#memories echoing back at him and distorting and corrupting over time

[quietwingsinthesky]

actually no. lucifer does not have unique enochian pronouns that only sam uses. because sam also uses those pronouns for himself and has since lucifer taught them to him. it’s not that he/him is wrong, it’s that sam is more than be encompassed by any language not shared with lucifer.

[shining-gem34]

🌕 for rook.

Memory Lane || Accepting @cloudhymn

TW: Implied Character Death (Temporary)

Record XERRORERRORERROR: DEAD END

Whenever something happens, he always will strive to rise above it somehow.

Whenever a situation turns south, he always will survive one way or another.

Whenever death comes knocking at his door, he always find a way to live another day.

Rook knew his luck will run out one day. With it, he will finally pay the price of his hubris.

"It's just..." He struggles to raise his head before a series of coughing seizes his throat. His vision blurs looking away from the blood pooling on the ground (his blood is black as death).

At the horizon, space and time has splintered forming a crack in the skies. The air around it distorts sucking everything in within it's grasp. Beyond the cracks in space lies his goal, the beautiful blue jewel of his home world: Earth.

He can go home. They, he and Dr. Drake, can go home now.

Except what stands between them and the exit is an indomitable foe and their army.

This planet guardian whose body and mind became corrupted by the cancer (Stellaron). They siphon the lifeforce they're tasked to protect as fuel for their ever-burning body. A flame that burns as bright as the stars nearly blinding him with their light.

"It just had to be right at the finish line." Rook head throbs at the tantalizing whispers echoing in his head. The whispers of the Stellaron resonating with the fragments eroding his body.

Nearby, Dr. Drake stirs awake and shifts to lift her head. Her glasses lost amidst the chaos of the first wave of attacks. The pristine white coat dirtied with dust and blood.

"Hah. Rise and shine, sunshine. You got any bright ideas how to get us out of this and straight home?" Rook asks, standing up on shaky legs.

"If I could, then we wouldn't be in this mess already! Besides, isn't this your field of work, soldier?!" Dr. Drake snarks, but her face turns serious as she examines him. Her brows pinch in worry, "Hey, your body..."

The fragments he picked up long ago are finally picking up their dues. A dark-violet armor made from remnants of Destruction melds into his skin and turn it into hardened scales of armor. It doesn't stop there for it intends to consume him entirely. Already, the parasite is moving past his shoulder. The golden lines injected into his veins burns to the point he feels faint.

Somehow, it's a miracle Rook is barely clinging onto his consciousness by sheer spite and willpower.

"You idiot! Didn't I tell you to let that thing go?!" Dr. Drake shrieks, clutching to her bleeding side as she rises up.

"Yeah. About that, I think it's too late for me now." Rook wheeze finding it difficult to breathe.

"Shut it. We can still fix this once we're back on Earth." The doctor snaps, but she cannot continue denying the inevitable by the gray parlor of Rook skin.

Rook strains a smile at her knowing they both know he's dying at this point. What did it matter if he transforms into a monster? It will no longer be 'Rook'- Just a violent monster following their instinct to kill.

"Chin up, Dr. Drake. There's still hope."

"Really? I don't see the probability of us getting out of this. Not with that alien and their army in the way." Dr. Drake said bluntly, gesturing to the said army encroaching upon them. But she realizes shortly what he was planning, "Wait, you're not...!"

"Chit-chat over, Doctor. Hold on tight and don't let go!"

Nimble hands transformed into claws plucks the doctor by her waist. He digs his heels into the ground before he starts a run. Ignoring the pain shooting up to his head, Rook dashes forward straight into the enemy army. His other hand gripping his sword-whip tightly.

With a battle cry, he leaps into the fray delivering a swift kick to one of the soldiers head. So brittle they break under his heels, but the numbers are nothing to scoff at. Not when the trickier ones are in hiding waiting to explode once they're close enough.

In his arm, Dr. Drake protests went silent and clings to him tightly. Her heart not ready for Rook suicidal mission, but it was too late now. Even as she witnesses her bodyguard transformation picking up rapidly. The erosion of his human flesh replaced by the cursed armor covering more than half of his body.

Rook doesn't stop. He grits his teeth and continues moving forward swinging his sword. The blade stretched in an arch and slicing the next wave of soldiers. Tearing apart his enemies standing in his way unable to feel the pain lancing throughout his body. The adrenaline pumping into his veins forcing him to move his legs.

"Clench your teeth and don't bite your tongue, Doctor!" Rook rasps, unable to recognize his own voice with how distorted it sounds.

"What the hell are you-?!"

A burst of quantum power explodes underneath his feet. Farther than ever before, Rook jumps through the air and high into the sky. Yet his human body has reached its limits and his power starts to dissipate.

Before its fully gone, he lifts Dr. Drake in his arms and throws her high into the air. The said doctor shrieks in surprise, but her eyes widen seeing Rook starting to fall below her. Her world shifts, swallowed up by the quantum power briefly and spat out even farther away from her bodyguard.

Instead of descending to her doom, Dr. Drake is being lifted higher. She lifts her head up to see she's under the rift to Earth. Turning back to Rook, the doctor reaches a hand out to him. A meaningless effort for how far away they are now.

"Rook...!" Dr. Drake calls out in frustration.

For Rook, who can relax knowing the doctor made it out safe and sound, lets himself fall. He finds it strange how he's feel at peace for once. Smiling, he sees Dr. Drake lithe figure passing through the rift as the cracks in the sky mend itself.

The golden lines reaching his face burns. His vision growing heavy, feeling the crunch of a helmet forming around his head. The visor finishes, burning away the remaining pieces of his humanity like the giant star- a flaming fist dives right for his meager flesh and armor.

As long as someone makes it home, that's enough for me.

A strangled scream rips out of his throat.

Rooks shoots up instantly on his bed. Cold sweat soaking his shirt and unruly hair. His eyes wide trying to process his surroundings. He takes deeps to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Almost choking a few times caused him to be nauseous leading for Rook to go straight to the bathroom to throw up.

After washing his face and hands, he sits on the tile floors trying to stop his hands from shaking.

“Shit me a ton of fucking bricks, what the fuck was up with that dream?” Rook mutters, resting his forehead on his hands.

Then a thought occurred to him and he lifted his head, “Wait. Was it the SoulGlad I had before bed that caused it? Lords, I hope it didn't expire. I didn't read the labels either and I drank a whole three bottles of that stuff. I heard that stuff has memoria in it.”

After tonight, Rook vowed to avoid drinking SoulGlad for a while and try to start having good sleeping habits in order to avoid another nightmare like that.

...

>🌕 ― a vivid memory.

>Inspiration Song

[chrinopiqua]

Shadows of the Colosseum

The neon lights of the once-grand Colosseum Casino flickered erratically, casting distorted shadows across the rubble-strewn floor. Richard Foreskin crouched behind a fallen marble column, his pulse syncing with the distant hum of patrolling drones. The air was thick with the scent of dust and ozone, remnants of a world that had crumbled under the weight of its own ambition.

Richard adjusted his tattered cloak, the fabric a patchwork of survival stitched together over months of relentless warfare. His gaze drifted upward to the faded frescoes adorning the casino's ceiling—scenes of gladiators locked in combat, chariots racing toward victory. Ironic, he thought, that he now found refuge in a place designed to mimic the very empire whose philosophies he pondered.

The whir of a drone's rotor grew louder, pulling Richard back to the present. He pressed himself against the cold stone, his breathing shallow. The drone's searchlight swept over the debris, lingering for a moment on a toppled slot machine before moving on. As the sound faded into the distance, he allowed himself a brief sigh of relief.

Reaching into his satchel, Richard pulled out a worn leather journal. Its pages were filled with notes, sketches, and musings—a tapestry of thoughts woven during stolen moments of peace. Flipping to a fresh page, he began to write.

"The Romans understood the art of governance in ways we seem to have forgotten," he scribbled. "Their taxation system, though imperfect, was a pillar of their society's strength."

He recalled his studies from a life that now felt worlds away. Ancient Rome had implemented a complex taxation system that funded everything from the legions to the aqueducts. Taxes were not merely a means of revenue but a tool for shaping society. Land taxes encouraged cultivation, while tariffs protected local industries.

"But where did it all go wrong?" Richard muttered to himself. "How did a system so robust contribute to an empire's downfall?"

The answer, he knew, lay in the erosion of equity. As Rome expanded, the tax burden shifted disproportionately onto the provinces and the lower classes. The elite found ways to evade their obligations, amassing wealth while the state coffers dwindled. Corruption festered, and public trust decayed.

A sudden crash echoed through the cavernous space. Richard snapped the journal shut, his muscles tensing. A piece of the ornate ceiling had given way, sending a cloud of dust swirling upward. He waited, ears attuned to any sign that the noise had attracted unwanted attention. Silence settled once more.

He leaned back against the column, his thoughts returning to the parallels between Rome and the fractured world he now navigated. The third great war had been a crucible, exposing the flaws in modern governance much like the decline of Rome had centuries before.

"If only we had heeded the lessons of history," he wrote. "Taxation is not merely about funding the present but investing in the future. When the wealthy evade responsibility, society crumbles."

Richard's mind drifted to memories of pre-war debates—endless arguments over tax reforms, social programs, and the widening gap between rich and poor. The warnings had been there, clear as day, yet ignored in the pursuit of short-term gains.

A faint beep emanated from his wrist communicator, jolting him back to the urgency of his situation. A message flashed on the tiny screen: "Safe house compromised. Rendezvous at alternate location." Time was running short.

He packed away the journal, securing it safely within his satchel. Before moving, he took one last look around the casino's ruins. The grandeur of the place, even in decay, was a testament to humanity's capacity for both creation and destruction.

"We are architects of our own fate," he whispered. "May we learn before it's too late."

Steeling himself, Richard moved swiftly through the labyrinth of debris. The exit lay beyond a maze of shattered pillars and overturned gaming tables. Each step was measured, every sound analyzed. The drones were persistent, but so was he.

As he slipped into the shadowed alleyways beyond the casino, the weight of his reflections pressed upon him. The world needed rebuilding, and perhaps understanding the past was the key to forging a better future.

"In the echoes of Rome," he thought, "lie the answers we seek."

The night enveloped Richard as he navigated the desolate streets, his figure blending seamlessly into the urban decay. The city's skyline was a jagged silhouette against the starless sky, punctuated by sporadic flashes from distant conflicts.

He reached a derelict forum, another remnant of the city's fascination with ancient Rome. Statues of emperors stood solemnly, their features eroded yet their presence undeniable. Richard paused before the statue of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-king who had once mused about duty and the nature of power.

"What would you make of our world now?" he pondered aloud. "Did your wisdom foresee such a downfall?"

The wind carried a faint melody—a haunting tune that reminded him of times when music filled the airwaves instead of drone alerts and missile warnings. It stirred a longing within him, a desire to not only survive but to find meaning amidst the chaos.

He thought about the role of taxation in building a society that valued its citizens. In Rome, taxes had funded public works, arts, and the common good. But when greed overshadowed responsibility, the system faltered.

"Taxation is a social contract," he wrote in his journal earlier. "A mutual agreement that binds us to a collective destiny."

Richard knew that any hope for rebuilding rested on rekindling that sense of shared purpose. The fragments of civilization scattered around him were reminders of what once was and what could be again.

The distant sound of footsteps pulled him from his reverie. Allies or adversaries? In this world, one could never be certain. He melted into the shadows, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his blade.

A group of weary travelers emerged, their faces etched with the same determination he felt within himself. Recognizing a familiar insignia on their gear, he stepped forward cautiously.

"Richard?" a voice called softly.

He nodded. "It's good to see you made it out."

They exchanged brief updates, each account painting a picture of a world in turmoil yet not devoid of hope. Plans were made to move toward a hidden enclave where like-minded survivors worked to preserve knowledge and plan for a new beginning.

As they set off together, Richard felt a renewed sense of purpose. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but also with the possibility of change.

He glanced back one last time at the silent guardians of the past. "Perhaps," he thought, "we can learn from the ruins—not just rebuild what was lost, but create something better."

The group disappeared into the night, leaving behind the echoes of a fallen empire and carrying with them the seeds of a future yet unwritten.

[allisondraste]

Death and Other Things That Should Have Been Fatal

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4715

Summary: A follow up to Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep Living, Shepard wakes up after destroying the Reapers and copes with the fallout. Thankfully, she doesn't have to do so alone.

[Click Here for AO3]

“Shepard?”

The voice was little more than static in her ear, jarring her back into excruciating consciousness, head throbbing, extremities numb.  Spears of pain coursed through her chest with each and every breath, and she didn’t know whether it was the several broken ribs or the sight of Anderson's lifeless body slouched next to her.  She tore her gaze away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a good father figure, eyes fluttering closed as she attempted to focus only on the person speaking to her.

“Garrus?”  His was the first name that rolled off her tongue, the only person in the galaxy she wanted that disembodied voice to be.

“No.” Came the stern reply.  There was a long pause as any hope for comfort in her final moments came crashing down around her.  Then the voice spoke again. “It’s Hackett.”

A jolt of resentment toward the Admiral coursed through her at his introduction.  What more could he possibly want from her?  Had she not already done enough, sacrificed enough for just a ghost of a chance to stop the reapers.  Surely someone else could take it from there.  Why did everything fall on her?

Because someone else would have gotten it wrong.

She shook herself out of her head and back to the present. She would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn now. “I apologize sir, I’m— What do you need me to do?”

“The Crucible is docked, but is not activated,” he explained, “We think there’s something that needs to be done on your end.  Is there a trigger? Some sort of terminal?”

His words clung to the air around her, and her eyes locked onto the terminal the Illusive Man had used earlier.  It was just a few feet in front of her and still so far away. She tried and failed to bring herself to her feet, legs buckling beneath her and sending her plummeting to the floor.  Hot tears burned in her eyes as a new array of pain shot through her body, and she groaned in agony.

“Shepard?”

“I’m here, sir,” she growled, forcing herself up onto an elbow and dragging her body to the terminal, vision beginning to blur at the corners.. Not yet , she pleaded with her consciousness as she reached up toward the terminal, hand sweeping clumsily across the haptic display. Not. Yet.   “I’m at the terminal but I… I don’t— I can’t find—”

Her vision went dark, supporting arm trembling and giving out as her consciousness faded.  Hackett’s voice called out to her repeatedly, further and further away until it was gone entirely.

She awoke to bright, burning light, buzzing in her ears, sensations anyone else would have associated with death.  But Shepard had been dead before, and this was nothing like the last time.  She’d never forget that dark, quiet empty.

“Shepard,” shouted a voice, both familiar and foreign, “Wake up.”

“What?” Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound she couldn’t feel. “Where am I?”

She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, blinking until her vision cleared.  Her body screamed in protest as she rose to her knees, louder still as she brought herself to her feet and searched for who—or what— had spoken to her.

“The Citadel,” came the reply, “It is my home.”

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, it’s owner a glowing, translucent entity in the shape of a ghost.  Her heart slammed against her aching ribs, and a name rushed to her mouth before she could stop it. “Kaidan?”

The entity examined her for a moment that felt more like an eternity, long enough for her initial relief to fade, consumed by dread as she awaited its answer.

“No,” it stated in a cold, matter-of-fact way Kaidan could never have managed, “I am the Catalyst.”

Rage ignited in her stomach and chest at the sound of him twisted and distorted by a chorus of synthetic echoes, and she growled. “I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.”

“The Citadel is part of me,” it explained, then paused, tilting its head in examination of her again, “My appearance disturbs you.”

Shepard let out a derisive snort. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I apologize,” it said, “I chose a form that I believed would help us communicate. You had fond memories of this one.”

“Too fond.”  She looked down, unable to meet its vacant eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Is this one more suitable?”  It’s voice shifted registers and when she glanced up Thane stood before her.

Hot tears burned in her eyes but she held them back and shook her head. “No.”

“Perhaps you would prefer this?” This time it’s tone was higher pitched, clipped.  Mordin.

“No,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer if you’d just pick a nightmare and tell me whether you can help me or not. ”

“Very well,” it said, Kaidan once again as it motioned for her to follow after it toward the beam of light before them. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

She limped after it, listening as it spoke, as it explained its creation, it’s function, the purpose for its very existence.  It was nothing the Leviathan had not already revealed to her, but spun in a way that painted the Reapers as innocent pawns simply fulfilling their duty, wiping out entire civilizations to ensure galactic balance, to protect organic life from its own chaos.

Bullshit , she thought as flashes of destruction played behind her eyelids with each laborious blink.  She remembered the sinking void in her gut as she fled Earth, watching it burn beneath Reaper hands.  She thought of Palaven, the harrowed Turian faces as their military and government collapsed, the anger and disbelief that vibrated in Garrus’ voice and beneath his skin. She recalled Thessia, the most advanced civilization in the galaxy reduced to rubble before her eyes and she, helpless to even salvage one artifact, Liara’s anguished sobs as she trembled in her arms.

The Catalyst and its Reapers were responsible for every lost colony in Batarian space that Shepard had shouldered instead.  Every single face on the memorial wall at the Citadel, every orphaned child and refugee, every life touched by this goddamn war, and the lives of those in every cycle that came before— it was all their fault.  They had corrupted and indoctrinated some of the greatest minds of her time, broken some of the strongest wills.  She wondered what had been said to convince Saren and Benezia. What had the Catalyst become to take hold of The Illusive Man?

The echoes of Sovereign’s boasts of supremacy and Harbinger’s threats of annihilation rang out in her ears as clear as the days they’d been spoken. And this entity, this artificial intelligence with the power and capability to stop it all, expected her to believe they were simply creatures bound to a purpose. The Catalyst truly believed she would help it achieve its pinnacle of evolution.

No, just because it was in a shark’s nature to eat her, did not mean she would allow it to do so. Despite the original intent behind their creations, the Reapers were monsters, and they had to be stopped. The galaxy deserved justice. She took one lumbering step toward the trigger on the right, one step closer to settling things once and for all.

“It will happen again,” the Catalyst called after her, “Machines will be rebuilt, and chaos will continue. Organics and synthetics cannot coexist separately.

“That’s…not true,” she grunted, and took another step, “The geth and the quarians have brokered peace.”

“It will not last.”

“You don’t know that,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides, “The beauty of chaos is that you can’t know that.”

The entity fell silent, briefly considering what she said, then continued. “Perhaps not; however if you choose to destroy the Reapers, the geth will be destroyed as well. The two will not have the opportunity to disprove your hypothesis.”

A pang of guilt pierced her and she halted in her tracks.“All of them?”

“Yes.  The Crucible’s beam is powerful but unfocused.  It will be unable to distinguish between Reaper technology and other forms of synthetic life.”

Another pang of guilt as realization dawned on her. That meant EDI would die, too. Someone who was every bit a friend and member of her crew as anyone else, someone who had put herself on the line multiple times to protect Shepard, to make certain she could get the job done.  EDI, who confessed just before the battle that she finally felt alive. Now, Shepard was forced to weigh her newfound life and the newfound intelligence of the geth race, against the destruction of the Reapers.

What was it Garrus had called it? Ruthless calculus, that brutal math that awaited anyone who spent enough time at war.  Shepard had done plenty of those calculations, had made more than her fair share of difficult decisions, and she’d dealt with the consequences, good and bad.

This time, it was different, more final.  And she was entirely alone.  The future of the galaxy lay upon her weary back, and she was far past the point of compromise.

Shepard wanted the Reapers to pay for what they had done for millennia, wanted to watch them disintegrate in space as the cheers of her fleet rang out over the comms.  She wanted to know with certainty that the war was over.

More than anything, however, and most heavy on her mind,  she wanted to survive. It was a potent wave of selfishness that overwhelmed her as she thought of her friends back on the Normandy, of the relationships she’d forged and that had forged her.  Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again, never hearing their voices. She was sick at the possibility that her last moments with those who had carried her through every storm were hurried and spent in a war torn camp on Earth.

Knowing that they were worried and waiting for her to return, remembering Garrus’ desperate plea that she come back alive, it was more than she needed to motivate her to do so.  For the first time in her three decades of life, she had something to go home to. She had given so much of herself to save the galaxy, and she had more than earned the right to live in it.

There was no certainty that destroying the Reapers would ensure her survival, but it was the only choice without the certainty that she would die.  She was willing to take her chances. She had to. With a trembling arm she raised her pistol, aimed at the glass case guarding the trigger mechanism, and fired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the glass shattered and her vision faded to white. “I’m so sorry.”

Shepard had been dead enough times to know that sound always came first, the discomforting beeping of medical equipment and garbled chatter ringing out in the darkness as her nervous system attempted to orient itself. Smell and taste came next, a package deal.  This time the antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood barely masked the rank of burnt flesh.

Then the pain set in, dull but constant and everywhere, numbed only slightly by neural blockers and local anesthetic.  She did not need to see her injuries to know how serious they were, how fatal they should have been.  Yet there she lay, once again waking up from something that would have killed anyone else.

And she was alone.  Again.

She began to panic as her eyes opened to the empty, sterile room, setting off the many monitors she was hooked up to.  Her heart pounded violently, each breath she took sharp and shallow as she yanked herself free from the dozens of tubes and IVs constraining her. How long had she been out this time? What covert operation for which secret, extremist organization had found and resurrected her for their benefit? How much more could one galaxy ask of her?

There was a hiss of opening doors and an unfamiliar asari entered the room urgently, arms extended out in front of her.  In one breath she reassured Shepard that everything was going to be all right  and in the next called for a medical restraint, a sedative.  She stepped slowly toward Shepard as one would approach a frightened, feral animal, and two more uniformed aliens entered the room.  Shepard stood tall, despite the ache in her bones and glared at the three of them.

“Ma’am, I know you must be very disoriented right now, and I am happy to answer any and all of your questions,” the asari said, holding her hands up, “But you are in no shape to be out of bed.  I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself further.”

Shepard glanced from the asari to the two salarians on either side of her.  They all wore generic attire that was standard for medical professionals across the galaxy, but their uniforms had no indication of their names or who they worked for.  She crossed her arms and winced through the pain as she argued. “How about you start by telling me where I am, then I’ll decide if I want to calm down or not.”

Just as she finished speaking the doors opened again, this time to faces she knew, and the subsequent wave of relief that washed over her nearly knocked her back into the bed on it’s own.  On the right stood Dr. Michel, who she remembered helping out on several occasions during the Reaper War.  A bit sweet on Garrus, if she remembered correctly. On the left, wearing a smirk and a raised eyebrow, was none other than Miranda Lawson.

“Sit down, Shepard,” Miranda asserted in her trademark tone.  She flashed the hint of a smile and continued, “The residents aren’t being paid enough for you to harass them.”

Shepard’s eyes flicked over to the three aliens who’d been tending to her just moments before.  They were now speaking nervously with the doctor, who muttered something about tests they needed to run followed by some other medical jargon that Shepard couldn’t decipher.  She did as her friend directed and eased herself back down onto her bed, offering a sheepish grin as she did so. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t,” Dr. Michel chimed in as she approached the bed, and began to scan Shepard with her omni-tool, “You have been in a coma for almost a month.  It was expected that you would be agitated when you awoke, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”

Shepard’s chest swelled with something like gratitude.  A month .  She’d only been out for a month, and she had woken up in what she could now tell was Huerta Memorial under the care of a physician she trusted and one of her closest friends.  This was nothing like the last time she died. She looked up at Miranda and asked,“Had to put me back together again, I see?”

“I only helped this time,” Miranda explained as she worked to reconnect some of the IVs Shepard had ripped out, “Dr. Michel contacted me a few weeks ago for a consultation about your cybernetic augmentation.  I was already on the Citadel, so I came in person to oversee the repairs.”

“Is everything working?”

“Mostly,” Miranda shrugged, “Not quite up to specifications, but your injuries are still healing. With time, you should be fine.”

“And hopefully far away from any more life-threatening battles, yes,” remarked Michel, moving to a terminal near the wall and transferring data collected from her omni-tool scans.

Shepard let out a huff, and let herself recline onto the bed, walls crumbling away at the comforting conversation.  She took a breath and let her eyes flutter closed for just a minute, and said, “If I can. If the galaxy will let me.”

“The galaxy’s going to have to,” announced an unmistakable voice from the door, and Shepard bolted upright to face it.  To face him .

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and yet there stood her turian, with all that easy confidence he’d always carried himself with and a bouquet of indistinguishable gift shop flowers in each hand.  Her pulse jumped, a fact the vitals monitor in the corner was quick to inform her and everyone in the room about. She would never live that one down.

“Garrus!”

“Is that cardiac arrest—“ he motioned toward the screen with one of the bouquets— “Or, uh… are you just happy to see me?”

Shepard just rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth as he sauntered up to the bedside.

“I wasn’t sure which you’d like better,” Garrus explained, glancing with uncertainty between the flowers in each hand, “So I got both.  There’s also some chocolate and a few books of hanar poetry back at the gift shop if you just absolutely hate the flowers. I can run back down and—“

She laughed and shook her head at him. “They’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” He examined each bouquet again.  “You might need the poetry to bore you back into a coma.”

“I thought that anthology was quite beautiful and romantic, myself,” Michel remarked, amused.  She approached Shepard again and administered something that relieved the throbbing pain in her head she’d barely noticed in all the commotion. “There, that should keep you comfortable for a time. I will come and check on you in a  few hours ”

“I’ll be going as well,” Miranda said, eyeing Shepard and Garrus knowingly. “Call me if you need anything.”

She turned to follow the doctor out of the room but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and Shepard?  I’m glad we got to see each other again “

Shepard nodded. “So am I.”

With that Miranda left the room, the door sliding shut behind her.  Shepard turned her gaze up to Garrus who was already looking at her, pale eyes scanning every inch of her face intently.  His mandibles twitched and flared in the very specific way they always did when he was agitated or worried.  He shook his head, discarded both bundles of flowers onto the nearby bedside table, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, staring off at the wall in silence.

“Shepard I— I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said finally, turning to look at her and placing a hand on her leg, “I’d just gone to get some air…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching for his hand and wondering just how many sleepless hours he’d sat by her bed waiting for her to come to. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, lingering there for several long moments.  She brought a hand up to trace the rough ridges of scarring along the right side of his face.  His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d lifted some invisible weight off of him with just the tips of her fingers.

“You know,” she spoke up, breaking the powerful silence between them, “I think I finally have some scars that’ll give you a run for your credits.”

Garrus laughed, but it was quiet—almost sad— and he pulled back to examine her.

“How bad is it,” she asked, “There aren’t any mirrors in here.”

He laughed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Hell, Shepard, I don’t know. You always were ugly, so it’s hard for me to say.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a smirk, “I had that one coming.”

The room went quiet again, with the exception of the buzzing and whirring of the equipment around them.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, though— nothing had ever been uncomfortable with Garrus— but it was heavy with unspoken pain and unasked questions for which Shepard wasn’t sure she wanted answers.

“How’s everyone else,” she ventured.

“Recovering,” he answered with a sigh, “Joker tried to outrun the blast, but even the Normandy wasn’t quick enough.  Crash landed on some human colony world. Everyone made it except—“

“EDI,” she said, name bitter on her tongue. She’d hoped the catalyst had been lying about the Crucible’s effect on synthetic life.

“Yes… how did you—“

This time, she was not able to dam up the wave of emotions that crashed into her.  Tears rushed to her eyes, shame and remorse tightening her chest like a vice. She was a soldier, and she knew that sacrifices won wars, but that did not make it any easier.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sniff, looking away from him and attempting to wipe away the tears before he could see them, as if he hadn’t already.

“Well—” Garrus reached out and grabbed her chin, gently, giving it a tug until she brought her gaze back to him. “It’s a good thing I cleared my afternoon schedule, then. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. With a shaky voice, she recounted everything that happened from the time she called the evac for Garrus and Liara to the moment she was struck by the Crucible’s blast.  She told him about The Illusive Man, Anderson, the Catalyst who wore Kaidan’s face, and the impossible choice she was given.  He listened to every word, offered her his hand, and didn’t complain as her grip grew tighter and tighter with each devastating revelation.

When she was finished, eyes swollen and head throbbing, she looked at him and said, “I fucked up, Garrus. I had a chance to save EDI and the geth, but I just… couldn’t do it.  I was so angry and… scared , and—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted her, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re about the only person I know who could save the whole damn galaxy and feel guilty because you didn’t save it better.”

“My life isn’t worth more than EDI’s was, and it definitely isn’t more important than the entire geth race,” Shepard argued.

Garrus blinked back at her a few times, then responded.  “It is to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come, so she clamped it shut and frowned.  Her entire argument fell apart in the wake of his blunt confession. How the hell was she supposed to respond to something like that?

“It was selfish,” she finally managed past the lump in her throat, “It was genocide.”

“Maybe,” he answered, firmly, “Maybe not. We have no way of knowing that anything the Catalyst told you was true.”

“Why would it lie?”

“I don’t know, maybe to save it’s own ass?”  His words were pointed but not directed to her.  “It was clearly trying to get in your head, Shepard, using Alenko like that.”

“But—”

“No,” he snapped, “You made the right call, and no one is going to fault you for it except you.”

“ Garrus …” she began, but trailed off when she noticed him looking down at their intertwined fingers, shaking his head and seeming to struggle with his emotions.

When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse.  “You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t think you owe anyone—not EDI, not the geth, not the Alliance, not the rest of the galaxy— any more than you’ve already given.”

He paused for a beat, then added in a lighter tone, “Except me. You owe me a long retirement on your fancy Alliance pension.”

Shepard snorted out a laugh, despite everything, and reached up to take his face in her hands.  She pulled him closer to her, just so that she could press a kiss against the side of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

Just as they pulled apart, the door opened and they both turned to see who had entered. Dr. Michel stood at the threshold smiling at them apologetically.  “I am sorry for the interruption, but—”

“Someone tell Garrus to quit hogging the Commander,” complained an all too familiar voice as he pushed past the doctor and into the room. “The rest of us have been waiting just as long as he has.”

“Joker,” Shepard exclaimed, nearly jumping up out of the bed to greet him.

“The one and only,” he said proudly then held up a small plastic crate to show her, “And I brought you something.  Basically had to wrestle the Alliance brass for it when they declared you dead.”

“What—,” she asked as she squinted at the box, noticing movement in the corner, “Is that my hamster?”

He sat the container down carefully on the table next to the flowers Garrus had tossed aside,  “It’s not two bouquets of useless flowers or anything, but, well…you know.”

“We can’t all be as romantic as you,” Garrus said sarcastically as he stood up and stepped away from the bed, allowing the other man space to approach Shepard.

“Thank you, Joker,” Shepard said with a nod as she sat up in the bed, “And about EDI, I—“

He cut her off with the shake of his head, clearly not ready to discuss it. “Not your fault, Commander.”

Shepard just nodded, sorry, but not wanting to force the issue.  Joker puffed his chest out and saluted her, just as more commotion rang out from the door.  She darted her eyes across the room again to see the flood of other people pouring in from the hallway.

Ash was the first to rush to the bedside, throwing appropriate Alliance protocol out the window as she threw her arms unceremoniously around Shepard.  The embrace was firm, but not so forceful that it caused her aching body any extra pain, and when Ash pulled away, Shepard could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She stiffened up and saluted just as Joker had done, and said “Ma’am.”

Much to Shepard’s surprise, Ash then approached Garrus and embraced him briefly as well, pulling away and then giving him a pat on the arm.

The others followed suit after that, offering words of gratitude that she had saved the galaxy, and relief that she’d managed to pull through.  Tali and Liara had followed Ash’s example and hugged her.  The others didn’t but greeted her with enthusiasm all the same.  Vega mentioned how “epic” it was when the fleet realized she’d made it to the Citadel and got the arms opened while Traynor and Cortez nodded along.  Javik, in his typical fashion stood quietly in the corner but nodded at her with a look of admiration she had yet to see from the Prothean.  Dr. Chakwas and the crew from engineering squeezed themselves in the now cramped space as well. Chakwas approached the bed and gave Shepard’s hand a firm squeeze.

Humbling was not a strong enough word to describe the experience of seeing everyone who’d been on the Normandy with her in that final journey to Earth gathered around celebrating her survival.  They had all meant so much to her, and only now did she realize that she’d meant the same to them.

She’d grown accustomed to being a sole survivor, watching her own back and carrying on alone with each of her mistakes strapped to her shoulders.  She was used to blaming herself with the voices of those she lost, of nightmares and flashbacks and consoling herself back to sleep in the middle of the night.  She had trained herself to be numb because she could not bear feeling guilty.

Now, she didn’t have to.  For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had people who cared about her, people who she trusted, and they had survived. For the first time, she wasn’t alone with her grief and she didn’t have to be numb.  She had friends who would hold her together while she sorted herself out, just as she had done for each and every one of them.

“You okay,” Garrus asked as he approached the bedside again, letting a hand tousle her hair gently before falling to her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She nodded and glanced around the room slowly, taking it all in. “I really actually am.”

[hibiscusangel15]

Phantasma

Okay, so I saw an interesting, angsty post by @cruelfeline​ that wondered if Hordak could feel himself hurting Entrapta when Horde Prime possessed his body. The initial idea then kinda wrapped into a vague idea I had about the Horde clone hive mind, so here’s this lol.

Summary: Hordak's body was not his own. It had always belonged to Horde Prime since the moment he'd been created.

Or, a look into the clone hive mind when Horde Prime possessed Hordak in Heart, Part 2.

Rating: Teen and Up

*Also crossposted to AO3 and FFN!

If you like my fic, please consider buying me a coffee!

Despite everything he'd been taught, he knew Horde Prime did not know all. He did not see all.

A blasphemous thought to hold, and yet, if Prime himself did not see it—did not know it by now—then what else could he not foresee? What else did he not know?

The clone had cradled other blasphemies once, too. A life outside of the hive mind. An army he dared to call his own. A name.

Memories of a time long past. A time where in his darkest heart of hearts, he had dared to wish that Prime would never find him.

And now time had caught up to him. Now the woman at the very center of his blasphemous thoughts was on her knees jeering at Horde Prime.

He clutched the crystal he'd scavenged the other day in his hand. It was the catalyst, the first spark of defiance. A treasure that he might call his own.

The hive mind was filled to the brim with love for Prime. None dared to question his rule, and so none ever suspected this single clone's treachery.

Not until he hesitated to silence the little rebel before him.

Thoughts that were not his own trawled along the edge of his mind.

What are you waiting for, brother?

Destroy her.

Millions of thoughts grasped intangibly around him, as if his brothers wished to take the cannon from his arm themselves. Ghost hands crept along his scalp, over his face, his chest, urging him to get it over with.

She is not worthy of basking in Prime's light.  Dispose of her already.

Not worthy of his light. They were right about one thing, at least.

Entrapta was a light all her own. She outshone everyone, even Prime himself.

Go on, brother.

Hurry before you anger Prime, brother.

Do it now, brother.

Brother!

He turned his cannon onto Horde Prime and opened fire with a cry. 

“I am not your brother.”

Confusion and outrage blistered in the hive mind. The ghost feeling of hundreds of hands, once so reassuring, relinquished its awful hold over him.

"You made me in your image, but I am more than that!"

The clone carried Horde Prime by the jaw, dangling him over the edge of an endless precipice. "I gave myself a name. I made a life of my own! I made...."

He looked back at Entrapta. The woman who mocked Horde Prime to his face. The woman who coordinated a strategic counterattack against the chipped Etherians. The woman who snuck into his sanctum and dared to call his imperfections beautiful.

"A friend."

Yet another blasphemy before Prime's light. But could friendship truly be blasphemy? Could love?

If it was, he'd rather be a sinner than exalted by a god.

“I am Hordak, and I defy your will!”

His fingers went slack, and Horde Prime was no more.

It was over. Entrapta was safe.

Right as he turned to free her, everything vanished. The ship was gone. Entrapta was gone. There was nothing but a pure white void all around him. Hundreds of hushed voices echoed through the very air of this space.

Hordak whirled around. The noise ceased.

A large screen gleamed before him. It showed the image of where he’d been standing not too long ago. He walked to it, swiping a curious hand down the screen as if it would open for him. Its texture was like that of hot gelatin. No residue came off on his hand, but he wiped the unpleasant feeling off on his leg anyway.

He heard Entrapta laugh and say something. The sound rippled around the space, distorting and warping until it became unrecognizable noise.

And then his brother’s laugh rang so distinct and clear, Hordak had to clap his hands over his ears.

No.

“Ah, little brother. So it’s true. You have been thoroughly corrupted.”

A dark mass writhed behind him. Green lights hovered in the space where its eyes should be. Four very familiar eyes burned with rage and scorn.

Horde Prime. Horde Prime had seized control of his body.

“So be it!”

The mass rushed at him, through him to the screen.

His breath caught when the screen moved towards Entrapta. On her face was an expression he’d never seen. No matter how many times he’d growled at her or snapped at her to leave him be, she never seemed threatened by him. Never feared him.

Her look of abject terror etched itself into his mind, and he slammed a fist against the screen.

“No! Entrapta! Get away!” he yelled.

Horde Prime tugged her off her feet by her hair. Her scream tore something within him. He was hurting her.

Hordak could feel each individual strand thrashing against his own hand, trying to pry his grip open. Her hair was being too gentle with him. Too subdued. She was strong enough to push him, if necessary. His defect would make it all too easy. So why couldn’t she do it?

“You have forced my hand. I will unleash the Heart, and so we shall die in cleansing flame together!” Prime’s voice echoed around him.

He could feel his mouth twist up into a wicked grin, feel as his own hand tightened its grip around Entrapta’s long hair.

It was so soft. Softer than he ever thought anything could be. He wished he could have told her that. But his mouth was no longer his own. Nor were his hands, his own mind.

Everything belonged to Prime. Everything was Prime.

“Entrapta!”

Hordak threw himself against the screen, ramming into it over and over again. It did not waver.

“Little brother.”

The voice came from behind him.

He whirled back, teeth bared in a snarl. “You…. You were supposed to die!”

“And you forget your place!” The shadow pulsated like living smoke. “You have committed the ultimate blasphemy. Given yourself a name. Dared to live as if you are your own creature! But you are nothing. One of thousands of clones that all bear the image of Prime! Without me, you would not exist!”

Hordak screamed as he lunged at the shadow of Horde Prime. His singular vision was his downfall. He did not realize it hovered right above a glowing green pit.

His feet caught the edge in the nick of time, and he sucked in a stunned breath when he saw what laid below.

Countless thousands of clones were embedded into the walls of the circular pit. Many were mere half-bodies jutting out like weeds. They all raised their hands up, worshipping the dark mass far above them. Their ruler. Their brother. The all-knowing, all-powerful Prime.

It took Hordak a second to realize that they were all decrying his very existence. They called him worthless. Defective. Unworthy. Forsaken.

Hordak tried to take a step back, only to find he could not move. Several pale hands sprouted from the ground to restrain his legs. They would not let him go no matter how hard he hit or scratched at them. Such was the resolve of a clone-brother’s devotion to Prime.

“Oh, little brother. Do you honestly think you could ever be equal to my own power? All because you came to care for some insignificant creature who pitied you? I would never let myself become so weak.”

The green lights of its eyes narrowed at him.

Hordak dared to glare right back. “Let Entrapta go! She has not done anything to deserve this!”

“On the contrary, brother. I have read your thoughts. I understand in intimate detail how much you have let her affect you. How far she has led you astray from my light. For that, she must be made an example of.”

“No!”

He strained against the many hands stacking over each other to hold him down, struggling desperately to reach the screen. “Entrapta!”

“Do you know why you could never hope to match my power, brother?”

The other clones’ cries ceased. All was silent and white save for the floating shadow enveloping itself around his wrists.

It leaned close to his ear, as if to impart some final secret. “It is because you would not be able to bear the weight of the hive mind.”

Prime pulled him forward. The bodiless hands let him go.

Hordak fell into the pit.

The clones immediately went into a frenzy, clawing and tearing and dragging him down, down and away from the pure light above. The shared thoughts of his brothers he'd heard before was a mere drop in an ocean of suffering. Now all their prayers, feelings, everything they were bore down on him. It was like no gravity he’d ever felt before.

For every clone he managed to fend off, more came to tug him into the fold. And even through all this, he could hear Entrapta crying for him. Feel as her hair squirmed in his own hand. Prime would torture him in every possible way before the end. They would die here together, and the last thing he would ever hear would be his only friend in the universe crying his name.

“Entrapta!” he screamed, reaching a hand up to the edge of the pit.

And then, the hands were gone. The clones vanished. A gentle presence guided Hordak to the top, placing him far from the pit. When he looked back, it slowly closed in on itself.

“Hordak.”

That voice. She-Ra.

The screen showed the edge of a cliff. He no longer felt Entrapta’s hair wriggling against his palm. Instead, there was the brush of grass, a warm breeze on his cheek.

Something glowed just beyond the crest of the cliff. It rose higher and higher until Hordak caught sight of She-Ra. A First Ones glyph shone on her chest, radiating power.

Prime's shadow hovered before the screen, flickering like a spark that refused to light. “Though all is reduced to rubble, Prime shall rise again. So it has been, and so it always shall be.”

Hordak knew it was futile. He felt that familiar ache in his shoulders, in his legs. His defect. Horde Prime had not anticipated inhabiting a broken body.

Even so, he no longer had any other body to return to. The hive mind had closed off. All was silent again.

Ah, Hordak realized, shutting his eyes, resigned. This body belongs to Horde Prime now. She-Ra will kill me to assure her victory.

“No! I will not fall!” Prime sputtered above him in a panic. “The hive mind will open to me! I am their ruler! Their god!”

“You are nothing more than a coward looking to escape your fate. Rejoice, brother. For you and I will both die in cleansing flame together, is that not so?” Hordak said wearily.

He did not wish to die. Not now. Not until he knew Entrapta was safe.

But this was his fate. To ensure the peace of the universe, Horde Prime needed to die.

“No, you’re wrong,” She-Ra said. “It’s time for you to go.”

He pressed his forehead against the screen and shut his eyes. He was ready.

Her hands cupped his face. Warmth emitted from her palms, steady and hopeful.

Hordak’s eyes snapped open. Suddenly, he could read her thoughts, and he knew she did not aim to destroy them both.

Prime's shadow spasmed against an unseen force ripping it away. It tried to grasp onto something, anything. It even reached out to Hordak with a smoking claw, so despondent in its desperation.

Hordak merely watched the mass purge from his body back into the nothingness from which it came.

                                                   *   *   *

The scenery changed in a flash of light. He stood in an empty field. Little more than grass and sharp crystals abound the place.

It did not look familiar to him. It seemed Horde Prime had yet to conquer this strange planet. Another dead end. His faulty portal had transported him somewhere even further away from Prime’s light.

The portal itself crackled and sparked. It was unstable. The communication device he brought with him did not even emit a trackable signal.

He threw the device to the ground in his frustration. It shattered into several pieces along the dirt.

A sharp cry pierced the air. He stood up straighter, startled.

There, lying bundled on top of a rock, was a baby.

Hordak squinted and caught sight of a woman running in the distance. The mother? Had she abandoned her child here?

The bundle squirmed, hands outstretched, searching.

He glanced back at the woman’s silhouette. For a moment, she stopped. Perhaps she would come to collect her child. Perhaps it had been a mistake.

Then the silhouette took off and vanished into the woods ahead.

Hordak turned back to the portal. He’d reconfigure the coordinates again and then—

The baby’s cries grew louder. He paused.

He stomped over to where the baby laid. It shifted in its blankets. Were it not for his quick reflexes, it would’ve wiggled its way off the rock.

He held it to his chest and stared. The child stared back. Its cries settled into small whimpers then silence.

“You have been abandoned,” he said, a pang in his chest. “Your creator did not want you.”

Of course he knew that the child would not understand him. It was not a guarantee that it even knew his language.

The baby settled in his arms, pressing its small cheek to his thumb. He could not leave this child here. Not after its own mother left it to die.

“Lord Hordak!” Shadow Weaver’s voice called out through the portal.

The portal’s frame warped. Sprinting towards it would be his only chance. He clutched the child tighter in his hands and ran.

                                                   *   *   *

Hordak gasped and found himself face-to-face with that same child. She regarded him with such kindness in her eyes that it brought that ghost pang back.

“I remember you,” he whispered. Her smile told him that she remembered him, too.

She-Ra helped him stand. No sooner than that, something small tackled him in a twirl of purple pigtails.

"Hordak!"

A laugh burst from his chest when he realized who it was. Entrapta was here. She was safe and alive and so warm. He could not ask for a better future.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Oh, we have so much to talk about!” she said and hugged him once more. “I missed you!”

Hordak smiled back at her. “I’ve missed you, too, Entrapta.”

Her hair reached up to caress his face. It was only then his smile fell.

He'd hurt her. It was not by his own will, but even so.

How could she stand to be near him after that? How could she trust he would not do so again?

The rest of her hair split off and wrapped gently around his hands. Not a single strand fought against him. Her hair willingly weaved around his open palms, his fingers.

"Stay with me. Please?"

Hordak shuddered. This felt too much like forgiveness. He was not worthy of it.

"Always," he whispered.

Without warning, Entrapta shot up and pressed her lips against his. The longer she ran her thumb up and down his jaw, the more scrambled his thoughts became.

Her eyes gleamed with pride when she pulled away. “You’re free now. You can be whoever you wanna be, Hordak.”

“I…. Yes.”

It was the best he could manage.

Entrapta laughed and pressed her forehead to his. He leaned into the touch. It was nice, knowing how soft a touch could really be. Knowing how much love could flow through a simple gesture.

Eventually, she wrapped her arms around his to lead him down the hill. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” she repeated. He could not help himself from laughing once more.

He made it back to her. Prime was gone. He was free, and he made it back to her.

Entrapta peered up at him with a smile. He returned it easily. 

Hordak knew then what he would do with this newfound freedom. He would spend it by Entrapta’s side. For as much as time would allow, he would spend it all with her.

A careful hand ran through her hair. He did not yet have the words to express how sorry he was for hurting her. How he should have fought harder against Prime's control.

He wanted to say so much to her. As soon as he started to speak, however, a strand of her hair pressed itself against his mouth. A gentle admonishment, one that was met with an amused smile.

Her hair curled itself around his fingers, guiding them down to cup her face. Hordak brushed away the small tears spilling down. It was not enough to repair all the damage he’d done. She must have known that.

Entrapta never cared about such matters. She never spoke about recompense, nor did she seem to desire it.

She seemed happy just to stay here like this, smiling at him even through her tears.

The warm breeze stirred leaves and stray bits of grass all around them. The planet was alive and thriving once more.

He took a deep breath in.

Entrapta was by his side. The sun felt good on his face.

He was Hordak, and he was finally free to live by his own will.

A/N: This was legit the fastest I’ve ever written something. I was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, and I guess that’s where it all led.

Please let me know if anyone's in-character or not. I'm very new to writing for this fandom.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Detroit Evolution Character Studies.

If you haven’t seen the absolutely lovely Reed900 fan film Detroit Evolution by @/octopunkmedia, I highly recommend it. (This also contains spoilers for it so watch before reading this.) I’m not done with these character studies as I plan to do one more for both characters.

Essentially, these are scenes taken directly from the film where I wrote it out, action, words, and all, as well as tried to capture what I thought they would be feeling/thinking in those moments as a way of learning to write the character’s voices (or my version of them). Word Count: 2,345 TW: Cursing, blood/ injury/ death mention, brief mention of food.

Nines

Timestamp: 11:22

He carried the full coffee mug from the break room to Gavin’s desk, a spring in his steady step. Placing the mug down, he looked at Gavin, a challenge in his eyes.

Gavin looked up from his phone. “Thank god.”

Nines held back a sigh. “I hate you.”

“You love me.” Gavin sassed back.

Nines pushed at Gavin’s feet that were propped up on the desk. “Move your feet.” He listened to the small sound of surprise that came from the human and sat where the feet had been, waiting for Gavin to stop spinning. “Have you been reviewing the case?” He glanced at the inactive computer screen.

Gavin sat straighter in the chair and leaned forward. “You know me. When do I stop?” He pulled up the case file on his computer. “Our victim’s an AC900, right? That happens to be a model designed for athletics and endurance. So, her thirium pump is one of the most valuable out there.”

Nines tilted his head. “You think the killer could have black market motivations?”

“You can’t rule it out. Not with how advanced that part is. So, once I made that genius deduction, I went through a list of my contacts in the android parts market and they got back to me with some common drop sites for black market deals.”

Nines was wary of where this was going, his LED circling to yellow. “Contacts? There are black market dealers who collude with the DPD?”

Gavin sat back, posture relaxed. “They give me intel, I stay off their back.”

“That doesn’t seem legal.” it defied his sense of logic to work with criminals to catch other criminals, even if the method had some merit.

Gavin spun his chair to face him, voice becoming defensive. “Okay, Nines. Sometimes you gotta bend the rules if you want to catch a bigger fuckin’ fish, alright? I know it’s not your protocol or whatever but, that’s why you got me.” He took a sip of his coffee, looking pleased with himself.

Nines leaned on his hand. “How would I ever succeed without your obstinance and rule breaking?” Sarcasm was something he’d mastered soon after deviating and used often with Gavin.

Gavin set his mug down, crossing his hands over his lap. “Yeah, you got a real funny way of saying ‘experience and wisdom’.”

“Wisdom?” Nines almost scoffed. “Gavin, I have a database in my brain containing over two hundred thousand words in the English language and I believe you found the one that least applies to yourself.”

Gavin looked up at him. “Shuuuut the fuck up.” He reached forward to tap his keyboard, bringing their attention back to the case. “Look, if we can intercept some dealers and bring ‘em in, we’ll find out if our victim’s thirium pump has been making the rounds. That could lead us straight to the killer.” He looked at Nines for his opinion.

Nines hummed. “It’s a good start, but waiting for a dealer to cross our path could mean it could take weeks to find a lead.” His LED went to blue as he thought it over.

“Thought of that too, smartass. There are definitely some sites where black market activity is hot.” He pointed at the screen and Nines turned to look. “These apartments out in Ferndale and Slide Docks-” he moved to point at another part of the map on the screen. “-here.”

Nines considered the information and screen. “We’ll need to split up to cover both.”

“Nah, you won’t have to miss me.” He gestured to the new detective with his mug. “We’ll get Chris on one of them while we go to the other.”

Nines looked at Chris, who seemed to have a lot on his mind. “He’s been quiet, since Jericho.”

Gavin busied himself with gathering his things. “Okay. Maybe work will take his mind off of it.”

Nines hummed, watching him. “Burying troubles in work is your usual approach.”

Gavin stood and rounded his chair, blowing a kiss to Nines sarcastically. Nines turned his head in time to notice Gavin flip him off behind Nines’ back. He smiled at the antics and followed the detective.

Nines

Timestamp: 54:00

‘I need you to come back to me, Nines.’

Nines could hear Gavin, even as he was trying to search every line of his code for a way to fix this corruption.

‘You are my partner. Come back to me, Nines.’

Nines heard a glitch in the garden before Gavin’s voice spoke again, closer this time, different. “Hey, tin can.”

He looked up to see his simulation of Gavin standing there. Calling his name, Nines ran over to him. He said his name again as he tried to hold him, only to be met with loose pixels and glitching code. He took a step back, anger in his voice. “What did she do to you?”

Gavin’s voice was distorted and his pixels were out of sync. “Code’s all buggy from Ada. You gotta delete me. Delete all of this, start from scratch.”

“Delete it?” Nines felt panic rise in him at that. “No, I can’t do that. This is where I process everything. I can’t just erase it.”

“You can rebuild another one after.” Gavin looked up into the trees. “Doesn’t even have to be a garden. Hell, make it a theme park, I don’t know.” He looked back at Nines.

“I can’t rebuild you.” His voice softened. Nines had spent pain-staking hours programming Gavin’s code and making him as close to the real thing as possible and now he was being told to delete it all? He wanted nothing more than to just hold Gavin.

“Look. You don’t have to give a shit about me. It’s all just fucking fantasy, Nines. You got the real thing up there. And the only way to get back there is to let go of all of this.”

‘Come back to me, Nines.’

The Gavin standing before him glitched again and Nines nodded slightly. “Okay.” He moved away, unable to look at him as he did this.

‘I need you. I need you to come back to me, Nines.’

With the real Gavin’s voice echoing in his ears, Nines carefully and ruthlessly tore down every line of code he had to. Thoughts of the past few days, images of his friends and Gavin, tumbled through his mind as he destroyed his sanctuary, the place he went to relax and to process and feel safe. A place that had been tainted by Ada’s forced entrance.

As soon as the last zero was deleted, Nines regained full control of himself.

Gavin

Timestamp: 24:30

Gavin grunted as another fist connected with his face, breaking his nose. Faintly he heard a voice call his name. A hand reached out but instead of a punch- He jolted awake, hands reaching to fight off his attacker, whoever's hands were now on his shoulders, fighting him back. Nines’ voice broke through the fog of sleep and Gavin stared at him, calming down just a bit as he found one of Nines’ hands on his chest, the other holding his right wrist gently. Nines gave one more, comforting, “”it’s not real, you’re safe,” before releasing Gavin and standing up.

Gavin shifted, moving to sit up against his headboard as he tried to calm his breathing. He shifted the pillows behind him, all too aware of Nines’ concerned gaze.

When his breathing was slower, Gavin spoke. “What- What’re you still doing here?” He knew Nines had mentioned reviewing case files but thought he would have left, bored of Gavin. Most did.

“I stayed to review our case files.” Nines’ voice was soft, as if Gavin were a deer that would startle at a too-loud sound. “I heard you struggling.” He moved away from the bed a step or two. “I’ll go get you some water.”

Gavin shifted positions, shaking his head. “No, no, no, I”m fine. I’m fine.” If he repeated it enough, maybe he’d believe it himself. He cursed a few times, softly, as he tried to find a comfortable position.

Nines sat back down on the edge of the bed. Gavin cursed again, the loudest sound in the room being his still heavy breathing. He leaned his head back against the wall, too exhausted to care. “Guess now you know why I don’t sleep.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Gavin was grateful for the lack of judgement in Nines’ voice.

Gavin dropped his head down, shaking it as he stared at his sheets. “Nothing. I don’t even remember.” Not a complete lie, it was reduced to fear and feelings and flashes of memory now, so distorted from what it once was. “Probably bore you, if I did.”

There was a small smile in Nines’ voice, still soft but now holding a note of affection. “Learning more about you would never bore me, Gavin.”  Gavin didn’t quite believe him and Nines kept talking. “Would you like me to stay with you? Research shows that physical touch is good for humans, it releases serotonin which has a calming effect-”

Gavin’s skin crawled at the thought of touch and he began protesting as Nines continued. “-I think that-” Nines heard his protests and stopped.

“No.” Gavin shook his head, breathing almost under control. “I’ll take my chances with the cat.”

“Okay.” Nines stood. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He turned and began to walk to the door.

Before Nines could reach it, Gavin spoke. “It was about this one night.” He looked up at Nines, wondering if the android knew the level of trust Gavin was showing. “It just makes me feel like I’m back there.”

He paused as Nines came back to sit on the side of the bed where he’d been before.

He took a deep breath. “I was a dumb kid. Dropped out of high school, fell in with some shitheads dealing red ice for a little while. I just . . . I just couldn’t do it. I stopped. And they fucked me up, kicked me out. I’m wandering around the streets of Detroit, bloodied to shit, nowhere to go. Fowler found me. He was on patrol. He just, put me in his car, drove me to a diner. Bought me coffee. Told me I could intern at the DPD for a little while. Have something to do, you know.”

Nines listened patiently, only commenting at the end. “Sounds like a happy ending. Why is it a nightmare?”

Gavin’s eyes turned haunted. “‘Cause every time it replays in my head, he doesn’t show. And I just die out there. Bleeding in the fucking snow and no one cares.”

Nines stood, looking like he was prepared to go back to the living room. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”

Gavin looked up at him, his face illuminated by the light of the window, and didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he just slid over and hoped he understood.

Nines did, his LED glowing yellow in the dark room  as he moved to sit where Gavin had been. He gingerly turned so his cloth-covered back was toward Gavin. The human appreciated the gesture, feeling comfortable and vulnerable enough to extend his hand, palm up, to Nines. The android carefully took it, his synthetic skin retracting but Gavin brushed that off as him offering less skinship.

Gavin’s breathing stuttered slightly but he slowly placed his head on Nines’ shoulder blade and shoulder. He felt Nines rest his head on Gavin’s, the android’s thumb running over the back of the human’s hand.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll have you scrapped for parts.” There was no bite to Gavin’s words.

Nines shook his head. “Empty promises,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Gavin

Timestamp: 57:19

“I think I can help with that.” Nines’ voice came from the doorway.

Chris called his name while Gavin looked on in disbelief. Tina stood by Nines, Gavin was vaguely aware of her trying to get Chris to leave Gavin and Nines alone but he only had eyes for the android.

Nines stepped into the room as the two left. “Distracting yourself with work at two A.M.? Now I know you missed me.”

Gavin’s shock wore off at the playful banter. “You undead asshole. How did you wake up?”

They both approached, almost meeting in the middle of the room, as Nines spoke. “I heard you. Your voice broke through.”

Gavin backed up a few steps even as Nines continued advancing. “Goddammit. You mean you- you- you heard everything I said?”

Nines smiled. “Every word. A force you can’t live without?”

“I . . . hate you.” There was barely any force in his words.

Nines finally reached him, that soft smile still on his face as understanding shone in his eyes. “You love me.”

Gavin looked up at him and their eyes met. He looked down to see Nines’ skin retract on his hand, gently taking it into his own hands. Nines’ other hand came up to cup Gavin’s cheek and draw his gaze back to his face. Gavin closed his eyes, getting used to such tender touches, before opening them and looking at Nines. Then, they were kissing, both putting the emotions they couldn’t put to words into it.

When they broke apart, Gavin panted for a moment before speaking. “What dipshit programmed you to do that?”

Nines laughed, sounding just as out of breath as Gavin felt. “I’m the most advanced android ever made, detective.”

Gavin threw his head back dramatically, Nines’ hand sliding down to his neck. “Oh, you are such a fucking prick.”

“Takes one to know one.” Nines snarked back.

Gavin sniffed, finally noticing what Nines was wearing. “This is my jacket?”

“Yeah, you left it at CyberLife. They didn’t keep my clothes.” He laughed and looked around. “I see you’ve been making progress without me.”

“Yeah, uh. Guess we’ve got some catching up to do.”

Nines didn’t respond, simply leaned down for another kiss.

[eriisaam]

Old scrapped concept of Ephrel, the dokkalfarian summoner.

Ephrel might have some tweaks done to their hair shape eventually, but otherwise, they were mostly as I hoped they'd be, especially given the context. In general, I wanted to strike more of a balance between how closely they resembled one of the possibly-generated Robinsonas in Awakening, but also have somewhat of a strong resemblance to Robin and Sparrow respectively, further going with the idea of what drew Chrom to the two (their similar looks). Otherwise, I was definitely planning on redesigning their clothes completely, where this was originally one of many ideas on open-back clothes with neutral tones to them that I'm still not entirely satisfied of.

I also did eventually want to draw their fully realized state as Spectabilis at some point too.

Character details under the cut.

---

Having been a summoner prior to Chrom and Sparrow, Ephrel was eventually succeeded (unknowingly) by Chrom, who later then became more officially succeeded by Sparrow as summoner. Having came from a world heavily tied with the Digital World, Ephrel would've originally been teleported to Zenith through Breidablik's power as their chosen. But right before they could be taken, Eitri among other forces from the Digital World all tried to intercept Breidablik at the same time, only to all simultaneously fail to retrieve the weapon, but in the process, heavily impacted Ephrel into an unstable, in-between state of existence. A part of them became a robinsona-esque being dumped into a World of Awakening, where they completely replaced Robin's role and went on to befriend and assist Chrom as their tactician. In this state, Chrom heavily bonded to, and fell in love with this version of Ephrel, whom they initially identified as 'Robin' as a name Chrom gave them in their memory-scrambled state, but would later reveal to him in private their actual name as 'Ephrel' when they had enough time to process and remember. In a desperate attempt to try to go after Ephrel in this state when their physical body became lost and distorted in their home world, and Breidablik itself displaced with them, it completely threw this World of Awakening off the rails of the original destiny laid out for Chrom, ultimately leading to Ephrel gaining forewarning of their fate to betray and kill Chrom, only for Ephrel to die to protect him instead, all while the fate of all Chrom knew were killed in ways neither could prevent, leaving Chrom as the sole survivor of his world.

Their death as a robinsona had the adverse effect of heavily corrupting what remained as a digital "echo" of their state as a robinsona (often dubbed "Mirage Robin" or "Digi-Grima"), which led to a rogue ghost of this robinsona-Ephrel wandering lost, confused, and in an unstable state of constantly seeking Chrom, but not having the "programming" to retain full self-awareness of themself or their surroundings (there's a few times they even technically found Chrom, but were so broken they couldn't realize and process it). Their fragile mental state when forcefully mashing the pieces of both Ephrel's actual persona, yet Robin's scripted fate as Grima's vessel, led to a very unstable "Grima" whose obsession heavily betrays the actual Grima, only wishing to seek Chrom and regain his love and approval again. At the same time, the actual Ephrel was restabilized, and Breidablik resurfaced once more, but in lingering mental corruption from their split displacement, Ephrel, in a psychotic break, completely disregarded their role as summoner or an ally of Zenith in favor of returning home in a near daze, only wishing to seek Chrom out at both lingering remains of the damaged state of digi-Grima as well as their confused, mental exhaustion from the sudden split. In their attempt to try and fail to get back to Chrom, the end result let to catastrophic damage in bursting Breidablik's power, sending the weapon to Chrom and displacing him into Zenith, but ultimately killing Ephrel's actual self in the process, along with one of their digimon partners, Leona (a Grappu Leomon, eventually reborn as Hina, who eventually was fully realized as Leopardmon. She came full circle.). Before Hel could get to them, Freyja, having witnessed Ephrel from the start of their intense wish to reunite with Chrom, stole them instead to force-feed them her nectar just before Ephrel's soul would've given in, causing them instead to be reborn as the dokkalfar Spectabilis and join her for a time as their right hand. Though they were eventually drawn by Robin's deep-seated insecurities and desperate dreams for a normal life with his found-family, this led to a domino effect of being sought out by Robin with Chrom and co, and piecing back together the memories they broke from all their intense stress and trauma, eventually finally reuniting Ephrel and Chrom in full.

As Spectabilis, Ephrel is regarded as the Dokkalfar of Longing Dreams, whose focus are on dreams that are the strongest wishes from the heart that the person whose source of the dream thinks is impossible to achieve, whether or not it truly is. Due to the ambiguous nature of their nightmares, Spectabilis maintained a neutral approach to dreams, rather than be inclined to cause the greatest negativity in a victim like Triandra and Plumeria initially do, being ambiguously inspiring in reminding a subject that the impossibilities are entirely on them and their ideals. Two instances they brought up such is recognizing Robin's impossible wish was to live a normal, peaceful life with his newfound family and lovers after hailing from a background of grief, misery and uncertainty, or Lyon's wish to reconcile with Eirika and Ephraim among their other party, but his deep-seated fear to ever actually face them, despite their expressed interest to speak to him. Despite being dismissed and antagonized by Peony for being a dokkalfar and misinterpreting the nature of their dreams, Spectabilis maintained a neutral opinion of all alfrs, including the ljolsalfar, and they eventually befriended Peony and Mirabilis throughout the events of Book IV. Freyja initially trusted and looked up heavily to Spectabilis and their advice in recognizing their inherent maturity from having been turned into an alfr as an adult (rather than as children like the other alfrs), which wound up deeply upsetting her when Chrom "stole" them from her, only for Spectabilis to be a key part in stopping Freyja's nightmare onslaughts and calming her and Freyr into surrendering. Despite recognizing Freyja's negative aspects and their supports' (especially Chrom's) justifiable misgivings to her in particular, they still hold some regard of respect for her enough to protect her and Freyr's life over the course of Book IV and reconciling with Freyja in her defeat, despite them having a tentative, distant relationship in caretaking for the other alfrs while having otherwise parted ways with the siblings, give or take minor visits. In her absense, Ephrel retained the role they served as an older sibling figure to the alfrs, but especially in helping Triandra and Plumeria better process their past traumas and struggles in transitioning to normal lives again in Askr.

As Ephrel, while they eventually gained the ability to regain their original form as a human through Eclair's stones and Lyon's heavy research in inventing a fae stone with it, the side-effect to this unusual craft led to them still retaining the unusual pigments of their hair color as Spectabilis (minus the floral details), an issue Ephrel never cared enough to fix, and thought it was neat enough to keep. They held a very lax, calm, "going with the flow" attitude that led them also to hold very little interest in reclaiming their role as summoner from under Sparrow, and in fact holding pride in both her and Chrom while engaging more to help them or guide them when needed. Instead of take back Breidablik, they primarily use their weapon, the Flower of Fate, still leftover from their time as Spectabilis that they could still call upon on a whim. When combined with Breidablik, however, it can turn into the unusual, unique digimental of Fate, fulfilling the role that Sparrow was originally exploited and tricked by of the original crest of Grimeal. Even after their time under Freyja, they still regularly use their powers of dreams and sleep-based powers to otherwise support and help others through complicated thought processes and issues, and have otherwise rekindled their partnership with their surviving digimon partners, Angie and Devi while realizing their lost partner Leona was reincarnated into Hina. This assistance with dream-based advice and focus eventually influenced other alfrs, in particular Triandra and Plumeria, who shifted their own powers to more neutral focuses between clarity and love in general. Though their eventual daughter in Lilium (a ljolsalfarian Lucina) eventually yielded another Flower of Fate, their flower and Lilium's are composed of very different flowers, likely sharing the same loan name due to Lilum being naturally born as an alfr, rather than be converted to such by Freyja or Freyr.

[loneveenas]

endless echoes | anno domini | 05

every lifetime is a new one. no actual reconnections to the past. but what if that reconnection is suddenly there?

    𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕     𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒙𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒖𝒔     𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆

a sakusa x reader multi-chaptered reincarnation au

words: 1,304 warnings: angst, post-apocalyptic world | mentions of nausea this chapter

jump to: 04 | 05 | 06 || mlist

anno domini tag list: @infamouswhitepaws @woozxs @kara-grayson04​ @yams046​ @of-heroes-and-dreams​ @pyblos @infamouswhitepawsies​ @muppetz let me know if you want to be added/taken off!!) as always, tysm for reading :)

“Hey, (y/n),” Kuroo’s soothing voice whispered to you. “I’m here. You’re hyperventilating. Please try to calm down.”

Oh. I was?

You tried to focus on Kuroo’s voice, who was talking soft words to you, his rough voice comforting you in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

You were met with your racing heartbeat and a stinging headache.

“I can’t breathe,” you were gasping for breath.

“I know, that’s why you need to listen to me. Focus on my breathing and you’ll be fine.”

Kuroo went to press his hand to your heart and to loudly breathe in and out, trying to get you to follow.

The ticking of the seconds made it feel like ages before you calm down again.

“C’mon, easy there,” Kuroo murmured. “Slowly. In and out.”

Your breathing was calming down again with Kuroo still breathing with you, making sure not to lose your consciousness again.

“You’re doing really well,” he complimented. You wanted to smile but that just hurt too much, and it got you off breathing steadily.

A memory hit you and your head couldn’t take the incredible deep sting it left. You scream it out. And loud.

The blood…

Kuroo didn’t know what to do but embrace you in a deep hug.

“It’s okay, you’re here now.”

You wanted to scream again, scream the pain away, but you didn’t want to hurt Kuroo’s ears. You bite your lips until you taste the disgusting iron flavor, gagging.

“I need you to tell me whether or not you’re going to throw up, so I can get you to the nearest sink, okay?”

You nodded slowly, shaking all over. The metallic flavor of blood was sinking in your throat and you were trying your hardest not to throw up.

“Kuroo,” you creaked, “I think—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Kuroo got you up and moving to a sink.

He held your hair back but the only thing that came back was slime and what felt like bile. You were choking on your breathing and Kuroo let you go, rummaging around you while trying to get one thing or another, you didn’t know. You were too focused on controlling your breathing while having the urge to throw up.

“Kuroo,” you say his name again, but you don’t really know why.

“It’s his fault,” Kuroo bites out, “isn’t it?”

You didn’t really know who he was talking about, but he was probably right.

Your eyes opened in agony. Something was hurting.

You were breathing in and out but it felt like oxygen wasn’t your friend.

Something grabbed you and the familiar touch made you come back to Earth.

“(Y/n),” a voice said. You recognized him in an instant. “Good to see you’re safe.”

“Of course,” you smirked at him, still struggling to breathe at a normal pace. The second your eyes met each other you felt a familiar calm flooding over you, warming you up. Your smirk changed into a soft smile. “Good to see you here, Sakusa-san.”

“I told you not to call me that,” he said, his voice trying to be playful but his eyes were going against that: they were stern and looking ahead of him, focusing on the sight through the peephole.

“You know I can’t help it,” you whispered, leaning up into him. His body, though, didn’t react to your weight on him. You were satisfied with that. That was plenty of attention you needed of him right now.

“How are your parents?”

The question made Sakusa whimper a little. “Don’t know,” was his short answer. He was trying his hardest to not show you the trigger it had to his voice; you noticed that much.

You didn’t say anything back. The sound of his voice was the only answer you needed.

Shots were heard outside, followed by the sound of two helicopters flying around in the area. In reaction, you winced. Sakusa enclosed his free arm around you. “We’ll be alright,” he promised you. “We have to be.”

You could only nod.

Your memory distorted and you suddenly found yourself in a field of bodies, and you screamed.

“Sakusa!” you yelled out loud. “Where the fuck are you?!”  

You had dropped the suffix and called him out with a swear word. It felt distant, but it also didn’t. Your heart was aching and you nearly succumbed to the smell of the dead bodies surrounding you.

As long as he wasn’t one of them.

The thought struck your mind with a corrupt feeling. You felt like you were experiencing deja-vu.

Shaken by the immense pain and pang through your heart, you opened your eyes. The white of the lights stung your eyes like a needle, but not as much as before. You closed them to shut the pain out.

“Y/n,” the familiar voice of your best friend called out. “Y/n, it’s okay.” Kuroo wiped your cheeks. Trailing his hands, you realize you had been crying.

“How long was I out for?” you mumbled.

“A minute or so, I believe. Nothing too bad.” He wiped the wet strands of hair from your face, too.

You softly blow out through your nose. “It felt more like five hours.”

“Those dreams can do that to you,” Kuroo said softly, supporting your back in trying to get you up straight.

You muttered a soft “thanks,” to him, and gladly accepted the water he had gotten you when you were dreaming. Or more like having a nightmare.

“Do you remember what you dreamed about?” he asked you. “If you don’t mind, I want to make some notes on it so that I can research it a little more.”

“I guess,” you muttered.

You tried recalling the dream, but suddenly the memory was starting to fade.

That’s when it dawned on you. Sakusa-san was the man from your dreams. Had always been the man from your dreams. But you were never able to save him. He was your pair and even in your last reincarnation, you weren’t able to save him. Again.

It needed to change.

“Kuroo,” you suddenly said, “I need to find him.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Is that him?”

“I am very positive, yes.”

“Well then, I guess we got no other choice than try to hunt him down,” Kuroo joked.

“Ew,” you pulled a disgusted face, “why are you like this, I hate this.”

Kuroo laughed. “Anything to try and cheer you up. Anyways, what do you want me to do for you?”

“With your knowledge and amazing detective skills,” you said, putting the right emphasis on ‘amazing’ to really have him convinced of the job. “You know you’re the perfect candidate to really dive into the mystery that is apparently Sakusa Kiyoomi. From the looks of it of last time, he hasn’t realized yet, but maybe has never had that connection with someone else before, you know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You remember you had become positive of the reincarnation theories when you met Kuroo, especially after the stories your grandfather told you, but of course you can never be sure of other events misdirecting you. Sakusa Kiyoomi might not have had that certain connection with someone else yet. In that aspect, you were thankful for Kuroo.

You and Kuroo were silent for a second. Something was bothering you but you couldn’t specifically point it out.

“So, any specifics?” Kuroo asked you, having taken out his notebook, ready to take some notes. “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he whispered, his tongue outside his mouth while noting down the characters to his name.

There was one thought that just couldn’t leave your mind. Ever since you had met him you had one thought that was impossible ignoring. You needed nothing else than that.

“Just… what does he do… that he needs all those bodyguards for?”

[doomedandstoned]

Gangrened Conjure Dizzying Atmosphere in ‘Deadly Algorithm’

~Review by Billy Goate~

Before us lies an enigma called 'Deadly Algorithm' (2021) by Finnish band GANGRENED, whom we've introduced you to before, when they dropped that wonderfully dreary doomer 'We Are Nothing' (2014). Let me share with you the diary of my thoughts as I immersed myself in their recently released full-length.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

Deadly Algorithm starts with gentle, quiet picking that echoes faintly, but already surrounds us with a strange, if inviting, airspace. A melodic line develops as "Harrbåda" gains volume, building it seems towards a crescendo -- then suddenly stopping as a drumroll interrupts. The atmosphere returns to quirks and quarks, increasingly distorted notes, spikes of reverberating rhythm. All the while, the same short impermanent melodic motif makes its statement, until it flitters away into the void.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

"Triptaani" makes a strong entrance, this time with galled vocal attack and a slow, but strong, guitar lead girded by the fuzz-sparked gears of bass and drum languidly moving this machine along. A hail of shredding follows, with cymbals crashing to a throbbing beat, leading to one ardent chord laid upon another. Eventually the pace slows to a crawl, with dissonant harmonies, and a wild solo from Jon Imbernon that's almost overcome by the industrial crunch of Lassi Männikkö's dumming, Joakim Udd's vile spew of noise, Mikko Mannistö's declamatory singing.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

"Hologrammi" features more familiar doom pacing with a searing riffage, a slow burn flow of bass and drums, and clean (but pissed off) crooning. It's surrounded by a mesmerizing jumble of pedal effects, noise, downtuned instrumental buzz, and crackling amps -- of which make its climactic moment of vocal delivery emphatic and powerful.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

Intricate guitar trilling action introduces “Kuningatar” and it sounds almost like temelos dancing upon its appointed harmonic scale in those opening moments. By the time the rest of the crew sounds off, it turns into a frightening ensemble, indeed. I imagine this would be quite chilling to experience in a live setting. While the vocals feel swallowed up in the great reverberating wall of sound, it seems to add to the mystique of the whole dim sound environment. Psychedelic noodling returns six minutes and if you listen carefully you can hear a seething malediction pronounced sternly beneath the fray of scattered noise, synth, and pedal effects. Great doom returns to ground us to reality and the band improvises a swirl of activity that makes me think of the wandering spirits released from the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

”Triangeli” grabs hold of us with a rumbling bass line that establishes the song’s basic theme, soon to be reinforced by guitar. Meanwhile, words are spoken with accented cymbals and hypnotic drumming. The song ends with whispered lyrics uttered over a soundgarden of riffage, soft cymbals, omnipotent bass rumble, and the cycling sounds of amp feedback. I don't know the words, and the singer refuses to share them, so that means what he's singing is left up to your fertile imagination. Or you can just enjoy the vocal aesthetic and what it contributes to this dense, dark atmosphere.

A cathartic journey, indeed, which I ventured on while I was in an especially discouraged and pissed off mood. Even though I understood not its words, I felt its sentiment and it was in some way cleansing. Available digitally, on vinyl and compact disc as an independent release (order here).

Interviewing Gangrened Guitarist Jon Imbernon

By Billy Goate

You've been a band for quite a while. I understand you are one of the founding members, too. How did Gangrened form to begin with?

Well, we were a bunch of guys living in the same area around ostrobotnia, between kokkola and new karleby, here in the center west coast of finland. so few of us had the idea to do the band so we asked the others, but none of those guys except me are still in the band. high level of mobility because studies in this area of small towns, to bigger cities of Finland.

It sounds like there are challenges keeping a band together in Ostrobotnia? I imagine it makes it ver5y challenging to get new band members to replace the old. Is there much of a music scene to speak of?

Yeah, actually I'm not from here myself. I'm Basque/Spanish and in the specific area I live, like around 110 kilometers or so, there's no real bands or scene, but if you go forward you reach Oulu in the north or Seinajoki, bigger cities with more bands and such. And yes, from the exact spot I live now, I have needed to look more than 100 kms to find new members. I'm moving in a near future to Tampere, so that should help in strengthening the line-up.

So how long has the most recent crew of Gangrened been together?

Since May of 2015, just after some dates we played with Bongzilla in Finland, the entire line-up shifted.

Gangrened basically means "gangrene" right?

It's like "corrupted," you know? Yes, the name comes from the illness.

My grandfather's big toe got infected from a cut because he didn't treat it properly. When he finally went to a doctor, they told him he would have to amputate his foot to live. He refused, stating he wanted to die with both of his feet on. So he officially died of gangrene!

Ouch! Okay...

Did you pick Gangrened for any special reason, like the corruption of society or something like that?

Yeah, that kind of reason. I wanted some grimmy name, but actually now it's getting a bit inappropriate, as we are not so typically doom sludge anymore.

How would you describe/characterize your sound now?

Well, I would say it is deep and varied. Actually, I think this record is like transitional, just because, for example, one song "Hologrammi" is an old song we included. But newer stuff goes beyond what has been previously recorded, take songs like "Triangeli" or "Kuningatar."

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

We reviewed 'We Are Nothing' back in 2014, and at the time we described your sound in terms of: "Slow, behemoth sized riffs. Excessive feedback. Fuzz worship." What would you say has changed or is different now, as your sound, style, and general musical approach has evolved?

Well, at some point, just as an exercise of abstraction to what we were doing, how it was turning out with songs like "Triangeli" or "Kuningatar" I decided to look into my whole musical background, and keep on adding elements from it. Also I got bored of the regular sludge-doom thing. So I considered it more interesting, and more comfortable to me, to keep an essence of slow and heavy music, and atmospheric at times, but not so defined inside the regular sludge-doom thing. The atmosphere feels very trippy, even psychedelic at times.

Let's talk about the new album. Why is it called 'Deadly Algorithm'? I think about 10 years ago, I never used the word "algorithm," but now it's a common word that most people at least understand in concept.

Well, I'm studying now in the university again, engineering in information technology, and at same time i'm a person a lot with strong progressive values, so through my studies and also digging on related topics like online privacy or the evolution and development of the new technologies I found alarming how the new technologies are going and its implications.

There are several key things that many people do not think about: smart phones have like six sensors on average to spot your location, plus no company gives services for free. If so, it's because the product is the user of the service. There's no other reason for that. So beginning with these facts, there are a lot of things going on that everyone should be aware of, and the album theme is all about that. Nowadays, data algorithms are making more and more decisions in our lives that no more take into account true needs as humans.

It seems like we have created our own virtual prison, without even realizing it.

Yes, but the thing is who runs the prison? not ourselves at all.

Getting into the songs themselves, are they all sung in Finnish?

Yes. At first some were in english but then the singer decided to sing all songs in Finnish.

Starting with the first song, can you tell us what each title means and what themes you explore?

The first song ("Harrbåda") is simply the name of a coastal area around here. The second ("Triptaani") is a medicine for headaches. The third song ("Hologrammi") is named obviously after a hologram. The fourth ("Kuningatar") means "Queen" and the last ("Triangeli") is "triangle."

Is there any conceptual, thematic, or spiritual relationship between these tracks?

It's quite a personal thing to the singer, he wrote the lyrics and I can't exactly tell you their meaning because Mikko Mannistö is a bit secretive about it. But personal things, yes. Personal matters to him.

Tell us a little bit about the recording process. Where did you record, with whom, and are there any memories that stand out from that time?

Well, we started recording the record in june 2018, with a friend of the singer, at some big rooms in a youth center house. We did most of the recordings with him until February of 2019. At that time, we asked a few people to mix, master, and finish the process. but nothing worked and there was some time wasted waiting for answers.

I decided moving forward we would go with someone who is recording records all the time and known by us, so we asked Tom Brooke, an English guy who lives close to Jyväskylä, runs a studio, and is the live sound technician for Oranssi Pazuzu. So we finished the record, a few more guitar tracks, mixing, and mastering with him.

I remember there was a long time between sessions, so new ideas were constantly coming to us to add to the songs for the next session. That’s why some guitar tracks were added for mixing just the day before starting to mix.

I'm sure you were relieved once all the recording, mixing, and mastering was finally done!

Yeah ! like this is the record and now its totally defined and wrapped up. As a guitarist, what can you tell us about the guitar writing on the new album? Anything that you are especially proud of or that you think the listener should pay special attention to?

The intro is all played by me, and then the weirdest stuff, noisy guitar here and there, and the first half of riffs of triptaani , i'm quite proud of the first two or three riffs, and I used to be proud about some riffs in the middle of "hologrammi." The noisiest and more psyched out guitars of kuningatar.

Tell us about what you, as a guitarist, used in the studio while recording 'Deadly Algorithm'

Well, so I used three guitars to record the album: one Gibson SG Standard from the late '90s, another SG Standard from 1980, and a Gibson Les Paul Classic from around 1991. The SG from the late '90s was ultra-modded -- I changed the finish, pickups, electronics, tuners, but in the end sold it and now it's owned by David from Slomatics. The 1980 I just bought for the recording, so it was all stock. Later, I changed the pickups. The Gibson Les Paul also had all replaced tuners, circuit pickups, and so. It's my main guitar and I used it in most of the songs. The SGs I just used for "Triangeli," the last song.

About effects, I use a Big Muff Fuzz mainly, but also a custom Dunwich Amps FuzzThrone for the ultra heavy parts, like at the end of "Kuningatar." Other effects I used were the Dunlop Echoplex pedal and the Strymon Capistan. I love tape echo sounds and these pedals emulate it. Also, another effect I really like and couldn't live without is the Earthquaker Devices Transmisser. I used it in three of the songs.

Amps used included an '80s Laney AOR Pro Tube and Orange OR120 from 1975 and a late '70s Matamp GT120. Every rhythm guitar track was recorded with two of them at same time, mainly the Matamp and the Laney. That probably is the main sound of the album, but I think "Hologrami" I recorded with the Orange and the Matamp. About cabs, I used two Orange cabs -- one with Eminence speakers the other with WGS speakers.

Have you had a chance to play live at all since the pandemic?

Nope, we haven't been rehearsing either.

If you had your choice to tour with any five bands and play in any five places, what would they be and why?

We are keeping it for when there's no risk of cancellations, we have some date plans and so on, but it sucks to cancel things so we are just waiting. I would play with Unsane in New York for example then some bands I have liked recently, even if some are inactive at this moment. Belzebong, Nightslug, Domkraft, Follakzoid, and the body also.

That would be a sick line-up!

What parts of the world would you like to travel to?

Well, I've never been to America or Asia. I have been to Europe, the UK, and Russia only.

Okay, yeah it would be cool to have you come over here and play for us sometime.

Yeah, would be nice

Lastly, did you all wear your heart on the opposite sides of your head for this photo to give the illusion that your heads are on backwards? Or was it digitally manipulated to make it look like your heads were on the wrong way? I love the concept!

I made that pic myself. I took two photographs, one of us in front and another in the backs. So then I took the heads of the back picture and put on our front bodies pic, with Photoshop. David lynch-ish vibes!

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[mystic-voyager]

Serpent’s Spell

 Part I - Tribune Of Gold

Part II -  Call To My Past

Date:04/05/20

Ship / Pairing: Anxceit

Mentions: Remus

Word Count: 1542

Trigger Warning: Mild Mind Control & Manipulation, Physical Violence, Physical Assault, Beating, Abuse, Blood, Torture. 

(Let me know if i missed any)

Song Inspiration:

Echo

Come Along

Sorcerers Apprentice

Summary: Virgil wakes to find himself in the one place he had run from all those years ago. Meanwhile Deceit sets to work on inflicting a lot more than just psychological pain. 

It was quiet in the mindscape. Only for an unhinged, deranged cackle which echoed through the halls as the frequency bounced off and along the corridors. 

"How long has he been out?" A brute male questioned, impatient, looking between the unconscious boy, Virgil and Deceit. "Long enough" The snake-faced male replied in a steady tone, whilst he remained crouched down in front of the limp form, face to face. He looked so peaceful laying there. Although unconscious, Virgil looked relaxed and at ease for the very first time. 

With a snap of his fingers, a soft gold hue began to form as it was protruded from the boy's chest, eliciting a soft, pitiful whimper. "You've gone soft DD ..." The other spoke up, which earnt an unforgiving scowl from the 2 faced male, who snapped back in return. "Don't you have anything you could be doing, other than being here you brat!" In turn, the hidden figure backed off, as they retreated into the darkness.

The deceitful side’s attention returned to the task at hand. "Easy now ..." Virgil began to stir, while he released another muffled groan in protest. As the boy's eyes opened, he recoiled in sudden reaction, colliding with the wall which he was propped up against. 

"Wha- What happened?" Virgil mused, his voice raw and croaky.

Rubbing his head from the collision he had just caused before his attention had turned to the chains shackled around his wrist to which kept him there. Virgil looked around, unable to see much in the low lit area.

"Your Home" 

The boy's eyes widened in fear, unable to stop his heart from rapidly thumping against the case that contained it. "N-No ...No...No..." Protest after protest left him as a single tear escaped his eye. "What have you done!" He retaliated in disbelief and horror, the boy's voice projecting around the room. 

"Come now, Virgil ..." A sly smirk played on his lips before he reached out with a gloved hand. Virgil jerked his head away in a swift motion spitting at deceit in refusal. "Don't!" Abruptly, the two-faced male stood, towering over the boy in sovereignty. Looming over him, blocking the view of the rest of the room from their peripheral vision, as his face twisted and distorted. 

"We are not the same and never will be!" Virgil spat in venom as he locked eyes with the other dark-cloaked male who towered above him with illuminating eyes, only for a smile to be returned at his words. "Kings and gods have bowed before me. What makes you think you can refuse?" The question silver-lined, spoken by the tongue of a corrupt man. 

The boy’s head dropped to his knees defeated, as the question hung in the air unanswered. Before Virgil could spare a glance, the figure disappeared into nothingness, leaving him alone among his thoughts. 

In the end, they were all made of flesh that could be cut and bones that could be broken. But sometimes memories are the worst form of torture. 

Days turned into nights. Seconds became minutes as they then turned into hours. Only for one thing to always stay the same among the rest of the change. 

Silence. 

No one had shown their face. His body had begun to waste away, his strength diminishing as he all the while remained shackled to the wall. The hope of being saved reduced to nothing. He knew, knew that this was all just some elaborate scheme, having him waste away so eventually he could sweep in and save the day with his lies of perfection. 

The boy found himself roused from the unconscious state he had slipped into at some point of his capture. Unable to keep his eyes open, all the while they strained. His muscles ached as his head swam in the emptiness.

“-il … -gil …” To Virgil, the words turned into muffles which his ears were met with, as he worked to un-jumble the separate sounds. The frame of his head lolled from side to side freely, his body free of the hefty weight he had been carrying around for so long, unknowing of the burden. 

When Virgil next woke, he found himself in another location unlike the one he was held captive in before. He was no longer chained to the wall … or sitting. Instead he found himself dangling from the ceiling by his wrists, by chains that suspended him in the air, which prevented him from reaching the floor.

His pupils slowly began to adjust, enlarging ever so slightly as the obnoxious light surrounded the crypt like catacomb. A crisp, frosty breeze pushed against his chest which had him looking down to see his bare naked chest exposed. 

“Glad to see your back with us …” The disembodied voice spoke, addressed in such silvery.

Confusion hit him as a question was thrown his way, simultaneously he tried puzzling together what had happened throughout the delusional interim period which remained blank. 

“Are you familiar with ling chi?” Through furrowed knitted brows, the rhetorical question was answered with a piercing cry, while a silver serrated blade was drawn from its guard before it was found slicing down the boys shoulder blades, leaving behind a clean precise incision. 

With each incision made, came an explanation. “Ling chi is also known as slow slicing.” To demonstrate, the 2 faced male made another incision, from the top of his spine down to the bottom. 

With each incision made of the blade came a shrill like cry, as his body racked from the trembles. His lips red raw from his teeth gnawing through the thin layer of skin, enough to draw blood, in an attempt to muffle his whimpers. 

The two faced villain continued on as if giving a presentation. He rambled on, every now and then making another incision after his point had been made, for emphasis. “It dates back to as early as the 10th century.” A matter of fact tone explained, which was remitted with a muffled sob. 

Virgil was relieved when the blade was removed, followed by his captors' footsteps as they grew distance. He willed himself  to breath in order to compose himself before the other returned. The silent question he found himself asking soon answered by the crack of a whip that met his crimson covered skin. 

The routine always the same.

“Flogging” Crack! “Flogging dates back to 1802” Crack! “Back then it was better known for its use in the public flogging of slaves.” Crack! 

A shriek flew from the younger boy's mouth as he lurched forward with each and every crack of the whip before it made contact with his back, unable to withstand the pain.  His back opened up, discolouring the pale white skin, as it soon became indistinguishable from Deceit’s work. 

Throughout the torture brought on by the 2 headed snake, Virgil had given himself over to the blissful darkness that coaxed him into an all to familiar state of unconsciousness.

The safety of the unconscious was ripped from his grasp as he was brought back into the land of the living to his dismay, with a stifled cry, waves of pain had overthrown his body. His brief reprieve had been cut short as he was slowly brought back into consciousness. His eyes blurry, but the face in front of him was standing close enough for him to make out that it was Deceit. 

Something, something was different. His eyes. His eyes were no longer cold and detached. No, they were soft and loving, full of acceptance. Just like they were back then. 

A gloved hand rose to meet the others cheek. The defenceless, broken down boy had tracks of tears that stained his pale cheeks. 

“You need help, Virgil. Let me help you.” 

There was no hatred. No jealousy. No Deceit that plagued his spoken words. 

The fight had long left his broken body. His shoulders slumped, his head hung loose. His facial features remained soft and deflated. 

No-one was coming. 

With a soft nod of the boy's head, Deceit released him from the restraints that suspended him up off the ground, catching Virgil as he fell. 

“It’s better this way” A warm whisper travelled to the others ear, barely audible.Gloved fingertips held each side of Virgil’s head with a firm immovable grip before the snake closed his eyes as a sly smirk danced upon his lips. 

A strangled breathless gasp had been pulled from the younger of the two, as he was sent hurling to his knees, eyes wide open. Hazel brown orbs now turned a soft golden. 

A whisky golden mist circled them, as the room turned to a storm. Light chanting was spilled from the original mastermind as his eyes opened, revealing a flash of purple turned gold. The storm began to die down, turning to a gentle breeze. Virgil descended towards the floor as he collapsed to the floor with a thud, writhing quietly as his every nerve was set ablaze.

Another figure joined the two, stepping out of the shadows and into the light, to take his rightful place beside their ring leader. 

They say I’m a traitor. Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do.

[strawbabybug]

Memory pt 2

part 1 here: (x)

death/violence tw (don’t worry, theres gonna be a part 3 where i Fix Things)

Memento (Unus) goes to find the entity that corrupted Wilford’s spirit and finds more than he bargained for...

---------

What was Time to a god? What was Death? When you’d lived so long, been through so much of humanities’ worst moments, perhaps you simply stopped fearing the end. They spoke so much of accepting the end, yet when it came to it… He was afraid, wasn’t he? 

Or maybe it was less that he was afraid of the end, but of what happened after. Not for him. Whatever faced him in the endless abyss, he could take. But what of his partner, who had never lived without him? What of humanity? What would happen after he was gone? Would he be replaced? Or would Time itself simply cease to be? Cease to be controlled, until all the world was full of plotholes and messed up lines? 

Would Mori mourn him? Or would the god of Death simply understand that it was his time and move on with his grief? He’d hate to think of him crying like he did when he was first created, a simple child in the new world needing to come to terms with loss.

He supposed it didn’t matter much in the end, however. Everyone died. It’s what they represented. It’s why they were named as they were. Memento Mori. Remember death. Even the gods could be killed, their golden ichor spilled on marble floors. This was simply part of life. He could do nothing but accept it. 

But there was one regret. 

He had never considered, after Mori came to be, that he would die alone. 

But he was the only one he could blame for this.

The wind blew colder when Memento finally found what he had been searching for. He could feel the same strangeness on the “man” standing on the hilltop with his arms folded behind him as if waiting for something, the same oddity that he had felt on Wilford. Something familiar to his own power, but corrupted somehow in a way he still didn’t understand yet. 

As he walked up to the man, he knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the static air as he felt the world greying around him. The man was wrong. He didn’t exist- not like anyone should exist. Even looking at him, it was headache inducing. Red and blue trickled behind the grey aura he emitted. 

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How it all goes in circles? Like a wild game of cat and mouse?” The man’s voice was low, seeming to echo through the open landscape, quieting all natural sound with the ringing that followed him. “But I suppose you don’t remember me in this form. Besides, I’m sharing with a few others now.” 

As the man turned around, Memento recognized Damien’s face, though much more distorted, as though his face was no more than an illusion. As he stepped closer, squinting through the facade, he could see eyes that were startlingly similar to his own- as though the true face underneath were his own, or a face that resembled his, at the least. 

But as he looked into those eyes, looked into the soul inside them, he found himself in a black abyss. 

Blinking, he looked around, his brows furrowing as he looked at the empty Upside Down, confused. This wasn’t how it usually happened. He’d see them, see through their eyes in the Mindscape he brought them to, but he was himself in the wrong place. This was Mori’s realm. This was… Death. 

The emptiness was broken by a single snowflake. Then another. And another, another, until Memento was surrounded by an empty snowstorm, dead branches whipping around him in the fierce wind. They cut into his suit, leaving tears in the pressed black fabric, drawing black blood from his arms and face. It was all he could do to try and shield himself from the branches, try to cover his ears as the ringing in his ears grew louder until it was shrieking through the storm, shaking the ground he stood on. 

As the wind seemed to ease up, Memento looked up, finding himself surrounded by mirrors embellished with golden frames. He looked around, seeing himself, his eyes wide and… frightened. He stared at himself, seeing the fear in his own soul, something he thought he’d long gotten past. 

The ringing was deafening, and as cracks began appearing in the mirror, his own reflection changed, and suddenly, he was looking at a much younger version of himself. A small boy in a toga with the flames of Alexandria in his horrified eyes. Memento felt the ground hit his knees as he watched himself fall to his knees, holding his chest as he felt a piece of himself die, be destroyed and forgotten from the world forever. He could still feel it in his heart, that hole that was never recovered. 

The glass shattering from the mirrors, heavy shards and tiny pebbles alike, began swirling around him, and only now, as he came back to his own senses, did he realize that the man had wanted to be found. This was a trap, to get rid of Time through killing Memento. 

The swirling stopped suddenly, the sparkling shards suspended in the air around him like glittering stars in the clear moonless night. 

And then he saw it. The Manor. 

He understood. 

There was once a man who had craved power before anything else. Who had sold his soul for it, who had invited a demon into his body to gain all earthly and otherworldly power. Together, they’d caused chaos for Memento and Mori, hundreds of years ago. They’d trapped them there, keeping them from affecting anyone else. He remembered it. With Mori’s power, it had been almost easy. 

But he saw the flashes of memory, the echoes of the past which told a story of love and betrayal and rage that was taken advantage of. Mark’s mind had been poisoned by the influence of the spirits of that house, and in turn, he had fueled them. 

He saw the way that they broke free, how they stole Celine and Damien’s bodies, how the new trapped souls were able to convince the District Attorney to let them take their body, how the man Memento had trapped all those years ago had snuck out to freedom with them, trapping the D.A. in the house in his place. 

“You can’t stop me a second time,” the man’s voice crooned in the emptiness as everything disappeared except the shattered mirror shards. “It’s too bad that your other half isn’t here to save you this time. Tick tock, your time is up~!” 

As Memento looked around for the man, he caught the reflection in one of the bigger shards. He could see him smiling in triumph for a moment before it was replaced with his own disheveled face. In another shard, he saw a woman- Celine- with her eyes closed as if unconscious- then Damien in the same state in another shard. 

The ringing suddenly started again, causing Memento to double over with a scream as it rang in his head, through his body- he could feel the shards swirling again, cutting into his skin as they flew by him. The air was freezing, but the blood he could feel from the cuts, coming from his ears, his eyes, his nose, dripping from his tongue- it was all burning hot. 

He was choking on the hot, sticky liquid, unable to speak as it spilled from his mouth, coughing it out in pitch black globs like solidifying oil. He could feel the tears spilling from his eyes, running streaks down his cheeks, and it all amounted to the overwhelming realization that he was truly afraid for the first time in millenia. 

He just wanted it to stop. 

Be careful what you wish for, as the age old saying went. 

He almost didn’t notice the glass shards piercing every inch of his body. The spear ripping through his chest took up too much of his attention. He almost laughed. It was the hand of a grandfather clock. 

It was so quiet. The man was gone. Damien and Celine were gone. He was alone, not even the shards or clock hand remaining with him as proof that any of it had happened. Only the black abyss remained, the heat of the blood pools that blended too well into it, only visible on his pale skin, bleeding fast from the wounds that remained. 

Shallow breaths were the only sound in the quiet. Memento didn’t know if he was already dead. Maybe this itself was Death. Maybe it was simply an eternity of this silence and the pain. 

He stared up into the darkness, feeling his eyelids growing heavier. He thought for a moment that he could hear Mori’s voice calling for him in the distance. Death was imminent. In these final moments, Memento thought of his other half. His partner, who had been by his side for many millennia. Life had gained so much more meaning once Death was there to remind him that Time was temporary. He was ready to accept it. He knew that Mori had the strength to go on without him. But a last reminder wouldn’t be remiss, and Memento could fade into the night with reassurance as long as he was sure that Mori knew. 

So his stained lips moved, his voice worn but soft. “If I should die and leave you here a while, be not like others sore undone, who keep long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.” 

“Memento!” Mori’s voice was louder now, filled with a hurt and a heartbreak that only seemed to make the hole in Memento’s chest wider. The pounding footsteps grew louder, and Memento could make out the bright whiteness of Mori’s suit against the darkness. 

Mori fell to his knees beside his oldest friend, his pristine suit being stained by the black blood spilling along the ground, his hands being covered as he held to Memento’s body, as if trying to staunch the bleeding despite them both knowing there was no use. 

Memento sighed a breath of relief at seeing his face, his hand gripping weakly to Mori’s suit, then his hand as Mori grabbed it, holding it between his own, kissing his knuckles with a hard breath. 

“For my sake – turn again to life and smile, nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do something to comfort weaker hearts than thine,” Memento whispered, keeping his eyes on Mori’s eyes, the brown being overcome by white as milky tears spilled down his face. 

Memento guided his hand up, Mori helping him keep his strength. They both closed their eyes as Mori leaned down to press his forehead to Memento’s. Mori let out a shaky sigh as he saw it all- everything that Memento had seen- Wilford, the Colonel’s memories, Damien and Celine, Mark, the house…

Memento let out a breath, opening his eyes slightly just to catch one last glimpse of Mori’s face. The one who had been with him through most of humanity’s tragedies, who had completed him and given him a reason to be. He hoped that this was enough to tell him everything that he’d never said aloud. “Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine…” He swallowed hard, his breath catching as he felt another tear slip from his eye. “And I... perchance may therein... comfort you,” he finished through hard breaths, feeling Mori’s fingers tightening on his suit jacket. 

“Mem… no, you can’t- you can’t leave me, it can’t be your time,” Mori argued with a heartbroken whisper. 

“It’ll be alright, Mor. We know better than anyone… Everything comes to an end,” Memento breathed, his vision blurring too much to make out Mori’s features anymore. “Even us. You will go on without me. You’ll be okay. I accept this. And you…” Memento sighed, finally shutting his eyes. “You’ll always hold me with you.” 

Mori said something, but Memento couldn’t make out the words. The pain was faded like a distant memory, as was the feeling of Mori’s warm hands. All there was was peace. 

Memento Mori. Remember, you will die.

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 19 - Demon

A MLP/Persona 4 crossover. Spike has fallen into a deep sleep, and Luna and Twilight venture into his mind to find out what's wrong. (2238 words)

cw: MLP, Persona 4, kidnapping mention

Twilight and Luna ran through the castle. Twilight had called on the alicorn of night when Spike had fallen into a deep sleep, and Zecora had been unable to help. With Luna's help, the two alicorns cast themselves into his subconscious. However, Twilight wasn't prepared for the twisted, creepy landscape within.

<These ponies don't know the greatness amidst them!>

Spike's voice, distorted, sharp, pained and painful, echoed all around them as they navigated the halls. Exaggerated, clingy caricatures of Rarity flung themselves at them, assaulting the mares with magically-created gemstones. They spoke in unison, "you will not harm our precious Spikey-Wikey! He who commands the respect of all!" Wherever the gemstones fell, crystal ponies rose from the ground, each wearing "Spike The Brave And Glorious" shirts. Twilight kept a shield around herself and Luna as the night mare navigated through the hallways.

<A creature that eats their kind for breakfast, they treat like a pet!>

"As weird as this is to say," Twilight shouted over the din of crashing crystals and shrieking mares with white coats and flowing, purple manes, "thank you for not telling me we have to kill Rarity."

<Unloved, disrespected... They don't deserve the noble deeds I do every day.>

"Your gratitude is appreciated but misguided," Luna called back, using her own telekinesis to guide Twilight quickly through a sharp corner, "would we not be immediately overrun, I would welcome the chance to train you in dream fighting." A gem struck the carpet before them. The pair leapt over it as it formed a crystal pony. Luna cast a spell as a Parthian shot; it struck the newly-made mare, causing her to continue to develop into a thick, crystal wall as they fled, sporting numerous eyes, limbs, and semitransparent cutie marks.

<A Brave and Glorious knight, or a ferocious dragon from all those scare-mongering storybooks... they both have the right idea!>

The purple alicorn looked back and shuddered, pure muscle memory forcing her to keep galloping on. "What kind of spell was that?!"

<Something as strong as a dragon deserves a princess!>

This time, it was followed by a soft, pleading "no... don't..." in Spike's normal voice.

"Dreams need not make sense, Twilight Sparkle," Luna replied as they came to a door. There was a rough-cut, heart-shaped hole in it, where a lock would be, and the alchemical symbol for fire printed above it. "As often as I disagree with the draconequus, adapting chaos magic from Discord can be helpful in a pinch." She squinted at the door. "A fire-attuned heart? Twilight, you are Spike's guardian. Do you know what would fit here? Something deeply related to his sense of identity."

<If I can keep her, clearly I'm the Prince Charming of legend. And if she is stolen from me...>

"this isn't right... i would never..."

Twilight racked her brain, running back through her memories of Spike, growing up with him, watching him figure himself out. Not the Crystal Heart, it was too big. Not a Power Ponies book. Not that bowtie from the incident with Owlowicious. The mare gasped. Rarity! "It's a fire ruby! He was going to give it to himself for his hatchday, but gave it to Rarity instead. When he went into Greed Growth, she refused to give it over to the rampaging... Spike, and that helped bring him back!"

<Then it is not just my duty, but my desire, my destiny! to bring her back. No matter how much she screams.>

"if she's screaming, that's not..."

A piercing shriek jolted Luna's attention to another caricature of Rarity. The alicorn's eyes gleamed as she challenged the dream monster, "you're no true Rarity! Spike would never give you that fire ruby!" The white mare grinned a manic grin full of sharp teeth a dragon would be envious of, then held up a fire ruby in her magic. Luna's horn glowed, and a powerful beam of magic drove the creature through a wall, making its own magical field flicker and break. "Twilight! The gem!"

<She will be the crown jewel of my hoard. She will respect me. They will all respect me. I will be the strongest, bravest, most glorious dragon of all!>

"it's... a lie..."

A purple hue shimmered to life around the fire ruby, stopping it just inches before it hit the ground and sprouted a crystal pony, or shattered. Twilight quickly maneuvered it into place in the lock, which clicked. The huge door opened into what looked like a corrupted version of the Canterlot throne room. The stained glass windows showed images of Spike saving the Crystal Heart, Spike dressed as his Ogres and Oubliettes character, Spike as Humbug beating up the Maneiac, Spike saving Applejack from timberwolves, and many more. The dual thrones of the two sisters had been cast aside near the doorway, and in their place was a massive pile of gold, ice cream, gems, comics, the Elements of Harmony, sets of dice, and even the Crystal Heart.

<A lie? Of course not; lying is such an ignoble behavior. I would never lie about wanting to sit above it all while mares, stallions, and all others alike worship me for the majestic dragon I am.>

"I don't want that!"

On the ornate, gold-and-purple carpet leading to the treasure pile, Twilight saw Spike. She flew towards him, only to stop short when she realized who was on TOP of the treasure pile: Spike, being fawned over by Thorax, Ember, and a much more accurate-looking Rarity... with wings.

<Lying to your own shadow? And you call yourself a knight? Disgusting. I am what lies beneath, the truth you so shamefully cover up. I am truly Spike the Brave and Glorious, and I deserve to be praised for my great deeds! You cower behind ponies, asking politely for, "oh, Twilight, may I not be dragged into your drama for one day? No? Well that's fine." I'm the REAL Spike!>

Twilight looked between the two of them; behind her, Luna barricaded the door against more Rarities and crystal ponies. "Spike? Who is... what's going on?"

The Spike on the floor turned and ran towards her. "Twilight! Don't listen to a word that guy is saying. None of it is true! I'm Spike. **He's not me!"**

Luna whipped her head around and galloped towards them, flapping her wings for speed. However, before she could get there, a blast of green flame shot from the strange Spike's mouth, striking the other Spike too fast for Twilight to even put up a shield.

<WHAT?! I AM you! Just because you constantly lie to yourself because you think it makes PONIES happy, doesn't make it true!> The room darkened; both alicorns could feel an immense power gathering from the dragon's fury. <In fact, I think you're due for a replacement. I will finally command the respect and adulation I deserve.> He glared at the intruding ponies, eyes glowing gold. <And you two will be the first brought to heel as my worshippers!>

There was a crash of thunder, and everything changed. The weather outside the hall grew dark and stormy. The scenes in the stained-glass windows altered, now with red backgrounds: changelings prostrated before Spike, crystal ponies prostrated before Spike, Applejack prostrated before Spike, the Power Ponies prostrated before Spike, the Princesses prostrated before Spike, and more of the same. Thorax and Ember hovered in front of where the hoard had been, huge, unnatural grins plastered on their faces with hearts in their eyes. And as for Spike...

A huge dragon loomed at the far end of the hallway. Every inch of what Twilight was sure were purple scales and a green crest was covered in layers of gold and gems. The creature held a long and broad sword in his mouth, his wings were enormous kite shields with Spike's face emblazoned on them as a crest, and dangling from his tail was the Rarity alicorn, trapped in a golden and diamond-encrusted cage but staring adoringly at the adorned dragon. Twilight felt a weight against her side, and turned to see that the Spike by her had fallen unconscious. She ignited her horn and blinked the two of them away from the amalgamation and the corruptions of the leaders of the dragons and of the changelings.

Luna stepped up, a look of pure determination on her muzzle. "Nightmare," she commanded, "and Tantabus." From her mane and her horn, Nightmare Moon materialized on her left, and the purple, starry dream construct flowed into existence on her right. The alicorn of dreams turned her head to address Twilight, and said, "keep him safe, Twilight Sparkle. I am counting on you. And more importantly, so is he." She crouched, spread her wings, and lit her horn; the two monsters of her own creation followed suit. Spike's shadow roared, and as one, he, Thorax, and Ember rushed forward to meet their opposition.

As magic and gems flew, Twilight concentrated on keeping a solid, purple shield up between the fight, and herself and Spike. This paid off a few times, when a diamond Luna chipped off of Spike's shadow skidded off its surface, or when a solid hit from the changeling-turned-bugbear sent Nightmare Moon careening back and using the shield to spring off of. When she felt she had the time, Twilight funneled some extra magic into Spike's body; it was a rudimentary healing spell, but Twilight hoped it would be enough.

At last, the final blow was struck: the Tantabus severed the shadow's tail with a blade of dreamstuff, cutting the fake Rarity off from the dragon, Luna struck a weak spot with a stunning spell, and Nightmare Moon used the opening to shove what is scientifically called "a boatload" of dark, destructive magic down the dragon's throat. In a flash of light, the scene had returned to where it was before. Spike stirred against Twilight's side as his shadow remained on top of the assorted hoard, the phony alicorn, changeling king, and dragon lord watching him in adulation. Twilight helped the purple dragon next to her to his feet, and they approached once more.

<I will not be denied. I am amazing, and heroic, and I WILL be treated as such!> Spike's distorted voice echoed through the room. <I have more than earned the right to be way more than a scientist's pet lizard!>

Spike sighed and walked up to the pile. "Look... you're... you're not right, but I wasn't fair saying that I don't think that way sometimes. Living with and near a group of mares who save Equestria on, what, a weekly basis? would make anyone feel unappreciated." One dragon climbed the pile, while the other slid down it, sending gold coins and small rubies clinking down the slope. "A month or so ago, I finally realized how much being blinded by my fame and ego hurt other ponies, so I tried to make up for it by pretending not to have any. Just pushing down the thoughts of a reward for everything I do to help.

"It was making me miserable, I suppose, but I did such a good job of hiding it, even I didn't realize what I was doing. I'm sorry, I didn't accept you of first because I was terrified of what I might become - what I HAD become in the past - if I acknowledged your existence. I was so scared of another 'acting on behalf of Princess Twilight' or Greed Growth fiasco that I stopped letting myself feel deserving of anything not offered unprompted." Spike stuck out his hand. "I am Spike the Brave and Glorious; no matter how much I pretend in Ponyville that I don't have a statue in my name, that's just not the case. I saved the Crystal Heart, I delivered all those friendship reports to Twilight when Discord corrupted her, hay, I even DM for Discord. Nopony deserves EVERYTHING, not me, not Twilight, not even the Two Sisters, but I have to stop pretending that, every so often, I kind of like to picture it."

The other Spike took his hand and began to glow. There was a flash of gold, and the other Spike disappeared, leaving only the young dragon who had fainted through the battle. The hoard vanished, too, leaving Ember, Rarity (still an alicorn), and Thorax sitting at a round table with paper and dice in front of them, as well as an unoccupied DM screen. He turned to the two non-Rarity alicorns and smiled. "Thanks, Twilight, Luna. I don't know what would've happened if you two hadn't showed up."

Twilight gave him a bittersweet smile, tears threatening to leak from her eyes. "You're welcome, Spike. I'm sorry I didn't notice you felt this way. We'll have to talk more when you've woken up." She turned to Luna. "And, uh, Luna? Is this a common dream thing, or a special case for him being comatose?"

Luna nodded in acknowledgement of Spike's thanks, then replied to Twilight, "it is... uncommon. Most are not so dangerous or powerful, but I've learned my way around them, as you can see. Now come, we should leave Spike to his dream. If I trust what I glimpsed of those character sheets and campaign notes, you will not want to stick around and watch, either." With a spell, she summoned a door out of Spike's subconscious, and dragged a chronically-curious Twilight away from the table and back into wakefulness.

[starscheme]

With All My Heart

Chapter Sixteen: Foreboding Feelings

 Steven opened his eyes, staring up at a pink ceiling as he remembered the events of last night and glanced beside him. Unfortunately, Spinel was not lying next to him as he expected. Quickly sitting up in bed, Steven looked around until his hand was cut by something sharp beneath the blankets.

He winced a bit and pulled up his hand, moving the blanket to see what had caused the cut. His eyes went wide with horror and his heart all but stopped when he looked down at the shards of Spinel’s gem on the sheets. He felt like he could barely breath as his heart rate increased to a violent speed.

"No. No, no, NO!” He repeated under his breath as he gathered the shards. This was wrong. Spinel didn't shatter. They saved her. Her Gem was cracking yesterday, but she had been healed. He was sure of it. Once he had taken all the shards in his hands, Steven leapt from the bed and out of the room. All the other Crystal Gems were gathered in the living room, whispering about something amongst themselves.

"Guys, Guys! Where's Spinel?!" He asked in a panic, gripping the shards so tight that the sharp edges were digging into his hands.

Pearl turned to Steven, visibly upset. "Steven...you can’t keep holding onto those. Spinel wouldn't want to hurt you..."

"What? What are you talking about," asked Steven, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I told you we shouldn't have let him keep the shards..." Amethyst sighed sadly.

Tears began to flood down Pearls cheeks as she turned away from Steven. "Not now, Amethyst..." began Pearl as she tried to keep herself from sobbing openly, “I didn't want to bubble her just yet either. She was my..."

"She was important to all of us," added Garnet simply.

"Where is Spinel?!" Demanded Steven again.

Pearl choked out a whimper before covering her face with her hands. Amethyst placed her hand on Pearls back and looked to Garnet for help.

The fusion took a step forward and placed her hand at the top of Stevens head. "Steven, Spinel shattered yesterday."

"No. ...you're wrong," Steven began as he stepped back. "You weren't even there!"

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I got back too late. ...but I'm telling you the truth. After she shattered, you wouldn't let us bubble her and locked yourself in the temple."

Steven was breathing heavily now, scanning his memory for some sign that she was wrong. This had to be wrong. He looked down at the shards in his hands, the glittering pieces laced with his own blood now. This couldn't be Spinel. Though despite his denial, tears gushed from his eyes, dripping down on the shards and washing them of his blood. "No. ...NO!" Steven shouted, his voice echoing through their home and effectively startling the young man awake with a gasp.

Once Steven was actually awake, he quickly sat up in bed and looked beside him, relieved to see a peacefully sleeping Spinel. His heart was still beating rapidly, and his chest still ached from the pain he felt in his nightmare, but he was relieved all the same. However, just to make sure he wasn't still dreaming, Steven reached over, gently running the back of his hand over Spinel’s cheek. This was real. Right?

Catching his breath, Steven laid himself back down, staring up at the pink ceiling in silence. That dream felt so real. Apparently his subconscious wanted to remind him one more time of what he almost lost yesterday. As if he really needed such a frightening reminder.

"Steven...?" Spinel breathed quietly, as she stared sleepily over at the young man who seemed distraught.

Turning to look at her curious eyes, Steven recalled the shards from his dream and without a word; he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her.

"Steven?" Spinel repeated as she was pulled in against his chest. Though she was confused, she couldn't deny being happy when he held her so close. It's just that he looked upset.

"I'm just glad that you're still here..." he whispered in reply.

"I promised you I wouldn't run away again," Spinel said quietly, closing her eyes to enjoy the embrace. She was stronger than humans and pretty capable in a fight, but she still felt safer in his arms.

Steven smiled, resting his chin on top of Spinel’s head as he held her. It's not what he meant, but he was glad all the same. She was in his arms. That meant that everything was going to be okay.

After taking a few minutes to wake up, the two left the temple and entered to the main house together. Pearl was pacing the floor near the warp pad and Steven raised a brow with a small smirk when she pretended to have just happened to be there when they came out.

"So-so...how did you sleep? I mean the both of you. Cause you both slept. You know…cause you both like to sleep…” Pearl asked awkwardly, clearing trying not to ask something.

"I think we both slept fine. Cause we were sleeping," answered Steven, making sure to answer in a way that might ease Pearls anxiety.

It appeared to have worked since Pearl breathed a sigh of relief and a genuine smile laced her lips. "Well, that's great. I'm glad you two had such a peaceful rest. After all, yesterday was such a mess I'm sure you needed it. Are you hungry? I could make you something if you want."

"I'm hungry," Amethyst chimed in from the other side of the room.

"Is Garnet still not back?" Steven asked as he looked around the room.

"No. I'm not sure what's taking her so long. She had a vision of a few corrupted Gems and she said she could handle it alone. Do you think we should go looking for her?" Pearl wondered aloud.

"Do you know where she went," asked Spinel.

Pearl sighed, "no. She didn't say where she was going. Perhaps I should go and see Peridot. She's got all those machines buzzing around for surveillance, maybe she can tell me where Garnet may have gone."

"Well you don't have to worry about making breakfast. I'm going to go and eat at the Big Donut this morning. So feel free to go and see Peridot,” informed Steven. "I need to go and thank Lars for all his help, but first, I really need to shower and change."

"You can still make me breakfast," Amethyst tried again.

"That's a good idea. I guess I should go to little Home world and speak with Peridot. ...after I make Amethyst something to eat," she gave in, turning for the kitchen, Spinel noting the audible "wooo," from the living room.

As Steven was getting himself ready for the day, Spinel was sitting on the couch with Amethyst while Pearl cooked in the kitchen.

"So," Amethyst began curiously, "you and Steven are okay?"

"I think so," answered Spinel with a blush.

Amethyst smiled and leaned back on the couch, "just don't do anything crazy again. I really don't like having to be the responsible one all the time. It feels weird."

Spinel nodded; surely she wouldn't live this down for some time. "If Garnet were here, it probably wouldn't have gone so far. …I wonder if she saw it all from where she is.”

"At least it all worked out," Amethyst shrugged.

Had it though? Thought Spinel, wondering if they had truly gotten through the worst of it? She still had this feeling of dread, as if something awful was still waiting for them. “Yeah, I’m glad it all worked out,” Spinel repeated as she stood from the couch. Without saying anything more, she climbed the stairs to Steven’s room and was about to sit herself down on the bed before she noticed the opened gift that was set beside it. So Steven had opened it? She plucked the preserved flower crown from the box and placed it on her head with a smile. She had asked Sapphire to flash freeze the flowers so that they retained their shape through the years. It was one of Spinel’s most precious memories. When Steven made her a flower crown and said she was pretty, it was the first time Spinel felt okay with this distorted appearance of hers. It meant a lot. Steven was such a pure and kind person, just like she used to be. Even through all these years, he was still so forgiving and compassionate, a truly polished Gem that no one could stain. It was hard to believe that someone like that could love her.

“…and that’s why you’ll only tarnish him,” Pinks voice chilled into the room from behind Spinel. The fragile Gem gasped and quickly turned, expecting to see Pink, but instead, saw nothing but Steven climbing the stairs.

Steven was happy when he saw Spinel waiting for him and when she turned around, he would have commented on how lovely she looked with the flowers, if it weren’t for the look of fear on her face. “Spinel? Did something--?”

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly, trying to forget the whole thing as soon as possible. She was probably just hearing things anyway. Why did she keep recalling Pinks voice to be so cold and unforgiving? Her voice was gentle and though Pink could be selfish, she was never cruel. “Are you ready to go to the Big Donut?”

Steven didn’t like when people avoided his questions like that, but she had been through a lot in the past few days. So he’d let it go for now. “Yep, we should get going. I want to try and talk to Lars after the morning rush.”

Spinel agreed and as Steven turned to head back down the stairs, she removed the flower crown and placed it down on the blankets before following behind him. Whatever she had heard, she had to forget it. Amethyst was right. Everything had worked out. It wasn’t worth thinking about anymore.

Steven and Spinel walked hand in hand, reaching the big Donut just as the morning rush was starting to wander off. Spinel noticed Rhodonite helping to clear some tables and Spinel released Stevens hand in order to stretch hers out, grabbing some plates to help. She knew that Steven wanted to speak with Lars so she’d make herself useful while that happened.

He made sure that Spinel was okay before he went into the back to find his friend. Sure enough, Lars was cleaning up with the help of Rutile. It didn’t take more than Steven being there for Lars to stop what he was doing. Asking Rutile to give them a moment, the twins left the kitchen with a smile to go and keep an eye on Spinel.

“…Look, Lars, I’m really sorry about before,” Steven began. “You were only trying to help and I sort of…wasn’t feeling like myself.”

Lars chuckled a bit, “Don’t worry about it lover boy. I actually have a favor to ask if you want to make it up to me.”

“Of course, whatever you need help with,” agreed Steven right away, eager for the chance to make it right.

Lars glanced toward the door before he went on, “I think something is wrong with Rutile and Rhodonite. I mean, Rhodonite is always anxious and can be a little pessimistic, but I thought she was getting better. Instead, it seems like she’s getting worse. Sometimes, she starts crying and cowering away from things that aren’t there. And if that wasn’t enough, Rutile is starting to act weird too. Those two are usually the more level headed ones, but it’s like they have been afraid too. One of them keeps asking me if I’m hearing something. I think some weird, Gem magic stuff is going on.”

Seeing things that aren’t there? Was Spinel seeing things too? Like this morning when she looked afraid. Maybe she saw something that frightened her. “Well….I don’t know how I can help, but I’ll do my best.”

Lars seemed relieved now. He had tried to talk to his friends about what was going on, but they all denied anything was wrong. Perhaps they would feel more comfortable opening up to another Gem. Besides, he’d seen Steven solve more problems than he would have in a lifetime. If anyone could help, he was sure Steven could.

[secret-time-is-here]

The King and his Aid

Chapter 9: “I’m here.“

I hope you enjoy this, towards the end my hands started cracking (I have eczema on my hands) so put on some lotion and they were burning the last hundred or so words. BUT I FINISHED IT :’D

Previous - First (Season 1) - First (Season 2) - Next

His body shivered as the cold licked and bit at his bones. Despite the freezing and depressing aura the house held, he moved forward automatically, walking through calmly when his Father and friend couldn’t even brave it. All of this felt so familiar, but he’s never done this before. Never dared to make it through to the villain’s lair. At least in this life.

Were they even a villain? If what everything his family has told him about Neil is True, then he’s far from.

“An angel.” A voice in the back of his head provided, “So amazing that he wears his imperfections not as barriers or blocks, but as advantages, the traits that make him, him.”

His pace through the house slowed, why would he ever think about Neil like that?

“You may not think of him like that openly,” He started to stutter on what to say, deny the voice in his head, and blush. “However, I nearly always have.” The voice spoke further, seeming more self-aware than the preassumed simple voice of conscience.

Was someone there with him?

He began to turn his head from each side look everywhere he could, even to see if some small being was hiding in the beams of the self-made log cabin. The voice continued: “It only took me months of knowing him to realize that I love him and that in the eyes of society, our kind is wrong.”

He gulped, thinking of the different punishments and convictions you could be given for simply being different. He wasn’t just scared for himself, he was scared for the voice in his head as well.

“That in the eyes of society, it is wrong for me as a man to like another man. That it is wrong for a woman to like another woman. That it’s wrong to like someone of the same gender. That it’s wrong for anyone to be different than the path laid before us.”

Gene stopped just a yard away from Neil’s bedroom door, not in fear of the pools of negativity that oozed out from under the door and into the weak fabric of his shoes, threatening that if he were to not be careful they would stain his pants as well. He stood in confusion.

“Edwin?” Gene spoke aloud, hoping that he wasn’t going crazy.

“Yes, I’ve been here with you the whole time. Just waiting for you to accept how we are.”

“Why did you show up now and not earlier?” His expression still held confusion, but the dark droplets of anger started to spread, overtaking him with anger.“So i wouldn’t have to deal with all of this?” He gestured, getting more frustrated, “The mess that you left behind?! I’m supposed to be a kid! I don’t want to deal with these problems...” The anger left as soon as it came, “Why?”

“If I showed up before you solved your personal problems, I wouldn’t have been able to put all of this to rest.”

“What...” His gaze dropped to the floor, hunched over, defensive. Worry began to spread and the tension left his body, leaving his head hanging, and mouth dry as he asked: “...What are you suggesting?” He had only been able to hear a few stories about Edwin and was still unsure about him.

“We merge our lives, our memories, live as one being.” Gene just stared at the floor, contemplative, “I can tell you care for him just as much as I do.”

“My mental age doesn’t help, though.” Gene sighed opting to sit on the floor, frustratingly puffed cheeks resting on his fists as he continued to stare at the ground, “I’ve only known him for a few weeks- how- why… is he so amazing?? And cute?? And handsome??”

“He’s naturally obviously quirky and goes out of his way to make the people he cares about happy, even when he doesn’t realize it. Even when his soul was physically cracking and he was stuck to bed rest, he tried his best to make me happy.” Gene’s frown curved into a smile, he wanted to be able to remember what Edwin could, to know for himself how caring Neil could be, “If we merged, we could live happily with him.”

“...Is he a good lover?” Edwin laughed as if he heard the funniest joke. “It’s an honest question!”

“Yes, he’s an amazing lover, he’s treated us like royalty over the years. Which is fitting considering that: If the world was different, Neil and I would be married and sitting on thrones right now.” He could practically feel Edwin’s smile, “I still hope, one day the world will change, and we can truly have our wedding.”

A silence fell, and he could feel Edwin’s smile drop as well.

“...I need to get back to him.” Gene raised a brow, once again confused, “We’ve lived nearly our entire lives side by side. Acquaintances to friends to best friends to secret lovers. It’s always been the two of us. Even when Neil was forced to marry Cecil. It was still just the King and his Aid.”

Gene moved his eyes from the floor back to the door, letting his soul hear the desperate call of Neil’s.

“We have family. More family and friends that are strongly trusted to keep our secret.” Gene perked up at this, “Neil’s brother Dean, and his husband Cecil, they share a seret similar to ours.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is stuck in a female body. He doesn’t like being a princess. Like our situation. Stuck in a body that does fit how we mentally are.” Gene nodded in understanding, “They have a son, Martin, they’ve been raising him to treat everyone, no matter their sexuality, gender identity, or romantic preference, with respect. Our friends have learned of both of our secrets, and are secretly pulling strings in the castle as we speak.”

“...you have friends that… that accept us being, you know?” Gene questioned, genuinely surprised by the information.

“The different heads of departments, and Dean’s own personal guards. Even the head of Heads, and now Head of the court as well, Ian is on our side. When we were thrown in a cell, before Neil came to save us, he visited. Bringing food and questions. He left with answers and a different train of thought. It took time, but Cecil confided in all of them too, we write to each other as much as we can.”

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Then this will be the last time we can talk. Just know, we will live happily...”

“One last thing, though.” Gene shyly spoke up, “Why was our connection gone? Why didn’t all the memories stay?”

“We aren’t allowed to exist together, but don’t worry, when I do this, we will be one and the same. One life. One person.”

-----

He was a monster.

There was no question.

The shivering winter frost keeping him rooted. Seas of corruption and the pure negativity his soul was made of pouring from him. His bones were nearly melting from the sheer amount of it. His jaw long since hanging. Eyes covered by the goop. Feeling lost in his arms. The only senses left were hearing and smell. The two most useless ones when you’re alone.

The weight of the silence fell onto him like a piano. Any small noise cutting through him with a weapon of fear. It could be an animal or the police coming to jail him for suspicions of being homosexual. Either seemed to be a logical option at this point.

Then, the muffled sound of a voice. He couldn’t tell who it was. The sound echoed and distorted through the door and the pools of runny liquid.

A whimper escaped him. It was hopeless. The police were here, his life would be uprooted. He would either be sent back home and likely thrown into a secluded cell or religious place or kept in America to do the same things. It was a coin toss and he didn’t like either choice.

Then, a pair of muscular arms surrounded him and his nasal cavity was filled with the smell of parchment and flowers. The smell of plants and books. The smell of his lover. The feel of his lover.

The negativity stopped flowing from his body. One of his eyes was uncovered.

A teary-eyed Edwin looked at him happily.

“It’s okay.” He was carefully pulled into Edwin’s lap, and an arm moved to caress his cheekbone, moving his jaw back into place “Emotions are fine. You’re safe. You don’t have to hide anything with me.” His arms were pulled around his lover’s neck, and Edwin moved his skull to nuzzle Neil’s neck, “Shhhh, I’m here.”

He really is.

“I’m so sorry it had to last this long. I had to let Gene handle his problems before we could live happily again.”

“S-shut up, glitch-fest,” Neil hiccuped, squeezing his arms tighter around the other, “P-please, I just need to cuddle you right now. Just know that… that you’re really here.” Neil’s soul glowed as he spoke, and Edwin carefully pulled it out with his own, letting them drift next to one and other, Edwin exchanging his magic to the nearly shattered soul. For some time, he would need to heal, but, they would do it together.

Geno and Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to @comyet

Ccino belongs to @black-nyanko

Dream and Nightmare belong to the fandom

[aerascreamer]

A body without a heart

An Apex Fanfic

Part 2: Equal

Warning: violence and death mention.

(Part 1 )

———

During the cold season, the heating system of the dormitory purred above Bloodhound's room each night, singing them to sleep or keeping them company while they read on the bed.

So it was a surprise for the tracker to wake up on the floor of a building from the arena and not in their quarter until they realized they didn't lose the match.

Pathfinder's motor produced the constant rumble that woke them up while the robot remained in complete stillness in the middle of the room.

As the hunter sat with difficulties, he came back to life and headed towards them.

"How are you friend? He asked with worries.

"I'm fine don't worry. Just not used to run so much, " They replied while taking out a flask,

"Can I?"

"Oh sure pardon me!"

When sure the MRVN looked away, the tracker took off their mask in a hurry and sipped some water before putting it back.

"Why are you fighting here if your body is so weak?"

Bloodhound jumped on their feet, looked back and found Revenant sitting on the edge of a window. Wait...sitting?

"I'm not letting my wounds stopping me from fighting for the Allfather. It is a test to see my true potential." They puffed their chest with pride.

"Guess having a metallic body has some advantages..." The robot considered, his hand scratching his jaw.

"What do you-" The hunter's body tense in reaction to a new but familiar buzzing approaching.

"EMP incoming!! RUN!"

Pathfinder rushed to the exit without hesitation.

Simultaneously, Revenant pushed himself from the window.

But despite their reactivity, both got hit by the wave of energy coming from a tiny drone, the echo of their lifeless body hitting the ground ringing in all the building.

Without losing a second, Bloodhound took their weapon and peaked over the window. Two silhouettes headed into the first level.

The hunter climbed down the stair and aimed at the entrance

Octane broke in by kicking the door.

Easy target. One mag, one down.

Lifeline jumped back, caught off guard. She dashed right away to another direction, probably to flank the building.

The tracker took the main entrance and hid behind a truck.

Scanning the area, they detected the doctor entering by the second floor.

Bloodhound waited for her to walk passed the entrance...

One more magazine and another down. But no ammo.

Leaving the weapon on the ground, Bloodhound approached the door and heard footsteps coming in.

Striking like a panther, they took Crypto by surprise and disarmed him.

The hacker pushed the hunter away and called back his drone, the device hitting them on the back.

Unphased, they leaped on the man, pinned him down before holding a knife on his throat.

Both out of breath, the two fighters glared at each other coldly.

But Crypto ended up sighting and declared:

"Legend Crypto surrendering." The banner on his wrist turned into a sad face with the words better luck next time! highlighted in blue.

Bloodhound let go of their grip and walked away to check on their teammates.

"Hey, take this. It will wake them up."

The hunter caught the small device the hacker tossed to them and nodded, thankful.

Turning around the corner, they saw Revenant shut down against the wall.

They approached him and activated the device.

The silver shadow turned on with a sound similar to a loud gasp.

On his feet, he put his hands around his chest, checking for a nonexistent heartbeat.

"What was that ?!" He questioned with a taut voice.

"An EMP sent by Crypto's drone" Bloodhound stepped back to give him space.

"An EMP?"

The glow of the synthetic nightmare's eye darkened, processing... Before punched the wall with all his strength.

"Why can't I just DIE already!?"

Digging their way in Bloodhound's perplexed mind, the little details he noticed about Revenant came back... like his natural walk, the need to sit or to brush his head, the glares of jealousy he gave to everyone except Pathfinder... Pathfinder who is a true robot.

Then they understood.

"You...you used to be human. Right ?"

He froze

"You're not a robot...but a Simulacrum."

In a blink of an eye, the shadow grabbed the hunter by the throat and held them in the air as if they weight no more than a pheasant.

"One more word... And I'll use your skin as a carpet..."

Despite their heart racing like a mad hummingbird, Bloodhound held Revenant's burning glaze without fighting back.

Surprised by their lack of reaction, the Simulacrum loosened a little.

"Aren't you afraid of me?"

One inch separated his face from the hunter's mask.

"I...I don't fear...death." They replied with a chocked voice.

Revenant dropped the tracker who rubbed their aching neck.

He stared at them for a moment, puzzled, and climbed on the roof to watch the horizon with doubt and questions rising like a tide.

Bloodhound scanned the zone and found Pathfinder lying in the middle of a road.

As they activated the device, the MRVN's chest lightened up, bugging between his angry and happy face.

"Everything's ok?"

"Yes, don't worry. I really don't like being hit by the EMP, my system is always feeling weird days after it." He tapped on his chest to fix it, without results.

"Feeling ?" Revenant let go of a sarcastic laugh...or at least a grumble close to it.

****

Back in the temporary house of Talos, Bloodhound groomed Artur with their hand and picked up the feathers falling to the ground without a sound

They sighted with sadness as they counted more and more grey ones than last time.

The clock hanging on the wall displayed 9h00 but everyone already went to bed, leaving the building in dead silence.

Except for the hard stomps of metal feet.

Putting the crow back in his favorite shoe, the hunter walked to the automatic door and bumped in Revenant's chest armor.

"My apologies!"

Only an irritated grunt responded to them.

"Something's wrong?"

The shadow's blank face expressed nothing, unlike his shimmering eyes troubled by questions.

He tried to look beneath the mask of the tracker, searching a reason for them to ask with cordiality and detachment towards him.

"You're a weird skin bag." He declared point-blank.

"Normally everyone would have begged to be spared when threatened."

Thoughtful, Bloodhound didn't reply rights away, their mind looking for the right word to answer.

"I'm always prepared for my end, " They started with a slow pace,

"Death... is part of the cycle of nature.

Everything lives, then everything dies."

"Except for me." Revenant contradicted, bitter.

Artur perched on the hunter's shoulder and puffed his black and grey feathers to intimidate the Simulacrum who didn't even look at him.

"If your spirit is still down here, it means you haven't fulfilled your purpose here."

"So you think I have a spirit?" His anger started to rise.

"When that little brain here is made of scrap and bolts?!"

Revenant hit his metal skull to prove his point, creating a clear sound ringing for a second.

"When I'm a body without a heart?!"

He scratched his chest, leaving three parallel marks.

Bloodhound covered their ears, bothered with the high-pitched screeching.

"You still feel hate. There is a reason that makes you move forward.

And you still have those memories from your past life right? Those are real...

"...And corrupted to the core!"

The shadow's voice distorted in pain, wobbly.

Behind the faceplate, thousand of reflections made their way in his mind.

He shook his head, fighting the thoughts, but his hunched shoulders betrayed his exhaustion.

Noticing the changes in Revenant's behavior, Bloodhound offered him to get in their room.

He hesitated, not used to have someone crazy enough to do this, but accepted.

The hunt trophies and Championship Bookends decorated the walls next to a giant bookshelf full of text from all epochs.

Swords and knives waited on a table for the owner to choose them, glowing coldly under the candles.

In contrast, the fur carpets softened the atmosphere and gave the room an old but relaxing look alongside the handmade hammock.

Revenant instantly noticed the broad window facing the outside.

The stars shined bright on the deep mantel of the night.

Even with the latest discoveries made by scientists, secrets still lied in the distant galaxies.

This powerful sense of mystery called the human more than once, letting them dream since the beginning of time without any exceptions.

Not even a soul locked in a lifeless body.

"Being in peace with who you are will be a challenge. But once you get over it, you will finally be able to rest."

The silence fell little by little like a leaf plummeted by the autumn wind.

Bloodhound fell asleep despite the "synthetic nightmare"'s presence, this one gazing at the stars, knees wrapped in his arms close to his chest.

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

Betrayed

//well then.... oh boy do we have a story for you to enjoy. a big thanks to me pal @maxxicab for the inspiration of this with some of the roleplays we did of these guys lol. this is just my own take on how this event in prowler’s life during the hiatus of this blog was taken on. and don’t worry, you might see what became of his good pal drago soon,,,,,~ :)

Betrayed? bertrayed.... “BETRAYED! ABANDONED!” prowler whines, clutching his head “CALM DOWN SAMMY...” he says, as a yellow glow emitted out of his ink covered eyes. actually. smaller mutiple eyes were starting to form around his face as he tried to remember “B...BETRAYED... I COULD GIVE YOU A LOT OF LISTS OF THAT ONE PAL BUT... THERE IS ONE THAT I WONT EVER FORGET... BUT THE ONE THAT HAD THE MOST SATISFYING ENDING OF IT ALL.....” he says, rumbling as he recalled the memory like it was just yesterday.... --- Prowler snarls, breaking down the door. along with obsidian as he roared loudly in his hunter form, sprouting out wings and roaring loudly at azix’s direction “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZZZZZIXXXXXXXXX!!!!” the fusion demon stops as he was halfway about to devour trainer, his eyes widened widely before he grabs the past trainer, before rushing off. turning to that naga like form as imp’s trainer blinked slightly in panic. while Obsidian whines, quickly scrambling out of the door before he takes flight, trying to stop prowler from harming his ‘friend’ prowler glances back, before roaring in surprise as obsidan tackled him, the two crashing to the ground, his eyes widened, drago was..... no.... no he couldn’t..... his body steams and glowed, before he roared loudly in anger “YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!” he roared and stabs the dragon demon in the huge lava like crack, the other instantly yelping and crying out, before being blasted into the lake, roaring out in fear and panic. prowler growled as he was in his tyrant form now, before changing to his hellhound form, roaring before chasing after azix once again. it didint take long for him to find him. but he was too late. he roars out as azix quickly swallowed up imp’s trainer in his body, the other would notice and freeze on sights, before screeching out as prowler nearly mauled him “YOU! YOU SPIT HIM OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” he says, roaring as he tries to get trainer out of him, azix on the other hand was screeching slightly, forming mutiple arms like the last time they fought on the playground when he tried merging him all those months ago.... he still notices the faint crack and scar on the other’s chest from when he ate himself out the other’s chest.... he gets kicked off as he snarls a bit, before seeing the changes already happening to the other’s body, with bumps and rumps, as the eye was twitching slightly. like trainer was trying to escape, or be in control. as prowler went to attack him once again, but he was too late. azix nearly screeches out in anger “LEAVE US ALONEEEE!!!-” he was cut off by prowler punching him across the jawline, before it twitches, clenching it’s hands into fists as he growled a bit, the two glaring down at eachother “YOU WANT HIM BACK?! WELL YOUR JUST GONNA HAVE TO KILL ME AND LOSE YOUR BUDDY AGAIN!~” he says, grinning widely as he starts laughing. prowler just twitches, before roaring in anger as his body changes and morphs, growing taller and more corrupted as azix’s grin twitches and shrinks, his eyes slowly shrinking down as he stares “.....Oh.... you... got to be.... fucking kidding me....”

Prowler growled, steaming with baal’s corruption, toxicity, his own corruptions, and overseer’s corruption, growling loudly as the demon towered over azix, before he roars with all his mouths, firing out mutiple rays as azix nearly screeches, crashing through several trees, steaming and grunting as he stumbles and staggers a bit, before glancing over and screeching as he gets slammed down onto the ground by prowler, the two clawing and biting into eachother as prowler snarls, using the tails to tear out chunks of azix as he kept demanding him to take out trainer but ya know how he replied? by spitting acetone into the demon’s face. Prowler blinked, staring, before he nearly snarls, the demon firing out rays into the other’s body, azix nearly letting out a ear piercing scream that echoed all across the forest. just as his ‘friend’ finally got out of the lake but was heavily melted and hardened up to rock and ink. Prowler growled, seeing pieces of him scatter all around, growling and roaring before he tries to dig out trainer’s soul, but to no avail. some of azix’s ink tried to connect with his but it screeched as it got into contact with prowler’s corruption, the ink sizzling and burning as prowler notices, before roaring as he emits a shockwave, knocking the other’s ink back as the ink that got affected by the corruption started sizzling, going into the other as it formed into a strange messed up fusion of bendy and sammy but. affected by prowler’s corruption. the messed up distorted fusion lets out a distortred scream, the ink burning as a green silt appeared in the piecut eye, along with a crack appearing like it was wearing a mask, the fusion twitches as it had sammy’s overalls. but strange enlarged droopy horns, it’s limp was still there but coated in a purple glob almost, along with sharp clawed gloved like hands too, nothing else really changed but it was a bit creepy none the less. the corrupted prowler growls as the other snarls and rushes at him, claws out and that green eye now glowing a harsh reddish purple color the two slammed into one another, growling and barking as he slammed azix towards the ground hard, hearing a satisfying crack “GUESS WE’RE DOING THIS THE HARD WAY!!” he says, grabbing him by the neck and jabbing his claws into the cracked eye, pumping him with all his corruptions that were in him, causing azix to nearly screech and roar out in pain and agony as he slammed the other towards the plains, farther from the lake. farther from drago. prowler growled as he tossed the other a few feet away, watching the corurptions badly affecting and deforming the fusion demon’s body up like hell. the fused up form of him and sammy nearly melted apart or was added into the mix as azix nearly roars out in pain and anger, turning more. dragon like. with his neck becoming long or crooked, his body twitching and steaming as he tried to contain his body and such. his ink turning from black to nearly a disgusting brown, with gears and mutiple other eyes appearing everywhere as he coughs and roars, drooling green and blue blood out of his body and mouths as he formed messed up pairs of bird like wings, twitching and snarling slightly before he nearly roared out at prowler, lunging and clamping his jaws around him, the corrupted demon roaring and snarling, before forming into a more monstrous state of his corrupted self, with all the parts he took from the others awakening inside him, forming two more tails as he roared loudly, ‘akuma’ snarled as he bashes azix’s head in, growling as the two started to fight like bears and lions, clawing and clamping their jaws around eachother as they kept going apeshit on one another. their bodies and ink glowing slightly.... Prowler roared, slamming the other’s head in, growling as he slowly started to become more beastly, turning to a messed up corrupted version of his unholy form as he roared loudly at azix, who became a more, nightmarish version of a beast bendy, though with all of azix’s messed up and grossed up appearances and ‘forms’ all merged into one. rather disgusting monster, the two monstrous corrupted beings roared loudly in a feral manner at eachother, losing all signs of sanity as they nearly went head to head with eachother, tearing into the other’s body and ‘flesh’ as more of their ink and body started to glow and seemgly melt into the other.... Obsidian finally recovered enough as he yelps and whimpers, before quickly flapping his wings and flying off, following a faint trail of ink and messed up trees and such, before he notices the fight, his eyes widened before he roars a bit and rushes forward, trying to stop it before he yelps as he nearly gets blown backwards as a big light bursted out from the two, the dragon demon nearly screeching out as he stumbles, before his eyes widened as a big ray nearly pierced through his own body, roaring as he nearly got himself blown up. but managed to keep himself from blowing to a billion pieces, steaming and cracking as he groaned and coughed, staggering up as he fell to his knees instantly, groaning as he remembered that bird he has inside him, becoming a more, fused up mess of himself and that bird, jinx hisses and coughs, flapping it’s wings before seeing a big crater formed... along with a surprising mix of two demons in one.... prowler and azix in their battle seemed to have accidentally fused into eachother to become one. massive. messed up, deformed corrupted as fuck demon..  ‘perfection’ lets out a loud booming roar sprouting crystals everywhere as the crystals impaled the other fusion, jinx screeching as the crysytals bursted into it’s own body, coughing and steaming as they stumbled back, eyes wide as they stared in shock at their friend....friends? their memory was starting to get jumbled up, their ink and feathers messing up as the fusion already became unstable. as for the prowler and azix fusion though... it was just created... and by god were they still as pissed as ever. but prowler soon became in full control, roaring loudly at jinx in anger as the other roars were pretty much all of azix’s souls screaming as one in tone with prowler’s monstrous echoing roars. the roars boomed as they nearly charged towards jinx, screeching slightly before it slammed it’s claws into the fusion, the other screeching out before the other started bashing it’s claws and fists into jinx, the bird dragon demon fusion letting out several pained caws and roars, before their head was grabbed, as the other started headbutting jinx rapidly, forming several cracks and stuff, before the fusion roared, nearly blasting the fusion into a messed up pile of fire, ink, and corruption. The Bird that was fused with the other cawed as it weakly flew out, flapping it’s wings slightly as it coughs, drained of energy and corruption before flying off, coughing and squeaking. ‘perfection’ growled, steaming before glaring down as the messed up rocky pile of Drago that slowly started forming, the other groaning and coughing as he yelps, staggering back as his eyes stared in horror, trying to call out to his friend, but that just made prowler more pissed off, roaring as he punches drago RIGHT in the crack, causing the other to roar out in pain as he crashes into a tree, the tree nearly breaking or bursting up in flames as he coughs, holding his chest as he knelt down, coughing as he started to form into a messed up dragon like form out of instinct, coughing as his ink acted like fire almost, but as soon as that ‘alpha’ like form came, the three heads looked up before ‘perfection’ blasted them into a messed up pile of ink with one powerful ray. Drago coughed and whined, melting and cracking as he steamed, looking up weakly and in fear before trying to call out to them again, but this time to prowler, saying he was ‘sorry’ for faking his memories getting wiped out- that just earned him a distorted messed up roar of anger, that was when the realization hit. this wasn’t prowler anymore, nor azix, it was something else. they were far too gone to even understand but. somehow. prowler still remembers. that was when the dragon demon tried to escape, before prowler roared, bringing his claws down as he tore off drago’s arm, the dragon demon roaring out in pain as he held his arm, staggering as he whimpered and coughed, before looking up as his eyes widened, melting and steaming before he yowls as the messed up fusion of prowler and azix grabs drago’s entire waist, before the dragon demon’s eyes widened as he was suddenly pumped with a huge dose of all types of prowler’s corruptions, nearly roaring out loudly in pain and agony as the process was already happening by force, prowler wanted drago to suffer for every second of pain that HE putted him through in the past. this was what he gets. for harming him. for betraying his trust. for being with... someone like that demon.... the dragon demon coughed and screeches out more before slowly becoming limp, more of his old and new wounds showed up as the corruption was causing all of his forms to ajoin into one messed up form, before the fusion decided that enough was enough as it roared and slammed the limp and nearly destroyed drago into a huge boulder, the boulder nearly blowing itself up as drago was burried underneath rocks and dirt and excess ink and goop. ‘perfection’ roared out in the air loudly in a feral tone. before steaming and groaning, their monstrous body slowly melting away as the excess ink and stuff possibly went into the buried up crater that drago was in. the fusion pants and steams, a lot of energy was taken out. prowler was just about to unfuse when he realized something... no wait.... this needs to happen.... but he knows he can’t contain azix and all his souls and demonic energy, no matter how destroyed and partly dead that the other was currently. so he uses what energy he has left, to sprout out two pairs of wings. flapping them before flying away from the scene, glaring at the crater that drago was in. before grunting as he flies off. back in the lodge, a much more younger looking projectionist was blinking as he was staring at a strange little flower creature that had just fused with a deer, the two having a staring contest, both of them tilting their heads at one another. buddy’s projector light glows purple as he blinks, noticing someone coming, he stares in shock as the fusion of prowler and azix lumbers into the lodge, buddy was just about to pull out his sword beforehe blinks, seeing the fusion unfuse, as prowler. who was in a mixture of his corrupted form and inked form, was holding a pretty banged but messed up azix, who was looking more like a standard ink bendy but. horribly damaged and badly wounded, looking like mud almost. both buddy and the flower creature stares as buddy glances up to prowler “uhm..... what...” he blinks as prowler pretty much drops azix in front of him, “YoU DeCidE wHAt to DO wiTH hIm. im GOing TO hAve a sITdowN AND SLowLY rEgrEt mY CHoICeS.” he says, before wandering off. buddy blinks, before staring down at azix, who simply glares at him, while melting a bit more, a tail formed out of buddy as his projector light suddenly turns a full out purple, before it beamed red, the little deer flower creature only blinked and tilted it’s head slightly as azix internally cursed himself like “ah... fuck.” ---- Prowler sighs as he finishes telling that story, glitching as he was aware of the other changes around his body, sighing a bit as his ink melted “I CAME DOWN THE DAY AFTER AND SAW NO TRACES OF THAT FLOWER CREATURE OR AZIX, I MET UP WITH BUDDY IN THE OTHER ROOM AND ASKED HIM WHAT HAPPENED. HE JUST SAID ‘they’re in a better place now’ BUT I NOTICED THERE WERE CHANGES AROUND HIS BODY, AND THAT HE LOOKED MORE HUMAN.... I KINDA FIGURED OUT QUICKLY THAT HE CURRENTLY HAS ALL OF AZIX’S SOULS AND ENERGY AND THAT LITTLE FLOWER DEER CREATURE INSIDE OF HIM.... “ he hums and grumbles softly, his inky aura fading as some of those minor changes started fading away “THOUGH I HAVEN’T SEEN ANY ATTEMPTS FROM THAT DEMON ITSELF TRYING TO TAKE CONTROL. BUDDY SEEMED PERFECTLY FINE. IN FACT HE STATED THAT SOME OF THE SOULS INSIDE HIM NOW STARTED CHANGING AND ACTING A LOT NICER.... WHICH IS... GOOD I GUESS.... EHEHE....” he says nervously, rubbing the back of his head as he recalled that the sammy inside buddy pretty much hated him... FOR GOOD REASON TOO. “THOUGH I ASKED HIM AT ONE POINT WHAT OF THAT DEMON. AND HE’S JUST SAID THAT THE OTHERS INSIDE HIM ARE CURRENTLY GIVING HIM WHAT HE DESERVES.... I CAN’T HELP BUT STILL LAUGH AT THAT.” he says, yawning a bit as he melts slightly “HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN TALKING FOR AGAIN...?” ---

Azix And Buddy and little flower creature Belongs To @sammys-sanctuary Obsidian/Drago/Kur Belongs to @lunatheoutcasted