#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.

[shadow211e]

Distorted Mirror

Alice was 18 and just got home from college after her first year, her stepmom was around all the time bothering her. Anything she wanted to do, her stepmom seemed to come in and ruin it. Her stepmom was hot and slutty looking, Alice couldn't even remember why her dad married her in the first place. The two got into an arguement and Alice told her to go to hell, and her stepmom just started laughing and walked away. Alice rolled her eyes and went back to reading, completely shocked by the unhidged woman her dad married.

About a week after Alice got home her stepmom disappeared, like all of her stuff was there but her stepmom had just left. Her dad had no clue where she went at all and the quiet and peace seemed nice for once. Her father and her had come back from a nice dinner out, when her dad was in the bathroom she had to use one, so she ran upstairs to the master bedroom where her stepmom had taken over and used it. She flushed and got up to wash her hands when she looked into the mirror.

As Alice looked in the mirror she saw an image of her stepmom, but then the image was being twisted and she saw her mom, she blinked and was confused, her mom died when she was young didn't she? Her mom was calling out to her "Baby I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Mom?"

"You have to destory this mirror, it's a mirror that leads to a demon, he twisted and corrupted me, turned me into your stepmom, no one even remembered me not even your father. I started to love acting like a bitch, the more I did the more I became evil, the more I enjoyed it, but that was the demon's plan to corrupt me, to change me."

"Where are you?"

"My body, it's with the demon in the demon realm, nothing but an evil succubus at this point."

"What are you then?"

"The last visages of my former self, the last of my heart and soul before it's blacked and dies, I'm leaving it as a warning, but I can feel myself fading, destory this mirror before it's too late."

"Mom!" Alice screamed out as the image of her mom started to fade into swirling vortex of blackness. "MOM!!"

In the darkness Alice started to see red eyes staring back at her, in the back of her mind deep laughing started to echo, "oh little lamb, Mommy is well taken care of now, she has no more mortal cares, her body is built for lust and that is her purpose. Maybe you would like to experience what it is like for her?"

"What are you?"

"What? A humble demon lord, with a harem of succubi, an army of incubi and other things, and my rank in the demonic realm is growing, maybe you would like to join mommy, I can show you untold pleasures."

"No, never, give my mom back."

"Oh little lamb, your mother did it to herself, I just showed her the first step, she went willingly."

"Why would she? And why did I think she was my stepmom?"

"Both good questions, something you would have to ask her, too bad now as a succubus she has no care about such things, nor does she have the memories of the mortal realm, time works differently, and though she has only joined me here, she feels she has been there at least 100 years, alas, time talking to you is taking from my other duties, enjoy your life mortal, and if you wish to talk more, just tap the glass and I will give you all you need."

"Never." The figure started to fade away, laughing, as Alice could hear what sounded like the sexual moans and what she could only figure was her mom or whatever her mom had become. She slammed her fists onto the mirror "LET HER GO," she screamed but there was no response. Had she listened to her mom and smashed the mirror, she would have been safe, but by touching it, even in anger allowed the demon access to her, the demon had played the game well, carefully setting her up to do exactly what he wanted her to do, now she was open to him, even if she didn't know it yet.

Over the next few weeks, since the mirror incident, things in the house had started to seem different, more calm like it was before her stepmom, well mom, or whatever. Her dad though was starting to seem out of place again, like he was lost. Alice felt bad for him, she wanted to do something so she decided to help clean up all of her stepmom's stuff, she started with the bathroom. She was cleaning up slowly, hoping to get a glance of her mom if she was still there but there was nothing but her reflection. She thought she was nuts still trying to hold on what she saw, those visions were just crazy, so she gave up thinking about them, she was packing things up when she heard a voice in her head, saying she could help her dad, they could help him together, if she wanted. She wanted to help him, she wanted to make him happy, the voice was sounding so sweet to her, she agreed without thinking, and felt a warm tingle pass over her. She looked down to see an application to her father's job there, filled out, in her handwriting but the name on it wasn't Alice it was Alexis.

That name Alexis as she read it rang in her ears, it felt wild, raw, sexual, alluring, nothing she would have really assiociated with herself, she was always the nice girl the good girl. She did notice that the application was a print out, did she already apply to the job? She noticed at the bottom was an interview day, it was for today, in a few hours. She licked her lips, she could go but here dad would recognize her and it would be weird wouldn't it? No, a little makeup, a cute outfit she could pull this off, besides she probably wouldn't even see her dad.

The smarter part of her was telling her not to go, to just find someway else to make things better, but a weird urge inside her tells her to go to the interview have a little fun, who would notice. She found some clothes still left in the closet of her stepmom and decided why the fuck not. She got dressed and headed for the interview.

Heading for the interview Alice was feeling more powerful today, guys looking at her was making her feel wanted, like men were craving her and she was eating it up. Getting to the interview the man was stumbling over himself trying to talk to her, she had this man wrapped around her finger and she was eating it up. She asked if it would be ok if she walked around before accepting the job, just to get a feel for the office. Normally the man would have said no to such a request but with her he didn't seem like he could say no. Wandering around the office, she had been there a few years ago when her dad took her as part of a family day, she had to recall where his office would be, and finally she found it and she knocked on his door.

"Come in"

"Morning sorry to bother you," she said figuring he would recognize her, but he didn't.

"It's ok, by the looks of your ID sticker you are doing an interview, why are you wandering around?"

"I asked if I could look around and kind of get the feel of things before I accept the job."

"It's a good idea getting a feel for it, or a vibe check as what people call it huh."

She giggled a little, "you're so smart, but yeah totally." Did she just giggle and flirt with her dad? Did he smile at her?

"Are you hungry would you like to go out for a nice lunch, my treat, a way of maybe convincing you to work here."

She giggled "sure, I'd love that."

Alice, well Alexis, headed out to lunch, the more she kind of gave into being this Alexis the better she felt, her dad seemed to be falling over himself to impress her, she found out he had a daughter and that his second wife seemed to have disappeared and he was pretty much filing for a divorce because she just up and left. That his lawyers said he would get it easily and if that was the case he would always be open to finding a new beautiful woman to spend time with. She blushed but suggested that he would definitely be someone she would like to be dating.

After the lunch, they returned to the office, she felt good feeling his eyes on her, he was about to go back to his office and she was going to go to HR when she turned and hugged him and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek thanking him for the lovely lunch. The kiss lingered on his cheek longer than she wanted to, she felt his hands moving up her back, then back down and in a second she felt his hand move just for a second at her ass, she should be upset but instead she gasps softly and moans slightly in his ear, which makes him move down and squeeze her ass. An explosion of lust and need feels her and she was feeling excited. "Maybe another time soon," she says to him stepping back away from him, leaving him wanting more.

Getting home Alice was feeling so alive so thrilled, her heart was racing she knew what she did to her father was wrong but it felt so different. She went to the bathroom, she had gone to her stepmother's without thinking about it and started to change into something more comfortable to wear.

By time her dad got home she was in another outfit, this one was sexier than she normally would be wearing, it drew attention to her hips and ass, and most of all her tits. She was waiting for her dad when he got home, she stood there her breasts looking bigger than normal, not that she noticed she was noticing neighbors checking her out more. But when her dad got home, he looked through her, "Hi sweetie how was your day?" he asked her like he wasn't even looking at her, this angered her, how could he not look at her?

The voice in her mind, "he isn't looking at you because he is your father, he didn't see you as that at work, would you like his attention, would you like the attention of all men?"

The feeling in her pussy was throbbing more, she knew she shouldn't have but she nodded, "yes, I want it."

The voice in her mind hissed happily "yes, I will help you, if you want it, do you want it?"

"Yes."

"Good, embrace it, become Alexis."

Maybe it was the need to be noticed she never had before, maybe it was how her father acted around her earlier, but it was too good to not embrace it. She moaned as she agreed to it, she felt her body change a little more, becoming sexier, her clothes changed into a bathing suit, something she would have never worn before. She looked up the hall to her dad's office and headed up there. She walked in and smiled in front of his desk posing for him. "Wanna go for a swim?"

He looked up and saw his daughter for a second before something seemed to cloud over his mind, "Alexis" he said with a purr, "yeah let me just get changed. She watched his movements, his body was hiding something, he was getting aroused, he wanted her, she could tell him to pull out his cock and stroke it and he would. She could feel the control she had over him, it was intoxicating.

She turned and headed downstairs to the pool, she laid out on one of the lounge chairs face down, her ass in the air getting some sun while she waited. It wasn't long before he walked down "Alexis you look sexy as fuck, do you want me to rub you down with some suntan lotion?"

She smiled "Yes, take your time, get every inch of skin, I would hate to get burnt."

Her dad moved his hands over her legs, up her legs to her ass, over her round bubble butt, up her back, and arms, slowly applying the lotion all over her skin, the more he rubbed the more she felt pampered and perfect. The better she felt the more corrupted she had been becoming, not that she was aware of it, or at least not thinking about it, deep in her mind, she was fighting a war she had no chance of winning.

After a few hours of being with her dad, Alexis as she was now thinking of herself was feeling so good, he was falling all over himself trying to please her. She got a call from a friend of her's from high school asking if she wanted to hang out at the mall, she smiled "sure I'll be there in 30." She talked to her father and he wasn't sure why she was asking for permission, until she held her hand out for money, he blinked and pulled out his wallet and forked over his credit cards, "here you go have fun."

She got dressed and headed to the mall.

Getting to the mall, Alexis was getting looks and stares and it was feeding her, she was walking around feeling like the top of the world. She got to her friend who was astonished by how she looked, "what happened to you?"

"What?"

"You look different, you" her friend paused as Alexis stared into the girl's eyes, it was like her mind was being clouded over by the look, she blinked "You look stunning, I'm shocked so many guys aren't groveling at your feet already," she said. Alexis smiled as the girl was weak in the mind, so easily brought to bear. The two talked, the more they did the more she felt like Alexis a hot young woman who could have any man she wanted. When they brought up the subject of dating, Alexis said she had a few guys on the hook but one guy she had her claws deep into, showing the credit cards as proof.

The two walked around as Alexis did some shopping, racking up a couple thousand on the credit cards, feeling better with each swipe and approval. The more she felt like she was using the man the less he felt like her father and more felt like some pathetic worm to be used by her.

Walking into the house, she headed upstairs to her step…no to her walk in closet and vanity, it was all her's, why shouldn't it be hers. She started to put on some makeup, getting herself ready for dinner and walked downstairs.

"Daddy what do you think of the outfit?"

He blinked as he looked over at her, "I love it," he said his cock starting to twitch in his pants, he wasn't seeing her as a daughter anymore but a lover, "you shouldn't call me that, you know what it does to me."

Alexis licked her lips "what? Daddy, does it get you all hot and bothered? Makes you want to fuck me?"

"You know it does, so why don't you get over here and let me show you what it does."

She moved over and the two started to go at it, he bent her over the counter and flipped up her dressed and slid deep into her warm wet pussy. Her eyes flared red as the corruption of incest only sped up the transformation she was going through. As he laid into her over and over, she felt like this was her place, that she belonged her and like this and that he was just some pathetic man who married her to show off when really she was not faithful or kind to him. But he was too pathetic to do anything about it, she could cheat on him with him watching and he would only beg for her to do it over and over again.

A few days later Alexis was out on a little walk, well to say it was a walk was a lie, she was out hunting, her husband had been so boring lately, doing anything she wanted. So she got dressed up in front of her favorite mirror and smiled as the stunning being looked back at her and went out for a nice long walk, knowing she would easily find any man ready to pleasure her wet pussy before going back to her husband to make him clean her out. The last thing she thought she saw was red eyes watching her in the mirror, the being counting down until her corruption was complete.

for @naughtyalexisblog

[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.

[the-scandalorian]

Intrasolar

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M Word Count: 5.8k Warnings: ANGST and SPICE and FLUFF, canon-typical violence, nonexplicit sex, cursing, nongraphic descriptions of injuries, grief, nightmares, references to drowning/death in the context of nightmares, alcohol consumption Summary: This is the sequel to Extrasolar. You'll definitely want to read that part first! Author Notes: Parts of this are from Din’s perspective (third person) and parts are from yours (second person).

You did a double take the first time you saw him, whipping your head back to watch him run a hand through his slightly unkempt hair.

You’d never seen him before. He was probably passing through the small coastal town like most people who wandered into the cantina, and he was ruggedly, strikingly handsome. You turned your attention back to the stack of credits you were sorting into the register before he noticed your staring. Your first thought was that he looked familiar, but that wasn’t quite right. He felt familiar? Did that make sense? You shook your head to banish the thought and refocused on the task at hand.

He wasn’t seated in your section, so you wouldn’t be serving him anyway.

Like every other day, you settled easily into the flow of work, welcoming the comfort of tunnel vision. Things were always busy enough at the cantina to require all of your attention, which conveniently prevented you from ruminating on things you couldn’t change.

There was one thing—or more accurately, one someone—in particular you were trying not to think about. You’d been trying not to think about him for over a year now.

Losing him had left you in pieces, a thousand jagged pieces that would never fit back together in quite the same way. So here you were—still you, but different.

Immediately after, to distract yourself from the pain, you had taken some non-Guild work only to find that everything you’d enjoyed about hunting had been warped into vile, unbearable feelings. The thrill of the adrenaline rush was poisoned into anxiety, which clouded your judgment and hindered your ability to think on your feet. The satisfaction of outsmarting a quarry was corrupted into the deep-seated guilt of betrayal and the fear of potentially dooming an innocent person to capture.

Your world of black and white had been painted shades of metallic gray, swallowed whole by the silver sheen of beskar.

So, you did what you had to do—you dismantled your life and built something new, something simple and monotone and self-contained. You removed yourself from the swirling chaos of the galaxy and planted your feet firmly on the ground. You fortified your heart against any potential entanglements by settling in a quiet place, keeping to yourself, and abandoning your old profession. Now, you were an actual waitress, not a bounty hunter who occasionally played the role of waitress to ensnare an unsuspecting quarry.

Do your job. Keep your head down. Go home.

That was your mantra.

An hour later, when you hung your apron on the peg behind the bar and turned to leave, you saw that the man was still seated. His eyes met yours, and with an unexpected wave of panic, you felt pinned, trapped by the spotlight of his gaze. You were only able to turn away when someone in the kitchen dropped a dish, the loud crash breaking the paralyzing spell. You hurried toward the exit, and in your periphery, you could tell his gaze followed you. You realized why he felt familiar: his unwavering stare and something about his posture and the mechanical swivel of his neck reminded you of him.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you stepped into the comfortably warm air of the evening and directed your feet toward home. You savored the ritual of your daily walk, taking the well-worn path bordered by a dense coniferous forest on one side and the shore on the other.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence.

At least weekly, something would remind you of him—someone laying a hand on your lower back, a gravelly voice, a Mandalorian in green armor, the pressure of a chilly window pane on your forehead, a set of especially nice shoulders...the list was endless. A memory would sink its eager claws into your throat and yank you back in time. You’d blink and be sitting at a table with him once again, holding the child on your lap, looking into the black expanse of his glass visor. You could feel the cold of his beskar under your fingers, smell his scent—metallic, warm, alluring. The memories were unlike any others you had: they were visceral, tangible.

In the beginning, these moments knocked you on your ass. When you’d stumbled and a customer wearing soft leather gloves had steadied you, you'd wrenched yourself away, unable to stand the familiar texture gripping your arms so tightly. You had to awkwardly excuse yourself and rush out the back door to take gulps of fresh air to soothe your thumping heart.

Those first few months, when the gaping wound of grief was still so raw, were brutal.

Frustratingly, these instances of heartbreak faded in intensity and frequency much more slowly than you had hoped. Here, over a year later, the hurt was the same—apparently, it would take years to build immunity to this type of pain—but you had, at least, learned how to withstand the pain discreetly. Now, you were conditioned to take it in stride.

You wove your way through the scrubby dunes, leaving the path that edged the forest to strike out on the direct route to your little house. The sound of relentless ocean waves was a grounding metronome in the back of your mind.

The grief wasn’t avoidable, but you could numb it for a while—postpone it to give yourself a break. Over time, you'd identified the things that could occupy your mind enough to offer some relief: work, the ocean, fucking, whiskey, sleep.

And, thus, you had perfected a foolproof daily routine: work, the ocean, fucking, whiskey, sleep.

You stepped onto your creaking porch and unlocked the front door. As always, you immediately went to your room to change. With a towel in hand, you walked back out your door and across the wide expanse of sand to the edge of the sea. For almost an hour, you lost yourself in the refreshing salt water, swimming laps between two rock structures that breached the surface, staying out past the tumult of the breaking swells. It was cold enough and strenuous enough that all you could do was focus on one stroke and then the next, propelling your aching body forward.

The sun was starting to set when you emerged, breathless and exhausted, and you returned home, your damp feet sinking into the rapidly cooling sand. Like clockwork, your neighbor was there, sitting on your porch—ready to commence the third act of your routine. He lived a couple houses down, and you had the perfect arrangement for both of you: regular sex without any obligation. He was beautiful, kind, uncomplicated.

When he fucked you, your mind went blank: it was like falling into white noise. You let it swallow you, let it sweep you away—because, in that nothingness, your thoughts had no surface on which to ricochet, so instead of echoing incessantly as they usually did, they faded away. It was blissful static.

Today, though, a thought found purchase. Unbidden, an image formed behind your eyelids—an unfaltering picture of that man with the overpowering gaze. It crowded your mind, and your eyes flew open, your breath shallow. You did your best to focus on the feeling of the man pressed against you, the silky sheets fisted in your hands, the slow tension building in your body.

It was futile.

You felt claustrophobic in your own head.

You gently extracted yourself from his embrace, mumbling that you had a headache. He was understanding and thoughtful, bringing you a glass of water and a pain pill before slipping out the front door to let you rest.

You ignored the pill and poured yourself whiskey instead—a more generous serving than normal in hopes of flooding the image out of your mind. When that didn’t work, you commenced the final stage of your routine early. You tossed and turned in bed, frustrated that there had been a breakdown in your system. This wasn’t supposed to happen: these five things were supposed to provide uniform reprieve every day. You tried not to agonize over it. Tomorrow would prove that this was a fluke, an anomaly, nothing more.

Eventually, you fell into a fitful sleep.

You woke early the next morning to a loud knock. Head fuzzy with sleep, you stumbled out of bed, clutching the blanket around your shoulders, and cracked the door.

It was the stranger from yesterday.

He had brown hair that needed a trim, patchy stubble along his jaw, and one of the most handsome faces you’d ever seen. His eyes were an inviting brown; they spoke of warm embraces and safety and home.

And when he smiled—

When he smiled shyly, his cheek dimpled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. You wanted to hold him.

You opened the door all the way.

You looked at him, and all you could think was that he was both the person you wanted to rail you with absolutely no mercy and the person you wanted to hold you when you cried.

Your grip slackened involuntarily, and the blanket slipped off your shoulders and onto the floor, pooling around your feet.

On some level, you already knew, but you were still surprised when he spoke your name and reached a hand out toward you. You took a reflexive step backward, ankle catching on the blanket, flinching away from his touch. Even without the distortion of the modulator, you’d know that voice anywhere.

“Mando—”

***

two months earlier, Nevarro

The Jedi came for the kid, and Din immediately felt disoriented without him: untethered, adrift. Over the last year and a half, everything important to him had been stripped away, and now, empty-handed, he was forced to appreciate the magnitude of what he had lost.

To cope, this new grief was shunted into the shadowy recesses of his heart to keep his existing grief—for his parents, for his tribe, for his identity, for her—company.

He told himself that work was what he needed—routine and familiarity. He could slip back into what he’d once known, back when his life had revolved solely around a job; he would recapture the focus and tireless, single-minded resolve that he’d relied on for so long. He returned to Nevarro and took the hardest jobs Karga had to offer.

Din had never told Karga what his deception had cost him—how a simple lie had completely rearranged his universe. The first time he saw Karga after he lost her, he had been legitimately tempted to kill him (fuck, it would have been so easy), but he’d been desperate for help taking down the Imp. So, Din had locked away those feelings—his longing and anger and grief shut safely behind iron bars in his heart—to prioritize the safety of the kid. And even now that the kid was with his people, Din was afraid to tap into that rage and hurt, terrified that he’d unleash something wild, a destructive force that would overpower him.

Besides, Karga was a means to an end, nothing more. He didn’t deserve to know. And so, Din guarded the story jealously. He didn’t even tell Cara when she prodded gently.

Evidently, however, in the wake of losing the kid, Din’s heart was at capacity, and bounty hunting was not a compelling enough distraction from the clamoring of so much grief unacknowledged. On jobs, he was inefficient and reckless, making rookie mistakes he hadn’t struggled with in decades. He felt none of his old drive. What was he doing this for? What was the point? He’d always had a guiding star, a direction, a mainstay, a why. Not anymore.

Din was desperate to feel grounded; he yearned for the reassuring sanctuary of gravity, but everything large enough to hold him down was gone. So he was left to wander aimlessly and alone.

Several weeks into his failing plan, Din limped up the ramp of his new ship and hoisted an unconscious body into the carbonite chamber before collapsing onto the floor. He’d been careless. The quarry had managed to outfox him at every turn, prolonging what should have been a two-day job into a two-week struggle. In the end, Din had caught him, but not before he’d pursued him across miles of unforgiving desert and been stabbed twice.

He was in pain, exhausted... and despite the fact that he’d captured the bounty, he felt utterly defeated. The thrill of eluding danger and the rush of pride that used to accompany the successful completion of a job were absent. He hadn’t felt those things in months.

He lay there on the floor of the hull, chest heaving. Without lifting his head, he closed the ramp and initiated the ground security protocols with his vambrace. He knew he should get up. The wounds on his side and his thigh were slowly leaking blood, and he needed to tend to them right away. His body required water and food, then sleep.

Any minute, he’d get up and grab his medkit.

Any minute.

Instead, Din thought about the things he had lost.

There were the inanimate things, the loss of which shouldn’t weigh on his soul the way they did, but when almost everything in his life was transient, the few things that were enduring became significant, whether he liked it or not. He thought about his Amban Rifle—a reliable companion in his solitary existence. There was an endless list of threats that rifle had saved him from: a Ravinak, quarries, hunters, raiders, an AT-ST, troopers, a kriffing Krayt Dragon. On an almost daily basis, he found himself reflexively reaching over his shoulder for it, only to close his hand around the cold beskar spear.

And there was the Razor Crest, the closest thing he’d had to a home for decades. It had been as integral to his sense of self as his armor, something he didn’t realize until it was gone. He hated every inch of this new, unfamiliar ship. It held no memories, and memories were the only source of warmth that made a real difference to him in the unforgiving chill of space. In the Crest, he could picture the kid, and her, and even Cara and Kuill; he knew where they fit. In this ship, there were only blank silver expanses.

Then, there were the people he'd lost.

Din thought about his tribe, the haunting image of a pile of empty beskar shells flitting through his mind. In the past, his duty had sometimes felt like a burden—the responsibility to provide for so many resting on his shoulders alone—but now, he realized it had been his backbone. Without it, everything crumbled. What felt like chains holding him down had, in reality, been scaffolding, maintaining every bit of his integrity.

He knew it was time to look for what remained of his covert, but he could barely bring himself to think about it, let alone do anything. What happened if he searched and found no one? The prospect of seeking out the splintered fragments only to find that none survived was even harder to fathom than leaving it unknown. If he didn’t search, there was always the possibility that they were out there. He was being a coward in the name of preserving what little hope he had left. It was selfish.

But... that wasn’t the only reason he delayed.

Din thought about his lost identity, his broken Creed. Did he even have the right to seek out his tribe when he was no longer one of them, no longer a Mandalorian? Was he still a Mandalorian? He still wore his armor, but he wasn’t totally sure why—another question he couldn’t answer. If he was no longer a Mandalorian, how could he possibly have a rightful claim to the Mandalorian throne? The Darksaber sat at the bottom of his weapons locker, burning another hole in his already frayed conscience.

This was what he was left with after he took off his helmet that first time, a swarm of needling questions that ate at him every day.

But it was worth sacrificing the Creed for the kid.

Right?

He thought about Grogu, a tiny, three-fingered hand on his face. He wondered what he was doing, if he was happy, if he thought of Din as often as Din thought of him. At least he had a face to attach to his memories now. Was he learning a lot from the Jedi? Did he get to spend time outside playing in the sun? Was anyone rocking him gently to sleep the way he liked when he was fussy?

And, finally, he came to the last entry in the catalog of what he’d lost in the last year or so: he thought about her. To be fair, he had never really had her. He never had the chance to call her mine, but they’d had potential—the promise of something more, a bright shiny glimmer of hope. At a time when Din’s world was turned upside down, right after he’d broken the Guild code to save the child from the Empire, when he was totally out of his depth and everything around him felt like chaos... she had made him feel still. And that was a hell of a thing to lose.

Even after she revealed her true motives, he couldn’t shake that feeling—that feeling that she was the thing he was supposed to orbit.

He could picture so vividly the way her features lit up when he and the kid walked into the cantina. He could hear the musical cadence of her laugh, feel the comforting warmth of her hand over his, smell the light floral notes of her hair.

With those details playing through his mind, he drifted off. He let grief and exhaustion and defeat pull him under.

Din couldn’t breathe. He was underwater, suffocating weight pressing in around him as his heavy beskar dragged him deeper. She was drowning, arms and legs flailing as something with an iron grip on her ankle drew her down. He reached for her, arms outstretched, but he couldn’t keep pace with her descent. His lungs burned, begging for air, as the reassuring light of the surface retreated above him. He watched in horror as her eyes widened in panic, and she choked, lungs filling with water. He tried to yell, kicking toward her frantically, but she stilled, all the fight leaving her body.

He woke with a start, adrenaline coursing through his veins. In a panic, he ripped off his helmet, letting it clang loudly against the metal floor, and took several shaking breaths. Clarity burned through him like acid. With the little strength he had left, his head swimming from dehydration and blood loss, Din hauled himself to his feet and did the simple list of things that would keep him alive.

He couldn’t wear his helmet after that. Every time he put it on, he felt like he was suffocating, the years of bearing the heavy beskar no match for the stifling weight of his shame. And the armor felt wrong without the helmet, so he stopped wearing that too. He locked it away with the Darksaber.

To move forward, he had to let what little he had left fall away.

In the following weeks, he traced her name, her chain code, her age. He recalled every detail she’d shared with him—about her family and past and likes and dislikes, anything that might give him some clue as to where she’d be. He worked from a holomap on which he'd meticulously marked off the planets he'd already eliminated as possibilities. He'd had to recreate this map after he lost the Crest, but that was easy enough, as he vividly remembered each and every planet he'd scoured.

And eventually—ironically, thanks to some information from Karga—Din uncovered the promising golden thread of a lead.

He tracked her to a planet that was largely water, one known for its expansive oceans, beautiful coastlines, persistent sunshine, and temperate weather—her ideal home. He felt the softest stirring of hope in his chest, knowing that she was where she wanted to be.

The first time he saw her again, it was from afar, but he knew her by the way she carried herself, her unmistakable walk. His heart stuttered. She was as beautiful and perfect and bright as he remembered. He didn't realize until that moment that a small part of him had worried he'd built her up, romanticizing the memories until she was more than human in his mind. But there she was, just as ethereal as in his daydreams.

For those first few days, all Din did was watch her. He reminded himself that she wasn’t a quarry, but there was some information he needed, and this was the only way to get it. He wanted to know if she was happy; he wanted to know if his appearance would be welcome or disruptive.

He studied the topography of her life, searching for any hint that there was a place in it for him.

He smiled when he found out that she lived in a small cottage right on the beach. He stopped breathing, fists clenching by his sides, when he watched her walk into the waves and disappear, only to reappear seconds later. For the briefest moment, his mind flashed back to his nightmare, and he had the mad impulse to follow her and pull her out. But he knew she never needed saving.

Even still, he waited at the edge of the forest until she emerged.

Frustratingly, the more he watched her, the less certain he became. He knew what she was to him, but how was he to know what he was to her? He had been a job that had evolved into something more. She had confirmed that what had grown between them was also real for her—the written proof was folded neatly in his pocket. So surely, she had real feelings for him at some point... but how real? And how enduring? Her feelings had been tamped down, reined in because she was doing a job. How successful had she been at burning them away? How much had her feelings been eroded by time? It had been over a year... maybe that was too long.

He watched a man walk up and sit on her front step, awaiting her return. She approached him with a smile on her face, salt water dripping from her hair, and took his hand, leading him inside.

Fuck, that smile.

Was her solar system already complete? Or was there still room for a devoted moon? Would she want it to be him?

In the end, Din told himself that if she could take the leap of faith and trust him so many months ago, he owed it to her to swallow his fear and let her make this choice for herself. Last time, he had made her feel like he didn’t want her, and that was his biggest regret.

He wasn’t going to do that to her again.

***

“Mando—”

She looked scared.

He didn’t expect fear. He expected confusion, surprise, irritation, apathy, maybe even anger? But never fear. But there he was, standing in front of her, and fear flashed across her eyes.

“Din,” he rushed to get the words out, “My name is Din.”

The fear faded as quickly as it came.

“Din,” she repeated.

He’d imagined her saying his real name hundreds, if not thousands of times, and his imagination got nowhere close to the real thing. His throat felt tight.

She stepped forward, raising her hands to frame his face. Her eyes glazed over slightly; she was entranced as she took him in, caressing his cheeks and scanning his features like she was trying to commit every detail to memory.

Din leaned into her touch, closing his eyes to savor the moment. His breathing slowed, and for the first time in months, he felt still.

When he opened his eyes again and met hers, she startled slightly, like she hadn’t realized what she was doing.

“Sorry—”

She started to lower her hands, but Din caught them, bringing them back up to his face, unwilling to lose the contact.

“Don’t be,” he said, smiling uncertainly. The corner of her mouth quirked up in the beginnings of an answering smile.

They stood there for a moment, Din holding her hands against his face.

He’d planned what he was going to say, rehearsing it in his head at length, because he was worried as soon as he saw her, he’d revert to his inability to string words into sentences. Sure enough, despite his preparation, his mind was blank.

So instead, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

In response, she slid her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to meet hers, and relief spread through him like a cleansing fire, stealing the breath from his lungs.

***

When your lips met, everything fell into place; it felt like the universe spontaneously rearranged itself and finally got it right—every planet and every star and all the empty space in between attained perfect alignment in an instant.

You had no idea that one moment could curate the arrangement of the cosmos exactly to your liking.

You pulled Din backwards across the threshold into your house, kicking the door shut behind him without losing contact with his lips. You were both desperate and clumsy and impatient, hands everywhere at once.

He was just as you remembered and completely new. You recognized those shoulders, those hands, that scent—he somehow retained the metallic twang of beskar even without the armor. The way his breath hitched and his chest expanded when you slipped your tongue past his parted lips was familiar, reminding you of his reaction the first time you touched him.

But you’d been privy to such a limited sliver of him before; now, here he was, laid bare for you to learn again, and so you charted his features with your hands, your lips, your eyes, every part of you. Eager to close what little space remained between your bodies, you pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he obliged, tugging it off until it slid to the floor.

A dim thought rankled at the back of your mind, a reminder that you were taking the life you’d carefully constructed and throwing it straight out the fucking window, inviting uncertainty directly into your orderly world.

You were finding it difficult to care when Din’s hands were lighting a fire across your skin.

You had a million questions for him, but only two were louder than the need humming in your veins. You broke away for a moment to say, “Where’s the baby?”

“Grogu—”

You were both panting, slipping words in between kisses, too enthralled in each other to stop and have a real conversation.

“What?”

“That’s his name—”

Palms on his chest, you pressed him against the wall, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He groaned and lolled his head back when you sucked one beneath the sharp corner of his jaw so you did it again.

“Fuck—he’s with the Jedi—he’s, uh, he’s with his people now. I brought him back to them.”

At that, you actually did stop, stepping back to look into his eyes, hands linked behind his neck.

“You must miss him so much.”

His eyes met yours for the briefest moment then flicked away, grief written plainly on his face. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But he’s where he belongs.”

Din wrapped his arms around you, drawing you into his tight embrace and resting his chin on the crown of your head. Unspoken words hung in the air: and this is where you belong.

Ear pressed to his chest, you smiled and asked, “And your helmet?”

He hesitated. “I... I took it off to say goodbye to the kid. I couldn’t let him go without showing him my face...” His voice caught, and he paused to take a deep breath. “I sacrificed the Creed to do it, and I still don’t know if it was the right decision.”

“Of course, it was the right decision,” you said earnestly, nodding against him, “You told me how precious foundlings are, and you prioritized your foundling. How could that be wrong?”

You were the farthest thing from an authority on the Mandalorian Creed, but you were certain—so deeply, painfully certain—that Din was a good person and sharing love with a child could never be wrong.

“I don’t know what’s right anymore...” He ran a hand over his eyes, scrubbing it over his face as he let out a resigned huff. “I found out that some Mandalorians do take off their helmets, so I don’t know what to believe.” He sounded exhausted, lost.

You pulled away to fix him with a fierce look, framing his face with your hands to force him to meet your gaze. “You cared for Grogu and kept him safe and brought him to his people. You protected a child, loved a child. That’s what matters. An arbitrary rule is nowhere near as important as that, and breaking it doesn't change who you are. I think you already know that.”

He stared intently, and you worried for a second that you’d offended him, stepped over an invisible line by assuming you knew better than he did what was right or wrong in this case.

“I’m sorry, I—”

He crashed his lips against yours once again, and when you stumbled back in surprise, Din steadied you, holding you upright.

There was nothing else pressing you needed to know in that moment; you had everything you needed in this, the refuge of his arms. There would be time for everything else.

He slipped his hands under the hem of your shirt and before he could even ask, you ripped it over your head, tossing it aside. He responded in kind, divesting himself first of the several weapons strapped to his belt and his calf, then his shirt.

You raked your eyes down his face to his perfect chest—muscled, golden brown, littered with a constellation of scars—and mused, “You know, if I had known from the beginning that you looked like this under your armor, I’d have thrown my entire plan out the window to fuck you immediately.”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “I would have preferred that.”

Laughing, you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall to your bedroom. He paused at your doorway to say, “I, uh, I want you to know—this isn’t what I came for.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What did you come for?”

“I—just... you.”

“Then take me.”

“I mean... All of you, not just this.”

You slid your fingers under his belt and jerked him forward, smiling mischievously: “Well, we have to start somewhere.”

He laughed, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

And when he did take you, when you closed your eyes, you didn’t slip into that familiar static. You stayed—there, with him, where you belonged. It was all whispered praises and breathless moans and a tangle of euphoric thoughts. It was overwhelming, a hum of lust and safety and longing, a hyperawareness of every sensation. You felt held—carefully, lovingly, preciously.

Hours later, you were lying with your head on his chest, the steady beating of his heart a reassuring cadence in your ear. You lifted your head slightly to look up at him: “Why now?”

He looked down and furrowed his eyebrows. “Because I happened to find you this time.”

“What do you mean?”

His fingers traced intricate patterns on your back. “I looked for you that day. I looked for you for a couple weeks after, and I would have found you if I’d had more time... but then I was quested with finding the kid’s people, so I had to stop. But whenever I was near a temperate planet with an ocean and had some time, I stopped to look for leads. And then when the Jedi came for the kid, I, uh, was lost for a bit... I tried to work to distract myself from everything but I couldn't. So... I had time again. I had to find you.”

He said it so unsentimentally. He put his devotion into words like it wasn’t a declaration of love—he recounted it like a simple fact.

You sat up and swung a leg over his hips, pressing your lips against his once again. He straightened, running his hands down your back and crushing you against his chest. The tempo of your breath kicked back up in tandem.

It was a relief that you were both on the same page: you had over a year of touch to make up for, and you were shameless in your pursuit of that goal.

You mumbled against his mouth, breathless: “That day—the day I left... I thought you hated me.”

Din leaned back, brow wrinkled in genuine confusion. “I could never hate you.”

“You said the person you were falling for didn’t exist.”

“You let us go. You proved me wrong.”

“Oh.”

“Even if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have hated you. You thought you were doing the right thing. I shouldn't have said that... I didn't meant it. I was hurt. And drugged.”

“Oh.”

You shook your head, laughed. What could you do but laugh? It didn’t matter anymore. Why mourn what little time you had lost when you had what you needed stretched out infinitely before you?

It tasted like hope, this feeling—to be able to look forward once again, to broaden your horizon back to the endless possibility it once promised. Finally, you’d be able to move freely, unencumbered by the need to maintain safeguards around your heart. You could venture out into the galaxy knowing wherever you went with him, you'd never be lost.

Smiling, you asked: “So, what now?”

He looked down and clasped your hand, lacing his fingers between yours. When his eyes met yours again, there was so much uncertainty there, so much unease, you almost had to look away.

Fuck. The bright light in your chest faltered like the wavering of an unsteady flame.

“I—There’s something I need to do. A few things, actually... things I’ve been avoiding, but I know I can do them now. I’m sorry, I'll have to go, but I needed to find you first,” he stopped, then rushed to add, “but I know you like it here. I wouldn’t ask you to leave—to come with me. No, but I’ll come back. Of course, I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you, for as long as you want me.”

The light in your chest expanded, filling every inch of you with warmth. You smiled at him, placing a reassuring hand over his thumping heart, and leaned down to press your forehead to his.

You closed your eyes. “I want you to ask.”

He let out a relieved sigh, holding you closer. “Will you come with me?”

You kissed a word into his lips: yes.

***

Tagging those who expressed interest in a sequel to Extrasolar: @disgruntledspacedad @thirstworldproblemss @dincrypt @beskarhearts @goldielocks2004 @elinedjarin @speakerforthedead0 @thosewickedlovelies @theawkwardpedestrian

Everything tag list: @spideysimpossiblegirl

I hope I didn't miss anyone! I'm sorry if I did!

[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?”

[chorusnihili]

🔮!!

SEE INTO MY MUSES PAST! SEND 🔮 AND I WILL WRITE A DRABBLE OF A MEMORY THAT YOUR MUSE GETS TO SEE INTO.

This memory is dull.  Much like a photograph left out in the sun, faded to the years.  The mind is fragile, memories shift and change, never remaining coherent, even that which one swears by may have never happened at all.

Biological corruption, stealing away the past...

But it’s dull and the lab is dim and it’s cold--or, no, maybe he was wet; or, maybe it was neither of those.  But the memory of shivering is strong, those deep shivers that seem to stem from the soul itself.

Keening.  

Exhaustion creeps at the edge of his senses, the soothing lullaby of sleep tickling just beyond his awareness.

The entire scene is an almost unnatural monochrome.  Steely grey, whether its dull or shiny, shades of black and white.  His own reflection, appearing occasionally in a monitor, or a shining sheet of metal.  

He could sleep soon.

But, for now, he needed to be tired.  He needed to be able to just ...

Let go.

He vividly remembers the message being green; bright LEDs unmistakable on the pane of the machine.

The faint groaning of the CORE, sounding so far away, yet, so close, muffled by soundproofing barriers; each collision of the massive pistons bathing him and his machine in an unnatural light; contrast amplified by the lenses of the past.  It was all so distorted, except that message, in green letters:

READY.  

Watching the glimmering of that shining metal panel as he walked closer, footsteps impossibly light, hands coming to rest, at east, on that panel and remembering the feeling of being torn inside out the sensation of accidentally nudging a live wire while adjusting circuitry but so many times worse,

God, so much worse, make it stop

and remembering his body going rigid, unable to pull back, unable to scream, the current seizing control over his body as his

soul

lifeforce

was taken, exactly

as planned, working properly

(should have had someone monitor this)

pain & pain AND PAIN

Feeling as if it would never stop, wave after wave ripped free of his heart & chest & soul until hungry hands grasped at nothing

(was he going to die)

& it exploded

and finally he could breathe and gasp but there was no air with which to speak or scream and he collided with a table, heard that horrid screeching of the legs against the cold floor and soon he too hit the cold floor and that thud echoed through his skull, his ears his arms and legs and knees and body. 

There was no one and nothing and this was the legacy he left; curled upon the floor, in aching agony how his hands burned and burned and burned and how no one was left to come and care and how he burned and burned and burned and was paying for his sins.

Breathless sobbing and tears and he couldn’t move, couldn’t call for help for the people who wouldn’t come anyways.  

Stemming from the knees, the elbows, numbness.

A welcome coldness.

(Should he fight?)

(Did it matter?)

(Did he even deserve to live?)

and the coldness took him 

& it all faded to black.

“I’ll spare you the complicated explanation,” Gaster stated as he approached, hands tucked into his pockets as the vision faded and was replaced by reality piecing itself back together.

One hand withdrew from the pocket and reached out to cup the faintly shimmering piece of energy floating there; squeezed a fist around it.

“It’s a piece of my SOUL.  Do take care if you see any others.  There can be... unexpected effects when two SOULs come in contact.”

[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!

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[98prilla]

To The Dead

Next

Previous

AO3

...

“Howdy doodie, ghostly gaggle, how goes it?” Remus asked, reappearing in their commons, keeping his voice a low almost whisper, despite his buzzing energy, careful of disturbing Virgil.

 He’d been laid across the couch, his head in Roman’s lap, who was absently playing with his hair, a slight frown on his face as he gazed at Virgil’s too pale, too still form. He was a bit surprised, to see Patton and Janus were gone from the room, he figured they’d be hovering like a pair of mother hens, though he wasn’t as surprised to find Logan missing, no doubt he was trying to figure out what exactly the living occupants of the house had done to their little shadow.

 “Hey, Rems.” Roman murmured noncomitally in response, not breaking his focus on Virgil for a single moment, and he frowned, slipping onto the armrest behind Roman, perching atop it, wrapping his arms around Roman, resting his head on his shoulder.

 “It isn’t your fault, Ro.” Roman huffed, shaking his head.

 “But it is! I drove him away, I’m the one who said those hurtful things, I was scared, and so I scared him, and Janus was right, who am I, to make him more afraid of himself than he already is?” Roman’s voice cracked, and Remus could feel the remorse and guilt practically radiating off of Roman.

 “But you didn’t mean it, Ro. I know you didn’t. I say shit all the time I don’t really mean, and you still forgive me for it. This isn’t any different.”

 “It is so. I’ve known you for over a century. Nothing you could say would drive me away, but I keep thinking…”

 “A dangerous pastime, I know.” Remus quoted, making Roman huff again, a tinge of laughter to it, that he counted as a win, along with the small flicker of a smile.

 “What if you had said that, about me, when you first were drawn here? How different, would it have been? I was so far gone, already. If you’d treated me as I treated him, I don’t think I would have come back from it.” Remus hummed, thinking.

 It was true, that by the time he’d wandered to the property, drawn like a moth to a flame by the unstable energy, the swirling miasma of hate and negativity and power, Roman had been barely recognizable as a human soul. He’d burned so bright and angry, instead of becoming a wraith, he was more likely to become a banshee, to howl to the winds, to rampage and scream and tear until the sound sent the place crumbling down around him. The edges of corruption were there, sinking into his spirit, and Roman was right that the wrong move would have sent him over. It was one of the very few times Remus had been patient in his life, weathering the worst of Roman’s rage, the worst of the power directed his way, at his invasion of the space, until Roman had worn himself out enough he was nearly lucid, enough to understand that Remus didn’t mean any harm, anyways.

 “I don’t think so.” He said, ponderingly, Roman stiffening in surprise. He slid off the arm of the couch, idly standing and tapping his chin as he thought. “I don’t think that would have broken you. I think it would have made you mad. Angry. Angry at me, which would have been just as effective, as the more… gentle approach I took.”

 “Remus, me being angry was the whole problem!” Remus shook his head fervently.

 “No no no, you being angry at your family was the problem. You resenting being stuck in a place you hated was the problem. You were directing all your emotion at something intangible, at a memory of a thing that didn’t exist anymore. I think if I’d given you something to hate in the now, given you me, to really, truly rage at, it would have brought you to the present. It would have made you realize what was past is past, and there’s nothing to be done about it. I think we would have gotten to the same place, just down a different road.” He looked up, nearly laughing at the slightly awestruck expression on Roman’s face, before shrugging and smirking. “Or you would have lost your marbles entirely, who’s to say?” Roman snorted, freezing as Virgil shifted, though he didn’t wake, merely rolled over onto his side. “He’s a lot like you. There’s so much emotion, bottled up in there. Loathing and sadness and fear, of course, but under it… under it all is rage, Roman. I don’t think he even realizes it’s there, but he’s burning with it. I think that’s what he’s really afraid of, all of that anger, that he’s directing at himself, until it implodes.”

 “He needs to acknowledge it’s there at all. That he has a right, to his anger. He’s been forced to hide everything for so long, Rems, it’s no wonder it’s all trying to escape, that he doesn’t know how to handle it, doesn’t even recognize it.”

 “He’ll get there. It’s all still so new to him, Ro, he needs time. You’ve had a century to deal with your baggage. He’s had a few months, most of which he spent hiding. The best you can do is apologize, and make sure you’re here for him. Now, stop worrying so much, and try and relax. The kid is empathic as hell, your stress is making him stress.” With that, Remus vanished, leaving Roman alone with his thoughts, and Virgil, who did have a slight crease to his forehead, a slight downturn to his lips.

 “he’s right, you know. You’ll get there. And I can’t wait to see it.”

…

“Remus! What-“ Logan cut himself off, eyes wide as he looked upon the scene. He’d been a bit worried about Remus’s silence, since the summoning, that always meant he was up to something, but this… this is not what he expected.

 Thomas was on the floor of the basement, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he drew in chalk, having marked out the rough outline of a circle, a few sigils already in place, Remus hovering over his shoulder.

 “Alright, now, copy this one.” Remus drew a shape in the air with practiced ease, the glowing thing pulsing for a moment, before slowly fading away. Thomas leaned back over, copying the pattern. “So this one is basically another protection one. Not that the ghosts here are intending to hurt you, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’ll keep any power from the circle from rebounding back on you, if it snaps.”

 “It can do that?”

 “Yuppers, and it isn’t always pretty. These things are powerful, kid, and so are the spirits you summon. If the circle is too weak, it won’t be able to contain them, too strong, and it’ll sap everything from them. You got lucky, the first time, in that the power rebounded onto Virgil, instead of you.”

 “Remus! What are you doing?” He hissed finally, Remus turning his head one hundred eighty degrees to face him. grinning.

 “Oh heya, teach! Just tutoring my newest student!”

 “You shouldn’t be telling him any of this! This is dangerous! He could hurt himself, he could summon someone he doesn’t mean to, you should be discouraging this!” Remus snorted.

 “You know I’m always one to entertain a bad idea.”

 “What!? You think this is a bad idea?!” Thomas asked, looking between Remus and the space he seems to be staring at, where he’s sure another ghost is. If he squinted, he could almost see the outline of something, like a heat haze over asphalt, the wavy distortion of… something. He heard Remus continuing to bicker, but slowly, another voice started to trickle in, though it was distant, like an old radio broadcast, crackling and popping with static.

 “-puts all of us at risk!” He hissed sharply, pressing a hand to his temple at the rebounding voice, echoing through his mind, and for a moment, the form was crystal clear, a sharp featured man, dressed a bit old fashioned, like something out of his grandparent’s photographs, eyes flashing and fists clenched in anger. For a moment, the being’s eyes glanced to his, widening minutely as he met them, looked right at him, then he blinked, and it was gone.

 Logan reeled backwards, hand clutching at his chest, words knocked out of him. He’d seen the recognition, the startled, amazed look, on Thomas’s face, reflected on his own.

 “he saw me.” He whispered, shocked into stillness, eyes darting to Remus. “how… it’s not finished, he didn’t… how did he see me?”

 “He’s got raw talent, Logan, that’s what I was trying to tell you. Not just anyone can use a Ouija board and actually have it connect with the spirit realm, and that ramshackle shitty ass summoning circle? That shouldn’t have done a thing, it was so poorly constructed. At most, it should have attracted me to its energy, but instead it summoned Virgil, the one with the most power and the least desire to be seen. That’s power, innate power. I’m not surprised, that with more exposure to us, he’s starting to see you guys, hear you. I wouldn’t be surprised if those abilities kept growing. You’re in for the ride, kid, whether you like it or not.” Remus added, winking at Thomas, who was still slightly stricken, staring at where he’d seen the ghost.

 “Which one was that? Or, were you? Not… not one of the ones, who used the board, and definitely not Virgil.” Remus looked at Logan, brow raised.

 “Up to you, if you wanna share.” Logan inhaled deeply, just to center himself, before focusing on projecting outward just slightly. If Remus was right, that slight increase in power should be enough for Thomas to hear him, though not see him.

 “I am Logan. It is… a surprise, to be meeting you in this manner. I can’t imagine having Remus as a teacher has been too enlightening.” He watched with interest as the man winced again, staring right at him, though there was no recognition this time. Fascinating, so Thomas could sense where his words were coming from, even without manifestation of a physical form.

 “I mean, it was either learn or get tormented until I died, soooo…” He glared at Remus, who shrugged, kicking up his feet and floating reclined in the air.

 “What? If he’s got the knack for it, it’s better he knows what he’s doing with it, otherwise he’s just a danger to everyone. If they kept fooling around how they were, they were gonna summon something a lot more powerful and a lot less friendly than they, or we, could handle.”

 “I… suppose I cannot argue with that logic. But, from now on, I will be helping with and observing these lessons. I don’t trust you not to intentionally mislead him into something dangerous.” Logan countered, eyes narrowed.

 “Ugh, fiiiine. I wasn’t gonna do anything too bad, anyway. Just a minor imp! Just for fun!”

 “What!?” Thomas screeched again, Remus enjoying the slightly horrified look on his face far too much to care about the face palm occurring on Logan’s end.

 “He is a poltergeist. He literally feeds on chaos. Any opportunity to cause it will not be passed up. And as much as he wants to protect us, he also wants to have some fun, often at the expense of the living members of the household. There’s a reason this property was so cheap. It goes on the market every few years.”

 “The shortest stay was six months! A lot flies died for that victory. RIP squadron alpha. RIP.”

 “I… ok. Not even gonna ask. Thanks, Logan. I’m… imma go process this. Somewhere. Anywhere.” Remus shrugged, following Thomas up the basement steps.

 “Suit yourself! You know where to find me!” With a twirl, Remus vanished, leaving behind the faint scent of sulpher, just for fun. Logan rolled his eyes and wordlessly followed, his own mind still spinning.

 Thomas could hear him. He could see him.

 He wasn’t sure, exactly, what that made him feel.

[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.