#in the maze-like area that explodes if you step in the wrong place

[lonelycrystalzz]

Friendly reminder that if you're playing Steelsoul mode, don't play around in Fog Canyon. Just look for Monomon and leave immediatelly

Please don't make the same mistake i did, it's not worth it

[Image Description: A "broken" hollow knight Steelsoul save. in Steelsoul mode, the file deletes itself after the player dies and makes the save inacessible. the save shows a text written "defeated" in the right (in the image it's displayed in portuguese as "derrotado")]

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- FLESH, BLOOD, AND BONE

Remus watched Harry's shoulders heave with pity as James immediately dispelled the mess and Sirius' mind was clearly scrambling to say something, Remus offered, "Jeez Harry, if you were that upset about tying, you should have just sent up sparks the moment you stepped through. Saved yourself the whole last task."*

Harry tried to explain around a shaking jaw that he swears he wasn't having a go at his memories, even as he tried to get out every last thick layer of emotion he'd been forced to feel in such a small span of one moment where he'd touched that Cup. Happiness for winning for his school, peace with his decision of what he and Cedric had done, all combined with his knowledge of the unknown on how this was going to end. He couldn't put any of this into an intelligible sentence, and instead was left a babbling mess until his mother took over.

In one motion Lily forced Sirius to move so that she could be next to him while he was so clearly distraught, and then wrapped a protective arm over his shoulders, humming a lullaby in his ears as the first bit of distraction she could think of. It's what she enjoyed doing to put her infant down to bed, and though Harry had no memory of the song, the sound alone seemed to give him some sense of relief.

She stayed like that even as he went back to a heavy silence, still torn between now and whatever cruelty his mind was locked in with those memories he couldn't access, and silently convinced James to go on.

He in no way wanted to, for the first time he just could not believe this was going to get better. Not after what had happened last year with Sirius and that traitor, James just couldn't believe anymore this was all going to come out a win, not with the traumatic way his son was reacting. Yet what would happen if they stopped now? Could they ever even leave this place without Harry getting back his full memories and telling them what was going on? Besides, Harry should be getting put back at the beginning of the maze. They'd all instantly recognized the description of a portkey, and though it seemed stupid to put that kind of spell on something to take them back to the beginning instead of just releasing a spell to make the maze drop away, the point still stood that Harry would be back surrounded by the teachers and Dumbledore. At least for the first few moments he hoped his son would find just a moment of peace before whatever happened began, so James plucked the book up and found his spot, forcing out words past a raw throat.

    The two slammed to the ground with such force the Triwizard Cup fell a few feet farther away. Cedric rose first, asking where they were.

"What do you mean?" Sirius demanded at once. He knew he should have sat back down next to Remus already, but he felt useless just sitting on his hind while Harry was going through such an experience, so he was left bouncing in place like he was on a broken trampoline. "You should have just been sent back to the beginning of the maze, right?"

Harry didn't answer, he still had his eyes closed as he was leaning against Lily, like even now he was trying to deny whatever was fixing to happen.

Cedric helped Harry to his one good leg as well while the two investigated the area, which was nowhere near Hogwarts as far as they could tell.

James was trying to deny to himself how panicky his voice was already coming out. Surely they were exaggerating how bad this was, but even to himself that wasn't feeling right. Not with how Harry seemed to be reliving his worst memory yet, and had been since the start of this task. It had to be because of this place, wherever they even bleeding were!

Remus was clearly thinking the same thing as he hissed mostly to himself, "Just where the bloody hell did that stupid Cup send you? Why was there a Portkey on it at all? It should have just activated some enchantments to make the maze fade away."

"If you figure it out, let us know," Sirius grumbled when Harry flinched extra hard at these questions.

They were instead in a dark graveyard;

Harry didn't realize he was reaching for it until his mother's hand curled into his. The boys were beyond feeling panicked at this point, Harry was acting more like a scared little kid because of this place than he ever had previously. At eleven facing death against those obstacles, at twelve and being an inch away from death because of that Basilisk, he'd faced it all with a stoic sense of calm and acceptance. The only time he'd showed such clear fear and pain as he was now was for something regarding someone he cared about, like his friends...

on the outskirts of nowhere. The only thing visible was an old house on a hillside far off in the mist.

Cedric took another glance at the Cup, asking if Harry had known it was a Portkey?

Harry said no, his eyes peeled in every direction of the misty graveyard,

James voice kept failing nearly every time he got out the word graveyard, because of how badly Harry flinched beside him.

then asked if this was some part of the task?

"There's no way," Remus muttered to himself, "I can't believe you wouldn't have been forewarned about this, but then how did it get there? Whoever put the Cup in the center had to know it was a Portkey, but the only person who could have done that was, well one of the judges I presume but-"

Sirius gently cut him off by grasping hold of his shoulder. While they all wanted answers to those questions, Remus' babbling was going to drive them all mad, Harry first.

Cedric knew no more than Harry, and suggested they pull their wands back out.

"I hadn't even realized you'd put those away," Lily murmured into his ear, not scolding, but even just for a moment to point out something else.

Harry nodded mutely, giving some soft response about how they'd tucked them away just before they'd grasped the Cup, they'd had no reason to think they were needed anymore, and trailed off from there before his mouth spouted the worst of it, they needed them now more than ever.

Harry was happy it had been Cedric who suggested it,

James forced out a laugh he didn't really feel, but thought now more than ever was a perfect time to tease his son about, "you've really got to stop caring what Cedric thinks, you're twice as brave as he is at half his age."

There was a terrifying moment where a look actually flashed across Harry's face like he would have punched James for saying that, but then just as fast his face closed off. His eyes had opened now but he was staring fixedly into the fire, watching the flames lap against the logs and clearly so torn between his past and present he was only keeping himself in check by reacting to as little as possible for now.

as they did just that. Harry kept looking in every direction, that feeling again of being watched on him.

That statement finally seemed to jog something of Harry being in here, his eyes darting to his dad again, but now with clear worry. Harry somehow just knew that in a few moments time, his dad reading about whatever was fixing to come, something of the person who was watching him, was going to cut his father deep.

Harry caught the movement first, telling that someone was coming. They seemed either short, or bent over, and were shuffling into sight with too thick arms, until he realized the walker was carrying something.

Harry could feel a scream building up in him, that or vomit he wasn't sure anymore, but he was confident what it meant. A warning, they needed to get out of there, now!

The distance between them closing all the time, Harry managed to take in a few more details. The face was covered with a hood, so he still couldn't see the moving person, but now he was sure what was being carried was something in a bundle of robes, like a baby.

Sirius had the odd moment of a flashback to how Hagrid was first described appearing, but even shaking that image away it was impossible to figure out what was going on. None of this was adding up, and he just knew one thing for certain, he wanted his pup out of there before he'd even gotten there.

The figure stopped just beside a marble headstone, and for a small moment the three figures only stared at each other.

Then Harry's scar exploded with pain.

James's knee jerked in shock as he half shouted that last part, his eyes shooting fearfully to Harry and back to the book. If he'd had a bad feeling about this before, it was going haywire now. Harry was rubbing at his scar, his fingers trembling as he traced the pattern in remembrance of that. James remembered Dumbledore's words, how Harry would feel that whenever Voldemort was close by or angry...and it just didn't feel like a coincidence that this was happening now!

Harry's knees buckled, he fell to the ground with pain he'd never felt before, his fingers covering his face with agony;

Lily tightened her hold around him, and James considered passing the book along to someone else already, he felt like he was torturing his son by forcing all of this out with Harry just sitting there rather than react how it was clear he felt he needed to back how he would in that graveyard.

he was screaming in so much pain he hardly made out a high, cold voice command 'kill the spare.'

James was so worried about Harry at his side that for a moment it had hardly registered what he'd said, and then he thought his tongue had swollen to twice its size in his mouth, he just wasn't able to speak anymore. Harry was crying freely now, there was no denial anywhere on him that showed what he'd heard was in any way wrong. James just couldn't believe it though, there was no way what was being painted could actually have happened. He forced out in a state of utter denial.

The spell Avada Kedavra rang through the night, there was a flash of green light, and a thud hit down beside Harry. Through stinging eyes he forced himself to look at Cedric lying spread eagle on the ground, dead.

"No." Lily's voice came out more of an echo than an actual denial as her arms tightened so hard around Harry she was likely hurting him, but he didn't complain. Though her world was focused solely on her fourteen year old son having to witness that, in such a brutal and heartless manner, her thoughts did indeed flip just for a moment to Amos and his wife, how proud they were of their son who'd simply had his life cut from him. That could have so easily been her only child, how he wouldn't be sitting beside her now with a dark look of acceptance on his face.

Harry for his part only felt the shock of his fourteen year old mind registering what had happened, some slim denial in there as well. He was rubbing at his streaming eyes to force that away, not in shame, but determination. He'd distantly recognized for some time what his memory had been trying to warn him of, what all these protective feelings of Cedric were when in reality he'd never been close to him. Now his memory was complete and he understood those feelings, but the worst of them lingered. Cedric had been discarded for no reason that Harry could ever understand, but that wasn't the worst part of this night still. There hadn't been an excuse for this, his partner in winning this competition had only been killed because he'd been there with Harry.

James was more angry than he'd ever been in his life. The only thing that had enraged him more was finding out what had happened to Sirius, but this was almost on level with that. Those words kept ringing in his head, 'kill the spare.' Cedric had been murdered just for simply being there! He wished he was more surprised by this, but it was entirely the Death Eater way to act like this! His only other real emotion was concern, if Cedric was the spare, than Harry was indeed put there for a reason, and his hands trembled at even a guess of why that was. He didn't even chance a glance at his friends, though he had registered Sirius falling down beside Remus in shock, but James was now too muddled in his own brain to consider anything other than hearing how Harry got out of this.

For a second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's open gray eyes,

Harry couldn't stop an extra sob catching in his throat for that, not only for Cedric, but someone else with gray eyes he'd have to one day see for the last time...but the thought was so distant he didn't even realize he'd been thinking it, too focused on trying to marshal his thoughts into any kind of recognizable order other than horror.

his last frozen expression of surprise. Before Harry had even considered moving, someone was hauling him to his feet.

Lily snarled in outrage of anyone touching her Hare Bare in that moment, not a person on earth could remove her arm from where it was right now.

The short man who'd come into sight was now dragging Harry toward the headstone, and despite his struggles in the dim wand light held by the person, he was slammed against it, only just making out a name. Tom Riddle.

Remus muttered something James couldn't register. He certainly felt his own amount of shock as some part of his brain lit up on where this was, but the rest of his being went numb upon that realization. Voldemort really was there, and they were at a Riddle's gravestone, which meant the book had come full circle, and they were ending where it had begun. That bundle of blankets was the little being that had been in a high back chair this whole time... so that was-

"Here Prongs," James jolted and nearly turned Sirius into a slug as he interceded his trail of thoughts, but then his best friend did register, and he looked pissed. It was all to clear he was understanding this all just as well as James had, but where James still could hardly properly form what had become of this future, Sirius was well into another angry cycle of wanting to demolish the world, but for now settling on reading in blistering tones. At least he was more likely to get it all out without wanting to break down every five seconds with regret and pain, no Sirius was more likely to read it out with a colorful array of insults and death threats, but that was more bearable, because at least that would give them an easy focus. James passed the book along and leaned back as far as he could, then moved over until he had both Lily and Harry tight in his own arms, the only distraction that could give him peace.

The cloaked man had conjured thick cords and was keeping Harry in place as they were wrapped around every bit of him. The shallow breathing coming from the shadowed face was fast and struggling. Despite Harry's attempts to get away, he was punched with a hand that held a missing finger.

It had taken Harry a few beats longer to catch up with where everybody else was, but as the blow sank in and he pressed his hand to his face in shock and looked around him properly again, he distantly felt sorry for them all. He was still lost in the maelstrom of what had happened to Cedric, but to them someone else they'd all loved had fallen so much farther.

Lily looked disturbed, like the image of a man who'd been there the first time Harry had kicked in her womb could not be put on the same person who put a fist to his face for any reason! The boys looked monstrous, Remus more so than Harry had ever seen at his worst times. For the first time, Harry truly saw the shadow of a wolf reflect in his eyes when he heard one of his closest friends doing that. For one tiny moment Harry was convinced he'd see that look again, but Sirius was still snarling out every word as a promise of a death threat, that hand was coming off faster than his head now.

Harry realized who was under the hood, Wormtail.

Sirius couldn't use the nickname Harry had learned to associate that rat with, that would have actually broken him, that name meant too much to him. Instead he could only manage to refer to him as him. The word was used with such pure violence it wasn't hard to put it together.

Harry tried to say something, but before he could a wad of thick material was shoved into his mouth. Then his ropes were checked for any slackness, but the knots were cutting into his skin with tightness.

James was beside himself. He knew he'd never forgive what had happened, he'd betrayed him and Lily, and never for what he'd done to Sirius, but unintentionally, this whole time in the very smallest bit of his heart, he'd actually been hoping the rat would pull another switch. That little comment he'd made, there in the beginning about trying to use another other than Harry, well clearly this was what that conversation had been about, so whenever that time had come James had unbeknownst even to himself been praying to see a return of his friend, that he'd help Harry in a moment of redeemability. Now that was as dead as Cedric, another innocent person he'd rid himself of in his bid for his own protection.

Harry couldn't turn his head to see much, so he was left staring at dark mist before him, while just on the edge of his vision Cedric's body was twenty feet away.

Harry knew he should have felt betrayed at the part Wormtail was playing, and continue to blame himself for Cedric being there and now his death as well. At the time, he knew it had been his fault, if only he'd let Sirius and Remus kill him when they'd had the chance, none of this would be happening! Yet, Sirius' words still hovered enough that he didn't break down all over again, apologizing and begging forgiveness of this happening to an innocent person. Sirius didn't blame him for this happening, and that was what really mattered, it was in fact all the fault of a fallen Marauder.

Just a few feet from him, the Triwizard Cup.

Remus' mind was already forcing itself past the worst anger he'd ever felt in his life, and instead trying to come up with wild escape plans for Harry to get out of this, ironically which had been his part in their pranking schemes, their escape route. Now he was stuck on those terrible memories and couldn't process what he'd been wanting to think of regarding the Cup.

Harry's wand lay where it had fallen by Cedric, so Harry was defenseless against the smooth marble, still in pain with his scar burning against him. The swath of fabric on the ground was now twitching furiously where it had been set down, and Harry knew one thing for certain, he did not want to see what was under that bundle.

Of that they all agreed with. They'd never wanted to think of this thing existing in the first place, now it was within reaching distance of where Harry was, and all they really wanted was a large rock to squish that moving cloth before it could do even worse than it already had.

Wormtail had vanished for a time, but now he was coming back dragging the largest cauldron Harry had ever seen, which seemed to be filled with water.

In spite of the bloodlust pumping through them all, this really was odd enough to distract them back into the actual act of the story, and what the bloody hell was going on? Why hadn't Harry just been killed outright, what potion was being brewed for whatever kind of situation this was? In spite of these questions and more, they were all entirely certain they wanted no answers, and yet Sirius forced himself to keep going, the faster he finished the faster he could get to the murder he was owed.

Once it was set in place only a few feet away from where Harry was, a fire was lit beneath it, which quickly set the liquid within boiling. Not fast enough, as the cold voice commanded again to hurry.

As menacing as Sirius sounded then, even his godfather still couldn't hold a candle to the icy venom of Voldemort's voice, which Harry oddly found some comfort in. Even with the backlash of murder curling his every syllable, it was of some ease to Harry he still couldn't fear for his life in here like he had that night.

In the harsh light of the fire, Harry could pear inside the steaming bubbles, and saw the whole innards was encrusted with diamonds.

Remus cocked his head to the side as something nagged at the back of his mind, what an oddly specific cauldron.

Wormtail told his Master it was ready,

James longed for a time where he would have beheaded someone else for insinuating the friend he knew would ever have called Voldemort Master as anything more than a joke.

and shuffled over to the thing on the ground one last time. In lifting it up, Harry finally saw what had been swaddled, and his yell was only strangled off by his mouth having something blocked in it.

Harry may not have anything blocking his airway now, but he thankfully still restrained himself from repeating that noise even if the look on his face did already show the level of horror they were fixing to hear.

It was indeed in the shape of a child, but no infant that should ever exist.

Lily couldn't get the disgust out of her that this blight had once held her own precious child, that the mockery of the moment was distorted beyond all recognition with him having spent any amount of time caring for this new facet of Voldemort's wasted life.

There was no hair, and every inch of skin was burnt red, the arms and legs were feeble and could not have supported itself, the face was flat and held snakelike features with ruby red eyes.

Remus remembered back to that first chapter, how he'd considered the idea that Voldemort had somehow possessed a human child and that was how this thing was existing, he really had no other explanation for how it was even alive, but then again, he hadn't a clue from the beginning how any of this worked. Harry should have died that night but instead Voldemort had vanished, and still hadn't been killed himself. None of this was in the realm of possibilities he understood, so why was something about that cauldron lingering in his mind?

Its fingers wrapped around Wormtail's neck as he lifted it up, and the cloak finally fell away from his face, revealing the revulsion on the servants face.

Sirius couldn't deny the fact that he was pleased in the most twisted way it was possible to be. Even if he couldn't be skinning this useless critter alive right now, at least in some form he was still being forced to deal with the choice of his decision. Revulsion would soon be a happy memory of his once Sirius got ahold of him, so he should enjoy it while it lasted.

The being was carried to the cauldron and dropped inside, Harry could hear its body hit the bottom. Around his scar having its own fire on his forehead, he still managed the pleading thought of it drowning.

Lily was trying to get her mind to go past what was being done to her son, to focus instead on what on earth this potion could be, but she was coming up blank. What could Voldemort be using, and still far more importantly, why was Harry there?!

Wormtail was reciting to himself as he kept his wand held in his good hand, speaking to himself as he called for the bone of the father, unknowingly given, to renew its son.

Remus was, well not happy by any means in this situation, but grateful he hadn't been the one to take the book away from James now, because he was entirely certain his voice would have failed him. It wasn't really that potion.

The ground cracked under Harry's feet, and a fine powder was being lifted away from the dirt upon the wands command, and fell into the vat. The clear surface hissed and frothed, now turning a vivid blue.

James had not a single clue of what brew was being concocted in that, but from the one ingredient alone he was more confident than ever before he was not going to like the end results, and more than anything he wanted Harry away from it.

Wormtail's voice was going even higher in fear as he tucked his wand away and instead pulled out a dagger, still forcing himself to speak through his own sobs,

Sirius didn't even sound disturbingly happy anymore, he was too wrapped up in disgust for what he was forcing out.

of the flesh of the servant, willingly given to revive his master.

Remus had hated himself many moments over his life, but none more so than now, where there was no more doubt in his mind what that rat was actually doing, and it was all his fault.

He had his right hand hovering over the boiling pot now, and was raising the dagger with purpose. He had it held at its highest point, and swung down.

Lily replayed that sickening line one more time in her head, and still she wasn't prepared for what Sirius shot out next.

Harry realized what was about to happen a moment before it did, his eyes snapped shut, and still he was forced to hear the wrenching cry of pain tearing through the night and the splash as the ingredient was consumed. Behind his closed lids, he knew the splash of red was the potion changing colors.

Harry wasn't sure about the others, but for him this was still more traumatizing than anything. To even think about what Wormtail had done to himself, what he'd already done to Cedric. He knew he should have been angry, or scared, but the only thing still resonating was the pain this night had caused.

He wasn't done quite yet. Sobbing harder than ever, his voice now inching closer to Harry, Wormtail brokenly recited the last line, blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, will resurrect his foe.

Sirius roared that line more than anything. He'd been apoplectic when he'd learned what had been done to James, and even himself, but this still somehow managed to reach a new level of atrocity on his part. He was going to take what from Harry!

Harry's eyes snapped open, but being directly below him Harry couldn't even look down to watch as he felt the cool metal pressing into his arm through the material of his robes, felt the pain as the knife cut through his arm and despite his desperate pulling to get away, blood ran free.

One of the reasons Lily had always claimed to be good at potions was because of the details. If it said the twelfth scale plucked from an occamy, then you'd better be sure you counted right or the whole thing could be in a mess. So her mind was left spinning off, wondering if Harry hadn't been tied down, if he hadn't struggled, could whatever this was be prevented? Of course it was too late now, whatever was happening was being done, but since her life goal was to insure this would not be happening to her baby so long as she lived, even for a moment it felt good to think of some way to prevent this.

His attempts weren't acknowledged, as a glass vial was pressed into the stream, and Wormtail staggered with his prize and let the droplets of blood splatter the surface. The whole thing turned the brightest of white, and his part done, Wormtail slumped to the ground, cradling his bleeding stump.

Remus couldn't find anything in himself to feel hatred for that rat, or even a selfish glee at his pain, or anything much except for how much he hated himself.

Harry could think of nothing anymore except for his silent prayers into the night for it all to have gone wrong.

Harry shook his head sadly at his younger self. This moment had felt imminent from the first time he'd heard Hagrid speak the name, that was a child's wish, one that Harry had never been granted.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, everything inside of the cauldron seemed to vanish and instead culminated in more steam streaming the area, and a dark figure was left standing in its midst. Still Harry kept begging of something, anything, for it all to have gone wrong.

Sirius had absolutely no emotion in his voice as he pleaded Harry's thoughts, there was not a shred of hope left among them to even pretend that could be happening.

A figure unfurled itself from the cauldron and stepped free, and commanded it was clothed. Wormtail sprung to, one handed as he fitted the previous robes over the tall figure. Then the face of nightmares turned and spotted Harry.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

They wished they could have been more surprised for that, tried to find some way to deny the heart pounding fear and misery they knew that would cause for the next foreseeable future, but considering they were currently living in the time where Voldemort reigned everywhere, that sentence just didn't have much of an impact on them other than the realization Harry was in the middle of that!

Sirius finished his chapter, but couldn't think of anything to say or do to show he had. His brain had shut down, it was too complicated to do more than keep a low growl resonating from his throat as his mind kept a single focus on who's fault all this was, which is why he was so thrown when Remus sobbed;

"My fault, it's all my fault!"

"Remus, you can't still be blaming yourself for him getting away!" Sirius snapped at once, he wasn't going to let him take blame for this any more than he would Harry, he'd been keeping half an eye on his pup this whole time to make sure he wasn't thinking the same, but so far he was mostly a frozen mask of shock. "I keep telling you, your sanity was more important to me than him, I'd make the same decision again in a heartbeat."

Remus clearly wasn't listening, burying his face in his hands and whispering that over and over again.

"Remus, Moony I'm begging you, if you know what that was, tell me." James begged, he was sick of listening to how one person kept ruining his life, but Remus talking like that was coming in a close second.

Remus kept his eyes tight shut, he couldn't bear to look at any of them, but somehow that nickname being used helped, it was still a symbol that meant more to him than he could put into words. He began whispering "I, well one time we got to looking up a ah, a cure for me." He was starting to shake uncontrollably, which hardly stopped when Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder, but he still kept going, "this was during the process of you guys trying to become animagus. H-he was having some difficulties with it, and he was really good at potions," he'd clearly directed that part at least at Harry, as all of them knew that. Maybe that's how he was even getting all of this out, he was building himself up to start trying to apologize to him, though none of them still understood why he was blaming himself, until he finished with.

"Well, we conned the Defense teacher into signing a book for us from the restricted section, it was a book on potions used for people who were, like me, suffering from, well things that they'd do anything to get out of their body for. We, we came across this one potion he really seemed to like, one that would give you a new body. Except, well I'd never seen such a disturbing potion. It required everything that was just mentioned, and no bleeding way was I going to consider hurting anyone to try and get this to work. Not to mention the bleeding thing could only be brewed at such a ridiculously specific time frame-"

"Would you stop! I'm more than confident Voldemort will have known about this potion all on his own, quit blaming yourself for everything," James insisted.

Remus wasn't exactly convinced, he still remembered back to that first chapter, and wondering why the rat hadn't deserted Voldemort as well. He must have had some knowledge of what was to come, insight into the plan of Voldemort's return, otherwise he should have abandoned that helpless little thing as surely as he had them. True that Voldemort could have somehow known about the potion another way, but the rat must have gone back to him with some form of a plan, something that would draw him back to his protector to ensure he'd stay just that.

Sirius still looked likely to force feed him this book if he didn't stop, so regardless of if he agreed, Remus stopped arguing the point. Sirius instead turned his attention on Harry when he realized this, and whispered, "It alright if I keep going pup? That chapter was over, and it's only going to get worse."

He was asking more for James than Harry though. This was clearly hurting him more than anything else, to continually realize what that traitor had done to his sons life. When Harry agreed though, and Prongs didn't say otherwise, Sirius forced himself to turn the page.

HPHPHPHP

*Loved this pointed out by nahte123456, but clearly by this point Harry was so into the Tournament it would have been silly not to at least try his all in this last one and go for a win. Plus, I have every confidence whoever did touch the Cup still would have been killed, and Fake-Eye would have just got Harry sent there at the closest moment, so...

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Thirty-Four

Table of Contents

Past

For no real reason at all, Gil understood Malcolm somehow changed the Overlook Hotel. He sensed it the first time they met. Something about the walls surged with an energy he could feel no matter how far he moved from the hotel. It was all he could feel as he rushed toward it. The walls were full of such energy, they practically sang out to him, which helped seeing how little he could see as he sped forward in a snowstorm.

Snowflakes struck his vehicle so fast, it looked as if he distorted space and time like in Star Trek or Star Wars. In both, the good guys always won in the end. He was good. Malcolm was good. His father and mother and sister were probably all good, as well. But there was something evil crouched right over all of their lives and for whatever reason, Malcolm made it all so much worse.

He’d been sitting at a bar in town earlier in the night. Minding his own business as he caught up with the bartender there. The two lamenting about how they had nowhere to go on their holiday ‘breaks.’ But Malcolm yelled so loud for him over the Shining, it knocked him clear off his seat and he even blacked out a little. Everybody was so worried and wanted to stop him from running.

But run he did.

Gil’s car did its best to make its way upwards towards the swirling clouds above. They devoured the Overlook Hotel. All its lights were on, windows glared at him through the storm. Other than the eyes of the place, Gil couldn’t make out what was up there on the hill. But he knew where and how it stood.

Kid?! Gil tried to get back in contact with Malcolm. His brain was full of static though. Like the television set after a certain time at night when all programs go off the air and the steady buuuuuuuzz of nothing followed. Malcolm?

At least the roads weren’t too bad yet. The car continued forward, doing its best. The anxiety built up in his chest made his heart feel ready to pop, it was worse the closer he came to the hotel. Its body became more clear. It wasn’t only the eyes glaring down at him. Gil tried to push the car to go faster but it sputtered not wanting to do so. His brain was full of such white noise, there wasn’t any sign of Malcolm and no sign of the hotel other than its energy.

Almost there Mal. . . The message was mainly unsent though. The front of the car struck the ground, something pinned it they're forcing the back to fly up and he was sure, so sure he was about to somersault forward in the vehicle but at least it collapsed right back down. Glass shattered all around them letting the cold tangle with his body. Shards cut him all up and already bruises started to form underneath the seat belt. It did a number on him as well, the fabric did its best to sever him in half.

Dizziness won.

His ears rang and he was able to make out some movement, good timing, too. Gil struggled to free himself before throwing his full weight into the door. A topiary Irish elk from the hedge maze jammed its foot through his car. Metal bent around its branches as leaves exploded everywhere. Gil already tried his best to escape with an actual shoulder roll. A move that looked much better in the movies than in real life. His joint popped, so loud. For a split second, he thought it dislocated. Lying there he stared up as the Irish Elk struggled to free its leg from the car. Metal scraped bark off its leg, but it managed to fling the car off into some trees. All of it buckled in two. He was pretty close to death. The topiary creature moved onward, down the hill, away from the Overlook.

Once or twice he’d seen the topiary creatures move. It'd be something to make him do a double-take though. It didn't look like a lot of movement, maybe leaves trembling on the wind but a head would turn left or right to look at something else. In the end, he always end up blaming it up to too much alcohol even though he’d been sober on the one day. There was the occasional whispered complaint about them, but nothing like this. Gil rolled onto his stomach, he used his elbows and hands to drag himself off the side of the road and out of sight. The Overlook watched him and the world around it. Another topiary creature strutted after the first. A second Irish elk looking as majestic as the first but less menacing without its legs splitting metal and almost taking his life.

He’d have to walk the rest of the way.

Almost there kid! Gil called out.

He heard Malcolm that time around, but it was just Malcolm talking to Malcolm as some other panic overtook him. It wasn’t him screaming for help anymore but instead I stabbed. I stabbed somebody. I stabbed. I stabbed somebody. The somebody in question was a faded photograph Gil could almost make out from all of Malcolm’s fear and screaming. It was just ‘cause of the Shining he could sense such fear being channeled through the world.

Gil inhaled deeply, he counted a few seconds before he got up again ready to walk through the wooded area hoping tree trunks would protect him from the eyes of the Overlook. He took a few steps forward only to almost lose his balance all over again.

Malcolm screaming caused such searing pain, GIL! GIL!

“I’m trying to get there, kid,” Gil muttered to himself, still forcing himself to move forward. It was a pretty big walk he was about to take on.

###

“Ainsley?”

Jessica arrived to the floor where she could’ve sworn she heard her daughter crying. She was a mother, weren’t mothers supposed to find their children no matter what? Weren’t mothers supposed to be attuned to the danger their kids faced? And yet, she had no idea how Malcolm got out of the hotel and how he ended up half-frozen out there with blood smeared across his hands and face. Martin was the only reason to why she knew something was wrong that something was off and now she couldn’t even find Ainsley as she started walking down a long hallway.

There weren’t any windows in the hallway and all of the doors were closed. It was what Martin demanded yet snow floated through the building. A few times she checked in an attempt to see if it came through the vents, but it was impossible to tell. First, and more important, was finding her daughter.

“Ainsley?” Jessica tried to shout a little louder while she walked a lot slower.

It was so cold. Apparently, she needed a winter coat to be on the inside of the hotel. Yet it’d been so warm downstairs, she felt dripping of sweat as if the boiler was all off. What did she know about such things? It was a mistake to come out all this way.

Snow continued to fall. It hung out in patches and she noticed red speckled in some. Jessica almost moved past it ignoring it because the floor was red, too. An eyesore that gave her a huge headache whenever she looked or thought about it. Never would she select such a hideous carpet for a place. And this was supposed to be a nice hotel? At first, she thought it was pieces of the carpet, threads hanging out in the snow patches but it dotted the ground in a different sort of way. Jessica paused looking at it.

Blood was on the floor.

Blood was on the wall.

Lines were spread across the walls as if somebody dipped their hand in red paint then dragged their fingers across it. Jessica turned feeling the presence of somebody else. She covered her mouth managing to stifle a scream. It was just Ainsley standing in front of her while staring at the ground. Ainsley glanced over her shoulder at Jessica and Jessica was at such a loss for words. Somebody took an ax and gave two girls forty whacks. Their broken bodies were crumpled up on the ground with blood everywhere. Of course, there was blood everywhere.

It was supposed to only be them at the hotel. Who were they? How did they get in? There weren't any homes around for Ainsley to meet friends to invite over. And Ainsley was so young, she probably wouldn't go far enough away from the hotel to find friends.

“What happened?” whispered Ainsley.

Jessica was stuck while she stared at the two dead girls. Somehow she found it in herself to move forward and put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders because the right thing would be to lead her away and protect her.

“They said we could play forever and ever and ever,” Ainsley continued.

What? What was she even talking about?

Jessica was able to guide Ainsley around. They were about to start walking in the opposite direction yet somehow the hallway look impossibly long. She’d come up the stairs to be here, it wasn’t that far of a walk yet the stairs were out of sight, there wasn’t even another sound of Martin and Malcolm downstairs.

“They promised!” Some anger buried in her voice and Ainsley stared back at the two dead girls. “THEY PROMISED!”

What? What was she even talking about? They were the only ones in the hotel. They were the only ones in the hotel! Yet somehow two girls snuck inside to play with her daughter only to die and if they were dead then maybe that meant whoever killed them was. . .

“MARTIN!” Jessica screamed but the hallway was so long.

Ainsley clawed at Jessica. “They promised! THEY PROMISED TO PLAY!”

Jessica grabbed Ainsley by both shoulders looking her in the eye. “Now is not the time for this! We are going and we are going downstairs! Your-Your brother is there!” Except Ainsley continued to wrestle with her trying to break free. She managed to do so after kicking at Jessica who lost her hold on her daughter for all of a second and just like that Ainsley was gone. She ran down the hallway screeching something her ears couldn’t make out. The frequency was too high. Ainsley threw open a door and disappeared on the inside.

“Ainsley!” Jessica followed managing to open the door. It wasn’t even locked but on the other side, there was nothing. No sign of Ainsley and when she turned around, the snow was gone along with the two dead girls. She stood there lost, so lost, very lost. Jessica looked in the direction she came again and started shouting, “MARTIN!”

###

“Wow, would you look at that.”

Malcolm stood right outside the kitchen area wearing the new clothes Martin brought him. It was much warmer in his white sweater, a positive. Helped him think clearer. But life was too weird for clear thought to have a purpose. In the time he was gone, Martin pushed some of the tables out of the way. There were a few people casually sitting around, legs crossed as they drank and watched the brand new game Martin played. He held onto a croquet mallet with little makeshift hoops to crash a ball through. A bright red one rolled across the floor, it made its way through not just one hoop, but two.

“Maybe I have the chance of being a croquet champion,” Martin continued.

Malcolm stood there watching him though without too many words to share. In reality, he didn’t know what words to share. Blood speckled Martin. Some of it was smeared across the backs of his hands and his fingers. Once again, his father hit the ball managing to get it through a third hoop. The surrounding ghosts applauded, the sounds of them were all so clear.

“Have you ever played?” Martin asked. He offered the mallet up for Malcolm to take. The blood no longer visible along any part of him. Whatever it was, it was a fleeting memory or a moment in the past. Malcolm didn’t budge while he stared at his father. “Is something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“The boy knows too much,” one of the ghosts said and Martin glanced at her.

“The boy should die,” said another ghost but that time Martin looked at Malcolm. “We need him to stay here, forever.”

“No, no.” Martin hit the ball back through one of the hoops. “He’s too much like me.” Maybe Watkins was right about killing him.

“I stabbed him,” Malcolm didn’t mean to say those words out loud. The idea of cursing felt uncomfortable, but he was pretty sure it was the perfect moment to drop something like the F-bomb because those three words should’ve stayed wrapped up in his head.

“You stabbed him?” Martin straightened his back. The croquet mallet bounced off the side of his foot while he watched and the ghosts watched, as well. “What do you mean by you stabbed him?”

“Watkins, your friend.” Malcolm knew he needed to stop. The bouncing of the mallet grew faster as anxiety spiked within Martin. It was pretty clear. Somewhere upstairs Ainsley screamed. Her words were all broken up but they could almost make out promised. “He wanted to hurt me.”

“My friend?” The bounce stopped. Martin swung the mallet back letting it hang over his one shoulder. “What do you mean my friend wanted to hurt you? Why would he ever want to do that?” He really, really does know. He knows.

“I don’t know anything.” Wrong words all over again. Malcolm bit his lower lip so hard, it split.

Martin cocked his head to the side a bit as he studied Malcolm. The mallet continued to hang over his one shoulder. His fingers toyed with the handle and the ghosts simply watched. They already said what they wanted to say. Even the walls made it clear. Murder.

“You’re a smart boy,” Martin commented. He swung the mallet down whacking the red ball so hard. It went straight through some of the hoops before crashing straight out of the barroom. Maybe the kitchen would lead to a different exit. Maybe it was the only path Malcolm had ahead of him. Martin moved between him and the main exit. “Come on, let’s go have a chat. Maybe there’ll even be time for a quick game.”

Upstairs Jessica screamed for Martin’s attention. He flicked his focus in her direction, but not for long. He continued to stand between Malcolm and the doorway. He toyed with the croquet mallet, letting it bounce all around him. Malcolm tried to swallow some fear, but his mouth was too dry. This wasn’t fair. He wanted all four of them to sit down to a regular dinner in an unhaunted hotel and in a world where he never learned words like family annihilator and any others associated with such violence.

“Are you ok? You look upset.”

Malcolm turned too fast to run, his foot slid out from underneath him and he smacked chin first into the floor. His teeth clattered and maybe one of them even shattered. He tasted more blood in his mouth from the accident and the split lip. Malcolm’s whole body continued to ache with such pain. He couldn’t rid himself from the cold that sank in too deep earlier. Yet he pushed his palms into the floor attempting a haphazard pushup to get back up but Martin caught his one ankle pulling him backward. It sent him again chin first into the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes and he was sure he knocked a filling out because something crunched in between his teeth.

“Sorry, we need to have a quick and important family discussion.”

Pain was looped around Martin’s fingers. He held onto Malcolm, dragging him away toward Jessica screaming for his attention. The pain didn’t belong to Martin nor Malcolm. No, that wasn’t necessarily right. The pain did belong to Martin because it was pain he inflicted in the past, but not his own as in pain stemming from his own body. Malcolm had nothing to grab onto and the ghost continued to watch him. At least the walls were quieter and there was no loud banging outside. Instead, his fingers scraped the carpet while he eyed for anything or something to grab onto when he heard such a distant whisper:

Almost there kid!

[hedwigstalons]

The Tracy Prize - part 7

I’m not sure whether to leave this here or if people would like an epilogue to set the conclusion in stone – let me know.  I have some ideas but I’m not sure if they are needed.

 I really appreciate all the comments and support this fic has received.  Every piece of encouragement has given me the nudge to keep going.

 I hope you like this (potentially) final instalment.

 xoxoxox

An air of preoccupation hung over the Tracy family. Brains had disappeared into one of the many areas off-limits to Claire.  Scott was locked away in an office, occasionally appearing to grab a drink before hurrying back, the tension evident in his posture.  Grandma Tracy and Alan had thrown themselves into displacement activities.

Only Kayo was an ever-present feature.

Wherever Claire went the other woman was sure to follow. Lounge, poolside, cinema room; it didn’t matter where Claire tried to find some solitude Kayo would find her. It was like being tailed by a malevolent minder.  One that was determined to assert her dominance.  

In an effort to shake off the shake off her self-appointed guard Claire headed to the kitchen.  Grandma Tracy was elbow deep in a mixing bowl.  For some reason the sight of the matriarch surrounded by flour and baking trays was enough to make Kayo retreat and melt back into the shadows.

When the first charred discs were offered to her under the guise of cookies Claire could understand why everyone why everyone was giving the kitchen a wide berth.  However, she figured that ingesting charcoal was a small price to pay to rid herself of Kayo’s calculating stare.  

Morning transitioned to afternoon and still Virgil and Gordon did not return.  It was becoming evident that Claire would be forced to spend a second night on the island.

As the shadows began to lengthen Claire felt her wrist comm vibrate and an incomprehensible pattern of lights played across its face.  Grandma Tracy’s device mirrored the signal.  Her shoulders relaxed and she stopped weighing out the ingredients for a third batch of inedible baking.  

“The boys are nearly home.  Could you be a dear and help me fetch something from the stores for dinner.”

Grandma Tracy still hadn’t quite worked out what they would be fetching but she knew she needed to move Claire into one of underground areas.  The sight of Thunderbird Two returning home would be clearly visible through the panoramic windows in just a few minutes.

They headed out of the kitchen, Claire trailing behind Grandma Tracy as she took the elevator down a level and let the way into a maze of utilitarian corridors at odds with the luxury of the residential areas.

As they entered one of the numerous store rooms a low growl rumbled through the complex.  More felt than heard, the vibration caused the floor to tremble slightly. Claire worried that the clearly volcanic island was showing signs of activity but her companion was unfazed. The vibrations stopped as abruptly as they had started.

They dug about in the food for several minutes. Selections were made and discarded. Only when Grandma Tracy felt sure that all danger of discovery had passed did she quit stalling for time and fill a box with the final choices for dinner.

Claire offered to carry the box back to the kitchen. Grandma Tracy gratefully let her; her boys had voracious appetites and the box was now very full.

They made their way back down the corridor.  Claire was grateful for her guide, she wasn’t convinced she would have successfully navigated the bland stretches of blank walls, uniform doors and unmarked intersections without help.

It was at one of these intersections that Claire nearly collided with Virgil and Gordon as they arrived from a side corridor.

“We really must stop meeting like this.”  The baritone voice joked.

Claire took in the dishevelled look of the brothers, a stark contrast to the well-groomed man she had first collided with.  

They were dressed in just shorts and undershirts. Brick dust streaked their hair and exhaustion lined their faces.  A bandage was tightly wound around Virgil’s thigh, an ugly red stain marring its crisp, white surface.

“C’mon Virg, keep moving.  We need to get cleaned up then you and I have a date with the suture kit.”

Gordon steered his older brother around them and led him away down another faceless corridor.  Their bare feet making no noise as they padded away.

“Don’t take too long boys.  Dinner is in an hour” Grandma Tracy called out over her shoulder. She seemed completely unperturbed by their half-dressed appearance and obvious injuries.

xoxoxox

As they re-entered the kitchen Claire found her load suddenly lightened as Scott took the box from her arms.  The ever-present Kayo glared at her from a corner.  

“Gordon and Virgil landed safely” he announced cheerily.

“We know.  We’ve seen them.”  Grandma Tracy’s tone was flat.

“Oh.”

“We bumped in to them coming out of the laundry.”

“Oh.”  At least if they were exiting the laundry they should have got rid of their uniforms he mused, that one would have been difficult to explain away.

“Landed safely?!” Claire exclaimed.  “They looked like they had been in a war zone! Virgil’s leg is sliced open and none of you seem concerned.  What is wrong with you people?”

She hadn’t seen her move but Claire suddenly found herself nose to nose with Kayo.  The taller woman was making full use of her extra inches.  The display of aggression was clear.

“Of course we care.  Don’t you dare judge us.”

“Stand down, Kayo.”  Scott’s order was firm.  Kayo grudgingly took half a step backwards.

Claire turned her attention on Scott.  “Just who are you anyway?  You run this place like some sort of military leader.  I’m surprised your family put up with it.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she had overstepped the mark.  She was still a guest in his house but Kayo riled her.  Their personalities flared and clashed.  Before she knew it Kayo was back in her personal space.

“I could ask you the same question.  Who are you with all your secrets?  Who are you working for?”

The others in the room looked on powerlessly as the challenge was issued.  Kayo was deliberately inflammatory and Claire’s temper ignited in response.

“I have no secrets and I’ve made it perfectly clear I don’t work for, or with, anyone!”

“So why did you disappear from research two years ago. Who made you a better offer?”

“Checking up on me, huh?  The only place I disappeared to was the bottom of an ice cream carton.”

Kayo snorted.  “I don’t buy it.  Why would you give it all up then take on a job you clearly hate.”

“I lecture because my savings ran out.  Some of us don’t have trust funds to fall back on.” It was a low blow but her anger was seething.  “If you’re so desperate to know what happened I’ll tell you.  I was working on a joint project on mineral refinement although you evidently know that already.  Turns out the professor leading it was a fraud.  He hadn’t had an original idea in years.  He had just been trading off his reputation and claiming the work of more junior team members as his own.  No-one could challenge him, he could kill your career in an instant.  He claimed all the credit for my work and I was meant to be happy with the scrap of recognition from being associated with him.”

“So you quit just because some old guy passed off your homework as his own?”

“No.  I quit because of ChemCorp.  I doubt you remember it.  It turns out Professor Oulton wasn’t just using the work of others to maintain his position.  He was also selling the research to bolster his retirement fund.  The result was ChemCorp.  The method was still experimental and should never have been scaled up.  The processing plant went critical.  A waste gasses tank exploded, killing seventeen people.  Seventeen families were ripped apart because of something I created.  I could never let that happen again.  To know that something I designed could cause so much harm in the wrong hands.

“I cut myself off and took and safe and easy job. But then the itch of an idea hit me again and I couldn’t shake it off.  I started up my research but made a vow that my work would go nowhere before I was ready.  Before I could make sure all the fail-safes were in place and no-one could get hurt. If I release my work it will be on my terms.  I can’t have another business putting profits over people.  I can’t face being responsible for more deaths so Tracy Industries can back off, I’m not for sale.”

The wave of emotion Claire had been riding left her with a crash.  Her shoulders drooped and she slumped against the counter top.  It had been cathartic to tell her story.  The story that had been denied to her, and that Kayo had unable to divine, since Professor Oulton had relegated her role to a footnote in his publication.

Silence settled over the kitchen.

“You’re wrong.”  Scott’s voice was low, little more than a whisper.

She looked up into clear blue eyes that mirrored the emotion in her own.

“Of course we remember ChemCorp.  We remember everyone we couldn’t save.  Every death leaves its mark.  We arrived too late.  Maybe if we had got there faster we could have stabilised the plant or helped with the evacuation.  That’s why we need your fuel formula.  I think it’s time to show you the rest of the island.”

[space-blue]

The Witch’s Son

I have complicated emotions regarding this one... I feel like it was a good idea, and short 1k word to truly make sense. And yet it co-won. Fifth competition win.

In the small but cosmopolitan city of Avon, there is an apartment building whose top floor flat is so filled with greenery, its balconies and roof so lush with plant-life, it would have made a Babylonian king feel at home. In the middle of this potted jungle stands a young man, broad of shoulders but with the slender build of a scholar. He leans on the railing, watching the sky bleed through the hues of evening. His dark hair catches in the breeze and dances with the ferns, making him quite the brooding picture.

His name is Lionel Delavine, the only son of the famous French witch Ayla Delavine, and in his hands rests a little corpse. To untrained eyes it would look like the nightmare child of a dragonfly and a praying mantis. To knowing ones, it is an ephemeral construct, created by an elemental or a witch. This one was made by Lionel's younger sister, when last she passed through Avon, but powered by his own magic. It has come home to die, and tell its maker tales of this day: heroics and close calls with death, and the more mundane minutes of travels on the winds and the sights of the city. It was its entire life story: born in the morning, it returned animated by the last bursts of its fugacious life.

Lionel puts the little creature down in its usual pot, and seals it for the night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he lets it go to voicemail, his thoughts too deeply entrenched in the maze of theoretical magic to escape quite yet. The ephemeral reported something unexpected this evening: it had expressed a sense of loneliness during some hours of its day, and a feeling of familiarity with that emotion, like it was nothing new. Of course it wasn't. Lionel's magic ensured the Ephemeral was reborn each morning at dawn, and it had gone about its business unknowing it had been doing so for the past fortnight. That vague awareness breaking the boundaries of its natural death is not completely unexpected. The whole thing is, after all, an experiment. It has simply gone somewhere Lionel could probably not puzzle out on his own.

He is but a witch's son, gifted at birth with a single Talent, and unable to learn and acquire more, unlike his sisters. Learning the theory behind a magic one cannot practice is a lot like learning mountaineering whilst living on an atoll. Not entirely impossible, but close. Lionel's pocket buzzes again, and he whips it out to find a missed call and a text, from Sandra, saying 'They're here, meet me at the Corner'.

He sighs, pleased at the prospect of a simple night's work.

----

The Corner is the supernatural community's watering hole in Avon, and inn for those passing through. It is also where the humans in the know come to rub elbows and search for deals and contracts. It is always a busy place and tonight is no exception. When Lionel pushes the door and people turn to take the newcomer in, the din of conversation dies, breath is held, heads nodded, and signs of respect waved. Some tense, others relax. The one thing humans of our age get wrong in their stories is that the apex predators are not the mythical vampires or werewolves, but witches. Lionel may only be a witch's son, but the second rung on the ladder of power isn't a meagre birthright.

He makes his way through the room, scanning for strangers through the crowd. There is a biker in rotting denims at the bar, a large finger buried so far up his nose there must be a gold nugget in there. Three men are huddled over their beers on a table by the jukebox. A red-haired woman is wolfing down a super-sized fish and chips in a booth.

"Here!" A woman with green hair waves from the adjoining booth.

"Evening, Sandra."

"Glad you could make it," she says, looking all business.

Sandra is an elemental, owner of a shop where she applies her single power–to make living things grow faster–to great commercial success. Most of Lionel's plants come from her nurseries. She also grows people's hair and nails, and employs two rather sanguine humans, Chen and Charlie, to work their art on those customers.

"I always have time for policing. So, where are they?"

Sandra tips her head, her full, richly coloured mane cascading over her shoulders, but her golden eyes never leave his.

"The blokes at that table."

"I guessed as much."

"They came back into the shop today," she murmurs, "gave Chen a scare. Ranted about taking over, me owing them protection now."

"Don't they always?" Lionel sighs, leaning over the table, reaching for his friend's shoulder. "Thanks. I'm sorry they targeted you first. I'll take care of it."

"Tonight? 'Cause now that they've seen us together..."

"Oh yes," he says, getting up, "I'll deal with them right now."

Sandra makes to speak, but Lionel has already turned away. For a moment he faces the men glowering at him over empty glasses, then he leaves. Outside the air is crisp now that the evening has succumbed to the night. The Corner is out of the way, close to the canal that winds its lazy way through the town towards the factories. Lionel picks up the pace. There is laughter behind him, shouts and heckles. They're following alright. He veers back into the town, through an empty business district, between large towers whose minimalist entrance halls are left lit and vacant, forlorn like some corporate purgatory.

"Hey, you in a hurry?"

"Yeah man, come over here!"

The men are all bluster now that they've caught up with Lionel in a deserted area. They fan out around him, and he takes a closer look at them.

"What can I do for you chaps?"

"For us?" the tallest asks, rolling his biceps under his shirt.

"You can leave the city without a fight," the calmest of them says.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Avon's my home and under my protection."

The last, a lanky blond youth, explodes in a hysterical laugher.

"Your protection mate?" he barks, "what's that worth? You're just a stupid magus. We're gonna eat ya up."

"Chill. We can probably talk this out," the calm one says.

The leader, then. Lionel watches them pace around him. There is an order, a harmony to their work of intimidation.

"What kind of shifters are you?" He asks.

Blondie flinches at his guess but the leader answers obligingly.

"Dingoes."

Lionel smiles in disbelief. Do they really think that three dingoes could face him and win?

"You know, you'd be more than welcome in the community. We don't have to do this."

"But we do!" The leader says. "Why shouldn't we, when this city is ripe for the taking? We couldn't believe that no one's tried, even though it's only got you for protection."

"Don't you think that's what deters wannabe overtakers?"

"What? You may be the son of that Ayla witch, but word is you're always locked up in that tower of your, trimming your bushes. I reckon we'll take a shot at it, ay?"

"After all we've got good arguments," the tall one adds, pulling out a gun. The others follow suit.

That, Lionel decides, explains their reckless optimism.

"Alright then," he says, "let's do this." And he steps towards the twitchy blond youth.

The shot makes a bright flash with a ridiculously tiny noise. Silencing seals? Expensive guns, Lionel thinks as his body crashes to the floor.

"Wow, that easy?" Tall one asks, surprised.

"Not really," Lionel answers, lifting his head.

The man yelps, startled, and shoots him twice more. Blood pools around him, but Lionel laughs. The men's panicked eyes roll, flashing white like the muzzles of their guns. Bullets rip through him and splash in the ever widening flow of his blood, a garish red under the electric lights.

When it has sipped far under their feet, Lionel dies, and takes them all with him.

----

"You okay mate?"

Lionel accepts the dingoes' leader's proffered hand.

"What a headache," blondie moans.

"Sure is."

"What the hell happened?"

Lionel looks at the bewildered men nursing throbbing temples.

"Don't you remember?" He asks them. "You came to me to ask me for straight work and protection in Avon. I'm taking you to Vendict's construction site. He'll have bed and board for you there too."

"Really?" Blondie beams. The tall man laughs.

"Well, you paid with those guns after all, it'll help settle you down. As I said, he's a fox shifter, you'll get right along."

The leader's feature soften, anxiety lifting its heavy grip.

"After so long on the road, and nowhere to call home... Thank you."

"It's alright," Lionel says, smiling back at them. "Welcome to Avon. Now let's hurry, I've got to get home before dawn breaks."

~~ January 2018 – Theme : Rebirth/Renewal

[purpletigertaetae]

Welcome to the Magic Shop!

Pairing: Platonic!BTS x Reader

Word Count: 1916 

Genre: Slice of life

Rating: PG

Warnings: So much fluff, I mean TOOTH ROTTING fluff

Tagging: @taetaesbaebaepsae, @illneverrecover, @triheartedhero, @lvupmushroom, @thiccasswonhoruinedmylife, @thecozywhaleshark and the rest of Cirque or course!

Notes: So recently, I’ve had the worst week and then burst into tears yesterday when I listened to Magic Shop. Turns out, this week had been bad for almost all of my friends as well. This is how I imagine our boys would take care of us. It’s a little out of my comfort zone, I’m not the best at writing fluff (I’m not the best at writing in general), but here you go! Hope you enjoy!

          It had officially been the worst week of your life. It had seemed to go on and on, one disaster after the next, happening back to back. God definitely had it out for you this week. Monday had started off okay, until you left your apartment. What was supposed to have been a sunny day led to sudden downpours and you were wearing a white shirt. Upon reaching the office, the coffee machine had exploded and your previously white (see-through, at that point) shirt had turned a splotchy brown. Tuesday, your computer broke down and your 25-page proposal for your client had been, unbelievably and shockingly, erased. Wednesday, the printer malfunctioned and broke right as you were printing an important document to submit. Yesterday, your apartment had flooded, and you had to fork over a couple thousand dollars you didn’t have, to get it fixed. Today had been the worst day of all. A friend had created unnecessary and mind numbing drama, your boss had decided that your rewritten proposal wasn’t good enough and you had to listen to an hour lecture about how he expected more from you, and while at lunch, your high heel had broken, snapping clean and twisting your ankle in the process. At this point, you couldn’t wait until 7 to get home, eat some ice cream and cry in bed.

          At 4:45 you got a text message from Jungkook, Noona, are you coming over after work?

          Every Friday you went over to the boys’ tiny, four-bedroom, apartment. In this big city away from your hometown, they had become your family. Your best friends. Seeing them always brightened your day, but recently they had been very busy. They were gearing up to release their album and, in that hassle, it had been a full week since you had seen them last. Today, however, you didn’t want to see anyone. You figured you wouldn’t be good company, especially because a mental breakdown was imminent.

          No, Kookie, not today. I’m really tired. Maybe next week. Honestly, you were just going to go home, get into some sweats and cry a river.

--

           Jungkook knew you well. In the group of the seven and you, he was your best friend. So that text threw him off. He knew that something had gone wrong, and he also knew that you needed your friends. He came out of his room, his phone in his hand and walked into the living room, kitchen area. Namjoon, Yoongi and Hobi were lounging around on the sofa and Jin and Jimin were meddling in the kitchen, figuring out dinner. Namjoon noticed Jungkook walking in and asked, “Kook? What’s wrong? Why are you frowning?”

“Noona’s not coming over tonight.”

“YAHH, why?” Jin yelled from the kitchen, “What’s wrong? Is she busy?”

          At the yell, Hobi and Taehyung came out from their respective rooms into the living room.

“What’s going on? Why is Jin Hyung yelling?” Hobi asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Noona’s not coming over, Jungkook said.” Jimin replied, worry evident in his eyes.

“I think she’s had a bad day at work, or something’s gone wrong. We should go over and comfort her, Hyungs.”

“That’s a good idea Kook, but I have a better idea.” Hobi replied, “Let’s make her weekend magical. We’re taking her to the Magic Shop.”

Yoongi groaned, “Oh man, that’s going to take a lot of work.”

“Come on Hyung! For Y/N! Let’s do it!” Tae grinned and the boys began preparations.

--

           At 7:30 you finally reached home. You stood outside your apartment rummaging in your bag for keys, but you couldn’t find them. Brows furrowed, you cursed angrily, realizing your keys were sitting on your desk at work. This day literally could not get any worse.

           Taehyung from inside heard you curse and whispered, “Hyungs! She’s here!” But when the door didn’t open, he realized you couldn’t find your keys and yelled, “Y/N, come inside! The door is open.”

           You looked at your door in shock. Someone was inside? That voice sounded an awful lot like Taehyung. You cautiously opened the door and entered, your eyes widening and jaw dropping in the process.

           When you stepped inside, you were greeted with a transformed apartment. Your couch had been pushed back and there were blankets and pillows littered everywhere. A soft gauzy tent had been set up with pink and white cloth, creating a beautiful shimmering pillow fort. All along the entrance and on every available surface, candles were lit, casting soft light into the otherwise dark apartment. When you looked at the center of the apartment you saw seven smiling faces: one boxy smile, one eye crescent smile, one gummy smile, one bunny smile, one soft lipped smile, one cheek dimpled smile and one sunshine smile. Looking at them, and your apartment, you promptly burst into loud ugly sobbing tears.

           At your response, the boys all looked at each other and then at you in shock. You just kept crying into your hands. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook jumped up and scrambled towards you, trying to console you.

           “Shhh jagi, no crying.” Jimin wrapped his arms around you in a back hug while Tae extricated your hands from your face, wiping your face in the process. Jungkook stood behind his two Hyungs jumping on the balls of his feet, “Noona please don’t cry! You’ll ruin the surprise!” At their tender touches and caresses, you let out a mixed sob laugh and finally tried to quiet down.

           “Wh-wha-what is going on?”

           Jungkook and Tae took your hand while Jimin and Hobi got up and opened the entrance to the fort. “Welcome to the Magic Shop!” All the boys chorused.

           “We got to take Army to the Magic Shop, but jagiya you didn’t get to come. This is your personal Magic Shop! We’re here to take your worries away!” Namjoon gave you another dimpled smile and you gave him a teary smile in return.

          Jin got up and looked at the maknaes, “Boys, take her to her room and get her dressed in the softest clothes you can find, while I set up here.”

          You numbly followed as the maknaes took you to your room and picked out your favorite sweats and hoodie. “Noona, we’ll be right outside okay? You come out when you have changed and are ready!”

          Jimin and Tae followed Kook outside and waited patiently, while in the living room, Yoongi fiddled with the stereo system, testing to make sure his back track was working. In the kitchen, Jin pulled out the snacks and warm food he had made and carried it into the living room. Namjoon threw a couple of blankets into the dryer so they would be fluffy and warm and brought them back out into the living room. Once you came out of the room, the maknaes led you to the fort and placed you right in the middle. “Here’s your seat of honor, now relax, have some food, and enjoy the show okay?” Yoongi tucked a warm blanket around you and put a cup of piping hot chocolate into your hands. He got up and pressed play, while all the boys got into a half circle around you. Your eyes widened again as they began playing their entire setlist for you. Some songs were cut in half so the personal concert wouldn’t go on and on, but they also included some of your favorites like Paradise, Let Go, and Love Maze. Your eyes lit up in wonder and amazement as you watched your favorite boys perform your favorite songs for you. They danced around you, making you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe and making you blush when they danced suggestively, winking and cracking up along with you.

          Every once in a while, they would sit down and say a couple of comments, just like they would in their concerts. Except these comments were different. Each comment was about you, your character, your personality. Namjoon commented on your cunning intelligence, and your ability to find the answer no matter how difficult the problem. Seokjin commented on your beautiful face, laughing, “It’s even prettier than mine jagiya!” Yoongi commented on your sharp wit, making him laugh when no one else could. Hobi praised your beautiful spirit making even him, Mr Sunshine, happy when he felt down. Jimin commented on your resilience, “Jagi, you can withstand anything the world throws at you! You’re so strong!” Tae complimented your ability to let loose and be childlike, willing to have fun even with little kids. “Plus, Yeontan loves you!” At each comment, your heart lifted, your eyes growing softer and softer until they were filling with unshed tears.

          Finally, Jungkook spoke. “Noona, you’re my best friend, my older sister. I was gifted with six older brothers, but not a sister until you came into our lives. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the day that you spilled that coffee over me was the best day of my life,”

          “YAH WHAT ABOUT WHEN YOU MET US?!” The boys’ yelled, making you giggle.

          “Okay, okay, one of the best days of my life. Noona, you’re the strength behind us, BTS and I hope that we can be the same strength for you! This is the last song of the night! Hit it Yoongi Hyung!”

          Yoongi hit play one last time and the opening tune for Magic Shop began playing. At the soothing melody, your heart began to sing, and your tears spilled over onto your cheeks. The comfort they sang about was one you had been searching for all week. These boys, these seven, loud boisterous boys had shown you comfort when you were fresh out. They had seen you at your worst and they still loved you, cared for you and showered you with affection. They were your universe, your galaxy, your entire life. As they sang, you sang along softly, swaying gently, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“You gave me the best of me, so you'll give you the best of you… So show me…”

“I’ll show you”

“So show me”

“I’ll show you”

“So show me, I’ll show you, show you!”

          As the song came to a close, you let out another mixed sob laugh and all the boys turned towards you.

“Uhhh, hyungs? Why is she still crying?” Jimin whispered, “I thought she was feeling better?”

“Jiminie, these are happy tears. I love you all so much. So so so much. Thank you.” You choked out.

          At that, all the boys rushed to you and enveloped you in a huge, bone-crushing hug. Your cheeks were smothered in light kisses as they all, even Yoongi, kissed your tears away. “Jagi, we might not be with you all the time, but we’re always in here.” Yoongi touched your heart and looked you deep in the eyes. You nodded, wiping your tears away.

“Hey! No crying now! Time for the encore! Waiting for you Anpanmaaaaaaaan!” Hobi jumped up and took up the superman pose.

“Hyung that’s my line!” Tae pulled him down and got up.

“Hey, no! I want to open the song!” Jimin pouted. From your position in Yoongi’s arms you chuckled at their antics, the stress of the week gone. You relaxed deeper into Yoongi’s arms as Jungkook pulled a blanket around you, and Joon lightly kissed your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut, finally, finding the rest you had craved.

The Magic Shop always came through in the end.

A/N: So, I wrote this yesterday, and I didn't edit it, so excuse any errors. I’m cringing so hard as I write this because I honestly don't think I did a very good job. But I’d love to hear your concerns, critiques or questions! Back and Forth part 3 will be up on Friday :)

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Notion of The End

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

Don’t be fooled by the title, this isn’t anywhere near the end of this AU! It’s been forever since I updated this story, and this chapter jumps right off a cliffhanger from the last one, so I highly recommend you at least re-read the other season two stories first. And if you’re new, welcome! You should probably start at the beginning because this has continuity! Anyway, JJ’s missing, so the others have to go find him. They find Anti, shit happens, things get...oh boy, things take a turn. ;) Also! This is a REALLY LONG one! And I mean REALLY LONG. Fair warning!

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One

Previous season two stories: No Strings on Me | Nightmare World | Normalcy

Chase burst through the apartment door, skidding to a halt. “We have a problem!”

“Yeah, I got your text.” Jack, who’d been anxiously pacing the length of the living room, stopped and faced Chase. “What happened?” His eyes flicked toward the open, empty door just before Chase closed it. “Where’s JJ?”

Chase made a strangled sort of choking sound. He didn’t say anything, just shoved something toward Jack, who stumbled at the force of the push before he caught it. He looked down at the item in his hands and suddenly felt very cold. Jameson’s mask. The one he hardly ever took off, and definitely never in public. He wouldn’t leave it behind. “Oh god,” Jack whispered.

“What is happening?” Schneep stepped into the living room from the kitchen area, hand resting on the wall.

Jack looked over to him. “I-I don’t know, something happened to JJ. He...lost his mask, somehow.” He crumpled said mask in his hands, twisting the fabric nervously.

Schneep’s eyes widened. “He would not lose that.”

“I know!” Chase cried. He bit his lip and pulled his hat down further. “Th-there’s something else, I—I felt him, Jack, Hen.”

Jack stared at him, his heart about to stop. Schneep gaped, suddenly seeming to stumble and lean against the wall. “Are you sure?” Jack breathed.

“Of course I am! I’d recognize that!” Chase started rubbing his wrists, the unconscious movement only drawing attention the the way he was shaking slightly. “You—you know what this means? H-he—he has him. I left him alone for fucking five minutes and he got taken!”

“Is not your fault, Chase,” Schneep said fiercely. “He was quiet for too long, he must have been planning this for a while.”

Chase looked away and remained silent.

“We...we can get him back, right?” Jack asked.

Chase broke his silence with a hysterical laugh. “How?! Jays found us, remember? He saved us, remember?! Because he’s the guy who suddenly got magic that can do just about anything! How can we help?!”

Jack took a deep breath. His heart was already racing just at the thought of getting anywhere near that demon again. But if Jameson had come for him, then damn it, he was going to return the favor for his friend. “Well, we know where his lair is, right? We know how to get there?”

“What are we going to do once we’re in there? That place is a maze, you’d get lost immediately!”

Jack made eye contact with Chase. “But you wouldn’t, right?”

Chase stumbled backward until he hit the wall. He’d gone white. Jack felt a curl of guilt in his stomach for playing that card, but it was true, wasn’t it? “...yes,” Chase said softly. “But it’s not just that. The walls have eyes, literally in some places. He’d know we were coming.”

“My fucking god, Chase!” Jack jumped as Schneep, who’d been quiet for most of the conversation, exploded angrily. “Jameson is our friend, we are not leaving him! We are not leaving anyone again! And since you feel so awful about everything that happened to you and what you did, why do you not do something to make up for it?!” Schneep closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths. Then he turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Jack and Chase exchanged glances. There was a sudden clatter from the kitchen, and the two of them hurried to follow Schneep.

A few loose plastic plates had been knocked from the dirty dish pile on the counter down to the floor, and a cylinder of various kitchen instruments had been tipped over. Schneep was feeling around the counter, until his hands found the knife block, which he pulled toward him.

“What are you doing?!” Jack cried. 

Schneep turned in the direction of the voice. “Jack, I know I’m fucking useless, but I have to try and do something to help, even if I end up failing!”

Jack felt a twist in his heart. “You’re not useless.”

“But dude, can you maybe step away from the knives?” Chase asked nervously. “They’re sharp.”

“I am not an idiot, Chase, I know that. But damn if I am going to confront that monster unarmed and alone.” 

Chase paused, watching silently as Schneep felt around the knife handles. “You’re not going to be alone.” The words came out small. He straightened and repeated, firmer this time. “You’re not going to be alone. I-I’m coming with you. You’re right, we’re not leaving Jameson. I...I want to help.”

Jack gave Chase an encouraging smile. Chase was still pale, but he now looked determined. “We’re going to get him back,” Jack promised. “All of us. But, uh, Schneep? Maybe don’t grab the knife? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Schneep scoffed. “I am not going to accidentally stab myself.”

“Okay, maybe, but, uh, I’d rather you didn’t take that chance.”

Schneep turned in Jack’s direction and glared. Jack quietly concluded that, even if Schneep wasn’t actually looking at him, that didn’t deprive the glare of any of its scorching power. “Or...at least let me help you,” Jack offered. He hadn’t been too fond of knives, not ever since October, but he’d been getting better. He thought he was comfortable enough to make sure Schneep didn’t slice himself up.

“Okay, fine,” Schneep grumbled. “Chase, do you want to take one?”

Chase shook his head. “No. I...I still know where my gun is.”

Schneep was silent for a moment, then nodded. “That would work. You two know how to get to his place where he hides?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jack said, looking at Chase.

“Definitely,” Chase mumbled.

“Then we should not hesitate too long.”

And so it was that only an hour later, Chase, Jack, and Schneep had wound their way through city streets to the industrial edge of the city. They stood in front of a low concrete building with wires and cables snaking around it. None of them moved closer to it. Jack and Chase were plagued with phantom memories of what had happened within, and Schneep, while never having been there before, could still feel the angry, hostile atmosphere the building seemed to give off.

After a while, Chase took a deep breath, checked the safety on his handgun, then said, “Well. We’ve come this far.”

“And we’re not leaving anyone behind,” Jack agreed.

Schneep didn’t say anything, just merely nodded, adjusting the kitchen knife he’d borrowed in his grip.

And the three of them stepped inside.

— — — — — — —

“Not much to s͝͞à̛͢y? What’s wrong? Cat got y̷̵ơ͏ur͢ t̸on͏̴g̕u̧e? Oh no, it was a ne̕e͟d͢͝l̴̵̕ę̸̕, wasn’t it?!”

Jameson’s head hit the metal wall with a sickening crack. He dazedly tried to blink the sudden burst of bright white out of his eyes, but wasn’t able to completely clear his head before a hand grabbed the back of his shirt collar and pulled him back. He choked, instinctively trying to pull away, but his struggles were subdued by the arm that wrapped around his torso, and the tip of a knife that poked against his throat.

“Aw, no m͟ag̡̢̀i̶͢ç͝͞, huh?” Anti’s voice was quiet, but the bitter hatred in it transcended volume. “Guess it’s not that u͏͏͠s͝͝ęf̸̨ul, then.”

Jameson swallowed as best as he could with the blade so close. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been trying to summon it. But the magic didn’t seem to want to respond, no matter how desperately he cried to it for help. Maybe it was because of Anti, whose half-solid, but strong, body gave out a constant buzzing vibe of dark magic. But Jameson thought it was something else. The magic jumped to action whenever his friends were in danger, but it didn’t seem to care about his desire to protect himself.

“You know, I ḿ̶ig̡h̷̴͡t have actually ú̶̴n͏d͢͠er̸̨̕es̨t̀i̡m͏a̷͏͏ted͠ you,” Anti said. The knife point began trailing upwards along Jameson’s neck. Anti laughed at the way he stiffened, and started tracing idle patterns with the point against his cheek. “I thought you’d gi͠v͠e̢͝ ͞͝u͟p̸. If not after the stįt͞c̡h̕i̶͠͠n̡̧g, then after all the others were m̪̗̰̣̕ì̲͔̳̖ͅn̟͈̬̦͕̘̟͞͠è̴̗̗͞. But no. You just h̶͝a̵̸͞d́ to keep going, just h̴a̛͟d̵ to become some sort of...mą̕̕g̷͟i͟c̨i̶̧̢a̶͟͝ǹ̨͡.”

The blade stopped dancing across the surface of his skin and instead cut where it traced. Jameson shuddered as he felt warm liquid drip down his face. That wasn’t the first injury. He’d only been here a short time, but Anti had made the most of it. There was hardly a spot that wasn’t bloody or bruised. Anti seemed to know about his fear of needles as well, and Jameson had lost track of all the tiny puncture wounds.

“Well... you'll ̀g̢i̸̵v̧̛e̵͟ ̧up ́eve̴͠ǹtuá̵ll̢̢y̨̛͞.̀” Anti seemed to shrug, then pulled the knife away. The reprieve didn’t last long, as the blade then started tracing the line of stitches across Jameson’s mouth, catching on the threads but never slicing through. A small part of Jameson hoped Anti would cut through them, but he knew that was too good to be true. Or if he did cut the stitches, it would only prelude something worse.

Suddenly, Anti stilled, the knife falling away and his grip loosening. He looked to the side, as if he could see beyond the metal walls of the small room. A grin split his face. “Ha. Seems the others are r͡i͏g̛h̴t̨ ͏on͞ ti̷̴m̵é͢͡.”

Jameson’s head jerked up, hoping he’d heard that right. The others were here? His joy quickly turned to sick fear.

Anti seemed to catch the widening of his eyes. His grin grew. “You stay hę̀̕r̡͝e͠ while I d̸̴͠e͢al̵͡ with them.” He shoved Jameson roughly to the floor, too quick for him to catch himself. Jameson cried out, the sound muffled as always, as the fall aggravated the injuries he already had.

Jameson lifted his head and watched as Anti crossed the room to the heavy metal door. He watched as Anti pulled it open and walked through—and then jumped and scrambled backwards as the world seemed to jolt and shudder and suddenly Anti was right in front of him again, the shadows on his face twisting, knife in hand. “On second thought, ju͝st ̴̢̢t̀͞o̷ ̴̕m̡̨a̸k̀e̵ ̨̨́şu͠r̨̀͞e...”

Anti’s hand darted forward. Jameson instinctively ducked his head, holding up his arms to shield himself, but then he felt fingers wrap around his ankle. And then—

He screamed. He couldn’t help it, he had no other way to react to the sudden fiery agony that burst, shooting sharply through his ankle. His legs jerked, and he pulled them close to his chest, but that didn’t stop the wave after wave of solid pain.

“Don’t shriek like that, you’ll t͞ęa̕r̸ right through the stitches,” Anti said calmly, wiping down the blade of his knife with his sleeve. “And I worked s̵̢͢o h͝ard͡͠͞ on them.” A smile flashed across his face, and then he was gone. “I’ll be s̴ȩe͠͝i̷̕͟ń͝g̕ ͡͏yo̧͠ú,” came one last echo.

Jameson half-wished the others would just turn around and leave. Half-wished they wouldn’t find him. After all, could a trap be sprung if the bait was never taken?

— — — — — — —

“Everything looks the same,” Jack muttered, his gaze tracing along the metal walls, casting about through the red light.

“Well, it’s not,” Chase said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “It’s built like a maze, but there are hidden patterns that he uses to get around. On the floors, mostly. Eventually you memorize which patterns go with which sections.”

“It smells like metal,” Schneep muttered. “And electricity. Are those part of the patterns, too?”

“Smell patterns?” There was a slight trace of a laugh in Chase’s voice. “Nah. It’s just visual. You’re...you’re still back there, right?”

“Chase, I am holding your hand, I do not think you could lose me.” The contact alone sort of worried Schneep. Because if Chase was scared enough to overcome his aversion, that meant he was extremely on edge.

For a moment, everyone was quiet. Then Jack said, “Actually, this doesn’t look the same. The—the walls are different than last time. They don’t have...” he shuddered. “...eyes.”

“That’s a different section,” Chase said calmly.

“Wait, you were not joking about the walls having eyes earlier?!” Schneep asked, alarmed.

“No, I wasn’t, they did have them, but...not right now” Jack said slowly. His brows furrowed. “But last time...the walls had eyes right up to the exit. Entrance. Whatever. But anyway, if we came through the same way, then shouldn’t we see the...you know, eyes?”

“Oh, uh, no.” Chase, in the lead, looked back over his shoulder at Jack. “When I say it’s a different section...well, it’s kinda—you know, there’s a reason why this maze is usually so difficult to navigate?”

Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, but he did anyway. “What’s that?”

“Well, the sections—”

There was a shaking. It traveled down the hall, past the group of three, and continued on, rattling the metal walls and throwing around the red lightbulbs that dangled from the ceiling.

“What was that?” Schneep asked, tightly gripping Chase’s hand and the kitchen knife.

Chase had suddenly gone very pale. “Fuck.” He laughed, sounding a bit manic. “See this is what I was talking abou—”

Another rumbling shake, like a contained earthquake. The floor bucked and kicked like a wild horse trying to throw off its rider, and slowly, you could see seams in the metal pulling apart. Jack staggered and fell against the nearest wall, only to feel it tilt a bit.

“The sections move!” Chase shouted, just before another wave of shaking threw him off his feet and onto the floor. “Brace yourselves!”

But it was too late. The whole hallway was juddering in its frame, tremors severe enough to throw the three around. Parts of the hall tilted and rolled, others fell through to a deeper level of the maze. The air was filled with the metallic chorus of a thousand clattering metal sheets.

When the rumbling finally stopped and the hallways settled into a new configuration, Schneep uncurled himself from the ball he’d rolled into to stay safe. At some point he’d dropped the knife, but more importantly, he’d also dropped Chase’s hand.

“No no nein no nein nein—” Schneep fought off a wave of sheer panic and terror. The idea of a shifting maze was bad enough already, but he didn’t even have the benefit of a visual cue to tell what changed. “No, think! Denk nach, jetzt!”

The floor felt roughly the same, made the same sound as his footsteps had when he pounded on it with his fist. When he used the wall to pull himself into a standing position, that felt the same as well. But any number of things could be different, and he’d have no idea. And where were Chase and Jack? Half-leaning on the wall, Schneep took a few hesitant steps forward, sliding his feet along the ground. “H-hello? Are you there?!” he called.

There was what sounded like someone banging on the metal walls and floor. Schneep jumped. He hadn’t expected that sound to be so close to him. Then there was a voice: “Henrik? Oh god, you’re alright!”

“Yes, I—” Schneep stopped short. Yes, both Jack and Chase sometimes called him ‘Henrik.’ But that wouldn’t be their first instinct; both of them usually preferred ‘Schneep.’ And in a stressful situation like this, people would be going to their first instinct. He narrowed his eyes. “Who is there?”

Silence.

“You were ál̷ẁ̨͢aý̶̧ş̕ the s̴̕m̸͢a̸̷r̨̕t͡ one.”

Schneep cried out and backed up. That broken voice could only belong to one person. And if he was judging the distance correctly, that meant Anti was right in front of him.

“Oh, scared, d̛ò̡ct́͟o̶ŕ̷?”

Anti laughed as Schneep whirled around. Now the voice was behind him! But—that laugh was next to him? “Where are you?!” Schneep cried, head turning wildly.

“Ev̵e͢r͏y̕͠wḩer̨̕e͡. Ņow̶̧ḩere̷͞͞. All around at͝ ͝on̷c̢͢͡e̶.” Anti’s voice bounced around, coming from behind, then in front, then seemingly right in his ear. Schneep couldn’t keep up with the movement, stumbling and scrambling away from wherever the source was, half-raising his arms in front to protect himself from whatever was bound to come. The next time Anti spoke, he sounded amused. “Whose i͏d̡͠͞e̵à̢̛ was it to bring a blind guy to a f̴͏i͢͏͞gh̷͝t?”

Schneep growled, suddenly feeling anger rise. “I decided to come myself. I will not let you get away with this!”

“You won’t?” Anti’s voice settled, sounding like he was in front of him, if a few feet away. “Then fucking d͏̨o̴͢ ́̕͞sò̶m̡͝͏e̴t̷̕h̸͟i̡͞n̴̸͏g̶͞͝ to stop me. I doubt you even c͞a̛͡n̸.͏”

“You—!” Schneep couldn’t help it. He lunged forward, toward the source of Anti’s voice. But after only a few steps, there suddenly wasn’t ground under his feet, and he cried out as he toppled forward, falling some ways before landing hard on the metal floor. He struggled to recover his breath, struggling to his hands and knees while Anti laughed.

“Oh, didn’t I ţ̡è̶l͡l̨͞ yo͟ú̵͝ there was a hole there?” The world shivered with static, and then Schneep felt hands grab the lapels of his sweater and pull him upward. He grasped at the wrists and tried to pull away, but they might as well have been solid. “How ṕ̧̭͎̖͖͠a͇̰̻͕͕t̟̖̤͖̫h͏̭̰̝͍̫̗ͅe̡̛̜͍̩̱t̖̱̝̘͈i̭̖̘̳̮c̴̡̞̪̰̬,” Anti spat. “You were a f̸̶̛a̡i͝ļu̷̢ŗ̀e̴ before this, now you’re just e̡̡n̡̨t̵i͏̷̕re͝ĺ͠y͏ ̛uş̶͞e̵͟l̸̢͠es̴̶̀s̷̨.”

Schneep flinched a bit. Anti always seemed to echo his worst thoughts back at him. “I...I am not—” He cried out as something sharp pierced his side. A warm stain began spreading across his sweater.

“Really? Then do something to ş̡ţ̷óp̵̀͠ ͢͞m̡è̡!̵͢ Just t̨͞rý and g̶e̡t͢͝ ̴̨a̸͡ẃ̡̨a͝͏͝y, why don’t you?” Anti suddenly let go, dropping Schneep. But before he could hit the floor, Anti grabbed the back collar of his sweater and began dragging him across the ground. Schneep choked, pulling the collar away from his throat so it wouldn’t strangle him. With his other hand he tried to find some purchase on the ground, legs scrambling as well, but there was nothing to catch on.

After too long, Anti stopped, roughly pulling Schneep close to him. “N̶̕o͏t̴̶̷h̵i̵̧ng,” he hissed. “I don’t know why I even b̴́ot͞h̕͟͏e̢̡̛r͠͞e̷d with you. You two h̀̀a̛v̵̸e̸ ͞͡f͏u̡̕n̶ while I find your friends.” There was a metallic clunking sound, then Schneep was thrown forward, skidding across the floor. Before he could recover, something slammed shut, and everything went suddenly cold.

“F-fuck,” Schneep muttered, getting into a kneeling position. Really? There was no point during that encounter when he could’ve done something? He couldn’t have even—wait. What had Anti said? ‘You two’...someone else was in here, in...what was presumably some sort of cell with him. Or maybe that was another trick, but what would be the point of tricking him twice? “Hello?” Schneep called. “Is someone there?”

For a moment, nothing. And then the slight sound of something shifting. Schneep’s shoulders raised, a bit guarded. “I-I cannot see anything, where are you?” He paused. “Jamie...is that you?”

A slight moment of nothing. And then there was a clanging sound, like someone banging their fist on the metal floor. Followed quickly by a shorter sound, then two more the same length as the first. Schneep recognized that deliberate pattern. Morse code, the letter Y to be specific. ‘Y’ as in ‘yes.’ Morse code as in the way Schneep and JJ had been communicating for the last month or so. “Oh my god,” Schneep muttered. “Jamie, I am coming, keep making sound so I know where you are.”

Another Morse ‘Y,’ then a steady stream of sound that seemed like JJ was hitting the floor repeatedly. Schneep was hesitant to stand up, so he began crawling toward the sound, hands searching the area in front of him in a wide sweeping pattern, in case there was something in front. It didn’t take too long for them to run into something warm and soft. The sounds stopped. “...Jamie?” Schneep asked softly, patting the soft thing. Yep, that felt like a person.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, and he felt the fingers tap out a pattern. Two long, a pause, one short. Me. 

 Schneep realized there were tears filling his eyes, but he didn’t care. “J-Jamie,” he gasped. He clumsily lifted Jameson into a sitting position and pulled him into a tight hug. “W-we were worried...I-I didn’t know if I could...but I had to try! Are you okay?”

Jameson wrapped his arms around Schneep in turn. His hand made another tapping pattern on Schneep’s back: long short, pause, three long. No.

“Ah. I see. I suppose it was too much to hope for that he wouldn’t hurt you.” Schneep pulled away and began patting Jameson down. He made note of the spots where the cloth of his clothes was ripped and wet, and the spots where Jameson flinched if he pressed too hard. “Is there anywhere specific I need to know about?”

Ankle, Jameson tapped out, fingers drumming on Schneep’s arm. Can’t walk.

Schneep frowned. “I need more. Did he do something to it?”

Yes. Cut it.

“Does it hurt a lot? And when I say ‘a lot,’ I mean extremely. Does it feel like fire?”

Jameson shuddered. Yes.

“Fick alles!” Schneep swore. “He maybe sliced your Achilles tendon. That will take a long time to heal, and you will definitely not be able to walk.” He chewed his lip for a bit as he thought. “I can help you, but you will have to help me too. I will be your legs if you can be my eyes, okay?”

Ok, Jameson tapped.

“Alright. Get ready, I am going to stand up now, then I will try to get you up too.” Schneep climbed to his feet, keeping hold of Jameson’s hand. After a moment to breathe, he said, “Get ready,” and leaned down, grabbing Jameson’s arms and hauling upward. He heard the sound of shoes on the metal floor, and then Jameson’s muffled, pained yelp. “Left or right ankle?” Schneep hurried to ask. He heard a few whimpers, then felt a short-long-short tap pattern, the letter R. Schneep nodded in response, throwing Jameson’s left arm over his shoulder, bracing himself as Jameson leaned most of his weight against him.

“Okay...okay, we are upright, that is good,” Schneep breathed, speaking mostly to himself. “Now. Where is the door? I know there is one, I heard it shut.”

It was slow going, with Schneep having to accommodate Jameson leaning on him while still trying to pay attention to the messages he was tapping out. They quickly developed a system: L for turn left, R for turn right, S to stop, and F to move forward. It took a few minutes before Schneep reached out and felt the solid metal of the door. He glided his and across the surface. “I am assuming there is no doorknob?”

Is none, Jameson tapped. What to do?

“I...I am not sure.” He felt around some more, reaching the edges of the door. The seam between the metal door and metal walls wasn’t even large enough to squeeze his fingers into. “Maybe there is nothing I can...” Schneep stopped himself. The words he was saying...they reminded him of Anti. Anti, who mocked him for being unable to do anything, for being useless. And even if parts of himself agreed, he wasn’t about to prove that monster right. He gritted his teeth. “No, there is something. There is always something!” He banged against the door, throwing his whole weight into it. Once, twice, then—

Schneep cried out as he stumbled forward, the solid weight of the door suddenly gone. Jameson stumbled with him, crying out as he presumably put weight on his injured ankle to steady himself, and gripping Schneep tight to stop from falling. “I got you,” Schneep said, righting himself and then grabbing Jameson to help right him as well. After that was taken care of, he swept his arm around, expecting to hit the door again, but finding nothing. “What...what was that? What happened?”

Jameson began tapping wildly. Schneep tried to interpret it at first before realizing it wasn’t meant to be a message, just frantic confusion. “Okay, okay, stop that,” Schneep said. “Simple questions. Did the door open?”

No.

Schneep frowned. “Did...did you do something? With your magic?”

A hesitation, then another No.

“But...we are outside that room, right?”

Yes. A pause. Later? The word was marked as a question as Jameson traced the mark out.

Schneep shook his head. “Good idea. What matters is that we are free, and we need to find Jack and Chase. They came with me to find you, but we got separated. Can you do that tracking spell thing? The one you used to find them in this place before?”

Silence for a long time. And then, Schneep heard a slight humming sound, which gradually grew in volume until it leveled off. Then, the sound wandered away. Yes, JJ tapped. Follow.

“Okay. Hold on.” Schneep secured his supporting grip on JJ, then started down the hall. Hopefully Jack and Chase were close, he and JJ weren’t exactly the fastest people in the world in this condition.

— — — — — — —

Jack opened his eyes. The world had finally stopped shaking. But Chase had been right, everything had been switched around. Jack was now huddled against the wall, sitting near a turn in the hallway that hadn’t been there before. The red lightbulbs, previously dangling overhead, were now set in the ceiling. And he couldn’t see Chase or Schneep at all.

Jack sat up straight, catching sight of something gleaming nearby in the red light. It was the kitchen knife Schneep had decided to take. Jack hesitated, then grabbed it, holding it as far away from his body as possible without it being awkward. “Hello? Guys?!” He called.

“Jack!” Chase’s voice, followed by the sound of footsteps. Chase rounded the corner of the hall, skidding to a halt as he came face-to-face with Jack. “Oh thank god, you’re okay,” he said, slumping in relief. His hand, which was holding his gun at the ready, slowly lowered.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Jack looked around the corner, then down the long end of the hall. “Where...where’s Schneep?”

Chase paled. “I don’t know. Maybe—maybe he was on one of those pieces that ended up falling to a lower level.”

“We lost him, too?!” Jack asked incredulously.

“No!” The word was more a shriek. Chase closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his voice was much calmer. “No, we’re going to find him again. And we’re gonna find JJ too.”

“The place fucking shifted around!”

“It can only change into so many shapes! I just—I just need to walk around for a bit so I can figure out which one we’re in now.” Chase sounded slightly desperate as he looked around, turning in circles. After he made the decision to come, he was hoping there was a way to salvage this, and that he wouldn’t turn out to be right about how impossible it was.

Jack took a deep breath, then nodded. “Okay. Okay, you lead the way.” After all, they’d worked up the courage to come here, might as well make the most of it.

Chase nodded, turning back around the corner. Jack adjusted his grip on the kitchen knife and followed.

And it was...quiet. Too quiet. Jack’s head darted back and forth between looking behind him and looking in front. There was just more endless hallway. Occasionally there would be a section that branched off, but Chase would glance down those only briefly before continuing forward. Jack didn’t like those branches. Anything could come out of them. He still remembered the sudden wave of static that had chased them out of here last time.

After who knows how long, Chase suddenly stopped in the middle of a T-intersection. Jack looked at him. “What’s wrong? You don’t know where to go?”

“Jack.” There was panic in Chase’s voice. “I can’t move.”

It was like he’d suddenly had a bucket of ice water dumped on him. “You what?!” Jack asked.

“I can’t move!” Indeed, Chase was standing perfectly still. He didn’t even turn his head to look at Jack, just moved his eyes. “I-I-I’m trying, I can’t walk or raise my hand or-or anything!”

Jack scrambled for an idea. “Maybe I can help?!” He ran to Chase’s side and pushed him. Chase staggered forward before catching his balance, but didn’t walk any further, just stopped in a new position.

“Jack, please!” There were tears gathering in Chase’s eyes that he couldn’t blink away. “Do something!”

The red lighting flickered. A laugh echoed down the hall to the left, brushing past the two of them. And then, there was a figure standing there. Nothing but a shadowy outline of static. It started to walk closer.

Jack yelped. “No no no, we have to run!” He grabbed Chase by the arm and started to run down the hall to the right, only for Chase to only follow for a few steps before suddenly becoming a statue again. Jack looked back over at him. “Chase?!”

“I-I can’t, I can’t, it won’t let me move my legs!” Chase’s voice rose in panic as the static figure grew closer, getting more detailed with every step it took, squares of its appearance filled in and becoming more solid. “Just go, just get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving you! I’m not leaving anyone!” Jack tried in vain to pull him once again, then tried to push, but Chase wouldn’t budge. He might as well have been a statue.

“Th̶̢̕a͢t̡’s the Jack we know and l̨̡͞o̶v͡e̴̸!” The static figure had filled in, and now Anti grinned at the two of them as he closed the distance, distortion breaking apart his body that wasn’t all there. “Always so ready to do a͡͠͝n̴̵͠ỳt̵h͏̷įng̸̶ for his precious f̷́ri̷̵èn̶͝ds͠. I see you got a replacement.” Anti tapped the area by his right eye. “I liked it better when there was no̧̕t̨̀hi̡͏͞ng̨͠͏ there.”

Jack froze up. The memory was there, as vivid as ever. The sound of Anti laughing, making some comment about how blind Jack had been to believe he would keep his promise. The desperate struggle to get away from the strings that seemed to come out of nowhere and wrap around him. The feeling of Anti’s hand against his head, holding his eyelid open, the approaching blade—

“Or if you w̴̧͞a͏̨n̡t͢͠ ͏̵i̢͡t̸̨ b͠a͡ck, I still h̶͡a͠v͟͞ȩ it.” Anti smiled as if this was a perfectly normal thing to offer.

“You’re a sick fuck!” Jack cried, snapping back to the present. “What did you do to Chase?! Let him go!”

“Or I could do ex͠͡a͝c͢tl̛͟y̷̴͢ ̢͢n̵̡o̧t́͡ ͢t̵̡͝h̛́͝a̛͝t̸.” Anti snapped his fingers, and Chase collapsed, falling to the floor like he’d suddenly lost all his bones. Or like he was a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

“No—!” Jack dropped to the floor next to Chase, turning him over onto his side. Chase’s eyes were still moving, wide with horror. He was practically trembling with effort as he strained to move, to no avail. Jack tried shaking him, but that did nothing.

“Oh come on, he’ll be f̧i̡n̵͞e̢̕.” Anti rolled his eyes. “I just exploited some of those holes left in ḩ́i͢s̡̀ ̶̛̀so̶u̧͞ļ̶͠ from my̨ st̶̛r͏͠i͟n̷̛g̢̕s to get him ó͞u̶t̴͢ ̶͞o̷f ̶̧̀t̨͞ḩe̛͟͞ ͟͞ẃay̵͠.” He chuckled. “Good to know they’re still room for strings to go ri̡g̴h̷̡t̵ b̢ac̶k ̧w͟her̶̷ȩ̕̕ ̸́t̡͠h̕e̶͠y w̕er̴̕̕é͢.”

Holes in his what? Jack looked down at Chase. Impulsively, he closed his left eye, activating that weird sort of vision that made the world lose color, except for the balls of light he could see in people’s chests. He hadn’t found a use or explanation for that yet, but now...he was starting to have a feeling. Chase’s yellow light had some strange...grooves in it, that he couldn’t quite understand. And now, Jack could see that some of those had been filled in with green and blue static. Was...was this vision...was he seeing people’s souls?

“Y̸͡o̕͏u̢͝, on the other hand.” Anti stepped closer. Jack scrambled backwards until his back was pressing against the wall. “Yơ͏͝u͡’̷r͞e̡ not going to be fine. Do you miss the month we had together? I̶̢ ͏͢ḑ̀̕o.”

“Shut up!” Jack remembered the kitchen knife, holding it out in front of him defensively. Then he started to wonder...he closed his left eye again. In this new vision, Anti looked...strange. His body was transparent, filled with static the way you’d fill a balloon with water. And in the center of his chest, where most people had their light...there was a broken mess. Shards of red and blue, faintly glowing individually but together adding up to the usual amount of light people had, all held together by thin green strings. Strings that wove in and out of the light, wrapping it in a ball as they stitched the shards together. Or...maybe it was only one string.

“Is that t̢̧͟h̶è b̴͟e͞s̡t͞ you can do?” Anti looked down at Jack and tilted his head. “Try better n͏̵e͝x̢̡́t̴͟ ̸tí́͟m̧e̶͞. And get something better to defend yourself, too.” Anti’s hand glitched, and he was holding a knife as well, though with a much bigger, sharper blade. He smiled. “R̶͠è̕a̴̷̛dy̷̶ f̨o͠r ̸̸r͡ơu̡ņd̸͏̵ ̨͟t͢ẃ̵o̵͟͞?”

Jack could feel his heart pounding a rhythm on his ribcage. He looked over to Chase, still limp on the floor, then back to Anti. His hand was shaking, but he still held the kitchen knife out. If he was going out, he’d go out with a fight this time.

The smile widened. “W̶̢̨ȩl̷c̡o͡m̴̕e ̢b̨͠ac̸k.” The blade streaked downwards—

—and reflected off a shield of blue light.

Anti actually stumbled back with the force of the deflected blow. “What?!”

“Hey motherfucker!”

Jack’s head darted to the side and caught sight of JJ and Schneep, the former leaning on the latter, stumbling down the left hall toward them. They both looked awful. Schneep’s side was stained red and he was paler than he’d ever been. JJ was covered in various cuts, including one on his cheek, and without his mask the stitches across his mouth were on full, painful display. But Schneep’s eyes were full of rage above their scars, and JJ’s hand was outstretched, wrapped in glowing blue circles.

Anti was genuinely surprised. “How did you get ou—”

“We wouldn’t tell you even if we knew!” Schneep yelled. “Now get away from our friends.”

Anti looked the two of them up and down, then looked over to Jack, still hidden behind that magic shield but now grinning triumphantly. A smile curled across his lips. “No, I d̀o͏̷n͏͠’̨͞t̨ ̨͟thi͢n͏k̶̴ so̡. You look half-dead, what can you do to ś̨t͟o̢p̸͏ ̢̢̛m̸̷͡é̵?̸̛”

“This.”

BANG!

Jack gaped as Anti’s head suddenly jerked to the side, a spray of red coming from the side and a look of total shock on his face. Slowly, he processed that neither he nor Schneep had said ‘This,’ and that neither of them had a gun to make the gunshot sound. He looked over. Chase’s hand was outstretched, his fingers wrapped around his handgun. He had lifted himself onto his elbows, and though he was pale and shaking and struggling to stay in place, his eyes were narrowed in determination.

Schneep had frozen in place, looking partly confused and partly on edge. JJ was so surprised that he ended up dropping the shield he’d cast around Jack.

“Y-yo-ou li-litt-ttle-le—” Something was wrong with Anti. Blood was leaking from the wound in his head. His form was glitching, coming apart and changing from static to solid and everything in between in the blink of an eye. But he wasn’t down. “Ho-how-w d-di-id yo-you-u—” His voice was breaking as well. It sounded like three people—or was it only two?—talking at once.

And when Jack closed his eye and looked at him through his soul vision, he saw the shards in Anti’s chest were pulling apart, the green string struggling to hold them together.

He jumped to his feet. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but he had the strangest feeling he needed to do it. Gripping the kitchen knife firmly, Jack ran towards Anti and plunged it into his chest.

Anti shrieked, trying to push Jack away, but his arms turned translucent and passed right through him. The knife also clattered to the ground as his chest did something similar. But the blade had left a sizable open wound.

Jack hesitated for only a slight moment before shoving his hand into the opening in Anti’s chest. The inside felt...not at all like how he expected. It was mostly an itchy, tingling feeling all around, like sparks biting into his hand but without the pain. Jack reached until his hand found the cluster of red and blue shards, held together by string. And though he instinctively knew he shouldn’t be able to do what he did next, it happened anyway. Jack grabbed the green string, and yanked it out of Anti’s chest.

A triple-layered, electric scream escaped from Anti the moment the string was pulled away. His body flashed wildly between red and blue, chunks flying away until, with a flash of green light, it burst.

Jack blinked the light out of his eyes, staring at a spot where, only a few seconds ago, a monster had been standing. He looked around. JJ and Chase were wearing identical expressions of complete incredulous astonishment. Schneep just looked confused. “What happened?” He asked. “Is-is he gone?”

Chase slowly stood up. He examined his own body, flexing and moving his arms and legs effortlessly. “I...I think Jack just killed Anti,” he whispered, as if the fact would become untrue if he said it louder.

“What?!” Schneep gasped.

“I...I think...” Jack looked down at the string in his hand. It wasn’t...fully there, more resembling light than anything. Yet he could feel it. It stung a bit. He watched as it wrapped around his arm and squeezed. Not too tight, just tight enough to know it was there. “I think he’s gone...”

Schneep stumbled, almost falling until he remembered he was still supporting JJ and had to right himself. “Mein Gott...” he whispered. “Is it ov—”

There was a pair of small thump sounds from further down the right hallway.

Everyone immediately tensed. Jack leaned over and picked up the knife again, and JJ reactivated his circular magic. Chase checked the safety on his gun. “I...I’m going to check that out...” he said slowly. “If anything happens, I’ll yell.” He edged down the hall, gun half-raised in preparation. The hall curved at the end, and he vanished around the corner.

After a minute of awkward silence, Jack asked, “Do you think we should go—”

“Oh my fucking god!”

Jack jumped, JJ tensed, and Schneep called, “What was that?!”

“Dude!” Chase yelled. “You’re not gonna believe this!”

“You two stay here,” Jack said. “I’m gonna go check.” And he ran down the hall.

Once he turned the corner, he saw Chase standing in the doorway to a room. Chase turned around and looked at Jack, eyes alight. Alight with joy. “Jack...” he said, smiling. “I...I hoped but I never really thought— Jus-just look, man. ”

Jack pushed past him, staring into the room. It was tiny, barely bigger than a closet. There were two people inside, huddled in the corner. Jack took a moment to curl the green string—which was oddly floating away now, almost straining to get into the room—into a ball and shove it in his hoodie pocket. Then he looked back up at the two people. The room was lit by a single, surprisingly not red lightbulb, so he could tell what they looked like. One was wearing a blue shirt and a black cape. The other was wearing a red hoodie. They had their arms wrapped around each other, so tightly that they almost looked attached to each other. And then Jack saw their faces. He blinked. There was no mistaking them.

“Marvin? Jackie?”

[fullmetalscullyy]

Hey! I was wondering if you're taking requests? If you are do you think maybe you could do a royai fic where Roy gets injured badly and its partially Riza's fault? Like she rushed in or something? If not I understand ❤️ keep up the good work btw I love your writing 💕

i’m so touched by your ask and request anon

i hope you enjoy this!!! ahhh and i hope this is what you were lookingfor as well

if you (or anyone) has anyrequests, feel free to send them my way! i’m off multi chapter fics for a whileas i want to explore other story lines in oneshots and drabbles so i’ll alwaysbe looking for prompts!

thanks again!!!!

He had to move. He had to get there now. If he didn’t, Hawkeye and Havoc’s lives could be in danger.

Move, move, move! Hisfeet pounded the pavement to the beat of that word in his head.

They had been pursuing an arm’s dealer for a few weeks and Royhad dispersed the team to search different areas of the city where they couldbe holed up. Hawkeye and Havoc had been assigned as a team, dispatched to thewarehouse district. Breda and Fuery were sent west but were now hightailing it tothe warehouse district. Roy had held back at the office because Fuery informedhim Falman had been trying to contact him. However, apparently there had been abad storm near Briggs and communication lines were down for an hour beforeFalman could get through.

It was Falman himself who explained the situation to Roy. Itappeared Briggs had finally caughtwind of the possibility of their cover being blown and his former comradedesperately detailed what would happen should the team blow Cole’s cover. It only took them three weeks to realise,Roy growled to himself. How is themilitary this incompetent? Sending itsown soldiers to pursue each other.

“It was need to know only, Brigadier General, sir,” Falmanelaborated in a hushed tone. Even though the worst of the storm had passed, theline still crackled with interference. “And once I caught wind of what washappening, I couldn’t leave you in the dark.”

“I appreciate that, Falman,” Roy replied gratefully, hismind elsewhere and running a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to alertthe team to back off immediately.“Thank you.”

“I won’t keep you sir, I know you have work to do,” Falmanstated, tone changing, voice rising in volume. Someone was nearby and possiblylistening in.

“Thank you, Falman. I’ll be in touch.”

“Sir.”

The warehouse came into view at the end of the street Royjust turned onto. The nondescript beige building didn’t look like it washousing an undercover operation, however that was the whole point. Apparently, OliviaCole, their target, had been meeting here with the Drachmans, so even her baseof operations needed to look convincing. The paperwork there alone wouldincriminate the Lieutenant to Hawkeye and Havoc.

Only Olivia Cole wasn’t an arm’s dealer. Second LieutenantCole was in fact in the middle of an undercover operation from Briggs to locatethe real arm’s dealer who was smugglingDrachman weapons into Amestris. She had worked with the real Drachmans, but hadyet to discover the mysterious identity of the ring leader. This warehouse waswhere Cole and her new “friends” were located. If Hawkeye or Havoc shot Colethen there could be severe consequences. Hawkeye would follow her gut and ifeven the slightest thing appeared off about the Briggs’ soldier, or if any ofthe other men tried anything, she would shoot to incapacitate her, leaving theundercover operation blown wide open, giving the real target a chance atescape.

General Armstrong had a soft spot for Hawkeye, however thisoperation was top priority, Falman explained, and probably wouldn’t hesitate toberate and possibly court martial anyone who disrupted this for the Briggs’soldier.

That’s why Roy needed to get there before it all went tohell.

The door had been propped open with a piece of metal piping.Roy eased himself in carefully, wary of not putting too much pressure on themetal as he eyed the rusty hinges, daring them to make a sound to announce hispresence.

“Get down,” Hawkeye commanded, and Roy heard a gun cockingas he entered the main room.

“You don’t want to do this,” an unfamiliar female voice toldthem sternly. Lieutenant Cole. He edged further into the room, weaving in andout of the maze of crates which probably housed “weapons”. Props. The only realweapons in here would be the ones Cole had obtained from the real arm’s dealer.

Roy crouched behind a crate, eyes peeking over the top as hetook in the scene before him. Lieutenant Cole was on her knees, hands behindher head, gaze defiantly staring back at Hawkeye and Havoc. Both his soldiershad their guns trained on the Lieutenant. Other men were beside Cole, the realDrachmans, each with a face of thunder. His Lieutenants had done a grand jobgetting them all on their knees and surrendered, however this wasn’t good.

Shit. Hawkeye’sfinger repositioned on the trigger.

He could snap. He could activate his array and use theflames to push them back from Cole, but there was no knowing how much gunpowderwas in these crates. If Roy did that, the explosion could be catastrophic.

Think Roy, think!

“I would reconsider, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Cole tried onefinal time, her face twisting into an angry snarl. Roy’s gaze snapped betweenthe “arm’s dealer”, her men, and Hawkeye, who was a second away from pullingthe trigger. Cole stared right back at Hawkeye, eyes dangerous. She lookedevery bit the part of a Drachman spy, and sounded like it too, her accentthick. Falman wasn’t joking when he said this was a serious operation. Colewasn’t budging in her resolve or tempted to reveal anything despite the factshe might very well be incapacitated there and then.

Cole’s hands begun to move from behind her head and that waswhen Roy begun to move. He vaulted over the crate with ease, breaking into asprint towards the standoff happening only a few metres away. He knew he onlyhad a matter of time, because he knew Hawkeye had already made her decision. Assoon as Cole’s hands moved, Hawkeye’s expression turned neutral and her fingerbegun to depress the trigger.

It was stupid, it was reckless, but if it saved Hawkeye’slife, and her career, Roy would do it. He always would. Cole’s “men” begun toshift too, hands reaching for hidden weapons.

This was the only way Roy could think of to stop Cole fromgetting hurt, and therefore ending the Briggs’ operation. It would give themthe element of surprise as well. A Lieutenant shooting one of her own wouldcause enough confusion that it may just stun Cole’s “comrades” to prevent them fromshooting.

Havoc noticed Roy running at them in a full sprint, and so didthe Drachmans. Havoc’s lips parted in surprise, realisation dawning on him thatsomething was very wrong. TheDrachmans looked confused, faces twisting in anger as they spotted anotherAmestrian soldier. Roy heard Havoc say something, but his entire focus was onreaching Hawkeye before that bullet left the chamber.

Roy didn’t even hear the gunshot. He just kept running.There were two shouts, one from Cole and one from Havoc, as Roy felt his bodyjerk. Hid right shoulder twisted painfully from the force of the bullet,spinning him around to face Hawkeye. He saw her face as he fell to the ground,mouth parted in shock, expression horrified. Roy crashed painfully onto hisside, his brain finally catching up with what his body was feeling. He gasped,pain exploding throughout his entire body.

His right shoulder burned intensely. It was almost as bad aswhen he had sealed his wound closed two years ago. There was a wetnessspreading across it and down his arm. His left shoulder, that had hit theground, ached and he was sure something had crunchedinside as he fell. Roy felt pain in his hip too, which had also contacted theground roughly.

“Shit! Boss!” Feet pounded the concrete below him as theDrachmans fled, obviously noticing who exactly it was bleeding out in front ofthem.

Havoc rolled him over onto his back and Roy groaned as hemoved. It was too much. Spots danced in his vision, the edges greying as thepain become too much for him. However, he still had a job to do. He had toprotect his subordinates. He was partly responsible for this mess and it was upto him to sort it out.

“Don’t,” Roy managed to get out. “Don’t… shoot her.” Hishead rolled to his right, seeing Cole blinking at him in surprise. She wasfrozen in place, hands poised above her head, the other men long gone. Why shehad decided to provoke Hawkeye and Havoc, Roy didn’t know, but it pissed himoff. Surely the solider – a Briggs’soldier – knew the implications of moving from a position of surrender likethat while under scrutiny at gunpoint.

Another wave of pain washed over his body as Havoc putpressure on his wounded shoulder.

“Sorry, Boss,” Havoc muttered.

The question regarding Cole was for another time.

“Shit! Hawkeye!” Havoc barked, head snapping up. “Phone anambulance! Now!”

Roy’s head rolled back to his left, gaze lazily movingtowards Hawkeye. The look on her face made fear coiling in his own stomach. Shewas pale, so pale. Her eyes were widewith terror, the gun barely being held in her grip anymore as she stared backat her superior.

Surely the implication of what she had just done was weighingon her mind. That thought would have made his stomach clench if he were not sofocussed on his fading vision.

Roy had known this was what he was stepping into when he ranfrom behind that crate. Taking that bullet and saving Cole’s life meantscrutiny wouldn’t fall on Hawkeye and Havoc. By taking out Cole, Hawkeye wouldbe ending the Briggs’ operation. If anything, Roy would be the one underscrutiny for sending his team into this mission, which ultimately ended in himbeing shot. However, he could play the card that he was unaware of thesituation and was only following orders. So were Hawkeye and Havoc, howeverthey were “less valuable” to the military – a thought that made his blood boil –so wouldn’t be exempt from punishment. A Brigadier General diving in front of abullet for his fellow soldier would add enough heroism that it may just getthem out of this messy situation unscathed.

Plus, they could play it off as the criminals who begun theshootout. It wasn’t right, but until Cole’s operation ended, that was what themilitary would be led to believe.

This would just leave him with a hell of a set ofconsequences to deal with personally, rather than professionally. He’d takethat and protect Hawkeye any day.

“Hawkeye!” Havoc called desperately. The former had yet tomove from the spot, her hands trembling, the gun shaking in her loose grasp. Itclattered to the floor. Roy heard movement and Cole spoke quietly and urgently,her accent gone, giving her identity to an operator and calling for anambulance.

Wave after wave of pain engulfed Roy and he didn’t last muchlonger under consciousness. He was feeling lightheaded, the roof above himspinning sickeningly. He was losing blood and judging by the pulse he couldfeel in his injured shoulder, it was a lot.

No sound came out when Roy opened his mouth, trying to speakto his subordinates. It was too much of an effort to move his head one finaltime, so he tried to convey to Hawkeye what he wanted his say just though hiseyes.

I’ll be fine.

Please, don’t be mad.

Don’t blame yourself.

The ceiling finally dimmed, his eyes closing as he heard avery distraught and choked yell. Riza was yelling his name…

*          *          *

What did you do?

Riza barely felt the blanket Havoc had draped over hershoulders. She sat with her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped in frontof her, head bowed in shame, anguish, pain, you name it.

You shot him.

Riza shuddered, taking a shaky breath. Her hands gripped oneanother even tighter as she tried to control the shaking in her body, herknuckles white.

You fucking shot him.

There was a pressure on her back, and she jerked. Havoc hadtaken up a spot next to her on the uncomfortable hospital chairs. His hand rubbedlazy circles on her back in an attempt at comfort and to soothe her, but Riza’smind was in too much turmoil.

She had shot her superior officer.

She had shot Roy.

The ever-present urge to vomit creeped its way back up herthroat.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Havoc reminded her for what feltlike the hundredth time. “He dove in front of that bullet to protect Cole.”

“Why,” she whispered.

Havoc shrugged. They had only recently been filled in on thesituation by Fuhrer Grumman, who stopped by a short while ago to see how theBrigadier General was doing. “The doctors are doing their best for BrigadierGeneral Mustang now,” was all they were told. That bile crept higher and higherevery time that explanation floated through her head.

If he dies… Because of you…

Riza thought her fingers might break if she gripped them anytighter.

Havoc sighed, gently prying her hands apart and taking themin his. “Hawkeye? Look at me.” It took her a while, but she finally did.Havoc’s eyes were understanding, and sympathetic, but there was a certainty inthem. “This was not your fault. Hechose to dive in front of that bullet. Mustang chose to do that. You were only doing your job, and this was anunfortunate result of Mustang’s rash decision.” Havoc huffed a laugh. “You knowhow he is. Especially when it comes to us. To you.”

Riza stiffened in her chair as Havoc gave her hands a quicksqueeze. He stood from the chair, fingers diving into his trouser pockets topull out a packet of cigarettes. He appeared to be calm, but Riza recognisedthe signs of stress. His face was pulled tight, his movements stiff as hewalked to greet Breda. Havoc’s tone was strained as they conversed quietly, tooquietly for Riza to make out what was being said. Before she knew it, Breda satdown in the chair Havoc had just vacated.

“He’s a dumbass,” Breda remarked quietly with a humourlesschuckle. “I can’t believe he did that. Well, I can absolutely believe why.” Breda shook his head. “To protect her and Havoc”, apparently. Rizashuddered, picturing Mustang’s face as he was hit, body jerking and spinning towardsher, eyes wide with shock, expression twisting with pain.

And she had just stoodthere and done nothing as Havoc yelled at her to phone an ambulance. It hadbeen their so-called “arm’s dealer” that had saved his life and protected him.

Not her, Mustang’s bodyguard.

You’re useless.

Lieutenant Cole fled the scene after placing the call, justas Breda and Fuery arrived. The MPs and the ambulance were only a few minutesout as the other two team members took in the picture before them, Mustang bleedingout on the floor and Havoc yelling for help. Riza had just stood there, bodyshaking uncontrollably. Fuery wrapped an arm around her shoulders in comfort,trying to soothe her, but she heard the way his voice shook in fear at seeingtheir strong, caring, and fearless leader dying on the floor.

Breda disappeared and when the MPs entered with their gunsdrawn Riza thought they were there to arrest her. Something coiled within herthen, her fight or flight instinct kicking in.

“Where is the shooter?” one barked, eyeing the crates that couldhave been hiding an assailant. Riza tensed.

“They fled out the back,” Breda barked, pointing in the oppositedirection Cole left in. “We arrived just to see them shoot at Mustang and then escape.Lieutenants Havoc and Hawkeye were here when it happened.”

The MP’s gaze snapped to them both. “Did you see them?”

Havoc had always been quick to think on his feet. He backed awayfrom Mustang as the paramedics loaded him onto a stretcher and placed an oxygenmask over his mouth. Riza noted Havoc’s hands were bloody. You caused this. He nodded. “I saw them. I saw them shoot theBrigadier General,” he snarled. Riza thought his anger was targeted towardsher.

“It was the situation,” he had explained quietly as Breda drovethem to the hospital behind the ambulance. “I wasn’t angry at you.” His fistsclenched atop his knees. “If anything, I’m angry at Mustang. He chose to dothis to us without warming. And, we were left in the fucking dark by General Armstrongand Fuhrer Grumman and he had to pay for it. So, did you.”

“Hawkeye?” Breda called to her, giving her shoulder a shake.She was roughly thrown back into the present where the never-ending ache thatthrobbed throughout her whole body came crashing back into her consciousness. Theshaking had almost stopped, but her mind was still punishing her severely. “Youwith me?”

She released a shaky breath and nodded, unable to speak.

“Shit,” Breda murmured. His head snapped up, looking downthe hall. Riza’s head slowly moved to look as well, seeing MPs approachingthem. If she moved any faster, she thought she might snap and break in two, that’show tightly she was wound.

Riza really wasn’t in the mood to talk to them right now.

You’d have to tellthem you fucking shot him.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, we would like to ask you –” She shuther eyes, blocking out their voices.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye is in shock at the minute. The shooters targetedher before ultimately hitting the Brigadier General,” Breda lied smoothly. Riza’seyes popped open in surprise. “I witnessed the attack and can answer anyquestions you may have.”

Riza watched as the MP’s lips pursed, clearly unhappy, butnodded in agreement. “Right this way, Second Lieutenant Breda.”

*          *          *

As Roy opened his eyes, he heard someone in the room gaspquietly. Groggily, he blinked, his eyelids taking a while to respond to hisbrain’s request. The harsh, white light blinded him, and, in that moment,everything came rushing back. The warehouse. Cole and Hawkeye. The bulletentering his shoulder.

Hawkeye’s horrified expression.

His head lolled, rolling to face the direction he heard thegasp from. Hawkeye sat by his bedside, posture stiff and expression stricken.Her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Terror, shame, concern… They were allthere.

“Lieutenant?” Roy croaked. The pain that had been a dullreminder in his shoulder flared suddenly and he hissed in pain, closing hiseyes. He never saw Riza’s pained expression. “Are you okay? Where is Cole?” Therewas a pause, so Roy opened his eyes again, teeth gritted against the pain. Hefroze when he saw Riza’s expression.

“Fled the scene, sir,” she replied. It was barely perceptible,but Roy heard the wobble as she said “sir”.

She thought this washer fault. That much was obvious, and, of course, Hawkeye would think that.He had chosen to do it, to protecther and Havoc. It was dumb and ridiculously reckless, but it saved them a worldof trouble.

“Good. And you? Lieutenant Havoc?”

“All right, sir. Fuhrer Grumman filled us in on the…situation.”

He breathed a sight of relief. “Good.” They were safe. “I must apologise, Lieutenant. I acted withoutthinking and you paid the price for it. I’m so sorry.” His earnest eyes methers, which were grief stricken. She nodded, but the action was stiff.

“Understood, sir,” she replied sharply. His gaze flickeddown as he noticed movement. Her hands were atop her thighs, fingers digginginto the fabric of her trousers. They were white with the force of it as shetried not to break apart.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” Roy added, tonedisapproving. “I chose to do this of my own free will.”

“Why?” she finally choked out, that one syllable telling Royall he needed to know. She was hurt as to why he decided to throw himself infront of her gun and desperate for an explanation.

“To save you.” Hawkeye blinked back at him in surprise. “Colewas part of an undercover operation, as you now know. If you had shot her, the wholething would be blown open and you may have been court martialled by Briggs forinterfering with the mission. The fact you weren’t aware of it would beoverlooked if Cole died. And I know you never miss.

“Plus, with the other Drachmans present we could play it offas a shoot out that ended unfortunately for me.”

“Sir, I…”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” She was obviously struggling, and Roy’svoice softened. “You’ve never held back before, Riza.” Her gaze snapped up tohis at the use of her first name. “Don’t hold back now.”

“I shot you,” shelet out in a rush.

“You didn’t,” he replied patiently. “I moved in front ofthat bullet.”

“It was because of me thatyou were shot,” she tried again, voice rising in volume.

“Riza,” Roy replied slowly and carefully, his tonesuggesting she should calm down and think.He wasn’t sure how long he had been out for, but he knew for a fact that Hawkeyewould have been blaming herself this whole time. “I chose this. Not you.”

Suddenly, her hands gripped his good arm tightly. They werecold against his skin, a momentarily uncomfortable sensation, then he felthimself relax at her touch, as he had done so many times before.

Hawkeye took a moment to compose herself, eyes closingbriefly. Roy watched with fascination, but hating how he had done this to her, knowinghe would do it again in a heartbeat if it protected her. The niggling sensationin the back of his mind, reminding him this was just another thing to add tohis “The Ways You Have Hurt Hawkeye” list, never went away though.

“I shot you,” she repeated. Just from her tone Roy knew thishad been repeated in her head over and over. “Something I promised I wouldnever do.” At his confused expression, Hawkeye elaborated. “Never without clearintent.” She took a deep breath. “I swore an oath to protect you from harm, andI take that very seriously, sir –”

“Riza, please,” he begged her. They were so beyond superiorand subordinate right now.

“And I wasn’t able to protect you from myself,” shecontinued, too lost in her own self-destructive thoughts to hear him. “I’museless.”

Roy gripped her hand tightly. “Don’t you ever say that.” His dark eyes piercedhers, daring her to challenge him. “Iwas the useless one. I didn’t figureout what was going on until the last second. I sent the whole team out to findCole, and it was Falman who informed me of the operation, at great risk tohimself.”

“Falman told you?” Hawkeye asked, momentarily distracted.

“Yes. He called before I left HQ. I would have reached youall sooner but there was a storm that cut the communication lines with Briggs.I was almost too late.”

“Why… You jumped in front of the bullet,” Hawkeye muttered.This was something she was struggling to wrap her head around and, to beperfectly honest, Roy was still baffled as to how his brain decided that wasthe best course of action. All it had taken was seeing Hawkeye being dismissedfrom the military, demoted, taken from his side, and he knew he had to so something,anything, to protect Cole and her operation.

“Because I knew it would give us the advantage, the elementof surprise. I don’t enjoy being hurt, contrary to popular belief at this point,”he joked, pleased when he saw one corner of Hawkeye’s mouth quirk upwards to asmile, then it was gone. “But if Cole was injured and I had to call it in usingher identification, and the Drachmans overheard, the real target would catchwind of it and flee, blowing her cover and all she had worked towards.”

Hawkeye nodded as she processed the information, posture slowlyrelaxing. They weren’t out of the woods just yet. It would take her a long timeto come to terms with what happened today, but so long as she understood he didthis of his own volition, that was all that mattered right now. Yes, she hadshot him, but he put himself in front of that bullet to protect Cole and,ultimately, Hawkeye. He couldn’t take her being removed from his team again. Rizathought she was useless, but it was hewho was the useless one without her. Without Riza Hawkeye his whole team wouldfall apart, him included. She was the glue that held them all together, nodoubt about it. Roy was sure the whole team would agree on that one.

He couldn’t take her being court martialled either. Whetherit would have come to that or not, Roy wasn’t sure. He was glad he would neverhave the opportunity to find out because he couldn’t lose the woman he lovedlike that.

“Just… Promise me one thing?” Hawkeye asked.

“Anything.”

“Please try to be less dramatic, sir,” Hawkeye replied, eyesbecoming sad once more, the grip on his hand tightening. “No more jumping infront of bullets.”

“Who is the one giving orders here?” he quipped, raising aneyebrow in amusement. He chuckled at her stern glare, giving her hand asqueeze. “I will,” Roy promised. “For you.”

“Thank you… Roy.”

[1-1snailxd-art]

Sides of a Hero

Chapter index ------- Chapter 9 

Chapter 10 - Pizza for four

Summary:  It started as a simple pizza party; how did it end with Virgil on the floor in pain?

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

Roman took a step out of his door and instantly sensed someone to his left and turned to see Virgil on the floor in front of his own door.

"Don't flip your lid, Princey." Virgil looked up at the concerned side. "I'm fine."

"Ha! You’re fine, and LeFou was straight."

Virgil reached a hand out for Roman to help him stand, and the prince happily obliged. "I can't duck out at the moment." "Oh, so you are just being normal for once." Roman smiled at Virgil; he looked weird without his hoodie and only natural dark rings under his eyes.

"As normal as I am ever going to get," shrugged Virgil.

"To be honest," Roman snapped his fingers and Virgil had his patchwork hoodie back on; hood on his head, pushing his bangs over his eyes. "I wouldn't want you any other way. Angst and all."

Virgil chuckled and couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. He had thought that, after everything that had happened at the cliff, Roman would have avoided him; or at least treated him with caution. Instead, Roman actually seemed... Kinder. More accepting.

"OH. MY. GOODNESS." Patton's overly excited voice rang throughout the common area. Virgil glanced up to see Patton looking down the hall at him and Roman.

Logan came around the corner, "What is the problem, Patton?"

"I'mSoHappy! LookAtTHoseTwo! TheyAreSmiling!"

"I think we broke him," Roman looked at Virgil, as the two headed towards the still trembling and giggling Patton.

"Quick, insult me before he explodes... Or I throw up." Virgil sat at the table and pulled on his hood strings to conceal his face further.

"Ah, um, your face is insulting."

"That was the least creative insult I have ever heard from you," Logan commented. "Patton, you need to calm yourself before you pass out."

"I just feel like it's my birthday," Patton giggled. "So many wholesome moments today, AND I'VE GOT COOKIES!"

Logan rubbed his forehead and sighed; exasperated by Patton's over the top reaction. "I will never understand what goes through your mind, Patton."

 Virgil loosened his hoodie and adjusted it off his face as Logan placed two large pizzas onto the table. Food wasn't something the sides required to function, but it was a comforting action. Virgil only started eating meals in recent months; now he couldn't imagine existing without breaking up his days with a meal of some form. The positive to all the recent events was that he was getting to eat with the others. When the focus wasn't on him; the event was comforting.

.

.

.

"Looks like the full days rest did you some good, Virgil." Logan commented, finishing off a piece of pizza.

Virgil choked on his own pizza. "What!? Why did you let me sleep that long?" Virgil had considered that he had been asleep for an extended period, but hearing it was true was still a shock.

"You looked so cute. I didn't want to wake you"

"Clearly you required it. Waking you didn't seem necessary."

Virgil looked at Roman, "What's your excuse?"

"I only wake royalty," Roman grinned.

"Roman never had the opportunity to. He was in his room the whole time you were asleep." Roman groaned and looked at Logan, "Way to ruin my insult, Sher-not."

 “Were you alright, Roman?” Inquired Virgil. The other three looked at him in shock over his question; Virgil slumped down, suddenly very self-conscious. “I only asked because…you know…the cliff thing was intense and all, and then you had me well… you know.”

Patton noticed how uncomfortable Virgil appeared. He thought the side would fully retreat into his hoodie if it allowed him to do so. He decided the best way to help Virgil was to pull the attention away from him, and quickly.

“Was everything alright, Roman? You were still a little jumpy when you left.” Patton started distributing additional slices of pizza to each side. “What have you been crafting in the good ol’ imagination kingdom?”

 “Yes… well…. Erm.” Roman was suddenly feeling flustered. He hadn’t meant to stay away so long; it just happened that way. “I got a tad…distracted.”

“Understandable,” commented Logan. “That whole place is a distraction.”

“Your face is a distraction,” Roman huffed, before taking a bite of his pizza.

Patton sighed, and silently wished they could get through one discussion without making any insults. Virgil nibbled on his pizza and smiled at the exchange; their banter was always amusing.

“After doing, what is generally my usual post adventure routine, I roamed the castle maze.” Roman continued, wiping his hands on a conjured napkin. “I lost all sense of time I guess and ended up in a tower with the most amazing mirror.”

“Did you get lost in your own eyes for a while, Princy?” Virgil smirked, slowly coming back out from his hoodie.

“No. I’m not that vain “

“Indeed.” Logan interjected. “Vanity is still a free impulse. Though he does reside in the kingdom.”

“Wow. Thanks for that, Lo.” Virgil’s words were thick with sarcasm that Logan picked up on instantly.

Patton jumped in before any argument could start up. “So, what was so special about the mirror, Roman. I’m sure you looked great in it and all, but that isn’t anything new.”

 Roman sighed, “That was actually why I came back. The mirror… it…it could show me my true self.” He didn’t want to have this conversation with the whole group; especially with Virgil present. He wasn’t sure how the side would react, and he was still unsure about the events on the cliff.

Logan appeared intrigued; Patton’s eyes sparkled, and he mouthed ‘wow’ in awe; while Virgil snickered, “so you finally saw what I have to look at regularly.”

“I saw all of my fusions.” Roman’s words caused Virgil’s face to drop. “Even the ones I don’t remember fusing with.”

Logan put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought something like that would be possible.”

“That is so cool, Roman.” Patton was beaming, he couldn’t believe that Roman had gotten the opportunity to see his past selves. “Did you see Bravery? Imagination? I bet he had an amazing costume on.”

Roman gave Patton a small smile, “I did see them, but I didn’t get to talk to them.” Roman glanced sideways at Virgil, who was staring hard at his pizza crust; face void of expression. “Lust and Ego spoke with me though.”

“Really?” Logan adjusted his glasses and looked off in thought, “seems rather odd that those two would wish to communicate with you.”

Patton noticed Virgil wasn’t moving, his face was paler than normal, and his eyes were locked and unfocused. “Virgil? Are you ok?”

 Virgil wasn’t sure when he forgot to breathe. He only realised his lungs were screaming for air after Patton rested a cautious hand on his shoulder, and he took in a sudden gasping breath. Patton watched Virgil, concern gripping his throat.

“They knew I had…questions about what happened at the cliff, and they wanted to help.” Roman looked at Virgil, who was still transfixed by the pizza crust; ignoring the presence of Patton’s hand on his shoulder. “You knew Lust and Ego, didn’t you Virgil?”

The room was silent, except for Virgil’s rasped breath. Even Logan sat in silence to take in the reactions of the other sides; confused by Virgil’s intense reaction.

 Finally, Virgil nodded. “I knew them… We hung out in the past, but… they didn’t leave on the best of terms.” His head hung low as the words left his mouth. “Not with me, anyway.”

“That wasn’t what they implied,” Roman added. “Seemed like they still considered you a friend.”

“The great thing about true friends, is that they don’t hold grudges.” Patton gave Virgil’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “They are willing to forgive and move forward. Seems to me that Lust and Ego might be those kinds of friends.”

Silence filled the room.

 Roman continued, wanting to fill the void. “Well, they wanted to help me because I wasn’t feeling too good after what happened at the cliff. They told me I couldn’t sink out because I shouldn’t have been able to get to the cliff, due to it being a neutral space…and… and the reason I didn’t fight was…. Rage took that will away from Bravery...”

Virgil clenched his fists. Rage is getting out of control. First, he forced a fusion with Logan, and then he abused his relationship with Bravery. What is their end goal?

“Then there were the impulses at the cliff. They weren’t even all real. Just an illusion made by Deceit.”

“Well now that makes sense,” Logan piped up. “I knew it wasn’t possible for Thomas to have that many impulses still roaming free in the mindscape. But that still leaves me with one question… why? Why would Deceit and Rage go through so much effort?”

 Virgil looked down at his arms, trembling and aching from having his fists clenched so tight. “Because they want to get to me. They are messing with me.”

“Well that still doesn’t make sense?” Logan looked at Virgil in confusion. “What could possibly cause them to act in such an unnecessary manner?”

“It’s…”

“Envy.” Roman cut Virgil off, and Virgil’s head shot up to look at the creative side. “When I asked Lust why the others call Virgil ‘anxiety’, they said Envy was the reason.”

“No. That can’t be right.” Virgil shook his head, shaking away a memory before it had the chance to play in his mind.

“Lust said Envy was involved,” insisted Roman, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, jealousy would fuel anger and lies, right?”

Logan nodded in agreement, considering the natural relationship that would have existed between the three impulses. Patton’s hand slid from Virgil’s shoulder as the side stood up.

“Envy hasn’t got anything to do with this. Lust was wrong.”

“Why would Lust lie?” Roman stood to maintain eye contact with the other side, looking hard at his dark rimmed eyes. “Clearly there is more going on than you understand.”

“You don’t understand any of it!” Virgil snapped, “so don’t act like you know anything.”

 Virgil went to walk away but Roman wasn’t letting him run away this time. “Just wai…” He reached out to Virgil, grabbing him by his left forearm.  

Pain erupted up Virgil’s arm, it’s sudden intensity so unexpected that he cried out and found himself on his knees; tears pricking at his eyes instantly.

“What was that?” Logan stood and watched on as Patton jumped out of his seat and moved to Virgil’s side in an instant.

“I just. I-I-I’m sorry” Roman stuttered, fear and concern in his voice. He took a few unsteady steps back and stared at his trembling hands, confused and concerned about what he had done.

Virgil finally felt the pull of his room and wanted to return, but Patton’s presence in front of him made him stop. He leaned in close and whispered so only Virgil could hear. “I know you want to run, but please don’t leave me in the dark. Just this once… let me help you.”

Virgil’s body shook and he blink back the tears in his eyes.

Patton knelt in front of him, shielding him from Roman and Logan’s view; his eyes were closed, as if he was willing Virgil to listen to him. Why is he doing this? After everything I’ve said, he still wants to help me.

Virgil vanished, pulling Patton with him… he couldn’t leave the side begging on the ground like that.

 Roman and Logan were left alone in the common area; the creative side was feeling utterly crushed.

“I-I don’t know what happened. B-believe me, Logan. I only grabbed his arm.”

Logan nodded, “I believe there is more going on than we are able to comprehend at this time. Maybe Patton will be successful in gathering some additional information… If you would allow it, Roman, I would like to see this mirror you spoke about.”

Roman sighed and started walking towards the hall, “come on then. Can’t mess anything up doing that I guess.”

Logan reached a hand out to stop Roman in his tracks, moving to stand next to the creative side. “You can’t blame yourself for Virgil’s reaction. Jumping to conclusions has gotten us all in trouble lately. As much as it may seem that you have done something wrong, I am sure hindsight will prove otherwise. Focus on that for now.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

Logan adjusted his glasses and smirked at Roman, “so that is why you hate me.”

 ******************************************************************************************* 

Patton heard a splash and opened his eyes. He found himself laying on his back in a forest clearing; Virgil was nowhere in sight.

“Virgil?” He looked around at the forest, taking in the unfamiliar area. His voice echoed around slightly.

Patton stood and called out again “Are you here, Kiddo?”

He continued to look around when he noticed Virgil’s hoodie lying near the edge of a stream, fear gripping his chest. Patton rushed forward. “Virgil?!”

Virgil resurfaced from the water just as Patton reached the edge, panic filled the moral sides eyes.

“Virgil?! Are you ok? Let me help.”

“I’m fine, Pat. Are you alright?” Virgil started swimming towards the edge to meet Patton. “Sorry if I freaked you out.”

“I’m fine. But… but what is this place.” Patton looked around in awe.

“This is my territory. I know it isn’t the prettiest place, but it’s mine.”

 The forest light appeared darker than normal and more of the trees were being overrun by a dark rot. Virgil took it as a sign that Depression was holding more power over the area; an expected consequence of using the seals energy to escape the cliff edge. He regretted doing that now he knew the impulses were just one of Deceit’s tricks.

Patton sat cross-legged and looked around the area in awe. “This is amazing. So, you come and swim here all the time, like a little mermaid?”

“No. Not really. It’s just good for… healing.” Virgil began walking out of the water, showing off a purple ripped T-shirt and a black pair of shorts.

Patton’s eyes fell on Virgil’s left arm, as purple and blue bruising faded to a more casual grey around clear burn scars. He stood and walked right into the water to inspect Virgil’s arm.

“Virgil, how did this happen? Did Roman do that? Was it from the cliff? Did…”

Virgil pulled his arm out of Patton’s hands, shaking his head. “I did this to myself, Pat. All Roman did was reveal what I was trying to hide.”

“What is there to hide? If you were hurt, why didn’t you let us help?”

Virgil walked out of the water and conjured a blanket to sit on, and a towel for Patton and himself. “Like I said, I did this to myself. It isn’t your problem to worry about.”

Virgil sat down and pulled the towel around himself; Patton following behind.

“You might think that it isn’t our problem, but we’re friends, Virgil. We want to help and watch out for you.”

 Virgil shifted and looked out across the water, absently running his fingers over his scars; just barely feeling Lust and Ego’s marks now. The pain was dulling thanks to the water; it was a relief to be back in his territory and, although he was tired, he was happy to feel somewhat normal.

“Wanting to help doesn’t make it any easier. This isn’t simple stuff, Pat. You don’t deserve to be weighed down by my problems.”

“But we can help… look at when Roman and I were stuck in the past, longing for Thomas' ex. You, and Logan, helped us to move on. We wouldn’t have been able to do that on our own. If we didn’t share our problems, we never would have been able to move on…and Thomas would have suffered.”

“Yeah, but...”

“You can rebut my statements all you want, but it won’t change that fact that I want to help, Virgil. I know your instinct is to keep us out, but my instinct is to let you in. Can we meet in the middle? Just tell me what I need to know to make sure you are safe…. You did it with Roman at the cliff edge. I heard you do it with Logan. Can you do it with me?”

 Geez. This is a lot to take in. What do I even tell Patton? Where do I start?

Virgil pulled his arm out from the towel and looked down at his scars. Am I ready to remember this? Is Patton ready to hear this?

A breeze ran through the clearing, rustling the trees and whispering in Virgil’s ear, “ReMeMbEr.”

 “Ok, Pat. But…” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “You need to promise me something.”

“Anything, Kiddo. I’m all ears,” Patton cupped his hands around his ears and giggled.

“You can’t interrupt. Ok? No questions or puns…just, listen.”

Patton put his hands in his lap and took on a solemn tone, “I promise.”

“Shit, this feels weird. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Just start wherever feels right for you.”

Virgil took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting his mind find the memories he had pushed away many times before.

 ******************************************************************************************* 

Virgil couldn’t remember his fusions. He always knew when he had fused with another impulse; he felt different and more powerful after every fusion. Normally he woke up in an area of the mindscape with a funny, powerful feeling and that was the end of it. One day though, he woke up different.

 Multiple impulses were hanging out around the enlarged stream, messing around and enjoying a Saturday night free of worries, concerns and mischief. They called this the 'Safe Space'. The territory, and room, were the only places were all the impulses felt safe. They could heal their injuries and conjure items will a lot less fuss and it became their unofficial home. Most of the impulses had other territories where they could do the same thing; only a handful of impulses were limited to only having power in the Safe Space. Hood and Jacket were two of those impulses. Everything was fine, until it wasn’t.

 Virgil couldn’t remember what happened next, and neither did any of the other impulses. All they knew was that a dark energy entered the territory and when they woke many impulses were gone, and the once nameless Jacket had a title. The impulses called it the Fusion Storm because they assumed there had been a mass fusion; but that was all that was known about it.

 After years of being nameless and using assigned nicknames, he finally had a title: Anxiety. He had no idea what it meant, but it was his. It was after that moment that he found his other nameless friend lying behind the waterfall.

 “Hood? You alright?” Anxiety shook his friends’ shoulder until his eyes slowly opened.

“Jacket? What happened?” Hood lent forward and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t know what happened? But I found something… I found my title, Hood. I’m … I’m not nameless anymore,” Anxiety smiled awkwardly at his friend. “I’m Anxiety.”

Hood stared at Anxiety in shock, before smiling, “that’s great…Anxiety. I found my title too.”

Hood stood and Anxiety followed as he walked out into the clearing. “Well? What is it?"

"Depression."

 ******************************************************************************************* 

"Oh my gosh! So, Depression is real?"

Virgil frowned at Patton. "What happened to the promise?"

Patton covered his mouth and winced. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

Virgil looked up at the blue sky; not a single cloud tarnished the blue canvas. If it wasn't for the dark trees at the edge of his vision, he could almost believe he was at the cliff edge.

"Ok," Patton said tentatively. "Depression is a real impulse... And he was your friend?"

"Yeah. For a long time, he was the only person who understood me. We both had no title. We were both shunned by the others. We were both bad for Thomas."

"Oh, now you know that isn't true." Virgil gave Patton a knowing look and the moral side heaved a heavy sigh. "Sorry. I guess it didn't feel like that back then. So, where is he now?"

Should have known Pat couldn't help himself. "He's...sealed away."

"Where? No, Why? What happened between you guys?"

So much for not asking questions. "Depression and I had different... views on what Thomas needed. I wanted to keep Thomas safe and make sure he knew of all the possible outcomes of a situation. Depression wanted... Well, he felt..." Virgil struggled to find the words to explain. "After the fusion storm, he changed. He was even sadder than normal and he... He thought Thomas needed to share in his sadness. Kept saying there was safety in sadness."

 ****************************************************************************************** 

"Don't you think you are being a little rough on Thomas? Life is scary but it's not that bad."

Anxiety stood behind Depression; watching the ghostly image of Thomas in bed fade. Depression had made him stay in bed for most of the day, ignoring the calls of his family to come out for breakfast and lunch.

"Nothing good is going to happen. It's not worth it."

"A-are you s-sure?"

"You're the one that is always talking about how bad Thomas is going to fail." Depression turned to look Anxiety in the eyes. "I'm just saving you some time. No shadows to deal with if we just do nothing."

 Anxiety fidgeted with his sleeves and rocked slightly on his feet. He hated having to deal with the shadows that formed in the room. The two impulses worked together to absorb them and keep them away from the others; a task that they kept completely secret. As far as any other impulse was concerned, the shadows came and went as they pleased.

"Yeah. I guess. But..."

"But what? You are always complaining about the shadows." Depression turned and walked towards the portal for the room. "I'm helping us AND Thomas. It's a win win."

"How do you know this is the right thing, though? It just... It doesn't feel right to me."

Anxiety followed Depression into the room and was met with two shadows; quickly engulfing him.

 "You are stressing yourself out, Anxiety," laughed Depression. "This is perfectly fine, and you know it. If it was wrong, then why is the room accepting me more and more? I think I'm becoming a core side, and you are too."

Anxiety curled up on a nearby lounge, "I am not a core side."

"Then who is that secret room for?" Depression folded his arms and looked at his friend.

"I don't know what you are talking about," grumbled Anxiety.

Depression pointed at one of the cupboards. "The room hidden in there. Don't try and hide it old friend, I know you can feel it too. You know it is there."

Anxiety looked away; Depression moved closer and lent over the huddled impulse.

"Trust me, Anxiety. This is the way it is meant to be. I'll be a core side, soon enough. Those other sides won't know what hit 'em. We'll have full control and Thomas will be the way we want him to be. Inside. Safe. Forever."

  ******************************************************************************************* 

"Well that wouldn't have been fair." Patton was talking out loud without even realising; looking out into the distance. "If Thomas just stayed inside, he would never have become the performer he is today."

Virgil sighed, "I know. As much as I wanted Thomas to stick to familiar places, I knew he couldn't always do that. He had things to do."

"So, you told Depression that, right?"

"I tried." Virgil looked down at his hands. "Depression was... Set in his thinking and I wasn't... Strong enough to stand up to him alone."

"Why didn't you tell us about it? I mean, Logan and I were around at that time, right? Was Roman a core side when this happened?"

A laugh escaped Virgil's lips and Patton looked at him in shock. "Honestly, Pats, would any of you have listened to me if I popped into your territories?" Patton opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. As much as it pained him to admit it, Virgil had a point. The sides never would have taken him seriously back then; the other two didn't even take him seriously after Virgil initially became a core side.

"Your silence speaks volumes."

 The wind blew through the clearing again and Virgil felt...relief. He watched as the darkness on one of the trees slowly receded.

Well that is weird. Is this what you wanted me to do?

Virgil didn't expect an answer to his question. Despite his nervousness about talking to Patton, the area was responding in a positive way and he was feeling good; in a rather strange way.  

Standing, Virgil grabbed his hoodie and slipped it back on. Patton sat and watched in silence; unsure of what to say next.

Chapter index ---------------- next chapter 

[a-scattered-memory]

Ignis Fluff Week Day 1

Prompt: Baby Ignis, Ignis and his father figure Pairing: Ignis x Reader (gender neutral) Words: 2160 Warnings: none Notes: (f/n) - first name (l/n) - last name (f/t) - formal title (e.g. miss, mister…)

It was the day following his introduction to the crown prince to whom he would be dedicating his time and, as extreme as it sounded for a 6 year old, his life for the foreseeable future. He had spent his first day at the Citadel getting to know Prince Noctis as well as one day would allow, putting into practice all the manners and courtesy he had worked so hard to perfect and quickly learning that he didn’t have to go to such lengths to win the young boy’s favour at all, yet he had kept up his formalities as he had practiced all the same.

Today his uncle, who would be acting as his guardian figure while in Insomnia until he was himself an adult was showing him around the Citadel and formally introducing him to the main figures he’d be working with on a day to day basis. The nerves he had yesterday were nothing compared to how he felt now. Don’t get him wrong, he was terrified yesterday at the prospect of meeting King Regis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis and his son the prince for the very first time and at one point he thought that he’d never be able to get the lines he had rehearsed for their meeting out of his head he had repeated them so much but the king was so kind and warm with him and placed so much confidence in him that his fears soon melted away. Now however, he was meeting such a huge amount of people in such a short period of time that he couldn’t help but feel under a constant pressure to make sure he lived up to what he was taught was expected of him with every new greeting.

Already he had met a young boy similar to him in age that would be Noctis’s future shield. Gladiolus Amicitia as he recalled. He acted so strong and serious for his age, no doubt trying to mirror his father himself already but as Ignis’s uncle had a small chat with Clarus, he let his true colours start to show and the playfulness he had tried to hide come out as they talked. They departed exchanging smiles and no doubt that helped Ignis feel more at ease, having made such a good start with someone he’d be working so closely with from now on, knowing that he had already at least one friend and wasn’t completely alone in handling whatever would come in both their future and Noct’s.

As he walked briskly alongside his uncle in an effort to keep up, they made there way down a marble floored hallway, marked with vases of beautiful purple flowers and ornate sconces every couple of metres. Ignis had grown up in wealth but the extravagance of the Citadel was on another level, beyond compare to anything he had ever seen. His eyes wandered and his mouth parted slightly in admiration at it all, lingering on the beautiful paintings on display, completly absent minded and full of the wonder and awe any six year old would have. He jumped slightly as he felt a hand pat his head and slide down to rest gently on his shoulder in reassurance as he walked.

“It is quite mesmerising, isn’t it,” his uncle spoke warmly, a small smile on his face as he looked down to his nephew. “You are doing excellently Ignis, everyone is overwhelming impressed with you. There’s no need to fret so much.”

Ignis took a deep breath and smiled back up at his uncle, nodding and as his uncle’s hand returned to his side, Ignis sped up a few paces and quietly took hold of it.

“I don’t know how you are going manage the gardens’ beauty though,” he chuckled as they approached a large open hallroom, double doors at the opposite end opening into the gardens.

Ignis straightened his posture again as they walk over the threshold but he couldn’t help his expression from faltering as he caught first sight of the area. Breathtaking was an understatement. Everywhere was exploding in colour, so many shades of green that each held their own unique appeal, shades of blues and purples, pinks, oranges and yellows, any colour that you could think of all somehow coming together and complimenting each other despite having every reason not to. Ignis was sure there were some colours mixed in that he had never even seen until now. Great topiaries, masterfully trimmed and clipped without so much as a leaf out of place towered above the small boy as far as the eye could see, various styles of water fountains land marking the different sections of the vast garden. Ignis’s pace subconsciously slowed as he tried to take in as many details as he could. Even at such a young age he had such a taste for even the finest details and wanted to take in everything possible from what was around him. His uncle couldn’t help but chuckle again and smile as he glanced down to see his reaction.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to explore and investigate every nook and cranny other days, it’s not going to disappear if you look away.”

This brought him to his senses and he hopped a little to catch up, tightening his hand in his uncle’s. His uncle’s eyes had also however begun to wander around the garden, as if in search of something or in this case most likely someone.

“Who will we be meeting now?” the young boy asked curiously. The only people he could see around were some gardeners tending to the watering and maintenance of the plants and flowers but as his uncle’s gaze always seemed to look past them he assumed they were not who he needed.

“The royal scientists’ child, another member of the future royal cabinet with whom you will will be working with closely for the duration of your service. I believe they’re about a year or two your senior but you should get on quite splendidly, they are quite open and pleasant with the rest of the King’s affiliates. Their parents were unfortunately too preoccupied to meet with you today but their child is here somewhere, or so they are supposed to be though it honestly would not surprise me if they have ended up on the other side of the Citadel completely…”

Ignis cocked his head, his light strands of his bangs sweeping slightly over his forehead with the motion. His curiosity was growing at whoever this character was, both because of their association and because they were the only person so far that his uncle had no definite list of places to find.

The pair turned a bushed corner of the garden which had begun to seem more like a maze to him now and sure enough at the end of the path at the next turn was a small figure looking almost engulfed by a white coat that pooled around them as they stayed in a crouched position.

“Ah, there they are, no doubt picking apart something or another as per usual.” His tone was a little more upbeat, not unlike how it was when he spoke with the young Amicitia lad earlier but somewhat lighter. As they approached the small bundle, they’re instruments came more clearly into view. Layed out beside and in front of them were sets of tweezers, scissors, agar plates and all other sorts of equipment and they worked away grabbing and replacing the various utensils and placing snips of some small purple flowers in some open plates in front of them. A strand of hair fell in front of their face as the worked away intently and they brushed it behind their ear before carrying on, humming slightly and mumbling something to themselves every now and then. Ignis let go of his uncle’s hand as he prepared to recite his opening lines once again.

“(f/t) (l/n), -,” Ignis’s uncle called to get her attention but was quickly cut off.

“Oh, Count Scientia, I was actually about to ask for you,” the young child cut in quite chirply, obviously looking forward to his presence yet they did not lift their attention from what was in front on them. “I wanted to try something out with some of the flowers so I thought it’d be good if I used some people’s favourite flowers so that they could keep them after and they wouldn’t go to waste. Oh, but that’s if it even works of course, I’m not entirely sure but as long as I’m careful I should be allowed to keep practicing until I do. But anyway, yes, I needed to ask you what your favourite flower was and also your favourite colour but if you need to-”

“(f/n), Ignis”

“An Ignis? I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of that one before, I don’t think we have it. Is it kind of like the sylleblossom where it grows only in a certain place or-”

“(f/n).”

“Now that’s my name and I KNOW I don’t share a name with a flower, I checked a lot before so one day I’m going to try and make sure-”

He sighed exasperatedly and was forced to resort to the only surefire way he knew to get their attention.

“(f/t) (full name),” he spoke in a sterner, more serious tone than before but not with anger or frustration. At his words, they layed their equipment down and shot up, back straight and turned towards him, hands formally behind their back wearing a neutral expression as if they had just been summoned before officials. When they turned around though they’re eyes instead met with bright emerald eyes only a couple of inches from theirs and startled, Ignis stepped back abruptly only to trip over himself and fall to the ground. They gasped and made their way over to them.

“I deeply apologise, I truly did not mean to startle you,” they apologised profusely, their demeanour and manner of speaking doing a complete 180 to how it had been just moments ago. Ignis, still quite in shock, managed to stutter out an “It’s quite alright, it wasn’t intentional” or something along the lines before checking the cut on the elbow he had landed on.

“Oh, hold on a second.” They dug in the deep pockets of their white lab coat for then their bandages and antiseptic cream that they carried with them in the event the cut themselves while engrossed in their work.

“Count Scientia,” a voice called from the end of the path that the Scientia’s had just walked. He smiled at the two as the scientists’ young child tended to Ignis’s scrape and decided that it would probably do them well to give them time to talk as friends rather than he being present as a constant reminder that they were supposed to be primarily work partners.

“Apologies, I will return in a moment.”

Ignis nodded at this and sat up so that the young scientist could better reach the cut. They carefully applied the star patterned bandages as gently as they could, apologising once again. He pressed his mouth in a thin line and his eyes watered slightly as the cut stung as the cream acted on it but knew it was for his good. As (f/n) packed the bandages and cream back in their pockets, they were taken aback as Ignis extended a hand to her.

“My name is Ignis Scientia. I am here as Prince Noctis’s advisor and chamberlain in his future life and duties and will be spending my time working in Insomnia dn the Citadel in order to better my skills and serve my prince to the best of my ability. I look forward to working alongside you and our future relationships.”

They hesitated for a second before clasping his hand and tugging lightly as they stood up so that he rose with them. Once they were both on their feet again, they shook his hand properly and smiled to him brightly.

“(f/n) (l/n). It’s a pleasure to meet you Ignis.” Their smile was so contagious he couldn’t help but return it, both forgetting to part hands. “Oh! I know! I can work on a flower for you too! Which one is your favourite?”

“I-I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to properly explore the garden yet, my apologies,” he replied, slightly flustered by the sudden proposal.

“That’s great! I can give you a tour then and tell you about everything!” they beamed and began to lead him away, completely forgetting their tools in the process. Ignis followed alongside them intently listening to what they had to say.

From the opposite side of the path, Ignis’s uncle watched as the pair began to wander about together and simply smiled to himself, full of pride.

You have absolutely nothing to worry about, my Ignis.

[bkwrm523]

The Real Treasure, ch 9

Title: The Real Treasure, ch 9 Rating: R for violence and horror Pairing: Dean Domino/courier Word Count: 2671 Warnings: Violence and horror.  More really bad interpretation of someone with disassociative identity disorder.  The game takes a very complex thing and simplifies it awfully.  I tried to make it as better as I could, but I’m no expert.  If you’re easily triggered by such things, be careful of this chapter. Tags: @mysupernaturalfics @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @cookingglitterfairy  @kittenofdoomage @catsoftheapocalypse @medicatemedrmccoy @goodnightwife @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @mrswhozeewhatsis @joseyfeli1 Summary: Clara takes her place to start the Gala, and the team assaults the casino.

masterpost

Between turning on the switching station clearing out most of the lingering cloud, and turning on the holograms for Dean, most of the streets were empty as Clara made her way towards the belltower marked on her pipboy.  She practically skipped; she hadn’t come here for the treasure, but the excitement of the heist had her practically skipping.  Roxie easily trotted to keep up with her, giving Clara a doggie smile full of her infectious enthusiasm.

Clara easily found her way to the right part of the villa, but the streets in every area were all identical, and she quickly got utterly lost.

“Hey, Dean.”  Clara said softly, turning on her pipboy to Dean’s frequency.

“What’s wrong?”  Dean asked, clearly on edge.

“Nothing.  This place is just really creepy when you’re by yourself.”

“Tell me about it.  At least you have Roxie with you.”  Dean agreed through the radio.  Roxie gave a little woof at her name, wagging her tail.  “Yes, I miss you too, Roxie.”

“Tell me something.”  Clara asked.

“What?”

“Anything.  I just don’t like being alone here.”

Dean recognized the pang of loneliness in her voice, and couldn’t help but empathize.  For all of the tourists that had visited and died in the Madre over the years, Dean had spent the last 200 years utterly alone.  He launched into a tale, half invented, of some of the practical jokes he and the other singers had gotten up to over the years.  Dean’s collar echoed with the sound of her laughter, and he felt warmed again.

This is all very entertaining, Elijah cut into their conversation sarcastically.  But Clara, you should have gotten to your post half an hour ago.  What’s keeping you?

“I’m completely fucking lost.”  Clara replied, totally calm, over the radio.  Dean lost it then, sitting down on the ground and laughing so hard, he couldn’t get a word out.

This isn’t a time for humor.

“I’m not kidding!  All these fucking streets look alike.  For the past hour, I’ve just been wandering around and hoping I bump into the place by accident.”  Clara replied defensively.

Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!  Elijah’s voice was furious.

“You didn’t ask.”  Clara replied.  Bomb collars may have forced her to do as Elijah said, but they didn’t force her to be helpful.  There was a long moment of silence, and Clara continued to wander, suspecting that Elijah was just throttling his temper.  After a minute or so, Elijah came back over the radio and started giving Clara directions.  Dean kept laughing for a long time before he finally gathered himself and stood.  Maybe another half hour later, Clara climbed the ladder onto the top of the belltower.

Can you hear me?  Damn transceivers.  Clara is the last one to reach her post.

“We’re ready down here.”  Veronica’s voice came over the radio.  “Safe and waiting.”

“Dog and I are both waiting.”  Fido’s voice was next.  “I can activate the switches and keep Dog under control.”

“What are you waiting for?”  Dean spoke last.  “Strike up the band already!  You’d better be ready when you do; Ghost People will come in droves.”

“Let’s do this.”  Clara told everyone.  “In three… two… one!”

They all activated the Gala together, and the villa practically exploded.  Fireworks lit the air, and canned celebratory music came over the speakers.

Clara descended the bell tower in a series of controlled leaps, moving as quickly as possible towards the casino entrance that Elijah had marked on her pipboy.

Just as Dean warned, walkers popped out of nowhere as Clara ran through the streets, trying to recall half remembered turns that Elijah had told her to take.  It was like riding a rollercoaster; running, running, cloud, running… and stopping every few steps to take out more walkers.  After awhile, Clara decided they were slowing her down too much and just outpaced them.  The celebration music somehow contributed to the air of desperate urgency of the situation, and a rush of adrenaline had Clara stifling giggles.

Finally, Clara found her way back to the fountain, and the entrance gate to the casino.  She hesitated for a moment at the gate; once she went into the casino, Clara knew that everything would change.  With a deep breath, Clara pushed forward and went up the road.

***

Seeing as the entire villa was designed to not admit cars, the walk up to the casino was mercifully short.  Clara pushed open the huge double doors and entered the building with Roxie, excitement nipping at her heels.  She went inside, the doors swinging shut behind her, and just stared.

To Clara’s right, along the same wall as the doors, there was what had been a receptionist’s desk.  The doors were in the opposite corner of the wall.  A set of double doors opposite Clara were labeled “casino”, and another set of double doors to the right were labeled “restaurant.”  There was a large winding staircase in the center of the room, no doubt leading to more sections of the enormous building.

Clara had a moment or two to take this all in.  Then, almost instantly, she felt a little woozy, and collapsed unconscious to the floor.

Clara came to, she wasn’t sure how much time later.  Roxie, thankfully, was asleep beside her.  Clara stood, resting a hand on Roxie and gently shaking the dog awake.

Welcome to the Sierra Madre Casino.  Elijah’s voice greeted her as she stood.  Now that you’re inside, I can use the building’s security to speak to you.  Your “friends” tried to come rescue you, but the casino security knocked them out, just like you.

“Where are they?”  Clara asked the room.  “Are they all right?”

Perfectly fine, for now.  Casino security moved them around the place.  You’ll have to find them; they may prove useful.

Now, we’re all trapped in here since the security’s back asleep.  Look around; we’ll have to find a way to turn it back on.

Elijah’s voice fell silent then.  Clara glanced around her, and made her way to the receptionist's computer.

“Elijah,” Clara called, her voice staying quiet out of habit.  “This terminal can activate holographic security, but it’s asking for a code.”

There should be one nearby.  Elijah answered her.  Look around you.

There was nothing in the huge receptionist’s desk; Clara methodically tore the thing apart.  She’d have to examine the other rooms.  She made her way to the casino to start.

The casino had a short hallway, leading to what looked like a large room with slot machines, and a short staircase off to the left that led up to a bar.  At the far end of the hallway, was a blue hologram just standing there.  On the right wall near the door, was a terminal.  Moving slowly so as to not upset the hologram, Clara moved towards the terminal.

Dean told you about the holograms.  Elijah said.  Unlike the ones in the villa, these will attack you if they see you.  If they’re blue, it doesn’t see you and you’re safe.  If it turns yellow, then you’re close to its line of sight.  If it turns red, then it can see you and is about to attack.

“What do I do?”  Clara hissed in a whisper.

This one won’t attack as long as you don’t get too close.  Get to the terminal next to you; you can tell it to patrol elsewhere and sneak by it.  Don’t waste your time trying to attack a hologram; it won’t do any good.  You have to find and destroy its emitter.  It’ll be a small blue dome about the size of your foot.  Usually on a wall somewhere.  Shoot the emitter, you’ll destroy the hologram.  Once you get past the holograms, find the maintenance closet and use it to switch on the power.

Clara was busy at the terminal as Elijah spoke.  She managed to hack into it, (mostly with skills learned from Veronica) and read down the list of commands.  She told the hologram to go patrol ‘the floor.’  A peek around the terminal showed the hologram turning around and walking towards the large room with the slot machines.  While its back was turned, Clara quickly snuck up the stairs.

Glancing down over the railing, there was a grid of decorative posts in the room with the slot machines.  She quickly spotted two emitters; one on the far wall, and another on top of a post.  She shot them both, watching the two holograms in the room with the slot machines flicker and die, and moved on.

On top of the bar, was an ID badge that had belonged to the chief of security.  Clara quickly pocketed it, and moved on past the door behind the bar.  It led to a small maze of offices, all with destroyed terminals.  Finally, Clara found one with an intact computer, and logged on using the security ID badge she’d found.  She quickly found an email with directions to the maintenance locker (it was back in the room with the slot machines), unlocked it, and clicked off the computer.  It was a bit of a walk all the way back down to the bar, but once she made it, Clara hopped over the edge onto a pillar, and then to the ground.  A few steps over to the now unlocked maintenance closet, and she switched on the power.

The Sierra Madre Casino came alive.

There were holograms at every table now, ready to run the various gambling machines for customers.  Clara ignored them; she wasn’t here to lose her money.  Her first concern now, was her friends.  She left the casino area for the main lobby.

Good, the casino’s coming awake.  Wondering what’s happened to your team?  Looks like casino security mistook them for guests and employees, moved them to other floors.  You’ll have to find them and recalibrate their collars, or kill them.  The bomb collars won’t work in between floors, and the radios are interfering with my systems.  I won’t be able to crack the vault until they’re neutralized.

Now that, about the bomb collars, was interesting.  Clara quietly filed the information away for future use.

I recommend you kill them; they’re of no further use.  But I’ll leave the decision up to you.  They hardly matter.

Clara had her instructions.  More importantly, she had the knowledge that Elijah couldn’t make her do dick if he wasn’t on the same floor.  Fortunately for him, the first thing on her agenda already was finding her friends.

She headed for the restaurant next.  Had to start somewhere.

***

She could hear Dog and Fido arguing the moment she went into the door.

The idiot supermutant is in the kitchen!  Elijah hissed at her.  It’s turned on all the gas valves and locked the door.  If you don’t want it to die, I suggest you find the key quickly.

Dog, from what Clara could hear, wanted to die.  Fido was trying to talk him out of it, to force him not to, but wasn’t getting anywhere.  Clara heard Fido call her name, plead with her for help.  She grit her teeth and ran around the room until she found the key.  Mercifully, it was on the front desk of the room.

She ran to a side entrance to the kitchen, and snuck in as quietly as she could.

In the kitchen, Dog and Fido continued to argue.

There’s three gas valves.  Elijah told her, quietly through her collar’s radio.  Disable all three before the idiot blows up the building!

The first one was right in front of her, and Clara quickly repaired them.  Sneaking around the room to get the other two proved much more difficult.  Roxie stayed near the door; the dog wasn’t nearly as stealthy as Clara was, and she’d just get in the way in the room.  She barely managed it; Clara had had quite a lot of experience sneaking past enemies too difficult for her.  She’d thought she was an expert at it… until she’d met Lily.  Lily was… too complicated to explain, but she’d taught Clara much about sneaking.  Clara used all of it, silently cursing the lack of stealth boys.  She didn’t want to think about what Dog might do if he saw her before the gas valves were shut off.

Finally, they were off.  Clara stood, and moved into Dog’s line of sight.

“You,” Dog said, recognition flickering in his eyes.  “Dog remember you.  You nice to Dog.”

“Hrrrnng,” the supermutant squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then looked back at Clara.  “Will kill us both if you don’t do something.”  Fido pleaded with Clara.  “Never felt him so strong before.  He won’t listen to me!”

“Hungry.”  Dog was back, eyeing Clara with malice now.  “Dog will chase you, break you.”

“STOP!”  Clara yelled, with every bit of authority she could muster in her voice.  Dog and Fido both stopped, looking at her with wide, startled eyes.  “Dog, stay!  Master will be very angry if you don’t.”

“Master?”  Dog asked, sounding meeker again.  “Don’t want Master to be angry.  Dog will do what Master wants.”

“Tell him to pull on the chain around his neck.”  Fido told Clara, fighting for control.  Clara looked down at the chain Fido mentioned; it was lined with sharp, cruel spikes.

“But that’ll kill you both!”  Clara pleaded with him.

“Hhhrrnn…” Fido grunted, struggling to speak.  “Don’t want to hurt you.  Kill us.”

“Master, please don’t be mad with Dog.”  Dog spoke again.

“Dog,” Clara began, speaking soothingly and wracking her brain for a solution.  “Master wants you to listen to my voice.”

“Dog is listening, Master.”  Dog replied obediently.

“We both are.”  Fido said.  “Tell him to listen to me!”

“You have to stop fighting each other.”  Clara begged.  “Look at each other, really look.  For once in your lives, please, try to understand each other!”  Clara was shouting now, and a few tears ran unbidden down her cheeks.  She knew nothing about psychological medicine, and she could only pray to help them now.  Then again, this was far from a usual case.  They both trusted her; maybe that would be enough.

“Dog see voice,” Dog began, sounding astonished.  “Voice… voice look just like Dog.”

“You’ve hurt yourself.”  Fido said, sounding empathetic.  “Inside, you hurt so much.”

“Dog understand now.  Dog know what happened.”

“Step into yourself, Dog.”  Clara pleaded with them.

“If Dog…” Dog began, hesitating.  “If Dog obey, Dog cannot help if Master gets mad.  You nice to Dog, Dog want to help.”

“He’s saying that if we merge, we cannot help you against the Old Man.  We… we won’t even remember you.”  Fido explained, looking at Clara with tear filled eyes.

“Dog don’t want to forget nice lady.”

“I don’t want you to be under anyone’s control.”  Clara replied, openly crying now.  “Not even mine.”

Dog’s eyes went vacant, and she knew he and Fido were looking at each other again.  There was a moment that felt like an eternity.  Then… he collapsed.

Clara cried out and ran over to him.

“Are you all right?”  Clara asked as the supermutant struggled to stand.

“Wha- who are you?  What is this place?”  The supermutant asked her.  When he looked at Clara, there was no recognition in his voice.

“It’s a cage.”  Clara told him; her heart soared for him, and yet was broken.  Her friend didn’t remember her, just as he’d warned her.  “But at least there aren’t two of you now.

“I… I don’t know you, but I feel like I do.  I feel… grateful to you.  I’m wounded!  Forgive me, I’m in terrible pain.  I… I think I need to rest.”

“You rest.”  Clara told him gently.  “But this building won’t be safe for long.  Leave it as soon as you can.”

“I will.  And… thank you.  For whatever it is you did.”

“Anything for a friend.”  Clara told him smiling through her tears.

She left the kitchen then, forcing herself to focus on the next task.

[ankyouweek]

Second Time Around

7 - A Different Future

Most people never got to go to space, yet here he was, second time before he was thirty. He wasn’t looking forward to possible bone damage later in life, but it was still pretty cool seeing Earth from so far away, watching the stars sparkle and be up so high, away from everything and above it all. The trip was quiet, he and Nagisa having dropped the formalities, but Nagisa still a little bitter and hurt that Karma, someone he considered a long time friend, hadn’t sided with him, was quieter than normal. Karma couldn’t find it in himself to care, using the down time to figure out the final details on destroying Yanagisawa’s life’s work. 

The ‘space date’ (“You two are super bromantic, y’know?” “If I hear anyone say that again, I’ll kick their ass too.”) went well, smoother than the first time around. The data retrieval and the results stayed the same.

“The chance of Koro Sensei actually exploding at the end of March is less than 1%.”

The red team reminded everyone that they’d made their choice. “1% isn’t 0%. Do you want any chance of the world ending?”

A few people tried to protest (“1% is negligible!” “We can save him! We can save the world, I’m sure of it!”) but Karma and the other’s stood firm. The teachers took their side. They agreed on the war being the deciding factor, whether to save or kill, so that’s what they had to do. 

“To do things half-heartedly, to not be loyal to the path you make, isn’t a good way to live.”

— 

Karma wondered if he’d made the right decision. Personally, he wanted Sensei to live. But if he lived, he would be hunted for the rest of his days. It wasn’t fair to sentence someone to that type of fate, even if the person was essentially a mass murderer. 

The choice to kill him hadn’t been easy. Okuda and Takebayashi were looking for a way to reverse Yanagisawa’s research. Itona had already said Yangisawa was working on that, purely for knowledges sake, not because he was kind, and Karma knew that if he hadn’t figured it out, two middle schoolers wouldn’t be able to crack the code anytime soon. By killing Sensei, they were missing out on a future with him, a future that was possibly good, where he may not be hunted.

But Karma needed to think of the biggest picture. The world was hell and any research or ideas of monsters could keep the world following that path time and time again. He didn’t want Sensei to die, but he didn’t want Okuda and Takebayashi to end up dead either. 

He wondered if Koro Sensei dying made much of a difference, or if was just the research and public reveal. He hoped his actions up until now had been enough to change things, but he doubted it. The research could be taken care of easily, provided there were few copies (Itona was adamant there were no copies - most information was purely for Yanagisawa’s team, since the man seemed to remember everything with ease, and viewed back ups as a security risk). But he had no plans to stop the reveal - Karasuma’s influence wasn’t strong enough to stop the government from interfering.

So we have to kill him before then. Not wait until the last minute, like last time. 

The thought left him uncomfortable. It was easy to throw leadership to Isogai, who suited it like a second skin, but this was something he thought best to lead himself. Just get through tomorrow, then plan it. One step at a time.

—

The forest was quiet. Dark, cold, dank. It was perfect for a creep like Yanagisawa, and Karma was glad Itona was leading the way. He prayed they weren’t separated on their way out, because his chances of getting back home out of this maze of trees were slim to none. The group had donned their defence gear and had left early in the morning. It had taken them the better half a day to reach the area where Yanagisawa kept his base. A quick stop for lunch and a final look over them plan had been the last thing they did before Itona led them into the forest.

They’d stopped in front of the building. Someone gave a low whistle before being pinched. “Shut up.” Hazama didn’t talk much, but when she did, you listened. Karma had to agree with the whistler; the building was huge, much more than what Itona made it out to be. 

“Are we going to have enough stuff to bring it to the ground?”

Itona grinned, showing his own backpack full of extras. Everything the team had was government issued. Karma had spun a story to Karasuma, essentially stealing Yanagisawa’s earlier idea of getting Sensei waterlogged. He’d said they needed to bring down parts of the mountain, and grenades and the like were the fastest way to do it. Karasuma had agreed and the government supplied them with a good amount of weaponry. 

Itona, on the other hand, had gone the home made method. The group was slightly weary, since his ideas didn’t always go as well as planned, but they needed the ammo and he had it. “As long as it works, huh?”

“You mean as long as we don’t die, right?” Muramatsu had a slight tremble in his voice, like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. Neither could Karma (he was into fighting, not real crime - he had standards, damnit!), though Itona and Terasaka seemed to have no issue with committing arson, and Hazama seemed rather calm herself.

“That too.” Golden eyes closed as he muttered back. Deep breaths. In, out, in, out. Just another thing to check off on the to do list. Nothing special. Normal everyday stuff here. Opening his eyes again, he motioned to the group.

“Let’s go save the world.”

— 

To make the most of their weaponry, they’d had to infiltrate the lab, which ended up with Hazama sporting a nasty wound to her eye courtesy of a security guard. Itona had said they only had stun guns, but apparently that was outdated information. Still, that was the worst of their problems. 

Well, as a group. Nobody said it out loud, but Hazama’s eye was bad. They’d patched it up sloppily, hoping it was enough. Karma wasn’t convinced it would go back to normal. “I’ll get Bitch Sensei to check it later. She’ll know someone who can fix it without alerting the wrong people.”

Terasaka grunted at them to hurry up, on the look out for more trouble. It was the only option they had, though Karma felt guilty, knowing she may lose the use of an eye. So they moved on, camouflaging to the best of their ability and leaving explosives in as many vital points as possible. Yoshida also left small traces of highly flammable liquids. 

“The longer it takes to go up, the longer they have to snuff it out.”

Before they lit things up, Karma infiltrated some type of research room. He plugged Ritsu in and she downloaded as much as she could. 2 minutes later and heavy footsteps could be heard. Grabbing his phone, he followed the team out. Hazama and Itona had already left through the vents, adding more liquid and explosives in their wake. They were halfway out, security still hot on their tail, when the building rocked.

“Hurry up!”

Nobody needed Terasaka’s warning. They sprinted faster than Karma thought possible. More blasts rocked the lab, and Karma wondered if they’d been accidentally set off or if Itona and Hazama had had no other choice. Or maybe it’s just Itona’s explosives with a life of their own. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. It didn’t matter what it was though, since they were getting lost in the labyrinth, Ritsu finding it hard to get their location and match it to the map, walls collapsing, fire licking at their heels, making escape much harder than they’d planned. 

Karma heard screaming. Minutes later he realised they were no longer being followed. The others looked pale, having understood. Huffing, trying not to inhale the smoke and dust, they exited. It was only when they were outside that they realised they were on the wrong side of the building, in the opposite direction of the meeting spot. 

“All the staff are exiting through the main exit, we have to go alone!”

“We’re just going to have to find the way out without them!”

They were right, of course, but that didn’t sit well with him. But he had to believe in them. Itona and Hazama were smart. Hazama blended in to the darkness well, and Itona knew this area better than anyone. All he could do was hope that he’d placed his bets right.

His group took the long way around, dashing through the forest, tripping more than once. Yoshida broke his ankle when he lost his footing and tumbled down a hill. But he soldiered on, grimacing all the while, like a good assassin would.

Like a good hero would. 

Night had fallen by the time they left the forest. Able to get decent reception now they were out of the trees, Ritsu was able to pinpoint the others. Karma had never been happier to see such dead pan people. Terasaka was laughing like a mad man, grabbing them and shaking them like they were dolls. 

“We did it! We burnt it down! Nothin’ to it!”

Karma was more grateful than he could say. He’d spilled the beans to Itona, while the others had portions of the truth. To agree to commit a major crime based on that… 

A lump formed in his throat. He often missed the original versions of his classmates, but these ones were just as devoted. Just as much of his family as the others were. 

I owe it to them to be honest.

It had taken a while for them to get back home, since all public transport had stopped for the evening. Once they were far enough away from the lab, they changed into normal clothes and caught a cab. Hazama had been smart enough to bring deodorant and perfume. “We smell like oil and smoke. Nobody would let us get in a cab like that. Or be able to look the other way when smelling us and seeing a smoking mountain behind us.”

Dawn rose as they entered Kunugigaoka and the group entered class late, exhausted and dirty, but successful.

They spent most of the day sleeping at their desks whenever Sensei wasn’t yelling at them to stay awake, ignoring the Valentine’s fuss going on around them. Hazama had been taken away by Irina, who claimed ‘womanly trouble’ as the issue, and Hazama looked ill enough with her pale, sleep deprived expression and hair messily splayed everywhere to hide her eye for Sensei to believe it. (It didn’t occur to him for a few days, but the perfume she’d poured on would have been enough to stop Sensei smelling blood or any grime on them. Karma made a note to thank her for her thinking later on.)

Eventually Sensei gave up at yelling at them. They didn’t have exams and were mostly focussing on assassination drills, techniques and ideas. The final bell sounded, rousing Karma from his dreams of dust and fights and tentacles coming ever closer. He woke up with a dry throat, having to peel his cheek from the desk. A small box sat on top of his bag. 

“Thank you for your hard work!”

It wasn’t hard to see that it was Okuda’s writing. He smiled. This was probably just about helping her, or helping the class study, but he’d take it as a gift to thank him for yesterday’s work. Karasuma glared at him as he left, probably having heard of a mysterious blaze, but Karma kept walking. He was doing what he thought right. It was the only thing he could do. It was what Sensei wanted. And he certainly wouldn’t let his current good mood be ruined by someone who couldn’t even cook for himself.

[spinach-productions]

Baby Spinach, chapter 10

Summary: Gaster is stealthy, agile, and a decent marksman, in that order.

Word count: 2740

Sorry for the radio silence guys, I’ve had some Real Life stuff going on.  But!  It’s been mostly resolved, and I’m back for the foreseeable future!

Thank you ten million times to @spocksbedsidemanner, who is a fantastic editor and really helped me get this thing into shape.

Enjoy!

On this list of things Gaster doesn’t like to do, stealth ranks just below lying and deception.  Luckily, he’s much more skilled at this one than the others.  He takes a seat next to the imposter after dinner and starts a conversation about his work, asking questions about the nature of the blue human soul as he silently fishes the large keyring from his pocket.  It’s nerve-racking work, but Gaster manages to palm the keys up his sleeve without attracting attention.

In spite of his disingenuous pretense, Gaster finds himself absorbed in the imposter’s explanations.  His work, though gruesome, is fascinating; cobbling two functional monsters from bits and piece of incompatible souls is no small feat.  Under different circumstances, this man could have been a brilliant scientist.

“But you only took small samples of the two souls,” Gaster asks, skipping over the details of where those souls came from, “What did you do to fuse them together?”

The imposter grins widely and ushers Gaster into the maze of shelves.  He takes a series of twisting turns, chattering about the resilience of humanity.  “It’s a shame they’re trying to destroy us,” he says as they pass another series of intersections.

The space opens into the center area, which is dominated by the covered cylinder and the varied equipment standing guard over it.  The imposter takes a corner of the dropcloth and yanks it off, like a magician performing a trick.  Gaster is momentarily blinded by the blue glare.  He peers around his own arm at the human child’s soul, suspended in some kind of liquid-filled tank.

“I thought you took pieces of this?”  he asks.

“I did,” the imposter replies.  He’s looking at the soul with something close to reverence.  “It healed.”

“What?”

“Let me explain: human bodies are slightly more durable than monster bodies because they expend energy on magic.  But their souls are infinitely stronger!  I’ve taken enough from this one that it should be nonfunctional, but each time it would generate enough material to repair itself.”

He conjures his own soul in one hand.  Gaster gasps.  It’s battered and painfully torn, missing pieces along the edges.  Two sizeable fragments have been removed, leaving only two-thirds remaining.  What must have once been an impressive blue glow now pulses irregularly, giving off bursts of light between long moments of dimness.

“This is what the human soul should look like,” the imposter says, staring his own damaged soul.  “But it doesn’t.  The human soul combined with the pieces of mine to bring my sons to life.”

This man willing mutilated himself in the hopes of breaking the barrier.  Gaster shudders and averts his eyes.  He tightens his fingers around the keyring in his pocket.  Sans and Papyrus will not stay in this man’s custody for another day, he decides.  They leave tonight.

-

The only source of light is the blue soul.  It sits uncovered in its chamber, casting blue light over the various shelves.  Some of the more reflective items bounce the light back; otherwise, the room is murky and dark.

The path to the door is short if done in a straight shot, but Gaster and the children skirt around and behind furniture to avoid being in the open.  Sans is breathing quickly, but quietly.  Gaster doesn’t dare breathe at all.  Even Papyrus seems to understand the need for silence as they make their way across the room.

Finally, they reach the front door.  Gaster hands Papyrus to Sans, pulls the keyring from his pocket, and begins flipping through the numerous keys.  There must be more than a dozen, each unlabeled and barely distinguishable from the others.  The keys to Sans’ and Papyrus’ rooms were found through trial and error, so Gaster tries each one on the two front door keyholes, hoping to complete the process without drawing attention.

Five minutes later, none of the combinations have worked.

“What’s wrong?” Sans hisses.

Gaster’s mouth thins into a long, irritated line.  This was a completely predictably scenario.  The imposter sacrificed a scientific career and at least ten years of his life on the children and the human heart, of course getting out wouldn’t be as easy as grabbing the keys from his pocket.

From behind him, someone clears their throat.

Gaster turns around.

In the stress of the moment, he missed that one of the things reflecting the human soul’s blue glow was a pair of reading glasses, perched at the end of the imposter’s nose.  He’s sitting at one of the reading tables, pouring over one of the many stacks of paper that seems to live there.  It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but he seems amused.

“Having some difficulty there, Doctor?” the imposter asks.

Gaster pushes the children behind him.  “I’d like the keys.”

“And why would I give you those?”

“Because I’d like to leave.”

“And I suppose you intend to take my children with you?”

“I do.”

“I see.”  He closes a notebook and puts it to the side.  “Tell me, Doctor, what exactly gives you that right?”

“I don’t believe you’d understand my explanation,” Gaster replies.

The imposter removes his glasses and sets them on top of the notebook.  “No matter what your intentions were in coming here, this is your place now.  My sons’ destiny is to save monsterkind from this wretched cave system; yours is to help me prepare them for it.  I’m sure you understand why I cannot allow you to leave.”

“I’m equally sure you understand why I can’t stay.”

The man stands and steps away from the table.  He’s taller than when he first took his own shape, and his skin is beginning to take on an off-white color.  “Then we seem to have reached an impasse,” he says through teeth that are now longer and sharper than his own.

Gaster throws both the children and himself behind the closest shelf as the imposter tries to grab his soul with a blue grip.  Papyrus lets out a sharp cry as the shelf turns blue and books begin to fly in every direction.

“Hide!” Gaster yells over the deafening sounds of books hitting the walls and floor.

“He’s going to kill you!” Sans shouts back.

Papyrus wails.

“I won’t allow that,” Gaster says, steering both himself and Sans around the corner as another shelf’s contents explode into the room, “I’m still going to get us out of here.  But to do that, I need to know that you’re safe.  I wouldn’t have a reason to leave if anything happened to you.”

Sans is staring at him again.  He seems to be developing a habit.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Gaster says over the din.

Sans clutches Gaster’s shirt with one hands and holds Papyrus close with the other.  “Don’t die, okay?”

“I won’t,” Gaster promises.  He squeezes Sans shoulder, then pushes him towards his room.

Gaster has been in exactly three fights.  Two were due to misunderstandings, and the third was when the Royal Institution wanted to see if his new body would still work for testing purposes.  While his overall shape was reminiscent of a human, the magic he carried over from his ghost form made him unsuitable for anti-human combat training.  Not being able to help the war effort was a disappointment.  But now, as purple energy forms between his palms and spins into long strands between his fingers, Gaster is quite pleased with how things turned out.

He dives out from behind the shelf just as it explodes, sending papers and wooden shards hurtling into the room; Gaster catches some of the debris in a hastily-spun web and hurls them back as he dashes for new cover.  The imposter gives a dog-like yelp.  He appears to have shifted into an enormous bipedal white dog with pointed ears.  Gaster recognizes the form as one of the guards who covered the library crime scene after Sans and Papyrus were kidnapped.  The imposter has clearly chosen physical prowess over agility in this fight.  That, Gaster strategizes as he follows the lines of magic back to the imposter’s chest, might be what keeps him alive.

He throws out a purple line, aiming for the concentration of magic that hopefully contains his soul, but the imposter knocks the line aside with an enormous arm.  Gaster’s accuracy is his best attribute, but his threads are brittle on their own; this one breaks upon contact and flutters to the ground.  The imposter snarls and hefts a table over his shoulders in retaliation and hurls it across the room.  Gaster throws himself to the side; the table smashes against the floor where he was standing, splintering into thousands of sharp pieces.  His brain begins calculating the force of the impact (and if it would have outright killed him, or simply mangled his body enough for the imposter to catch him--), but he shoves the thoughts away and sprints into the maze of bookshelves for cover.

They volley back and forth as they wind through the narrow space between shelves.  The imposter decimates anything Gaster uses as a shield, leaving the furniture in shambles; Gaster throws back what he can, but hasn’t been able to snag the imposter’s soul.  They around each other, Gaster running ahead at each opportunity and the imposter slowly stalking after him.

Gaster ducks behind another shelf and finds himself in the open space made for the human soul and its monitoring equipment.  He sprints to the center, vaulting over the machinery and scooting behind the bubbling container.  Hopefully, the soul’s sparkling glow will hide Gaster long enough for him to form a strategy.

The imposter comes crashing around the same shelf a moment later, carrying one of the tables as an impromptu shield and leaving long gouges on the floor as his claws skid and dig into the tiles.  Gaster watches as he sniffs the air with his newly canine nose.  That, he reflects, is probably how the imposter has managed to track him so closely.

“I know you’re here,” the imposter says.

Gaster thinks it would be beyond foolish to reply, so he doesn’t.

“Well, I know you’re close,” the imposter corrects himself “I don’t know exactly where you are, but that makes this so much more exciting, don’t you think?”

He begins to move through the area.  Gaster edges around the tank, keeping it between him and the man who is currently an eight-foot-tall dog with superior teeth and senses.

“Think of all we could have accomplished together, Doctor,” the imposter says as he stalks towards a control panel, “I hoped you would be able to put your emotions aside for the greater good, but I can see that was asking too much.”

Gaster takes the opportunity to slide behind a piece of machinery on the opposite side of the tank.  He watches as the imposter sets down the table so it shields the panel, then starts fiddling with the computers.  Gaster leans as far out of his hiding spot as he dares, but can’t get a clear shot.

“Do you know why I made the boys instead of taking the soul myself?”  the imposter says as he continues to input commands into the console.  “I wanted to have a backup plan in case I couldn’t complete the assignment.  Human bodies are fragile, but their souls seem able to replenish themselves almost limitlessly.”

The soul dims slightly.  The various monitors beep a quick warning, then go silent.  Something hisses, and a piece of the containment unit begins to slide open.

“I can’t risk you going to the authorities with this information, Doctor.”  He reaches into the opening and carefully removes the soul from its container.  Its illuminates the small space.  “Besides, I’ve always been curious about the world on the other side of the—”

The table is jerked out of the way.

The imposter spins around, looking for the cause.

Gaster summons a fistful of strings and pitches them directly at the imposter.  They wrap around his wrists and pull both defending arms away from his chest—

“No!”

Several make contact with his soul.  It momentarily lights up in its natural blue (dimmer than the human soul, Gaster notes), then floods with purple as Gaster’s magic takes hold.  Gaster braids the strands connecting his hands to the imposter’s soul and pulls.

The imposter collapses to his knees.  He thrashes against the purple magic, howling and lunging at the monster holding him down.  He shifts into Lieutenant Donahue, into his own form, into something even larger and more intimidating than the royal guard Gaster fought, each form lasting just a moment before he discards it and moves on to the next, creating a hideous amalgam state between each.  Gaster watches him struggle.  The hatred in his chest, carried since this man first invaded his house and told him how Sans and Papyrus came into the world, slides aside just enough for a wisp of pity to come through.  Gaster observes it, but doesn’t act on it.

Instead, he throws out a line for the dead human soul, pulsing silently on the floor where it was thrown in the imposter’s struggle.  It fits easily in his palm.  To someone else, the color might be considered beautiful.

Gaster considers the human soul in his hand, the man at the end of his magic, and the endless list of crimes this man has committed in the name of integrity.  People’s lives have been ruined.  Sans’ eyepatch.  Papyrus’ fear of being left alone.  Something vicious stirs in Gaster’s chest.  The secondary poison inherent in his magic begins to leach into the imposter’s soul.

The imposter hisses as his health points begin to burn away.  “This isn’t over,” he snarls.

Gaster doesn’t answer.

“This doesn’t end until I say it ends!”

He tightens the strands between his fingers until the tension makes his arm shake.  The imposter grits his teeth and begins to tremble.

“Stop!”

Gaster startles out of his own thoughts as Sans comes hurdling out from behind a shelf.  He throws himself into Gaster’s mid-section and throws both arms around him.  “Don’t kill him,” he begs.

“Sans,” Gaster says quietly, “This man will never stop looking for you.  Do you understand?  He wants to turn you into a human-killing machine, he wants to turn Papyrus into a human-killing machine, and he won’t stop until that happens.”

The blue soul casts streaks of illumination over Sans’ face when he looks up.  They catch on the gauze taped over his right eye and the watery tears welling in the left.  “He’s my dad.”

Gaster looks at the undersized child clinging to his waist.  He looks at the wretched man caught in his web, and the human soul stolen from a murdered human child in his hand.  He takes a deep breath and thinks about his home: a playpen in the sitting room, kitchen cabinets stocked with baby food and ketchup, toys strewn about as they wait for two children to come back.  Gaster lets the breath out slowly and feels himself settle.

“I’m sorry,” he says, storing the soul in his inventory so he can wrap the other arm around Sans, “I almost got carried away.”

“I want to go home,” Sans says.

Gaster pulls him in for a proper embrace.  “Okay.”

-

The imposter apparently keeps the front door keys on a necklace, separate from the others on the ring.  It takes some concentration to fish it out and keep him pinned down while Sans goes for help, but somehow, when Lieutenant Donahue comes charging shield first down the ladder, both Gaster and the imposter are alive and no further harmed.  He gladly releases the imposter into Donahue’s custody, and gives a rough outline of the situation as other guards investigate the underground laboratory and process the imposter’s arrest.  Sans keeps Gaster between himself and his father through the process, holding Papyrus close.

Donahue whistles.  “Never would have suggested this if I’d known it’d put you in the middle of a fight,” she says, punching Gaster’s shoulder.

Gaster rubs the punch site with his opposite hand.  “I must admit, the possibility did cross my mind, but I was prepared for it.”

She looks over Gaster’s shoulder at Sans.  He’s staring at the ladder as the guards escort the imposter back to the royal facility, and he’s gripping the back of Gaster’s shirt tightly with his free hand.  “Guess some things are worth fighting for,” she agrees.

- Baby Spinach - Part 10

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[wordshappensometimes]

Ghost in the Sun Pt. 1 (Steve Rogers x Enhanced Reader)

Summary: Just because you can make yourself invisible doesn’t mean you can keep yourself from getting a nasty sunburn, and after a grueling mission in the Moroccan desert that’s exactly what’s happened. Luckily Steve is more than willing to help you put aloe on those hard-to-reach places once you get back.

A/N: This was originally supposed to be some post mission fluff, but I started writing about the mission itself and couldn’t stop (I love me some ass-kickin, what can I say). Parts 2-4 coming soon! BTW this is my first ever fanfic- so feedback would be A++, thanks.

Words: 2,556

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood 

You weaved your way through the crowded medina, keeping a close eye on the target you’d been tracking for the past week. He was about 10 meters ahead of you and moving through the crowd quickly. The marketplace was packed with vendors peddling spices, livestock, brightly colored fabrics, pretty much anything you’d expect to find in a Moroccan “suk,” and as much as you’d have loved to take in the sights and brush up on your Arabic with some locals, you were on mission, and your target was doing an annoyingly good job at using the most crowded areas of the market to his advantage- dude had clearly been trained on how to lose a tail.

After the deal that had just gone down you weren’t surprised your target assumed he was being followed: three female hostages in exchange for a semi full of RPG’s, grenades, and more guns than honestly should exist in one place at a time. As worrisome as the arsenal was, it wasn’t the reason that your target had gotten on the Avengers’ radar or why you were now trailing him; it was the hostages. The Avengers had been tasked with finding them and bringing them home safely, and as soon as one of Nat’s contacts got wind of the trade, Steve sent you in to do what you did best: trail, observe, and stay out of sight.

The target ducked out of the market, took a few quick turns through the alleys of the medina and chuckled to himself as he cast a glance over his shoulder. Only locals knew how to navigate the maze of the old city; he’d officially eluded anyone trying to follow him, or so he thought. You sighed to yourself as you brought your finger to your ear “He’s separated from the crowd, do you have eyes on him up top?”

“He went underground, sorry (Y/N), Redwing’s blind up here” Sam voice buzzed in your ear.

Cap cut in, sounding slightly annoyed “A good portion of the medina is made up of tunnels under buildings, we knew this was a possibility”

“S’all good guys, I got this” you retorted with a smile, to be honest you were kind of hoping it would come to this, it was your favorite part of the job. “Initiate radio silence: I’m going ghost.” You quickly threw off the scarf you’d been wearing and disappeared- literally disappeared.

It was an ability you’d had for years and used for all sorts of dubious activities as a teenager, but things only got more extreme after you’d gotten caught up in working for a Mexican cartel. It was a long story, and not one you were particularly proud of, but let’s just say it doesn’t take a whole lot of imagination to figure out why a drug cartel would hire/kidnap someone who could make herself invisible. You liked to call it your “Spring break gone wrong,” but Clint preferred “you evaded the authorities for like 3 years and then I nearly shot you.” (“eh, tomato tomahto” you’d say).

Now completely invisible- thanks to the specially designed clothes Tony had engineered for you- you took off running through the red clay alleys of the old medina to catch up to your target, he couldn’t have gotten far, and Redwing had been able to track his path until he’d entered a tunnel so you knew you’d have no problem catching up to him.

Everybody on the team knew the drill: you’d track your target in silence until he unwittingly led you to his hostages, at which point you’d take him out and call for backup. This was your specialty, you were a master tracker and covert tail, all you needed was: 1. radio silence to ensure that your target (or anyone else for that matter) didn’t hear you or the transmission being made, and 2. to not draw attention to your position by making any noise or disrupting the environment around you (you’d more or less mastered not kicking up stones, but fallen leaves were still a serious pain in your ass).

All the team had to do now was stay out of your way and wait in the jet for your signal.

Steve swiped anxiously at the screens in the jet and bit his lip in thought. He turned to face his team “Remember, any interference from us could give away (Y/N)’s position and compromise her mission.”

“Is that reminder for us or for you, Cap?” Sam smirked as he plopped down on one of the seats in the jet.

“Yeah, if I remember correctly it was you who insisted last time that we go in and rescue (Y/N) and you who instead blew her cover and nearly got her killed” Nat chimed in.

Steve frowned at his teammates “We hadn’t heard from her in 12 hours!” Steve raised his arms into the air as he tried to defend himself, but it was no use, he knew they were right.

“Dude.” Sam tilted his head down slightly and gave him a knowing look.

Steve let out a huff “Alright alright, fine.” he sighed again, “I just get anxious waiting around for her. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.” He looked back at the monitor which was tracking her position and swiped at it to zoom in. “Where is this guy going anyway?”

You had begun to ask yourself the same thing; your target had taken you through the heart of the old city, up and out past the newer, more modernized part of town, through the residential area and towards the slum that marked the southern edge of the city and the beginning of the desert. He’d been traveling on foot for about 2 hours, which was odd, usually for a journey this long most people would find a car or bike or something, but the target continued walking until he reached the last row of shacks in the slum. He entered the alleyway between the last two houses and pulled at a tarp to reveal a dusty ATV.

Mierda (shit), you thought to yourself

He got on the ATV and revved the engine, you looked around desperately for another vehicle, but as he turned and drove out into the rocky terrain of the desert you knew that that wasn’t an option cause it would give away your position. You quickly drew out your gun and screwed on the silencer. “Shit shit come onnnn” Finally once the silencer was in place you took aim at the ATV and fired. ¡Toma! (take that!) The back right tire immediately deflated and the ATV crawled to a halt. You crouched and watched as your target angrily jumped off of the ATV and raised his weapon in your general direction- expecting to see whoever it was who had just sabotaged him. His eyes desperately searched among the shacks and rubbish, but he found nothing. You smiled to yourself, pinche pendejo (fuckin’ dumbass). You couldn’t help but get a little bit cocky every time something like this happened, you also couldn’t help from slipping into Spanish. To be fair you’d honed most of your skills working for the cartel, so no one could blame you for either habit, as they kind of came with the territory.

Your target turned and looked at the tire again, noting that it hadn’t exploded, but just deflated. He kicked it out of frustration, as he muttered something about it being a “worn out piece of shit.” The target grabbed a pack from the now useless ATV and took off walking in the direction he was originally headed. Before heading out, you took in the terrain: rocky, wide open desert; a few grass plants here and there, but nothing substantial to provide cover. Further out (maybe 4-5 miles if you had to guess) there were some small foothills that turned into mountains, and in all likelihood that was where your target was headed. You decided to give him a wide berth, given that there was literally no cover out here, you’d have to keep your distance in order to remain undiscovered.

You’d been following your target through the desert for nearly 3 hours now, and you had just begun to ascend the trail that you presumed would take you into the mountains, and while you were grateful for the small bottle of water you had on you, it wasn’t nearly enough for a trek like this. The rocky trail zig-zagged up the steep mountain side, and you had to be careful to not kick any stones as you worked your way quietly up the path. Staying about 50 meters behind your target, you continued to push forward, but the heat and rigor of the hike were starting to wear on you. Suddenly the target stopped and turned around, his eyes narrowed, hand hovering about his holstered weapon, you froze.

“Hello?” he called out in Arabic. He took a few steps downhill towards you, his eyes still searching for what he could not see, but had apparently heard. “I know there is someone here, I can hear your footsteps.” He continued to slowly make his way down hill, drawing his weapon as he did; you lowered yourself into a kneeling position, preparing yourself in case he decided to shoot (a trick you’d learned pretty early on: people don’t generally shoot at the ground when they’re aiming for a person they can’t see). You watched as the man got closer and closer to you; there were a few ways you could play this, depending on what he did, but your best bet was to stay absolutely silent- no movement, limited breathing even- and wait for your target to slowly convince himself that he had heard nothing, that the heat was starting to get to him and he had imagined it. In reality that was your only option that didn’t involve completely blowing your cover, so you were really hoping that there’d be no need for plan B.

You knelt on the side of the path as your target continued to call out to the air, he was just about level with you now, and any noise from you would be easily detected. With a painfully slow and careful pace, you reached your right hand down to the ground and picked up a small stone, as soon as your target walked past you down the hill, you chucked the stone up the path to where he had been standing when he first stopped. The stone collided with a crash onto the other rocks, and your target turned on his heel and fired a shot at the source of the noise. You held your breath and waited to see if he would take the bait. After what felt like an eternity, he made his way back up the hill to investigate where he had shot. You breathed out shakily.

He reached out to blindly feel for a body, (you would have laughed at how ridiculous he looked had it not been for the adrenaline currently coursing through your veins and the life or death situation at hand) but upon finding nothing he straightened up and shook his head slightly. He looked around one last time and then continued up the path. You let out a quiet sigh of relief and stayed where you were for a moment. Now that he had been spooked you really had to be careful to keep your distance and keep silent.

You also had to hope that Cap would actually maintain radio silence this time.

After waiting a moment you rose from your position and continued to quietly make your way up the path. You had lost sight of your target but you knew he was far enough ahead of you on the path that once you rounded the next corner you’d have a clear view of him.

As you worked your way up and around the next turn you felt something tug at your toe. You looked down. Is that a fuckin trip wire? Your eyes widen but before you can process what’s happening you’re brought to the ground with a thud. Ese hijo de puta (that son of a bitch) had been waiting on the next level up of the path, and as soon as he saw the trip wire move he pounced. You maintain your invisibility and throw your arms up in front of your face to start defending yourself as he straddles your torso. The assailant pulls two six inch blades from their holsters and stabs and swipes blindly at you. He leaves cuts on your arms, and even manages to stab you in the shoulder as you struggle to deflect his attacks and wriggle free. The assailant yelps out an almost insane laugh as he sees red streaks and drips of blood appear out of the nothingness he’s fighting. You finally manage to roll over onto your stomach and push yourself up with you arms and legs, lifting him up with you. He slashes a long gash into your back as you buck him off of you and stand up straight, grabbing your own knife to defend yourself. Having lost track of where you are, el cabrón (the asshole) lunges forward, knife-first towards you, you easily avoid the attack, grab his arm and force one of his blades from his grasp so you can chuck it down the mountain. He slices at you with his remaining knife, this time leaving a long gash down the front of your torso. You separate yourself from him to give yourself some distance and regain the advantage. He lunges blindly towards you again, this time you move around behind him and kick him in the back so he falls down the path, he loses his grip on his other knife and it falls over the cliff side. He turns back to you with a rage in his eyes, he pulls out his gun and desperately starts searching for any sign of you. You’re about to take out your gun when you remember the mission and exactly what’s at stake. You still needed to find those three hostages, and they could be anywhere in these mountains. If you were to take out your target now, your mission would be a failure. You needed to let him win, or at the very least make him think he’d won if you ever want to find those hostages.

Your attacker’s face drops into a sinister smile, the blood from your wounds had given him a nice little “x marks the spot”- you’d been made. He empties his clip in your direction, you drop to the ground with a thud, roll to the edge of the path and let gravity do the rest as you fall over sharp rocks down to the next level of the zig-zagged trail. You let out a loud moan and try to curl as close to the mountain side as you can when as he leans over the edge to see the results of his work. He reloads his gun and fires three more shots down towards where you’ve landed and waits. He sees a small pool of blood forming and sighs with relief. Just as he’s about to turn to continue moving uphill he stops himself and spits down towards you, muttering “serves you right, demon.”

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part 2 coming soon! please let me know what you thought for a first try at writing fanfic (seriously plz let me know haha) 

[ciathyzareposts]

Crusaders of the Dark Savant: Pomp and Circumstance

I would hope that the number of people I have “both loved and slain” is small.

              In several long sessions, I conquered and pillaged the Temple of Munkharama. I had to review my screenshots from hours ago to remember why I was there in the first place. (Because of all the dialogue and descriptions, my screenshots folder has swiftly ballooned to over 2,000 shots.) It goes back to the garrulous Brother T’Shober, guardian of the Munkharama Bridge, who begged me to find my way to the Temple, beneath the city above it, and retrieve the Holy Work before a bunch of evil monks from the Dark Forest got to it first. He told me to bring it to Master Xheng, Lord of the 5 Flowers.

I thought the Holy Work might be the Astral Dominae, but I should have realized it was silly to expect any actual connection between the game and its backstory this soon, if at all. Instead, it was just a book.

            A book as helpful as the in-game text!

          Reaching it was a long process that began by–as I had surmised several entries ago–shouting “COINS” as a response to the riddle of the well. In return, it delivered me four coins that I had to use in four receptacles to open four doors, two of which had switches that opened secret doors accessible from the other two. One of those secret areas led to a bunch of new rooms on the east side of the monastery, one to a bunch of rooms on the west.            

The east side housed a logic puzzle by which I had to drop four beans into four chalices and then pull a spindle in a central room. The spindle activated a kind of slot machine with four panels colored black or white. It took me a few tries to figure out what was going on, but basically after pulling the spindle, the panels showed me how many beans were in the correct chalices by the number of black panels vs. white panels–but not which beans were correct. Every time I got it wrong, I got dumped through a trap door into a basement and took damage. There were 4!=24 potential combinations, but each try gave me enough information to cross several possibilities off the list and narrow it down. Eventually, I got it right. The solution opened a secret door to the rest of the section.

               This was a good thing.

              With my recent failure in Shadowlands on my mind, I should point out that this is the kind of puzzle I like. It takes some effort and experimentation to figure out what’s happening, and once you intuit that, you can solve it by logic. It wasn’t just about mechanics, and there weren’t rats or a food meter impelling me to solve it faster.

The new passage led the party to Brother Moser’s Apothecary. Aside from selling potions, he didn’t have a lot that was interesting to offer just yet.               

My full map of Munkharama.

            Over on the west side, I found myself in front of a large building labeled “Palace of the Gran Melange, The Land of Dreams.” (“Gran Melange” is a perfect David Bradley phrase, like “Dark Savant,” that at first sounds okay but then falls apart when you consider its true meaning, in this case something like “great miscellany.”) Inside, a monk wanted to know what I was doing there. I tried HOLY WORK, GRAN MELANGE, ASTRAL DOMINAE, and even COSMIC FORGE (hey, my characters are still a bit confused) before finding success with (duh) DREAMS. But I couldn’t answer his second question about “what happens to those who cannot walk the land of dreams” until I returned to Brother Moser and asked him, and learned that such people “walk the land of the living dead.” This is another kind of puzzle that I like: the kind where you have to pay attention and take notes, then use those notes at a later point. Admittedly, the copious verbiage in this game makes it tough.

What followed were a series of rooms (connected by a maze of ladders) where I encountered a bunch of monks high on some kind of pipeweed, spouting nonsense about life being a dream and other silliness that was probably meant to sound profound. (Sample: “Life is a mystery, a puzzle, a riddle, a rebus, an enigma. As you live, you discover some of its pieces. Some you know, as if you had always known. Others you do not recognize, and discard. But all is part of the puzzle.”) From these encounters, I got a smoking pipe and some “pastilles” to pack into it.

             I’ll smoke what he’s smoking.

           The monk at the entrance had warned me not to go through a black door, but it was the only way to go, and after doing so, I found myself in a blank void. And here I got one of the games absurdly, almost offensively long expositions. I’ve complained about wordiness a few times, but I want to make it clear that I certainly don’t mind the brief atmospheric descriptions. For instance, here’s one that came later in the area:

             You step into the arena of a tremendous cathedral, its bizarre frescoes long faded, its papal pews submerged under a dense cesspool of stagnant water and filled with the wrenching odor of offal and decay. Thick molds cover much of the ceiling and chamber, and splotches of scummy mires are visible floating on the surface of the water. It is not a very pleasant atmosphere.

               Now that’s great. It gives a lot of context to otherwise somewhat featureless wall textures, and it even makes sense given the overall backstory of the location. I wouldn’t mind if the text was delivered a bit faster, in a smaller font, without requiring me to acknowledge every sentence, but I otherwise have no problem with the prose.            

Occasionally, the descriptions are funny. I don’t often appreciate Bradley’s humor, but this passage from later (beneath the temple), got a chuckle, even though it hijacked my characters’ attitudes, something I usually object to:

           You pull the lever but nothing happens . . . Playing with the lever for a while and getting nowhere, you eventually resort to more forceful tactics. Pretty soon the floor is littered with piece of hacked lever parts, everybody is yelling at everybody else, and finally you concede that some things were not meant to be.

           This, on the other hand, is what I got in the dream void:

             You step into oblivion. You are falling . . . falling . . . falling. And then you are falling no longer. All is quiet and black. Though you can feel a solid surface beneath your feet, you see nothing, and all around you presses the deep void. A vision of burning flames appears in the distance. You draw closer to the fiery blaze, and you see there is something burning in the flames. It is you. The fire swells and suddenly you are surrounded by faces from your past, faces of those you have both loved and slain. Their skin bubbles and their eyeballs swell and then explode as they scream. And you watch as they turn into a host of blackened charred corpses. Their screams become a mad cackling, and as they crumble into dust you see arise within the flames huge buildings and structures. And you sense that the structures mean something important, but watch as they too crack and fall into the burning inferno. The flame congeals into a flaming ball, and from its smoke and ash forms a sphere of spinning firmament which begins to orbit around the burning mother. And you look upon the sphere as its surface transforms, blossoming an infinite variety of features, and soon there are other spheres and then behind them still others and then a thousand suns dot the black sky. A million planets swarm past you, racing through the void, and time itself seems to accelerate as you witness the birth and demise of nations and whole worlds. You gaze upon the evolution of life as it streams through the galaxies, birthing and growing, warring and dying, and soon the shapes become a blur until they finally collide in a tremendous explosion and time itself becomes exhausted and collapses. And then all is still and black again.

               If even that doesn’t seem so bad, keep in mind that this narrative is being delivered basically one sentence at a time, frequently appearing that it’s over, because it ends one-third of the way down the screen, only to start up again on the next screen. And if it still sounds cool, ask yourself: What is the point? Why these images? Do they actually mean anything? Is there any payoff? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. I think the author is just being self-indulgent. I think he’s read things like this in other stories, better stories, where there is a purpose and payoff, and he’s trying to mimic that.           

Here, it’s just a waste of time. It doesn’t even lead you to the correct next action, which is to combine the pipe and pastilles and light it. A good narrative, in addition to being much shorter, might have ended by saying something like, “You see images in the void, but your sober mind is not in any position to decipher them.” Oh, incidentally, if you do the wrong thing, you have to read all of this again.

Lighting the pipe didn’t make anything more sensible. A being called the Spirit of Life appeared, spouted some more pretentious nonsense (“this is the seed that is the root and heart of all living things” offered a particularly glorious mix of metaphors) and then asked me to choose the form of divine assistance: a sword, a staff, a gown, a ring, or a stone. I somewhat unimaginatively chose the sword, and I was given a magic weapon called the Sword of 4 Winds. Equipped by my lord, it does about twice the damage as his previous sword, so it wasn’t a terrible choice, but I’m curious what the other choices would have gotten me.

           Yeah, choosing the sword is pretty “basic,” but who says “gown” at a time like this?

            Incidentally, I think there’s a bug attached to the sword. First, it’s cursed, which means I can’t unequip it until I cast “Remove Curse.” That’s fine; I don’t want to unequip it. But it’s also one of those weird Wizardry weapons that asks me if I want to “invoke” it, which usually gives you something like an attribute boost in exchange for the item disappearing. In this case, invoking it raises my maximum hit points, permanently, but the sword doesn’t disappear because (I think) of the curse. This means I could theoretically use it to elevate my lord’s hit points to game-breaking heights. But after I saw what was happening (after invoking it twice), I stopped.

Out of the dream world, I found myself in a new area: the courtyard of the Xen Xheng School of 5 Flowers. Inside, Maser Xheng challenged me with a code phrase (“Slay not he that cannot hear”), to which I fortunately knew the counter-phrase from Brother T’Shober: BE THANKFUL YE THAT HATH AN EAR. Master Xheng wanted the Holy Work, which I didn’t have yet, so there wasn’t much else to do here.

             Be thankful ye that took screenshots.

           To get into the temple beneath the city, I had to solve another coin-related puzzle by putting four coins (ruby, emerald, diamond, and amber, found in pools in the central part of the keep) in associated urns: cuprum, viridian, silver, and gold. If it’s not clear (and it wasn’t to me at first), each gem/urn pair is the one closest together in color. This requires you to know that “viridian” is blue-green and that “cuprum” is the Latin word for “copper.”        

The underground had two large levels with many interrelated stairways, ladders, and pits. Getting through it was a long process of finding the right keys and objects to open the right doors in other areas. There weren’t a lot of puzzles otherwise, just fairly tough encounters with a variety of monsters. Several types of monks (spelled “munks” by the game for some reason), all with mid-level magic powers, kept attacking. There were also ghosts capable of causing a “terror” effect, nymphs who could cast high-level mass-damage spells, and some kind of floating jellyfish. I hate the “fear” effect, because in addition to taking the party member out of commission (about 50% of the time), there’s a chance that the party member decides on his or her own to flee, abruptly ending combat no matter how well you’re doing.

         The spirits are particularly well drawn.

       There were three notable “boss” battles. The first involved a bunch of deranged monks and a “leper giant,” who was capable of doing enough damage in a single round to kill a character. Fortunately, he usually missed, but after three tries I couldn’t win the battle without losing one character, so I sucked it up and resurrected her with a scroll I had found earlier.

             And Esteban goes spinning through the sky.

          The second boss battle was with the leader of the evil monks, the Lord of the Dark Forest, who had some very high level spells and resisted most of mine. I got lucky with a critical hit on my third combat with him.

             The Lord of the Dark Forest “holds” a bunch of us during our first fight against him.

              The last tough fight was with eight “skeleton lords” in three groups of two. They were curiously resistant to even my highest level “dispel undead” and had to be killed by more conventional means, which was tough because in addition to fear, they can cast “Fireball.” This one combat produced over 17,000 experience points, the highest total in the game so far.

             Skeleton lords appear t be skeletons of cows.

              Mitigating the difficulty was a fountain that restored health, stamina, and magic points. It’s been a while since I found one of those. Even with copious resting, the party is so rarely at maximum strength in all three attributes that these fountains really are a cause for celebration. Even better, it was in the middle of a water area, so I used the occasion to swim around (refreshing stamina at the fountain every few moves) until everyone’s “Swimming” skill was at 100. This is enough to swim about six squares before someone dies. 

          This is always a welcome sight.

          When I was done, I had two artifacts: the Holy Work and something called Wikum’s Globe of Power. I don’t know what the latter object is for, but the former I returned to Master Xheng. He took it gratefully and offered us the choice to join the monastery and learn the “path of the five flowers.” I said sure–I probably just made some irrecoverable faction choice or something–and he gave me a further quest to go find five flowers in some mountains. He also gave me some equipment, which included some cool bits of armor for my ninja.

                My undiscriminating party just joins the first faction that asks.

            By this time, I should mention, my inventory was bursting with stuff, including a lot of scrolls, potions, bombs, and powders that basically just serve as lesser alternatives to spells. I ended up selling a lot of them to Master Xheng just to clear space.

              On the one hand, that’s a useful item. On the other, that’s a reasonable amount of money.

             But I still have a bunch of things that I’m not sure about. These include:

             Items marked with large yellow question marks (instead of small white ones) always seem to be quest items. I’ve used most of them (like the cable trolley) and know what they’re for, but I’m still toting around “bone combs and brushes,” a bonsai tree, and a white rubber bear. They’re all mysteries.

I’ve had two iron keys and a pewter key for a long time, since like maybe the first dungeon.

Back in the Gorn castle, I fond three jars of “munk innards” and 15 units of “salted munkmeat.” Since munks are humans, the Gorn must be cannibals. Why am I carrying these around?

A potion called a “Cask of Ill Repute.” I forgot where I got it. 

Something called a “Rebus Egge.” No idea.

Several items in small blue pouches with stars on them: brimstone nuggets, skullbones, aromatic salts, and deadman’s hair. They sound like spell reagents, but this game doesn’t have a reagent system. Nothing happens when I try to “use” or “merge” these.

             During these explorations, I kept encountering certain NPCs over and over. It got a little annoying because they almost all have several screens of inescapable text before you can talk to them or dismiss them. One of them was the Gorn king, who I’d met in his castle. He alternately told me that the war was going well or poorly, sometimes both within a matter of 10 steps. Brother T’Shober appeared once, but I didn’t get anything useful from him. An Umpani named Lt. Gruntrapper stopped us a couple of times. When I went to trade with him (which I almost always try with NPCs), I saw that he was carrying something called a “Crypt Map.” I got an idea from comments that I’m supposed to be collecting these “maps,” so I bought it from him, even though it took 2/3 of my gold. Finally, some tall blue guy from the “priests of Dane” kept ranting about the end of the world, but I could never get him to like us enough to talk or trade.

             This had better pay off.

            Leveling slowed to a crawl, causing a bit of a withdrawal after my last session. Almost everyone is back up to Level 10 in their primary classes, and with hundreds of thousands of experience points necessary to get to Level 11, it’s hard to imagine ever making it to, say, Level 15. I don’t think I’ll be up for yet another round of class-changing, though, so I’ll just see how it goes.

I have no particular idea where to go next. A couple of my characters have the “Watchbells” spell now (which awakens sleeping party members), so I could try that field of poppies, and there are some water squares I could explore given my new ability to swim. Beyond that, there are unexplored paths to the south of Munkharama and to the north of Orkogre Castle.

This session ended at the 40-hour mark, and I feel like at this point I should have some sense of the main plot, but if it wasn’t for the Umpani and T’Rang showing up occasionally, I’d begin to suspect that the backstory has nothing to do with the game itself. I may feel differently by the end, but right now, it feels I’m in the middle of a sprawling, silly narrative with little thematic consistency or sensible story arc. At least I like the combat, leveling, exploration, mapping, and puzzles.

Time so far: 40 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/crusaders-of-the-dark-savant-pomp-and-circumstance/

[melanisticjaguar-blog]

Master Journal - Jerry Lawson: The reason why PlayStation and Xbox exist

For week 2 I was supposed to research the path of someone in my area of Mastery. In this paper, I will be discussing the late great Jerry Lawson. Within this discussion I intend to give his background information including the three “Keys of Mastery” (Creative Task, the Creative Strategies, and the Creative Breakthrough). Reflections of “Emotional Pitfalls” he has faced, as well as give comparative analysis between one of the NINE PEOPLE profiled in the “Strategies for the Creative – Active – Phase” from the book “Mastery” that was written by Robert Green will be provided.

Running Head: JERRY LAWSON: THE REASON WHY PLAYSTATION AND  XBOX EXIST                                                                          

Jerry Lawson: The reason why PlayStation and Xbox exist

Tikina Alamudeen

Full Sail University

Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership

Professor Rogalle

9/10/17

Jerry Lawson

In this paper, I will be discussing the late great Jerry Lawson. Within this discussion I intend to give his background information including the three “Keys of Mastery” (Creative Task, the Creative Strategies, and the Creative Breakthrough). Reflections of “Emotional Pitfalls” he has faced, as well as give comparative analysis between one of the NINE PEOPLE profiled in the “Strategies for the Creative – Active – Phase” from the book “Mastery” that was written by Robert Green will be provided.

Around the 1970’s Jerry Lawson created the first video game console called the Channel F, as well as helped created cartridges for video game consoles. (Cassidy, 2011) He had his own personal computer in his garage where he created his first coin-up arcade game, Chicago Coin’s Demolition Derby, came out shortly after Pong.” (Kosiec, 2017) This was the footprint for all future consoles for years to come. (Kosiec, 2017) When I was younger I owned an Atari 2600, but I’ve always wondered if it was the first console built. Although he was young, “He was a self-taught electronics genius who, with incredible talents, audacity, and strong guidance from his parents, managed to end up at the top of his profession despite the cultural tides flowing against him.” (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) Fixing broking TV’s is what inspired Lawson to get into electronics at a young age. (Kosiec, 2017) When J. Lawson was about 12 he had a mini lab in his bedroom, from there he managed to build, from a manual, a ham radio transmitter. (Cassidy, 2011) “I built it and it worked,” he says. “I think the greatest joy I ever had in my life was when I put that thing together by myself with nobody helping me.” (Cassidy, 2011)

In the “Keys to Mastery” this is the first step in “The Creative Task”, “The task that you choose to work on must have an obsessive element.” (Greene, 2012, p. 179) “You will then feel personally committed to solving the problem and will not rest until you do so.” (Greene, 2012, p. 179) “My first love started out as chemistry, and then I ended up switching over to electronics, and I continued on and even got a first-class commercial license.” (Edwards, Lawson, 2009).

It was unheard of to think about making a cartridge, quite a few engineers feared of it exploding and just the thought of its microprocessor being produced within the console was farfetched. (Kosiec, 2017) “The Creative Strategies” from “Keys to Mastery” says “Our Conventional tendency is to look for a single cause or a simple explanation, which then reveals to us how to fix the problem.” (Greene, 2012, p. 191)

As we can see his idea was a success. Lawson reminds us all the whole reason he decided to get into games was because people said developing a console that embodied the microprocessor couldn’t be done. (Cassidy, 2011) The point of creating the Channel F console was to have a “mechanism that allowed you to put the cartridges in without destroying the semiconductor.” (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) “Within a few years he was launching and running the new gaming division, where he developed the Fairchild Channel F a console that allowed players to change out cartridges loaded with games like “Video Black Jack”, “Maze, Cat and Mouse”, “Spitfire” and “Space War.” (Cassidy, 2011) Even though Systems like Magnavox and the first Atari was already out, when the Channel F system was released it had lead way because it was the only system that you could switch out game titles. (Kosiec, 2017)

I can vividly remember my first Atari 2600 and playing my favorite game “Pitfall”, I so disliked falling in that pit.  Step Two “The Creative Strategies” from “Keys to Mastery” mentions, “To put Negative Capability into practice, you may develop the habit of suspending the need to judge everything that crosses your path.” (Greene, 2012, p. 182) Lawson stated that the Magnavox Odyssey had no comparison to his creation, let alone a joke because of its’ lack of intelligence. (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) If you think back to the added details on the cartridge, Lawson found a way to avoid people from inserting the game backwards as well as getting static shocked. (Cassidy, 2011) Step Three of “The Creative Breakthrough – Tension and Insight” from “Keys to Mastery” states that, “In the lives of almost all Masters, we hear of the following pattern: They begin a project with an initial intuition and an excitement about its potential success.” (Greene, 2012, p. 199)

While in an interview Lawson thinks back to owning his very first computer called the “Forest 65L”, It was giving to him while working at Federal Electronics – ITT. (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) There were two major “Emotional Pit Falls” J. Lawson faced in his life. The biggest part of getting the Channel F released was getting through the FCC was one major pitfall. That was a job in itself. (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) The Channel F was finally released in 1976. (Kosiec, 2017)

From my understanding, what kept a lot of people from jumping within the market was the FCC. It took thousands of dollars to pass the test not to mention certain Texas Instrument couldn’t make spec. “They lobbied and got them to change the law, I was so mad, I couldn’t see straight.” (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) This made me think back to a video I seen given by Professor Randy Pausch called “The Last Lecture” He spoke of how he used analogical thinking to get what he needed to get him closer to his goal of accompanying his students on a trip to astronaut training on the “Vomit Comet”. In my eyes Lawson thought of one last resort that could possibly get him by. After not being able to pass the FCC test that wouldn’t allow the Channel F to be released the last resort was to rewrap the whole motherboard in aluminum, which led FCC to review every single cartridge. (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) The other major pitfall was the difficulty in his career because of his race. Lawson talks about how he would walk into a room and everybody would know who he was by his work and word of mouth but the never met him face to face. When it came time for meetings and/or events and was met with certain people they would have a look on their face of shock. And would actually say out their mouth, “I knew you was Jerry Lawson but not the same video game guy Jerry Lawson - I didn’t know you was black!” (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) In my opinion I think it’s safe to say J. Lawson literally created his own space in Game Development. In “Mastery” Robert Greene talks about the 6 types of rollercoasters “Emotional Pitfalls” you could fall into while on your Mastery Journey.

If I had to compare Lawson pitfalls in life I would chose both Complacency and Inflexibility. As a child J. Lawson speaks of his love for chemistry, electronics and his creations and gadgets he put together. Everything started within his childhood. The drive the, started in his chemistry lab that led him to building his first radio, all was a platform that boost his curiosity to ingenious imaginative mind to create the first console with game cartridges. The first Emotional Pitfall is “Complacency” within this section it states, “In childhood, the world seemed like an enchanted place. Everything that we encountered had an intensity to it, and sparked feelings of wonder.” (Greene, 2012, p. 202) It also says; After we pass through a rigorous apprenticeship and begin to flex our creative muscles, we cannot help but feel satisfaction in what we have learned and how far we have progressed.” (Greene, 2012, p. 202) “During the 1980s he formed his own studio called Video Soft, which produced cartridges for Atari 2600.” (Kosiec, 2017)

The sixth step in “Emotional Pitfall” is “Inflexibility” and it states, “Flexibility is not an easy or natural quality to develop. Once you spend a period of time being excited and hopeful about an idea, you will find it hard to shift to a more critical position.” (Greene, 2012, p. 204) I think when Lawson formed his own studio this gave him a more creative stand on solely concentrating cartridges for consoles. Which made his business Video Soft a more lucrative market even today seen in other consoles such as Xbox or PlayStation. “As future Masters from their apprenticeships, they all face the same dilemma: no one has ever really instructed them about the creative process, and there are no real books or teachers to turn to.” (Greene, 2012, p. 205) In “Mastery” Robert Greene talks about “Strategies for the Creative – Active Phase” within this phase there are Nine unique people that use different types of creative phases to either launch, create, or divert their careers in different directions. Out of all “Strategies for the Creative – Active Phase”, phase number seven “The Evolutionary Hijack” is a great comparison to J. Lawson’s life and career struggles.

For start in phase seven both Lawson and Graham are both pioneer engineers working with computers. They overcame obstacle of either writing software or creating a new console with cartridges. Both created their own field that allowed them to either prove someone or a team wrong about their judgement on their creative thinking. Both went through a phase that made them compare their work to others and felt the computer or console before was not up to par. For Graham he states “The first entrepreneurs to attempt this were laughed at; the computer they had created looked hardly worthy of the name – they were so small and could do so little.” (Greene, 2012, p. 233) This reminds me of Lawson’s comment about the Magnavox Odyssey. Lawson stated that the Magnavox Odyssey had no comparison to his creation, let alone a joke because of its’ lack of intelligence. (Edwards, Lawson, 2009) “We generally have a misconception about the inventive and creative powers of the human mind.” (Greene, 2012, p. 235)

In this paper, I have discussed my “Jerry Lawson”. Within this discussion I have given background information including the three “Keys of Mastery” (Creative Task, the Creative Strategies, and the Creative Breakthrough). Reflections of “Emotional Pitfalls” he faced, as well as gave comparative analysis between one of the NINE PEOPLE profiled in the “Strategies for the Creative – Active – Phase” from the book “Mastery” that was written by Robert Green.

                                                  References

*Cassidy, M. (2011). Gaming industry finally recognizes the work of a pioneer.    California Contra

Costa Times. Retrieved September 8, 2017 from http://www.lexisnexis.com.oclc.fullsail.edu:81/hottopics/lnacademic/ Retrieved from LexisNexis.

*Edwards, B., & Lawson, J. (2009). Jerry Lawson, Black Video Game Pioneer. N.p.: VC&G.

Retrieved September 8, 2017 from http://www.vintagecomputing.com/index.php/archives/545/vcg-interview-jerry-lawson-black-video-game-pioneer Retrieved from Vintage Computing and Gaming.

*Greene, R. (20121113). Mastery. [Bookshelf Online]. Retrieved from

https://bookshelf.vitalsource.com/#/books/9781101601020/

*Kosiec, T. (2017). Goodbye Jerry Lawson. Milwaukee, WI: UWM Post. Retrieved September 8,

2017,from http://eds.b.ebscohost.com.oclc.fullsail.edu:81/eds/detail/detail?vid=5&sid=b575c8b575c8d92eb34b7bb23c75ea65e4de2d%40sessionmgr102&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWRzLWxdmJnNpdGU9ZWRzLWxpdmU%3d#AN=6572051&db=bwh Retrieved from EBSCOhost.