Aim for victory!

banner by @mad-scientist-in-theory-2

[scritchering]

anyway pinned post ig.

call me blaidd, aislin, egg, fae, Na22 (or just sodium), etc etc etc. I've gained many names and nicknames and I'm sure not stopping now (threat)

i like to write stuff sometimes :>

my ao3

definitely draw more than i write, and what i do write is mostly oneshots, but im getting better at it if i do say so!

currently you'll find mostly submas, though previously I've written a lot of undertale stuff, as well as some other stuff here and there

[scritchering]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

NEW FIC DROPPED!!! violence.

Tags:

local british dude meets a new yorker, Accents, Humor, Friendship, frienemies, It's On Sight for the both of them, ('local' he's not even local. neither is the new yorker actually), Amnesiac Nobori | Ingo, Amnesia, British vs USAmerican Rivalry, References to the American Revolutionary War, Implicit Memory

Summary:

In psychology, implicit memory is one of the two main types of long-term human memory. It is acquired and used unconsciously, and can affect thoughts and behaviours. One of its most common forms is procedural memory, which allows people to perform certain tasks without conscious awareness of these previous experiences.

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[scritchering]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ingo gently rubbed his fingers over the soft, yet firm, fabric of the white hat, its coat counterpart piled in his lap as he leaned against the bedpost.

It was remarkably familiar, and not only just because of how similar it was to his own coat and hat. Looking at it filled him with a strange warmth, one only eclipsed by the concern he felt for the man currently unconscious in the bed Ingo was laying against.

direct continuation of this whumptober thing and the one before it as well

[scritchering]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

chapter two of this one

[blaiddraws]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Whumptober day 13: Fracture

HI hello hi hello. basically direct continuation of day 10! partake. in: more fic! i have. MANY headcanons i ended up stumbling into/using with this one that i'll talk about at the end!

Read it on ao3, or under the cut!

Waking up was an awful affair. He slowly swam back into awareness, hazy and unfocused, but no matter how hard he wanted to fall back into unconsciousness, the pain would not allow him.

Everything hurt, from the tips of his limbs to the center of his chest. A horrible tingling, a deep ache. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tighter to try and block out as much light as possible. Why was it so bright? Why was everything hurting? 

The alarm at his state set in, just then, and his eyes flashed open. Even as the light hurt his eyes, he glanced around, trying to make sense of everything.

He was in a hospital room, that much was clear. His brother, Ingo, was slumped over asleep in a chair next to his bed. Everything was blurry as his vision swam, causing him to feel dizzy even as he lay in bed. 

Emmet tried his hardest to remember how he got here, scrambling through the half-dazed state of his brain to try and assemble the series of events that lead to this situation.

But he was far too disoriented, and there was not a single thing that he could remember before this that would have led to this. Was there… some kind of accident? The last thing he could recall was getting ready for the day, goofing off with his brother as they cooked breakfast. Surely nothing could go so badly to have caused this. And there were still vague impressions of after that. Going to work? A battle?

Did he get a concussion, perhaps? It could explain the missing memory. His head certainly hurt, but only as much as the rest of his body. If anything, his leg hurt even more.

He decided he wouldn't be learning anything more by just laying there, so he began to sit up, only to barely strangle back a shout as his chest lit up with pain.

Okay. Not doing that.

Once, long ago when he was a teenager, he'd had a verrry unlucky fall out of a tree and managed to break one of his ribs. The pain was hard to forget, and he had no doubt that it had happened again.

Right. At least one broken rib, possibly more. His entire chest felt like one massive bruise. The entirety of his body had a deep ache and painful pins and needles, with the worst of it at his leg. Since he couldn't pull the covers back properly without sitting up, he prodded at his foot with the other and hissed at the sharp pain. It was covered in bandages, and was clearly injured in some way.

He still felt vaguely dizzy and disoriented, despite having been awake for several minutes now, and he was still having a hard time focusing his eyes, which didn't bode well either. 

Flopping his arm out to his brother, he croaked out a pitiful noise in an attempt to wake him. The sound was quiet, but it fulfilled its purpose as Ingo flinched, jolting into alertness.

He shouted something, what Emmet suspected was his name, but the sound was distant and alarmingly muffled. 

Ingo leaned forward, grasping Emmet's hand. Now that he was closer, he was easier to focus on. He had deep bags under his eyes, and his skin was paler than it should be.

"y'look.. awf'l" Emmet whispered, with a slight grin-- barely even noticeable, even though it was as big as he could manage. Why was it so hard to speak? 

Ingo was incredulous, mouth moving silently in a comical display, before finally finding his words. They were still incredibly muffled, but easier to pick out regardless.

"I look awful? Emmet, you--" he choked out, unable to finish his sentence.

And then, much to Emmet's alarm, it was like his brother's expression broke, slipping into something awful and heart-wrenching, and began to tear up. 

"Ah! Hh??" Emmet squeezed Ingo's hand as best he could, even though it sent a wave of painful tingling down his arm, unsure how else to comfort his brother. There was a high-pitched keening, and Emmet wasn't sure if it was his own ears ringing or Ingo himself.

Whatever happened must have been worse than he thought, if Ingo was this distraught. 

Ingo leaned forward and brought Emmet's hand up to his forehead, scrunching his eyes closed as he fought to control his breathing. 

(Emmet considered using his other hand to comfort Ingo, but the thought of twisting his chest around immediately shut down that idea.)

After a moment, Ingo finally relaxed slightly, and looked back up to his brother as he dropped their connected hands onto the mattress.

Emmet attempted to ask what had happened, but it only came out as a jumbled, incomprehensible mess. Ingo seemed to have gotten the idea, though, as he grimaced.

"You… the." He massaged his throat, a gesture that did little more than confirm to Emmet that he, too, was having a difficult time speaking, though likely for completely different reasons. 

Just like Emmet, whenever Ingo got particularly distressed, it became significantly difficult to speak. The gesture was a leftover from their childhood, and though it did little to help, as the difficulty speaking was ultimately more of a mental block than physical, the familiarity at least was a comfort.

"... Unruly passenger. Third rail," he said, finally. It was in no means a very detailed or complete explanation, could hardly be considered a bare-bones one at best, but Emmet could put the pieces together.

Ingo shuddered, squeezing Emmet's hand tighter. Emmet was sure he had finished speaking, so it was to his surprise that Ingo eventually continued.

"It was… close. You were. Not breathing. Or-- pulse."

That was… terrifying, but it explained the awful bruises on his chest. Suddenly they didn't seem quite so horrible anymore.

"Br'kn ribs?" Emmet muttered, making a halfhearted gesture at his chest with his unoccupied hand. Little more than barely lifting it off the mattress, really.

Ingo nodded, looking particularly pained. 

"In-indeed. Just one, but. Cracked sternum, as-sss well."

Emmet squinted his eyes, a suspicion slowly surfacing through the fog of his mind. Ingo would certainly be distressed, yes, but there seemed to be something else to it as well.

… Oh. Ingo had been the first one to get to Emmet, hadn't he? He still couldn't remember what happened, but it wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to. They were often together, and Emmet doubted anyone would be quite as fast as his brother when it came to coming to family members' aid. He still remembered the way Ingo had recklessly flung himself from the tree the two of them had been climbing when Emmet broke his rib for the first time, and countless other times his brother completely disregarded any caution or self-perseverance to come to help a friend or family member. 

Emmet just hoped his brother didn't jump onto the tracks while the third rail was still live. 

Hissing in pain, Emmet dragged his unoccupied arm to hold Ingo's other hand.

"Y'saved me, 'ngo," he said, "Not y'rh fault."

Ingo practically shattered at Emmet's words, confirming his suspicions. The tears returned in full force, and he lowered his head until it was pressed against the mattress.

"I know, it just--" Ingo said, cutting himself off. With Emmet's already muffled hearing, it was nearly impossible to make out, but he somehow managed. 

Emmet hummed, understandingly. Now he was almost certain that high pitched noise was coming from his brother, suddenly returning and stuttering as his breaths hitched. 

The situation was awful, and he was desperately trying to avoid the existential terror at how his life could have very well come to an end, but to have been Ingo and having seen… whatever had happened. It must have been something truly horrible for his brother. Emmet was almost glad he was the one that was hurt. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle watching something like that happen to his brother.

He wanted to pat Ingo's back, or something, but the hand that could reach was being held in a death grip, and he did not want to try and roll closer for his other arm. It was awkward and painful enough as it was. 

As he watched his brother barely hold back sobs, he realized he was completely and utterly drained. He'd just woken up, and the dizziness was stubbornly refusing to calm, but there was a bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to drag him under, from just the few minutes of conversation alone. Or maybe just being awake at all.

"Mmh," he hummed, to get Ingo's attention, "M'tired. Gonna go t'sleep."

Ingo shot up at that, eyes wide. His free hand scrambled at the bedframe until he found a red button-- which Emmet was fairly certain he probably should have pressed sooner, as soon as he was awake.

"N-no! Don't!" he shouted. Emmet winced, though he was more concerned about how alarmed and panicked Ingo was. Surely, resting was good for recovery?

"Eh?" he asked.

"I… I don't. I'm sorry," Ingo said, releasing some of the tension in his body. Not quite relaxing, but he wasn't as panicked as before either.

"You. You were, in a, ccch. coma. For days--" Ingo's voice cracked, "I, I know you're ah, awake now, but. but. pllease just, jus-st stay awake a little, a little longer?" 

How could Emmet say no to that? He could, at the very least, wait until the nurses arrived. They could calm Ingo, he always was comforted when someone could explain in-detail what was going on. And the medical professionals would know much better than he or Emmet.

"M'kay," he muttered, simply. Ingo relaxed further, whispering something so low Emmet couldn't make it out. 

"Hhey," Emmet whispered, having an idea for hopefully getting everything off Ingo's mind for a few minutes, "'Ny cool news lately? Whats new w'th Iris?"

(Last Emmet remembered, their little sister had just begun her Pokemon journey a few weeks prior, and he hoped she hadn't stopped for very long because of him.)

Ingo looked up, vaguely surprised, but gladly took the distraction for what it was.

Speaking came easier at the different subject, though his voice was clearly still strained even through Emmet's persistent muffled hearing.

"Ah, y-yes, actually. Did you know she had just defeated the, the elite four that morning?" he asked, a proud glint in his eyes. Though it was chased away as he continued.

"It was before. Hh. Well. When she got the news that you were were. hurt. She swore she wouldn't take on the champion until you at least, woke up. I think she would be delighted to hear the news."

Emmet smiled, "'m glad. Wh't about, Dad, El'sa? 'n the others?" 

Ingo happily filled his brother in on the goings-on of their family and friends, and while not all of it was happy-- for as much as Emmet hated hearing about the distress he'd caused so many people, it was paradoxically heartwarming to see how much they cared-- there were certainly high notes. 

He listened to Ingo's voice, humming when Ingo paused, though the words themselves often slipped away. He was still dizzy and tired, and the brain fog was only growing, but seeing his brother more animated was worth trying to stay awake. 

That being sad, he was incredibly thankful when the door finally opened, several individuals entering the room. They talked to Ingo for a minute, after trying and failing to get more than a lackluster response from Emmet, until finally, finally Ingo relaxed. 

He leaned closer to Emmet, making sure he was paying attention.

"It's okay Emmet. You can go to sleep now. Thank you for staying awake for my sake." 

Emmet smiled, and the last thing he could recall was tugging his brother's hand closer, attempting to hold it like it was a beloved stuffed pokemon he wished to sleep with.

AND NOW. NOTES. All things considered, Emmet recovers pretty well. but he does end up having permanent partial hearing loss and is more prone to dizziness and vertigo. has a harder time speaking. aches and pains through his body occasionally. Also! this is before both bw and b2w2. iris fights alder and would have won, but she didn't want to be the champion, at least not yet, so she uhhhhhhhhh what's it called. whatever. and then went on to train with drayden further, eventually going so far as to be a gym leader with him. and a third note; on ingo's stuttering. i am drawing completely on my own experience. and while i do often stutter the more stereotypical way, i also can get Stuck on random syllables and sounds really easily. so for example the chhh is ingo getting stuck on the first sound of Coma. it's not supposed to be a ch sound like in cheese, but it's hard to visually describe the sound other than that. after all, if i do, like, cccc, or kkkk, for example. it doesn't look right, it just looks like letters. and usually i gotta stop making noise to say it right so it also has the stopping and starting of the more stereotypical stutter

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 10: Taser

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

technically not taser but electricity counts. anyway have an little fic.

Fun fact! I have been formally trained in emergency medical aid. but also that was nearly ten years ago, so.

any inaccuracies can be contributed to unreliable narrator, different world, and suspension of disbelief lskdjflksdjflkjf

Read under the readmore, or on ao3 at the link above

It should have been a normal day. 

It was, at first. 

Ingo and Emmet had just gotten off the Multi-Battle line and were directing passengers as the two of them waited for the next train. It was unusually busy for the middle of the week, packed full of people, but nothing the Subway Bosses couldn’t handle.

Ingo checked the time with a quick snap of his wrist. Just over three minutes until the next train arrived. He nudged his brother, to make sure he was aware of the time as well, and turned his eyes to scan over the crowds. 

For as chaotic as the crowd was there was a certain beauty to it as well. They ebbed and flowed like water currents, small eddies at the edges, and a powerful riptide that would draw you in if you weren’t careful at the highest traffic areas. 

And because of this, it was easy to spot a disruption in the current.

An unruly passenger, face hidden by a hoodie, pushing and shoving their way through the people without a care for the wellbeing of others, making a direct path towards the Subway Bosses. Ingo’s frown deepened, and he took a subtle step forward and motioned with one arm to a nearby depot agent. Expect trouble. 

To his surprise, the stranger completely ignored him, stepping past him to stand directly in front of Emmet, swaying slightly. A drunk passenger, then? Their words were slurred and nearly unintelligible as they began to shout at his brother, and his frown grew deeper even more. 

Emmet shot him a panicked, confused look, unsure what to do. He would normally try to talk with the person, but their words were so slurred he could not even hope to understand what they were saying. 

As Ingo stepped forward, mouth opening to begin to interrupt, the passenger suddenly lunged forward, shoving their arms into Emmet’s chest and sending him stumbling backwards. He managed to catch himself before he reached the yellow line, but the stranger lunged forward again, just barely slipping past Ingo’s own grasp, and shoved Emmet further.

Ingo gave up trying to apprehend the passenger, and instead ran forward to attempt to prevent his brother from falling.

He was certain he would have reached him, if it weren't the sudden tightening of fabric around his neck as the stranger grabbed onto the back of his coat. His momentum caused him to choke, and when he felt the stranger just as quickly get wrenched away he didn’t even bother looking before he ran forward again.

He could only watch in horror as Emmet went over the edge of the platform, his own outreached arm only a moment too late to catch his brother as Emmet’s arms flailed. A moment too late, Ingo could see him attempt to push himself off the platform even as he fell, to jump past the often-fatal third rail.

The noise of the crowd was drowned out by the blood rushing in Ingo’s ears, as well as his own panicked shouting as he slammed onto the ground, barely even feeling the impact. 

But the visceral, horrifying shriek Emmet made, only to be cut short by his foot catching on the electrified rail, sent a cold terror through Ingo that settled in his stomach like a rock. 

As Emmet’s momentum sent him rolling over and to the other side of the tracks, miraculously pressed flat against the wall of the platform, it was all Ingo could do to hope and pray that Emmet somehow managed to survive. He could feel the vibrations of the train approaching, and as the horn blared and the headlights washed over his still-outstretched arm, he could only pull back. There was no time to grab his brother.

He was still laying on the ground as the train pulled through the station, and as it continued to move instead of stopping at the platform like it usually would, it was as if a bubble popped and he could hear the world around him again.

Several depot agents had pushed the crowd back, and Ingo could see the person who shoved Emmet being apprehended by others. Another was rushing to the main power supply, and the train finally came to a stop once it was almost fully past the platform. Giving access to Emmet’s prone body.

(“Under no circumstances should someone jump onto the tracks while the third rail is electrified. If there is someone in need of rescue, you must wait until the power has been turned off. You can’t help someone if you’re dead.”)

He scrambled back to his feet, heart racing. He could barely hold himself back from jumping onto the tracks, only until one of the depot agents gave the all-clear that the third rail was no longer electrified.

Without hesitation, he nearly leapt off the platform, skidding slightly as he landed on his knees next to his brother. His hands hovered over the man without touching him, shivering with a strange hesitation and terror. 

Emmet wasn’t breathing. (He hesitated, as he didn’t want to confirm that his brother was dead.) But not even a moment later, all of his first aid training came back and he grabbed Emmet’s neck to feel a pulse.

He let out a distressed whine when he couldn’t feel anything, but refused to let himself freeze up again. He just had to hold out until the paramedics arrived. 

("Chest compressions do not, despite contrary belief, artificially pump the heart. That being said, they do help blood flow in the body, even if we aren't sure how exactly it works.")

Quickly turning Emmet onto his back, Ingo placed his hands on his brother’s sternum and began to administer chest compressions. One, Two, Three, Four, pushing the chest up and down--

(“Remember, the most important thing about chest compressions is that you are helping blood flow to the vital organs. Do not be gentle because you are afraid of accidentally breaking a few ribs, as that blood flow is imperative to the person’s survival.”

Ingo, in the moment, hoped he never had to perform CPR on someone. The thought of accidentally harming a person, even if it was in an attempt to keep them alive, was nauseating. 

Emmet, sitting next to him, didn’t look any better than Ingo felt, face pale and hands shaking.)

Even as he felt a dull crack, he didn’t flinch, only continuing the chest compressions for a moment until he finished the count. Without hesitation, he removed his hands from Emmet’s chest and pinched the man’s nose and went in to give him a few breaths, before immediately returning to the chest compressions. 

("If you have to choose between chest compressions and breaths, choose the chest compressions. The blood flow is what gets the oxygen to your organs, after all, and filling someone's lungs with air will not achieve much of anything without it.")

He continued this cycle for what felt like eternity, yet only moments, before startling back into awareness by a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

("All of this training is for emergencies only. You are not medical professionals. Once the paramedics, or other professionals, arrive on the scene, take a step back and let them work.")

He flinched, only to look up at the kind face of one of the paramedics, others gathering around Emmet and preparing to lift him onto a stretcher. He didn’t even notice the defibrillator until they were putting it away and pulling emmet out from the tracks.

Dully, Ingo let them do their jobs, though he followed closely behind as they brought his brother through the platform. 

As they ushered him into the ambulance, he realized with a rush of intense relief that Emmet’s chest was moving on its own, falling from the high of his adrenaline so fast it left him reeling, almost detached from reality. 

His ears began to ring, and he grew cold, only understanding what was happening as a darkness tugged at the edges of his vision. He managed to get one paramedic’s attention only a moment before he felt his head loll forward and the darkness dragged him into the depths of unconsciousness. 

[blaiddraws]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Whumptober day 17: Alt prompt 3, Dazed and Confused

yesterday was talking to @ghostypetrainer , who mentioned a sort of AU where, when Ingo gets eeby deebied to hisui, chandelure ends up coming with. I was immediately enthralled by the idea

saw the prompt dazed and confused and took the opportunity in front of me to write this ^w^

Flashes of cold, biting winds. It was the first and only thing he could remember. Deep snow, eerie howls. A light in the distance.

Numb fingers, numb toes, and a bone-deep chill that seemed to persist even as he found himself in an unfamiliar station, bundled in blankets near a small hearth, which contained a warm fire. 

The structure he had awoken to was small, with canvas walls between wood slatting. He'd almost consider it cozy, if it weren't for the chill. 

Trying to think felt like… like… there must have been a phrase there, but he could not recall it. But it was difficult, and slow. A busy static in the periphery of his senses, a strange fog muddying his thoughts.

He shuffled a little closer to the fire, only to suddenly sit up in surprise as he realized another person was there. 

"Oh, you're awake. That's good. People were worried you wouldn't make it," they said, leaning forward so that he could see their face in the low light of the fire, "It wouldn't be good to rescue a stranger from the elements, only for him to perish within our homes just because the space was too vast."

The phrasing was odd to him, but then again, he had nothing to compare it to. So he remained silent. What would he even say? He didn't know anything. 

This didn't seem to phase the other person, as they tossed another log into the fire before busying themself with something on a shelf out of his view. 

"Say, stranger, now that you're awake, do you feel well enough to speak? You were pretty… not there enough when we found you," they mused. 

Could he speak? He frowned for a moment, trying to remember how that even worked, before clearing his throat slightly. 

"Y- yes. I can speak. Thank you for saving me." From what, he had no clue, but what they've said lined up with the only memories he had. And he would be a terrible guest if he didn't thank his rescuers. 

Rescuers. They had said "we". Which implied there were other people, right? The idea surprised him slightly, though immediately afterwards it seemed like something obvious. Why wouldn't there be other people? This small tent wasn't the only thing in the world. Even if he could not remember, he was certain of this.

"That's good," the other person replied. They turned around, taking a small pot of some kind and hooking it above the water, before gently placing a small bundle of herbs nearby.

"So, stranger, what were you even doing all the way out in the Icelands all alone at night? With clothes like that, to boot." They gestured vaguely towards his entirety, and he looked down at his body.

He was wearing a dark coat, a white [dress shirt] and blue [tie]. (For some reason, his head felt bare.)

Unfortunately, he knew as much about the other person's question as they themself did. 

"I am afraid I am not quite certain," he admitted. Glancing around the room rewarded him with the sight of a black hat next to him, which he swiftly put on. It felt nice. Correct.

They didn't seem too surprised at his admission, fortunately, only shrugging slightly.

"Ah, well, worth a shot. You were pretty dazed when we found you." they said, before tilting their head as something occurred to them, "Say, stranger, what's your name?"

His name? He furrowed his brow. Yes, his name. That's… something everyone has. It never even occurred to him at all, before they asked. But his mind remained frustratingly blank. The persistent chill in his bones didn't help, as distracting as it was.

"I… I am afraid I… I am quite uncertain," he said slowly, shaking his head, "I could not tell you my name."

The person froze, before giving him a strange look.

"Okay. That's. okay. Do you know where you came from?"

Frankly, he wasn't sure if he even existed before they apparently found him. He shook his head again and told them as such.

"That's… not good," they said after a moment, "I'll be right back, okay?"

And with that, they left through a door set within the wooden frame of the tent. The chilly air from outside washed over him, causing him to shiver.

The abrupt departure seemed a little odd to him. But so did everything else, so maybe that was just how it worked here. Wherever here was. 

He stared at the fire for a few moments, but found himself growing restless. It felt wrong to inspect what was clearly someone's private domicile, so he turned to the clothes on his body to try and learn something about himself.

His dark coat, long with silver and brown accents. A blue armband on one arm, something that made him distantly feel proud and straighten his posture. It meant something, though he wasn't sure what exactly that was.

His hat, too, held that distant warmth and meaning to it, particularly the metal badge affixed to the front. He ran his thumb over it for a moment, trying to parse the emotions behind it and digging into his mind to find the meaning, but stopped suddenly as a spike of pain went through his head.

Ouch. No more of that. He placed the hat back on his head. He'd think about it later.

He scooted himself further up, blankets pooling at his waist, and pulled aside his coat. Had he been wearing… two belts? One belt was affixed to his pants, but there seemed to have been another atop that. Only burnt and torn scraps left loosely attached to a clip. How odd. 

The pockets of his coat only contained some loose metal coins, lint, and a brightly colored treat contained within a crinkly and transparent material. He was tempted to unwrap and eat it, but elected to save it for later. Looked like he only had the one, after all. (Why was he so sure it was something he could eat?)

He had the urge to pat the front and sides of his coat, and was pleasantly surprised when he felt a small lump within a hidden pocket. Without hesitation, he removed it to inspect.

It was a small ball, split red and white. Small enough to hold between two fingers, but when he absentmindedly tapped a button it suddenly grew almost fist-sized. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't feel particularly surprised.

Something about this ball was incredibly familiar to him. The worn paint and nicks and scratches spoke of a long history.

Without further fanfare or hesitation, he clicked a button and the ball sprung open. He dropped it at his side, surprised by the sudden light, but was more preoccupied with the creature that had emerged.

Metal and glass and an ethereal flame, the pokemon hovered in the air in front of him. It floated almost as if it were merely hung on a hook, but was unmistakably suspended only by its own power. 

The sight of it filled him with adoration and warmth, but the familiarity clawed at his mind, a stabbing pain. He tried his hardest to ignore it. This pokemon felt far too important.

It looked confused, stressed, as it glanced around the area with glowing yellow eyes -- but when its gaze settled on him, it metaphorically and literally lit up as it let out a trill of what he could only interpret as delight.

Without needing to think about his actions, he lifted his trembling arms into the air, beckoning the creature closer. It gladly obliged, slowly approaching until it gently bumped against his forehead. 

He placed his hands on either side of its globe, almost as if he were cradling it.

"I know you," he muttered. The pokemon let out an inquisitive noise, and he shook his head.

"I am afraid to admit that, were they even there in the first place, my memories have severely derailed from the tracks of my mind, dear friend."

The pokemon made an alarmed crackle, pulling back so it could look him in the eyes. It seemed distressed.

He stroked its glass, trying to reassure it.

"Rest assured, it seems my heart still remembers you. There is an undeniable familiarity and warmth I feel for you."

Much to his dismay, this only seemed to distress the pokemon even further. He patted it again.

"Oh, candle, what is causing you so much distress?" he asked. He didn't even realize the nickname until the pokemon suddenly froze.

There was a pause, the only movement between them the flicker of its low flames, before it sank to nuzzle up close to his chest.

He wrapped his arms around it, and some of the raw edges of his broken mind began to smooth. The oppressive fog in his mind began to shrink away in the light of the pokemon's flames.

That bone-deep chill he had felt before began to melt away as well, at the touch of this pokemon. Its flames weren't particularly hot, barely above what he'd consider cool, even, and yet they worked far better at making him feel truly warm than the actual crackling fire within the hearth next to him.

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 18: Let's break the ice, "Take my coat"

Oh, Ingo, it's torn… the wind whispered. Ingo stared at the tattered black cloth in shock, each separated half held in separate hands. A chill went down his spine, the prickling of someone's gaze. Here Ingo, take my coat, for now. it's cold…… There was a presence, a warm, familiar weight being lifted to hover behind his back. The motion tugged at something in the back of his mind, and he nearly leaned back into it without caution. The only thing that stopped him was the rattle of his pokeballs on his belt. A reminder of reality. Right. He was in Zoroark territory.

i had FUN with today's prompt! while i may have thought to myself once or twice that the. "zoroark tormenting ingo with visions of emmet" was a bit overdone. doesn't change the fact that this was fun to draw and create :>

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 22: Alt prompt, Carried to Safety

Emmet couldn't let himself think about the identity of the man he carried on his back -- not that horribly familiar coat, the hat he desperately clung to, not even the endlessly recongizable face. He couldn't be distracted, not right now, not while there was a strange phenomenon tearing apart the subway tunnels, making them structurally unsound. Besides. The man had looked at him without recognition. It couldn't, despite the countless similarities and the ache in his heart, be the man Emmet thought he was. (But he had a head injury. He was barely even cautious when Emmet found him. And even then, despite his lack of recognition and barely aware state, he trusted Emmet wholeheartedly and without hesitation.) So. He refused to dwell on the identity of the definitely-mystery-man. He had to focus wholeheartedly on the disaster at hand, to make sure everyone was evacuated safely and proper safety precautions were being taken.

aka funky little What If where a spacetime distortion opens up in the subway, messes with the structural integrity of the tunnels, and drops off one (1) amnesiac train man

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 24: "I don't want to do this anymore"

OKAY SO THIS ONE. this one is based off of a scene/vibe/mental image that has been rattling around in my head for,,,, months,,, by now.

a while ago i'd come across that sort of. "ingo and emmet are immortal and the twin princes from unova legend" au. didn't (and Don't) really have any thoughts about it save for this One Specific Thing. so. without further ado, have a whole written thing. >1500 words

or read it here on ao3

When Ingo came across Rei in the Highlands by sheer chance, he was relieved. It had been some time since he had seen the boy, busy as he was with completing the pokedex. 

He took the opportunity to accompany Rei to his destination; the ruined Temple of Sinnoh. 

Apparently, he had finally completed the pokedex (which had been awarded with a very loud and enthusiastic "Bravo"), and was now going to finally confront the being that had brought him to Hisui.

Ingo was curious about that, and Rei gladly elaborated. It seemed he'd been bottling it up for a while. 

He was already aware that Rei had a mission, and he saw that oddly familiar device a few times here and there, but he hadn't known much more than that. But the child had been plucked from his bed, his home far in the region's future, one night and given a mission from a being of golden light-- Rei said he was pretty sure he knew who it was, but didn't actually say who. (Something in Ingo didn't want to know, anyway.)

A mission to "Seek out all pokemon," and his device would act to give him guidance when he needed it. And when he finally finished, the being told him to go to the peak of Mount Coronet.

Something about everything set off alarm bells in Ingo's head, especially once he saw the shape of the phone's casing. Alarm, and an incredible dread. Fear even, though the mix of emotions swirling in his gut were hard to pick out.

Regardless, he offered to join Rei to meet this being, just in case his presence was needed. There were other reasons he kept to himself, namely something shouting within him to not let the child go alone to whatever was about to happen next.

It took some convincing, but Ingo was very stubborn when he wanted to be, and Rei admitted he did like the companionship.

So they went, until they were standing in the ruins of the old temple.

Rei's flute transformed, a melody and power rang through the air that completely froze Ingo's limbs with an unidentifiable emotion.

But he forced himself to move, to follow Rei up the ethereal staircase despite the way his legs trembled. It was a rare instance where he was glad that he had a naturally unemotive face, as he tried his hardest to act normal.

But when the two of them stepped onto the platform, and the being shimmered into view, that emotion nearly overcame him in a massive wave.

He recognized this being, without a doubt.

"Arceus," he whispered, right as Rei stepped forward and called out its name.

That emotion. That horrible, clawing emotion.

He turned away, facing away from the deity and Rei.

Shame. 

An incredible, deep, terrible shame.

He didn't deserve to be here. He was terrified, really, of what Arceus would do when it inevitably noticed his presence, if it hadn't already.

But he didn't deserve to be here. Something within him recognized the area, and with that came the visceral shame.

He'd done something terrible. This he felt without a doubt, a certainty to it far greater than any of the vague shadows of memories that remained with him.

Yes, he did something horrible. He did not deserve to be in the presence of the creator pokemon. Nor within its beautiful domain. 

With a start, he realized that there had been a battle going on for some time now. He didn't even notice it, as preoccupied as he was, until a stray move was sent flying out into the void beyond, zipping through his line of sight.

He wanted to help Rei, but it… Wasn't his place. Even the thought of attempting to fight against Arceus was met with a stark refusal within himself. 

He watched the battle out of the corner of his eye for a moment, long enough to conclude that Rei was doing alright, all things considered, before turning back to face the infinite depths beyond Arceus's platform. 

Time passed, the noise of battle a familiar one, until finally it all stopped. A pokeball letting out that familiar pop of a successful catch. 

Did Rei just… Ingo whipped around, to see Rei proudly holding up a pokeball. The boy finally turned around, looking at Ingo with a proud grin.

"Rei… Did you just capture the creator pokemon… within a simple pokeball?" Ingo breathed. The sheer audacity and gall of the action horrified him.

Rei shrugged.

"Yes and no? Technically it's just a piece of Arceus, and it told me to capture it," he explained.

Ingo wasn't sure if that helped at all. His hands were shaking, so he clenched them in hopes to disguise it. Rei didn't seem to notice, fortunately.

Unfortunately, he did something that nearly gave Ingo a heart attack.

"Hey, do you want to meet it?" The question was met with a strangled wheeze that Rei did not hear, as he continued without waiting for an answer.

"Also I wanted to ask it a question!" With that, Rei flipped the latch on the ball, releasing Arceus.

Its presence filled the air like a heavy blanket, and Ingo slumped, tugging down his hat to hide his face.

Turning around now would be far, far too disrespectful, but that awful shame in him wanted him to run and hide. To not be seen. The hat, and hiding in the collar of his coat, was the best he could do. Hopefully he didn't offend Arceus.

"... Ingo?" Rei asked. A tap of a hoof that rang through the air as Arceus stepped closer, and Ingo flinched. 

He bowed his head, wishing desperately he could vanish from existence entirely.

"Uh, Ingo? You okay?" Rei asked again. 

Was he okay? Hah! No, he was far, far from okay. This was probably the worst moment of his entire life, really. 

HE BOWS HIS HEAD IN SHAME, FOR A TERRIBLE CRIME HE DOES NOT REMEMBER.

Arceus spoke, or whatever passed for speaking. Its voice echoed through his mind, all the way down to his very bones.

He could hear the quiet slaps of Rei's sandals against the glasslike surface, as the boy ran to his side. He tried to look Ingo in the face, but Ingo pointedly refused, turning away.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, incredulous and vaguely defensive. Ingo was surprised to feel Rei cling to the sleeve of his coat, almost possessively. 

"I did something terrible, long ago. Terrible enough to warrant a punishment from Arceus itself," Ingo spoke, after a moment. His voice cracked. 

He still could not remember any of it, but that certainty was undeniable.

Rei shook Ingo's arm slightly.

"C'mon Ingo, there's no way that's true! You're way too nice of a guy, it's just your insecurities speaking or something." 

Ingo only shook his head. When it seemed Rei would continue, Arceus took another step forward, once again causing Ingo to flinch.

HE SPEAKS THE TRUTH, MINE CHOSEN.

There was a long, dreadful silence from Rei.

"N-no, there's. That can't be true, there's no way Ingo would ever do anything bad!"

THIS IS TRUE. THE MAN THAT THOU KNOW'ST WOULD NOT. 

HE HAS GROWN FAR FROM THE ARROGANCE AND MISDEEDS OF HIS YOUTH. BUT THESE THINGS DID HAPPEN, AND SHOULD NOT BE IGNORED OR FORGOTTEN. HE HAS THE DEATHS OF MANY ON HIS HANDS, BOTH DIRECTLY AND INDIRECTLY, AND WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR ONE OF MINE CHILDREN SPLITTING ITS VERY BEING APART.

He had no memory of any of it, but all of it rang terribly, awfully, and undeniably true. The shame, though it had never left, returned in full force. 

"That's…" Rei whispered. The boy no doubt hated Ingo now, after learning this.

Ingo wished he had never insisted on joining Rei. This would never have happened. Would he have ever even recalled the terrible burden he'd held? He was glad he had forgotten this. 

… And yet, Rei did not step away. Arceus shifted, its presence leaning closer, even as Ingo refused to look away from his feet.

BUT YOU, WARDEN INGO, HAVE CHANGED. THOU HAST LONG SINCE LEARNED THY LESSON. THOU NEEDN'T FEEL FEAR OR SHAME IN MINE PRESENCE.

What? 

I WILL NOT HARM YE, FOR WHAT WOULD BE THE PURPOSE OF PUNISHING A GOOD MAN?

Rei placed his hand on Ingo's shoulder. A silent but clear show of his support.

Ingo dropped to his knees, legs shaking far too much to even hope to hold himself up, overcome with emotion. 

Those words. He hadn't even dared to let himself imagine hearing them, but somehow, miraculously, he was hearing them now. He still carried that incredible shame and guilt, but to hear from Arceus itself that he had grown into a good man, it was… so, so much.

THINE PUNISHMENT HAS BEEN COMPLETE FOR CENTURIES. THE PRICE HAD BEEN PAID, A LESSON LEARNED, AND YE HAVE CHANGED REMARKABLY INTO AN INCREDIBLE MAN. 

So why did he still feel as if he didn't deserve this… this mercy, this forgiveness? Did Arceus really expect him to be free of the burden he'd been carrying for countless years, just like that?

He leaned over, until he was resting on his elbows.

"Please," Ingo whispered, barely able to speak at all, "I don't want to do this anymore."

He was tired, he was overwhelmed, and it was made all the worse by the fact that he had no idea where these emotions were even coming from. He did not know why Arceus's words sent such terrible shocks of grief and shame and relief and everything through his body, causing him to tremble. It was so much, too much. 

I SHALL RETURN THINE MEMORIES TO THEE. IT IS THE LEAST I COULD DO, INDEED, FOR ALL THAT THOU HAST DONE FOR ME IN THY TIME.

What? … Just like that?

Finally, he dared look up, only to find himself directly face-to-face with Arceus. His eyes were wide in shock and disbelief, but he found himself frozen.

SLEEP NOW. THOU WILT AWAKEN SOON. 

It leaned forward, gently touching his forehead, and everything went dark.

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 25: Lost voice

back at it again with fic. two days in a row!! rip emmet tho. lol

> 1000 words

under the cut, or read here on ao3

Emmet shivered, pulling his coat tighter around himself. The ends fluttered in the wind where they weren't weighed down by snow or torn off completely by the wild pokemon he'd encountered.

The cold tore against his skin, a sharp painful wind that felt like blades of ice. The snow was deep, reaching up to his knees-- far deeper than he'd ever seen. 

He had absolutely no idea where he was, or how he'd gotten there.

Everything about this sucked.

It had already been a bad day. Too many unpleasant passengers, too much paperwork, not a single trainer making it to his car on the Battle Subway. He was completely and utterly mentally drained by the time he was able to close down for the night.

And now, he'd suddenly been transported to what felt like a nightmare land. Completely unfamiliar, the wild pokemon were far too aggressive, the environment actively hostile to survival. 

He didn't even have his pokemon! He'd put them in the PC to rest before he took everyone home. But never had the opportunity to do anything past that, because he'd been taken to some dragons-forsaken blizzard hell land.

(He tried verrry hard not to think about the similarities to what happened to his brother. Did Ingo get sent to somewhere as hostile as this? The same place, even? Would he have even survived?)

It was all so overwhelming and stressful and frustrating it, embarrassingly, made him want to cry. But he couldn't, because his tears would only make the cold worse. 

And so, without any idea what else he could do in this situation, he continued to trudge forward through the snow.

He kept on walking until his extremities were alarmingly numb, hoping that there were humans somewhere nearby and he hadn't been sent to the middle of nowhere. It wasn't like he knew how to survive in an environment like this! The coldest it had ever gotten for him was winter, and on the peak of Twist Mountain. Neither of which were anything like this frozen wasteland. 

He growled in frustration, fruitlessly rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm his ice-cold fingers, before quickly giving up and tucking them under his armpits. He couldn't do anything about his nose or ears, and he didn't even want to think about how his toes were faring. He needed to find some kind of shelter soon, or he wouldn't be surviving. Especially with how the wild pokemon were acting. With his luck, they'd find him shivering next to a measly fire and figure him a nice easy meal. 

Why they were so aggressive, he had no idea. Maybe it was a sign that there were truly no humans in the area -- if they'd never seen one, never been socialized, their aggression would make sense. He suspected. He was not an expert on the behavior of truly wild pokemon.

After a while stuck in his thoughts, he realized he had stopped walking entirely, and was just standing in place. He cursed at himself, and started walking at a faster pace than before. If he was spacing out bad enough he forgot to keep walking, things were definitely not looking good.

And then.

And then!

Much to his relief and joy, as he rounded a particularly tall snowdrift he caught the unmistakable glimmer of a light in the distance.

Something bright and warm colored, completely unlike something a creature native to this climate could naturally produce.

Without hesitation, he altered his course slightly and made a direct approach to the source of the light, increasing his pace even more -- the relief and hope of seeing the light was particularly rejuvenating.

It wasn't long until he could see things more clearly. A campfire! With tents! And best of all, people sitting around it! Real, human people! 

He'd never felt so happy to see another person when he was in such an overwhelmed mental state that he was. He grinned, big and wide. Even with the stress, it came easy with the amount of relief he felt.

They must have seen his approach, or heard his hurried footsteps. Suddenly, one of the individuals jumped up, letting out a wordless shout of alarm that caused the rest of their group to whip their heads around and look at Emmet.

Only… rather than. whatever he might have expected. the people then ran to hide, or pulled out weapons and called their pokemon partners to their side.

What? Wait, what? 

His steps faltered, then slowed to a stop all together as one individual in particular stepped forward, spear pointed directly at Emmet's heart, even from the relative distance. Not far enough to reach him, but he was confident they could throw it and their aim would be true.

They shouted something, certainly words. For a moment, he thought he had just completely missed comprehending what they said, with how mentally and physically drained he was, but as they continued to speak he realized they were speaking in a completely different language entirely. 

That was. not good.

He tilted his head, letting out a confused noise. Perhaps they could be able to understand his plight? No, that wouldn't make sense. But if he himself tried talking in his own language, maybe then? 

He just wanted the spear to Stop being pointed at his heart. It was. quite uncomfortable.

He held up his hands, and tried to speak. 

But all that came out was a pained, wheezy rasp, something awful and horrible even for his bad days. But this was definitely one of the worst days ever, so it wasn't particularly surprising.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect of getting the others to understand him. In fact, it seemed it was rather alarming -- not that he blamed them. It was definitely a horrible noise -- as the individual with the spear stepped forwards and jabbed it towards him, effectively pushing him away without touching him.

He whined, upset and confused, but it did little to sway the others, and their aggression did not lessen.

There was no way he was in the world he'd come from. Not with every pokemon and human being so aggressive. Pokemon, he could understand, but humans? It just did not make any sense. It wouldn't fit in his understanding of the world he came from.

He tucked his hands back under his arms, giving up on the peaceful gesture from before. His smile faltered, but he fought to keep it up. He needed to seem friendly! 

He rrrealy did not want to get sent back to that horrible snow and ice. He would certainly perish.

Despite their reactions, he stopped moving backwards and instead pointed at the fire. He tried making a pleading noise, but it clearly didn't come across well, as the person with a spear seemed to get angrier.

They shouted at him, loud and vicious, and jabbed the spear at him close enough that it would have stabbed him if he hadn't moved away in time. Even then, it nicked him in the arm, easily slicing through his moderately reinforced coat.

Not good! 

He tried one last, desperate attempt at speech, tears gathering in his eyes as everything threatened to bury him in an overwhelming wave of everything.

And surprisingly, it must have done something, based on their slight hesitation.

But it was only slight, giving him just enough time to dodge another swipe of the spear. The tears began to fall, and the person in front of him growled at their hesitation.

A moment later, it seemed as if they'd come to a conclusion of some kind, their countenance relaxing --

Before they quickly flipped their spear around and whacked him in the head with a blunt end.

(The last thing he saw, an instant before he blacked out, was a dark silhouette in the background, quickly approaching, and a comfortingly familiar voice.)

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 26: Alt prompt, Ringing Ears

ALLLL RIGHT BEASTIES LETS DO THIS ONE LAST TIME

this one is is based on this concept from the other day; black kyurem but everything is bad and wrong

You'll wanna read it over on ao3 because i Did Some Things :) specifically things that don't work with the formatting u can do on tumblr. (i think.)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

also here The Creature is, color edition. was considering putting this one as the first image but liked the pose on the other one

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 27: Muffled Screams, Magical Exhaustion

Undyne threw everything she had at her opponent, until she had completely drained every last drop of her magic reserves, and then some. Magical spears long since been abandoned, resorting to simple pellets, until even those pellets fizzled out before they could even reach Asgore. Asgore, who only smiled at her. He wasn't even breathing heavily, and he'd managed to dodge everything she threw at him. Her legs were shaking, barely able to support her weight. She screamed into her palms, frustration and anger curling up into a terrible knot around her soul. Why! Why wasn't she strong enough?

i think, that, undyne's backstory should be explored more

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 30: Hair Grabbing, "Please don't touch me."

At the tug in his fur, he whipped around-- a slight growl unwittingly escaping his throat, of both surprise and distaste. He grimaced when he saw. A commuter, hand incriminatingly still held up in the air. An unapologetic expression. "Excuse me?" Emmet asked. The commuter stepped back, lifting their hands into the air. "Jeeze, sorry dude," they began, not sounding remorseful in the slightest, "It was just an accident, chill." And, well, wasn't that just great. Emmet didn't need to be the dragon of Truth to see through that blatant lie. He leaned forward, pulling his lips back ever-so-slightly. "We both know that is a lie. Please do not touch me." he said, pleasantly. Maybe it was a bit more rude than he'd usually prefer -- not only common decency, but as Subway Boss, he represented the entirety of the subway, and had a certain image to uphold -- but this commuter had been incredibly rude, and it had been a long day. The feeling of foreign hands in his fur was even worse than it would have been on a normal day. The commuter stared him down for a moment, as if they planned to continue to be rude, but quickly backed off, walking away. Emmet sighed, scratching at the back of his scalp before tucking his fur into his collar.

cons of working in public service jobs. you ARE gonna come across people who have little to No respect for boundaries and personal space.

and. reshiremmet's fluffy floaty fur/hair is incredibly interesting. people would be curious. TOO curious, in some cases.

[blaiddraws]

okay this one is! i drew the art really quickly as a companion to the rest of the stuff under the readmore. read the stuff.

Whumptober day 5: Alt prompt, Tears

Once, years before, Ingo had been witness to the Pearl Clan's funeral and burial customs for the first time. He remarked to someone that he felt as if the ones from where he had originated were quite different, in that one would bury the deceased under a small stone with their name carved on it, near families in a group burial site, albeit with their own individual graves. The striking image of rows of stones in a small field, varying in size and shape, had echoed through his mind for a moment.

It was all he could recall, a fleeting memory that he'd forgotten within moments, but it was still notably different from the Pearl Clan's own customs, with isolated burial sites marked by certain carved poles instead.

He didn't even remember mentioning it until just now.

It was an odd feeling. There was a strange warmth near where his heart would be, that someone cared enough to remember the offhand comment he had made at the time, cared enough to follow it to the best of their abilities.

But it was also incredibly strange to look at one's own grave. A certain brand of dread, of fear and horror. 

He shuffled his ghostly limbs slightly, stiffly curling onto the ground as he continued to stare at the stone and the falling snow slowly built up on his body. He brushed the fresh snow off of the stone.

Before, he had plausible deniability. Yes, he was undeniably ghost-like now. But he wouldn't couldn't remember the events that led up to this new form of his (other than an intense, desperate terror). Perhaps something strange and magical had happened to cause his dramatic shift in form. But here and now… 

Something told him there was certainly a body under that grave. One undeniably his own. 

He had well and truly died. 

He shuddered, curling his long, serpentine body in further.

He had died. He was dead, and death was not something one could recover from. (Not back to one's original state, at least.) 

He wasn't ready, but really, who Was? 

But he had died before he was ready, and nothing he could do could change that.

He still needed to know where he came from, who the faint figures in his memories were that filled him with such contradictory warmth and loneliness. His amnesia, his place of origin. 

A faint clicking filled the air, the sound of metal on metal, and he realized he was shaking hard enough for the ghostly steel on his new form to clatter together.

He curled up as tight as he could, attempting to suppress the shaking, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in his metaphorical heart.

Even if he did somehow find his home station, he would never be able to do the things he would have as a human ever again. 

He had no beating heart, no soft flesh, no warmth of his own; only the steel and the ghostly limbs of his new form. 

The faintest recollection of energetic, full-body hugs, where it felt like he was being crushed in the best way as the other swung him around in the air, clawed at his heart as he realized he would never feel that again. 

The very basis of human interaction, that need for physical contact and affection, was now completely lost to him forever.  

He let himself cry, then, as best as this form could even as there were no real tears (and how depressing was that? He would never be able to shed a single tear again, whether it be from happiness or sadness). 

A low, distinctly inorganic keening filled the air, the creaking of metal as it was stressed, screeching and wailing. Odd hissing metallic twangs interspersed throughout, as if imitating a human's sobs.

[blaiddraws]

Something about the hall was haunting, uncanny. Fundamentally different than the rest of the world, as if it weren't supposed to be there. There was a sound, distinctly electronic, that grew in volume as one walked the length of the hall. It stretched and pulled and wailed, and if it were any more organic it could almost sound like screaming.

Whumptober day 6: Screams from across the hall

playing on the idea that even if you Do get the mysterman hallway in Waterfall. there's not a 100 percent chance the door will appear.