encompassed in darkness at the flip of the switch, and you hear Sonia rolling over to lie on her side with a sigh whilst you lay sprawled on your back under the covers, eyes closed.

Taking deep breaths in and out, it takes a while for your mind to gently ease into soothing, dark oblivion, and you begin to nod off. You listen to the wind howling gently outside, Sonia’s clock ticking on the wall. You think about Jace, Volkner, your mentor, Graves and finally, Leon.

At the mere thought of the Champion, you smile to yourself as you wonder what exciting things you will do with him tomorrow when he finishes work. Maybe you will have the double date with his friend Raihan and his girlfriend? Maybe you will go camping with him in the Wild Area once more?

With happy thoughts in mind, you roll to your side in a bid to get comfortable and soon, sleep overtakes you.

Your eyes close and as your body grows limp and weightless, your mind ventures away from the bedroom and into the deepest depths and the pit of the abyss, and as you drift to sleep, you dream of a long stretch of road that lies ahead of you, surrounded by two-storey houses with long driveways and huge gardens.

This is your old neighbourhood in Kalos.

“Huh?” you utter to yourself, “why am I here?”

It’s night and it’s raining heavily, wind battering your form. You’re standing in the middle of the road for some inexplicable reason, freezing and trembling from the frigid chilly air; you hug yourself and cautiously glance at your surroundings.

A familiar house lies up ahead.

Stunned, you make your way over and up to the front porch, looking up and around. All the lights are switched off. Everything’s as you remember; mum’s porcelain Politoed garden set are put on display in the lawn. The hedges have been trimmed, courtesy of your father. Rosie’s scooter hasn’t been collected in and lies by the gate.

Dad placed a spare key for any accidents, so you grab it from underneath a Cottonee ornament by a plant pot and you slot the key into the door, twisting it.

The door opens and you step inside your home, closing the door behind you.

Although you have not returned for years, it does not feel that way; you venture into the lounge and peek inside; the sofas, the mantelpiece, the TV…the two leather recliners where dad and Graves used to sit when watching the games…it’s all there.

“I’m home,” you murmur under your breath, before you throw your glance to the stairs.

Sucking in a shaky breath, you head up as quietly as you can and find your old bedroom door, opening it.

The two beds are there, and there are two individuals sleeping inside.

There’s Rosie, who lies on her side, facing you. And then there’s a lump under the covers in the other bed, which you assume is yourself.

Eyes widening, you realise why you have come home, at this time.

“Rosie!” you whisper in shock, before you tiptoe over to her side, “Rosie, wake up.”

She groans and opens her eyes weakly as you shake her shoulder. “….Sissy?”

“Yes, it’s me! Oh god, this is…this is it, I know why I’m here! Come with me. Come with me now,” you hurry inside the room and scoop her out of the bed, into your arms.

Cautiously throwing a glance to the lump in the bed, you breathe a sigh of relief when it does not move, so you quickly leave the room as silently as you can and trek down the stairs.

At the front door, you set Rosie down and she looks around in the dark before she clutches her little hands together and looks up at you, her lip wobbling. She says, “Sissy, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay, Rosie, everything’s gonna be okay,” you reply, pulling open the door for her and ushering her outside into the stormy night with you.

“Mum!! Dad!!” a familiar voice suddenly yells, “Rosie, no!!”

It’s your voice.

Looking up, you see ‘yourself’ standing at the top of the banister, ashen-faced and petrified.

Everything is surreal, and a slither of guilt slides into your gut but as she runs downs the stairs towards you, you pull the door shut in her face and jam the key inside the lock, holding onto the handle as tightly as you can.

You can hear her screaming and fighting with the doorknob, trying to get it open.

Aware she’ll call your parents next, you leave the key in the lock, grab Rosie and begin to hop down the steps of the front porch, heading for the street.

“Sissy, what are you doing?” Rosie exclaims, “Where are we going??”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Rosie,” you utter as you adjust your grip on her. She is so warm, this cannot be just a dream. This must be real. And if this is real, you’re determined to do one thing: “I’m here to save you.”

Angry footsteps pound after you; you toss a glimpse over your shoulder to see your father rushing towards your direction. He’s too quick, and whilst you’re ecstatic to see your father alive in the flesh once again, his gaze sweeps through you, as though you’re naught a shadow in a thick fog, and he seizes hold of Rosie, pulling her out of your grip. He looks confused.

“Who’s there? Who are you??” he demands.

There’s no time for explanation, you struggle with your little sister as your dad fights back, pulling Rosie as far as away from you as much as possible.

“Dad!! Let go! Let go of her!!!” you scream angrily, but he’s wildly flailing his arms into space as though fighting an invisible assailant which forces you to duck and retreat on several occasions.

Grabbing onto the back of Rosie’s shirt, you cling on as much as possible until the fabric tears and your nails furiously rake against her back.

She emits a startled shriek as she’s finally back in dad’s arms and you topple backwards, staring at your hands in shock. Your father glances left and right, his terrified gaze missing you completely, before he turns and disappears towards the direction of your house.

Looking up, your father has vanished with Rosie.

“Dad, wait!!!”

Scrambling to rise, your feet do not move on their own accord and you’re forcibly pulled away from the ground, your body thrown backwards with malicious force until you collide with a hard surface.

Confused, you’re left to rub your aching head as you pick yourself back up; the scenery has changed, shifting from the street outside your house to the basement, specifically your father’s lab.

You attempt to take one step forwards only to be met with a thick glass, revealing that you’re in a container of some sort.

Throwing your gaze down to yourself, your body has become engorged, clunky and ungainly and it doesn’t take too long for you to realise yes, something is definitely not right.

You try to speak, to say a word but all that emits is a rather low and horrific, demonic screech. Lifting your hands to eye level only to see two large and awkward-looking, grey-skinned palms. In fact, you are not even certain this is ‘skin’ and overall, it is not belonging to a human but a pokemon.

Dusknoir.

Cheerful, muffled humming captures your attention and you glimpse over to see Rosie playing with her dolls at the foot of the staircase.

“Rosie!” you yell, thumping your strange, massive hands against the glass, “Rosie, it’s me!”

She looks up and turns to your direction, cocking her head to one side. “Dusky-nor?”

“Rosie, let me out.”

Instead of replying, she picks up her two pokedolls and forces them to kiss, whacking them together again and again.

You try hard to grab her to pay attention.

“Rosie, let me out. You wanna play, right? I’ll play with you. Let’s play.”

To your chagrin, she does not bat an eyelid and as you glance around the lab anxiously, it’s then you see your father’s poster of morse code taped to the wall. That must be it: Rosie cannot understand what you’re saying.

Tapping on the glass with one of your fingers, you spell out a message, occasionally drawing a dash. Rosie eventually looks up and glances at your direction once more.

“Play?” she says, having understood.

“Yes, let’s play a game. Find a way to let me out,” you spell out in morse code.

She juts her bottom lip out and shakes her head. “That doesn’t sound very fun, Dusky-nor. Why don’t we play tea party instead?”

Before you can reply, the door to the basement opens and a girl enters. It’s ‘you’, again. “Rosie, what are you doing here?” your past self says with a huff. “Don’t come down here on your own.”

She picks your little sister up and off the ground and you watch them converse before the dolls are collected and the two sisters glance at you.

Goddamnit, you weren’t quick enough.

You growl and slam your hands over the glass repeatedly with frustration as they scurry off in a panic in response to your display of anger.

“Wait!” you yell.

The lights are turned off, bathing you in darkness, doom and gloom.

You are alone.

Curling into a ball, you wonder how you got yourself into this sticky situation and how you are going to get yourself out of it. Hell, why are you in the body of a Dusknoir anyway? How did this even happen? Though there are horrific true stories of kids waking up and discovering that they had turned into Abras...

Even though your family are here and you are in the sanctity of your own home, you cannot help but feel very scared and isolated. You can’t be locked up here forever.

Unsure how long you have been stuck here, you begin to feel not quite yourself. Your enlarged stomach is empty of food and your mouth hungers for something to eat. A mere scrap or morsel will do. Perhaps you should attempt to escape, somehow. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Lifting your hand, you might as well try and carry out one of Dusknoir's attacks, perhaps a simple Shadow Ball would do the trick. To your amazement, a ball of sweeping dark energy automatically begins to manifest and gather from the base of your palm as soon as the thoughts of escaping your confinement arises in your mind and from it, an uncontrollable, powerful blast shoots at the glass container which shatters it entirely.

The action was not without consequence though, and your father suddenly goes flying away from the contraption from the sheer force, smacking into the wall as shards of sharp glass rain over his body.

It appears he had been standing nearby doing some late night research but you weren’t even aware of his presence and now that you've attacked him by accident, you're rooted in your spot with shock.

Time must have passed since you were left on your own and everything has been fast forwarded to a particular crucial moment of your past which must be the event where your father and sister went missing.

Freed from the glass container, you rise into the air.

Dusknoir’s power is impressive; you feel its power surging through your body, the strength it possesses. You could do anything you willed, such as saving your father and Rosie before the incident happens.

Your father groans audibly with pain as you attempt to reach him, but his Sableye and Haunter spring out and begin attacking you to protect their trainer; you did not know that they were also here that night.

“I’m trying to save them!” you growl at the pokemon as you avoid their troublesome attacks. “Stop getting in my way!”

You manage to sweep them up and into your hands, unsure how to deal with them.

The answer lies when a short distance away, the papers lying on your father’s desk gently slide an inch or so from their usual places before they’re completely tossed into the air; a strong wind has whipped up from out of nowhere in the small space of the basement, causing chilly air to spread throughout the entire area. A shimmering, horizontal line appears in the darkness and a gaping hole opens up leading to a swirling vortex of deep purple.

As Sableye and Haunter continue to thoroughly resist, getting on your nerves and ruining everything, you proceed to throw them inside the portal. They are immediately sucked inside and vanish in seconds, their helpless cries drowned out by the blowing winds.

Turning round, your next course of action is to take your father and sister with you; a dim white light hovers from your father’s unmoving body, an inch above his head, shining under the gloomy light of the basement.

You make your way towards him and a little, frightened wail can be heard.

It’s Rosie, but you do not see her, just another light identical to your father's - except hers is a beautiful and bright, shining white light. It's incredibly powerful, and you are immediately drawn to it like a Venomoth to a flame, overwhelmed with the most haunting desire to devour it.

You gingerly pick her up with your massive palm though she flails and struggles.

“Rosie!” you exclaim, “I’m going to save you.”

“No! Let me go!” she kicks and screams for your parents and as your father begins to stir, you also pluck him up effortlessly off the ground.

With your father and sister in your grasp, your breathing begins to grow laboured and your vision grows blurry; your insides squirm and grows hot and you emit a yell as your stomach opens up, your ribs and skin stretching until they snap and tear apart.

It’s Dusknoir’s mouth, and you let out a choked rasp of pain whilst your human hostages continue to struggle.

“What…?” you whimper out, before your hands begin moving on their own accord.

You are not in charge anymore; Dusknoir is back in control and it’s hungry.

“Wait, stop!”

As you tremble and gasp, Dusknoir’s hands continue to move beyond your control.

“Stop!” you yelp, hot tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “NO!”

You begin to feed your father and sister inside your belly, watching them wriggle and flail, their screams muffled before everything goes silent as Dusknoir’s mouth seals shut.

You’re no longer hungry.

…

“Oh god! It was me!” you cry out, “It was me!”

Tossing and turning, you sit up in the darkness with tears staining your face, hands clawing at the sides of your head.

A crumbling static noise captures your attention and you look up; your radio lies a distance from you and whilst you wonder what it is doing here from out of the blue, you head over, bending down to pick it up.

It feels cold and heavy in your hands, and the dial is turned wrong.

Out of habit, you switch it to eighteen ninety eight hertz where the static grows louder and finally, a scratchy voice can be heard:

“-a pocket full of posies, a-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down. Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies...”

The voice is unfamiliar to you.

“Hello?” you say, though your rule of thumb is not to respond no matter what you hear. “Who’s this?”

“This is Rosie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then it’s me, your father.”

“You’re not my father.”

“Yes, I am. And then on some days...I’m your mother.”

Dropping the radio with fright, you watch it clatter to the ground and the antenna breaks and the screen shatters upon impact, but the voice from within begins to chuckle.

“I’m coming for you."

…and you wake up by a slight tremor underneath your body and a weight pressing down on your chest and legs.

Your eyes open in a snap at the unfamiliar sensation and you discover you're in bed, soaked to the bone with cold sweat.

Inhaling shaky breaths as you come to grips that you are now fully awake and the temperature of the entire room has plummeted, the weight on your body grows heavier and heavier and initially, you're paralysed, numb from the horrific nightmare...but there's something in your bed and you promptly lift the covers up.

A pair of red, glowing orbs dance around in strange circles, weaving and bobbing between the small gap for a split second before you realise they are not circles of light but in fact eyes, and these eyes had been watching you until you had woken up - and the weight disappears in a split second, retreating. The duvet follows its movements, a bump zooming all the way to the edge of the bed before it drops off and the duvet goes flat.

You kick the blanket off yourself entirely, scrabbling to sit up in alarm at what you had just witnessed.

The clock beeps loudly and you whip your head round; the LED screen reads three am precisely.

The tremor returns and you hold your breath, before a second and far more violent quake flings you to one side of the bed.

The bed shakes again and you finally cry out as you glance around yourself in shock and confusion; the bed rocks angrily to and fro, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. The noise is deafening.

In the darkness, your eyes dart left and right frantically as the bed continuously shakes and Sonia stirs, grumbling and groaning from the deafening noise.

You climb out, dropping to the floor and crawling backwards on your elbows. Sonia, now wide awake, rubs her eyes and flips on the switch of the lamp before she emits a gasp of shock at the sight of your shaking bed.

“What’s going on?!” she shrieks with fright before she lets out a loud cry of, “GRAN!!”

As she wails, a dark shadow suddenly flits from underneath your bed and to the ceiling of the room, clinging to one corner.

You daren't peel your eyes off it, your entire body shaking all over with fear as this shadow - initially appearing as a blob, begins to take on the shape of a man - and it springs towards you in a matter of seconds, leaving you no room to retaliate.

Sonia had been gawping at your bed in astonishment whilst you hurriedly evade the incoming attack and roll over to your rucksack, pulling out your khira dagger from within. You plunge the dagger into the body of the shadow as quickly as you can and it writhes for a few seconds or so.

It's too early to call it a victory, as the dagger wavers under your grip before the blade promptly scatters into fragments and the shadow slips away.

Stunned, you gawk at the broken dagger as the humanoid silhouette rises, towering over you. You stare up at this unknown being, your breathing growing laboured before it slams a dark appendage towards your direction. You narrowly escape by making a frantic dash for the door but the floorboards cave in from the assault and Sonia lets out a cry of fright from the alarming sound.

The shadow pursues you furiously, crawling over the wall and over the stairs.

And you yell, "Gengar!"

The pokemon appears, gathering dark energy in his hands before firing a powerful Shadow Ball, yet the attack passes through it completely and the pokemon is left bewildered as the shadow continues in its pursuit. Gengar is quick to react however, and he sinks into the shadows once more.

You throw a casual glimpse over your shoulder, grabbing several talismans from your bag which you had enchanted earlier. Tossing them at its direction, you're dismayed to see that they do little to stop it and the shadow charges through them completely, rampaging down the stairs in its wake.

Nothing's working, and downstairs, you see Cutiefly and Sunkern at the last step before they spot you - and the shadow.

You want to tell them to run away but Cutiefly flaps his little wings, sending a bustling gust of fairy wind towards your attacker's direction whilst Sunken squeaks and throws a barrage of Razor Leaves at it - to your horror, the attacks pass through much like Gengar's, and the shadow lunges at them.

It happened so quickly; their little bodies are juggled in mid-air as the shadow rips through them. Sunkern drops to the ground first, his eyes wide and glossy, the leaves ripped off his head. Cutiefly's fuzzy body follows suit, bouncing over the floor and coming to a rolling stop. A deep puddle of red seeps out from their motionless, mangled bodies, staining the pristine floor.

The sight of your beloved pokemon torn in half in front of your very eyes sends you into shock; your mouth contorts before you unleash an ear-splitting shriek of horror from the back of your throat.

Two weak balls of light rise from their bodies; before you can take a step forwards, the shadow pounces on one and swallows it up and the remaining light, in an effort to escape, darts to the side but is also quickly chased, caught and devoured by the shadow.

It's preoccupied which might give you an opportunity to attack, but a harsh tug on your arm stops you from doing otherwise: it's Gengar, and he's unlocked the front door for you.

"We need to go!" he exclaims.

Sonia arrives at the banister and spotting the bodies, emits a scream. You don't have time to react, and you certainly have no choice but to leave.

Sparing one last glance at the mangled bodies of your pokemon, you leave with Gengar, sprinting out of the house and down the path as quickly as you can.

...

That night, the ghost Pokemon Researcher of Wedgehurst did not return home.

#jeralee #fanfic #fic #reader #reader insert #leon x you #leon #leon x reader #you #dande #pokemon #pkmn #pokemonshield #pokemonswordandshield #pokemonsword #pokemonshieldsword #pokemonshieldandsword #archive of our own

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theprodigypenguin · 4 years

Note

👀 (I hope it isn't closed yet, love you! 💙)

It’s an end of the year game so I guess it’s open till the end of the year (or until I run out of WIPs, ya know?). Thank you for the Raven-heart! This is from a Jeddy that I initially wanted to be one of those semi-cliche fuck-or-die fics, just to test my abilities and play around with their characters. Never got to the “fuck” part of the fic cuz smut and I have a bad relationship SO this is what I have to share~ This was also written back before I’d decided James was smol in my headcanon, so he’s semi-tall in the oof.

Most of what Teddy did was assess the properties of certain objects in order to pass them along to the more diverse segments of the Department. When something unusual came in, he had to figure out if it pertained to Love, Time, Death, or any other mysterious magic, or if it was harmless enough to send up to the top floors of the Ministry for the rest of the workers to deal with.

In the months he’d been working there, Teddy had seen it all. A teapot that had been tampered with that they’d sent up to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department, a Muggle broom that a young wizard had accidentally infused with magic because he wanted to fly already, among more dangerous items. Broken time turners that still had a bit of magic in them and needed to be disposed of properly, a vial of smoky green liquid that nearly made Harry vomit when he looked at it, and their most recent discovery.

They’d deduced that the item wasn’t dangerous or toxic in any immediate way, so Teddy’s supervisor had given him authorization to bring it home for further research and an order to get some rest and eat something other than caffeine. It was an unusual artifact, that was certain.

Like most of the relics stored in the Department of Mysteries, this one didn’t look imposing or dangerous at all. Found in the cellar of an old Death Eater who’d recently passed, sitting on a pillow of black velvet set into a stained mahogany box with a glass inlaid lid that allowed viewing of the item within without opening.

It was a deep scarlet red in color, roughly three feet in length, but folded carefully, a thin ribbon with lightly frayed ends. No, it didn’t look dangerous at all, but when Teddy set his fingertips against the box, he could feel the magic, the power, that made his fingers almost burn. They didn’t know what it was, what it was supposed to do, who made it or why. So Teddy had taken it home, grabbed every book he could on magic infused cloth and clothes, and settled down in his living room. That’s where he was sitting when the floo came to life, flames lashing up before spitting out five foot seven inches of Quidditch Chaser with a cocky grin.

“Evening Teddy!”

Teddy lifted his eyes from the faded pages of an old journal about weaving protective spells into wizard robes, greeting James with a smile of his own.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you had practice today?”

“Mate it’s nearly midnight.”

“What?” Teddy slowly closed the journal. “What are you doing at my house at midnight? Did something happen? Are you okay? Is Harry okay?”

James just laughed. “Calm down, everything’s fine. We haven’t heard from you in days is all, and last time that happened you passed out in the middle of the Ministry, so dad and aunt ‘Mione asked me to come check in on you. Dad probably would have, you know how he is, but he’s been busy too. I said I’d stop by.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Teddy chided, setting the book down on the coffee table and trying not to feel endeared at the fact James was worried about him. “I’m alright.”

“Sure mate, I believe you,” James said, stopping on the other side of the coffee table with his hands up, “but that’s just me. Dad on the other hand sent me with a list,” and he reached down, pulling out a folded paper from the front pocket in his jeans and holding it up with his usual flare that had Teddy snorting.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Not even a little.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Stuff it Tedward, I had to sit through it while dad told me what to write down, you have to sit through it too.” James cleared his throat. “Item number one, have you eaten?”

“Please tell me this is a joke.”

“Should I mark it no?”

“I’ve eaten.”

“Have you properly hydrated? Those are the exact words he used, Ted.”

“Yes.”

“Have you bathed?”

“Yes.”

“Changed into clean clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Rested? He means sleep by the way, have you actually slept?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

“No, James gimme that.” Teddy stood and grabbed the paper from him, shaking his head at the list that had at least ten more items in it. “Guy blacks out one time in the food court and it’s the apocalypse.”

“You can’t blame them. I’m worried too.”

Teddy almost thought better of looking at James, but his curiosity won him over and he looked up from the paper to meet the intense brown eyes that always seemed to make it hard for him to breathe. Honestly, did this this idiot know what he did to Teddy?

“This job of yours is really debilitating, it drains you more than any job you’ve ever had before. You already blacked out once because you pushed yourself too hard, and the work itself is some of the most dangerous in the entire Ministry. We’re worried about you.”

“It only drains me because I’m not fully used to it yet.” Teddy was quick to defend, setting the paper on the coffee table and holding his hands up. “I’m getting better. I really like this job, Jamie, I’m doing good work and learning amazing stuff. Sure I may have completely lost consciousness while standing and slept three days straight because I hadn’t taken a break or even a nap in six days, but I’m much better at managing my time now, and my supervisor has been keeping an eye on me-”

“Yea, yea, yea.” James waved a hand, looking away. “I believe you, Lupin. So are you going to offer me some tea or coffee? Some snacks maybe?”

Teddy shrugged and turned. “Of course, make yourself at home,” he had a half smile on his lips as he made his way towards the kitchen. “You practically live here anyway.”

“I’d apologize but I’m not sorry!” James called after, and Teddy laughed.

“I should get you a key to the front door already. How’s your work been? How’s training?”

“Exhausting, but it can’t be worse than what your dumbass is doing.”

There was a pause as Teddy pulled down a tin of tea from the cupboard, setting it on the counter before going back for coffee mugs. There was a half pot of burnt coffee sitting to the side, but Teddy wasn’t going to send James home hyped off caffeine, and he himself needed to sleep soon anyway, it was midnight after all, so tea it would be.

“Just got the last pieces of my required uniform,” James picked up again, and Teddy hummed, even though James probably couldn’t hear him. “Still not crazy on the colors, but I guess they’ll do.”

“Just remember to keep an eye out when you’re playing,” Teddy warned. “The Falcons are famous for playing rough, and National games are more violent than Hogwarts anyway.”

“I already know that, Teddy, you don’t have to baby me about it,” there was a high to his tone, annoyance, but Teddy wasn’t surprised.

He was only eighteen, but James had developed a kind of complex about people noting his young age. He was technically an adult after all, he even had a job, and was searching for a place to stay so he could move out of his parents house and be independent. Teddy was proud of him, but his worry wasn’t spurred by a misguided belief that James was somehow still just a baby. Teddy just worried about everyone.

Still, it seemed like he must have offended James somehow, so he sighed, pouring hot water into the two mugs and thinking of what to say to apologize as he balanced them in his hands and started back for the living room.

“Hey, Jamie, you know I’m not warning you because I think you’re a kid. You’re young, but you’re grown enough,” Teddy started, eyes down to keep himself from spilling. “I just don’t want to see you hurt, okay? I don’t know what I’d do if something happened…”

“Ted…,” James’ voice was soft. “I know, Teddy. I’m sorry, I just… I know.”

Teddy shook his head. “Never mind that. How’s everything else been? How are Lily and Albus?”

James was starting a response when Teddy finally stopped and lifted his head from the cups of tea. The younger man was saying something about Lily getting in a fistfight and chopping her hair off before the Hogwarts semester, but Teddy didn’t hear him as the sound of water roared into his ears, and his tedious attempts to not spill any hot water became insignificant as he dropped both cups. One shattered on the floor, the second broke on the coffee table and soaked several important looking documents, but Teddy was focused entirely on James.

He was gaping at Teddy in shock, there was an open box on the table, and the red ribbon Teddy had been studying was hanging in James’ right hand.

“Ted, fuck, are you okay?! Did you burn yourself?”

“James,” Teddy carefully, slowly raised his hands, his posture cautious, eyes locked on the ribbon like it was an explosive. “Jamie. James. What did you do?”

“What?” James’ worry had faded to puzzlement. “Do?”

“That thing…”

“Oh, right, it was just sitting here-”

“James what have I fucking told you about touching shit in my house?”

James looked dumbfounded, morphing to a blend of irritation and panic, because Teddy never talked like that. “What are you going off for? It’s just some stupid ribbon!”

“That is an artifact from work, James, it’s dangerous!”

“Why’s it on your fucking coffee table?!”

“I was researching it to figure out what the bloody hell it was!”

“You don’t even know what it is?!”

“No, James, that’s why they gave it to me, to figure it the fuck out!”

“Well fuck, am I gonna fucking die?!”

“Why would I know that, you dumbass?!” Teddy took a sharp breath in, running his hands through his hair, staring at the ribbon hanging innocently between James’ fingers. “Okay don’t panic-”

“That’s exactly what you say to make people panic!”

“Can it! Let me think! Maybe you can just … just put it back, maybe it’s not as powerful as I thought. Maybe it’s just the box that’s magic infused and the ribbon is just… just a ribbon. Yea, this is fine, just don’t move, okay?”

Teddy shifted around, side stepping closer to the coffee table and reaching down to pick up the box, standing slowly as he lifted it.

“Okay, slowly, place it back onto the pillow.”

“Wait if the box is what’s magic should you be touching it?”

“We’re well past that, Jamie, just put it in the box.”

James inhaled shakily as he held his right wrist in his left hand like he was bracing against a spell, easing the ribbon down towards the box as Teddy raised the box up to meet him. They were both holding their breath, and when James had the last piece of the ribbon sitting in the box, they breathed a sigh of relief, looking at each other and laughing anxiously.

James cursed. “You prick, I really thought I might die for a minute there.”

Teddy laughed. “Actually I was worried about that too, but it seems everything is fine no-”

The universe didn’t even let Teddy finish before proving him wrong. The box in his hand seemed to burn, and he cursed as he released it, but when it fell and clattered against the coffee table, the ribbon hovered. It moved like it was possessed, both ends flinging out like it was a living thing. Teddy cursed colorfully in both English and Welsh as the strip of cloth that looked so silky smooth before wound around his wrist like a vice of course fraying rope that burned into his skin.

James was in the same boat, yelping as the ribbon wrapped itself around his left wrist and arm, winding tight around both of them like it was a Boa Constrictor, only letting up when they’d been yanked closer together. Then it stopped, but one pull at it told Teddy all he needed to know. They were stuck like this.

“Oh Merlin…”

“What?!” James yanked on his right arm, eyes wide and cheeks flush. “What happened?!”

“I don’t know, stop moving!” Teddy reached over with his right hand to stop James, flexing the fingers of his left hand that was bound to James’ right. “Shit, it’s not letting up.”

“Okay, I’m not freaked out by this or anything, but are we gonna die?”

“I… I don’t know. Just don’t panic.”

“No of course, why would anyone panic in this situation?”

“I told you to put it down, I have told you countless times that if you were going to visit, that you couldn’t just touch everything!”

“Well don’t just yell at me about it! How was I supposed to know?! It was a ribbon in a bloody box! I thought it was just a decoration!”

“James why in the name of Godric would I have a ribbon in a box decorating my bloody coffee table?!”

“You’re a weird guy, Teddy, I don’t know what you do in your free time, the oddities you might collect, maybe you like to display vintage ribbons, I’m not judging!”

“Would you shut up?!” Teddy snapped. “Just let me think!”

James listened, kept his lips tightly sealed as he glared anxiously at the ribbon around his wrist and arm. Teddy did his best to assess the situation, tugging at the material and sighing. Whatever this thing was, it had wrapped around his wrist before winding down his arm to his elbow. His left arm was now bound to James’ right, where he was in the same situation with the ribbon. It seemed magically stuck, it wouldn’t loosen or come away, even the ends that hung at their elbows wouldn’t peel up.

“Alright. There’s procedures we have to take when something like this happens,” Teddy explained, his right hand still holding the ends of the ribbon. “Come around the table, stand next to me so we aren’t leaning awkwardly towards each other.”

James shuffled on his feet to get around the table, standing shoulder to shoulder with Teddy and slowly sitting down together as Teddy continued to eye the stupid thing.

“Alright, are you in any pain?” James shook his head. “Is the material burning you or itching or-”

“There’s no pain, I can’t even feel it,” James insisted. “I just can’t move it.”

“Me either,” Teddy sighed, leaning back. James slumped back with him, unable to do much else, their arms hanging between them as they both stared dumbstruck at the wall.

Teddy could feel the back of his hand pressed against James, could feel the warmth of his skin, in fact it was almost too warm, but that probably was just him. Touching, being close to James like this, was something he tried to avoid. Teddy had a good handle on his self control for the most part, but he’d be lying if he said there weren’t moments he nearly grabbed James by the face and kissed him in front of everyone.

He could’ve been magically glued to anyone else and it would have been fine. Why did it have to be the one person he’d been crushing hard on since he was seventeen, left Hogwarts, and claimed he was going to be more famous a Quidditch player than his mum had been, with the air and confidence of a man who’d already won the World Cup?

“So what do we do?” James asked. “Got some scissors lying around this mess somewhere?”

“Jamie I really don’t think scissors are going to win this match.”

“Worth a shot.”

Teddy wanted to argue, but at this point what other choice did they have? Teddy knew next to nothing about this thing, so maybe all they had to do was snip it?

“They’re in the kitchen,” Teddy said, standing and hauling James up with him, stepping over the shattered porcelain tea cups. “Watch the cups.”

“Sorry about that tea.”

“There are more important things.”

The scissors didn’t work. In fact, when Teddy started to cut at the ribbon, the scent of burning metal overwhelmed them both, and he lifted the scissors up to reveal the ribbon had essentially eaten into and melted the blades.

“Scissors are a no go,” James muttered. “What about… wands?”

“You want me to try magically cutting this thing off? I could miss and cut you, or it could bounce off the ribbon-”

“Teddy what else are we supposed to do in this situation?!”

“Not freak out!” Teddy ran his hand through his hair again, then groaned. “Damn it. I’ve spent hours studying this stupid thing and I still haven’t got a clue what it is. We need to go back to the Ministry.”

“What for?”

“My boss might know more about this kind of thing. Magic infused cloth, and it… somehow is capable of binding people together. It doesn’t hurt, but it won’t let go. Merlin’s sake.”

“Dad’s gonna kill me,” James lamented, staring at the ribbon. “If I miss practice my captain’s gonna kill me too.”

Teddy could only sigh in silent agreement.

#end of the year wip game #jeddy #james sirius potter #teddy lupin #edward remus lupin #nico writes #nico answers anons #nico answers asks

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takerfoxx · 5 years

Text

RD Walpurgis Nights 8, Part 6

Then…

Kriemhild had hoped that once she and Homulilly were finally off that enormous clock hand and had something solid beneath them that they would be able to make some sense of their surroundings.

No such luck.

The clock tower that she and Homulilly had woken up on was near the center of one particularly large island, so she had a very good view of the landscape. The city turned out to be composed of a network of circular islands sitting in a large body of water, all connected by bridges. Each island was itself was divided into circular segments, and every few seconds each segment would move a few meters in one direction or the other, each moving opposite of the two segments touching it, taking all of the buildings with it. And whenever it did, the rain would change direction. The city was constantly rearranging itself, and it frankly hurt her head to look at.

It was impossible. It was surreal. And yet, there it was, just a freaky city going around in circles.

Well, at least she and Homulilly weren’t in danger of tumbling into the abyss anymore. They were sitting together on top of the clock, huddled close for warmth. The gargoyles turned out to be depictions of themselves, just several Kriemhilds and Homulillies, all reaching out together toward the horizon, with each pair having one arm apiece tied together by stone wire.

What was disturbing was that though the gargoyles were naked like themselves, they were clearly human. The Kriemhilds all had normal, human legs, and the Homulillies all had flesh on their arms, shoulders, and backs, and none of them had flowers on their heads. Furthermore, on each of the Homulillies’ free arms was a circular shield, identical to the one that had bound the real Homulilly’s wrists together. As for the Kriemhilds, they were all holding bows, bows with stone flowers growing out of their ends.

Kriemhild couldn’t make heads or tails out of them. Were they indicating that she and Homulilly used to be fully human, and someone had turned them into monsters? That didn’t make sense no matter how hard she tried to figure it out. How was this accomplished? Where were they, and why were they stuck there? It didn’t make any sense at all!

Also, what was up with those bows? At least she had seen the actual shield, though its significance was still lost on her. She never saw any bows when she-

Suddenly Kriemhild remembered the strange, bendy wire that had been pressing against her neck. Oh. That had probably been it.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Homulilly said suddenly.

Kriemhild shook her head. “I wish I knew.” They had already circled the top of the clock tower in search of a door to the inside, but there had been nothing. No ladder leading downward, no method of escape at all. So they were stuck: stuck naked in the rain, to die of exposure or starvation, whichever got them first.

Unless we decide to beat them both and just take a walk off the edge, Kriemhild thought bitterly. It was a terrible thing to consider, but it might just be better than slowly wasting away out in the open.

Homulilly glanced at her, almost as if she knew what Kriemhild was thinking. “It’s okay,” she said, reaching out to take Kriemhild’s hand. “We’ll be-”

Then she glanced down, gasped, and suddenly jerked her hand away. Kriemhild stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot!” Homulilly said, cradling her arms to her chest. “I didn’t mean to touch you!”

Then Kriemhild understood. Sighing, she reached over to touch Homulilly’s forearm. The other girl winced and turned away.

“Let me see it,” Kriemhild said.

“No!”

“Come on. It’s okay.”

“But…but they’re ugly!”

“I don’t think so.” Kriemhild gently coaxed Homulilly’s arm out and drew it toward her. She clasped the other girl’s bony hand in both of her own. “Besides, we’re all weird here. At least people are supposed to have bones in their arms.” She raised a couple of legs and twisted them around into odd shapes. “Me? I’ve got spaghetti for legs! That’s way weirder!”

Homulilly looked down at all of Kriemhild’s wiry legs where they had spread out around her. She reached down and picked up a few in her free hand. “Can you still feel with these things?”

Kriemhild giggled. “That tickles.”

“This is so weird,” Homulilly sighed. “This is just so weird.”

Suddenly the thunderous bell rang, the sound of it smashing through their heads. They both winced and slapped their hands over their ears, but less than a second later the whole clock tower roughly jerked a few meters over.

The two of them fortunately were sitting a fair distance from the edge, but the sudden shift knocked them both over. Kriemhild sprawled onto the concrete, and Homulilly went down on top of her.

Reeling from the shock, Kriemhild turned onto her back to find Homulilly’s face staring down at her. The two girls locked eyes, and then with a flush of embarrassment, they simultaneously became aware of how much of their skin was touching. As well as…other areas.

“I’m sorry!” Homulilly cried as she leapt off. Her pale face was now red as a tomato. “I didn’t mean to!”

Kriemhild hastily sat up. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, though her own cheeks were burning as well. “It’s not like-”

Then, almost as if on cue, the rain reversed direction and started falling down again, soaking them both.

The embarrassment faded from both their faces, to be replaced with resigned misery. Homulilly sighed and sat down. Kriemhild scooted over next to her.

“I liked it better the other way,” Kriemhild said as she started shivering.

“Me too.”

The two glanced at one another. No words were said, but they moved toward each other anyway, huddling close for warmth.

“We’re going to die out here,” Homulilly said.

Kriemhild opened her mouth to deny this, but found that she couldn’t. Homulilly was right. There was nothing they could do, nowhere to go but down.

And as they sat together in shared misery, Kriemhild found herself wondering how long it would take until taking the long road down was the better option.

…

Now…

They sat down together on a pair of nearby rocks. Not too close though; Gretchen was very uneasy about the whole thing, and it was clear that Hitomi was too.

Hitomi’s outfit was…odd. She was wearing a hooded jacket that was too big for her and a pair of jeans that were too long. Gretchen wondered where she had gotten the clothes from. Maybe she had stolen them.

Of greater concern was how she had yet to banish her umbrella. She kept it folded up across her lap, clutching both the handle and the canopy with both hands, the fingers gripping so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The rest of her was in pretty bad shape too. Her face was gaunt, her hair was a mess, and judging by the how sunken her eyes were, she had not slept well in quite some time. Also, her body would not stop shaking. Her tongue kept flicking out to lick her lips, and she seemed unable to look directly at Gretchen, instead keeping her gaze focused on the grass only to quickly glance at Gretchen every few seconds.

As for Gretchen, she considered keeping her bow at the ready, but realized that given how bad she was with it, it was pretty useless as a defensive weapon. So instead, she leaned it against the rock and pulled off her quiver and kept it near. If things got bad, she could at least grab up one of the arrows as a makeshift knife. She really, really didn’t want to have to hurt Hitomi, but the girl was clearly not stable.

As for Cheese, he remained perched on her shoulder, warily keeping an eye on newcomer. He normally did just fine with strangers, but it was clear that he wasn’t at all comfortable with Hitomi’s presence.

Gretchen couldn’t blame him. She still very felt very bad for Hitomi and wanted to help the poor girl, but she was also all too aware of the dangerous position she was putting herself in. It was like finding a feral kitten that had been hurt. You definitely wanted to make sure it was brought out of danger and taken somewhere that could help, but you also didn’t want to get scratched. And Hitomi could do much worse than scratch her.

“Um, sorry if you don’t like me asking,” Gretchen said. “But how did you get away from the FIB?”

“The what?”

“You know. The Freehaven Integration Bureau? That place you’ve been staying?”

“Oh. That. Um, it’s my umbrella.” Hitomi popped open the canopy, and the inside started glowing. “It…it can take me wherever I want.”

Oh, that couldn’t be good. “Anywhere? Just like that.”

Hitomi shrugged and folded the umbrella back up. “I don’t know. So far it has. I just ask it to take me somewhere and it does.”

“Oh. Um, okay.” Gretchen made a face. This was going to be hard. “So…”

“So you know. Right? Th-That one friend of yours…the witch…”

“Charlotte?”

“Yes. Her. She t-told you? About…about us? About how we’re friends?”

“She did,” Gretchen said after a pause. “I believe you.”

Eyes still fixated right in front of her, Hitomi slowly nodded. “And you don’t remember any of it?”

Gretchen braced herself. “No. I don’t. There were some…I don’t know, flashes of memory when I first showed up, some random pieces and stuff, but it’s all faded since.”

“Oh.” Hitomi winced as if she had been struck. “Oh. Okay. So…nothing about your family or anything?”

Gretchen shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“What about Sayaka? You know her, right? Does she remember anything?”

Gretchen looked at her in confusion. “Sayaka?”

Hitomi paused. Then she slowly looked up to meet Gretchen’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Sayaka. Your best friend!”

Uh-oh. That had probably been the wrong thing to say. Gretchen’s mind raced, quickly searching through what bits of her past she knew. “Uh…uh, short blue hair and blue eyes, right?”

Hitomi looked like she was getting a little angry. “You can’t be serious. You were just with her! I saw you!”

“What?”

“Down by the docks! I was following you, and she was there and…” Hitomi’s frustration tied up her tongue and she just huffed.

Uh-oh. Old friends or not, Gretchen did not like the idea of being stalked by anyone. “You were there?”

Hitomi didn’t look at her, but she did not. “Yes,” she said. “I wanted to find you, so my umbrella took me to you. And Sayaka was there! She was right there, in the chair!”

“Well, she has a different name now! She’s called Oktavia now!” Too later Gretchen realized that using Oktavia’s current name probably wasn’t going to make things any better. “But we are very close friends though! But no, she doesn’t know anything either.”

Hitomi stared at her for an uncomfortably long time. Gretchen wished that she could know what was going on in her mind. Was she saddened? Angry? Disappointed? Whatever she was feeling, it was probably awful.

Then Cheese suddenly said, “Bastard son of a corn meal. Son of a corndog.”

Hitomi jerked back in surprise. “Does he…did he just call me a…”

“That’s just…his unique way of expressing himself,” Gretchen wearily explained. “He curses, he reads off parts of recipes, and for some reason that’s all we can get him to do.”

“Oh. I…see.” Then Hitomi sighed. “And I’m s-sorry. It’s not your fault, I know. I didn’t mean to get angry. I didn’t…” She sighed again. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

Maybe so, but Gretchen had to admit, she didn’t exactly know the proper protocol either. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, “So…how long have we known each other?”

Hitomi wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “About five years, I guess.”

Five years. So, about the same amount of time she had existed in this world. The same amount of time she had known all of her older friends. The amount of time she had known Homulilly.

“So you know everything about me, then? I mean, everything about who I used to be?”

“I don’t know. Most of it, anyway.”

Gretchen looked down the hill toward the town. She knew what she was about to do was a terrible idea. She knew that she would probably come to regret it. She knew that what she was about to do couldn’t be undone.

But she needed to know.

“Th-Then, you know my baby brother, right?”

Here Hitomi actually started to smile a little. “I do.”

Gretchen scooted closer to her and her hand on Hitomi’s. Hitomi stiffened and looked at her in surprise, but she didn’t move away.

Gretchen closed her fingers over Hitomi’s. “Tell me about him.”

…

Mitty and Alyssa’s apartment was…nice. Based on what she remembered of Mitty’s tastes back from the FIB, it was clear that Alyssa had done most of the decorating, with elegant furniture made from dark woods, china figurines of various kinds of dancers sitting on shelves, framed paintings of fantastical creatures like fairies and mermaids (Oktavia would probably have gotten a kick out of that), and a tiny garden all along one wall, beneath a large picture window.

There was a narrow staircase leading to an upstairs area, with a small space between the living room and the kitchen. That was where a dining room table had been set up, one covered by a pink-and-yellow tablecloth. Homulilly had sat down at one end of the table, Alyssa at the other, with Mitty hovering behind her.

“So, what’s the problem?” Mitty said. “Because I have to tell you, you’re like the last person I had ever expected to show up at our door. Especially alone.”

Homulilly bit her lower lip. “Y-Yeah. I’m sorry, but…but…this is just so…”

“Take your time,” Alyssa said.

Homulilly inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “All right. Um, Alyssa? I’m really sorry if this is rude or whatever, b-but…how do you deal with it?”

“Uh…” Mitty’s face twisted up. “Deal with it? You mean, with me? What the hell?”

“No! No, not that! I mean, you two knew each other in the last life, right?”

Alyssa and Mitty exchanged a look. “Yeah…?” Alyssa said.

“So how do you deal with it? Knowing you had this whole other life and whole other identity and you’re dating someone who knows everything about you but you can’t really talk too much about it because it’ll make you go crazy or something like that. How do you deal with it?”

“Okay. What?” Mitty said. “Homulilly. Wow. That’s, like, super personal!”

Alyssa breathed out. “Maybe it would help if you told us what this was all about.”

Homulilly’s hands were shaking. She quickly moved them from the table to her lap. “Okay. You know how Gretchen and I are living with our friends now?”

“Yeah…?” Mitty said.

“And y-you know how we all were supposed to have known each other in the last life, but since we’re all witches we can’t remember any of it?”

“Sure. Gretchen’s mentioned it once or twice.”

“Okay. Well, we…met someone. Someone who knew us all. Knows us all. And she’s not a witch, so she knows our…our names, who we were, what we were like, what our friendship was like, and…” Homulilly pressed her hands to her forehead. “How do you deal with this? Because the more we know, the scarier it gets, and I’m scared to learn any more, but I also really want to? I don’t know. How do you deal?”

Alyssa and Mitty both gaped at her. “Oh,” said Mitty. “Oh. Holy shit.”

“Exactly! And now I don’t know what to do!”

Alyssa took a deep breath. “All right, have a seat. I’ll go put some tea on. I think we’re all going to need it.”

…

“…and there was this one time where your parents were out on a date, so you were home by yourself babysitting, so Sayaka and I decided to stop by and keep you company. And we all started playing ‘Save the princess from the dragon!’, with you being the princess of course, and Sayaka was the dragon, and Tatsuya was the knight…” Hitomi sighed and rolled her eyes. “And I ended up being his horse.”

Gretchen giggled. “His horse””

“Well, someone had to be!” Hitomi said with a shrug. “Sayaka wanted to be the knight, because she always wanted to be the knight! But after we convinced her that it was Tatsuya’s turn, she immediately called dibs on being the dragon. And you were already the princess, so that just left the horse.”

“That sounds pretty adorable, actually.”

“It was the cutest!” Hitomi all but squealed. “We got one of Sayaka’s helmets and covered it with tinfoil for him and gave him a rolling pin for a sword. And of course Sayaka really got into the being the dragon. After Tatsuya stabbed her with the rolling pin, she just flopped over on her back and starts giving this long, dramatic speech about…oh, I don’t even remember, but she would’ve started reciting Shakespeare if you didn’t make her wrap it up so your valiant knight could ride off with you into the sunset.”

Gretchen tried to imagine that scene. “On you?”

Hitomi paused. “Well, maybe as far as the bedroom door,” she admitted. “You weren’t exactly heavy, but I’m not really all that strong, so…”

The two looked at each other, and then they both started laughing. Gretchen could absolutely picture a young Oktavia over-dramatically acting out her own death scene. And the thought of her and her baby brother riding around on Hitomi’s back while Hitomi strained under the weight was pretty hilarious.

Then Cheese chose that moment to break in with, “Fuck her caramel, and two shits of Worchester sauce!”

Hitomi gaped. “That bird is so dirty!”

“You have no idea,” Gretchen said. She glanced up at the parrot, who seemed to have calmed down. “Do you…want to hold him?”

Hitomi looked shocked by the question. “C-Can I?” she said.

“Well, let’s see. Hold out your arm…”

Looking more than a little dubious, Hitomi obeyed.

Gretchen maneuvered Cheese onto her own arm and brought him over so that she and him were face-to-face. “Behave,” she said, tapping him on the beak. Then she moved him over to Hitomi’s arm.

Hitomi was trembling a bit from nervousness, but she remained still as Cheese stepped from Gretchen’s arm onto her own. “Wow,” she said as she slowly brought him in close. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s a jerk, actually,” Gretchen snickered. “But yes, he is very pretty.”

“Can I…touch him?”

Gretchen shrugged. “Sure. He likes getting scratched around the neck.”

Hitomi extended a shaking hand. Cheese warily watched her, as if trying to judge if the gesture could be trusted. Evidently he decided that it could, so he turned his head around and puffed up his neck feathers.

“What’s his name?” Hitomi said as she gave him a good scratch.

“Cheese,” Gretchen said. “He belongs to my roommates, actually. We actually just moved in, but we’ve been friends for years. And now that Homulilly and I are living with them, we help out taking care of this guy.”

Hitomi started stroking Cheese’s back. He seemed a little perplexed by that, but he let it slide. “Your roommates? You mean, um, Charlotte and…the others?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hitomi shook her head. “That’s so weird. You were friends with all of them back then, and now you just so happened to meet them again here.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of cool how that worked out. Guess it must be fate.”

Hitomi smiled at that.

“You know, it’s sweet that my mom and dad still went on dates though,” Gretchen remarked after a bit.

Hitomi nodded. She moved Cheese over to her shoulder. “They were pretty great! Your mom’s name is Junko Kaname, and she’s like this big-time business executive. She’s crazy good at it too. It was honestly pretty cool whenever she’d get fired up about a project.

Junko Kaname. Gretchen wished that she had a picture.

“And your dad’s name is Tomohisa Kaname. And he’s one of the sweetest, most kindest men I’ve ever met.”

Tomohisa Kaname. Huh. “What does he do?”

“Well, actually he stays at home to take care of you, your brother, and the house,” Hitomi said.

“Oh!” Gretchen’s brow rose. “A stay-at-home dad, then!”

“Well, your mom is already killing it with her job, so someone has to be around to look after Tatsuya!” Hitomi said with a small smile.

Gretchen noticed. “You’re starting to sound like you have a crush on him.”

Hitomi giggled again. “What! No! I…” Then she gave Gretchen a sidelong look. “Okay, maybe a little one.”

Gretchen burst out laughing. “You have a crush on my dad?!”

“Just a tiny one, and not for very long!” Hitomi said, holding up a finger and thumb with a very small space between them. “It lasted for like a month, that’s all!”

“What changed?”

Hitomi immediately stopped laughing. Her face grew sad, and she looked away.

Gretchen blinked. “What is it?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Hitomi said, “Well, th-that’s when I really started to notice Kyousuke.”

“Who?”

The hurt look Hitomi shot her made Gretchen regret the question. “He was my boyfriend.”

Crap. Gretchen suddenly remembered that little detail from everything Charlotte had told them. “Oh. Oh, that’s right. You mean the one…” This time she caught herself, but not in time to recover. “The one that, uh, that…”

“That Sayaka was in love with, yes,” Hitomi said with a sigh. “You know?”

Gretchen slowly nodded. “Charlotte told us, yes.”

“How did Sayaka take it?” Hitomi said after a pause.

Gretchen winced. “Um…she, well, she…”

Hitomi shot her a look. She seemed to know that the answer wasn’t going to be to her liking. “Please. Be honest.”

“Sh-She thought it was…weird.”

“Weird?”

“Okay,” Gretchen sighed. “She thought it was a lame thing to give up her soul for. She was disappointed.”

Hitomi looked stricken. “Disappointed? Lame? She thought it was…” She cut herself off and inhaled sharply, no doubt to bite back on an angry outburst. She breathed in as deeply as she could and slowly let it out. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. Fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said.

Hitomi shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s just…you should have seen her, Madoka! She was just so head-over-heels in love with him, everybody could see it!” Then she glanced over at Gretchen. “Well, I guess you did see it. And you saw her, up until the end.”

Gretchen sighed. “I guess I must have.”

The two sat in awkward silence for a bit, with Cheese casually grooming himself while the two girls on other side of him tried to think of what to say next.

Oddly, it was Hitomi that broke the silence first. “So…what about you?”

…

Homulilly and Mitty sat across from each other at the small dining room table as they waited for Alyssa to rejoin them. Homulilly was trying very hard not to meet Mitty’s eyes, but the other girl wasn’t making it easy. She was just sitting there, calmly watching Homulilly, no doubt wondering what was going through her head but content to wait.

The two of them had never really gotten along. Sure, they had sort of made up after that fight at the festival a couple years earlier, but that had been mostly for Gretchen’s sake, and it didn’t mean that they were friends, or even like each other. Even after hostilities had cooled, Mitty had just been Gretchen’s friend, one that Homulilly was willing to tolerate but never felt compelled to actually befriend herself.

And yet, here Homulilly was, paying Mitty a visit to ask for help. It was sort of bitterly funny in a way.

Finally the kettle started singing in the kitchen. There was the sound of the hot water being poured into cups, and a few moments later Alyssa entered the room, carrying a small tray with three cups. She set one down in front of Homulilly and Mitty both before sitting down with the third one next to Mitty.

Homulilly stirred in some cream and took a sip. It was good. “Thank you.”

Mitty sighed. “All right, Homulilly. What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, Homulilly set her teacup down and, using as few words as possible, described the situation, starting from her and Gretchen’s encounter with Hitomi Shizuki in the FIB hallway and the complete disaster that had been and moving onto the phone call they had received and Charlotte’s subsequent meeting with the newcomer. She told them about finally learning all that was important about one Homura Akemi, and how unsatisfied that had left her. She told them about how much it was eating at her, how she couldn’t get it out of her mind, and how she was worried that if left unchecked, she was probably going to lose her mind. All the while, Alyssa and Mitty silently sipped their own tea and listened.

When she finished, Mitty sighed and said, “Damn.”

“Yes!” Homulilly said. She had tried very hard to keep her emotions under control during the telling, but now they were bursting forth. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it. Why though? There isn’t any reason for this to be bothering me this much! It’s just a name, and it as if I learned anything…big. I didn’t have a family to wonder about, my life sounds like it was pretty miserable, I still have everyone I ever cared about, so this shouldn’t have me all twisted up!”

Alyssa cleared her throat. “Sweetheart, if it’s got you that messed up, then you really should-”

“Go talk to a professional,” Homulilly flatly finished for her. “I know, I know. I’m just…tired of that being everyone’s answer to everything. I graduated. I shouldn’t have to keep going back.”

“Y’know, just because you’re out of school don’t mean stop needing help,” Mitty pointed out.

Homulilly shrugged one shoulder. “I guess.”

Alyssa and Mitty exchanged a look. Alyssa inhaled sharply and said, “Very well then. If you want to know what it was like for me, it wasn’t as bad as it is for you. I went through the whole wondering who I was and all that phase for a while, same as everyone else. Then I got over it, stopped caring, and then-”

“She met me,” Mitty said.

Homulilly settled back into her chairs, her cup held with both hands, though that was mainly to keep them from fidgeting. “What was that like?”

“For me?” Mitty shrugged. “Well, I literally ran into her in while getting coffee. It was like one in the morning, I was up late to cram for finals, so I went out to grab a cup.”

She paused a bit, a faraway look in her eyes. Homulilly didn’t have to ask why.

Mitty continued, “I was standing in line behind her, just running everything over in my head, when suddenly I was like, ‘Wait, I know that hair.’ Then I heard her place her order and was like, ‘Wait, I know that voice.’ And then I put two and two together, and it was like, ‘No fucking way.’”

“She, I will admit, scared the ever-loving shit out of me,” Alyssa said. “I getting home late from work and had been craving something sweet all day, so I stopped at the coffee shop to grab a pastry, then all of a sudden someone screamed right behind me. And the next thing I know I was getting hugged.”

“Can’t blame me for getting excited,” Mitty said.

Alyssa smirked. “I thought I was being attacked!”

“Attacked by love.”

“Attacked by something all right. Anyway, I pushed the crazy lady off of me and got ready to defend myself, but then she starts babbling a whole bunch of stuff that sounded like complete nonsense to me, about how she couldn’t believe that she found me and wanting to know where I had been and stuff like that.”

Mitty cleared her throat. “In my defense, I was already half-crazy from studying.”

“If you say so. Anyway, my first thought was that she was some kind of crazy runaway from the FIB or something down those lines.”

“Well, two out of three.”

“I really had no idea what’s going on, it was so very strange.” Alyssa paused. “And then she said my name. My old name. A-And it was…it was like…”

“It felt like a bell going off inside your head,” Homulilly said softly. “Something fast and sharp that immediately grabbed your attention and wouldn’t let go.”

“Exactly. It was exactly like that. And on top of that, I realized that…that I knew her from somewhere. I couldn’t place it, but she seemed just so achingly familiar. So of course I demanded to know why she called me that, but then…” Alyssa cast a sidelong glance over to her girlfriend.

“But then I accidentally pulled her whole goddamned arm off,” Mitty said.

Homulilly blinked. “Huh?”

In answer, Alyssa reached up into her sleeve and gave her upper arm a twist. The whole thing came right off. She held the detached limb up for Homulilly to see. Though it was no longer part of the whole, it suddenly flexed at the elbow, with the fingers opening and closing freely.

“Witch thing,” Alyssa said with a shrug, and she put her arm back.

Mitty nodded. “So…yeah. That pretty much reminded of what had happened to her in the first place. You could call it a massive discouragement. Anyway, I can’t say I took it well. Pretty much just up and split.”

“Oh,” Homulilly said. “So, um…”

“As for me, everyone told me to just let it go, that it wasn’t worth it, that staying away from this crazy idiot would be the smart thing,” Alyssa said.

“Looking me up was pretty dumb,” Mitty said.

Alyssa shrugged. “Well, I had already been doing the smart thing in each and every other part of my life up until then. I feel I was entitled to one extremely ill-advised decision. Besides, I really couldn’t get her out of my head after that. I looked her up and tracked her down.”

“You can probably imagine how weird it was for me to have her show up at my dorm out of the blue.” Mitty cringed. “I honestly thought that she was going to slap me silly.”

A reasonable enough worry in Homulilly’s opinion. “So, what did you do?”

“Well, I sat down with her and had a talk,” Alyssa said. “I already figured out most of it by then, so this was just confirmation.”

“You told her everything?”

Mitty shook her head. “Uh, no. We agreed to stay away from specific details. It was…hard.” She winced. “Actually it was kind of awful. I had to pretty much ignore everything we had ever done together and never, ever bring it up.”

“We didn’t talk long,” Alyssa said. “Just enough to touch base and get everything straightened out.” She smiled. “Still, I had to admit, there was something kind of intriguing about her, so we agreed to meet for lunch the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that, and before we knew it…” She looked over to Mitty and covered her hand with her own.

Mitty smiled as well, but it didn’t last long. “It was kind of rough at first.”

“At first.”

“Why?” Homulilly asked.

Mitty shrugged. “Well, I wanted so badly to tell her everything, but I knew I couldn’t! I mean, she looked like, uh, the person I knew, and…she acted enough like her to make it weird, but I couldn’t drop my guard and accidentally say something dangerous. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled to have met her again, but, you know, circumstances were…complicated.”

Homulilly nodded. That much she fully understood. “How did you get over it?”

“Well, we just started making new memories together,” Alyssa said. “After a while, we had more of those than the old ones, so we just focused on that.”

The way that Alyssa and Mitty’s eyes sparkled as they gazed at one another left no doubt as to that. Normally Homulilly would have kept silent rather than interrupt such an intimate moment, but she had come here for a reason.

“Okay, that’s…great,” Homulilly said. “But how did you deal? I mean, you heard your name, right?”

Alyssa winced, but she nodded. “Right.”

“Didn’t that bother you? Didn’t it eat you up inside, having to deal with this…this big bunch of nothing where the rest of your life used to be, a gaping hole that you were never going to fill, but all of a sudden the most important is suddenly back, and you have the chance to get the rest, but you can’t! How did you deal with the unfairness of it all?”

Alyssa leaned back in her chair, eyes contemplative. “Homulilly, have you ever heard of a thing called ‘spiritual dissonance’?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like you’re dealing with it right now.”

Oh, there was so little doubt of that. “Yes. Yes, I am,” Homulilly said through clenched teeth. “That’s why I’m here! I mean, didn’t you have it?”

“A…little,” Alyssa admitted. “Believe me, I was very tempted to keep filling that hole. I mean, I knew in my heart of hearts that Mitty had been part of that past, that she could probably answer all the questions I had. Keeping myself from asking was…difficult.”

“What stopped you?”

Alyssa stared off at a point past Homulilly. “One of the therapists had a pretty good way of putting it. She told me that filling that hole wasn’t the like getting a bunch of new dirt to pour in, that the dirt was deep inside me, and that I needed to, um, dig myself out in order to get to it, and that the parts that I moved don’t settle back when I’m done, and…the way she put it sounded a whole lot better, but do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

“Poor girl,” Alyssa said with a shake of her head. “You have it kind of rough now, don’t you?”

Oh, there was no question about that. “Do you…do you have anything that could help me? A trick, a technique, something I could do to help?”

“Actually, yes. Something that helped tons would be the same thing that helped Mitty. Keep on making new memories. Go and have some fun. Spend time with those you love. Do whatever it is that’s good for your soul. Just don’t try to do it alone.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Homulilly said after a pause, though she had been hoping for something a little more…specific. “It’s just that I’m worried that they might be in the same boat I am.”

“Sounds like you’re all going to need each other then,” Mitty remarked.

“You’re right. You’re right,” Homulilly sighed. Well, that was probably as good as she was going to get. Leaving her unfinished tea on the table, she rose and politely bowed her head. “Um, I’m sorry to have intruded. And thank you for your help.”

Alyssa rose up as well. “Of course.”

A thousand things running through her head, Homulilly turned toward the door. She hadn’t gotten some kind of concrete technique like she had been hoping, but it was a start. Granted, “Go have fun with your loved ones” wasn’t much of a start, since odds were they were all probably a little screwy in the head at the moment, but it was better than nothing.

And, well, if she needed somewhere to start, going to shoot arrows with Gretchen for a few hours in the hills sounded pretty good. That much she could do.

Then, before she could leave, Mitty hurried toward her. “Hey. Look,” the older girl said. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, and okay, we never really got along. But still. You’re kind of all right, and I know how much you love Gretchen. So…take care of yourself, okay?” Mitty stuck out her hand. “You can get through this.”

Homulilly blinked in surprise. Then she smiled and clasped Mitty’s hand with her own. “Thank you. And I hope you’re right.”

…

“M-Me?” Gretchen stammered.

Hitomi shrugged. She transferred Cheese back to her arm and handed him back to Gretchen. “Well, I mean I have been spending all this time catching you up on who you were, but I don’t really know anything about who you are now.” She glanced down at Gretchen’s legs, which were lying flat in the grass. “Other than, you know, being a…a…”

“A witch?” Gretchen said as she moved Cheese up into the branches of the dead tree, to keep him out of the way. Then she drew all of her legs up and curled them towards herself.

Hitomi winced. “Er…yeah.”

“It’s okay,” Gretchen said, patting her on the shoulder. “You can say it. It’s not a dirty word.”

Hitomi opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and just nodded. “Okay.” She looked back out into the distance. “Also…you’re, uh, you a-and Homur…um…”

At that Gretchen had to smile a little. “Homulilly.”

“Right. Homulilly.”

“Does it really bother you that much? About us being together, I mean.”

“No!” Hitomi said, entirely too quickly to be convincing. She let out what she was probably hoping was a dismissive laugh, but it was too fast and too nervous. “Of course not! I m-mean, it’s your private business, and you c-can love whoever you want, regardless of gender and…” She sighed. “Oh, I am sounding like an idiot here.”

“Hitomi. It’s okay. Really. I know it all takes some getting used to.”

“Some getting used to,” Hitomi repeated. “Yup. Yes. Yes, it does.” She took a deep breath. “So…how long have you two, um, been together?”

Gretchen snickered. She knew she shouldn’t make fun of Hitomi’s discomfort, but it was pretty funny. “Do you mean as friends, or as…girlfriends? Lovers, even!”

Hitomi shot her a look. “You’re teasing me.”

“Who, me? Oh, perish the thought!” Then Gretchen laughed and gave her a playful shove. Hitomi stiffened a bit at the touch, but then she relaxed, smiled, and shoved her back. Gretchen’s smile grew. Yeah, they had totally been friends.

“Anyway,” Gretchen said. “Let’s see: we first officially got together at Sardi’s Land of Miracles, and…”

“Uh, at where?”

“Oh, it’s this great amusement park! I’ll take you there one day! But yeah, our first trip there…” She frowned as she mentally did math in her head. “Okay, it was about a year in, so…”

Hitomi suddenly leapt to her feet. “A year?!”

Gretchen blinked in surprise. “Um, yes. A year. We had been here for about a year.”

Both of Hitomi’s hands went up to cover her mouth. “A year. A full year! How is that even possible? You’ve only been gone a couple weeks!”

Gretchen’s own mouth dropped. “Wait, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Oh. Oh no. This wasn’t good. Gretchen was having to tell Hitomi stuff that generally was revealed to the newly arrived by trained professionals, not someone as incredibly unqualified as her in the middle of a grassy field. “About th-the time difference! Time moves faster in here than it does…well, than it does in the other place.”

“I…yes, I heard something about that, but I figured that you had only been here f-for a few months! At most!” Hitomi’s legs started to look like they were getting unsteady, so she plopped back down on the rock and leaned forward with her head in her hands.

Gretchen swallowed. “H-Hey,” she said as she tentatively reached over to lay a hand on Hitomi’s shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s…not…that bad?” She winced. Wow, that had been all kinds of unconvincing.

Hitomi didn’t seem to hear her. She was rocking back and forth, her fingers pressing hard into her forehead as her eyes practically bugged out of her face. “H-How old are you?” she whispered, still staring straight ahead.

“Um…I-I’m not sure, actually. How old was I when I, you know, disappeared?”

Hitomi’s fingers tensed up. “Fourteen. You were fourteen.”

Gretchen sighed. “Then I guess I’m about…nineteen now.”

Hitomi stopped rocking back and forth. Her hands fell to her sides, and she slowly turned to stare at Gretchen. “Nineteen?” she whispered. “You’ve been here for five years?”

Gretchen inhaled deeply. “Yup. Five years.”

“Oh my God,” Hitomi whispered. She got back and up and started pacing back and forth, one hand on her hip and while shoving the middle knuckles of her index finger on the other into her mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…”

Gretchen awkwardly sat and watched her. She had seen other girls have similar mental breakdowns in the past, but there would always been an FIB caretaker on hand to handle that, and whenever it was Homulilly having one, she always knew exactly what to say and do to help her through it. But she felt completely out of her depth with this one. Anything she said could make it worse.

“Are you going to be okay?” she said after a bit.

Hitomi paused and stared at her, finger still in her mouth. “Okay?” she said around the knuckle. “Am I going to be…”

Then she dropped both arms, curled her fingers into fists, closed her eyes, and inhaled sharply through her teeth. “Five. Years!” she hissed out.

Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping. She sat back down with her arms crossed over her knees and gaze downward.

Gretchen leaned over to try to see her face. “Um, are…”

Hitomi sniffed. “I’ll be okay,” she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“Do you…” Gretchen hesitated. What she was about to ask sounded incredibly cheesy. Still, nothing was lost in asking. “Do you need a hug?”

Hitomi actually laughed a little at that. “Actually, you know what? A hug sounds great about now.”

Gretchen gently put her arms around Hitomi and drew her close. Hitomi gratefully snuggled up to her.

“It’s okay,” Gretchen murmured as she stroked Hitomi’s hair. She really did have pretty hair. A shame that Gretchen didn’t have a comb on hand. “Don’t worry. I know everything is strange and scary, but you get used to things pretty quickly. And I’ll be there to help you. Promise.”

Hitomi’s body was trembling. “How can I though, when everything seems to change every five minutes?”

“It only seems like that for a bit. The first few weeks are the worst, yes. And it’s probably going to be hard for a little bit longer. But it does get better. And when it does, things get, well, kind of wonderful.

“I don’t want them to get better,” Hitomi said through clenched teeth. “I want to go home, where I belong.”

Gretchen didn’t have anything to say to that.

“I wanted nothing more to find you,” Hitomi said after a pause. “I thought that I’d save you and bring you home safe, and things would be like they used to be. Instead…” She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Instead…”

“You found someone different,” Gretchen said softly.

Hitomi sighed. “That’s just it though. You’re so like yourself! A-And I can get used to the witch thing, sure. I can even get used to you liking girls now! But now…” She shook her head. “You not only don’t remember who you were, you’ve had a whole other life! You’re all grown up now. You have a long-term girlfriend, you’ve graduated high-school, you probably have a job, and-”

Gretchen cleared her throat. “Um, well, not yet. Homulilly and I were going to try to go to college first, then figure out what to do for a job.”

“Okay, but that’s so far ahead of me. I mean, a couple weeks ago we were in middle school together, and I thought having my first date made me more grown up. But now you’re a full adult. You’ve been in a relationship for years, you’ve probably ha-”

Hitomi suddenly cut herself off. Her face turned bright red and she hastily looked away.

Gretchen tilted her head, trying to see her face. “Probably what?”

“Never mind,” Hitomi said hastily. “It’s crass. I’m sorry.”

Then Gretchen got it, and she had to keep herself from laughing out loud. “I probably have sex. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

“Scissor my timbers!” Cheese squawked, which was just perfect.

Gretchen had never really seen someone cringe with their whole body, but Hitomi managed it. Every part of her tensed up. She grabbed her head with her hands as her knees pulled up close to her chest.

Adopting a flighty tone, Gretchen pressed on. “Not at first. We wanted to take things slow, so it was about…” She made a big show of thinking for a bit. “Okay, it was right after that beach trip, so I guess it was a few months after our first kiss.”

“Oh. My. God,” Hitomi breathed out

Gretchen acted like she wasn’t noticing her companion’s discomfort. “It was honestly kind of awkward at first. A little scary, and we didn’t really know what we were doing. But we kept at it, and we got better, so after a while it just…” She grinned widely. “Kind of became part of the routine!”

Hitomi made a loud sound of disgust. “Ugh, that sounds so weird coming from you! You’re…You’re Madoka Kaname! You’re not allowed to know what sex even is!”

Gretchen laughed. “Sorry. Most of my friends have really dirty minds. I guess it rubbed off on me.”

“Finger up the quarter tablespoon of curry!” Cheese declared.

Hitomi actually jumped up and started stomping around, her hands flapping as if the dirtiness were something physical she could toss away. “Ew, ew, ew! Stop talking like that! When did you start hanging around with perverts!” Then she froze. “Wait, is Sayaka one of them?”

Gretchen laughed again. “She’s actually kind of one of the worst ones.”

Hitomi threw her hands into the air. “Oh, of course she is! I should have known. I saw her with her girlfriend down at the docks, and they were, uh, flirting. After you left. Like, really, really…you know…” Her voice trailed off.

Fortunately, Gretchen knew exactly what she was talking about. They’re just like that. You get used to it.

Hitomi sighed and sat back down next to her. Her body slumped over her knees. “I missed a lot,” she said.

Gretchen squeezed her shoulder. “Well, I can help you catch up.”

Hitomi turned her head just enough to shoot her a small smile. She covered Gretchen’s hand with her own. “You always did like helping people.”

Gretchen returned the smile. She was about to make a suggestion when Cheese suddenly took off from the branch he was sitting on and sailed away.

“Cheese!” she said, leaping up. Cheese was a bit of a punk, but he never just took off on his own like that. “Cheese, come back! Where are you-” Then she saw, and she understood. “Uh-oh.”

“What is it?” Hitomi said. Then she saw, and she froze.

As it turned out, Cheese wasn’t flying away. He was going off to greet one of his favorite people, who was standing partway up the hill, staring up at her and Hitomi.

Homulilly reflexively raised her arm for Cheese to alight upon, but she didn’t look at him. “Gretchen,” she said. “What’s going on here? Why is she here?”

Gretchen’s tongue suddenly felt very thick in her mouth. “I…she…”

“Cheese. Home.” Homulilly threw her arm up, sending Cheese flying off back to the house as trained. Now that he was gone, she marched purposefully up the hill toward Gretchen and Hitomi. “Okay, she is not supposed to be here! And she is definitely not supposed to be anywhere near you!”

Hitomi suddenly jumped up and got between Gretchen and Homulilly. “Wait, wait, it’s not what you think!” she said, holding her hands up.

Homulilly focused her gaze on her. Gretchen had to admit, she did look kind of scary. She had seen Homulilly upset plenty of times. She had seen her angry and frustrated before. Heck, she had even seen Homulilly angry with her a few times.

But this was different. She wasn’t red-faced and pouting as she often was when frustrated, nor was she the teary-eyed mess she became when her anger got the better of her. Her face was…cold, her eyes dark and resolute. She had the look of someone who could do anything and everything to remove whatever she found offensive.

And at the moment, she was finding Hitomi very offensive.

“What I think?” Homulilly said. “Oh. Okay. Tell me: what do I think?”

“I wasn’t trying to make the moves on her!” Hitomi cried. “It wasn’t anything like that. I…I don’t even like girls!”

“I know,” Homulilly said flatly.

Hitomi was taken off guard. “What?”

“I know that, you…you moss-brained idiot! You think I’m scared of her cheating on me, of you stealing her from me? You?” Homulilly cleared the remaining distance between her and Hitomi and jabbed one bony finger against Hitomi’s chest hard enough to make her take several stumbling steps back. “No, what I think is that you’re doing the stupid thing and filling her head with everything that she shouldn’t be hearing! It’s bad enough that you already forced her old name on her, but now you’re telling her everything else, aren’t you?”

Hitomi looked absolutely stunned. “Uh…then I guess it is what it looks like.”

“See?” Then Homulilly’s glowered somehow darkened even further. “And hey, how are you even here? You’re supposed to be with the FIB!”

“Magic.” Now Hitomi was starting to scowl as well. “I have it too, you know.”

“Okay, let’s just calm down,” Gretchen said as she tried to insert herself between the two. “No need to-”

Hitomi held up an arm, stopping her. Keeping her focus on Homulilly, she said, “And why shouldn’t I tell her everything? It’s her life! It’s her family!”

“Guys, please!” Gretchen pleaded.

“No, this is her life!” Homulilly said, pointing at the ground. Then she stuck her thumb against her own chest. “And I’m her family! The only family she needs!”

“Can you hear yourself?” Hitomi demanded. “You sound like every crazy jealous girlfriend from every movie ever! She can make her own decisions; you don’t own her!”

“Stop it! Both of you, stop-”

“I’m not going to just stand here and let you destroy her mind with-”

“All right, that’s enough!”

Gretchen wrapped her legs around Hitomi and Homulilly both and yanked them apart. She lifted them into the air and held them there, a fair distance apart from one another.

“Now you two can just stay up there until you calm down!” she said to the struggling pair.

“I’m just trying to save you!” Homulilly cried.

Hitomi hissed at her. “She doesn’t need you to-”

“You’re going to make her go crazy! Don’t you know anything about this world? Witches that hear their old names too often and learn too much about their pasts go crazy!”

Hitomi stopped struggling. “I…they told me something like that,” she said. “But I don’t see…She seems fine to me!”

“Homulilly, I don’t think she’s done any damage,” Gretchen said to her elevated and infuriated girlfriend. “I don’t…feel any worse off.”

The look Homulilly shot her was honestly heartbreaking. “Do you know where I was before I came here?” she said. “Do you know what my errand was? I went to go see Mitty and Alyssa.”

Now Gretchen was just confused. “Mitty and Alyssa? Why them?”

“Because…ever since I learned who Homura Akemi is, ever since I met her,” Homulilly jabbed an accusatory finger at Hitomi, “I’ve had my mind all mixed up! My head keeps spinning, I can’t think straight, and finding out everything about my past just made it worse! So I went to them because they went through the same thing, and I thought that they could give me some advice. On how to deal with this! Because I sure as hell don’t know how.”

A beat passed. Then Gretchen slowly lowered both of them to the ground. She unwrapped her legs from around their waists and withdrew them. Hitomi immediately retreated a few steps while Homulilly just stood there, hugging herself.

Gretchen went over to her. “Homulilly, I…”

Sniffing, Homulilly shook her head and said, “Don’t say that you didn’t know. You did. I told you that this was messing me up.”

Gretchen didn’t have an adequate reply to that, so instead she wrapped her arms around Homulilly and hugged her tight.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve been…I don’t know, I should have…”

Homulilly sighed. “I’m not blaming you! It’s not your fault. I just don’t get why you’re being so reckless!”

She drew back from Gretchen’s embrace to look at her and Hitomi both. “Don’t you guys get it? You can’t bring things back to the way they were! That girl Gretchen used to be? She isn’t coming back! She’s dead! It’s just Kriemhild Gretchen now, and you’re just going to hurt her, hurt yourself!”

Hitomi was openly crying now. “I don’t understand. It’s…it’s her family! Why is telling her about her family so bad?”

Homulilly pressed a hand to her own face. “Tell her,” she said to Gretchen.

“Lilly, I-”

“Just…just tell her! You should’ve told her already, so do it now!”

Wincing, Gretchen turned toward Hitomi. “It’s…it’s believed that when a witch has been made, everything about who they used to be isn’t really gone, it’s just locked away, deep inside us. Sleeping. And things like old names and memories makes them…stir. Start kicking in their sleep, I guess.”

Hitomi’s brow scrunched up. “But then…”

“But it doesn’t wake them up. It never does.” Now that Gretchen was the one reciting the rules instead of being lectured about them, she couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed. “They toss and turn and just keep kicking, but never awake. And in the meantime, all that kicking just…hurts the witch part, I guess. Psychologically, I mean.”

“B-But-”

“Eight,” Homulilly said, dropping her hand. “There are several million witches out there, probably billions actually, and there have only been eight confirmed cases of witches getting their memories back. And nobody knows why it happened, not even them! In each and every other case, the witch would just get more and more unstable until they either saved themselves through…copious amounts of therapy and rehabilitation, or they lost their damn minds!” She took a deep breath, and then practically spat out, “So I would take it as a fucking kindness if you would stop trying to drive my girlfriend insane!”

“I…I…I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t care what you meant or didn’t mean to do, it doesn’t matter! We were doing just fine before you showed up!”

Hitomi stamped her foot. “I didn’t want to show up! I didn’t want to be here at all, but somehow the witch that beat me to death didn’t get the message!”

“Then you should be back at the FIB getting help for that like everybody else!”

“No! I’m not going back there! I’m not going to spend the rest of…of…of whatever in an insane asylum!”

“It’s not an insane asylum! You’re not stuck there forever! They help you with whatever you need, give you all the therapy that you should be wanting, and then they let you go!”

“No! Screw that! I already know how it works! You guys went through the normal program, while I got stuck with all the crazy people that they stick underground and never let out, just because I wouldn’t just meekly accept that everything and everyone I had ever cared about is gone and I can’t even try to get any of them back!” Hitomi stomped right past Gretchen to get nose-to-nose with Homulilly.

“You know, they must love witches here!” Hitomi said, jabbing a finger right into Homulilly’s chest. “You guys don’t have anything holding you back. You don’t have to worry about your families that are probably still grieving for you, you don’t have to worry about your friends that are never going to see you again! You just accept whatever they say and never make trouble! Well, I’m not gonna! Get used to it!”

Homulilly looked down at the finger pressing against the front of her jacket. Then she looked up at Hitomi’s furious face. She scrunched up one eyebrow.

Then, in one fluid motion, she yanked the sleeves away from her own arms and thrust her bony hands into Hitomi’s face. “Boo!” she yelled.

Hitomi let out a squeak of fear and surprise and fell back right onto her butt, just like she had the first time she had seen Homulilly’s unique appendages. But Homulilly wasn’t done. She yanked off her jacket and let it fall, exposing all her bones for the world to see. Once again, Hitomi’s face went pale and she scurried back.

“See these?” Homulilly said, spreading her arms and fingers wide. She walked forward as Hitomi scooted back, keeping the distance between them to a minimum. “You think it was easy walking around looking like a zombie? You think it was fun having a big blank in my head where my entire life was supposed to be? It took me years to come to terms with walking around in another girl’s skin, with expecting everyone who saw me to run away screaming like you! But then you had to go and say her name and get her kicking. And on top of that, you reminded me that I look like a monster! So don’t go telling me that I have it easy!”

She would have kept going, but she was passing by Gretchen then, who stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Homulilly,” she said, her hands trembling. “Stop. Please.”

Homulilly acquiesced, though it clearly took a great deal of willpower. She stood in place, hands squeezed into fists at her side. Her glare, however, remained.

As for Hitomi, she had scrambled to her feet and retreated back to the rock she and Gretchen had been standing on. She stood there, staring back at Homulilly with wide eyes. “You…you…” Then she screamed and whirled around to kick the rock as hard as she could.

It was an act of pure frustration, the emotional outburst of someone who had been continuously pushed far past what she was able to handle for too long. She had probably expected nothing more than a stubbed toe.

However, she had clearly not been expecting her kick to uproot the rock from where it sat and send it sailing clear over the top of the hill.

Hitomi froze in shock at what she had just done. “Huh?” was all she managed to squeak out.

Then she turned toward the two witches, eyes begging for some kind of explanation.

Homulilly sighed. “What? Really? You didn’t know? You’re a Puella Magi! You have super-strength now, everybody does!”

“I…I do?”

“Yes! Yes, you do!”

Hitomi glanced down at the depression the rock hand made. Then she looked back at Homulilly. Her expression hardened, and she thrust her hand out to one side. There was a twisting flash of green light, and her umbrella appeared in her hand.

Gretchen tensed up. Hitomi was going to attack. She was really going to go that far.

However, Homulilly didn’t seem all that concerned. “Try it,” she dared. “I’m just as strong as you are, remember? Probably stronger. And unlike you, I actually know how to use it!”

Hitomi hesitated. She stood in place, glancing first at Homulilly, then at Gretchen, and finally at her umbrella, clearly weighing her options.

Then she popped the canopy open, blocking their view of her. The canopy glowed bright, and then it snapped shut and disappeared entirely.

Hitomi was gone.

“Hitomi!” Gretchen cried. She ran over to the empty space and looked around. There was no sign of her. “Hitomi, where are you!”

“Gretchen.”

Gretchen turned. Homulilly was still standing where she had left her, her face downcast. The wind had picked up and was blowing her long, raven hair across her face. She didn’t seem to care.

“Let her go,” Homulilly said. “You can’t help her like this.”

“But-”

“You can’t. Get mad at me if you want, but you know I’m right. It was stupid to try to connect with her like we did. Going after her is just going to make things worse.”

Gretchen had to admit, she was kind of mad. Not as much as she was worried, but she was still angry. “Did you have to be so harsh on her?” she said. “Don’t you understand how much she’s hurting?”

“I do! Just like I understand that this won’t help her! It’ll only make things worse, for her and for you!” Homulilly sighed. “And to be quite frank, you’re the one I’m worried about most.”

“But-”

Homulilly went up to Gretchen and put a hand on her shoulder. “Gretchen, please listen to me! I know you feel responsible for her. I know you want to help her! It’s what you do, and it’s one of the many, many I love you so much. But you’re only going to end up hurting her more, and yourself!”

“I know, I know!” Gretchen said in exasperation. “It’s…it’s just…” She struggled, trying to find words to what she was feeling.

Homulilly knew her better than anyone. And she understood almost immediately. “Oh no,” she whispered. “You’re…you’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? You want to wake her up. You want to remember.”

Gretchen winced. “I…I just…”

Homulilly buried her face in her hand. “Gretchen, no! You’re only going to tear yourself up, you know that!”

“I…I don’t…”

“Why are you doing this? Don’t you know-”

“Because I have a baby brother!” Gretchen wailed.

Homulilly stopped.

Now sobbing openly, Gretchen shook her head and said, “A baby brother. I have a baby brother out there. And I also have a Mama a-and a Papa who loved me very much and…and it’s only been a few weeks since we died, so they’re still looking for me, and they’re never going to find me or know what happened to me so…so I should at least know their names! Can’t I know that at least?”

Now Homulilly was tearing up as well. “But Gretchen…if th-they did somehow find out what happened to know, if they knew that you were here, hurting yourself, how would that make them feel? Wouldn’t they want you to do what’s best for you?”

Gretchen couldn’t meet her eyes.

“A-And there’s still me! There’s still me, Gretchen. I love you just as much as they do. And I can’t stand watching you do this to yourself!”

“But I…I haven’t really hurt myself yet, s-so maybe it’s different-”

“Everyone probably thinks that!” Homulilly cried. “Everyone probably thinks that they’re different, that they’ll be okay! We thought that, when we sent Charlotte to go talk to her!” She took a shuddering breath, tears streaming down her face. “And now look at me! Why do you want to do worse to yourself?”

Gretchen couldn’t meet her eyes. “Lilly. Lilly, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just…please don’t scare me like that. It’s bad enough that I feel like I’m losing my mind. I couldn’t stand it if you did too.”

Gretchen nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

The two of them silently packed up, with Homulilly retrieving her jacket and Gretchen putting away her failed archery practice. Then the two of them walked together down the hill.

Though she didn’t say anything, Gretchen’s mind was racing a hundred different ways. She was mad at herself for being so reckless, a little angry with Homulilly for interrupting things and scaring Hitomi off, ashamed because when it came down to it Homulilly was right, worried out of her mind for Hitomi and wondering where she had gone, and deeply concerned about how she might hurt herself before she was found again. Herself, or others.

It was a lot of confusing and contradictory emotions that she didn’t have the first clue of how to sort out. Maybe Homulilly was right about that too. Maybe this already had her more messed up then she had thought.

Then suddenly, her phone went off. Blinking, she pulled it out. It was Charlotte.

“Um…yeah?” she said, turning it on speaker.

“Hey. Sorry to bug you, but is Homulilly with you?”

“Er, yes. W-Why?”

“Could you guys get back home as soon as you can? We have kind of a family emergency. Candeloro relapsed, and we could use all hands on deck here.”

Candeloro? Relapsed? Relapsed with what? It didn’t make any sense.

Then Homulilly leaned over and whispered, “Drinking. Remember?”

Gretchen swallowed. Oh, that was right. But she had seemed so…so stalwart, and determined! How had she fallen so quickly?

“Understood,” she said. “We’re heading home.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, sounding relieved.

“It’s getting worse,” Homulilly said as Gretchen hung up.

“You’re right,” Gretchen said, though she hated to admit it. “Do we tell them about Hitomi?”

Homulilly pursed her lips, but she nodded. “I don’t see how we couldn’t. It’s the best thing for everyone.”

Which was logical, but as the two of them hurried down the hill, Gretchen found herself wondering how true that would end up being.

…

Would you all hold it against me if I said that it felt really good to write dramatic stuff that didn’t involve teenaged romances again?

Until next time, everyone.

#Walpurgis Nights

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years

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OUAT 2X13 - Tiny

Hey, reader! Your TINY-ing couldn’t be better to check out my latest review! XD

Yeah, not my best pun, but it’s not too GIANT of a misstep! XD

COMEBACK!

Now go under the cut and read my review!

Press Release

Kidnapped and brought to Storybrooke by Cora, the Giant unleashes his vengeance on the town when a case of mistaken identity leads him to try and settle an old score with David; Mr. Gold, accompanied by Emma and Henry, attempts to depart Storybrooke - hoping to keep his memory intact when he crosses the town line – and heads to the airport in search of his son Bae; and Greg (Ethan Embry) questions Belle as to what she saw on the night of his car accident. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was and against his brothers’ wishes, Anton, the Giant, climbs down the beanstalk and attempts to befriend some humans - whose intentions may not be so noble. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past I really like the conflict in this episode and how it relates to the present later on. We clearly know the outcome of Anton’s voyage to the human world, but Anton never feels like he’s being foolish in this flashback. Anton’s research, kind heart, and inquisitive nature are not being satisfied (And as often implied, even mocked and bullied) by his siblings. But, in that same token, they are not completely cast as bad either. Anton clearly cares for them, and his oldest sibling is shown to be wise in many ways and it’s his lesson of seeking another land that proves to be the key to Anton’s eventual happiness and livelihood in the present.

James’ and Jack’s plan is a great one. That plotting is devious. The staging of it all was well done enough that it doesn’t feel contrived, but understanding of the kind of person Anton is and malleable enough account for missteps. Just go back and watch the bar scene. James has his outburst at the guard just loud enough so that Anton hears him, and of course, Anton, the curious guy that he is, would ask about why. Jack just happens to bring up the subject of beans and while Anton can’t help her in that regard, what else are giants known for? Their treasure, something Anton can be far more generous with. And give him enough motivation and he’ll go right over there with the bare minimum security. It’s honestly one of the best and most underrated evil plans on the show. It’s simple, but intelligently suited to its victim. Present I love the Storybrooke section of this episode! Anton, while the antagonist in this segment to David’s protagonist story, is never made to be a bad guy because the entire time we’re with him attacking, we’re aware of his plight. Because of that, we want him to pull through and get along with everyone and the episode gives that emotional payoff while still ensuring that Anton does learn his lesson about humans. David is in his best form throughout the episode, kind and compassionate but not without his limits and Snow acts as a great source of support and friendship while Leroy rounds out the trio with his comedy and everyman presence in town (And later on, surprising amount of heart).

It’s so great to see the people of Storybrooke acting as a unit again during the rescue and aftermath of Anton. It reminds me of the efforts made in episodes like “A Still Small Voice” and it fits into the story well as a bulk of humans are able to prove themselves to Anton at once.

Also, let’s talk about the airport scenes, but it helps make this episode so memorable. The security scene is both so hysterical at first and so tense and terrifying once the shawl comes off, even after the safe resolution. That having been said, I will say, I wish things were a little bit clearer as to why Rumple was freaking out even after he retained his memories. I can’t help but feel like they were almost going to go for a different angle like actually having Rumple at one point revert to his cursed self (Note how Rumple places so much emphasis on how important it was for him to keep his true identity), but it was abandoned. Otherwise, what was the purpose of the freakouts because we only got a few seconds of waviness as he was crossing through security before getting the shawl back? I like the idea of Rumple freaking out over not having his magic for the first time since the curse broke and realizing that his mortality is back, but what brought it on and how it was handled was weird. All Encompassing This segment is also notable in the fact that not only is it Anton’s first and only centric, but it is the first time that we really see the distinctions between David and James. Before, we saw a bit of James before his death, but while bits of him can be understood with the aid of hindsight, but this is where the character was truly defined for the first time. Whereas David so often acts for the betterment of his people and even those who oppose him (to the point where he attempts to sacrifice himself for Storybrooke’s safety and then later endangers himself for Anton’s sake), James is only interested in himself and won’t lift so much as a finger to help someone if it puts him in danger. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -”I think layers are always a good idea!” Nice subtle showing of Mama Swan! -I don’t know why, but it cracks me up how Rumple’s covering the expenses of their trip! XD Charming summed it up best: “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?” -”This isn’t a threat, it’s a request. Take care of them.” Aww! I love that extra bit of Sheep Bros! And Rumple actually responds to it! -I like also how Rumple’s being much more overt to Emma and co about who it is he’s looking for. I’m going to call that a slight development in his emotional honesty. -David, I am with Snow. That holster looks great on you! -Regina needs to join the Storybrooke acting troupe alongside Killian, Cora, and Rumple. Actually, someone make a fic out of this! Please? -”And we’re sorry.” I love how Snow completely follows through on her resolve from the previous episode. -First Captain Charming scene! Yayyyyy!! Honestly, it’s just as perfect as I’d hoped it would be! -Not gonna lie, I don’t even think it’s a shipping thing, but seeing Killian flirt with Snow like he does by the cops doesn’t flow with me at all. It’s just creepy, and I feel bad saying that, but it just is for me. -I never realized before that The Jolly Roger is made from Enchanted Wood. That’s pretty cool! -Anton is an adorable little bean! -I just realized: Now that the realms are merged, is Anton essentially out of a job, or are the beans the equivalent of teleportation now? Like, if I want to visit Elsa from Granny’s, can I just throw a bean and be right there? And if so, then Anton is now a multi-millionaire and I just couldn’t be happier for the guy! -Watching this flashback makes me hate the flashback in “Flower Child” so forking much. Everything that is done wrong there is done right here. -Holy shirt! Anton can punch! Like, get him on the main team! -The set up of the mystery of why Anton hates David is a very well done one for as brief as it is. It gives the audience a moment to establish how Emma’s actions have shown Anton that some humans aren’t evil as well as the fact that Anton isn’t a bad guy, but showing a clear snapping point for him. -Red Beauty! Yayyyyyy! -Hospital staff: It’s probably not a great idea to have “Good Morning Storybrooke” playing when you have two patients who aren’t supposed to know about magic. -Awww! Ruby loves books too, and reads from Belle’s favorite author! She’s just too sweet! -”Why does everyone keep calling me that?” ...Because it’s your name and you haven’t said anything along the lines of “my name is Lacey.” Introduce yourself! -James just has no shame! He’s about to have sex, his dad comes in, and he’s practically about to continue on! -I feel so bad for Anton! He so has a crush on Jack, and Jack’s just...well, not the worst, but definitely in the top 50 worst. -”How terribly uncivilized.” Rumple, you used to live in a world without indoor plumbing. You’re one to talk! -”Have you ever been on a plane before?” Have you ever been impaled upon a cane before?” That is forking hysterical and will never not be! XD -”You father?” Rumple, you are close to a century older than Emma! Yeah, you could be her dad! XD -Has anyone ever commented on how there’s literally no reason for the shawl to go into the bin. It’s not metal. Am I missing something here? -I want that roasted pig so badly! -”You’re human. I hate humans.” Part of me is thrown a little off base with this line. On one hand, Anton does what humans, but when David, Snow, and Leroy found him, he was more relaxed. However, I’m willing to waive it off to him getting his bearings upon waking up in a strange land. -Oh, shirt! Rumple can’t heal himself! BLOODY HELL! XD -That light is so unflattering for Robert right in the bathroom scene. -The entire conversation between Anton, David, and Snow concerning Emma and James is hysterical. As far as miscommunication scenarios go on this show, this is one of the best. And the follow up conversation between David, Snow, and Leroy over David’s name is equally so! XD -Don’t worry, Anton! Just HOLE-d on! XD -Awww! Look at Anton learning how to use a pickaxe! Anton, never change! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - It is so hard to watch as Regina double crosses everyone in this episode. I don’t think it’s poorly done, and MM and David’s lines about not needing Regina’s say about Henry make the betrayal a well set up ad effective one. It builds well off of the last couple of episodes and while a touch accelerated around this part, I do think that the overall pacing works here. The People of Storybrooke Going Home - So this arc was really introduced during “The Cricket Game,” I believe. So far, I’m not sure how well it’s being set up, but I will say that this is the clearest the the arc itself has been defined since its inception. Favorite Dynamic David and Anton - David’s interactions with Anton are a true testament to his kindness and leadership abilities. Anton punches him in the face and refuses to cooperate with any attempts David makes to reason with him and yet David simply doesn’t give up on helping him the right way because of who he is. Additionally, how he rallies the entire town together for that same cause is inspiring. He knows the damage his “father” did and he wants those affected by him in any way (even through his progeny) to be helped, no matter what it takes. And on Anton’s side, just like with Emma, he’s receptive to that kindness and the belief in David doesn’t come from just simple information or evidence, but from David’s straight-up actions of offering himself up as a sacrifice and later saving him, and that’s so amazing! Writer Christine Boylan and Kalinda Vazquez are “Tiny’s” writers, and this is a great team up. The pacing of this episode feels very good, moving so that things aren’t rushed, but the stories remain flowing. Additionally, the framing of the writing is quite intricate, careful to not make anyone a bad guy but to also direct the sympathy where it is deserved. Additionally, the manner of Anton’s forgiveness (Both to him and from him) is expertly handled through the actions of the entire town saving Anton from the hole and him helping everyone grow beans. Rating 10/10. I love this episode’s story. Anton is a likable and layered character to follow and his journey with Ruth’s twins across the two timelines is equally layered. The story itself is very lowkey in comparison to some of our previous episodes, and it’s a welcome change of pace! It’s a super simple, yet quite detailed character story that allows for a lot to be done with James, Snow, Charming, and Leroy’s characters. Seeing all of these characters build off one another is what Once Upon a Time does best and the hearty story makes it all the better. While I didn’t find the storytelling at the airport to be as airtight (pun always intended) as the other segments (Ergo, why this isn’t a Golden Apple), the scenes on their own can be super entertaining (Especially EVERYTHING with Rumple in the first half of the security scene). Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - It’s just really nice seeing Snow and David working together! They’re so supportive and protective of each other, ranging from hugs to verbally helping each other during discussions with Anton, Hook, and each other over the differences between David and James. Snow and Charming are always expressing their love in some way, and it’s so subtly heartwarming. And hearing Snow talk about how she had fun today and missed their little adventures as she dances around him and the sidewalk is just great! Grumpy Giant - Freakin’ hollythecurious got me into the swing of this ship, and I love it and her for introducing it to me! XD Look at Grumpy’s adoring looks as he helps Anton get settled in to life in Storybrooke and how forward he is with his assistance. This is Grumpy we’re talking about and he’s rarely as likely to take the initiative in regards to introducing people to the town. And dammit, it’s so cute! Hell, he even moves the dwarves’ entire workforce to help Anton grow beans and calls them “our crop!” ()()()()()()()()() Thanks for reading and to the fine and fantastic folks at @watchingfairytales for their continued support and the project!

Wow! this season’s going great, but wow am I tired! Writing these long ash reviews is exhausting! You know what I could use? A drink. How about a Manhattan? ;)

See you next time.

Season 2 Tally (114/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (29/60) Jane Espenson (25/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (16/30) Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (10/20)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x13 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

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an-obligatory-blog · 6 years

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I’ve known this for quite some time, but I’m just going to post this now since even now, it’s still a very confusing part of P5.

Regarding to the ending split...

... it has plot holes, but it isn’t as major as I initially thought it was.

It was a complex plan, no doubt, and certainly, there had to have been a better way to explain it (ATLUUUUUS). After all, for a good amount of time, I thought the thing is riddled with nonsense, but after being explained by a certain someone on discord and some more thought, some questions has been answered. Oh, and reading Futaba’s dialogue before you go to sleep-- I don’t see many videos of that on it’s own so I suppose that’s part of the reason why it’s confusing.

These a few plot holes that I thought (or others) existed, but didn’t:

- How Akechi got out of the Metaverse (do you remember how you leave the Metaverse?) - How Akechi contacted Shido (u thought he was was underground/in the metaverse? apparently he wasn’t necessarily) - The Metaverse app being activated without alerting Goro (you can use the app without audio input via the search history function (see: the second time Akira and Ryuji entered Kamoshida’s Palace)) - Goro not getting into his rebel outfit after entering the Metaverse (When asked, you can sell out your teammates and/or you confidants, but NOT Akechi. At that moment, Sae didn’t know that Akechi intends to shoot Akira until Akechi had already left the Metaverse. During the duration of the attempted hit, there was no reason for Sae to see Akechi as a threat, either a hitman or a thief) - How tf Futaba can get a signal from Akechi’s phone (since it had a GPS) and Akira’s phone (GPS and voice messaging) when both Akechi and Sae were supposedly 8 floors underground (They weren’t necessarily. Sae met Akechi w/ the phone right after leaving an elevator. The voice messaging was pre-programmed into Akira’s phone so that it could work in the Metaverse; Futaba OP, pls nerf)

What wasn’t explained regardless:

- The mess that is Justice Rank 8 (someone told me that it might be a developer’s joke since Morgana commented how it didn’t make sense nor would it make sense for either Morgana or Akira to , which would be shitty cuz that is literally the definition of lazy writing: “Idk what to put here so let him rank up cuz lul”) - How exactly did Sae convince the police that there was a body in the first place? I get forging the death certificate (which should be enough to fool Shido since his ass isn’t getting out of his office chair), but what about everyone else? That doesn’t sound like a feat that could be done by one person. Maybe the grunts anticipated Akira’s death too quickly and assumed that it happened when Sae reported? Eh, even for P5, that relies way too much on incompetence. How Sae managed to 1) drag Akira out without being caught 2) fool the police in regard of a dead body and 3) get away with it all for so long is the worst plot hole you could pull out of this whole plot segment. - SEE EDIT BELOW

Asterisks (*) are used to mark questionable parts that I realized after what Atlus was really trying to do.

I found Futaba’s extra dialogue during NicoB’s Let’s Play of Persona 5. It’s around the last 10 min of the episode linked below. Couldn’t find a better video, but this is where I found out, so it’ll work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mi6wLyeuqws&list=PL5bkYBlFL9xcNUVU5-EcBxdaVVAZM2zX1&index=62

Look at the moment when Akechi and Sae meet. When Sae showed him the phone, Futaba explained later that she bugged the phone (the one belonging to Akira) similarly like with Akechi’s phone. Through that, she remotely activated the Metaverse app to transport the two into the Metaverse. (remember the search history function that was used for Akira’s and Ryuji’s second visit to Kamoshida’s palace? That’s the function that Futaba remotely activated. She didn’t tamper with the magical app itself.)*

So Sae and Akechi are in and they went in opposite directions. Akechi goes in, kills the cognitive guard and cognitive Akira.** Now, here’s where one of the so-called ‘major plothole’ existed. How did Akechi get out? First, let me ask you this, how do leave the Metaverse in the first place? I thought that you just press the app to leave, but apparently, that’s wrong. You have to physically go back the way you came, and that’s why you always have to return to the Palace’s entrance to leave the Palace. This is what Atlus failed to do-- what leaving the Metaverse actually looks like. We saw Akechi’s pictures of the PT appearing/disappearing out of thin air back at Okumura’s palace, but we didn’t see how it really looks like without the red/black circles washing over the screen every time we do it. Apparently, leaving the Metaverse doesn’t involve pressing the app at all-- just going back the way they came. Remember where Sae showed Akechi the phone? That is where they entered, and hence, where they exit. When Akechi was done with his assassination attempt, he goes down the hall, up the elevator (yeah, the guard couldn’t have seen Sae and Akechi conversing, they were on a different floor), and back to where the app was first activated. Once Akechi crossed that point, that’s when he left the Metaverse.

This is when Akechi calls Shido. You see how he calls Shido right in front of an elevator? Yeah, he probably wasn’t 8 floors underground at that point.

Now, I’m assume you know the general story with Sae, but I’m going to clear this up anyways. Sae received the pre-programmed messages from Akira’s phone, and she followed their instructions to go back to the interrogation room. Once again, she crossed the same point where the app was first activated, thus causing her to exit the Metaverse. She goes down the elevator and towards the room. The GPS installed in Akechi’s phone helped Futaba to time Sae’s entrance because it would be awkward if Sae encountered Akechi mid-assassination. (Futaba would know when Akechi is out of the Metaverse and out of the police station; nothing contradictory of getting a signal by then)

*The problem with this is... even if you use the search history function, the phone still plays it’s voice protocols like normal (”...Beginning navigation” You know the drill.). I don’t recall this ever being mentioned by any of the characters, but you can easily explain this away with “the phone was on silent”. **The cognitions should’ve disappeared similarly like Shadows when they were killed. You can pull any number of BS by using “well maybe Sae’s cognition is different because hurr durr”, but it was never mentioned by the PT to even consider the rate in which cognition disintegrate into nothing nor was there any measures to accommodate for that. This instance is plot convenience at it’s finest.

Now for the sake of clarification, this doesn’t mean that Atlus is suddenly flawless in regards of how they handled this aspect of the story. Aside from what I’ve already stated above, this stuff could’ve been handled better. The search history function was only mentioned offhandedly in the the very, very beginning of Kamoshida’s Palace (before even Shiho attempted suicide) by Ryuji so there is almost no way anyone would remember without looking back. The anime cutscene where Ryuji was smirking “we got ‘em” when he heard about the supposed suicide of the PT leader made no sense. (How would he know that the plan even succeeded???? I know he was being like, “well I toOOOTALLY knew that we were going to succeed” but goddamn, but that sounds like he was acting tough more than anything. That kind of blind confidence shouldn’t be present, even for a character like Ryuji.)

You know what would really help? Seeing a few frames of the inside of the elevator as it goes up and down. Despite hanging out in the background, I barely even noticed it before someone else pointed it out.

A good part of the fandom was impressed by the plan and yes, I do think it’s a clever trick for Atlus to pull on us. However, the more complicated the plan is, the more effort one should put in explaining said plan because, you know, it would be harder for the player to understand. I don’t mean treating the audience like idiots and I understand the concern of dragging the explanation scene out, but man, Atlus was totally off their game when it came to hinting/foreshadowing. Instead of doing off-hand comments about seemingly arbitrary, but relevant aspects of the plan (ex. Futaba’s bug on Akira’s phone, the search history function, etc.) that you can probably catch by your second or third run of the game, Atlus favored getting hung up on whether or not they wanted the traitor to be obvious or not because they seemed to be pretty damn bipolar regarding to that.

I do give them credit for making some information optional (discoverable by talking to Futaba). It makes the scene less draggy and allows people who don’t give two shits to skip the parts they don’t care. I don’t watch many let’s players on the same game, so I can’t conclude if many people actually went out of their way to talk to Futaba and process her words.

And one last note, I don’t think Persona 5 is a bad games by any standard, but I do believe that the writing is the weakest aspect of the game. Style and gameplay seems more polished than the actual story aspects.

I hope this helped for any of you guys out there. Feel free to let me know if you.see any mistakes/seek clarification. It’s 9:30 PM for me, so I hope I didn’t mess up too badly explaining this.

EDIT: It came to me that if the method of leaving the Metaverse is truly just by going back where they came, it raises issues in Shido’s Palace, where the place they started was on the front deck, which, as you guys know, was sinking into the depths by the end. Basically, there’s no winning with P5 plotholes-- no matter how you look at it, there’s an issue.

#persona 5 #goro akechi #sae niijima #it's a mess #a lot of this is a mess #part of the reason why I'm writing this is to clear up my thoughts so that I don't mess up when writing fanfiction

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Text

FFXV: Eschaton - 1/4

Fic: Eschaton (ao3 link) - chapter 1/4

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: None (gen)

Summary: Sure, it's the end of the world, but that just means someone's got to fix it.

And then the world found its somebodies.

(aka, with Noctis gone into the Crystal and no one sure when he'll be back, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto end up saving the world one piece at a time)

A/N: So, the lack of actual change in the World of Ruin segment of FFXV made it feel like it was set three months after Noctis' disappearance, not ten years. So I took all the detail we saw from the supposed "ten year" mark, set it at "three months", and then went through the ten years from that starting point.

...aka I really wanted to write a proper post-apocalyptic fic. So here it is.

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THREE MONTHS

"We don't know how long the darkness will last," Ignis says again, hoping that by repetition he can finally impress the seriousness of the point. "As a result, it is urgent that we gather as much of the harvest now as possible, before it is befouled by daemons and blighted by the lack of sun."

“We can’t give up our hunters!” the man – an important merchant-man of some variety from one of the towns, unaccustomed to not being listened to even now as a refugee – argues.

Ignis feels bad for him, uprooted from his home, forced to take everything he owned and put it in a carriage, fleeing the daemons, fleeing the night, heading to the only place that was still known to have light.

Lestallum.

Lestallum might not have the Titan crouched beneath its meteor any longer, the dread Archaean who once was sleeping and now is dead, but the power plant still works, and their city has light.

Light, the final barrier against the daemons that prowl freely through the forests and the hills.

With the sun gone, what do they have to fear?

Nothing. Only humans have fear, now, fear from the daemons that hunts them for sport, fear from the Astrals that abandoned them, fear from the Starscourge that still sweeps through the countryside and changes men into daemons – a fate worse than death.

Fear of starvation, as the far-sighted look into the future and realize that no new harvests would grow as long as the sun was gone. You could only hide in a Haven for so long, after all, until someone stronger or more desperate came and pushed you out, or until hunger itself drove you forth, and then the daemons would find you.

Hunters do what they can to hold off the daemons, but only light – clear, consistent light – can hold them off for good, long enough to rest and recover.

And the only place with that sort of light is Lestallum.

And so people come from all over, come to the temporary gates that the Lestallum hunters so painstakingly constructed around the city, the gates they watch every day, with endless patrols; the gates that are protected by hunters going out daemon-hunting, meat-hunting, hunting – hunting – hunting –

And, sometimes, doing other things.

"—with the proliferation of daemons attacking –" the man is continuing to argue.

"The decision is final," Ignis says firmly. "The hunters accompanying your caravan will be reassigned from guarding your belongings to ferrying in crops from the nearby fields; the farmers have arranged several shipments, but require assistance in defending the transport from daemon attack."

"Should’ve expected it. Of course Lestallum prefers to rescue its own – always favoring the farmers –"

"I am not a resident of Lestallum," Ignis says, very slowly and glacially calm. "I am a citizen of Insomnia, as it happens, so I can sympathize with your feelings as a city resident. That does not make them appropriate now. Our origins are irrelevant. We are all citizens of the world now, common in our humanity, and we must work together to do what we can to hold back the darkness.”

The man is still grumbling, still unsatisfied, still displeased. Ignis can’t really blame him – those hunters would have represented the only hope of safety he and his family have had for weeks now, and they arrived at a refuge only to have them taken away. Ignis wouldn’t have particularly appreciated it, either.

“You have been assigned to a housing unit. The information will be posted on the posting board in the center of the town within several hours,” Ignis says, moving on to other business. “When you leave this office, you can pick up your daily ration ticket which you will be able to turn in for a meal –”

Ignis had ordered them to go down to two meals a day, a morning and an evening one. The part of Ignis that is still a chef aches at the thought of the meals they are mostly able to provide.

They aren’t great, but they're nutritious enough.

At the very least, it is all free. All food has to be given to the central administrator and set aside for redistribution, with the focus of each daily meal on the food that is on the verge of expiration or, if they are lucky, whatever amount of the meat that was brought in by the hunters that couldn’t be smoked or preserved or frozen. This applies to everyone: Lestallum no longer discriminates by wealth, no matter how many times the rich men who come to their city in search of shelter try to bribe their way to extra food or additional benefits.

They usually try it on Ignis, which is – less than successful.

To say the least.

“Why’s a blind man making these sort of decisions, anyway?” the man challenges Ignis.

Ignis doesn’t even grind his teeth at the slight. This isn’t the first time this has happened, either. He understands that angry, scared, tired people have the urge to lash out and use any weakness they can against someone they perceive to be taking away their food and their protection, even though he doesn’t appreciate it happening to him. It doesn’t matter, in the end.

The only thing that matters now is keeping the order and the peace of the city.

“I speak now not for myself,” Ignis says clearly and calmly. “But as a representative of King Noctis."

That gets the grumpy merchant to shut up, but it starts up whispers from elsewhere in the room, mostly whispers about the King in Exile, as they've taken to calling Noctis.

In exile, because that's easier: easier to think that Noctis is just far away, gathering more resources, physical and technological and magical. Easier to think that Noctis left his people to the guidance of his lieutenants, purposefully installed to govern them in his absence, while he was on his journeys, than to think that they had been abandoned, that all of them had been abandoned, because of a trap no one could predict. Easier to think that Noctis is only unavailable because of the distance, than it is to think of him trapped away in a glowing treacherous rock filled with magic, a rock that took away all their hope at the very moment that they thought they had won.

The King In Exile, they call him, because while no one wants to give up hope, most people don't really believe the story about the Crystal.

Ignis scarcely believes it himself some days, and he'd all but witnessed it.

Not with his own eyes, of course – the blindness from Altissia remains as stubbornly incurable as ever, and Ignis isn't willing to continue to uselessly waste increasingly precious potions on a wound that seems unlikely to heal.

At any rate, it doesn't matter. He’s found his own ways around it.

Ignis feels the pad beneath his hands with its upraised series of bumps and dashes – a language designed for the convenience of the blind, Cor explained in one of his brief visits between daemon hunts; he brought several of the pads, which functioned as translators for the paperwork Ignis had to review, and two typewriters that could conveniently type simultaneously in both common and the physical-language.

Ignis immediately gave one to Cindy and Cid, with the request that they supply Lestallum's central office with as many of duplicates as possible to make with the machine parts they had to spare, and installed the other in his office at once. Honestly, given the utility of communicating by text in the dark, he's thinking of insisting that everyone learn to read the blind-language. Hunters are already picking it up at speed, following Cor’s example; he loudly announced his intention to learn the language alongside Ignis in order to ensure that messages could be passed secretly between hunters when trying to sneak through the darkened towns outside Lestallum, but with the engineers warning that even the power plant would need to go through occasional black-out periods for maintenance and repairs, it isn’t necessarily a bad idea to suggest something like that universally.

No time for that now, though; Ignis has enough to worry about already without adding in concerns about universal education, no matter how useful. His assistants have all learned how to read the language – that's good enough for him.

Between the typewriters and the pads that let him read, albeit in a slow and clunkly fashion, handwritten documents, Ignis feels almost like his old self again.

Almost.

Noct...

The sharp pang of his friend and prince's absence stings as bitterly as the day he disappeared. It's been two months – no, nearly three months, now.

Three months of loss, of grief, of pain.

Of loneliness.

Noctis' absence had shattered not only their hearts, but their unity.

Gladio buries himself in hunter work, barely coming back to Lestallum long enough to shower and pick up a new assignment and supplies. Ignis speaks to him at times when Gladio has something new to report that he’d found in his hunts, but that's not often; the only thing out there are daemons, daemons and more daemons. Ignis doesn’t hold it against him: the sight – or sound, in Ignis’ case – of each other simply causes too much pain.

Prompto acts as a messenger to Hammerhead, flitting to and fro whenever possible, flirting with almost savage desperation with Cindy as if she could ever fill the hole left in his heart. He doesn't even notice that he's unsuccessful, but that isn't the point of it. The point is to forget. Instead of returning his flirtations, Cindy is using the time Prompto spent at Hammerhead to teach him how to fix cars, and possibly also weapons. At least, that’s what Ignis thinks is the case; he’s not sure. Prompto usually only comes to see him when he has a message for Lestallum from Hammerhead, or if he’s planning on heading out and wants to see if Ignis has any messages for Hammerhead.

Ignis himself stays in Lestallum. He intended to continue helping with daemon hunts at first, his vow to stay until the end still thick on his tongue, but Gladio and Prompto didn't want him around, and the town did. They needed him. He helped the town come together to reactivate the power plant and, when that was done, began working with engineers to help set up outpostings of light to try to guard against daemons, and, after that, the gates they built around the city to aid in patrolling. It worked to start with, but as more and more refugees arrive, Ignis is starting to worry about how long they'll be able to keep this up.

At least there were some hunters in this group. Ignis will be able to assign them to assist the farmers, who have come to Ignis with frantic complaints about food starting to rot in the fields. Food that wouldn’t come back, next harvest. The fall is here, and the harvest, and when the spring comes there will be no new growth without the sun.

No new food, if they don’t harvest and carefully ration what's left.

Ignis would say he doesn't know why they came to him with their requests, but he does. He's the closest thing Lestallum has to a government right now – Six, the closest thing they have to any type of authority, what with all the refugees. The Long Night, as people are calling it already, does not discriminate between rich and poor, meek and powerful, healthy and sick.

It kills everyone.

At the start, Lestallum was wracked with chaos. There wasn’t been any order or anything: everyone giving contrary orders, imposing conflicting priorities, confusing everything. Everyone wanted desperately to preserve what mattered most to them, family and property and safety, and no one was giving any thought to the long term, to the needs of the community at large. They were all too scared, and those who were not scared were often merely selfish. The old authorities were ignored, and a new authority was needed: an authority that could decide what they needed to do now and what could wait for later. An authority that could convert the scrambled individuals of Lestallum into a unified force, bent on preserving life.

Ignis stepped in because there was no one else to do it, and he used Noctis' name in vain to accomplish it.

Gladio didn't like that.

Cor accepted it without words, merely placing a hand on Ignis' shoulder in what Ignis liked to interpret as approval.

Prompto – Prompto, Ignis wasn't sure even noticed what Ignis was doing. Prompto was hollowed out by Noctis' disappearance, hit as hard if not harder than the rest, blaming himself –

They all blamed themselves.

Ignis has reviewed the events leading up to it, but it never changes. Their goal had always been to retrieve the Crystal. Whether or not it was in Gralea, whether or not it was at Ardyn Izunia's taunting, it mattered not. They would have obtained the symbols of Noctis' kingship, the Royal Arms; they would have obtained the Ring; and they would have sought out the Crystal.

The logic is straightforward and clear.

The logic doesn't help.

Ignis finishes signing off on the transfer order and holds it up. One of his assistants (he's not sure which one – they keep dropping out to become hunters) takes it and hands it to the hunters, who mumble agreement and thanks before going out.

Ignis only hopes they'll actually follow the directions he's given them. Sometimes they don't. A blind man with no authority but the name of a missing prince...

Well. There's nothing he can do about it now.

He turns back to reviewing the reports on his desk, clearly dismissing the merchants; they walk out grumbling, but at least they walk out.

Ignis is too busy to care.

The reports –

This isn't working.

This. Lestallum. The Long Night. Any of it.

They're taking in too many refugees. The hunters that focus on food can't bring back enough meat. The vegetables are running low, as is the rice, and grain, and –

They have too many people, not enough food, and not enough light – and more people are arriving by the day.

They're going to have to start turning people away.

Ignis shudders at the thought, true as it might be. There's nowhere for people turned away to go to. Hammerhead can only hold so many, and most of the other main cities are too far away to even check in on, much less send people.

No, Ignis can't lie to himself. Anyone they turn away will be left alone, in the dark, for the daemons and the Scourge.

They will die – if they're lucky.

And how to pick who to turn away? the traitorously practical part of Ignis' mind hisses, the horrifying logic already going to its reasonable conclusion. We need hunters, skilled and trained. We need farmers. We need engineers. But who's left? Women and children? Unskilled laborers? Are they to be cast aside to die? Is it first come first serve? What about the sick? The wounded? Who gets chosen to die? And who makes the choice?

Ignis bites his lip. He doesn't want to think that way. He doesn't want to have to make that decision.

But there's no one to do it but him.

He bends back over the reports, searching desperately for a way to divide their food and housing yet again so that they can squeeze in just a few more refugees.

Just a few more...

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

Gladio's not expecting to find anything in the shabby sparse room he claimed for himself in Lestallum – it's not like he really has anything of his own there, maybe a few of Prompto's old pictures of sunny days, a few novels he'd been carrying around with him.

He's not expecting to open the door with a grunt and find a family of eight staring at him, wide-eyed and terrified, from where they're all huddled together around the few Cup Noodles that Gladio'd stashed behind the desk.

Their knuckles are white around the cups and there are guilty looks on their faces. They know they shouldn't be eating them. They know they weren't theirs.

Four of the eight are under the age of thirteen, and one more barely over.

"You can keep 'em," Gladio grunts, uncomfortable, and he backs out of the room, closing the door in front of him. That room is fit for a bachelor like him; he has no idea what on Eos Ignis is thinking, renting it out to so many people.

"Your clothing's been moved," a calm voice says from behind him.

Gladio jumps a bit, but turns with a smile. "Marshal," he says. "Shoulda known. You're the only one who can sneak up on me nowadays."

Cor doesn't really smile, but his face softens a bit. He's happy to see Gladio too. "That's for the best," he says. "Given your current choice of profession."

Gladio shrugs. He was born and raised a Shield – and what's a Shield without a King? Nothing, that's what. All those years, focusing all his time, all his skills, everything that he is, all devoted to the singular purpose of defending his King, and he fucked it up within months.

What's left for him now, other than hunting? What else is someone like him, a self-made weapon good for nothing but destroying things, destroying threats, going to do? What else is he possibly useful for, now that there's nothing left but the fight?

Gladio swallows those poisonous thoughts back down. He's not useless, not as long as he has his strong right hand and his swords.

And anyway, he doesn't want to go spilling this poison in Cor's ears, burdening the older man with all of Gladio's fears and worries and grief. Cor – the only one who understands. The only one in the same position.

Both of them weapons needing use, and no one left to use them.

"What're you doing here?" Gladio asks instead. "Would've thought you'd still be out hunting."

Cor goes further and farther than any of them, now. His eyes are shadowed by the same emptiness and grief as Gladio's, but for all that Gladio mastered Gilgamesh's challenge where Cor didn't – and Gladio's increasingly less sure that Cor didn't master the challenge, in his own way; Gilgamesh, the Blademaster, seems to know the best way to temper steel, and Cor even by his own account emerged stronger and more cautious than ever, letting him survive the battles he did, the battles against overwhelming odds that no one could have survived, earning himself the name of the Immortal – Cor has the skills to go alone where others don't dare go.

Gladio missed him, these last few weeks. Barely any time at all.

In the Long Night, a few weeks without word is an eternity. If the unthinkable happened, if Cor fell – if Cor died, they would mourn. If Cor became a daemon, well, they were all fucked. Might as well turn in their swords then and there and go straight for ritual suicide.

But the Immortal still stands.

"I returned," Cor answers vaguely. His brow is furrowed.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Cor says. "Just a hunch."

"Your hunches are as good as Bahamut's prophecies to me," Gladio says with a shrug. He knows it's blasphemous to say, but he doesn't much care anymore. Not like the Astrals would get off their asses and do anything about it. They never do.

Cor's lips twitch in amusement. "I'll show you where your stuff is," he says. "The old corner store has been converted to hunter's barracks."

"Great," Gladio says, images of hunters sleeping on metal racks meant to hold supplies drifting before his eyes. "What's Ignis thinking, putting that many kids into a small room like that?"

"He's thinking that they'd rather be shoved in together in the light with running water than left out in the dark," Cor says, amusement gone. "You haven't seen the tents."

Gladio frowns. "The tents?"

"You'll see it on the way to the barracks."

He does. The old parking lots have been cleared, and in their place, on the hard asphalt, a virtual sea of tents has popped up. Tents of every color, every quality, pitched claustrophobically close together, and in each tent there are people. People still covered in the dust of the road, sleeping or eating or just sitting there, staring into nothingness, the shock of everything that has happened to them setting in.

And outside of the sea of tents, there are lines. Lines to use the showers, lines to get a bowl of stew spooned out by a tired-looking cook in a ragged old apron, lines for everything.

"What the Six," Gladio says. "Where'd they all come from?"

Cor shrugs. "Everywhere," he says, answering Gladio's question even though he knows it was rhetorical. "Not a lot of places still have light enough to keep the daemons back."

Gladio knows that, in his brain, but he's still having a hard time wrapping his skull around it. It's like the entire population of Insomnia tried to all move into Lestallum.

Except it isn't just Insomnia, is it? It's Galdin Quay, it's Hammerhead, it's everywhere. All of Lucis is coming to the light.

All of Lucis is coming here and dumping their problems into Ignis' lap.

"Shit," Gladio says. He feels bad about his uncharitable thoughts from earlier. He almost feels bad for not being here to help, but it's not like he can do anything to help. He's no administrative wiz like Ignis is. He just hits things.

Once, he thought his greatest fear was not having the strength to be the Shield Noctis deserved.

How naïve he was. There's so much else to fear, here in the Long Night.

They just have to hold out until Noctis comes back, though. Noctis will come back – he has to come back.

Gladio doesn't know what they'll do if he doesn't come back.

They waited next to the Crystal that first day, shivering. Then, when nothing happened, they took it back with them, guarding it closely with their lives, but nothing happened after the first week, either.

They split apart after that, unable to look at each other, unable to do anything more than bury themselves in different types of work – Ignis throwing himself into the power plant, Gladio with his hunts, Prompto going to learn car maintenance from a patient and pitying Cindy.

They all came together at the end of the first month, standing there, hoping – praying –

But there was nothing.

"Vector points," Gladio said dully at the time. "This is the Astral's design: it works like a fairy tale. One day, one week, one month – one year. Next time he might come out is one year."

"Three months," Ignis replied, his mouth tight. "It might be three months. Or six. The Astrals have always appreciated the number six."

"Or the number thirteen," Prompto snapped bitterly. "Thirteen royal arms, right? It could be three months, six months, a year – and what about after that? Three years? Six years? Ten years? Forever?! How long do we have to wait before we just give up?"

"We can't lose faith," Ignis said.

"We've lost Noctis," Prompto raged, his eyes overflowing with tears. "What else is there to lose?"

No one answered his question. There was nothing to say.

The three month mark –

It's soon.

Tonight.

It's why Gladio's back.

Maybe that's what Cor felt, with his hunch. But no, he was concerned, not pleased.

Besides, the Astrals favor the numbers one, six, and ten. Three is half of six, but it isn't a special number.

Doesn't stop them from having hope.

Gladio follows Cor to the hunter's barracks, split roughly down the middle for men and women – hunters don't much care about gender, or in fact about propriety, but it seems reasonable enough a split – and Gladio gets his shower and change of clothing, which is all he really wanted. His novels are still there.

Iris is there, too. She insisted on becoming a daemon hunter herself. Gladio fought it at first, but he was just so tired after losing Noctis that he couldn't sustain it, so he instead made her promise to start with coeruls and sabertusks instead of going straight to daemons.

Looks like she kept her promise. She has a dozen yellow stripes down the arm of her leather jacket – achievements marking a dozen successful meat hunts – and only a single red stripe, for a dozen daemons downed.

She waves, but doesn't come close.

Still sore about that fight they had last time, Gladio guesses. He doesn't even really remember what he said, just that he knew it was below the belt when he said it, and that Iris needed time away from him after that. They said their 'I love you's by rote at the end of the encounter – they never parted without it, nowadays - but she was still stewing.

Just another thing Gladio managed to destroy.

Great.

Cor leaves off to go patrol after that, leaving Gladio nothing for it but to go to the administrative center to see Ignis, who'll know where the Crystal has been hidden this week. They agreed it should be moved around after the first few attempts to steal it.

Prompto is already lurking at the steps.

He's trying to grow a goatee. It doesn't suit him.

"I'm good at hunting daemons," Gladio announces in lieu of a greeting.

Prompto blinks owlishly at him. "Um," he says. "Yeah, you are..?"

The ending is less a question and more a request that Gladio explain what exactly he's on about.

"I could take care of the one you've got clinging to your chin for you," Gladio clarifies. "No problem. Won't even charge you."

"My chin –" Prompto raises a hand, then realizes. "Hey! Gimme a break, I’m still growing it!"

But he's smiling, just the littlest bit; Gladio can see that the smile is coming despite Prompto's best efforts, but it's there. A little lightness, amid all this darkness.

Prompto smiled the most out of all of them, before.

"Just saying," Gladio says gruffly. He shakes his head. "How's Cindy?"

He doesn't ask how Prompto's doing. He knows the answer – he feels gutted and empty and numb. Just like Gladio does.

"She's tough as nails," Prompto says, his voice fond. Gladio doesn't comment on how that fondness sounds more like the way he talks about Iris than it does the way it sounded a few months back, when he was still dorkily crushing on her. "Nothing gets her down."

"Not even having to wear long pants to keep back the chill?" Gladio teases.

"Hah! You think a little bit of chill is going to stop Cindy?"

"Goosebumps aren't attractive."

"Cindy makes everything attractive," Prompto says firmly. His best attribute has always been his loyalty.

Loyalty –

Like his loyalty to Noctis.

Oh, Noct.

As if his ghost were summoned by the thought, Gladio and Prompto move apart from each other, unable to look at each other.

"Three months, huh," Prompto says, trying and failing to keep his voice light.

"Probably no chance of it," Gladio warns.

"Still worth a shot," Prompto says with a shrug. "Don't want him coming out of it alone."

Ignis appears at the door then. He has his cane, and he's found a visor to protect his still-useless eyes. "Gladio," he says. "Prompto."

"Ignis," Gladio says, his voice rough. Ignis is too thin, the work and the loneliness taking its toll on him. He was their chef and their snappiest dresser; now his fancy clothing hangs loose on him and the tightness of his cheeks suggests that he hasn't been eating right.

Gladio knows that he should stay here in Lestallum, offering his strong right arm and his eyes and his company to help ease Ignis' burden as Ignis does the work that should have fallen by birthright to Noctis. But he can't. He's just a Shield without a King. He can't help.

"Let us go," Ignis says.

The Crystal is in a sub-basement of the building. It was in a cave, last time.

They wait.

There are a few stilted attempts at conversation that quickly die – what do they have to talk about? Ignis knows everything about Gladio's recent hunt from the report Gladio turned in at the gate when he arrived, and the sea of tents says everything about Ignis' activities, and Prompto's attempts to fix cars in Hammerhead are the same as they've always been – and they wait in silence.

It's midnight (or at least the hour that used to mark midnight, before it was all night) before Ignis stirs with a sigh and rises with a creak to his back. He's too young for his bones to be groaning like that.

He states what's obvious to all of them, but which none of them wanted to say.

"He's not coming back today."

"He might," Prompto says stubbornly, his eyes fixed on the Crystal.

"He won't," Gladio says, bitter despair coloring his voice. "He's left us here, alone. He's not coming back."

He doesn't add the 'today' that Ignis does.

Prompto's cheeks flush red. "You always were the first one to give up on him."

Gladio's hands curl into fists. Gladio's never given up on Noctis, not once, not ever; he was angry at him, but it was always for Noctis' own good, to help push him forward. Gladio gave everything to Noctis, everything he had, from the second he was born, from before Noctis had even been conceived; he'd always known his duty, and knowing Noctis himself had turned that duty into a pleasure. Prompto has no idea what he's talking about, with his cars and his girl and his machine repairs, the insipid little –

"That was uncalled for, Prompto," Ignis says, his voice chilly. "Your pain is no greater than our own, and you know it."

Prompto ducks his head, ashamed, conceding the point.

"It doesn't change the facts," Ignis says. "Tonight isn't the night. We should go."

"You go, then," Prompto says. "I want to –"

They never find out what Prompto wanted, though, because the door opens and it's Cor.

"There's a disturbance outside the gate," he says. "You should come see this."

"Daemons?" Gladio asks, his fingers already flexing for the grip of his sword.

"No," Cor says, and his eyes are dark. "Magitek soldiers."

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

"I thought they were all disabled," Prompto says, gnawing at his lower lip. "The MTs, I mean."

He still doesn't like talking about them, about the MTs, about –

Well. It's not like they don't all know about him now, about his past, about where he's from, about what he was meant for. That moment of acceptance, from all of them, from Noct, is still one of the most precious memories he has, one that he pulls out in the darkest moments of the night and replays time and time again. He's not letting that memory fade, not ever.

"We thought so, too. Guess we were wrong," Cor says, his face lined with concern as he looks out of their ring of light to the troop of MT troopers standing a reasonable distance away. Far enough away that a sword strike would be difficult, and, in the dark, a gun shot would have only limited accuracy. Prompto could probably get one – he really is that good, and he knows it – but that wouldn't help against the whole troop.

Noct could've warped the distance, no problem.

But Noct's not here. He's not coming back today.

He's not coming back –

No. He is. He has to.

But right now, they have a different problem, and the problem is the rows of dark silhouettes with glowing red eyes, standing at attention in the dark. They don't move forward, but they're clearly watching the camp.

"What do they want?" Prompto asks. He's taking a leap here, assuming that MTs actually want something, but they're here, and they weren't here before, and that has to mean something, right? Most likely it just means that someone is commanding them, but that person has to want something.

"Excellent question," Ignis says. He can't see them, of course, but they've described the scene to him.

Well, sort of.

Cor gave a brief report, numbers and approximate placement, as well as a quick overview of the terrain and the fighting advantages and disadvantages (positive: lots of hunters; negative: lots of civilians).

Prompto described the atmosphere – the words 'creepy' and 'spooky red eyes' and 'like statutes but homicidal' came up.

Gladio rolled his eyes at both of them and described it in a way that actually explained what they were seeing (dark silhouettes, glowing red eyes, surrounding some sort of box, one standing somewhat ahead of the rest).

He's always been best at it.

"We should just attack already," Gladio grumbles, but it's clear he doesn't mean it. "The longer we wait, the closer they'll get; the more civilians might get hurt."

"They're not doing anything," Ignis points out, sounding thoughtful.

"They're MTs," Gladio says flatly. "Robots."

Prompto doesn't feel the usual sting he does when MTs get discussed in harsh terms; it helps that Gladio knows, and still stays the same tactless ass he’s always been. It shows that he doesn't think about Prompto that way, not even in the back of his mind.

"They came here," Cor says. "That means they want something, or, rather, someone with access to them wants something. We need to figure out what that something is."

"We should approach them," Ignis says abruptly.

Everyone looks at him.

"We have no other means of obtaining information. Cor, call for some of the hunters and set them up on the perimeter to cover us, and to keep watch and make sure this isn't some sort of distraction –"

"Already done," Cor says.

"And we'll go ourselves," Ignis continues. His face is set. "Between the four of us, we can defeat a group this small. Even if there's a greater ambush out there, we have enough power together to keep it back to cover our retreat. We should be able to question them without difficulty."

Nods all around.

"I am the local authority," Ignis adds, forestalling the objections to his presence that no one actually raised. "I need to approve any agreement, or even the opening of negotiations on behalf of Lestallum."

"We'll protect you," Gladio says. Cor murmurs an agreement.

Ignis relaxes infinitesimally; his fears of being left behind are as strong as ever. Prompto can sympathize.

After all, Prompto –

Well, they don't really need Prompto, do they?

"I'll hang up a pan on the gate," Cor says. "Prompto shooting it down will be the signal that the gate should be closed and not opened to anyone, even us."

Everyone looks at Cor.

"In the event they have a biological weapon," he clarifies. “And we don’t want to come back.”

Get turned into daemons, he means.

"Prompto's always been the best shot," Gladio agrees. "And we'd need something that precise to convince them here."

"Then we're agreed; we all go," Ignis says.

Prompto's throat is tight. He doesn't want to deal with MTs, not really, but the feeling of being needed, of being part of the team again, of being useful –

He wouldn't give that up for anything.

"You can count on me," he says.

They make the last few arrangements and they head out into the dark.

The MTs watch them approach.

As they (and their lights) get closer, more details become clear. It's a group of riflemen, tall and dangerous but not as giant as the axemen, and standing some few steps out in front of their perfect formation is a single MT, his armor slightly more fancy than the others. A unit commander, maybe; Prompto doesn't remember seeing that distinction, but it's a reasonable one. At some point, the Empire had more MT squads than captains to lead them, and an MT commander made sense. Robots (not-quite-robots, Prompto's mind reminds him, as you know best of all) commanding robots.

Why are they here?

They don’t move for a long while, just watching the group approach, their red eyes glowing above those fixed, metal smiles.

It’s only when they’re standing less than fifteen feet away that the commander moves with that jerky, inhuman motion characteristic of a puppet with badly pulled strings, or an MT out of battle. Same thing, really.

He (it?) raises a hand, and the MTs who were standing around what is now recognizably a large box all stir to life.

Cor, Gladio, and Prompto all tense for an attack, Ignis tensing when he feels them all brace themselves, but nothing happens.

Instead, the MTs just peel apart, perfect formation reforming several steps behind the box, the commander still out in front.

Gladio’s voice is a quiet murmur, letting Ignis know what happened.

Prompto glances at Cor, whose face is calm and serious as ever.

The MT commander gestures at the box, his metal palm open and welcoming, and then returns his hand to his side and stills again.

“He wants us to see what’s inside the box,” Prompto surmises.

“I don’t see anyone else,” Cor says, scanning the horizon, his hand still on the hilt of his blade

Prompto gulps. That means – could the MTs be doing this themselves? After all, they were human, once. But they were reduced to mindless, obedient robots…

Well.

They’re not going to find out anything just standing here.

“I’m going to open the box,” Prompto says, and holds his hands up before Gladio or Cor can volunteer to go in his stead.

He knows he’s the least useful one here. Gladio and Cor destroy daemons; Ignis runs Lestallum; and what does Prompto do? Run messages back and forth between Lestallum and Hammerhead, like a child, and sometimes fix cars?

No, he’s the right one for the job.

He moves forward slowly, carefully, knowing Gladio and Cor are at his back, watching him, ready to leap in at a moment’s notice, knowing that Ignis has his sharp ears and sharper mind bent on the situation, ready to call out instructions.

But nothing happens.

He gets to the box.

The MT commander is standing only a few steps away, but he’s as still as a statute.

Prompto looks down at the large box – big enough that it would take four men to carry it, easy.

Only one way to see what’s inside.

He opens the box, and then freezes, staring inside.

“What is it?” Ignis asks, breaking the quiet.

“It’s – it’s a – it’s a generator,” Prompto exclaims, rocking back on his heels. “Guys, it’s a generator!”

Generators are worth more than gold, more than diamonds, more than hunters – they mean more light, and more light means more space that can be protected from daemons, and that means more people, more safety. This one is disconnected, too, and it isn’t reliant on the power plant for power, and that means it could maybe be sent to Hammerhead, to help them maintain their boundaries – it means they could hold out longer –

This is great.

“What do they want for it?” Ignis asks, and Prompto stops, abashed.

The MTs didn’t just bring this as a gift, of course. That isn’t exactly characteristic of them.

They’ve correctly identified the thing Lestallum wants most, and they brought it here, in the dark.

Prompto looks at the commander. “What do you want for it?” he asks, unable to keep from addressing the MT directly. He knows it’s probably just a person using a transmitter or something – not sure why they’d send the MTs in that case – but he was very nearly one of these creatures, and maybe, a long time ago, they looked like him, or like someone else.

The commander stays standing still for a few more moments, almost considering, and then he very slowly reaches for his sword.

“Prompto, be careful,” Gladio calls, his voice tense.

“No,” Prompto says, watching the painfully slow process by which the MT commander draws the sword. “I think it’s okay.”

Sure enough, once the sword is fully drawn, the MT commander puts it on the ground, hilt facing towards Prompto.

Prompto’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean.

“It’s an offer of truce,” Cor says. “They want to negotiate.”

Oh. Okay. That makes sense.

“We can negotiate,” Ignis says. “Not here, though. We need light.”

“We can’t let them into Lestallum!” Gladio protests.

“Not all of them, and we’ll be in front of the gate,” Ignis says patiently. “In front of dozens of hunters. It’ll be fine. Negotiations take time; we need a place to sit while we do it.”

The MT commander nods creakily and raises his hand again.

Four MT troopers step forward and come to the box, lifting the heavy weight easily.

“They can carry the generator forward,” Ignis says a moment later, after Gladio has narrated their actions. “But then they return here. The negotiation will be between you and me.”

The MT commander shakes his head.

“No? What do you want, then?”

The MT commander raises a hand and points, first at Ignis and then –

At Prompto.

“Me?” Prompto asks, surprised.

“You want Prompto involved in the negotiations?” Ignis asks.

The MT commander nods.

“Why?” Prompto asks, entirely befuddled. He’s no negotiator!

“It doesn’t matter why,” Cor says. “You’ll agree to come alone to negotiate with Ignis and Prompto?”

The MT commander nods.

“Let’s get this moving, then,” Gladio says. He sounds worried.

Prompto can’t blame him.

They come back slowly towards the gate, the four of them, the four MTs and the MT commander.

The MTs put the generator – the top open and the contents clearly visible – down next to the gate and retreat.

There’s lots of excited whispering from the giant crowd of people who have gathered – Prompto sees Monica, Talcott, and Vyv among them. Another generator could mean opening another field for people to live in – more space to live, more space to breathe.

The MTs retreat, marching in perfect two-by-two order, leaving the MT commander alone before the gate. Not entirely alone, of course; Prompto can see well enough in the dark that he knows that the MTs back at the meeting point have drawn their rifles, though they’re still pointing them down at the ground to signify their lack of threat.

It’s clearly a defensive gesture, meant to show that they will act if they need to.

Whoever is running these MTs is very smart.

Six, Prompto hopes it’s not some leftover remnant of Verstael Besithia.

You killed him, Prompto reminds himself. He’s gone.

He hopes.

The MT commander is looking at the crowd and then, suddenly, moves forward, heading towards the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Gladio growls, his sword half-drawn. He’s not the only one; half the hunters in the crowd have drawn weapons. “Get away from there!”

The MT commander stops in front of some of the crowd. It reaches out a hand towards – Talcott?

Talcott stares up at him. He’s clutching his little two-way radio, which he uses to call Cindy and some of the truckers on the road; he likes to talk to them as they go down the empty roads, keeping them company in his own small way.

The MT commander’s hand remands extended. He does not move.

“Do you want my radio?” Talcott asks shyly.

The MT commander nods.

“Um. Okay?” Talcott says, and offers it.

The MT commander takes the radio and turns back to where some of Ignis’ assistants have brought out a table and three chairs, as well as notepads and typewriters to keep a record of the negotiations.

Ignis sits in his seat, with Gladio standing close by his side to act as narrator and not-so-secret bodyguard, but the MT commander doesn’t seem to object. Ignis gestures for Prompto to sit at the other chair.

Prompto gulps. “You sure this is a good idea?” he hisses to Ignis.

“They want you in the negotiation,” Ignis points out. “It’s an easy concession on our part.”

“But why?” Prompto asks. “Do you think it’s because I…?”

“I don’t know how they’d know,” Ignis says gently. “We can ask once we’ve gotten started.”

The MT commander is doing something to the radio while walking slowly and stiffly back towards the table, fingers moving quickly over the machinery as he takes pieces apart and puts other pieces back together, changing the configuration of wires and gears inside.

Prompto makes a mental note to ask Cindy for a spare radio for Talcott. He has a feeling that what Talcott gets back isn’t going to resemble what he gave away.

Suddenly, a horrible mechanical screeching comes out of the radio.

Everyone flinches, but the sound moderates itself quickly, resolving into crackling static which, in turn, dies down a soft hum. The MT commander is holding the radio in both hands now.

“Did you get what you wanted from the radio?” Prompto asks, curious.

The radio crackles with static again for a second and then, almost unbelievably, a voice comes out.

“Affirmative,” it says.

For a second there, Prompto thinks it’s one of Talcott’s trucker friends with a terrible sense of timing, but Ignis straightening up in surprise next to him leads him to put two and two together.

It’s not a trucker.

It’s the MT commander.

The MT commander is speaking.

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

Growing up, Ignis was part of a number of high-level, high-risk negotiations – first as an observer and then, later, as a participant.

This is by far the strangest.

He didn’t even know MTs possessed the ability to speak.

Though, to be fair, it doesn’t look like they do – after all, the MT commander is using the radio to speak through.

That’s a horrifying thought – that they have the capability of speech, but not the ability; the brains but not the mouths.

“You can sit, you know,” he hears Prompto say, followed by a few moments of pause and then, very slowly, the sound of metal contorting as the MT commander gingerly lowers himself down to the chair.

Ignis folds his hands in front of him. He wants to take a deep breath to steady himself, but he won’t; that would be revealing weakness, and he’s not going to do that.

This is no different than any other negotiation, he reminds himself. You need to figure out what the other side wants, what they can get you, and how to come to a compromise between the two without exposing your side to betrayal.

That last part is a new addition, added following Insomnia’s fall.

“The people of Lucis –” Ignis is going to go with Lucis, rather than Lestallum as he typically does, both because it sounds better and because he might as well be representing them as anyone else. “– thank you for the generator.”

The MT commander crackles static for a moment. “Offer to open negotiations,” it finally says. “Negotiations can now proceed.”

It takes a second to puzzle through that, but it makes sense: the generator was used to entice them to open the current negotiations, which they would never have entered into without the offer of the generator, but the MT commander seems to think that that was its sole use and there is no further need to discuss it.

Cutting straight to the chase, as it were.

Not quite what Ignis is used to in negotiations, but he can adapt.

He’s good at adapting.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “You wanted negotiations; you have them. What can we do for you?”

The MT commander makes that creaking sound that Ignis has figured out is a nod. “We have offer. We have desire. We will reach agreement.”

A fairly mechanical description of negotiating, yes, but not too different than what Ignis had just thought. Good to know they are on the same page – albeit a slow page determined to go through each step of the negotiating process. Negotiation by machine…

“Who are you working on behalf of?” Gladio asks, even though he’s supposed to just be there as narrator. Ignis kicks him under the table.

“Unclear query. Please resubmit.”

“Um, what he means,” Prompto says, sounding uncertain, “is – are you answering to anyone? Who’s running the MTs now?”

The MT commander is silent for a long moment.

Finally, it speaks. “Superior orders have ceased,” it says.

“What does that mean?” Ignis asks, though he’s starting to have a distinct suspicion.

“Superior orders have ceased,” the MT commander repeats.

“You’re on your own,” Prompto breathes. “You don’t have orders – you’re doing this yourself!”

Another long pause and then, reluctantly, the MT commander answers, “Affirmative.”

Ignis tries very hard not to think of all the MTs he has killed over the years, thinking of them as nothing more than empty robots. They were the enemy, and they were attacking; it was nothing more than self-defense.

MTs thinking for themselves.

They really have reached the end of the world.

“So you represent the MTs?” Ignis asks, instead of focusing on that.

“Affirmative.”

“And the MTs wanted – to negotiate with us?” Ignis can’t help but ask.

“Affirmative.”

“Very well,” Ignis says, struggling to regain his footing a bit. “Do you accept myself and Prompto as adequate representatives to negotiate with?”

“Affirmative.”

“What do you want, then?” Ignis asks. “What do the MTs want?”

“Repairs,” the MT commander says.

“I thought MTs were self-repairing,” Prompto says.

“Affirmative.”

“Then why do you need repairs?”

“Finished units require location to complete self-repairs. Unfinished units require additional repair,” the MT commander says.

“And you want our help to repair them?” Prompto asks, sounding dubious.

“Affirmative.”

“I see,” Ignis says. “And what would you be offering in exchange for our provision of these repairs?”

“Assistance,” the MT commander says promptly. “Scouting and transportation through regions without light. Assistance in removal of obstacles.”

“Obstacles?”

“Physical or biological.”

“You mean daemons,” Prompto says.

“Biological obstacles,” the MT commander agrees.

“We already have hunters,” Ignis points out.

“Limited in number,” the MT commander points out in return. “MT units are more efficient.”

“I’d argue that,” Gladio mutters.

The MT commander crackles static for a few seconds. “Contrary to hunter units, MT units operate at peak efficiency in darkness,” it finally says. “MT units do not face biological obstacles, which will enable swifter activity.”

“Daemons don’t bother you,” Prompto interprets, which is good, because Ignis was starting to get confused. “Why not?”

“MT units are not recognized by biological obstacles as a source of sustenance or opposition.”

“They recognize you as fellow daemons,” Ignis says, feeling nauseous. “And they don’t bother you. So you can go quicker – that’s what you mean?”

“Affirmative.”

Ignis is negotiating with daemons. Oh, they may have been human once upon a time, as Prompto’s story made clear, but they were so infected – deliberately infected – by the Starscourge that they transitioned into daemonic machines. Machines designed to be obedient and mindless, but here they are anyway, negotiating on their own behalf.

Ignis doesn’t know what to do with that.

“MT units can provide additional support in protection of light-given areas,” the MT commander says again. It must be concerned that it’s losing their interest. “Additionally, MT units have located additional generators.”

That gets Ignis’ attention. “How many more?”

“Greater than four,” the MT commander says, clearly opting for its own version of vague.

“Four,” Prompto whispers. “Four – Ignis, you know what we could do with four more?!”

“Where did you find the generators?” Ignis asks.

“Cities,” the MT commander says. “Forts.”

“Were there people left in the cities?” Ignis asks.

The MT commander crackles in static. “Affirmative,” it says, though it sounds confused as to why Ignis would care. “Hiding inside.”

The MTs had made it into the cities.

Ignis clenches his fists under the table, a small nervous twitch he’s picked up ever since he stopped being able to close or roll his eyes.

No one, not even Cor, has managed to make it into the larger, further cities. There are too many daemons encircling them, tearing at the bodies of dead humans; no one dares to make it through.

This is the first confirmation they have that there are refugees left in the cities proper.

“Were the people left in the cities infected by the Starscourge?” he asks.

The MT commander crackles again, in what Ignis is starting to recognize as a thinking sound – much like a human might hum thoughtfully. This time it goes on for some time.

It occurs to Ignis that he’s posed a difficult question for a machine (I don’t know if it’s a machine) to answer, as some of the people were undoubtedly infected and others were not.

But just as Ignis opens his mouth to clarify, the MT commander speaks first.

“No extensive survey was conducted,” it says. “But of humans identified during initial walkthrough, estimated that 80% living humans are currently free from pathogen infection.”

Eighty percent!

Eighty percent of the living, mind you, which could mean 8 people out of 10 total, but it could also mean 80. It could also mean 800. It could mean –

So many people.

We don’t have space for them.

But if they had additional generators – if they were able to properly cannibalize the machine parts from the cities – if they had a few dozen MTs to help bring in the harvest in the dark of the night, untroubled by daemons, they could feed so many more people.

They could rescue so many more people.

“Do you represent the small squad you arrived with?” Ignis asks abruptly. There are only dozen of them. “Or are there more?”

The MT commander is silent for a while. “There are more.”

“And in return for your services as protectors and transportation and scouting on our behalf, all you want is a place to conduct your repairs, and assistance in repairing unfinished units?”

The MT commander hesitates. “Additional desire,” it says.

“What?”

“Orders.”

Ignis blinks. That was not what he expected from an additional request.

“MTs are made for service,” the MT commander explains.

“Wait,” Prompto says. “Are you saying you guys are bored?”

“Negative,” the MT commander says. “MTs do not get ‘bored’.”

“But you want something to do? Someone to give you orders?”

“Affirmative.”

“And you came here?” Gladio asks, clearly skeptical. “There are plenty of other places you could have gone – some of which still have soldiers from the Empire, no less. There were fortresses, scientific laboratories, administrative outposts – Six, even if you weren’t looking for military, you could’ve gone anywhere in Niflheim and found someone who would give you orders. And you came to Lestallum?”

“Affirmative.”

“Why?” Ignis asks.

The MT commander is silent.

“I’m afraid we will need to know why,” Ignis says. “It’s non-negotiable. We must be assured of your good faith, and for that, we need to know your motives.”

The MT commander’s neck creaks.

“Um,” Prompto says. “Why are you looking at me?”

Ignis’ eyebrows go up. They had demanded that Prompto be part of the negotiations…

“Why are you interested in Prompto?” he asks. “What does he have to do with your decision to offer Lestallum your services?”

The MT commander hesitates, static crackling.

Ignis hears Prompto swallow. “Is it because of this?” he asks, and Ignis can’t see what he does, but he can hear a hand be placed on the table. Palm up, if he had to guess; Prompto, one of the bravest souls Ignis has ever met, offering up his barcode for the MT commander to see. “Is this why?”

A moment of quiet, and then – “Affirmative.”

“Why?” Prompto asks. “You know I’m not – I am not an MT. I’m not. I was stolen as a baby, and raised in Lucis.”

“Unit NH-00O6-O204-1987 was never finished,” the MT commander agrees. “MT units have observed over time that Lestallum Base has reacted positively to the present of Unit NH-00O6-O204-1987.”

“Reacted positively – you came here because we’re nice to Prompto?” Gladio exclaims, getting the answer before either Prompto or Ignis do.

“Affirmative. No contingent of Niflheim has demonstrated similar tolerance. Unit NH-00O6-O204-1987 has been given repeated missions selected to his preferences and has been repaired regularly when damaged.”

“Don’t call me that,” Prompto says automatically. “My name is Prompto, not Unit…whatever. Also, are you referring to the fact that they heal me when I get hurt? That’s – that’s not getting damaged. I’m a person, not a machine.”

“Unit NH-00O6-O204-1987 was never finished,” the MT commander says again, clearly agreeing.

A terrible realization strikes Ignis.

“Wait,” Prompto says, and Ignis can hear that same realization in his voice. “You said – you said earlier, that you needed assistance repairing unfinished units. Are the unfinished units – are they like me? They’re people, not machines?”

“Negative,” the MT commander says. “Unfinished units are unfinished. Unit NH-00O6-O204-1987 was never finished. Unit NH-00O6-O204-1987 underwent a different process of development, resulting in person designated as ‘Prompto’.”

Ignis doesn’t care if it’s a gesture of weakness. He presses the back of his hand to his lips until it’s white from the pressure, as if that will keep the bile crawling up the back of his throat back.

“Children,” Prompto says blankly. “You mean you have children. Children that were supposed to grow up into MTs.”

“Affirmative,” the MT commander says, its mechanical radio-voice as emotionless as always. “Unfinished units require non-MT units to provide repairs, or they begin to become dysfunctional.”

“Do you even feed them?” Gladio demands, horror seeping through his words. “Do you even know that you need to touch them? Have the babies started dying?”

“Touching is necessary?” the MT commander asks, sounding surprised.

“Oh, Six. You have to bring them here, right away,” Gladio says. “Babies die if no one holds them.”

“Non-MT units can provide necessary repairs,” the MT commander says. It almost sounds relieved.

“You bet we can,” Gladio says. “We can do our best, anyway.”

“Negotiations are agreed?” the MT commander asks.

“Ignis?”

“No,” Ignis says, putting his hand down.

“Ignis!” both Gladio and Prompto exclaim.

“I’m not saying we’re not agreeing,” Ignis says sternly. “I just want to work out some additional terms with – I’m terribly sorry, I just realized I never asked. What should I address you as?”

The MT commander seems equally taken aback by the question.

“Designation Commander Unit NH-00TX-U514-1553,” it offers after a moment.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful,” Prompto says. “How about just, uh, ‘U5’ for now?”

“Acceptable,” U5 says warily.

“Okay, then,” Prompto says. “Ignis, what are the remaining terms you want to work out?”

“The children,” Ignis says. The concern had occurred to him while they were talking. “What happens after we, uh, ‘repair’ them? Are they going to become MTs?”

“Affirmative.”

“Uh, no,” Prompto says. “Not okay.”

“Query – why not?”

“What if they don’t want to be MTs?” Prompto asks. “What if they want to be more like me?”

“They are MTs,” U5 says.

“You’re making decisions for yourself now,” Prompto says savagely. “Why not give them the same chance?”

Ignis doesn’t interrupt. It’s not his place.

U5 is silent for a moment.

“Acceptable,” it finally says. “Unfinished units will be advanced to the finalization stage, but prior to finishing, will be permitted to select preferred development path of MT unit or Prompto unit.”

“Prompto unit?” Prompto squawks.

“That sounds fine to me,” Ignis intervenes. “When the children are old enough, they decide for themselves. We’re agreed. Dustin, do you have a final version of the terms?”

“Yes, sir,” Dustin, who had been taking notes, says. “The MTs will get us generators and provide help with necessary services, including but not limited to transportation through the dark, fighting daemons, and scouting and retrieval from cities. In return, we provide them with a place to, uh, repair themselves, and we help them raise their children, which will get an option as to whether they turn into MTs or not. And we give them orders.”

“Does that sound acceptable?” Ignis asks U5.

“Acceptable with one revision,” U5 says. “Orders will be delivered through Prompto unit.”

“Wait, what?” Prompto yelps.

“Prompto unit will promote the interests of the MTs,” U5 says firmly. “Prompto unit will ensure that MT units are repaired and not discarded. Correct?”

Prompto says nothing.

Ignis suspects he’s probably gaping.

“Prompto, are you comfortable taking a leadership role in relation to the MTs?” Ignis asks. “I understand that it might remind you of things you don’t want to think of, but they seem to trust you more than anyone else here. Can you do it?”

“Yeah,” Prompto says faintly. “I mean…yeah, I guess.”

“Then we have an agreement,” U5 says.

“Good,” Ignis says. “First things first – what do you know about harvesting vegetables? And how many generators does ‘more than four’ mean, exactly?”

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

Gladio did not expect to end today by attempting to explain how Cup Noodles work to a bunch of MTs.

They seem bizarrely intrigued by it, if by intrigued you mean ‘red eyes creepily watching Gladio bring noodles from cup to mouth in repetitive motions’, and Gladio has to start explaining or else he would have to punch someone just to make the awkwardness stop.

And that’s not nice to do to allies.

He’s in the back of the truck the MTs used to get close to Lestallum, while Prompto rides in the front with the MT commander – U5, Gladio reminds himself, we’re calling him U5 – and Cor, who insisted on coming along to scout out the size of the MT group.

This left no seats in the front, which meant Gladio got to sit in the back with the MTs.

Who are watching him eat.

Original best case scenario for today: Noct comes back, Gladio thinks wryly. Updated best case scenario: MTs turn out not to have accidentally let the babies die.

Gladio really hopes the MTs don't actually have babies in their care. He doesn't have much experience with babies, just hanging around a lot when Iris was small, but the thought of Iris when she was small and wrinkled and red and helpless, trapped in some sort of test tube...

That would be intolerable.

The MTs are definitely still watching him eat.

They're not moving their heads or anything as obvious as that, but he can feel himself being watched. By the Six, he still has that secondary alarm ringing in his head, the one that warns him of nearby MTs because MTs mean danger, the alarm that saved their lives (Noct's life) a hundred times over.

Except now, they're allies, and that means Gladio has to be nice to them.

“You should definitely pick these up when you’re in cities,” Gladio tells the MTs encouragingly, and really only mildly sarcastic. “They have different flavor varieties.”

“Gladio, stop recruiting MTs to satisfy your Cup Noodle habit,” Prompto calls from the front of the truck, his voice somewhat muffled. “I’m the one who gives them orders, remember?”

“I’m just saying, if they happen to see a few packs –”

“Generators first!”

“Fine, fine,” Gladio says, but he’s smiling, just a little bit.

He’s smiling. At MTs.

What the fuck is he doing.

The smile goes away.

Prompto goes back to talking with U5 in the front seat about generators.

Apparently, U5's little "more than four" wasn't deliberately vague so much as his best attempt at an answer he didn't know. Several MT squads apparently reacted to the total stop of orders from the top by joining up together to try to figure out what to do – a most un-MT-like behavior, born of desperation – and decided to take several actions at once: U5 to go negotiate with Lestallum for repairs and orders with one of the four generators in their possession, and several other squads to go out to obtain more generators in the event that the negotiations were successful.

U5 assumed that said other squads were successful, but could not, without reporting to his base, confirm how many generators were obtained.

Thus the current trip.

Prompto's asking about the attrition rate of the squads sent out on mission, because he's trying to deal with his newfound role as 'leader of the allied MT units' with responsibility.

He's a better man than Gladio, if he can learn to care about the wellbeing of a bunch of MT troopers – especially given his own traumatic experience with them.

Well, Gladio's always known in his heart of hearts that Prompto's better than he is.

Not a better fighter, of course – Gladio's trained his whole life, where Prompto started in his early teens. But that's just it – he came and he did the same thing Gladio did, try to protect Noct with his life, and he did it without any family duty, without any outside impetus, without training, with nothing but friendship. And where Gladio willingly abandoned Noct's side in his quest to assuage his own fears of not being enough, Prompto had to be thrown off a train before he would leave.

All things considered, Gladio doesn't mind helping Prompto through a few panic attacks (he'd had two before they set out on this trip, and he's still talking a bit too fast). It's quite literally the least he can do.

And the MTs are still watching him eat.

Six, they're creepy.

Gladio supposes they can’t help it; they’re MTs, after all. They’re born (made?) creepy.

Yeah, Gladio doesn’t want to think about this one too hard.

It doesn’t help that only U5 has a radio, so none of them can talk.

Though –

Damnit, Gladio's job has always been people. Ignis, for all his strategy and cleverness, preferred math and administration to diplomacy, even if he was better at the formal push-pull of negotiations. It was always Gladio who went out and befriended people, charmed them with a smile and a discussion of things that interested them.

Gladio's the one who bridges the gaps between stranger and friend.

And right now, he's letting his prejudice against MTs stop him from doing that. Six, the MTs are probably not watching him eat out of interest, but out of fear – a dozen MT troopers like this would be nothing for him to take out. He could probably wipe them out with a few swipes of his sword.

He's done it plenty of times before, after all.

Six, he’s being an ass. Worse, he’s being an ass who isn’t doing his job.

Okay, Gladio. Can't change what you've done. Just do better.

Gladio finishes his Cup Noodles and tosses it aside, then turns to look at the MTs, which are still staring at him.

“So, how do you communicate?” he asks one of them.

It blinks at him from behind its mask.

“I know you guys do. I just don’t know how,” Gladio says reasonably. “I’m willing to learn.”

He doesn't actually get a response from any of them, which he supposes is fair. He hasn't exactly been trying to make conversation so far.

"Information exchange is important for any well-trained group of soldiers," Gladio continues. "You must've seen – or at least heard of – the way my team yells at each other mid-battle –"

At least, the way they used to, when they still had Noct – shouting compliments and friendly insults with the same breath.

Now isn't the time to think of that.

"— but that's because we weren't trained together, not until late. You guys were. But you can't react so well to new input – and I know you do – without communicating about it. I've always been curious as to how you do it," Gladio lies. He'd always assumed there was some controller back on the drop ship, playing a video game but with soldiers; it would explain the slowness of their response time.

But he's trying to make friends, not insult them.

No response.

Red eyes blink at him from behind frozen metal faces.

Gladio shrugs. He tried. "Think on it," he advises. "I don't blame you if you don't want me to know, but if we're going to be allies, then, well, I figure we may as well get to know each other."

The MTs are clearly considering his question, from the way they're squinting, and some of them even turn their heads away from Gladio to look at each other in silent consultation.

Gladio feels pretty good about that. It's progress. It’s something.

Of course, that's when the truck shudders to a stop.

"We're here," Prompto announces unnecessarily. His voice is kinda breathy and high-pitched.

He hates MT laboratories; just hearing that they were going to one had triggered his second panic attack. Reasonable, given that he'd been captured and kept captive in them twice. The first time, after the train, he’d had to fight for his life to escape and barely made it out. The second time, he'd been literally strung up to a rack and left there as a gift to lure Noct to the trap that waited on the other end.

Not great memories.

The first panic attack had been about being the envoy to the MTs, which Gladio honestly couldn't blame him for, either. Even if it'd been only the dozen MTs in this squad, rather than some uncertain number more (Gladio does wonder how many survived – a few dozen more? A hundred more? Two hundred more?), Prompto's understandably tender about his past, and having actual MTs seize on it...

Yeah, Gladio can't even imagine.

Especially if what Prompto haltingly reported about MT units being clones – in at least one factory he knew of, clones of him – is true.

"Gotta run," Gladio tells the MTs, and slips out of the back of the truck and around the front.

Cor has his hand on Prompto's shoulder, grounding him, but they both seem relieved to see Gladio.

Gladio nods his thanks at Cor and nudges Prompto with his shoulder. "So, tell me," he says.

"About what?" Prompto asks, doing his absolute best to breathe evenly and not descend into a third panic attack.

"What's wrong with this architecture? I mean, I know it's ugly, but –"

Prompto snorts an involuntary laugh.

Good, he's distracted. A bit more of that, and he'll start to calm down.

Gladio clowns around for a few more minutes – Prompto always did find Gladio saying the words 'flying buttresses' really funny, and this time is no different, even though the laboratory (of which they can really only see the top, since most of it is underground) definitely doesn't have any – until Prompto is back to his usual color.

"Okay," Prompto says. "Let's go."

The MTs are already in formation, waiting patiently, U5 in the front.

They go inside.

The laboratory is, well. All jokes about architecture aside, Gladio really can only describe the place as ‘classic Niflheim creepy’ – lots of shapeless, colorless walls, industrial ceilings, soulless straight lines built entirely for utility and not even a little bit for aesthetics. Even basic human comfort wasn’t a factor considered in building these walls.

Gladio thinks he heard someone refer to it as ‘Brutalist’, meaning ‘brutally grabbed a handful of walls and put it up without any concern for appearance’, and he thinks the term fits.

Not that they don’t have a certain vibe to them, what with the aura of evil practically dripping from the dirty blood-speckled walls.

The majority of the laboratory is underground, meaning that the unobtrusive looking building hiding in the mountain is actually the entrance to a giant complex.

At least it has light. If they had to explore this place with nothing but their flashlights, Gladio’s pretty sure Prompto would have another panic attack.

“The unfinished units are on level three,” U5 says.

“Children,” Prompto says. “They’re called children.”

“Negative. ‘Children’ units are on level four,” U5 says.

Gladio frowns. “What’s the difference? The age?”

“Negative. Unfinished units are designated for processing into MT units. ‘Children’ units are designated for processing into researchers.”

Gladio glances at one of the rooms they pass by, in which the ripped-apart bodies of researchers are quietly decomposing. “The kids of the researchers, huh? They still, uh, alive?”

“All ventilation aimed at levels three and four automatically seals to prevent contamination of units,” U5 says. “Strict quarantine procedures have been maintained and there have been no signs of contamination of the remaining ‘children’ units.”

“Remaining?”

“Several of the researchers attempted to retrieve their ‘children’ units prior to shut-down. Their status is unknown.”

Dead or refugee, in other words.

They go down in a large elevator.

“Working power,” Cor murmurs thoughtfully.

Gladio nods. That means there’s some form of generator here, too; presumably a massive one if it’s lighting a facility this extensive. If they evacuate this facility, they’ll be able (hopefully) to take it with them.

Maybe they can use the Empire’s portable fortresses to build additional refugee homes. Gladio’d almost forgotten about those things, in all the mess, but surely one of the MTs would know how it was done, or could direct them to some paperwork detailing it…

The elevator doors open, and Gladio stops thinking.

Children.

There are so many children.

They’re on level three, which means ‘unfinished units’, and Gladio can tell, too. The kids have all been let out of their tubes, thank the Six, and they’re of all ages – everything from red-faced babies just lying out there on the floor to blank-eyed teenagers.

“Wow,” Prompto says. “Those are…definitely children.”

Only child, Gladio reminds himself.

He glances at Prompto, who’s gone wide-eyed and vaguely terrified, and at Cor, who, amusingly enough, has a better hidden but otherwise fairly similar expression on his face.

Only child and perpetual bachelor, Gladio amends. Is he really the only one here with experience with children?

Not that these are normal children.

They’re all eerily quiet, waiting for instructions. The older ones have the tell-tale red eyes of the MT units, along with pale skin and what almost look like tear-tracks of black blood dripping slowly down their faces. The younger ones look more normal, albeit still terribly pale – Gladio doubts they ever saw the sun, even before it went away.

They don’t look like Prompto, which is some small relief.

They do look like each other, particularly ones in the same age group. Just at a glance, there seem to have been three distinct ‘types’ for each age group, and about a dozen or so of each ‘type’.

It’s awful.

“Clones,” Cor confirms, crouching before some brunette children, about six years old, that stare up at him. He frowns at them, his brow furrowing. They frown back, similar furrows appearing in their chubby little faces.

It’s…creepily similar actually.

“Are those miniature versions of you?” Gladio asks, mildly horrified.

“Just similar, I think,” Cor says, though he looks disturbed. “Though I wouldn’t put it past the empire to try to harvest our blood to try to create clones of us…”

“Never say that again,” Gladio tells him. Even if it’s true, he doesn’t want to think about it.

Six, there have to be at least a hundred kids in this room.

“Why are the babies on the ground?” Gladio asks, already wading in that direction.

“It was necessary to uncork the unfinished units prematurely,” U5 says, and isn’t that a horrifying way to describe the process. “It was unclear what to do with them once they’d hatched from the pods.”

“So you put them on the ground?”

“It was unclear what to do with the unfinished units once they had hatched from the pods,” U5 repeats, and even though his voice is emotionless, Gladio would swear that there is a tremor of uncertainty and confusion in there.

The MT units had no idea what to do with kids, and all the researchers had either died, turned into daemons, or fled.

Six, what a mess.

Gladio sits down next to the babies and picks one up.

It makes a little choked-up sound and immediately tries to curl up to Gladio as much as possible.

Touch-starved, just like he thought.

“Let’s check out level four,” Gladio hears Cor tell Prompto. “The children of researchers may know more about the facility.”

Gladio doesn’t really pay attention to them going (or, more correctly, fleeing the prospect of having to deal with all the kids). He has other business to attend to.

“I need people to pick up the babies,” he instructs.

Several of the older teenagers come and mimic what he’s doing.

Surprisingly enough, so do some of the MT units that accompanied him.

One of them kneels next to Gladio, holding something out.

“Yeah?” Gladio asks, twisting to look at it, then flinches.

It’s an empty MT helmet.

“I don’t want that,” he says.

The MT just keeps holding it out.

“I’m not an MT, you know that, right?”

The MT doesn’t move.

Gladio looks around, but U5 has gone with Cor and Prompto, so there’s no one to explain what’s going on.

At least the people are picking up the babies, who are sighing with relief – babies gone so long without touch that they don’t even cry anymore, that are probably about to die from lack of attention, babies –

Babies that probably never saw anything other than MTs and researchers, and Gladio does not want them to think he’s a researcher.

Not with the barcodes already seared onto the babies’ flesh, and the ports buried under their skin.

“Fine,” Gladio says. “I’ll put on the damn helmet.”

The MT moves before Gladio can, gently positioning the helmet over Gladio’s head and bringing it down.

It’s absolutely terrifying, even though Gladio knows, rationally, that the MTs probably can’t be created just by adding a helmet.

Looking down at the baby through the mask, though, the baby does seem more comfortable. More relaxed.

Certainly the kids around him are relaxing. Visibly relaxing.

Yeah, they definitely thought he was a researcher.

“Ding! Gladiolus advances to MT Wrangling Level 2,” Gladio mutters.

“What’s a Gladiolus?” a voice crackles into his ear.

Crackles, as though transmitted by radio.

Gladio looks up.

The MT unit next to him is looking at him. “Your unit designation is Gladio, correct?” it asks.

The voice is female.

Gladio would never have known.

“Gladio is a shortened designation for Gladiolus,” another voice chimes in. Male, this time. “All units are assigned shortened designations.”

“But that’s because it takes 8.3 seconds to state a full unit designation and only 1.4 seconds to state the shortened designation,” the female objects. “The time advantage between Gladio and Gladiolus is minimal. Is one used in more formal situations?”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, after swallowing down his shock a few times. “Gladio’s what my friends call me.” He hesitates for only a moment. “You can all call me Gladio.”

Suddenly, he has a feeling of surprise and pleasure.

It’s not his feeling.

In fact, it feels like it’s coming from multiple other people.

“Is that you?” he asks. “You – you guys communicate through your helmets? With feelings as well as words?”

“Affirmative,” several voices chorus.

“MT units have implanted devices which use an equivalent of radio waves to interface with the mind,” the female MT says. “The helmets act as a back-up method in the event the device is broken. It permits conveyance of reports, as well as emotional output for additional context. Is this permitted?”

“Permitted?”

“The researchers did not permit exchange of emotional output,” the male one says. “Emotional output can be suppressed for the link, if Unit Gladio prefers.”

“Uh, no! No need. Emotions are fine. Good. Emotions are good.”

Sensations of relief.

They weren't sure.

“You can all do this?” he asks, thinking of all the MT soldiers he’s slaughtered. They were enemies, so he doesn’t feel bad about it – self-defense in the time of war – but it’s still disturbing. “All the time?”

“Negative,” one of them responds. “Only within link-groups. Link-groups can be modified.”

“Modified?”

“Small squad link-group, twelve units. Large squad link-group, one hundred units. Link-groups are designed to more efficiently create unified movement.”

Marching together without any of the whole ‘training’ business, Gladio interprets.

He looks at the kids, who remain silent.

“Is there a reason they’re not talking?” he asks.

“Unfinished units are not permitted to speak aloud,” the female MT says. “We can broaden the link-group to include them.”

“Uh, yeah. Let’s – let’s do that.”

Suddenly, he can hear them.

Children, whispering to each other, wondering what’s going to become of them; toddlers, babbling happily now that they’re being held because the MTs seem to be assuming ‘baby’ is anything under the age of 5; teenagers discussing –

Okay, there’s three teenage girls actively talking about the size of Gladio’s biceps, absolutely shamelessly.

By the Six, they’re really kids.

Mute kids, traumatized kids, but kids.

A six year old – too old to be held, by the totally arbitrary division imposed that Gladio’s really going to have to fix, given the jealous looks the babies are getting from all the other kids – toddles over and tugs on Gladio’s sleeve. He’s one of the ones that look a bit like Cor.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Unit Gladio will be responsible for future maintenance of unfinished units?” he asks shyly. He doesn’t move his mouth, but Gladio’s getting a bit better at placing the voices that come out through his helmet with the individuals transmitting the signal.

Gladio opens his mouth to deny it – he’s a hunter now, not a babysitter; he only came on this trip to protect Prompto and make sure there wouldn’t be any trouble – but the kids are all looking at him with big wide eyes that, regardless of color or shape or age, remind him of Iris.

“For now,” he temporizes.

They all look deeply relieved.

Gladio comforts himself that ‘for now’ really only extends until they get back to Lestallum and set up an appropriate place for all of them to stay. Then people who actually know what they’re doing can be assigned to take care of them.

Gladio is definitely not one of those people. He’s leaving to go back on hunting missions the second they get back to Lestallum and the kids are no longer his responsibility.

Though he will have to make sure that none of the people assigned to take care of them end up being prejudiced just because they’re Niflheim, or MTs…and are willing to wear the helmet to communicate with them, at least at first…and take special care to make sure that the older kids get some serious touching therapy, not just the babies…

Okay, maybe Gladio will have to stick around a bit.

Just until the kids are settled.

“Hey, Gladio!”

Gladio looks up.

Prompto, Cor and U5 are back. Prompto has a weird look on his face. Cor is trying very hard to look like he’s carved out of stone.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells the MTs. “Do me a favor and try to make sure that everyone in this room has some physical contact, whether it’s the teenagers holding the babies or kids hugging each other, okay?”

“Order received, Unit Gladio!”

Gladio will deal with that later.

He hands his baby to the male MT and jogs back to Prompto and Cor.

“Nice headgear,” Prompto says.

Gladio is confused for a second, then realizes he’s still wearing the MT helmet. He pulls it off, but doesn’t discard it. “They use it for communication,” he explains.

“You were permitted into speaking link-group,” U5 observes. He sounds – surprised?

“Is that weird?”

“Unusual. Researchers only very rarely accessed link-group.”

“Even under orders?” Cor asks.

“Link-groups in which researcher access was permitted rarely involved speaking beyond reports,” U5 tells him.

Gladio feels – complimented? Is that the feeling?

Well, it’s a nice feeling, anyway.

“What’s up?” he asks Prompto, whose weird expression hasn’t gone away.

“U5 says there’s more MTs than just in the complex,” Prompto replies. “He says there’s more laboratories out there, too. With, uh, unfinished units.”

“There’s more kids?”

“Yeah. And more MTs. Apparently they’re camped in the back or something?”

“Why not in the building?”

“That’s what we want to know,” Cor says.

U5 leads them to balcony that seems to look into some sort of underground cavern. Gladio says seems to, because the light is only on inside the building, not in the cavern; everything more than a few feet beyond the balcony is pitch black.

“They’re there?” he asks, marginally suspicious. He sees why Cor and Prompto wanted him there. If there’s a lot of MTs there – or worse, daemons, hiding in the dark – that’s a good ambush point.

“Affirmative,” U5 says.

“Can we get some light?”

“Affirmative.”

U5 goes over to a giant wall of control panels and begins pressing buttons.

After a few minutes, the lights in the cavern start flickering on. Weak lights, reddish in color – clearly back-up lights that drain the generators, but enough to see by.

Enough to see the frankly gigantic cavern.

Enough to see the army of MT units there. Hundreds of them, thousands of them, all standing in perfect formation. All of them looking up at the balcony, awaiting orders.

Gladio tries to count by units, but quickly loses track. There have to be three thousand of them, at least.

U5 steps forward to the balcony. “Lestallum Base has agreed to terms,” he announces. His voice isn’t any louder than usual; Gladio suspects the message is being heard through the helmets of each and every MT unit perfectly well regardless. U5 is only speaking through the radio for their convenience. “MT units are now in the service of Lestallum Base. Units must register change in chain of command.”

The crowd ripples as each MT nods once, sharply, confirming the receipt of orders.

“Amended command hierarchy will retain MT unit classifications and squad orderings until alternative groups are imposed,” U5 continues. “Ultimate superior is to be registered as NH-00O6-O204-1987, designated ‘Prompto Unit’. Acknowledge.”

And the armies of MTs all move at once, faces swinging around to focus on Prompto, and their arms rise up in merciless, perfect unity in the traditional Niflheim salute, swearing loyalty.

To Prompto.

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

Oh, shit, Prompto thinks in the frozen second spent staring at the saluting legions before him, right before he faints dead away from shock. What in the Six have I gotten myself into?

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #cor leonis #my fic #YES a new fandom who would have thought

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clarencenicholsonata · 4 years

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4 Psychology-Driven Ways to Structure Your Landing Page

Do you know what’s most valuable on your website?

Your landing pages

It’s where you’ll convert passive visitors into active subscribers, buyers, or fans. It’s where your business grows.

A good landing page is the make-or-break moment for your site. Which is why to write a truly great landing page, you must understand the laws of persuasion.

The rules that determine how we think and act are valuable for every type of marketing, of course. But it’s especially critical when every click counts.

Research has shown that more landing pages lead to more conversions.

But it only counts if you’re doing it correctly. If you’re building a landing page that needs to appeal to the most people, you’ll want to include these ideas.

They’ll help you structure your page in a way that grabs attention and pushes people to act.

Let’s get started!

1. Organize Landing Page Elements Correctly

At its core, a landing page is a series of blocks. How you organize these blocks can make or break the success of what you’ve built.

Put the call to action too late? You won’t get the conversions you’re hoping for.

Include testimonials too early? People won’t understand the offer and will leave.

That's why ordering elements is the first psychology-driven way to structure your landing page.

Primacy Effect—We Remember What Comes First

Quick—name a woman who flew across the Atlantic Ocean.

Did Amelia Earheart come to mind?

She’s not the only woman to have performed the feat. But she sticks with us because she was the first to do it.

This is the Primacy Effect. It's the well-known psychological concept that we remember what comes first.

Bonjoro’s home page is a great example. They show their product’s personal touch with a video at the top.

When you’re setting up the pieces of your landing page, start with what’s most important:

A key headline.

An eye-catching graphic.

A powerful, engaging video.

Whatever it is, choose carefully. It’ll be one of the most memorable parts of your landing page.

Recency Effect—We Remember What Comes Last

It might sound like the opposite of the Primacy Effect. But in truth, it’s a concept that explains the shortcuts the human mind takes.

Maybe this has happened to you—a friend asks for a movie recommendation. But what comes to mind? The last movie you watched … not the best movie you’ve ever seen.

Why would we do that?

It’s the Recency Effect at work. Along with what comes first, what comes last takes special importance.

To use it on your landing page, make sure you end on a strong note.

(Pro tip: This is almost always a call to action.)

The Recency Effect doesn't just apply to the last part of the landing page, but to the last part your visitor reads.

If a lot of visitors leave a certain place, try to fix it. But if you can’t, at least make it worth remembering.

Von Restorff Effect—We Remember What Stands Out

Read this list:

Blue. Orange. Green. Red. Elephant. Yellow.

Now, name one word from that list.

Did "elephant" come to mind? Researchers have performed similar experiments again and again.

The findings are clear—most of us remember what stands out.

Just like those Sesame Street segments, the Von Restorff Effect says: “one of these things is not like the others.”

In the context of a landing page, there are thousands of ways to apply the Von Restorff Effect.

But one of the simplest is to add variety to long sections. So if you have a list of features, add a captivating image to draw attention to the most important.

(Research indicates this effect diminishes as we age, so this is less important on landing pages for older visitors.)

The Von Restorff Effect is all about breaking up the monotony.

Here’s another example of this concept in action—once you get to the conclusion of this article, you’ll probably remember this concept best.

It’s the only one on the list with a fun German name.

2. Limit Choices (But Not Too Much)

Humans are funny creatures.

We crave options. Yet at the same time, we’re startlingly bad at making good choices with the freedom we’ve been given.

The Internet has brought millennia of knowledge to our fingertips … yet there’s so much of it, we’d rather just watch Netflix.

Using landing pages, how can we leverage human tendencies with choices?

Freedom of Choice—We Prefer Multiple Options

The first concept is the one we all know: more options are better than fewer options.

Which bakery is better—one with two types of pastries or one with twenty?

Options give us a sense of comfort. When we choose, we're in control.

So when you’re designing your landing page, keep that comfort in mind.

We’ll get into more nuts-and-bolts depth about pricing strategies in just a minute. But for now, remember that providing some options is better than none at all.

For example, there are only two options to subscribe to The New Yorker: print and digital.

Yet The New Yorker subscription page expands this to include a three-month option.

Many times, we only have one offer. But don’t miss the chance for more choices.

Let the prospect use a payment plan, or pay all at once.

Offer a basic plan or an upgrade.

The choices are endless. Speaking of which, they shouldn’t be.

The Paradox of Choice—Too Many Options Paralyzes Us

Months ago, I started a simple search for a better charging cable for my phone. Amazon proudly informed me there were more than 40,000 items.

They all looked more or less the same, with almost indistinguishable differences.

It was confusing. I didn't know where to go, and the options froze my decision-making ability.

I still haven't bought a new charger. After all, my current cable connects to my phone ... most of the time.

What's going on?

You see, we love options, but too many choices are bad for us.

This is especially critical for e-commerce landing pages. Chewy does a great job of showing lots of categories without being overwhelming.

But be careful—it’s easy to fall into the trap of showing every option.

Instead, as you structure your landing page, stick with a smaller number. Research shows humans best remember seven things, give or take two.

To err on the side of caution, stick with five. Peloton does a great job simplifying its dozens of products into a short list of five.

But what if you must display more than seven? That’s the place Amazon finds itself in.

When you have 40,000 products, it’d be a disservice to only show five. So Amazon has taken advantage of the next concept.

Social Proof—Highlight Choices Based on Popularity

The classic example of social proof is something like, “9 out of 10 dentists recommend Sensodyne.”

But there are thousands of more subtle ways social proof surrounds us. As Amazon’s catalog has grown, they’ve added social proof to help sort through the noise.

For example, Amazon now flags best selling products.

Products with more (and more positive) customer reviews are likely to drive more click-throughs. Which of these two knives are you more likely to buy?

And Amazon even helps us choose with their “Amazon’s Choice” label.

They’ve also partnered with review sites for third-party recommendations.

(This is a variation of social proof known as Appeal to Authority. After all, a third party sounds more objective than Internet strangers.)

The most common usage of social proof like this is on pricing landing pages. You’ve seen it before—the website highlights one pricing plan as being more popular.

Use the same ideas on your own page.

And speaking of pricing, let’s look there next.

3. Structure Your Pricing Correctly

Pricing seems so simple.

Yet it’s one of the most complex areas of marketing.

You see, there isn’t an exact formula for pricing. Sure, there are all kinds of recommendations online.

Add a percentage to your cost.

Look at what your competitors are doing.

And so forth.

But the real secret to pricing—the gold your competitors are missing out on—lies in psychology.

Here are the three principles you need to know.

Anchoring Effect—State Higher Prices First

Have you noticed how we all spend more on cell phones now?

Before the Smartphone Age, most of us spent a few hundred dollars on a new cell phone.

But today, it’s common for us to spend $1,000 or more on a device.

Why?

Because of the Anchoring Effect. When we see $1,000 cell phones, we begin to think that’s the norm.

Even if we’re thrifty, spending $500 now seems like a deal—even if it’s double what we would have paid just a few years ago.

When you’re designing your landing page, you want to take anchoring into effect.

The simplest way is to show high prices first. So if you have more than one plan, list the most expensive first, then in descending order of price.

Casper does a great job of this by positioning their premium Wave mattress first.

(It’s also a beautiful example of providing choices, with guidance.)

Only have one plan?

Then use a technique copywriters have employed for decades—list comparisons.

You’ve seen it before:

“In-person training for this would cost $10,000. Hiring a coach would be $500 an hour. But with my course, you can get the same information for just $99 …”

They use it because it works.

And you can use it, too.

Loss Aversion Principle—Focus on What We’re Losing

It’s your birthday, and a friend gives you a $100 bill.

Later that day, you withdraw another $100 from an ATM. But when you get home, you realize you left the money in the machine.

Do those two events even each other out?

Research says no. The ATM loss will be more painful than the birthday gift was enjoyable. About twice as painful psychologically, in fact.

We all love to win.

But more than winning, we want to avoid losing. This is known as the Loss Aversion Principle.

As you create your landing page, keep this principle in mind.

We’re all tempted to list the great features and benefits we have to offer. But psychology shows that losing is more powerful.

To do this, start off by explaining what problems the prospect is facing right now.

Show that they’re already losing something, whether that’s money, time, status, or health.

Show that your offer can change that, and they can stop losing out.

Then—and only then—should you show the benefits.

Contrast Effect—Small Differences Can Stand Out

Remember the Von Restorff Effect?

It stated that in a list of similar items, we notice things that stand out.

(Like elephants among color samples.)

The Contrast Effect is its visual counterpart.

There’s a reason most call-to-action buttons aren’t the same color as the page background. There’s a reason “for sale” signs on car lots are bright pink and yellow.

Colors that stand apart catch our eye.

The Ahrefs home page is a great example of the Contrast Effect. The bright orange call to action is immediately obvious.

Every landing page needs to draw attention to one or more items.

The best way to do this? With contrast.

Give a section a brightly-colored background.

Add a border that pops.

And start grabbing attention.

4. Improve Actions with Cognitive Fluency

Humans are, in our hearts, very lazy creatures.

It’s not our fault!

Our bodies have been finely-tuned over millions of years to conserve energy.

We’re built to make split-second judgments to assess situations.

It’s great on the prehistoric prairie. But in the 21st century, it means we have a few biases.

And you need to take them into account when selling.

Cognitive Fluency—Easier Content is More Trustworthy

Imagine you’re studying for a test in college, and two friends offer to share their study notes.

One friend hands you a bulging pile of dog-eared scribbles.

The other friend gives you a typed report broken down by subject. Each section has summaries and bullet points with key facts to remember.

Which would you use to study?

The answer seems obvious, but the better-organized student might be flunking the class. We judge credibility based on what's easiest to read.

As you design your landing page, make the content seamless. One section leads to another, all the way to the call to action.

This is the idea of Cognitive Fluency. Essentially, we choose what’s easiest for the brain to process.

Take it to heart in your landing pages, and keep the structure simple and easy to follow.

Deictic Gaze—We Obey Indicators to Where to Look

This is one of the silliest shortcuts in the human brain, but it works.

Before I explain how, look at the following image:

Did you look to the right?

Congratulations, you’ve seen the Deictic Gaze in action. It’s one of the most obvious examples of Cognitive Fluency.

Our brain will follow arrows, other people’s line of sight, and other cues when deciding where to look.

The brain’s laziness is a great way to improve your landing page. You’ve seen it a thousand times, and it's worth adding yourself.

Place small arrows, pointers, and even photographs of people facing the right direction.

Halo Effect—We Assign Good Design with Positive Traits

Take a quick glance at the website below. Is this someone you’d want to do business with?

If you’re like most people, you’d think twice about this company. Its 1990s-era website doesn’t look like a credible business venture.

But you’d be mistaken. It's the home page of billionaire Warren Buffett's company Berkshire Hathaway.

You see, first impressions influence our perception. We assume a site with bad design is a bad site. Likewise, we assign positive traits to sites that appeal to us.

This “halo” of positive traits leads to the name of the concept, the Halo Effect.

Every landing page you create should look as great as possible.

Nothing sells like a halo.

Oh, and if you’re wondering how Warren Buffett still succeeds with a site like that?

Simple: When you’re a world-famous billionaire, your personal halo extends to your website, not the other way around.

Need help with your next contest ?

Book a free call to learn how our team of marketing experts can help you create a high converting landing page today.

Conclusion

What’s the difference between a good landing page and a great one? It often comes down to the level of persuasion you decide to use.

A serious landing page creator will consider every user’s action and build their page around it like Wishpond’s Canvas.

And the best way to do that? Psychological triggers. By using proven persuasion techniques, you can influence the viewer to act.

Oftentimes, the difference between a casual visitor and a ready buyer comes down to specific techniques that influence him or her to act.

You’ve learned four psychology-based ways to structure your landing page. Plus, you've seen twelve of the most common principles you can put in place.

Which will you use first?

About the Author Emil Kristensen is the CMO and co-founder of Sleeknote: a company that helps e-commerce brands turn their website browsers into buyers—without hurting the user experience.

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disappearingground · 5 years

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Jenny Lewis The Storyteller

Under the Radar July 1, 2008

"I started when I was 2 1/2 years old, and when I was younger I was always very exuberant and I always showed interest in being the center of attention. So, my mother decided that she wanted to put me in acting because I was so interested in it.” – Jenny Lewis, Teen Set, 1991

By Matt Fink

Type the name “Jenny Lewis” into the YouTube search engine, and buried among music videos and footage of late-night television performances you’ll find a 1991 interview from a television show called Teen Set. The segment features the 15-year-old Lewis politely and carefully fielding a series of insultingly banal questions, ranging from those about her burgeoning hat collection to those concerning the then-exotic trampoline in her backyard. But, having already worked as an actress for 12 years at that point, Lewis never loses her poise; never rolls her eyes or seems bored. For those moments, it seems as if she’s playing a role—that of a soon-to-be star. And while she couldn’t have known that her acting career was about to wane just as she took up an interest in playing the guitar and writing songs, it’s not hard to see a master performer in those few awkward moments. She’s simply unshakable.

With Acid Tongue, Jenny Lewis has finally found the role she has been studying for her entire life, the star of a project where she assumes center stage from start to finish. Following up the critically adored Rabbit Fur Coat—the 2006 release that served as her tentative first solo album with The Watson Twins and a brief respite from eight years of intensive touring and recording as one-half of the songwriting team in Rilo Kiley—Lewis has issued an authoritative statement. Where Rabbit Fur Coat was intentionally understated, a shy-around-the-edges tribute to her mother and the soul and country albums from her record collection, she now works in broad strokes. Where her debut was the sound of an artist just dipping her toes in the water of a solo career, not sure if she really could or even wanted to perform without her band, she now attacks her songs with palpable force and theatricality. With Acid Tongue, Lewis is an actress again, but not the plaintive poet of Rabbit Fur Coat. Part confessional siren, part sin-cataloging prophet, Lewis is primarily a storyteller, joined by a cast of characters and collaborators who stretch through every chapter of an already complex personal narrative.

Through it all, one thing is clear: Jenny Lewis might have left the silver screen, but she does know a good role when she sees it. After all, she was born for the stage.

Capturing Moods

“I would have to say meeting new people and going to new places [is the best part of being an actress]. It’s really a great thing if you can do it.” – Jenny Lewis, Teen Set, 1991

“I’ve been getting a lot of questions about LSD, and I really asked for it by naming the record Acid Tongue,” laughs Lewis from her home in Los Angeles, now 32 years old and freshly removed from finishing up her second full-length release. “And I’ve only had one experience with it, and it was really bad. Terrible. Truly the worst 24 hours of my life. I don’t even know where to begin. My friend at the time had an even worse trip than mine and attempted to chase me around the house with a butcher knife.” She adds with a gasp, “It was so wrong.”

And while Acid Tongue is far from a psychedelic rock album, there is a certain hallucinatory haze that hangs over the proceedings. Recorded in her childhood stomping grounds of Van Nuys, California, the album is a homecoming of sorts, with old friends and family popping in and out at a dizzying pace. And everyone sounds like they’re perfectly utilized, from sister Leslie on “See Fernando” to M. Ward’s growling guitar solo on “Pretty Bird” to Elvis Costello’s snarling vocal on “Carpetbaggers.” Having long championed Lewis for her intricately imagined and vividly peopled narratives, Costello found the process so suitable that he ended up using that day’s version of Lewis’ band for his own album.

“I emailed him and sort of put it out there, and he responded and agreed to come down and sing ‘Carpetbaggers’ for me,” Lewis recalls. “As a tradeoff, he asked if we’d be open to recording two of his new songs. So, in one day, we recorded two Elvis Costello songs and two different versions of ‘Carpetbaggers.’ And those two songs of his ended up on his newest record, Momofuku. I was very nervous, and it took me an hour to figure out what I was going to wear on that day. And I ended up wearing purple on that day, which I don’t wear very much, and he ended up wearing purple, as well,” she giggles. “But I ended up not saying very much on that day. You don’t want to look like an asshole in front of Elvis Costello.”

Acid Tongue’s moods and textures change from song to song, from the smoldering blue-eyed soul of “Pretty Bird” to the multi-part blues boogie “The Next Messiah” and the straight-up country-rock of “Carpetbaggers.” The guitar tones are grittier, the arrangements are punchier and more varied, and Lewis’ singing is more visceral than in the reserved tones of Rabbit Fur Coat. It’s an album that feels like it was pieced together on the fly, a rollicking tribute to those soul bands who often played live in the studio, recording vocals in one take with mistakes left in for character. Having performed four of the songs while touring her first solo album, she invited many of those band members into the studio with her, lending those songs a loose and lived-in feel. From start to finish, Acid Tongue is an album cut from the cloth of the great ’70s singer/ songwriter song cycles, an album that never repeats itself despite retaining an insular and intimate feel. It’s nothing short of the confirmation of Lewis’ arrival among the great musical storytellers of her generation.

“We spent a great deal of time mapping out the record so that we could record it in a short amount of time,” Lewis explains. “We created different band configurations within that map. But, inevitably, things change when you actually perform them. When you’re collaborating with people, they bring things that you didn’t necessarily expect. I just let the songs dictate where the record would end up, and I let the vibe of the session run the ship. I wasn’t necessarily steering the ship.” She adds: “I was a passenger of the good feelings in the studio.”

If Lewis was just along for the ride during the arranging of the songs, she undoubtedly had a much heavier hand in the writing, and never before has she created character sketches that are so imaginative. There are the aching death metaphors of “Black Sand,” where the narrator collapses on the beach and allows herself to be washed out to sea. There’s also the aforementioned “The Next Messiah,” a track whose protagonist is a master shit-talker—a racecar-driving, cancer-surviving farmer, who thinks he just might be God incarnate. Then there’s the garage gospel of “Jack Killed Mom,” a strangely incestuous tale where a lascivious mother drives her son to homicide through her advances. But as much as Lewis commands the album’s center stage, sounding like she’s in total control of every second set to tape, she admits that she’s still haunted by the same nagging fears that plagued her when she was planning her first steps outside of the Rilo Kiley fold.

“I tend to always doubt what I do,” she admits. “I’m never entirely confident. I have this process where I’m happiest when I’ve first written something and when it’s first recorded. After that, the song soon falls out of favor. But this record, because I was surrounded by my friends and because I had played some of the songs on the road with the band, I felt a little more confident. Making this record, I felt as good as I have felt, but I was still filled with doubt once completing it.”

Though you’d never guess it, Lewis says that those insecurities are generally confined to the creative process, and the role of confident singer/songwriter comes more naturally when she’s performing. As the stage can often provide escapism like no other outlet, Lewis has grown comfortable disappearing into the character she becomes on stage every night. The girl who literally grew up on stage often doesn’t feel at home away from it. “I guess maybe the only time that I do feel confident is when I play music,” she says shyly. “‘Confident’ isn’t really the word. I guess I just feel the most like myself. I have a very difficult time with in-between song banter on stage. I just don’t know what to say, and I get so nervous just addressing the crowd.” Her voice then grows more animated: “But when it comes time to play the song, I know exactly what I have to do.”

Pictures of Success

“A lot of people say, ‘Don’t you miss out on your childhood?’ But I don’t. This is my childhood, and I’m learning a lot, and I’m enjoying it very much. I don’t think there are any downsides.” – Jenny Lewis, Teen Set, 1991

The words “former child star” are so often followed by words like “rehab” and “driving with a suspended license” that we scarcely notice when one of those stars ends up with something other than a mugshot and a stillborn career. Having spent their youth working long hours and memorizing lines while their parents scream at casting agents off set, many child stars are too jaded or too damaged before adulthood to want to make art. Though it’s not much of a secret in indie-rock circles that Jenny Lewis once had a second life as an almost famous child actress—she chewed up scenery as Shelly Long’s daughter in Troop Beverly Hills and shared an awkward kiss with Fred Savage in The Wizard—she has somehow managed to become the rarest of all preadolescent performers—one who has survived to reinvent herself as a legitimate artist.

“It wasn’t really my dream,” Lewis replies when asked about the abdication of her previous path. “I didn’t choose to do it. I was very professional, and I enjoyed working and being busy, but it wasn’t something that I fantasized about. Certainly, there was a lot of joy, but I guess it was heavy at times. Nothing extraordinarily negative that other kids don’t go through, but I felt a weight and a burden because I was financially responsible for my family. For a very long time I felt the weight of that on me,” she says without malice. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” she quickly asserts. “I wouldn’t put my own children in show business, but I think it definitely shaped me and has given me a unique perspective.”

How could it not? After all, how many kids are snatched up by a talent agent in a restaurant simply because their charisma is so irresistible? How many are supporting their families before they’ve lost their baby teeth? How many have to go through the process of making new friends at 12 different schools? How many have swapped stories with Lucille Ball? If Lewis writes songs that come from an outsider perspective, consider the fact that she has never lived a normal life.

“The schedule is hard on anybody—adult or child,” says Leslie Lewis, Jenny’s older sister and backing singer on two Acid Tongue tracks. “They work such long hours and they’re traveling so much that it takes them out of any normal schedule or childhood. It’s stressful, but at the same time she was given so many great opportunities. She was able to sing on camera and meet people and go places. A lot of her maturity came out of her doing so much at such an early age. It wound up being a good balance in the end. But, sure, I think anyone who is 5 or 6 years old and is working 18-hour days is bound to find it stressful.”

All those hours spent on set and off camera were put to good use, as Lewis became an astute observer, someone who gets paid to study, memorize, and watch how things unfold. Since she was a bit of an oddball at school, those skills were necessary for her to keep her sanity and challenge that of her peers. True crime stories and tales from the seedy side of life were her favorites, and her classmates simply didn’t understand what this precocious girl with the flaming red hair was going on about. Kids picked on her, and parents kept their children away from her because she told such bizarre stories. It was hard to make friends. It was hard to outrun her reputation.

“I had never seen any of her work, and I think that’s one of the reasons that we get along,” says Lewis’ boyfriend Johnathan Rice, a singer/songwriter who contributed vocals to Acid Tongue and toured with Lewis’ band for Rabbit Fur Coat. “I always knew of Jenny as a musician and songwriter. Then she told me all about that early stuff. One of the things that is remarkable about Jenny is that, more than anyone I know, she has the most dense life. There are just so many layers that make her who she is, just because of the way she grew up. What makes her so unique as a songwriter is her perspective on life and the way things are. What comes through to me in the writing is that it is shaped by a very long lifetime. You and I, we weren’t working when we were kids. We were just being kids. So her perspective is so unique. I can’t really think of anyone else who is doing it today that has that kind of perspective. I really think that sets her apart in so many ways. When you go see Jenny play—whether with her own band, or Rilo Kiley, or The Postal Service—she has it all. She can sing the shit out of a song, and she writes the shit out of a song, and she can perform the shit out of a song. There’s such a lack of emphasis on performance nowadays—the art of captivation. She has that for sure.”

As Lewis has spent most of her life cultivating the art of captivation, that ability to draw attention and hold it, she probably knows as much about it as anyone. But while she has applied her gift to great effect during her music career, Lewis appears to be in no hurry to return to her childhood profession.

“I knew that that wasn’t for me,” she says firmly. “That had become quite uncomfortable as I reached puberty and there’s so much emphasis placed on the way you look, and when you’re coming into your own and into your body, it can be pretty uncomfortable. I think some of those experiences made me turn inward. That’s kind of what fueled the things that I was writing about.”

A Better Son/Daughter

“I like all sports—baseball, soccer, swimming. And I also like spending time with my friends. That’s what I’m usually doing on the weekends.” – Jenny Lewis, Teen Set, 1991

Conspicuously absent from the above quote is any mention of Lewis’ interest in music. At that time, she was still finding her footing as a songwriter, just picking up a guitar for the first time and realizing that the strange stories that she carried around in her head made for strange subject matter. Of all the roles Lewis had played, she wasn’t ready for this one.

“I didn’t know that I wanted to be a songwriter, I just wrote songs,” Lewis says. “I listened to a lot of hip-hop growing up, and when I was 12 years old, I started writing verses and weird poems. I started playing guitar when I was 15 or 16, and I started playing piano when I was 8 or 9, so through all of those outlets, I always wrote little bits of songs. And I was exposed to a lot of different kinds of people. You meet some pretty eccentric people in Hollywood. And I think my own home life was very interesting. It was an interesting mix of going to work as a kid and then hanging out at home with my mom and her friends, and they always had these unique, shocking stories to tell. So those became a part of my songwriting from a very young age. I wrote a song when I was 10 years old about prison life. I have no idea where the hell I got that from, but those were the kinds of tales that fascinated me. I wasn’t a My Little Pony kind of girl. I was more into the ’80s equivalent of The Forensic Files. I still love murder TV. I guess when I met Blake [Sennett] I realized that there was one other person in the world that wanted to hear those things that I had written.”

Of course, meeting Sennett was a turning point in Lewis’ life and career. The two former child actors embarked on a romantic relationship and then founded Rilo Kiley in 1998, resulting in a collaboration that launched them from unknown indie-pop band to an increasingly ambitious major label act (whose line-up is rounded out by Pierre de Reeder and Jason Boesel). But while it took Sennett to give Lewis the confidence to decide that she was ready to audition for a new, non-acting role, she actually came from a rather impressive musical pedigree herself, as her parents and sister Leslie had a Las Vegas lounge act at the time of her birth.

“My parents got divorced when I was very young, so I didn’t really know my dad all that well growing up,” Lewis explains. “I would see him every couple of years, and it was always for a brief amount of time. I was always in awe of my father, but we never got a chance to talk about what had influenced him. I think genetics are a pretty strong thing, and I think inherently I am my father and we like the same things. He comes from this old guard of post-vaudeville generation, and he has spent his entire life on the road. I think I get a lot of that old showbiz sensibility from my father. The [lounge act] broke up when I was about two, and the marriage ended when I was about three. I don’t remember actually seeing them play. My older sister, she was actually part of that act for a while. I think she sang ‘How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?’ And my entire wardrobe, as far as my stage costumes go, [is] basically ripped from my parents’ lounge act.”

As anyone who has a passing familiarity with Rilo Kiley’s music knows, Lewis’ parents’ divorce has hung heavy over her songwriting for years, turning up in references stretching across her body of work. But just as Rabbit Fur Coat allowed Lewis to both pay tribute to and fictionalize her mother, Acid Tongue allows her to bring her father, harmonica virtuoso Eddie Gordon, into the canon. This time, however, her chosen subject was sitting right beside her in the studio.

“It was really strange and wonderful, because we’ve never played music together,” Lewis says of her father playing on “Jack Killed Mom.” “I was so impressed with his musicianship and skill. It’s an incredible thing that he does. He can play classical music on the harmonica. People being able to play the harmonica in that way is sort of a lost art. And we had him play really simple stuff. I was kind of embarrassed that he didn’t get a chance to really shred.”

But while her father made an appearance on the album, little did he know that the album’s centerpiece, the 9-minute, three-part epic “The Next Messiah,” was inspired by him. It turns out the shit-talker of “The Next Messiah” is actually Lewis’ father.

“That’s my favorite song on the record,” she explains. “It was sort of a subconscious thing. I didn’t sit down and set out to write a song about him. It just sort of came out in this phrase ‘The Next Messiah,’ which he’s not,” she laughs. “He doesn’t know [the song is about him]. He hasn’t heard it yet. Considering that I gave it to my mom on my last record, he’s due his. But I got so tired of singing about my mother for Rabbit Fur Coat that I had to kill her off on this record with ‘Jack Killed Mom.’ Poor mom.”

It Just Is

Having now conquered every stage she has stood upon, Jenny Lewis is quickly approaching a moment where her fame as a solo artist is about to outstrip the fame of her band. Since she has been assuming an increasingly larger part of the Rilo Kiley songwriting duties, writing or co-writing all but one song on their latest release, 2007’s Under the Blacklight, you have to wonder just what purpose her old band serves at this point.

“I don’t want to have to write different kinds of songs if I don’t want to; I want to be able to write whatever feels natural at the time,” she says, sounding unwilling to commit either way. “I go back and forth where whatever I’m doing is a reaction to the previous thing, so who knows where I’ll be in a year? I have to say that I truly love both outlets. I love collaborating with people, and I love Rilo Kiley and collaborating with Blake and the band. It’s something we’ve always done, and Rilo Kiley has always been a very delicate ecosystem that is on the verge of total collapse since our very first record. When you’ve got two people who were romantically involved, and that doesn’t work out, that lends itself to a very unstable environment. From record to record, I never think we’re going to make another record.” she says, pausing. “I’ve shifted my focus. I’m just thinking about these songs right now.”

That said, how long can Lewis reasonably expect to commit herself fully to both careers? How does a songwriter of such depth and vision find enough material to keep herself and her bandmates fed with new ideas? How long can she play two roles without getting burned out on both? Johnathan Rice has faith that her creative well is in no danger of running dry.

“You look at all the great ones—the Dylans and Neil Youngs—there’s that period of white-hot consistent output,” he explains. “Over two or three years, and there are three or four fantastic records. I think Jenny is doing her own version of that. She’s been releasing a record a year for the past five or six years, and that’s a pace that most bands don’t keep up with nowadays with the way the industry is and cycles go, but she has always worked outside of that. She just works as quickly as she wants to, and as soon as she has all of the outlets, she’s able to use the industry in her favor. If she gets tired, she’ll take a long walk or get a drink of water.”

Since Jenny Lewis has never known a life where she hasn’t been working on her craft every day, it makes sense. Having witnessed her charisma and inexhaustible work ethic since her sister was born, Leslie Lewis is similarly certain that her little sister is in no danger of overextending herself. “That’s the one thing coming from our background, we’re always comfortable juggling tons of things,” she explains. “That’s just really natural for Jenny. She’s tireless, as you can tell from all the other side projects she sings on. People always gravitated toward her no matter what. She has this really powerful silent persona. I think she’s always had it. It’s hard to describe. She wasn’t an annoying kid saying, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’ People naturally wanted to listen to what she had to say. It wasn’t just the red hair. I think Jenny easily could have a clothing line, a record company, and a multifaceted career. Wherever her heart guides her, she’ll be very successful. She’ll do a lot of things that will surprise people.”

Whatever the case, despite all of the accolades and honors, there’s still a little of that poised and professional 15-year-old girl in Jenny Lewis, the performer who only wants your approval. And while she’s still more at home on the stage than she is in her house, there’s one area of her performance she’d still like to perfect.

“I’d like to learn to loosen up a little bit, and I’d really love to learn how to speak to the crowd,” she says with a sigh. “God, I’m so terrified. I just don’t know what to say,” she shudders, the consummately prepared actress left without her line. But awkward stage banter aside, Jenny Lewis never struggles to find something to say once the music begins. Her greatest role will always be that of a songwriter. “When I’m getting ready to record, I’m haunted by the tunes,” she says. “They follow me around. I’m constantly thinking about the words, and when I’m sleeping I’m hearing the songs, and when I’m driving around, I’m thinking about them.” Having spent her life chasing the ultimate role, she has ended up with one that pursues her. “It’s good for someone that doesn’t have a day job.”

#publication: under the radar #album: acid tongue #year: 2008 #mention: child acting #mention: acid #song: acid tongue #person: elvis costello #song: black sand #mention: recording process #person: sister #person: johnathan rice #mention: childhood #person: blake sennett #mention: parent's band #song: jack killed mom #song: the next messiah #mention: father

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thefreckledone · 7 years

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Pompeii 26

@vesperlionheart

Sakura stared at the near catatonic man on her couch. Since showing her his tongue, as if that explained everything, he’d remained silent, gazing off into the distance with unfocused, glassy eyes. She’d left him there, giving him space, but the hour was drawing to a close and Sakura was starting to feel concerned.

“Sai,” she said, trying to bring him out of his daze.

He didn’t even blink.

“Sai!” she said a bit more forcefully.

He shivered, distant but miserable in the cold.

That was what decided it for Sakura as she gently took his hands in her own. He didn’t respond and Sakura could almost feel the ice running in his veins. She’d no idea how long he was outside, but it had been far too long.

“Sai,” she said in a firm tone. It was the voice she used to control unruly patients or speak with those who looked down upon her. It wasn’t exactly a kind tone, but it was effective. “Sai, stand up.”

Sai stood as she pulled him, following her lead of gentle touches and strong voice. She pressed him into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Sakura tested the water, waiting until it was lukewarm before turning and assessing Sai’s state.

He was still completely unresponsive and she worried to leave him alone.

Sakura chewed at her lip, weighing her options.

Sakura stared down at him for a moment, heart in her throat. She turned abruptly, heading to her balcony. Sakura threw it open, ignoring the rain and the way the dark birds scattered with cries of dismay, and leaned over across her balcony to knock on Kimimaro’s window.

She waited for a moment, banging on it again until Kimimaro came stumbling out of the kitchen, dressed in silk pajamas. He looked around wildly, hair unkempt before settling on Sakura. He blinked, before hurrying to the sliding door.

“Sakura? You’re soaking wet! What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Sakura said. “I have a...friend over tonight. Just...wanted you to know.”

He furrowed his brows, green eyes lightening with understanding. “Are you...alright?”

Are you safe?

Sakura thought about it for a long moment, remembering how unresponsive Sai was. “It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I just...needed someone to know.”

She turned to go back inside, only to stop as Kimimaro wrapped a hand around her wrist. Sakura paused, looking up into his inscrutable expression. “Yes?”

“Sakura...stay safe. Not everyone in Pompeii can be trusted,” Kimimaro said, rain soaking through his pajamas, making them translucent against his skin.

“I know,” Sakura replied, pulling out his warm grasp. Her thoughts flew to a snake eating itself, dancing faux foxfire, whispers among the trees, and secrets wormed in deep beneath the soil of Pompeii. “Trust me, I know.”

She left him there, on the balcony and returned to Sai. He was where she left him, eyes glazed over even with the running water behind him.

Finally, with a sigh, she rolled up her sleeves and tugged Sai with her to the shower. As gently as she could, Sakura moved him beneath the spray of the showerhead, watching him for signs of life. His eyelids flickered before closing, a deep sigh rattling out of his chest.

He was still far too cold so Sakura grabbed a washcloth and began methodically rubbing over his fingers before moving to his feet. Along the way, she slowly increased the heat of the water until it steamed. Sai’s translucent skin was flushed a deep, healthy red when Sakura turned off the tap.

Sakura ignored the way her clothes clung to her skin as she directed Sai out of the shower. She didn’t pay attention to the trail of water on her tiled floor as she made Sai take a seat on the toilet. She glanced into the cabinet, pulling out two towels. One she left to the side as she tilted Sai’s head forward and began tousling his hair. The thin veins beneath his skin were clear in his neck, a shimmery silver in color. She stared down at his back, wondering what had happened to him.

Sakura felt him stiffen beneath her touch and she pulled away, allowing him to sit up straight. He regarded her warily, eyes trained on her.

Sakura sighed in relief, leaning back against the counter. “Good to see you’re back,” she said. She grabbed the extra towel and tossed it his way. “Take off your clothes and dry off. I’ll get you something else to wear.” Sai was watching her with a perplexed look as she pulled something off a hook. “Wear this for now,” she said, passing him the robe. Sakura felt a bit embarrassed as she looked at the fabric, dogs playing poker against a searingly green background. Ami had given it to her as a gag gift for Christmas one year and, to her surprise and shy chagrin, Sakura kept it. After all, it was Ami’s first haphazard attempt at sewing. Now, Sai was going to wear it. “I’ll grab a t-shirt and sweatpants for you.”

Sakura bustled out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done the right thing, bringing Sai here. He clearly wasn’t in a good head space. And that whole tongue tattoo…

Sakura paused in her thoughts before scurrying into her bedroom. She lifted the book, stroking her fingers over its spine. The book fell open and asked in bright ink, What’s up?

“What can you tell me about tongue tattoos?”

Bad idea. Fade in about a year and you can’t taste shit for a while after eating...Not that I’d really know. Hell, go for it!

“What?” Sakura shook her head. “Terrible advice aside, that is not what I was talking about. I...I saw a tattoo on someone’s tongue. It was...I don’t know, a bunch of dark lines, some segmented and some not.”

what.

“What does it mean?”

is that person still here.

Sakura’s brow furrowed; the book always used correct punctuation. “Yeah, he’s in the bathroom-”

get him to leave NOW.

The absolute rage in the lettering made Sakura jump. “What the hell?” she whispered, glancing toward her bathroom door. “What’s your problem?”

Not safe. Whispers. Spider. The trees have eyes.

“Stop,” Sakura said, heartbeat speeding up in her anxiety. “Sai has been nothing but...well, pretty cryptic but he’s done nothing to earn your enmity.”

Sakura you don’t understand! He’s bad news-

“Haruno,” Sai called, almost tentative.

Sakura closed the book, shaking her head. “Coming!” she said before turning her gaze back to the book. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Sakura tossed the book down and headed back into the living room. She had to fight her instinct to laugh at the sight that greeted her. Sai stood calmly in her living room, swamped in her hideous robe. Ami hadn’t done the best job with the proportions. Sai’s pale knees peeked out beneath the robe. As unbecoming as the garment was, Sai seemed completely unaffected.

“Let me grab you those clothes,” Sakura said, remembering her initial goal.

“This is fine.”

They stood there for a moment in silence as Sakura searched for something to say.

“Why were you sitting out in the rain?” Sakura asked.

He shrugged, not quite meeting her gaze.

“Didn’t you have somewhere to go?” A blank look greeted her. “You know, a house, your home?”

“Home?” He blinked and Sakura had the sinking suspicion that he was suppressing a flinch. “I have no home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere. Everywhere.”

And thus continued his (and everyone else’s) habit of cryptic evasiveness.

“So you’re homeless?” Sakura clarified.

His nod was minute, but it was still there.

“Stay here,” Sakura said, before she could talk herself out of it. She didn’t know Sai, not really, aside from his abrasive and socially inept attitude. But she knew he was wounded, hurt in a way that festered and rooted itself deep beneath his skin. She couldn’t just stand by and let his suffering continue unabated.

“What?” he asked, an expression of shock clear across his face.

“Stay here,” she repeated, reckless. “You can sleep on the couch tonight. Tomorrow and the days after…” She shrugged. “It’s not much but I can set up one of the patient rooms for you. There’s beds and while I can’t promise fantastic food you’re always welcome at my table-”

Sakura was cut off as she was wrapped in strong but shaking arms. The worn fabric of her robe brushed against her face and Sakura was surrounded by the strange intermingling scents of herself and Sai, spicy and earthy. Sai pressed his face into her hair, exhaling heavily.

“Sai-”

“Thank you,” Sai said and Sakura could feel his tears in her hair. “Just...thank you.”

Sakura brought her hands up to his back, drawing nonsensical patterns across the expanse. They stood like this for a while, Sakura aware of her wet clothes and the way Sai’s breath heaved from his chest, trying to escape. Sakura made small noises of comfort, hoping that she was helping.

“Are you...writing out the bones of the body on my back?” Sai asked, voice steady but subdued.

“I’m surprised you noticed,” Sakura said, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s something I used to do in medical school too, after I learned all the bones for an exam. It...soothes me.”

Sai pulled back slightly, only to smile down at her. It was a genuine smile, small, wobbly at the edges, but genuine nonetheless. “It soothes me too. Thanks.”

Sai was the first to pull away from the hug and Sakura let him, ignoring the way her heart squeezed as he did his best to erect the barriers he held at the beginning of the night. They were tattered and frayed but Sakura could still see the way his gaze shuttered as he looked away from her. Then he yawned, mouth opening wide.

Sakura giggled. “Time for bed I suppose. Let’s get you fixed up here.”

Sai nodded, following in her footsteps.

As they gathered blankets and pillows, Sakura couldn’t help feeling at ease with her decision. There was something right about it.

Sakura bit her lip as she took in the befuddled expression on Sai’s face. I think I could get used to this...

The pounding of her heart woke her.

Sakura sat up in bed, glancing around wildly. Her clock read 3:20 AM. What had woken her? Sakura’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t a nightmare, she didn’t get those anymore. It was…

Sai .

Sakura bolted out of bed, stepping out into the living room.

Sai stood outside on the balcony, barefoot and dressed once more in his dark clothing. Somehow, it seemed that the garish robe suited him better. Sakura swallowed back the protests on her tongue like whiskey, heavy and bitter, stinging her throat as they went down. “You’re leaving?” she asked instead, doing her best to keep her voice level.

She failed.

Sai looked at her, pale face ancient and distant beneath the silvery light of the moon. He stuck out his tongue and Sakura’s breath caught as she saw the tongue tattoo suffused with golden light. “I am called,” he said, simply as if it explained anything.

“Stay,” Sakura entreated.

He looked at her, pure misery carved into his expression. Sakura blinked back the tears as she took in the pain in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, forcing one of his fake smiles. Sakura hated it.

Her eyes burned as he stepped off the balcony, consumed by shadows.

Then, she let the tears-the tears that she knew Sai couldn’t cry-fall.

“What did you just say?”

Sakura winced, ducking away from Naruto’s gaze as she continued to wind the bandage around his chest. She wished she hadn’t spoken at all. “Nothing, Naruto, just forget it.”

“It’s not nothing!” Naruto exclaimed, leaning in close to her. “It’s your birthday.”

“I highly doubt birthdays are a major celebration here in Pompeii,” Sakura said. “It gets monotonous after awhile does it not? Centuries passing by in the briefest flicker.”

Naruto pouted at her. “But, but it’s your first birthday in Pompeii! That’s something worth remembering right?”

Sakura found herself softening beneath the weight of his charm. “It is special only because Pompeii is special. Besides, my birthday’s already passed. What does it matter now?”

“It was yesterday! There’s still time isn’t there Menma?” Naruto asked, looking to his silent twin. “It’s still March 28th somewhere right?”

Menma scoffed, shaking his head. “Not on this plane of existence at least.”

“It’s fine,” Sakura said, redirecting her gaze to Naruto’s wound. He’d been messing around with foxfire and found himself with some serious burns. While they were healing at an accelerated rate, Sakura knew that dressing them would expedite the process further. “There’s no need to worry about it. Things have been very busy recently and everyone’s been away on business. It was a peaceful birthday.”

Though she was trying to soothe Naruto, she couldn’t have said anything else that would strike guilt into his heart like her words did. “I’m sorry Sakura,” he said, voice quiet. “We may have been busy, but that’s no excuse for making you feel so unimportant on your birthday.”

Sakura shivered, looking up into the face of a man who suddenly seemed eons beyond her. “That isn’t what happened at all, Naruto!” she exclaimed hotly, looking to Menma in support. He wouldn’t meet her eyes either however. “Oh for the love of-! Look, it does not bother me at all in any shape or fashion that we did not celebrate my birthday. You didn’t know!”

Naruto looked up at her. “Can we make it up to you?”

Sakura sighed, fight leaving her. “Look, we can get a small group together and go out for dinner tonight. I am paying for my meal and we can celebrate the party that way.” Sakura glanced up at the clock, paling. “I need to get prepped for my next appointment. I assume you know your way out?”

Naruto and Menma waved her off before turning to look at each other. Menma shook his head as he took in Naruto’s wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“She said small party,” Menma warned.

“Semantics!” Naruto exclaimed, waving a hand in Menma’s face.

“Naruto…”

But Naruto wasn’t listening.

Menma shook his head, grabbed Naruto by the collar, and headed for the door. Sakura would have no idea what hit her.

“Have a wonderful rest of your day,” Shizune said, heading toward the parking lot.

“Sure you don’t want to come along?” Sakura asked, fiddling with her handbag. “We’re meeting at Akimichi’s.”

Shizune laughed, stopping and taking Sakura’s hands. “I would love to join you for a celebration of your birth. Unfortunately I have a prior engagement. With the Spring Planting at hand, I am kept rather busy.”

“Do you need a few days off? A few weeks? Is Chiyo working you too hard?” Sakura demanded, clasping Shizune’s hands.

Shizune blinked, startled before giggling. “No, it’s fine, it’s fine. I’m glad to be a part of the Planting; it’s a pretty big deal here in Pompeii.”

“Please take a couple days off,” Sakura said. “Paid and everything. Don’t run yourself into the ground for my sake.”

Shizune smiled beatifically and bussed kisses over both of Sakura’s cheeks. “Thank you, love.”

“Have fun!” Sakura said, waving her friend off.

Then she looked down at her watch and cursed herself.

She was late.

Sakura raced down the darkened streets, making her way into downtown. Nestled cosily between the florist and the hair salon, Akimichi’s green sign glowed warmly down upon her.

She frowned, surprised to see how dark it was inside. Was it closed? She was only a few minutes late, right? Sakura peered into the window closely, scrutinizing it. This darkness was strange, a shadowy dark that seemed nearly solid.

It seemed artificial .

Sakura braced herself, tensing slightly as she pressed against the bright blue door. It gave, opening with a heavy groan.

The darkness did not extend beyond the doorstep. Sakura swallowed, clutching her phone as she called, “Hello? Anyone there?”

There was no response.

Sakura stared into the blackness before shaking her head. She wasn’t dealing with this. She turned and headed back down the street.

“Happy birthday!” a multitude of voices exclaimed as light suddenly streamed out through the restaurant.

Sakura turned, blinking in shock at all the people who stood before her. There were nearly a hundred. She located Naruto and scowled. “I said small party!”

Naruto shrugged, grinning at her. “C’mon, this isn’t even the best part!”

He bounded forward, taking her hand and tucking it at his arm as he weaved through the sea of faces.

Sakura answered all the well wishers with cheer, grinning as Ino attached herself at her other hip, scowling all the way.

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me it was your birthday yesterday! How could you?” Ino pouted. She looked truly hurt.

“Sorry,” Sakura said, patting her hand. “I’d no idea this was such a big deal.”

“Here we are!” Naruto said, pushing her up the stairs and stopping before the door. “Are you ready?”

Sakura nodded, finding anticipation curling in her gut.

Naruto pushed open the door and Sakura found herself breathless. She wasn’t sure how, she expected it to be a combination of some people’s magic, but the sky was magnified above her. It seemed much closer, like she could reach out and brush up against the shimmering stars. Galaxies and planets were within the touch of her fingertips and Sakura couldn’t speak.

“You like it?” Naruto asked nervously. “We got the Nara family to help with casting the skyscape, the Senju brothers did some of the magnification, Karin and the coven of course maintain the spell and the Uzumaki…” He stopped, grinning. “Well, you’ll see what we did shortly.”

“Naruto, this is incredible!” Sakura exclaimed. “How did you pull this off?”

“It was nothing.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, smile pleased. “Everyone was happy to pitch in. We’re really happy you’re here.”

Sakura blinked away the mist that came to her eyes, smiling up at him tremulously.

“Hey, Sakura!” Kiba called. “Come try some of these ribs. They’re to die for!” Sakura headed over, losing Naruto in the crowd. Kiba crowded her into a breath stealing hug before he set her back on her feet. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you,” Sakura replied. “Now what was this about to die for ribs?”

Sakura settled into her seat between Menma and Naruto, grinning at Ino and Deidara who were arguing across from her. She was full, both of delicious food and of pleasure, surrounded by her neighbors who came out tonight to share in a celebration of her life. She felt warm. She felt welcomed.

She felt at home, even among the strangeness.

“Okay, okay,” Sakura said, pushing Naruto away. “Stop rubbing this big ‘surprise’ in my face. Go ahead and show me!”

Menma looked up. “It’s about to start.”

Sakura turned her gaze up to the sky. It was still a magnified view of space and Sakura found herself lost again among the galaxies. She laid back from the low sitting table, focusing slowly on the sky above.

She gasped as a streak of light streamed across the sky. She cut her eyes to Menma, surprised to find him watching her with a soft look. He grinned, pointing back at the sky.

Sakura obediently looked back at the sky. Numerous stars were falling across the skyscape. Sakura watched the bright spots as they came more alight before fizzling out into nothingness. There was something poetic about it.

Sakura wasn’t sure what the future held, wasn’t sure when the other shoe would drop. She knew that the higher she climbed, the further she had to fall.

Sakura wasn’t sure she’d survive the impact.

There were still so many unanswered questions and Sakura wasn’t sure of her place in it all.

Somehow she just did not care.

Sakura decided to enjoy the moment, regardless of what the future held. She had people here; people who loved her, who were family to her.

The tears that were shed were surreptitiously wiped away before Sakura said, “I suppose that was the Uzumaki contribution?”

“Yeah,” Naruto said with a wry smile. “How’d you like it?”

“That was one of the best birthday gifts I’ve received in a long time,” Sakura replied, meeting Naruto’s gaze.

He seemed puzzled. “But...you haven’t even opened your presents yet.”

Sakura blinked. “My what?”

Naruto turned, gesturing to a veritable mountain of gifts. “That’s how these things usually go, right? Presents on a birthday?”

Sakura sucked in a heavy sigh. “Oh boy.”

#my fic #our fic #weird wednesdays #pompeii #Sakura Haruno #sai #saisaku #Naruto Uzumaki #menma uzumaki #narusaku #mensaku #happy birthday sakura

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eris0330 · 7 years

Text

From the other side

Request: Can I get a namjoon scenario where you’re an American music artist on a show kind of like jimmy fallon, and the host asks you who your celebrity crush is and you say it’s namjoon. The people are like “who dat” and then the reader explains (maybe gets asked to dance to a song and they do so?). Then somehow the boys see it and show it to nams ^~^ sorry if this was too much

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I had a great help from @sunwasrising when adding the last bit, hope it’s okay! I didn’t know if you wanted a fake text, or a short story. So, I did this lol, and if you had a stage name? I have NOT edited or corrected the story, because I am a little busy and I’m hoping, there aren’t too many errors.

Y/S/N = Your stage name

Rock-records = Music company (I maybe, have watched big time rush)

“Welcome to Y/S/N!!” A female confidential voice, were searching your name. As the big blue boarders revealed your dressed-up frame, giving the audience your latest song. The crowd cheering and clapping at your entrance, as the speakers boomed with your angelic voice. After a few minutes of performing, a short-haired blonde approached you with open arms as her smile were pulling your lip muscles.

“Welcome to the Ellen show! Thank you for coming!” She spoke, guiding you to the white chair. Her contagious smile, made your cheeks hurt.

“Thank you for inviting me! I was so thrilled getting an invitation” You responded with a light giggle, as you both got seated in each of the chairs.

“I’m glad you could come, I wasn’t sure if it was possible with your stuffed schedule. Your latest song has been reaching the charts the past weeks, how does it feel?” Ellen questioned, as the crowd clapped at her. You couldn’t help but feel shy, after finally getting a song to reach the world charts.

“It is a bit busy nowadays, but I’m happy. I’m glad people love my song and it brings me so much energy!” You spoke happily at the woman, who you had a small wish to meet as a teenager.

“You started as a person who did youtube, making covers of famous songs. After working on your vocals, Rock records reached out to you, how did you react?” She explained, for the people who maybe didn’t know your background.

“I was excited and I almost couldn’t believe it myself. Even though I was nervous, they didn’t seem to take ‘no’ for an answer. They have helped me a lot, to produce and develop my talent.” You answered with a smile, making the crowd cheer. The audience didn’t fail to react, either to your answer or appearance, but the loud clapping made your legs shake of excitement.

“It was already last year in 2016, January that they announced a new singer to America. Did they choose your stage name?” She asked, leaning at the arm chair.

“It has been going so fast, and I couldn’t believe it when my song hit the charts. My manager and me, decided on my stage name. Unique, but easy for people to remember” You answered again, making her nod along.

“Then your fanbase must have been sky rocking on social media and across the world?” She questioned curiously, making you think of your twitter’s following count blow up.

“They did, but back then when I started in my career. I still had supporters, encouraging me through the media. My first fans, has been incredible.” You spoke firmly, having the people around to clap.

“They must be proud of your achievement. Here on the Ellen show, we have a segment of answering some twitter questions. My crew has been plucking out a few, and hopefully you could answer them?” Ellen requested, making you smile widely with a silent ‘yeah!’. The screen behind you, lit up with a twitter question as Ellen read them out loud.

“What is your goal, now that you have gotten a song to hit the world charts?”

“My goal will always be, to hit the charts. But right now, I’m hoping to do a US Tour, or world Tour.” You answered, hearing the crowd cheer of the idea.

“Will you change your appearance or your behaviour after getting more recognition?”

“I don’t think so. My appearance will always be up for a change, for the better. My behaviour and goals, will always stay the same. I’m confidence, that I do not need to be ‘faking’ for my fans, to get more. The ones who has always been with me, knows what I stand for. If I lose fans, for the way I am now, then that’s too bad. I strive to be true, for everyone.” You spoke loudly making the audience stand up to clap. Ellen had a wide smile, as you saw her eyes glister of joy. Being true to your fans, has always been a priority. Seeing famous people change for the voice, always broke your heart. Betraying your fans, would be the last thing you wanted.

“Alright, the last question is a bit juicy. WHO is your celebrity crush?” She cooed, making the crowd gasp curiously. As you felt your cheeks heat rise, of the person you had in mind. Your finger fiddling nervously, as you answered.

“Rapmonster…” You almost whispered, making Ellen tilt her head. The crowd went silent, making it obvious people were confused who this ‘Rapmonster’ is.

“Rapmonster? I don’t think I’m familiar with that person…” She wondered, making you feel like a school girl, as you overcame your shyness. This show was a famous program, and the thought of that Kim Namjoon would be seeing this, was a dream.

“Rapmonster, is his stage name but his real name is Kim Namjoon. He is a rapper, composer and leader in the group Bangtan boys, but BTS for short. They reached the US charts not too long ago, with ‘Blood sweat and Tears” You explained, hearing a few gasps here and there. Apparently, not a lot of people knew. But Ellen’s confused facial expressions, disappeared as she clapped her hands once.

“Oh of course!! I heard their song and saw their MV. Their choreography seems intense, have you thought about collaborating with them?” She questioned curiously, as her smiled came back.

“I wish, their songs are amazing. I always wanted to collaborate with them, because their voices are so unique and their choreography is inspirational of me, wanting to dance.” You laughed, as Ellen waved her hand at the crew.

“Is there a choreography you can dance of theirs?” She asked, making you smile at her. While the crowd cheered, for you to show it.

“I know the key point of the dance ‘Blood, sweat and tears’ but not all of it” You shyly spoke, making Ellen put on the song. Her hands flatly pointed to the clean floor, making you stand up to step out. The song’s rhythm taking your limbs and showed the crowd how Jimin’s iconic move. Everyone was fixated at your movements, while not a single fail was made.

After finishing off the dance, with a light bow. Ellen thanked you again, for joining her show. A ‘follow’ on Twitter, and the crowd clapping at your exit. One of your teenage dreams has been fulfilled and nothing else could overcome that.

“Hyung! Look, Y/S/N is mentioning you on the Ellen show!” Jungkook spoke, as he handed his phone to Namjoon. Putting away his pen, and scrambled paper he took the phone to see a Youtube video. A on-the-rise star that he had been mentioning to the boys, was now talking about him. Your angelic voice, that would make his knees weak and even, give inspiration to write more songs. Your wish of collaborating for a song, made Namjoon wonder. After finishing your video, he was calling his manager. A serious talk, about the US tour and ideas were on display. The boys were curious, what the leader had in mind.

Reading the tweet over and over again, you jumped upon your couch. After a few days of being on the Ellen show, you had no idea this would ever happen. Namjoon, had tweeted to you. With your shaking hands, you called your manager to bring the news. Barely getting a correct word out, your manager liked the idea and set the deal in motion. Only an hour later, he called back to make sure, that Rapmonster was ready in three hours to talk about the song. The joy of your scream, almost made your manager’s ear deaf. The excitement and opportunity to meet your celebrity crush, was too surreal.

“What am I going to wear?!” You screamed, after hanging up on the phone. You had two hours, of getting ready and find the perfect clothes. After trying on thousands of different clothes, you went the casual way. A white blouse, with black jeans and converse. The two hours flew away, as your phone started ringing again. The manager was just outside your apartment, waiting for you two get down.

The ride towards the studio, made your heart beat faster and a hint of dizziness filled your body. You were still overwhelmed of the news and in just a few minutes, you would be sitting near Kim Namjoon, talking about a song. Your hands were sweaty, as you saw the building come to view. Breathing in and out, you hoped it wasn’t noticeable of your nervousness.

Stepping into the office room, you were met with a male. He wasn’t Namjoon, but he approached you with a smile and handshake. After talking for a bit, his English wasn’t the best. The man explained how long they had in the US and what they had in mind, doing the collaboration. The managers went together, fixing the papers while you walked further inside.

Met by another familiar man, who was seated at the table. His eyes fixated on his phone, as he tapped away. Namjoon, was right there in front of you. Your breath taking away, seeing his fashion clothes shine. His plump lips, that you thought was so full it was unbelievable. He didn’t seem to have noticed you, but you didn’t mind, as you tried to calm your nerves. His leg was shaking, making his foot tap along the floor.

“Maybe he is nervous too?” You wondered, feeling your heart fall to a normal beat. Coughing lightly, his face revealed itself from his phone. A familiar loving smile and stood up from the chair, approaching you with a hand.

“You must be Y/N, I have heard a lot about you” He spoke with his deep voice. His soft hand and slender fingers, made your body shiver. A clear vocabulary, making it unable for you to misunderstand. You nodded along, as you tried to calm down your nerves. Your heated cheeks were burning, as he walked back to his chair, having you to follow along on the other side.

“I was surprised to hear, that you wanted to collaborate” He spoke gently, making you smile of his words.

“I’m more surprised, that you actually contacted me…” You responded with a light smile. The two of you started talking about different genres, that would fit for your voice and his. Where you were going to post the song and what would work best, to get more publicity. His energy and imagination, was beyond the world. Inspirational, to just be around him. After talking to him for a while, you became less nervous and more comfortable. He was as you had imagined, gentle, hardworking and flawless. Even though, you had been talking for more than two hours. Your energy level, started to run low.

“What time is?” He questioned, looking with his brown orbs at you. You wiggled your phone out, to see the clocked displayed.

“It’s about noon, why?” You responded, putting your phone away again. His fingers tabbing on the table, as he bit onto his bottom lip.

“The managers aren’t going to be back for a while…” He trailed off, making you raise an eyebrow at him. A light smile plastered on his face, as he hummed for a response came out of him.

“What do you think about Lunch? Got to get more energy and I saw a restaurant not too far away and I would like to get to know you more…” He requested, rubbing the back of his neck. Unsure, what you would think about him. Maybe, he thought it was all about work, but he was flattered seeing your cheeks turn red.

“S-Sure! I would like something to eat” You chuckled a response, making him exhale softly. Walking together, you chose a restaurant, where privacy was a big hit. Sitting across from him, you never knew how lucky you were. You just hoped, this wouldn’t be the last time you heard from him.

“By the way, should we exchange phone numbers? I’m not certain that we will finish the song today, so it would be nice to have a hold on you for the upcoming days” He requested shyly, as you nodded. Your eyes felt like crying, feeling the joy in your stomach.

After exchanging numbers, you felt like a princess around him. Hearing of his goals and telling your own, coming to a close that you weren’t so different from each other. Even though, his voice made your mind go blank. His face dragged you back from heaven, feeling blessed of his existence. The managers found you at the restaurant, telling about their plans for the collaboration. Namjoon had to attend another schedule, but they would make sure to follow up on the song. There was an urge to hug him, but you knew it was too soon. Maybe he thought, you were crazy if you did. So, a handshake, took place instead. Going separate ways, you went back to the studio with your manager. After getting scolded for leaving, you felt bad about it, until you saw message light on your phone screen.

Already now, you were excited to meet him again.

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Dreamcatcher - Chapters 12 & 13

Prologue & Chapter one Chapters 2&3 Chapters 4&5 Chapters 6&7

Chapters 8&9 Chapters 10&11

Cleveland Ohio May 4th 4:59pm

Scully attempted to negotiate the mid- afternoon traffic, weaving the rental car through the Downtown Ohio streets with one hand, even as she used the other to press the cel phone to her ear.

"C'mon Mulder....pick up the damn phone...."

She waited a few seconds until the clipped, correct tones of the cel-net computer generated operator began to ring annoyingly in her ear.

I'm sorry, the cellular customer you are trying to reach...

Shit.

Either he had switched off the phone in deference to the rigid hospital rules - rules which they both tended to disregard - or he had simply left his phone in the motel this morning.

Knowing her partner like she did, Scully would have bet money on the latter. But this knowledge did little to soothe her. She didn't like being out of contact with him, even for a couple of hours and especially not now, not when she was still trying to process the information given to her.

After the initial shock had worn off, she had hastily exited the Diner in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Mulder before he headed off to the Hospital. But, as good as his word, he was nowhere to be found and since Scully had the keys to the rental, she could only surmise that he had snagged a cab.

Her first point of call though, had not been the hospital.

Instead, she had driven the short distance across to the Coroner's office and picked up the print- outs of the Tox screen. Partly because she needed to see the evidence in black and white, but also partly so that she could better explain to Mulder what exactly they meant.

Which incidentally, was a joke in itself since even she wasn't sure what that might be.

The anger she had felt towards her partner had quickly dissipated. She wasn't exactly sure even where it had come from. It had risen up inside of her, unbidden and totally beyond her control. She had no right to take out her bad temper on him. he didn't deserve it, especially in light of the fact that she knew that his every action that day had been based on his concern for her.

He had done nothing more for her, than, given the exact same set of circumstances, she would have done for him.

And how had she repaid him?

Certainly not with even a semblance of gratitude that he actually cared enough to bother.

Instead, she had taken the anger she had felt towards herself, and turned it squarely around so as to direct it at him.

Maybe it was easier to do that than to admit how she was really feeling – that the day had been a hard one.

The headache had remained with her, pounding at her skull, making rational thought difficult at best.

And she was tired.

God she was so tired.

She wanted nothing more right now than to return to the motel. To sink her aching head in to the softness of the pillows. To close her eyes and let herself drift in to nothingness for a few hours.

And suddenly, the vaguest recollection of Mulder's arms around her. Feeling his warmth as he curled his body around hers. Whispering in to her hair, soothing her with his words, with his touch. Calming her in ways only he could.

Don't leave me Mulder

She had tried to remember the nightmare of the previous night. Tried so damn hard to sift through the mist that seemed to fill her head. Searching for answers to questions she wasn't even fully aware of asking. But the memory had remained elusive.

Just the feeling of his hands tracing slow circles on her back as she shook in his arms. The sound of his voice. His words. His beautiful, calming words which allowed her to relax into sleep again.

I'll never leave you Scully..

Scully blinked rapidly, to dispel the sudden prickling behind her eyes, not really noticing as her hold on the steering wheel tightened, whitening her knuckles as she fought to keep control.

Not even consciously aware that the darkness was lurking.

Ready to consume her.

XXXX

St Mary's Hospital

It took a while for Scully to locate her partner.

The small Hospital was, if anything, even busier than it had been the previous night and she had to almost shout to make herself heard above the din.

Eventually though, the admitting nurse had found the time to search her records and direct her up to the third floor.

To Gina Robiks room.

Scully had escaped in to the elevator gratefully, watching as the doors slid shut on the chaos that seemed to permanently reign within the building's crowded ER. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't bother her. Working alongside Mulder for six years had taught her all about chaos, but today her aching head just couldn't handle it.

She found him seated in one of the hard plastic chairs that graced the corridor outside the girl’s room.

Head resting in his hands, he seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in the floor beneath his feet and for a second she paused, struck suddenly by the sight of him.

He appeared lost.

Defeated somehow.

Shaking off the thought that she might have in part contributed to this, she made her way along the corridor towards him. Long before she drew level though, he raised his head in her direction and Scully realised with a certain sense of wonderment that he could recognise her simply by listening to the sound of her footsteps. It shouldn't have surprised her she supposed. It was a skill she had acquired long ago with regards to him.

Had she ever in her life known anyone the way she knew him?

"Hey."

He straightened up, offering her a gentle smile that brightened his whole face.

He was pleased to see her at least.

During the drive over here, Scully had wrestled with the fear that he would be angry with her. Would hold what she’d said at the Diner against her somehow.

But she realised her fears had been groundless.

Mulder never held grudges. Already he would have analysed her actions. Broken them down in to easily understandable segments. Made allowances for her. Forgiven her. Their friendship was far too precious to him for her to expect anything less.

He shifted over slightly and inclined his head to the unoccupied chair beside him. It's surface littered with a few discarded sunflower seed husks that had somehow escaped the small, neat pile that adorned his own chair arm.

Scully couldn't help a smile.

Obviously, her partner had been engaged in some pretty serious thinking.

"You okay?"

That question again.

His deep hazel eyes searching her face, brows drawn together slightly as he voiced his concern for her once more.

Scully cleared her throat.

"I'm fine. I'm......I'm sorry about earlier..."

Mulder shrugged, careful not to make much of the fact that hearing that simple admission from her had the ability to make his heart contract painfully. He didn't need her apologies. He just wanted her to level with him, to tell him the truth about what was going on with her.

In the space of twenty-four hours Dana Scully had frightened him badly.

Not once, but twice.

And seeing her standing before him now did little to lessen the fear.

Quite apart from the fact that something obviously troubling her deeply, she looked exhausted to the point of collapse.

Her delicate features seemed pinched somehow, the skin that covered her face stretched too tightly as she attempted to return his smile. Even beneath the make-up, Mulder could see how pale she was. The dark circles were back. Her luminous blue eyes ringed by dark shadows that seemed to consume her whole face, stealing her usual vibrancy.

And if he was reading her right, he was pretty sure that she had been crying.

Recently.

Why can't you trust me Scully? Why is it always so hard with us?

She sat beside him wearily, and for the first time, he noticed the manila file she held loosely in her hand.

He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

Tired or not, she was immediately all business.

"I got the results of the Tox screen back. They called through just after you left....."

But then she trailed off, eyes fixed far in to the distance and Mulder finally reached out and took the file from her when he realised she wasn't about to continue. That she had drifted away.

And the worry was back.

Digging at him like a thousand needle points.

"Scully?...." he prompted softly, laying a hand briefly on her arm.

She jumped visibly at his touch, and he immediately backed off. Watching as she snapped back in to herself.

And Mulders eyes widened as he finally made the connection.

Jesus, she's afraid

Afraid of what though?

Before he could even open his mouth to speak she reached across and retrieved the folder from him. Opening it up and running her finger down the page, stopping finally on a group of words and numbers that might have well have been written in Swahili for all the sense they made to Mulder.

"I don't understand Scully. What am I looking at here?"

She didn't look at him, just kept her gaze riveted on the string of technical jargon as though the answers might jump right off the page at her.

"I can't even begin to explain it Mulder. It makes no sense, but what you're looking at here are individual enzymes used for the breakdown of cellular material......"

"What?"

Mulder's mouth dropped open at her words, feeling the gears beginning to turn in his head....

"What are you saying Scully? That this is......is...."

Scully raised her head once again, confusion evident on her face.

"It's venom Mulder. Secreted orally by spiders. Injected in to their prey. It softens the tissues, liquefies them. It also contains a kind of anaesthetic, to immobilise so that the spider can do its work without fear of harm........just like Caitlin Stevens described."

Mulder actually felt his stomach, complete with recently ingested contents do a slow, languid somersault inside his body as Scully's explanation hit home.

Hearing about this stuff from a frightened six year old was one thing.

Coming from the mouth of his scientifically minded partner was something else all together.

"Oh my God." he finally managed.

He was saved from having to articulate further by the door to the left of him opening suddenly, a nurse stepping across the threshold to bestow a smile on him that was way too dazzling for the moment.

"Agent Mulder? You can come in now."

She gestured in side, and Mulder immediately sprang to his feet.

Spider venom?

He pushed the questions that were burning inside of him to the back of his mind, arranging his expression in to one of practised neutrality. This wasn't the time or the place. He didn't think that the waiting parents of Gina Robik would appreciate him discussing this right now.

He entered the room quietly, feeling rather than seeing Scully follow him to stand close to his side.

The room seemed sparse somehow.

A single bed taking up most of the floor space. No monitors, no respirator to jostle for position beside it. Just a single bed containing the still form of an eight year old little girl, who looked for all the world as though she were simply sleeping.

The only piece of medical equipment that Mulder could see was the IV line that snaked from its stand, coiling slightly across the covers until it disappeared in to the soft skin at the back of Gina's hand.

Feeding her as she slept.

Two sets of worried eyes fastened on him as he entered the room.

Gina's parents.

Both displaying that same haunted look he had seen a thousand times before. The look of two people tying desperately to hold on to even the smallest thread of hope.

He extended his hand.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder. My partner Dana Scully. Thank you for agreeing to see us....."

The woman shook her head slightly, disregarding him immediately, and riveting her gaze back on her daughter.

"How is she?" He queried.

"No change...."

The woman's voice cracked slightly as she voiced the words and Mulder was uncomfortably aware of the tears that spilled from her half closed eyes and tracked down her face in a steady, silent stream.

He felt awkward, as though he were an interloper, his presence unwanted, unwarranted.

"I appreciate this is a difficult time for you." he ventured gently "But we need to ask you a few questions......would you prefer if we went somewh.."

"We're staying right here."

Gina's father cut him off abruptly and Mulder recognised the barely suppressed anger churning beneath the surface.

"We should never have agreed to her going to that damn place in the beginning"

Mulder didn't respond.

He knew that he wasn't expected to.

Instead, he pulled a chair close to the two distraught figures before him. Scully remained standing, her gaze riveted on the bed where Gina lay, the sound of her partner's voice barely even registering as he began to softly question the child's parents.

And then, the voice faded out altogether, to be replaced with a whispering stillness that dipped and swirled inside Scully's head.

She took a step forward. Listening intently all the while as the whispering became clearer, more pronounced.

Come closer

Another step.

Hands clenched into fists, a part of her, the rational part attempted to deny the voice. But it was too strong.

The sound of a child.

Calling out to her.

Come closer Dana. Come see.

From across the room, Mulder frowned as he watched his partner's face go alarmingly blank, hardly listening to the response of the Robik parents to his question.

His attention was riveted on Scully as she took a hesitant step towards the bed, her head cocked slightly to the side, as though she were trying to figure out a particularly perplexing problem.

Her hands were tightly clenched into fists at the end of arms that hung limply at her sides.

Time seemed to stand still as he watched the drama unfolding before him, even now unsure as to what he was seeing.

And all the while, Dana Scully drifted.

She was no longer aware of her surroundings.

The rooms' contours had blurred together, getting lost in her peripheral vision until they ceased to exist altogether.

Leaving only the child before her.

Innocent. Peaceful. Serene.

Nestled snugly beneath a canopy of fine spun lace that shimmered and sparkled in the strange half light, Gina Robik slept. Wrapped in dreams, she sighed contentedly in her sleep.

Scully smiled at this vision before her.

Drinking in the beauty of the child.

Rich ebony hair, spread across a pillow of ivory silk, wafting gently in the sweet breeze that kept her comfortable as she slumbered. Pink rosebud lips parted gently in a smile of absolute tranquillity.

A scene so breathtakingly perfect that Scully couldn't help but stroke a finger along the smooth porcelain of the little girls flushed cheeks........

"What the hell is she doing?"

Michael Robik sprang to his feet the instant Scully reached out to his daughter and the spell was broken. Shattered in to a thousand pieces as Scully jerked back abruptly.

Mulder followed Robik a split second later, catching a hold of the smaller man's arm even as he took a step towards Scully.

"Wait." He ordered forcibly.

Scully blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her eyes were wide, and what little colour she had drained out of her face.

To Mulder it seemed like this moment of realisation was frozen in time as a sudden terrible clarity flooded her features and she took a stumbling step backwards, seeking escape from a horror only she understood.

She brought a closed fist up to her mouth, pressing against it as though biting back a scream. Her breathing was harsh, laboured, reverberating around the sterile surfaces and to Mulders mind at least, blocking everything else out. She remained there for long seconds, until, just as Mulder was about to go to her, she uttered an anguished cry and fled the room.

Ignoring the incredulous stares of the Robiks, Mulder followed.

"Scully!.....Wait!"

He caught up with her easily. She seemed disorientated somehow, frowning heavily, as though trying to place him in her thoughts.

Mulder took a hold of her upper arms, forcing her to look at him, heart sinking as he felt her limbs trembling beneath him, hardly lessening as she slowly came back to him.

The returning was painful for her though. The tears that pooled in her eyes told him as much. Unable to speak, she just shook her head from side to side, an expression of absolute wretchedness obscuring every other emotion from him, and Mulder felt something inside of him turn to stone.

"Scully. It's okay........"

The tears spilled to run unchecked. A salty river that seemed to have no end, they collected in droplets at the edge of her fixed jaw line to drip on to the fabric of her tailored suit.

Oh God Scully, what? What is it? Please......

"Mulder......"

Again, that same whispered voice he had heard before, almost hidden behind the hitching sobs that tore at her throat.....

"Please Mulder. Take me out of here....."

XXXXX

Chapter Thirteen

Eeazy Sleep Motel Cleveland, Ohio May 4th 6:01pm

She hadn't spoken.

Not one word since they had left the hospital.

Ignoring the curious stares of the medical personnel, Mulder had placed an arm protectively around her shaking shoulders, steering her toward the hospital's exit and the parking lot beyond.

She had stood, shivering slightly beside the car as she waited for him to unlock the doors, not resisting when he ushered her gently inside. Just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the smooth coolness of the side window.

Take me out of here

Mulder had complied, breaking several speed limits as he wove the rental through the rush hour traffic. Occasionally he rested one hand protectively against his partner's shoulder, partly to protect her from being jarred or shaken by the vehicle's momentum, but also by a need to touch her. To let her know he was with her.

She remained silent.

Unmoving.

Unresponsive to his touch.

Retreating inside herself as she stared sightlessly through the passenger door window.

If he lived to be a hundred, Mulder would never forget that look he had seen in her eyes when she had hovered over Gina Robik.

Such horror.

Such hopelessness.

Take me out of here.

Blinking back the image, Mulder concentrated on the road ahead.

Whatever Scully has seen or experienced back at that Hospital, she was in no shape to talk about it now. That would come later.

Right now he had to make things okay for her again.

Nothing else mattered to him.

By some small miracle, he managed to get them back to the motel in one piece, allowing the car to roll to a gentle halt in front of their twin rooms. He turned the key slowly in the ignition, quieting the engine, letting the silence wash over them for a few seconds before he reached over and placed two fingers underneath Scully's chin, drawing her head around so that she faced him.

"Let's get you inside."

He was rewarded when she nodded numbly, her shaking hands fumbling for the seat belt release. Mulder cringed as he watched those normally dexterous fingers failing hopelessly with the task, until finally, he covered both her small hands with his larger one, and released the clasp without difficulty.

Her eyes filled with tears again.

"Mulder, what's happening to me?"

Her voice shook tremulously, seeking answers from him that he couldn't possibly hope to give her, and Mulder could do little more than to trace his thumb down the side of her face, pausing to push a strand of hair behind ear. It was the only vibrant thing about her.

"It's OK, Scully. We're gonna figure this thing out. You and me. Together."

She shook her head slightly.

"No...but..."

"Yes. But first we have to get you inside okay? Just...just let me take care of you."

Looking into the depths of his chameleon eyes, turned almost black with the intensity of his words, Scully had felt just the smallest measure of calm return to her.

And, through the layers of confusion and fear, she grasped onto the feeling with both hands, allowing it build inside of her, settling in her stomach. Chasing away the darkness that lingered, replacing it with the hope that somehow, some way, he could help her to make everything right again.

XXXX

As good as his word, Mulder had not yet mentioned the events that had transpired earlier. He had simply focused himself on delivering what he had promised. He had taken care of her.

Leading her by the hand as one might lead a small child, he had crossed the room and entered the small, compact bathroom.

She had been shaking still, her skin ice cold beneath his touch and although he was no doctor, Mulder was pretty sure that she was suffering from a mild case of shock. He needed to start by warming her up. His options were pretty much limited, and the bathtub seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was either that, or simply wrap her in blankets, holding her against him, transferring his own heat to her.

But he sensed she needed this time. Time to relax her mind and body beneath the soothing caress of the water.

So he had remained in the room only for as long as it had taken for him to fill the tub, carefully mixing hot and cold until the temperature was just right. Warm enough to take the lingering chill from her body, but not so hot that it would burn.

And all the while she had watched him, never taking her eyes off him for a second as she leaned against the tiled wall, trying desperately to communicate a kind of silent gratitude which stubborn pride prevented her from voicing.

But Mulder had known. He didn't need her to speak. Words weren't necessary.

Finally, he had stepped up close to her, searching her face intently, satisfied in some small way by what he saw there. He gestured toward the bathtub, now three quarters full and emitting spirals of heat- filled steam that rapidly turned to condensation as it hit the tiled surface of the walls. "Take as long as you need. I'll be right outside."

And then he was gone. Leaving Scully staring after him, breathing in the lingering scent he left in his wake. A combination of spicy cologne, sweat and that unique male muskiness that was Mulder. In all the years they had spent together, that scent represented only one thing to her.

Safety.

She noticed that he had left the door slightly ajar, and under normal circumstances she might have closed it.

But right now she needed to feel his presence.

Needed to know he was close.

Don't leave me, Mulder.

I'll never leave you, Scully.

She needed him.

Maybe now it was time to finally acknowledge to herself just how much.

Sighing heavily, feeling exhausted suddenly, Scully undressed quickly and stepped into the sweet-smelling water, allowing it to close over her as it worked its magic, sinking deeper and deeper until it covered her completely.

On the other side of the door, Mulder remained in the centre of the room, listening intently for any signs that his partner might be in distress. He relaxed, though, when the sounds of the water lapping against the sides of the tub reached him. He didn't expect her to surface anytime soon, so he occupied himself by preparing the small room for her.

First, he loosened the covers on the bed, pulling them down about a quarter of the way and folding them over. She was exhausted, she needed to sleep. Maybe when she was rested, they could begin to get to the bottom of this. To figure out just what it was that was happening, to understand why this was happening to her.

He didn't profess to have any insight into all of this, but as he had watched the way she had acted in that hospital room, a niggling voice had begun to speak to him. And while he didn't want to acknowledge it fully, he was becoming more and more convinced that somehow, inexplicably, Scully might well hold the key in to figuring out what had happened to those girls.

He shook his head, not wanting to linger on this numbing prospect right now and instead turned his attention to the rest of the room.

The sunlight still streamed through the open drapes, the beams cutting a swath through the gloom. Bright enough for the dust motes that danced inside them to be clearly visible.

It was too bright.

He crossed over to the drapes and drew them together tightly. Satisfied when the light disappeared, he switched on a single lamp, watching as the room became suffused in its warm glow.

In this false twilight of his own making, Mulder moved softly, his feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor beneath them. He frowned as he reached the small, squat refrigerator to the side of the chipped wooden desk, unsure suddenly as to whether he was doing the right thing.

Neither he nor Scully drank regularly. On the very rare occasions when they had chosen to dine at a nicer restaurant when on a case, she had normally stuck to white wine spritzers, Mulder to bottled, imported beer. He couldn't recall a time when she had ever indulged herself in anything stronger.

But, even she, with all her stubborn determination, couldn't possibly deny that these weren't normal circumstances, so Mulder shook off any lingering reservations and removed two tiny bottles of brandy from the mini bar. No doubt the tight-assed bureaucrats back in Washington would have something to say when they received his latest batch of expense reports.

Mulder shrugged.

Screw 'em.

He'd long ago stopped worrying about what they thought of him anyway.

He set the two bottles down on the desk, allowing them to slowly reach room temperature, forcing himself to finally sit down on the edge of the sofa.

Waiting.

Determined not to give in to his concern and call out to her. She'd come out when she was ready.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long. No more than a half hour had elapsed before he recognized the sounds of water swirling around the drain as the tub emptied. Five minutes later Scully emerged, clad in a pair of emerald flannel pyjamas he had never seen before. A towel lay across her shoulders to catch the droplets of water that hung off her recently washed hair and although she still looked drawn, Mulder was at least heartened to see the small spots of colour that had returned to grace her cheeks.

She paused in the centre of the room, eyes downcast, as though she were ashamed somehow.

Mulder felt his chest tighten at the sight of her. She looked so tiny, so fragile and more lost than he had ever seen her.

"I'm...I'm sorry Mulder."

He was on his feet in a second, reaching her in two short strides. She cringed slightly, but didn't seek to escape him. Not this time. She allowed him to cup her chin in his hand, lifting her head in answer to the gentle pressure, feeling the feather-light touch as his thumb caressed her smooth skin softly.

"Don't be. Not with me. Never with me, Scully."

He traced his hand down her neck, along her shoulder and beyond, until it rested against the small of her back.

"C'mon. You need to keep warm."

Scully resisted him slightly. The feel of his touch was comforting, and she didn't want to break the connection just yet

As if reading her mind, Mulder led her gently to the sofa, leaving her standing for a second as he reached behind her to retrieve the soft woollen blanket he had placed there earlier.

"Here."

With infinite tenderness, he carefully brought the material around her, wrapping her in its heavy warmth, before removing the towel from around her neck. His movements were so quiet, so measured, that Scully could have cried. Instead, she felt a tremulous smile wash over her lips as he took her hand in his, drawing her down on the sofa to rest her body against his.

And then, the feeling of him twisting away from her slightly as he stretched his arm out, picking up the glass into which he had recently poured the small shot of brandy.

"I want you to drink this."

Scully took the glass from him and regarded its contents dubiously.

"Mulder, I..."

The words died on her lips as she felt his fingers in her hair, combing patiently as he freed the tangles caused by her recent bath. A singularly intimate gesture that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Sshhhh, Scully. It's okay. Just drink it."

Closing her eyes, she obeyed, melting herself against him as the alcohol cut a fiery trail down her throat before settling pleasantly in her stomach. She sighed as she felt herself relax, the tension leaving her body, until there was nothing.

Just Mulders hands.

And the feel of his breath on the back of her neck as he worked on her hair.

Scully drifted.

"You hungry?"

His voice reached her from far away, invading that wonderful place that lies somewhere between awake and asleep.

She shook her head slightly, unable to summon up the energy to even open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy, exhaustion stealing even this most basic reflex from her. And even as she succumbed to sleep, she felt Mulder loosen the empty glass from her hand, removing it from her as he buried his face in the sweet smelling softness of her hair.

"It's okay.” He whispered softly. “Go to sleep."

She felt his arms tighten around her, drawing her closer, cocooning her in his embrace; allowing her finally, to fall into nothingness. Her last conscious thought one of safety.

Of protection.

XXXXX

Dreamcatcher May 4th 7:17pm

It was dazzling. A light so bright that Scully could still see the glare even after she slammed her eyes closed, and with the light came pain.

Pain so intense that she couldn't help but cry out.

It radiated from deep within her, an all encompassing, dreadful pain.

She felt her legs folding beneath her and she began to fall, through the light, tumbling endlessly toward nothingness as she finally blacked out.

And then, later, the feel of a hand in her hair, stroking softly, bringing her back to alertness.

Mulder?

She dismissed the thought.

No, not Mulder.

But if not Mulder, then who?

"Dana?"

Scully struggled to open her eyes in response to the voice, fighting against the urge to just sink back into peaceful oblivion. Every muscle, every bone, every fibre of her being ached and she was terribly afraid that to wake up completely would just serve to intensify the pain.

"Dana..."

That voice again.

Louder this time.

More insistent.

Scully groaned softly, knowing that she couldn't hope to ignore it for very much longer, and almost against her will she felt her eyes flutter open, struggling to focus on the child's face that hovered above her.

"It hurts," she whispered.

Felicia smiled gently as she once more began to run her small hand up and down Scully's hair. Stroking softly, calming.

"It's okay. It always hurts the first time. It goes away," she said matter-of-factly.

Scully struggled up in to a sitting position.

"The first time?"

Felicia shrugged.

"The first time you have to find your way here by yourself. I can only help you to come here once. Then you have to do it by yourself. It gets easier, though. You just have to stop fighting it."

She watched as Scully stretched out her limbs, knowing that the pain was abating.

A little at least.

In a few minutes, it would disappear completely.

"I don't understand. Where am I? How did I get here?"

Scully finally allowed herself to look around, to take in her surroundings.

Green grass beneath a canopy of giant redwoods so tall that she became sickeningly dizzy when she tilted her face upward to better appreciate them. It was cool here, the trees effectively blocking out the sunshine that she was sure lay beyond. The coolness was welcome, and she let it wash over her.

Fliss cocked her head on one side, frowning slightly as she did so.

"Don't you know? Even after last time?"

Scully began to shake her head, but almost immediately realization hit.

"The Dreamcatcher?" she whispered, her words almost swallowed up by the gentle rustling of the leaves above her. "But that was a dream...a nightmare..."

In response to her words, Fliss's expression darkened suddenly, and Scully had to fight the urge to physically recoil from the child.

"You think all this..."

The girl waved her arm in a wide curving arc as her voice rose in pitch.

"You think all this is a dream? Conjured up by your subconscious? I thought you were smarter than that. Smarter than the others. I thought you would be the one who could help us."

The child stopped suddenly, her body stiffening, a study in absolute unwavering stillness, and Scully's heart began to beat painfully against her chest. Something in the girl's expression chilled her to the very core, and inexplicable as it might be her every instinct screamed out at her to simply scramble to her feet and run far away from this place.

But she found she couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe as she watched the colour drain from Fliss's face.

It was all she could do to reach out a shaking hand and wrap her fingers around the girl's slender arm.

The skin was ice cold.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Fliss snatched her arm out of Scully's grasp, finding her voice at last as she bolted to her feet.

"We have to go. He's coming."

Scully just stared at her dumbly.

"What?"

It's getting darker. Why is it getting darker?

She was hardly conscious of the thought. Focused as she was on the terrified child before her, Scully had barely noticed the lengthening shadows that crept toward them, consuming everything in their path, obliterating shape and form as it ate into the safety of the light.

Fliss, though, had noticed and realization flooded her features as she reached down and roughly hauled Scully to a standing position, oblivious of the woman's shriek of pain as her protesting muscles cramped suddenly and painfully.

"Run, Dana! We have to run."

Scully took an uncertain, faltering step in response to the insistent tugging, but the pain was too great and she sank once more to the ground, almost bringing Fliss down with her. Tears poured down the child's face as her face twisted into a grotesque mask of terror and pain.

"GET UP!! PLEASE GET UP!!"

She began to tug once again at Scully's arm, as though sheer will power alone could get her on her feet and moving again. But Scully just shook her head numbly.

"I can't."

"YOU HAVE TO!!! PLEASE TRY. PLEASE.....”

Scully slammed her eyes closed in an attempt to block out the sound of the shrieking child, a child who suddenly seemed so much younger than she had previously.

A voice from another time, another place.

Emily?

And suddenly, the voice was gone. It was replaced with an eerie silence, an inexplicable sense of calm as the darkness closed in.

Slowly, tentatively, Scully opened her eyes. The action, though, was futile, consumed as she was by an inky blackness so intense that she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. As though to affirm that she was even here at all she brought her hand closer, starting slightly as her probing fingertips made sudden contact with the soft skin of her own cheek.

She wasn't even aware of whether she was still sitting in a crumpled heap on the ground. She could feel absolutely nothing; it was as though she were suspended in a space that stretched to infinity.

And then she heard it. A faint buzzing sound, a sound that got closer and closer even as she strained to identify it. With the buzzing came a series of vibrations, the feeling travelling through her body as though she herself were a conductor for this strange phenomenon.

She began to shake as the vibrations intensified, and felt the fillings in her back teeth begin to rattle in answer to the unearthly motion around her.

This is not happening. I need to wake up now.

She let out a long, shaky breath as the vibration suddenly ceased. She closed her eyes once again in an attempt to gain some control of her shaking limbs, and then the world seemed to stand still as she felt it.

Hot, fetid breath on her neck.

Hot enough to burn almost.

For a split second she was frozen by the sheer terror that hammered at her, and then the spell was broken as she whirled to confront this unknown assailant. Her outstretched hands made sudden contact with a warm, slightly textured surface.

Leather?

But she hardly had time to register the thought before the pain hit her. Radiating from the tips of her fingers, it obliterated lateral thought, a burning, agonizing hurt that forced bile to rise in the back of her throat.

Dimly she was conscious of a wailing, agonized, scream. The sound bounced around her to be swallowed up in the darkness, growing fainter and fainter as the pain consumed her.

She vaguely felt the iron grip that suddenly wrapped itself around her, and even as she screamed, she fought against it with every ounce of energy she possessed, striking out blindly, feeling her fingernails sinking into soft, pliant flesh.

The grip on her loosened marginally, and she scrambled backwards, tumbling sideways in her haste to escape. Her head connected solidly with a hard, unyielding surface, the shock of which was enough to prompt her eyes to fly open.

The darkness was gone. It was replaced with a soft orange light that framed the bruised and bloody face of her partner as he stared uncomprehendingly down at her from his position on the sofa.

"Scully?"

He didn't seem to be aware of the blood that trickled from the long ragged rent that stretched from the corner of his eye to halfway down his cheekbone. His focus was directed solely on the woman before him. Watching her carefully, searching for signs that she was awake, that she was back in control.

Scully couldn't speak. Didn't trust herself to open her mouth without screaming again, and instead settled on nodding slightly. But as she reached out to him, partly seeking comfort, partly in a silent apology, as his eyes widened in horror.

"Jesus Christ, Scully!"

Scully frowned up at him, her mind still fuzzy, refusing to process thought into action. Eventually though, she managed to force the word out.

"What?"

Mulder shuddered, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

"Your hand. What the hell happened to your hand?"

And then she saw what he saw.

The soft, white skin. Now red and angry.

Covered in a blanket of fluid-filled blisters that distorted the delicate shape of her tapered fingers.

And the pain returned with a ferocity that took her breath away.

Continued chapter fourteen

#Dreamcatcher my fic

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