#warping the very fabric of time and space so your friends can take a nap

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Sun Prince (Chapter 5)

Summary:  It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

-----

Chapter 5: Into the Fire

After all of the running around they'd done, it felt odd to be left with nothing to do except wait. There was little reason to set out and take up a few hunts when Cid promised that he was less than a day away from completing repairs, and so Ignis insisted that they remain on Cape Caem.

There was a sort of logic to it that Prompto couldn't deny, but it didn't stop the boredom from creeping in.

Ignis and Gladio quickly found ways to keep themselves occupied by helping out around the house, while Noctis snuck away to nap in various places until he was inevitably discovered. Prompto entertained himself by walking around and taking pictures of whatever struck his fancy, and eventually his feet led him to the elevator of the lighthouse.

His heart lurched at the thought of rising up to the top in an old lift, but the chance to catch a photograph from the top was too appealing to pass up. He could stomach it for a minute or two, and then he could get back down to solid ground.

That was until he got to the top and found Noctis's most recent hiding spot. The stray cat who kept turning up was there as well, curled up on the prince's chest.

Prompto quietly sat down with his back against the wall, giving himself a moment to breathe and ignore the fact that he was eighty feet up off the ground. His camera offered him a distraction as he scrolled through the pictures he'd taken and deleted the ones that turned out too blurry or were near-identical duplicates. Being near his best friend also helped calm the anxiety he felt.

They would leave for Altissia soon.

Prompto should feel excited about that. He had always dreamed of getting to explore beyond the Wall and see the beauty of the world beyond through the lens of his own camera, and Altissia was supposed to be the most beautiful of all! He would get to take so many photographs – well, hopefully. They weren't going for a vacation, after all.

But...

The more he thought about sailing across the Cygillian Ocean, the more dread he welt, welling up in his chest and threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

Maybe it was just his anxiety talking. Or it could be a side-effect of his powers. Either one would explain the awful nightmares that plagued his sleep, preventing him from getting more than a few hours of rest at a time.

Prompto looked over at Noctis, who was still sleeping soundly.

Their time at the chocobo post was short, and Prompto didn't have nearly as much time as he wanted to cuddle the baby chocobo's before Noctis whisked him out of sight for some extra training, while Ignis and Gladio were busy watching some of the races going on.

His magic came to him more easily each time he used it. Noctis expressed his own surprise at how quickly he was advancing, but Prompto brushed it off, remembering what Rhyos said about his body already being used to magic. With a little extra work, he learned how to craft his magic into a sphere shape, rather than the formless light he produced in the beginning.

Prompto wondered what Rhyos was doing and when he would decide to show up again. He hoped it was before they left for Altissia. There were even more questions he wanted to ask and hopefully the Astral would stick around long enough to answer some of them.

Maybe he was waiting until Prompto improved some more? Either that or he got some sort of glee out of making him wait.

Yeah. That second one sounded about right.

Prompto set his camera to the side and held his hands out, palms up. He guided his magic to swirl around, gathering until two golden orbs floated in front of him. He grinned, pleased by how easy it was becoming. With just a little focus, he could direct them to slowly fly around and move independently of one another.

The stray cat made a “mrrp” sound as she woke and watched the orbs with great interest.

“No, kitty,” Prompto said quietly. He pulled the orbs back to his hands and was about to absorb the remaining energy back into his body, when a voice cut through the air and startled him badly enough that they fizzled away.

“What are those?”

Prompto squeaked and twisted around to find Iris standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, and staring down at him with a determined expression.

“I, uh, what are what?” Prompto winced at his poor attempt at a cover-up.

Iris raised an eyebrow.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Prompto tried again.

“Hard to tell anyone when I don't know what's going on,” Iris responded lightly. She shut the door behind her and joined Prompto against the wall, casting a curious look over at Noctis. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Iris was truly a marvel. At only fifteen, she carried herself with such poise and maturity, even when faced with something unexpected, that it was easy to forget how young she was. Prompto supposed it was because she was from a long line of Kingshields and had also grown up in the citadel. Hard to relax and be a child with that amount of pressure.

“It's kind of complicated,” Prompto said, not sure whether or not he wanted to tell her everything. He still hadn't worked up the strength to tell Gladio or Ignis about it! Gladio would never forgive him if he told his little sister first.

Although, it would be good practice.

“Prompto has magic now.”

Or Noctis would take the choice away from him.

Prompto whined and tilted his head back, letting it thunk against the wall. “Dude, not cool.”

“I promised not to tell Gladio or Ignis, but you never said anything about Iris,” Noctis said as he sat up. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out so it didn't look as disheveled after his nap.

“It was implied,” Prompto said crossly.

Iris looked between them apprehensively. “I can just, y'know, go and pretend I didn't see or hear anything?”

“No,” Prompto bit out. He sighed and sat up straight, forcing a smile on his face as he looked over at her. “I mean, I've got to tell everyone eventually, right? And you already saw it, so I'm not going to make you pretend you didn't.”

Iris relaxed. “Okay, well take your time. Or you can let Noctis explain...?”

“Noct isn't allowed to explain anything anymore, but it's like he said. I have magic now,” Prompto told her, taking charge before Noctis could say anything else. (Not that he looked like he wanted to. He was definitely avoiding looking anywhere near his friend after blurting out his secret.) “I fell into these ruins while we were helping out one of the hunters and found this, um, artifact and it gave me magic. Noctis has been helping me control it.”

Simplicity was best, right?

Iris didn't need to know every last detail, like the deal he made with an unknown Astral, or even that Rhyos liked to pop in unexpectedly to talk. Nor did she need to know about the nightmares that plagued his sleep ever since his illness. Even Noctis didn't know about that last one.

“Can you do anything cool with it, like warping? Do you have your own armiger? Not that the magical balls aren't cool, but...” Iris shrugged, apparently unsure of where she was going with her questions.

“No warping, no armiger, and excuse you but the orbs are super cool,” Prompto responded, hoping he came across as joking in the end. He grinned at her for good measure. “I dunno. I can almost make a shield, but I haven't gotten it to hold up against anything. It might have just been a fluke.”

“It's still impressive when you've only been practicing for a few days,” Noctis pointed out.

Iris looked awestruck by everything she was learning. “Seriously? It took Gladio three days just to figure out how to access the armiger and pull out the correct weapon.” She turned immediately to Noctis. “Do not ever tell him that I told you that. Anyway, I think I'm starting to understand why Gladio won't let me travel with you guys. You're both beacons for trouble. He couldn't handle the three of us running around, even with Ignis's help.”

Noctis chuckled.

“You won't tell anyone about this, will you, Iris?” Prompto asked, seized by sudden worry. “I'll tell them eventually. I just haven't figured out how. I will. Soon. In Altissia?” He winced and shut his mouth.

“I think you're making a bigger deal of this than you need to, but I'll keep it a secret for you,” Iris promised. “And because I'm so awesome, I'll let you practice how you're going to tell them on me! It'll be fun!”

Prompto wasn't sure that it would be fun at all, but it was nice of her to volunteer.

Iris grinned at him, taking his silence as agreement. “I'll even do my best impression of Gladio! I'm pretty good at it, right, Noctis?”

“I dunno. I don't think you've got that patented grumpy stare down yet,” Noctis said thoughtfully.

Iris proceeded to prove that she was very good at impersonating her brother, though the glare looked wildly out of place on her sweet face.

-----

A woman with fiery red hair woven into intricate braids led the way down a well-lit passageway. Water flowed down the tall, white stone walls and pooled along the sides, but never moved closer to where she walked. She was draped in blue silks decorated with golden symbols, and the fabrics flowed as she moved towards a massive door.

Behind her, a crowd of people slowly followed, leaving proper space for those carrying two white caskets, one behind the other. All were silent.

The towering white walls were bathed in the golden light of the sun, though as it began to set, shadows rose from the floor and began to cover the walls. Neither the woman nor the procession behind her faltered in step.

The door, with bands of gold representing the rays of the sun, over which a bird with rainbow feathers was placed, began to shimmer with a red light. It spread across the walls, lighting up hidden symbols, and the door soundlessly opened.

A melodious hymn filled the halls as they began their descent into the depths.

At the end of the procession was a familiar man with long dark hair and red eyes.

“Rhyos?” Prompto gasped in bodiless form.

As though he heard him, Rhyos turned to look around. When his eyes met Prompto's, everything went black.

Lady Lunafreya appeared in the darkness and Prompto opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. He was forced to watch, helpless, as a featureless figure stabbed her in the side and red spread across the fabric of her white gown. She fell back and her trident slid form her grasp.

-----

Prompto gasped for air as he woke, tears streaming down his face. He sat up and pulled his legs to his chest, trembling as he tried to silence his sobs.

Nearby, Noctis mumbled in his sleep.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but even as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep that night. He lifted his head from his knees and that was when he saw the figure sitting near the window, moonlight illuminating his form.

“Rhyos,” Prompto whispered, too drained from his most recent nightmare to feel surprise.

“I apologize for visiting at such a late hour, however it came to my attention that things are progressing more quickly than anticipated.” Rhyos gave Prompto no chance to respond. “There has not been a wearer of the crown who experienced visions like yours since the height of Solheim power. Why did you not tell me?”

Prompto glanced worriedly at Noctis, but his friend showed no signs of stirring. “They're just nightmares. It didn't seem important,” he whispered.

Rhyos narrowed his eyes. “You speak of more than the funeral you glimpsed. Tell me about this nightmare of yours, and do not worry about your prince. He is a heavy sleeper.”

That didn't mean Prompto wanted to risk waking him up, but he also couldn't let his chance to talk to Rhyos go to waste. “I keep seeing... someone getting hurt. Someone important,” he said, being purposefully vague.

“You will need to be more detailed than that.”

Prompto closed his eyes. “I keep seeing Lady Lunafreya being stabbed. I can't see who's doing it or where she is. It's like I'm floating in this dark void.”

“It is not unusual for visions of a probable future to look that way. Nothing is set in stone and there is always the chance that the future can change. If you are seeing something, it is either to prepare you for what is coming or it is a hint of something that needs to be changed,” Rhyos explained. “Visions of the past are more clear.”

Visions.

Nausea roiled in Prompto's stomach and he took a moment to try and calm it down. His thoughts wailed profanities.

Lady Lunafreya was in danger and he didn't have the first idea of where or who the threat was. Was he not meant to know? Was it like Rhyos said and the vision was meant to prepare him for what was coming?

No.

Prompto refused to let that be her fate.

There had to be something he could do. His powers had to be good for more than just killing daemons!

“How can I stop it from happening?” he asked.

“The visions themselves will ease up now that you understand their warning, but it is likely you will occasionally glimpse moments of the past. Some are to help you in your life. Others, such as the one you had tonight, are because of me,” Rhyos said.

Prompto frowned. “You sent me that vision?”

Rhyos shook his head. “Not intentionally. It was a moment I was dwelling heavily upon. The crown and I have a connection and it likely picked up on that.” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps the next vision you have will be the creation of the crown. I think you would enjoy that one.”

As long as it let him get a proper night of sleep, Prompto wouldn't complain. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the questions that he forgot to write down. “Um, so... are those all of them? The visions and the magic, I mean. Or should I prepare for anything else because of the crown?”

“Your magic will continue to grow stronger, as will your control over it, but I cannot say for certain what other abilities the crown will grant you. It decides for itself who is worthy and of what,” Rhyos said as he stood up. “Long ago, I granted it to the Kings of Solheim, blessing it with the power so that they may protect their people. Now it is in your hands. The power you now possess will enable you to protect your people; those you care about most. That is its foremost function.

“It is not a tool of war, nor of greed. A lesser mortal could not command the abilities to come forth. What you have been granted is a mark of the purity of your soul. Of your desire to do good.”

Prompto could feel the burn of Rhyos's eyes on him. “But I'm not anyone special.”

Rhyos smiled. “And that, perhaps, is why you are the perfect candidate.”

“And what of the cost?” cut in a new voice.

Even Rhyos looked surprised as Noctis sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Dark eyes met red, and the Astral gave a respectful bow.

“What ever do you mean, Prince Noctis?” Rhyos asked.

“There's always a cost,” Noctis said, wholly serious. “I've spent my whole life watching my father's life be drained away. I know what it feels like to ask an Astral to come to our aid. What is the cost that Prompto pays for all of this?”

For a moment, Rhyos did not speak.

Prompto looked between them, wondering if he should be the one to break the silence, but he was curious too.

Rhyos smiled, his expression more gentle than Prompto had ever seen. “Worry not, young prince, there is no price to pay. That crown will not drain his life away nor make him grow weak. I always preferred lifting my chosen people to new heights rather than limiting what they can do.”

Relief washed over Prompto. It hadn't been one of his worries until Noctis brought it up, but the relief came nevertheless.

“I fear my time with you is coming to an end. I would hate to be the reason you lose anymore sleep than you already have,” Rhyos said. “There is one last thing I need to speak with you about, and that is your voyage across the Cygillian.” He waited until both of them were paying attention before continuing. “Altissia is the domain of Leviathan and her favored Messengers. It is not a place where I am welcomed, and as such, I will be unable to help you as long as you are there. Both of you, be cautious. The Tidemother's memory is long and her mood changes with the ebb and flow of the tide itself. Prove to her your strength and she will aid you. Fail and she will devour you.”

“Bleak,” Prompto commented.

Rhyos grinned. “I look forward to your return.”

The last thing Prompto remembered was Rhyos walking across the room and the feeling of warm fingertips against his forehead. Comfortable darkness rushed to greet him and he sank into the depths of slumber, where only pleasant dreams awaited him.

[cherryhobis]

see you next year ☆ min yoongi/reader

word count: 1479 ☆ gen rating ☆  ao3 mirror

Hello everybody! I’ve been pretty quiet today as I’ve been steadily chipping away at a birthday gift for the lovely @bloomsuga​! I know it’s a little late, but I hope you like it all the same. Happy birthday, homie!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

It happens every year.

 Every year, on this exact day, Min Yoongi finds himself in some godforsaken elevator, and in that elevator, he meets you. He’s gotten to know you somewhat, in the time he’s spent with you. You only gave him trivial things at first, like the type of weather you preferred and your favorite color, but eventually he learned that you’ve tried every flavor at Baskin-Robbins and why you’re not allowed to drive your friend’s car anymore.

You told him your stories and he told you his, each time with a bit less detail, if only to see what you’d fill into the blanks he’d left you. You remembered something once. Red. The color of his shirt when he’d snagged the answers to a quiz from his teacher’s desk in middle school. It was a lame story, and Yoongi got caught at the end, but he told you that one for a while because you laughed lightheartedly at his plight and left the exchange with a smile on your face.

He’s on the elevator early today, leaning against the railing with the buttons in arm’s reach. Phone in hand and mask pulled beneath his chin, Yoongi waits patiently for you to arrive in the place you’re both so destined to meet. Or rather, he waits as patiently as he can. You’re not due for another five minutes and he’s already ridden to every floor twice. As it turns out, the novelty of having pressed every button wears off by the third floor, but by the time Yoongi had realized that, he figured he may as well accept his fate.

 It’s 3:30 on the nose when you show up, searching through an open backpack slung awkwardly over your shoulder with your phone hovering above it as a flashlight. You’re sporting that tired-but-not-willing-to-show-it look he’s come to expect from you, though today you’re wearing it exceptionally well in the form of blue jeans and a lightweight hoodie.

And, you’re wearing the button he gave you.

 “Top floor, please,” you say to him as you board, finding whatever it was you were looking for and placing it into a pocket at the front of your bag.

Yoongi looks at you, observing you for just a moment, before pressing the button.

 There’s a round button pinned to your chest, the pearlescent blue shimmering against the pink fabric it rests upon. He notes it’s the same one he gave you a few cycles ago, right down to the teeny bit of sticker residue at the edge that you never bothered getting rid of.

 It’s a few years old now, with faint wear and tear etched into its surface, but it undoubtedly looks brand new to you. It always does.

 “Happy birthday,” he tells you, tapping his chest referentially when you look at him with mild concern. Yoongi remembers not-so-fondly the year when his well wishes had scared you out of your wits—you’d armed yourself with a ballpoint pen and told him you weren’t afraid to use it. The year after that, he said nothing of the sort and bade you a good day, but he left you with a single breadcrumb the year after: the birthday button.

 “Thanks, Yoongi.” You respond, catching him quite off guard. Ice runs through his veins at the sound of his name – when did you start remembering? You’re usually bouncy, or distracted, but now you’re smug, almost, and you know who he is.

 You tilt your head at him, ponytail swaying slightly in its scrunchie. “How long have I known you?”

Correction: you sort of know who he is.

 *

 It takes a bit of convincing that he’s neither crazy nor stalking you, but eventually Yoongi whittles down your encounters into barebones detail that you accept with a steady nod. From what you can remember – and it’s very little – you once tried breaking the loop by leaving your phone with him, but despite your careful assurance that he’d had it tucked away, it somehow reappeared in your pocket once the two of you separated. It was frustrating for both you and him, though your feelings registered as more of a dull throb of forgetfulness than the roaring upset Yoongi had felt.

 “I remember every single time I’ve met you,” he tells you. “It was ridiculously humid one year and you’d spent half the ride up trying to brush it into submission.”

Something about his story feels familiar enough to laugh at – something about not having a hair tie the whole time? – So you do, and the sound makes Yoongi regard you with a measured softness.

 You decide you like how it feels.

 *

 It’s after a hard think that you come up with a solution, excited and childlike as you fish out your phone. “Gimme your number! I’ll call you once I get off and this should all be over, yeah?” hope tints your voice and it’s almost too much for Yoongi to handle.

 “Can’t.” he says, stretching a sudden tension from his muscles. The black of his t-shirt rides up a little as he does, revealing a little sliver of tummy that’s got you biting back a grin. “We’ve tried. It’s like some weird eraser passes over you as soon as you leave this damn thing.” You flick your gaze up to find his eyes trained on you, a knowing smirk at the corner of his lip.

Embarrassment hues your cheeks, but instead of addressing whatever moment the two of you had, you reroute to the dilemma at hand. Your floor’s just a few stops away.

“Question.”

“Answer.”

“Have we ever tried the emergency stop?”

 Yoongi’s smirk morphs into a pensive expression, before finally falling into a surprised little ‘o’. “No,” he says in pure surprise. “No we have not.” Though you laugh, you gesture somewhat impatiently to the elevator panel. You’ve only got so much time.

Quickly, and with probably a little too much force, Yoongi slams his thumb into the emergency stop and steels himself as the elevator whines its way into a slow, squeaky stop. Wincing through the noise, you wonder halfheartedly if one of you is destined to grease the mechanisms, and if the weird time warp is punishment for shirking your duties – a ridiculous notion you find yourself making a mental note of to bring up later.

 “So.” Yoongi says, turning to you. “What now?”

You shrug, slipping your bag off your shoulders and sitting cross-legged on the floor. “We wait. What time do I usually leave?”

 Yoongi joins you on the floor, back against the wall. “Around 3:45. It’s a slow elevator.”

 You check the time with a quick glance at your phone, worrying your lip after. “It’s almost four o’clock. That’s… that’s a good sign, right?”

 Yoongi nods, idly mussing up his hair. “I’d say so. How long you wanna stay in here? My calendar’s all clear for today.” Like it always is.

 “Maybe a couple hours, just to be on the safe side. I wanna remember you for real this time.”

 “Ditto. I mean, I already remember all the stuff you’ve told me, but like. I’d like you to know I exist.”

“I getcha. We should go out after. Grab a bite to eat or somethin’.”

 Yoongi quirks a brow. “You mean like a date?”

“As a matter of fact, Min Yoongi, it’s my birthday,” you say, gesturing dramatically to the button adorning your hoodie. “I’d like to go out and celebrate. But, if your birthday gift for me happens to be a date, I wouldn’t object.”

 The way you’re batting your eyes at him can only be interpreted as humorous, but regardless, Yoongi finds his heart skipping a beat. “Where would you want to go? Hypothetically speaking.”

 You waste no time in responding. “Hypothetically? Home. I just want a big bowl of cereal and a nap. You’re more than welcome to come over and nap with me. I’ve got really cozy blankets.”

 Yoongi pouts a bit, mulling the offer over. He’d never really planned that you’d get this far. “A nap sounds nice. But be warned, I talk in my sleep.”

 “I can handle that.”

 *

 Nervousness keeps you there as six o’clock turns into seven, and as seven blurs into midnight.  You’re tired, and your muscles ache like hell from being in such a confined space, but you will the feeling back into your limbs just long enough to carry you to bed.

It’s a long bus ride home, but Yoongi embarks on the journey with you, and he carries your backpack for you on the short walk to your building.

Inside, you kick off your shoes and direct him to your bedroom, neither of you bothering to shuck off your jeans before you climb into bed.

In the morning, you will see if he’s still there.

 *

 In the morning, you wake up in his arms.

[cookiecuttercritter]

The Curious Case of John Smith - How to Save the World in 12 Easy Steps, S1E6

There have been John Smith episodes, but this one’s THE John Smith episode.

Genre: Fantasy/Sci-Fi Kitchen Sink, Slice of Life

Wordcount: ~2400.

Because the continuity gags, pilot characters, and little bits of world building are really starting to compound: WIP Intro, Pilot, E1, E2, E3, E4, E5

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY

JOHN SMITH sits at his desk, brows furrowed. He scribbles notes on the indistinct lecture.

His phone's on the desk. He scrolls through grades and past assignments. In the corner of his notepad, he constructs a table: MEDIAN | WHAT I GOT

A 96 under both headings. 71. 56. 84. It dawns on him: he's hit the median every single time. His leg bounces restlessly, he grimaces, buries his face in the crook of his arm, sinks down into the desk, shuts his eyes. It all becomes too much -

The light directly above him EXPLODES!

He's showered with glass, stumbles out of his seat, trips, lands on all fours, staggers for the door. EVERYONE stares.

MR. PISCOLI turns, sniffling into his pine-bristle frost mustache, chalk still suspended at board-writing height. He's a monocled history teacher who looks like he very well could've lived through everything he teaches. Left on the board behind him: "WE CONCLUDE HIS ALIAS WAS 'MOON MOON'"

John Smith makes it out to the hall, collapses, scrabbles to his feet, gasps. His hat slips off and he abandons it.

Heads swivel in flawless synchrony to the seat by the window, three rows back. JAIDYN snoozes at the Protagonist Seat, cheek propped up in his palm. His head slips, face SLAMS against the desk. He snaps awake, blinks, rubs his nose, casts an accusatory glance around the room.

               JAIDYN    What?

Everyone tips their head toward the door. Outside, John Smith stumbles down the hall. Lights FLICKER above him. All swivel back in vacant anticipation.

Jaidyn groans. He stands, everyone sucks in air through their teeth. Jaidyn sighs and sits back down.

               JAIDYN    Can I -

The class collectively sucks in air through their teeth.

               JAIDYN    - May I. Go to the bathroom -

Mr. Piscoli flourishes a yellow neckerchief with HALL PASS sharpie'd on it.

               JAIDYN    - Have a bathroom pass.

               MR. PISCOLI    Yes you may.

INT. HALLWAY - DAY

John Smith enters the frame, hand to the wall, hand to his chest. He's trembling, struggling to breathe, fighting to stay on his feet. He screws his eyes shut -

Lights EXPLODE.

He looks, his EYES ARE BOLT-WHITE. He lurches out of frame.

Moments later, another door BURSTS open and MARLEY sprints out, dragging TETRA in tow.

               TETRA    We can't just leave in the middle of class, we don't have -

               MARLEY    Hall passes are for the feeble-minded! We think for ourselves! You saw that John Smith guy, didn't you? He's not who he says he is -

Tetra sighs as she's lugged past rows upon rows of lockers.

               TETRA        (under her breath)    No duh.        (normally)    Why are you really doing this?

               MARLEY    You're catching on quick, grasshopper.

               TETRA    That doesn't answer my question.

               MARLEY    If he's destructive, I can use him.

               TETRA    Is that all?

Marley forges on, unfazed. Tetra casts her gaze downward.

They approach an open door leading to a dark underground. Marley pivots Tetra to stand in front of her.

               MARLEY    You see well in the dark, right?

Tetra nods uneasily. Marley gives her a little push and she tiptoes toward the inky, definitely-have-killed-a-few-people steps. Her pupils dilate, adjusting to the dark.

A BOLT TEARS THROUGH THE DARK, ZAPPING HER SHOULDER! Tetra falls back, hissing and gripping her blistered arm.

Marley clicks her tongue, hand held thoughtfully to her chin. She skirts around Tetra and flips a light switch in the stairwell. Sterile fluorescents illuminate the stairs.

Marley starts, turns, suddenly remembering she's not alone.

               MARLEY    Are you alright?

               TETRA    I'm fine.

Marley nods, makes for the staircase, squeezes up against the wall as she descends.

Another bolt WHIPS out of the depths and ELECTROCUTES Tetra IN THE FACE! She collapses, twitching and crying weakly.

Marley acknowledges this tragedy for but a second, turns, descends.

INT. BOILER ROOM - DAY

Marley's footfalls echo off the walls.

In the distance, a dim light sputters. It’s distinctly alive. It moves, grows in size, it’s coming straight for her -

Marley flicks on a light.

It’s only Jaidyn gripping tight to a faintly glowing stalk of bamboo. A yellow neckerchief sticks out of his pocket. At first, he’s all bewilderment and apprehension. And then, recognition. Then a muffled smirk.

Marley surveys him as if he were something stuck to the bottom of her spotless Mary Janes.

               JAIDYN    Have we met?

               MARLEY    Oh, shut up.

LIGHTS RATTLE and FLICKER. SPARKS run along the pipes. Jaidyn raises Hoover a little higher, Marley reaches for her watch.

The electrical spasm dies down and John Smith groans from somewhere further down in the dark.

               MARLEY    Let’s get formalities out of the way.

She throws her backpack down and whips out a thick glove. She slips it on and extends her hand.

               MARLEY    Marley Benson.

Jaidyn’s eyes dart from Marley’s face to her outstretched hand and back. He subtly turns away, refusing her offer.

               JAIDYN    Jaidyn.

Another CRASH, roar, rattle. Marley raises her brows.

               MARLEY    Well, what are you standing around for?

INT. BASEMENT - DAY

Marley and Jaidyn take slow and measured steps toward John Smith, who's collapsed on the floor, hacking for breath, eyes flashing between blinding white and stale brown. There's a palpable thrum in the air, a heartstring's strained and bound to snap. He throws a hand up but can't bring himself to meet their eyes.

               JOHN SMITH    Stay back!

He passes out, faceplanting in the dust-carpeted concrete.

THE LIGHTS GO WILD, crackling, sparking, bursting -

Jaidyn hops back, wincing.

Then all at once, it ceases. Darkness. Silence.

Then -

Lights are back. Marley's stood by the fuse box, having plunged a sparking lever back to restore electricity. The only thing keeping her from being electrocuted is that inordinately thick electrician's glove.

Lightning BLASTS from the ceiling, hitting John Smith in the back. He bolts upright. His eyes are frozen-lightning white.

Marley tosses her glove to the ground, casually flips her hair, storms up to him -

               JAIDYN    You're not seriously going to kick him while he's down, are you?

Marley shoots him a 'Who exactly do you think I am?' look and pointedly kicks John Smith in the side of the head without breaking eye contact with Jaidyn, who hastily looks away. She presses her heel to John Smith's chest.

               MARLEY    I never believed you were human for a second. I was right to pressure you...

               TETRA (O.S.)    Wait!

Tetra rushes in, TACKLES Marley. Both girls eat dust. Tetra HOISTS Marley into the air. She's much stronger than her tiny frame betrays.

               TETRA    What's he ever done to you?!

She HURLS Marley, who BOWLS into Jaidyn, who in turn makes no attempt to move out of the way, having already accepted his fate. Marley winds up on top of Jaidyn but not a moment is wasted on blushing and sentimentality. She springs back to her feet, fists balled.

Tetra moves to put a hand on John Smith's shoulder -

               JOHN SMITH    Don't touch me! Please. I don't want to hurt anyone.

She retracts her hand, kneels to his level, never once taking her violet-drenched eyes off him -- a chaos-feeder in action.

               TETRA    It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay.

               JOHN SMITH    I don't - we -

He clamps his hands over his mouth, trembles, convulses of the electricity skating over his skin.

               MARLEY    I'm sorry, did he just say 'we' -

               TETRA    Marlene! I got this!        (back to John Smith)    I'm sorry, did you just say 'we' and shut your mouth right after?

He nods though he's unsure. He's tearing up.

               TETRA    Can you tell me a little more about that? It's okay, it's just us. And Marley and Jaidyn. But just pretend they're not here.

Marley scoffs, crosses her arms, turns away. Jaidyn tosses Hoover to the ground. He clangs hollowly off the concrete.

Tetra takes John Smith's hand. He cringes but doesn't shock her.

               TETRA    See? It's okay.

He takes a deep, ragged breath.

               JOHN SMITH    My name... isn't John Smith.

               MARLEY        (under her breath)    No duh.

               TETRA    MARLENE!

Marley throws her hands up in surrender, starts pacing. Jaidyn plops down, cheek in hand, eager to nap.

               TETRA        (back to John Smith)    Please continue.

               JOHN SMITH    It's Keh - K-Kay - Ep -Ked -

He screams and grips his head in agony. Lights RATTLE and FLICKER. He can only speak through gritted teeth.

               JOHN SMITH    - Shut it! That's our name -- that isn't it -- What?! Let us say -- that's our original - it's not that -- been so long -- you all are - yeah, well, we're not the ones screaming -

Tetra grips his hand harder.

               TETRA    Khep, was it?

               JOHN SMITH        (quieting down)    Yeah, that's. Really close, actually.

               TETRA    I'm glad it is.

From now on, John Smith will be referred to as Khep. They sit together until the protesting, knocking lights die down to just a static electric hum.

When he finally opens his mouth, it's like he's disintegrating just to speak:

               KHEP    We're not from here...

FLASHBACK START:

EXT. CLOUD FOREST - NIGHT

A young HIKER wanders through a fog-suffused forest, his hiking stick stabbing the ground at regular intervals. CRACK -- a twig's snapped. He turns, looks -

ZAP! A bolt of LIGHTNING strikes him on the head, killing him instantly.

Dark clouds swirl and rumble. Lightning jitters across the vast expanse of the grey-cast sky.

               KHEP (V.O.)    We don't know where we came from or what we really are.

The clouds animate, gliding through the air with living mass.

               KHEP (V.O.)    But we know we were the reason those who entered the woods never returned. We collected lives. Memories mostly. We made new friends. And then...

A SLASH materializes in the very fabric of the sky. Space warps, thunder claps, people point and scream. Through the portal, ANOTHER EARTH can be seen. It's speeding up, drifting closer, it's going to hit -

               KHEP (V.O.)    We did the only thing we could think of -

EXT. CITY PLAZA - NIGHT

It's crowded. People murmur, point at the growing hole in the sky. Suddenly -

SOMEONE COLLAPSES. The corpse smokes.

LIGHTNING.

More people collapse. Khep works through the whole crowd.

EXT. SPACE

The two planets collide. At the point of contact between dimensions, a wispy cloud leeches from one world to another, carrying a spark with it.

FLASHBACK END.

Tetra holds a sullen Khep gently, pity in her quartz-marble eyes. In the back, Jaidyn's sealed his gaze to the floor, not quite awake and yet somehow ashamed.

               KHEP    A while later we figured out how to spare and even inhabit hosts. We've been growing in numbers ever since.

               TETRA    How many people am I talking to?

               KHEP       (sighing)     ... 11 million. And some aren't even human.

               TETRA    How is that possible?

They smile gently.

               KHEP    Memories are just electrical information.

Marley grunts in exasperation, points an accusatory finger.

               MARLEY    First of all, that's not how that works, at all -

               KHEP    We're several ten thousand lifetimes, cumulative. If you really want to talk what does and doesn't work, we could be here a while -

               MARLEY    - Second of all! All that knowledge and you choose to go back to school?! You fry your own brain or something -

Khep screeches and two lights SHATTER!

               KHEP    We did all the traveling and teaching and learning already! We just missed being normal! We knew we could pull it off, crunch the numbers and act perfectly average, pick the most common first and last names -

               TETRA    So what went wrong?

               KHEP    Nothing! It's just... everyone wants to be special, but average can't be special! We're all screaming in here but we can't afford to lose this host.

               TETRA    But Khep, no one's forcing you to be average! You are all so special and you need to know that!

               KHEP    Really?

               TETRA    Yes! You're amazing and you should be proud of who you are!

She offhandedly brushes shards of glass from her hair.

               KHEP    You really think so?

Tetra nods vigorously. Khep shuts their eyes for a moment. When they open them, they're vanilla-brown, back to normal. Tetra pats their hand. Khep smiles weakly.

Tetra turns to Jaidyn and Marley.

               TETRA    We're the only ones who know.

She sticks her hand out.

               TETRA    Hands in. All together now. This stays between us.

               KHEP    No.

All turn to them.

               KHEP    I - we, we wanna show the world who we really are. It's about time.

Their eyes glow, fill with light, turning completely white.

INT. HALLWAY - DAY

Khep struts down the hall, dignified, elegant, awash with sunlight streaming in from an open window. Their eyes glow, they crackle with electricity.

STUDENTS turn and stare. Marley, Jaidyn, and Tetra watch them go.

               SOME EXTRA    Is that John Smith?

               MARLEY    They clean up nicely, don't they?

               JAIDYN    They're wearing the exact same -

               TETRA    I'm proud of them. They're happy in their fragile, perishable host, and that's what matters.

Jaidyn ties his hall pass around Tetra's singed arm. She smiles and nods appreciatively.

CARTER KENETT watches Khep go and WHIPS his thick plastic-rimmed glasses off his face to wipe the lenses on his shirt, as if that'd help him see better. He's a beryl-eyed platinum blonde jock who blithely carries himself with just a tad too much self-importance and the confidence of say, a superhero.

               SOME OTHER EXTRA    Am I crazy or did I just see Attesservate here?

Carter starts and shoves his glasses back on.

               CARTER    No way! You must have just imagined it.

Jaidyn hands Khep their mesh cap and they put it on backwards with a self-assured smile as if nothing had changed at all. They blink, eyes returning to familiar brown.

               KHEP    That went so much better than we imagined. But we think we prefer to be inconspicuous. We were just starting to get used to it.

Tetra throws her arms around Marley and Khep, pulling them close to each side of her. She grins between the both of them. Khep catches on and yanks Jaidyn toward the slowly-yet-surely forming human wall. Jaidyn sighs and leans into Khep, having already accepted his fate.

Thanks for reading this slightly longer-than-usual episode!!!

This episode’s shoutout goes to @esoteric-eclectic-eccentric for ‘Moon Moon’.

HTSTW tag list (ask to be added/removed!): @maxbeewriting @eyelessfatdragon @glacizata @maple-writes@theforgottencoolkid @delerious-wordsmith @leskinggoddesskittycat@klywrites @aslanwrites @chaosandtrickery @deepestbelieverstranger @izzuniiwrites @managingmymuse @livingthelovelylife @piratequeenofpixies @jynecca @wordofthedey @loopyhoopydrabbles @beatlesandbards @mysterysiria @penicilliums

Next time on How to Save the World, dining hall food and puppies!

[returnsandreturns]

This is for @electriceell ! It’s kinda dumb but I like it.

“I’m going to bed!” Foggy calls, the front door slamming behind him and making Matt wake up with a jolt. Shit. “I don’t care that it’s three o’clock! I’m an adult!”

Matt’s attempting to untangle himself from the sheets and manages to trip and fall on his ass at the exact same moment that Foggy opens the bedroom door and promptly makes a strangled noise.

“Uhm,” he says, after his heart slows back down. “Hey, Matt.”

“Hey,” Matt says, giving an awkward wave.

“You’re pretty naked there, buddy.”

“Underwear.” Matt pulls at the sheet a little to prove it.

“Well, that’s something,” Foggy says, levelly. “You gonna tell me what the hell you were doing in my bed? I just need to know if I should wash the sheets.”

Matt groans and covers his face with his hands, so his voice is muffled when he says, “If you weren’t a better lawyer than me, I’d try to blame this on you.”

“I’m definitely a better lawyer than you,” Foggy says, “so keep talking, counselor.”

Matt takes a deep breath and tries to figure out how to tell this story in a way that won’t somehow ruin their friendship more than he’s already managed. He sighs and stands up, so the sheets fall down to the floor, and Foggy’s heartbeat kicks up again.

“And put some pants on,” he says, turning to walk back into the living room. “This is a—Christian household.”

*

“I know we’re supposed to be bonding and rebuilding our friendship, Matty,” Foggy says, pausing the movie they were watching, “but I think you died five minutes ago.”

“I’m only mostly dead,” Matt says, sheepishly.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Foggy asks, sighing.

“Last night,” Matt says.

“For how long?”

“Long—enough.”

“Okay, you’re taking a nap,” Foggy says, standing up abruptly. “Get up.”

“Foggy, I’m fine,” he says, but he lets Foggy take him by his arm and drag him to his feet and pull him into his bedroom, which is something Matt has thought about before—being pulled into Foggy’s bedroom.

“I bought a fuck everything expensive mattress after I got my new job,” Foggy says, letting go of Matt to search through his drawers and pull out clothes that he thrusts into Matt’s arm. They’re soft. They smell like fabric softener but they mostly smell like Foggy. “You’re going to love it more than you love me.”

“I—I doubt it,” Matt says.

After he actually gets into bed, though, and finds out that Foggy has nicer silk sheets than he does and that his mattress feels like being full body cuddled by an angel, he can confidently say that he loves Foggy more than anyone.

But his bed comes in a close second.

*

“You’re saying I led you on,” Foggy says, laughing.

Matt’s wearing pants but couldn’t find his shirt, which made Foggy sigh outrageously and mutter, “Exhibitionist tendencies,” when he walked into the living room. He turns around on the couch so Foggy can see him frown from where he’s making coffee. He has an espresso maker now. It has to take up most of the counter space in his tiny kitchen.

“Why haven’t you moved?” Matt asks, instead of answering.

“Wow,” Foggy says. “Did you get Hell’s Kitchen in the divorce?”

“No, I just meant—you got the salary you always wanted at a successful firm,” Matt says. “You could get a nicer place.”

“So, you break into my apartment just to insult it?” Foggy asks, huffing out a laugh and interrupting Matt when he tries to talk again. “I know I could live somewhere shinier, but—this is my home. My shitty, occasionally rat-infested home. It’s close to everything I care about and all the delivery guys would miss me.”

Matt doesn’t want to ask if he’s part of that. The things Foggy cares about. They’re working on getting back to where they were but he knows all the pieces aren’t fitting quite right.

“Yeah, you’re part of the reason, asshole,” Foggy says, but it’s soft, fond, because he’s Matt’s best friend and he knows him better than anybody else and Matt doesn’t even have to talk.

“Good,” he says, turning around to hide his smile.

“. . .you know what, screw it,” Foggy says, loudly—putting his coffee mug in the fridge while his heart pounds. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“. . .what?” Matt asks, turning back around slowly.

“You, me, my mattress that’s worth more than both of us combined,” Foggy says. “Serious adult naptime. You up for it?”

Matt doesn’t have time to think about whether or not this is a terrible idea because he’s already leveraging himself up and saying, voice breaking a  little, “Yeah. I’m up for it.”

*

Foggy said, “You can lose the pants again but don’t get fresh,” when they got into the bedroom, and Matt had laughed somewhat soullessly, but they both got down to their underwear and crawled into bed together. They’re lying beside each other now, a couple of inches between them, perfectly still.

“Well,” Matt says. “This is nice.”

“So nice,” Foggy agrees.

An awkward silence stretches out between them.

“. . .you’re usually the little spoon, right?” Foggy asks, swallowing audibly.

“I feel like I should deny that,” Matt says, “. . .but yes.”

“. . .cool, good for you, own it.”

More silence and Matt takes a deep breath before he very deliberately turns over to lie on his side, facing away from Foggy, who outright gasps.

“Was that an invitation?” he asks.

“To do what?” Matt asks, laughing, turning his head toward him.

“To—not to—god, don’t make this weird, Murdock, it’s just a guy spooning another guy in the name of friendship.”

“Okay, yeah,” Matt says, feeling happier than he’s felt in—a long time. “It was an invitation.”

Foggy makes a soft determined noise and turns to press up against Matt, wrapping an arm around him to hold him close. For all that the pieces of their friendship are warped, they fit together perfectly like this.  

“There,” Foggy says, softly, warm breath on Matt’s neck. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”

*

By the time Matt wakes up, Foggy’s on his back and Matt’s basically on top of him, an arm and a leg slung over and his face buried in Foggy’s chest. Foggy wakes up when Matt shifts a little and says, “Oh, wow.”

“Hmm?” Matt asks.

“You’re like a baby koala,” Foggy says, reaching up to smooth his hand over Matt’s hair.

“‘m not,” Matt murmurs, yawning, but he tightens the arm he has around Foggy.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Foggy says, fingers sliding over Matt’s neck before he drops his arm again. “A big manly koala.”

Matt snorts out a laugh.

They stay like that for long enough that it’s got to be weird, until Foggy says, “You planning on getting off of me, buddy?”

If Matt was more awake and less of an idiot, he’d do that. He’s not, though.

“Do I have to?” he asks, lifting his head slowly.

“. . .no,” Foggy says, softly. “This isn’t threatening your heterosexuality?”

“. . .yeah, about that,” Matt says, because if he’s an idiot, he might as well go all the way.

Foggy starts to say something and Matt interrupts him by pushing up to press their lips together, kissing him softly. When Foggy doesn’t immediately push him away and kick him out of his life again, he cups one of his cheeks, slides fingers into soft hair.

“Liked it better long,” he murmurs, close to Foggy’s mouth.

“I’m a grownup lawyer now,” Foggy says, breathing heavily. “Keep kissing me.”

“Yes, sir.”

They make out slowly, hands moving tentatively over each other’s bodies, until Foggy eventually squeezes Matt’s side gently and says, “Okay, take a breath. My brain just caught up to what’s happening. You’re not straight?”

Matt sits up and wipes off his mouth.

“Only in practice,” he says.

“Are you trying to hook up with me because you like my mattress so much?”

“No,” Matt says, laughing. “No, Foggy, I’ve—I’ve always felt something for you. It was just never the right time.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, sitting up to take Matt’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “School and girlfriends and starting the firm and—all your devil shit. I know what you mean. I’ve actually been thinking that maybe. . .”

“Maybe?” Matt prompts, when Foggy draws off.

“Maybe, if you felt the same, we could try this,” Foggy says. “I thought it might be a shot in the dark, but. . .you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Matt says, nodding, smiling hopefully. “I—I think it’s the right time. Don’t you?”

Foggy lets go of his hand and Matt’s worried for a few seconds before he’s being tackled to the bed, before Foggy’s climbing on top of him and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth.

“I do,” Foggy says. “I really do, Matt.”

“. . .does this mean I get to sleep over?” Matt asks, grinning.

“I knew you were just in it for the mattress,” Foggy says, sitting up and grabbing a pillow to hit him, yelping when Matt knocks it away and pins him down on the mattress instead.

“Just a bonus,” he promises, bending down to kiss his forehead. “I’d want you even if you still had your old mattress.”

“Really? It was terrible. I think it grew claws at some point.”

“Claws and all.” 

“Wow, you really like me,” Foggy says, quietly.

“I really like you,” Matt echoes, “and I would really like to take another nap with you right now.” 

“That’s the most romantic thing that anyone’s ever said to me.”